‘What are you doing here?’ He stepped outside and pulled the door behind him.
‘I just wondered if you’d heard anything from Lauren.’
Taylor stared at him. ‘Why are you at my home?’
‘I need to find Lauren. Have you heard anything?’
Taylor pointed a stubby finger at Mark’s chest. ‘You need to get a grip of yourself. You can’t go pestering people like this.’
‘There’s no law against it.’
‘There is, it’s called stalking.’
‘I need to find her.’
‘I don’t know anything more than I told you this morning. Oh, and thanks for sending the police to the office as well.’
‘It’s routine in missing person cases.’
Taylor shook his head. ‘She’s only been gone a day. Maybe she just needed time away from your paranoia.’
Mark could hear kids shouting and giggling inside, clumpy footsteps on solid stairs.
‘Nice family you’ve got,’ he said.
Taylor was backing into the house. ‘Go home, Mark. And don’t come to my house again.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
Taylor had the door half shut. ‘Just go.’
The door closed. Mark stared at the etched glass and imagined how easy it would be to get a stone and smash the window.
14
It wasn’t a bath night, but he hustled Nathan into the tub anyway. Anything to keep occupied. Little ducks and submarines, a drinking straw they took turns with, seeing how big a bubble they could make. Nathan had carefully placed the sea glass on the edge of the bath.
The boy had already asked about Lauren, of course. Mark said she was away working for a few days. It had happened once or twice before, conferences or properties at the other end of the country to visit, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch. Nathan wanted to know why she hadn’t called, though. She always called before bedtime. Maybe her phone needed charging up, another familiar scenario, she was always forgetting. With each little lie, he felt the universe closing in on him, the wind outside trying to make him pay for what he said by pushing their windows in.
‘How’s your tooth?’ he said.
Nathan put a hand to his mouth, gave a shoogle. His eyes widened and became watery as he pulled his fist away with a tiny milk tooth in it. Blood was pooling on his tongue and dripping off his lip into the bathwater. He made a gurgling sound. There was a lot of blood. Why the hell was it bleeding? Surely they just came out no problem, didn’t they?
Mark grabbed some toilet roll and spun a wad into his hand, holding it against Nathan’s mouth. The boy’s eyes were blazing with surprise.
‘Daddy?’ he said through the paper. ‘Why’s it bleeding?’
‘It’s fine.’ Mark folded the blood-soaked side of the paper under and reapplied the wad. ‘It’ll stop in a second. Sometimes baby teeth bleed a little when they come out.’
Nathan shrugged. Matter-of-fact. Still young enough to take what Mark told him on trust.
The bleeding had reduced to a trickle already, and Mark dabbed the paper against the gum and lip, mopping up what was left. The bathwater had a few swirls of red amongst the bubbles, little threads of life through the soap.
He checked the bleeding had stopped. Nathan was still holding the tiny tooth like a diamond between thumb and forefinger.
‘How much do you think the tooth fairy will give me for it?’
Mark sucked his tongue. ‘Well, it’s a cracker, so quite a lot.’
He had no idea what the going rate was, this was Nathan’s first and he didn’t have any comparison.
Nathan scrambled out of the bath, still clutching the tooth, and Mark began drying him. The boy could do it himself, but Mark wanted to. He ran his eyes over Nathan’s body. There was something unbearably pure and beautiful about it, the skinny ribs, the slender limbs. His knees and shins were covered in bruises, Nathan had the typical little-boy tactic of running until he hit something. Looked like abuse if you didn’t know better. Mark rubbed him dry then patted his bum.
‘Go get your jammies on, Big Guy.’
Mark stood with the damp towel against his face for a minute, imagining being suffocated, then got Nathan’s toothbrush ready and went through to his bedroom.
The boy was already in bed with his tooth in one hand and the piece of sea glass in the other. Like a witch doctor with a pair of ancient talismans. The Cat in the Hat was lying on his lap.
Mark handed over the toothbrush.
‘Just gently, and leave the front, no point making it bleed again.’
