The Missing One (36 page)

I try to keep smiling, ‘What?'

‘You're with Susannah, right?'

‘How did you know?'

‘Well, you just have to be Elena's daughter!' she cries. She peers over the counter at Finn. ‘And I guess this beautiful little angel must be her grandchild.'

I can't keep up the smile.

‘All the way from England! I couldn't quite place your face at first, I think it's the hair, but then when you spoke, with your accent, and I looked at you properly it's unmistakably … but Susannah never mentioned a thing about your visit! Is your mother finally here?' She looks behind me, as if my mother is about to materialize by the baguettes. ‘I can
not
wait to meet her.'

‘No! What? No. My mother isn't here.'

‘Oh. Shame. You came alone with the little one?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well. Well – welcome! How long are you staying?'

‘Actually, we're leaving later on today.' I hand her a bunch of dollars. ‘But, sorry – sorry – do you
know
my mother?'

‘Oh sure – well, I mean – we've never met, but you sure look just like her. You couldn't be anyone else, even with your cute short hair.'

‘No, wait. I'm sorry.' I give my head a quick shake. ‘I just … How do you know what my mother looks like if you've never met?'

‘The sculptures of course. Did she show you? Oh my goodness. Get Susannah to show you her Elenas! You'll
love
them. When she and your mother go to all these places she never takes photos but she comes back and makes these beautiful ceramics of your mother's face. They go back a few years now, and it's just beautiful. Honestly, I knew you right away just from the Elenas. So beautiful! Such a bone structure – both of you! Beauties!'

‘Wait a minute – Susannah and my mother
travelled
together?'

Maggie nods, but her smile is fading. The sinews in her neck look very taut as if struggling to keep her head from drooping floorwards. ‘They were down in Oaxaca just last month, weren't they? I do think it's wonderful to have a friendship that's lasted all these years over such a great distance. Your mother sounds like a wonderful person.'

‘Sorry, no. I mean, I think you've got that wrong. My mother never travelled anywhere with Susannah.' I consider adding that a month ago, my mother could not have been in Oaxaca since she was in bed on a morphine drip.

Maggie's frown deepens. Her cheeks turn carnation-pink and one hand flies up, patting at her curls.

‘Never mind.' I try to smile, again, to cover the embarrassment we're both feeling. ‘It doesn't matter. Those sculptures sound amazing.'

‘Well, yes, they're beautiful, they really are. Get Susannah to show you them. She has them in her studio, I think, or maybe she's storing them now at the gallery. She doesn't like people to see them generally, Lord knows why
as they're stunning pieces, but she will show you, I'm sure. She just has to.'

She turns and bustles with the coffee. As she hands me the cardboard cup she is still smiling, but it looks very strained. She turns away and pops two muffins in a paper bag. ‘And how about a cookie? Would this little guy like a cookie? I have oatmeal raisin. Or chocolate chip … ' She takes one, and leans over the counter with it. He reaches up, eyes round. ‘There you go, honey,' she says. ‘Oh no – no – keep the money.' She waves away my dollars. ‘It's on me. And you have to try my poppy-seed muffins, here – Susannah loves them. No, please, they're on me too. Tell Susie I said hi.' She hands me a bag. ‘She down at the gallery?'

I nod, ask if she's sure I can't pay, thank her, and then take the bag and the coffee.

As I close the door I glance back. Our eyes meet. She blinks rapidly. There is a look of plain confusion on her face.

There is a drugstore opposite the bakery, but it is closed – it's only 8.40. I peer through the window and a white-haired man leaning over the counter sees me. He comes over and unlocks the door.

‘Sorry,' I say. ‘You're not open yet.'

‘Oh sure, come on in. Always happy to open early for a pretty lady.' He steps back, smiling gallantly.

We go in and find the nappy section. I buy a small pack and some wipes, and let Finn choose another sippy cup – he picks one with a yellow duck on it. We pass down the
aisle to the checkout and I see the pregnancy tests. I should just do it. Now she's planted the thought, I have to just do it.

The shopkeeper is chatty, asking if I'm Australian, then telling me about his aunt in Liverpool. Then my phone pings as a text comes in. I apologize, and pull it out of my pocket while he bags the things up.

There are six new texts. They must have come in since I got the signal – all from Doug. I can't read them. Then one pings in from Alice. I open it.

Call u in a mo – in mtg – Did u call Doug?

I type a quick reply.

I take the bag from the shopkeeper, who looks slightly less friendly. I suppose it's very rude to be texting in front of him.

I'm actually not sure if we really are flying back on Saturday. I realize that I don't quite know what day of the week it is – Monday or Tuesday, I think. But better that Doug should have a sense of security about Finn. He needs a narrative for this trip. He needs to know that I haven't abducted our child – it doesn't matter if the day is technically inaccurate. I'll send him the real flight details later.

‘Come on, love,' I say to Finn. ‘Time to go.'

‘No.' He squats by the sweets.

My phone pings – I glance at my emails. My father's instant reply.

