Untouchable Things (46 page)

But Joan was still thinking. “And there’s no point asking Julia, I should think she’s got a lot on her mind at the moment. If anyone knows stuff about that family it’s Lucilla Hargreaves.”

“Who?”

“Family housekeeper. She moved away a few years ago but I think she’s come back. You saw her just now helping Julia into the church. I believe the boy – your friend – was close to her.”

Before Rebecca had finished her thank yous Anna snatched her arm. “What was all that about?”

“I’ll tell you over a coffee.” She marched her friends towards a little tea shop on the square overlooking the church and filled them in while José had four cups of tea and Anna two scones with jam and clotted cream. Half an hour later it had stopped raining and they were back at the railings. Anna stiffened next to her.

“Holy shit! You’ll never guess who’s over there.”

For a second Rebecca’s guts turned inside out. Then she saw what Anna meant: Charles and Catherine standing further along the railings looking their way. Charles smiled awkwardly and raised his hand, shunting Catherine towards them. It was excruciating, how pleased they sounded to see each other, double kissing and muttering that they’d meant to mention they were coming. The group – or what was left of it – had snapped in two.

Rebecca told them what she’d found out, gabbling and tumbling over her words. People started to file out of the church and they all turned, glad of the change of focus.

“There she is, the tall one with the grey hair… What the hell?”

Some sort of scuffle had started between Julia Rothbury and another woman. The crowd around them buzzed and surged.
That’s her. The other woman.
The women started to scream at each other, necks at full tilt,
bitch, whore, murderer,
cameras flashing, until Lucilla Hargreaves got in between them and raised her hands. Belatedly the two police officers ran into the churchyard and pulled them apart.

Rebecca whistled. “You weren’t joking about
EastEnders
. This is nuts.”

The policewoman accompanied Julia Rothbury to her car while her colleague led the other woman, still gesticulating, in the direction of hers. Photographers surged around both vehicles. Lucilla stood for a second like a lost child before scurrying towards the gate.

Rebecca saw her chance. “Excuse me, Ms Hargreaves, isn’t it?” Lucilla stopped as she eyed the group blocking her way. For a second it looked as if she might dart off left like a cornered sheep. Rebecca lifted her hands. “I’m not a journalist. We’re friends of Seth.”

Lucilla looked even more wary. “We haven’t heard from him for a long time and we just want to know he’s okay. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him recently?”

Quick glance around her. “No, I’m afraid not. I haven’t been in touch with Seth for years.”

“We assumed he’d be here today, we were hoping to see him.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I must go now.”

“Please.” Rebecca instinctively stepped forward and put a hand on her arm. “We’re desperate for news. Can you at least tell us if he’s safe?”

People were starting to look now. Rebecca felt a tremor run along the woman’s arm as she brought it closer to her body.

“Please keep your voices down.” She sighed. “I saw him briefly. He stayed with me for a couple of days.”

It took all Rebecca’s self-control not to cry out. She felt Anna’s breathing stop beside her.

“When was this?”

“A couple of months ago. Around the time his father died.”

They had moved in on her like curious cows. Rebecca tried to signal to the others to draw back. “And you haven’t seen him since then?”

“No.”

“Was he okay? Did he say why he’d left?”

She shook her head. “He was tired. He needed to rest.” Her eyes swept Rebecca’s face, brows drawing into a frown. Then she looked away. “I don’t know anything more.”

Her hand made a stop sign as they rushed in with more questions, and she straightened her spine. “This family has been through a terrible time. I will not be answering any more questions, not now and not in the future. Please let me pass.”

Rebecca rummaged in her bag, pushing a card into her hand as she turned. “Please call me if you hear from him. I just want to know he’s safe.” Lucilla took it without a word and stalked away. As Rebecca watched her go she noticed a tall man at the end of the street looking in their direction. He pivoted immediately and disappeared round a corner with a loping, familiar gait.

Rebecca turned back to the others. “I could have sworn that was Jake.”

Scene 13

This morning, José can barely dress himself. As soon as he lifts an arm to fasten a shirt button it slumps back down to his side. His body is an empty bottle, all its energy glugged away. He sits like a half-dressed school boy, legs kicking the side of his bed then giving up, like the rest of him.

