Seven Days(42)

‘Dad!’ James said. ‘All right! I’ll come with you.’

Martin laughed. ‘That’s OK. I’m only kidding. Go and see Louise. I love you anyway.’

‘I love you too.’

They said they loved each other – Sandra, too – often these days. It had started after Maggie vanished; it felt urgent back then, necessary, a way of keeping the bonds between them visible and real. Now it was a habit, and a good one. Less urgent, maybe, but equally important.

At the time Maggie went, Martin had wondered what would happen to them. He had feared that he and Sandra would split up, grow apart, blame each other, and there had been moments when that seemed like it would happen, when they had reached a fork in the road and faced a choice about which way to go. Each time they had stayed together, and now they were closer – as a family and as individuals – than they had ever been.

It had spilled over into a renewed passion in their sex lives as well. Things had been a bit stale after they hit their forties, but now they had started to have more sex and – this was what surprised Martin the most – more adventurous sex.

In fact, since James had been going to maths tutoring, they had been taking advantage of his Sunday morning absences in ways which he would hardly be able to imagine, and which would probably have left him disgusted by what his parents were getting up to when he was out.

It was another reason Martin was annoyed at being late. There was less time for him and Sandra.

He pulled up outside the tutor’s house. James opened the car door, then looked at him.

‘Is something wrong?’

James raised an eyebrow. ‘Money?’ he said. ‘To pay him? I forgot it last week as well.’

‘Oh. Of course.’ Martin climbed out. ‘I’ll give him a cheque.’

They walked up to the front door and rang the bell. After a few seconds Martin heard footsteps and the door opened.

Mr Best, Sandra’s old teacher, smiled at him.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Martin said. ‘My son and punctuality seem not to go together very well.’

‘That’s fine,’ Best said. ‘Glad you made it. Come in, James.’

Martin took out his cheque book and felt in his pockets for a pen. Best reached into the hall and handed one to him.

‘Sorry about the cheque. I don’t have cash.’

‘Thank you.’ Best took the cheque. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Pleasure.’ Martin grabbed his car keys. ‘I’ll be back in ninety minutes. See you then.’





2


Sandra was watching a politics programme when he came into the living room. She was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed. It was clearly engrossing; she didn’t turn to look at him.

He watched her for a few moments then started to massage her shoulders. With James out of the house, they could do it right here.

Or in the kitchen. Anywhere, really.

She stiffened, and he stopped.

‘Is everything OK?’

She turned and looked up at him, her face red and her eyes wet with tears.

He sat opposite her.

‘It hit me when you left,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘I watched you and James go and then I thought, in a week from now she’ll have been gone a year. I’ve known the anniversary is coming up, but all of a sudden it was there. A year without our baby girl.’

Martin nodded. ‘I know. It’s been on my mind too.’

‘It doesn’t really get better, does it?’ Sandra closed her eyes. ‘It fades a bit, becomes part of the background, but when you remember it, it hurts as much as it ever did. I still find it hard to believe she’s gone.’

‘Sometimes I dream she’s home,’ Martin said. ‘And in my dream I’m so happy. Ecstatic. But then I wake up and remember she’s not there. It takes all day to recover.’

‘Me too.’

‘James as well, probably.’

‘How was he?’ Sandra asked. ‘Do you think he knows it’s coming up?’

‘I imagine so. I’ll talk to him later. Check he’s OK. I’m glad he’s got Louise.’

‘Kind of,’ Sandra said. ‘I like her – she’s a lovely girl – but I can’t bear the thought she might hurt him. I want him to be in love and happy, but I don’t want him to be vulnerable. And teenage boys in the grip of their first love are the definition of vulnerability.’

‘I think we have no choice but to let it go,’ Martin said. ‘We can’t protect him from everything. I will talk to him though, about Maggie and the anniversary.’

‘OK.’ Sandra looked at him, her expression suddenly serious. After a pause, she spoke. ‘Do you think she’s alive?’

‘You know,’ Martin said, slowly, ‘I think about that all the time. All the evidence says she isn’t. I’ve read everything, all the statistics about the likelihood of someone turning up alive after one day, two days, a week, a month, and they’re pretty clear: she’s more than …’ His voice broke, and he looked away. ‘More than likely dead. But some part of me is convinced she isn’t.’ He looked at his hands. ‘But sometimes, when I think of where she might be, I wonder whether she would be better off if she was.’