by Emma Curtis
There’s a painted chair in front of her dressing table; I drag it over, climb up and check the top shelves. All I find are bags of jumpers, vacuum-packed presumably to protect them from the moths, and baby things neatly folded that give me a pang of want. Nick and I would have had a child together. Does Anna yearn for another one? Is that what she’s looking for in a man? Someone to help complete her family? To complete her?
I get down off the chair and sit on the bed, tired and fed up, the adrenaline all but gone. I check underneath it and find a folded carrier bag. I pull it out and open it. Inside is a cheap mobile. I sit with it in my palm, then press one of the keys. It lights up, but it needs a passcode, so I put it back where I found it. Why would Anna have a second mobile hidden under her bed? Maybe it’s an old one she couldn’t bring herself to discard. She’s the thrifty type. I don’t have an answer. I find myself yearning to sink into the pillows and close my eyes, so I force myself up, switch off the light and part the curtains. Street lights bathe the road in their yellow glow. The night sky is scattered with stars. It’s a quarter to two in the morning and a mother has left her son. What Kai said about worrying that she had gone where Nick went, like the children following the Pied Piper, blindsided me. The poor boy must be terrified.
Come back, Anna. I press my palm against the glass. I should call the police, I think. And I will. But there’s one more place to look.
In the loft, itchy from the fibreglass insulation wedged between the joists, I sit back on my heels, my prize in my hand. The date stamp on the photos I’m holding under the single bare bulb is July 2000. From a quick shuffle through the pile, it quickly becomes clear they were taken during that holiday. I recognize a young Alex Wells, slouching against a wall, frowning at the photographer. He’s a cool kid. There’s another one of him, his arms and legs dangling over the edges of a wheelbarrow while his little brother pushes, running barefoot and bare-chested across the lawn. There are slim pickings of Nick. The photographer has caught him looking up from his book in one, his shoulder and part of his profile in another. In neither does he look happy. I run my finger over it, a lump catching in my throat. What happened to you, my love? If you aren’t dead, then it’s time to come home. It’s not too late.
I discovered, spending time with Nick, that relationships don’t have to be abusive, that you can love without an agenda, that it isn’t a matter of keeping one step ahead of the enemy, of watching what you say and what you do every moment you’re with them. I discovered give and take, tolerance, humour and warmth. I saw that what I’d had with Douglas was unhealthy, and that this had been bad for me and worse for my daughter. I discovered that I had a mind of my own, and that I wasn’t unintelligent, just poorly educated. I should have found some backbone, told Nick what I had done, and taken the consequences. He might have understood. Now, I’ll never know. The past attaches itself to me like cobwebs.
I go through the pictures again. I assume Anna got hold of the film in the aftermath, when the last thing anyone wanted was a visual reminder of that summer. Anna’s mother might be glad to have the pictures of Izzy. She’s a smiley little thing, less robust than the other children whose rude good health appears vulgar beside her translucent pallor, but her face is open, and you can tell she has a good nature. Although that might just be my interpretation, because I know that she was kind to Nick when he needed a friend.
I put it to one side, because I may take it away and see if Alex Wells wants to take it. Anna will never know; I doubt she’s looked at them in years.
I pull a few more items out and find a letter in an envelope addressed by hand. That’s unusual enough to merit inspection. I put it to one side to take downstairs and dig around some more. My fingers touch something thin and rubbery. It turns out to be a small, clear-white plastic strip with a sticker attached. Lottie had one of these around her wrist after she was born. This must be Kai’s. I lift it closer to the light so that I can read it properly. And then I read it again, because it isn’t what I expected at all.
There’s a metallic clank, the unmistakable sound of someone putting their weight on the ladder. Shit. I stuff the bracelet into my back pocket and slide the letter under my top, pulling the waist of my jeans over it, then I turn as a tousle-haired Kai puts his head through the hatch.
‘Oh, sorry, Kai. Did I wake you?’
‘I woke up anyway.’ He looks round, his eyes large. ‘What are you doing?’
My mouth is as dry as the wood in the rafters above me. I think fast. ‘Your mum told me she had some old junk for the school fair up here, and as I couldn’t sleep I thought I’d take a look.’
‘Can I come up?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s filthy. I’m coming down.’
The school summer fete has a bric-a-brac stall, and we’ve all had a letter asking for donations, so as excuses go, it’s not a disaster. Kai looks sceptical but evidently decides not to press the point. I climb down after him and close the hatch, then put the hook back where it came from.
ANNA
April 2018 One Month Earlier
SITTING ON THE VICTORIA LINE, ANNA TRIED HARD TO concentrate on her book. It was Saturday and Kai had gone to Ben’s parents for the entire weekend, she was all dolled up and on her way to meet Douglas. It was a real date. She gave up on the novel, and discreetly studied the other passengers. A man, younger than her, caught her eye and she sensed a spark of interest, but he got off at the next stop. Even so, that tiny connection made her bloom. Anna wondered what Grace would think if she knew who she was meeting. She had given Anna a bunch of yellow tulips to thank her for helping her out that time. It was a sweet gesture, but it didn’t give Anna any pleasure. If they had been true friends, gifts wouldn’t change hands; it would be assumed that they were there for each other. But it was a beginning, and she mustn’t get neurotic. It would happen. She would get to Nick, and through Nick to Tim. Those two owed her. Between them, they had stolen the last precious years of her childhood. They had betrayed her.
