The Disappearance

She watches beggars, cripples, cyclists, cars driving four abreast on what should be a three-lane road; sees pedestrians throwing themselves into the teeming traffic with little regard for life or limb. Whenever the car stops – which it does frequently given the road is permanently choked with traffic – filthy children swarm the windows, their hands tapping at the glass, thumbs rubbing against fingers as they beg for a coin, a bite to eat, something, anything. It’s rained heavily and the car cleaves through standing water; the beggars are up to their ankles in it, but Audrey shakes her head at them and looks away, as she’s learned to do. It’s not that she doesn’t see the scrum of life outside the car; it’s not that she doesn’t feel sorry for the beggars – rather that she accepts it, understands that it’s part and parcel of life here. England seems so very distant these days. She can barely remember what life was like there. Cold. Ordered. Lots of rules and a place for everything.

She can barely remember life before Ralph, either. Audrey sits back in her seat and smiles to herself as she thinks about the nights she’s started spending in his sprawling villa on Juhu Beach – nights in which she’s slept with his arms wrapped tightly around her, her heart brimming with a love like she’s never known as the rain drums down on the roof. It’s as if heaven has sent the perfect man for her and, again, she wonders if her dad somehow had a hand in it.

‘I’m so glad you found me,’ she tells Ralph in bed as she strokes her fingers across his chest and drops butterfly kisses on his arm. ‘That day – when you saw me. You came over to Janet and me so decisively. It was as if you knew what you wanted.’ She shivers at the memory. ‘Did you just “know”?’

‘Yes,’ Ralph says. ‘I watched you for a while. I watched you talking to your friend and I saw something in you that made me want to protect you forever.’

Audrey wonders where it’s all heading. She’s allowed herself to dream about a future with Ralph; about carving a permanent life in Bombay, and she’s surprised to find she’s happy at the thought of it. Here, in India, there’s a contentment in her soul that she doesn’t remember feeling in England. Part of it, she’s sure, comes from her regular trips to the church, where she sits silently in a pew and holds silent conversations with her father.

The driver pulls into the hotel’s driveway and the car comes to a standstill adjacent to the front steps. Audrey pulls some notes from her purse and offers them a tip. The driver steeples his hands to his chest, nodding his thanks to her, and the hotel’s doorman opens the car door and wafts Audrey up the steps to the Taj’s impressive interior.

‘I’ve something to tell you.’ Ralph reaches across the table and takes Audrey’s hand in his.

‘Yes?’ She looks expectantly at him. The waiter’s taken their orders and they’re sitting with their drinks. Ralph looks down at Audrey’s hand and strokes it. Then he looks up at her with such a depth of emotion behind his eyes that she has to swallow.

‘Red. I care about you very much. I need you. I need you in my life.’ He pauses. ‘But there’s something I have to tell you.’

Audrey’s blood runs cold. If her hand wasn’t clasped in Ralph’s she’d snatch it back. Janet’s words come back to her: he’s married, she thinks, and tears prick behind her eyes. With her free hand, she dabs at her eyelashes, her lips trembling as she tries not to cry. What a chump she’s been to think a man like him would be seriously interested in the likes of her.

‘No, don’t. Don’t tell me,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Please. I have to tell you.’

Is that the beginning of a smile on Ralph’s lips? Audrey stares at the tablecloth and waits. Waits to hear what a fool she’s been. Waits to hear about the delicate wife he doesn’t love but can’t leave; waits to have her birthday dinner ruined.

‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ Ralph asks. He doesn’t wait for a reply. ‘You didn’t see the story in the papers?’

Audrey shakes her head.

‘I used to be married,’ says Ralph. Used to! Audrey looks up, barely daring to meet his eyes but he carries on before she can say anything. She watches his lips – those lips she loves to kiss – as he speaks. ‘Alice – my wife – died.’

Audrey’s gasp is too loud. There’s a stir in the restaurant as other diners look over. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Ralph, oblivious to the attention, looks at the tablecloth for a minute, takes a deep breath; continues. ‘She … she was swept out to sea. They think it was a suicide. It looked like suicide. She couldn’t swim. She walked into the sea deliberately. She left her clothes on the shore – as a clue, perhaps, because … why else would she take them off if she was planning …’ His voice falters.

‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Ralph lowers his eyes and nods his acceptance of her sympathy. He sits back and breathes deeply and Audrey has the sense that the world is tilting. ‘They think she had postnatal depression,’ Ralph says. ‘We had children, Audrey. Twins. John and Alexandra. They were three months old at the time.’ Audrey covers her mouth with her hand.

‘No, no! Those poor babies.’ She shakes her head vigorously, feeling pain for the babies she doesn’t know. And then a thought strikes her: ‘But where do they live, the twins? When I stay over at your house, where are they?’

‘They live with me in the house. But I’m often out so they have an ayah – a nanny. Their nursery is close to the ayah’s room. You won’t have heard anything from upstairs.’

‘I had no idea,’ Audrey breathes, suddenly reimagining Ralph’s huge house as a family home. ‘But I suppose it makes sense. Why have such a large house just for you?’

Ralph nods. ‘Indeed. But there’s a reason for me telling you all this. Look, Red. I’m a single father to nine-month-old twins and, hand on heart …’ As he says this, he presses his free hand to his chest and looks deeply into Audrey’s eyes, ‘I’m struggling. They need a mother. Normally I wouldn’t move this fast but … well, I think you know me quite well now, and … what I wanted to ask you tonight was: will you marry me?’

Audrey lets out an audible squeal. In the last thirty seconds she’s gone from thinking she’s lost the man she loves to a proposal of marriage. In the last heartbeat, she’s been offered something she’d thought might elude her forever: the possibility of a husband and children – a family to call her own – and, in this moment, she realises how desperately she wants it. She flaps her hand up and down, fanning her face. She can’t stop herself from grinning.

Ralph gets up from his seat, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a red velvet box. He clicks it open and turns it to face her. Inside, there’s a brilliant diamond solitaire. He gets down on one knee, takes Audrey’s hand in his and asks her again: ‘Audrey Bailey. I love you and I need you. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?’

‘Yes,’ breathes Audrey. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ And Ralph takes her left hand and slides the engagement ring onto her fourth finger, kissing it as he returns the hand to her.

‘Waiter!’ he calls. ‘Champagne!’

November 2012

Penzance

John lived in what I imagined estate agents would call a ‘delightful barn conversion within striking distance of the Penzance seafront’. I always wondered, given he was presumably worth millions, why he didn’t upgrade – move to a bigger place closer to the sea – rather than use every available square inch of space to accommodate the twins and Anastasia. Now, as the sun began its return journey towards the horizon, I approached the door of John’s house. It was pretty, I’d give him that.

‘Hi,’ said my brother, opening the front door. His brown hair was cropped short and he’d lost weight since I last saw him a couple of months ago, his jeans hanging off his hips, his neck scrawny under the collar of his striped shirt. He looked me up and down, too, and I wondered what differences he saw in my own appearance.

‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Mind the bikes.’

The hallway was chock-a-block with the detritus of family life: not just the twins’ bicycles propped up against the walls, but a Michelin man of a coat rack laden with the family’s outerwear; a shoe rack stuffed with more shoes than I imagined four people could ever own; and, on the floor, violin cases, school bags, riding boots, and sports bags, presumably also belonging to the twins. I picked my way behind John through to the living room, trying as I did so to block the unwelcome image of my brother’s mother-in-law, Valya, lying dead on the hall floor, her neck twisted, lips blue, after falling headlong down the stairs and I wondered if he thought of her every time he crossed the hall.

In the living room, John picked up a few tatty pony magazines and stacked them on the coffee table – a small gesture that did nothing to take away from the sense of clutter that threatened to overwhelm the room. He flopped into an armchair and I sat down on the sofa next to a curl of sleeping cat. I knew better than to expect an offer of tea or coffee. Hospitality was not John’s forte. This was just a fleeting visit anyway – a quick catch-up before I drove back to Truro.

I nodded at the empty living room. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Swim-squad training.’

‘Ah, okay. How are they? All good?’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s fine.’ He didn’t ask after Mark, but then I didn’t expect him to. There was something about Mark not having a job that made people not want to talk about him. Besides, when it came to John and me, it was understood that I was the one who had to make the small talk. John just didn’t.

