Tideline (6 page)

A dispatch rider on a motorbike cut across Helen’s path as they reached Commercial Street and she had to brake. The lights in front turned to red. She could feel her blood pressure rise.
Why did everyone go on about Jez all the time? Maria had phoned every night this week to see how her son had got on with his interviews, to check up on what he’d eaten, to remind Helen how
talented he was. Maria treated Jez like a pedigree creature rather than an ordinary teenage boy. Now his girlfriend was professing similar adulation and it was annoying. The effects of the wine
were wearing off and she felt a headache approaching. Helen craved another drink. She shouldn’t have offered to take Alicia all the way, should just have said, ‘Out here if you
don’t mind, I need to get home.’ You offered an inch and . . .

‘I’ll make him ring you, I promise,’ said Helen.

As she turned the car round after dropping Alicia home she wondered whether she felt relieved that Ben hadn’t been at the opening after all. She no longer had to go
through the kind of tumultuous feelings Alicia described again. No more waiting for an email to arrive in the inbox, the ping of a text coming in. No more agonizing nerves at the thought of seeing
someone again. No more crazy romantic rendezvous in impractical locations. The foot tunnel, of all places! She had dealt with that side of things once and for all. Why would she want to open a
recently healed wound?

‘Think of all the civilized things you and Mick can do now that’s all behind you,’ Helen told herself as the car descended between towering brown walls into the dark mouth of
the Blackwall Tunnel. ‘You’re going to do more together than you ever used to: the theatre, city breaks, good food. You’ve both agreed to focus on your relationship. You’ve
done the right thing.’

By the time she was home and turning the key in the lock, she was anticipating the warm smell of a meal ready on the kitchen table. Mick stood in the entrance to the sitting room, a newspaper
under one arm, his face grave. There was no welcoming smell from the kitchen. The fire was unlit and the hallway was cold.

‘Maria’s been on the phone,’ he said. ‘Jez was supposed to be going back to Paris today. He hasn’t arrived.’

Helen

Helen followed Mick into the sitting room and unscrewed the cap of a bottle of Pinot Grigio he’d put out for her on the table.

‘Was Maria sure he was going back today?’ said Helen. ‘I asked him to tell us which train he was getting, but he didn’t. He must still be here.’

‘When did you last see him? I don’t think I’ve seen him since Thursday.’

Helen sat down. The room felt bleak. It needed flowers. She leant across to put the lamp on over the fireplace.

‘Thursday too, I think. No. I saw him yesterday lunchtime. That’s right, he was here when I got in . . . after work. Have you put any supper on?’

‘Helen. We need to sort this out. Where is he now?’

‘Not with Alicia. I just gave her a lift home from the private view. She says he stood her up in the foot tunnel yesterday. He’ll be with the boys.’

‘The foot tunnel?’

‘Apparently they meet halfway between south and north. It’s rather sweet.’

Mick jumped out of his chair and ran his hands through his hair.

‘We ought to know where the boy is! What are we telling Maria when she phones back?’

Helen filled her glass.

Mick looked at her pointedly.

‘This is urgent,’ he said. ‘Maria was beside herself.’

‘My sister beside herself. That makes a change.’ She raised her eyebrows at her husband expecting his collusion in an old joke.

‘This is not about Maria. It’s about Jez. I’m concerned.’

‘Hey! It’s not like you to worry. Now you’re making me anxious.’

When their boys were younger, Helen was the one to fret about their safety, check the booster seats in the car, make them wear cycle helmets, shin pads, armbands. She was the one to see that
their chests rose and fell in the night. Mick had never worried, as far as she could tell. Now he wouldn’t sit still, and she wondered if there was something else behind his concern.

‘Have you tried his mobile?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you’ve seen the boys today?’

‘No. They weren’t up when I went out and they’d gone when I got back.’

‘Then Jez will be with them. Relax Mick, please. Look, have a glass of wine, and I’ll make some food. They’ll all be in soon, and we can phone Maria.’

Ben and Miranda together in Madagascar. She didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.

