The Missing Person's Guide to Love (23 page)

‘He’s fine. Thank you very much for asking, um, Isabel. Obviously he’s getting frail, though, the age he’s at now. He’s as alert as ever but his eyesight and hearing are very weak.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

And so I planted the application form in Mr McCreadie’s hand and stepped into the street. I could have a job at CostRight within days, if I wanted it.

John found me looking into the window of an estate agent’s. I saw his reflection over my left shoulder but didn’t turn.

‘Can you afford one?’

‘Hello again,’ I said, to the eyes of his reflection. ‘How are you? This is nice. It’s like talking to the hairdresser. Not really. I probably could if I wanted to.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘It would be an idea, in the short term. I’m not making much progress today, but if I lived here longer, I could probably do it. Some of these are to rent. I’m not so keen on the dark little terraced houses in town but a flat on the hill with a view of the reservoir might be pleasant. Where’s Annie?’

‘Gone home. She had a vodka and tonic, then started falling all over the place. I think she had a bit too much brandy. She needs to get a good night’s sleep.’

‘Poor Annie. I’m glad we met her. I like her.’

‘Me too. You really plan to move back here? What about your Turkish family?’

‘Oh. Well, they can join me in a little while. It’s not impossible. I can work something out if I decide to do it. I think it will be better for all three of us if I can sort out these things – these Owen and Julia things – now, however hard it may be. There’s no point in getting worked up about details at this stage. We don’t have to live in Turkey for ever.’

‘It’s what you want, isn’t it? To come home again and belong. I could tell, as soon as I met you this morning. Finding out what happened to Julia was only one part of it.’

‘I didn’t want it then, John. I needed the day to come round to the idea. With your help, I’ve been able to understand some things better.’

‘Glad I could be of assistance to you. I’ll give you my address in case you ever want to get in touch.’

‘When are you leaving?’

‘About now. There’s a bus in half an hour.’

I wasn’t prepared for this. I wanted John to stay too. It would be lonely on my own. ‘I’ll miss you, John. I suppose I’ll have to get used to it. Well, there’s Annie, of course. She talked about moving into Owen’s old flat.’

‘Annie won’t stay. Not when she’s spent a few more days in the village with all her relatives. She’ll wake up one morning soon and know that it’s time not to be here.’

‘But I can’t stay here without either of you.’

‘Of course you can, if you want to. Isabel, I’ve got to get going soon, find the bus station.’

‘It’s round the back of the market-place. You’ll see signs.’

Just half an hour ago, my plan was brilliant. Now it was fading and my limbs were cold from the skin through to the bone. Without John and Annie, it would be no fun to live here, and what if I never found out what happened to Julia? I could live here until I died and not know.

John kissed me. It was a peck on the cheek but he let his face rest against mine. I put my arms around him and placed my fingertips on his shoulder-blades.

‘That’s nice,’ he said, and cradled my elbows in his hands. We swung slightly, from side to side.

‘Who was it you planned to murder, John?’

‘No one you knew.’ He spoke right into my ear, calmly, as though he had expected the question. ‘Someone in London. Years and years ago.’

‘What for? For love? For money?’

‘Uh. Money. Sort of. I saw the opportunity and took it. I’m not proud, Isabel, of who I was. I wouldn’t do it now. Does that make you feel better?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s a pity.’

We kissed. When our lips touched, I wanted to giggle. John put his fingers on the nape of my neck. I moved closer and stopped laughing. He smelled of dirt.

‘John.’ I brushed strands of hair from my eyes. ‘I hope you have a safe journey back to Leeds. If you want to come and visit me here in the future, you’ll be very welcome. Once I find somewhere to live and all that stuff It was nice meeting you.’

‘Let me walk you back to your hotel, at least.’

A man rode past us on a bicycle, swerving one way and then the other, sending drunken curses into the dark. I glanced into the estate agent’s window again, saw our silhouettes, like two mountain peaks, over the pictures of houses.

‘If it’s no trouble.’

I held open the door to room nine. John slipped through. We did not turn on the light but I left a small gap between the curtains. A splinter of moonlight cut across the floor and bedspread.

