by C J Carver
She was aware that she might have to tell him at some point, but if she thought about it for too long she got a panicky sensation in her lungs because she knew he’d take it badly. The time she should have told him was well past. All she could hope for was that if… or when she told him, he’d understand her reasons, and forgive her. Because life without Nick – her entire world, her raison d’être – life would be untenable.
Chapter 4
I hadn’t been gone long, fifteen minutes max, but by the time I returned the family had descended. That’s the trouble when you don’t move from the village where you’ve spent your childhood. Everyone lives seconds away, and everyone, it seemed, had been watching the ten o’clock news.
Susie topped up Dad’s whisky before grabbing a fresh one and pouring one for me, but I didn’t take it. I didn’t want alcohol to blur my senses. I was surrounded by my family, all talking over one another, their voices rising into a hysterical pitch.
I held up both hands in the faint hope they might calm down. ‘I know as much as you do. I saw him on TV tonight. That’s it. That’s all I know.’
‘You’ll find him, darling,’ Mum said. ‘Won’t you.’
It was a statement, not a request.
‘And bring him back,’ my sister added, ‘so I c-can…’ She started to break down but with a huge effort, she swallowed, adding firmly, ‘So I can sodding well kill him.’
Mum put her arm around Kate and they held each other, crying. Although Mum was in her mid-sixties, the resemblance between them was strong. Soft curly brown hair, wide brown eyes and open features that made people like and trust them instantly. Rob took after them. I looked more like our father. Taller, darker, lots more angles.
‘Ditto that,’ Dad growled.
Simon took a slug of wine. ‘We should contact the journalists,’ he said. ‘The BBC. I mean Rob’s a hero. They’ll track him down for us.’
‘No.’ The word was said very flat.
Everyone turned to look at Susie.
‘We need to find him first.’
Simon opened and closed his mouth. ‘But it could take us twice as long. They’ve got resources we haven’t.’
‘There’s a reason why he disappeared,’ Susie continued. ‘What if he was in danger? What if, by finding him, we bring that danger to him again?’
Everyone looked blank but I could see the sense in what she said, if Rob had been in danger, that was. But what in the hell could it have been? Why hadn’t I known about it?
‘I think Susie might be right,’ I said cautiously. She sent me a swift smile of encouragement so I added, ‘We should be asking ourselves why he vanished, and why he’s pretended he’s been dead for the past twelve years.’
Silence.
‘Perhaps he got hit on the head,’ Kate offered, ‘and he’s got memory loss.’
More silence.
‘What if he hasn’t got memory loss?’ Susie suggested gently.
I drew in a deep breath. ‘He didn’t hang around waiting for the accolades today, did he. As soon as the police turned up, he disappeared. He’s the unknown hero. It’s my guess he doesn’t want anyone to know it was him.’
They were all staring at me as if I was talking Swahili, but after another look of reassurance from Susie, I ploughed on. ‘I think we should give him the opportunity to explain himself to us first, and before we drag in any journalists.’
‘What sort of danger?’ Mum was looking baffled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Are you saying he set up his skiff’s wreck?’ Kate’s eyes rounded. ‘That he planned it?’
‘But how did he get ashore?’ Simon was shaking his head from side to side like a baffled buffalo. ‘That couple saw him way out in the Channel. I know he was a strong swimmer, but it was crazy out there…’
Everyone was talking at once and through the bedlam, Susie’s phone rang. She checked the display and, to my surprise, handed it to me. My heart faltered when I saw who it was. Rob’s wife, Clara. The wife who – twelve years earlier – had buried her husband with two toddlers at her side.
I took the phone to the studio.
‘Is it true?’ she asked. Her voice trembled. ‘Susie rang me. She didn’t want it to come as a shock in case I heard it elsewhere.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, feeling like the worst brother-in-law in the world. I hadn’t even thought of Clara. Thank God for Susie.
‘Is it him?’ she pressed.
‘I think so. I mean, he’s older, but he hasn’t changed much. He still has that scar I gave him on his chin.’
