Loving Susie (23 page)
By mid morning, the battering rain of the night before has stopped and the skies are clear – but Archie hasn’t yet stepped out to admire them. He is still surfacing from the deepest sleep he’s managed since he decamped there.
Late last night the band finished recording the album.
‘That’s it!’ Jake shouted as the last reverberation of the guitar strings died out. ‘We’ve done it!’
He high-fived Archie, he high-fived the rest of the band, they all whooped with glee and Archie cracked open the first bottle in the crate of bubbly he’d kept for the occasion. After they’d got through six bottles, he slept.
Something nags at him as he begins to clamber into uneasy wakefulness. He props himself up on his elbow and surveys the mess. Jake, Sandie and the rest of them are all still there. He dimly remembers throwing them blankets and they appear to have more or less lain where they dropped. Jake is on his back, snoring gustily, his beard thick with drool. Colin’s bony frame pokes up from the floor like the broken spokes of a rusted bicycle. He can hardly be comfortable. Drew is curled like a cat, his head tucked under an arm. And in the corner, uncaring about privacy, Sandie sprawls, her hair spread around her like Ophelia floating downstream.
They’d been right to celebrate, but for Archie, the task isn’t over. There’s one tune he hasn’t been able to finish and it still inhabits his head like a toothache.
He needs coffee.
He struggles to his feet and picks his way between bodies and instruments to the door. The rain has been heavy. At his feet, the notice he’d tacked up, ‘Strictly No Entry. recording in Progress’ has fallen, limp and sodden, into a puddle. He picks it up and watches the drips run off the useless paper.
Susie wouldn’t have come near the studio anyway, what does it matter?
The rain is over and the clean, fresh air is a welcome assault on his befuddled brain. He leaves the door open as he trudges across the courtyard to the cottage kitchen. Let the others benefit too.
There are no cars there. Susie and Jon have both gone to work. Not surprising, because the sun is already high in the sky. He fills the kettle and glances up at the clock. That late? Midday already?
The shrill sound of the telephone slices through the silence. He’s tempted to leave it, but the ring tone is flat and has always offended his ears, so he crosses the room and lifts the receiver.
‘Hello? Archie Wallace.’
His voice rasps like a file on slate. Too much singing, too much celebrating, too much latent inhaling of Jake’s and Sandie’s filthy fags.
‘Archie! Thank heavens I’ve reached you at last.’
‘Karen? What’s up?’
‘Is Susie with you?’
‘Susie?’
‘Your wife, Archie. Susie Wallace?’
‘I don’t think she’s here, Karen. At least, her car’s not here. I’m just up.’
‘Can you check?’
‘Sure. Of course. She’s not with you?’
‘Would I be calling if—’
‘No, sorry, stupid question. She didn’t turn up this morning? She hasn’t just gone straight to some meeting or other?’
‘She was due in here for a meeting at nine. At ten she had a very important meeting with the Chief Whip, but she didn’t show for that either. She was scheduled at eleven to—’
Okay, okay, I get the picture.’ Archie is as wide awake now as if he’d plunged into an ice cold loch stark naked.
‘I was about to start calling round the hospitals and the police.’
‘Hospitals? Police? You’re that worried?’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Well I wasn’t, but you’re beginning to make me concerned. Listen, give me five minutes, Karen, I’ll call you back.’
The cottage is small and there really isn’t anywhere to hide. Might he find her slumped on the floor in the bedroom, unconscious? Has she slipped in the shower and injured her head? The rational side of Archie tells him that these scenarios are unlikely, because her car isn’t in the yard, but even so—
Jonathan’s room is empty. So is Mannie’s old bedroom. He stands at the top of the stairs and listens. The silence is broken only by the steady ticking of Susie’s old grandfather clock and the distant clucking of the hens, their contentment unaffected by his tension. He pushes open the door to their bedroom, uninhabited by him for so long.
Christ. It looks as though a burglar has been in. The bed is tumbled, there are clothes everywhere and across the floor lies a trail of debris. Archie bends down and picks up a photograph frame. The glass is shattered. The faces of his family stare up at him, unblinking. He places it back on the dressing table, carefully, gathers the shards of splintered glass, one by one, and lays them in a pile by its side.
