The Missing One (13 page)

There is a pause as my sister absorbs all this. ‘You're investigating our family tree?
Now
?'

‘No, I'm just … I'm having a break. I stumbled across his name. I … '

‘Do you have any idea how bonkers this sounds, Kal? Do you know how weird you're being?'

‘Why can't anyone allow me to get away?'

‘Is this about Doug?' I imagine her sitting up in her white bed with her laptop open, surrounded by legal papers. ‘It's about Doug, isn't it? Can't you tell me what's happened?'

‘OK. Things are … difficult. I found texts on his phone … but I can't really talk about all that right now – Finn's here. We're in a park. I'm pushing his swing. It's freezing.'

‘No? You found texts? What texts? You mean – texts from a woman?'

‘Yes, from a woman. His ex-girlfriend. But I can't talk about it now.'

‘Shit.' She sounds taken aback, but also satisfied. Now, at least, I have given her a logical reason for my behaviour. ‘Oh Kal. Oh dear.'

‘Yes,' I say. ‘Oh dear.'

‘OK. All right. You poor thing. OK. So, what happened with the old man then?'

‘Ah, that. It was actually a bit awful. He's senile and confused and he started yelling at me and eventually I kind of ran away.'

She laughs, despite herself. ‘Look, I think you really do need to come home. You need to sort out whatever this is with Doug – you need to talk to him about it. You shouldn't be out there on your own in old people's homes. Come home, Kal. I'll pick you up at the airport, and you and Finn can come and stay in my flat if you can't face Doug yet, but being there … '

I think about her cream, thick-pile carpet, her glass coffee table and the immaculate kitchen. She doesn't even have a spare room. It is sweet that even now, she feels she has to look after me. ‘No, really – it's OK. Thanks, but I want to be here; I'll be home in a few days and, honestly, I really am fine. I really am. I just wanted to see if Harry Halmstrom might be a relative of Mum's. He's the only Halmstrom in the Pacific Northwest as far as I can tell.'

‘OK. So look – our grandfather is definitely long dead, if that's what you're thinking. He died before Mum even went to college. And his name wasn't Harry, it was Theodore.
The old man you just met definitely isn't our grandfather, Kal.'

‘Did Mum talk to you about our grandparents, then?'

‘Barely!' I can hear the concern for my feelings already. She has never lost the habit of trying not to let me feel excluded. ‘She really didn't talk to me half as much as you think, not at all. She'd just say that the past made her sad and she'd rather not think about it.'

‘Me too.'

‘Well, there you go.'

‘But you know the weird thing about today – that old man – he actually seemed to
recognize
me. At one point he called me Elena.' I don't tell her what else he said, about whales, and theft and murder. Or the names he yelled as I fled.

There is a pause. ‘You know what I think?' she says. ‘I think you're overwrought, grieving, and very upset. We all are. I'm sure there's an explanation for whatever you saw on Doug's phone – there must be – and I think you really need to talk to him about that. As for this random old man – he has dementia. He picked up on the name Elena – no doubt you used it before he did. I think this is not a productive situation for you right now, Kal.'

‘I know. You're right.'The wind batters my head and I feel my lack of hair – I really need a hat. ‘Hey, I had my hair cut off before I left – it's very short.'

‘Are you leaving Doug?' She says this gently. ‘Is that what this is?'

‘No.' I push Finn higher, his hair flies up. ‘I don't know.'
His hat is in the car. His ears are red. ‘Higher!' He kicks his feet. His hands are bright red on the metal bar too. His gloves are in the car.

‘Come home and show me your haircut,' she says. ‘Please?'

‘I will, in a few days.'

‘Should I be coming out there to get you? Because I am having a bit of a nightmare at work and it's going to be hard to do that, but if you really are cracking up, I will come, you know that, don't you?'

‘Oh my God! I don't need to be fetched home. Why does everyone think I'm cracking up? All I wanted was to get away for a bit. I'm totally sane. Finn and I are going to go on a ferry tomorrow and spend a couple of days in a nice B & B on an island and then we're flying home. I've bloody pre-booked, Alice.'

‘This is grief,' she sighs. ‘You know that, don't you? You're grieving. You're in shock, in denial of what's happened. So am I. So is Dad. This is the first stage of grief: denial. We're all in the first stage.'

‘Yes, I'm sure we are but … ' It is typical of my sister to have categorized our emotions into stages already. It would be endearing if it wasn't so infuriating.

I push Finn and he laughs, riotously. ‘Wheeeee!' he shouts. ‘Wheeeee!' I push again. He flaps his legs and arms, shaking the swing, his entire body filled with joy and freedom and I realize that Alice is right. ‘Up to the moon!'

