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‘Great. Thank you.’ I said it in earnest. ‘I’m going to get something good out of it – got an instinct with this, believe me.’
Now she leant forwards. ‘Very topical Essex is right now.’
‘That, I know, dear Yoda.’
She grinned. ‘Do you think you could explore your contacts and get some coverage in the nationals? If you come up with anything biggish?’
‘I can’t promise anything but it’s always a possibility. I’m pretty sure there’s an angle I could work out that could pull in the wider population. Hopkins has more than a regional fascination.’
Maggie’s eyes were fixed on my face. ‘Excellent. I want more than an “And Finally” on Look East. God knows we need to boost circulation.’ She leant forwards and picked up her mug.
I mirrored her. The coffee was hot and delicious so I gulped it greedily, feeling the heat in my throat, then processing her last comment, I said, ‘I thought you were doing great.’
Maggie sighed. ‘We are, in terms of readership and profile. Best it’s ever been. But our landlord’s putting the rent up; the price of paper is going through the roof right now, and what with the recession or whatever this dire slump we’re passing through is called, a lot of our regular advertisers have had to pull. A fair few have gone bust still owing us. Marketing is always the first thing to go when times are hard.’
I stared up and caught a sagging around her eyes. ‘I had no idea.’
Maggie reached for a fag and projected her chair to the sash window. Lighting it, she pushed the bottom half up and craned her mouth to the opening.
‘Please don’t tell anyone, Sadie. I’m confiding in you as a friend, not an employee. I don’t want it to get out to the others.’ She blew a long sigh of smoke through the gap. ‘We’ll be lucky if we’re still trading this time next year.’
‘Ouch,’ I said.
She faced me. Her regular kittenish expression disappeared. There was more of a hungry alley cat look going on there. ‘Pull this “Essex Girls’ History of the World” article off and I’ll think about upping your rate to something bordering on decent and throw in your expenses.’
I sat back and looked her squarely in the face. ‘That’s a generous offer. Considering …’
‘I said I’d think about it. You know me, always one for a get-out clause.’ She laughed, and the kitten returned. ‘Let’s call it a calculated risk. I have faith in you.’
A strong blast of air came in through the crack, scattering several loose papers across the desk and blowing my notebook shut. I gathered them up, feeling a little less excited than I had been just moments before. ‘Thank you for the vote of confidence. I’m not sure that I deserve it. Not yet.’
‘Don’t be so down on yourself.’ She shot me another look and said more softly, ‘You sure you’re okay?’
It was an invitation to talk. But I didn’t want to open those particular floodgates so I sniffed, swallowed down all self-doubt and wobbliness, and smiled as brightly as I could. ‘Fine. Honest.’
‘Right then,’ her tone changed: she was wrapping up. Our transactions were like that. I’d got used to Maggie’s looping behaviour that swung from utter professionalism to friendly concern then promptly back again. ‘Can’t stay here chatting about books and whatnot. You get going. Crack on with your witches. When do you think you can give me an idea of where you’re going with your leads?’
I told her about two weeks should do it and stood up to go.
‘Great,’ she said as I made for the door. ‘Oh, and Sadie. Call me if you need any help sorting Rosamund’s house.’
I told her she’d be the first on my list and said goodbye.
She was second actually, but I appreciated the gesture.
Chapter Four
Okay, so the first on my list would be Dan. I wouldn’t ever say that he was like a father to me: he came onto the scene when I was hitting my twenties. Although Dad had upped sticks and remarried by then, we stayed in touch, and he did his paternal duties to the best of his ability. There was no gaping hole there and I had no desire for another father figure. Thankfully Dan didn’t attempt to patronise me by insinuating himself into my life. That’s not to suggest there was conflict there – although we enjoyed a good debate, holding opposing views on many issues, it rarely strayed towards heat. We gradually learnt that we shared several traits: an unfashionable respect for the Beckhams, a crossover in early punk CD compilations, a distrust of online shopping and, of course, we both loved my mum, Rosamund.
I couldn’t understand where he had disappeared off to?
It was so unlike him.
But I was going to sort it. I was determined. After I left Mercurial I drove over to Leigh.
Dan’s flat was on the third floor of a large 1920s block with stunning views over the Thames Estuary to Kent and beyond. It wasn’t massive: two large bedrooms, a contemporary kitchen/diner and a lounge with a balcony just big enough to squeeze on a round table and two small chairs, three at a push if I happened to pop in. The first time I visited I was impressed by the minimalist interior. Later I discovered his style was a product of divorce and OCD, rather than fashion statement.