Thirty-three years old. She felt a thrum of panic. What if?
What if she falls for Douglas and he doesn’t fall for her?
What if he has someone? No one’s told her he doesn’t. She’s brought up the subject of Lottie’s situation a couple of times with Cassie and the others, in a kind of roundabout way, but no one’s mentioned Douglas’s domestic arrangement. Why would they discuss Grace’s business with her? They barely know her.
What if Kai doesn’t like him?
She didn’t mention the date to her son, but if it did come to something, she’d have to tread that line between needing his approval and not wanting him to get too attached in case it fizzled out. The last real relationship she had was three years ago, and that had been a disaster. She had thought two years was long enough, that Kai would understand, even expect her to start dating again. But no. He had a meltdown. Since then, it had been Tinder hook-ups if she could work up the energy.
This tiny bud of a thing with Grace Trelawney’s ex-boyfriend was different. She could feel it in the way her hands were shaking, her palms damp with sweat. She had to wash and dry them before doing up the mother-of-pearl buttons on her shirt. This meant something.
He had asked her not to tell Grace.
Did that mean something too?
Douglas was waiting for her. She reached up to kiss him on the cheek and his long fingers curled around her shoulder. They crossed the road and made their way towards Knightsbridge and the Italian restaurant he’d booked. They talked about this and that, Anna telling him about her day, trying to be witty and self-deprecating, and Douglas telling her about his. He wasn’t self-deprecating at all. From what he said, Anna gleaned that he was self-employed, worked in tech in some mysterious capacity, having decided that law didn’t suit him. The conversation as they walked along the busy Brompton Road didn’t exactly flow, but the traffic was noisy, there were a lot of people around, considering most of the shops were closed, and it was icy, so the
y were muffled in scarves. She had noticed that he was freshly shaved though, and she was encouraged by that.
She drank too fast. He didn’t. He was disconcertingly in control. She could appreciate him properly now; the fact of it being a date giving her permission to study his face, to appreciate its attractive asymmetry, to lose herself in his eyes. His mouth fascinated her. Between their main course and pudding, she felt emboldened to touch on more personal subjects, particularly the one that interested her most: the triangular relationship between him, Nick Ritchie and Grace Trelawney.
‘So, you seem to have a very civilized relationship with Grace.’
His fingers stroked the stem of his glass. ‘You gotta do it for the kids,’ he joked, then looked serious. ‘Lottie is the most important thing to both of us.’
‘What does Nick think about that?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’d say he takes it in good part. He knows I’m not walking away from my child to convenience him.’
‘Can I ask you a personal question?’ she said.
‘I think you just did.’
She held his gaze steadily. ‘Another one, then. Which one of you is the cuckoo in the nest?’
Douglas laughed out loud, and she was pleased that she amused him. He reached over and touched her cheek, and she felt joy blossom inside her.
‘I’m not trying to get in the way of Grace’s relationship. I don’t want her back.’ He paused and scrutinized her. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘No. Not at all.’ Angus had asked her that. She would have to watch herself, if that was the vibe she was giving out.
‘But you rightly want to know how things stand before you decide whether to let me into your life. I understand that, Anna. And I’ll tell you. I was very much in love with Grace, and she with me, but it didn’t work. She needed my help, but she found it hard to accept. She thought I was trying to control her; but I wasn’t, I was trying to ensure she didn’t fall back down the hole I pulled her out of.’
‘What kind of hole?’
‘If she wants you to know, then I’m sure she’ll tell you. You can ask me anything about myself, but I can’t share her secrets. It wouldn’t be fair.’
So Grace had secrets. The waiter offered them the dessert menu, and Anna ran her eyes over it while she took stock. She fancied Douglas, but there was danger there. With Ben she had been in control; was loved more than she loved. She had been cherished. Something told her that it would be different with Douglas; that she would be the one who clung. On the other hand, just being aware of that made her stronger. She could easily hide her insecurities, couldn’t she? Self-knowledge is power. He evidently still cared about Grace, but Anna could handle that. Grace was attractive enough, but she was hardly going to stop traffic. She was your typical girl next door. Some men liked that sort of thing, obviously, or there would be a sharp decline in population, but Anna knew her own power.
Bring it on.
She was drunk, on him as much as the wine. His glance made her giddy, his touch turned her insides to butter, his voice wrapped her in static anticipation. She didn’t want the night to end. She had an enormous urge to offload everything, to tell him about Izzy, about Nick and Tim Ritchie and Ben, but she had the sense to pull back from the brink. He was still too close to Grace, and she didn’t know yet whether she could trust him. She would wait until she had him at her feet.
She contented herself with telling him about her very brief liaison with an older man. Douglas looked Angus Moody up on his smartphone and raised his eyebrows.
‘He’s seriously loaded,’ he commented. ‘Shame you didn’t stick around a little longer. You might have got a pay-off. A bit of Cartier, perhaps.’
