The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

slump onto the steering wheel as I wrapped my arms around myself. I’d been so sure this time! How could I not be pregnant? Even though it was very early days, I’d felt all the classic symptoms. The last thing I felt like now was driving down to St Ives to look after Mum. As soon as I’d thought it, guilt washed over me. John had done his bit and I’d still expected him to do more. But that guilt was nothing compared to the guilt I felt about the pregnancy. Why couldn’t I give Mark a baby? What was wrong with me?

      Deep down, I knew the answer: at forty-two, time was hardly on my side.

       January 1971

       Bombay, India

      When Audrey wakes up, the first thing she notices is the stillness. The small room in which she’s lying in a tangle of sweaty sheets isn’t by any means silent – the din of Bombay is alive right outside the window – but the absence of the rumble of the ship’s engine rings louder than it ever did on the ship. A week after she’s arrived, Audrey’s still acclimatising to being on land. Truth be told, she’s slightly terrified of Bombay and has hardly ventured out unless Janet’s there, literally to hold her hand, to guide her across the streets, to fend off the beggars and street hawkers that swarm around them, and to flag down rickshaws the two of them use to get anywhere too far to walk.

      But today Audrey has a plan. Today is the first day she’s going to take on this strange city alone; to conquer a corner of it. On the small table that counts both as Janet’s dressing and dining table, there’s a copy of Audrey’s parents’ wedding certificate, which names the small church in which they were married. Janet’s asked around for her at work, and Audrey now has a hand-drawn map showing her how to find it. For the first time since she’s arrived in Bombay she gets up with a purpose in her step. She washes quickly and dresses, makes some toast, and steps out into the chaotic street, where the warmth of the January air hits her.

      Audrey stands still for a second, feasting her eyes on the dusty palm trees that look so exotic to her, their heavy fronds dancing likes drunken spiders in the breeze. This is home now, she thinks, even while her senses revel in everything that’s unfamiliar: the smells, the furious honks of car horns and the shouts in Hindi, Marathi, and a tangle of other languages – a gabble of sound she’s unable to decipher.

      Audrey’s memorised where she needs to go – it’s not far – and she walks as quickly as she can, trying, but not always managing, to stick to pavements while avoiding pedestrians, traffic, and holes in the road. Ahead of her there’s a commotion and she sees the traffic’s come to a halt as a couple of cows amble about in the middle of the road. Janet’s explained to her that this is perfectly normal, and it’s exactly how she imagined Bombay would be, but she still can’t believe her eyes. Someone’s trying to lead the cows off the street so traffic can pass, but no one except her seems to bat an eyelid at the strange juxtaposition of cows, cars, bicycles, and bullock carts that makes up this pungent traffic jam. As Audrey watches, one of the cows lifts its tail and deposits a steaming cowpat in the middle of the road. Audrey turns down a side street just before the smell hits her.

      At first she doesn’t see the church. It’s not big, and it doesn’t stand out from the dirty buildings surrounding it. She double-checks her map, then stands back on the other side of the street and scans the facades to be sure she’s in the right place before she goes in. Yes, it looks nothing like the churches she’s used to back home, but there’s a steeple peeping out from behind a dusty tree. It’s definitely the church. Audrey takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and imagines her mum arriving for her wedding, picking her way down the street in her finery knowing her groom was waiting inside the church. Holding the image in her head, she pushes open the heavy wooden door and enters.

      It takes a minute for Audrey’s eyes to become accustomed to the gloom of the interior after the bright sunshine outside so she stands still, taking in the sparse wooden pews – perhaps only seven or eight rows – and the small altar at the front. Dust motes dance in the sunbeams that penetrate the stained glass windows. When her eyes have adjusted, Audrey walks slowly down the aisle, picturing her mum doing the same on her wedding day, a small posy of garden flowers clasped at her chest. At the altar she stops, closes her eyes, and stands in silence, feeling the moment.

      ‘Can I help you?’ A woman’s voice cuts in and Audrey’s eyes snap open. She spins around.

      ‘Oh, hello,’ she says. ‘I hope you don’t mind … I … I think my parents were married in this church and I just wanted to come and see it.’

      ‘Lovely! Welcome.’ The woman waves her hand at the church’s interior. ‘Please stay as long as you like. When was the wedding? I could possibly dig out the record for you.’

      ‘Oh, could you? That would be fantastic! They were married in 1940.’

      The woman looks thoughtful. ‘Yes. I’m sure we have those records. I’d need a day or so to find it but I could definitely get it out for you. Do you know which month?’

      ‘Yes – June.’

      ‘Okay, well, if you’d like to pop by again tomorrow I’ll have it ready for you.’

      ‘Thank you so much! It’s incredible. I’m here now, where they got married. I can almost feel them here.’

      ‘Have they been back themselves?’

      ‘No – they’re – they passed away.’

      ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, you’re most welcome. Whenever you like. Just come. The door’s always open.’ The woman gives Audrey a kind smile and turns back to the ante-room from which she came. Audrey sits gingerly on the front pew and closes her eyes. As the peace settles around her, Audrey can feel the essence of her dad. It’s as if a part of him is here in this church. She’s grown up with stories of him coming here every Sunday; of him wading through the monsoon rains or sheltering from the sun under an old umbrella on his weekly walk to this very place. This church has been a part of her childhood and now here she is. A smile washes over Audrey’s face, and, perhaps for the first time since her father died, her whole body relaxes.

       March 1971

       Bombay, India

      Audrey and Janet walk arm in arm down Churchgate after dinner. In the distance, they spot a busy café, and the sound of its resident jazz trio floats to them on the night air. The street is alive with sounds, smells, and people. Audrey breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of this exotic city and revelling in the warmth that still comes as a surprise to her every time she steps outside. In England it’d still be coat weather. Janet looks longingly at the crowd of suited and booted punters that spills into the café’s front terrace, even at this late hour. She lets go of Audrey’s arm and dances a few jazz steps in the street, then turns back to face Audrey.

      ‘They say this place makes the only genuine cappuccino in town. We’ve got to try one, Auds. What do you say?’

      Audrey looks at her watch. She starts her new job in the morning but, equally, she doesn’t want to disappoint her friend. Janet has been so kind.

      ‘Umm,’ she says.

      ‘Come on! It’s only a coffee. Carpe diem!’ Janet grabs her arm again. ‘I still can’t believe you’re here! And we’ll be working together from tomorrow! Don’t worry! I’ll look after you!’

      ‘Okay, just one, though. A quick one.’

      Audrey allows herself to be drawn