by Sam Hayes
Robert took the stairs two at a time and went into Erin’s study to retrieve the box containing the letters from Baxter King. He needed to take a closer look at their correspondence. But the box was gone. Erin had taken it with her.
While waiting for Louisa, Robert trawled through his wife’s computer files again but found nothing relevant. He rummaged through papers lying on the desk, work that Erin had brought home from the shop, but again it revealed nothing. He wondered about the shop – would Erin be opening up as usual? Would she take Ruby to school? He hoped that she would keep routine as normal as possible for Ruby’s sake and he decided to visit the shop after Louisa had begun work.
Forty minutes later, when Louisa still hadn’t arrived and he had exhausted the possibilities in Erin’s study, Robert stopped on the landing outside Ruby’s slightly open bedroom door. Saddened by its emptiness, he went in and flopped down on her bed.
‘Erin, Erin,’ he sighed, pummelling his tired eyes. He breathed in the soft scent of Ruby’s sweet body spray and smiled at the tatty layers of rock star, actor and cute animal posters covering her walls, showing that she was indeed on the cusp of little girl and young woman.
Robert stared up at the ceiling. From this angle, he had never noticed what a jewelled universe of sparkles and trinkets and treasure Ruby had created in her room. From every point on Ruby’s ceiling there hung a glittering mobile, each one twirling in its own fantastic current. He recalled fighting one or two of the things off his head when he came in to say goodnight but, lying on the bed staring up into the cosmos they formed, Robert could see why Ruby collected them. They were magical. An escape – perhaps to that other place Ruby always seemed to be.
One mobile in particular caught Robert’s attention. It was made up predominantly from quartz crystal, maybe twenty or thirty chunks arranged like a decadent chandelier hanging heavily above the bed. But dropping from the centre and virtually concealed by the crystal when viewed sideways, was something gold and oval, something fat and tarnished like an overripe fruit begging to be picked.
Robert stood up to take a closer look. He was desperate for any snippet of information, anything to offer Louisa so she could begin the hunt. Protected by the surrounding crystal, Robert could see that the gold nugget shape was in fact a large locket. It was hanging by its chain from the centre of the mobile and was nothing more than cheap carroty gold and clearly not part of the original decoration at all.
Carefully, he unhooked the chain and locket. He turned it over in his palms, realising that it hadn’t been touched in a long while because it was coated with dust and fine, stringy cobwebs. It was hinged on one side and Robert dug his fingernail between the two halves to prise it open. The ornately engraved front of the locket was slightly dented, making it difficult to release but when it finally gave, a faded black and white portrait photograph of a young woman with her hair neatly curling from beneath a fur hat was revealed. Her neck disappeared inside a large fur collar and the background of the picture was nothing more than blurred fuzz. Robert guessed the picture to be from the nineteen forties but he couldn’t be sure. He also couldn’t be sure of the woman’s age although he reckoned she was no more than twenty-five.
Robert slid the photograph out of the locket. It had no doubt been there for many decades and was brittle at the edges. He turned the picture over and saw old-fashioned handwriting. He squinted at the dull ink and virtually illegible words.
‘Babka Wystrach,’ he read slowly, not knowing if he had pronounced the unusual name correctly. The tiny script was in blue-black ink and very faded. He looked back at the young woman. She was smiling but appeared nervous, a little crease between her eyebrows making her seem unsure about something.
Robert replaced the photograph and snapped the locket shut. He slipped it in his back pocket and went downstairs, glancing out into the street to check for Louisa before telephoning Greywood College. The secretary advised him that Ruby’s class register had been returned to the office with his daughter marked as absent. Robert apologised and excused his stepdaughter from school with a stomach bug.
He sighed, dropping down onto a kitchen chair. As he dialled the number of Fresh As A Daisy, he saw a couple of dirty plates and a saucepan left by the kitchen sink – remnants of Erin and Ruby’s last supper. If it hadn’t been for their missing possessions, he would have worried that they’d been in an accident. If it hadn’t been for his paranoia, Ruby would be at school and Erin at the shop.