He’s taken as much as he can take. His body can no longer sustain the surge and crash of misguided adrenaline. He isn’t in a Hollywood thriller; there’s no obstacle to overcome or heroic task to fulfil. He’s been clinging to a frayed lifeline all these weeks – Seth is in trouble, Seth needs rescuing – and it’s finally snapped. And, unlike a film set, there’s no one to call
Cut
.

He thinks of yesterday, how his heart nearly smashed its way out of his chest when that strange woman said she’d seen Seth. In a flash he had fast-forwarded to the happy ending and rolling credits. But Seth has slipped through their grasp again; turned with a little wave before vanishing into thin air. And now they must face the fact that Seth hasn’t been kidnapped, that he’s okay, and that he has no apparent intention of coming back.

He was with another man last night. His third visit in a week. He’s doing all he can to feel bad about himself, to self-destruct. He thinks of the man’s chewed fingernails, the wart under the pubic hair. His shoulders slump lower, producing small ripples of flesh over the line of his boxer shorts. He stares at them loathingly. Even his flat stomach is an illusion, created by holding in, being constantly watchful. His nostrils flair into a sneer. After all those years of pretty, serious-eyed girls and his mother’s nudged innuendo, he is still living a lie.

Scene 14

Thank God.

Charles lets the relief rock around him. He buries further down, feet propped up on the end of the too-short bath. Seth is not coming back. Only now can he feel what that means, now the fraught emotions of the day are draining away.

Thank God. He means it; he is offering thanks to a real God, a white-bearded God left over from his childhood. Perhaps he should also be asking forgiveness for giving up on his friend, betraying him in his heart as Seth has betrayed him in deed. He closes his eyes but it is Catherine, not Seth that he sees. Her voice on the phone yesterday morning, asking him to drive her to the funeral, was thrillingly tentative, gentle and grateful like her usual self. But then she hardly spoke to him all day. Of course it was difficult for her, it was difficult for all of them – and bumping into the others like that. His toes curl and he bends his knees to allow them back into the water.

Still, he’d expected more. He’d allowed his hopes to billow like her beautiful raspberry-coloured skirt that allowed a glimpse of shy, tapered ankles. But he has to curb his eagerness, wait for her to come to him in her own time. Perhaps today will mark some sort of closure for her. Seth didn’t turn up, he isn’t going to. Charles breathes into the relief again but finds it diluted by uncertainty. There is no telling what Seth will or will not do. He flexes his fingers and watches their distorted reflections grapple under the water. The only thing he can do is to be prepared to fight.

Scene 15

Curtain opens to reveal Michael sitting at his desk holding a small bottle. The room is dingy, badly lit. A pile of photographs and papers lie on the floor. The fingers of one hand tap rhythmically on the desk while he clutches the bottle with the other. He shakes the bottle and we hear the rattle of tablets. Slowly he pours a large glass of clear liquid from a larger, squat bottle on the desk. He smells it and closes his eyes, remaining like this for some time. With no warning he tips a handful of pills into his mouth and drains the glass. He lays his head on the desk. The lights go out and the curtain falls.

Scene 16

Rebecca crunches along the gravel like an advert for autumn. Crimson coat, looped red and orange scarf, matching hat snuggled over hair that bursts into flames in the October sunshine. She watches her boots mark out the path that Seth showed her. She’s retracing a walk they took together earlier in the year on a sudden urge to get out of London. It turns out to be only a few miles from his childhood home – not that he told her at the time. Just a little further is the cluster of rocks where they sprawled and talked and offered themselves up to the early spring sun. It’s a Sunday and her route is punctuated by families like knots on a rope that she must leapfrog in order to progress. She wonders if he is here, following her. She has never mentioned it to the others, that scalp-pricking feeling of being followed. It’s something she keeps for herself.

And it gives her hope, alongside the fear. There’s still the knife in the gut that he didn’t show up on Friday, but there must be a reasonable chance that he’s in the vicinity. Was it March they came here? Yes, he’d quoted Emily Dickinson to her:

March is the month of expectation, the things we do not know.

