The Rift

by Nina Allan

  A woman answered, and when Selena stammered that she was looking for Lucy, that she’d been at college with Lucy but had lost her address, the woman did not seem surprised, not even mildly. She said it was no wonder Lucy couldn’t keep track of her friends, not with all the moving around she went in for.

  “Not that I’m not proud of her, but you know, it would be nice if she could decide to stay in one place for more than five minutes,” the woman said. She read out a telephone number then got Selena to repeat it. “If you do speak to her, you could remind her it would be nice if she telephoned home once in a while,” the woman added. Selena said she would. She thanked the woman and then put down the phone. Her knees were shaking. What’s wrong with you? she asked herself. She didn’t even know who you were.

  A London dialling code. Selena studied the number closely, as if she meant to learn it by heart. Did she really mean to dial it? Apparently, she did. Four, five, six rings, and then an out-of-breath voice: “Hi, Sunita – I literally just got in.”

  In an initial moment of confusion, Selena thought it was her own name Lucy had uttered – not Sunita but Selena. She hesitated, realised, blushed.

  “Hi, is that Lucy?” she said.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else. Yes, this is Lucy speaking. How can I help?”

  “This is going to sound weird, coming out of the blue like this, but I was wondering if I could talk to you for a couple of minutes? It’s Selena Rouane.”

  In the moments between dialling the number and Lucy picking up, Selena had found herself wondering if her name would still mean anything to Lucy Milner. It was a long time ago, after all. Lucy had known Julie for what, eighteen months? Two years at the most. There was every likelihood that the drama and horror surrounding her friend’s disappearance had faded, had become a distant tragedy associated with childhood, terrifying while it was happening but now very much in the past.

  Lucy’s sharp intake of breath removed these doubts pretty much immediately.

  “Selena?” There was a long pause, long enough for Selena to hear Lucy’s expectations of a cosy chat with her friend Sunita go glugging away down the plughole like stale beer. She could almost feel her wondering: had Julie been found? She was dying to ask, Selena could tell, but what if Julie had been found, but dead? Better to let the silence take them both over.

  “Nothing’s happened,” Selena said quickly. “It’s just that my dad died, and I’ve been going through his stuff. It brought back some memories.”

  “I’m sorry, Selena,” Lucy said. She sounded relieved. Not that Dad’s dead, of course. Just that it’s nothing more – more onerous. A sympathetic ear was all Selena needed. Lucy was a doctor. How hard could it be?

  “We never really talked, did we?” Selena said. “I suppose I’m still trying to understand what happened.” She was surprised at how easily it came to her, the role of the survivor seeking closure, the victim of a thousand TV reality shows. She wanted to laugh, to become Sunita just for a moment so she and Lucy could have a good snigger at how ridiculous she was, this woman who was prepared to phone up a total stranger in search of answers to questions that should have been asked twenty years ago or not at all.

  “I’m not sure how I can help,” Lucy said. “I don’t know what happened, either.”

  “Julie never tried to contact you? After she went missing, I mean?”

  “Of course not.” She sounded shocked, though whether it was the question itself or her for asking it that had prompted this reaction it was hard to say. “I would have gone straight to the police if she had. I wasn’t even in the country when Julie disappeared. I was staying with my cousins. You do know that?”

  “I’m not trying to blame anyone, please don’t think that. I know you and Julie were close, that’s all. I thought you might be able to tell me what you remember.”

  “We were kids.” Lucy sighed. “They’re not good memories, to be honest. I don’t just mean Julie going missing, I mean before that. We were close, for a while, but everything got very intense and that wasn’t what I wanted. It was such a relief, to get on a plane and leave the whole mess behind. I honestly believed that by the time I came home in September, things might have sorted themselves out. Having to answer all those questions – being in the paper – made everything worse. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s OK,” Selena said. “It was just on the off chance.”

