Australia
December 1999
Despite the dusk’s warmth, the day’s sun was almost spent. It flooded the sky with fiery colour in a last blaze of defiance as it sank towards the horizon. Except for the small motel, every turn revealed bushland, stretching on and on until it ran beyond sight.
Amy had thought such vast emptiness would make her nervous, and yet she was entranced by the fullness of this unspoiled land. They were going from east to west, taking the highway that had riven a harsh grey line in the red-brown sand, like a rogue thread within the great cloth of scrubby grass and bush that cloaked the southern reaches of Australia.
As she stood on a patch of dirt watching the sky change colour, she felt Alex’s arms envelop her, and leaned into him. He rested his chin on her head and his breath was warm in her hair. She reached her hand up to stroke his stubbled cheek, and he lightly kissed her palm. Then his arm shot out, and he held a camera in front of them, and pressed the button as she laughed.
‘You’ve just taken a photo of my tonsils,’ she said, swinging around to see that there was a carrier bag by his feet. She peered inside and groaned. ‘Not again.’ It was the third night running that their evening meal had consisted of pre-packaged pies and soggy chips. But she guessed it was harder to come by fruit and veg in these isolated, barren parts.
They sat down on the veranda step in front of their small room, and took unenthusiastic bites of their dinner.
‘Are you sad?’ Alex asked between mouthfuls, his shaggy sun-bleached hair quivering as he turned to look at her.
She smiled, knowing what he meant. Their time away had gone so fast, in a couple of weeks they would be back home – in bustling, dark, frosty England, neon-lit with Christmas cheer – the complete antithesis to the hushed, sparse place they were part of right now.
‘Not really,’ she murmured. ‘I mean, we’re coming back, aren’t we – well, at least away again.’ They had spent most of the past five months discussing where else they would like to travel, having fallen in love with being on the road, and would have been tempted to stay if they hadn’t promised families and friends that they’d be back for Christmas and the frenetic Millennium celebrations.
‘Of course,’ he said, running a hand down her bare thigh, leaving a few crumbs on her skin that he then lightly swept off. ‘Although I don’t think I’ll be around when you tell your dad, if you don’t mind.’
Amy smiled, but he was right. Her dad had become a complete nightmare when they’d announced they were going away, first trying to dissuade them, and then, when he couldn’t, attempting to organise them to within an inch of their life. He’d spent a fortnight buying them all sorts of gadgets and gismos that they’d hardly ever used, and made them both get complete medical records from the doctor, just in case they happened to need a blood transfusion or three. Then, at the airport, he had given Alex a lecture about his responsibilities in front of Amy and her mother, while Alex looked petrified. Her father had ended the talk by shaking Alex’s hand and saying, ‘Take good care of her for me,’ to which Alex had replied, ‘Yes, sir,’ as though they were in some midday melodrama. Amy and her mother had laughed, but neither man had seemed to find it amusing.
Now, she shook her head despite her smile. ‘Poor Dad, he finds it hard letting me be grown up. He’s got no one to be a kid with any more.’
They sat in silence for a moment. In the time it had taken them to eat their meagre meal, the sun had vanished, the bold colours thrown out in its descent now fading to pastels as the sky darkened.
Amy was remembering everything they had packed into the past few months. Riding tuk-tuks in Thailand and visiting temples teeming with people in Bangkok; then the rickety, laborious train ride to the north, to find themselves on the backs of elephants or sitting skimming the water on bamboo rafts as they floated through small rapids. Their skin had become bronzed, making their teeth glow whiter. They had lost weight on a diet of rice, fish and chicken, and their hair and nails had seemed to grow faster than they did at home.
Then Sydney. Alex had found a few weeks’ casual work in a pub, while Amy waitressed in a café nearby, on the strip at Manly where tourists ventured through night after night, traces of sand and salt lingering around their hairlines.
And then had come this whistle-stop road trip – first to Melbourne and then along the Great Ocean Road towards Adelaide, before this final journey over the deserted, treeless plains of the Nullarbor, the hire car churning steadily through the endless kilometres.
‘Come on.’ Alex jumped up and held out his hand, and they headed into their room. He went over to the esky and dug around in it, pulling out a couple of stubbies of beer. ‘Here you go.’ The ice they had poured in there that morning had done its job of cooling them, although the rest of the grocery stores were now floating in melted water.
Amy set about pulling things out and drying them as Alex spread a map on the bed. He studied it for a while and then said, ‘I reckon we can make Perth in two or three days. What do you think?’
‘Let’s take our time,’ she replied. ‘It’s bound to cost more when we get into the city. And we’ll still have a week there.’
‘It’s such a shame we didn’t plan this better.’ Alex shook his head in frustration. ‘There’s so much cool stuff on this side when you start looking – we’d need at least a month to explore the coastline, for a start.’
‘We’ve made the most of the time we’ve had,’ Amy reminded him. ‘We can come back, you know.’
‘I know.’ He looked up at her and grinned. ‘I’m just having so much fun.’
‘Me too.’ She smiled back at him, and headed across to the bedside table where her washbag was propped, rummaging in it. As she did so she felt Alex’s presence behind her, then his lips on her neck, and a blissful shiver ran through her. She turned to face him and he pressed against her, sending them both back onto the bed.
Once the motel closed for the evening, the outback darkness became absolute except for the pinpoint lights of stars billions of miles away. Amy couldn’t sleep. Around her it was so black that it was better to keep her eyes closed, for if she tried to open them the lack of anything to focus on caused her brain to invent strange wispy whirls of colour within the darkness that pulsated into being and away again.
‘Alex?’ she whispered, wanting to hear his reassuring voice.
‘Hmm?’ he replied, but he sounded sleepy, too close to his dreams to want to begin a conversation.
Amy sighed and turned over onto her side. As her body shifted so did something in her, and their happiness suddenly became a trepidatious thing – precariously balanced on these small moments in time. She wondered what it would be like when they got home, and wished she could see the bigger picture. But for now she pushed her body towards Alex’s, grateful for his arm coming mechanically across her, unnerved by the sudden, compelling urge she had to hide from the dark.
As Chloe negotiated the bustle of Oxford Street she wondered again about how her life was unfolding. It was as though she were being carried by a rip-tide and had no choice about where she was heading. Even the throngs of people now pressing against her seemed to be trying to submerge her within their smooth current.
She didn’t enjoy the crowds, but this was by far the most obvious place to find a dress to wear at the law ball. She really wanted something hot, bright and sexy that would enslave Mark to her for the evening, but since it was a work function she was thinking black and minimalist might be more the way to go.
She wasn’t enjoying her vocational training as much as she had thought she would, which meant she spent every other day wondering if she was really cut out for a legal career. If it wasn’t for Mark’s encouragement she would have felt even more adrift, but his enthusiasm was palpable, and although he could be a little patronising he was helping a lot; particularly by shielding her from some of his father’s stinging sarcasm, which someone seemed to bear the brunt of every day.
She had been almost surprised to find that she and Mark were an item, but more and more she was growing to like the feeling of it. They had gone out with a group from work one Friday night, and the numbers at the bar had gradually dwindled until Mark and Chloe had tipsily called a cab to his place. Although she had felt mortified – not to mention ill – when she had woken up on his sofa the next morning, Mark had breezed in with filtered coffee and an easy smile. Since then they had gone out a few times – although without it resulting in such wicked hangovers, for which Chloe was extremely grateful.
She walked out of the biting cold and into a brightly lit shop with an array of party dresses in the window. Browsing the racks, a slip of black satin caught her eye. That might serve as a compromise, she thought. She found her size, made her way to the changing rooms and slid the dress on. It slunk over her skin, nestling against the curve of her hips, although as she turned sideways she realised she might need to breathe in for most of the event to really minimise her stomach. But she thought she could get away with it. She beamed at herself in the mirror. The woman smiling back had a face flushed pink with cold, and looked excited.
Back in the crisp, cold night, Chloe made her way home, thankful that the shopping trip hadn’t turned out to be too arduous. She was sharing a poky flat with two friends, both of whom had one of their numerous Christmas events on that night, so Chloe would have the television to herself. She smiled, thought briefly about the paperwork in her bag, and dismissed it. She was determined to relax this evening.
At the flat she fiddled with the awkward lock, and finally fell through the door as it gave way with a jerk. She shook her head; she’d been living there for three months and it still happened every time she tried to unlock the door. They really needed to ask someone who knew about DIY.
In the hallway Post-it notes adorned the small telephone table. She glanced over them. Most were old ones that no one had got around to throwing away, but there was a new message in Sandra’s handwriting. ‘Mark phoned, says call him about tonight. Keen or what?!’
Chloe sighed. She liked that Mark was calling her, but she had tonight planned. She was about to get changed out of her suit, when there was a knock at the door.
Her heart sank. She really wished Mark would wait for the invitation before actually coming around. Wearily, she went to the front door and pulled it open.
‘Anthony!’
‘Sis!’ Her brother gave her a hug, his bristle of close-clipped hair shining in the hallway light.
It was a nice surprise to see him but Chloe was still thinking a little wistfully of her alone-time.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well, I’m going to a party tomorrow night, and it’s so much cheaper to get the train down on a Thursday, so I made a last-minute decision to see if I could bunk with you.’
Chloe folded her arms and smiled. ‘And if you can’t?’
‘Then I’m on the streets, sis,’ Anthony said, strolling past her and throwing his bag into her room. ‘But I know you’d never do that to your little brother. Mum would kill you!’ He walked into the lounge and sat down on a sofa. ‘Have you got a takeaway near here? I’m starving. Unless you haven’t made dinner yet, of course?’ He grinned cheekily.
Chloe gave him a sarcastic smile back, went over to the table and chucked a sheaf of takeout menus at him. ‘Be my guest.’
They munched on pizza while half paying attention to the television. Despite her thwarted plans, Chloe was enjoying this rare time with her brother. It was strange getting used to one another as independent adults after living in close proximity for all those years – knowing someone inside out and yet hardly at all.
‘I think I’m full,’ Anthony announced, throwing down a chewed crust and sitting back in his chair.
‘Me too,’ Chloe agreed.
Anthony was watching her, an indiscernible expression making his features more intense than usual. ‘Chlo?’
Something in his voice made her senses become alert. ‘Yes?’
He paused for a moment, then said, ‘I’m going to tell Mum I want to find Dad.’
Chloe closed her eyes for a second as tension rippled through her body. She sat up.
‘Ant, I really don’t know…’
Anthony leaned forward. ‘Chlo, I don’t feel this is a choice any more. It’s eating me up. It’s on my mind all the time – if not in the forefront then always at the back. I have to know.’
‘But what makes you think Mum will react any differently this time?’ Chloe asked, thinking back to the arguments Anthony had had with their mother while he was a teenager, when he was disillusioned with Charlie’s lack of get up and go, and desperate to believe that his real father was an action hero of some sort. She had thought that Anthony was past all that.
Margaret had always been elusive about their dad. They hadn’t even been sure of his name until Anthony had found it written on some old photos. Chloe vaguely remembered Charlie coming into their lives, but for a while when he was quite young Anthony had thought Charlie was his father. When they had approached their mother, Margaret had told them, ‘You have to trust me – we’re all better off without him.’ The high level of mystery only intrigued them both further, until in the aftermath of one particularly virulent row sixteen-year-old Chloe had overheard Charlie comforting Margaret, saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be better to tell them than to have them blaming you like this?’ And Margaret had replied, ‘Oh god, Charlie, how can you say that? Absolutely not. You know they’re better off this way.’
The conviction and desperation in her mother’s voice had sent a tremble through Chloe. What if her father were a criminal? Or a wife-beater? Perhaps he was in prison. She was glad to be sheltered from the truth. But even though she had repeated the conversation to Anthony, he had not taken the same view. Perhaps it was because he was that much younger, or because he needed to keep the myth of his father alive more than she did. All these years later he still couldn’t let it drop.
‘Look, Chloe,’ Anthony began, his hands working frantically as he tried to explain. ‘She doesn’t need to even talk about it. All she needs to do is to write down the facts she knows on a piece of paper, and I can take it from there.’
‘I don’t know,’ Chloe said, as the phone started ringing. She got up to answer it.
‘You didn’t call me back?’ Mark said without preamble.
‘I know, sorry,’ Chloe answered. ‘My brother turned up unannounced.’
‘Oh. Well, I was going to see if you were up to anything but I guess that means you are?’
‘You can come over,’ Chloe offered half-heartedly, not relishing the thought of introducing Mark and Anthony right then.
‘No, it’s okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well,’ Mark said, and hung up.
Chloe returned to the lounge feeling disgruntled at how the evening was turning out. While she’d been gone Anthony had switched chairs, found football on another channel and turned the sound up. She thought about starting another difficult conversation, then decided against it, and went to run a hot bath instead, thinking that surely there she would get some time to herself.
As Mark threaded his way through the logjammed traffic towards work, he felt the same vaguely churning stomach and dizziness that he’d had for weeks. He’d contemplated seeing a doctor, but his symptoms were too vague, and besides, he had an uncomfortable suspicion about them.
It had come to him last night as he had lain in bed and tried to stop thinking about her. Could he be in love?
The prospect didn’t excite him much, particularly if this was how it made him feel. Love was awkward, vulnerable and emotional, and Mark felt he was the antithesis of all those things. And yet when he thought of Chloe, well, maybe he was more of a suppliant fool than he cared to admit.
He reached the kerb just as the cars and buses began their slow crawl forward, and tried to gain control of his feelings before he reached the office.
Chloe’s personality was what Mark thought of as understated, and that in itself spoke volumes to him. Every one seemed to like her; she was working on cases without antagonising people, yet was unafraid to assert her opinion, because she had the knack of making it sound like a point of view rather than the imposing assertion of fact that Mark went for, and it seemed to serve her just as well.
And she was very pretty, no one could deny that. He couldn’t wait to see the glamorous side of her at the ball tomorrow night. It would make a change from an array of suits in dull navy, black and grey, however well they fitted her slim frame.
He reached the double doors of the office building and tried to compose his thoughts into sharp focus on what lay ahead of him at work. No contact with Chloe, that was for sure. She’d been taken under the wing of one of the senior solicitors who worked in the family-law area that Chloe was keen on, whereas Mark was learning fast about the genteel cut and thrust of the English litigation system.
‘Morning, Mark.’
‘Oh, hi Dad.’ Mark resisted the urge to look down at his watch, hoping he was in at an acceptably early hour. Despite still living at home, Mark resisted coming to work with his father. He didn’t want to remind others that Henry was the primary reason he worked for this firm, as he felt it devalued his own standing and hard work in having got this far.
