Untouchable Things Page 25

  Anna’s flat was trendy with an unlived-in feel. She’d bought it last year, predicting that house prices would boom. She was already vindicated on that front – but not on what she’d done to it. Cream sofa, blinding white walls and precarious black candlesticks. Absurdly large TV and non-functional kitchen. Not a single personal touch he could see. People perched nervously on the sofa or sat on the laminate floor while Anna weaved her way round with a wine bottle, looking perhaps the most out of place of all. The ‘minimalist’ look had a lot to answer for. José had tried to make suggestions to her, small changes that would transform the room, but she said she was never in so what did it matter? Chicken and egg, he said, and if she made her living space more welcoming she might want to spend more time there. But Anna had always stopped listening by then.

  She coughed for silence. “Well, I guess we all know why we’re here. And I take it no one’s heard from Seth?”

  No one had. Michael rearranged his position on the sofa abruptly. He could never sit still. “I was supposed to meet him on Wednesday. He didn’t show up.”

  “Where were you meeting him?”

  “South Bank. An exhibition and a drink was the idea. No message, nothing.”

  Anna frowned. “You should have said. He could have been missing for a few days then.”

  “Or he could just be an inconsiderate arsehole.” His voice bit with venom.

  Anna looked at José. “We thought we should meet to decide what to do. I for one am getting worried.”

  Jake swilled the wine round his glass. “Isn’t it possible that he’s taken off for a few days and didn’t bother to tell anyone?”

  “I guess. But it seems out of character. And what if something’s happened to him?”

  “We’d have heard.”

  “Would we?” Anna raised her eyebrows. “Why would anyone have contacted us? We’re not his family.”

  José frowned. “Actually, do we even know if he’s in touch with any of his family?” Everyone looked at Charles. There were glimmers of sweat on his forehead and he was pale despite the temperature.

  “I don’t think so. I never heard him mention anyone. The only person he ever talked about was his old nanny. Lucilla.”

  “Surname?”

  Charles shook his head. “I got the feeling she brought him up to a large extent. I think his parents were away a lot. Anna, could you open the window?”

  Next to him Catherine stirred as though she was going to say something but was still again. Anna wrestled with the window as Charles stroked his beard.

  “And – well, he’s done this before.”

  “How do you open this bloody thing? What?” Anna froze at the window as she took in his words. Charles shrunk back as if under attack.

  “I didn’t know whether to say anything at first. Didn’t want to be… disloyal.”

  Jake forced the window up as Anna sat down. “So he’s disappeared before? How long for? What happened?”

  “At university. In the second year. He went AWOL shortly before exams. Came back a week later in time for his first paper. Got a first, of course.”

  José struggled through the jargon. “And when he came back – did he say anything?”

  Charles opened his hands. “No – he was on blistering form, you know how he gets. Just said he’d needed some time out. He sailed through the exams and then I hardly saw him in May Week – he was drunk most of the time.”

  There was a short pause.

  “Seth gets black moods, doesn’t he?”

  The quiet question from Rebecca pierced the room. Charles was still for a second before meeting her gaze.

  “He’s never really talked about it to me.” He seemed reluctant to say more.

  “And did he ever disappear again? What about after university?”

  “Not to my knowledge. We – um – lost touch for a while.” He coughed.

  Anna frowned. “How long for?”

  “Oh – seven years or so. Seth saw an article about me in an architecture magazine and got back in touch.”

  Seven years? There was another pause as they took in this unexpected information. José was full of questions but this was not the time. They had to stay focussed. Anna looked round.

  “So what do we do now?”

  The room was silent.

  Scene 2

  When Seth had been missing for two days, Charles went to their tutor. Seth would hate that but he didn’t know what else to do. With other people you’d ring their parents. In this case he felt like the parent.

  “So you have no idea where he could have gone?” Dr Hodgkins looked over his glasses, as every academic must.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Is it possible he’s just staying somewhere else to concentrate on revision?”

  Hardly. “Um – I suppose it’s possible.”

