10
Friday, 13 January 2017
London, 1.30 p.m.
Murder. Assault. Rape. The kidnapping of our infants. They’re real crimes.
Who was it who said that? Alison or Kirsty, perhaps. Whoever it was, Fi remembers there was laughter.
Lucy is touching her arm, cautiously, as if she expects Fi to rear up and hurl her chair through the window. ‘You need to stop crying. I know this is overwhelming, but we have to stay calm and start contacting people who might be able to help. Is there anyone else your husband might have made plans with? Or asked to look after the boys? A relative or a babysitter?’
Her mother. Of course, she had been going to try her before she phoned the school! She snatches up the phone again, selects the number, speaks the moment the ringing ends and before her mother can say hello: ‘Mum, thank God! It’s me.’
‘Fi? Are you crying? What’s—’
‘Bram’s taken the boys out of school and his phone is dead. Are they with you?’
‘Bram’s what? No, they’re not with me, of course they’re not.’ Another smooth, reasonable voice, just like Lucy’s, just like Sarah Bottomley’s. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be away with your new man?’
‘I came back early. Bram’s disappeared and taken the kids.’
‘Don’t be silly, why would he do that? Have you tried Tina? She might know where they are.’
Bram’s mother. Still working full-time but always happy to swap shifts and help out if given enough notice. He spoke to the school ‘a few days ago’; whatever he’s doing with the boys has been planned and he’s more likely to have involved his mother than hers.
She cuts off the call and rings Tina’s mobile, again crying into the phone the moment she connects: ‘Tina? Do you have any idea where Bram is?’
‘Is that you, Fi? Yes, he’s at the house today. I thought you agreed that? Is anything wrong?’
Is anything wrong? The dismay that her obvious ignorance causes is brutal. Useless, Fi wants to scream, you’re all useless! It takes a Herculean effort to keep her voice steady. She doesn’t want Lucy intervening again and speaking for her. ‘He’s not at the house, Tina. I’m at the house.’
‘You’re back from your trip already? Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter why, but I need to find Bram urgently, so if you have any idea where he might have gone, you have to tell me.’ Losing the battle, she begins to sob again, sees Lucy’s grimace of concern. ‘He’s taken the boys out of school and I don’t know where they’ve gone and there’s a—’
‘Fi, shush a moment,’ Tina interrupts. ‘They’re here. The boys are here.’
‘Say that again?’ Did she hear correctly over the roar of her own fear, over the thumps of the removals team on the other side of the door?
‘They’re with me, right here, watching TV. I wasn’t supposed to phone you until later to ask about getting them back to you in the morning.’
‘Oh, thank God. They’re staying with you tonight? Is that what Bram’s arranged?’
‘Yes, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Of course, yes, thank you.’
She’s aware of Lucy’s shoulders going slack with relief. This isn’t going to be that story then, the worst, but can go back to being this one, the one about the house. She stands and reaches for the kettle. Tea making can finally get underway.
Fi wipes her eyes with a square of Lucy’s kitchen roll. In spite of her relief, she remains rigid with anxiety. ‘Why aren’t they in school, Tina? Are they okay?’
‘They’re fine. Bram just thought it would be easier for them not to go in. And I doubt he’s far away, so if I were you I’d get out of the house before he sees you.’
What on earth is she talking about? ‘Tina, please listen to me: there’s a crisis here. The house has been completely emptied and Bram’s phone is out of service and there’s a woman who says . . .’ Fi stops, can’t repeat it, it sounds so absurd: who says she’s bought my house.
‘I know all about that.’ Tina’s patience is exaggerated, a sign of impatience in her. ‘It’s supposed to be a surprise, Fi.’
‘What surprise? Will you please tell me what’s going on!’
‘The redecoration. Isn’t it obvious? Poor Bram, he’ll be upset you’ve arrived before it’s finished. Maybe you should go to the flat, ask the decorators not to let on you’ve been there? Or you’re welcome to come over here. Shall I tell the boys you’re home early?’
‘No, no, don’t do that.’ She has to stem this flow of questions, more questions she can’t answer, and try to think. ‘You just carry on with whatever you’ve planned. Thank you. I’ll phone you later. Give my love to the boys.’
She hangs up. ‘She says you’re here to decorate,’ she tells Lucy. ‘There’s no other explanation for all our stuff having been cleared out. Where have you put everything? Why won’t you tell me?’
Abandoning her kettle, Lucy comes to sit next to her. Her movements and breathing are soft, as if she’s making herself as unobjectionable as possible. ‘I’m not decorating, Fi, I think you can see that. I’m moving in. As I understand it, you and your family moved out yesterday. It sounds as if you were out of town, were you?’
‘Yes, I’m not supposed to be back yet, but I needed my laptop.’ The sound she utters is supposed to be laughter but it comes out wrong, broken. ‘Pointless to ask where that is.’
Lucy just smiles, gentle, encouraging. ‘Look, your kids are safe, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? Let’s just catch our breath and think where else your husband might be. What about trying his office?’
‘Yes.’ Fi looks at Lucy, this stranger in her kitchen now guiding her thoughts and actions, and she thinks, What’s the connection, Bram? Why have you lied to Tina? To me? Where have you gone?
Her hands tremble as she takes up the phone once more.
What have you done?
Geneva, 2.30 p.m.
He cannot stay in the room a moment longer; if he does, he will hurl himself at the sealed window – over and over until he slumps to the floor. He’ll go out, find a bar, have a beer. Tomorrow, he’ll move on. He won’t risk staying more than a single night here. He’ll go to the train station and he’ll look at the departures board and take his pick. Cross into France, like he thought he might, to Grenoble or Lyon.
Good, he thinks, a plan. Or at least something better than this, this suffocating limbo.
Pocketing his wallet, he senses the lightness, the absence of counterbalance, the missing items he has carried habitually for as long as he can remember:
House keys.