He spies the earrings he gave Susie on their first wedding anniversary, half hidden under the rug. The brooch that was her mother’s favourite is behind the waste basket, its small rubies winking from their gold setting. Something is down the side of the carpet next to the skirting board. He stretches to pick it up. It’s the eternity ring he gave her when Mannie was born.
What the hell has happened here? What was Susie going through when she did this?
Archie sinks down on the bed and clutches the pillow to his chest. The scent of his wife on the linen is overwhelming.
When he has exhausted all the possibilities, he calls Karen.
‘She’s not here. It looks as though – I don’t know, I just get the feeling she was a bit upset last night.’
‘Upset? Archie, listen, is her briefcase there? Her laptop? Her mobile?’
He should have thought of these things himself, he isn’t thinking straight. ‘Hang on, I’ll look.’
Two strides and he’s at the small desk where she bases herself in the cottage. The laptop is plainly visible, still plugged into the power socket. Her briefcase lies on the floor, its top open, papers spilling out. He bends down and rummages through it quickly, but there’s no sign of her mobile. ‘Karen? Laptop and briefcase here, mobile – I can’t see it.’
‘Very odd. Why would she leave without her briefcase? She doesn’t always carry her laptop, so that’s no great help. What about her handbag, Archie?’
Idiot. What’s he thinking of? He looks around – sitting room, kitchen, both bathrooms, the bedrooms. ‘No sign of her handbag.’ Possible scenarios grow and multiply in his imagination. ‘Do you think she’s had an accident?’
‘Has she left a note? Where would she have left a note?’
The kitchen table. Why hasn’t he thought of that? He glances at it, but it’s empty, save for the coffee tray he’d been preparing for the band. He glances across to the kettle, which is where they tend to leave notes for each other, knowing they’d be likely to head there first. Nothing. Of course, he has already filled the kettle, he’d have seen it earlier.
He thinks of the fridge. Had she stuck some clue in there? A note wrapped a note round a bottle of wine, perhaps, in some kind of ironic comment on his drinking habits?
But no, nothing.
‘What about your mobile, Archie?’ Karen asks. ‘Has she left a message on your mobile?’
Again, he is being stupid. Checking his mobile should have been the first thing he did. ‘Hold on. No, listen, I’ll check it and call you back.’
His mobile is in his shirt pocket – and there is a message from her, left this morning, early.
‘Listen Archie, it’s all too much. I’ve had to go away. You mustn’t ... tell ... so don’t—’
That’s all he can make out, the rest is static. Then it goes dead. He replays the message, hoping to get more.
‘Listen Archie, it’s all too much. I’ve had to go away. You mustn’t ... tell ... so don’t—’
It’s impossible to make out anything else. It sounds as though she is somewhere windy, but it could be anywhere.
He calls Karen. ‘Hi. She’s left a message.’
‘She has? Thank heavens. Where is she. What did she say?’
‘It was really broken up, the signal was appalling. All I could make out was “it’s all too much, I’ve had to go away.” And, “you mustn’t tell—”.’
‘That was it?’
‘No, it was obviously a longer message, but that was all I could make out.’
‘Do you think Mannie and Jon might know anything? We have to find her, Archie, and quickly. It’s going to be impossible to keep this quiet.’
‘I can call and ask them.’
But he doesn’t want to disturb Mannie and Jon at work and besides, the idea that she might have told them something she hasn’t told him is painful.
‘Archie, listen, let me make some calls. I’ll get a team onto it here, we can cover the ground quite quickly. I’ll get back to you when I have anything to report. Meantime – why don’t you do some phoning? Is there somewhere she might have gone? Someone she might have turned to, if she felt she needed support?’
Me, she should have turned to me.
‘Honestly, Karen, I would have thought either us, her family, or you. She’s pretty close to you – but she didn’t get in touch?’
‘No. I find that quite worrying, I must admit. Why don’t you start going through her address book? We’ll do the police and hospitals.’
‘Police and hospitals? Oh surely not. She doesn’t sound that depressed, Karen.’
‘Just in case.’
‘You will call me at once if—’
‘Yes. Bye Archie.’
‘Bye.’