‘Busy day ahead?’ Henry Jameson peered at his son from underneath bushy eyebrows as he strode alongside him.
‘Is there any other type?’ Mark tried to joke, and watched his father smile, but without comment, making Mark feel slightly foolish for being so flippant.
They walked on in silence until they reached Mark’s office. Henry followed his son in, while Mark took off his coat and laid his briefcase down.
‘Mr Jameson?’
They turned as one to see Charlotte, the new secretary, standing by the door. She was looking at Mark but flicked a nervous smile towards Mr Jameson Senior as well on seeing him there.
‘Mr Zanuski has been on the phone already, wanting to discuss the Connell case – apparently they are missing some documentation.’
‘Okay,’ Mark said, ‘let me have the number and I’ll get onto it.’
Charlotte walked across the office and handed Mark a memo slip, then turned on her heel and left, seemingly un aware that Henry Jameson’s eyes were affixed to her shapely bottom.
Henry turned around with eyebrows once more aloft, and said, ‘What a looker.’
Mark smiled. There was no denying Charlotte was stunning, and by now he was used to his father’s comments on the aesthetic merits of the opposite sex.
‘Taking Chloe on Saturday?’ Henry asked.
‘Sorry? Oh, yes,’ Mark replied, looking down at the memo slip, already running through the forthcoming phone conversation in his head.
Henry nodded, looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you later,’ he said. ‘I’m in meetings all day today.’
Mark nodded absent-mindedly, and when he looked up a moment later Henry had already gone.
When Chloe peeped around the door of his office at lunchtime, Mark’s head was still buried in his work.
‘Want me to bring you anything?’ she asked.
Mark looked up and smiled, trying to quell the surge of pleasure in his chest at seeing her.
‘If you’ve got time?’ he asked.
‘Of course, what would you like?’
She was back with sandwiches fifteen minutes later, and came and sat opposite him without being invited, opening her own paper bag and pulling out a roll. Mark normally didn’t like unagreed-to interruptions, but he couldn’t be annoyed at her when she smiled at him like that.
‘How are you getting on?’ she asked between bites, nodding towards his desk.
Mark blew out his breath and looked briefly at the ceiling then back at Chloe. ‘There’s a lot to do.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, wrapping the paper bag around the roll and making to get up, ‘I should let you get on.’
‘No, no,’ Mark found himself saying, even though two minutes ago he’d thought exactly that. ‘Ten minutes doesn’t matter.’ He unwrapped his own sandwich, and said, ‘How’s your brother then?’ before taking a bite.
‘Okay, I think,’ Chloe answered, ‘though he’s about to cause a few ructions in the family. He wants to push Mum into giving him information about our father.’
Mark swallowed his mouthful, then said, ‘Really? And what do you think?’
‘I still think it’s best left alone, but there’s no reasoning with him – besides, who am I to stop him if it’s important to him?’
‘You might get dragged into it, though.’
‘I might well,’ she agreed, looking resigned.
They ate silently for a few moments, then Chloe said, ‘Actually, I was wondering… if you think it’s too soon just say, but my family always have a party of some kind the weekend before Christmas, and I thought maybe you might like to come… if you haven’t got any other plans.’
Mark beamed. ‘That would be great.’
‘Okay.’ Chloe smiled. ‘It’s a long drive, though, so we might have to stay a couple of nights for it to be worth it…’
‘Fine by me,’ Mark agreed. ‘However, before that we need to think about tomorrow night. Shall I pick you up?’
‘No, don’t do that,’ Chloe demurred, knowing her place was far out of his way. ‘I’ll meet you there.’ She finished the last mouthful of sandwich and scrunched the paper bag into a ball. ‘I found a dress. I hope you’ll like it.’
Mark smiled. ‘I’m sure I will.’
They grinned at one another for a moment, and Mark avoided dwelling on the sensation in his stomach as it began to churn once more.
Despite being the height of summer it was raining as they drove into Perth, the city’s skyline forming an elegant iridescent backdrop to the wide Swan River. They found parkland on the southern bank of the river and got out of their vehicle to stretch their legs, revelling in the freshness of the rain, and laughing as water trickled into their eyes and ran off their noses.
Although the weather wasn’t ideal, they couldn’t resist driving a little further to the beach – neither of them had dipped their toes into the Indian Ocean before, and they were both keen to. It didn’t take long to find Cottesloe, and they parked and ran down to the water in their shorts and T-shirts. By the time they reached the surf they were both laughing like maniacs. Alex’s fringe was pipetting drops of water into his eyes, while Amy’s long dark hair was plastered messily against her skull. Amy enthusiastically pushed Alex as though she were going to propel him right into the sea. Her face was flushed and her nose was smattered with freckles. She looked beautiful, Alex thought as he watched her. She had no hope of beating him, though, and in one swift movement he had caught her up into his arms and run into the water until it was past his knees, and she was half-pretending to scream as he did a count to three, bobbing her up and down as though getting ready to release her. ‘No, Alex!’ she cried, squeaking, laughing, looking down at the foamy sea. On the last lift he brought her up higher, and instead of letting her go, he leaned forward and went in for a long kiss. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck as she responded.
He waded back out of the sea, with Amy light in his arms, and couldn’t imagine feeling any happier than at that moment.
‘Life is just about perfect right now,’ she said, grinning.
‘Bloody perfect,’ he agreed, in his best Australian accent, pronouncing bloody as bladdy, making Amy’s smile widen.
Back at the car they dried off as best they could with their beach towels. Alex wished they could stay and relax in the cafés along the beachfront road, but they still had some practical matters to attend to. The car needed to be returned to the hire company by mid-afternoon, so they worked their way through the traffic, with Amy directing and a fair few wrong turns in the city one-way system, before they reached the depot.
By the time they had made their way to the hostel and checked in to a familiar-looking featureless room with chipped-paint walls and drab bedding, the day had turned dusky. They made themselves some dinner and chatted to fellow travellers, before falling into bed full of advice about places they should see, both aware that yet another precious day had slipped away, and longing to pack as much as possible into the short time they had left.
The next morning Alex was awake before Amy, and for a while he watched her sleeping face, the embodiment of peaceful contentment. He wondered what life would be like when they went home. Even though they were young, he loved her and could not imagine a day without her. Maybe he ought to propose, he thought, feeling an inordinate urge to wake her up and ask her right that minute. Perhaps he should find somewhere irresistibly romantic, go back to the beach where they had been yesterday and just do it. He smiled at himself for taking things so seriously. There would be plenty of time for all that later. He didn’t know why he had this sudden desire to rush things.
He headed for the shower, and by the time he returned, Amy was not only awake but dressed in a vest top and short skirt, looking ready to go out.
‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling at her then searching his belongings for something at least half-clean that he could wear. He picked out some shorts and a vest top, and grabbed a crumpled shirt to go over it.
‘Morning,’ she smiled, planting a kiss on his lips. ‘Shall we go and find breakfast? I’m starving.’
They found a café along the main backpacker strip in Northbridge, and settled in for a morning feast. Now that they were going home in a week Alex felt freer to spend his remaining money, so he ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu and ate like a king. Amy managed to put away a similar amount, which always amazed him since she was half his size.
‘What do you want to do today?’ he asked her as they stood at the counter waiting to pay for their meals. ‘The art gallery is just up there.’ He made a hopeful gesture, but suspected he’d pushed his luck too far since he’d dragged Amy to numerous exhibitions already.
She rolled her eyes then smiled at him, and put her arms around his waist. ‘I don’t know about that. Maybe something relaxing, like the beach – or perhaps we should do something active since we’ve been stuck in a car for the past week. That French guy last night mentioned those steps at Kings Park, though that sounds quite strenuous.’ She paused, thinking. ‘Or maybe we should take one of those boats out, that sounded great fun – or the ferry and the zoo, that would be quite nice as well, though I’m never sure about zoos, but the Dutch couple said it was good, didn’t they?’
He took his change from the waitress. ‘Blimey,’ he said, stuffing it into his pocket. ‘Anything else?’
‘Probably,’ Amy laughed, not letting go of his waist, her hands locked around him. ‘What do you think?’ She rested her chin on his chest and peered up at him.
‘Maybe we should just go back to the hostel,’ he grinned, stroking the small of her back, then propelling her in front of him towards the door of the café.
‘Well, we could, but that won’t take all day!’ she replied, laughing over her shoulder.
‘Oh really?’ he said, grinning at her. ‘That’s charming.’
She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him again, and they made their way along the pavement. Alex took her hand and it felt soft in his. He listened happily as she discussed plans and possibilities, making him laugh as she flitted from one idea to another. He played along, teasing her, watching her smile, until there was the sudden loud noise of a car engine, racing towards them at speed.
Chloe was nervous as she dressed for the evening. The dress looked good, but she felt like an impostor in it. She tried to view herself from the outside, as others might see her, but couldn’t do it.
What was this block within her; this ever-present divide she felt between herself and everyone else, barely discernible, perhaps not obvious at all if you weren’t Chloe, yet always there, impregnable, cutting her off? Where did it stem from?
She had felt more like this since Anthony’s visit. He’d unsettled her. She ought to speak to her mother about him, but she still hoped she might quietly persuade him not to go to America. If Anthony found their father, then she might be forced to as well, and she didn’t want to. Why was she so sure of that? What did she know that she couldn’t remember?
She thought back to when she was young, scanning for early memories. Her mother had, on a number of occasions, told a story about her husband Charlie and six-year-old Chloe at dinner parties, as part of her general repartee. It was about how when Charlie had first met Margaret he’d offered to pick Chloe up from school one day, had driven there, met an old friend in the car park, chatted, then driven home again, put his feet up and cracked open a beer or two, and it wasn’t until Margaret got back with Anthony four hours later that she had questioned Charlie about Chloe’s whereabouts.
Chloe was still at school. In the playground. In the dark. Uncollected. Unnoticed by teachers, as they drove off one by one. Staying hidden in the shadows rather than bringing herself to an adult’s attention. Her mother told the story while shaking her head fondly at ‘hopeless’ Charlie, and the implication was that Chloe was rather strange for allowing herself to remain abandoned like that. But although Chloe smiled along with it, she found various parts disconcerting – not least because she couldn’t remember a bit of it. As a small child she’d sat alone in a darkening, empty yard for hours, quite possibly scared out of her wits, and yet her mind was a firm blank when she tried to recall it. But her mother swore the story was true; and Charlie had shamefacedly admitted it as well. So why had she stayed silent? Why had she been so scared of being found?
It was the same when she tried to think back on other things – in fact, much of her early life was just a haze. Was that how it was for everyone? Surely no one remembered that much of their formative years anyway. So why did Chloe feel as though she were missing something; some critical piece of the jigsaw of her life, which when put into position would form a picture she could recognise?
She took a deep breath, looked at her watch, then checked herself in the mirror. Her appearance was good; and that was all she needed for today’s big event.
She headed downstairs to wait for the taxi to arrive.
Time slowed right down.
To almost a pause.
To a fractured sequence of movements.
To the split second when all things would change.
Alex turned around to look for the source of the noise, and as he did so he went to grab Amy’s hand, although she was not in the path of the vehicle bearing down. It was just a reflex, to grab on, but she had turned to look as well, and he missed her, by which time the van was right next to them, screeching to a halt.
A side door was flung open, metal grating as it sped along its runners, and a chubby, unshaven man jumped out. Alex had the vague impression of another man inside the van.
He didn’t understand. He didn’t get it until it was too late. Until Amy was locked in the other man’s meaty arms as he lifted her and flung her into the van’s maw as though she were an inanimate parcel.
But when he got it, he moved, lightning fast. He rushed towards the van, towards Amy, who was screaming, her terrified eyes finding Alex’s, her look beseeching him to save her from whatever this was. He reached out at the same time as she lunged forward, and their fingertips missed one another by millimetres, and then the chubby man sent a knee into Alex’s groin so that he instinctively doubled-up, eyes watering, wanting to retch as pain shot through him, and in the time he had to recover before he could react again, the other man had leapt into the shadows of the van’s interior, from which Alex could hear Amy screaming in terror, and the vehicle sped off before they had even closed the door.
There was a pause, like a missed heartbeat, when the world seemed to be frozen in an ethereal silence.
Then people converged on Alex. Hands helped him up and over to a chair. There was shouting. Someone was dialling triple 0 and relaying what had just happened in a breathless, excited voice.
Even if they had been able to crawl under Alex’s skin right then, no one could have touched him. He was somewhere else, far beyond them, stupefied, watching Amy’s small discarded flower-patterned bag lying on the pavement, unnoticed.
Then the urge to move came over him as fast as a reflex. He shrugged off his comforters and ran along the road in the direction the van had gone only seconds before, roaring. A man tried to hang on to him, but Alex swatted him off easily. It took two of them to bring him down, and he fought all the way, crying out in his impotent fury.
A woman came up, her face white with shock, and knelt down to talk to him. All his energy seemed to have been consumed by that one pointless charge. ‘The police will be here any second,’ she said. ‘They will get her back, I’m sure they will.’ But she looked stricken and her expression belied her words.
She put Amy’s small bag into his hands, and he gripped it tightly. ‘Just hang on,’ she urged him as he stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Hang on.’
Amy’s leg throbbed from the pain. It was all she was aware of for a while after she stopped screaming. Her shoulder hurt too, she realised, as she tried to move her arm to steady herself. She cried out when she leaned on it to stop herself rocking violently.
She could hear frantic voices issuing directions, but they were muted as though there were a wall between them and where she lay. She registered breathing close to her before she felt his presence, but once she had she couldn’t escape it. A bulky form next to her, crouching, leaning into her as if it were looking at her, but not touching.
Her eyes travelled upwards across the slats of light that streamed in from badly covered windows until she reached a face. It was chubby and creased, rising above a thickness of tattooed shoulders. When she stared at it she saw glassy, drug-disorientated eyes looking back at her.
She began to scream again and he fell on her, immediately covering her mouth with a meaty hand. She tried to bite down but he gave no sign of feeling it, and she quickly opened her mouth to gasp in pain as they rolled around on the metal surface of the floor, her shoulder jarring into the unforgiving surface.
There was a sudden noise and light poured in above her as some kind of divide was pulled back. She tried to look up, but could only make out a hand with dirt-blackened nails resting on the seat-back.
‘What yer doin back thir?’ said another reedier voice. ‘Ey, Dregs, wait for us.’
A deeper voice near her face grunted back, ‘Just hurry up.’ His breath reeked of spicy meat. ‘Where we goin’?’ he shouted towards his buddy.
‘The falls,’ the man answered, then the window slammed shut again and the darkness was back.
