To the Moon and Back (18 page)

God, she was beautiful.

‘If you're sure,' said Zack.

Ellie nodded. ‘But you have to promise me one thing. When you see him, no laughing at his skinny legs.'

It was the first time he'd visited her flat. Well, Tony Weston's flat. Ellie had already explained that Tony was in LA. She apologized for the Lindor truffle wrappers on the coffee table, the empty Coke can on the arm of the sofa, and the assorted shoes she'd tried on and discarded before coming out tonight. Having kicked off her emerald-green stilettos and made coffee, she pointed him towards the sofa and handed him a small gray leather photo album.

‘Here you are. No jokes about my hair either.'

The faint scent of her perfume still hung in the air. He didn't even know what it was. Zack turned the pages of the album and took in every detail in the photographs. This had been her life. Ellie and Jamie at someone else's wedding. The two of them dancing at a party. Jamie jumping into a swimming pool, Jamie lying on a rug with a beer can precariously balanced on his bare chest, Ellie and Jamie sitting outside a sunny restaurant with Tony Weston, the three of them radiating health and fun and happiness.

Jamie had surfer-blond hair, an open, friendly face, and a killer smile.

‘He looks pretty cool.' What else could he say? Could he ask her if she liked guys with dark hair too?

‘That's only because you haven't seen his legs yet.' Ellie tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘By the way, I'm allowed to make fun of them. You're not.'

‘Wouldn't dream of it.' Zack didn't tell her about his knees; attempting to compete with a dead man for oddities in the leg department would be just cheap. ‘Can I ask one thing, though?'

‘Go ahead.' She leaned across the arm of the sofa to see which picture he was pointing to.

‘Who's the teenage boy in the skirt?'

‘Hey! What did I tell you? No teasing.' Ellie made a grab for the album. ‘The hairdresser said having it short would suit me.'

Zack grinned. ‘Sorry. It did suit you. I just think having your hair longer suits you more.'

Was he doing a good job? Friendly but not flirty, ironic but not idiotic? He sat back with his coffee while Ellie perched next to him on the arm of the sofa. Her tanned bare feet with the toes painted iridescent pink were visible in the outer corner of his field of vision. God, even her toes were irresistible…

‘This is us two years ago,' said Ellie. ‘On Fistral Beach.'

Zack looked at the photo. An energetic game of volleyball was in progress. Ellie was wearing a lemon-yellow kaftan over a white bikini. There was Jamie, leaping in midair to knock the ball over the net, above the head of his opponent.

‘Who's that?' Zack pointed.

‘Todd.'

Todd.
The one who had taken Jamie's place. In fairness, he looked perfectly OK, wearing a gray Superdry T-shirt and red board shorts. His brown hair was short and tufty, his smile broad.

‘Who are the other people?'

‘No idea, they just joined in our game. Todd's girlfriend Anna was taking the photos.'

‘What happened to her?'

‘They broke up a few weeks later. Anna wouldn't play volleyball because she didn't want to get all sandy.' Ellie smiled and turned the page. ‘Hang on, this next one's funny…'

A large dog had come bounding out of the sea and was racing towards the camera. The picture was blurred and taken at an angle.

‘He shook himself all over Anna. You should have heard her screaming,' said Ellie. ‘She didn't like getting wet either.'

‘Has she ever considered a holiday in a farmhouse in Tuscany?' said Zack.

The next snaps showed Jamie, having hoisted Ellie up onto his shoulders, racing down the beach into the sea. He had thin legs and they were both screaming with laughter. The bond between them was clear to see. The final shot, a close-up, captured the look being exchanged between Jamie and Ellie as Jamie lovingly lifted a long strand of wet hair from her cheek. It was a look of pure love, to the extent that Zack realized with a jolt he'd never been in a relationship and shared that depth of feeling.

All these years, this was what he'd been missing out on.

‘That's it.' Ellie closed the last page. ‘You get the gist. That was Jamie. You've seen him now.'

He saw her casually wipe the corner of her eye, where a lone tear had escaped. ‘I can see how happy you were.'

She nodded. ‘We were happy.'

