Losing You (18 page)

‘What is it? Mum, what are you looking at?’

‘It’s all right,’ I muttered to Jackson. I gazed at the crosses, frowning, turning the pages between them. They came, I saw, approximately every month, and struck by a thought I counted the days between each cross: twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-seven, twenty-seven.

Charlie’s periods. Of course. But then an icy trickle ran down my spine and I turned to December again. Nothing. No cross. There were – I did the sum – thirty-nine days between the last cross on 9 November and today, Saturday, 18 December. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything, or perhaps it meant that Charlie had missed her period and was anxious she was pregnant. Perhaps it meant that she
was
pregnant.

I closed the diary and stared blankly at Jackson.

‘What is it, Mum?’ he asked again.

‘Nothing,’ I replied.

He nodded mutely.

‘There, I think your dad’s coming in. Why don’t you run and ask him to make you one of his famous toasted-cheese sandwiches?’

‘Will you have one too?’

‘I’ve got a phone call to make.’

I ran upstairs to avoid Rory and went into my bedroom. Renata was lying in the bed. Her eyes were open and she was staring blankly at the ceiling. I snatched up the phone and rang Hammill’s number. It was engaged and I couldn’t leave this as a message. So I rang the police station, asked for Detective Constable Beck and was put through.

‘This is Nina Landry,’ I began. ‘My daughter may be pregnant, or think she is.’

‘How do you –’

‘In her diary,’ I said shortly. ‘Did you follow up Laura’s sighting?’

‘I believe she’s talking to DI Hammill now.’

‘No other news, then?’ I asked, knowing the answer.

‘We’re proceeding. We’ll let you know as soon as we find anything. Honestly, I’ve got a daughter of my own and I can imagine how desperate you must –’

‘Right.’ I slammed down the phone, closed the curtains in case Renata wanted to sleep, and left the room, shutting the door behind me.

Rory and Jackson were in the kitchen. Rory looked terrible, peaky and red-eyed. He was talking nineteen to the dozen to Jackson, feverish gibberish that fooled nobody, certainly not Jackson who was gazing at him anxiously.

‘I need to talk to you,’ I said to Rory.

‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Charlie?’

‘Alone,’ I said. ‘Jackson, darling, can you wait in your room for a bit? It’s something private.’

He stared at me for a few moments, then wandered disconsolately out of the kitchen. We heard him trudging heavily up the stairs.

‘I’ve been looking through her diary,’ I said.

‘Well?’

‘It’s where she writes her arrangements, but the thing is –’

The phone rang in the living room again and I ran to it.

‘Nina? This is DI Hammill.’

Sudden hope blasted through me, and I could hardly stand up straight.

‘Yes?’

‘No news yet, I’m afraid, but we’re very anxious to talk to your husband as soon as possible. Has he arrived yet?’

I called Rory, who came through and took the receiver. His face was chalky; there were beads of perspiration on his upper lip and forehead.

‘Yes,’ he was saying. ‘Right. Of course.’ He put down the phone and turned to me. ‘I’ve got to go to the police station. They want me to make a statement.’ He gave a twisted little smile, barbed wire across his features. ‘Funny how they make a man feel guilty for being a father.’

I waited. My insides were churning.

‘It’s just off Miller Street, right?’

‘Right.’

He hesitated, and I waited without speaking.

‘See you, then,’ he said.

As soon as he closed the door, I took my mobile from its charger and dialled. I waited and a young voice answered:

‘Yes?’

‘Jay? It’s Nina.’

‘Have you found her yet?’

‘No.’

‘The police called. They want to talk to me.’ He sounded scared. But, then, Rory was scared of the police too.

‘They’re talking to everyone,’ I said. ‘Everyone who knows Charlie well. I wondered if I could come and see you.’

‘If you like.’ He paused. ‘I want to help.’

‘Good. I’ll come to the farm, shall I?’

‘OK.’ Another slight pause. ‘Don’t tell my dad what it’s about, though.’

‘I’ll fetch my car and be with you in a few minutes. Five or ten at the most.’

‘I’ll wait by the barns. You don’t need to go all the way to the house.’

‘All right.’