Amy tried to blank out their words, but she couldn’t. Each time the monster holding her removed his hand from her mouth she screamed as loud and hard as she could.
Suddenly the man moved and she was freer still to roll and scream. She felt a surge of triumph at this victory, but it was short-lived. Hands tried to grab her wrists and she flailed madly, her nails finding flesh, until a stinging slap across her face knocked her breathless for a second. While she was still stunned, her wrists were held tightly together above her head, and heavy knees pressed painfully into her thighs. Her mouth was pulled open by probing fingers and a cloth stuffed in. She could smell petrol fumes emanating from it and it tasted vile. Thick black tape was wound roughly around her head, catching and pulling her hair. She kept on screaming, but the noise now stuck in the back of her throat and became an unearthly guttural moan. After a while she couldn’t bear the sound she was making any longer and fell silent, concentrating on the effort of breathing enough oxygen through her nose.
She tried to think clearly, but waves of panic washed over the coherent strands of thought, breaking them down into fractured phrases – ‘away’, ‘hurt’, ‘die’. She thought of all the things she still wanted to do with her life, then of Alex – it was beyond surreal that only seconds ago he had been there smiling at her – and her mum and dad. Great tears found their way through her closed eyelids and rolled down her face. Her breath came more jerkily and she tried to breathe through her mouth, but gagged on the cloth again and for a moment she thought she was going to vomit and choke, until her body took over and forced the breath back through her nose.
Finally, the motion stopped and a whole new realm of panic swept through her as the back doors were wrenched open.
She was pulled out roughly by the legs from the blackness of the van’s interior, and her head hit a platform as she fell a few feet onto dry spiky grass below. She moaned as she landed hard on her wounded leg.
Two men stood over her, their eyes dilated and vacant, their movements twitchy like demented dogs. The fat one she had seen in the back and another man she recognised as the man who’d opened the window. It was this man who spoke.
‘I’ll go first,’ he said.
The chubby man moved around behind her, and she felt her clothes begin to be yanked off. She tried to scream again, and thrashed and struggled. Her T-shirt came up over her face, and she found her hands free, so fought to grab it and pull it down, twisting and writhing to get away.
‘Hold her,’ she heard someone say, and her top was left alone, pulled up to the neck. Hands instead found her own and yanked them both behind her head once more, crushing her wrists. More hands then grabbed and pinched at her skin, her breasts, worked their way along her thighs. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable.
Something cold was at her throat. She could feel it slicing into her skin.
She knew she was beaten.
Then there was a weight on top of her. A moment later, rhythmic grunting.
Pain everywhere.
She closed her eyes against it all, tears still pushing their way through. Her body went limp, just waiting for the end, whatever it might be. She could hear the constant rush of water somewhere near, a gentle shussssssh that never stopped. The fight deserted her and a part of her mind flew away, higher and higher into the cloudless sky. It left her behind as it reached the vast blue void, up and up it went, searching for what lay beyond. Vowing never to come back down.
When the weight lifted she automatically opened her eyes a fraction. Another man was striding over. This one wore a sleeveless lumberjack’s shirt, his arms muscular and strong and patched with tattoos, his face grim and determined, his eyes black holes like the others’, but his right cheek scythed vertically with a puckering scar.
She quickly closed her eyes again as he fell on to her roughly, the rancid stench of alcohol mixed with sweat washing over her. She didn’t make a sound; pain annihilated any thought she tried to form. She still had her eyes closed when she heard a spitting noise and felt something wet land on her cheek. As the weight lifted off her, the man uttered the word ‘Bitch’ in a rasping whisper as he moved away.
She heard sounds of movement coming closer once more, but there was another noise now, a whirring getting louder.
‘Shit,’ a voice said close to her ear. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Back in the fucking van,’ shouted another voice. ‘Get rid of her, quickly.’
Cold metal was back against her throat, pressing hard. Her eyes closed in preparation for the end, and she dipped into an endless black void.
Alex didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but at least three cups of tea were in front of him, all now cold. The room was bright and freshly painted, bare except for a chair and a beech-coloured table.
His mind was a blurry carousel of thoughts.
She was next to me.
She was taken right out of my arms.
And I didn’t stop it.
I was too slow.
I just let them take her.
What if I never see her again?
What if…
What if…
His throat felt constricted. His stomach burned. His chest was on fire.
He looked up each time someone walked past the small window set into the door, willing them to come in and tell him something. Faces had peered in when he had first arrived, but now he had finished his witness statement they obviously had other things to attend to. He felt so impotent, sitting on his hands, waiting. He was ashamed of his inaction.
He rocked on the chair, looking down at his clenched fists, his tight knuckles. He still didn’t understand it. How could he have just let them take her like that? He banged one fist on the table, feeling the tears threaten to unman him again. If only she’d been on the other side of him. If only he had caught hold of her hand for just that one moment he would have stood more of a chance.
He could still hear the thud and scrape of her body against the van as she was pulled inside. He could see the thick hand grasping her arm, the face with vacant eyes. Passers-by had provided pieces of the number plate but when the police had looked it up nothing had registered. Number plates were easy to disguise, the sergeant had told Alex. Apart from that, all the witnesses could describe was a white van and a scruffy man inside. Hardly a great starting point for a lead to follow.
He debated whether to call his parents for some support; but was stopped by the thought of how worried they would be. He still remembered the unbearable atmosphere in his home when Jamie had gone missing – his dad retreating into a stoic silence belied only by fingers that fumbled over every thing, while his mother repeatedly collapsed in tears. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting them through anything like that again. He knew he should call Amy’s parents, but he kept picturing her father’s expression at the airport as he entrusted Amy into Alex’s care, and he couldn’t face the conversation. In the first hour he had been hoping there would quickly be news; that they would find Amy fast. Then he could call once the crisis had passed, and relay the story in the past tense, assuring them that she was just shaken, but other wise fine. That they’d be home soon. But now, with each minute that ticked by, he lost a little bit more self-possession, and a little bit more hope.
Amy heard screaming as she came to. It sounded dislocated. She could feel the grass, wet and slimy, against her back, cool air on her face, and her tongue bone-dry and swollen against the oily cloth in her mouth.
‘Chris,’ a voice was shrieking above her head. ‘Chris, quickly. Oh my god, QUICKLY.’
Then there was another voice, a deeper one. ‘Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,’ it said over and over.
Amy tried to turn onto her side to curl up, but she couldn’t move. It felt as though there were a slab of concrete on top of her, pinning her down.
‘Fuck, she’s moving. She’s alive.’ It was the deep voice.
‘Chris, give me the picnic blanket now. NOW!’ the female one shouted shakily. ‘AND GO AND PHONE THE FUCKING POLICE.’
Amy felt coarse material covering her, rubbing painfully against her leg. The woman’s voice kept repeating words: ‘You’re all right, love, you’re all right, you’ll be all right now, you’re all right.’ Amy could hear the woman crying over her as she spoke. A warm hand stroked her brow and hair, and she tried to pull away but couldn’t move. She felt some tugs as the woman attempted to break the thick black tape wound around her head, pulling her hair, and then she stopped and left it alone.
Amy kept her eyes closed.
More voices.
‘Grab the stretcher, Brett,’ someone said.
A radio crackled.
‘Caucasian female, young,’ someone else said.
The radio crackled again.
‘Could well be,’ the voice replied.
‘Hello there, hello?’ A finger pressed against Amy’s eyelid and lifted it up, shining a bright light into it. She winced involuntarily. ‘We’ve got you, you’re safe now.’
‘She’s conscious,’ someone called, and it seemed as though more people crowded around her.
Something soft was pressed gently against her neck. Then she heard the snip snip of scissors next to each ear, and the cloth was pulled from her mouth. She gasped one, two great lungfuls of air, her whole body contorting upwards at the sudden freedom, vomit coming from her mouth and running over her chin, and then she heard an almighty wailing begin. This time she knew it came from her own body, because she felt the quaking tremor of it as it filled her ears.
Her eyes flicked open and there was a snapshot of shocked and stricken faces. A uniformed policeman gaping at her with his mouth a slack O. A middle-aged woman’s back heaving as she sobbed into the chest of a man in shorts and T-shirt, who had his arms round the lady and was looking away from the scene and into the distance, his face grim. And then a green uniform, a face close to Amy’s, leaning in, saying ‘for the pain’, which she heard, although it sounded like one of the records her dad used to play where he would slow the speed right down to make her laugh at the sound of deep, treacly voices. She stared upwards, beyond the few trees that peered over the scene, up into the clear void that still beckoned her, where a part of her already lurked, looking down. She felt the inconsequential stab of a needle and her mind moved off again and up into the air towards the endless blue of the sky.
Alex looked up at the sound of the door opening. The detective in charge – Thompson, he thought his name was – came in, grim-faced.
Alex clenched his fists hard under the table as the policeman began to speak.
‘We’ve found the van. It was abandoned in a remote parking spot – and originally stolen. We think they switched to another car, as there are tyre tracks leading away from the scene.’
His heart skittered. ‘Amy?’
‘No sign, I’m afraid… We’re searching the area now.’ The man paused. ‘You know, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, Mr Markham.’
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘You’re free to leave the police station whenever you like. It’s been almost five hours and there are no developments yet. It might… take a while. Of course, you’re welcome to stay, but if you give me your mobile number I’ll keep you fully informed. Maybe you’d rather find somewhere more comfortable to wait?’
Alex couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone as he jumped up in agitation. ‘Well, that’s great. We did have some sightseeing planned today, after all. I suppose although Amy’s been kidnapped there’s nothing to stop me… Then I’ll go back to our shabby little room and just set up camp till you find her. God, I can’t believe this.’
‘I do understand your distress, Mr Markham…’
A woman opened the door and leaned in. ‘Sir.’ Her tone commanded his attention immediately.
‘Excuse me for a sec.’ Thompson got up and followed her out, closing the door behind him.
Alex immediately headed over to the door and peered through the small window. They were talking outside, the woman animated and serious, the detective nodding with his lips a grim line, asking short questions and then nodding again. Not knowing was more unbearable than anything else. Alex was on the point of opening the door and demanding to be included in the conversation when the detective gave some instructions and the woman hurried off. Alex turned away from the door as the policeman came back in, but immediately swung around as the man announced, ‘They’ve found her…’
When Alex saw Thompson’s stony expression his insides turned to ice. He began to hold his hand up, to ask him not to say any more, as the not knowing had instantly transformed itself into a blessing, but the policeman continued too quickly.
‘… and she’s alive, but she’s been badly hurt. We need to get to the hospital.’
Alex’s knees gave way for a moment and he had to lean against the wall. Amy, Amy…
While they raced to the hospital, image after sickening image strobed through Alex’s mind, but nothing could prepare him for the shock of seeing Amy in that hospital bed. He had to focus all his energy into pushing down the queasiness rising like a bubble of air inside him, before he threw up on those pristine white covers.
She was asleep – sedated, they told him. They wouldn’t collect specimens for forensics until she woke up, and they asked him not to touch her until they had done so. However, much of the evidence of what had occurred was clear for all to see. On her face and the unbandaged portions of her arms – the only parts of her visible – purple bruises flared in patches. Even the uninjured skin was raw, red and blistered from where the sun had had its own cruel way with her.
There were thick bandages on her left shoulder and wrist, but they were not as appalling as the large plaster stretched across her neck, covering the place where they had tried to slice her throat. Alex realised with a jolt that she was still there only because of poor execution on her attackers’ part.
Less than six hours ago she had been walking next to him, laughing, intact and unscathed. God, how he wished he could have a moment alone with the animals that had done this to her. A moment would be all he would need.
His legs felt unsteady and he stood with both palms on the edge of the mattress, letting his arms take his weight.
‘Hello?’
He turned slowly, to find a woman by the door, dressed in a navy suit. She walked towards him. ‘I’m Isla Bardello.’ Held out a hand, which he shook silently. ‘I’m your family liaison officer. You must be Alex?’
He nodded.
She looked at Amy for a moment, and then said, ‘You know, if you need to let yourself go, that’s okay. While she’s asleep is a good time for you to cry or be angry. When she wakes up she’ll need you to be strong.’
He didn’t know how to respond to this. Markham men did not emote on command, they found it difficult enough to do so at all. Especially in front of strangers. He couldn’t trust himself to have a conversation without losing control. He was not ready to be grateful for Amy’s life, as though he were thanking the bastards who had done this for the smallest of mercies. He was ready to punch flesh until he heard the bones splinter, to set fire to all the white transit vans he saw.
She was waiting and he was flustered, so he tried out a smile. ‘Thanks. I’m okay.’
She watched his face, and he wondered if she was disappointed in him. Then she straightened up, becoming more businesslike.
‘Have you spoken to Amy’s family?’
‘No. Have you?’
She ignored the snippiness of his reply. ‘They need to be told. It would be more reassuring coming from someone they know.’
Alex choked back an ugly laugh. There would be nothing reassuring to them in this news, whoever told them. He had already mentally gone over the dreaded conversation with Amy’s father a hundred times, trying to imagine what Raymond Duvalis would do when he heard about this.
However, she was right. There was no choice: he needed to let Amy’s parents know.
‘You can use my mobile,’ she said, handing him the phone.
‘Thanks,’ he replied, taking it and wandering out of Amy’s room after a glance back.
He searched the maze of linear corridors for somewhere private enough, ending up in the car park, on the far side by some eucalypts, their scent wafting over him as he dialled.
It was breakfast time in the UK. He imagined Ray and Tess sitting in companionable silence in their small kitchen, unaware of the devastating news about to reach them.
‘Hello?’ It was Amy’s mother.
‘Tess, it’s Alex. There’s been an accident,’ he began, trying to sound calm. ‘But Amy’s alive.’
‘Oh my god.’ Her voice broke immediately as he cursed his wording – by telling her that Amy was alive he had reduced her daughter’s present condition in the world to one of mere survival – but he couldn’t think what else to say. He was about to add more when he heard rustling at the other end. Then a gruff voice said, ‘Who is this?’
‘Ray, it’s Alex.’
‘What’s happened?’ Ray demanded.
‘Amy was grabbed off the street earlier today… and kidnapped. They found her a few hours later, but she’s been badly hurt. She’s in hospital; under sedation.’
‘What? Oh, Jesus, Jesus.’ There was a short pause, then, ‘Alex, tell me straight, how badly hurt? Will she be okay?’
Unless Raymond Duvalis asked him directly, Alex knew he could not bear to explain what they had done to the man’s daughter.
‘I… I don’t know. Physically, yes, I think so. Mentally, I don’t know. She’s still sedated.’
‘They didn’t… Was it…?’
Alex sucked in a breath. ‘Yes. And they meant to kill her.’ His voice cracked into a roughened croak. ‘They tried to cut her throat.’
