The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

for anything.’

      And it was true – to an extent. Mum had done everything by the book when John and I were growing up. It was as if she’d read a manual on how to be the perfect mother. She cooked and cleaned and picked us up from school; she sewed, helped us with our homework, and took us to the park – but I’d always felt as if she’d wrapped her heart in cling film. I’d always felt it was as if, when I hugged her, I wasn’t ever touching the real her; as if there was always something of herself that she held back.

      ‘But …’ Mum looked at me so intently I felt she could see what I was thinking.

      ‘But what? What’s all this about?’ I asked. ‘Are you worried we’ve turned out badly?’ I laughed.

      ‘No. No, it’s nothing. Forget I spoke.’ Mum shook her head and gazed off into the middle distance.

      I stared at the carpet. Mum and I never had conversations like this. ‘So what happened?’ I said finally. ‘The accident? Was it because you were tired?’

      She looked at me as if only just realising I was in the room. ‘Oh! No. No, I was fine … I stopped at a roundabout and some clown drove into the back of me. It wasn’t my fault.’

      ‘Is that what the police said?’

      Again Mum didn’t reply. She was staring at her hands, examining her fingers.

      ‘So – did you stop suddenly or something? At the roundabout?’

      ‘What?’ said Mum.

      ‘Did you stop suddenly?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Yes. I was approaching the big roundabout near home. You know the one? I was about to enter it and then I don’t know what happened. Someone came flying around. I don’t know where he came from. I suddenly saw him. I braked but the guy behind didn’t stop in time.’

      ‘So he rear-ended you?’

      ‘Yep.’

      I imagined Mum’s head whipping forward and back. ‘Okay, well. If he rear-ended you, it’s his fault.’

      ‘Yes, that’s what the police said.’

      ‘Good. And it’s good they put you in the brace. At least for tonight. I’m glad you’re okay.’ I stood up and stretched, bending my neck left and right. The traffic down to St Ives had been stop-start the whole way and my shoulders ached. ‘Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? I’m going to make myself a cup of tea and, if you don’t mind, I’ve brought some marking to do. If I don’t do it tonight, I’ll be in trouble.’

      There was a silence. I looked at Mum – she was staring off into the distance again. I felt for my phone, thinking I must text John about this. He was right. Mum was clearly not herself. Whether or not this was related to the accident I had no idea. I was ashamed to realise I hadn’t been down to see her for over two months.

      ‘Mum? Would you like anything? Some tea?’

      Mum gave herself a little shake. ‘Yes, thank you. A cup of tea would be lovely.’

      ‘And what about food? Shall I get some stuff in for you? Easy things for your dinners?’

      ‘Oh, no need for that, dear! I’ll be right as rain in a day or two.’

      ‘But – I don’t know. Should you be driving? Carrying heavy bags? Wouldn’t it be easier if I nipped out and got you some bits that you could just bung in the microwave for this week?’

      ‘I’m not helpless.’

      ‘No, I know. But can you please just admit it would be easier if I got you some ready meals? You can get good ones these days. Fresh. Almost like home cooking.’

      Mum bowed her head. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Okay. So what do you like? Curries? Indian? Thai? “Chicken or beef”?’ I smiled like cabin crew.

      ‘A shepherd’s pie would be nice, maybe. And, yes, why not a curry or two? Spicy, thank you, dear.’

      ‘Do you need anything else while I’m there?’

      Mum shook her head.

      ‘How about milk? You’ve got eggs. You could make an omelette one night?’

      ‘Oh yes. Maybe some milk. To see me through. Thank you. And I think I’m low on cheese.’

      I smiled. ‘Back in a bit.’

      ‘Thanks, dear.’

      As I headed to the front door, I looked back at Mum and immediately wished I hadn’t: lying on the sofa in her neck brace she looked small, and so very frail.

      Back in the car I texted John. ‘You’re right. She’s not herself. V vague. Gazing into distance.’

      He texted back at once. ‘Told you.’

      ‘But is this the accident? Or was she like this anyway? I don’t remember.’ I put the blushing Emoji.

       ‘Bit of both. She’s getting old.’

       ‘70 next year.’

       ‘I know.’

       July 1971

       Bombay, India

      ‘You’ve changed.’ Janet taps her teaspoon on the saucer of her coffee cup and looks thoughtfully at Audrey across the table. They’re once again in the jazz café – it’s become their regular post-supper haunt, with Janet making no secret of the fact she hopes that she, too, will meet her own rich lover among the clientele.

      ‘In a good way, I hope!’ Audrey laughs, but even she hears the question in her voice. She lifts her cup to her lips and takes a tiny sip.

      Janet pouts thoughtfully. ‘You’re more confident.’

      ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes. Yes, of course. And you look amazing. You’re glowing.’

      It’s the sex, Audrey thinks. She looks at her coffee. ‘Well, I do feel better than I have in months. Years! Oh Janet, he’s the best thing ever to have happened to me. Honestly, I always used to think how could so many terrible things happen to me – surely it was my turn to have some good luck – and along came Ralph!’

      ‘I’m so glad you’re happy,’ Janet says, but Audrey sees a hardness in her friend’s eyes. She looks at her closely; it’s not jealousy – it’s something else.

      ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘He’s just so …’ Audrey waves her hand in the air, struggling to articulate how she feels about Ralph – how different he is; how her love for him consumes her. ‘I don’t know: perfect?’

      Janet touches Audrey’s hand. ‘Just be careful. All right?’

      ‘What do you mean “careful”? I’m on the Pill.’

      Janet tuts. ‘Not that kind of careful. Well – that kind of careful too. Just don’t lose yourself in all this.’ She stops talking but Audrey doesn’t reply. ‘It’s just – there’s something about him. I don’t know.’

      ‘Something about him? Looks, personality, charm – where do I start?’ Audrey tinkles a laugh.

      ‘Not like that. I mean, he’s too good to be true. Men like him just don’t exist. Trust me, I’ve a lot of experience.’ Janet gives a rueful laugh.

      ‘But he does exist, and he really is that good. I’ve been to his