‘How’s she been since Valya … you know?’ I didn’t want to say the words out loud, but I felt the question needed asking since this was the first time I’d seen John in the hall. Would her eyes have been open? I shivered.

‘As good as can be expected,’ John said. ‘It was a blessing, I suppose. Good timing. We were on the cusp of putting her into a care home.’

‘Because of her dementia?’

‘Yes. It had got quite ridiculous. She didn’t know who Anastasia or the twins were, let alone me. She had no idea where she was.’

‘I’d no idea it had got so bad.’

‘Why would you?’

‘True.’ I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even seen Valya. Months and months ago. ‘So – how’s work?’

John did something with computers, though I’d no idea what. He’d worked his way up the IT departments of various blue-chip companies before quitting his job as CIO to run his own company. Although he always looked stressed, he was usually busy, which I presumed was a good thing.

John ran his hand through his hair. ‘Same shit, different day,’ he said. ‘How’s Mum?’

I exhaled hard through my teeth: a big sigh. Where to start? ‘Physically she’s fine,’ I said. ‘The hospital gave her the all-clear – took off the neck brace. No signs of shock. She’s a bit stiff and achy, but nothing to worry about.’ I paused.

‘Okay. And?’

‘Well, as I said in my message: you’re right. There’s definitely something different. She’s vague. I don’t know … like, staring into the distance as if she’s miles away, and not hearing me? I had to say quite a lot of things twice.’ I paused. ‘Do you think it’s the accident, or is she always like that?’

John rubbed his upper lip with the side of his finger. ‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. ‘She’s going that way, definitely. Whether the accident’s made it worse, I don’t know.’

I looked at the floor, then back up at John. ‘I should know, shouldn’t I?’

His look said yes, you should. ‘Don’t you speak to her every week?’ he asked.

‘I used to. I don’t know what happened. It just kind of petered out when we moved down here. I guess I thought I’d see more of her so I stopped calling …’

‘But you don’t see much of her, either.’

‘I know. It’s just … argh. When I did see her, I got the feeling she didn’t particularly want me there. That I was interrupting her weekend. She almost used to tell me off for going down and that’s the last thing I want when I’ve fought my way down the bloody A30 just to see her.’ I ran my hand through my hair. ‘God. I’ve got so much going on at home. So much to cram into the weekends. I guess I just stopped.’

I looked at John. I was hoping for empathy; some sort of understanding. There were a hundred things begging for my attention these days: work, finances, keeping things normal while Mark was unemployed – not to mention the all-consuming desire to conceive. I’d become almost obsessed with the idea of how it would feel to hold a tiny, living, breathing human being in my arms; the baby-scent of his or her skin. When I saw women out with prams, it was all I could do not to lean into them and scoop up the babies; to hold them against my shoulder and gaze at their tiny little features.

‘I know. We’re all busy. But you should try, Lexi,’ John said. ‘It takes – what – an hour to get there?’

‘I know … it’s just … you know.’ I almost said it. I almost told him about the difficulties I was having conceiving but, as the words formed in my mouth, so much emotion swelled inside me that I couldn’t get the words out. John wouldn’t understand. He’d tell me to adopt, like he had. ‘You know how it is.’ I pressed my lips together, suppressing the secret that was eating me alive.

‘And you don’t even have kids.’ John gave a bitter laugh.

The words pierced me with a physical pain in my uterus. I inhaled, took a moment.

‘What’s it like, adopting?’ I asked. ‘Is it the same as … you know, having your own?’

John gave another bitter laugh. ‘I can’t really answer that, never having had my own.’

‘But do you love them?’

‘Of course I do. I’m officially their father.’

‘But do you feel like their father?’

He folded his arms. ‘What is this? Twenty questions?’

‘Sorry. I just – y’know. I wonder sometimes.’

John raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you and Mark considering …?’

‘What? Adopting?’ I made a great show of shaking my head. ‘God, no!’ I laughed to show how silly the idea was. And, to be fair, it was. Mark and I had discussed it. While he was happy to support whatever I wanted to do, I think we both knew that, if we couldn’t have our own children, our hearts were not in adoption. But sometimes, as the dream of a baby of my own slipped further away, I found myself wondering: could I do it? Could I love someone else’s baby as my own?

‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘About Mum. What do you think?’

