Mark rubbed at his face. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Now it was Ruth’s turn to put out a hand to Mark. He shrugged it off.
‘She never doubted you for a second,’ Ruth said.
Mark pushed his chair back and stood up.
‘Wait, Mark, don’t go just yet. We need to talk about this.’
‘No, we don’t,’ Mark said, and headed for the door.
11
His Peugeot rocked in the wind as he thrust the clutch in at the lights and wrestled the gear stick into first. Gearbox was sticking more and more. The cost of keeping it on the road getting ever higher.
Into Porty High Street, Mark checked the clock on the police station. Five minutes to park and get Nathan. He turned down Bath Street rather than Marlborough Street to save time, then met a Tesco van coming the other way and had to pull in. Come on, for Christ’s sake.
He got to the bottom of the street, no spaces. Into Straiton Place, eventually he found a place almost at Marlborough Street. Locked up and scuttled along the prom in a half-jog. To his right, the coastguard boat was out again, further from shore this time, only a smudge on the horizon. Maybe the whales weren’t doomed after all. Weren’t they supposed to be more intelligent than humans?
A sudden drop in the wind and he heard the school bell ring. He was almost there. Round the corner, out of breath, he joined the gaggle of mums in the playground. The classroom door wasn’t open yet. He bent over and heaved air into his lungs. Too old for this shit.
The 2B door opened. Nathan was always one of the first to leave. Not today. Mark scanned the kids streaming out, a mess of red uniforms, untucked shirts, lunchboxes and bags swinging. It was like opening the doors of the asylum as the playground filled with yammering noise.
Still no Nathan. Mark clenched his fists and took a step forward. Closed his eyes and opened them again. And there he was, last out, trudging, not the usual sprint, his bottom lip tripping him.
‘Hey, Big Guy, what’s up?’
‘Miss Kennedy wants to speak to you.’ Tears were filling his eyes.
Mark went down on his haunches and examined the boy. Gave him a cuddle.
‘It’s OK, don’t worry.’
Nathan hadn’t got into full-on crying, just a sniffle. Mark stood up and took his hand.
‘Come on, let’s go and chat to Miss Kennedy.’
The teacher stood at the classroom door, arms crossed, biting her lip.
‘A quick word,’ she said, then turned to Nathan. ‘Can you wait here for a moment? Thanks.’
Nathan’s head sank, like a robot powering down.
‘Back in a minute,’ Mark said.
Miss Kennedy pulled the door closed. ‘We had a bit of a bad day. Nathan was caught hitting. Twice.’
‘What?’
‘In the classroom. The second time he really clobbered one of the girls at his table.’
‘I don’t understand. That doesn’t sound like him.’
Miss Kennedy unfolded her arms.
‘I know, that’s why I didn’t send him to Mr White’s office.’ She tucked her bob behind her ear. ‘It’s so out of character for Nathan, he’s normally quiet and kind.’
Mark shook his head.
Miss Kennedy tilted her head in sympathy. ‘Is everything OK at home?’
‘What?’
She raised a hand. ‘It’s none of my business, but Nathan mentioned that his mum wasn’t around at the moment?’
It had only been a day and Mark hadn’t told him anything. But the boy knew something. The same way Mark knew everything about Nathan, it worked both ways. Kids can sense it. Tension, stress. Mark had to stay on top of this.
‘She’s just away with work, nothing to worry about.’
‘Oh, I must’ve got the wrong end of the stick,’ Miss Kennedy said. ‘But perhaps you should have a quiet word with him at home, and we’ll both keep an eye on his behaviour for the next wee while. OK?’
She ushered him to leave. He moved towards the door.
‘Thanks, I’ll speak to him.’
She smiled as she opened the door. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, he’s a lovely wee boy.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Nathan glanced up, but kept his chin pointing at the floor. Mark took his hand, felt the little bones under the skin, the delicate knuckle. Gave the hand a squeeze, felt a squeeze back, a signal between them.
