His Other Life

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Julia opens her eyes and shakes her head. ‘I can’t sleep,’ she says quietly. She searches my face. ‘He is dead, isn’t he? Do you think he’s dead?’

‘No, he’s not dead,’ I say with certainty, ‘don’t worry about that. Have they told you they found his car?’ She nods. ‘Well, then, you know that there was nothing in it, no blood, no smashed glass, no vindaloo. His passport is gone. There’s no disturbance at his office, nothing seems to have been taken, although they haven’t finished looking at it all yet. But even before they do, it’s pretty clear to me that …’ I hesitate. I still can’t decide whether Adam going voluntarily is better or worse than him being taken by force. From a wife’s point of view, it’s miles better if he was wrenched roughly away against his will, fighting against his captor, struggling with every part of him, desperate to return to his true love; rather than simply deciding to piss off and please himself. No, that’s wrong, because surely a good, loving wife would selflessly want him to have chosen this? Because she would not be able to stand the idea of him being hurt? I find I kind of like the idea. Which is a paradox because if he has been forced away, and hurt in the process, there’s no need for me to hate him. Is there?

Julia is still staring at me with desperation in her eyes. I put my hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry, Julia. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that he’s completely well, given all the facts. That he left of his own accord, for reasons unknown.’

‘But—’

‘And anyway, no body has been found, has it?’

She gazes at me with liquid eyes, that lost-puppy look back on her face. ‘Yet,’ she says.

Fifteen minutes later, Ginger and I are back in the car, heading home.

‘Well, it’s not substance abuse, is it?’ Ginger says, ending the five-minute silence during which we both absorbed what just happened. ‘The woman is completely off her rocker.’

‘Oh, don’t say that, Ginge. I feel sorry for her.’

Her head snaps round to stare at me. I’m driving again, so I can’t stare back. ‘Do you? Really?’

‘Well yeah, course I do. She’s absolutely destroyed.’

‘You think?’

I risk a sideways glance. ‘Don’t you?’

She shrugs. ‘I think it’s an act. I think she’s faking the whole “I’m-so-upset-about-my-son-going-missing-I’m-turning-into-a-certifiable-dingbat” thing.’ She pauses and I can see she’s staring at me. ‘Don’t tell me you fell for it?’

‘Fell for it? Well, if you call believing that she’s genuinely devastated by Adam’s disappearance “falling for it”, then yeah, I guess I did. Why didn’t you?’

Another shrug. ‘I dunno, really. Just didn’t ring true to me.’

‘You think she’s not upset at all? That she couldn’t care less?’

‘No, I didn’t say that. Obviously she’s upset. Who wouldn’t be? I just think … I don’t know. It almost seemed like she …’ She moves her head a little. ‘As if she wants him to be dead.’

‘No way!’

She nods. ‘Yeah. Didn’t you get that? All that breathy, “He’s dead, isn’t he?” stuff. And almost wanting a body to be found. Bit odd, I thought.’

‘Well, you’d be odd if you’d been through what she’s going through.’

‘No, I don’t think I would. I think most people would be anxious as hell, but trying to keep hopeful.’ She glances at me. ‘Like you are. He’s a grown man, after all. He’s not exactly vulnerable.’

‘But it doesn’t make sense. Why would she want that? She’s his mother.’

‘Who the frick knows? All I know is, something was off.’

I think back over our strange encounter again, but all I can see is a woman deranged by some pre-existing problem that I can’t identify, coupled with massive stress, sleeplessness and grief. But I’ve never been any good at reading between the lines, or spotting subtle things. I tend to believe whatever I’m presented with. Maybe I’m naïve. Maybe I’m stupid. Turns out I was stupid to marry Adam, that’s for sure. Probably. Maybe I need to start questioning my reality a bit more. Maybe if I’d done that a year ago, I wouldn’t be here now.

‘Oh, and one more thing,’ Ginger says now, turning all the way round in her seat to face me. ‘This grieving, desperate mother, this woman who you want to believe is going mad with determination to cling to the idea that her son is still alive, still loves her, and will come home again one day.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, why the hell would a woman like that refer to her son the whole time in the past tense?’

SIX

I have no answer for that. Initially, I was convinced that Ginger had got it wrong, but remembering my conversation with Julia just now, I realise that she’s right. There’s no sound in the car for a few minutes while I think about it and Ginger nods off.

‘So what does that mean?’ I ask eventually. ‘Do you think Julia knows something we don’t?’

Ginger jerks awake at the sound of my voice and looks around blearily. ‘Whassay?’

‘I said, your theory about Julia talking about Adam in the past tense. Do you think she knows something?’ I remember her addition of the word ‘yet’ after I reminded her that no body has been found, and instantly my flesh contracts and covers itself with goosebumps. Again.