When I Find You

by Emma Curtis

  ‘… get in later. In a way, it’s a good thing that I stayed over, because I’ve had my head in the sand. They’re worse than I thought. Jesus, what a nightmare.’

  She pushes her chair back and stands, and immediately feels more in control. ‘Have you spoken to Felicity this morning?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought I’d give her a chance to get used to the idea. Otherwise it’ll turn into a slanging match.’

  She applies pressure to her temples with her thumb and middle fingers. She has a migraine brewing but is too scared to take the pills. Who knows what that sort of medication might do to a developing foetus; if there is one. David is being suspiciously off-hand, cavalier, but he must know that the ground rules have changed; that he doesn’t have to stay with Felicity. The hard part is over.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a matter of her getting used to this,’ she says. ‘It’s going to turn her life upside down. The only thing that is going to help is for you to be clear about what you want.’

  Rebecca pauses, giving him a chance to argue, but he’s gone silent on her. He has always been an emotional coward. He can close a deal at work, he can work with unreasonable people and wind the most ruthless CEOs around his little finger, but when it comes to women, he’s hopeless. He wants them to love him and he can’t bear being in trouble. So far, he hasn’t told her what decision he’s made because he can’t face the fallout. She doesn’t know why she puts up with it, except that she loves him, has always loved him and always will.

  ‘You’re so wise, darling,’ David says, but it feels as though he’s trying to fob her off, to give himself time.

  Behind his voice, and his breathing, she can hear Georgie calling Tony. Then it goes quiet. David must have closed the door.

  ‘You understand, don’t you?’ he continues, his voice lowered. ‘That my priority has to be those two. Their safety and comfort must be guaranteed before I can start thinking about myself. I’ve been selfish, but all that is going to change. This has to take precedence over my love life for the time being.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘That I can’t be in three places at once. It’s going to be all right, my love, but I have to acknowledge my responsibilities.’

  ‘And leave Felicity and me hanging. David …’

  There’s a thud in the background, and David swears. ‘I’ve got to go. Honestly, it’s like a bad farce here. Sorry.’ And he hangs up.

  She replaces the phone on its cradle and spins her chair back and forth with her finger, then grips the back, bringing it to a jolting halt. He’s left her in limbo. She feels a flutter of panic and focuses on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Four beats each way. Better.

  Last night, after the confrontation with Felicity, she couldn’t sleep. She put her earphones in and listened to Shakespeare’s sonnets being read by various household names. This normally works, the words and rhythms spoken by such achingly beautiful voices, wrapping her thoughts in velvet, insulating her nerves and soothing her mind. She lay stretched out under the duvet, her arms by her sides, her spine and neck perfectly aligned by the orthopaedic pillow. It didn’t work. She fell asleep sometime before four o’clock and woke to her alarm at seven. Now, even though she knows she shouldn’t, she is riding a caffeine wave. No wonder her head is dodgy.

  There’s a tentative knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Bettina steps into the room. Compared to Rebecca, she’s as fresh as a daisy. She noticed her hovering around Jamie Buchanan last night. Before Christmas it was Finn. Bettina has great potential, but Rebecca can’t help thinking that she’s using this place as her own personal dating pool. She hopes she isn’t causing problems.

  ‘What is it, Bettina?’

  ‘Laura hasn’t come in. I was wondering whether you had heard from her.’

  ‘No.’ She is distracted and doesn’t give the girl her full attention. ‘I expect she’s running late.’

  Bettina is still standing there, watching her. She curls a stray tendril of that wonderful hair behind her ears.

  ‘It seems odd, that’s all. The last thing she said to me was that she’d see me in the morning.’

  ‘She worked extremely hard yesterday, so I expect she’s exhausted. Maybe she’s slept through her alarm.’

  ‘Only, I’ve organized a couple of things for her and she knows something’s happening. I’ve got a cake and a present.’

  David had only wanted to contribute ten pounds to the collection, but Rebecca forced him to put in a hundred.

