The Day We Disappeared (24 page)

And with that, she left.

‘That went well,' I
said.

Tim gave me a funny look. ‘Well,
it's all pretty sudden, Annie. You've really not known him very
long.'

How's it going?
Stephen
texted.
Have you told them yet? I'm sure they'll be thrilled for
you. X

I walked to the tube with Tim at the
end of the night. He'd apologized, earlier, for taking a crap all over my
news, but we both knew it was too late. My friends were clearly convinced that I was
insane, and I was terrified that they might be right. It reminded me painfully of
being seventeen, of watching myself constantly for signs of another downward turn,
waiting for the tightening sensations that would herald the return of the panic
attacks.

I was sick of it. Sick of never being
able to fully trust myself.

As we drifted down into the tube
station, behind a crowd of drunk young people singing some song I was clearly too
old to know, Tim suddenly stopped. ‘You really are in love with him,
aren't you?'

‘I am.' I felt it fill my
chest and lungs. ‘It was just as you said, Tim. A drug. The breath of life.
Everything.'

I saw intense pain in his eyes.
‘Oh, Tim,' I said softly. ‘Timmy, what's going on? Is it
Mel? Are you still heartbroken? Please talk to me.'

But please don't say anything I don't want to hear.

Tim carried on staring at me, as if
sizing up whether or
not to share. Then
part of him withdrew. ‘I'm all right,' he said. ‘Just
thinking about love, and feeling sad – same as Lizzy, I suppose. It's harder
to pretend you're okay about not having it when you can see it happening to
someone else.'

I put my hand on his shoulder, wishing
so desperately that I could help. ‘But you'll find it! Tim, of all the
men I know … you're wonderful. How could you not find love?'

He was staring blankly at the
advertising screens sliding past us as we descended the escalator. ‘I did find
love,' he said when we got to the bottom. ‘I found love unlike anything
I could've imagined. I've loved this girl for years.'

A train whined in beside us on the
southbound platform, letting out a cloud of drunken shouting. Its passengers
streamed past us and up into Clapham Common station. I stood rooted to the spot
while things in my head moved slowly and unevenly.

Tim's eyes gaped with sudden
tears. ‘But unfortunately the girl I loved didn't love me back. She
still doesn't. I'm sorry, I need to go.' He followed the noisy
crowd on to the ascending escalator. I stood at the bottom, watching his slumped,
sad back struggling up into Clapham Common station and tried with all my strength to
squash my thoughts before they gained traction and became real.

I felt a bit sick. I needed to get back
to Stephen.

After what I thought to be a decent
interval I walked back out of the tube station and hailed a cab I couldn't
afford.

I didn't care. The Underground was
making me feel panicky and I needed to hear his voice.

Stephen's phone nearly rang out,
but at the last minute it was answered.

‘Hello?' said a girl's voice.

I checked my phone. I'd definitely
called Stephen.

‘Hello? Who is this?' she
asked.

As if winded I fell backwards into the
taxi seat.

No. No no no.

We crawled past the dismal bars on
Clapham High Street, overflowing with mini-skirted girls and overweight men, and the
driver turned on his radio.

My chest felt like someone was sitting
on it.

I went to call Lizzy, but
couldn't. None of Le Cloob wanted to talk to me.

Kate
, I thought desperately.
I'll call Kate Brady. But as I scrolled frantically for her number I
remembered that she was still on her farm in the middle of nowhere.

‘Mum,' I whispered, as the
first tear appeared. ‘Mum, I need you.'

I let myself into Stephen's house
and got into his bed, my knees pulled up against my chest. If I went to my own house
it would be like admitting there was a problem.

From time to time I managed to be
rational. I mean, when would Stephen have an affair? Every moment he wasn't at
work, he was with me. And he really
was
at work when I thought he was: he
answered if I called his direct line; he'd send me selfies of him and the team
pulling self-pitying faces by the conference phone, or he'd have Tash call me
and tell me how late he was running.

And on top of there not being enough
hours in the day for him to have an affair, there was the fact that he loved me. And
told me so frequently. You could fake many things in life, but not love.

Which meant that I was being insane and
irrational. Again.

Some time later I heard a key in the
front door. ‘Annie? Pumpkin?'

Stephen stood in the bedroom doorway,
ragged with exhaustion. ‘You keep cancelling my calls. Sweetheart,
what's going on?'

‘A girl answered your
phone.'

Stephen frowned. ‘What –
Tara?'

‘Who's Tara?'

Stephen leaned against the door frame.
‘Oh, my God. Tell me this isn't what I think it is.'

I said nothing and Stephen began to look
angry. He wasn't meant to look angry. He was meant to look contrite and
reassuring.

‘Tara is Dad's sister, my
aunt,' he said flatly. ‘Whose house I spent half my childhood playing
at. Who is more like my mother than ever, now that Mum's dead. Tara is my
aunt,' he repeated. ‘And if she picked up the phone it's probably
because she thought it was Dad's.'