Nathan was buzzing with excitement about the tooth. ‘Just wait till I tell Ahmed tomorrow. Did you know, Daddy, Ahmed got two pounds for his tooth last week.’
At least Mark knew the going rate now. He wondered if he had two quid in change in the house. Might have to take it out of Nathan’s piggy bank once he was asleep.
Nathan finished brushing and put the tooth under his pillow. He kept hold of the sea glass. Mark started reading the book. Nathan was almost too old for Dr Seuss, but Mark was glad he still liked it. There was no gender-divide bullshit with these books, so different from modern kids’ stuff. And what was the moral of The Cat in the Hat? Let chaos into your life, embrace it, and everything will be all right in the end. And remember to keep it all a secret from your parents. Great.
He tucked Nathan in and left the bedside light on.
‘I can’t wait to tell Mummy about the tooth,’ Nathan said.
Mark put on a smile and left the room.
What now?
He got a beer from the fridge, slugged it. Sat down at the laptop and decided to bite the bullet. He posted up on Facebook and Twitter that Lauren was missing. He hadn’t wanted to do that in the beginning, but there seemed no alternative now. Got a couple of quick comments on Facebook from people offering generic support, nothing useful. A few retweets on Twitter, nothing else.
He spent the next three hours searching ‘Lauren Bell’ in Google and other search engines, different variations and combinations. Nothing new in the last few weeks, just lots of old shit.
It didn’t make him feel any better, but at least he was doing something. The only other thing he could think of to do was to go into the streets and look for her himself. But he had Nathan in the next room, that wasn’t an option.
So where did that leave him? Exactly where he was when she hadn’t turned up at Towerbank yesterday. Only yesterday. Seemed like weeks ago.
He stuck on the television as he sucked on his third beer. All the same old stuff. Channels were still broadcasting, the world still turning, but Lauren was gone. He felt rage build up in him, at her for disappearing, at the world for not giving a shit, at Nathan for blindly believing his lies about everything.
He remembered about the tooth fairy and went through to the kitchen. Found a two-pound coin in the drawer where they sometimes threw their change. Lucky. Snuck into Nathan’s room and switched it for the tooth. It was tiny, didn’t look any use for biting or chewing or anything. What was he supposed to do with it now? What did you do with your kids’ baby teeth? He should probably keep it somewhere safe. Another thing Lauren would know about.
He slipped the tooth into his pocket, pulled Nathan’s covers over his bare arms and stood watching him for a while. Fast, shallow breathing, like a puppy. Pale skin, almost grey in the half-light. A slight smell came off him, every night the same, something vaguely feral. Earthy. Not at all unpleasant.
Mark needed a piss and went to the toilet. The bathwater was still in the tub, cloudy with soap and dirt and slightly pink from Nathan’s blood. Mark reached over and pulled the plug, collecting all the bath toys up. He picked a towel off the floor and hung it up. He noticed three spots of blood on it, then looked at the floor. Several more dark droplets glistening on the laminate. Nathan’s mouth must’ve bled longer than he realised.
He thought of when Lauren’s waters broke, blood spotting amongst the splash on the kitchen floor,
her pants soaked through. He remembered the drive to hospital, over the high road past Craigmillar Castle to ERI, then the long wait, Lauren’s pain in sweeping waves, his inability to help, his feelings of rage and impotence at what she was going through.
It wasn’t an easy birth. Twenty-seven hours of labour, contractions stopping and starting, Lauren gradually getting ground down by it, weaker and weaker as she got more exhausted from the whole ordeal. Then, just as they were talking about a C-section, the contractions kicked up a notch and it was happening, Mark sidelined as the midwives did their thing, Lauren’s face plastered with sweat and anguish and a raw panic he’d never seen in her before.
