The Day We Disappeared (29 page)

‘Sorry,' he muttered.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. I'm incredibly stressed. I can't believe this
is happening. You know I'm not like that.'

I cowered, terrified.

Before I knew how to respond Stephen had
my wrist in a vice-like grip and had yanked me out of bed. ‘Listen to
me!' he hissed. ‘Stop acting like I'm some kind of murderer,
Annie! Some kind of psycho! I am not the man who killed your mother! I'm your
boyfriend! Your lover! Your best friend! STOP FUCKING WELL DOUBTING ME!'

I tried to back away but he followed me,
until my back was against the wall. His face had changed yet again. There was a
deadly calm in his eyes.

‘Listen to me, Annie, and listen
carefully.'

A tiny snatch of air made it into my
lungs.

‘I came and plucked you out of a
shit life that had you trapped,' he murmured, his face right next to mine. I
could smell his toothpaste and his clean, cold skin. ‘I gave you a job and I
gave it to you at a fantastic salary. I gave you everything you wanted. I took you
to France. I took you on holidays and breaks. I've brought you to New York. I
have picked you up and dusted you down
every single time
you've
fucked up, Annie – I've helped you find the things you've lost,
I've replaced your phone every time you've managed to abandon it
somewhere, I've protected you
from
your psycho friend Tim, who lies awake at night dreaming about fucking
you.'

I began to cry.

‘And I've tolerated all of
that panic and crying you're so fond of because …' he took a long, slow
breath ‘… because I love you. You owe me, Annie. You need me. You cannot
function without me.'

Small ragged snatches of air. I
concentrated on each tiny breath as it gasped into my lungs. Just another. And
another. And another.

‘Your life doesn't work
without me, and you know it.'

He ran his lip along my jawline.
‘So stop fucking around,' he whispered. ‘Stop listening to the
people who have been making your life a misery. Your sister, who's too busy
with her boyfriends to be there for you. Claudine, who seems actually to hate you
and want you to be alone. And Tim, who's so obsessed with you he took to
stalking you in your own home and you didn't even
notice
. Stop
fucking around listening to them, and listen to me. Because I make you happy, and
they don't.'

He pulled back so I could see his eyes.
They were deadly.

My wrist throbbed where Stephen had it
jammed into the wall.

‘I'm so sorry,' I
said, tears running down my cheeks. ‘I'm so sorry. It's Claudie,
she did this to me. Of course I trust you. I love you so much.'

Stephen let go of my wrist and took me
into his arms. ‘Thank God,' he said. He pulled me even tighter, stroking
my hair. ‘I thought I'd lost you to the dark side then.'

‘It's okay,' I
whispered. Stephen held me so tightly I
could hardly breathe. ‘I just let Claudine mess
with my head.'

Stephen held me there, while I fought
for my breath, murmuring into my ear about how much he loved me. Then breakfast
arrived, and we ate a perfect plate of eggs and chicory and truffled bacon, and
Stephen went for his morning number two, like he did every day after breakfast, and
I pulled on my jeans, took my passport, my coat and my scruffy handbag – so out of
place in a hotel like this – and left the room. I took the lift down to the lobby
and then I ran faster than I'd ever run in my life, out into the freezing,
steaming street, exploding into a taxi and telling it to take me to Newark, because
I knew Stephen would look for me at JFK, and if there was one thing I was utterly,
fantastically certain of, it was that I did not want him to find me.

As we turned left to start picking our
way across east Manhattan I saw Stephen running out of the hotel, looking left and
right. Even from there, I could see the fury in his face. It was the kind of fury I
had seen in my dreams since I was seven.

‘Tim,' I muttered at the
receptionist in the mental-health centre. ‘Tim Furniss, Tim, where is Tim
…'

‘I'm sorry? How can I help
you?' The woman looked resigned behind her glass window.

‘Tim,' I repeated, starting
to cry.

‘Are you his patient?' the
woman asked. There was a sign by her desk, saying,
A smile costs you
nothing!

I tried to smile, but it was impossible.
Stephen's plane had landed and he was on his way to Hackney.
I'm
coming to find you
, said a message he'd sent five minutes ago.
Stop running away, Annie. You're making things so much worse.

‘I'm not Tim's
patient, no. It's a personal matter. I'm so sorry, I know you're
all very busy here. But please could you call him? And tell him Annie's here
and it's urgent?'

The woman sighed. ‘Take a
seat,' she said. ‘I'll see what I can do.'

It was here. The time I'd
rehearsed mentally for as long as I could remember. The time when a man was chasing
me.

At first, the calls that came thundering
into my phone – relentlessly, repeatedly, like storm-boiled waves – were from
America. Even when I'd landed at Heathrow at nine
o'clock last night he was still calling me from
the hotel on Broadway.

But by the time night had fallen over
New York it must finally have dawned on him that I had left the country. The calls
started coming only from his mobile. I'd imagined him speeding furiously
through the Queens–Midtown Tunnel in a taxi, seething at having been outwitted.

