by Louise Voss
He softened a little. ‘Sorry. I’m just so worried about him.’
‘Me too.’ I put a hand on his arm and he gave me a tight-lipped smile.
‘That’s done, I think,’ he said, putting a lid on the rice. ‘Let’s sit soft.’
Ed hated that expression almost as much as he hated ‘up London’ and ‘at the end of the day.’ Ben obviously remembered this at the same time and half laughed, half sobbed.
I smiled, too. ‘I won’t tell him you said that.’
We went through to the living room and sat at either end of Ben’s enormous grey L-shaped sofa. It was dark outside but the curtains were open and the lights from the cranes on the nearby building site were almost pretty.
‘I can’t believe you’re going away when he’s still missing,’ Ben repeated, but in a less confrontational tone.
‘It would do my head in, sitting in that empty house day after day wondering if he’s going to come wandering down the towpath at any point,’ I said. ‘Whether he’s safe, or if the dementia’s back, or if he’s just done a runner … I’ve given the police Maddie’s address. I’ll have my mobile with me. But I need to be with a close friend, Ben. April’s gone to Australia, to some commune or spa or something, and doesn’t even have proper internet, so she’s not available. Maddie’s my other best friend and I know it’ll be easier for me to cope if I’m with her. I’ll come straight back if he turns up, I promise.’
‘Why would he do a runner?’ Ben asked, in a small voice.
I paused. I wasn’t sure how much to tell him. Ed was his dad, after all. ‘I don’t know. But there have been so many strange things going on. The miraculous recovery, for one…’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That clinical trial. Was it kosher?’
Our eyes met. ‘If it wasn’t kosher, Ben, then you know what that means…’
Ben’s mouth tightened into a furious line and he was silent for a moment. ‘That he faked the whole thing.’
‘Yes. Or he was conned into it somehow.’
‘Do you think he was?’
I thought of the savings account. Bill was in all probability a fake. Surely he was the villain of the piece? Perhaps he’d persuaded Ed that the trial wasn’t free, that it cost ninety grand, and Ed didn’t want to admit to me that he’d spent all that money without consulting me, so he’d run away? That seemed like a plausible explanation.
Except – the trial had worked. Which implied that, if Bill was a fake, Ed had never been ill to start with.
The police were aware that Bill was probably a fake. I decided I’d tell them about the missing money too, so they could trace the account that Ed had transferred it into. Then I’d know.
‘I have no idea. Maybe. At the moment I think both are equally likely.’
Then I saw Ben’s face and backtracked.
‘No. No, I can’t believe that. He was so … lost, when he was ill. And I don’t believe he’d ever be so cruel as to make us all think he had what Pops had! I know that him faking it is the obvious conclusion, but do you really think he could have kept up an act like that for all these months? He’s a good actor but he’s not that good. I’ve seen his brain scans, Ben, the old diseased ones and then the recent ones with the damage reversed. There’s no logical explanation other than the drug really did work…’
I was confusing myself again.
Ben jumped up and paced around the room, ducking his head to avoid the dangly chandelier. ‘But … but … I’m sorry, I don’t buy it. I sort of get that we’re all sworn to secrecy about the trial, if it’s still got another year to run – but why isn’t there a national appeal for Dad’s safety? The police must think that he still has dementia, that he’s vulnerable!’
‘I told the police about the trial, and his cure. I had to.’
‘Oh. Perhaps it would’ve been better if you hadn’t. Then they might be taking it more seriously.’
Ben topped up our wine glasses but the wine was going to my head so I left mine untouched on the coffee table. I needed to stay in control. ‘Got any salty snacks, Ben?’
Salty snacks – that was one of Ed’s expressions.
‘Sorry.’ He jumped up again and dashed back to the kitchen. It was funny, seeing him as he was now, when he’d been such a sulky, pudding-faced teenager. I couldn’t blame him for that though – back then, he was a boy who’d just lost his mother.
When he came back with a bowl of crisps, I impulsively reached for his free hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Thank you.’
‘For the salty snacks?’
