The Night You Left

by Emma Curtis

  ‘Nick.’

  I mutter his name without thinking, but unfortunately it has a galvanizing effect on Toffee, who jumps up and hurtles downstairs. I run down after him and find him quivering by the front door. I sink down beside him, pulling him into my arms.

  ‘Sorry, darling.’

  I rub my cheek against his knobbly head. I try to picture Nick coming through the door, dropping his keys, calling out, bending to push an ecstatic Toffee out of the way. His image is frustratingly insubstantial. I’m having trouble picturing him without a photograph in front of me. How could that have happened so quickly?

  And if he doesn’t come back? If he’s dead, if the police start looking at me? Maybe they are already. I think back to my meeting with Marsh; I didn’t get the sense he knew about my past. Maybe I’m safe, for now. I can imagine his eyebrows hitting the ceiling when he does find out.

  I clasp my hands together and mutter into my knuckles, ‘Come home. Please, Nick. Come home.’

  If he doesn’t, then they’ll take a closer look at me.

  NICK

  July 2000

  RORY, SINCE HE INSISTED ON THE GAME, IS THE FIRST to hide, but instead of looking for him, Nick makes himself a sandwich and takes it up the back stairs with his book to an alcove he’s found on the turn of the landing. It goes under the eaves and around the corner for a few feet. A bare bulb provides enough light to read by. At the back there are dusty carrier bags full of yellowing papers and an abandoned wasps’ nest with the odd desiccated carcass strewn round it. He brushes them away with the book. It’s muggy, the built-up heat combining with the rain. A sweet smell is overlaid by the dust burning on the light bulb.

  Nick pulls the door to. The others are pounding round the house. Someone opens the door and he looks into a pair of bright blue eyes. Pansy’s. She hesitates, then closes it.

  There’s a whisper, then Taisie says, loud enough for Nick to hear, ‘God, what a loser. Why doesn’t he hang out with your dad? He’s been clinging to him like a limpet all week.’

  ‘Come on, Taisie, that’s not fair. Who else is he meant to talk to?’

  ‘I don’t care. I just know that if I have to look at those pulsating spots for one more day, I’m going to top myself. He makes me feel sick.’

  He holds his breath and shrinks back into the shadows, feels a spider’s web tickling his ear and bats it away. Their voices fade and he opens his book, already regretting bringing Machiavelli rather than Bernard Cornwell, and has to force himself to stay awake. There’s a movement behind the door, a thud and shift, and he braces, hoping it’s Alex or Rory. But it isn’t: it’s Izzy.

  She puts her finger on her lips, then crawls in and tucks herself into the small space beside him, bare skinny knees pressing against his hairy shins, before reaching for the door and pulling it shut.

  ‘What’s up, Shrimpy?’ he says.

  ‘Taisie’s going to stop soon.’

  He pretends not to know what she’s on about. ‘Stop what?’

  ‘You know. This. The Invisible Nick game.’

  ‘Oh that,’ he says. ‘I don’t care about that.’

  ‘It’s hot in here.’

  ‘It stores heat,’ Nick explains. ‘It’s like there’s days of it packed in.’

  The rain patters on the tiles above them, a constant, comforting sound.

  ‘It feels like we’re on a boat,’ Izzy says.

  ‘It does.’

  She yawns and leans against him, and he tilts his head against hers. Her hair is silky and smells of grapefruit shampoo.

  ‘Do you still like Taisie?’

  Nick shrugs. ‘Yeah. I suppose.’

  ‘She’s being mean.’

  ‘Sometimes girls do that.’

  He’s beginning to feel sleepy too. He closes his eyes and drowses. The rain keeps falling, the smell of the eaves, musky and hot, mingles with the smell of the child nodding off against him. He slips into a dream in which he’s swimming downstream and the Moody twins are running along the riverbank, barefoot, tripping and skidding in the mud, crying out to him to be careful. Then someone says, ‘Where’s Taisie?’ and he panics, doggy-paddling round and round, his feet thrashing beneath him, looking for a head bobbing in the water.