  The tutor scribbled something in his notebook with a gold fountain pen. “I’ll speak to his Director of Studies, find out if he’s been turning up to tutorials. Of course I’ll let you know if I hear anything. It’s Charles, isn’t it? I’d advise you not to worry. Tell him to come and see me when he gets back.”

  Charles rose from the chair more weighted with worry than when he’d gone in.

  By day six he was falling behind with his work, unable to plan essays about The Visionary Artistry of Christopher Wren when he kept seeing his friend drunk in a gutter somewhere. That night when he’d picked him up from Ely – that phone conversation – Seth had sounded terrified. Was he in trouble? God, he sounded like his own parents. There was just so much he didn’t know about him. And despite Seth’s swagger, Charles had an instinct to walk beside him, protect him. He hardly fitted the mould of poor little orphan boy but he had still lost his parents.

  The odd couple. That’s what they were, really, he and Seth. He was Seth’s foil, the straight guy, the gravity pulling him back after each adventure, each mishap. And from his side… he lived some of the adventure vicariously, had his blinkers ripped off and saw how different life could be. What people didn’t always see was that Seth could be a wonderful friend, supportive – when he chose to be – and one of the most generous people he’d ever met, always the one to put his card down at the bar and just last week he’d surprised Charles by buying him a scarf. A rather nice one. That was it, he’d surprise you, keep you on your toes. But this surprise disappearance was starting to feel like one guessing game too far.

  Charles meandered slowly from the library along the Backs, his heartbeat and footstep speeding up just a little when he saw the ivory stone of John’s. There was always the chance, however small, that Seth was sitting in the armchair having a cigarette and afternoon whisky. Hope made his feet quicken up the wooden stairs to their suite. The door was ajar and he heard a loud voice and a gentle, familiar-sounding female laugh. Two beaming faces turned to him as he entered: Seth’s and Sarah’s. His sister. He stopped on the threshold, speechless.

  “Charlie boy, it’s good to see you. I’ve just been making a delightful new acquaintance.”

  “Hello, Chas.” Sarah came over and kissed him on the cheek. “I was just passing and thought I’d see if you were in.”

  “Right. Gosh.” He had no idea whom to address first.

  “I just offered your sister a whisky but she’s going for the traditional tea option. You couldn’t knock the kettle on, could you?”

  “Yes, sure. Sorry, Sarah, do sit down.” He moved stupidly towards the kettle.

  “Are you okay? You don’t mind me popping round, do you?”

  “Of course not. Sorry – I haven’t seen Seth for a few days and I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  Seth poured a measure of whisky into a glass. “Yes, sorry about that, old chap. I had some business to take care of in London.”

  “Oh, I love London, don’t you?”

  Charles busied himself with the tea as Seth and Sarah chatted like old friends.

  So what had Mr Gardner been doing in London?

&
nbsp; Um, I never found out. He was evasive at the time, and then, well, something else started to bother me.

  Oh?

  It’s nothing, really.

  Just that Sarah started popping round more and more. And never seemed to stay unless Seth was there. She was giggly around him, the way all girls seemed to be, and even accepted the odd glass of whisky. Sarah didn’t drink: too many calories. Seth in turn talked about his ‘charming’ sister, which sent Charles’ heckles rising.

  You didn’t like them becoming closer?

  Seth was a good friend but when it came to ladies he had a certain… reputation. The Wolf in Chic Clothing was one nickname, if I recall. I didn’t want Sarah to get drawn in. So I spoke to Seth.

  He tried not to betray Sarah’s confidence but it was impossible to avoid telling Seth something about her history. Seth made the whole thing as uncomfortable as possible, teasing him about Sir Lancelot defending his lady against the villainous Black Knight. But he did seem to tone down the flirtation after that, even making excuses to leave when Sarah popped round. As Sarah stared after him, Charles let little things slip about Seth’s womanising. He never quite knew what happened, except that Sarah got thin and grey again and stopped coming round. She often lost weight around exam time and Charles put it down to that. But he did wonder. Years later, when Seth got back in touch with him in London, Sarah made it clear that she didn’t want to be around when Seth was there. It made things difficult.

