To the Moon and Back

by Jill Mansell

The next three hours flew by. They drank Prosecco—but not too much—ate wonderful food—Tony was barely aware of it—and talked nonstop. The connection was still there, stronger than ever. They had privacy, they could relax, he never wanted it to end. When the restaurant closed, they moved through to the Blue Bar and carried on, enclosed in their own private bubble of bliss. Upstairs he had a room with a bed in it, but they stayed where they were. It was OK. No pressure. He was over here for three days. Oh, would you look at those eyes. That perfect mouth. The way her dimples flashed every time she smiled. He loved every inch of her, every last glorious caramel curve. And to know that she’d been missing him as desperately as he had missed her… it gave him such hope. Somehow, somewhere, surely they could be together in a way that was miraculously guilt-free…

  ‘Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’ Martha leaned forward and tapped his arm.

  ‘Sorry. You’re making it hard to concentrate.’ He captured her fingers between his own, wondering if he’d be able to kiss her before she left. Would she let him? ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was telling you about my trip to Blockbuster the other week. Henry likes to watch the old Dad’s Army TV shows but he managed to sit on his DVDs so I’d gone along to get him some more. I was just standing by the counter when I heard you saying, “What are you doing here?” Well, I jumped a mile. I couldn’t believe it, I thought you were right behind me. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot!’ She fanned her face at the memory. ‘So then of course I turned around and there you were, up on the TV screen in that film you did last year. I felt like such an idiot… oh, hang on, that’s mine.’ Reaching for her bag, she pulled out the ringing phone and grimaced. ‘Oh Lord, it’s Eunice.’

  ‘Leave it.’ Tony already knew she wouldn’t.

  ‘I can’t. Won’t be a second.’ She jumped up and made her way out of the Blue Bar, away from the noise. Tony watched her go. From a distance he saw her answer the phone, then freeze. Oh great, what was it? Please don’t let Eunice be putting pressure on her, playing the guilt card. Martha’s hand had flown to her mouth now. Something was wrong. Of all the afternoons, why did it have to happen on this one?

  ‘Henry’s lost.’ She was back, searching agitatedly for her purse. ‘He’s gone missing on Hampstead Heath. They can’t find him… anything could happen to him… I’m sorry, I have to go.’

  How could he let her go alone? Outside the Berkeley, the doorman flagged down a black cab and together Tony and Martha jumped in. Ensconced inside the hotel, they hadn’t even realized it had begun to rain. Now as they made their way to Hampstead, the taxi’s windscreen wipers struggled to cope. Thunder was rumbling, the sky had darkened to slate gray, and lightning crackled overhead.

  ‘There’s no point in you coming with me.’ Martha’s face was taut with anxiety. ‘You can’t look for him. Eunice mustn’t see you.’

  ‘I can keep out of her way.’ He wanted to hug and reassure her, but it wasn’t the time. ‘How did it happen anyway?’

  ‘Henry’s always loved the heath. Sometimes we take him there for a walk. Eunice took him today. It was still sunny when they got there. They sat down on a bench and she dozed off.’

  ‘Dozed off ?’

  ‘She’s exhausted. You can’t blame her; she never stops. Anyway, it was only for a couple of minutes. But when she woke up, Henry was gone. No sign of him anywhere. And then it started to rain. Oh God, this is my punishment for not going with them. I came to see you instead and now he’s lost.’

  ‘Stop it, don’t panic, nothing’s going to happen to him.’ Tony was firm. ‘Trust me, he’ll be found.’

  But when they eventually reached Hampstead, Henry was still missing. The taxi driver stopped at the bottom of Millfield Lane, close to the Highgate ponds. Martha, on the phone with Eunice, ascertained that she was up by the most northerly of the ponds.

  ‘I’ll head on up there. She’s distraught. There are park rangers out looking for him.’ She opened the door of the cab and was drenched within seconds. ‘Please, Eunice mustn’t see you. Leave this to me. You go home.’

  ‘OK, I’ll do that. Call me as soon as you can.’ Any kind of kiss would be hideously inappropriate now. Tony let her go. The moment she was out of sight, he paid the driver and jumped out of the taxi. Where Martha had turned right, he checked that no glimpses of her lemon-yellow dress were visible through the trees and turned left.