John exhaled, fiddled with a newspaper lying on the coffee table. ‘I don’t know, Lex. It seems to have suddenly got worse. I think we should watch her – we, Lexi, not just me – and see how it goes.’

‘Okay.’ As I said it, I vowed to be a better daughter, to take better care of my mother. I would do it. I would.

‘And,’ said John, turning his gaze onto me, ‘if things don’t get better, I think we should start thinking about trying to get her to move into some sort of sheltered housing.’

‘What? She’s not even seventy!’

‘I’ve just been through all this with Valya. Trust me, having scrambled around to find the right place for her at the eleventh hour, I know it’s better to have plans in place.’ He looked at me but I didn’t reply. ‘She’s not getting any younger, Lex. If we start looking at places now and get an idea of what’s out there … you know, before we know it she’ll be in her seventies. I’d just like to know what we’re going to do, moving forward.’

‘Hmm.’ I drummed my fingers on the armrest.

‘She can’t live on her own in that house forever. It’s only a matter of time before something happens. There are some really nice places out there. I’m not talking retirement homes. Of course not! But there are some lovely residential developments where the oldies buy a place – like a one- or two-bedroom apartment, or even a small house – and there are social clubs and restaurants. It’s nice. Honestly.’

‘I think you’ll have your job cut out getting her to move. She loves her house. She loves that garden. The view …’

‘I know, Lex. But I’m just thinking about her safety and her health. She crashed her car. For how much longer do you think she can continue driving? Being independent? It’s not going to go on forever.’

‘I don’t know, John. It seems awfully premature.’

John groaned and buried his face in his hands. ‘Then you’ve got to help me,’ he said, looking up again, his voice desperate. ‘With the physical stuff, not just phoning her. I can’t do it all! I’m running around like a headless chicken trying to keep on top of Anastasia and the kids, not to mention work. There aren’t enough hours in the day! The last thing I need is to worry about Mum going doolally.’ He looked at me. ‘Are you willing to pull your weight a bit more?’

‘Pull my weight a bit more?’ I snorted. ‘Mark and I moved from London to be closer! He now has no job. We have no money.’ My voice broke. Even as I spoke, I realised John was right: the effort to conceive had taken over my life and, when it came to neglecting Mum, I was guilty as charged.

‘Lexi, if you don’t make the effort to see Mum, you may as well be living in Timbuk-bloody-tu,’ John said.

I held up my hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try. I promise to call her more often and go down more often? Okay?’

John took a deep breath. ‘Thanks. Maybe we can come up with a rota where we take it in turns to visit her. But, meanwhile, I think we should start looking at those home places. I really do.’

July 1972

Bombay, India

Audrey Templeton examines herself in the mirror: she’s pleased with the way the sleeveless silk sheath dress Ralph’s tailor has made for her has turned out. The neckline reveals her collar bones, and the slit at the front reveals just enough leg to be daring but not vulgar. An opening at the back dips almost to her waist, making onlookers wonder how she could possibly be wearing a brassiere – the answer is that, tonight, she’s not.

Although the dress is a soft white, it is almost entirely consumed by large navy flowers and, as Audrey looks at herself in the mirror, she ties a silk sash in matching navy around her waist. She opens her jewellery box and selects from the jewels within a discreet pair of pearl stud earrings. She slips her stockinged feet into a pair of navy pumps and slides her hands into her favourite off-white evening gloves that reach way beyond her elbow.

As her fingers wriggle into place inside the soft silk gloves, Audrey hears the shrill cry of a baby. Arm still extended, she holds her breath, as if by holding herself still she can will the baby to stop crying, but the noise not only continues, it ramps up a gear. Audrey can tell, by now, that it’s John, not Alexandra. The girl’s voice is softer, less shrill. Audrey slips off her gloves and shoes and dashes across the expanse of the galleried landing to the nursery.

‘Hush now. Hush, hush,’ she whispers. John is sitting up in his cot, his face wet with tears. When he sees Audrey, his screams get louder. Ralph tells her the babies are too young to remember their mother – he’s made her swear that she’ll never tell them – but Audrey knows that, on some level, they know. She leans down into the cot and strokes John’s hair but he flinches away.

‘What’s wrong?’ Audrey whispers. ‘Did you have a bad dream? You want Mummy to hold you?’