I laughed. ‘No. For turning out so well. For being kind to me and so close to your dad. You were having such a tough time when I first met you. It’s a miracle you ever accepted me.’
His eyes filled with tears and he batted at his face like a small boy would. ‘I didn’t think I ever would,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t believe Dad just moved you in so soon … but I suppose, you can get used to anything eventually and you were all right, I guess. Perhaps it was for the best, because it forced me to move on and to accept that Mum had really gone for good.’
‘Do you remember much about that time?’ I asked, leaning back against the sofa and eating the crisps, thinking how much he would hate me if he knew the truth of why I came into their lives.
‘Of course. I remember it all. I was thirteen when she went missing, not three. It was fucking horrible. Excuse my French.’
‘It must have been. Particularly when the police thought your dad was a suspect.’
‘I was terrified they were going to take him away and lock him up and then I’d have lost them both.’
I almost asked him if he thought Ed had had any involvement with Shelagh’s disappearance, then bit my lip. I couldn’t ask him that, not now. I’d been utterly convinced of Ed’s innocence. ‘He didn’t have anything to do with it,’ I said instead.
‘I know. But Auntie Ellen kept banging on about it, evil witch. That’s the only reason the police kept sniffing around.’
It gave me a start, him bringing her up like that.
‘Do you ever speak to her?’
He snorted. ‘Auntie Ellen? Are you kidding? She accused Dad of being a murderer!’
‘She was upset. She probably feels bad about it now. She’d probably be really pleased to hear from you.’
‘I am never speaking to that woman again. I don’t give a shit that she’s my only family outside of Dad … and you, of course,’ he added.
‘Do you have her new address?’ I asked casually.
‘No. She’s still in the Channel Islands somewhere with her chinless husband as far as I know. Maybe you’ll bump into her when you go to Jersey. Please don’t send her my regards if you do.’
‘When did she move there?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Five years ago? You aren’t going to try and contact her, are you? She’ll only give you a load of shite about how Dad killed her sister.’
‘I was considering it,’ I said neutrally. ‘You never know, she might have some information about your dad that could be helpful. Maybe a place he loves that we don’t know about?’
‘She won’t. She’s mental. And she hates Dad.’
At that moment we heard the click of the front door and the thump of a sports bag being dropped.
‘I’m back! That was really knackering!’ called Jeanine, sticking her head around the living room door, her face a dull beetroot colour and her hair escaping in damp rats’ tails from a ponytail. ‘I’m – oh hello Lynn, Ben said you might be coming. Are you staying?’
‘Just for tonight – if that’s OK?’ I got up to hug her.
‘Ooh, don’t hug me, I’m really sweaty. It’s fine! Ben, did you make up the spare bed?’
‘I don’t care if you’re sweaty,’ I said, wrapping my arms around her as Ben rolled his eyes again, having clearly not made up any beds. ‘It’s good to see you. Give me the sheets and I’ll do it.’
‘Good to see you, too. So sorry to hear about Ed. Is there any news?’
/>
‘No,’ Ben interrupted. ‘And Lynn’s about to bugger off on holiday.’
I frowned, breaking off the hug. ‘It’s not a holiday, Ben. It’s an escape, a break. Do you really expect me to sit around on my own all day waiting for the phone to ring?’
Jeanine looked upset. ‘Oh, please don’t argue! It’s so tough for you both. Let me have a quick shower and then we can eat – is it ready, Ben? It smells lovely.’
‘It’s ready,’ Ben said, not meeting my eyes.
‘I’ll lay the table,’ I offered.
34
Over dinner, Jeanine continued to look anxiously between us, as if a fight was about to break out at any minute. It was odd seeing them both without Ed there.
I filled them in with more of what the police had said, omitting the fact that there was no record of a Bill ever being at the Chelsea Clinic. Surely Adrian was right – you couldn’t fake brain scans. Could you? I didn’t want to worry Ben any more than he was already worried.
