Chapter Seventeen
As quietly as possible, Mitchell opened the door to his darkened apartment. In the taxi on the way home, he’d been tempted to text Tommy to tell him how much he had enjoyed their one and only night together, but he’d decided not to complicate things. Besides, being almost three in the morning, Tommy would most likely be asleep. Smiling to himself, Mitchell couldn’t remember the last time he’d done the walk of shame but he felt entirely unrepentant, as though his physical union with Tommy had somehow broken down an internal emotional barrier.
No lights shone in the apartment or from beneath Zane’s door. Even so, Mitchell crept across to his bedroom in darkness and only switched on the bed lamp once he had closed his bedroom door. As he undressed for the second time that night, he gave himself a self-satisfied smile in the wall mirror before climbing into bed.
As soon as his head sank into the pillow, he slept soundly and deeply. At seven-thirty, the alarm on his phone beside the bed emitted a soft peal. Even at weekends, Mitchell set his phone alarm to go off at the same hour. The temptation to kill the alarm and sleep through came and went. Even sleep-fogged, priorities nagged him. His nephew had to fly home that day. After switching to silent mode, he stuffed the device into his dressing gown pocket. The flight wasn’t until after lunch, but he’d need to get Zane breakfast, help him pack, organise a taxi and get him to the airport in good time for his journey home.
He showered, dressed and completed his usual morning rituals as quietly as possible. Feeling more alive and awake, he filled and switched on the kettle, waiting until eight-thirty before tapping lightly on Zane’s bedroom door.
“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.”
Nothing. This time, Mitchell knocked a little louder.
“Zane. Come on. You need to get moving.”
After still getting no response, he opened the door. Not only was Zane not there, but his bed had not been slept in, although his case appeared already packed and ready, sitting in the corner of the room. For a second Mitchell froze, until he calmed himself and allowed logic to take over. He yanked out his phone and checked for messages. Nothing. First of all, he fired off a quick note to Zane. His nephew had taught him about the ticks on the bottom corner of messages to indicate whether the note had been received and read.
Nothing changed. When he called Zane’s number, the phone rang repeatedly, eventually going to voicemail. Why wasn’t Zane picking up? Mitchell shook away the fearful thoughts beginning to fill his brain. He would not allow himself to panic again like the morning he’d heard about Joel. Instead, he calmed himself. There had to be a simple explanation. If something had happened, somebody would have contacted him. Think, Mitchell, he told himself. He needed to contact one of the crew members Zane had befriended. Or somebody who might know how to get hold of them.
Tommy.
After six rings, just as Mitchell was about to abort and rethink his options, the call was picked up.
“‘Lo,” came a gravelly voice.
“Morning, Tommy. It’s Mitchell. Mitchell Baxter. Yes, you probably gathered that. Sorry, I know you love your Sunday morning snoozes, especially after a night of—um, well, let’s not go there. Look, I wouldn’t call if this wasn’t urgent. I need a very quick favour. Zane didn’t come home last night. I have no idea where he is and he’s not answering his phone. As you know he flies home today and I’m a little concerned. Could you ping me over the phone numbers of any of the stage crew you might have, Shelly and maybe Emily? I’m really sorry to bother—”
“Let me ring round. Then I’ll come over.”
“No, you don’t need—”
“I’m awake now, Mitch. Make yourself useful while I get dressed. Head down to that little coffee shop at the end of your road and order me the biggest latte they serve. And one of their awesome Danish pastries. I’ll get a taxi and meet you there. Shall we say forty-five minutes? Taxis are a little harder to come by from here on Sunday.”
“Thank you,” said Mitchell before a thought came to him. “Look, about last—”
But before Mitchell had a chance to speak, Tommy rang off. Mitchell stared at the display for a second before jumping into action.
* * * *
The barista in the café had just called out Mitchell’s order when he noticed a taxi pull up outside the café. Somebody was leaning across the back to pay the driver. Not knowing Tommy’s pastry of choice, he had ordered an assortment of baked goods, including cinnamon, apple and peach custard Danish tarts to accompany their coffees.
“Are those all for me?” Tommy’s humoured voice came as he approached the table.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked. So, I got a selection.”
“Well, you guessed perfectly. I love cinnamon Danish, but any of these would have done. May I?”
“Be my guest.”
“First of all, relax,” said Tommy, sitting opposite and taking the pastry. Mitchell felt almost grateful for the diversion, eclipsing any awkwardness from the night before. “Zane would not be the first nineteen-year-old to stay out all night. At his age, overnighting at the weekend was the norm for me. Although I would usually let my mother or sister know.”
“Exactly,” said Mitchell. “And I doubt you’d have done so the night before you’re due to catch an important flight. What did you manage to find—?”
“Hang on,” said Tommy, placing his phone on the tabletop. “Can you let me have a sip of coffee first? I’m gasping.”
Mitchell waited patiently while Tommy blew on the surface of his coffee, took a couple of sips and released a groan that sounded a lot like the ones Mitchell had wrung from him in bed earlier that morning. As Mitchell crossed his legs, his knee knocked painfully on the bottom of the table. Tommy didn’t appear to notice.
