I Found You (15 page)

‘I am not coming back,’ she says, ‘not yet. Not until I know for sure what has happened to Carl.’

Her mother sighs and she hears her tongue make a clicking sound against her teeth. ‘You,’ she says, warmly. ‘I don’t where you came from. This strong woman. This woman alone in a foreign country. You are brave and foolish. But I cannot stop you.’

‘No,’ she says, ‘you cannot.’

‘I miss you. I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

‘And soon, when I have finished this big contract, I will come. OK?’

‘Yes. Please.’

‘A week. Maybe ten days.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

‘And by then, maybe, you will know where your husband is.’

‘Please. Yes.’

‘For what it is worth, I think he is a good man.’

‘He is. Yes. I know.’ Her syllables become more and more clipped as she feels tears surging.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too.’

And then the phone line is silent and the room is silent and the only light comes from the crack in the bathroom door. Lily drops the phone into her lap and cries.

Frank sleeps all afternoon. When he awakens at just past six he feels as though he is rising from a coma. It’s dark already and the lights in the shed are turned off. As his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, he sees the warm glow of the lights from the back of Alice’s cottage. There’s loud music coming from one of the rooms upstairs and the sound of high-octane teenage discourse. The noise prickles his subconscious in some strange way and he closes his eyes, trying to locate the root of it. But it’s not there. He remembers being in Alice’s kitchen, with Alice and that woman, her friend.
Debbie?
He’d walked in and they’d both turned and looked at him with the same expression of uneasiness and concern. And then they’d told him about a man called Anthony Ross who’d died on the
beach, out there, in the very same spot where he’d sat for all those hours this week. The name had hit his consciousness like a bullet and then he’d blacked out. As he rises from the camp bed he tries to retrace the impact of the name.
Anthony Ross
, he mutters to himself.
Anthony Ross
. But nothing comes.

His stomach grumbles and he tries to ignore it. He can’t keep walking into Alice’s house expecting to be fed. He spends a few minutes dreaming of all the things he will do for Alice once he has found his life again. He’ll send them on holiday. He’ll take them out for meals. And, Christ, if he turns out to be really wealthy, he’ll pay off their mortgage for them.

A moment later he sees the garden lighten and hears footsteps crunching across the gravel. He instinctively touches his hair, pushing it into place.

Alice knocks gently at the door. ‘Frank?’

He opens it and smiles at her.

‘Christ. Thank God. You’re alive. I was getting really worried.’

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘Bit blurry. But fine.’

‘Thank God,’ she says again. ‘Anyway, here.’ She passes him a large carrier bag. ‘It’s all the stuff we bought earlier. I gave it a wash for you. Even the clean stuff smells bad in charity shops, doesn’t it?’

He takes the bag from her and says, ‘Wow. Thank you. I didn’t expect you to do that.’

‘For my own benefit really. Don’t want another stinky house guest.’ She smiles. ‘Listen. I’ve cooked an actual meal. Meat and stuff. Want to join us?’

He wants to say no, because of his guilt. But his stomach speaks for him. ‘That would be wonderful. If you’re sure it’s not an imposition.’

‘God, no, I’m feeding the five thousand anyway, so another mouth won’t make any difference. About ten minutes,’ she finishes, pushing her hands into the pockets of a huge hairy cardigan. ‘But just come when you’re ready.’

Frank picks out a soft blue shirt and a pair of khaki trousers from the bag of fresh-smelling clothes, then snaps off a pair of brand new socks from a packet. Pulling them on feels like the most civilised thing that has happened to him since he lost his memory, and as he approaches the back door a few minutes later he feels almost like a proper person.

The house is full of good smells, and all the windows in the kitchen are steamed up. Romaine is standing on a step stool over the hob stirring a pan of gravy and Derry is slicing carrots at the kitchen table while Daniel sits on the floor rubbing Hero’s stomach.

‘Through here,’ he hears Alice call from next door. ‘Here.’ She passes him a large glass of wine. ‘What do you think?’ She has cleared the piles of paperwork and homework and books and artwork from the dining table and laid it. There is a small cluster of
candles flickering in the centre and purple linen napkins folded into triangles on orange dinner plates, and heavy crackled-glass wine goblets with indigo bases.

‘It looks beautiful,’ he says.