  He tumbles out of the dream with a cry. There’s a creature crawling out of the tightest angle of the eaves, reaching for him with its gnarled hands. It makes a grab for his ears, and he falls back, banging his head on a rafter, but not before it’s glued its mouth to his. He pushes it away and feels the small bud of a pre-pubescent breast under his hand. Someone shrieks and he surfaces, disorientated and grappling for a way out. He knocks his head on the hot bare bulb and it swings nauseatingly. Izzy is hitting him, shouting in his face. ‘Get off me! Don’t touch me.’

  She pushes open the door and tries to pull herself out and he isn’t together enough to explain that it was just his weird problem. How would he have explained it, anyway? He hasn’t even told his mum and dad.

  But this is the first time it’s touched him. In disgust, he rubs his wrist across his lips, then goes very still. Oh shit. Izzy.

  Izzy is scrabbling to get away from him, crawling out of the cubbyhole door.

  ‘Izzy,’ he says, catching at the hem of her jeans. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  But it’s too late, she’s gone.

  GRACE

  Friday, 20 April 2018

  THE WEEKEND IS IMMINENT, AND WITHOUT LOTTIE acting as a buffer between me and Nick’s parents, the prospect is dismal. Douglas texts to say that he’ll pick Lottie up from the house, not the school. I mentioned that Tim and Cora were here and he’s curious, never having met them before.

  Half an hour later, he’s outside the front door. I bring him into the kitchen where Cora is reading a book and Tim is scrolling through an article on the iPad. I introduce them and Tim jumps up, a hand outstretched. The men couldn’t be more different; Tim with his big bones, swept back salt-and-pepper hair and handsome, patrician face, has always seemed benign to me, like a 1940s film star. Douglas, thin as a rake, heavy-featured, with his sensual mouth and hard gaze, is intimidating.

  I make tea while they chat, covering innocuous subjects like the trouble Tim is having setting up broadband in their Leicestershire home, Cora’s mother’s deteriorating health and the way other people’s dogs are so badly behaved compared to Toffee, Cora pretending to be fond of my unprepossessing companion. She’s flirtatious, her voice earnest and interested. She is trying to impress, not knowing how unlikely she is to succeed.

  I set mugs and a plate of biscuits down in front of them. Douglas pats the seat beside him, but I shake my head. I stand leaning against the counter, my mug in my hands.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know. Numb, I suppose. I don’t seem to be getting any answers.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re dealing with the police particularly well, Grace,’ Cora says. ‘If you’d let me speak to them we might get a little further. They would be more likely to pay attention to someone of my background and experience.’

  I’m used to veiled reminders of my deficiencies from Cora, but she still gets under my skin. ‘I’m sure that’ll come in handy,’ I say with a tight smile. ‘But I don’t want to go in with all guns blazing quite yet. I don’t want to antagonize them.’

  ‘Don’t be wet. Every day that Nick doesn’t come back it becomes a little more likely that he won’t. You do know that, don’t you? Time is of the essence.’

  ‘Of course I know.’

  ‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get. We have to put pressure on the police and get them to prioritize Nick. I know how these things work.’

  Douglas puts his hand on the table, splaying his fingers. He looks at Cora thoughtfully. ‘I think Grace understands perfectly well. You’re right though, she does need help.’

  Cora glances at me to see my reaction. I shrug.

  ‘However,’ he continues. ‘In my view, that help would be b
etter coming from me.’

  ‘From you?’ Her head snaps round. ‘You’re not even related to Nick.’

  Tim breaks his biscuit in half and dunks a corner into his tea. ‘I think it would be helpful if we were all on the same page,’ he says, smiling. ‘You’re doing incredibly well, Grace, but I do think Cora and Douglas have a point. You need to let someone else step in, someone with legal expertise who can put pressure on the police.’

  ‘I practised law for six years,’ Douglas says.

  ‘What made you give up?’ Cora asks.

  ‘I didn’t much like the people I was having to deal with.’

  ‘Personally I try not to judge.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe. You’re pretty judgemental of Grace.’