We kissed again and perched on the edge of the bed. As John’s fingers slid under the waistband of my skirt, the bed on the other side of the flimsy wall let out a long and horrible creak. We took no notice at first but then it began to knock against the wall, a repetitious jolting that shook the floor. It was rhythmic, first slow and then faster, but there was no human sound, no groan or sigh, just a banging headboard and squeaking springs. John and I stopped kissing and slid together to the carpet. I put my head in my hands.

‘Fucking hell,’ said John.

‘Jesus Christ.’

We waited for several minutes but it did not stop. With our backs against the bed, we rocked with it, somehow too overwhelmed or too caught up in the rhythm to move away to the other side of the room.

‘It’s making my head hurt.’

‘Let’s not do this,’ I said. I was listening to the bedsprings, thinking of Mete, and I wanted to cry.

Footsteps passed on the landing. A key went into a door on the other side of the landing. A woman laughed.

‘Yeah.’ John kissed the top of my head. ‘You’re probably right. Let’s not.’ He pushed hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. ‘I must get the next bus.’

‘Yeah.’

I padded downstairs with him. In the porch I pecked his cheek and squeezed his hands.

‘You should have a hot bath, Isabel, get an early night and sleep off the horrors of today, if you can.’

‘No, I’m not going to sleep yet. I’m on my way out again now. The day isn’t over for me. I’ve got one more friend to see.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’John hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, deliberately melodramatic. ‘You’re not still pursuing this non-murder investigation, are you?’

‘I have to. I’m stuck with it, for now. ‘Bye, John.’

I blew him a kiss and began to walk away down the street. John remained in the guesthouse porch. I could see myself through his eyes, growing smaller and more distant in the dark, almost disappearing, but he came after me. His hand grabbed my shoulder. ‘Wait, Isabel.’

‘I’ve got to go, John. I can’t rest until I know the answer.’

‘I understand, but I think you’re wrong. What about Mete and Elif? What about them? Get some sleep now and in the morning go home to them. Forget everything else.’

‘Look, if you’re such an expert on my life, explain to me why Owen told his mother that I was dead.’

‘You were dead?’

‘She thought I was dead. Why would that be? Why would Owen say something like that?’

‘Maybe he thought you were. You never got in touch with him.’

‘No. It’s something else. I think it was Owen’s way of making me disappear for him, having convinced his mother that I’d led him astray and Julia’s death was my fault. It’s a sign of guilt. And there was blood on his clothes.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘You know, I really don’t think he bumped her off. We’ve looked at the logistics and it doesn’t work out. We’ve done everything we can and it just seems as though you got it wrong.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘I’ve got it.’

‘What?’

‘The reason they thought you were dead is that, as far as they were concerned, you were. You didn’t live here any more. This is the only place there is. When you leave this village you cease to be alive. You’re nobody unless you’re here.’

‘They think they’re the whole world?’

‘They are the whole world, to themselves.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘No wonder your aunt Maggie couldn’t stand it and went to open a bookshop in London. What sane person wouldn’t?’

‘So Maggie’s dead too, then?’

‘In a sense.’

‘In that case I don’t follow your reasoning. Hang on, did I tell you about Aunt Maggie opening a bookshop?’

‘Yeah. You said she runs a second-hand-book shop in Hounslow with a man named George.’

‘Oh. Well, I suppose I must have. I’ve spend too much time with you today. But I meant Richmond. She lives in Hounslow but the shop is in Richmond. That’s what I must have meant to say.’

‘If we’d had sex, you know, it would have been good, but I’m glad we didn’t.’

‘Maybe. Sorry if I made you do things you didn’t want to do today. I mean, the allotment and everything.’

‘Don’t worry about it. None of it matters to me. Gotta go, Isabel. Got to travel to the edge of the village, the city and beyond, to the big wide world and the horizon if I can get there, see if the earth is flat after all.’

‘Yeah.’ I punched his arm. ‘Hope it is and you fall off'

John laughed and winked. “Bye, and good luck, Isabel.’

‘’Bye.’

There was a moment where we were not sure whether to hug and kiss again or shake hands so we did none of them. John lifted a hand in a sort of salute, and I smiled with my arms folded. John sauntered along the dark street, gradually blending into the night until I could not see his edges at all. He was right. We had almost had sex but we had stopped in time. So far I had done nothing too dangerous, nothing that would stop me going back to Mete.

