Greenwich Park(77)
As soon as Charlie admitted he’d known Rachel from before, I’d called Maja, asked her to pick Ruby up, so Charlie and I could go to the police. Maja and Bruce arrived within twenty minutes. It was obvious they’d been out for dinner; Maja’s hair was pinned up at the back of her neck, a woody perfume on her coat. Ruby’s eyelids barely flickered as Bruce gently lifted her from her bed, carried her down to their car.
‘Thanks,’ I said to Maja at the door. I hadn’t seen Maja in years. She looked great, her clothes more grown-up-looking, expensive. A few strands of grey in her hair. She’s not the sort to dye it.
Maja stared at me coldly, as if I was an idiot. ‘She’s my daughter, Helen,’ she said. Then she turned and followed Bruce down the steps, holding Ruby’s bunny by the neck.
It was only when I got Charlie to the police station that it occurred to me we’d picked the worst possible time. The plastic chairs in the waiting room were packed with Friday-night drunks, blokes with cuts on their heads, skeleton-faced drug addicts. I had to shout to be heard by the woman on the other side of the glass case. I assumed they’d be able to pick up the details, that the case would be on file somewhere. It had been on the news. Surely they knew what I was talking about? Instead, we were met with blank faces, shaking heads, flickering computer screens that yielded no information. We were told to wait.
So we waited. I sat down next to a homeless man who kept falling asleep, a balled-up coat wedged between him and the radiator. Charlie stood, pacing round the room, his fists clenched, pretending to read the crime prevention posters and look out of the window. Anything rather than speak to me.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, someone turned up, a brisk young detective with shiny shoes, and showed Charlie into a room. He held the door open for him with one hand, pressing his tie flat to his chest with the other, his spine soldier-straight. I was asked to wait outside. The door was closed before I could object.
I felt in desperate need of sugar. I dug out a pound, keyed in the hot chocolate option at the drinks machine. The machine squirted a hot brown stream into a beige cup. I took the drink and slumped back into my chair. When I’d finished it, I massaged my bump, hoping to feel the reassuring shift of movement in response to the sugar, a kick or an elbow. Nothing. I stared at my shoes, tried not to make eye contact with the drunks.
When Charlie and the detective emerged they were laughing like best mates. He was told he could go home. The detective even shook his hand, glanced at me wryly, as if they were all boys together, and I’d caused a whole load of unnecessary fuss.
I called a cab, waited outside the station. Charlie stood with me, but refused to meet my eye.
‘Just tell me, Charlie. Were you together?’
‘Of course not! For fuck’s sake, Helen. Why can you never just leave things alone?’
When the taxi pulled up, Charlie walked off. I haven’t heard from him since. It’s all such a mess.
When I finish telling Serena the story she sits down and picks up her mug again, takes another sip. It covers her face, so I can’t see her expression.
‘I can’t believe he knew her,’ Serena murmurs. ‘Do you think it’s possible that the baby is his?’
So the police haven’t said anything to them about Rachel’s pregnancy.
‘Well, for one thing … it turns out she might not actually have been pregnant.’
A vertical crease forms between the arches of Serena’s eyebrows. ‘What? How?’
I put my tea down, tell her the whole story. Serena always makes mint tea. I have told her before that I like it, but I’m not sure I really do. It is making my stomach swim a little.
When I have finished, Serena exhales, shaking her head.
‘Do you think … Rachel could have been murdered?’ I ask. The question comes out in a whisper. My baby kicks square between the ribs.
Serena grimaces, pulls her spine straight, as if restoring normality. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing like that,’ she says, her voice returning to its usual confidence. ‘The police will find her. Look, Helen, Rachel was … well, she was clearly a troubled person.’
I nod, embarrassed. A troubled person who I introduced into all our lives.
‘I just think she’s probably taken off somewhere,’ Serena adds. ‘Of her own choosing. She’ll turn up.’
‘That’s what I keep saying!’ My voice sounds slightly hysterical. I take a deep breath, try to calm down.
‘You look so tired, Helen,’ Serena says, after a pause. She cocks her head to one side. ‘It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. I feel bad that we weren’t around.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Still, I hope you’re not letting all this Rachel stuff get to you. It’s such an important time. You shouldn’t let it play on your mind too much.’ She gives an almost involuntary flick of one hand, as if this can all be batted away, if we wish it to be so.
‘The thing is, I still don’t properly remember everything from the night she left.’
‘That is strange. You weren’t drinking, were you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I didn’t think so. But I mean, you remember our conversation, don’t you? In the kitchen?’
As she says it, something stirs in my memory. Lights behind a curtain, flashing. Something caught in my hair. Her thumb, brushing against my forehead. I went outside. Was she in the garden with me? The images swim together in my mind. I can’t make them out.