First I had to sort out Jackson. Rory was at the police station and it was clear that I couldn’t leave him with Renata any more. She needed looking after herself. I didn’t want to take him with me, to hear about Charlie’s sex life, but I didn’t want to leave him alone. He was eleven years old and very frightened.

I rang Bonnie’s house, in case she had come home early from her Christmas shopping, but there was only an answering-machine. I tried Sandy’s parents, although I knew Jackson and Sandy had fallen out over some playground football game recently. My qualms were irrelevant. There was no answer. It was nearly Christmas. Everyone was out, shopping, collecting Christmas trees, visiting grandparents, waiting in airports for their flights to the sun.

I went to Jackson’s bedroom. It was cold because I had turned off the heating. I hadn’t thought we’d be needing it until January. He was standing by the window, looking out at the sea. His shoulders were hunched and when he turned to me his face was pale and stunned.

‘Honey, I’ve got to go out and I think you should come with me. Grab your jacket, will you?’

Wordlessly, he followed me down the stairs and pushed his arms into it.

‘We’ve got to get my car. I left it by the newsagent’s.’

He nodded and we left. The wind was like iron. The sky had turned white and low. As if snow might fall, I thought. I held on to Jackson’s cold hand and hurried him along. Occasionally I said things like ‘It’s all right, darling,’ and ‘We’ll find her.’ I remembered that he hadn’t had anything to eat.

In The Street I took Jackson into the bakery. There wasn’t an impressive selection of food – pasties and pies that looked scarily industrial. I turned to him. ‘Do you want a cheese roll or a ham roll?’

‘Don’t mind.’

They were only a pound. I bought one of each. I tried to remember when I had last eaten and couldn’t. At the party? I didn’t know. Back out on the street, I handed the cheese roll to Jackson, then I peeled back the polythene from the other and took a bite. The bread was doughy, damp. The ham didn’t taste of anything. I struggled to chew and swallow it. It didn’t matter: I just needed to get something into my body so I wouldn’t fall over or faint later. I took Jackson’s free hand and stepped over the road towards the car. Somewhere close there was a screech of brakes and tyres. Everything
slowed down and I had time to find what was about to happen weirdly, foully comic. My daughter was missing, I was running around like a lunatic, and in the middle of it all my son and I were about to be run over. Charlie would be missing and Jackson and I would be in hospital. The idea was almost restful. Somebody else could take control.

But we weren’t run over. I swung round, Jackson behind me, and saw the grey bonnet of a car that had come to a halt just inches in front of me. Steam was rising through the grille as if the car itself was angry with me. I couldn’t see the driver because of the shifting reflections on the windscreen, but the vehicle was familiar. I walked round and was greeted by Rick’s shocked face. He wound down the window.

‘I… er… Are you all right?’ he said, looking really shaken.

As if I hadn’t put him through enough already today. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not thinking properly. I walked out without looking. It’s completely my fault. I’m so sorry.’

There was a sound of a car horn behind Rick. A queue was building up. A man got out of one of the cars. His hair was cropped so closely that you could see the skin underneath. He was wearing combat trousers and a green flak jacket.

‘All right! All right!’ I yelled.

‘Fucking bitch!’ he shouted. ‘Get the fuck out of the way.’

I was briefly tempted to continue the row. Perhaps even start a fight. It would have been something to do with the fire burning inside me. But instead I looked at my son beside me and at Rick, and I swallowed my anger. It took an effort but I did it. ‘Sorry,’ I said to the man. ‘We’ll get out of the way.’

I asked Rick if he could pull in to the kerb. I said I needed
to talk. He restarted his stalled car and parked outside the café.

‘How’s Karen?’ I asked.

He rubbed his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was just exhausted or holding back tears. ‘She’s fast asleep,’ he said. ‘They gave her some strong medication. She needs to rest. She was drunk at your house. I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, it does.’

‘Is she in the hospital?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They didn’t want her to be moved. It’ll be a couple of days at least.’

‘Is anyone with her?’

‘Eamonn said he’d pop in. For what it’s worth. Children, eh?’

‘What are you doing now?’ I asked.

‘Nothing much,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a couple of fairly unimportant things to get on with. I might as well pass the time. There’s not much else I can do. But what am I thinking, going on like this? Have you heard anything about Charlie?’

‘She’s still missing,’ I said.

