Songbirds(25)

‘So, you went back home, she made dinner, you all sat together to eat, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I went to bed. I was tired, I wanted an early night. I left Nisha to put Aliki to bed and ready her things for school in the morning.’

‘And then in the morning . . .’

‘In the morning she was gone. She left her passport and a number of other things that are very special to her. I also found a gold ring, like an engagement ring, on her dresser, that I’d never seen before.’

Keti nodded now, presumably at a loss.

‘It’s Thursday today,’ she said. ‘You’ve been to the police?’

‘Yesterday.’

I told her about the whole sorry encounter at the station: what the officer had said, and how I had finally walked out of his office, stepping on his paperwork. But as I relayed the story, I felt a dull ache in my stomach, like something was amiss, something I didn’t understand. And it was then that I realised the officer’s voice had sounded somehow familiar, as if I had been hearing an echo of something that was coming from inside me.

I couldn’t say this to Keti, but I felt a bloom of guilt at this acknowledgement. Blushing self-consciously, I focused on her.

‘You’ve got to search for her yourself,’ she said, slapping her hand meaningfully on the table between us.

‘How? I don’t even know where to begin.’

‘You’ll figure it out. You can’t leave it like this! You can’t let a woman who has lived with you and helped you for so many years just vanish, as if she was meaningless.’

I nodded. She was right.

‘And your instinct tells you something is wrong?’

‘Yes. Absolutely.’

‘And this is out of character?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then. You have no other choice.’ And that was the last thing she said, before looking at her watch and informing me that lunch was over and our next client would be arriving in about three minutes.

*

That evening it continued to rain. The boat was brimming over with water. Water fell through the trees in the garden; it saturated the soil and made the patio glisten like a lake. Aliki stalked around the house, holding onto the black cat as if it was her salvation. Sometimes the cat obliged, purring and rubbing its nose on her ear; other times, it pushed her face away with its paw, scrambled out of her arms with a hiss, and dashed for the window.

I couldn’t eat that night, but I made a light meal for Aliki. I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with Keti and the things Nilmini had said. I walked in and out of Nisha’s room, hoping to spark a memory, a revelation. Was there something I had missed? Had she mentioned anything that I’d forgotten? It was like attempting to recall a half-forgotten dream.

I kept hearing Keti’s words: You’ve got to go and search for her yourself. Heavy words; words that hit me hard with the weight of responsibility. And last night Aliki had asked me to find her.

Yes, this was something I had to do, although I hadn’t the slightest idea how.

*

I decided that I would speak to more of Nisha’s friends. It seemed like a place to start. I wondered if they knew anything – and if they did, whether they would tell me.

I knew Nisha was friends with the maids at the gated mansion at the end of the street, the one with two hunting dogs so, on Friday afternoon, I shut my practice early and headed home. The rain had finally stopped, but very few customers had come in – I had been alone in the shop, as Keti studied at university on Fridays.

I decided to make dinner early, then walk over to the gated mansion down the street. But before I’d even started cooking, while Aliki was in the garden attempting to empty the boat of water, the doorbell rang.

It was Yiannis from upstairs. The light from Yiakoumi’s shop glowed around him and he stood there staring at me for a moment too long before he spoke.

‘Petra,’ he said, ‘sorry to disturb you. I am wondering . . .’ There was a pause, and a shuffle of his feet, as if he was about to change his mind and walk away. ‘. . . is Nisha in?’ He was almost a silhouette, so I couldn’t see the expression on his face, but there was something guarded, uncertain, in the tone of his voice.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, Yiannis, but she’s not.’

He ran his hand through his hair, streaks of silver illuminated in the light that poured from the display window behind him. His movements were so hesitant that I could almost hear all those clocks ticking.

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘Why?’ I said, perhaps too quickly, and he brought his hand to his face and rubbed his stubble. Then he looked over my shoulder, into the open-plan living room, his eyes scanning.

‘Well . . . because I haven’t seen her,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen her all week, and I’ve been worried.’

There was a desperation in him now that I didn’t understand. He was lost and vulnerable, like those stray dogs that wander the neighbourhood looking for someone to love. Why was he so concerned about Nisha? There was something niggling at me, something I think I had known for a long time but refused to believe, and it was this thought that made me invite him in.

He was dressed nicely, as if he was heading to a bar for a drink – a perfectly ironed black shirt, opened slightly at the collar, a pair of dark blue jeans – but mud covered his shoes. Mud that hadn’t yet dried and crusted.