“Nobody seems to know what happened to him. Shelly says he spent the latter part of the evening stuck to Emily. She tried Emily’s mobile but she’s not answering. Apparently, she lives in Tai Po. One of Emily’s friends who worked on the theatre set lives nearby and her father has offered to drive her to Emily’s apartment.” Tommy stopped speaking when an unfamiliar pop melody issued from his phone. “Hold that thought. I think this might be her now.”
Tommy grabbed the device, stood and walked away from the table to take the call. Mitchell could see by Tommy’s expression and brief sigh that the news wasn’t helpful.
“Yes, that was the friend calling back. Emily lost her phone last night. But she got home in the early hours—alone—and slept in her own bed. They’d all gone to Causeway Bay for karaoke after finishing at the bar. That’s where she thinks she lost her phone. Anyway, she told the friend that her and Zane had said their goodbyes on the street outside the karaoke bar at around one. Zane took a separate taxi and she assumed he was heading back to you.”
“Then where the hell is he?” said Mitchell, feeling panic begin to rise. “And why is he not answering his phone?”
“Mitch. Calm down. Panicking is going to help nobody. Emily’s going to check with the crew members they were out with last night. Did he mention the names of any other friends he’d made, ones he might have partied on with? Or any places he liked to hang out?”
“If there were, you’d probably know better than me,” said Mitchell.
“Emily was his closest. Before rehearsals, they used to meet at a bubble tea shop in Soho. How about we start off looking down there while I wait for her to get back to me? Do you want to book an Uber?”
“No need. I came prepared.”
Mitchell reached beneath the table for his open rucksack and placed a white crash helmet before Tommy. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his phone camera to capture Tommy’s expression.
“As you said yourself,” said Mitchell, “taxis are scarce this time of the morning. And as we have an emergency, getting around will be much faster on my bike.”
Mitchell felt bad about rushing Tommy, but the hour was already nudging ten. Later that day, the plane carrying Zane would take off from Hong Kong airport with or without him. Zane’s father had already messaged to confirm he was picking his son up from Heathrow. How would Mitchell explain to him and his sister that Zane had gone missing?
While Tommy packed the remaining pastries into a bag, Mitchell started the engine on his bike and waited for Tommy to climb aboard. Mitchell had never carried a passenger before, but after having had Tommy in his arms last night, feeling his rigid body crushed up against his back now and his arms snaked tightly around his midriff felt utterly right. Less than a minute into the ride, Mitchell felt Tommy’s body soften against him and his grip loosen.
They arrived at the tea shop in Soho in good time. Even though the place appeared packed and buzzing, they saw no sign of Zane. Tommy handed his helmet to Mitchell and told him to stay outside. He reasoned that he could converse better in Cantonese, but Mitchell guessed that he didn’t want him interrupting, especially in his present state of mind, and potentially freaking out the store employees. Mitchell watched him march up the counter, pull out his phone and show the screen to the staff, most likely a photo of Zane. One of the female servers nodded once but then grimaced and shook her head.
Mitchell’s heart sank. But Tommy wasn’t deterred and tried the same tactic in other cafes and coffee shops along the road. Each time, he reappeared, shaking his head.
“Look,” said Tommy eventually. “You need something to keep you busy. Why don’t you head home, make sure he’s packed everything and wait for him there. He’s bound to show up sooner or later. He may even be home already. If worse comes to worst, you’ll need to speak to your family and see if they can rebook his flight. I’m going to meet up with Emily in Causeway Bay. She has a few suggestions of places I can check.”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” asked Mitchell, feeling powerless. “Do you want me to drop you off at Emily’s place?”
“Not for this. The MTR will be quicker. Mitchell, you need to remember that your nephew’s not an idiot. If anything had happened, he would have gotten word to you somehow. Let me do this on my own. You go home and get everything ready. I’ll call if I find anything and you can phone me know if he turns up. Agreed?”
“Okay.”
“Now head home and wait to hear from me.”
Mitchell rode his bike slowly down the slope to the bustling Queen’s Road, checking pedestrians as he passed. He could hear his sister’s voice in his head, berating him for breaking his promise to take care of her son. If anything had happened to Zane he would never forgive himself. As he drove through traffic past a row of shops, he noticed a familiar figure farther down the pavement.
William, dressed conspicuously in one of his casual but stylish and distinctive Shanghai Tang outfits, stood outside a convenience store, a small plastic bag dangling from his hand. He looked lost on his own, as though he was unsure of his surroundings and location. Mitchell realised he had rarely seen William without Harold. Catching a break in the traffic, Mitchell pulled up along the pavement and lifted his visor.
“Morning, William. Is Harold not with you?”
“Mitchell. Good morning. No, I left him at the hospital.” William looked paler than usual, the hand holding the goods shaking slightly. “He was admitted at four this morning.”
“Heavens, I had no idea his operation was today.”
