A Question of Love (11 page)

‘So…where do she and your ex live now?’

‘In Chiswick, in the house Magda owned before she met me—it had been let. The garden’s bigger than mine so the goats are happy, and it’s not too far away. I pay the mortgage on it and all the bills, and Jessica’s school fees…’

‘Doesn’t Magda work?’

‘No. She used to be an interpreter—she was well-paid—but she won’t do it any more.’

‘That’s tough for you.’

‘I know. Luckily the gallery’s been doing okay. I
just
managed to hang on to Lonsdale Road with extra borrowing but money’s been tight. I’ve really had to duck and dive.’

I dipped a prawn dumpling into the soy sauce. ‘Which is why you wanted to get on the quiz?’

‘Partly—because, as I told you, I’ve got this place at the Slade. But I also did it because…well, I wanted to
see
you, Laura. I’d never ever forgotten you.’ He stroked the back of my hand. ‘I thought of you so often—particularly since hearing what had happened—and I’d like to believe that you thought of me too.’

‘I didn’t let myself,’ I said quietly. ‘I’d push you away. But you’d come back to me in my dreams.’

He smiled. ‘I knew you’d have dinner with me.’

‘Really? How could you be so sure?’

He nodded at my hands, clasped under my chin. ‘Because I saw that you were wearing my watch.’

I glanced at my left wrist. On it was the slim gold watch Luke had given me for my 21st. It had cost him the whole of that term’s grant.

‘Well,’ I shrugged. ‘I…like it…and…it would be silly to…waste it, wouldn’t it?’

Suddenly his mobile phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then winced. ‘Sorry, Laura. I’ll be right back.’ He went outside and, through the large plate glass window, I saw him standing on the damp pavement, beneath the street lamp, then slowly pacing back and forth. Once or twice he ran his left hand through his hair in an intense, frustrated way. Then I saw him snap shut his phone.

‘Childcare arrangements,’ he said, as he came back to the table, purse-lipped. ‘Magda was trying to suggest that her bloody boyfriend drop Jessica off tomorrow morning. She was only saying that to hurt me—silly cow. I told her I’d collect
my
daughter
my
self!’

‘And what’s the boyfriend like?’

‘He’s called Steve—he’s late thirties, an accountant—divorced with three teenagers. How he feels about goats I have no idea, but Magda misses no opportunity to tell me what a paragon he is and what a “marvellous stepfather,” he’d make,’ he added bitterly.

‘And have
you
been out with anyone else?’

‘No. I’ve been too upset—I’ve lived like a monk; plus I’d been through enough pain with her and I didn’t want to risk any more with someone new.’ He stared at me. ‘But what about
your
life, Laura?
Your
marriage?’

My heart sank. I hate talking about Nick, but I wanted Luke to know exactly what had happened.

‘How did you meet?’ he asked.

‘At Radio 4.’ I had a large sip of water. ‘I’d set up an interview with him about the Sudan, and I politely chatted to him while he was waiting to go on air, and afterwards, to my surprise, he asked me out.’

‘When was this?’

‘Eleven years ago now. In the spring of ‘94.’

‘Not that long after we split up then.’

I pushed a piece of tempura round my plate. ‘That’s right.’

‘And were you in love with him?’

‘That’s a very direct question.’

‘I’m sorry. But I want to know. Were you?’

‘I think so. I mean—yes. Of course I was.’ I stared at the flickering tea-light in its glass holder.

‘You sound like Prince Charles with Diana.’

‘Look Luke, Nick was honourable and kind, and he was doing something worthwhile. Plus he was very keen on me, so, yes, I guess that…helped. Okay, he wasn’t exciting, like you were. But he was very interesting, and he was a
good
person. And I didn’t think that he’d hurt me.’ I gave him a bleak smile. ‘That seems rather ironic now.’

‘And didn’t you want kids?’ I shifted on my chair. ‘I know that’s a very direct question too—but I feel no barriers with you, Laura, just talking to you like this again.’ He gently took my left hand in both his and stroked the tips of my fingers. It made me feel almost faint with desire. ‘So…?’ He looked at me expectantly. ‘Didn’t you want a family? I’ve always imagined you with children.’

‘We never…got round to it.’ I withdrew my hand, then fiddled with my napkin. ‘We were both forging our careers. And then, well…you heard what happened. So that was that,’ I added bitterly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘When exactly was it?’

