Tom.
Tom and I had gone through university together, graduating at the same time. We had a brief relationship during our student days, but once we graduated we decided it was best left behind the doors of Oxford. We were ambitious, with careers to pursue, but, even so, after parting company we kept in touch and it was me who gave Tom the heads up to the job at the firm a year after I had joined. Both Tom and I were offered partnership at the same time.
I back-heel the door closed behind me and take a cup over to Tom, placing it on his desk. ‘So, now we’re alone, do you want to tell me what really happened yesterday?’ I sit down in the chair opposite him.
‘That’s what I like about you,’ says Tom. ‘No preamble. No small talk building up to point of your visit. It’s straight for the jugular.’
‘And if I did beat around the bush, you’d only say “get to the point”.’
‘True,’ says Tom, nodding. ‘Really, though, there’s nothing to tell. Isabella going into full jealous-bitch mode once she realised I was taking Lottie to yours. You know … the usual.’
I frown. ‘It’s pretty pathetic she’s still behaving like that. You’ve been divorced, what, three years now?’
‘You know Isabella,’ says Tom.
Sadly, I do. Secretly, Tom always blames her Italian blood for her hot head and jealous streak. I’m always grateful for Luke’s more laid-back approach to the past between Tom and me.
‘Anyway, enough of me. What about you?’ says Tom.
I pause, considering for a moment if I should feign innocence and claim I don’t know what he’s talking about. I dismiss the notion. Tom is all too aware of the significance of the date looming like a black cloud on the horizon. I give a sigh and blow out a breath.
‘Tricky week. Mum’s mood is dipping by the day. I was hoping the get-together at the weekend would perk her up a bit. She did try, bless her, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. Leonard was very good, he spent most of the afternoon fussing around her and she seemed to appreciate it.’
‘I meant you. I know what your mum’s like; it doesn’t get any easier for her.’ He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again. ‘You, Clare, how are you? Are you sleeping okay? You look pretty tired.’
I give a half-hearted laugh. ‘Is that your way of saying I look like shit?’
‘Your words, not mine.’
‘If you must know, I’m not sleeping that great. This time of year always unsettles me. I’m never sure how I feel or how I should feel. Am I upset for Mum? For Alice? Or for me? Last night I was thinking, do I miss Alice or is she just missing? She’s been gone for so long now, her not being here is part of my life.’ I look out of the window, pausing for a moment. ‘You know we hired another detective firm earlier this year to try to trace her but, as usual, nothing.’
‘You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to find someone today,’ says Tom. ‘A bit different when we were trying to find her.’
‘I suppose she could have a different surname. I mean, she’s in her early twenties, she could even be married. Perhaps she doesn’t want to be found.’
‘There is always that. Have you said as much to your mum?’
‘It’s been mentioned. Mum’s not stupid, but she doesn’t feel she can let it go until she knows one way or another. It’s just so hard to deal with the level of emotion swirling around at this time of year, it frightens me. I don’t know how to channel it.’
Tom’s phone rings. It’s an internal call.
‘Hello, Nina. Yes, she’s here,’ he glances up at me while he listens to the receptionist. I watch his face grow serious. ‘Okay, thanks … Hi, Luke, it’s Tom. I’ll just pass you over.’
He holds out the receiver to me. Luke never rings me at work. The rule is only in case of an emergency.
I snatch the phone from Tom’s hand. ‘Luke. What’s wrong? Is it the girls?’
‘No. The girls are fine,’ says Luke, but I can detect the unease in his voice. I brace myself. ‘Your mum is okay too,’ he says, as if anticipating my unspoken question. ‘Nothing bad has happened …’
‘What is it, then?’
‘Your mum’s had a bit of a shock. You need to come home.’
‘A shock? What do you mean?’ I look across the desk at Tom, as if he can somehow help.
He gestures to the phone. ‘Want me to speak to him?’
I shake my head. Luke is talking again. ‘Listen, Babe. Your mum’s received a letter.’ He pauses and I imagine him shifting uncomfortably on his feet. I can feel the tension through the phone line. ‘A letter … from Alice.’
‘Alice?’ I gulp for air.
‘Yep, Alice.’
‘Alice, as in my sister Alice?’
‘So it seems.’
‘Shit.’ I’m already rising to my feet; my legs feel like jelly and I reach out a hand to steady myself against the back of the chair. ‘I’ll be right there.’
Dear Marion
I am sure this letter must come as a total surprise to you, or at least a shock. I’ve been debating for some time whether I should write and I have started this letter so many times only to scrap it and start again. I mean, what do you say to your mom when you haven’t seen her for twenty years? I didn’t know if contacting you was the right thing to do, but not contacting you seemed the wrong thing.
You may wonder why I haven’t written to you before, but up until recently, I’ve not had your contact details and it’s not been something I’ve been able to discuss with my father. It was just something I knew right from an early age I wasn’t to ask about. I was so young when I came to America, I only have a few fragmented memories of England, but the ones I do have are precious to me.
I can remember baking cakes with you, those butter-cream ones with multi-coloured sprinkles, and being allowed to lick the bowl afterwards. Being read a bedtime story, my favourite one was about a cat who didn’t like fish. I have a strong memory of being pushed on a swing, squealing with delight as I begged to go higher and higher. I wanted to kick the clouds with my feet, which I imagined would be soft and squidgy like marshmallows.
I remember your smile, such a lovely smile. In my mind you laughed a lot and always wore pink lipstick. Not a bright, vivid colour, but a pale pink, which shimmered when you spoke. Sometimes, when I played dressing-up with Clare, you’d let us wear your lipstick. I would make an ‘o’ shape with my mouth, just as I had seen you do every day.
