Lost and Found

Clearly not pointedly enough.

‘And you wouldn’t have stiff joints if you didn’t go to the gym so often. Plus there are lots of free radicals in real tea that are good for you.’

‘And it’s full of caffeine and tannin, dehydrating, cellulite-inducing and addictive.’ Sam knew she was being crotchety. Let Gemma think it was Mars clashing with Mercury, or whatever fitted the picture best.

‘And delicious.’ Gemma took a big sip and Sam had to admit, if only to herself, that it did smell good. And finally a moment of peace. Just a moment.

‘Oh, before I forget—Soph called yesterday afternoon.’

Sam could have really used a chat with the most rational person she knew last night. When she and Mark got round to having them, their children would be sorted. As opposed to Gemma’s, who’d clearly be caked in snot and felt pen at all times.

‘Any message?’

Gemma looked up from the travel section and squinted as she tried to recall the moment. ‘No. Just to call her, I think…’

‘Anyone else?’ Sam was joking.

‘Your mum. I must have been on the phone at the time, but she left a message on the BT answer-phone thingy. She said she’d try your mobile.’

‘So that’d be two messages, then?’

‘Yup.’

Sam took a deep breath, doing her best to refocus on the world headlines and ignore the proximity of the accident waiting to happen opposite. The potential stain cocktail of English Breakfast tea, Marmite, cat and weekend newsprint on bespoke sofa was making her decidedly twitchy. She was just ascertaining that the world was still as flawed as it had been the day before, that there was still nothing she could single-handedly do about it and that no one famous or notorious had married or died, when the phone rang.

Sam leapt to her feet while George opened an eye, got up, performed a perfect three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn and sat down again. Without even really taking her eye off the page she was reading, Gemma retrieved the portable phone from between two sofa cushions just at the point that Sam reached its empty charging base in the kitchen.

‘Hello? Hi. How are you? Great. Just having breakfast. Yeah, she’s here. How did last night go? Great. No? Some people are unbelievable. Definitely. Yup, I’d be up for that. Tomorrow? Not sure. Send me a text if you decide to. Fab.’

Gemma passed the phone over, ignoring Sam’s muttering about keeping the phone charged between calls. ‘It’s Sophie.’

‘Hi, Soph. Lovely to speak to you. It’s been far too long.’ Sam folded up the section of the paper she’d been reading and retreated to her room, determined to retain at least a semblance of a private life.

‘You’re the one who’s been gallivanting across the Atlantic. Sorry I didn’t get back to you last night. I left you a couple of messages, but then I had a job on and I only got home just before midnight—at which point I guessed you were asleep and Mark was determined to seduce me.’

‘No problem. Did your meeting go well?’

‘Yup. Really well. But to be honest anything will be an improvement on what she’s inherited. It was her husband’s father’s house. A gorgeous Edwardian from the outside, but the interior is a tribute to the seventies. There’s even a hanging basket chair.’

‘You’re kidding. Was he related to Alan Partridge?’

Sophie laughed. ‘The before and afters are going to be incredible.’

‘Well, congratulations. You really deserve a big project.’

‘Thanks. I have to say I’m really excited. Mark’s bored already. He’s more interested in whether the husband is after me.’

‘Is he?’

‘Of course not. Haven’t even met him.’

‘But it’s not like you’ve never met anyone through work before…’

‘It only happened the once. And I’m marrying him now.’

Sophie ignored Sam’s attempt to be playful. She’d asked far too many questions already. Definitely avoiding something. Textbook behaviour.

‘So, my little jet-setter, is everything hunky-dory with you?’

‘Yup. It’s fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Yup.’

‘So why did you call?’

‘Well…fine-ish.’

‘Sam…?’

This total understanding was why, at the tender age of seven, Sam had handpicked Sophie to be the sister she’d never had. It was one of the best choices she’d ever made.

‘Well, Gemma’s driving me mad, Richard made a pass at me in New York and I’ve lost my diary.’ There, she’d said it out loud now.

‘No way?’

‘Way.’

‘Oh, my God. Where do you want to start?’

‘I thought I’d left it at the hotel, but they’ve checked my room and nothing. Unless…’

Sam felt her pulse-rate double. Had she seen it since?

‘What was in it?’

‘Shit.’

‘What?’

