The Day We Disappeared (16 page)

 

 

Hours later, when the sun has gone and the fields are still and grey, a
policeman finds her curled up in a tight ball in the shadow of the wall. He
takes her home, where there is a row of white cars with blue lights.

A policewoman leads her to the couch where she sits her down and explains to her
that her mother is not alive any more, but Annie already knows. From a room
upstairs come terrible noises; noises that sound like jungle animals more than
they do Daddy. But Annie knows it's Daddy because from time to time she
can hear him cry, ‘Georgie, Georgie, my girl, my Georgie, no.'

Lizzy has cried herself to sleep. She is a defeated ball in the corner of the
armchair.

The policewoman seems to wait for Annie to cry, but she is silent as a mouse.
When the policewoman asks if she understands what she's told her, Annie
just nods.

She stares at the fireplace where there's a misshapen wicker basket that
Mummy once bought in an Abroad Country. It's surrounded by a collection of
shoes from last night, when they all played ‘throw the shoe into the lumpy
basket'. Over there on the wooden table is a mug that still holds the
remains of the cinnamon tea Mummy was drinking last night. And over the chair a
big silk scarf that they bought in that thing called a flea market that was full
of smelly clothes.

Annie sits perfectly still with her hands folded in her lap and just shakes her
head when Mrs Wilson from the village arrives and asks her if she wants a
sandwich.

‘Or maybe a tissue, sweetheart?' The policewoman tries again.
‘Some lemonade? A nice glass of milk?'

I didn't reply because, already, I'd gone. I'd disappeared
from my own life, just like Mum had from hers – only I wasn't put in a box
and buried. I had to stay.

Three days into Badminton Horse Trials I
stood in the crowd overlooking a cross-country jump called the Vicarage Vee, which
Mark had told me was one of the most famous on the course. The air was hot and humid
and the vast crowds that had been pouring in over the last two days had swelled yet
again. Fear pulsed in my temples as I imagined Mark and Stumpy galloping around that
impossible course. Please, I prayed feverishly to my occasional God, please, God, I
beg you, keep them safe. I'll do anything – I'll even go out for sherry
with Maria, if you want me to. I could become a proper Catholic, or work at a
shelter or donate a kidney. Just don't let any harm come to them.

Away from my daily routine in Somerset,
I was finding it far harder to maintain the growing sense of calm I'd felt
over the last few weeks. Intrusive flashbacks from my past – the whole bloody mess
of it – had kept me awake the last two nights as I'd tried to sleep on my
narrow bunk with Mark only metres away. And, try as I might, I couldn't
control the strong physical sensations I felt when I was around him. When he'd
done his dressage test yesterday, then removed his top hat at the end to bow at the
judges, his hair had blown loose in the crisp morning air. I felt like
I'd been hit in the face.
‘You're beautiful,' I'd whispered, and then felt sick in
case anyone – including me – had heard.

I'd tried to run off and have a
drink with Tiggy last night but Mark had cornered me and said, all nice and relaxed,
‘Why don't we take our favourite horse for a walk along the
lanes?' And I'd found myself in a beautiful sunset once again with a
horse I adored and a man I –

A man I nothing.

‘Let's let Stumpy graze for
a bit,' Mark had said, when we reached a large field with the double gates
left open. ‘I don't like him being in a stable all the time.'

Stumpy had been very happy to oblige.
We'd sat on an old stone wall while he had mown down the corner of some
unsuspecting farmer's land. I laughed every time I looked at my big grey
friend; Tiggy had taken his plaits out after the dressage and his mane looked as if
it had been given a tight perm.

‘There's a lot of indignity
in being a horse,' I observed, watching him. ‘Perms, people doing baby
talk at you – not to mention all that ridiculous dressage stuff.'

‘What do you mean, “all that
ridiculous dressage stuff”? Stumpy loves it!'

I laughed. ‘He can't!
It's ridiculous! No horse would enjoy that!'

‘Stumpy would disagree. You
don't do dressage that well if you hate it.'

I loved the ease with which Mark chatted
when he was away from home. He was like a different man here in this honey-stoned
village; a man unafraid to smile and laugh and show the world who he was.

‘You seem
so different out of the yard,' I said.

Mark looked at me, and I felt little
prickling sensations all the way down my back.

‘So much happier,' I added,
rather wishing I hadn't piped up in the first place. ‘You really love
these competitions, don't you?'