  The rain was hammering down like gunfire. There wasn’t anyone else about and the branches of the trees were being wrenched this way and that, whipped into a frenzy by ferocious gusts of wind. Martha had told him that Henry had gone missing on Parliament Hill, but his favorite section of the heath was where the ponds lay. Getting wetter by the second, Tony headed towards them. His shoes, unaccustomed to the terrain, slipped and slid as he made his way through mud and stones and wild undergrowth. Right, here he was at the water’s edge. Still no one else in sight, and the pond was less than enticing, gray and cold-looking, the surface whipped up and pitted with rain. Even the ducks had done the sensible thing and taken shelter. Grasses, long and rough, clung to his trouser legs like seaweed. The next moment he stopped dead in his tracks as something dark bobbed up in the water in the center of the pond. But it wasn’t a head; it was a discarded carrier bag. Panic over. God, his heart was thudding now. It could have been Henry. Trudging on, Tony blinked water from his eyes and kept searching. At one stage, in the far distance, he saw a tiny figure up on the hill and heard a voice, barely audible, yelling Henry’s name.

  Ten minutes later it happened. Did he hear a noise or was it sheer chance that he turned and looked to one side and saw a bare foot sticking out of the undergrowth ten yards away? Back came the fear, because what else did that mean he was about to find? Stumbling across the uneven ground, Tony saw the leg attached to the foot, clad in sodden brown trousers. Then a long thin body, long arms, the head… yes, it was definitely him…

  ‘Hello?’ Tony approached with caution. Henry was half-sitting, half-lying beneath a tree with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He looked like a carved wooden statue, abandoned in the rain.

  Then the eyes opened and Henry was looking at him. ‘I’m wet.’

  Alive, then. Not dead.

  ‘Henry? Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’m wet.’

  ‘I can see that. What happened to your shoes?’

  Henry gazed in bemusement at his bony bare feet. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m quite wet.’

  ‘Are you able to stand?’

  ‘I’m quite hungry. Is it time for breakfast?’

  Henry’s voice was gentle, bewildered, educated. Obediently, he held out his hands and allowed Tony to help him to his feet. His clothes were as sodden as if he’d been in the pond. Maybe he had.

  ‘Been for a swim?’ said Tony.

  Henry blinked slowly. ‘I’m wet.’

  They stood and gazed at each other for several seconds in the rain. Then Tony watched as Henry searched in his trouser pockets and produced a gray sock. He proceeded to put it on his left hand like a glove. This was Martha’s husband; he had been an accountant. God, Alzheimer’s was a brutal, disgusting disease. It crossed Tony’s mind that there was no one in sight. No one even knew he was here. If he were a character in a film, he might be tempted to lead Henry to the water’s edge and push him in. It was deep here. He wouldn’t be able to climb out. He could be gone, removed, eradicated…

  But this wasn’t a film. And he may have done some things in his life that he was less than proud of, but he wasn’t a murderer.

  Tony smiled slightly and reached for his mobile.

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ said Henry, brushing water from his springy gray-white hair.

  ‘We’ll get you one.’ His finger hovered over the phone. ‘Henry, who’s Martha?’

  He saw a flicker of recognition in the silver-rimmed brown eyes. ‘Martha? I think she lives next door, doesn’t she?’

  Tony said gently, �
�Martha’s your wife.’

  ‘Ah yes. Yes, that’s right.’ Henry looked at the sock on his hand. ‘A cup of tea and a biscuit.’

  ‘Do you love Martha?’ Did this make him a truly despicable person? ‘Henry, do you love her? Your wife?’

  ‘Oh yes. Where are my shoes? I love her very much.’ He was nodding earnestly now. ‘And a ham sandwich. That would be nice. I’m quite hungry, you know.’

  Tony made the call. ‘I’ve got him, he’s fine.’

  ‘Oh thank God!’ Martha let out a sob of relief. ‘Where are you?’

  He told her, adding, ‘Don’t say anything to Eunice, just get yourself straight down here.’

  It took Martha less than five minutes to reach them. The rain had begun to ease off slightly, but they were all so soaked through now it no longer mattered.

  ‘Hello!’ Henry’s face lit up at the sight of her heading through the undergrowth towards them.

  ‘What’s her name?’ said Tony.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I do know it. Let me think… she’s my beautiful wife.’

