The Missing Person's Guide to Love (22 page)

Bumps that would soon become blisters were forming on the insides of my fingers. Annie had sat down for a rest. She put her head on her knees and wheezed. John looked down on the area he had been digging. He ran the edge of his spade gently over the soil, then in the other direction, a soft caress. He crouched beside Annie. I noticed that the rain had stopped.

‘It’s not there, is it?’ I could not speak of Julia’s body as
she
any longer. I would throw up if Julia was
she
again. ‘Is it worth carrying on?’

‘No. If he’d done it by himself, it would be a shallow grave, a little dip in the earth, effectively. He would have done it quickly.’ Annie lay on her back on the ridge of earth. Her head sank a little way into the soil but she did not seem to care. ‘Should I be relieved? Now it goes on. At least if we’d found it and had to tell the police, it would be too late for them to get Owen. But there isn’t anything. That’s good. Yes, it’s a good thing.’

‘It doesn’t have to be under the shed. It could be under the vegetables.’ I looked around. I remembered Owen’s letter and how he had suggested that Julia had taken her own body away with her. There was a whole city here, of sheds and little roads, of human design and natural life. Julia could be living in any part of it.

‘No, no,’ said John. ‘This would be the best place. If it’s not here, it’s not anywhere. We’ve been going for more than an hour.’

‘I was sure,’ Annie murmured. You two convinced me of it. I don’t know if I can trust you both any more. I feel as if I’ve just pulled my insides out and buried them in this hole for nothing.’ There was no anger in her voice. She sounded surprised, and tired.

We lingered a little longer. John stood and began to shovel earth back into the hole. Black clumps tore apart and luminescent worms wriggled out.

Annie patted John’s arm.

‘Don’t worry about the mess. We can leave it. I’ll just tell the council it was me and I’d gone a little mad, or something. I’m his sister. It’ll be fine.’

We laid the tools on the ground and moved away, past neat rows of vegetables, sheds with gingham curtains, glinting greenhouses. Though we had failed in our task, the air between the three of us was peaceful. I looked back at the mark we had made, a sharp, raw gash in the earth.

John waved a hand in front of my face. We tried, Isabel, but we were wrong. We need to stop looking now. I think it’s time to let Owen rest. He didn’t do it.’

‘We don’t know that yet. I can’t give up until I’m sure.’

‘I don’t want to do this any more, Isabel. Owen was my friend. I want to think well of him. Let me tell you something. When I came out of prison, Owen met me on the Isle of Wight. He came all the way down from Yorkshire to meet me and we went to the beach together to set off fireworks. It was his idea. He turned up with a plastic bag full of rockets and we watched them shoot up and explode, one by one, into the night. I can’t explain to you the sense of hope he brought me that day. I was terrified but he made me feel okay. That’s the kind of friend he was, but I had forgotten about it until a moment ago because of your relentless obsession with murder. What I want to do now is go to the pub and have a pint, drink to the good times we had and the jokes we shared. I want to look at the sky and remember the rockets flaring and falling. I want to say, “Goodbye, Owen, old mate” – that’s why I got on the bus this morning – and I haven’t had the chance yet.’

‘You’ve been happy enough to go along with everything so far. Why have you been following me all day? I didn’t ask you to.’

‘I find you very attractive. Sorry. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Oh.’ I had no answer. This had nothing to do with my plans. I was only disappointed that, apparently, John had not been serious about finding Julia.

‘Yeah.’ Annie dusted soil from her skirt, pulled off a boot and shook out dirt and a couple of stones. ‘I’m tired. What a long and weird day it’s been. And how much weirder it would have been if I’d gone to the crematorium and seen all that as well. Maybe this was therapeutic but I’m not sure how it’ll feel when the numbness wears off. I’m ready for the pub. Let’s go up the road to the Crown.’

‘All right.’ John’s words had touched me. I was almost crying and I could not argue with him now. ‘Do you two mind if I have a moment here, by myself? I just want to try and remember Owen a bit. In the church it was hard to concentrate. I’ll follow you soon.’