Miss Kennedy shut the door.
Mark turned them towards the prom.
‘Let’s get you home.’
Nathan stopped. ‘No, Daddy, it’s Wednesday.’
‘And?’
‘Swimming lesson.’
Mark shook his head. ‘Yeah, of course.’
Nathan’s swimming stuff was already packed into his schoolbag, Mark had made sure of that this morning. Was that just this morning?
They trudged along the prom into the wind, Mark thinking how to approach the subject of hitting. Or whether to approach it at all.
Instead of turning up Marlborough Street they kept walking along the prom to Porty Baths, a Victorian sandstone building with balconies out front and a huge glass roof.
The changing rooms were the usual chaos of kids and mums. Mark found a cubicle and shuffled Nathan inside. He watched as Nathan got undressed then helped him tie up his swimming shorts.
‘So what was that all about today?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The hitting.’
‘It wasn’t my fault, Daddy.’ Already a strain in the boy’s voice. Mark had to cut that off before it escalated.
‘I’m not cross, OK? I just want to know what happened.’
Nathan had his head down. ‘Emma and Lee said nasty things about me.’
‘Like what?’
‘They said I was a baby.’
‘Why did they say that?’
‘Because I’m the youngest in the whole class. And the smallest.’
Mark put his hands on Nathan’s bare arms. So thin Mark could wrap his fingers right the way round easily. He lowered his face to Nathan’s and kept his voice quiet.
‘Don’t you listen to anything Emma and Lee say, OK?’ Paused for a response. Didn’t get one. ‘OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Of course you’re not a baby. But listen. Even if people say bad things about you, you don’t hit, you know that. What should you do?’
‘Tell Miss Kennedy.’ Nathan’s voice monotone, almost comically morose.
‘That’s right, tell Miss Kennedy. You never hit, OK?’
Slight nod of the head. That was the best he was going to get.
Mark helped the boy on with his goggles and they went through to the small pool where the lesson was held.
Mark sat at the side of the pool with the other parents and watched. He was the only dad, the rest mums. He always got looks for that. It was stiflingly humid in here, made your lungs feel heavy and wet just breathing.
Nathan pushed one swimming disc on each arm and got into the pool with the other kids. There were ten in total, some with no discs at all on their arms. The idea was you started with three of these solid foam things on each arm and gradually reduced, a better system than the old armbands. Nathan had been at lessons for years, slow progress, like everything else physical. Still had stabilisers on his bike. The baby of the class. Mark ground his teeth together.
He remembered all the different stages of Nathan with water. At first, not even wanting to put a toe in. Then in the water, but never letting go of Mark. Then after they got over that, he still didn’t want to put his head under or jump in. Not a natural swimmer but he was a trier, he plugged away at things until he got there. Mark respected that.
The boy was scooshing happily across the pool on his back now, head pointing up towards the glass roof, thin clouds scudding above. The instructor’s voice and the splashing bounced off the tiled walls and floor, drowning everything in a wash of white noise.
Mark sank into the noise and zoned out. Before he kn
ew it, the lesson was almost over, Nathan and the rest lined up for the jumping in they always did at the end. Jump in one at a time and swim to the side. Easy. The instructor took Nathan’s remaining discs off. It was always a chance for them to stretch the kids, see how far they could go. But this was the first time Nathan would be in the water with nothing to help him.
Nathan waited his turn then leapt. More of a bellyflop than anything, legs spread. He went under. A couple of seconds’ wait. The vague shimmer of his body under the surface. Two more seconds. The instructor was talking to the next kid, not looking at the pool. Another second. Mark was out his seat, only then realising he’d been holding his breath since Nathan went under. Another moment. Mark could see movement under the water. The instructor turned back. Noticed that Nathan hadn’t surfaced yet. Leaned over the edge of the pool, lowered the long metal pole he was holding. Mark was several strides towards them now, moving fast, almost running. Then Nathan’s head broke the surface, his slick hair, his familiar blue goggles. He was clutching the pole, the instructor dragging it over to the side, helping him. Mark slowed. He could see Nathan was coughing, had swallowed some of the water. But he was OK. He was at the edge of the pool now, clinging on, shuffling sideways towards the steps, ready to come out.