‘Ever argue?'

‘Oh God, yes, all the time. And over the silliest things. That's something else I miss. We used to argue about toast. Jamie liked butter on hot toast, I like it on cold so it doesn't melt. He used to make me his kind of toast because he couldn't be bothered to wait for it to cool down and it drove me nuts. Or he used to go mad when I refused to listen to the GPS because I was always convincedI knew a shortcut. And I miss it.' Ellie's voice cracked as she struggled to maintain control. ‘I really miss all that stupid stuff. And the thing is, we had a camcorder and we used to record all the good times on film, but it never occurred to us that we should be recording the fights and the arguments because one of us might die soon and the other one might want to sit down and watch them again.' She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, just ignore me. Stupid, isn't it? And I'm lucky really, because hundreds of years ago people didn't have photos or camcorders so if someone died they didn't have any way of remembering them, except in their heads.'

Zack so badly wanted to make her feel better. ‘When it's someone like that, someone important, you never forget them.'

‘Probably not.' Ellie shrugged. ‘But I worry that I will.'

‘Have you argued with anyone since Jamie died?'

She thought about it. Slowly her expression changed. ‘I hadn't realized until now. But I really haven't. Everyone's always too busy being nice to me… I haven't had one single argument. God, isn't that weird? It's
abnormal
.'

‘Not even with Todd?'

Ellie shook her head in wonder. ‘Not even Todd. I got cross with him after the accident, but we never argued.'

Zack hated himself for getting his hopes up. ‘Why did you get cross with him?'

‘Oh, I blamed him for everything.'

‘Was it his fault?'

‘No, of course it wasn't. I blamed myself too.'

‘OK. Well, you need someone to argue with. Have you thought of phoning your local tax office? Or a car towing firm? Maybe heading over to the council offices for a good old rant about roadworks?'

She looked thoughtful. ‘You mean I should ease myself back into it gradually. Practice on strangers to begin with. Start with a bit of trolley rage, something like that?'

‘We could try some bickering in the office if you like.'

‘That's very kind. But you'd have to promise not to sack me.'

‘I won't sack you.' Zack rose to his feet; he wanted to stay but it was time to leave. ‘Thanks for tonight. And for showing me the photos.'

‘Thank you for being interested.'

At the door Zack wanted to kiss her but he couldn't do that either. Even a peck on the cheek would be inappropriate. He said, ‘What happened to those comb things you had in your hair? You didn't lose them, did you?'

‘No, I didn't lose them.' She opened the door. ‘Bye. See you tomorrow.'

On her own again, Ellie stood at the window and watched as Zack headed off down the street. Having given away the hair combs on a whim because Bibi had said how much she liked them, she was now worrying that it had been a foolish thing to do. They'd been so cheap, Bibi had most likely only said it to be polite. She'd never actually wear them.

Excellent, you just made yourself look like an idiot.

Oh well, at least Zack didn't know.

‘Jamie?'

‘I'm over here.'

Ellie turned and there he was, stretched out on the sofa.

‘Hi. I miss you.'

His gaze softened. ‘I know, sweetie. But you had fun tonight, didn't you?'

‘Yes. It was good.'

‘And your boss is nice.'

‘I know. He likes Cornwall too. It's where he grew up. In Perranporth. Get your feet off the sofa.'

‘Why?'

‘You're wearing trainers. I don't want the cushions getting dirty.'

He looked outraged. ‘My trainers are clean!'

‘Oh, for God's sake, just
do
it, will you?'

‘But I'm comfortable where I am.'

‘And you don't care about making a mess because you aren't the one who has to clean it up, you just bugger off and leave it all to me.'

‘What's this? Are you trying to start an argument?'

‘Stop laughing at me.'

‘You are, though, aren't you? You haven't argued with anyone for ages so now you're getting grumpy with me. But I don't want to argue with you. I won't do it.'

‘Well, that's just selfish. I can't argue with you if you're not going to argue back.'

He shrugged. ‘Sorry.'

‘Typical. You just do what you want to do and you don't care about me, do you?'

‘I do care. You know that.'