‘I think Richard might have it.’ Sam’s stomach plummeted to her ankles. Her life was over.

‘Are you sure?’

She took a deep breath. But she’d only been in the bathroom for a couple of minutes…

‘What was in it?’

‘The last three months of my life. Plenty of unprofessional whingeing. Potentially libellous statements. Quite a few personal titbits I’d rather not think about. And worst of all…’ Sam’s thoughts interrupted her flow. ‘Yes, I definitely wrote in it after he left my room.’ The relief was quite overwhelming.

‘He was in your room?’

‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Even to you.’

‘Sam, for God’s sake.’ Sam knew she could trust Sophie implicitly. Yet telling her meant that it was no longer a possible figment of her imagination. ‘And worst of all…?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You said “And worst of all…”’

‘I did?’ It wasn’t her secret to tell. ‘I have no idea what I was going to say.’

‘So, did the entries include the night of that Valentine’s dinner party?’

Silence.

‘You didn’t do anything wrong…’

‘Being caught snogging the younger brother of the host in the coat pile wasn’t my greatest moment. Maybe if my skirt hadn’t been round my waist when Tim turned the light on…’

‘And the wine-tasting?’

Perfect example of alcohol-impaired judgement. It had taken her nearly three weeks to shake Steve off completely. He hadn’t outwardly displayed any signs of being a telephone stalker. Sometimes she wished Sophie’s memory could be a little less effective.

‘All the stuff about Richard?’

Sam felt her stomach tighten. ‘Yup, and I was in a bit of state. One minute he was collecting documents—the next thing I knew he was under my duvet.’

Sophie squealed. ‘And where were you?’

‘In the bathroom.’

‘Your life is so much more exciting than mine.’

‘I’m not sure “exciting” is the word I’d use.’

‘Anything else incriminating?’

‘You could at least try and sound a bit less gleeful.’

‘Sorry. And I’m not even remotely…it’s just, well, there’s a lot to take in.’ Sophie racked her brains. ‘Not…?’

‘What?’

‘The thing I’m not really supposed to know about.’

‘Did I tell you?’ Sam was almost relieved.

‘About EJ? Don’t worry. I haven’t told a soul—nor will I.’

‘It’s in there.’ Sam’s tones were hushed. ‘Well, most of it.’

‘His name?’

‘Initials only, I think. But there are probably enough clues. Of course now I can’t really remember, and it’s not like I can check.’

Sophie paused. ‘And your name?’

‘Just an address.’

‘Well, that’s something. Have you told her?’

‘What’s the point?’

‘Well…’

‘It’s like I’d be confessing to her and asking for her forgiveness. And if I was her I’m not sure I’d be doing a lot of forgiving. Meanwhile she thinks I’m all jumpy because of the Richard malarkey.’

‘Which you are. I know this probably sounds impossible, but try not to worry and think positive. Maybe someone will post it back when they find it. Anyway, who on earth would want to read a total stranger’s diary?’ The pause that ensued should have come with a ‘mind the gap’ warning. ‘Well, fingers crossed it’ll turn up in safe non-contentious hands.’

‘Maybe.’ Sam wasn’t convinced.

‘At least you lost it abroad.’

‘And of course no one reads English in New York.’

‘Hey, maybe it’s just been thrown away. Maybe it’s being pulped or dumped in a landfill site as we speak.’

‘I hope so.’ Sam could have kissed Sophie for her irrepressible optimism. And it certainly helped to have her rooting for her.

‘And, face it, the bottom line is there is nothing you can do.’

‘That’s the worst part…’ Sam sighed.

‘Just for the record, I think you need to give EJ the heads-up…’

Sam had been wrestling with her morals all morning.

‘I don’t suppose you’re free for lunch, are you? I need to sort out my shoes for the wedding once and for all.’

Sam couldn’t help but smile. ‘You’ve still got a month.’

‘A month? I thought I had ages to get everything ready.’

‘You did…’ Sam hesitated. She must be the least enthusiastic maid of honour ever to have been appointed. Fawning over empire lines and bias cuts didn’t come naturally to her, and she’d only accepted the role on condition that shot silk and baby pink did not feature in her outfit. But shoes she could do. And general sounding board duties. And lunch. Eating on her own at weekends was something that she did her best to avoid.