Mark held Nathan’s towel out and wrapped him up in it, squeezing the boy through the folds.
The lesson was over, the other kids traipsing back to their mums.
Mark took Nathan’s goggles off. Rings around his eyes where the rubber had dug in. The boy was grinning.
‘I did it, Daddy, I jumped in with no discs.’
‘I saw. You were brilliant.’
Mark led him back to the changing rooms and dried him off in the cubicle, Nathan talking excitedly.
Mark got the boy’s clothes from the locker and handed them over. He felt something in the pocket of Nathan’s trousers and dug his hand in. Came out with the piece of sea glass. Held it up.
‘I thought you were going to put this with the collection?’
Nathan shrugged. ‘I decided to keep it in my pocket.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to wait and show it to Mummy first, before it goes with the rest.’
The sea glass collection was really Nathan’s and Lauren’s together. One of their joint little things. It was usually Lauren who spotted them, better at searching amongst the finer details of things close at hand. They had a joke that Mark was always staring off into the distance, looking to frame a landscape.
‘Fair enough,’ Mark said. ‘But make sure you don’t lose it.’
He put it back in the trouser pocket and passed the trousers to Nathan.
Nathan pushed his legs in.
‘I can’t wait to tell Mummy I jumped in with no discs. She’s going to be so proud of me.’
12
Back in the flat it was unbearable. He checked every room when they got in, nothing had changed, no sign that she’d been home. He opened the underwear drawer, felt the heft of the gun box at the back, but didn’t take it out.
He called her phone again. He had a routine now, every hour on the hour. His pulse pounded as he listened to it ringing. She wouldn’t answer, but that didn’t stop him tensing every sinew in his body with each ring, then crackly silence, then ring, then crackles, then ring. Same voicemail message. He hung up.
As they’d walked up Marlborough Street he had a similar pounding of hope, checking all the cars. But no black Volkswagen Golf. It was a company car, which got him thinking about his visit to the office. That was only this morning. Seemed like a different universe. He thought about Gavin Taylor. Had Ferguson been to speak to him yet?
He flicked up a picture of Lauren on his phone. Just a snapshot, from a rare night out together, in the tapas place round the corner, one of the girls from Nathan’s old nursery babysitting for a few hours.
He stroked the screen. Zoomed in. Zoomed in again, to the edge of resolution. Moved the focus around, looked at a green eye with flecks of grey through the iris. The split ends on her auburn hair. Thin lips smiling. Lines around the eyes. Years of love in those eyes. Looking at the individual elements of her face, he struggled to get a sense of her. Was she already fading in his mind?
That night in the restaurant they had mostly talked about Nathan, unable to remember what they did with their time before he arrived. That was before they had baby number two coming. They had quite a bit of red wine, both of them unable to drink like they used to, out of practice and bone-tired from parenthood in a way Mark could never have imagined when he was younger.
They’d also talked about Lauren’s work that night. He tried to remember. But the truth was he only half listened when she did shoptalk. She had the usual gripes about colleagues, nothing serious. Just letting off steam. He tried to think what she’d been like before yesterday, before she was gone. What had they last talked about? Was she worried about something?
He screwed his eyes tight and actually rubbed at his temples, like a cheap showbiz mind reader.
He opened his eyes and checked the time. Had an idea.
Went through to the living room, where Nathan was plugged into Horrid Henry on CITV.
‘Come on, we’re going out.’
‘Aw, I’m watching telly.’
‘You can play your DS in the car.’
That knocked him into shape. The telly was off in a moment and he was trotting behind Mark towards the door.
‘Where are we going?’
They were at the door when Mark thought of something. ‘Hang on.’