  ‘Oh, Henry, we were so worried about you. We didn’t know where you were.’ Martha clutched his hands, one of them still encased in the gray knitted sock. ‘Where are your shoes?’

  ‘Harrods, I think. Or Sainsbury’s. I’m wet.’

  ‘I know, darling. It doesn’t matter, we’re going to get you home now.’ She looked at Tony and said, ‘Thank you so much. You have to go. But thank you.’

  As Tony turned to leave, Martha was already calling Eunice to tell her that everything was OK, Henry was safe.

  Henry, carefully examining the sock on his hand, said to no one in particular, ‘Or roast chicken would be nice.’

  Chapter 34

  Opening the door at eight o’clock in the morning, Roo wasn’t that surprised to find Niall on her doorstep. Ellie had told her all about the recent encounter with him and Yasmin outside Claridge’s.

  But to show willing, she said, ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You’ve blocked my number. I need to talk to you, find out what’s going on.’ He wasted no time. ‘You went to see Yasmin.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I want to know why.’

  ‘Just curious, I suppose. I was interested to find out what she was really like. And guess what? She was lovely. Better than you deserve, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Well, don’t do it again, OK? Leave her alone.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I can’t do,’ said Roo.

  Niall exhaled. ‘OK, please don’t go there again. If you tell her, you’d break her heart.’

  Fancy that. She’d be the one who broke his wife’s heart. Aloud she said, ‘You think?’

  ‘Roo. Please.’

  ***

  Working in a charity shop might not be glamorous but it was undoubtedly a good thing. People gave away stuff they no longer wanted, and it was bought by people who did want it, and the money raised went to a worthy cause.

  It was just a shame that sometimes people gave away stuff they no longer wanted without first making sure it was clean. This was Roo’s first morning in the shop and she was discovering that rubber gloves were a necessity. Already, unpacking the mound of plastic bags left outside overnight, she had lifted out a pair of jeans with boxer shorts still inside them. Neither of them had been washed. For a good long while. If ever.

  But it didn’t matter, because she was atoning. Making up for a lifetime of hedonism and selfishness. She wasn’t going to throw a diva tantrum and demand to be given something easier and less gross to do.

  Besides, it had all been worth it to see the look on Niall’s face this morning when she sent him packing with the words, ‘Anyway, I have to go now, I mustn’t be late for work.’

  Stunned, he’d said, ‘What d’you mean, work?’

  And she’d got a real kick out of replying, ‘Oh, didn’t Ellie mention it? I’ve got a new job.’

  The other upside to having turned over a new leaf was discovering how buzzy and clear-headed it was possible to feel when you gave up drinking. She hadn’t realized before what a difference it made when you didn’t even have a hint of a hangover fuzzing up your brain.

  ‘’Scuse me, love, this one’s too small for me, d’you have it in an eighteen?’

  The customer was in her forties and had one of those tartan shopping trolleys on wheels. She was holding up a pink cardigan and looking hopeful. The old Roo would have said, ‘Hello? We’re in a charity shop, darling. This isn’t Harvey Nicks.’ Or she might have said, ‘If you lost a couple of stone, it’d fit you.’

  But she wasn’t Old Roo anymore, she was New Roo. Sans makeup, sans snarky attitude. She made a conscious effort to envisage this customer’s life: poverty-stricken, unlucky in love, lots of daytime TV… oh God, apart from the poverty bit, that’s me!… and said, ‘I’m so sorry, we don’t. But a lovely pale green one just came in this morning, I’m sure it’s an eighteen and the color would really suit you. Shall I pop out to the back room and find it?’

  Pat, who was the manageress, told her it was to be priced at six pounds fifty. Roo brought the cardigan out and it fitted the woman perfectly. She’d been right about the shade too; it really brought out the color of her eyes.

  ‘Oh dear, six pounds fifty, though.’ The woman hesitated, visibly torn. ‘That’s more than I can afford.’

  God, imagine not being able to afford six pounds fifty. Roo leaned forward and whispered, ‘It’s all right, you can have it for one pound fifty.’ What the hell, she’d make up the difference herself.

  ‘OK.’ The woman beamed, as well she might. It was a lamb’s wool cardigan from Jaeger, in pristine condition. ‘I’ll take it!’