  Bettina glances at her phone. ‘It’s a quarter to eleven now. Do you think I should call her?’

  Anxiety is infectious, and Rebecca does feel a twinge, though she’s confident it’s unwarranted. Laura is fine. The only people not doing so well are Felicity and herself. She hasn’t room for any more sympathy. ‘If you’re worried, then do. I expect you’ll find she’s on her way.’

  Bettina nods. ‘Yeah. I’ll call her, I think. It’ll put my mind at rest.’

  Rebecca rubs her head and thinks longingly of her pills and that decides her. She has to know today, preferably within the hour, so that at least she can avoid the migraine if she isn’t pregnant.

  And truthfully, the need to know is beginning to dominate everything she does, the thoughts dividing like cells, swarming like a virus. It’s getting to the point where she can think of nothing else.

  She makes a couple of calls, speaks at length to Paige and the director of the commercial, and then dashes to the chemist in Hoxton Street. She buys what she needs and pops it in her bag.

  Eddie and Bettina are conferring outside Eddie’s office. They turn when they see Rebecca. Eddie is the one to speak, moving towards her, his expression full of concern.

  ‘We’ve tried Laura’s mobile and her home number. She’s not picking up. I’ve messaged her on Facebook too.’

  ‘She’s probably on her way. She won’t be able to answer her phone if she’s cycling. Give it ten minutes and try again.’

  She’s still pissed off with Laura. It was her who started the gossip that led to Felicity finding out about the affair; that caused the hideous, humiliating row with David backstage. She has no idea how Laura found out, but that doesn’t matter. She’s been good to her and feels betrayed and, frankly, mortified. She assumes everyone knows. She feels watched, feels eyes following her, people going quiet when she comes out of her office.

  Eddie is speaking, and she pulls her attention back.

  ‘We’ve already done that,’ he says. ‘It usually takes her less than thirty minutes. If she’d been on her bike when we first rang, she’d be here by now. I’m worried about her. I think someone should go to her house and make sure she’s OK.’

  ‘I do think you’re overreacting. It’s her last day and she’s bound to be upset, given the circumstances. She may have decided not to come in.’

  He rubs his hand over his beard. ‘I knew she wasn’t coping. She shouldn’t have come back to work; it was much too soon.’ His brown eyes meet hers. ‘We can’t just assume she’s OK.’

  Frankly, she thinks Laura hasn’t come in because she’s ashamed and doesn’t want to look Rebecca in the eye. Of course she feels bad that Laura’s breakdown slipped her mind, but she has a pregnancy test burning a hole in her bag and doesn’t have time for other people’s melodramas.

  She realizes Eddie and Bettina are in earnest and pulls herself together. This isn’t about her, it’s about an employee, and until Laura has been to Human Resources to collect her P45, that is what she is. They have a procedure to follow if they have concerns about a member of staff’s well-being. It would be as well to err on the safe side.

  ‘By all means. If it’ll set your minds at rest, someone can go.’

  ‘Better be me,’ Eddie says. ‘I know where she lives.’

  ‘No, I need you here. Bettina, you look like you’re at a loose end. Eddie will give you the address.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Don’t y
ou think it would be better if I went?’ Eddie says.

  She shakes her head. ‘If you go racing round there, it’ll look like we’re overreacting.’

  He doesn’t like it, and she can’t blame him for that, but it would be a poor use of manpower. He borrows a block of Post-it notes from Finn’s desk and scribbles on it, pulls off the page and hands it to Bettina.

  ‘It’s the bottom bell.’

  ‘What shall I do if she’s not there?’ Bettina asks. ‘Should I call the police?’

  Rebecca resists the urge to sigh heavily. Why can’t people think for themselves?

  ‘Call Agnes if Laura doesn’t open the door. She’ll have her emergency contact in the files.’