I ran John’s words through my mind. I might have mentioned Aunt Maggie to John, but I had not told him about the bookshop or George. And yet it did not surprise me that he knew. Fine raindrops began to fall.

I checked my phone. Another message.

She’s still here, playing with Elif. Can sleep on sofa – x

This made no sense. Who did he mean? I stared at the text until I could find an answer. Mete could only have meant Bernadette but she would not be playing with Elif. I would call him later to find out, but at the moment I did not feel like speaking to him.

John had left and the only friend I had now was Kath. Kath would help me decide what to do, if she was still here. She had been a better friend than Owen. Next to Julia she was pale, somehow watered-down, but when Julia had disappeared, Kath and had I become inseparable.

Kath was a good, kind person when I knew her, and I was sure she could not have changed. She would be in her parents’ house and probably had a husband and children, but she would not turn me away. The more I wanted to be with her, the more certain I became that she knew I was here and that she would want to see me too. John didn’t understand. Kath was at home and she was waiting for me, I was sure. I had Owen’s letter in my pocket. I’d show it to her and she would help me.

While this was going through my mind I found I had not walked to Kath’s house but had taken the side-street that led, of all places, to the house I grew up in. I was standing in front of my old house and looking at the for-sale sign in the garden, wondering how much it would cost me to buy. The walls blurred as I stared. It was smaller than I remembered it. The bay window and door were the same gloomy shade of green they always were. I think it was my father’s choice. There was nothing of my mother’s presence now, but I could almost see her on the doorstep, a plastic rainhood pulled down over her ears as she watered the hanging basket from a small metal watering-can. ‘The hanging bastard’, as my father had called it. It wasn’t there any more. My father was quite funny sometimes. I had forgotten that. My mother too, in her odd housecoats, putting on her best clothes when the vicar came for tea. I used to hide upstairs when he visited. He once told me that my mother was an extraordinary woman. I must have been young for I had never heard the word before, or perhaps it was the way he pronounced it. I had thought he meant ‘extra ordinary’, and I took offence. When my parents moved into the house it had a ghost, so my mother said, of an old man who had died there fifty-seven years before. A different vicar came round to perform an exorcism and the ghost left through the front door. When I was little, I sometimes held open the gate for him, in case he’d got trapped in the garden and was still haunting us.

Paving-stones now covered the scrap of lawn my father had been so proud of. I picked a stem of foliage from the narrow border left behind. I slipped away. I didn’t remember getting here. I was very tired. I tried to remember the route to Kath’s family home. I knew it was not far, but which way?

I texted Mete again.

Who is this friend?

I walked up and down the pavement until a reply came.

Leila of course.

This was impossible. As I had thought, it had to be Bernadette. He had heard me talk of Leila in the past and mixed up her name with Bernadette’s. Mete sometimes confuses words and names. Even when we are speaking English together we have to talk about Tuesday and Thursday in Turkish –
sail
and per?embe – because he can neither hear nor properly pronounce the difference in English. It has led to terrible arguments where I have wasted hours waiting for him on one day or the other. I once had friends in Izmir named Lucy and Louise. He called them both Lu-icy and hoped for the best. Those words sound similar, though. Bernadette and Leila are hardly easy to confuse. But he was tired and, after all, had only met Bernadette once before.

I read Mete’s texts again. I closed my eyes and opened them. I was in Istanbul, walking beside Mete. I closed and opened them again. I was nowhere. Then I was here, in the village. There was another cigarette in my hand. I was acting like the person I used to be, years ago. I flicked ash on the pavement as I clopped along the street in my pointy, muddy shoes.

I must know who is with Mete now. I pull on my shoes, button up the big coat, and tiptoe onto the landing and downstairs. It takes me a moment to unlock the back door and then it swings open. I shut it gently behind me and crouch on the back step. The rain has stopped. The sky is clear and the stars prickle my skin, as if spines are dropping from their rays. The cold stings my nose. We said we would only send texts: calls are too expensive. The phone rings and rings. He must be asleep. I wonder if this woman, my friend, is still there and whether she can hear the phone ringing and is wondering whether or not to wake him. Then I get his voicemail message. It is not even his own voice but some pre-recorded woman. I press ‘end call’.