‘What? Haven’t you heard anything?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Are you sure she hasn’t gone off with a friend? I’m afraid she’s that age.’

‘That’s what I thought at first. But we found her bike and her bag. She’d been delivering papers.’

‘Oh, my God,’ Rick said. He stared at me, shocked. ‘That’s awful. Have you called the police?’

‘Yes, of course. They’ve started interviewing people. I’m not sure they’ve got the proper sense of urgency.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve been taken up with Karen. But
if there’s anything at all I can do, Nina, you know you only have to ask.

A thought struck me. I glanced down at Jackson, who was gnawing his cheese roll and looking bored. He knew Rick well and was comfortable with him. ‘There is something,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go and talk to someone who knows Charlie. It’s desperately urgent. Could you take Jackson for a few minutes while I do it? I’ve tried other people but…’

‘Oh…’ said Rick. He glanced at his watch – nearly a quarter to four. I could see he was already regretting his impulsive offer. At any other time, on any other day, I would have let him off but I was merciless.

‘Please, Rick. It would be the most enormous help.’

‘I, erm…’

‘Give me your mobile number and I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve seen… er, this person. It’ll be twenty minutes, half an hour tops. You know I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.’

Rick gave a sigh. My car. My party. And now my son.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come on, Jackson. Out of the cold with you.’

Jackson hopped into the back seat quite cheerfully. He was probably glad to be away from me. I tapped the number of Rick’s mobile into my phone and they drove away. I could see Jackson talking and making gestures and Rick looking stoical, his face blank. I got into the car but before I started it, I sat for a few moments, not thinking but settling my thoughts, trying to cool down. If there was going to be any point at all to this, I had to think clearly. Otherwise I was wasting everybody’s time. A few deep breaths. Then I turned the key in the ignition. The engine hiccuped loudly and stalled. I tried again. This time the hiccup was brief.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Please don’t.’

I turned the key again and there was a faint click. Then nothing.

I leaped out and ran to the corner to see if by any wonderful chance Rick and Jackson were still in sight. I was in time to see the car turning away.

I ran back and tried again. The car was not going to start. I picked up my mobile. Rory was still at the police station; Renata was weeping in my bed; Christian was stuck on the M25, probably for the rest of his life; Bonnie was out Christmas shopping; Rick was in his car with my son. My heart sank. Maybe I should try Joel: he’d come, unless it was Alix who answered.

Then I had another thought.

‘Hi.’

‘Jay, it’s Nina. Listen, I’m in town, just near the newsagent’s, and was about to drive over to you but my car won’t start. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you coming here? Do you drive?’

‘A motorbike,’ he said.

‘Can you come, then?’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Give me a minute or so.’

‘Thanks.’

Another wait. I sat in the wretched car and drummed my fingers on the steering-wheel. I turned the key in the lock a couple more times and heard the dead click. Then, coming down the road towards me, I saw Tom, the vicar. He was carrying a large shopping-bag and had a paper rolled up under his arm. He seemed to be talking to himself. Or maybe he was talking to God. He stopped by the car and I opened the door.

‘Hello, Nina. I thought you’d be in Florida by now.’

‘Change of plan,’ I said wearily. I couldn’t tell the story to another person.

‘Is something up with your car?’

‘Yes. When I most need it, it won’t start.’

‘Shall I have a look?’ He put his paper and shopping-bag on the passenger seat, leaned across me, without asking my permission, and pulled the lever that opened the bonnet. He tugged off his woollen gloves and bent over the engine, a look of pleasure on his face. Men and cars, I thought.

Then I heard a motorbike, which pulled up beside my car. Tom stood upright as a figure climbed off. A black helmet covered his head and face, and he lifted it off. I opened the door.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Do you want to sit in the car?’ I said. ‘I’ve got something important to ask you. Things are looking serious. Bad.’

‘Bad,’ he repeated. ‘Bad with Charlie?’

‘Yes.’

He looked at me and then at Tom, whose head was back under the bonnet.

‘Can we talk somewhere else? I feel kind of exposed. It’s like a goldfish bowl in this place. Especially with him there.’

‘Everywhere’s pretty public round here,’ I said.

He stared at me, then gave a sudden grin. ‘Why don’t you hop on the back?’ he said. ‘I’ll take us somewhere private.’