‘I need something that doesn’t scream Essex girl or dental nurse. I can’t possibly do barefoot, and Adidas Bride of Hip-Hop isn’t quite what my mother is expecting.’

‘I was going to sort some stuff out here…’

‘If Gemma’s winding you up it’d do you good to get out.’

‘I refuse to be driven out of my own flat.’

‘Stop being so bloody melodramatic. That girl’s got a heart of gold, and you know it’s just that things simply don’t occur to her. Come on. Just a couple of hours. Self-flagellation is so last season.’

Sam looked at her watch. ‘Give me an hour and a half.’

‘Brilliant. See you at Selfridges at two. I’ll be the one in the shoe department in a strop.’

‘And I’ll be the one with an ulcer.’

Sitting on the edge of the Bethesda Fountain, waiting for Ali, Ben felt very cloak and dagger—or very jacket and diary. As he revelled in the surprisingly warm spring sunshine, he knew morally she was right. The only problem being that, NG or not, he wasn’t quite sure he could go back to his life as it had been on Thursday.

Turning his back on the Angel of the Waters, he peered south through the dark arches of the arcade framing the vibrant colours of the park beyond. He spotted her long before she saw him. Shares in Kenneth Cole were going to be right up on Monday.

They’d scoured the collections like pros, and while the perfect white shoe was still eluding them Sophie had approved several other shopping diversions, and a cluster of high-quality paper carrier bags were physical evidence that Sam was feeling a bit better. Sam was incredibly grateful to Sophie. Which was good. Because this maid of honour was tiring slightly. Until they hit the new summer collection in Jigsaw, that was.

Sophie sighed. ‘Are you nearly done?’

‘Just one more suit to try.’

Poking her head round the door, Sophie observed the near identical suits neatly hanging all around Sam. She hadn’t known there were so many variations on a theme.

‘Any good ones?’

‘A couple.’

‘Not trying any bar-hopping gear?’

Sam raised an eyebrow at her best friend. ‘What for?’

‘Weekends?’

‘I’ve got drawers stuffed full of jeans and jumpers, Soph, and I hardly ever get to wear them.’

‘I was thinking more—you know—party.’

‘You mean tarty. When on earth am I ever going to need a backless, frontless, strappy handkerchief top?’

‘Every single girl should have a pulling top.’

‘My days of nightclubs are over.’

‘Bars?’

‘I’m not doing the semi-naked look.’

‘Fine. Well, I’ve had enough shopping for now. I refuse to stand in front of another in-store full-length mirror until after April the twenty-first. And I can’t be a size sixteen bride.’ Sophie paused as a wave of fear flashed across her face. ‘Maybe that’s why brides have their dresses made to measure?’

‘Soph…’

‘Well, just remind me never to shop in here again. Those jeans were allegedly a fourteen and I couldn’t get them past my knees.’

Sophie’s head disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived. And just as Sam’s mobile started ringing. Having scattered the pile of her own clothes in order to locate her bag, she hesitated for a split second when she saw the number on the screen.

‘At last. Finally.’

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Honestly, I think it would be easier to get an audience with the Pope.’

‘Sorry. I’ve been in New York all week, working on a deal.’ Sam still liked the way that sounded. Travelling was exhausting, and far less glamorous than anyone based in one place would believe, but it certainly sounded good when relating to family and friends.

‘Last thing I heard they did have phones in the States, and according to Michelle you were due in yesterday.’

‘It’s Melanie and, yes, I was back—but we were manic.’ Overly defensive as she now remembered that she’d forgotten to return her call, Sam glanced down at her state of semi-undress. ‘Mum, can I call you back in a minute? This isn’t a great time. In five minutes…yes, I will.’ Sam was beginning to wonder what on earth had possessed her to press ‘answer’. ‘Look, I’m barely dressed… In a shop… In town, yes—Bond Street. With Soph. Not that expensive. Again this morning? No, I didn’t get it. Please, just give me five, ten minutes… I realise… I’m sorry, but yesterday was one of my worst days in a while. I’ve lost my diary.’

And I’ve just discovered that my boss wants to sleep with me. She stopped at the diary tidbit. Sam didn’t think her mother would appreciate the latter detail.

There, she’d admitted all was not well in the World of Sam Washington. Immediately she felt better.

