The Day We Disappeared (11 page)

‘Ha,' Tim said. ‘You
sound like you have a property portfolio!' He was grinning as if that were
impossible. He didn't know quite how rich Stephen was.

‘Actually I have,' Stephen
admitted. ‘Awful.' He grimaced apologetically and we all laughed. It was
impossible to dislike Stephen. Even the slightly radioactive-looking duck straggling
past us looked as if it would mate with him if he tipped it the wink.

‘I thought you were in Paris this
weekend,' I said.

‘I cancelled the trip about
fifteen minutes after my massage with you. Decided to have a lie-in, go for a walk,
take some pictures … You were right,' he added. ‘I needed some
rest.'

I beamed.

‘Annie's brilliant,'
Stephen told Tim. ‘Really helping me out. An asset to FlintSpark, and a very
good influence on us nasty old corporate capitalists.'

They started
talking about Stephen's camera and I stared at the water, excited and a little
distracted.

I liked the way Stephen took the piss
out of himself. And lived in east London, rather than Surrey, and shuffled off on a
Saturday to take pictures of the water just like I did when I was travelling. I
particularly liked that he was not carrying a child or holding the hand of some
beautiful woman.

I was full of chorizo and May sun and a
big heart-pounding crush.

‘… with chorizo? Holy moly!
Unparalleled!' Stephen was looking at me.

‘Eh?'

‘I said, have you ever tried the
huevos rancheros
with chorizo? Holy moly! Unparalleled!'

Tim and I looked at each other.
‘That's exactly what we just had!'

In my head I started singing the tune of
‘Can't Take My Eyes Off You'.

‘We order it every time,'
Tim said. ‘But it's quite a challenge – Annie basically eats all of mine
if I don't watch my plate.'

Stephen cocked his head to one side.
‘You two are a fantastic double-act. You even laugh at the same time. Have you
been together long?'

I went bright red. ‘Oh, no! Just
very old friends!'

‘Oh, come on. You're like
peas in a pod!'

We shook our heads hopelessly, and
Stephen began to look guilty.

‘Oh, crap,' he said,
realizing he'd blown it. ‘In spite of running a global company I'm
actually outstanding at
saying the wrong
thing. Sorry. I'll go now. Carry on taking pictures of stupid things. I spent
half an hour photographing a floating Pepsi can earlier. You truly belong in Hackney
when you find yourself doing things like that.'

I smiled. ‘I still can't
believe you live here.'

‘Ha. Well, there you have it.
I'm not what you might think, Annie. Lovely to see you, and Tim, nice to meet
you.'

‘Likewise,' Tim said,
shaking Stephen's hand again.

‘Wow,' he said, as we walked
away. ‘Even
I
have a crush on him. What a charming man.'

‘Stop it,' I said. Then:
‘Argh, Tim. Isn't he
gorgeous
?'

Tim nodded. ‘He is.'

I smiled hopelessly. ‘I wish he
was single. And not so nice. Because if I stood a chance with him, I think I'd
just go for it. Try my hand at the old dating thing.'

Tim watched me.
‘Really?'

‘Yeah. I want to blow a big mating
horn and make a charge for him!'

‘I'd advise against
that.'

We both laughed, although I could tell
Tim was holding something back. ‘Just take it easy,' was all he
said.

Later that night I read my tarot cards.
Just out of curiosity, of course. I wasn't really into tarot, but I'd
inherited a pack during my travels and found them useful when I entered into my
latest obsession.

I got the Knight of Cups and the Ace of
Cups. Which meant new love, new beginnings, excitement and happiness, with a bit of
knight-in-shining-armour thrown in for good measure.

I forbade myself
to connect this with Stephen, then caved in after less than a minute. I thought
about the sun on those eyes of his, about those nice hands cradling his camera as if
it were his child, and the easy way he talked to my dear friend Tim Furniss. Was he
my Knight of Cups? My Ace of Cups? The intravenous drug that Tim had talked of?

‘No,' shouted the tiny part
of me that was still mostly sane. Stephen was my boss, the CEO of a vast company.
The fact that I'd had this level of contact with him was a mere fluke and his
ownership of a house on Clapton Square was not a Sign.