He could hear the other man’s breath rasping as this was taken in. ‘We’re coming,’ Ray growled down the phone. ‘We’ll be there as soon as possible. I’ll sort the flights out. How do I contact you?’
‘Er… I…’ Alex looked around. He realised he wasn’t even sure of the name of the hospital. ‘I’m not sure where we are, to be honest.’ He felt pathetic.
‘Get me a phone number, and the hospital details,’ Ray barked. ‘As quickly as you can.’
‘Okay,’ Alex replied, and heard the click as Ray hung up.
He walked slowly back towards the ward, his legs dragging, his body feeling impossibly heavy, like he’d been drugged. He suddenly wanted to sleep, to sink into oblivion, where he could discard this day, the past six hours, at least for a while. He gave back Isla’s phone, and she told him she would return in an hour to check on Amy.
Finally, they were left alone.
Alex moved over to Amy’s face. The image he had of her sleeping just that morning overlaid the bruised, beaten face before him now. He went to stroke her hand, then remembered he couldn’t even touch her. The dam inside him crumbled and he finally broke down.
Mark waited at the bottom of the steps of one of Surrey’s grandest stately homes, fiddling with the hem of his dinner jacket.
He had been looking forward to the Christmas ball all week. It was hosted sequentially by a number of top London law firms that fell just outside the Silver Circle, inviting barristers, solicitors and their aides to put aside their quarrelling for one evening in the spirit of Christmas festivity. It was a night of good-hearted camaraderie, but with an underbelly of point scoring that saw everyone on their guard. The occasion had also become a mock awards ceremony to publicly congratulate and commiserate with the year’s successes and failures of those gathered. Mark, as a rising star, had thus far only been mentioned favourably on the two previous occasions he’d attended, while this was Chloe’s maiden voyage into the jurisprudent atmosphere, so neither of them felt the same level of trepidation with which others from their office approached the event.
‘Looking for me?’
Chloe was suddenly right in front of him. No wonder he had missed her, he thought, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. She had metamorphosised from besuited trainee lawyer to sexy and sophisticated debutante. Gleaming black satin hugged her body, accentuating her curves, the split skirt revealed flashes of tanned calves, and strappy black sandals sparkled as she moved.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Chloe, you look superb.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, beaming.
Mark held his arm out and she slipped her hand through it. Then they turned and made their way up towards the light and noise.
The dinner, awards and speechmaking were uneventful, though by the time they had finished, Mark’s head was humming from the champagne he’d slugged back with each toast. As the tables broke up to become informal groups of animated conversation, a swing band struck up and people began to dance. Mark followed Chloe over to the bar, and with freshly topped-up glasses they stood in front of a red and gold strewn Christmas tree, the tip of which stroked the high-vaulted ceiling, and watched the festivities around them.
There was a lot Mark wanted to say to Chloe as he watched her sip her drink and gaze about her. Yet he couldn’t find the words to begin, nor could he work out the phrasing in his head.
As they stood there in silence he saw his father approaching, with another man in tow.
‘Mark! Chloe!’ said his father in his usual booming voice. ‘This is Risto Kiesi, he’s taking over from Pamela in family law when she goes on maternity leave. You’ll be having a lot to do with him, Chloe.’
Mark sized up Risto as the other man proffered his hand. He had a mop of curly brown hair and deep-etched laughter lines. Mark reached out and they shook hands, brisk and businesslike.
Risto then turned and said, ‘Chloe’, and again offered his hand, but as she took it he held on to it as he said, ‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ in a tone that was almost too genuine. Mark studied the grip of Risto’s hand on Chloe’s, until it was broken.
‘Likewise,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m looking forward to working with you.’
Risto smiled. ‘Oh, me too.’
‘Chloe!’ Henry butted in, watching them, the proud benefactor of these exchanges. ‘You look wonderful tonight, my dear.’
‘Thank you,’ Chloe said mildly, then there was a pause. Mark knew Chloe was awed and a little frightened by Henry. He had no doubt that Henry was aware of that too, but his father seemed to bask in the fact like a cat in sunshine, lingering longer than was strictly necessary.
‘Would you like to dance, Chloe?’ Risto interjected easily.
Mark’s heart sank. Chloe looked at the packed dance floor then laughed and said, ‘Yes, okay.’ And Mark could only watch as she followed Risto and they joined the jostling crowd. He caught glimpses of her now and again as Risto moved easily around the dance floor, whirling Chloe with him.
Henry stayed by Mark’s side, but his gaze was in the same direction as his son’s. ‘Those two have taken a shine to one another,’ he said. ‘Risto is a brilliant lawyer, I’ve long admired him. We’ve had to promise we’ll keep him on if Pamela comes back, but I doubt there’ll be a problem, hardly any of them can hack it once they’ve started down the family road. His curriculum vitae shows he’s worked with some impressive names; no doubt he’ll be filling the coffers a bit as well.’
Mark said nothing.
‘Better circulate, then,’ Henry said. ‘Wouldn’t do you any harm either, Mark.’
Mark cast a quick glance towards his father, who was waiting expectantly, portly stomach protruding over a burgundy cummerbund.
‘I’ll just grab another drink,’ Mark said, indicating his glass, which to his surprise he’d emptied in the last five minutes.
Henry nodded and strode away.
Mark took his time at the bar, keeping an eye on the dance floor as he downed two quick whisky chasers, and he had only just returned to his position near the Christmas tree as Chloe walked towards him alone, face flushed, smiling.
Mark held out a glass. ‘I got you another one.’
She took the drink. ‘Thanks, Mark. I’d better be careful, though, I’m feeling all light and floaty already.’ Still, she immediately took a sip.
Mark felt the same way, curiously disconnected from his body. His focus on the glass in his hand wasn’t as clear as it might be, but then again, the lighting had dimmed now, and the softness was relaxing him. He tipped a huge slug of liquid into his mouth, enjoying the flare of it against his throat as he summoned up courage.
‘Chloe, you do look absolutely gorgeous tonight.’
Chloe gave Mark a curious sidelong glance. ‘Well, thanks, Mark.’
‘I just wanted to tell you, you know…’
‘Okay.’ She looked amused now.
‘Look, do you want to dance?’ Mark asked, regretting it as soon as he said it. He wasn’t a dancer, but the music was slow enough that he might get through it by simply swaying, which, now he thought of it, he seemed to be doing already.
He grabbed Chloe’s hand and pushed his way towards the dance floor. It had been packed earlier, as he watched, but now it had thinned out. However, it was too late to back out, and he wrapped his arms around Chloe’s waist and pulled her tightly to him, beginning to move to the music.
He pressed his mouth against her neck, then put his hand up to cup the back of her head as he leant towards her for a passionate liplock. He felt her tense, then relax into it, and he let himself go, covering her mouth with his own, running his hands up and down her satin-clad back, over her bottom, back up to her waist again.
When the song finished, the next one began at a much faster tempo. Mark had a momentary bizarre urge to break into some silly kind of jig, but as Chloe finally pulled back from him he saw the look on her face. She was flushed and smiling, but also seemed a bit embarrassed. Was she laughing at him? Was he a joke to her?
‘Are you laughing at me?’
She shook her head. ‘Mark, you’re drunk. Come on.’ She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him off the dance floor, but Mark wanted to feel her in his arms again. He said, ‘Chloe, come here,’ and pulled her back, harder than he meant to, and her body met his with a hefty bump, sending them both reeling a few steps, with Chloe trying to regain her balance by clutching onto Mark, and Mark staggering with the weight of trying to right both of them. They only stopped when Mark met the ledge of the stage, fell backwards over it, and landed with a great crash against the band’s drum kit, which let out a simultaneous bang and cymbal clap.
As Mark lay sprawled, with Chloe now recovered and standing over him looking mortified, to their credit the band played on after only the slightest of blips, the drummer and a few nearby people with quick hands managing to steady the kit. But everyone on that side of the room had noticed, and was either staring, laughing, or looking away in awkward embarrassment.
‘Come on, Mark,’ Chloe hissed, pulling him up. He followed her lead, and they made their way over to the entrance hall, Chloe’s head down. Mark saw faces he recognised among the onlookers but didn’t really care, as his head was both pounding and spinning from the combined effects of alcohol and a whack from the drums.
Chloe pulled him all the way outside to the front steps of the building. ‘Sit down,’ she said. He sank onto the cold stone. ‘Do you want me to get you some water?’
‘No, just kiss me,’ he replied, his speech slightly slurred.
‘Mark! I don’t think -’
‘What the HELL do you two think you’re playing at?’
Mark looked around towards the source of the noise. He saw his father bearing down on them, towering over them as they sat on the steps. His face was bright red.
‘Do you think you’re at some kind of school disco?’ he demanded. ‘Where you can grope each other in front of every one, and people will just smile fondly at you? David and Neil are outraged. You’ve disgraced the company, both of you.’
Mark couldn’t take it in. He looked from his father to Chloe, whose eyes were brimming with tears.
‘Dad, hang on…’
But Henry was already hailing one of the waiting taxis, which promptly drew up in front of them.
Chloe dashed up the steps without a word, and returned a moment later with her coat and Mark’s jacket. Henry leaned into the darkened interior of the cab.
‘Take them anywhere,’ he growled. ‘As long as it’s right away from here.’
The first night had passed in a blur. Alex had refused to leave Amy’s side, despite a number of voices imploring him to rest. At some points he dozed in the hard-backed armchair in the corner, at others he tried to stay awake on the upright chair by Amy’s bed. His dreams felt more like hallucinations, where he chased Amy but lost her; or was confronted by groups of faceless men who he would attack without hesitation, breaking bones and ignoring screams until his hands were covered in their warm blood. Eventually he dragged the larger chair across to the bedside, and fell asleep for an hour slumped forward, his face buried in the hospital mattress.
During the first twenty-four hours Amy opened her eyes a few times, but she was groggy from the shock and the painkillers, not really registering her surroundings much, blinking wearily, then closing her eyes again.
Alex waited outside while the doctors examined her and collected evidence. When they had finished they gave him encouraging reports. There was some internal bruising and a small amount of bleeding, they said, looking down at their notes as they did so, and they would need to keep an eye on her, but there shouldn’t be any permanent damage. The rest of her wounds were not as severe as they looked. Her shoulder was sprained, and her shin had taken a bad knock but there was no bone break. The cut across her throat looked shocking and would probably leave a scar, but it would fade. The CT scan showed no internal swelling or bleeding to the head, and while the bruises looked nasty they would disappear eventually. The list went on, each item increasing Alex’s burning need for vengeance – but all her physical injuries would heal, and without the need for too much medical intervention.
The psychological prognosis had not been delivered with as much reassurance. The effects of such an experience would be wide-ranging and long-lasting, Alex was warned by Isla and others. Amy would need time and space to react in the way she needed to, and unobtrusive, consistent support over the next days, weeks, months and years. He nodded, trying to take it all in, doing his best to understand what was needed from him; but even then he was not prepared for the first thing Amy said when she opened her eyes properly the following day.
‘I’m so sorry, Alex.’
Her voice took him by surprise, as he had been staring at her hand, stroking it while she rested, feeling groggy and disorientated through lack of sleep, and he hadn’t sensed her waking.
He looked up, trying not to be overcome with emotion at the sound of the familiar sweet voice he had been longing to hear. He tried to smile reassuringly. ‘Hey,’ he cooed in an almost-whisper, his heart constricting in love and pain to see his lovely Amy finally awake. ‘Don’t say sorry, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’
Tears began to seep down the sides of her face. ‘I tried to fight them, I promise I did. But I couldn’t… I should have tried harder, I should have done whatever it took, I should have…’
Alex stood up quickly while she was talking. ‘No, Amy,’ he interrupted, trying to stroke her cheek and catch the tears as they fell. He was so stricken by her words that his voice came out much harsher than he intended. She winced at the sound and again at his touch. ‘Don’t say that, please,’ he begged more softly, as her sobs became louder. He looked around desperately for help; he wasn’t sure how to calm her.
A nurse came bustling in. ‘Ssh,’ she said to Amy, reaching across to quickly pour some water into a plastic cup. ‘You’re safe now, my love. Don’t fret. Nothing can hurt you. Here, take these pills, they’ll help with your pain.’
The nurse assisted Amy with the water and the pills while Alex looked on, standing back, feeling useless and pathetic that this stranger could comfort her so easily when he couldn’t.
By the time the nurse left, Amy had closed her eyes again.
She woke up a couple of hours later, and this time she was silent, staring across towards the window as though in a daydream. Again, Alex didn’t know what to say to her, so he tried to fuss to make up for his earlier ineptitude.
‘Amy, I’m so sorry…’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t, Al. Not right now, okay?’
He paused, searching for something to say.
‘Do you want some water?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Can I get you anything else?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘Shall I put the TV on?’
‘If you want.’
He switched it on and flicked through the channels.
‘Any preference?’
‘You choose something.’
The news? Too gloomy, he thought. Sport? Not Amy’s thing. So he left it on The Simpsons and they listened to inane squeaky chatter that usually made them giggle, as Amy continued to stare out of the window. Alex felt silly and selfish, as though in the middle of this crisis all he could think to do was to put the telly on. When the nurse came in to help Amy to the toilet, he left, embarrassed, even though when Amy had been ill in Thailand he hadn’t even blinked at keeping her company in the bathroom.
Detective Thompson called in twice to see how Amy was doing. Finding her awake in the afternoon, Alex watched as he asked her questions, quizzing her relentlessly, reminding Alex that speedy progress was essential, when he tried to jump in upon seeing Amy’s distress. Every word the policeman uttered, each question he posed, repeatedly slammed the reality of all this into Alex’s mind, that it was not just some horrible twilight nightmare they could escape from.
Finally, the detective left them alone, and before long the day receded into evening. Alex spent another uncomfortable night in the chair, still unwilling to leave, but less sure of his purpose in being there, unnerved by how ineffective his actions and presence had been in the past twenty-four hours. He resolved to talk to Isla in the morning, to ask her more about what he should do, and how he should be.
At nine o’clock the next morning, Amy’s parents arrived, dishevelled and tired-looking, cases in hand, having come straight from the flight. When Amy first saw them she broke down, howling her pain to them, a rag doll in her mother’s arms, sagging against her. Alex’s intense awkwardness returned. He hardly looked at Amy’s father as he rose to shake hands, but when he did he realised that Ray hadn’t even registered Alex’s presence yet, staring horrified at his distressed and injured daughter.
When Ray finally saw him, Alex imagined for a moment that Amy’s father was going to hit him. This slightly stooped old man with watery eyes, half a foot smaller than Alex, sprang forward as though possessed, and Alex instinctively backed away. Just in time, Ray seemed to rein himself in and gave a curt nod instead, just saying, ‘Alex.’