‘Oh, God.’
I let a silence fall. I couldn’t begin to think what she was going through. I remembered the Coroner stating that Robert Ashdown, twenty-five, most likely died by drowning when he went missing on Saturday August twenty-fourth. I feel strongly this is not a suicide. I want to be perfectly clear that is not the situation here. After the inquest, Clara said that although the ruling put legal closure to her husband’s disappearance, no one would ever know what had happened, or why Rob had uncharacteristically taken his eighteen-foot skiff out when a storm was blowing up.
‘Does this mean my marriage is null and void?’ Clara asked. She was breathing hard. ‘That it doesn’t exist?’
She was talking about her current marriage, obviously. After Rob’s death, Clara didn’t date for years. Not until the kids were ten and eight. Rob and Clara had lived in Bosham and even though Rob had eventually got full time work in London, they’d never discussed moving closer to the city. Like Susie, he’d commuted.
After he died, Clara stayed in Bosham where we all helped out. I babysat sometimes, and when the kids grew up – Finn was fifteen, Honey fourteen – I taught them how to sail. Clara met her second husband John at the sailing club – where else? – and they got married within the year. What John was going through right now was anyone’s guess, but having your wife’s dead husband suddenly pop up on the TV had to be one of the world’s least pleasant experiences.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but I can’t imagine anyone’s going to come after you guys for infidelity.’
She started to cry. My heart twisted. She and Rob had been childhood sweethearts and although they were having a rocky period when Rob vanished – a house filled with nappies and squalling never helped anybody’s mood – I’d never had any doubt about their love for one another. He’d sold his car – a third-hand Ford Fiesta – in order to buy Clara an engagement ring. I’d rolled my eyes at what I perceived to be an act of romantic folly – I couldn’t live without my car – but Clara had adored him for it. As usual, he’d landed on his feet when Aunt Julia told a friend of hers about Rob’s grand gesture and the friend sold him her little Vauxhall for a song. He always came out on top, Rob, no matter what he got up to. At least that’s what I’d thought, until today.
I heard voices clamouring in the background. Finn and Honey. My heart twisted a second time. How could Rob have done this to them?
‘Do you want to come over?’ I asked Clara. ‘Everyone’s here.’
She didn’t hesitate.
‘We’re on our way.’
Chapter 5
It was three o’clock in the morning when everyone finally went home. Susie and I sat on stools at the kitchen worktop. I did some more staring at the fire.
‘Thanks,’ I said after a while. I leaned over and gave her arm an I-love-you squeeze. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a trouper.’
‘They’re my family too.’ She sighed. ‘I’d do anything for them, you know.’ She slid me a cautious look. ‘Are they serious about you finding him?’
Being the eldest, it nearly always fell on me to be the responsible one and look out for the others, and today it was no different. When my family left that night, they kissed and hugged me and told me they were so glad I was going to find Rob, and to let them know what I wanted them to do and they’d do it. I’d been elected Vice Admiral of the Family Fleet a while ago (Dad was still the admiral t
hough) and right now I felt a bit like my sister, happy to find my baby brother so I could kill him for putting us through this.
‘Yes.’
‘How are you going to go about it?’ She was frowning.
‘I don’t know.’ I suddenly felt exhausted. ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow.’
Susie spooned me in bed that night, pressing her lithe form against my spine and kissing the skin between my shoulder blades. I fell asleep to the sound of her soft breathing.
As usual, Susie left for work the next morning to catch the 0618 train to Victoria. I felt the bed dip as she came to kiss me goodbye.
‘Hmmm.’ I hooked an arm around her and pulled her close. I was about to slip my hand beneath her jacket to the silk shirt below to stroke the small of her back with my fingertips when I suddenly remembered.
Rob. My brother was alive.
Abruptly I opened my eyes.
The room was dark. A slim strip of orange outlined the curtains from the streetlight outside.
‘Hope Clara’s all right,’ Susie murmured. ‘Let me know what she says.’