I was doing quite well with this line of
thought until twenty past ten when my phone buzzed with a message from him.

Was great to see you today. At the risk of being done for harassment, I just
wanted to say that I thought you looked lovely. Those mad ethnic things you wear
really suit you (and I never thought I'd hear myself say something like
that). Stephen X

My official welcome drinks were held in
the paddock by the outdoor school at seven. Drinking commenced immediately and was
fast and furious.

By nine o'clock, when we all
lurched off to do our final check on the horses, there was still no sign of Mark. I
tried and failed to stop myself asking Sandra if he was coming.

‘Oh, he's having a nice
dinner with Maria and Ana Luisa,' Sandra said. ‘I got them some lovely
pork chops from Normington's this aftenoon, only four pounds for the
lot!'

She dropped yet another burger through
the grill of the barbecue into the hot coals, sighed and took a glug of her Campari
and orange. It had been Sandra's idea to have a barbecue – a very nice idea it
was too – but she was doing a fantastic job of destroying all the meat she'd
bought.

I said that the pork sounded like a
fantastic bargain, took a charred burger so that she'd feel better about her
grill skills, then wandered off, feeling sad and stupid. Why had I imagined that
Mark would join us? All he'd said was that he wanted to organize some team
drinks. ‘“Team” meaning us grooms, you eejit,' I muttered to
myself. ‘His slaves. Since when was he part of the team?'

I decided to get very drunk.

Becca, whose
mood change I still hadn't managed to unravel, had obviously had the same
idea. She was sitting on the fence, slightly away from the rest of us, smoking
roll-up after roll-up and steadily chugging her way through a box of Shiraz. When I
took her a burger she shook her head. ‘I'm fine,' she said curtly,
when I asked her if she was okay, and fiddled with her wine box until I went
away.

Half an hour later Sandra wobbled off
to bed, then returned after less than five minutes. She admitted that Mark and Maria
were having another terrible argument and that she'd given Ana Luisa earplugs.
‘I couldn't take a moment more in the house,' she said. Her hands
trembled as she accepted another Campari and orange from Joe, who was actually being
very sweet with her. ‘Maria really is a devil. Trying to make him run all
sorts of horses that aren't ready, just so that she and her dad can spend
every weekend in a different champagne tent. The devil! The little devil! My poor
Mark! She's just screaming at him, even though the little one's in
bed!'

She sank into a chair and burst into
tears. ‘It's too much,' she sobbed, into Joe's arm.
‘Too much, Joseph. It's like the past repeating itself.'

I thought it would be inappropriate for
someone as new as me to pile in, plus Joe seemed to have it under control, but my
heart ached as I watched Sandra cry. She was Mark's manager, his PA, his press
secretary and his accountant, and beyond him she seemed to have nobody. How sad that
a family so successful and glamorous from the outside was little more than an empty
vessel in reality.
In the grooms'
barn there was kindness, warmth, respect and laughter; in the main house, shouting
or silence.

I thought about my own family and a pain
swelled in my chest that almost knocked the breath out of me. I had let them down so
ruinously. And my friends. What sort of a monster was I? I wondered if they would
ever forgive me, when they found out the truth. I'm so sorry for what I
did
,
I thought. Mum, Dad, everyone, I'm more sorry than
you'll ever know.

I topped up my glass.

Caroline's grooms turned up in a
taxi, having heard there was free booze down the road, and things quickly went
feral. Even Dirk and Woody the dogs, were drunk, thanks to Joe, who'd been
slipping them cider. When Tiggy found out she whacked him on the arse with a
lead-rope. ‘Stop spanking me, you bully,' Joe grumbled, rubbing his
bottom. ‘Galway, Tiggy's after attacking me again. Will you come and
make my poor little bottom better, darlin'?'

‘I will not.'

‘Ah, Galway, I BEG you.'

‘No!'

‘YES!'

‘Oh, for God's
sake.'

More drunk than I had been in weeks, I
waddled over to Joe with a horse blanket wrapped round me. He was standing by the
barbecue looking sad, wiggling slightly to Haddaway's ‘What is
Love', which was coming out of Sandra's portable radio.