He listens again to the long-familiar tones of the woman he loves so deeply. What was her mood when she left that message? Despairing? Suicidal? Or merely self aware? Is it the voice of someone who knows she’s at her limits and just needs to retreat for a while? With Susie, sometimes, it’s hard to tell. If she has thought her plan through, she could put anything she wants into her voice and make you believe it.
He stands for a few minutes, deep in thought. Where has she gone? What’s happened? Why hasn’t she turned up at work today? What is she thinking? Archie, the most prosaic of men, reaches deep into his soul and tries to make a connection with his wife, but he gets nothing. Prince, trotting in from the courtyard, whimpers uneasily. He is catching something in the atmosphere.
‘All right boy. All right.’
He pats the old dog.
‘Here. No need for you to go hungry.’
He opens a can of dog food and spoons it into Prince’s dish. The dog eyes Archie mournfully.
‘Off your food, huh? Don’t blame you, Prince. Don’t blame you at all.’
He turns his attention to brewing the coffee, then takes a moment to gulp some and feels his head clear a little. Karen is doing the horrid bit, the police and the hospitals, although he doesn’t seriously think she’ll find anything, because if anything has happened to Susie, surely he’d have heard by now? There’d have been a knock at the door, a phone call – something. Susie is very well known. Hell, it would probably be on the news by now, not that he’s had the news on, but Mo Armstrong monitors it constantly.
So – plan of action. The logical Archie is beginning to come back. One, get the band up and away, no reason they should be involved in all this. Two, sit and think. What has triggered Susie’s disappearance and where might she have gone? Three, make some calls. Old friends? The children, obviously, but maybe not just yet. If either of them knows anything, they’d have alerted him already, so there’s no reason to disrupt their working day.
He hacks a loaf of bread into rough slices, forages in the fridge for butter, cheese, cold meat, marmalade, and makes his way back to the studio bearing breakfast for five, on a tray.
‘Hey, Archie, that smells good, pal.’
‘Surprised you can smell anything, Jake, through all that nicotine up your nostrils,’ Archie teases, his voice as normal as he can make it.
A groan comes from the spiky pile of bones. ‘Uuurgh. This floor’s hard.’
The cat-like figure uncurls, stretches luxuriously and says, ‘Waiter service. Excellent.’ From the corner, the petite form of Sandie Alexander sits bolt upright and her sexy, rasping voice declaims, ‘Fuck me, Archie, I need that caffeine.’
‘Right, guys.’ He places the tray on the low table by the window and pulls the curtains open, grinning at the universal groan as light slashes mercilessly into sleep-rimed eyes. ‘You’ve got fifteen minutes to get out of here. The cleaner’ll be in here with her mop and bucket and I’ve promised her complete peace. She’s a demon if she’s crossed.’
It’s an outright lie, they don’t have a cleaner, but it’s the best he can come up with.
Jake groans. ‘Aw right, pal. I get the message.’
They don’t need to dress, because they didn’t undress. Drew, clearly the best-slept of the five of them, grins. ‘I’ll drive you all back to town. Just give me coffee first.’
‘Great night, lads.’
It’s universal practice to treat Sandie as one of the lads. It’s what she wants and expects from them. She says, ‘So it really is a wrap?’
‘Bit of mastering to do, but it’ll be on target to meet the contract.’
‘We’ll talk about it soon,’ Archie says, standing up. ‘Sorry folks, but I do need to do stuff.’
They pack their instruments into the van. The last he sees of them is Jake’s long, hairy arm waving lazily out of a window as the van rounds the bend in the drive where the hill hides it from view. A honk of the horn is followed by a blast of Colin’s small cornet. Archie smiles affectionately. Celtic Rock was formed by lucky chance and the band has validated his music. They’re a great team.
The smile fades as he considers that. What validates Susie?
Answer: her family and her career – and both have let her down recently.
Drama queen.
Archie yanks the door of the studio closed with a bang that echoes round the courtyard and stomps back to the cottage. Criticising him about honouring her parents’ wishes is so unfair. She has spurned every effort he has made at reconciliation. And when it comes to the bit, she’s hardly been honest with him, has she? In the scale of dishonesty, whose deceit has been greater?
The first shock of her disappearance over, he’s sorely tempted to let her stew.
Karen appears at the cottage a couple of hours later. ‘Any joy?’ she asks as soon as she gets out of her car.