‘My concern is that the improvement in his behaviour was some kind of … aberration – maybe he’d had a bang on the head that made it look like it had gone – and the dementia suddenly came back. Maybe he’s forgotten where he lives, or something.’
‘But you said that the police had checked the CCTV at the stations and on the trains?’ Jeanine poured iced water from a jug into all our glasses.
I nodded. ‘He did get the train to Waterloo, but they don’t know where he went after that. They’ve checked the flight manifests though, and he hasn’t flown anywhere. Yet.’
‘Why did you tell the police he’d been cured?’ Ben turned to Jeanine. ‘I told her she shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure they’d make more of an effort to find him if they believed he was still ill.’
‘I thought it was for the best,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe he wasn’t cured at all.’
‘But the scans? You said they showed his brain had repaired itself. I’m sorry, Lynn, but the more I think about it, the more I just don’t buy this whole clinical trial healing thing.’
‘Why not? They only trial drugs that they think have a good chance of working, don’t they – I mean, why else would they bother? I think we have to take it at face value. Because otherwise it means your dad was lying through his teeth the whole time he was pretending to be ill.’
‘Does it, though? Could the scans have been mixed up, or wrong?’
‘I asked that, at our appointment,’ I said. ‘Bill said not, but I suppose it’s possible. It wouldn’t reflect very well on him, though, would it?’
I sighed, feeling very alone all of a sudden. ‘I wish my mum was still alive,’ I blurted.
I could go for months without thinking of my folks, but when I did miss them, like now, it was with an intensity that surprised me.
‘When did you lose her?’ Jeanine asked sympathetically. ‘I’ve never heard you speak about your family.’
‘I don’t have any. Dad died of cancer when I was eighteen, and Mum followed him about a year later. Car crash. No brothers or sisters. So it was lovely to meet Ed so soon after I arrived in Hampton – even though it was a nightmare time for him and you, of course.’ I gestured to Ben.
‘Why did you move to this area, again? I’ve forgotten,’ Ben asked. Was it my imagination, or did he have a combative glint in his eyes?
‘I’d just split up from my husband and I wanted a fresh start.’
‘Oh, that’s right. The army bloke. But didn’t you say he was overseas?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘So why would you need to move towns then?’
I shrugged. ‘I fancied a change. Too many bad memories.’
‘Seems odd, to move somewhere where you don’t know anybody at all. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to go somewhere where at least you had a couple of mates? I mean, you’re always going on about how you want to move to Jersey because Maddie and Geoff have gone there.’
I laughed, without humour. ‘What is this, an interrogation? I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t really have any good friends after being stationed abroad with Dave for so long. Army life’s like that. I’d let all my school and college friendships lapse.’
‘Do you ever hear from Dave these days?’ Ben asked. Again I thought it odd that he was so interested all of a sudden.
‘Never. Once we got divorced I never clapped eyes on him again. Horrible man. Biggest mistake I ever made.’
Time to get off the subject. In a long-distant echo from down the years, I heard my mum’s voice: ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive.’ Shakespeare – or perhaps Walter Scott, I couldn’t remember, but it made me miss her even more.
My mum felt like someone in a storybook now, or a dream; a distant memory of woodsmoke-scented woollen jumpers, tweed skirts and headscarves. If my parents were still alive, I’d never have started any of this. I’d never have been able to keep up the deception for as long, if the pull of family ties had remained.
‘Anyway,’ I said wearily, standing up to clear the plates. ‘That was delicious, Ben, thank you. Shall I put the kettle on?’
I made a pot of coffee and brought it back in with three mugs threaded through the fingers of my other hand. Ben was tapping away on his phone and Jeanine had disappeared into the bedroom, where the roar of a hairdryer confirmed what she was doing. Ben looked up and opened his mouth to speak. I braced myself for more difficult questions, but thankfully he seemed to have moved on from the subject of my cloudy past.
‘What about this Bill person? Did Dad actually meet him for lunch?’
