Page 17 of The Tapes
‘I’m surprised he left anything, to be honest.’
I open my mouth to say something, though I’m not sure what. Nicola’s mother is the sort of person who can make anything sound like a personal insult. ‘Hello’ comes off as ‘I am demeaning myself by even acknowledging you exist’.
She’s been in my life to some degree for around two decades. When Mum got herself into trouble with the police one time, there was a pilot scheme where officers would act as mentors in an attempt to stop reoffending. Mum got her conditional discharge, but had to check in with a police officer once a month. For some time at least, that meant Nicola’s father. A year or two on, Nicola and I ended up in the same pre-natal classes and we realised the connection.
With her barb going unanswered, Lucy swivels back to me. ‘I could probably put in a word if you want to hold the wake here,’ she says. ‘Alain is a personal friend of mine.’
‘We’ve already booked Dad’s social club,’ I say.
‘Which one?’
‘The Labour Club in town. He still went once or twice a week.’
Lucy looks to me blankly, as if she’s never heard of such a place. ‘Surely, it’s nicer here? Don’t you think guests would appreciate the view…?’
‘Maybe – but I’ve already sent the invites. The Labour Club is more him.’
That gets a pouted bottom lip. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
I sense Nicola tensing a little across the table as she wonders if this will be the time that I finally break. Every minute I spend in her mother’s presence pushes me closer to the very sweary meltdown that’s surely going to come one of these years.
Not today.
Lucy slips from her chair and says she’ll be back, before strolling off towards the toilets.
Her daughter lets out a long breath. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘She’s being a bigger bitch than usual.’
‘I thought she was actually being nicer.’
Nicola laughs, though not really. Before she can say anything else, the waiter reappears with a trio of plates. He places them around the table, pours more water for Nicola and I, and then leaves us to it.
‘I don’t know why she ordered for us,’ Nicola says. ‘She does this all the time, like it’s some sort of power play. She’ll say she wants to take me out for dinner, then we’ll end up in some high-end place where she’ll get lashed on the wine, while insisting I eat whatever she does.’
‘It looks like three small severed thumbs in congealed snot,’ I reply, eyeing the plate.
Nicola pokes at one with a fork, before eating the scallop in one.
‘Have you still been thinking about your mum?’ she asks, after swallowing.
It takes a moment to realise that’s what I told Nicola at her house yesterday. I’d only just found the tape and struggled not to talk about it.
‘Sort of. Dad, too. You do miss them when they’re gone.’
Nicola stares towards the bathroom for a moment. ‘Do you ever think she could come back?’
I’m slow today and it takes a while more to realise she’s talking about my mother.
‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘Maybe. Mum’s friends all said the disappearance was out-of-character. She’d not talked to any of them about a fall-out, or wanting to leave. Nobody at her work knew anything about her being unhappy.’
I dwell on that a moment, because all it really made me think was that her friends didn’t know herthatwell. But then I have been listening to her tapes, so perhaps I’m seeing things with retrospective eyes.
‘What did your dad say?’
So much has happened in the last thirteen years that it’s hard to answer. Those confusing few weeks after Mum disappeared blended into each other. There were sightings that weren’t real; rumours that weren’t true. I always assumed she’d return home, even when days turned to weeks to months. I’m not sure when I stopped believing.
‘Dad had gone to the Labour Club at lunchtime,’ I say. ‘He got back about two hours later and she wasn’t home. By the time it got to about half-four, he was calling, asking if I’d seen her. I’d not heard from her since that text about Sunday lunch. None of the neighbours had seen her, none of her friends, not me. Her bag was on the side, her phone was in the living room, her keys were on the hook, passport in the drawer, car in the garage. She’d just gone.’
‘…if they say I’m missing, I’m not. I’ve been killed.’