Over the past few years he’d chosen his furniture carefully, with an eye on simple classic design, and as a consequence his flat had a groovy, contemporary vibe that was quite charming.
That afternoon though, I was surprised by what I found. Not that there was anything immediately concerning, well not anything I could put my finger on straight away. In the kitchen Dan’s laptop sat on the work surface half open. It wasn’t plugged in and the battery was flat. Next to it was a three-quarters full, stone-cold cup of coffee with a thick skin on the top.
It wasn’t like Dan not to clean up after himself.
I crossed the kitchen and entered the lounge. The TV was on, volume way down low. Perhaps he had returned and gone out?
Maybe he was here? Asleep in his room? The bedroom came off a central hallway. As I pushed it open, I tentatively called out his name.
I felt intrusive entering his bedroom, but once I was assured no sounds of life came from within, I opened the door wide.
His bedroom was in a state of mild disarray. But I mean, mild. In my place it would be considered tidy; the duvet was jumbled up loosely in a mound at the end of the bed. Some of the drawers from the large mahogany chest had been pulled out and not pushed back in.
So, although it was more chaotic than Dan liked, it didn’t resemble a robbery. The laptop was in full view and the plasma TV that hung on the wall hadn’t been touched.
Perhaps he’d been searching for something. Or packed in a hurry.
But it just didn’t feel right.
Like most recovering depressives, since Dan had learnt to control his moods, everything else under his rule was managed efficiently and tightly too. He was as likely to leave this mess as he was to miss an appointment with his doctor. Or with my mother, for that matter.
Could an old infirm relative have needed him? Family crisis?
Then why not let Mum know?
Why not send a message at least? It was selfish not to.
Anger tightened my brow.
Remembering Sally’s request, I stomped into the bathroom. A quick scan revealed an unusually tousled cabinet. At the back, on the bottom shelf, there were two bottles of Dan’s regular medication. I stuck one in my bag and closed the bathroom door.
I felt odd leaving the place all messed up like that, so I nipped into the kitchen, closed the laptop, stowed it away under the sink and washed up the mug.
As I was locking up on the landing the neighbour’s front door opened a few inches.
‘Who’s that?’ The voice belonged to an old, well-spoken woman. Through the crack I could vaguely make out sleek white hair, and elegantly bespectacled blue eyes.
‘I’m Sadie, Rosamund’s daughter.’
The door trembled then opened to the length of the
security chain.
The smell of grilling bacon wafted out into the hall.
Dan’s neighbour squinted through the gap. ‘Where’s your mother?’
I gave her a taut explanation and the blue eyes softened a little. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. Standard response.
The woman regarded me with what I assumed was pity, then she sniffed and lowered her head and said, ‘I’ve heard things, you know.’
Most of us tend to gloss over non sequiturs like this but as a journalist, when people come out with lines like that, I’m always straight in there, probing. You usually find they’re spoken in unguarded moments – when the conscious, or the conscience, is struggling with the subconscious mind, and not guarding the ‘truth lobe’.
‘What things? Do you know where Dan’s gone, Mrs … Sorry, I don’t know your name?’
I held out my hand and took a step towards her. It completely backfired. The woman took a step back and her door slammed shut.
I hung about for a couple of minutes, waiting to see if she was going to open it again, then shrugged mentally and put the neighbour’s words down to old age or battiness and left.
As I crossed the ground floor foyer I passed a tall man in a black leather jacket with a remarkably expensive-looking tan, not the kind you get from living in the UK. Or out of a bottle for that matter. And, believe me, I’m from Essex – I know.
He smiled as if he knew me. That kind of reaction wasn’t uncommon: Leigh was a small town, people tended to know of each other, even if they hadn’t yet met. I nodded back.
As I approached the large glass doors at the front, the tall man skipped in front of me. He smiled again, this time revealing perfect white teeth and a pair of intense blue eyes, then he held open the door for me. ‘Ladies first.’ There was an accent there, though the exchange was too brief to pinpoint it.
‘Thank you.’ I stepped through it and continued over to my car expecting him to follow me out.
He didn’t.
As I swung out of the car park I saw him behind the glass door.
I couldn’t swear to it, as I was a fair distance away, but I think he was watching me.
Back at the hospice, I found Sally.
‘I think it’s all right to take them,’ I told her and handed over the bottle. ‘There was another one there of the same. I know Dan usually has a lot of spares in case he mislays the meds. He’s not going to run out for a good while.’
Sally heaved a sigh. ‘It’s all been very stressful for poor Dan. You’re managing to cope, Sadie. You’re young and have friends and your dad. Dan’s pretty much on his own and I think he might not be handling this too well.’
