Girl Unknown(36)

‘What time did you tell her?’ she asked.

‘One.’

I hadn’t liked the thought of Zo? waking up on Christmas morning alone in her flat – especially when we were at home together as a family – but it would have been a step too far to ask her to come first thing, too disruptive to the routines we had already established as a family over the years.

After coffee, the four of us walked around to attend Christmas Mass in our local church, then I left Caroline and the kids at home while I drove over to my mother’s to pick her up. She seemed bright that morning, sprightlier than I had seen her of late, but the vagueness was still there as she glanced about her house, as if trying to remember something she didn’t want to leave without. Whatever it was eluded her, and I coaxed her gently into the car. At home, we settled her into an armchair close to the fire, and I left Holly chatting to her while I joined Caroline in the kitchen.

She was wearing an apron over her dress, and there was a high colour in her cheeks as her heels clacked over the kitchen floor.

‘Can I help?’ I asked.

‘You do the spuds,’ she said briskly. ‘But first, be a love and pour me a glass of wine. It’ll make tackling this goose a lot easier.’

I plucked a bottle from the rack – a Margaux I had been saving – and poured her some. Without commenting, Caroline lifted the glass to her lips and drank. She let out a sigh and it felt like the tension between us was lifting, as if a temporary truce had been declared. My hope was that it would last beyond the day itself – that some kind of normality might return, a gentle remoulding of our family to allow for the newest member. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was half past twelve. Zo? would be here within the half-hour. A tingle of nerves passed briefly over the back of my neck.

‘We’re on schedule,’ Caroline said, putting on an oven glove.

Holly came in and set the table, and I sat for a while in the living room with my mother. My Fair Lady was on the telly and Mum watched it with glazed eyes and a smile. I kept glancing at my watch, growing a little agitated as it crept past one, and then towards two.

Caroline stuck her head around the door. ‘Any sign of Zo??’

‘Not yet.’

‘Maybe try calling her. The goose will be ready soon.’

I dialled her number and listened while it rang through to voicemail. I left a message, and then, just to be sure, sent a text as well, trying to word it to appear casual.

Robbie came downstairs and announced he was starving. ‘Is Zo? here yet?’ he asked.

‘Any minute,’ I said, with an optimism I didn’t feel.

In the kitchen, I asked Caroline if we could hold off for a little longer. She continued stirring the gravy, but didn’t look happy.

I went upstairs and tried Zo?’s number again. There was no answer. I considered driving around to her flat in Rathmines but because I had already had a drink I decided against it. Standing at my bedroom window, I craned my neck to see down our road, searching for her blonde hair above the hedgerows and gates.

By half past two, she still hadn’t arrived.

‘We’ll have to start without her,’ Caroline said.

Reluctantly I agreed, and we all sat down and began tucking into the terrine Caroline had made. A festive runner lay down the middle of the table, pillar candles lit, encircled by sprigs of holly and ivy. Christmas choral music came softly through the speakers. I knew I was lucky. I was surrounded by my family in our comfortable home, enjoying the spoils and privileges of hard work and a professional salary. Yet part of me was thinking about the dingy flat in Belfast, the plastic Santa, Linda and I eating, plates balanced on our knees, and it seemed to me, when I thought about it, that I had felt much happier then. I had been unburdened, my whole life still ahead of me, with the joy of the new love that filled me in a way I couldn’t measure. I ate the terrine, clearing my plate, with a degree of discomfort and guilt.

We finished off the Margaux and I opened a Chateauneuf-du-Pape. After the goose, there was pudding, and we all agreed that we were too stuffed for cheese. Outside the window, the sky had darkened. No one said it, but it was clear that Zo? wasn’t coming.

‘No word?’ Caroline asked, as we cleared away the dishes.

‘No. I wonder what happened to her.’

‘Maybe she went up to Belfast after all.’ She put the detergent tablet into the dishwasher and flipped the door closed.

‘You’d think she’d have rung,’ I said.

Caroline gave me a sidelong glance that seemed laden with wry weariness, but didn’t say anything. All day she had seemed to be giving off something – a kind of relief that Zo? hadn’t turned up. It wasn’t anything she said per se, just the relaxed relish she took in the day without Zo?, as I perceived it.

‘I just hope she’s okay,’ I added, prodded by anxiety. It wasn’t like Zo?, no matter what Caroline was implying.

‘I wouldn’t worry,’ came her sharp reply. She wiped her hands on the towel, then threw it on to the counter with a flourish. ‘I’m sure she’ll be in touch when she needs something.’

As it happened, it was not Zo? who got in touch, but someone else.

Christmas Day passed and I dropped my mother home the following morning. Afterwards, Caroline and I took the kids for a hike up around the Three Rock Mountain – a St Stephen’s Day tradition. I walked with a hand in my pocket, clutching my phone, waiting to feel it vibrate with an incoming call or text, something to explain Zo?’s absence. I had left several messages, dropping any pretence of casualness as the time passed and there was no response from her.