‘Right there,' he whispered,
pointing to his buttocks. ‘Help me, my darlin' beautiful Galway.
I'm a victim of terrible abuse.' Shaking with laughter, I rubbed
Joe's bottom,
and Caroline's
head groom said I was done for now. I told him he might just be right: Joe's
bottom was the best I'd ever handled.

‘A bit more, Galway,' Joe
said, smiling like a naughty little angel. ‘Maybe a bit more round towards the
front, too …'

‘Joseph!' Sandra cried.
‘Behave!' But she was laughing now, too. Everyone was laughing, except
Becca, who was still sitting on the fence, slightly away from the group.

‘Becca!' I giggled.
‘Help!'

She looked at Joe and me, Joe with his
arms around my waist, pretending to kiss my neck while moaning a folk song about
roses, and shook her head. ‘Actually, I'm off to bed,' she said.
‘Night, all.'

I karate-chopped my way out of
Joe's arms and went after her but before I had a chance to draw level she
turned. ‘Don't, pet,' she said. In the light from the lanterns her
face seemed taut as a drumskin. ‘I'm tired, I'm pissed off and I
need to go to bed. I'll be right as rain in the morning.'

She looked at me directly for the first
time since that morning. There was a question in her eyes that I didn't
understand. ‘Whatever I've done, I'm sorry,' I said
uselessly. ‘I thought you'd be pleased I'm staying. I don't
understand what's happened.'

‘You haven't done
anything,' she said, after a long exhalation of breath. ‘You
haven't done anything at all, Kate. And I should at least be grateful for
that.'

She turned to go again but I grabbed her
arm. ‘Becca, please tell me what's up.'

‘Pet,' Becca said, staring
fixedly at the ground, ‘let me go, please, and get back to your
party.'

And then she
went, and I let her, because I was too confused to do anything else.

By midnight, everyone was in a terrible
state. We'd moved to the grooms' barn, and Sandra had gone to bed. There
was no sign of Becca but the dogs had somehow found their way in and were stretched
out in front of the Aga, dead drunk. ‘Look what I did.' Joe giggled,
curling up next to Woody, wrapping one of the dog's limp paws around his
middle. ‘Look what I did! God will kill me for my sins.'

Tiggy was dancing with Caroline's
head groom, who was the campest thing I'd ever seen, and the others were
playing strip-poker at the table, which I was keen to avoid. Too drunk either to
stand up or dance, I lay down on the floor with Joe and the dogs. Dirk opened a
sleepy eye, thumped his tail a couple of times, then went back to sleep.

Joe rolled over so he was lying next to
me. He sang along to the Cure about how we'd kissed as the sky fell in. Joe
never stopped smiling. He never stopped being nice to people, or finding a joke when
things were dark. I would go for you, I thought, smiling into those lovely hazel
eyes, I really would go for you, if it wasn't for the fact that I have this
great big crush on our boss.

I rolled away from Joe, appalled. STOP
THAT, I told my head. Do you not think you're in enough bloody trouble?

Joe rolled over and spooned me.
‘Kate, he said, nuzzling into my hair. ‘Katie, darling, please can we do
a bit of the french kissing? All casual, like? I can't bear it any
longer.'

As if I were
watching from a corner, I watched myself roll back over to face him. I felt
frightened. And not because I was inches away from Joe's face. I was
frightened because my heart had just admitted that I had a big crush on Mark
Waverley.

‘Hi, sex pest,' I said
weakly. ‘It seems we're lying on the floor.'

‘I don't care where we
lie.' He smiled. ‘I just have to snog you, Katie. A man can only take so
much teasing.'

I can't have a crush on Mark, my
head shouted. Mark of
all people
. I CAN'T.

And so, without really caring that I was
in a room full of drunk people, and that gossip in this world spread with the speed
and intensity of a forest fire, and that Joe was the biggest whore in the West, I
let him lean in and kiss me. A long, soft kiss on the lips, laden with cider fumes
and barbecue relish. I felt Joe's lips smile and I allowed mine to do the
same.