‘Yeah,’ she says, appraising it herself. ‘Pretty classy. If I do say so myself.’ She raises her wine glass to his and says, ‘Cheers. To you not being dead.’

He smiles. ‘I guess.’

‘And you’re sure you’re feeling all right? You went down like a dead weight.’

‘I’m pretty sure,’ he says, feeling the red wine warming the lining of his empty stomach, bleeding pleasantly into his cold veins. ‘I feel normal.’

‘Nothing normal about you, Frank,’ she says.

He laughs. ‘That’s true.’

They are silent for a moment. Frank can feel Alice’s next question hanging in the air between them. He smiles at her.

‘So,’ she says. ‘Anthony Ross.’

‘Yeah. I know. It obviously means something. It’s obviously connected to me. The fact that I came here, the fact I sat right there.’ He gestures at the beach. ‘The fact that I can remember something to do with a man in the sea out there. It’s definitely part of my story. I just wish I knew in what way.’

‘So there’s nothing there now? No recollection?’

He shakes his head, apologetically, realising the implications for Alice of his failure to remember.

‘That’s a shame,’ she said. ‘I’d been secretly fantasising about you waking up fully restored back to factory settings.’

‘Me too,’ he replies.

‘Clothes look nice.’ She nods at the outfit. ‘You look . . . very fresh.’

He looks down upon himself. ‘Thank you. I’m so, so grateful. Honestly.’

She shushes him and tops up their wine glasses. A peal of raucous laughter echoes down the staircase. She tuts. ‘I’m afraid we’ve been infiltrated,’ she says. ‘Kai’s off to a party later and half the town’s population of fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds is convening in his bedroom. There’s about thirty of them up there. In his ten-by-eight bedroom. Doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘
Al!
’ Derry calls from the kitchen. ‘
Something pinged!
’

‘Sprouts,’ she says to Frank. ‘Be back in a minute. Help yourself to wine.’

Frank stands and observes the warm flicker of the tea lights on the table for a while. He realises that they are scented in some way. He struggles for the smell. Something floral. He sees a white flower, with small blossoms. Then he notices a box on the sideboard behind him.

Jasmine and lily.

A huge thump reverberates through the low ceilings of the dining room, followed by screams of
hilarity. A door opens and closes. ‘Christ’s sake! What the fuck are you doing in there?’ And then there are soft footsteps on the stairs. Jasmine walks into the dining room and stops when she sees him standing there.

‘Oh.’

‘Your mum’s in the kitchen,’ he says, wanting to stanch her awkwardness for her.

‘Great,’ she says, ‘thanks.’

She’s tiny, with a head slightly too big for her body. Her black hair is twisted into a small bun over each ear and she’s wearing a fitted black mini-dress under a baggy grey cardigan that hangs down the backs of her calves.

‘Mum!’ he hears her complaining. ‘They’re being mental up there. Seriously. You need to stop them!’

Frank can’t hear Alice’s response, but a moment later Alice reappears, followed by Jasmine, Romaine and Hero, and yells up the stairs: ‘
Food! Food!
’

Within fifteen seconds a dozen teenagers have stampeded down the stairs, slowing gently as they pass the grown-ups, filing in and out of the kitchen with paper plates piled with sausages and mash and onion gravy. They take the plates to the sitting room and close the door behind them.

Frank looks at Alice in surprise. ‘You fed all those children?’

‘Lining their stomachs. They’ll go out empty otherwise and puke up everywhere. Besides, just some cheap
sausages, on special offer. No big deal. Don’t worry,’ she continues, ‘nice rib of beef for us. And
vegetables
.’

‘I’d be happy with cheap sausages.’

‘Yeah, so would I. But after all the crap we’ve been eating the last few days I thought it was time for something decent. More wine?’

Derry appears holding two steaming bowls which she deposits on the table before disappearing back into the kitchen. Romaine and Jasmine pull out chairs and sit down. Hero and Sadie both settle themselves expectantly on the floor by the table, their noses twitching.

‘Can I do something?’

‘No,’ says Alice. ‘You’ve had a shock. You just sit down. Me and Derry will sort it.’

A large piece of meat is brought to the table, a dish of buttered mashed potatoes, jars of mustard and horseradish and ketchup. A teenager appears with a pile of used paper plates and asks Alice where they should go.

She tells him and then calls after him, ‘There’s Oreos on the side. Take a couple of packets through.’