Tess looked round when she heard Alex’s name, her daughter still buried in the cradle of her arms, and put a hand out briefly to rub Alex’s arm. The gesture made him think of his own mother, and for a moment he longed for that familiar comfort. But after Jamie’s troubles had begun Alex had stopped leaning on her, not wanting to cause her any additional worries. Now, he reminded himself that since there was little she could really do, it would be unfair to burden her with this. And the thought of his dad’s unease in the presence of others’ emotions was enough to put a stop to any notion of confidences there.
Amy drifted in and out of sleep over the following excruciating hours. Her mum and dad had taken the seats so Alex was propped against the wall staring out of the window, or offering to fetch them drinks, which they declined.
Detective Thompson returned around lunchtime. He asked them all to leave, as he thought Amy would find it easier without an audience. As they made their way out, Alex saw the policeman sit on Amy’s bed and speak softly and solemnly to her, and that she nodded in understanding.
Ray wandered off without a backwards glance, his shoulders hunched, while Tess walked over to Alex. ‘Ray just needs some space,’ she said. ‘He’s taken it very hard. Do you want to get some air?’
Alex nodded and they walked outside and stood in the shade of a large melaleuca tree.
Tess took Alex’s arm and rubbed his forearm with her other hand. ‘Alex,’ she said, ‘it’s okay -’
She hesitated. Alex was silent, unsure what she meant.
‘- I don’t know if… if you are thinking along these lines, but it’s not… it’s not your fault, what happened. There was nothing…’
Even though he had berated himself a million times in the past forty-eight hours – if only, if only – he was shocked to hear her say this, and turned to look at her, searching her face to see if she meant it. He wanted to shake her off, to tell her of course it wasn’t his fault, he had done everything he could to keep Amy safe.
‘Thanks,’ he said instead, standing stiffly, looking at the floor.
‘It’s okay,’ she replied sadly, dropping his arm.
When Mark had woken up the morning after the law ball he had had that blissful momentary void as he moved between states of consciousness before his memory kicked in, along with a particularly aggressive hangover.
With rising indignation he remembered Chloe supporting him up the stairs to her flat, and rolled over, realising he was in Chloe’s room, with Chloe next to him, snoring softly. He reached over to the floor and grabbed his jacket, pulling out his mobile and seeing that it was only six forty-five. The movement made his head groan with pain, so he rolled back and lay staring at the ceiling for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.
There was no avoiding it. He kept replaying the moment he’d overbalanced; the crash of the drum kit behind him; Chloe’s surprised, shocked face as she almost came with him but managed to right herself, as he’d used both his hands to try to break his fall and keep any percussion from falling on top of him.
Then the walk of shame to the entrance, the replay now accompanied by the slow clapping of his throbbing head. Seeing Risto Kiesi, the new guy, smirking at them both, and passing David and Neil, who both had heavy scowls on their faces. Being glad he hadn’t spotted his father as Chloe dragged him outside, then hearing Henry’s voice, the rage in it, the humiliation.
He pulled himself up again. His mouth was dry and disgusting, he needed water. He made his way slowly down the poky hallway of Chloe’s flat, body aching, to the kitchen, ran the tap and pushed his mouth straight under the flow, not even bothering to look for a glass.
He wiped his mouth and sighed, looking out of the kitchen window, straight at someone else’s curtains on the opposite side of the road. What should he do?
Wearily, he made his way back down the hallway, grabbed his clothes from the floor and started putting them on. Chloe didn’t stir. Her arms were flung out from her sides like she had fallen onto the bed and straight into a deep sleep. Her long brown hair fanned out across her pillow, a section of it across her face, the rest of it framing her neck and graceful shoulders. His gaze continued down over the soft mounds of her breasts under her T-shirt, the rest of her enveloped in a duvet.
He had an urge to ease himself down onto her, hug her tightly into the softness of her covers, kiss her lips, her neck and that sweet button nose. But he was dressed now, a dishevelled version of the previous night, bow tie in his pocket, and ready to leave.
He moved towards the door, then turned back to look at Chloe once more, so peaceful and still; hesitating, feeling that somehow this one decision of leaving was a defining moment in his life.
He walked back over to the bed, sat on the edge of it, and kissed Chloe lightly on the lips.
She didn’t stir, even though he willed her to. He needed her to wake up and see him there with his mussed-up hair and his stinking breath and his bloodshot eyes, even though he wasn’t quite sure why.
‘Chloe,’ he whispered.
She murmured something unintelligible, and he began to smile, anticipating her eyes opening, but she rolled away from him and half-buried her head under the pillow he’d used.
Mark remained where he was for a moment. He ran a hand lightly down her arm. He tried to think, though his sore head made it difficult. He pushed away the edginess that jostled with his hangover for attention, and slowly got up, turned away from Chloe, and made for the door.
Each time Amy opened her eyes there were a million fluorescent pin pricks dancing upon the dirty white ceiling. At first she had thought they’d strapped her down, but apparently it was the bruises on her stomach that felt like a dead weight. Her shoulder was swathed in bandages and when she moved it produced a sharp shooting pain. The whole of her ached and ached, inside and out.
It was surprisingly easy not to think. Just to stare in front of her and let all conscious thought drift into the misty recesses of her brain. Now and then the fog cleared a little and then she cried, wretched, gasping sobs beyond her control.
Alex sometimes looked at her with a strange expression on his face. At one stage she had met his gaze to find him studying her like something that had dropped out of the sky and landed at his feet. She was searching for disgust in his eyes, but he was hiding it well.
She needed him. But not like this – him mute and staring out of the window. She needed him to find the right words, the ones she so desperately needed to hear, even though she herself had no idea what they were. She wanted to tell her mum and dad to go away half the time, but also to cling to them and try to disappear inside the cavern their arms made.
She needed them all. But not like this.
Her mother was soothing, helpful, but persistent, like those outback flies that wouldn’t give up until they had attached themselves to you. And Alex… Alex was distant and tense, full of latent rage that might only be assuaged by inflicting pain on someone. She could sense him trying to mentally move away from these surroundings, this reality. She couldn’t blame him for that; she was doing the same.
Her father, on the other hand, was quiet, anguish written on his face; and a growing frustration in his movements and his sharp words for anyone other than his child. His distress was like an invisible cord stretching across the room, drawing her to him. When he’d arrived, for the first time since it happened she had been comforted. She had realised with a shock that what she had been waiting to see on someone else’s face was not empathy but the companionship of unmitigated suffering.
He had refused to leave the hospital since they’d got there, though he told her mum to get rest. He’d barely said a word to Alex, who usually left when her mother did. A lot of the time when Amy was awake in the amber-lit hours her father was folded over in the chair beside her bed, snoring softly. But if she caught his eyes watching her, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think he did either.
When she thought of the person she had been just a few days ago, she felt like she was watching a film of another girl with plans and hopes and dreams. She spent most of the time now trying not to think, not to conjure up images she didn’t want to see, not to dwell on the future, when she couldn’t possibly imagine how she would ever get beyond this point. For the rest of her life she would be a girl who had been raped. She didn’t want to be that girl. She wanted to tear off her skin and climb out from beneath the bloodied mess of it and run away. She didn’t want Alex to see her like this. Defiled. She wanted him to tell her it was all a lie, all just a nightmare, but every time he looked at her she saw in his eyes that the nightmare was real.
When Chloe had opened her eyes on the Sunday morning it was to a feeling of lightness: the events of the evening before suddenly looked a lot funnier. Sure, it was extremely embarrassing – and despite her desire not to replay it, it seemed her mind had a will of its own and kept doing so anyway – but it wasn’t the end of the world.
When she’d turned over she was surprised to find an empty space beside her. She’d hurried into the corridor and checked the bathroom, lounge and kitchen, but Mark, it seemed, had gone.
She hadn’t heard from him for the rest of the day, but felt it was really up to him to make the first move after sneaking off like that.
When she’d got to the office the following day, she’d seen that Mark was in his room, his head bent over his work. She went and put her things down and tried to get on with her own tasks, but it was no good. Eventually she gave in and went to see him.
‘Hello?’ she said, standing in the doorway.
Mark looked up. ‘Hello,’ he replied with a formal smile.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘You left pretty quietly yesterday.’
‘I know. I had things to do.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Silence.
Chloe felt a bit light-headed. ‘Are you still on for Saturday?’ she asked.
Mark looked up quizzically.
‘The family do,’ she reminded him. ‘I’ve told everyone you’re coming,’ she added, although it was untrue, but she felt she needed to use some coercion.
‘Oh, that. Sure.’ Mark gave her a quick smile. ‘Just let me know when we need to leave. I’m quite busy this week, so I might not see you much before then.’
‘Okay,’ Chloe said. She knew a brush-off when she heard one. She went back to her own room, trying to dispel the tears that threatened. He was treating her as if she’d been the one who’d disgraced them, whereas they both knew he’d been the main culprit.
The rest of the week had dragged interminably. With the Christmas party over, everyone just wanted to get to the Christmas break. Ordinarily they would have shirked as much work as possible, but there was simply too much to do.
On the Thursday, Risto appeared at her office door, and asked if she could spare him some time. He sat down and they chatted about what they’d be working on in the New Year, about their Christmas plans, and the need for comfier furniture in the offices. By the time he left, Chloe felt considerably lighter in spirits. She was looking forward to having him around more, she decided, and there was no question that he’d been flirting with her quite openly throughout their conversation. Her mind went to Mark working hard in the next-door office, then she pushed the thought away. Mark had hardly spoken to her since the weekend, and a little flirting was hardly a crime, was it?
As she shrugged off her niggling anxiety, Mark appeared at the door, as if she’d conjured him up. He didn’t bother to knock.
‘David wants to see us,’ he said, his face grim.
‘Oh?’ Chloe’s stomach sank but she tried not to show it.
‘Now,’ Mark added, indicating with a flick of his head that she should come with him.
Chloe jumped up, smoothed her suit down, and felt her hair to check it was in place. Her mouth was dry. Surely this wasn’t about the weekend – they couldn’t sack her for watching Mark topple into a drum kit, could they?
As they reached David’s office her alarm grew. She saw Neil was in there as well, and that neither man looked happy.
‘Come in, you two, and close the door,’ David said, indicating that they should both sit down.
Chloe glanced at Mark. He sat rigidly on the chair next to her, looking grimly past David towards the window.
‘Neil and I thought we should discuss the events of last Saturday,’ David began, forgoing preamble.
Chloe’s insides began to curl up in shame.
Mark cleared his throat. ‘Before you go on, I would like to say that it wasn’t Chloe’s fault in any way. I accept responsibility entirely. I’d had too much to drink and I behaved like an idiot. It will never happen again.’
‘Mark -’ Chloe began, thinking that she should at least support him, take some culpability onto her own shoulders, but Mark turned and glared at her so fiercely that she couldn’t think of what to say next.
David held up his hand. ‘I don’t wish to start apportioning blame,’ he said. ‘All Neil and I would like to say is that if either of you ever do anything like this again while you are representing Lewis, Jameson & Marchant, there will be very serious consequences. We have discussed this with Henry – though he felt it better not to be in this meeting for obvious reasons – and we are all in full agreement that we are willing to let it go this once, but this is the last time, and you should still both be on your best behaviour while you make amends. If you do wish to conduct a relationship, then you will leave it at the doors to these offices; this is not some kind of libidinous stomping ground, and whenever you are representing this firm we demand the very best from you. That’s why we hired you. Are we clear?’
Chloe nodded.
‘Okay, then,’ David said. He got up and opened his office door, showing them out. ‘That will be all.’
Neil hadn’t said anything throughout the entire meeting, just stared at them both as though they were emitting some unpleasant odour he was forced to sit in. At David’s dismissal, Chloe jumped up and exited the room, finding she could breathe easier once she’d crossed the threshold. She felt indignant at being spoken to like a four-year-old, still unable to see why there was such a fuss being made, and no evidence of at least a portion of humour amongst all the stern words. Considering the array of shocking behaviour they came across every day in cases, what had happened was surely a little bit laughable.
She walked a few paces then automatically looked back for Mark, to see he was still in the office, saying something further to David and Neil, and then shaking both men’s hands. She paused, wondering what was going on, but thought it better not to hang around too obviously in the light of what had been said. So she made her way back to her office deliberately slowly, hearing Mark’s footfalls catching up behind her.
She turned around. ‘Jesus!’ she said to Mark, smiling, ‘you’d think we’d shot the drummer, not just wobbled into his kit.’
Mark looked at her solemnly. ‘Don’t, Chloe,’ he replied, sounding irritated. He walked past her towards his room, and she followed, unnerved.
‘Mark, it’ll blow over. And thanks for trying to get me off the hook,’ she said, coming towards his desk.
‘For Christ’s sake, Chloe,’ he hissed, throwing himself onto his chair, ‘get out of here, will you. It’s hardly the best start if they come round and find us gossiping two seconds after they told us to cool it.’
Chloe was taken aback at his tone. ‘Okay,’ she said, holding her hands up. ‘I’m going.’
‘Good,’ Mark retorted grumpily, looking at his computer screen.
Back in her office, Chloe was unsettled by Mark’s demeanour. Surely this was a storm in a teacup, and would be forgotten by next week.
But now she couldn’t stop dwelling on it, and found herself typing an email to Mark, thinking that he couldn’t berate her for double-checking after what had just happened.
‘Are you still coming on Saturday?’ she wrote nervously. ‘For the family do?’
Her inbox bleeped a moment later.
‘Yes.’
Chloe let out a sigh, feeling a little better. They could talk about everything then, away from the office, and by next week it would all be back to normal.
It was only eight a.m., but the sun was already merciless as Alex made his way to the hospital, forcing his feet to move in the direction he dreaded going. It was a long walk, but his funds were seriously low and he couldn’t afford a taxi. There had been a small amount of coverage from the local press in the week since Amy had been kidnapped, and Alex was notorious in the hostel now. Most people tried to stare without him noticing, but wouldn’t catch his eye. One or two had attempted to confront the situation head on, offering their condolences – they appeared earnest, but Alex couldn’t believe they wanted anything more than gossip, so he had been surly enough to stop them in their tracks. Since he had taken all Amy’s things to the hospital the room was just a dark place to rest his head. He rarely saw it in daylight.
The police were encouraging the media interest, hoping for leads. Alex felt they were useless; they had got nowhere so far. He thought they were probably keeping their fingers crossed that the publicity would outrage the friends and relatives of the perpetrators and thus do their job for them.