The number rang out. Erin hadn’t opened up. Knowing the result before he tried, Robert called her mobile number, followed by Ruby’s. Both times he was diverted to their voicemail services. He didn’t bother leaving messages.
‘Oh dear,’ Louisa said as she strode into the kitchen and booted up her laptop on the table. She scanned the dirty plates and overflowing rubbish bin. ‘You might want to think about hiring a cleaner.’
Robert ignored her remark and poured her a black coffee, remembering she didn’t take milk. ‘I found this in Ruby’s room this morning. It may be of some use.’ He slid the locket across the table, along with her coffee.
‘Don’t you have anything herbal? Peppermint or chamomile? ’
Robert shook his head. He wasn’t paying her to be fussy. ‘Open the locket. There’s a name inside.’
‘One thing at a time, Rob.’ Louisa leaned forward, the effect emphasising her slow deliberate words. ‘Right . . .’ She bit her gloss-slicked bottom lip as she pulled up a newly received email. ‘It’s from the agency.’ Robert leaned over her shoulder, resting his hands on the table as she tapped the mouse pad. He held his breath, reading the message as fast as he could.
‘“Search status failed. No documents attached.” What does that mean?’ He knew exactly what it meant but wanted Louisa to confirm it.
‘That’s not what I expected,’ Louisa whispered as if Robert wasn’t there. ‘Surely they’ve messed this one up.’ A quick phone call to the agency confirmed that indeed they hadn’t been able to procure a birth certificate for Ruby using very broad search criteria, which should have turned up at least one person named Ruby Lucas. Louisa pulled a face. ‘And Erin convinced you that Ruby was definitely registered under the name Lucas?’
‘Without doubt,’ he replied, remembering how he’d finally pulled the information from her. He dragged out the adjacent chair, careful not to allow his thigh to touch Louisa’s as they both stared at the laptop monitor as if it might suddenly explode with answers.
‘Well, I don’t understand then, Rob—’
‘It’s obvious. Erin didn’t think it necessary to register her daughter’s birth, the product of quick, paid-for sex,’ Robert interrupted. ‘Perhaps she was even going to give her up for adoption but couldn’t be bothered with the nuisance paperwork. ’
Louisa sipped her coffee. ‘Let’s think about this, Rob.’ But her mobile phone rang and, after a glance at the caller display, she hesitantly took the call. ‘Hey,’ she said and then listened. ‘I can’t. I’m working.’ She listened again. ‘Another few days at least.’ A breath verging on a sigh. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Bye.’ She snapped the phone shut and continued the conversation with Robert as if the call had never happened. ‘Let’s think about this carefully, Rob—’
‘Was that Willem?’
‘Yes.’ The single word dragged into a thousand.
‘You didn’t sound very pleased to hear from him.’
‘He wants me to come home.’
‘That’s reasonable.’ Robert thought how much he wanted Erin and Ruby home.
‘The main issue isn’t the birth certificate any more, is it? It’s about Erin’s shady past, right?’ Louisa refused to speak of Willem further.
Robert allowed his leg to relax and it accidentally nudged Louisa’s. She was wearing loose black trousers that clung to her runner’s thighs and rode up just enough for Robert to catch sight of her ankle and the silver chain round it.
‘Yes,’ he replied, not really thinking about his re
ply. As much as he needed to discuss Erin, Louisa’s avoidance of her husband had intrigued him. ‘But don’t you want to go home?’
Louisa sighed. ‘I’m working. For you. When this job is wrapped up, I will go home to Willem.’ Her voice snagged on something in her throat as she said her husband’s name. Robert noticed. ‘Although I’m not sure what it is exactly that you want me to do.’ She smiled but perhaps didn’t mean it.
‘You can find out who this woman is, for a start.’ He tapped the locket on the table. Louisa turned it over and then popped it open. Like Robert had done, she removed the photograph. ‘Then you can get one of your clever agency folk to dismantle Erin’s computer and dredge the depths of the hard drive for deleted information. Apparently, it’s all recoverable.’