  “Listen, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, honestly, I shouldn’t have called. It was a stupid idea. I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

  She replaced the receiver. In the second before it went down, she could hear Lucy at the other end, still trying to say something, still apologising. The sound of her voice had brought it all back – the way Julie had behaved around Lucy, the way Selena had felt invisible when Lucy was around. That hadn’t been Lucy’s fault, Selena understood that, but she felt a thrill of pleasure in hanging up on her, nonetheless. Replacing the receiver in its cradle without coming to a mutual agreement as to when this should happen. As if she had made Lucy invisible for once, instead of the other way around.

  [Letter from Mrs Lucy Khalil MRCS to Selena Rouane, undated.]

  I didn’t always want to be a doctor, believe it or not. But I did some volunteer work at the hospital where my mum worked and I suppose you could say I got hooked. Mum worked in obstetrics. She trained in Kolkata. My dad just happened to be out there doing a placement – that’s how they met. I had to repeat a year at college so I could get the right A levels. My parents supported me all the way though, which made things easier. Julie never knew I was going to India the summer she disappeared because we’d more or less stopped speaking by then anyway. It was awful when I got back. People kept asking me how I was feeling, making allowances for me for being such a bitch most of the time, but what I was mostly feeling was anger. For ages I was convinced that Julie had decided to run away – she did sometimes talk about it, just skipping town, she called it – and I felt furious she hadn’t told me, that she’d left me behind on my own to deal with her shit. I couldn’t say that though, could I? Not with them dragging the lake and everything. It was like being gagged.

  Even though we had that row, I always believed we’d get over it. Real friendships survive those kinds of setbacks and I thought we had something real, in spite of everything. I think I hated Julie for a while. It was lucky I had the hospital work, because it helped to take my mind off her going missing and how guilty I felt. By the time I was back at college I felt like a different person, which I suppose I was.

  The actual fight was about everything and nothing. I’d started seeing someone – a bloke. I was curious, and flattered. Julie was furious. I mean, death-ray furious. She said I was faking my feelings just to get attention and I told her to stop being so fucking jealous. It was awful. I was used to getting into rows with my brothers but this was different. I felt as if I’d just torn my whole world apart. I thought at the time it was all about Julie being queer and me being straight, but it wasn’t, not really. It wasn’t about jealousy either, or at least jealousy was only part of it, a symptom. There was more of a fundamental personality clash at work, I think. I’m a practical person. If I’m not satisfied with something, I start looking for ways to fix it. Workable solutions, Dad calls them, but Julie didn’t believe in workable solutions. She preferred revolution. Burning down the castle. There was an intensity about her. That’s what attracted me to her in the first place. But it became oppressive in the end. Depressing. I think my starting up with Justin was a bid for freedom. I knew it was the one thing Julie wouldn’t stand for and so I just went for it. Justin and I didn’t last out the summer, although he is still a friend, funnily enough.

  I’d like to keep believing Julie did run away, that she disappeared through choice, because it’s better than the alternative. I can’t bear to think of her being dead – murdered – while I was still so angry at her. I still feel
uncomfortable about that. Stupid, I know. But if I’m being realistic I suppose that’s what happened. She trusted the wrong person, got into the wrong car, who can say? I always thought how appalling it must be for her parents, that the police never managed to find her body. There’s something so final about a body. I see dead bodies every day, and the thing I found surprising almost from the first day is how restful they are, how reassuring. When you’re dealing with a body there’s never any doubt in your mind that what you’re seeing is just a shell. Human remains. Whatever was inside it is long gone. I’ve never once cried over a body because there’s no point. But seeing the body – touching it – does help you to focus on the person, to remember them. To know they’re OK, even. I would always encourage relatives to view the body of a loved one, even if there’s damage. That probably doesn’t sound very scientific, but it’s how I feel.