This wasn't working at all. There was a ball of grief like an unexploded grenade in her chest. Ellie looked at him. ‘If you cared, you'd still be here. You'd still be alive, you wouldn't have left me on my own, it's not
fair
…' She broke off as something in the region of her rib cage gave way. Her dress hadn't been tight before, but it was less tight now. Gazing down, her hands went to the zip that had somehow unfastened. It wasn't broken; it had just come undone.

She stared at Jamie. ‘Did you do that?'

But he simply shrugged, the picture of innocence. ‘It wasn't me.'

It had been a toss-up between Claridge's and the Berkeley, but in the end Tony had gone with the Berkeley. Ellie had no idea he was even over here in the UK; as far as she was concerned, he was still in LA. Crazy, of course, to buy a London pied-à-terre then not use it, but with Ellie and Todd's relationship still in its tentative early stages, he didn't want to be in their way. And if it had progressed to the next level… well, then he really didn't want to be in the way.

Those were the altruistic reasons, anyway. The third one, skewed rather more in his favor, was that if all went well on this visit over here, he wouldn't want Ellie to be the one left feeling awkward.

This way they all had their privacy.

Right. What was the time? Could he go downstairs and wait now?

Should he put on more cologne or was he already wearing too much?

Would she be early? Would she be late? Was it possible to feel any more like a teenager than this?

Downstairs, ten minutes later, Tony's breath caught in his throat as she walked into the lobby, exactly on time. Oh God, and even more beautiful than he remembered, despite the fact that she'd taken up practically permanent residence in his head. Now he committed every last detail to memory and opened his arms wide.

Martha, wearing a fitted lemon-yellow dress and matching shoes, held his face in her hands and said hesitantly, ‘This is wrong, it's the wrongest thing I've ever done. Last time it wasn't planned, but this is premeditated.'

Which sounded promising. Inwardly marveling that the sensation of her skin touching his skin could create a reaction of such intensity, Tony said, ‘It's so good to see you again.'

Good was the understatement of the year. Seeing her made him feel properly alive. He squeezed her hands and saw the maelstrom of emotions in her amber eyes.

‘Oh, Tony.' Martha's voice was unsteady. ‘What have you done to me? I used to think I was a nice person. Honest and decent.'

‘You are. Hey, this isn't such a big deal. All we're doing is meeting for lunch.'

‘I know. Just lunch.' She exhaled.

‘Two friends seeing each other again, catching up.' This had been the agreement; obviously he was hoping for more. But if nothing else happened, that was OK. He wasn't going to put any pressure on her. Seeing Martha again, gazing into her eyes, and hearing her voice was enough.

Nearly.

Oh, but we're so much more than just two friends catching up.

‘I've already had to lie to Eunice. She wanted me to go along with her this afternoon to visit Henry. I told her I couldn't, said I had to meet a client.'

‘Well, that isn't a lie. It's true. I am a client. I'm your biggest fan.' He tried to lighten the atmosphere and dissipate her guilt. ‘Do you want me to buy another painting? I'll buy another painting. I'll buy as many as you like.'

And this time she did smile. ‘Oh, Tony. What are you doing to me?'

There were all sorts of answers to that, but he didn't voice them. Instead he gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Come on, let's go through to the restaurant. I'm buying you lunch.'

The next three hours flew by. They drank Prosecco—but not too much—ate wonderful food—Tony was barely aware of it—and talked nonstop. The connection was still there, stronger than ever. They had privacy, they could relax, he never wanted it to end. When the restaurant closed, they moved through to the Blue Bar and carried on, enclosed in their own private bubble of bliss. Upstairs he had a room with a bed in it, but they stayed where they were. It was OK. No pressure. He was over here for three days. Oh, would you look at those eyes. That perfect mouth. The way her dimples flashed every time she smiled. He loved every inch of her, every last glorious caramel curve. And to know that she'd been missing him as desperately as he had missed her… it gave him such hope. Somehow, somewhere, surely they could be together in a way that was miraculously guilt-free…

‘Are you listening to a word I'm saying?' Martha leaned forward and tapped his arm.

