He leans forwards in his chair and rests his elbows on the table. He has a streak of dirt on his wrist and a smudge on his cheek. I wonder if he’s come straight from the farm.His hazel eyes darken. ‘A few years ago, although I’d hear from her now and again, just to let me know she was safe. She fell out with my parents a long time ago. She always was a bit of a wild child.’
‘I’m sorry, Drew. That sounds tough.’
‘We used to be so close,’ he says, and I sense he wants to get it off his chest. ‘When we were kids. We’re only two years apart. But it’s my dad. You know he’s not well, and I don’t think he’ll last the year. I’d like to find Sarah-Jane so they can say goodbye to each other.’
‘When was the last time you heard from her?’ I ask as I print off a leaflet about what he should do next.
He rubs at the stubble on his chin. ‘Well, that’s the thing. She’d never usually leave it too long in between getting in touch. Maybe every few weeks. She gave me her number for emergencies but when I didn’t hear from her in three months, I rang it. It was dead.’
‘Have you tried the police?’
‘I have. But they haven’t done much about it.’ He shrugs. ‘Because we haven’t seen her in the last few years, I suppose. I did tell them it’s unusual she hasn’t been in touch, but they didn’t seem particularly concerned.’
I take a notebook and pen from the desk drawer. I know this is beyond my role as an adviser, but I can’t resist getting some more information so that I can help him, even if I have to do it in my spare time. ‘Where was she living and working when you last heard from her?’
‘I last spoke to her in April. She said she was still working in Reading but she didn’t say what she was doing. She’s had all kinds of jobs. She used to work at a clinic.’
I scribble this down. ‘Do you remember the name of the company she worked for?’
‘She’s always so cagey. That’s what’s so frustrating and made me panic when I couldn’t get hold of her. I know nothing about her life except that she was living in Reading and had worked as a receptionist for a clinic. Last time I spoke to her she said she’d left the clinic a few years ago, but I remembered the name, rang them and I did manage to find someone who was also working there at the same time. They now live in Bristol and they’ve agreed to meet me later, so you never know. They might have some information, although it’s doubtful. I’m running out of options.’
I look up at him, pen in hand. ‘Do you think she could still be in the Reading area?’
He shakes his head. ‘Maybe, I dunno. She did say when I last spoke to her that she wanted to move on. That she didn’t feel safe.’
‘Safe?’
He hangs his head. ‘I worry that she might have got involved with some dubious people.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Just reading between the lines. The things she didn’t say. I don’t think it was only falling out with my parents that kept her always moving on or never wanting to give me her address.’ His shoulders sag and my heart goes out to him. ‘I keep hoping she’ll call, but she never does, and Dad’s getting frailer by the day. And –’ he sits back in his chair – ‘I don’t even know if she’d care. That’s the thing. She hasn’t bothered to speak to my dad for years, after all. But, Idunno, I feel it’s only right that she gets the chance to say goodbye. Do you know what I mean? And, more than that, I just want to know that she’s okay. That she’s safe.’
It’s gone four thirty by the time I arrive home. Rufus will be back from college soon. The house feels even emptier after a weekend of people, although my mum insisted on leaving after lunch yesterday afternoon. I was tempted to reveal all about the conversation I’d overheard between the Morgans, but something had stopped me. I’m still not sure what. Maybe I’m worried Mum will judge me for listening in on them because her prejudices are hard-wired, and I know that what she terms their ‘good breeding’ will always be at the forefront of her mind. She even backtracked on the pram business when I pushed her on it, doubting herself, and I know it’s because my working-class mother, who grew up on a council estate in Hatfield, believes the Morgans are somehow above her, so she has to be wrong. I hate that she thinks like that, but I can’t change her.
After she left yesterday I went into the spare room and listened to the tape I’d left running overnight, but, just as I’d suspected, all it had picked up were the orchestral sounds of wildlife at night. My back gate remained bolted and nothing had been knocked over in my garden.
Phoenix jumps up at me as I let myself through the door and I grab his lead. ‘Come on then, boy,’ I say. ‘Time for a walk.’
As I round the corner of the street and head towards Gloucester Road I’m thinking about Drew and his missingsister. I’d printed off a list of organizations for him and he said he’d contact them, but I wish I could do more to help him. I’m so deep in thought that I don’t notice the couple up ahead until I’m almost right behind them. My heart picks up speed when I see it’s Marielle and Henry. They’re holding hands and every now and again Marielle rests her head on his shoulder before righting herself. I slow down to keep a discreet distance, telling myself I’m not going to follow them, per se.
We carry on along Gloucester Road, past the record shops and the tattoo parlour and the store selling expensive shoes. There is a festival vibe to the area today, thanks to the heat. I can hear an old Massive Attack song somewhere in the distance and smell something spicy and delicious wafting from one of the restaurants.
And then, ahead, they pause outside – of all places – Collette’s café. I hover in the shadow of a florist’s, trying to hide behind a potted lemon tree, while at the same time wondering if I’ve lost my mind. I see myself as though from above, a crazy middle-aged woman crouching behind a tree to spy on her neighbours. Collette is bent over a chalkboard in a patterned maxi dress and flat strappy sandals, her blonde hair scooped up in a topknot. Even the sight of her makes me relive all the stress and trauma from last year. I’ve managed to avoid her since I told her what I thought of her son. She exchanges a few words with the Morgans, then disappears inside, and I notice them greet another woman. She’s about ten years younger than me, with curly dark hair, and she’s carrying a tiny baby in white cotton dungarees. This must be the daughter-in-law,Heidi. She passes the baby to Marielle, who coos over him and pats his back as she drapes him over her shoulder.
Marielle kisses Henry’s cheek and takes a seat beside Heidi at one of the outside tables. Henry waves at them as he continues down the street. I wonder where he’s going.
‘Can I help you?’ A woman wearing an apron and a patient smile looms over me. ‘Are you looking for anything in particular? An indoor plant, perhaps?’
I straighten, embarrassed. ‘I … um … sorry, thanks, but no, I was just looking,’ I say, hurrying away, Phoenix trotting by my side. I cross the road so that Marielle doesn’t see me. I’m on the same side of the street as Henry now and spot his white hair bobbing up and down, head and shoulders above most people. I trail him as Gloucester Road steepens, and then he turns right into Sommerville Road. My whole body feels clammy but Phoenix shows no sign of flagging and is pulling ahead. It looks as though Henry is walking towards St Andrew’s Park so I follow him down a residential road. Yes, now he’s going through the main gate. Phoenix and I enter the park. I let him off his lead and he bounds ahead happily. It’s much cooler in the park, sheltered by trees, and people are sunbathing on the grass. Henry heads to the van that serves as a pop-up café and orders a can of Pepsi Max. Then he stops in a patch of sunshine to drink it, looking at his watch. I sit at the base of a tree in the shade, Phoenix sniffing the grass at my feet, and push the sunglasses further onto my nose. I pretend to read something on my phone but I’ve half an eye in Henry’s direction. It looks like he’s waiting for someone – I wonder who. He holds up his hand and wavesto someone approaching. A man. I watch as he draws closer, taking in his familiar round-shouldered walk, his windswept hair, his heavy boots. I take a sharp breath.
It’s Drew Mayhew.
Why is Henry meeting the man who, earlier today, told me he’s looking for his missing sister?
13
HENRY
