The Disappearance

‘And what about food? Shall I get some stuff in for you? Easy things for your dinners?’

‘Oh, no need for that, dear! I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.’

‘But – I don’t know. Should you be driving? Carrying heavy bags? Wouldn’t it be easier if I nipped out and got you some bits that you could just bung in the microwave for this week?’

‘I’m not helpless.’

‘No, I know. But can you please just admit it would be easier if I got you some ready meals? You can get good ones these days. Fresh. Almost like home cooking.’

Mum bowed her head. ‘Thank you.’

‘Okay. So what do you like? Curries? Indian? Thai? “Chicken or beef”?’ I smiled like cabin crew.

‘A shepherd’s pie would be nice, maybe. And, yes, why not a curry or two? Spicy, thank you, dear.’

‘Do you need anything else while I’m there?’

Mum shook her head.

‘How about milk? You’ve got eggs. You could make an omelette one night?’

‘Oh yes. Maybe some milk. To see me through. Thank you. And I think I’m low on cheese.’

I smiled. ‘Back in a bit.’

‘Thanks, dear.’

As I headed to the front door, I looked back at Mum and immediately wished I hadn’t: lying on the sofa in her neck brace she looked small, and so very frail.

Back in the car I texted John. ‘You’re right. She’s not herself. V vague. Gazing into distance.’

He texted back at once. ‘Told you.’

‘But is this the accident? Or was she like this anyway? I don’t remember.’ I put the blushing Emoji.

‘Bit of both. She’s getting old.’

‘70 next year.’

‘I know.’

July 1971 (#ulink_9bf89f63-d33d-5155-b5d1-b55b1928db74)

Bombay, India (#ulink_9bf89f63-d33d-5155-b5d1-b55b1928db74)

‘You’ve changed.’ Janet taps her teaspoon on the saucer of her coffee cup and looks thoughtfully at Audrey across the table. They’re once again in the jazz café – it’s become their regular post-supper haunt, with Janet making no secret of the fact she hopes that she, too, will meet her own rich lover among the clientele.

‘In a good way, I hope!’ Audrey laughs, but even she hears the question in her voice. She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a tiny sip.

Janet pouts thoughtfully. ‘You’re more confident.’

‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. And you look amazing. You’re glowing.’

It’s the sex, Audrey thinks. She looks at her coffee. ‘Well, I do feel better than I have in months. Years! Oh Janet, he’s the best thing ever to have happened to me. Honestly, I always used to think how could so many terrible things happen to me – surely it was my turn to have some good luck – and along came Ralph!’

‘I’m so glad you’re happy,’ Janet says, but Audrey sees a hardness in her friend’s eyes. She looks at her closely; it’s not jealousy – it’s something else.

‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘He’s just so …’ Audrey waves her hand in the air, struggling to articulate how she feels about Ralph – how different he is; how her love for him consumes her. ‘I don’t know: perfect?’

Janet touches Audrey’s hand. ‘Just be careful. All right?’

‘What do you mean “careful”? I’m on the Pill.’

Janet tuts. ‘Not that kind of careful. Well – that kind of careful too. Just don’t lose yourself in all this.’ She stops talking but Audrey doesn’t reply. ‘It’s just – there’s something about him. I don’t know.’

‘Something about him? Looks, personality, charm – where do I start?’ Audrey tinkles a laugh.

‘Not like that. I mean, he’s too good to be true. Men like him just don’t exist. Trust me, I’ve a lot of experience.’ Janet gives a rueful laugh.

‘But he does exist, and he really is that good. I’ve been to his house. Many times. What you see is what you get with Ralph.’ Audrey looks around the café, keen to change the subject now it’s taken this turn. ‘Look! Did you see that chap over there? What a dreamboat …’

Janet gives a cursory glance then turns back to Audrey. ‘Men like Ralph Templeton … they usually have something to hide,’ she says. ‘Really, Auds. I’m shure there’s something he’s not telling you.’

Audrey sucks her teeth and stares at her friend. The noise of the café behind her – the sounds of conversation, laughter and jazz – falls away as she realises that she’s at a crossroads in her life; that this conversation is somehow seminal – something she’ll look back on in years to come. She badly wants her friend’s approval but she knows, too, that her relationship with Ralph is bigger than her friendship with Janet will ever be, and that, should she be forced to choose, her lover will be the one who’ll win.

Audrey sighs. How can she explain to Janet what it is that Ralph Templeton does for her? How could she explain what it feels like to have no one in the world who loves her? How she misses having her father there to keep everything under control, and to offer advice and comfort? Would Janet understand if she told her how her insides know an emptiness that goes beyond life itself? Ralph Templeton is her antidote; he fills her veins with hot, red blood; he brings life back to her. Janet herself has noticed how Audrey’s changed – blossomed – since she got together with him. And on top of that, he’s so knowing, so worldly wise, so confident – he fills a little of the gap that yawns inside her. Just thinking about Ralph makes her shiver with anticipation of when she’ll next see him.

‘He takes such good care of me,’ she says.

‘That’s nice,’ Janet’s voice is sarcastic. ‘But don’t you find him controlling? The way he calls you “Red”?’ She shudders and Audrey recoils: her dad had called her mum ‘Mousie’ and she’d always thought it was sweet. But Janet is on a roll. ‘The way you always do what he wants? You never get to choose where you go or what you do. The way he drove you to his house without asking you till you were right outside? Even the way he came over demanding your number that day. It’s like he won’t take no for an answer.’

‘I quite like that,’ Audrey says.

‘You want to be careful, though.’ Janet points her finger at Audrey. ‘One day controlling, the next you’re not allowed out. It’s almost like he sees you as a possession.’ She shakes her head. ‘The way he sends his car to pick you up all the time. My word!’

Audrey closes her eyes and recalls the cool, leather interior of the Daimler. It’s nice that Ralph sends the car for her. Especially when the rain’s throwing it down as it has been this month. Really, she has no problem with that.

15 July 1971 (#ulink_bc1e7330-db0d-5c22-8811-6800f27ba858)

Bombay, India (#ulink_bc1e7330-db0d-5c22-8811-6800f27ba858)

Audrey’s grateful that the driver Ralph’s sent to pick her up for her birthday dinner isn’t one of the chatty ones. The drive to the Taj Mahal Palace is a long one and she turns her head and stares out of the window, watching as the car passes through the teeming street life of Bombay.

She watches beggars, cripples, cyclists, cars driving four abreast on what should be a three-lane road; sees pedestrians throwing themselves into the teeming traffic with little regard for life or limb. Whenever the car stops – which it does frequently given the road is permanently choked with traffic – filthy children swarm the windows, their hands tapping at the glass, thumbs rubbing against fingers as they beg for a coin, a bite to eat, something, anything. It’s rained heavily and the car cleaves through standing water; the beggars are up to their ankles in it, but Audrey shakes her head at them and looks away, as she’s learned to do. It’s not that she doesn’t see the scrum of life outside the car; it’s not that she doesn’t feel sorry for the beggars – rather that she accepts it, understands that it’s part and parcel of life here. England seems so very distant these days. She can barely remember what life was like there. Cold. Ordered. Lots of rules and a place for everything.

She can barely remember life before Ralph, either. Audrey sits back in her seat and smiles to herself as she thinks about the nights she’s started spending in his sprawling villa on Juhu Beach – nights in which she’s slept with his arms wrapped tightly around her, her heart brimming with a love like she’s never known as the rain drums down on the roof. It’s as if heaven has sent the perfect man for her and, again, she wonders if her dad somehow had a hand in it.