‘Rob, don’t you think that’s going a bit far? Isn’t that a bit too much like last time?’ She flipped the photograph over. ‘Unusual name,’ she commented. ‘No doubt I can find something out about her. Give me a day to do some research.’
Robert nodded. He wasn’t convinced about the computer though. ‘Feel free to use my house as a base for internet and, well, whatever. I can give you a key.’
‘Thanks. Do you mind if I take a look in Erin’s office?’
‘Help yourself. She’s taken the juicy stuff with her but I can give you Baxter King’s details, the man who told me . . . you know.’
‘Chances are she’ll be home before it’s dark. And then where will you be, Robert Knight, having to explain away another woman in your house?’ Louisa’s face split into a grin worthy of a beauty pageant. ‘Now go to work or something and let me get on. I will not allow you to drown in all of this.’
But Robert realised he was drowning and stood staring at nothing in particular as Louisa tapped at the computer as if he wasn’t there.
NINETEEN
It occurred to Robert that he should notify the police about Erin and Ruby’s disappearance. But police were for crimes and whichever way he looked at it, Erin hadn’t actually done anything wrong – not provable in the eyes of the law, anyway, and leaving your husband for being paranoid was not a police matter. Erin had gone freely, taking her belongings with her. The police would laugh and pack him on his way.
Robert took a taxi to Den’s house to pick up his car then drove to Fresh As A Daisy. He carried a spare key and let himself in, hoping that Erin hadn’t changed the alarm code. She hadn’t. The shop was surprisingly dark without its carefully chosen lighting switched on and the air smelled of sugary pollen and stale flower water.
The rain had worsened and the drive to the shop had been slow and expectant, like the clouds that shifted heavily over London. He gained some comfort that capable Louisa was moving things forward but a further layer of guilt clouded his world as he thought of her dry and safe in his home, while Erin and Ruby could be anywhere in the world.
Robert peered up at the fully laden sky through the large front window of the flower shop. He wondered if Erin could see the storm too. Had she noticed the horizontal streaks of lightning that blazed across the horizon? Was she running through the streets, Ruby tagging behind her, both of them soaking and homeless? Robert thumped the plate-glass window and the low resonating sound coincided with a bright flash in the sky.
‘Damn you, Erin Knight!’ A knot of pain tightened his heart. It was only because he loved her.
Not knowing what else to do, or trusting himself enough to tackle the cases at the office, Robert set about freshening up the flowers. He had a rough idea of what the stock cost and to allow the twenty or so buckets of blooms to perish would be a pricey mistake. He hoped Erin might somehow sense that he was tending to her flowers in her absence, or pick up on the thread of love that really, even with what he knew about her past, had not been totally severed.
Being in love with Erin, as he had been from the minute he first saw her, was as critical as tending to a rare flower, Robert realised as he carefully removed a dozen saffron and cerise orchids from a bucket. He felt as if he was holding a selection of beautiful women, all dressed in exotic silk saris, bowing their heads as he laid them down. He went into the back room and tipped away the stale water, filled up with fresh water and rearranged the stems. This he did for every bucket of flowers and then he methodically sprayed all the arrangements and picked out the wilted heads from the window display. As he worked, several customers rattled the door of the shop but Robert had left it locked with the ‘Closed’ sign showing.
When he was finished, he sat down behind the counter, pushed back in Erin’s chair, and wished he had a cigarette, feeling as empty as he ever had.
Robert kicked the tyre and left the car where it was when he saw the ticket tucked under the wiper blade. He walked without knowing where he was going and ended up in a pub drinking bourbon and, after he pushed a few coins into the machine, he was chain-smoking Marlboro. He hadn’t bought a pack since he’d quit when he met Erin and greedily and self-destructively he enjoyed the heady rush of a novice smoker. For another couple of hours he sat alone, silently protesting against everything he had thought was stable in his life but was, in actual fact the complete opposite.