I stepped into the nearest allotment, knelt down, reached for a lump of soil and crumbled it between my fingers. It was hard on one side, soft on the other. Julia was not here. I knew now that we could not have found her body for I had given up believing that she had ever had one. I took more of the wet soil in my hands. John was right. It smelled clean. I let it run around and through my fingers like water. I rubbed it over my face. I shut my eyes for a moment and found myself back in Istanbul. I could see the domes and minarets, the Galata Bridge crossing the Golden Horn. I saw the fishermen in their woollen hats, the mussel-sellers on the corner at the end of the bridge. Mete was weaving slowly between them and I was following close behind. Why was there a gap between us? Why could I not remember how Mete and I had ever found each other in the first place? I wanted to remember. We were in Izmir. Mete was in his air-force uniform, in a café with his friends, and I was there too. That was as far as I could get. I opened and shut my eyes again. I was on a wet allotment with dirt all over me. This was real. Istanbul was better in every way, but this was my home and I had to be here. I still needed to know what had happened to Julia, whether or not she had left her body behind. For Kath, the disappeared Julia had been a spirit in the air who could be drawn back to us with music and scent. For me she was a lump in the guts, hard and knotted. The lump was poisoning me. It wasn’t Julia’s fault but the poison had been leaking out for years. I could not return to Istanbul, could not be a mother to Elif until the lump was cut out and the poison drained away. I staggered to my feet. I couldn’t find my balance and I had to stand still for a moment. I felt the ground under my feet sway a little. Then I moved on.

I still believed that I had been right when I first arrived and that I would find the answer at the reservoir. Divers had searched the water but they might have missed something. I wanted to retrace Julia’s steps. I have sometimes imagined that Julia and I had taken each other’s paper rounds that day, that we said, ‘See you back at the shop,’ then Julia took the route through the housing estate and I went down to the cottages by the reservoir. If Owen had been the killer, he would have followed Julia along the other route and perhaps nothing would be different. But if the killer had been a random stranger, then it is likely that I would have been the victim. I like to tell myself that, when faced with danger, perhaps I would have reacted quickly and been able to save myself. This is a fantasy. I know that Julia was stronger and smarter than I and, if she could not survive her attacker, I would not have stood a chance. If I had been in Julia’s place that day, I would be in her place now. So I had to find her. The others could drink without me.

It was not so dark on the road to the reservoir. Streetlights cast a thick, yellow haze and the windows of the cottages were bright, but now the sky itself appeared to be lightening, as if the day were slipping back from evening to afternoon. I could feel the sun’s glow, from low in the sky. My legs carried me past the row of cottages, and then towards the spot where Julia’s newspaper-bag was found. A car engine hummed close behind me. I had not noticed it before. I glanced over my shoulder. It seemed to be about to park, or the driver was pulling up to speak to me. I ignored it but the sound came right up close behind my legs. I turned again. The driver reached across the passenger seat and rapped white knuckles on the window. For some reason I expected to see John at the wheel – he had a strange ability to appear from nowhere at any moment – but the figure was smaller, quicker, and not at all familiar. I jumped back on the pavement, pressed into the hedge. The car passed under the beam of a streetlight. It was light blue. I screamed.

I ran through a gap in the hedge, along a passage and out onto a pavement. Cars passed in both directions but the blue one wasn’t there. It was a main road and was familiar to me, but I couldn’t think where I was. I walked towards the brightest light I could see. It was vast, glittering and appeared to be swinging slowly from side to side. I blinked and squinted, then sneezed. People pushed past me with heavy loads in their arms. I was standing before the automatic doors of CostRight, the new supermarket.

The doors opened and closed as customers emerged with bags and boxes. I stepped back, confused. A large white sign with black letters was taped to the window just beside my head. It said,
Vacancies, part-time and full-time checkout positions, application forms within
–
M. McCreadie, Store Manager.

The sign moved in and out with the doors but I kept my eyes on the words.
Vacancies.
I stepped inside the store. The aisle ahead of me was a bright corridor of shoppers and signs with enormous red and black letters. No one looked at me so I continued. I pushed past trolleys and baskets to get to the nearest till. I joined the short queue and waited my turn. The girl behind the checkout whizzed products over the scanner in graceful, sweeping movements as though moving a shuttle back and forth on a loom. When I reached the front of the queue she greeted me with a crescent-moon smile and ‘Hiya’.