‘Sorry. You're making it hard to concentrate.' He captured her fingers between his own, wondering if he'd be able to kiss her before she left. Would she let him? ‘What is it?'

‘I was telling you about my trip to Blockbuster the other week. Henry likes to watch the old
Dad's Army
TV shows but he managed to sit on his DVDs so I'd gone along to get him some more. I was just standing by the counter when I heard you saying, “What are you
doing
here?” Well, I jumped a mile. I couldn't believe it, I thought you were right behind me. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot!' She fanned her face at the memory. ‘So then of course I turned around and there you were, up on the TV screen in that film you did last year. I felt like such an idiot… oh, hang on, that's mine.' Reaching for her bag, she pulled out the ringing phone and grimaced. ‘Oh Lord, it's Eunice.'

‘Leave it.' Tony already knew she wouldn't.

‘I can't. Won't be a second.' She jumped up and made her way out of the Blue Bar, away from the noise. Tony watched her go. From a distance he saw her answer the phone, then freeze. Oh great, what was it? Please don't let Eunice be putting pressure on her, playing the guilt card. Martha's hand had flown to her mouth now. Something was wrong. Of all the afternoons, why did it have to happen on this one?

‘Henry's lost.' She was back, searching agitatedly for her purse. ‘He's gone missing on Hampstead Heath. They can't find him… anything could happen to him… I'm sorry, I have to go.'

How could he let her go alone? Outside the Berkeley, the doorman flagged down a black cab and together Tony and Martha jumped in. Ensconced inside the hotel, they hadn't even realized it had begun to rain. Now as they made their way to Hampstead, the taxi's windscreen wipers struggled to cope. Thunder was rumbling, the sky had darkened to slate gray, and lightning crackled overhead.

‘There's no point in you coming with me.' Martha's face was taut with anxiety. ‘You can't look for him. Eunice mustn't see you.'

‘I can keep out of her way.' He wanted to hug and reassure her, but it wasn't the time. ‘How did it happen anyway?'

‘Henry's always loved the heath. Sometimes we take him there for a walk. Eunice took him today. It was still sunny when they got there. They sat down on a bench and she dozed off.'

‘
Dozed off ?'

‘She's exhausted. You can't blame her; she never stops. Anyway, it was only for a couple of minutes. But when she woke up, Henry was gone. No sign of him anywhere. And then it started to rain. Oh God, this is my punishment for not going with them. I came to see you instead and now he's lost.'

‘Stop it, don't panic, nothing's going to happen to him.' Tony was firm. ‘Trust me, he'll be found.'

But when they eventually reached Hampstead, Henry was still missing. The taxi driver stopped at the bottom of Millfield Lane, close to the Highgate ponds. Martha, on the phone with Eunice, ascertained that she was up by the most northerly of the ponds.

‘I'll head on up there. She's distraught. There are park rangers out looking for him.' She opened the door of the cab and was drenched within seconds. ‘Please, Eunice mustn't see you. Leave this to me. You go home.'

‘OK, I'll do that. Call me as soon as you can.' Any kind of kiss would be hideously inappropriate now. Tony let her go. The moment she was out of sight, he paid the driver and jumped out of the taxi. Where Martha had turned right, he checked that no glimpses of her lemon-yellow dress were visible through the trees and turned left.

The rain was hammering down like gunfire. There wasn't anyone else about and the branches of the trees were being wrenched this way and that, whipped into a frenzy by ferocious gusts of wind. Martha had told him that Henry had gone missing on Parliament Hill, but his favorite section of the heath was where the ponds lay. Getting wetter by the second, Tony headed towards them. His shoes, unaccustomed to the terrain, slipped and slid as he made his way through mud and stones and wild undergrowth. Right, here he was at the water's edge. Still no one else in sight, and the pond was less than enticing, gray and cold-looking, the surface whipped up and pitted with rain. Even the ducks had done the sensible thing and taken shelter. Grasses, long and rough, clung to his trouser legs like seaweed. The next moment he stopped dead in his tracks as something dark bobbed up in the water in the center of the pond. But it wasn't a head; it was a discarded carrier bag. Panic over. God, his heart was thudding now. It could have been Henry. Trudging on, Tony blinked water from his eyes and kept searching. At one stage, in the far distance, he saw a tiny figure up on the hill and heard a voice, barely audible, yelling Henry's name.