  I watch this interaction, torn by anger and compassion. I know why Douglas left the law. He had been a father for three years when he was asked to defend a man accused of abusing his thirteen-year-old niece. He won the case despite being certain that his client was guilty. The girl committed suicide three months later. After that, Douglas worked for another year and then he resigned. Maybe if he hadn’t had Lottie, he could have viewed it dispassionately, but she changed him. Despite all the things that drove me away, I cannot fault him as a father.

  ‘I suspect you weren’t up to the job,’ Cora retorts, her earlier pleasantness forgotten now that Douglas has dared to defend me.

  I study my fingernails, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you,’ Douglas says. ‘The way I understand it, you barely tolerate Grace and you blow hot and cold with my daughter. If Nick isn’t found, I’ll personally see to it that you don’t get access.’

  I’m so surprised at the turn this conversation has taken that I intervene. ‘Douglas. This isn’t the time.’

  ‘Now come on,’ Tim says, visibly bristling. ‘I’m extremely fond of Lottie.’

  ‘Are you?’ Douglas sneers. ‘All the more reason.’

  ‘I beg your pardon? What the hell are you implying?’

  Tim is at least twenty-five years older than Douglas. All the same he squares up to him, shoving his chin out. Tim is all bravado, but he isn’t nasty. Douglas is; he won’t scruple to hurt the older man, to put him in his place.

  ‘Please stop,’ I beg them. ‘Quarrelling is not going to help Nick.’

  ‘I’m not implying anything,’ Douglas says smoothly. ‘Let’s move on, shall we?’

  Cora sends him a suspicious look, then nods agreement and just as suddenly as it came on, the tension recedes.

  ‘We need to be calm and think this through,’ she says. ‘I have contacts in the police force, and I know how these things work. I’ll liaise with them.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m talking to them on a daily basis. I don’t think you telling them how to do their jobs is going to help. I need them on my side, so it makes sense for me to build a relationship with the detective.’

  Douglas twists round so that he can look me in the eye. ‘You always did insist on doing everything yourself, Grace. But this is not the time to dig your heels in. You need my help.’

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but you’ll know if I do, because I’ll ask you.’

  He scrapes his chair back and stands up, moving towards me. ‘How many times do I have to remind you that anything that impacts on my daughter’s well-being is my business? I want you to keep me informed of every development. I don’t care if it turns out to be irrelevant, let me know. There are things I can do.’

  ‘What things?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course you’ll be kept informed,’ Cora says before he can answer. ‘Naturally you’re worried about your daughter. Tim and I respect that, but really, apart from giving the family moral support, I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to be involved in any official business.’

  ‘Appropriate?’ Douglas says dangerously quietly.

  She sighs. ‘Well, it does rather smack of you getting your feet under the table while my son is out of the way.’ She pauses, her smile deceptive. ‘Why exactly are you here? What is it you want?’

  ‘I could ask the same of you, Cora,’ I interrupt. She’s playing games with him, trying to be clever. She has no idea who she is dealing with. ‘You can just as easily keep an eye on things from Leicestershire.’

  ‘Yes, Cora,’ Douglas drawls. ‘What is it you want to contribute that can’t be done from home?’

  ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you,’ Cora sniffs.

  ‘Right, that’s enough,’ I say. ‘Lottie’s going to be back any minute. Please can you get it into your heads that I do not need to be looked after. I want Nick home and I want my life back the way it was. I certainly don’t need anyone telling me what to do.’

  As if on cue my daughter bangs on the door. Toffee leaps up with a sharp bark and Douglas pushes back his chair, treating Tim and Cora to a smarmy smile as he leaves the room. I follow him, picking up the rucksack I packed for her earlier. Lottie submits to a hug, then Douglas suggests she says goodbye to her grandparents. This shows surprising generosity on his part, considering that up until a minute ago they were at each other’s throats, but when she goes through to the kitchen, he turns on me.

  ‘I don’t want you leaving Lottie alone with that man.’

  ‘What are you talking about? They adore each other.’

  ‘Don’t you think he’s a bit over-familiar?’