Each day this journey was getting more and more difficult to make. He didn’t know what to say to Amy, or to Amy’s parents, or especially to Amy in front of her parents. Ray seemed to avoid looking at him; Amy too sometimes, and even when she did, he couldn’t read her expression. Was it a plea? For what? Action? Compassion? Something he needed to do…?
When he arrived, Amy was resting, her skin grey against the white sheets. He took up his position in this excruciating daily tableau – on another hard plastic chair brought in for the extra visitor, which he moved to the window. He was sick of these four walls and their minimal furnishings, the beige linoleum.
Amy’s parents were either side of her bed: her mother sewing; her father dozing. Each time Amy woke up they all jumped to attention, and Alex could see in her eyes how awful she found it. What else should they do? he thought. Ignore her? Sing and dance for her? He had no fucking idea at all. He wished someone would give him some kind of clue.
In the past couple of days, Amy had not been as sedated, and so when she was awake they all watched TV. Heaps of it. Hours and hours of shitty TV, so they didn’t have to talk – Alex couldn’t tell whether that little box in the corner was a blessing or a curse.
As Amy was asleep this morning, he flicked idly through an old magazine that was on her bedside table, presumably left by a hospital worker. It was full of pretty dresses and anxious headlines: model can’t cope; actress can’t have a baby; alcoholic sports star shames his wife again. He didn’t feel a jot of sympathy for any of them.
He had returned to gazing out the window when a doctor poked his head in, saw Amy was asleep and said ‘A word?’, looking at each of them. Amy’s parents quickly jumped up and headed out, not looking back. The door swung shut behind them. Alex took it that he was not welcome.
They were alone. He went over to the bed, pulled up a chair and leaned forward, peering at Amy’s face. He reached out his hand and, as softly as he could, stroked her hair, her brow, then her cheek. Her eyes remained closed, but a single tear escaped from beneath one of them and quickly ran towards his hand. He stopped it, held his fingers still, and Amy opened her eyes.
‘Hello.’ He smiled at her.
‘Hello,’ she whispered, watching him.
Quickly, not knowing how much of this precious time he had, he reached into his bag and pulled out Bug-Eye, the weird gecko toy he’d bought Amy as a joke in Thailand, knowing how cute she found the tiny real-life counterparts that stuck themselves to the hostel walls in the evenings. He tried not to remember how her eyes had lit up with laughter when he had given it to her, for now she could barely raise a smile, let alone one that reached her eyes.
‘This little guy got left behind,’ he told her, waving the toy at her as though she were a child, not telling her that he’d gone to sleep holding it on a few occasions to try to feel close to her.
She took the toy and looked at it for a moment, managing a weak smile, then said, ‘Alex…’
‘What is it?’ He leaned towards her.
Her gaze moved to meet his. ‘You don’t have to stay.’
‘What?’ He recoiled as though she had just spat in his face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This…’ A weak arm came up and gestured around the room. ‘It must be awful for you.’
‘Well, not as awful as it is for you.’
‘Use your plane ticket tomorrow – go home. I’ll be home soon. Don’t miss out on Christmas with your family.’
‘Amy, I…’
‘Al, go home. Mum and Dad are here now… I don’t need…’
She cut the sentence short, but he had no doubt about which word she had faltered at.
‘Okay,’ he said, getting up, heading over to grab his things. ‘I see.’
He could hear her ragged breathing, and, just for a moment, he looked at her face. The appeal in it was plain.
‘This is silly, Amy. Do you want me to stay?’
She shook her head, still crying silently.
He couldn’t bear this. ‘For CHRIST’s -’
The door opened and Amy’s parents were back. Amy’s mother looked alarmed to find Alex yelling at her daughter. Amy’s father’s face instantly clouded with anger. Before either of them could do any more, Alex grabbed his things, and without a word or a look at anybody, he walked out the door.
Amy was in turmoil. She loved Alex so desperately, but now she was not the same. He hadn’t changed; but she had transformed. She was ugly and scarred. He didn’t love this girl – how could he, he didn’t even know her. At the moment he was just holding out, hoping that the woman he knew was still there somewhere. But Amy was certain that person was gone for good.
So she had thought, perhaps I should let him go for good too. Better he leaves and I can make our happiness into a dearly held dream, than he stays and I watch his love for me gradually wither and die.
She had thought all this, and yet watching him leave, upset and angry, sent a fresh pain through her, overwhelming her aching body. She would have called out, but the appearance of her parents made her pause, and then he was gone.
Her father smiled at her as though he hadn’t noticed Alex’s swift departure. ‘I have good news,’ he said, coming across to her bedside and taking her hand.
‘What is it?’ she asked. She couldn’t imagine what it might be, but she longed to hear it.
‘They say you’re healing well. You can be discharged in a couple of days.’
‘Oh.’
She hadn’t really contemplated leaving the hospital – her thoughts had been focused on all she had lost, her past life and her future one, her dimorphic existence, not the progression of the current days and hours, which seemed unbearably long and pointless.
Noting her lack of enthusiasm, her father said, ‘I’ve spoken to Thompson. They’re at a standstill. He says there’s no point us waiting here in case of arrest. We can always come back.’
Amy nodded, looking at Bug-Eye.
‘Where’s Alex gone?’ her mother asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, and burst into another interminable round of tears, feeling quite revolted at the sound of herself.
Mark had been silent for most of the drive so far. Chloe watched him as he concentrated on the road, and sighed inwardly. She couldn’t help but think that he was making it worse, for himself most of all. She was desperate to ease the atmosphere.
‘Mark, last weekend…’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he snapped.
‘But -’
‘Chloe, DON’T.’ She almost jumped in her seat. ‘What makes you think I want to relive any part of it?’
‘But it wasn’t that bad,’ she said meekly. ‘It was only -’
‘Bloody hell, Chloe!’ Mark roared. ‘Just leave it, will you.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Chloe capitulated. Then added snippily, ‘Just stop sulking then.’
But Mark didn’t respond to this, and the silence continued to pollute the car.
By the time they arrived, Chloe didn’t know whether to fume or get upset. She was regretting inviting Mark now, seeing as he barely seemed able to hold a conversation with her.
As they pulled into the driveway her mother came rushing out to the car. ‘My darling, it’s so great to see you. You look so well. Have you put on a bit of weight? It suits you. And you must be Mark. Lovely to meet you. Another lawyer, eh? How exciting. Come on, then, everyone’s inside…’ And she headed off still talking over her shoulder. At that moment Chloe was very grateful for the distraction of her mother’s effusive greetings, and they both followed her inside.
By the time Mark had been introduced to Chloe’s aunt and uncle from the Lakes, her aunt and uncle from Ireland, her brother Anthony, her stepfather Charlie, her seven cousins, and their various young offspring, as well as Great Uncle Bill in the corner and a number of family friends, the party was in full swing. Mark immediately got talking to some of the men, and Chloe was distracted by her cousins, particularly Mikaela, who was showing off her new navel piercing and hinting in far too loud a voice that she’d had something else pierced as well, but she’d better not get THAT out or her mother would have a fit.
‘Is it your nipple?’ Tom, the fourteen-year-old Irish cousin, yelled.
‘That would be telling, and you’re too young,’ Mikaela replied, to which Tom squirmed and blushed but looked excited.
‘You’re disgusting, Mikaela,’ said Danielle, Tom’s nineteen-year-old sister, but she still looked intrigued.
Mikaela just smiled at them. ‘Come on, Chlo, let’s leave these kids to it,’ she said, ushering Chloe over to the food table.
‘So are you having them on?’ Chloe asked, loading her plate and taking a bite of a chicken wing.
‘No,’ Mikaela said, heading straight for the desserts at the other end of the table, ‘it’s my… you know.’ She indicated downwards with her eyes.
Chloe choked and spat a disgusting blob of half-chewed chicken out onto her plate. ‘Oh my god. Why would you do that?’
Mikaela laughed. ‘It’s pretty good actually. You only have to move and it sets things off. You should try it.’
‘Bloody hell, no thanks. I can’t believe you let someone do that to you.’
‘Well now, I must admit that bit wasn’t so fun.’
‘What wasn’t so fun?’
Chloe turned to see Mark standing behind them. She felt herself blushing and couldn’t think of what to say. However, Mikaela, while spooning jelly onto her plate, said, ‘I’ve had my labia pierced. I was just telling Chloe about it.’
Chloe was unsurprised to see that Mark reddened at this. ‘I see,’ was all he said, then stood there seeming lost for words. Mikaela turned around, looked at both of them, laughed and said, ‘My god, you two are hilarious,’ then sauntered off, doing a little shudder as though an electric pulse had run through her as she disappeared, which her cousin was sure was solely for effect.
Chloe was uncertain what to say next. ‘Do you want some food?’ she asked, gesturing at the plates.
‘No, I’m okay. Look, Chloe, do you mind if… if I head off?’
Chloe laughed. ‘Head off where? We’re in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Back to London.’
She stopped laughing. ‘You’re not serious. We’ve only been here a few hours. It took us five bloody hours to get here!’
‘It’s just I’ve got a lot of work on, and I need to get through it before Christmas.’
‘I see.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, don’t be… Okay, well, I suppose I can get a lift back with Iris. I’ll walk you to your car.’
They made their way out to the front of the house in silence. As Mark opened the driver’s door, Chloe said, ‘Mark?’
He turned and looked at her.
‘Us… this… is it… are we…?’ She didn’t seem to be able to add the final word.
‘No… I don’t know… Look, right now I just need to get a bit of space, get my act together, you know. But I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Oh, okay. Right.’ She stood with her arms folded, and watched Mark get into the car, start the engine and drive away, all without looking at her.
Once he had gone she turned to walk back towards the party, but then sank down on the front step of the house and dissolved into tears. As she sat there she felt a pair of comforting arms around her, and heard Mikaela’s voice whispering in her ear.
‘They’re all idiots, babe, every single one of them.’
The flight was proving unendurable. Alex was caught up in a revolving succession of emotions – feeling fractious, irritated, enraged and upset by turn, leaving him unable to sleep, to eat, or to numb his mind with any of the entertainment on offer.
In the past twenty-four hours his anger had been cataclysmic, without an outlet of any kind, so much so that he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had worked himself up into spontaneous combustion.
He had been trying to do the right thing all bloody week. How had he got it so horribly wrong that she had wanted him to leave? And who did Ray think he was, treating Alex like some distant relative who had no place with them through all this, discarding his efforts, hogging Amy’s care, not even allowing Tess in. And Tess, so compliant, so understanding, so selfless and giving in the wake of everyone else’s struggle to cope with the fallout from this horrendous, vile event. And the doctors, deferring to Ray and Tess as soon as they arrived, when they had been filling him in for the first thirty-six hours, treating him as someone important, then simply ignoring him. And Detective Thompson, with his platitudes and his excuses for having absolutely no leads whatsoever. Alex hated the lot of them, although not with half as much vehemence as he’d reserved for Amy’s attackers.
He shifted miserably in his seat, aware of the space next to him – Amy’s space. They should have been coming back together today, excited about the next chapter. Now what was there to look forward to?
And yet… within the restlessness that pushed and poked at him, causing him to be unable to sit still, let alone sleep, there was something else nagging at him, worrying away like a dog with a bone, trying to break free. He wanted to ignore it, to remain stubbornly livid, but it was too persistent. It came at him again and again through the interminable hours as he sat and stared blankly at the small screen above his head.
A short time before he arrived at Heathrow, he finally couldn’t take it any more. He let the realisation descend on him. There was a distinct possibility that Amy had never wanted him to leave at all, that she had given him a get-out; she had made it easier for him to do what, secretly, he’d been wanting to do all along, ever since the moment he knew she’d been hurt. And, without comprehending what he was doing, he had taken the chance, and run away, without even thinking of what this meant for them long term. He had deserted her, and now all he wanted to do was to take it all back, to start again, and just to be there for her whether he got it right or wrong.
But he had an awful, gnawing feeling that ate away at him as the plane began to descend. It was the understanding that now he couldn’t go back. It was too late.
Mark’s heart was heavy as he headed back towards London through the drizzling gloom, peering hard through the windscreen at endless tail-lights, trying not to let tiredness overtake him too much.
Chloe didn’t deserve this. Whenever he thought of her he recalled her woebegone face of just a few hours ago. She’d been trying hard to talk to him all week, and he had been avoiding her, as he didn’t want to come right out with it.
Because Henry’s words had not stopped booming in his ears.
He had made his way home from Chloe’s the previous Sunday with a heavy heart, to a cataclysm of repercussions before he even had a chance to get changed out of his tux. Henry had collared him the moment he walked in the door, and then ranted and raved about his behaviour, shouting so loud that Mark’s mother had taken the dog on a long walk just to get away from them.
‘You will never be a great lawyer if you can behave like that…’
‘You have disgraced yourself, and the firm…’
‘You have made a laughing stock of me…’
‘You need to pull your socks up quick smart, my boy, or you’ll be out on your ear.’
At first Mark said, ‘It was one silly lapse in judgement, Dad, not the end of the world. Just one drink too many.’ But his father had continued.
‘Your work has been going downhill lately…’
‘Everyone has noticed. I’ve had to excuse you…’
‘You can’t keep up…’
‘This isn’t what we took you on for. Everyone has expectations of you…’
And then:
‘Ever since you and Chloe began this little affair…’
‘What?’ Mark was appalled. ‘I barely see Chloe at work, and she hardly forced the drink down me last night. It was my error.’ A brief image of Risto and Chloe dancing flashed before him and he grimaced.
‘I’ve seen you,’ Henry shouted. ‘Eating together in the office, always at each other’s door. It’s a distraction. It’s leading you down the wrong path.’
Mark was floundering in the unremitting torrent of antagonism coming from his father. ‘That’s ridiculous, Dad,’ he said without really thinking.
‘How dare you,’ Henry had replied, further incensed. ‘Let me tell you, Mark, you need to choose – Chloe or your career. You’re young, only just starting – there’s plenty of time for all that later. If you let yourself get distracted now, you’ll never make the top grade, never have a chance of going for the big jobs, never fulfil your potential – and all because of some little romance that probably won’t even last the distance.’
Mark couldn’t help himself. He began to listen. And Henry pressed on, with points about how it was best for both of them, Chloe too, as they could always pick things up later if they still felt the same. How Chloe didn’t seem that serious anyway – just look at the way she’d flirted with Risto last night, without even a care for Mark. How Chloe wasn’t right for Mark; he needed a stronger, less emotional woman. How Chloe’s work was suffering – the partners were voicing concerns – if she didn’t knuckle down, there might be serious repercussions for her too.
‘Finish it now,’ he urged. ‘Before either of you gets too involved.’