Ten minutes later it happened. Did he hear a noise or was it sheer chance that he turned and looked to one side and saw a bare foot sticking out of the undergrowth ten yards away? Back came the fear, because what else did that mean he was about to find? Stumbling across the uneven ground, Tony saw the leg attached to the foot, clad in sodden brown trousers. Then a long thin body, long arms, the head… yes, it was definitely him…

‘Hello?' Tony approached with caution. Henry was half-sitting, half-lying beneath a tree with his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He looked like a carved wooden statue, abandoned in the rain.

Then the eyes opened and Henry was looking at him. ‘I'm wet.'

Alive, then. Not dead.

‘Henry? Are you OK?'

‘Yes, thank you. I'm wet.'

‘I can see that. What happened to your shoes?'

Henry gazed in bemusement at his bony bare feet. ‘I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm quite wet.'

‘Are you able to stand?'

‘I'm quite hungry. Is it time for breakfast?'

Henry's voice was gentle, bewildered, educated. Obediently, he held out his hands and allowed Tony to help him to his feet. His clothes were as sodden as if he'd been in the pond. Maybe he had.

‘Been for a swim?' said Tony.

Henry blinked slowly. ‘I'm wet.'

They stood and gazed at each other for several seconds in the rain. Then Tony watched as Henry searched in his trouser pockets and produced a gray sock. He proceeded to put it on his left hand like a glove. This was Martha's husband; he had been an accountant. God, Alzheimer's was a brutal, disgusting disease. It crossed Tony's mind that there was no one in sight. No one even knew he was here. If he were a character in a film, he might be tempted to lead Henry to the water's edge and push him in. It was deep here. He wouldn't be able to climb out. He could be gone, removed,
eradicated…

But this wasn't a film. And he may have done some things in his life that he was less than proud of, but he wasn't a murderer.

Tony smiled slightly and reached for his mobile.

‘I'd love a cup of tea,' said Henry, brushing water from his springy gray-white hair.

‘We'll get you one.' His finger hovered over the phone. ‘Henry, who's Martha?'

He saw a flicker of recognition in the silver-rimmed brown eyes. ‘Martha? I think she lives next door, doesn't she?'

Tony said gently, ‘Martha's your wife.'

‘Ah yes. Yes, that's right.' Henry looked at the sock on his hand. ‘A cup of tea and a biscuit.'

‘Do you love Martha?' Did this make him a truly despicable person? ‘Henry, do you love her? Your wife?'

‘Oh yes. Where are my shoes? I love her very much.' He was nodding earnestly now. ‘And a ham sandwich. That would be nice. I'm quite hungry, you know.'

Tony made the call. ‘I've got him, he's fine.'

‘Oh thank God!' Martha let out a sob of relief. ‘Where are you?'

He told her, adding, ‘Don't say anything to Eunice, just get yourself straight down here.'

It took Martha less than five minutes to reach them. The rain had begun to ease off slightly, but they were all so soaked through now it no longer mattered.

‘Hello!' Henry's face lit up at the sight of her heading through the undergrowth towards them.

‘What's her name?' said Tony.

‘Oh my goodness, I do know it. Let me think… she's my beautiful wife.'

‘Oh, Henry, we were so worried about you. We didn't know where you were.' Martha clutched his hands, one of them still encased in the gray knitted sock. ‘Where are your shoes?'

‘Harrods, I think. Or Sainsbury's. I'm wet.'

‘I know, darling. It doesn't matter, we're going to get you home now.' She looked at Tony and said, ‘Thank you so much. You have to go. But thank you.'

As Tony turned to leave, Martha was already calling Eunice to tell her that everything was OK, Henry was safe.

Henry, carefully examining the sock on his hand, said to no one in particular, ‘Or roast chicken would be nice.'