by Karen Swan
‘Oh!’ She turned back, remembering to ask about their Christmas opening hours. The glass door had closed behind her already, but a sheet was neatly taped to it, listing the revised times to those already etched into the glass.
She read it, disappointed to see that they were closed for the entire Christmas week and not open again until 2 January. She bit her lip, knowing she’d have to think of something else to keep her father’s spirits up.
She went to turn, but—
Her subconscious registered the anomaly, of something animate that had become too still. Frozen. The hairs on her neck were bristling and she had a sense of being watched, of eyes like weights upon her. Slowly she raised her gaze, but something in her already knew what she was going to see, her instincts racing ahead of time itself to get there first like a precocious child.
The world warped. Time became pliant as rubber, slowing and stretching within her breath as she registered the face on the other side of the glass. On the cusp of silence, she heard the alto of an angel and knew her prayer had been answered.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Come on, come on, it can’t be that bloody hard,’ Daisy hissed as she struggled to get her legs in the suit, barely enough room in the changing cubicle for the long paws to fit.
‘I’m doing my best,’ she hissed back. ‘What’s happening out there?’
Daisy didn’t reply for a moment.
‘I can see the police. There’s about eight of them.’
‘Does it look dodgy?’
Another pause. ‘Well, there’s a few people looking.’
‘They’re probably worried there’s a terrorism threat or something.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Daisy whispered. She turned back to the cubicle, sticking her head round the curtain. ‘They’re not stopping, though.’
‘Do up the back,’ she said, turning so that she was facing the mirror. ‘God, this is so weird,’ she grinned, patting the blue bunny’s swollen tummy; she hadn’t yet put on the head. ‘My head looks like it’s shrunk.’
Daisy laughed as she patted the Velcro strip closed. ‘It so does.’
The sudden metallic whine of a microphone made them both wince. ‘Well, that’ll make them stop and stare,’ Daisy groaned.
She felt a sudden flash of adrenalin. ‘But everyone’s in place, yes?’
‘Yep. Jamie’s being hidden in Gucci.’
‘Huh,’ she muttered. ‘And I get H&M. Typical . . . How about—’ But she was interrupted by a guitar chord starting up on the concourse, the electric sound like a pulse, a single shockwave that made everyone stop and turn. ‘Who’s that?’
There was another chord – long and echoey, reaching to the furthest reaches of the mall; then he segued into the intro for “Crystal Dawn”, one of Jamie’s biggest hits.
‘Gus,’ Daisy murmured, placing herself flatter against the curtain as a couple of girls rushed past, curious to see what was happening.
‘Can I look?’
‘Nope, definitely not.’
She sighed in protest, wishing she could take a peek, but she had pulled the rabbit head on now and Daisy was right – they couldn’t afford for anyone to see her before the pertinent moment.
The drums started up. They had been cleverly hidden under a sheet, and the guy selling calendars and annuals had been only too pleased to set up his screens around them.
‘What’s happening now?’ she hissed.
Daisy stuck her head back round the curtain. ‘Definitely a bit of a crowd forming.’
‘Not too much, I hope?’
‘Don’t worry – the police seem to have set up some sort of cordon round the performance area.’
And then suddenly Jamie’s caramel voice filled the halls – deep and languid, the signature trace of huskiness in his voice that made women everywhere weaken sounding even richer live, his guitar adding in with the others as the sound was steadily built up in layers to full ripeness.
The cheers and screams began as people realized what was happening.
‘You’d better go. Get in position,’ she hissed to Daisy.
‘All right. See you out there. Remember, second song when it goes into the chorus—’
‘Yes, yes. Now go.’
She stayed behind the curtain, too nervous to stick her head out and risk a glimpse of the excitement out there. She couldn’t chance being seen.
Alone again, the day’s events gripped her with icy fingers. Her emotions felt like walls she kept walking into – huge, immovable slabs of fear and panic. She shook her head, trying to chase them away, at least for the next few minutes. But it was the thought of what was coming after that was making her scared, the next steps . . .
