The Family Remains(41)

‘We’d just say: Have you heard of a guy called Henry Lamb? Do you know where he is?’

‘But why would we be asking for Henry? We’d need to have a reason.’

‘Erm. Sick relative? Maybe? His dad’s really ill or something?’

‘But why wouldn’t we just call him?’

‘Not answering his phone? Then we say it’s an emergency. His dad’s got like days left to live.’

‘We don’t even know if Henry’s met this guy.’

‘No. We don’t. But it’s the last thing in his Google history. So it could be important.’

Marco sighs. ‘OK then. But you do it.’

Alf groans and scrapes the last chunk of omelette on to his fork, pushes it into his mouth, washing it down with some Coke. Then he belches and clears his throat before making the call.

‘Voicemail,’ he whispers with his hand over the mic. ‘Oh, yeah, hi. I’m trying to track a man called Henry Lamb. He’s British. He’s in Chicago. His father is very ill – dying, actually. He needs to come home but he’s not answering his phone. We found your website on his browsing history. Did you happen to meet him? Please call me. I’m—’ He flails his hands at Marco. Marco shrugs. ‘I’m Phin.’

‘What!’ mouths Marco. ‘What the fuck!’

‘Sorry. Not Phin. Mike. I’m Mike.’ Alf shrugs, helplessly. ‘Call me on this number please. Thank you. Sorry.’

‘Fucking hell, Alf.’

‘Fuck. God. I’m sorry OK. I just—’

‘Whatever. It’s fine. He won’t know who Phin is.’ He leans towards the screen again and says, ‘What’s next?’

Alf clicks on the next search term. ‘Here we have a search for a shop called Organic Delightful. And look, there it is on a map. So, yeah. I reckon he must be staying somewhere near this place. We’re closing in, Marco. We are closing in.’

The last hotel in Henry’s search history is called the Dayville. ‘Call them,’ Marco urges.

Alf groans again but dials up the number and says, ‘I’m looking for a guest called Henry Lamb. Do you know if he’s staying there?’

‘Hold the line, sir.’

‘Sir.’ Marco stifles a laugh.

‘I’m afraid we don’t have a guest of that name staying here, sir.’

‘Oh. OK. Never mind. He’s British. Do you have a British man there?’

‘We have lots of British men here, sir.’

‘OK. Well. Thanks anyway.’

‘You are welcome, sir. Have a great day.’

Marco and Alf look at each other. They’ve gone as far as they can go. They need to wait for the man with the big bike to call them back.

He calls an hour later as they’re halfway through a game of FIFA and one of Henry’s expensive chocolate bars.

‘Hi,’ he says, ‘this is Kris Doll. Is this Mike?’

‘Yeah,’ says Alf. ‘This is Mike.’

‘You left me a message. It was kind of garbled. But something about a British guy named Henry?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, look. I don’t know. I’m taking a guy out this afternoon. He’s British. But his name isn’t Henry. It’s Joshua.’

‘Oh. And you’ve never heard of a guy called Henry Lamb?’

‘No. I’m really sorry. I have not.’

‘Oh. Well. Anyway. Thank you. And if you do hear from anyone with that name, would you call me?’

‘Yeah. Sure. Of course I will.’

‘Erm, just quickly,’ says Alf. ‘This British guy. Joshua. He’s not by any chance staying at the Dayville, is he?’

‘Er, yeah. Actually he is.’

Alf and Marco look at each other, wide-eyed.

‘Oh,’ says Alf. ‘Right. OK. Well, don’t worry. But thanks anyway.’

‘Sure. No problem.’

Marco and Alf turn to each other, smiling, and give each other a high five.





35




April 2017


Rachel put down the phone and stifled an urge to laugh out loud. She clapped her hands over her mouth and then pulled them away again. Her smile was so wide it felt almost as if she might swallow herself. She picked up her phone again and pressed in her dad’s number. No reply. Her finger loitered momentarily over Michael’s number in her contacts, but she removed it. No, she thought. No. This moment was so precious she did not want to risk Michael tainting it in some way by making it about him. Instead she called Paige.

‘What are you up to?’

‘Why?’

‘I just had some amazing news and I want to drink champagne with someone.’

‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. Give me half an hour. I’ll be here waiting for you!’

Rachel locked her studio behind her and headed up the road to Marks & Spencer where she bought a bottle of champagne and a six-pack of Colin the Caterpillar cupcakes. In Paige’s studio she popped the cork, poured the champagne into water glasses and passed one to her.

‘So, what’s the scoop?’

‘The scoop is that …’ Rachel mimed a drumroll in the air. ‘… Liberty have just phoned to confirm that as of October the seventeenth, they will be stocking a bespoke Rachel Gold Jewels range in their jewellery lounge, right between Dinny Hall and Annoushka.’