‘Oh, dear, darling. Don’t you have it all on your computer these days, though? Can’t you just beam it into a new one of those hand pilots?’

‘Not my appointments diary. My real one—my journal. And it’s Palm, not hand.’

‘How sweet! I didn’t know you were still writing one…’

‘Usually only on bad days.’

‘Where did you leave it?’

‘If I knew it wouldn’t be lost, would it?’ Sam reined herself in. Hostility was not a fair trade for sympathy. ‘I thought I’d left it in a drawer in my hotel room, but apparently it’s not there now.’

‘Did it have your address in it?’

‘Yup.’ Sophie and her mother’s minds clearly worked in the same way.

‘Then I’m sure it’ll turn up. Listen, darling, the reason I’m calling—’

‘I can’t believe I’ve lost it. Everything was in there…and if it gets into the wrong hands…’

‘Darling…’ Helen was becoming increasingly exasperated. Sam had always been capable of incredible focus and self-centredness. Only-child syndrome. ‘I know it’s important to you, but it’s not like you’re Geri Halliwell or Prince William.’

Sam smiled despite herself. Only a devout Daily Mail reader could put those two in the same sentence.

‘No one knows who you are and no one really cares—except us, of course.’

‘It’s not just me I’m worrying about—’

‘Excuse me, madam, but are you going to be much longer? There’s a queue out here.’

‘Sorry—just give me one more minute. Mum, I promise I’ll call you back.’

‘Listen, your father’s in hospital.’

Sam was silent as her emotions jostled for supremacy.

‘I’m afraid it’s serious. He’s got a tumour in his liver and apparently it’s a secondary one. They’re going to operate on Monday, and then hopefully start chemotherapy, but apparently it’s large enough to suggest it has probably already spread further. It seems to be a case of damage limitation rather than cure.’

Her mother must have spoken to a doctor. Either that or she had been to med school since their elderly neighbour had gone through breast cancer when she had explained everything in terms of zapping and lumps.

‘They’re running all sorts of tests, and he says he’s been scanned to within an inch of his life. They’re still trying to ascertain the primary site.’

‘Right.’

‘He’s at the Royal Marsden. It’s one of the best places he could possibly—’

‘I’m incredibly busy at the moment.’ Clearly denial had beaten the others hands down in the battle of her emotions.

‘I know it’s been a long time, but you just don’t know… I mean at the moment they don’t even know…’

‘So now I’m supposed to sit at his bedside?’

‘Don’t be so stubborn. You remind me of him when you’re like this.’ Her mother pretty much had a doctorate in emotional blackmail. ‘I went to visit yesterday. He’s in there all by himself.’

‘What about his teenage girlfriend? Isn’t this her remit?’

Sophie glared at the fitting room assistant as she approached Sam’s cubicle, where she was now standing guard, protecting what little privacy Sam still had.

‘Honestly, darling, Susie must be in her forties now. It’s been a long time. You can’t have seen him in at least five years…’

‘More like ten.’

‘I know it’s a shock…’ Sam could hear her mother’s voice faltering as she battled with tears.

It didn’t take much to set her off at the best of times: an Andrex puppy, a wedding on television, Sam getting into Oxford, Sam leaving Oxford, Sam finishing law school. So, by rights, an ex-husband with cancer should have had her in floods. She was obviously focused on being strong for Sam’s sake. And Sam was quite happy not to have to support her mother on this one.

‘Simon is more of a father to me than Dad ever was.’

‘Simon’s not going anywhere. You know how much he loves you. But the fact is Robert is still your dad. I’m sure it would mean a lot to him if you just popped in.’

‘I don’t know how you can be so nice about it. We were there for him. And then he left us.’

‘He left me. Twenty-three years ago…’

Sam could still feel the weight of the silence after the front door slammed. Still remember the sun coming through the sitting room window. The dust particles swirling around her. The smell of the warm musty air. The pattern on her white knee-length socks. The sound of his car starting and driving off. For a fraction of a second she was a six-year-old trapped in a twenty-nine-year-old body.

‘It wasn’t meant to be. I married again. I learned to let go. And you need to. Because of you we’ve always kept in touch. And he does love you.’