I had been so wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself and Mum that it hadn’t occurred to me what Dan might be going through. Now I saw Sally could be right. I remembered a conversation I had once with him about his medication. He described the drugs as creating a ‘semi-porous wall’ which managed to keep out what he referred to as ‘the dark’. ‘Sometimes,’ he told me, ‘it’s just not strong enough.’
‘What do you do then?’ I asked him.
‘We go back to the doctors,’ Mum interjected.
What with everything that had been going on lately, I doubted very much that Dan had thought about making an appointment.
‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘I never thought of that. It’s been a very difficult time. I’ve been completely self-obsessed.’
Sally’s eyes crinkled into deep lines around the corners of her eyes and across the top of her cheeks.
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it, love. You’ve had your own cross to bear.’ She smiled gently. You could tell she did that a hell of a lot. The pattern of lines was etched deeply into her face through years of usage.
She held the bottle up to inspect then said, ‘Dan might have taken some time out to get his head straight. Then again, he well might have relapsed. If you’re not acting rationally, then you don’t think things through logically. Stress makes people react in different ways.’
‘Yes,’ I nodded. Now Sally was putting it like that, it did seem like the reasonable conclusion – Dan was probably taking a break. Perhaps he was running away. Maybe he was being cowardly. But perhaps that was necessary in order to preserve his own sanity. If I knew Dan, and I thought I did, whatever he was doing, he would have seen it as imperative.
Sally grunted at the pill bottle. ‘Forty milligrams. Not sure about that. Doesn’t look like a forty mil dose. Never mind,’ she shook the bottle and popped it on the shelf behind her. ‘I’ll ask Doctor Jarvis to advise.’
With a sense of unease I said my goodbyes and hurried home.
Chapter Five
The landline answer phone was flashing when I finally got back to the flat. It was a message from my dad, checking in on me to see how I was going. Lots of people were doing that. I didn’t phone many back. It was weird – although I wanted to be able to talk about it, I didn’t want to talk about it. I guess I just needed to know I had the option.
However, I should return Dad’s call at least.
I picked up the phone, hit ringback and got my stepmum, Janet, who informed me Dad was putting the kids to bed and would probably be another fifteen minutes. I said I’d call back in the morning and that, no, it wasn’t urgent.
‘You’re still coming on Saturday though, aren’t you?’ Janet wanted to know.
Saturday, Saturday. What was on Saturday? I reached into my handbag and pulled out my diary. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I told her, still unsure of what I’d committed to.
‘Good, good. I know it’s a fair way. Your dad will appreciate the effort.’
‘Right. Of course,’ I thumbed through to Saturday’s entry – Uncle Roger’s birthday. I groaned.
‘Mercedes?’ Like my father, Janet too had developed the annoying habit of calling me by my full name.
‘Sorry, Janet. I had forgotten. I’m sure he wouldn’t miss me if I didn’t come.’
‘Mercedes, honestly! Don’t say that. Your dad certainly would. You know you’re the apple of his eye.’
I managed to stifle a snort of contempt. This was pretty typical of lovely rosy Janet, but a blatant lie. Dad had always been a remote sort of parent, though not unloved or unloving. But the emotional and physical distance increased when he and Mum split and he moved out of our home back to his native Suffolk. I’m not being self-pitying when I say he never appeared particularly interested in me. True – he did the regular check-up and monthly phone call thing. And true – it didn’t bother me one iota. But then my half-sisters, Lettice and Lucy, came along.
Janet was a homely and family orientated woman. A fair-haired big old farmer’s wife type, who insisted that I got more involved with the family. When I did, I saw that Dad absolutely idolised his new daughters with an affection that was doting. It was different to the parenting style I’d known, for sure. But to be frank, I couldn’t blame him: Lettice and Lucy were cool. Fourteen and eight years old respectively, and completely feral. Borderline punk. I liked their attitude.
I think a lot of their wildness came from living in the country; after he left, Dad bought a row of dilapidated cottages in the middle of nowhere. He did the first one up and moved into it whilst renovating the rest, then sold them on, retaining three of them to rent.
It was a canny move. Over the past couple of decades the ‘middle of nowhere’ had transformed into ‘desirable rural location’, affording him a very comfortable early retirement.
‘Mercedes? Are you still there?’ Janet’s voice brought me into the present. Oh yeah, the birthday party.
I made a snuffling noise.
‘Oh come on, love. Uncle Roger might not be around for much longer. His kidneys aren’t looking good.’
Dad’s rather morose older brother was a permanent downer at any festive occasion.