There was so much she didn’t know then. But at the time she’d taken his arm and felt a thrill of anticipation for what lay ahead. Now, seven months later, she revisits the places they went together like a grieving spouse. But she must play detective too, still looking out for clues, for a glimpse of a face behind the wall, a shadow in the trees.

An unseen bird coughs and stutters like an old car trying to start. Faraway voices move in and out of the gush of river. What if he’s here, watching her? She quickens towards the rocks, picks out the centre one where he sat, lit to perfection by weaving strands of sunlight. If this were a film the camera would cut to her now, wheedling in for a close-up of the distraught heroine with head in hands.
Hold it now. That’s good
. Then, after half a minute, it would zoom out to reveal the dark-haired man stepping out from the bushes and going to sit beside her.
Lovely. Look up at him now
. She raises her head to blurred acres of silent woodland. She is alone.

The film crew has left her stranded, bottom hardening into the cold stone seat. Dead leaves drop sporadically from the sky with a log fire crackle as they brush and nudge each other down. The forest is burning itself up in a last act of defiance, igniting its own funeral pyre as the shroud of winter closes in. She keeps to her spot like a loyal bride and does not struggle.

Scene 17

I’m a little surprised to see you again, Mr Maslowe.

There’s something I didn’t tell you. We didn’t tell you. A missing scene in our account.

I’m curious as to the relevance now. As you’re aware, we have made an arrest in connection with Clive Rothbury’s murder. With regards to your friend, he’s off the missing persons’ list. He came in to see me shortly before the arrest of his mother.

Oh… I see.

You look surprised, Mr Maslowe.

I suppose I am. We still haven’t seen him. But, yes, I think it’s become increasingly obvious to us that Seth is staying away because he wants to, not because he’s in trouble.

Do you still wish to proceed with your statement?

I think I do. I want this on record. Just in case.

Just in case?

I don’t know. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want Seth to look bad… and because we were worried about being implicated. Myself, Anna, José, Michael and Catherine that is. Rebecca and Jake weren’t on the scene then, though Jake knows about it. We don’t come out too well from this episode. But it’s not really about us. It’s about Seth. And the possibility that he may be… dangerous.

I see. Please go ahead, Mr Maslowe.

It was Sunday 22nd of January, 1995. I’ve checked the date. We were all due for Sunday lunch at Seth’s.

He was going to cook them a roast. Something spectacular, he said, a big bird with every imaginable trimming. He’d built it up all week, dropping culinary hints and thumbing cookbooks ostentatiously. Charles thought it was probably a goose; Anna said she wouldn’t put it past Seth to nab one of the Queen’s swans. José was kept sweet by the promise of some vegetarian delicacy. The email teasers and cryptic text messages bouncing around amounted to a full-on marketing campaign. They were ordered to fast from midnight on Saturday.

They were ordered to dress up, too. It was the first time Charles had donned a DJ at 10.30 in the morning, shining his shoes and adjusting his bowtie with an indulgent smile. Seth was like an overgrown kid at times like this. But his excitement had rubbed off on him, on all of them. With Seth around, weekends were to be looked forward to all week. Occasionally Charles imagined a mundane weekend, listening to the radio and sorting through his admin, with a slight wistfulness. Mundanity, Seth’s nemesis, conveyed a certain comfort to him: everything in its place, no surprises. Seth held no truck with that view whatsoever.
Carpe diem, Charlie boy. One day I’ll abandon you to your pipe and slippers. But not yet. There’s plenty of time to get old.

He arrived on foot at 11.23, just as Anna was pulling up with José in her MG. Round the corner came Michael, replete with cagoule and cycling helmet. Catherine arrived a couple of minutes later, slightly flustered, clutching a foil-covered glass dish; her bus had been late. Seth was very particular about punctuality but all of them were well in time for the 11.30 kick-off. They giggled at each other, all dolled up on a Sunday morning. Catherine in particular looked stunning, hair swept up from a neck he rarely got the chance to see. He found himself wondering what her dress would look like.