He went to Nathan’s room and opened the cupboard door. A pile of toys stacked up in a heap on top of a set of drawers full of more of the boy’s junk. He pulled open the first drawer, knew what he was looking for and found it straight away. Nathan’s Star Wars binoculars. Or ‘optical command unit’ as they were officially called. The kind Luke uses in the first film to search for R2-D2. A favourite from a year ago. Nathan used to sleep with them under his pillow. As Mark remembered it, they were actually half-decent binoculars. He stuck them in his pocket and headed for the door.
13
He stopped on a double yellow line two hundred yards down the road from the office, handbrake on, engine off. The sounds of rush-hour traffic trundling across the cobbles, the wind making the car squeak and rattle, lightsaber and blaster noises coming from Nathan’s DS. The boy hadn’t lifted his head the entire journey. It had taken Mark longer than expected from Porty, a busier time of day than before.
He focused the toy binoculars on the Caledonia Dreaming front door, then looked at his phone. Ten to five. While he had his phone out, he checked Lauren’s Facebook and Twitter again. Nothing. It already had the air of a ritual, something in the phoning and the checking, attempting to conjure her back into their lives with the routine of it.
Nathan hadn’t even noticed they’d stopped. Mark stared at him in the back seat, the boy’s head down, thumbs flicking over the DS controls.
‘What level are you on?’ Mark said.
Nathan talked for a full two minutes without seemingly taking a breath or lifting his head, his thumbs still jerking around. Mark had little idea what any of it meant, occasionally catching a name like ‘General Grievous’ or ‘Mace Windu’. But he just enjoyed drowning in the sound of the boy’s voice, his simple enthusiasm for an alien universe.
Mark trained the binoculars back on the office and spotted the young receptionist leaving, battling into the wind as she tried to look cool in big red heels. She walked up the hill towards George Street. Mark got a good view of her as she walked, the binoculars were not too bad at all.
A few minutes later Taylor was in the doorway, punching numbers into a security alarm, then pulling the heavy door closed and turning the chunky mortice.
He walked fifty yards to a silver Lexus saloon and got in. Mark threw the binoculars on the passenger seat and started the engine. The Lexus pulled out and Mark did likewise, following him up to Queen Street then turning.
>
Mark tried to keep him in view, but was held up by the relentless roadworks. Eventually he was clear on Lothian Road and spotted the Lexus up ahead, then into Tollcross, round the Meadows and through Marchmont towards the Grange. On to Oswald Road and the Lexus turned into the driveway of a large villa, black stone recently cleaned and pointed. Hefty wooden kids’ swing and slide set in the front garden. Mark pulled over some way back up the street and killed the engine.
He watched as Taylor locked the car, went up the steps and in the front door. Saw him call out hellos as he closed the door behind him.
Mark decided to wait for ten minutes, so it wouldn’t seem like he’d been following him. Maybe. He spent the time scanning the house and garden with the binoculars, examining the stonework and the expensive curtains.
Eventually he turned to Nathan. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, OK?’
Nathan raised his head. ‘Where are we?’
‘I just have to go and talk to a friend for a second.’
‘Do I have to come?’ Reluctant to leave the game.
‘No, just wait here, I’ll be back in a bit.’
‘OK.’
More lightsaber swishes, a few bars of the Star Wars theme in the background, tinny and grating.
Mark left the car and walked up the drive. Glanced back at Nathan, head down. He went up the steps and stood at the entrance. Etched glass in the door, a picture of ducks on water. Probably Blackford Pond round the corner. Clearly the property business was treating Taylor very well indeed. Much better than Lauren anyway.
Mark rang the doorbell.
A girl opened the door. She was a couple of years older than Nathan, in a Heriot’s uniform, hair in plaits.
‘Yes?’
‘Is your daddy home?’
The girl turned. ‘Dad?’
She was too old for ‘Daddy’. Mark wondered when that would happen to Nathan.
The girl disappeared and Taylor arrived at the door.
Gone Again Page 6