‘Well, he’s got a funny way of showing it.’ Sam knew she didn’t have the monopoly on divorced parents. Almost everyone she knew had gone through the parents-living-at-separate-addresses thing. But, selfishly, all she’d wanted was a nuclear family. And maybe a brother or sister. And maybe a dad at home for a little bit longer than six years. It wasn’t that she hadn’t got on with her life. She couldn’t have been working any harder…

‘You’re the one who won’t see him.’

‘He can’t just expect to have a daughter at his beck and call when it suits him.’

He’d never taken her to the zoo. She didn’t even really agree with zoos any more. But she didn’t have any of those memories. No trips to theme parks or burger bars, no camping holidays—not that these were necessarily indices of good parenting, but it would have at least showed willing. Everyone knew children were the worst sort of investment plan. At least eighteen years to mature and no sign of the capital invested. Not much appreciation either. No good for impatient people. Simon, though, had unquestioningly done it all. Sam wondered if she had thanked him enough.

‘We managed perfectly well without him.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And you know if we’d stayed together none of us would have been happy.’

Deep down she did. And maybe if they hadn’t had her they’d still be together. He hadn’t exactly made a secret of the fact that he’d never really wanted children in the first place.

‘Sam, sweetheart, you don’t have to be all brave about this. I’ll come with you, if you like.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Next you’ll be suggesting I bake him some biscuits.’

‘There’s no point taking it out on me. I didn’t want him to leave either.’

‘I know. And I’m sorry, but I’m not going.’

‘Please? Think about it… He’s in Room 136. Maybe just call him…’

‘I’ve really got to go now, or it’ll be death by coat hanger for me.’

‘You’re bound to need a bit of time to let all this sink in. Love you, darling. I’ll call again later.’

‘Bye.’

Sam sat down and stared at the floor, seeing nothing. There was a tentative knock at the changing room door.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Give me a minute.’

Sophie gave her twenty seconds.

‘Come on, you, let’s get out of here. I need a coffee. A diet coffee, obviously.’

Sam regrouped and pulled on her pale blue v-neck, shopping forgotten. ‘I’m ready.’

‘It’s Okay, love.’ Sophie shifted her weight from foot to foot apologetically. ‘To be honest—’ she gestured at the saloon-style swing doors ‘—these changing rooms aren’t exactly soundproof.’

Sure enough, several sympathetic glances from the fitting room queue followed them to the front of the shop.

‘She still doesn’t get it. Just because I have a phone with me doesn’t mean I can chat for ages.’

‘It’s your dad, isn’t it?’

Sam nodded, momentarily speechless.

Sophie shrugged. ‘You’ve never exactly had a whispery voice, and there were only a couple of inches of plywood between us.’

‘Cancer, apparently. Liver secondaries.’

‘Oh, God.’ Sophie paled visibly. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s not like we’re close. I haven’t seen him in years.’

Sam couldn’t have been any more matter of fact. This had to be it. First Richard, then her diary, now her father. Everyone knows these things come in threes. Come in threes? Now she was sounding like Gemma.

‘Sam, come on—give yourself a break. Don’t be so bloody stubborn.’

‘Gemma didn’t even tell me she’d called again this morning.’

‘Do you want me to go with you?’

‘I mean, how hard is it to write down a phone message?’

‘Sam?’

‘She must have to take messages at work all the time. If she’s not going to bother, I’d rather she didn’t answer the phone in the first place. Anyway—right—shoes. Where next? What do you think? King’s Road? It’s still only three-thirty. We’ve got plenty of time. Let’s just get a cab. My shout.’

Sophie dragged her into the nearest Starbucks. ‘It’s totally acceptable to be upset. In fact, it’s recommended. And you only have one father.’

‘Actually, I have two. Look, I’ll have a think and take a view. But today you, my friend, need white shoes, and it’s my job not to leave your side until we complete our mission.’

‘So I’ll wear flip-flops. You’re not going to get away with using my wedding or your work as an excuse to hide from the rest of your life—partnership race or no partnership race. What about going tonight?’

Silence. Sam’s face was expressionless, and for a moment Sophie wondered whether she had crossed the invisible unconditional-support-versus-advice friendship divide.

‘I’m seeing EJ.’

‘She’ll understand.’

‘I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks and I really want to—’

‘You’re right. You should tell her.’

Sam didn’t want to correct Sophie. But she’d only been going to say ‘see a film’. One step at a time.