‘Where are the boys’ mobile numbers?’

‘On my phone. In my bag.’

Helen kicked her bag over to Mick. He gave her a look before rummaging through it. He found her mobile and started to press the keys.

‘Typical. Both of their bloody phones are switched off,’ he said.

It was after midnight when they heard the front door swing open and bang against the hall wall. Mick leapt up as Barney came into the room, hair all over his face as usual,
slouching, staggering a little. He brought a blast of frosty night air in with him.

‘Shut the door,’ Helen said. ‘It’s freezing. Is Jez with you?’

‘Eh?’

‘Barney! Tune in!’ said Mick. ‘Jez hasn’t gone back to Paris. And Alicia hasn’t heard from him. Have you any idea where he is?’

‘Theo might know.’

Theo appeared in the doorway, eyes shining, face pink.

‘Theo! Where’s Jez?’

‘Jez?’

Helen could see Mick’s jaw tighten with irritation. She knew what he was thinking: he’d like to take his son by the unwashed hood of his smelly sweatshirt and shake some sense into
him. Mick’s disappointment in his own sons had become palpable since Jez arrived. Theo flicked the remote for the TV to come on. Mick told him to turn it off. Helen asked Barney to run up and
put the heating on to constant. She gave up on the idea of eating, poured herself another glass of wine instead.

‘I thought he’d gone home,’ Theo said. ‘He said he was going home on Saturday.’

‘To Paris?’

‘Yeah. Where else?’

‘He’s not there. Was he even at the gig last night?’

Helen watched this new, fraught side of her husband with detachment. His face was scrunched and red. His eyebrows did odd things too, were bushier than before and somehow more mobile. She
wondered when she’d last really looked at him.

‘We assumed he was with Alicia,’ Barney was saying.

‘Alicia hasn’t seen him,’ said Helen. ‘He was supposed to meet her in the foot tunnel yesterday afternoon and he didn’t turn up.’

Theo and Barney exchanged glances.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Helen. ‘That look.’

‘Nothing,’ said Theo. ‘It’s just it’s quite funny the way Alicia makes him meet her down there as if it’s somewhere romantic. He’s a bit scared of
saying no to her. Even when he’d rather be with us.’

‘He’s whipped,’ Barney muttered and Theo chuckled.

‘Whipped?’

‘It means he does what he’s told,’ said Barney.

‘Slave to little Alicia,’ added Theo. ‘I’ll ring him.’

They might be lazy, good-for-nothing layabouts, Helen thought through the consoling mist of the alcohol, but nothing can buoy you up like a son. Two sons.

‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance he’s gone to his dad’s?’ Mick said. ‘Might he have gone to Marseilles? Did he say anything to you about it? Rather
than stopping in Paris I mean?’

‘No. He didn’t mention Marseilles,’ said Barney.

‘It’s not connecting,’ Theo said. ‘Must be switched off.’

‘What now?’ Mick said. ‘What do we do now, for pity’s sake?’

The phone call with Maria was long and difficult. Helen tried to sound calm.

‘For all we know he’s on the train now, on his way back. He probably went into town shopping on his way to St Pancras. There’ll be an explanation.’

‘So he’s got his stuff with him?’ Maria asked.

It hadn’t occurred to Helen to check whether Jez’s stuff was still up in the spare room. She gestured across the sitting room to Barney, who was slumped in front of the TV, to go and
check.

‘What?’ he said, barely taking his eyes off the film he was watching. Helen put her hand over the mouthpiece.

‘Is Jez’s stuff upstairs? Go and see!’ she hissed.

‘Should I get on a train now and come over?’ Maria’s voice had risen to an hysterical pitch.

‘Of course you shouldn’t,’ said Helen. ‘What if he turns up there in the morning? Which he will, I’m sure.’

‘I can’t believe you didn’t realize he was leaving today? Didn’t you help him pack his stuff?’

‘Maria. Jez is nearly sixteen. He doesn’t want his aunt fussing over him the whole time. I asked him to say which train he was getting, but I let him sort himself out.’