Nathan was a healthy size and breathing but Lauren was in trouble. She wouldn’t stop bleeding afterwards. The midwives gave up looking calm and a doctor was called. The baby was handed to Mark to keep them both out the way, the focus on Lauren. The doctor and three midwives were all talking at once. The doctor injected something into Lauren’s leg then began pushing at her abdomen. That couldn’t be good. One of the midwives said that anything over 500 ml was technically a haemorrhage. Lauren had lost a litre and a half of blood, soaking red paper towels piling up in a corner of the room. Lauren’s painkillers kicked in and she looked semi-catatonic as Mark watched, the panic in him now, feeling the tiny weight of Nathan in his arms as everyone fussed over the lower half of Lauren’s body. Mark heard the doctor mention the possibility of surgery. Someone else arrived with blood packs and hooked up Lauren’s arm for transfusion.
But then somehow, gradually, the bleeding subsided. The staff stepped down from high alert and the doctor said some reassuring words to him and Lauren, none of which they could remember afterwards. It wasn’t even clear what the problem had been, and they never thought to ask, so relieved that they were all still in one piece, with their new baby gurgling away, scrunching up his nose and waving his fists at the world.
The same boy who, now, was growing up and losing his baby teeth.
Mark got the tooth out his pocket and gave it a rub. Was that lucky? Was that a thing, to rub a milk tooth and make a wish? He thought about the baby inside Lauren right now. He made a wish anyway, lucky or not.
He walked back to the living room and checked the laptop. Nothing had changed online.
The late-night news was on the television. He wanted to see a big picture of Lauren appear, one of the ones he’d emailed to Ferguson earlier. He thought about phoning her, her mobile number was on the card in his pocket, but it was already after midnight.
Some footage from Porty beach came on the television. Mark turned the volume up. The voiceover said the pod of pilot whales were making their way to the mouth of the Forth, heading for open water. It looked like they were going to be safe. All that worry and effort over nothing. The whales had decided not to kill themselves. The voiceover said the coastguard was remaining cautious, though, until the whales were completely out to sea.
Mark closed his eyes and imagined being out there with them, slinking through the freezing North Sea, blue-green swells like a blanket around him.
15
He was woken by screaming. He bolted off the sofa and scrambled through to Nathan’s room, where the boy was thrashing around on top of his covers, wailing like a baby and holding his hands out as if trying to ward off evil spirits. It was like he was having a fit, but then his eyes shot open and the screaming turned to plain crying.
Mark sat on the edge of the bed, buffeted by Nathan’s still flailing legs.
‘Shhh, it’s OK, Big Guy.’ He kept his voice low, stroked the boy’s head and held his shoulders. ‘You just had a bad dream. It’s OK, nothing to be afraid of. Daddy’s here, OK? Daddy’s here.’
The crying reduced to a whimper, but Nathan’s breath was still catching in his chest, and he stuttered as he tried to breathe, shudders passing through his body as he stopped kicking out and his body slackened.
Mark pulled him into a tight cuddle and made soft, reassuring noises, like trying to calm an animal caught in a trap.
He fought the urge to ask about the bad dream. He wanted to know what it was about, but what good would it do to bring it up? He felt his own chest heave a few times as he clutched at the boy’s back, trying to keep his own nightmares at bay.
He let Nathan go, and the boy sat up. Mark handed him a tissue and he wiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks, then blew his nose, sniffing afterwards half a dozen times. He seemed ultra-awake now, aware of the details of his surroundings. Mark checked the bedside clock, quarter to two.
‘Can I sleep in your bed, Daddy?’
‘You’re a bit old for that.’ Lauren had always indulged him more on that front, but he hadn’t been into their bed in over a year.
‘Please.’
What the hell did it matter? Plenty of room in the marital bed tonight anyway.
‘Sure, why not.’
Nathan trotted down the hall, dragging a ragged old teddy by the leg. By the time Mark was in the room, Nathan was already tucked in and lying on his side, watching as Mark undressed to his shorts and T-shirt.
He got under the covers and spooned the boy, who made a little contented snuffle. Mark felt the sharpness of the boy’s corners, his growing bones jutting out all over the place. Compared it to Lauren’s curves, couldn’t help himself.