We’re already too involved, Mark had wanted to say at first, thinking of Chloe’s sweet sleeping form of just a few hours before. But the image had wavered in the face of his father’s onslaught, and by the time Henry had finished making his case, Mark had been utterly swayed. Only much later, too much later, would he look back at it as a supreme display of persuasive talent from the most wily of legal minds.
Amy was discharged from the hospital the day after Alex had stormed out of her room. He hadn’t come back.
He will come back, she thought, as the nurses helped her dress, manoeuvring her aching limbs into her clothes; as they put her things together; as her dad hefted her backpack over his shoulder, and her mum linked arms with her; as they thanked the medical staff and headed slowly towards the exit. She looked around for him in the car park, at the sides of the road as the taxi journeyed along, in the cavernous airport check-in area, before the milling people made her feel faint and she had to sit down. But it seemed he had abandoned her. And by the time the plane lifted into the air her upset had turned to numb dismay, and she wasn’t sure if she had ever really known him at all.
Christmas had been going so well. Chloe’s mother had put out the turkey and a raft of vegetables with a flourish, and the four of them had delved in.
Charlie poured them all sparkling wine.
‘Cheers,’ Chloe said, lifting her glass and looking round at them.
They all echoed her, and then Anthony had given Chloe a searching look. With a sinking heart she realised what was coming, but before she could do more than give a swift shake of her head, he had continued, ‘I have an announcement to make.’
‘Oh?’ Margaret spoke for them all, sounding intrigued.
‘I’ve put my course on hold, and I’m moving to America!’ Anthony grinned.
There was silence.
Then, ‘How nice for you,’ Margaret murmured, stabbing her fork into a sprout and jabbing it into her mouth.
‘What?’ Anthony said, half-laughing, looking round at them all.
Charlie looked irritated, even though he had made it a rule never to get involved in disputes with Margaret’s children. Life was easier that way.
Chloe kept her head down.
Margaret was not to be mollified, however, and after a pause said, ‘Anthony, do you think we don’t know why you’re going to America?’
‘Mum, I really regret not having a gap year, and Tommy is over there at the moment working, so it’s free digs – the chance of a lifetime. I’m so lucky having a US passport, and I want to see the world while I’m young.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Margaret retorted.
‘What?’
‘You’re going to find your father.’
‘Well, I might make some enquiries while I’m over there. What’s the harm, Mum, honestly? You’ve had me completely to yourself so far, you can hardly begrudge sharing a bit now.’
And then, to everyone’s surprise, Charlie stood up, knocking his chair back as he did so.
‘You ungrateful little tyke,’ he said. ‘Your mum had bloody good reasons for leaving that man, and you should be thanking her every day, not making her life a bloody misery -’
‘Charlie…’ Margaret put out a hand to try to calm him.
‘No, Mum, it’s okay,’ Anthony said, glaring at Charlie. ‘I think I should leave.’ And he pushed back his chair roughly, scraping it against the floor tiles, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Margaret immediately burst into tears and went into a torrent of speech, with Charlie trying to soothe her. Chloe sighed, looked at her still-full plate of delicious food, and slowly got up to find her brother.
Anthony was in his room, angrily throwing things into a bag.
‘I can’t believe you,’ he hissed when he saw her at the door.
‘What?!’
‘Just sitting there. Can’t you have an opinion? He’s your dad too.’
Chloe was incensed. ‘I do have an opinion. I agree with Mum. I TRUST Mum.’
Anthony gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. ‘Well, thanks a lot. I see that becoming a lawyer has made you able to see only one side of the story.’
‘Ant, you’re behaving like a little boy.’
‘Oh, and you’re so grown up, aren’t you, you snooty bitch.’
‘Ant! For god’s sake.’
Anthony pushed past her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving.’ He ran down the stairs, calling out a sarcastic ‘Happy Christmas’ behind him, then was out the front door. Chloe heard his car rev up and spin away down the drive a moment later.
She went downstairs to find Charlie and Margaret eating silently, Margaret’s face streaked with tears. Chloe tucked mechanically into her own meal, now tepid and unappetising. She didn’t know what to say to either of them, and so the only sound to accompany their Christmas lunch was the ticking of the cuckoo clock on the wall, and the distant sounds of carols coming from Charlie’s permanently playing TV in the next room.
It had been a long week since Alex had got home. Christmas had passed excruciatingly slowly, his parents and Jamie tiptoeing around him, realising something was wrong but not knowing exactly what. Until tonight.
His mother found him alone in the kitchen, snacking on biscuits after the others had gone to bed. She sat down next to him.
‘Alex?’ she began, reaching for his hand.
He wanted to snatch it back, but didn’t want to hurt her, and although his hand felt uncomfortable on the table he focused his energies on keeping it there.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked gently.
The indefinable soothing quality in his mother’s voice broke him, and he began to sob softly into his hands.
‘Oh my darling,’ his mother crooned, moving her chair next to his, and pulling him into her body to cradle his head against her as though he were just a small child.
The whole story tumbled out. By the end of it, Alex was pacing the kitchen, and his mother was watching him, horrified, tears in her own eyes.
‘Oh, Alex, why on earth have you kept this to yourself for so long?’
‘I didn’t want to burden you.’
As he said it he found that was partly it, but perhaps it was also that he had thought he could hide from it by not telling people. How ridiculous that suddenly seemed.
‘Alex, that’s crazy, we’re your family. We’re here to share your load; to help you.’
It was as though she knew what he was thinking – that he never wanted to see her crushed again like she was after the onset of Jamie’s schizophrenia. He wanted to protect her.
‘We go through good and bad together,’ she added firmly. ‘That’s the most important thing. Oh Amy, the poor thing. It’s just beyond words.’
‘I know.’ Alex sat down, feeling an enormous sense of relief at finally being able to talk things through with someone. He ran his hands across his face to try to stave off the exhaustion that seemed to hit him like a blow. He looked at his mother. ‘So, what should I do?’
Alex’s father was waiting by the door the next morning. He had told his mother he would get the train, but she’d insisted that his dad drive him, and wouldn’t brook any argument. He had given in, even though he wasn’t sure what he and his father would find to talk about on the long drive.
But, of course, this was his dad. He patted Alex’s back as they headed out the door, then for the entire journey proceeded to talk about whether he should sell his shares, whether they should unplug everything in the house before midnight on New Year’s Eve in case the Millennium bug struck… and that they should make sure all their files were backed up… and they should know exactly what was in their accounts… He was like a droning mosquito in Alex’s ear as he stared out the window, biting down the impulse to tell him to shut up – because they were never that impolite in their family.
It was less than an hour from their door to Amy’s. Geoff parked the car on the road, and said, ‘I’ll wait here for you. Doesn’t matter how long,’ and nodded towards the Sunday paper in the back.
‘Thanks,’ Alex replied, then got out and headed up the path.
At the door, he took a deep breath, lifted his hand and knocked.
It didn’t take long for Ray to answer.
‘Hello, Ray. I’m sorry just to turn up like this, but I wondered how Amy is doing.’
Alex was immediately encouraged as he spoke. He had expected Ray’s face to be dark with anger, but he seemed almost friendly.
‘Alex, hello. Amy’s doing… okay. She’s getting a little better every day.’
He made no move to invite Alex in, so Alex had to ask, ‘May I see her?’
Ray paused, stared down, took a breath, and looked up steadfastly into Alex’s eyes. ‘She’s asked me to let you know that she doesn’t want to see you at the moment. I’m sorry, pal. Just give her a bit of time, eh.’
Frustration expanded in Alex’s chest. ‘Look, Ray, I don’t want to be shut out. I want to support her.’
‘I know,’ he said, coming outside and closing the door behind him. ‘But I think the best way to do that at the moment is to give her some space.’
And then Alex lost it. ‘AMY,’ he yelled up towards the windows. ‘AMY, PLEASE, LET ME IN.’
‘Alex,’ Ray barked, his eyes going to the neighbours’ houses, ‘there’s no need…’
Alex ignored him. ‘AMY,’ he shouted, wandering across their front garden, shouting up to blank-faced windows. ‘I’LL KEEP ON SHOUTING TILL YOU LET ME IN.’
Ray lost his patience and marched up to Alex, grabbing his arm. ‘Listen, son,’ he hissed, ‘if you won’t go away and keep making a scene, I’ll call the police.’
Alex vaguely heard a car door slam as he pushed Ray away harshly and watched him stumble. Barely registering how shocked and angry Amy’s dad looked, he marched towards the front door, but before he could get there a pair of strong arms grabbed him from behind, hauling him back and holding him still.
‘Just stop and think for a minute, Al,’ his dad said. ‘Don’t make it any worse.’
Alex shrugged him off, but his words were registering, and the anger was passing into upset before he could hold on to it. Distress weakened him, and he put his hand up to his face as his eyes blurred, trying to stifle the sob.
‘Come on,’ his father said. Geoff turned around to Ray, who was still standing in the garden, looking grim. ‘I’m so sorry about everything, it’s just that Alex is very upset. I’m sure he and Amy can get in touch when a bit of time has passed.’
‘Why won’t you just let me see her?’ Alex implored Ray as his dad tried to drag him back to the car.
Ray looked at him sadly. ‘She doesn’t want to see you, mate,’ he said softly. And his face was guileless.
Alex closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on himself. He opened them and took one last beseeching look at the door and windows. They all stared back, impassive, empty, then he thought he saw a shadow pass behind one at the front and his heart gave a painful throb.
She must have heard him, he thought. If she wanted to, she would come out. Ray must be telling the truth.
He was glad he had written the letter now, though he’d hoped it wouldn’t be needed. He reached into his pocket and passed it to Ray. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘give her this.’
Ray looked at it, then at Alex, and nodded.
When her father had gone out through the door, Amy had walked quietly into the front room and listened; although she could have stood in the back garden and still heard Alex’s pleading voice.
But her father was right. She couldn’t face him.
When she had been in hospital, she’d thought it might be different when she left. When they had come home, she thought she might feel comforted by her childhood surrounds. She was sure her mother and father had been hoping this too.
But every day was getting a little worse. Each time she went to sleep she hoped that during the night she would be able somehow to escape what had happened, and wake up feeling a little better – and every time she woke up, as she came to consciousness a black cloud floated quickly down to smother her, so she had to leap out of bed and away from it just to avoid screaming.
She didn’t want to see anyone. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She didn’t want to eat. She didn’t want to wake up in the mornings.
A counsellor had been around to the house twice since they had got home. Both times she had talked to Amy through her locked bedroom door.
Her Christmas presents were still unopened. She had told her mum she’d open them when she felt a bit better. She knew she wouldn’t be able to summon up the effort to look thankful at the moment, however lovely they were.
Every day she stood in the shower for what seemed like hours. Although her shoulder was still strapped up, most of her bruises had evolved from garish purple to pastel greens and yellows. She was amazed at her body’s capacity to heal despite the predations of her mind.
She looked at the letter on her bed, and even though each time she read it she felt more lost, she picked it up again.
Amy,
I’m so sorry. I wish so much that I had stayed with you in the hospital that day, and come home with you. I want to support you, and if that means giving you space then so be it. But be sure of this, Amy: you are the one for me, and I promise I will wait for you, however long it takes. And I also promise that I will support you in any and every way to help you through this; to help you be happy again.
There’s so much more to say, but I’ll wait till I can do that in person.
I love you.
Al
This time, reading Alex’s words gave her courage. For she had made a decision.
First, she needed to talk to her dad.
She picked her moment, when her mother had gone to bed.
‘Dad?’ she began.
He quickly put down his book. It had been rare for her to initiate conversation in the past few weeks, and each time she did people jumped to attention.
‘I need to go away,’ she told him.
‘Well, we can take a holiday…’ he began immediately, but she held her hand up.
‘Alone, Dad.’
Her dad opened his mouth straight away to protest, but was then lost for words, so Amy continued.
‘I just need to get away for a little while, on my own. I know you’re all trying to help, but it’s making it worse. I need to sort myself out with some space away from everyone, or I’m going to go mad.’
‘Amy, I know you might feel like that, but you can’t. You’re not thinking rationally at the moment, love. Just let us look after you.’
‘No, Dad,’ she cried, trying to keep her voice low enough that her mother wouldn’t hear. ‘You don’t get it. How can you? You’ve never been in this position, for god’s sake. You have no idea.’ And then she played her trump card. ‘If you don’t let me go, you might well come in one morning and find me hanging from the ceiling.’
‘Amy!’ Her father looked horrified at her words. ‘Don’t say that, love. Look, it’s early days, we’ll sort something out. Tomorrow we’ll get that lady round again, you need to talk to her…’
‘Dad, you’re not listening,’ she told him. ‘Unless you tie me up and lock me in, I’m going. This is what I have to do.’
‘No, Amy, you’re not,’ he said.
She stormed out, and headed up the stairs, and a few seconds later he was behind her. ‘Look, get a good night’s rest, and we’ll talk about this in the morning.’
‘Okay,’ she said, knowing all conversation was pointless.
She waited till four a.m. She figured that after what she had said her dad would be paranoid about her leaving, so he wouldn’t get to sleep for a while. She wasn’t wrong. Even though the house was quiet and dark, the keys to the front and back doors were all missing, even the ones she’d put in her bag in the hall.
She left two notes on the kitchen table. Then she climbed out of the kitchen window, her shoulder throbbing, pulling her small bag through with her. Just a few clothes, her passport and bank cards, Alex’s letter and Bug-Eye. She had no idea where she was going; but she knew she needed to go – her sanity depended on it.
As she moved through the back garden she hesitated, then diverted her course for a moment. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and the moon was three-quarters full, so she could recognise the outline of the little garden quite clearly. She could still remember the first time she had seen it, when she was six years old, on a night like this. Her dad had brought her here in her pyjamas, and as they had drawn close, she could see a few tiny lights near the ground. She had blinked sleepily, trying to make out where they were coming from, though the light only served to cast all about it in shadow. It was only when they’d been less than a metre away from treading upon those little beacons in the darkness that the wondrous moment of clarity had occurred. There, within an enormous willow-woven basket, was a tiny, exquisitely crafted garden, perfect in every detail, from its minute thicket of trees in one corner, to its flower-lined paths and a small wishing well in the very centre. On another grassy knoll was a tiny bird table and bird bath, each less than the size of a postage stamp. ‘So the fairies can come and visit,’ her father had told her.
As she thought back to the joy she had felt then, she wanted to sit down and weep, but instead she pulled the little wishing well out of the centre, and put it in her bag. A talisman to ensure that she was linked to home. To her parents. To her dad. She didn’t know why she felt as if she needed it. She didn’t imagine that she was going away for long, just for a short time while she got herself together.