  Is your sister still in contact with Mr Gardner?

  No. To be honest she doesn’t even like me mentioning his name.

  All the same we think it might be useful to talk to her.

  No! I mean, sorry, I’m not sure what it will achieve. I can tell you everything you need to know.

  Scene 3

  Miss Jarret, on the day Mr Gardner disappeared you claim that you used your spare key to lock up his flat immediately after the others had left.

  That’s right. Well, maybe not immediately but not long afterwards.

  Did you use the key again in the days that followed without telling the others?

  No. That wouldn’t have felt right at all.

  Catherine’s heart provides the drumroll, the sense of occasion, reminds her of the risk. She’s like a tightrope walker about to do a backflip while the crowd gaze up from below. Perhaps seasoned criminals learn to switch the drumroll off or at least ignore it, remind themselves that no one else can hear it.

  She freezes at every sound on the stairs like a ham actor, turns the key in the lock as if the cops are after her. She drops her alibi immediately, a scatter of books and papers covered in dense black dots that skate across the wooden floor. The drumroll is louder, distracting her, making her vibrate to its rhythm. Start with the dining room, place the alibi on the music stand, push the stool back, open the lid. Not today, precious. Wander across the room with a frown as if undertaking a barracks inspection. Everything in order? What is she supposed to be looking for, anyway?

  She’s only here because she doesn’t know what else to do. If he’s been driven away by his feelings for her she needs to be the one to find the clue that can bring him back.

  Move slowly into the hall, take the first right turn into the study. Colonel Mustard with a candlestick in the study? She shakes her head to dislodge the running commentary. It’s Seth’s private space, the desk where he sits to do – what? Sift the papers, mark them with smears of sweat. Fingerprints. Bills, bank statements scattergunned with zeros, old newspapers, a couple of CDs. The invitation to the Secrets group, invested with a new significance. A laptop computer lying quietly. Do the ham actor bit again, look right and left before opening the lid and pressing the button. The computer purring happily, look what I’ve got to show you, just give me a few minutes to open my programmes – you’re not in a hurry, are you? Sit down because your legs don’t feel safe. Wipe your palms on your skirt. The computer telling you something now: I just need a password and we can get started. Sorry, I’m sure I can trust you but you can’t be too careful these days. Nope, not even close, I’m afraid. Can we get this bit over with so I can stop winking at you like a retard?

  The bang of the door downstairs throws her up from her chair like an explosion. She hits the keys, but can’t find how to finish and shut the whole thing down. Please stop banging my buttons. It’s not going to get us anywhere. Slow, heavy feet climb the stairs. Fee fi fo fum. Slam down the lid, make a break for the hallway, head for the alibi. Fee fi fo fum. Slow, heavy, slow, heavy. Wait for the rattle of a key in the lock. Perch on the stool, flip open a book of Chopin Preludes. Slow, heavy, slow, heavy.

  Pause…

  Sink onto the floor as the feet continue up to the next floor. Act the kind of relief that looks like despair.

  After a minute, which is quite a long time in that position, she gets to her feet. She’s had enough, isn’t cut out for this type of thing. She needs to deal with the computer, shut it down properly so that Seth doesn’t suspect when he comes back. Back into the study, open the lid…

  Ah, it’s you again. I’m still waiting for a password. No hammering this time, please. Oh dear, now you’ve frozen me by hitting all my keys at once. Let me think… No, NO, not that, please, we can work something out, NOOOOOOO…

  She jams a pencil into the side of the machine and hears it choke into silence.

  Back through the rest of the house, wipe away the traces. Then into the silence a foghorn blast, rising up through her feet like an electric shock and filling the house.

  Her feet are rooted but she is not still. Even the tip of her nose trembles.

  The noise assaults her again and she curls herself into a ball on the floor. Seth’s entryphone. Someone wants to come in.