For seven eerie hours the calls had
stopped as Stephen had flown through the night, but they'd started again this
morning. The first message had said,
I'm at Heathrow and I'm coming
to help you. We need to get you to a doctor and we need to do it quickly.
I'm your best friend, Pumpkin. I want to look after you. I know you better
than anyone else. Please trust me. xxx

I had almost laughed.
I know you
better than anyone else?
If he thought that I would stay in the same town –
the same
continent –
as a man who'd had me up against a wall and
threatened me, he did not know me at all.

Stephen had had no idea how
hyper-prepared I was, every moment of every day, to disappear without a
moment's notice. He had no idea that I'd spent my life working out what
I'd do if something like this happened. Negative fantasy, my therapist called
it, but I'd always thought that was unfair. It was self-preservation, and if
recent events were anything to go by, it was entirely reasonable.

You can never truly know the person you
love, someone had once said to me. How true! How dismally, horribly true. But I knew
my boyfriend now. Thirty hours had passed since I'd left that hotel room, and
in that time I'd learned a great deal about Stephen Flint. It was amazing what
you could find out, when you knew where to look.

I'd spoken
to Lizzy on my way over there. She was beside herself. ‘I thought he was
lovely,' she had wailed. ‘I just can't believe it. Please, please,
please
come to mine as soon as you're done with Timmy. Get him to
bring you here. I'll leave work as soon as you want me to.'

I pressed my hands down into my legs, as
if perhaps that might stop them shaking. I had no idea how Tim was going to react to
this mess. To me. If he appeared at all it would be a miracle, but I had to see him.
I needed information and I needed it fast.

Oh, how I hated myself for having
doubted Tim Furniss! For being so easily led! I still didn't know what had
actually gone on that day when I'd sprinted off down the street away from him,
convinced he was going to assault me (or worse), but the more I had read about
Stephen in the last thirty hours the more certain I was that Tim was not in love
with me. Or darkly obsessed with me, or any of the other awful things Stephen had
said. I was certain now that Tim had never turned up in the middle of the night,
like Stephen had told me, and the terror I'd felt when he turned up at
Stephen's house that morning had been brilliantly orchestrated by none other
than my loving boyfriend.

I'm so sorry, Tim, I thought, as
my legs hammered uncontrollably up and down.

‘Annie?'

Tim looked solid and dependable, an NHS
lanyard round his neck and his shirtsleeves rolled up.

The guilt steamrollered me.

‘Are you okay?' he
asked.

‘I'm so sorry,' I
whispered. Tim glanced at his watch, then held the door open for me, pointing me
through
with an armful of cardboard
folders. Someone in a room to the left was shouting. There was a lot of swearing and
mentions of someone called Chesney. Just for a moment, I smiled. That was a name.
That really was a name.

We walked through benign corridors,
peppered with euphemistic signs that reminded me of being a post-suicide-attempt
teenager, and eventually arrived in a hot little administrative office with
Tim's name on the door. Tim pointed me towards a chair crammed into a corner
and shut the door behind us. My phone was ringing again.

I crawled into the chair and started
sobbing.

‘Oh, Annie.' Tim handed me a
box of tissues and waited for me to cry it out, a hand on my knee.

‘Are we safe?'

Tim smiled. ‘If Stephen comes here
for you I'll have him locked away before you can say, er, I dunno.
Security.'

‘How did you know this was about
Stephen?'

Tim politely declined to comment.
‘Do you need some chocolate?' he asked instead. ‘Some ice cream?
Some heroin?'

I couldn't even smile.
‘Stephen's after me. I found out that he'd been cheating on me,
several times over, and when I tried to talk about it he rammed me up against the
wall.'

Tim's face fell. ‘Oh, God
…'

‘He's on his way to Hackney
right now. From Heathrow. He said he's coming to find me. I've had,
what, a hundred calls? More? And probably just as many text messages. He's
crazy, Tim.'

‘Okay. Before we do anything else,
we need to call the police.' His phone was already in his hand.

‘No!'

‘Yes. I'm no lawyer, Annie,
but it sounds like he pretty much assaulted you, and the calls and messages are
harassment. As is his threat to “find” you. We need the police at your
house if he's heading there.'

You fool
, I chastised myself.
You idiot!

I had a plan. The plan was already in
action. And it was a pretty good plan, all things considered, one that I'd
spent years firming up, but it depended on the police not being involved.

‘Tim,' I said, as steadily
as I could, ‘we can and will call the police. But not yet. Please will you
trust me?'

Tim sighed. ‘You're asking a
lot of me,' he said quietly. ‘An awful lot, Annie, after the last few
months.'

‘I know. But there are some things
I need to work out before I get the law involved. Stephen's clever. He could
outwit me very easily if I don't have my story firmed up.'

Tim nodded reluctantly.
A few
minutes
.

I took a deep breath. ‘Tim, why
haven't we talked in nearly three months?'