‘Nothing. I’ve made a few calls to friends but no-one’s heard from her. I don’t want to start rumours running.’
‘There already are rumours. When an MSP doesn’t turn up for key meetings, questions are asked.’
‘But surely you’ve been able to cover?’
‘To a certain extent, yes. We can tell constituents she’s poorly, make apologies. But the Chief Whip’s a different matter.’
‘The delightful Mr Coop.’
‘Tom, yes. And Mo, of course, is in a terrible panic. It’s almost impossible to stop the staff gossiping – the more you ask them to keep secrets, the more likely they are to get out. And even the most disciplined of Parties has its moles. At least the hospital and police calls haven’t turned anything up.’
‘I didn’t think they would.’
‘You seem calmer, Archie. Do you know something?’
‘No, I don’t. But I’m pretty certain she’s all right.’
‘Well that’s something. Have you talked to Margaret-Anne and Jon?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘No? Archie, why ever not? Surely—’
‘If they were worried about their mother, they’d have phoned me. I’ve been holding off talking to them because Jonno has a new job and I don’t want to make waves—’ Leave aside all the complications there ‘—and Mannie’s always rushing around, doing deals. I wouldn’t like to distract her.’
‘Okay,’ Karen says doubtfully. ‘Let’s run through everything else, then. There’s nothing among the papers in her briefcase?’
‘Help yourself. You’re more likely to spot anything vital than I am.’ Archie indicates where it sits, next to her desk.
Karen rummages through the contents quickly. ‘Just the usual, so far as I can see. What about her mobile? Not found it?’
‘Nope. Must be in her handbag. That’s definitely not here.’
‘The laptop?’
Archie waves at it. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start. It’s password protected anyway.’
‘Let me have a go. I know some of her passwords.’
‘Help yourself. Tea?’
‘I’d love some. Thanks.’
He brews a pot as she boots up the laptop.
‘I’m in,’ she calls.
‘That was quick.’
He finds a batch of melting nanoseconds in a polythene bag stuffed behind the cookery books on a shelf, an old hiding place. He breaks off a piece of biscuit and tastes it. It’s fresh, so she has baked recently and she couldn’t have baked if she’d been over stressed. Something must have happened since then that has tipped her over the edge. What is it?
He puts the biscuits in a dish and adds them to the tray. ‘Sugar?’
Karen is tapping away at the keyboard. ‘Just milk. Thanks.’
‘Anything?’
‘A load of emails. She obviously didn’t check last night, or this morning. They haven’t been opened since she left the office yesterday.’
‘Any clues?’ He doesn’t say it hopefully.
‘There’s an email from Maitland Forbes.’
A shiver of dread passes through Archie’s heart.
Karen says, ‘I’ll read it.’
He doesn’t want to hear and starts to say so, but she’s already reading it out. ‘Hi Susie darling. As agreed in our conversation earlier this evening, here are the details of the movie. It will be called “Flora MacDonald” (working title only) and I’d love you to play the part of Flora’s mother. As I promised, I’d do my utmost to shoot round your schedules. Regarding the other matter, I will give it my best consideration and will get back to you within the next couple of days. Hugs to you, honey. Maitland.”’ She eyes Archie quizzically. ‘Darling?’
That, at least, he can shrug off. ‘It means nothing. All actors call each other darling. Does that get us anywhere? What was “the other matter”?’
‘No idea. Could have been anything. We should give Maitland Forbes a call.’
‘He’s in California. What’s the time there?’
She does a quick calculation. ‘It’s two o’clock here. It’ll be six in the morning.’
‘Maybe leave it a couple of hours, then.’
‘This is an emergency, Archie.’
‘Not yet,’ he says. Since his earlier panic, an odd calmness has settled on him.
Karen swings round in the chair and thumps her hand on its arm. ‘Archie, the world’s going mad around the disappearance of your wife and you just sit there like the Sphinx and smile. What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Nothing. Honestly, Karen, I promise you, I’m not hiding anything. I don’t know where Susie’s gone, I just know she hasn’t jumped off a cliff. And the world isn’t in freefall, a few politicians in your Party are a bit worried, that’s all.’
‘I don’t think you understa—‘ She halts in mid word, slouches back and smiles wryly. ‘You’re right, Archie. I guess we all get a bit caught up the in Holyrood bubble. For those of us who work there, it’s the only thing that matters.’