When he left the pub, Robert didn’t notice the continuing rain. It was only when he wiped his hand over his drink-numbed face and it came away soaking that he realised he was drenched. The streets around him felt like those on a map – removed, unfamiliar, as if he wasn’t really there. He wandered around with nowhere particular to go. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin and he was fleetingly reminded of confronting Erin in the shower, fully clothed, fully aware he was driving her away.
He lit another cigarette, the first drag releasing another dose of the bitterness that he’d kept locked up since he’d visited Brighton and learned the truth about Erin. But it was a blurred view of how he felt, an anaesthetised and swirling picture devoid of sensible thoughts that caused him, in his drunken state, to decide to call Baxter King and demand that he tell him everything that he knew about Erin’s past.
With half a dozen shots of whisky searing his mind, he huddled in an empty shop doorway and fished in his pocket for his mobile phone. It wasn’t there. After cursing and kicking the wall, it slowly dawned on him that he must have left it in the pub but when he tried to find the pub again, he couldn’t. He’d walked for ages in an unfamiliar area and hadn’t a clue how to retrace his meandering steps. But he still had his wallet and searched for a public telephone box.
Inside the silent, urine-marinated cubicle, Robert was relieved that at least he was out of the rain. His wet clothes and irregular breathing soon fogged up the glass. He picked up the sticky receiver in order to call directory inquiries but stopped suddenly when he saw half a dozen pink, red and black business cards pinned above the telephone.
Red Hot Massage . . . Steamy Sauna with Kinky Nurse . . . Dominatrix . . . Foreign Girls . . . Blonde Girls . . . Busty Girls . . .Young Girls . . .
Robert’s sight blurred as he read the grubby advertisements. Some of the cards had pictures of girls who didn’t look much older than Ruby. He randomly plucked one off the booth and his eyes filled with grit as he saw the over-made-up face of a woman, older than the others, advertising her body for sale. Her image morphed into Erin’s smiling fresh face on their wedding day.
‘Helena,’ he whispered, ‘will massage your troubles away in a private room.’ Despite the provocative pose and thick lines of theatrical make-up, Helena was an attractive woman with a shapely body and nipples that pointed at her telephone number.
Without knowing what he was doing, without any sense of reality remaining because it had all been washed away by the drink, Robert dialled Helena’s number. All he knew was that he needed someone, anyone, to provide answers and expunge him of his misery. Helena, he thought, could be the woman.
Robert found a cab and gave the driver Helena’s address. She’d sounded pleasant enough on the telephone and keen to have his business. Robert couldn’t wait to meet her although his reasons for their union
were very different to Helena’s. She was out to make money; he was looking for explanations.
On the journey there, he pictured the woman stripping and slipping between satin sheets in her boudoir, spraying herself with vanilla and musk to tantalise his senses, preparing herself to satisfy her client’s needs – as Erin would have done hundreds of times. The only thing Robert had in common with Helena’s punters was desperation.
‘Thirteen quid, mate.’ The driver pulled up next to a row of terraced houses and opened the glass screen. Robert paid and stepped out into the rain. He tentatively walked up to Helena’s house and rang the bell. Already he felt dirty.
The front curtains of the house were closed even though it was the afternoon and the doorstep was strewn with litter and dog-ends. He’d sobered up a little during the cab ride but not enough to make him back out. He was prepared to find out about Erin any way he could.
Robert mussed his fingers through his damp hair and remembered his stubble. He knew he looked a mess but it hardly mattered. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. The door opened and he was greeted by a woman wearing a man’s navy towelling robe.
‘Robert Knight?’ she asked. Her voice was rough and deep. She held a cigarette down by her thigh. Robert nodded. ‘Better come in then.’ She wasn’t the woman in the photograph. She couldn’t be Helena.
He followed her upstairs, unable to see much of the surroundings because of the poor light but he could smell beer and heard a football match on the television downstairs. ‘In here,’ the woman said, allowing Robert to enter the bedroom first.