I step to one side and, hunching away from the shopkeeper, I type furiously:

Finn is singing to himself, again, nonsense words, and pulling packs of Altoids off a child-level shelf. I kneel and shove them all back on. Then my phone rings. I pull it out, apologizing, aware of how appalling I must seem to the shopkeeper, who is staring at me, stonily now. But it's Alice – I can't not answer.

‘OK. Where are you?' she says.

‘I'm in this place called Spring Tide Island, in the middle
of nowhere. But I can't really talk properly, I've got Finn here, we're in a shop and he's pulling things off shelves and I'm trying to get him to leave.'

‘What are you
doing
there?'

‘OK, quick version – no, love, don't do that.' I try to manoeuvre Finn away from the Altoids. ‘I'm staying with an old friend of Mum's called Susannah; they were friends at university. I've found out so much, it's mind-blowing. Our mother was a whale researcher off the coast of British Columbia. Did you know this? She photographed and recorded wild orcas – Finn. Put that – no – put it down now – yes, now – she was part of this massive conservation thing up here, and she left Dad – they split up – she bought land up here – Finn, NO – in the middle of bloody nowhere … '

‘Kal, could you slow down? It's quite hard to hear you.'

‘I know. It's a lot to take in – I've actually just been emailing Dad – who is being completely infuriating – he says we'll “talk” – but honestly, I mean, you should see it up here. It's unbelievable. It's so remote and big and wild. Finn – put it down, love – come on. Come on! – And she lived here – she owned a floating house somewhere on an island, a cabin-type thing – a house built on floats. I think it's still up there – on some island in an archipelago somewhere. She lived there while she studied orcas. And our grandfather, Mum's dad, was an abusive drinker who killed our grandmother – he rammed their car into a tree when he was drunk. Mum was eight years old. Christ! Alice, did you know any of this? Did she talk to you about any of this?'

‘Kal – it's almost impossible to—'

‘Our mother was a killer whale expert! She owned a floating house in British Columbia!'

‘What? This sounds … ' Alice pauses. ‘Are you OK, Kal?'

‘I'm totally fine! It's all true. Dad has confirmed the stuff about our grandparents. And Susannah told me all about the whales – I don't see why she'd lie.' Finn tugs at a box containing chapsticks and the man leans over the counter, wagging a finger.

‘Finn – no.' I reach for his hand. ‘Uh-uh.' He shakes me off.

‘What?' says Alice. ‘You're breaking up.'

‘Listen,' I say. ‘I've got to go. Finn's destroying the shop. But this feels huge, Alice. I think it may explain why Mum was always so difficult with me and not with you – I think she probably had to leave all this behind – and she loved it – because of me. So, I don't know, I reminded her of that, or whatever. Look – Finn's … I've got to go. I'll call you later, OK? There's no Internet at Susannah's house and no mobile reception, but I'm heading back to Vancouver later today so I'll call you when I'm back in civilization. OK?'

‘Listen,' she says. ‘Surely Mum would have told us about all this? Are you sure this Susannah person is reliable?'

‘I'm sure.' I try to unpeel Finn's fingers from the box. The shopkeeper is walking round to our side of the counter, ‘Sort of. I don't know. Look, I'll be in Vancouver tonight, back at the same B & B – and I'll call you from there.'

‘But I want to know what else you've found out.'

‘The whales and her parents are the main things, but we can talk properly later. OK?'

‘But I didn't know any of this,' she says. She suddenly sounds about eight years old.

‘Me neither. Now are you glad I've come here? Because I am. Look, it's OK. I really do have to go now – I'll call you from Vancouver. Don't worry.'

‘OK.' For once my little sister doesn't tell me to be careful, or question the wisdom of my actions.

I hang up, and start apologizing to the shopkeeper, who is plainly appalled by me. I try to scrape up chapsticks with one hand, while preventing Finn from getting back to them with the other, all the time aware that mine is just the sort of behaviour that I can't stand in other people. Eventually, I wrestle Finn – now kicking and howling – out the door. As it shuts, I see the man staring after me with a look of contempt on his once kindly face.

My phone is in my hand and before I put it in my pocket an email pings in. I can't not look.

He is right about that.

Back in the gallery I call up ‘Hello!' There is no reply, but
I think I can hear her muffled voice up there. She is pacing around.

Maggie's comments make no sense. I wonder if she has mistaken something Susannah said. She must have mixed my mother up with another old friend. Or maybe Maggie is not so reliable. She certainly seemed flustered. Living here could make anyone lose touch with reality. Then again, she could only have recognized me if she'd seen my mother's face.

I sit down, holding Finn between my knees. Fortunately, the cookie keeps him occupied and he munches on it, then holds it up to offer me a bite too.

‘Yum.' I bite the soggy cookie. It is outrageously sweet and tastes as if it's been rolled in cinnamon. It is only 9 a.m, and I'm feeding him cookies.

‘Num, num.' He stuffs more into his mouth. It is so vast, but I have a feeling he will not stop, even when he's full to bursting – he can't believe his luck. For a moment I imagine the playgroup mummies with their Tupperware snack boxes of organic rice cakes. Unsalted.