During the mayhem the previous night, Susie had gleaned from Clara that the day before Rob vanished – a Saturday – he’d had three men visit him at home. It was the first I’d heard of it, but then we hadn’t been analysing anything at the time because we thought we knew where he was – sailing his woefully small skiff into the English Channel. He’d been seen going out by the Quay Master, along with a couple in a motorboat who were returning into Chichester Harbour. They’d apparently passed him going out as they were motoring past Eastoke Point.
Susie pressed a kiss against my lips. ‘Love you.’
‘Hmm. Me too. Look…’ I pushed up onto an elbow. ‘You don’t have to come back tonight. It’s a horrible commute.’
‘I’ll be on the nineteen thirty-two,’ she said firmly.
Which got into Bosham at eleven minutes past nine. I’d make sure I’d have something hot for her to eat when she got in. It wouldn’t have to be anything special. Susie wasn’t a great foodie and saw food more as fuel than something to be savoured, so a big bowl of pasta or chilli con carne would be fine.
I lay in bed and listened to her leave. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep again but the next thing I knew it was light and next door’s dog was barking to be let in for its breakfast. Which meant it was just before eight o’clock. The precise time I woke up every day. Nice to know my body clock wasn’t affected by my brother’s sudden reappearance.
As I climbed out of bed, I wondered who else might have recognised him. His old school friends maybe? The Ashdown family might not have been the only ones who’d got a shock watching the TV the previous night.
Before I showered, I texted Clara and told her I’d come over to her place later. Then I checked the BBC news website. Rob was fourth under the Most Popular column: Unknown hero tackles armed killer.
An unknown man brought down an armed killer who opened fire in a popular Italian restaurant yesterday in central London, killing four people and injuring another eight. Dramatic video footage shows the fearless bystander leap onto the murderer as he strafed the restaurant.
My chest hollowed as I studied the photographs. There were quite a few thanks to people’s mobile phones snapping him as he sat atop the gunman. My mind buzzed with what felt like a million trapped bees, but one thought sat quietly in the centre:
It was my brother.
No doubt about it.
He wore black jeans and a leather jacket over a T-shirt. A pair of suede Chelsea boots. He looked casual but stylish. I’d always envied his effortless flair with clothes. We could wear the same outfit – shorts, sailing fleece and deck shoes – but where he’d look cool, I merely looked workmanlike. Same went for everything really. Rob had the golden touch, the effortless charm, the joie de vivre that most people found irresistible. I was the stodgy elder brother, the sensible one, and yes, okay, people liked me – just not as much as Rob.
As I pictured him the last time I saw him, standing at The Anchor Bleu bar, his hair tousled and salt-whipped, his cheeks as round and red as a pair of billiard balls, his head thrown back as he laughed his infectious laugh, I felt a pain tear through me like a chainsaw.
I bent double and wrapped my arms around my middle.
I heard a weird groaning sound, like a horse in agony, and with a shock, I realised it was me.
I couldn’t get Rob’s image out of my head. He’d been drinking with Etienne, a sailing buddy of his. The pub’s landlord had just posed a question from his crossword – a double entendre – and they were ribbing one another. When Rob had seen me, he’d beckoned me over, hooked an arm around my shoulders and bought me a pint. My brother, who I liked enormously, loved deeply and trusted absolutely, had betrayed me.
Something inside me, an innate instinct, knew that nothing would be the same again.
Where had he been?
The pain inside me twisted. Feelings rioted through me. I’d trusted Rob. Why hadn’t he told me the truth? If he’d been in danger, why hadn’t he come to me?
I remembered him being bullied at primary school, two boys taking his pocket money as well as his sweets, and although he’d begged me not to do anything – he was convinced my intervention would make things worse – I’d lain in wait for the two toerags and jumped them when they weren’t expecting it. I’d grabbed one and punched him straight on the nose. I can still see his face, filled with a combination of surprise and horror. The other boy legged it, but neither of them bothered Rob again.
I tried to think why he’d lied. Allowed us to think he was dead. I thought about the coastguard’s search for him. The police and their kindness in alerting us each time a fresh piece of debris from Kingfisher was found ashore. I considered the pain we’d gone through.