He ran his hand over his face.
‘God,' he said, to no one in particular.

‘You've never mentioned
her,' I whispered.

Stephen put his head back against the
wall. As if to say, ‘Give me strength.'

‘I have,' he said
eventually. His voice was kinder than his face suggested. ‘I promise you,
Annie, I have. I think I even mentioned her when I met Le Cloob back in June. In
fact, I know I did. We talked about my aunt Tara and Claudine's aunt Juliette.
Why don't you call one of them?'

‘Because they'll think
I'm mad.'

Stephen watched me. Then he came over
and sat on the side of the bed. I could smell the faint shadow of his man perfume,
expensive, sophisticated, alluring. Christ. What was a man like this doing with
someone like me? ‘Let me show you a picture of Tara,' he said, scrolling
through his photos. ‘There you go. That's who answered the phone just
now. If you want we can ring her.'

‘Then she'll think I'm
mad, too.'

The woman, who looked tall and slightly
vague, was
most definitely not like
Stephen's lover. I gazed at my man, who was stooped and exhausted after
another long day at work and an evening with a grief-stricken father. And I knew he
was telling the truth. ‘I'm sorry,' I muttered. ‘I did it
again, didn't I?'

Stephen shrugged. ‘I won't
pretend I'm not upset, and a little insulted, because I am. I've never
given you any reason not to trust me, yet you seem not to.' I cringed.
‘But I get it, Annie,' he said softly. ‘I get it.'

‘You get what? That I'm mad?
Stephen, I don't
want
to be mad. I want to be happy and normal and
trusting! I hate that I see the worst in everyone. It's awful!'

Stephen took my hand. ‘Stop that.
You've just gone through a hell of a lot in your life, and you've ended
up a lot more … anxious than most. “Mad” is a very unkind word.' I
ran a finger over his stubble. ‘But you have seemed more paranoid in recent
months. More forgetful. More kind of, like, I dunno. Like you're slightly in a
world of your own.'

I started to cry. Shit.
Shit.

‘Oh, Annie, don't cry. That
doesn't mean I think you're mad,' he said. ‘But maybe we
just need to get you a bit of help. A bit of coaching? Or some counselling
maybe.' He looked doubtful. ‘I don't know much about that stuff.
Do you think you should talk to Tim? He knows the most about your past,
doesn't he?'

‘Yeah.' I was horrified. Was
it really coming to this? Was someone other than me suggesting I needed help?
‘I don't want to talk to Tim.'

Stephen was taking off his shoes.
‘Why?'

‘He was weird tonight.'

Stephen shoved
his shoes under the bed and slid in next to me in his suit. ‘Well, I
won't say I Told You So. What happened?'

I told him everything, about how hostile
Le Cloob had been, how attacked I'd felt but how worried I was that they were
right. How worried I was that my head wasn't functioning very well. And,
finally, how worried I was that Tim might have been talking about me when he
announced his long-term broken heart. ‘That's the worst bit,' I
whispered. ‘The thought of Tim thinking about me in …' I swallowed
‘… in
that way
.'

Stephen lay on his back, staring at the
ceiling.

I watched him. ‘What are you
thinking?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Stephen …'

He rolled over to face me.
‘I'm thinking your friends seem neither to like nor trust me. And
you
don't seem to trust me either. And now your best male friend,
who I've been telling you is in love with you from day
one
, has now
pretty much admitted to just that. And I'm thinking I just don't like
any of this but I don't feel like there's anything I can say.
They're your best friends. Your family, even. They've helped you get
through a difficult life and have been there for you, always. What can I possibly
say against them?'

To my intense surprise, Stephen's
eyes had become dangerously shiny. ‘You and me are like …' he paused
‘… this beautiful thing. This simple, lovely thing that's not like
anything I've had before. And yet it just seems like around us there are all
these obstacles. Sometimes I wish we could shut everyone else out and just be you
and me on our own.'

He rolled on to
his back again. ‘But I know that's not reasonable,' he added.

I shuffled into his side, smelling his
tired skin and faded man perfume. ‘I know what you mean.'

‘You do?'

‘I do. I'm not enjoying
seeing Le Cloob at the moment. I don't agree that they don't like you
but they … I dunno. They just aren't supportive.'

Stephen grimaced. ‘I'm sure
Tim'd support you.'

‘Stephen, don't. We
don't even know it was me he was talking about.'

‘Oh, come on!'

I sighed. I had never received even the
faintest signal that Tim was in love with me. That three-week fling we'd had
when we were nineteen had been driven not by intense feelings but by intense
confusion: how could we be so close and
not
feel that way towards each
other?

Since then: nothing. Not a whiff. From
either of us. But when he'd gone all intense and started talking about his
unrequited love earlier, my body had gone into emergency lockdown. The panic had
come before my head had even had time to process what was going on. And while I
wasn't all that willing to trust my head, these days, I knew I could always
trust my body.