  Julie sometimes used to talk about the south of France. She said it was cheap to live there, that we could get jobs as grape-pickers or hotel staff or something. When I asked her what we were meant to do in the long run she said that didn’t matter, we’d know once we were there, the important thing was just to leave, just to do it. I thought it was all a pipe dream. I wanted to do my A levels. Some revolutionary I turned out to be. I suppose I should have told the police this at the time, but I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I just thought it sounded daft, when you said it out loud, the kind of fantasy kids have about escaping their parents and beginning a new life somewhere else. I told the police I had no idea where Julie might have gone, that I hadn’t spoken to her since before the holidays. That was almost true, although she did phone me once, the weekend after term ended, which was the weekend before she went missing. She was calling from a phone box, and she was crying. I asked her what she wanted, and when she didn’t answer I put down the phone. My whole body was shaking, I don’t know why. I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t feel like seeing her, not yet anyway. I didn’t say anything to the police because I didn’t want them to know about our row. I’ve never told anyone I lied to them, can you believe it? I still feel odd about that.

  I had no idea about Gifford, not even remotely. Not until it was in the papers, I mean. I was a bit pissed off, actually. I remember wanting to ask Julie how long it had been going on. I could hear the words inside my head, how long has this been going on, like a scene from EastEnders. I thought that if I had something to accuse her of I might feel less awful myself. It really wasn’t a good time for me. I felt sorry for Gifford, though. She must have been through hell.

  3

  “Don’t worry,” Selena says. “You’ll be fine.”

  Julie is wearing a dark-green pleated skirt, a jersey top and a pair of knee-high lace-up boots. Aside from the nondescript trouser suit Julie wears for her hospital job, it is the first time Selena has seen her in anything but jeans and trainers. She’s trying to look smart, Selena thinks, though mainly she just looks uncomfortable.

  “What did you tell her?” Julie asks.

  “Nothing much. I thought it would be better to wait until we get there. It’ll be fine,” she insists again. They have come in Julie’s car, which makes the whole enterprise feel strange, topsy-turvy, as if it is Julie who suggested it, although of course she did not and in fact Selena has revealed nothing to their mother apart from saying she’d like to come over for dinner on Tuesday if that’s all right, she has some news for her.

  Selena knows Margery will presume it’s Johnny she wants to talk about, that perhaps Johnny is coming home, that they’re not splitting up after all, something like that. Selena tells herself she’s kept quiet in order to make things easier for Julie, to avoid making a big deal of everything, and perhaps that’s true, but mainly what she wants is to take Margery by surprise, to get a good look at her expression when she opens the door.

  Mum will know at once if it’s Julie or not, and that will be proof. Proof that Julie is really Julie and not some impostor. Proof that there is no harm in believing her story, the parts of it that make sense, anyway – Steven Jimson and the flat in Coventry and the woman named Lisa. Julie won’t tell their mother about the alien planet, the brain-eating isopods, not a word, Selena would bet her life on it.

  As they arrive on the doorstep Julie hesitates. “I don’t think I can do this,” she says.

  “We’re here now,” Selena says. “You’ll be fine.”

  She presses the bell before Julie can change her mind, then places a hand on Julie’s arm, more to prevent her from doing a runner than to offer support. There is a light already on in the hallway. Margery’s shape looms at them from behind the glass, a shadowy outline that could be anything, Selena muses, if you didn’t know beforehand that it was your mother.

  “You’re early,” Margery says as she opens the door. She’s right, they are, Selena realises, because in spite of the various traffic holdups the car has brought them here more quickly than the train. She watches Margery’s face closely as she sees firstly that there is someone else here besides Selena and secondly as it dawns on her who this person is. Then it happens, so clearly unmistakable it is like a camera flash: the moment of incredulity, the confirmation Selena has been seeking from the second she picked up the phone and heard the woman who said she was Julie utter her name.

  Selena watches the sequence of emotions play out, freeze frames on a movie screen. Her mother’s eyes darting, quick as a bird’s and as avidly hungry. Then the negation, the blanket of self-protection pulled swiftly around her: Do others see what I see, or will they think me a fool? Will we be laughing about this later, or will they?

