The Missing Person's Guide to Love (28 page)

Maggie says this as though she believes I should have forgotten about Leila too.

‘Is that right? So it wouldn’t be the case that you introduced her by mistake and then had to deny her existence? Why would you do that?’

‘You’re right, I wouldn’t. Can’t we talk about this somewhere—’

‘You’d do it because I might realize who she was.’

‘I’ve told you, Isabel. I’d forgotten about Leila. I don’t know what you’re so upset about.’

‘You keep saying you’d forgotten her. That’s a great shame because, apparently, our imaginary friend is still going strong. Leila’s in Istanbul right now, as it happens, with Mete.’

‘Ah. That’s – uh. Really? Will she still be there when you get back? It’d be a shame if you missed her again. You two have so much in common. When you say Leila do you mean – the real one? The one you didn’t meet?’

‘I mean Leila. I have no idea what she’s even doing there. I’m guessing that she heard about Owen’s death and thought it was time to pay me a visit. But, no, Bernadette said she lives there.’

‘Quite.’

‘But I’d rather hang on here for another day and spend time with you, Maggie, than go there to find her. I haven’t seen you for years. Leila is not important to me but you are.’

‘Well, good. I’d like that. Sheila will be exhausted today. She’ll be in pieces so I don’t want to bother her yet. You and I could go off on our own for a chat. It’s a very fresh day. I think it’s going to be nice. We could have a walk on the hills, if you’d like to.’

Maggie looks up at the sky. Her thin face seems to broaden as a smile spreads across it.

‘Yes, let’s do that. You rescued me when I was younger and I’ll always have to be grateful for that.’

‘Oh, you shouldn’t be. It was my hobby to pick up the waifs and strays. I liked to help out young women who were lost. I saw myself as a sort of guide, a force for the good of the next generation. I tried to put into practice what I wrote about in my books.’

‘Always a happy ending for the girl, as you like to say. Bernadette, for example. I saw her the other week. She came to Istanbul, too.’

‘Oh, Bernadette. She was a funny one. What’s she doing now?’

Maggie has noticed Doreen at the window and is uncomfortable. She tries to pass me on the path but I will not let her.

‘Odd jobs. She’s getting her singing voice back.’

‘Is she? Good for her. Good for Bernadette. Back on her feet. I always knew she would.’

‘I discovered her real name for the first time when I saw her passport. It’s Chloë. Isn’t that strange? Bernadette doesn’t look or seem like a Chloë in any way. She could never be a Chloë to me. I suppose you knew her name before she changed it.’

‘I did. It doesn’t really suit her, I agree, but neither does Bernadette.’

‘Maggie, why the name Leila?’

‘That’s her name, Isabel.’ She is becoming exasperated. She tries to hide it but I know that rising tone in her voice, those wide eyes. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘What was wrong with Julia?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s Julia?’

‘You knew Julia. Don’t pretend you didn’t. She was my friend and you met her. I’ve seen a photograph of us all together.’

‘Possibly. I wouldn’t remember all your friends from the old days.’

‘She’s the one who disappeared. We thought she had been murdered. Even her parents thought that.’

‘Oh, that Julia. Of course. But that happened after I left the village. I don’t think I ever met the girl.’

‘If you say so. Leila’s with my husband now, and my child. What’s she doing?’

‘How would I—? I expect she wanted to visit you.’

‘Will she come here?’

‘I doubt that very much.’

‘No, because Leila is Julia and everyone thinks she’s dead.’

‘No, because your Leila doesn’t fucking well exist and the one I knew was not Julia. Oh, excuse my language but you’re really pushing this. You’ve been disturbed by Owen’s death. Can’t you see? You should have kept in touch with him back when you were in London, as I wanted you to. Then you might have had the strength to cope now.’

Maggie steps past me. I let her move towards the gate. I turn away from her, arms folded, and she returns with a drippy, sweet expression all over her face. I want to wipe it up with a cloth and shove it down her throat.

‘Isabel, I’m sorry. Why aren’t we getting along with each other, like we used to? In the old days, we were close. Can’t we go to a nice cafe and—’

‘What about her parents? How terrible for them to think of their daughter murdered.’