Then the seriousness is back.
‘But Susie’s one of those people too, Archie. Her politics matters to her, her constituents matter, her beliefs matter. That’s what makes this so difficult to understand.’
‘I’m not denying that Susie’s in a bad place in her head. I just don’t think she’s in danger. Physical danger, that is.’
‘There’s a vote on Thursday. It could bring down the government.’
‘I don’t care about the government.’
‘Susie cares.’
‘Does she, Karen? Does she really? Or is that part of the problem?’
‘I know she feels trapped between her Party and her constituents.’ She looks at him directly, her cool grey eyes level. ‘But she matters to me, Archie. She’s my best friend and I care about her.’
Silence falls. All Archie can hear is the ticking of Susie’s grandfather clock, measuring out the hours as it has for centuries. Past, present, future – sometimes, Archie thinks, each one is as much a mystery as the other.
‘I know you do,’ he says at last. ‘I care too. Very much, as it happens. I’ll find her, Karen, I promise.’
Karen stands up. ‘Thank you, Archie. There’s nothing more I can do here, just keep an eye on her emails, will you? I’ll leave the laptop on. And call me if you find anything.’
After she has gone, Archie sits and thinks. The days when Susie Wallace trusted him and depended on him are past. He doesn’t doubt that he can find her – but can he reach her? He cares about her more than he can possibly express, but has he lost her again – and this time, for ever?
And finally, the sixty-four thousand dollar question: is he prepared, this time, to fight for her?
Jonathan arrives home around six. Archie tells him everything.
‘Christ. Gone?
Gone?
Mum?’
He looks so like her, his hair a perfect match in colour, his eyes a replica of her bright toffee and gold, that his heart twists inside him.
‘I suspect that she simply needs some time to herself.’
‘You’re not worried?’
‘I’ve done nothing but think about it all day, Jon, and I honestly believe she’s just taken time off. She did leave a message on my mobile, after all.’
Jon isn’t stupid. He knows how bad things have been between them. He says, ‘Do you want to find her, Dad? Or is this just another step in the weird dance you two have been doing?’
He says, honestly, ‘I don’t think she’s playing games.’
‘Bet the Party’s in a tizz.’
‘There’s some huge vote in a couple of days, so yes, tizz is probably a pretty good description. But if I go looking for her it’s got to be for me – for us – not for the Party.’
‘Oh, agreed,’ he says fervently. ‘Have you spoken to Mannie?’
‘Not yet. I didn’t want to disturb you guys at work.’
‘Thanks Dad, appreciated. But you needn’t have worried about disturbing me, I’ve been disturbed ever since Mum told us about Brian Henderson being our uncle.’
‘I can understand that. It’s almost as hard for you as it is for Mannie, isn’t it?’
Jon rubs his hand restlessly through his hair, leaving it sticking up in spiky furrows. ‘I was going to resign, Dad.’
‘Resign? Oh, Jon, don’t! You’ve worked so hard to get this job. You need it. You
deserve
it. Don’t resign, for God’s sake.’
‘That’s what Alex says.’
‘Alex? Who’s he?’
‘She,’ Jon corrects him. ‘She’s one of the designers at work. She’s brilliant.’
Admiration and affection shine so clearly out of his eyes that Archie’s heart contorts.
He’s found someone. Good.
‘Alex says, hang on in there. I told her, Dad, about Mannie, I mean, and Brian. I wasn’t going to, because, well, she’s at work and she knows him, he’s the boss, and it could be difficult. It is difficult, it’s hellish, but I felt I could trust her.’
‘I’m glad there’s someone you can talk to.’
‘More than talk to, Dad. When I told her about Mannie, and about Brian being our uncle, she went and did some research.’
He outlines what Alex has discovered.
Archie says, ‘It sounds horrifyingly plausible. Are you going to talk to Mannie about it?’
‘I suppose so. Can’t say I’m looking forward to that conversation. Anyway, I’m not going to do it tonight, I’ll need to do it face to face.’
‘Okay, but we should call Mannie now in case she can tell us anything about Mum.’ He pats Jonno’s shoulder. ‘I’m really proud of you. You know that.’