Something was there. And I didn't
want it.

‘I can understand why you'd
rather think he wasn't talking about you,' Stephen said. ‘But
I'm afraid I have to disagree. For the third and final time, I'm a man.
I know how we work. And Tim has more than a passing crush on you, sweetheart. I
mean, quite apart from the way he looks at you there's the fact that he turned
up at your house at,
like, midnight or
something, all mad and drunk. Then he dumps his girlfriend, ooh, surprise surprise,
not long after you and I start going out. He realizes he can't carry on with
her. And now he's just telling you that he's been in love with
“someone” for ever and she doesn't feel the same!' Stephen
was almost laughing, although he didn't sound very jolly. ‘Come
on
, Annie!'

Little worms of fear began to move in my
stomach.

‘I don't think he's in
love with Claudine or your sister,' Stephen said mildly.

‘No.'

‘And is there anyone else in his
life it could be? Any other girl he's known for years?'

I thought about it, even though I
already knew the answer. ‘No. Just me.'

Stephen was watching me.
‘Annie,' he said, ‘I don't want you getting all worked up
about this. I mean, I know you don't trust men very much, for understandable
reasons, but him having thoughts about you doesn't mean he's suddenly
dangerous or anything.'

He stroked my face. ‘Pumpkin? Are
you in there? I said, I don't want you worrying.'

I shuddered. I didn't want Tim or
anyone else having thoughts about me. Not those sort of thoughts.

My phone broke the silence.
Stephen's face said,
I bet that's Tim.

It was.

I looked at my watch. Ten past midnight.
What should I do? The idea of having to go the whole night without knowing what he
wanted was even worse than the idea of having to talk to him.

Stephen
shrugged. ‘Answer it.'

My finger shook as I swiped to answer
the call.

‘Tim?'

‘Hiya. I just had a call from
Gastro.'

‘Sorry?'

‘The restaurant. You left your
bank card there. The booking was in my name so they called me. Just thought
I'd let you know.'

‘Oh, thanks,' I said,
profoundly relieved. ‘I'll, er, I'll text you tomorrow about maybe
picking it up from the hospital on my way home from work.'

‘Left your bank card?'
Stephen whispered, smiling. I nodded.

‘I can drop it round after work,
if you want?' Tim was saying. ‘Or we could go for a drink?'

‘Oh, right, um, maybe.'

Tim paused. ‘I feel like I said
things tonight that were confusing and unclear and I … I want to say them properly.
You mean too much to me to let them go half said.'

‘It's fine!' I said.
‘No need!'

‘No, I really do need to talk to
you. Can I call you when I finish work?'

No, you can't.
‘Um,
okay.'

‘Night then, Pumpkin,' he
said. ‘Sleep well.'

Stephen pulled me close to him.
‘Stop it,' he said. ‘Stop worrying. Tim is not dangerous, Annie,
he's your friend. But I can't imagine you're very keen on this
“chat”.'

I'd never been less keen on
anything in my life.

I watched a tiny bug make its way
across Stephen's dove-grey wall. It was six thirty and still dark. How quickly
the
autumn had come, I thought, after
what felt like the summer of my life.

I'd barely slept. At one stage
I'd had a lucid dream when I'd thought Tim was in the room, watching me,
only I couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't do a thing. I was
paralysed.

When I woke up properly, I told myself
not to be so silly. Reminded myself of what a lovely, sweet, respectful man Tim
Furniss was, and what a precious friendship we had. But the spirals of panic
multiplied and my heart continued to thump at a rate that was never going to allow
sleep.

At four o'clock I had decided I
was going to call my therapist today. Stephen was right: I was not in a great place,
and if this thing with Tim was what I feared it to be, I was going to need help.

‘He's always staring at you,
Mum,' Lizzy used to say, when Mum told her off for being mean about Neil
Derrick. ‘I think he's weird. Why does he have to have such skinny
legs?'

‘Neil's a sweetheart,'
Mum would say. ‘He's just a bit different from you or me, Lizzy. Please
be nice to him, darling.'

But Lizzy had been right. He was always
staring at Mum. Always crossing the road to say hello in that funny voice of
his.

Stephen was still asleep, an arm flung
across his face, his chest rising and falling slowly. His phone vibrated continually
with messages and emails but he slept on.

Just as he began to stir, my own phone
vibrated.

Tim.

Can we meet at 6.30 tonight? At the Elderfield? Could really do with a chat. Let
me know. Tx

I put the phone down to find
Stephen's ice-blue eyes watching me. ‘Hello,' he said, stretching
cat-like across the bed. ‘What's going on?'

‘Tim. Wanting to see me
tonight.'

Stephen yawned, curling himself around
me. ‘And what do you want?'

‘Not to see him.'

Stephen buried his nose in my hair.
‘Pumpkin, I'm worried that I've made you unduly
paranoid.'