He frowned. ‘What do you
mean?'

‘I mean, why have we not talked in
nearly three months?'

Tim was at a loss. ‘You
know
why we haven't talked. You sent me a text message in
October, saying that you were having a rough time and that you didn't want to
see me for a while.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, really. Do you not
remember?' He was beginning to look at me as if I were his patient.

I ignored his expression. ‘Let me
get this absolutely straight. You got a text message, from my phone number,
saying,
Hi Tim, I need some time
off from our friendship for a while
?'

Tim nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘And you just thought, Oh, okay,
fine?'

‘No,' Tim said firmly.
‘Of course not. I called you back straight away. And when you didn't
answer, I called you again, then again, and then again.'

Yes. The phone ringing on the chair
while Stephen and I sat in the bath.

The dull weight of truth was now
pressing hard upon me. ‘I didn't send that text,' I said.
‘It was Stephen.'

He was astonished. ‘What?
Why?'

‘Let me tell you what
I
have spent the last three months believing,' I said, feeling my colour rise.
This was not going to be easy. ‘In my infinite wisdom, Timmy, I decided that
you were talking about me that night in the tube station when you said you'd
been in love with someone for years who didn't feel the same.'

Tim looked slightly amazed. ‘Er,
really?'

‘It was Stephen's fault. He
was convinced from the very beginning that you had feelings for me. He used to talk
about it all the time, pointing out things you'd said and done. I ignored it
for ages but in the end it got under my skin and I started to believe him. Sadly, as
you know, it doesn't take much for me to distrust men.' I exhaled.
‘I'm still horribly ashamed that I doubted you. Of all people. That part
makes me very sad.' I looked at him, at his kind, trustworthy face.

‘I am really, truly not in love
with you, Annie.'

‘No need to sound quite so
disgusted.'

‘Oh, Annie, come
on
!
It'd be like being in love with my
sister!' He began to blush. ‘I was talking
about –' He stopped. His cheeks were roasting red. ‘I was talking about
Lizzy. Not you.'

Just for a second, I forgot that a man
with a severe personality disorder was on his way to my house.
‘
Lizzy?
'

‘Lizzy. I'm sorry, I can
imagine that might be slightly weird for you to hear. If not abhorrent.' His
voice had dipped almost to a whisper.

I tried to take this in. Tim was in love
with my sister? He
what
?

I could remember, clear as day, the
first time I'd introduced him to Lizzy back in the nineties. He was wearing an
Ocean Colour Scene T-shirt and he had curtain hair and big Vans trainers. Lizzy was
listening to Soul II Soul and wearing cropped jumpers and lipstick called
Heatherberry. She'd barely acknowledged him, and when he and I had sat out in
the garden, drinking ginger beer and talking about bereavement, Tim asked me if
Lizzy had a boyfriend and went crimson for two hours. I'd ignored it, because
everyone fancied my big sister, and he'd never mentioned her again. All those
years, all those girlfriends. Poor Tim!

‘I know it's hopeless, and
that I'd never stand a chance with her. So you needn't say anything.
And, anyway, this isn't the time to talk about it.' His voice was all
cracked and wonky.

I just stared at him. ‘Why did you
never say anything?'

Tim was crimson. ‘What would have
been the point? You'd have been grossed out – you'd have told her and
she'd have rejected me.'

‘No, Timmy! Lizzy adores you, she
–'

‘Lizzy
adores me in the same way that you do, Annie. I went a bit mad for twenty-four
hours, decided I was going to tell you – that's why I asked if we could meet
to talk. I couldn't bear it any longer. But for obvious reasons that
didn't happen. Look, can we drop this, please? We've got more important
things to talk about.'

My phone rang, as if to prove his point.
Stephen. For the millionth time, my insides spasmed with fear. I cancelled the call
and almost as soon as I did it rang again. Lizzy this time. ‘I'm with
Tim,' I said. ‘I'll be on my way soon.'

‘Thank God.' She sighed.
‘If anyone's able to make sense of this mess, it's
Timmy.'

Tim could clearly hear her voice. He
blushed, and I wondered how I could possibly have failed to notice this before.

‘Come on, Pumpkin,' he said.
‘Carry on with the story.'

I shuddered.

‘Annie?'

‘He calls me Pumpkin too. Has done
for ages. I think it was some weird brainwashy thing, deliberately planting you in
my mind all the time. He …' my voice quaked but I forged on ‘… he got me
a little silver P on a chain for Christmas, and said it was P for Pumpkin. Only
I've since realized that he messed up and gave me the wrong necklace. My P was
almost certainly for Petra, that girl in the restaurant in the summer – he's
been fucking her all along.'

Tim just stared at me. ‘Petra his
niece
?'

‘No, nice, trusting Tim. Nice,
trusting Annie bought that nonsense too. In reality she was just some girl off the
internet. I want to call her a slag but I'm sure she's
perfectly nice. Although theirs seems to be quite a
sex-based relationship, from the few emails I've seen.'