She peeped out. Word had spread and the crowd was growing quickly, the audience singing in time with Jamie. She felt the hairs prickle on the back of her neck at the sound – the band was slick and well rehearsed, experienced and vastly overqualified to be playing in a shopping mall. They were world class.
The first song was over all too quickly and she took a deep breath, trying to remember everything they’d been going over this afternoon. It had been frantic, the atmosphere tense as they tried to cram everything in to the little time they had. It was all very well Caro saying they should go for film clips and not photos, but it took up so much more time, especially when Jamie was being so evasive – Dave had been fielding his calls all day, saying first he was in the studio, then at a boxing lesson, then having lunch with an old friend, and the upshot was that they hadn’t rehearsed together, which may be fine for the seasoned performer, but it wasn’t great for the little CSR team trying to wing it.
She stuck her head round the curtain again. This was it. Not a customer was in the shop – everyone was gathered on the concourse directly outside (it was why they had chosen to change in the cubicles of this store, of course) – and even the staff were standing in their own shop windows, their noses pressed to the glass. She crossed the floor quickly and stood behind a pillar by the door. Not a soul noticed her, not even the few reporters who’d been lucky enough to receive a phone call from Dave twenty minutes ago, giving them the exclusive.
Jamie was singing the first verse of ‘Night Ships,’ his lips close to the mic stand, his hands effortlessly strumming the guitar and his eyes closed. He was dressed down as usual in dark grey jeans and a navy jumper, a crescent of white T-shirt just visible at the neck, but it wouldn’t have mattered what he wore; he still stood out from everyone else – his skin had a lustre to it that came from sleeping in good beds and taking frequent breaks in good climates; his body was fit and sculpted from working one on one with professional trainers. The equation was clear – living the best meant you got to look the best.
She heard the cue to get into position – the break in Jimmy’s rhythm – and she stepped out from her hiding place and ran into the back of the crowd, ducking low and wriggling through the bodies, people too absorbed in Jamie to take any notice of her until she suddenly emerged out at the front and ran into the space that had been created for her by the police cordon, just in front of the band. She struck her first pose just as the guys launched into the chorus, and she began the routine she had been trying to choreograph and master herself all afternoon.
A cheer erupted as the crowd realized what was happening again. All around them, dotted among the strangers, was the rest of the team, even Mike, throwing their shapes in their set positions before slowly making their way towards her, the crowd automatically stepping back to allow them past.
They came together as an ensemble, dipping, spinning and bobbing in unison, the crowd beginning to clap along now, all the cameras coming out and filming them as people realized they were part of today’s skit – a flashmob – and wanting to record it, to say, ‘I was there.’
Amazingly, she remembered every step, even though it had been a huge oversight to rehearse without wearing the costume. Moving around in it was so much harder than it looked. It was so heavy for one thing – i
t must have weighed at least ten kilos – and it was hard to jump around and move nimbly when the ears kept falling in front of her eyes. But she did it.
And it was over too soon, far too soon. The song finished on a roar, Jamie’s arm rotated high in the air as he swung out his guitar with the other, Gus and Jimmy beaming back at the crowd with self-satisfied grins. Everyone was calling for more, an encore, but their job here was done. The police had limited the publicity exercise to two songs only, citing safety concerns if the crowd grew – which it surely would as the minutes ticked past and the word spread. People would be dashing over here, even now, and the police were already struggling to keep people back.
‘Thanks very much, everybody,’ Jamie said into the microphone, eliciting more screams. ‘Happy Christmas!’
He turned and headed to where Dave was standing at the back of the performance area. Security had cleared an exit route through to the fire escape and they had an unimpeded path out. She had already been briefed by Dave to follow after the band and leave with them; unlike the rest of the team, she couldn’t afford to be ‘seen’ afterwards.