  It’ll be a pity if Laura doesn’t come in to be thanked and say goodbye properly. Despite personal disasters, the campaign launch was a great success. Simon McAulay put the photos online as soon as he got home last night and, with Finn’s involvement, it’s all over social media this morning and will hopefully enter public consciousness via the print media as well. The presence of a couple of high-profile models and a soap star should guarantee that.

  She shivers, even though she’s warm enough. Events are moving rapidly. She goes to the window, parts the blinds with her fingers and scans the road, like a mother waiting for her teenage daughter to come home at night. Once she has got it in her head that there’s something wrong, she can’t shake the feeling. Seeing Bettina leave the building, Rebecca snatches up her bag and runs, catching up with her before she reaches the end of Percy Row.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she says. ‘I’ll go. Laura is my responsibility.’

  The pregnancy test will have to wait.

  43

  Laura

  THE VOICE IS querulous and demanding and coming from somewhere beneath me. I’ve been watching the dull light filter through the sun-frayed curtains for hours. I’m lying on my side, on a bed, and my wrists are taped together behind my back, my legs at the ankles, and the sock back in my mouth. I try to push it out with my tongue, but I’ve been gagged with a pair of tights. They aren’t mine – mine are still on my legs, the ladders crisped with dried blood. As for the rest of me, I can almost taste the pain; a hangover, my body bruised and aching, a crick in my neck, and blood in my mouth. The house goes quiet. A talkative blackbird repeats its song. It sounds like an enquiry.

  Are you there? Is anyone there?

  My stomach muscles are strong, and after a couple of tries I manage to get myself into a seated position, my back against the wall. Below me, someone is weeping; it sounds like a woman. I stare hard at the floor, as though I only need willpower to see through to the room beneath. I try to shout, filling my lungs with air, but barely manage a strangled, ‘Unh unh!’

  I work my wrists, trying to loosen the binding, but he’s been liberal with the duct tape, winding it round until it feels as solid as lead. He. David Gunner. The thought of him makes my physical discomfort recede and replaces it with terror. The memory of last night comes flooding back; the feeling that I wasn’t alone in my flat; waking with his hand across my mouth and nose; being hit so hard I blacked out.

  I attempt to swallow, and gag on fluff. It brings on a wave of claustrophobia and I’m drowning in it, panicking, fibres tickling my throat as I try to drag in air. I stare round the room, my eyes so wide they feel like they might burst. I make myself take a mental step back and try to think about something else, but the only scene my brain offers up is the moment I woke with David’s hand over my face. I try harder, picturing instead the family round the table at Christmas, replaying the banter between Mark and Isabel’s children. It helps. The panic recedes, my heart rate slows.

  I study the window, trying to gauge from the fuzzy silhouette of a tree beyond the curtains how high up I am. I have a memory of three gables beneath a night sky. Maybe there’s a drainpipe. If I can free myself, I could get out. He has to go to work some time.

  I doze for a while, and when I wake there’s a strange man sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, watching me from the shadows. I stare at him, unable to speak, completely disorientated. His hair is brown and tufted, as though he fell asleep while it was still wet. Then it comes back to me in a rush. David.

  He gets up and opens the curtains, revealing a clouded sky and the lacy tops of winter-stark trees. He is rumpled and unshaven, and his skin is blotchy. I tear my gaze away and scan the room, taking in the film posters, and the character models organized along the pine shelves amongst the books. This was once a child’s bedroom; a boy’s room. There’s a dark blue dressing gown hanging from a brass hook on the back of the door and next to it a school tie has been draped over its twin. It all looks dusty and forgotten. My fingers start to burn, my skin flaring. I rub them against the sheet, but it gives me little relief.

  David seems antsy, unable to be still, pacing the room, peering out of the window, to the right and left, as if he’s trying to get a view down the road. Is he expecting someone? The police? His wife? I watch him, pressing myself into the wall whenever he comes near. Eventually, he crouches, and I turn my face away as he reaches for me. He removes the gag and tucks his fingers into my mouth to pull out the sock. Even though I go for him with my teeth, he manages to remove them without being bitten. I scream, and he grabs me, holding the back of my head with one hand, covering my mouth with the other. His palms are damp. I make myself look at his eyes. They’re bloodshot and pink-rimmed.