There was a long silence.

‘What?’ Helen said. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking that I wish I’d never let him stay with you. Our whole approach to parenting is different. Yours borders on neglect—’

‘Maria! Let’s please remain civil if—’

‘OK. I shouldn’t have said that. I think the current term is
benign
neglect. But Jez is not used to it. He doesn’t have all that freedom over here. He’s used to a
strict timetable, to being driven around. He doesn’t know how to use the Metro! So the tube will be a labyrinth to him. Oh my God, what’s happened to him, Helen?’

‘There’ll be a simple explanation. What you need right now is a stiff drink and bed.’

‘A stiff drink is your answer to everything.’

There was a charged pause as Helen fought not to take the bait.

Maria continued, ‘I’m phoning Nadim. I’ve no choice. He needs to know his son’s disappeared!’

Helen felt herself prickle with indignation.

‘Jez has been gone one night. That does not mean he’s disappeared. And we are doing all we can over here to find him.’ She hung up and turned to the others. Tears had sprung to
her eyes, fury at the guilt and inadequacy her sister made her feel, mixed with growing anxiety that Jez might actually have come to some harm.

‘She’s always been overprotective with Jez. It’s probably why this ghastly scenario has happened in the first place,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Theo. ‘He’ll be OK. He’s not stupid.’

Barney came back into the room and sat down in front of the TV again.

‘Well?’ Helen asked.

‘What?’

‘Jez’s stuff. Is it there?’

‘Oh right, yes. Still there. He hasn’t packed. Clothes all over the floor.’

Helen closed her eyes. Sat down. Put her head in her hands.

‘When does one call the police in cases like this?’ she asked through her fingers.

Sonia

Seb’s mouth organ is in a shoebox of special things I keep in the spare room. I feel nervous as I turn the big glass door handle, it’s so long since I’ve been
in here. We don’t often entertain overnight guests, for one reason or another. It smells musty, of dust and old paper. The grey light comes in through a small window on one side of the house
which is overshadowed by the roofs of the almshouses and the tall dark chimneys of the power station beyond. Much of the furniture has remained under dust sheets since we moved back. There seemed
little point in uncovering the mahogany chest of drawers that we never use, or the ottoman under the window.

The shoebox is on a shelf in the wardrobe. I bring it out with care, lift Seb’s Palestinian scarf, uncover things I haven’t looked at in years.

I’ve come for the mouth organ to soothe Jez. He was agitated and a little befuddled by the after-effects of my mother’s drugs when I went to him this morning, and I needed to calm
him. He thought he had drunk too much again and felt ashamed. He’s far too well brought up to imagine his aunt’s friend might have added anything special to his tea, and this makes me
feel all the more tender towards him. I reassured him that he’d done nothing wrong, and said I’d get him anything he wanted while he was my guest. He eventually made this humble request
for the mouth organ.

As I rummage through the shoebox, I’m distracted by a letter uncovered by the scarf. It’s addressed to me, as all Seb’s letters were, c/o Mark, Vanburgh Hill. Mark brought the
letters and squirrelled them away in a niche in the wall along the alley that we’d agreed was the perfect place for me to retrieve them.

I look at the envelope. There’s a nine pence stamp and a postmark – 1st February. The year is no longer legible. I forget the mouth organ for a moment and let myself part the torn
edges and extract the letter. The handwriting belies Seb’s stature. Small, neat, tightly formed. The first time I’ve looked at it since.

I shut my eyes. Fold my hand slowly over the filmy paper until it crumples in my palm, screw it up into a tight ball.

How long had Seb been gone by then? It can’t have been more than one or two months. Yet it felt like a lifetime. If we’d waited another month, the holidays would have been upon us.
But time is such a slippery, stretchy thing, even a day back then felt like an eternity. I was more impatient to have him back than he was to get out of the school he hated. I was enslaved to him.
I would have done anything for him. It was not as if I had a choice. It’s the same now, with Jez. I will do anything for him.