Nathan turned his head. ‘Daddy, is Mummy going to be home soon?’ His voice was sleepy.
‘Shhh, don’t worry about that. Just go back to sleep.’
‘She left us before, didn’t she?’
‘What?’
‘She left us one time before.’
Mark propped his head up on his elbow to look at Nathan’s face, but the boy was lying with his eyes closed.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Mummy told me.’
‘When was this?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Mark put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. ‘Nathan, this might be important. Was it recently?’
Nathan’s eyes were open now, and he frowned.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Try to remember.’
He began to look distressed, a little furrow across his brow. ‘I don’t know. Not too long ago, I think.’
Mark ran a hand through the boy’s hair. ‘OK, Big Guy, forget about it just now.’
Nathan lowered his head on to Lauren’s pillow. ‘So has she left us again, Daddy?’
Mark waited a long time before speaking, feeling his breath, his chest rising and falling, pushing against Nathan’s spine. He stroked at the boy’s forehead and temple.
‘Just go to sleep.’
16
He was trapped inside a whale’s stomach, the acid in its belly eating away at his skin and flesh until he was just a skeleton smeared with the remains of his own body. Strange thing was, it didn’t hurt.
Then there was a noise. He snapped awake. Years of listening out for Nathan in the night had trained him to sleep lightly. His hand shot out to Nathan, who was lying at a wonky angle across Lauren’s side of the bed. The boy was still asleep, chest rising and falling, mouth slack.
Greyness seeped through the curtains in the pre-dawn.
Another noise. From the living room. He recognised the sound, it was a drawer of the desk being opened.
Lauren was home.
His heart thudded against his ribs as he threw off the covers, stumbled out the door and down the hall. He heard a couple of footsteps as he sped past the front door, slightly ajar. He was at the living-room doorway, thinking what to say to her, how to get across the tumbling relief and anger, when he stopped.
At the desk was a large man dressed in a dark hoodie pulled tight over his head, torch in one hand. Paperwork from open drawers was scattered across the floor and the guy was hunting through the last drawer.
Mark couldn’t think what to do or say for a moment.
The man turned. He pointed the torch at Mark’s face so that Mark couldn’t make anything out. Mark raised a ha
nd to shield his eyes and caught a glimpse of the man lifting the laptop out of the bottom drawer. Before Mark had a chance to think, the man was at the doorway. Mark saw a flash as the torch connected with his head. A hammer of pain across his temple and tears sprang to his eyes. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself, and the man shoved past him and out, down the hall and through the front door.
Mark fell to his knees. He felt sick. His legs shook and he blinked back tears. He lifted a hand to his head and it came away bloody. Just a trickle. Shards of pain shot through his head and down his right arm. He’d only been hit once, but it hurt like hell. He could feel a thread of blood running down the side of his face from a cut just above his right eye.
He heaved himself to his feet and went to the bathroom, put the light on and looked at the cut. Hardly anything. He dabbed at it with some toilet roll and wiped his tears away.
‘Is that blood, Daddy?’
He knocked over a cup of toothbrushes that clattered into the bath, the noise shocking in the tiny space.
Nathan was standing at the doorway.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘I just had a wee accident. Nothing to worry about.’
His hand shook as he raised it to the cut. He ushered the boy out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom.
‘Go back to sleep.’
‘But I’m not tired now.’
‘Just get into bed.’ His voice was louder than it needed to be as he nudged Nathan towards the door.
‘Ow,’ Nathan said. ‘That hurt.’
Mark sighed. ‘Just please go back to bed.’
‘But I want to stay up with you.’
‘I’ll be through in a minute. If you don’t get more sleep, you won’t have enough energy for school.’
Nathan stopped in the hall. ‘I don’t think I’ll be well enough for school, Daddy. I have a sore tummy. I feel sick.’
Mark’s own stomach was churning.
‘Never mind that, just do as you’re told. I’ll be through in a minute. I have to do something first.’
‘What?’
Gone Again Page 7