‘Yeah, I do.' He sighed.

Silence.

‘I live for the competitions,
although they're exhausting. But, really, I –' He broke off, and I
looked away. Strange things happened when I spent too long looking at him.

‘Really you what?'

‘Doesn't matter.'

‘Sure?'

‘Ah, fuck it,' he said.
‘Fuck it, Kate. The truth is, I just love being away from Maria.' He
breathed out in a big whoosh. ‘And it's such a relief to say so, even
though it's an awful thing to admit.'

I hadn't expected that.

‘As soon as I drive that lorry out
of the yard I feel …' He searched around for the right word.
‘Free.'

‘Oh.'

‘And for the record …' he
sighed ‘… I dislike myself enormously for saying that. Quite apart from the
fact that it's so disrespectful to talk about Maria behind her back, I
couldn't bear it if Ana Luisa thought I liked being away from
her.
I
don't. I love her. I love her so much it hurts at times.' His eyes
welled suddenly.

‘But you're right. I do love
being away at competitions. It's like stepping into a different world where I
… hold
some value as a human
being.' Mark concentrated hard on his hand, which was clutching Stumpy's
lead-rope with a white-knuckled ferocity.

‘You do hold value as a human
being,' I said, because I couldn't not.

Mark didn't react. He just stared
at his hands. ‘That's not what it feels like in my house,' he said
eventually. ‘In my house I'm a low-value human.'

Leave her, I thought sadly. You're
too special for this. Mark deserved someone who loved him. Respected him. I wanted
to shout, ‘Look what you've achieved, for crying out loud! And after
having your childhood ripped away from you by your dad. You're a miracle,
Mark, you deserve better!'

But then I looked at dear, lovely, sweet
Stumpy, chomping away so happily at the grass, his tail flicking lazily at flies,
and I thought of Ana Luisa, sitting up on the saddle in front of her daddy last
week, shrieking excitedly, her father's arm tightly round her middle, and I
knew it wasn't that simple. Mark had everything to lose if he threw Maria
out.

So I just said, ‘I
understand.'

‘I'm sure we'll work
it out,' Mark said tiredly. ‘Relationships are hard, right?'

‘Don't look at me,' I
told him. ‘I'm the last person you'd want to ask about
relationships.'

‘I see. Well, I'm sure Maria
and I'll sort it out,' he said, and neither of us believed him.

We had talked until the golden fields
around us began to turn grey, and by the time we got up to leave I felt crazy. When
Mark smiled at me, and said, ‘Thanks, Kate. That
was really nice,' I swear my legs wobbled like
something from a historical romance.

‘Daddy!' shouted a small
voice, in the mêlée of grooms and riders in the stable block.

Before we even saw her, I felt Mark
stiffen. ‘Ana Luisa?'

Maria and Ana Luisa were meant to be in
Portugal for ten days, at the luxury villa of one of Maria's relatives. It was
unusual for Maria to be away during such a major event, Becca had said, but
evidently the offer had been too good. ‘She never turns down the finer things,
pet,' Becca had said disparagingly. ‘Nasty old skank.'

‘Daddy!' Ana Luisa shouted.
There she was, all done up in a posh little blouse and ruby-coloured trousers.
‘Mummy's made me wear stupid clothes,' she grumbled, throwing her
arms around Mark's legs. ‘I think we need to get one of those
stylists,' she added, and Mark laughed loudly.

‘How do you know what a stylist
is?' He reached down to scoop up his daughter.

‘Anyone who's
anyone
knows what a stylist is,' Ana Luisa said, and Mark hugged
her hard.

‘You're mad,' he said.
‘I'm so happy to see you!'

‘It's Mummy who's
mad,' Ana Luisa said. ‘I hate these clothes! Can I wear Stumpy's
instead?'

‘He'd be delighted to lend
you a rug, I'm sure.' Mark kissed her head. ‘How come you're
back early? Is everything okay?'

‘Everything's fine,'
Ana Luisa said. ‘Mummy just said we had to come back to take care of business.
You know what she's like.'

‘But where is she? Who are you
here with?'

‘Monica,' Ana Luisa said airily.

‘Monica?'

‘She works for that German man
with the weird name.'

‘Jochim?'

‘Yes. Daddy, I need some different
clothes.'

‘Why did she leave you with Jochim
Furst's groom?'

He has no idea, I thought.