‘On the first of January, 2002.’

‘So he did it on New Year’s Day? Just to add to your grief, I suppose.’

‘It was wonderful timing—you’re right. And of course it’s ruined every New Year’s Day since. A permanent reminder.’

‘I suppose what he did—’ he lowered his chopsticks—‘is just about the worst thing anyone
can
do to their partner.’ I nodded. ‘The pain that it leaves behind. And the
questions
I suppose. The unanswered questions…’

‘Oh yes,’ I said bitterly.

‘But you’re getting over it now?’

I thought of Nick’s stuff, buried in boxes.

‘I have laid his memory to rest.’

A silence descended. I glanced out of the window. People were scurrying by with umbrellas. Collars were upturned. I could hear the swish of wet tyres on the road.

‘And do you think there’s any chance he might ever…come back?’

I inhaled slowly. ‘That’s…highly unlikely.’

‘But it does happen sometimes.’ I looked at him. ‘I’m sure I read that somewhere.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s almost unknown. Especially after so long. If Nick
was
going to come back then he’d have done it a long time ago—probably within the first three months. That’s what the experts all say. They say that the longer a missing person has been away then the harder it is for them to return. I suppose they’re afraid they’ll be in serious trouble, because they know they’ve caused so much misery and stress.’

‘So he just…disappeared? Out of the blue?’

‘Into the blue, I often think. His car was found by the coast.’

‘And how did it happen? If you don’t mind talking about it?’

‘No. In fact I’d like to tell you.’ I had another sip of water. ‘We’d been on the London Eye. I thought it would be a nice thing to do on New Year’s morning. We’d had a few…difficulties…and I said that it would give us a positive perspective on everything. And I did remember, afterwards, that when I’d said that, he’d smiled this strange, rather sad little smile.’

‘And he disappeared later that day?’

I nodded. ‘It was around six o’clock—I know that because I was listening to the news on the radio as I did something in the kitchen, and I heard him call out that he was just going to get a pint of milk. So I said fine, but half an hour later he hadn’t returned. And after an hour had passed he still wasn’t back, and by then I had a very bad feeling, and I opened the fridge and saw that we already had a full bottle of milk. So I ran to the little local supermarket and asked the woman at the check-out if she’d seen him, and she said she hadn’t. Then I looked for the car, and it was gone. So I called his office in case he’d gone there, but there was no reply—and he wasn’t answering his mobile phone. I waited another two hours, and by now I was in a real state. By the time it got to ten I was frantic. So now I rang my parents, and they told me to call the police. But the police said that I couldn’t report him missing until he’d been gone for twenty-four hours. You can imagine what those next twenty hours were like.’

‘Agony.’

I nodded. ‘Fliss came round and spent the night. Every time the phone went it was like an electric shock; I felt as though my nerve endings were attached to twitching wires. But I clung to the belief that there must be some perfectly rational explanation and that I’d suddenly hear his key in the door. But I didn’t hear it. Not that night, or the next day—or ever again.’

Luke shook his head. ‘Did he take anything with him?’

‘Just the car. Three days after he’d gone they found it abandoned on the Norfolk coast, just outside Blakeney, where he used to go on family holidays as a boy. In it were his phone, his house keys, and his wallet—the credit cards untouched. Then, the next morning, they found his scarf. It had been washed up on the beach.’ I shuddered at the memory. ‘So then a massive sea search was launched, with helicopters and divers, but they failed to locate a body. But they said that if he
had
committed suicide—which I refused to believe because I knew him well enough to know he’d never do that—then he’d be washed up further down the coast, probably within three weeks. But a month went by and nothing was found.’

‘The waiting must have been terrible,’ Luke said. My stomach lifted up and down just thinking about it. ‘For his family too.’