The screaming gets louder and Audrey stares helplessly at John.

‘Ssh!’ she soothes. ‘You’ll wake your sister!’ She looks over at the other cot, where Alexandra is already starting to stir.

‘Mama!’ screams the boy. ‘Mamaaaa!’

‘Mama’s here!’ She reaches into the cot to try and touch John again, but he backs away to the farthest corner. ‘Mamaaa!’

Audrey’s forehead flops onto the cot rail.

‘What do you want?’ she sobs. ‘What am I supposed to do? Please stop crying!’

‘Madam,’ says the ayah, suddenly behind her. ‘I try.’

Audrey spins around. ‘Oh, Madhu. Thank you. I … I just don’t know what’s wrong with him.’

Madhu reaches into the cot and picks up the screaming baby. Audrey slips out of the room and listens at the door. Within seconds the crying simmers down and Audrey hears the rhythmic step of the ayah walking up and down the nursery floor and the soothing hum of her voice. Why can’t she do that?

Audrey steps silently down the polished staircase in her stockings. She walks across the parquet floor of the drawing room to the bar, where she pours herself a neat gin and adds a dash of Angostura bitters: a little sharpener. She takes a sip, then carries the glass back up to the bedroom, where she puts her shoes back on, selects a perfume and sprays it liberally on her neck and wrists, then looks in the mirror one more time.

She looks good. She looks, as Janet would say, ‘the part.’ She’s now got used to the sophisticated woman with the expensive clothes and the tumbling red curls who looks back at her each time she passes a mirror. The new look was Ralph’s idea: it was he who briefed the hairdresser and the tailor on how he wanted his wife to look and she likes the results. But it does take an increasing amount of effort to remember what Audrey Bailey, London legal secretary, used to look like. Ralph won’t hear of letting her work.

The bedroom door opens behind her. Audrey turns a fraction so he can see she’s braless.

‘Nice,’ says Ralph. ‘Nice dress.’ He stares at her, his eyes dark with desire. ‘Come here.’

Audrey knows what’s coming and she feels the familiar pull in her belly. But this is a game. She knows what Ralph likes. She extends her arm and looks at the little gold watch on her wrist, her expression inscrutable. ‘Darling, we’re due at dinner …’ She turns towards the door as if to leave.

‘Come here,’ repeats Ralph, but he doesn’t wait. In an instant he’s across the room and he catches Audrey from behind, his hands roaming over her body as she leans back against him and turns her head to meet his kisses. Inside the dress his hands find her bare breasts.

‘Red, what do you do to me?’ he says, his mouth against hers. Audrey moans. She’s known nothing like this in her life; Patrick was always so pedestrian, so strait-laced. Ralph scoops Audrey up, drops her on the bed, and wrenches up her silk dress. He undoes his trousers, tugs her knickers to one side, and pushes himself into her. She writhes under him, pushing her hips to meet his, then turns her head to one side as Ralph rains kisses on her face and neck.

‘The ayah,’ she breathes. ‘The door …’

‘So what?’

‘But …’

Ralph is moving faster; he’s not going to stop. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the new nursery door open; Madhu step quietly out and walks across the landing and down the stairs, her eyes averted. A moment later, Ralph climaxes with a moan and collapses on top of her; he’s come too fast for her to keep up but she doesn’t mind – there’ll be another chance later. She strokes his back softly while his breathing returns to normal. Are all marriages like this? she wonders.

When he’s caught his breath, Ralph props himself up on his elbows, strokes Audrey’s hair back from her face, and stares into her eyes.

‘I love you,’ she whispers.

Ralph leans down, kisses her forehead, and rolls off her. He goes to the bathroom. Audrey sits up and rearranges her dress. She hears the toilet flush and the tap run, then Ralph strides back into the room.

‘Hurry up, Red,’ he says with a wink. ‘We don’t want to be late for dinner.’

The good mood unfortunately doesn’t last. The traffic on the way to the restaurant is worse than usual and Audrey watches as her husband gets increasingly worked up, snapping at the driver to go this way and that in an attempt to avoid the snarls.

‘It’s okay,’ she murmurs, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Ralph echoes the squeeze but then pulls his hand away, running it through his hair as he stares out at the gridlock, his jaw working as he clenches his teeth.