‘Who knows?’ I poured us both a coffee. ‘He said he was going to. I don’t know where they went, though, and I don’t have any contact details for Bill. The police are looking into it. I should have taken his mobile number when I met him, I don’t know why I didn’t. Ed printed off an email from him once, but when I looked for it later I couldn’t find it.’
‘Can’t you access Dad’s emails?’
I paused. ‘That’s one of the weird things, Ben. Your dad had a password on his computer when we first met, but then he went for years without one. And now he’s got one again, which he changed recently. Why do you think that is?’
‘Why indeed,’ said Ben, slightly pompously, as he topped up his glass again. ‘His illness, probably. Dementia makes people paranoid.’
‘Could be,’ I said, putting my hand over my glass so he couldn’t top me up too. ‘Anyway, he’s got his laptop with him. He always takes it on the train.’
‘Do you know his Apple ID password? If you did you could log in as him and use Find My iPhone to locate him.’
I shook my head. It was a good idea though. The scaffolding of a headache built up inside my temples and I checked my watch: nine-forty. Too early to go to bed – and besides, this might be the last chance in a while I got to pump Ben for information. He was a little bit drunk, which was good.
‘I suppose people only password-protect their computers when they have something to hide. Like an affair…’ I pretended that this thought had only just occurred to me. ‘No … Ed wasn’t having an affair, I’m certain of it. I’d have known if he was.’
I watched Ben like a hawk as I said it, checking for the slightest aversion of his eyes or tiny complicit twitch indicating he might know something that I didn’t – but there was nothing. I meant it – I didn’t believe Ed was seeing anyone else. His behaviour hadn’t changed at all from the time I met him until the start of the illness – I was pretty sure I would have spotted the signs if he’d met someone.
I felt a shudder of guilt about Adrian. I was glad I hadn’t seen him before I left. I definitely wouldn’t have sex with him again…
Unless of course Ed really had done the dirty on me. In that case – all bets off. I had a brief image of Adrian and I settling down together in the countryside; Agas, open fires, a puppy and long brisk walks together. But somehow I couldn’t see it, and the image dissolved like a swirl of instant
coffee in boiling water.
Ben didn’t show any signs of keeping anything from me either. He merely remarked, ‘Dad was ill for most of the last year. I doubt any sane woman would fancy a guy who tries to take a piss in the vegetable aisle of Tesco Metro.’
I winced, wishing I’d never told him about that particular incident. Poor Ed.
And yet – who would even try and pee in Tesco if they weren’t really mentally ill? If Ed had wanted to steal all the money from our joint account he could have just withdrawn it all and buggered off.
Which made me think there must be more to it.
I felt again the sting of such a betrayal, pricking all over my body like a thousand razor cuts. Had he really been so unhappy that the moment he recovered his faculties, he couldn’t wait to disappear with our savings? If he had, he’d hidden it well.
‘Ben,’ I said carefully. ‘If your dad was going to have a rush of blood to the head and decide he wanted to get away for a bit, do you have any idea where he might go? I honestly think that’s what he might have done. Maybe as a reaction to getting his health back; maybe as part of some kind of bigger picture. Maybe being cured blew his mind and he’s had a breakdown and that’s why he didn’t think to let us know he was going. He was ill when Mike died – he hasn’t had a chance to come to terms with that, either. Grief does strange things to people.’
Ben pursed his lips. ‘He’d go and lie on a beach somewhere, I reckon; you know how much he loves to get a tan. I don’t think there’s anywhere here with any great sentimental value for him. The house he grew up in got knocked down years ago – I think it’s a Kwik-Fit or something hideous now.’
‘His passport is missing. And he’s taken quite a lot of our savings with him, so he could afford to go anywhere he fancied.’ I stopped myself saying ‘all our savings’ – I was trying to be gentle.
‘Really?’
I touched his forearm. ‘But, I’ve got to say, it’s been so long since he used the passport that I honestly don’t know if it went missing recently or ages ago. He wouldn’t fly anywhere while he was ill, nor for a couple of years before that. Do you remember you invited us to share a villa in Tuscany that time and we couldn’t come, because Ed wouldn’t get on a plane?’