  “Selena?” Margery says, and Selena realises she is asking her permission – permission to believe in the impossible.

  “Mum,” Julie says, pre-empting her. She buries her face in Margery’s shoulder, her own shoulders shaking. Margery clasps Julie closely and somewhat awkwardly – she has never mastered the art of hugging, never taken to it – and stares over the top of her head towards Selena, her entreaty and incredulity now tinged with just a grain of fury: how long have you known, how could you keep this from me, do you think I’m like Ray?

  “Surprise,” Selena says at last. Her mother does not pass comment and she is glad. The matter is out of her hands now – it is part of the world. She is filled with relief, heady as wine and coloured only slightly by that sense of resignation she felt so often as a child, the sense that Julie was the problem one, the serious one, the important one, that she, Selena, was ordinary and usually in the way.

  Who gives a shit, she thinks. She lets out her breath, which coalesces in front of her face, a wisp of pale steam. She misses Johnny, suddenly. The feeling seems to have materialised out of nowhere, along with her breath.

  * * *

  “You should have warned me, Selena. There’s barely enough to go round.”

  The supper is a dish of lasagne and there’s plenty to go round. If Selena had come by herself, Margery would have divided the lasagne between them and put the leftovers in the fridge with cling film over it, for her supper tomorrow. As it is they finish the lot. Julie devours the pasta enthusiastically, wiping around her plate with a chunk of ciabatta. She is telling her mother about her job at the Christie.

  “I’ve been offered a place on a practice management course,” she says. “I’m not sure I want to be in admin permanently though. It’s not really what I want to do.”

  “There’s no rush,” Mum says. “I can help you go over your CV, if you like?”

  Selena waits for the shake of the head, the non-committal mmm sound that means Julie is about to withdraw from the conversation, but it doesn’t come. “That would be great, Mum,” she says instead. She is like a different person, an alien. This is the first Selena has heard of the admin course, for a start. She tries to imagine what Julie’s CV looks like and cannot do it. But then what is a CV anyway but a fabrication, a levelling down of the self to fit a generalised mould?

  “I’m interested in pathology,” Julie
is saying.

  “You shouldn’t have any problems switching to lab work,” Margery says. “Especially when you have experience working in hospitals already.”

  Is Julie faking it, Selena wonders, trying on the new personality like the clothes she is wearing? Or is this who she is, after all? Who she wants to be, at any rate – accommodating and trusting, at ease with the world? Selena eats her lasagne and listens, as she might listen to a story read aloud or a play on the radio. She finds the conversation diverting yet also confusing, as if she’d come in halfway through and missed some vital plot element, a buried secret perhaps, or the truth behind one character’s relationship with another. Every now and then, Julie attempts to draw her in, to make her part of the conspiracy: Selena, remember that book we were looking at in Waterstones last week, or, You know what you were saying about starting a gym membership?

  Each time it happens, Selena gives some vague answer and wonders what would happen if their mother went out of the room for a moment. If this were a movie, Margery would be the one who looked foolish, chattering brightly away about nothing while the two sisters exchanged meaningful glances behind her back. The reality doesn’t feel like that at all. When Selena announces she’s going to make a start on the washing-up, neither Julie nor their mother tries to stop her. They’re dying to be alone together, Selena realises. She cannot believe how quickly she has slipped back into her accustomed role – the annoying younger sister, forever missing the point or making snide comments.

  “Could you put the coffee on while you’re at it?” Margery says. “We can have it in the lounge.”

  Selena begins to stack the dishes by the sink. Once Julie and Margery have disappeared into the living room she puts on the radio, the same small portable that used to be in their kitchen in Sandy Lane. There’s a documentary on, something about illegal gangmasters in Morecambe Bay. Selena retunes the radio to an Asian station Johnny used to listen to: fusion music mostly, and an off-the-wall cookery programme that always seems to end with everyone yelling at each other in three different languages.