Chapter 24
24
‘A rsehole,’ Helen hissed, as the car on the opposite side of the carriageway overtook another car, headlights on full beam. ‘Why can’t they learn?’ She flicked her own headlights back on and immediately the road ahead stretched out, empty and dark. Beside her Kay was scrolling through her phone.
'What’s next?’ she asked. Duran Duran had just finished.
‘How about a little Stevie Nicks?’
‘Stevie Nicks!’ Kay laughed. ‘You’re such an old hippy.’
Helen smiled. ‘She’s on Spotify, I’ll have you know.’
‘Everyone’s on Spotify,’ Kay muttered. ‘That doesn’t make you any less of an old hippy.’
Helen laughed. What a wonderful afternoon they had spent together! After Alex’s call, Kay had relaxed, and they spent another two hours sitting in that pub garden chatting and reminiscing. She’d needed it as much as Kay, who’d spoken about her mother’s move into the home, Marianne in Cyprus, with whom Kay had stayed in surprisingly regular contact, and finally, the training session she was facing.
‘Such bullshit!’ Helen had offered, fully expecting Kay to concur.
But Kay had fallen silent and shaken her head.
‘Kay! Martin’s a quarter Nigerian,’ she’d pressed.
To which Kay had said, ‘I don’t like the boy, Helen. I never have. And he’s just a kid. The least I can do, as a teacher, is try to understand why.’
And once again Helen had been humbled by her friend’s pragmatic, non-sentimental, zero-self-indulgent approach to life.
As the afternoon had come to a close, they’d begun, reluctantly, to think about heading back. Then, on the way to the car park, passing a Millets, Kay had come to an abrupt halt.
‘Let’s take a look inside,’ she’d said.
It had been pointless for Helen to argue. Because hadn’t she just spent forty minutes of a wonderfully sunny afternoon talking about her long-lost gap year? And the phenomenon of what was being called a midlife trip ? Something that felt tangibly closer every time she repeated the phrase. Yes, she had to sort out the deposit for the flat first. And yes, she didn’t exactly earn the kind of salary that Caro did. But once the house was sold, or Lawrence had bought her out, she’d be mortgage free and if she played it right maybe even have some left. Why not?
Yes, pointless to argue, and so they’d emerged twenty-five minutes later with a beautiful pink and grey rucksack that now sat on the back seat of her car, silhouetted like a cartoon minion. And frankly she was lucky she’d left it at that! Gorgeous hiking boots, and trousers with hidden zippers and pockets. Pocket knives, which you could practically build a house with. The cutest portable kitchens… And the tall, rugged man who’d explained how huge a thing midlife travellers were. Pointing her in the direction of several useful Instagram and Twitter handles. Which would have been great if she used either Insta or Twitter. Maybe she should start?
The unmistakable opening riff of ‘Edge of Seventeen’ bounced from the car speaker. Instinctively Helen’s fingers drummed the steering wheel. She hadn’t been seventeen when she’d first heard this, but that hadn’t mattered. Stevie Nicks had leaned into her ear and sung her life.
Head bobbing, feet tapping, Helen sang along. Memories of the student flat flooding back. Friday nights, heading out of the door warm with the glow of a vodka and Coke.
As the last notes faded away, Kay bent her head. ‘My turn,’ she said, and within a moment, The Cure had started.
‘Wait a minute.’ Helen put her head to one side. ‘Is that my phone?’
Kay turned the music down, and in the new silence the ringing was unmistakable and loud.
Helen frowned. ‘It’s probably Lawrence, ringing to ask if the lamp in the hallway is his or mine.’ But a darker emotion shadowed her words. She’d been out of the house since eleven that morning, the longest time since Ben was born that she’d been away from Libby. The darkness was guilt. Which was as ridiculous as it was inevitable. All her unspoken assertions that Libby was just going to have to learn to cope, and here she was fretting that she’d gone and left her alone to do just that.
As if Kay had sensed the undertone, she turned and said, ‘Where’s your handbag?’
‘On the back seat.’ Helen concentrated on the road.
‘Shall I get it?’
Before Helen could answer, her phone rang off.
Kay eased back around, opened her mouth and was silenced by it starting up again. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said.
Helen nodded. ‘I wonder what the time is?’ She had been gone a long time, but surely Lawrence would be home by now.
‘It’s Lawrence.’ Kay held the phone up.
And a wash of relief swept through.
‘Shall I answer it?’
‘If you have to.’ He’d be ringing to ask where she was. Her absence from the house at this time of the evening being such an inexplicable occurrence, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. What, Helen thought, is he going to do when I’m never there? How is he going to cope?
Kay swiped the phone. ‘Hi Law—’ But she didn’t get past the first syllable before she was interrupted. ‘Slow down,’ she managed to interject. ‘Wait…’ She tapped the screen. ‘I’m putting you on speaker. Helen’s driving.’
‘What—’
‘ Helen! ’ Lawrence’s voice barked through the space between her and Kay, interrupting Helen across the miles.
‘Lawrence?’
‘ Where are you? ’
Briefly Helen glanced at Kay. She was almost embarrassed. It was none of his damn business where she was, and she was about to tell him this, about to stake one of those first markers of her newly found independence, when his voice broke through again, loaded and heavy. ‘The baby is missing,’ he said.
Helen felt her body temperature drop, warm to profoundly cold. The baby? Missing? That didn’t make sense. Eyes fixed on the road ahead, she said carefully, ‘What do you mean, missing ?’
Next to her as a rigid dark silhouette, Kay pressed hard back in her seat, as if her body might interfere with the signal of the phone, as if she needed to get herself out of the way.
‘Caro was here,’ Lawrence answered. ‘She took Ben out for a walk, and she hasn’t returned.’
Helen’s head wobbled. What on earth was this about? ‘Caro took Ben for a walk?’ She turned to Kay, who shrugged. ‘What was Caro?—’
But she didn’t get any further because a keening sound rose up from the speaker. A sound that formed a word she couldn’t mistake. ‘Mummm. Muuuum.’ It was Libby.
Again Helen glanced at Kay. ‘Is Libby there?’ she said, both to Lawrence and Kay.
‘I’ll put her on,’ Lawrence said gruffly.
Now her arms were tingly and cold and her hands on the steering wheel loose as string. If Libby was at home, then Ben should be too. Caro? It didn’t make any sense.
‘Mum.’ Libby’s voice sounded strange. As strained as if there was a boot on her windpipe. Her breath was short, louder than her words, of which she could manage barely two or three at a time. Caro, they heard. Took Ben … No answer … Two hours … Sorry …
‘Libby,’ Helen pleaded. Her daughter was hyperventilating. ‘Put your dad back on!’
But Libby struggled on, her breath more ragged by the second.
‘ Lawrence, ’ Helen shouted. ‘ What the hell is going on? ’
And a second later, Lawrence’s explanation, brief and clear, tipped ice down her spine. She could not have heard right. ‘What do you mean, taken him?’
‘Exactly what I said,’ Lawrence replied. ‘Caro was here. She offered to take Ben for a walk, and she hasn’t come back. That was over two hours ago.’
‘Two hours ago? Helen?’ Kay turned in her seat. ‘What’s happened?’
A ball of nausea swept up Helen’s throat. ‘I don’t know,’ she managed. And she flicked the indicator on, pressed the accelerator and moved out into the fast lane.