A Year at the French Farmhouse(102)

Yet something within her that she couldn’t quite name wouldn’t let her forget about it. Because she knew he would never be up at that time unless something was wrong. And contacting her in the night wasn’t something he’d ordinarily do.

Had his anxiety overwhelmed him again? Was he finding it hard on his own? Had that little message half written to her phone been some sort of cry for help?

Suddenly, waiting seemed ridiculous. Ben would be up now, and if he wasn’t, well, it was too bad. People who send mysterious messages at 1 a.m. didn’t deserve lie-ins of any sort. She was going to ring him, she decided, putting her coffee down and racing into the house – as if racing somehow would make a difference when it was almost seven hours since his message had been sent.

Ben’s phone wasn’t switched off at least. But after eight or nine rings it clicked onto his phone’s answering service. She tried again, perhaps he hadn’t heard the first time? But once again the call was interrupted by a generic woman asking her to leave a message.

Lily knew he rarely checked his voicemail, always assuming the person would ring back if they needed to. But left a message anyway.

‘Ben, listen. Could you call me, as soon as you get this. Nothing’s wrong. I just… I just want to speak to you quickly,’ she said, not wanting to alarm him.

She hung up, then dialled Emily. Uncharacteristically, her friend’s phone was firmly turned off. Mind you, it was early.

She was probably only worried because it was the day of the party and she had so much nervous energy, Lily reassured herself, dialling Ben again just in case. Ben would answer in a minute then her worry would be replaced with relief and probably a bit of anger.

But again the phone rang out. She’d wait a few minutes and try again. He was probably in the shower or still snoozing and couldn’t hear his phone. But once again she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.

Knowing this wouldn’t go down well at such an early hour but not completely caring, she rang Ty.

Thankfully, he answered. ‘Wha—?’ he said, sleepily.

‘Ty, love, it’s me. Mum,’ she said.

He grunted. ‘I know. What’s up?’

‘Nothing. Everything’s OK. I know I’m ringing a little… earlier than normal.’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said, clearly mid-yawn.

‘But…’ She chose her words carefully, not wanting to alarm Ty. ‘I’m trying to get hold of your dad, but his phone’s ringing out. I just wondered whether you could give him a nudge for me.’

‘A nudge? What, a text?’

‘No, Ty,’ she said, exasperated, ‘I mean get out of bed and just pop along and give him a knock.’

‘Mum, I’m at Steve’s.’

‘Oh.’ Steve was Ty’s friend and lived fifteen miles away. ‘Why?’

‘What? Just because!’ he said, incredulous that she was asking. Rightly so, too, as he probably slept there almost as much as he did at home these days. But why today?

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Listen, Ty, I’m probably being silly, but when you saw Dad yesterday, was anything… well, was he OK?’

‘Why?’ he said, sounding guarded.

‘Oh, no reason. Just… you know, checking up on him. I mean, I still care about your dad, you know.’

There was a silence.

‘He’s… well, look,’ Ty said. ‘He’s OK.’

‘You don’t sound sure?’

Ty sighed deeply. ‘Look, Mum, you need to speak to him yourself.’

‘I have tried, Ty. I’m not… I just want to know he’s OK, that nothing’s… going on.’

Another silence in which she felt a spike of anxiety.

‘I’m not meant to talk about it,’ he said, finally. ‘He did tell me… something yesterday. But it was private. He made me promise.’

‘Talk about what? Come on, Ty?’

‘No, look, I promised, OK?’

‘So something is going on?’

A sigh. ‘Well, yeah. But you know…’

‘No, I don’t…’ She tried to keep the note of panic from her voice. ‘Ty, I think you have to tell me. If your dad… well, if something’s going on, I have a right to know.’

‘I can’t,’ he said simply.

‘Well, tell me if he’s OK?’

Another silence. ‘Mum, I’m sorry. I just… you need to talk to Dad.’

They hung up moments later, and she immediately dialled Ben’s number.

Nothing.

Emily’s number.

Nothing.

What had started as a mild concern was blown into something more by the silence; the lack of clarity.

Ty would surely tell her if something was really wrong. He’d want her to help. But at the same time, was her eighteen-year-old properly able to recognise if Ben was in a really bad place? Would he really know when it was time to call for backup? It was certainly unusual for Ben to confide something in his son then ask him not to tell anyone else.

Part of the problem had been that she hadn’t wanted to alarm Ty. His dad might be ill, or struggling in a way he might not understand. So her questions had had to be vague, and his answers had been just as unfathomable. There were all different kinds of ‘OK’.