‘I’m not sure what you want from this conversation. Fine. You’re not going to understand me. If someone shows up on my doorstep needing help – and Leila did – then that’s all I care about. She didn’t tell me her age but she looked sixteen or more. I don’t know anything about Julia. You had so many friends at school. It’s not as if I could have got to know them all.’

‘You should have told the police.’

‘I don’t believe in the police. That young girl came to
me.
She was my responsibility. The police had nothing to do with it. And she wasn’t Julia.’

‘Whatever you say. I’m not going to hang around here. I just have to get my bag and that’s it.’

I go up to room nine. I look out of the window. Maggie is padding down the street, too fast to keep my eyes on. She seems to disappear before she even reaches the corner. I expect she’s on her way to Sheila’s house. I lie on the bed, as I did yesterday. I don’t believe a word she says. Now what do I do? I haven’t had much sleep. I’m sure Doreen won’t mind if I doze here for a little while.

My eyes open and I am on a sofa in a room that smells of rotten apple cores. Maggie is at the table, writing something. I wonder how she got here so quickly.

‘Maggie, you might like to remind me who I am.’

‘Well, you’re Isabel, sweetheart.’ She doesn’t look at me. I frown and rub my forehead.

‘Isabel’s dead,’ I say. ‘I remembered when I was at the reservoir. Isabel drowned herself there after her release. The memories I have from after that time aren’t mine. I saw them when I looked into the water and they didn’t belong to me.’

‘If you’re anyone, you’re me. You’re Maggie. You’re both of us.’

And that is exactly how it feels. Her answer does not surprise

me.

‘But why?’

‘Leila. Julia. You had a bad time because of her and I never had the courage to tell you the truth. Shall I tell you now?’

‘Yes, please. I mean, yes, tell me.’

‘You know her life at home was unhappy. She had to take care of herself, bring herself up and, in a way, bring her parents up too because they weren’t responsible adults. She had some idea of running away from it all with the soldier. When his letters stopped coming, and she understood that it was a fantasy, she started to call me. It was every week at first, and then every night. She used to cry and cry, begging for my help. So I drove up from London and took her away.’

‘You should have called the police.’

‘I was going to, just as soon as she was safe with me, but she pleaded with me not to tell anyone. She made threats and I was frightened for her.’

‘You shouldn’t have taken any notice. Why didn’t you call her parents? It was criminal to let people believe that she was dead.’

‘She told me she would phone her parents herself. I sat there and watched as she dialled the number. She chatted to them for a while, or so I thought, and put the phone down. She told me that they didn’t want her back and had said that she could stay with me. I didn’t realize how devious she was, though. It was just the Speaking Clock, or something like it.’

‘You believed her? You didn’t insist on talking to them yourself? Oh, come on.’

‘I thought I’d leave it until she was stronger. She was very distressed for a while and my only intention was to see that she became well. By the time I found out the truth – Sheila mentioned in a Christmas-card letter that Julia had never been found – Leila was sixteen and was used to her new life and new name, so I didn’t think it was my business to go to the police. I wanted her to be happy, that’s all. I wanted her to have some of the adventures I’d had when I was young. I sent her off to New York, then Turkey, where I had been. She met her lover there and, years later, had the baby girl. The one you know. Emel, her name is. It worked out well for her. But you came out of prison just after she left my house.’

‘It wasn’t prison, actually.’

‘The point was, you still thought Julia was dead and that somehow it was all your fault. I should have told you the truth. I didn’t know you were going to come back here and wait for her to be found.’

‘I remember.’

I had arrived back in the village to discover strangers living in my home. The neighbours wouldn’t tell me where my parents were. And so I went to the reservoir and did what I thought they wanted, with a bottle of bleach.

‘I wanted you – Isabel – to have a happy ending. It’s my fault that you died and I wanted to right the wrong. That’s what I do for the women I write about, to show them that I’m on their side.’