‘What did you say?'

‘I'm just pushing Finn. Look, you're right. I am grieving. But I'm grieving in a perfectly pleasant, if freezing,
Vancouver suburb. We're booked into a lovely B & B tonight and we're about to go and get pizza. Then tomorrow we are going on a sweet ferry to a little island. I'm going to pop in on an old friend of Mum's who owns an art gallery. And then we're coming home.'

‘OK, fine.' She actually sounds reassured. ‘But you'll talk to Doug?'

‘I did talk to him earlier. Listen, though, do you think you could call Dad and tell him I'm fine? We've exchanged a couple of emails so he knows I'm here too. He may be worrying.'

‘OK.' She sighs again. ‘But could you stop visiting old men now? Take Finn to the aquarium instead. There's a great aquarium in Vancouver, I've been there. And call me tomorrow when you wake up. I'm eight hours ahead of you.'

‘I know you are.'

‘I have to give a breakfast presentation to thirty pissed-off executives at 7.30 a.m.'

‘Sorry. OK – go to sleep now. You have to stop worrying about me, Alice. You need to look after yourself too, you know – don't work too hard. Be kind to yourself, too.'

After I've hung up, I grab the swing and sway with it, as my weight slows it down. ‘Are you cold?' I hold out my arms to Finn. He raises his to be lifted and he hugs me tight for a moment, then spots the sandpit. ‘Down!' he shouts. His nose is red but his eyes are bright. He kicks to be put down and hurtles towards the sand. I watch him go, feeling like an
impersonator: a woman with cropped hair and a North Face parka who says she's me, and is fine.

*

It's 3 a.m., and Finn is finally asleep, sprawled across the double bed, diagonally. The B & B's travel cot is all set up, but I daren't move him in case he wakes again and we have another five hours of bashing and board books and escalating hysteria. I hadn't thought about how jetlag would affect a toddler, but it is not good. I never would have thought that even Finn would be physically capable of staying awake for twenty-two hours straight, but apparently he is.

I am wired, overwrought and buzzing. I lie for a bit, on the very edge of the bed, but there's no way I can sleep. I get out my phone. Two missed calls from Doug and one text:

Call me.

I open my emails. Two from Doug titled,
Where are you staying?
and
This is mad
. He is everywhere, exploding at me through every point of contact. I feel the anger bubble up and I press his number.

‘You have to leave me alone,' I say when he picks up. ‘Finn is fine. I am fine. I don't know why you can't understand that I just need to be left alone.'

‘OK.' He says it slowly, as if pacifying a mad person. I can hear the hurt in his voice, and the confusion.

‘Please.'

‘OK. But we do need to talk. So, before I leave you alone, can I just tell you what's been going on – what that text—'

‘Oh my God! NO. I can't do this. Not now. You have to stop!'

‘No! Kal, I don't. I really don't – you have to bloody listen to me! You taking Finn out there like this – it's just not reasonable.'

‘Not REASONABLE?'

‘No! Look. I don't care if you want to hear this or not. I am to blame. I haven't been honest with you, I've been hiding this from you and I feel horrible about it – she … she – she got in touch for that thing she was doing for Discovery on mathematicians. Remember? When I met her in London, that time. We were emailing a bit after that – just stuff for the documentary – and then she started sending—'

I hang up. My whole body starts to shake. I go to the ensuite and throw up pepperoni pizza into the pine-scented toilet.

*

Back on the bed, I stare at the ceiling for a long time. Eventually, I sit up. Finn is out cold. He hasn't even twitched. I go and get a glass of water. Then I sit on the bed. My phone pings: another text from Doug.

I delete the text. Then I open my inbox.

There is no reply from Susannah Gillespie, but there
is an email from my father. After Doug, I feel completely numb. Nothing my father can say would really bother me right now.

His tone makes me feel like a teenager. At least he is writing more than two lines now. The main effect his words have is to make me want to meet Susannah, really badly.
What on earth does this woman know about my mother that he doesn't want me to find out?

How does anyone ever flee these days? I feel a sense of defeat. It is apparently impossible to run away with emails and texts and phones constantly connecting me to the people I am running from. I could throw away my iPhone but I have a small child and need to be able to make emergency calls. I could switch it off. Maybe I'll just switch it off. But then Alice will worry if I fail to respond. And I'm not running away from Alice – at least I don't think I am.

I look at the G at the end of my father's message. It is like a little shove to the chest. I click ‘reply'.

I click ‘send' and go to the bathroom. I take a shower, towel-dry my hair – the advantages of the crop – and clean my teeth. I didn't bring any pyjamas, so I just put my dirty T-shirt back on. When I get back to bed his reply has already pinged in.