Alice tops up glasses with more red wine and sends Jasmine into the kitchen to get a second bottle. One of the dogs is making a low-level whining sound, like a distant car alarm.

‘Shut up, Hero,’ says Alice.

Frank sees Romaine drop a piece of sausage at her feet and watches Hero pounce on it stealthily. He looks at Alice but she hasn’t seen.

They’re talking about Alice’s parents, who have been witnessed on the webcam trying to remember the names of their children. ‘“The nice one,” my dad kept saying. “You know. Lovely girl.” And then my mum was saying, “You mean Alice?” And my dad was saying, “No, not that one. The other one. You know? What’s her name?” And my mum just shook her head and said, ‘Well, there’s two. I know that much.”’

Derry laughs and says, ‘At least they still know they’ve got kids. That’ll go soon.’

Frank watches and listens and wonders about his mother, the one whose arms he remembered. Is she alive? Is she well? Is she senile? Is she missing him? Is
anyone
missing him? He slices through the meat and puts it in his mouth.

‘Lovely beef, Alice,’ says Derry, looking meaningfully at Frank.

‘Mm,’ he says, through his mouthful. ‘It’s beautiful. So tender.’

Alice smiles at him and touches his hand. ‘Good,’ she says. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

There’s a small and slightly uncomfortable silence as Alice gives his hand a last squeeze before letting it go. The gesture has been observed and, in the cases of Derry and Jasmine, disapproved of.

‘I was wondering,’ he says. ‘It’s been four days now. Has there been anything, do you think? Anything on
the news about a missing man? I mean, I seem like a decent type. It seems strange that there’s no one to miss me. Doesn’t it?’

‘I’ve been checking,’ says Alice. ‘National news and the local London news. There hasn’t been anything. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t been reported missing. It just means that it’s not a story. And you know, the only way we can find out if anyone’s reported you missing is to go to the police.’

‘I really . . .’ His fingers fluster with his cutlery and a prickle of discomfort runs through him. ‘I really would like to remember a bit more. For myself. Before, you know . . .?’

‘But what if you don’t?’ snaps Jasmine and everyone turns to look at her.

‘Jasmine . . .’ says Alice.

‘No. Really. What if you don’t remember anything and there’s, like, a whole family down south missing you and wondering where you are and feeling sick with worry? It’s not fair on them. Is it?’

‘I don’t think . . .’ he mutters. ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think there is anyone. I just don’t feel . . .’

‘There must be someone,’ says Jasmine. ‘Everyone has someone.’

‘Well, not necessarily,’ says Alice.

‘That’s not the point. It’s not the point and you know it.’

‘Then what is the point?’ says Alice.

‘The point is that “Frank” belongs somewhere. And no one seems to be making any effort to find out where it is. The point is that “Frank” doesn’t belong here. You know, if you’d found a stray dog on the beach that day you’d have done everything you could to find its owners; you’d have taken it to the vet to see if it was chipped; you’d have put posters up. You wouldn’t have just started treating it like it was your pet. Not without knowing.’

‘Jasmine,’ says Alice again, looking at her daughter with concern, ‘you have to trust me here. I’ve lived a long and peculiar life and I’ve known enough bad people in my life to recognise one when I see one. And trust me, Frank is one of the good guys.’ She glances at Frank, throwing him a reassuring look. ‘I just want to help him, OK? And clearly there is some mysterious reason why he ended up on our beach and if he’s not ready to confront his real life then we have to give him some time to feel ready.’

‘It’s nothing personal,’ Jasmine says to Frank with a flash of her heavily liquid-lined eyes. ‘Genuinely. I’m sure you’re really nice. I just . . .’

Frank smiles. ‘I understand,’ he says. ‘I do. I feel . . .’ He looks for words that won’t make him sound ungrateful. ‘I feel bad being here. I feel bad for taking up your personal space. I feel bad for your mum spending money on me. I feel bad for not being a real person, for making you feel uncomfortable in your own home.
And I feel bad that I’m so weak and so needy. I feel . . .
very strongly
. . . that I’m not really like this. That the real me is nothing like this. But right now I have no gumption and guts. I’m like a . . . limp rag. And hopefully this will pass, this big blackout blind in my head will spring open and I’ll remember and then I’ll feel strong. And I’m hoping it will be really soon. I mean’ – he turns to Alice – ‘your mum found something today . . .’