“Neither did we. The specialist surgeon had a late cancellation, so they called us up. Woke us in the early hours. All a bit of a rush to get there.”
“Are you on your way home?”
“Actually, I’m not quite sure what I’m doing at the moment.” William peered down at the bag he held, and Mitchell felt a tug of sympathy. Tommy had been right. William and Harold were two halves of a whole. No wonder he felt so lost.
“How did it go? The operation? When can we go and see him?”
“I have no idea.” When William met his gaze, Mitchell wondered if his pallidness was not due to tiredness but to fear. “They told us three hours, but it’s been almost five and Harold’s still in the operating theatre. The duty nurse sent me home, told me to get some rest. I half suspect they got fed up with me stopping them and asking questions.”
William’s attention was drawn to something over Mitchell’s shoulder, and he turned to see what William was looking at but saw only random pedestrians.
“Where’s Zane?” asked William. “Isn’t he with you?”
“Tommy and I are trying to find him. He’s disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“He isn’t at home?” William frowned and checked his watch, which seemed a strange reaction to Mitchell, but something he put down to William being distracted..
“He stayed out all night. And his flight’s later today. But don’t worry, William. You should get yourself home and get some rest. Or something to eat. I’m sure they’ll call you the moment there are any developments—”
“When we left for the hospital, he was still fast asleep in our spare room.”
“Who?”
“Zane.”
“Wait. What? Zane spent the night at Harold’s place?”
“Yes. And, technically, the property belongs to me.”
“Why was he at yours?” he asked.
“Another of Harold’s grand ideas,” said William, smiling sadly. “Mainly because of you and Tommy. When your nephew came to bid us goodnight at the bar, he asked if we’d seen you. Earlier that evening, as Harold was backing his wheelchair out of the disability toilet, he saw you and Tommy in the passage behind the bar getting intimate—although I think Harold used a more vulgar expression. Tommy slipped out the back way and I remembered seeing you head quickly out the front, avoiding people. Harold, of course, put two and two together. Zane was overjoyed when we told him. Honestly, ever since that dreadful Repulse Bay cocktail party, Harold has been obsessed about hooking the two of you up. Cajoling Kate and Devon into finding a way to bring you both to the beach clean-up and using Zane to get you onto the junk trip. He and Devon were trying to figure out how to force you to the MacLehose hike together, but by some miracle or another you managed to arrange that yourselves. Anyway, being who he is, Harold offered Zane a bed for the night once he’d finished with his friends, to give you two time to finish what you needed to do, so to speak. We left him fast asleep in our spare room when Harold and I packed a bag and took a cab to the hospital this morning.”
“He’s not answering any of my calls,” said Mitchell, dumbfounded.
“Ah, that might be my fault. I do apologise. I should have messaged you, but I have been somewhat distracted this morning. When your nephew turned up last night, he said his phone had run out of juice and asked for a charger. I was half asleep and plugged the device into our study charger down the hall. Said I would wake him at seven the next morning. Would you like to come back and check if he’s still there?”
“Do you mind?”
“Oh, please,” said William, stepping into the road to hail a red taxi. “I need something to keep me from going insane. If I were a braver sort, I might even agree to ride pillion on that monstrosity. Let’s go find that errant nephew of yours. I’ll meet you there.”
Mitchell fired a quick message off to Tommy before trailing the taxi back to William and Harold’s apartment. He had been there a few times over the years for dinner parties. An older property, like the one Mitchell rented, their building had the addition of an ancient elevator with a criss-cross metal barrier. The tenth-floor apartment had three bedrooms and a panoramic view of the harbour from the living room. They, too, had renovated and decorated exquisitely. Mitchell had always assumed, incorrectly as it turned out, that Harold had bought the property with the proceeds of the sale of his business.
“I never correct guests when they assume the flat belongs to Harold.” As the elevator rose, a ride Mitchell had assumed they would take in silence, William began speaking. “To be honest, I think of the flat as belonging to us both. But the truth is Harold helped me sell the place my father left me when he passed. That’s how we met. Then he arranged all the renovations. He has a keen eye for detail. Although the bricks and mortar are legally mine, the property has Harold’s elegance and style stamped all over it.”
William’s voice trailed off. Mitchell didn’t know what to say, so he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze. The gesture felt strange and awkward. Mitchell could not remember having touched the man before, even to shake his hand. William turned towards him and smiled sadly.
“Everything is meaningless without him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, William. He’s in the best place now, in professional hands.”
“I keep telling myself that. I just hope we’re both right.”
Inside the apartment, William pointed down the hallway to the end bedroom. Mitchell opened the door to the darkened room and flicked on the light.
“Wassup?” came the shocked voice of a bleary-eyed Zane, sitting up and shading his eyes with a hand.
“Nothing much, chum.”
Mitchell strode over to the window and pulled open the curtains, letting sunlight join the assault on Zane’s vision.
“Except the plane you’re flying back to London in,” said Mitchell, before peering down at his watch, “is leaving Hong Kong in around two and a half hours’ time.”