  ‘No, I do not.’ A cold trickle runs down my spine. All it takes is a germ of doubt these days. ‘You have a filthy mind, Douglas. Tim is her grandfather and he has never behaved inappropriately. You’re paranoid.’

  ‘Maybe I am, but better safe than sorry. Don’t forget I’m her father.’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to. What the hell is the matter with you? Are you so jealous of what I have that you want to destroy it?’

  ‘Listen to me, Grace.’ Douglas responds. ‘Those two are out to cause trouble. I’m just giving us leverage.’

  I open my mouth to object, but the door opens. Lottie looks from one to the other of us.

  ‘Hey,’ Douglas says. ‘You ready, Munchkin?’

  ‘What were you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say, handing over her rucksack with a kiss. It’s scary how perceptive my daughter can be. ‘Be good for Daddy.’

  Cassie calls. ‘Are you coming tomorrow evening?’

  I walk upstairs with the phone. Cora has big ears. ‘Coming where?’

  ‘Cherry’s party. I’m sure it’s the last thing you want, but I thought I’d ask. It might do you good.’

  I remember now. The invite was issued a couple of weeks ago. Cherry is about to be forty; most of my friends are ten years older than me. It doesn’t matter, except that, in many ways, I feel so much older than them. She’s having an official party to celebrate next week, to which Nick, Lottie and I are invited but won’t be going. Tomorrow is the unofficial celebration; the one where Cherry reverts to her early twenties and shrugs off the cloak of motherhood.

  ‘Anna’s coming,’ Cassie adds when I don’t immediately answer. ‘Cherry thought it would be a good way for her to get to know us. We’ll get her pissed.’ She giggles.

  I bite my fingernail, thinking about Anna letting her hair down, maybe opening up a little, maybe even admitting that she met Nick that evening. ‘Yes, OK. I could do with getting out of here.’

  ‘Good girl. And if something happens, we’ll stick you in a cab home.’

  TAISIE

  July 2000

  SHE CAME UP TO THE ATTIC, NOT TO HIDE, BUT BECAUSE she didn’t want to play out of principle. She was too old for stupid games. The window was open, the curtains billowing and the rain coming in, the windowsill pooled with water. Taisie ran to close it, banging it shut, and jumped, her hand flying to her chest. Izzy was hiding between the bed and the wall, tear-stained and pale.

  ‘Bloody hell, you gave me a fright! What’s the matter?’

  Izzy rubbed her face, leaving
a smut below her left eye. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Bollocks. Tell me what’s happened. Has someone said something to you?’ The boys could be mean to her. Rory told her she was ugly once.

  ‘No.’

  Taisie tried to pull her out, but Izzy shrank back, so she sank to the floor and put her arm around her sister’s thin shoulders. The bare boards tickled her sunburnt thighs. ‘So what is it?’

  Izzy curled her body over her knees. She smelled of attic dust and BO. She was growing up. Taisie would have to have a chat with her about personal hygiene, since their mother evidently wasn’t going to.

  ‘What is it, Izzy?’

  ‘Leave me alone. I’m not telling you, OK?’

  ‘Yes you are. I’m your big sister. I care about you and I can help.’

  After a second, Izzy spoke, but so quietly Taisie had to strain to hear. ‘He kissed me.’

  Her chest tightened. ‘Who kissed you?’

  ‘Nick. And he put his hand here.’ She touched her right breast.

  Taisie went still. ‘What? That wanker. I’m going to tell Mum.’

  ‘No, don’t. Please, Taisie. Don’t say anything. It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘You have to tell her yourself, then.’

  ‘No! I won’t, and you mustn’t. Promise me, or I’m not going to help you. And I won’t speak to you ever again.’

  Taisie held up her hands. ‘All right. Don’t be so melodramatic.’

  ‘I’m not melodramatic.’ She folded her arms across her chest and stuck her bottom lip out. ‘Can we do your plan now?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s belting out there. We can do it tomorrow.’

  But Izzy was adamant, fists tightly curled, her body shaking, an explosion building inside her, like a toddler about to throw a tantrum. ‘It’s not cold. And I want to do it now.’