She ran after the guys, but the long paws of the suit made it awkward and she fell behind them slightly. She tried to pin her ears back, but they kept falling forwards again.
‘Come on, fat bum!’ Jimmy laughed, glancing behind and finding her trailing. ‘They’ll catch you otherwise.’
‘I’m coming!’ she called, panting as she turned into a fire escape, remembering to thank the security guard holding it open for her. They were in a narrow stairwell of concrete stairs, the treads less than a third of the length of her paws. ‘Oh crap!’ she yelled as she caught sight of them and started trying to climb them sideways.
‘Helicopter’s waiting!’ Dave hollered from two levels above. ‘Hurry up.’
She swore viciously, doing her best, but she’d like to see anyone else go faster, frankly. She established a strange step-hop pattern, almost crying with relief as she got to the top and saw the door onto the roof.
The men were all waiting for her. ‘You ever been in one of these before?’ Dave asked her.
She shook her head, her long ears hitting Gus in the face.
‘You gotta run and get low, OK? God only knows how buoyant you must be in that thing. We don’t want you taking off too.’
Everyone laughed except Jamie. He was staring out through the small, round window in the door, looking at the helicopter, his hands jammed in his pockets.
‘Ready?’
She nodded and gave a thumbs-up sign, just as a door to their right burst open and a man in a beanie and turquoise down-padded North Face jacket ran into the small area.
‘Miss Watson, have you any response to the allegations made about your mother?’
What? She whipped her head round, recoiling from the man as he thrust a digital recorder towards her face. What allegations?
‘What the fuck?’ Dave spat. ‘Oi! Get out of here! You’re not supposed to be up here! This is strictly off limits!’
But the man never took his stare off her, his eyes trying to see beyond the black mesh that kept her a secret. ‘Just a comment, Miss Watson. Why do you think she left? Do you know where she is? Do you even know if she’s alive? Has there been any contact at all?’
She was up against the wall, unable to breathe, to process, to comprehend what he was saying. How could this be happening? How could he possibly know?
No. No.
She had to get out of here. She had to warn—
The man flew backwards suddenly, his feet leaving the ground by a two-foot clearance as he slammed hard against the door he had just come through. Jamie was leaning over him, his arm drawn back, his hand in a fist, his mouth in a snarl so that the reporter cowered on the floor.
Dave grabbed Jamie roughly by the arm, forcibly dragging him away from the reporter. ‘Get in the chopper, Jay!’ he was shouting, trying to get Jamie to look at him, but Jamie wouldn’t take his eyes off the intruder, his chest heaving as he readied for the fight. ‘Get in the fucking chopper, Jay. Now!’ Dave shouted again. ‘I’ll deal with this scumbag, all right?’
Jamie turned, as though hearing him for the first time. His arm dropped.
‘Come on, mate, let’s get out of here,’ Gus said, patting him on the shoulder and forcing him to turn away.
Jamie looked at her, his attention on her now. ‘Get in the helicopter, Nettie.’
She obeyed without question as he opened the door, daylight dazzling them all momentarily before she dipped low and began her lolloping run towards the helicopter landed on the roof.
The rotors were spinning so fast, but still not as fast as her heart. This was a nightmare, the worst possible thing that could have happened, the very thing – the only thing – that had necessitated the need for her anonymity.
Jamie got in the helicopter first, extending an arm and – with a helpful push on her enormous backside from the rest of the band – pulling her in awkwardly after him. She perched on the edge of the seat as Jimmy and Gus followed.
‘I’m afraid that’s the downside of fame,’ Jimmy said sympathetically as he pulled on his safety belt. ‘You know you’ve made it when you get doorstepped like that.’
‘What was he even on about, anyway?’ Gus asked, sitting opposite her.
She stared at him, too stunned to speak.
She felt something on her knee and looked left. Jamie was leaning towards her. ‘You OK?’
She blinked, but he couldn’t see that.
