The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

Templeton,’ he says, placing a business card on the table in front of Audrey. He doesn’t acknowledge Janet simpering across the table. ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to take you out to dinner one evening?’

      ‘Oh, I …’

      The man looks at her while he waits for her to finish her sentence. He’s older – distinguished – and, under his gaze, Audrey feels girlish and lacking in substance. There’s no doubt about what it is he wants from her. She blushes and looks down, her sentence left hanging.

      ‘May I take your number?’ The man produces another business card and a pen. The cold weight of the pen tells Audrey it’s expensive. She balances it in her hand for a second, toying with the idea of writing the wrong number. But there’s something in Ralph Templeton’s demeanour that suggests that refusal is not an option and Audrey finds that confidence compelling. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with Janet as she writes her new office number on the back of the business card.

      ‘Thank you. I’ll have my assistant call you,’ says Ralph Templeton, picking up the card and slipping the pen back into his breast pocket. Then he reaches out his hand and touches Audrey’s hair.

      ‘Beautiful,’ he says. He runs a finger through a curl, then gently draws it down her cheek. He looks one more time at Audrey and melts back into the crowd. Janet’s hand is clamped over her mouth.

      ‘Oh my word! Talk about reeling them in! I need lessons from you!’

      Audrey barely hears. She can just about make out the back of Ralph Templeton’s head as he re-joins his table, and she can’t tear her eyes away. Her cheek tingles where he’s touched it and her body is electrified. The physical pull of Audrey’s feeling towards Ralph Templeton takes her by surprise. She stares at the business card as if to memorise every tiny detail.

       November 2012

       Truro

      I was on the sofa with a cup of tea and a pile of marking when I heard Mark’s key in the lock. Within seconds, he appeared in the living room doorway, filling it completely with the bulk of his frame. I looked up at him feeling, as always, a surge of love for my husband and noting at the same time the flicker of hope in his eyes.

      I dropped my gaze back to the marking, willing him to know I wasn’t pregnant without me having to spell it out. Mark crossed the stripped floorboards in three strides and bent down to drop a kiss on my hair, his fingers stroking my cheek as he did so. He dropped onto the sofa next to me. His hand found mine and he interlaced our fingers.

      ‘Hi darling,’ he said, giving my hand a squeeze. ‘How was your morning?’

      I squeezed back.

      ‘Did you hear from the doctor?’ Mark asked, his face alive with expectation.

      I turned to look at him, pressing my lips together, and nodded slowly, unable to articulate the words. Mark pulled me against his chest with his free arm. I felt my eyes well up; a prickling at the back of my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut and tears spilled onto Mark’s sweater.

      ‘It’s okay,’ he said, rubbing my back. ‘It’s okay.’

      I pulled away and looked stared at his face in despair. ‘But it’s not okay! How is it okay? How can it possibly be okay? I was so sure this time! I’m getting older. It’s not going to happen!’

      ‘Lex. Lex, Lex, Lex. We’ve been through this. Yes, a baby would be nice, but we have each other. It’s enough. It’s you I married, not a child who doesn’t yet exist. It’s you I want.’ His voice cracked. ‘I wish you would believe me.’

      I closed my eyes. ‘I know you mean it now. But what happens in five years? What if you change your mind? You can …’ I didn’t say it. I’d said it before; Mark could leave me and have a baby with someone younger. It was my deepest fear; that I wouldn’t be able to give him what he wanted and he’d leave.

      ‘That’s not going to happen. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up about this, Lex. Please.’

      I knew he was right and I did believe him. It was my guilt that kept bringing me back to this place: guilt that I’d wasted my child-bearing years in a dead-end marriage with a bully of a husband; guilt that I’d been too scared to leave. If I’d walked away five years sooner – if I’d met Mark five years earlier – maybe we’d have a nursery upstairs; the sound of tiny feet pattering overhead. It was a train of thought that Mark consistently refused to entertain. ‘Everything happens for a reason,’ he’d say. ‘Maybe I’d have been a bastard to you five years ago. You can’t live life thinking “if only”.’

      I sat back up and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. The baby conversation – the same hopeless one we had every month – was going nowhere. ‘Mum had a car accident last night,’ I said. ‘John called to tell me. It’s not been a good day.’

      ‘Whoah, sweetheart. What happened? Is she okay?’

      ‘I think so. Bumped and bruised but nothing broken. She’s shocked and might have whiplash but they’ve discharged her on condition someone stays with her overnight. John’s asked me to go.’

      ‘Okay.’

      I sighed. ‘It’s just … with all this …’I flicked a hand over my abdomen, ‘I just …’ My face crumpled again.

      ‘I know, sweetheart. I know. But it’s your mum, and she needs you.’

      ‘I wish John could do it.’

      ‘Have you told him about … you know? Does he know we’re trying?’

      I shook my head.

      ‘Well, then you can’t expect him to be sympathetic, hon.’

      ‘I know, but …’

      Mark looked at the floor. I knew him well enough to know he was trying to compose a sentence that I wouldn’t necessarily like in terms that he hoped I might accept.

      ‘He can’t always be there for your mum, Lex. He’s got a family,’ Mark said carefully. He held up his hand, anticipating my argument. ‘Yes, I know the twins aren’t his. But Lexi, you’ve got to get over this. He’s married their mother and adopted them. They are his responsibility now.’ Mark paused to check he still had my attention. ‘And we both know it’s the prima donna who wears the trousers in that marriage.’ He smiled at me. ‘When she says “plié”, he pliés over the bloody moon and back!’ I couldn’t help but crack a smile at the image of my po-faced brother flying over the moon in a ballet tutu. ‘His life is way more complicated than ours, sweetheart. He’s being torn in so many directions.’

      I sighed and picked imaginary fluff off the arm of the sofa.

      ‘And this is why we live here,’ Mark continued. ‘So you can help out. Can you imagine if you had to come down from London? It’s so much easier now.’ He paused and I didn’t say anything. ‘Shall I help you pack?’

      ‘It’s okay. Thanks. I’ve already put some stuff in a bag.’

      ‘Good. Anyway – I have some good news today.’

      ‘Really? What?’

      ‘Fanfare please!’ Mark pretended to play a trumpet. ‘I should have a payment coming in this week!’

      ‘Really? A big one?’

      He nodded. ‘Yep. It won’t do anything daft like buy a car, but it should cover our outgoings for a couple of months. Give us a bit of a breather.’

      Even as he said the words, I felt the tension I’d been carrying