‘All right. I’m not sure that this justifies—’

‘I gave Julia’s – or Leila’s – life to you. It’s what you might have done, had Julia never gone missing and had you not died. I thought that Julia could just stay missing. I didn’t think I had to kill her just because you’d come back to life. But she kept creeping in and taking the life right back again. You and Julia can’t both win. It was my belief that you could, and now that has gone, so there’s no point in writing it any more. There’s no point in my old stories where everything works out.’

She drops her head into her hands and curses under her breath.

‘You’re too full of your own importance.’ I force a laugh. ‘John said that this place is known as Eva Carter country. I nearly choked, Maggie, when I heard it. What a laugh. As if anyone ever called it that. Only a handful of people have even heard of you.’

‘That’s harsh, Isabel. There’s no need to be mean. This place is my terrain and I understand it well. That’s why I had to help Julia get out. Her parents would have destroyed her, and no one would have noticed.
You
never noticed what they were doing to her, did you?’

‘I guess you’ll walk out of here now and we won’t see each other again. I’ll go down to the water and get on with it.’

‘Shall I take the flowers away?’

‘No. I want them. Leave them there. It’s the least you can

do.’

We hug. When Maggie has gone, I walk out to the garden. I look behind me and the house is no longer the Lake View guesthouse but my old house and there is a for-sale sign in the garden. I set off for the water because I have no choice. Julia has won.

Tomorrow she would knock on Sheila’s door and tell her the truth about Julia. Isabel had gone and now Owen. There was just Julia. The two girls had smiled from the photograph as if they knew the riddle they would become, as if they had made a pact and planned for this moment to last and to tease. But the question was simple. If two young girls set off on their paper rounds at the same time on the same day and one of them disappeared without a trace, then what could have happened to the other?

There was a message on Maggie’s phone. If the message was from Julia, she didn’t want it. She did not plan to contact Julia again. If Maggie was partly responsible for Isabel’s suicide, Julia was too. She read the message.

Let me know when you’ll be back.
I’ll meet you at the station.
Love you – G

Maggie set out into the hills. She’d like to read George’s words again without this town and its buildings and its people all gathered around her. She’d like to read them with wet grass under her feet and the sting of the wind on her ears. She followed the road out of the village and picked up a stick to tap against the dry-stone wall as she strolled. After half an hour or so, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that the houses were losing their height and shape. They looked, she thought, like elderly people whose strength had diminished along with their bodies, and now they were small and harmless. Maggie decided that she did not need to see Sheila tomorrow or ever. After her walk she would drive to the station, take the train southwards, back to George. It would be better to leave the village and the moors behind.

She clambered up the hill, stumbling over bumps and stones, quickening her pace as she climbed higher. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes. On the summit she bent forward to catch her breath. The landscape revolved, a blur of stone wall, gate, sheep, stile, gorse bush. She did not feel right. Perhaps it was the terrible memory of walking here once with Isabel, Bess and Julia. Cold fingers of wind tightened around her neck and wrists.

And now I lead my aunt Maggie to the grassy spot from which she can see the whole village. There it is, the long green pool. My place. But she doesn’t want to know and she turns her head away. I have to make her see that it is still my story. She is going to forget.

The wind fell. Maggie smiled and shook herself free. She narrowed her eyes to take in the view of the village and beyond. The dead girl might win after all. She might win.

Praise for S
USANNA
J
ONES

The Missing Person’s Guide to Love

‘Jones is a mistress of unexplained menace and keeps you guessing right to the end’
Mail on Sunday

‘Anyone familiar with Jones’s two previous books will know that, in her deliriously disorientating fictional worlds, nothing is ever quite as it seems . . . Jones is a mistress of disguise, not just in her characterisation and plotting, but in her blurring of the divisions between right and wrong. Hers isn’t quite the deliberate amorality of Patricia Highsmith, but she similarly denies us any easy options when it comes to taking sides for or against her protagonists. With Isabel, Jones has fashioned her most complex, involving heroine yet and by far her most audacious sleight of hand in terms of a storyteller. To call it a twist would be to devalue what is really a hidden undercurrent of the whole narrative; nevertheless the revelation, when it comes, is breathtaking’ Martyn Bedford,
Literary Review