‘I’d like to speak to Mr McCreadie, please, if he’s here.’

‘Can I ask what it’s regarding?’ The girl spoke in a high-pitched sing-song voice, as though this was the only line she ever delivered.

‘It’s about— No, you can’t. It’s personal.’

She shifted a heap of white carrier-bags, pressed a bell under the till. I tapped my foot as we waited. It was crucial that I saw Mr McCreadie immediately. I’m not sure why I thought I wanted him, perhaps to punch him in the face as I once should have done.

‘Hello?’

A young, gangly man stood before me with greasy black hair and a gummy smile. ‘Hello?’ I said back.

‘Did you want to see me about something? Something personal?’

‘Oh, I see.’ I saw his name badge:
Mike McCreadie.
He was the son. Of course, the old Mr McCreadie would have retired years ago.

He continued to smile at me, bemused. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

Yes, there was something I wanted. What was it? I blinked under the striplights, moved back and then forward to avoid customers passing with trolleys and toddlers. But what
was
it? I looked at the shelves stacked high with shiny packets of biscuits in different colours, the big signs above pointing to offers and bargains. I wanted to stay here a little longer. I had worked here once, not this exact building, but this place. I wanted to come back.

‘I’d – I’d like an application form, please. I want to apply for a job here.’

Surprise popped up in his eyes but he blinked it away and gave a vigorous nod. ‘Of course. I’ll get you one now. Do you have any previous retail experience?’

‘I do, as it happens. I have spent much of my life behind shop counters. It seems to have become my vocation.’

‘We don’t have any senior positions going. You’d be doing something like shelf-stacking or working on the tills. Does that meet with your expectations?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

I chatted to the girl at the till as Mr McCreadie went to find me a form. Piped music snaked pleasantly around our voices.

‘It’s bright in here. Those lights. I’d forgotten how hot it gets when you’re right under them. It’s making me see spots.’ I put my fingers out and looked at them with one eye shut, then the other.

‘You get used to it.’

‘And the music as well, I suppose. I don’t recognize that tune. It’s very cheerful. What is it?’

‘Not sure I know. It’s one of the ones we have every day, not too fast and not too slow. I don’t tend to think about what the tunes are. I s’pose you’re not really meant to.’

‘I’ve never used bar codes before.’

‘It’s dead easy,’ she said to me. The name badge on her beige overall spelled
Amy.
‘You’ll pick it up. We just scan stuff in and that’s all there is to it. You’ll be fine. Everyone’s really friendly. If you like I’ll take you up to the staff room and introduce you. I’m clocking off in five minutes.’

‘Thank you. That’s very kind. I’d love to.’ Then I remembered that it was dark outside and I had things to do. I wanted to see the staff room, hear the language again and belong – I knew I would – but I was not quite ready yet. ‘Perhaps I could do that tomorrow. I need to sort a few things out this evening.’

Young Mr McCreadie returned, handed me the form and I filled it in. I put Doreen Fatebene and Sheila Carr as my referees because I knew their addresses. Under previous retail experience I detailed my shop work in Istanbul. Beneath that I wrote that I had worked at the old McCreadie’s. Something about writing in small boxes next to typed prompts gave me an enthusiasm for unadorned honesty. Where it said
Reason for Leaving,
I wrote: ‘I burned the building down’.

I sucked the end of the pen and showed the form to the young Mr McCreadie. He was looking at my hands.

‘Should that be “burned” or “burnt”? I’m never sure. Well, I’ll leave it as it is. I used to work on the tills, you know. I’d like to do that again, if possible. I don’t think I can remember all the prices now but I suppose that doesn’t matter, what with the bar codes—’

I noticed that my coat was smeared with dirt and that there was mud under my nails. I felt fresh, as if I had just taken a blast in a cold shower, but I did not look so clean. Mr McCreadie blinked, lifted his eyes to my face. ‘Don’t worry about that. We’re looking for people to start immediately so I’ll contact your referees and get back to you within the next day or so, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Lovely. I look forward to seeing you again, Mr McCreadie. And, by the way, how
is
your father?’