‘He didn’t have siblings, and both his parents had died. His mother years ago, when he was a student, and his father three months before Nick disappeared. The National Missing Persons’ Helpline were very supportive. They put up posters in Norfolk and London. They also advised me to talk to homeless people down on the Embankment, just in case Nick was living rough. So I spent a month trudging around, going into pubs and cafes, showing people his photo, asking if they’d seen him. I had to bear in mind how, if he was living rough, his appearance might have changed. He’d be unshaven, maybe bearded. He’d be thinner than he was—he was a big, well-built man. He might be walking in a different, less confident way. And I went to Leicester Square every day for those four weeks, just sitting there on a bench all afternoon, watching the people go by, thinking that I might suddenly spot him. And I remember, once, running after a man who I was convinced
was
Nick—I even called out his name, but he didn’t hear, so I grabbed his arm from behind. And he turned, and he looked
so
shocked…He clearly thought I was mad.’ I clutched my napkin. ‘I think I
did
go mad for a while.’

‘And what about your work?’

‘I had to go back. It was hard, but I needed the money—and the distraction. But I wanted to stay in the flat in case Nick phoned, or even turned up. I had this fear that if he came back and I wasn’t there, then he’d just take off again. So my boss, Tom, let me work from home. He was wonderful actually.’ I remembered again how supportive Tom had been, despite the fact that he was having his own marital crisis. He’d drop off the books I needed. He’d bring me funny videos, to cheer me up—I remember he gave me a boxed set of Ealing comedies and five series of
Frasier
. He’d make sure I had enough in the fridge.

‘So you never went out?

I shook my head. ‘Hardly ever, and then not very far. I had a new phone line put in, so that our main one was always clear in case Nick called. When I did have to leave the flat, which was rare, I’d leave a note for Nick on the door. I left all his things completely untouched. Our marital home was like the
Marie Celeste.’

‘And how long did this go on for?’

‘Two months. By then, of course, I was a wreck. Day in, day out, I lived in this…
void.
I was in such a state that I could hardly eat. It was as much as I could do to wash. But then in early March I got these two silent phone calls—one in the afternoon and one the following morning. I could hear faint breathing at the other end, and I just knew it was him, so I said “Nick, please don’t hang up. Please
, please
just talk to me.” Both times I heard a sigh, or he might have been trying to whisper my name. But then the line went dead—and that was all the contact I had. Until…’ I paused while the waiter took away our plates.

‘Until…?’

‘The middle of April.
The World Tonight
did a feature about missing persons, and they interviewed me.’

‘I heard it. That’s how I knew.’

‘And the following morning, my case manager at the Missing Persons’ Helpline phoned me to say there was
fantastic
news—Nick had just made contact. I was so
happy
…’ I heard my voice catch. ‘I was…
elated
. I just kept saying how wonderful it was, and I kept thanking them for their help, over and over…’ My throat was aching with a suppressed sob. ‘Then I asked them when I could see him, but they didn’t answer. So I asked them again. I said, “When can I see him? I want to see him.” And there was this odd little silence. And they told me that he’d phoned their 24-hour “Message Home” line and had said he was safe and well—’ my eyes were brimming, the tears tickling my lower lashes—‘but that he wanted no further contact.’

‘No further contact?’

I covered my face with my hand. ‘The
relief
…The
relief
of knowing that he was all right—but at the same time the knowledge that he didn’t want to
see
me. The
cruelty
of it—after all I’d been through.’ I felt a hot tear slide down my cheek. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured, ‘but I can never talk about it without crying.’

‘Who could blame you?’ Luke murmured. He discreetly passed me his handkerchief. ‘But at least he wasn’t dead, thank God.’

I swallowed. ‘Yes. That’s what I told myself. “At least he’s not dead.” Although, in one way, he
was.
And that’s what it’s been like ever since. I’ve been in this awful limbo in which I feel like a widow—I even got letters of
sympathy—
and yet my husband’s alive. And it was impossible to start again with anyone else, because, technically, my marriage wasn’t over—although, of course, it was. Even if he did come back, which he’s not going to after so long, we could never go back to being a “normal” couple. Can you imagine my resentment? Plus I’d never trust him not to do it again.’ I thought again how ironic it was that Nick, who had seemed so ‘safe’ after my heartache with Luke, should have done something so terrible.

‘Why can’t you just get divorced?’

‘Because you can only divorce without consent after five years. And I couldn’t face the idea of going on dates, and having to explain that I was still married, but that my husband was a missing person—that he was out there, somewhere, but I didn’t know where, because he didn’t
want
me to know. I felt stigmatized by what Nick had done—as though I was such an awful person he couldn’t bear to see me, or even talk to me, or separate from me honestly and openly. It totally destroyed my morale.’