Gradually, anger seeped past the other emotions and took root. It rose from my belly and into my heart, snaking through me as hot as fire. It burned all my other emotions clean.
I wanted answers, and I wanted them from him.
Chapter 6
I made a coffee – Susie had bought us a Nespresso machine the week she’d moved in – and sipped it looking out over the garden. Being February, it was looking particularly drab. No flowers, not even a snowdrop. Leafless shrubs surrounded a muddy lawn that the blackbird had ripped up searching for worms.
Who had Rob been meeting at the restaurant? Susie had managed to see on the TV that although it looked as though he’d been on his own, two glasses of wine were on the table. She’s got the eyes of a sharpshooter that girl.
Who had he been meeting?
I looked up the restaurant’s phone number and called, but unsurprisingly, nobody was answering. It was no doubt full of investigators and forensic experts bagging every bullet, photographing every drop of blood spilled. I looked at the BBC report again. I couldn’t explain it, but I had an increasing urge to go there. See the spot where Rob had launched himself at the gunman. See the table where he’d sat. And if I was lucky, talk to people who’d seen him.
I’d just put on my coat, when the phone rang. Susie’s dad. Victor Fleming. For a moment I dithered, but then I realised I’d have to speak to him at some point.
‘Hi, Victor.’
‘Susie sent me an email. I’ve checked out the news your end about the man who stopped that terrorist in London. She says it’s your brother. Is that right?’
‘Yes.’ I sighed.
‘They don’t have his name yet. The media, I mean.’
‘No.’
‘I won’t ring up The Sun, if you’re worried.’ Victor tried to make light of it. ‘How are you bearing up? What about your mum and dad?’
‘We’re all a bit shocked.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘But we’re okay.’
Short pause.
‘Where,’ he asked, ‘do you think he’s been?’
‘No idea.’
‘He saved those people in the restaurant. He’s a hero.’<
br />
‘Yes.’
Another pause.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Tell Susie I rang. And I know we’re not exactly around the corner but if we can do anything, let us know.’
Talk about a British understatement. Just after Susie had graduated from uni, Victor and Marjory had retired to New Zealand, the furthest country from the UK. Living the outdoor life – hiking endless scenic trails, trout fishing – along with owning a winery and building their own luxury ocean-view home – had been a dream of theirs for years. Thankfully for me, it hadn’t been Susie’s dream. She’d had nothing but a career in London in mind. The centre of the universe, was how she’d put it. Why would I go to a backwater like New Zealand?
‘Will do,’ I said, although I doubted we’d call upon them. ‘Thanks, Victor.’
‘Love to you both.’
I hung up. Got in the car. Drove to the office. I may have had a studio at home, but I hadn’t made the move to start my own business yet. Susie nagged me, saying I could do a lot better being self-employed, but I liked having the guarantee of a wage every month. It allowed me to sleep every night without panicking about how to pay the electricity bill, or my mooring fees. One day, I’d do it. But not quite yet. Maybe next year.
Ronja was already at her drawing board when I arrived. She’s Swedish and spectacularly tall with a mane of blonde hair that turns every male head wherever she goes. She’d set up UrStudio with her English boyfriend over ten years earlier. The boyfriend is now long gone, but she’s still here, along with the rest of us – half a dozen designers housed in an airy building overlooking Eastgate Square in the centre of Chichester, not so much a square as a broad area with four roads conjoining.
We do branding, logo and graphic, website and digital design with motion graphics, video, infographic. Big agency vision, Ronja always said, with the personal touch of a Chichester boutique. Our clients range from a dental practice to a bespoke jeweller and a countywide recycling company. Ronja had landed our biggest client just before Christmas, HAPS, and given them to me to develop their brand nationwide as well as their presence online. On the one hand I was delighted to have such a big company to take on but on the other struggled with finding much creative joy in heating and plumbing services let alone things like angled bypass valves and saddle clips. Still, it brought in the money so I couldn’t complain.