‘I’m not that sort of girl.’
She laughed, because he was only joking, but she found herself telling him what she had overheard at Angus’s house that afternoon, about the dubious nature of his business dealings, flattered by the way Douglas seemed so absorbed in her tale. It was only later that she discovered his interest was a little more than superficial.
GRACE
Saturday, 5 May 2018
ONCE I’VE SETTLED KAI BACK IN BED, I TAKE THE LETTER out from under my top and unfold it.
22 March 2017
Dearest Taisie,
Anna! (I’m finding it impossible to think of you as anything other than Taisie I’m afraid.) Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this afternoon. I will treasure the memory. You are a precious, special young woman and I hope you will always know this.
I have such fond memories of those summers watching you and your siblings growing up. I’m just so terribly sorry it all ended like it did. It was an idyllic time. I sense that you don’t think as well of yourself as I do, so do something for me. Try not to allow past hurts and grudges to fester. Take my advice and talk to your family. They miss you very much. You’ve made the first step now. It’ll be easier to make contact with the others.
I get the feeling I may have put my foot in it, as regards Nick Ritchie. I want you to know that I certainly don’t favour him over you. I would have encouraged any young person who showed a genuine interest and followed it up with such persistence. Send Kai my way when the time comes. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can. He sounds like a wonderful young man.
Yours
Angus
The notepaper is expensive and has Angus’s Kensington address embossed in a black font. He used a fountain pen, and his signature is restrained but confident. I lay the letter on my knees, feeling a little ashamed of myself for prying.
I’ve never been good at thinking things through. My brain can’t always work its way round a maze of information, like some people’s do with such ease, as if they were floating above it. But I try now. Were they lovers? There’s a hint of that, but nothing specific. Maybe he didn’t trust her. I don’t, and I don’t know her as well as he appears to. The letter doesn’t prove that she came after Nick, meaning to disrupt his life, but it’s surely enough to make the police accept that Anna may well be the key to all this.
What else does it tell me?
Anna made that first move towards reconciliation by getting in touch with a close family friend the year before she moved into this area. She didn’t take Angus’s advice and speak to her family, but she did make contact with Nick. She denies being in touch with Alex, but she could have lied. I can imagine a scenario where Alex got in touch with her as part of his recovery, and she spotted an opportunity and persuaded him to put pressure on Nick, having already started the process the evening before.
Why did Anna go to see Angus in the first place? Because she was lonely? I remember my own first impression of Nick’s boss: utterly in control, courteous and charming. I’d guess she contacted him and not his wife because she’s more comfortable with men than she is with women. And the Moodys rather than the Ritchies because of what Tim did to her. He had betrayed her parents’ friendship and made a mockery of her childhood.
As for the women, if Cora and Jess Wells were anything like Cassie and me, they would have been in and out of each other’s houses when the children were tiny. I sigh inwardly. Is any of this even relevant? I should call the police.
This house is so cold. I pull a soft woollen throw from the back of the armchair and wrap it round my shoulders, then go to the door, open it and wander out into the street. I breathe in the heady scent of the wisteria that covers the house next door, its flowers dripping shades of purple. It’s such a tranquil road, but who knows what goes on behind the prettily painted walls?
A siren wails in the distance, and I look up, my stomach flipping. Above the roofs, over in the direction of the Common, a halo of blue lights pulses a grim rhythm. I go back inside, quietly close the door, pick up the phone and take it back upstairs to Anna’s bedroom. From her window, I can see the lights better. It’s definitely the Common. There are problems there from time to time, especially with underage drinkers – groups of teenagers buying booze from the minimart and gathering
in the gloom. I tend not to walk Toffee there at night if Nick isn’t around. Once someone was stabbed in the playground. It could be anything. I’m sure this has nothing to do with Anna.
‘I want to report someone missing,’ I say into the phone, my eyes fixed on the lights, and it all starts again.
‘What is your relationship?’
‘She’s a friend.’
‘Does she have health issues?’
The voice could belong to the same female operator. I wait for her to comment on this, to mention the remarkable coincidence of me calling to report a missing person twice in three weeks, to make some light remark about lightning not striking the same place twice, but she doesn’t, and maybe she’s not the same person anyway.
I know what the routine is, that she’s about to tell me to wait until tomorrow. I turn away, and sit down on the end of Anna’s bed, exhausted.
‘I’m really concerned about her,’ I say. ‘She’s left her child—’
There’s a noise, a quiet shuffle, and I turn to find Kai standing in the doorway, his eyes huge. I go to him, put my hand on his shoulder and lead him gently back to his bedroom. He climbs obediently back into bed, but I can tell he’s hyper alert.
‘How old is the child?’ the woman is asking.
The doorbell rings and I sag with relief. Anna must have forgotten her keys. Maybe she’s drunk.
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘She’s back. Sorry to waste your time.’
Kai springs up, but I block him. I want to check what kind of state his mother is in before he sees her. He struggles in my arms.
‘I want to see Mummy.’
The doorbell rings again, more insistently this time. I’m torn, but in the end I insist. It’s the right thing to do.