  ‘Shut up,’ he says. ‘You need to calm down, Laura, or the gag is going back on.’

  I nod, and one of my tears dribbles down his fingers. He removes his hand.

  ‘Why did you bring me here?’

  ‘You gave me no choice. What was I supposed to do?’ He speaks fast, too fast, the words spilling out, defensive and angry, as though he’s the one who’s been badly treated. ‘You threatened to tell everyone. How the fuck was I supposed to know you had your wires crossed? I thought you meant about Guy. You …’ He pauses and wipes away the spittle that has gathered at the corner of his mouth. ‘You had to push, and push, writing your notes, watching me. And why did you think I raped you? Were you really that pissed?’

  ‘Yes,’ I hiss back at him. ‘What about it? It was a Christmas party and I wasn’t doing anything wrong.’

  I look down at my torn dress, at my big toe sticking out of my laddered tights, at my swollen ankle. I look up at his dark hair and his nondescript face, Adam’s apple rising and falling.

  I narrow my eyes. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ I repeat.

  ‘So why blame me?’

  ‘I worked it out afterwards.’ I pause when he gives a grunt of disgust. I know how weak it sounds. ‘I didn’t know who it was at the time because I’m face-blind.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘Get me some water first.’ My mouth is so dry I can barely form the words.

  I don’t scream while he’s out of the room. There’s little point. He would only get more stressed. There’s an unnerving unpredictability about him. He is so close to the edge, it’s frightening.

  He raises the glass to my lips and I drink. When I’ve had enough, I turn my head away. He seems less jumpy, but I don’t trust him.

  ‘I have a condition called prosopagnosia. It means I can’t recognize anyone’s face.’

  ‘Big deal. I meet hundreds of people. Half the time I don’t have a clue who I’m talking to.’

  ‘It’s not the same. It’s hard to explain, but everyone is a stranger, even my mother. I don’t recognize my own face in the mirror.’

  ‘So, you didn’t recognize me when I came in just now?’

  ‘No.’ I cough fibres out of my throat, and he tips the glass to my lips again. ‘But I knew who you were, because it was obvious. Like I generally know who you are at work. If I saw you somewhere I didn’t expect to, like in my flat …’ I pause to let the reminder of his iniquity sink in, ‘I wouldn’t recognize you. I rely heavily on people’s hair, but it isn’t infallible.’
>
  David regards me in silence, his brow furrowing. ‘Why didn’t I know about this?’

  I shrug. The conversation seems to be calming him. His movements are more fluid, less spasmodic. ‘I explained it to Rebecca when she offered me the job, because I felt she ought to know, but I asked her to keep it confidential. Apart from that, I don’t tell people. It’s for my own protection.’

  His lip curls as he acknowledges the irony. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Someone raped me on the night of the Christmas party and I didn’t know who it was, but I knew he was from Gunner Munro. Then I worked out that it must have been you.’

  He stiffens. ‘Do I look like a fucking rapist?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never met one before.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report me, if you were so certain?’

  ‘Because there was no point. It would be my word against the word of someone I can’t distinguish from any other man of his height and build. I needed proof. You were the only one who fitted and didn’t have an alibi and then when I found out that you and Rebecca were having an affair, I assumed she’d broken her promise and told you about me.’

  ‘And you had to make sure my wife knew about us. Jesus, you stupid, vindictive cow.’

  ‘No,’ I protest desperately. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’

  The sound of a car turning in through the gate interrupts us. We are as alert as a pair of grazing deer. I shout for help as he forces the sock back into my mouth, covering it with a strip of tape this time. The doorbell chimes. He attaches my wrists to the iron bedstead with the tights. There’s no gentleness in his actions.

  ‘Don’t make a sound.’

  He leaves me and seconds later I hear his muffled greeting, the conversation on the doorstep and those warbling, elderly voices.