Then someone at the table spotted us and
started shouting that Kate and Joe were having full sex by the Aga, and the kitchen
door opened and Mark Waverley walked in, and the first thing he saw was Joe and me
lying on the floor between his dogs, kissing each other. The colour drained from his
cheeks. Time stood still as he looked down at me, and I looked up at him.

‘Oh, hello, boss,' Joe said,
waving. ‘How're ye?'

When I stumbled upstairs a few minutes
later, my mind a drunken tangle of embarrassment and self-loathing, I saw that a
light was still on in Becca's room. I paused. Becca was disappointed in me, in
that sad, sorry way that my
folks used
to be when I was naughty, and I didn't have the faintest idea why. All I knew
was that I hated it. I wanted things to be as they were. Becca was the only good
friend I had access to, these days. I needed her. And, more to the point, I adored
her.

I'd heard the front door slam as
I'd come up the stairs – Mark leaving – and then the low murmur of scandalized
conversation downstairs turning into a roar. ‘I got a snog with Galway!'
I could hear Joe yelling. ‘I bloody knew I'd wear her down in the end!
Oh, we'll be rumping in the feed room before you know it.'

I wanted to cry.

Cursing myself for my stupidity, my
selfishness and my disgusting weakness as a human being, I knocked on Becca's
door and pretty much fell in.

‘Hello,' I said. I knew I
looked like a withered old drunk. I didn't care. I just wanted to apologize
for whatever I'd done so we could sort out the mess together.

‘So you got off with Joe,'
Becca said, drawing her duvet up to her chin. It had a summer-flowers print growing
delicately over it and was the most un-Becca-like duvet in the universe. ‘I
heard the yelling.'

I winced. ‘I hate myself. I really
do, Becca, so please don't feel like you need to hate me too. Really,
I've got it all covered.'

Becca stared at me, then smiled. It was
a sad sort of a smile, but it was a start. ‘I don't hate you.' She
sighed. ‘It's impossible to hate you. Besides, you're my
friend.' She blushed slightly, pulling the duvet up even further.
‘It's me I hate, pet.'

I sat down on the floor because the room
was going a
bit lopsided. I intensely
disliked being so drunk. Why did it always seem like a good idea?

‘If you hate you and I hate me,
maybe that cancels us out,' I suggested.

‘Interesting logic.' She
pulled herself up in bed. ‘Want to get in?' She lifted up the duvet. I
crept into Becca's bed, like a naughty dog. She must have showered after
walking out of the barbecue: she smelt of synthetic raspberries and clean hair.

‘Please talk to me,' I said.
Tears sprang into my eyes. ‘Please tell me what's up, Becca. I
can't stand us not talking.'

‘Me neither.' She picked at
some bobbles on her duvet cover, perhaps composing herself. Then:
‘Mark,' she said simply. ‘I love him.'

I turned to stare at her.

‘No, I don't love him.
It's limped on long enough now for me to know that it's just an
obsession. But love or obsession regardless, I can't shake it off.'

‘So you're not gay?' I
blurted out. Wow. I really hadn't thought it possible to hate myself any more
than I had ten seconds ago. ‘Ah, Jesus,' I said. ‘What a stupid
and rude question. Please don't feel you need to answer. I'm so sorry,
Becca.'

Becca was chuckling. ‘I'm
not gay, pet. Although my mam says I do a pretty good impression. She's a
shrink. Reckons that by making myself look like a stereotypical lesbian I'll
successfully defend myself against the possibility of intimacy with a man, or
something like that.'

I nodded stupidly. Too cerebral for this
time of night.

‘Maria had a bigger-than-usual
affair four years ago,'
she said
flatly. ‘She left Mark, for a while, left Ana Luisa here, too, which was nice
of her. It was someone from the Fédération Équestre Internationale she'd met
at Gatcombe. She decided that he was even more useful to her than Mark. Mark caught
them in the lorry at Burghley the very next week. He finally had a long-overdue go
at her and she left him, just like that, because she won't have anyone
criticize her. Sandra went to pieces and Mark even stopped riding for a few days. I
was the only other woman on the yard back then so they moved me into the house to
help look after Ana Luisa.'