I put Stumpy into his stable and rugged
him up for the evening, smiling as Mark and his daughter discussed the merits of
horse blankets as human clothes, but fuming as I thought about Maria. Leaving her
daughter with Jochim's groom while she went off for a shag? What kind of
mother behaved like that? I tried to imagine how I'd have felt if my own
mother had pulled such a stunt but gave up because it was so inconceivable that
she'd have been so bloody selfish in the first place. Ana Luisa was
six
! Six years old! And it was nearly dark!

Where the hell was she?

‘I came to make sure you ran
Stumpy on the cross-country tomorrow,' Maria purred, arriving just at that
moment. With the click of her leather-heeled boots came a swampy fug of expensive
perfume.

‘Oh, hello,' Mark said. He
made to kiss her cheek but she moved away. ‘You cancelled your
holiday?'

‘I cut it short,' she
replied. ‘My father asked me to. He did not want to leave matters to
chance.'

‘Leave what matters to
chance?'

‘Matters such as you doing the
wimp-out and not letting Stumpy run the cross-country,' Maria said, as if
talking to a challenging child. ‘I know what you are like, obsessing about
problems that do not exist.'

Mark took a deep
breath. How he stayed calm around her I had no idea. ‘Stumpy's warm
fetlock
definitely
existed,' he said. ‘And it was only three
weeks ago. So forgive me for exercising caution.'

‘The horse is fine,' Maria
snapped. ‘He just hit his fetlock on something. The swelling went down within
the day! We will not have you threatening your place in the World Equestrian Games
team because of minor thing that happen months ago.'

‘Three weeks ago,' Mark
repeated, but I could tell he'd given up. ‘Look, I'm planning to
run him. He's passed his vetting, he's passed the trot-up, he's
been perfectly sound and he did a beautiful dressage test. Of course I'm
planning to run him. But obviously I'd pull him straight away if I
didn't think he was up to it.'

‘For fuck's sake,'
Maria snapped. ‘Why you
always
look for the negative? Why you always
look for excuses not to run my horses?'

‘Can you not swear in front of our
daughter?' Mark asked. ‘Just for five minutes? Have you heard her
language recently?'

‘Oh!
Now
you worry about
your daughter!
Now
you step in to be good father!'

I stroked Stumpy's neck. I was
going to have to get out of there at some point, and I strongly suspected that Ana
Luisa would want to escape this. But I was scared of Maria, too.

Then: Sod her, I thought. I'm Kate
Brady and I won't stand for this.

‘Hi, Maria,' I said,
emerging from the stable. ‘How are you?'

Maria barely
glanced at me. ‘Fine.'

‘Mark's taking great care of
your horse,' I said. ‘Which is why he should be fine to run
tomorrow.'

She turned to look at me. Too far?

‘I'm
sorry
?'

Definitely too far.

‘I said, Mark's taking great
care of your horse.'

Maria's nostrils flared.
‘I'm sure you have things to do,' she said softly. ‘We are
busy here.'

‘Fancy a hot dog?' I asked
Ana Luisa.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘And
an ice cream, and a burger, and maybe some sweets.'

‘Deal.'

As I walked off with his daughter, I
felt Mark smile, even if the gesture hadn't quite made it to his face.
You're welcome, I thought. I'd do anything for you.

And that, I knew, as I took Ana
Luisa's hand, was very frightening. What about Becca? And Maria? And this
confident little girl powering along beside me?

If you don't get this under
control you'll have to resign, I told myself shakily.

But where would I go?

The smooth, moneyed voice on the Tannoy
told me that Mark Waverley and Distant Thunder were clear of the Outlander Bank and
heading towards the Gatehouse New Pond. Only one jump until they were in my line of
vision, tackling that most hideous of obstacles. My heart was thumping loudly in my
ears. Stewards were blowing warning whistles and the public crossing was closed to
clear the way for my boss and his horse.

And there they
were. My beautiful, beautiful Stumpy, nostrils flared pink, sweat foaming over his
breastbone, yet so strong, so fast, so confident as he galloped up the green slope.
Mark sat light as a feather in his saddle, face set on the jumps ahead, already
reining in Stumpy to make sure he was on the right stride. Adrenalin lifted me high
above the crowd and I hovered there, tremulous and sick, as everyone turned to
follow Mark over the first part of the jump.

Stumpy leaped as if the jump were
nothing, Mark crouched over him. I began to smile as they flew through the air.
Thank God!