Down to Earth

‘Can I get you anything, love?’

I glanced up to find the barman staring at me from behind the bar.

‘Er, do you have a pay phone I could use?’ I called back.

He pointed his head to the end of the bar. ‘There’s a phone out by the toilets, but you’ll need a phone card.’

‘Can I reverse the charges?’

He looked at me long and hard. ‘Are you alright, love?’

I felt myself blushing under his scrutiny. The couple at the bar were looking at me now and several of the other customers had stopped talking to glance my way. I suppose I looked a bit out of place sitting in an ill-fitting blue jumpsuit with my tear-stained face and lack of personal belongings.

‘I had an accident up the road there.’ It wasn’t too much of a lie, I thought. ‘I need to ring someone to come and fetch me.’

‘You look a bit peaky, are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?’

‘No, really,’ I shook my head. ‘If I could just use your phone I could get my boyfriend to come for me.’

‘Where’s your car? It isn’t blocking the road or anything?’

‘No.’

‘And no one else was involved?’ The barman had come round the bar to get a better look at me. He held out a glass of water. ‘Here, drink this.’

He watched as I gratefully sipped the cool liquid. I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was.

‘You look familiar, somehow.’ He looked at me closely. ‘Are you from round these parts?’

I shook my head again. ‘I drove down from Surrey this morning.’

He seemed to come to a decision. ‘Come on round the back and you can use the house phone.’

‘I can’t pay you; I lost my handbag in the … accident.’

‘Don’t worry about it, love. Come on.’

I rose to my feet and followed him round the bar to a hallway where a phone hung on a plainly decorated wall. The customers watched for a moment then returned to their drinks. I could hear the kindly barman return to the bar as I picked up the handset and punched in the number for the house I shared with Calum.

Calum and I had moved in together six months ago after a whirlwind romance. He was several years older than me and had a ten-year-old daughter called Abbey. Abbey’s mother had died in a car accident eighteen months before I’d met them, and although things had been difficult between me and the resentful young girl for the first few months, we had gradually begun to gel into something resembling a family unit.

As I waited for him to pick up the phone, I thought about Calum’s horrified reaction when I’d first told him about the parachute jump. ‘Are you crazy?’ he had demanded when I’d shown him the sponsorship forms. ‘Don’t you realise how dangerous it is?’

‘People do parachute jumps all the time,’ I’d soothed him. ‘Nothing will happen to me.’

Over the next few weeks as I gathered sponsorship money, he had realised I wasn’t going to back down and had reluctantly added his own name to my list of sponsors. ‘I don’t think you realise that you are one of the most important people in my world,’ he whispered late one evening as we’d lain in bed. ‘I just couldn’t bear to lose you, Kaela. Promise me you’ll be careful?’

I knew he was terrified that history would repeat itself and snatch me away as it had his wife. His reservations were understandable and I’d tried to reassure him the best I could. We’d made love with an intensity sparked by fear and afterwards I’d lain awake listening to his even breathing thinking about how much I cared about him, whilst at the same time yearning for this one last chance at freedom.

At twenty-five the responsibilities I had so willingly taken on were more of a challenge than I’d expected. I was still trying to hold down my job as Graham’s personal assistant and would-be apprentice. It had been a smart career move when I’d been single and independent, but now I was doing a daily school run, helping with Abbey’s homework, shopping and cooking and cleaning for the three of us. More than once during the last six months I’d feared my parents might have had a point when they’d warned me about taking on a man of thirty four and his child.

‘Are you sure he’s not just looking for a new mother for his daughter?’ my father had cautioned me. ‘Is this really what you want to do with your life?’

‘He’s on the rebound,’ my mum added. ‘His wife has only been gone a year and a half; it’s too soon.’

But infatuation had conquered all. Calum had wined and dined me and had seemed so much more mature and sophisticated than the boys I had dated in the past. He was kind and considerate and we’d taken picnics and long walks by the river discussing all kinds of highbrow subjects, instead of drinking and dancing the night away at bars and clubs.

After I’d moved in with him we’d tried to keep some sort of social life alive, but the pressures of our jobs and being full time parents meant that we rarely went out in the evenings any more.

For all my promise of a lasting commitment, the parachute jump had been a breath of fresh air, an adventure in the making and nothing Calum or anyone else could say would have dissuaded me from taking part. Now, as the phone went unanswered, I wondered if I was being punished.

He must have gone out, I thought, even though he’d said he would be there when I got home. And it was a school night, so Abbey should be in doing her homework. Perhaps Calum had taken Abbey out for a pizza.

Replacing the receiver, I rubbed my hands over my face. I couldn’t stay here, that was for sure. Tolerant as the barman was being, I couldn’t see him letting me spend the night.

Coming to a decision, I dialled the number for my parents’ house. They would want to know why Calum hadn’t come for me of course, and I waited for them to pick up with mixed feelings. But the phone rang and rang endlessly there too. Where had everyone gone? Normally my parents ate dinners in front of the television; it was unusual for them to go out unless it was some special occasion. Out of habit I glanced at my watch again, forgetting that it might be broken. Ten thirty. Perhaps they had gone to bed.

I was about to replace the receiver, when it was picked up and a woman’s voice said, ‘Yes?’

‘Mum?’ It didn’t sound like my mother, but I couldn’t imagine who else it could be.

‘Who is this?’ the voice demanded.

‘It’s Michaela. Is that you, Mum?’

‘I’m sorry you’ve got the wrong number.’

I repeated the number I had dialled and the woman confirmed it was correct.

‘This is Michaela Anderson, are you sure my parents aren’t there?’

‘Very funny,’ the voice snapped waspishly. The phone went dead. I knew it had been unwise to press the point, but I couldn’t understand why some stranger had picked up my parents’ phone. I stood, rooted to the spot with the receiver in my hand, until someone nudged my elbow.

‘Made your call?’ The barman was looking at me strangely. He took the phone from me and replaced it gently on its cradle. ‘Are you alright, love? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I couldn’t get through,’ I mumbled, trying to shake off the feeling of deep unease that was creeping up through my body. ‘I need to try someone else.’

‘Go ahead,’ he said, turning away, ‘let me know if you need anything.’

I tried Ingrid next, but her line seemed to be out of order. Leaning back against the wall I tried to think. I was over an hour’s drive from home and I had no money for a cab, a train, or even a bus – should there have been one at this time of the night – which I doubted. Ice cold fingers of fear tightened around my chest which was feeling increasingly hollow and empty. I thought for a moment that I might actually faint.

Holding onto the wall for support, I clawed my way back towards the bar. There had to be a rational answer to all this. Maybe I was asleep and dreaming the whole thing. As I made my way slowly along the passage I glanced at the walls, which were covered from floor to ceiling with posters advertising various bands I’d never heard of, leaflets and personal messages stuck on top of one another forming a huge collage.

I paused as one particular leaflet caught my eye. There were several copies of it, some partially hidden by more recent stickers, others with pen marks and scribbles obscuring a face. Bold printed words asked: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? The thing that made me stop dead in my tracks was the face itself: my face peering out from a washed-out photograph. A photo I’d had taken only the week before, and which, to my knowledge hadn’t even been developed yet.

But it was not only the enormity of seeing my own face staring wanly back at me from the faded leaflets that made my blood run cold. It was the date printed boldly underneath the picture: ‘Last seen 15 April 2002.’

Because 15 April 2002 was today’s date. And I wasn’t missing at all.