  She stays like this, a stowaway child, until she can slowly unfurl her limbs. Crawl to the front window in Seth’s room. Peer over the windowsill. Slowly straighten up, look down. Just an empty path and in front of it an empty pavement. Whoever wanted to come in has gone.

  She bats the duvet automatically as she walks back past the bed. Then she sees it. A long, spiralling ginger hair on Seth’s pillow.

  Scene 4

  No, I didn’t have keys to his flat at this point. I did try his buzzer a couple of times, I think.

  The telephone box was the biggest stroke of luck. Best placed phone box in London. And, given its location, probably the best maintained. No graffiti or sharp smell of piss here.

  Jake holds a silent receiver to his ear and watches through smeared glass as Catherine looks around her, locks the front door and lady-runs down the street, catching the heel of her shoe once on the kerb.

  Scene 5

  Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, I started working again.

  Irony of ironies, the gamble pays off and Rebecca gets the part – Estelle in Sartre’s No Exit. She has moved mountains, risked her career to stay in London and he has gone. Now she will be spending hours a day in a claustrophobic group situation from which there is no escape. Something out there is fucking with her.

  But it’s a new dawn, a post-election haze of smugness, a smog of twenty-somethings gathered in street corner cafes chattering about Tony Blair and Britpop. Things can only get better. They’re right there.

  We met back at the flat. Seth’s flat, that is.

  One week PD, post-disappearance, as Anna had started referring to it. Even though he isn’t there it’s better than being somewhere else. They tell themselves he wouldn’t mind.

  Anna in charge again. “I think we should report him missing to the police.”

  No one raises any objections, not even Jake.

  “Okay, I’ll do that in the morning.” She makes a note in her book and looks down at the next point. Point 2: Seth’s missing, Point 3: Seth’s missing, Point 4… Rebecca knows that she must speak up.

  “The last time I saw Seth – he didn’t seem himself.”

  Everyone turns to stare. Anna points her pen like a dart. “Go on.”

  “He looked shaken
up. Almost like he’d been crying. His face was swollen.”

  The others exchange a look, or is that her imagination?

  Anna frowns. “Crying? Seth? Are you sure? Could there be another reason for his face being swollen?”

  Rebecca frowns in turn. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know… if he’d been hurt in some way.”

  Catherine crosses her legs across the room and looks down.

  Rebecca shakes her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I think something had happened but he wouldn’t tell me about it.” She is nearly crying herself. “And I didn’t really ask.”

  Anna looks her over like a detective.

  José examines the cigarette box on his knee. They are taking it in turns to fondle it, rubbing their hands over the raised silver ridges as if Seth will appear in a flash of smoke. “I had a similar experience.” All eyes are on him now. “He was thrashing around in his sleep. Then he screamed. I think it was a nightmare about losing his parents.”

  This sinks in. “So you were…” Rebecca’s throat contracts and her voice squeaks silent.

  “No – I mean, I was in here and he was taking a nap in the bedroom. I heard some noise and then found him like that.”

  They look at José, twisting and reddening, and they look at each other.

  “It seems some people have got quite close to him recently.” Catherine’s voice trembles as she shifts her gaze to Rebecca and bites her lip.

  “Or his flat.” Jake is smoking, leaning back like Seth might have done, looking at Catherine, who jumps as if he’s prodded her. Anna’s eyes flick from one to another.

  “Hey, chaps, this is all a bit intense.” Charles laughs nervously, reaches for the bottle of wine. “Anyone need a top-up?”

  Rebecca goes to the bathroom, taking her time to get there so she can peer at surfaces, windowsills, the floor, hoping to see an old gold brooch twinkling at her. Nothing. Her search for it has become superstitious, invested with extra meaning. If she can find it she’ll find him. She sits on the loo with her head in her hands. Finally she sighs and flushes, keeps her hands under the tap until the water runs warm and heats them. As she passes the kitchen she spots the others in a huddle by the sink. They stop talking when she sees them. She’s surprised by how tight they look, Jake and Michael and Anna and Charles and Catherine and José. It reminds her that they were a group before she arrived. Jake reaches out an arm to bring her in and she smiles but still feels excluded.