  Three minutes later, glancing up as the woman was about to leave the shop, Roo saw her deftly removing a pair of Russell and Bromley stilettos from a display stand and sliding them into her tartan shopper. She blinked in disbelief as an armful of scarves and handbags followed them.

  ‘Hey!’ yelled Roo, outraged.

  The woman looked up, gave her a one-fingered salute, and shot out of the shop faster than Usain Bolt, the tartan trolley bouncing at her heels. Roo, cursing this morning’s unwise choice of four-inch zebra-print stilettos with multiple ankle straps, yelped, ‘Stop her! She stole stuff !’

  But this clearly wasn’t going to happen. She was the only person in the shop under eighty. By the time she managed to unbuckle the fiddly straps and get her shoes off, the thief and her tartan trolley would be in Camden.

  Pat, emerging from the back room, shot her a disapproving look. ‘Didn’t you chase after her?’

  In reply, Roo pointed to her bondage heels.

  A disparaging sniff, then Pat said, ‘In future, wear something you can run in. And what was that I overheard about you letting her have the cardigan for one pound fifty?’

  Honestly, were there secret listening devices hidden under the counter? Roo was forced to bite her lip, hard. ‘It’s OK, I hadn’t forgotten. I owe the till five pounds.’

  After six hours of breathing in the stale air of the charity shop—clearly not choosing to volunteer in one of the many clean ones had been a mistake—entering the beauty salon was sheer heaven. The luxury, the gorgeous expensive smells, the relaxing atmosphere, the absence of ungrateful shoplifters…

  ‘Oh, look at your poor nails!’ Having examined them, Yasmin said sympathetically, ‘And this one’s broken right down. That must hurt. How did it happen?’

  Roo shrugged. ‘Humping heavy boxes around. Picking duct tape off a hundred-piece chandelier. Carrying an electric cooker up two flights of stairs.’

  ‘That’ll do it.’ Yasmin was already preparing to get busy with her manicurist’s equipment. She kept her attention focused on the badly torn nail. ‘So what’s all this in aid of? Are you moving house?’

  ‘No. I’ve just started as a volunteer in a charity shop. If I smell funny, that’s why.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t smell! And what an amazing thing to do, giving
up your time and working for nothing… that’s so generous. You must be a really nice person.’

  On the one hand, this was just what Roo wanted to hear. On the other hand, if only Yasmin knew.

  But she wasn’t going to tell her. Niall could relax; that wasn’t why she’d come back here. She wanted to make amends to Yasmin without her finding out the truth.

  ‘Thousands of people do voluntary work.’ She showed Yasmin her zebra heels. ‘I wore the wrong shoes. Got told off.’

  ‘But they’re beautiful.’

  ‘We had a shoplifter.’

  ‘A shoplifter?’ Yasmin pulled a face. ‘That’s just low.’

  Speaking of low… ‘Anyway, how’s your family?’

  ‘They’re good, thanks. Did your friend tell you we bumped into her the other night?’

  ‘Oh yes, she did mention it.’

  ‘How did the baby-sitting go?’

  ‘With Alice?’ Roo wasn’t stupid; she’d made a point of learning the name. ‘No problem. It was great!’

  ‘Any more teeth yet?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Teeth? The baby?’

  ‘Oh… well, maybe a few more.’ OK, now she was out of her comfort zone. ‘I didn’t count them. Babies aren’t really my thing.’

  Yasmin smiled. ‘Alice hasn’t made you broody then. Not planning on having one yourself.’

  ‘Ew, no chance.’

  ‘You say that now.’ Niall’s wife’s eyes sparkled. ‘But you’ll end up changing your mind. Give it a few years and it’ll happen. Are you with anyone at the moment?’

  Roo watched her cuticles being skillfully pushed back with an orange stick, felt the warmth of Yasmin’s fingers cupping her hand. ‘No, no one. I’m all on my own.’

  ‘Well, that must be your choice. You’re so pretty you could have any man you want.’

  Don’t think about Todd. Definitely don’t think about Niall.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, though, does it? It’s not that simple. To be honest,’ Roo blurted out, ‘I’ve never had much luck with men.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get there in the end. You’ll find the right man, settle down together, have a baby… sorry, are you OK? Have I said the wrong thing? Here, have a tissue, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…’