They saw Dave run out from the building, ducking low beneath the rotors, something in his hands. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘That’s what this is all about apparently. Evening Standard have got the scoop, but they’re all running it tomorrow.’
‘What is it?’ Gus asked, reading the newspaper that Dave passed in to them.
‘Look, I’m gonna stay back here and sort things out.’ Dave looked at Jamie. ‘I think you’ve broken his jaw, Jay.’
Jamie tutted and looked away, his own jaw firmly set. She noticed he was rubbing his knuckles.
‘Go back to the hotel and I’ll catch up with you in a bit, all right?’
Jimmy gave him a fist bump and Dave stepped back, sliding the door shut, then ducking low and running out of the draught again, back towards the building.
The pilot was doing his final checks now.
‘Jesus Christ, Nettie – your mum just upped and left?’ Gus spluttered as he read the article. Her eyes stopped at the headline: ‘Tragic Family Secret of Charity Star.’
All the guys looked at her in amazement and pity, Jamie rubbing his face in his hands.
Slowly she reached up and lifted off the bunny head. Her curly, dark hair swung free, settling at her jaw.
‘Jules?’ Gus cried.
‘But where’s Nettie?’ Jamie demanded, sitting back like he’d been slammed there.
Jules looked back at him, looking every bit as stunned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘She’s not answering her calls. I spoke to her at lunch when she got off the train and since then . . . we’ve not been able to get hold of her all afternoon.’ She bit her lip as shock and panic and worry combined. ‘I don’t know what to do, Jamie. It’s not like her to go AWOL like this. I think she’s missing.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The pot-bellied stove glowed orange, the cracking of the coals in its belly like a siren call, keeping her eyes fixed on the flames. Potato soup bubbled on the hob, the golden scent of the bread rolls in the oven beginning to permeate the small cabin.
It was perfectly still beneath them today, the water dark and viscous beneath an ice-glazed veneer, and even the moorhens and ducks weren’t venturing in, roosting instead in their twig- and feather-filled nests on the banks.
Dan came and sat beside her again on the small L-shaped bench. The brown floral covers were worn and bald in places, her hands motionless on Scout’s wiry coat as he slept in
a curl on her lap. ‘Warmer yet?’
Her eyes slid over to him and she tried a smile, but the right muscles wouldn’t work. Nothing would behave as it ought. Not her body, not her instincts. She was at odds with nature today, at odds with herself.
His hand covered hers lightly. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’
She looked at him, willing him to read her mind, to understand what she’d done and not make her have to say the words out loud and give voice to her monstrosity. But he couldn’t. Though he knew her better than almost anyone else, he would never be able to guess or predict or understand what she had done.
He squeezed her hand again. ‘Nets?’
‘I found her.’
The light that darted through his eyes was like a comet, the spark in his muscles making his hand flinch, an automatic impulse as his brain processed the apparent contradiction: good news – and yet she was here.
‘I found her and I ran.’
She watched the shadow in his eyes now, chasing after the light and extinguishing it.
‘Why?’
The question was seemingly simple, but there was no answer. Not that she knew of. ‘I don’t know.’
She remembered again the vision of her mother standing on the other side of the glass – haunted eyes in a thin face, hair that had been hacked with scissors, and the colour of squab, unisex clothes that came from a charity bin. Her mother – and yet not.
Not the mother she remembered laughing at the square’s annual barbecue, tongs in hand and a frilly apron on, not the mother who had sat her on her knee and read her the entire collection of Mallory Towers with a different voice for every character, not the mother who made Christmas puddings for the church fair every Christmas, not the mother whose hair smelt of meadows.
She had expected change, deterioration even, but four years of missingness had corroded more than a daily routine and the woman who’d blinked back at her had been a stranger.
She squeezed her eyes shut, a gasp escaping as a realization hit her. ‘What am I going to tell Dad?’ She looked at him. ‘How do I tell him that I turned my back and left her there?’