‘Thanks Dad. But it’s really down to Alex.’
‘Then I can’t wait to meet Alex. Let’s call Mannie, shall we?’
How quickly Jon has grown up, Archie thinks. Tonight he’s the strongest member of the family. The potential was always there, of course. Throughout the long slump in his fortunes, when unemployment dragged at his son like seaweed round an anchor, he kept going. He refused to get sucked under, he worked in the bar, he fought loss of confidence and depression and battled with the temptation of drinking to ease the darkness. He found himself a job at last.
And now, with Mannie on the end of the phone in floods of tears because she believes she is the cause of her mother’s disappearance, Jon is taking over. He’s calm and in control and he’s reassuring her that it isn’t her fault.
‘I’m just checking – can you think of anything else, anything at all, Mannie, that might give us some clue about where she’s gone?... No? Nothing? …I see – no, don’t come racing over here, there’s nothing you can do from here, we’ve searched everything. Call if you think of anything else.’
Archie smiles wryly at the role reversal. Normally it’s Mannie who’s in charge.
‘Yes of course we’ll call you back, sis. … Okay? … Yup, ’night to you too. Bye.’
Jon turns off the phone and looks at Archie. ‘What now?’
Archie shrugs. ‘Get some sleep, I guess. Go to bed, Jon. She’s okay.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I just feel it. Don’t panic. We’d have heard if there’d been an accident.’
‘Okay then. ’Night Dad.’
‘Good night.’
He’s alone in the kitchen.
I’ll sleep in our bed tonight, he thinks. I’d like to feel Susie’s presence there with me. I’ll smell her on the sheets and the duvet, and I’ll find hairs, long and golden brown, on the pillows. The closer I get to her, the easier it’s going to be to sense where she is. He pats Prince’s head absently as he mulls over the events of the day. There must be a clue somewhere. She must have left something, inadvertently perhaps, but something.
And then it comes to him.
Where do they keep important things? Tickets, vouchers, notes, reminders?
On the dresser.
He looks up. It’s right in front of him, three steps from where he sits. How can he have been so stupid? He’s there in an instant, pulling the small stack of papers from the shelf where they are stored, where Susie keeps everything that’s current.
He shuffles through the pile, but there are no clues. Nothing.
The Council Tax bill.
The leaflet about recycling.
Invitations from the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, from the University Chancellor, from the Royal Society of Edinburgh.
Tickets for a jazz concert at the Queen’s Hall and for a youth production of ‘The Boyfriend’.
An empty stamp book.
Nothing else.
He stands there, baffled. He’d been so sure.
The dresser is an old thing. It came from his parents’ house, and his mother’s parents’ house before that. Susie liked its sense of history. Besides, as she said at the time, ‘We can’t afford anything else.’ It was imported into the cosy kitchen and there it stayed, accumulating family detritus and memorabilia for almost thirty years because cleaning round the back of furniture is not their strong point.
A triangle of white catches his eye. Something is protruding from a crack in the back panelling. Gingerly, he reaches for it and slides it out. If it had slipped right through it would have fallen to the floor under the dresser and might have lain there for years.
This looks new. He unfolds it. Susie’s writing. A hasty scrawl.
Dear First Minister
I have given this a great deal of thought, and it is with much sadness and regret that I write to you to tender my resignation as an MSP. As you know ...
Archie lets the paper slide from his grasp onto the table. This he didn’t expect. He checks the date. Yesterday. But why is it still here? Is it just a draft? Why didn’t she post it?
Of course – the book of stamps is empty. He remembers using the last one himself, sending away for something trivial, he forgets what now. He meant to replace them but – preoccupied – forgot.
So she wrote it, went to the dresser to get a stamp, found there were none and was distracted by something. Why else would she leave the letter behind? Surely she’d take it with her to post as soon as she could? Instead, she must have stuffed it with some agitation onto the shelf, so that it slid into danger of disappearance.
Because she saw something else on the shelf perhaps? Picked it up before ensuring the letter was safely lodged? What? What could be so interesting that it diverted her attention from something so important?
And then he remembers a gift from the children – the hotel voucher – and he knows, with utter certainty, where she’s gone. But far from feeling relief, his heart sinks. It makes his decision about whether to go and find her much, much harder.