Then she headed up the side path, taking care that the gate clicked softly, and soon she was walking along the road, away from home. She had made her escape.
The pub was dark, and full of nooks and crannies that made it hard to find people. Mark was hoping he’d done the right thing in coming. He was never all that enthusiastic about socialising with work colleagues, but Susan was nice enough, and her husband, Terry, was a banker who was often prepared to pass on invaluable advice on shares, and talked of little else, so Mark knew at least there would be someone to listen to. He felt he should make an effort to be sociable for such a significant New Year’s Eve.
It looked like half the office had turned up – minus David and Neil and his father, of course, who he knew for a fact were all attending a well-known barrister’s dinner party tonight and toasting the Millennium with sherries and glasses of Cristal. He was a bit dismayed to see that some of the secretaries were also here. Mark didn’t think it was a great idea to fraternise with subordinates, it made it more difficult at work, but Susan had always been a soft touch with everyone, bosses and cleaners alike.
He waved his hellos to people and got a drink. By the time he sat down, the only space available was next to Charlotte, who seemed quite tipsy already as she leaned over him and slurred hello, giving him an expansive view of her considerable cleavage in a low-cut sparkly top. Then Risto joined him by pulling a chair up to his crowded booth, and they tried to make small talk over the din of chatter.
Mark had half an eye out for Chloe, but didn’t think she was coming – he had heard her mention to Susan that her brother had invited her to a party, so she probably wouldn’t make it. Yet part of him was hoping she would turn up.
He did feel badly about avoiding her. He could tell she was confused, but he didn’t know what to say; and he felt that if he spent too long in her company, he might succumb to her sweet charm and end up back at square one. And his father was right. They were still young; there was so much time ahead for all that; but only one chance to send his career hurtling skywards and set himself up for life. He didn’t just want to be a run-of-the-mill solicitor – he wanted accolades, mentions in parliament, everything. That’s why he’d stayed behind in the office to offer sincere apologies to both David and Neil, and to promise that he would never let them down again.
Yet, he missed her. He’d wanted to contact her on Christmas Day, at least, but he knew that any gesture he made might be seen as reconciliatory, which would start them down the wrong path once more.
Charlotte was patting him on the knee and trying to tell him something. He smiled and played along, though he couldn’t really make out what she was saying. She leaned closer to him, and her hand slid a little higher up his leg. Mark turned to look at Risto, but he’d moved off to the bar and become embroiled in a discussion there. Everyone else in their booth was in deep conversation.
Mark thought about moving her hand off his leg, but was momentarily stunned by the vast cleavage positioned right under his nose, pushing against his chest. As her hand reached almost up to his groin, which was stirring despite his best intentions, he finally heard her as she slurred ‘handsome’ against his cheek, and then her face was blurrily in front of his, her breath saturated with wine, and to his surprise she leaned forward and kissed him.
Chloe was not having a good New Year’s. She had popped in to see some friends earlier on during the night, then headed to Anthony’s Millennium bash, which he’d been going on about for at least six months, and which she’d originally planned to invite Mark to, before he had stopped speaking to her. Over Christmas she had decided she needed to forget about Mark, but even having come to this decision she couldn’t dispel the hurt she was feeling at things ending so abruptly, and without Mark having the good grace at least to explain where they stood.
On arriving at the party she’d found out Mark wasn’t the only one blanking her. After a cursory hello, Anthony had proceeded purposefully to ignore her, which had become quite embarrassing in front of his friends, who tried to make small talk with her for a while, their eyes glancing over her shoulders as other people came into the room, unsubtly looking for their getaway. She was put out, to say the least. If anything, she shouldn’t be speaking to Anthony after what he’d done.
After an hour of this, Chloe had had enough and stalked out. But she didn’t want to be at home alone for the Millennium, particularly as both her housemates had paid to go to swanky dos, and would be full of it when they got in. She decided she might as well show her face at Susan’s bash, as she was now much closer to that than anywhere else. It began to rain as she made her way there, so she ran along the pavement in the gloom, trying to dodge all the swaying, merry people calling out their New Year’s greetings to anyone around, and pushed her way into the packed pub. It was hard to see anyone, but she finally spotted Risto in conversation at the bar. He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her, using his thumb to point behind him as he carried on his discussion.
She made her way over and then stopped in her tracks.
She’d thought New Year’s Eve couldn’t get any worse, but this topped it off.
Right in front of her was Mark, his lips locked with Charlotte’s.
In a daze, Chloe turned away immediately, but before she could make her escape she heard someone say, ‘Hey, Chloe!’ from behind her.
She swung round again awkwardly and waved hello to the people at the table, now looking at her, then at Mark and Charlotte, who were both staring at her. Charlotte was smiling like she hadn’t a clue, and Mark looked as shocked as she’d ever seen him.
‘Chloe,’ said a voice behind her. She turned. It was Risto.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
She nodded, trying not to show him how upset she was, and he ushered her towards the bar. She moved automatically as he said, ‘I saw what just happened. Do you want me to take you home?’
She just nodded again and let him lead her outside.
Alex was just about to go out the front door with Jamie when he saw Ray coming up the drive.
‘Come on, Al, let’s go,’ Jamie said. He had decided he didn’t like Ray after hearing snippets of what had been going on.
‘No, Jamie, I’ll just be a minute,’ Alex answered, alarmed.
‘But, Al, I really want to -’
‘Just wait inside for a sec,’ Alex said, shoving his brother back through the door.
His heart thudded as he saw Ray’s stricken face. ‘Oh my god, what is it?’ he asked.
‘She’s okay… I think,’ the older man said sadly. ‘It’s just I’ve made a terrible mistake.’
Alex let him in, and he came into the lounge, said a subdued hello to Alex’s mother and father, and told the whole family the story.
Amy had snuck out. She was gone. Tess was furious with him for not taking Amy more seriously when she had confided in him, for allowing it to happen.
Alex’s mother pointed out that there was little he could have done other than physically restraining her, and Ray nodded sadly. ‘I know, but still… looking back, I should have realised how determined she was. I just never thought she’d go that night…’
He looked at Alex. ‘I came to see if you’ve heard anything from her.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Alex shook his head. Oh, Amy, he thought, why haven’t you been in touch? Why are you pushing us all away?
‘Have you talked to the police?’ Alex’s father asked.
‘Yes,’ Ray nodded. ‘They’re sympathetic, but say that often there’s nothing much they can do. She’s an adult, entitled to exercise her own free will; she’s never had any mental health issues before, even though she’s obviously been through something truly terrible… They can do some checking, but once we said we thought Amy might have gone overseas they weren’t very optimistic about locating her.’
He got up to leave. He looked broken. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you. You’ve probably got things to be doing tonight. I just wanted to give you this.’ He held a piece of paper out to Alex, who took it, his heart thumping. ‘Just let me know, will you, if she…’ Ray added, looking at Alex. ‘Keep in touch.’
Alex nodded. ‘Of course.’ He watched as his mum and dad said polite goodbyes, the paper scratchy in his hand, then saw Ray out to the door.
Ray turned at the doorway. ‘Alex,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit harsh on you… in the hospital. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, and I…’
Alex didn’t know what came over him, but as Ray stood there on the doorstep he moved forward and patted him on the shoulders in an awkward semi-hug. ‘I understand,’ he said, pulling back quickly for fear of overstepping the mark, but Ray was smiling sadly at him.
Amy’s father turned to go. ‘Ray,’ Alex called.
Ray swung around.
‘Did she really not want to see me last week, or was that just you?’ he asked.
Ray shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. She said she didn’t, but we know she’s not thinking straight, don’t we?’
Alex nodded, and Ray turned to go.
Jamie appeared behind him. ‘Happy New Year,’ he called to Ray’s retreating back.
Ray raised a hand in acknowledgement, but didn’t turn round.
‘Come on, Al,’ Jamie said once Ray had gone. ‘Let’s go. I’m desperate for a pint.’
The little street was dark, though there were lights shining intermittently from the few restaurants dotted about the place. Behind the street, the sea lapped gently at the narrow shoreline, a rhythmic watery lullaby you could only hear between gaps in traffic noise and voices.
This seaside Caribbean village felt incredibly peaceful. And that’s why Amy was here.
She did feel calmer, being away. And she felt sad about that, but it was so much easier, saying hello to strangers who knew nothing of her; being around people who didn’t care a jot, rather than the slow, constricting, suffocating love from those she had left behind. She wasn’t thinking long term, just trying to put one foot in front of another, get through the next hour, the next day. Seeing if she could heal from the inside as well as out, now the bruises had faded.
Yet she couldn’t help but make the phone calls earlier. It was New Year’s Eve, the Millennium, after all.
‘Amy, thank god,’ her mother had cried down the phone. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m okay, Mum. I’m just letting you know I’m okay.’
‘Come home, Amy, it’s better for you here.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Your dad will be so sorry he’s missed you. He’s just popped out.’
‘That’s okay. Tell him I love him. I love you both.’
Her mother was sobbing down the phone. It was frightening. She rarely lost control like this.
‘Amy, you have to promise me one thing right now.’
‘Mum, I -’
‘PROMISE ME you’ll do no harm to yourself. If anything happened to you… well, your father and I, we would die too – do you UNDERSTAND, Amy?’ she said fiercely.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘Say you promise.’
‘Okay, I promise,’ Amy agreed, as yet unclear about the implications of this.
‘Right.’ Her mother sounded a bit calmer. ‘I want you to check in with us every day.’
‘Mum, that’s not realistic.’
‘Every day,’ she asserted.
‘Mum, I can’t,’ Amy said. ‘Look, I’ll do it every week, okay? Even then, my money…’
‘Do you have your bank card?’ her mother asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll put money in your account, okay?’
‘Mum, I -’
‘Amy, the money will be there. Now, please tell me where you are.’
But she knew she couldn’t. Her father would be on the next plane, looking for her. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I can’t. Please understand. I just called to say Happy New Year.’
Her mother had begun to cry again. ‘We love you, Amy.’
‘I love you too, both of you,’ Amy told her. She couldn’t take any more, though. ‘I have to go,’ she said. And hung up.
Then she dialled the other number, quickly, before she could think too much.
His mum answered.
‘Is Alex there, please?’ she whispered.
There was a weighty pause. ‘I’m so sorry, Amy love, he isn’t,’ his mum said in a tremulous voice that told Amy she knew everything. ‘I can go and get him, though – can you ring back in twenty minutes? Or he can ring you?’
‘No, no, it’s okay,’ she said quickly. She knew where Alex was. She had been with him last year, in his local, where all his mates gathered to see in the New Year. She felt glad he was following the routine. It meant he was getting on with things. He was okay without her. He really was. ‘Please don’t tell him I called. Happy New Year,’ she said, then hung up before his mother had a chance to say more.
Mark had stormed out of the pub to try to find Chloe. But she’d already gone. With Risto, by the look of it. He was about to go inside again when Charlotte came flying through the door.
‘Mark, there you are!’ she cried happily.
He smiled reluctantly and made a move to step around her.
‘Where are you going?’ she pouted. ‘I thought you might take me home, for a little Millennium celebration of our own,’ she intoned, as seductively as she could while obviously trying hard to balance.
He looked her up and down. She was wearing a low-cut dark blue sparkly top with tight jeans and high heels. She looked fantastic.
She was asking him to take her home.
He had a choice. Find Chloe. Continue down that path, which made him feel so alarmed as his mind oscillated between Chloe’s confused face and his father’s furious expression. Find Chloe. Who, after all, had gone with Risto.
Or he could give it up and take Charlotte home. And, undoubtedly, other girls like Charlotte in the future.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Where do you live?’
As they moved off, there was a chorus of voices as the countdown began in the pub behind them.
Risto dragged Chloe through the crowds in the small square near her flat. As they moved along, people began to chant. ‘Ten… nine…’
They stopped instinctively and joined in.
‘… two… one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!’
‘Happy Millennium.’ Risto smiled at Chloe as people hugged and kissed and danced around them. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly and softly on the mouth, politely but with a definite promise. And to Chloe’s surprise as he caught her off-guard, for just a moment the churning thoughts of Mark disappeared as she leaned into him.
The pub was a seething, rolling mass of drunken, sweaty bodies overbalancing as they revelled in the first seconds of a new year. A new century. A new millennium.
Alex was trying his best to pretend to join in as his mates danced round him, whooping and cheering. He could feel the note in his pocket; he’d memorised it already:
Al,
Thank you for your message. I understand this is difficult for everybody, not just me, but I need to get away for a while, to sort myself out. When I get back I will come to you.
I love you.
Amy
Where was she? he wondered. He wholeheartedly wished he were with her, not here in this claustrophobic press of people.
He forced himself out of his distraction as his mum and dad arrived, and he watched them make their way over.
‘Happy New Year, love,’ Alex’s mum said, hugging him. She pulled away from him, and looked at him with a strange expression, as though debating something.
‘What?’ He attempted a quizzical smile.
She paused, then the moment passed. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’ She smiled too and hugged Alex again, and his father leaned over and handed him another pint as the party went on.
The only way to tell the New Year had come was a truck with lots of young boys leaning over the sides, swinging their shirts and yelling, ‘Happy New Year’.
There were a few other people in the restaurant, mostly couples or groups, and everyone was pretty quiet. However, there was one woman on her own with a shock of curly hair and kind eyes, wearing the baggy shirt and trousers combo that was almost a traveller’s uniform. As the van full of screeching lads went past, followed by a car with a waving Santa perched on top, she came over.
‘May I?’ She indicated the empty seat.
Amy recoiled at first, but then suddenly craved company. She glanced at the other people in the bar. They weren’t going anywhere. And this woman didn’t look like she’d follow her, or attack her once she’d befriended her. Besides, Amy decided, she didn’t want to be watching over her shoulder all the time. And she could always move on. Now she was free to run away whenever she chose.
She wished she could be someone else; someone completely different.
Maybe that was the answer.
Immediately a person floated into her mind. The sunniest person at school. The girl everyone loved, who didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Who floated through life, smiling. What was her name?
The woman was looking at her curiously, still waiting for an answer.
‘Sorry.’ Amy shook her head and gave a small smile. ‘Of course.’ She gestured to the seat. ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Same to you.’ The woman sat down. ‘Amazing, isn’t it – the Millennium’s arrived in most parts of the world now, and so far nothing terrible seems to have happened. So much time spent putting the fear of god into people, and it nearly always amounts to nothing.’ She leaned across the table and held out her hand to shake. ‘I’m Sophie.’
Slowly, Amy lifted her arm and tentatively grasped the other woman’s fingers.
‘Julia,’ she replied.