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47. SUMMER 2013

Catherine puts her key in the door and turns it, almost expecting it to no longer fit, but it does. She lets herself in and runs straight up to the spare room. She takes in the empty bed, the mess on the floor, the state of abandonment. Then she opens the door to her bedroom and stands over Robert. He is fast asleep. On the bedside table is a packet of sleeping pills, and next to them, a much-handled copy of The Perfect Stranger. Once this would have shocked her, but now it sickens her that he is keeping it next to his bed. That he has brought it back into their bedroom. She wonders where the photographs are. Does he keep those in his bedside drawer or has he destroyed them?

“Robert, wake up.” His sleep is so deep he hasn’t heard her run up the stairs, doesn’t sense her presence looming over him, doesn’t hear her voice in his ear. She reaches down and shakes him.

“Wake up.” He groans and turns away. His eyes stay shut.

“Robert,” she shouts, angry now. “Wake up.” She picks up his phone and checks for calls from Nick but there are none, only missed calls from her. How dare he sleep? She picks up the glass of water next to his bed and pours it over his head. Justified, needed, excusable. He splutters and shrivels. He looks pathetic. Her anger and dislike take her by surprise.

“Robert, for fuck’s sake wake up. Where is Nick?” And then he does at last open his eyes and look at her. He is confused, useless.

“What are you…?”

“Where is Nick?”

Still he looks blank, trying to drag himself back from sleep. She waves the book in his face.

“Have you told him?”

He slides away from her and gets out from the other side of the bed, and looks at her. He is naked and she turns away.

“Have you told him?” She yells this time.

He walks to the bathroom, returning in ankle-length towelling. He is calm, not at all worried.

“I haven’t told him anything,” he says. “But I’m going to…”

“Well, it’s a bit late now. Someone’s beaten you to it. He called me at four this morning and now I can’t get hold of him. He won’t pick up, hasn’t answered any of my calls. He left me a message,” she says and shakes her phone at him, “he was in a terrible state.” She starts to cry. “He knows. Where is he? We need to find him.”

“I don’t know where he is. Probably with a friend.” He refuses to join in her panic. “He went off to work this morning — he didn’t come home for supper, but so what? He’s twenty-five.” He is defensive. “I’m sure he’s fine… what do you mean he was in a state?”

“He was crying — he didn’t say anything — all I could hear were his sobs.”

Pain washes across Robert’s face: “Oh Jesus, I wish to God I’d told him. He should never have had to hear it from someone else.” He pushes past her to get downstairs.

“I’ve never heard him like this, Robert… I’m scared.”

He turns on her. “Well, what did you expect?” He looks her up and down until it seems he can no longer bear to look at her. “I should have been the one to tell him… and now he’s had to hear it from a stranger. Can you imagine how shocked he must be?” he says.

“That crazy, fucking bastard has got to him—”

“What?” he interrupts. “You mean the father of the boy who drowned saving Nick’s life? The father of the young man you fucked and then denied you’d ever met? After he had died saving our child? You mean that crazy, fucking bastard? You are unbelievable.” God how he hates her. He is consumed by it. The young man she fucked. He should be worrying about Nick, not attacking her. She despises him for not being able to focus on their son, on not working with her to find him.

“Don’t you get it? Our son is in danger. That man has got to him.” She holds out her phone and plays Nick’s message. It is heartbreaking. Tears come to Robert’s eyes.

“This is your fault. You have done this…” He spits the words at her and she turns away, but he carries on. “I don’t recognise you anymore. What did you expect?” He pulls her round so she is facing him.

“Are you surprised he’s upset? The lies, all the lies over the years. It was inevitable he would find out in the end but I wish it had been me who had told him. You didn’t care about him, did you — you were so caught up with your lover that you left our child alone in the sea when he couldn’t swim. What is he supposed to make of that? He was a kid — you were the adult. You were his mother. You were the one who should have saved him but you’ve never put him first, have you. It’s always about you.” She pulls away from him, turning her back, refusing to defend herself. She needs to concentrate on finding Nick. She can feel Robert’s eyes on her back, despising her. She had never expected it to come to this but she can’t think of that and instead goes through her phone finding the number for the local hospital. She calls it, waits for an answer.

“Hello, I’m trying to track down my son — I’m worried something may have happened to him… he called me very upset… he’s twenty-five… yes, but he has a history of drug problems… and he was in a terrible state on the phone… he may have done something to himself… Nicholas Ravenscroft…” She can hear they’re not interested. A twenty-five-year-old man with a mum phoning to check where he is. It sounds absurd.

She runs back up to the spare room. He could be anywhere — any hospital in London — on any train out of London — on any railway line…. She calls the police but they brush her off. Her son is twenty-five. She heard from him two hours ago. Did he say he was going to harm himself? No, she has to admit. She starts searching through his things. His laptop reveals nothing. She finds his washbag with telltale signs of his drug taking. Please no. She runs to the top of the stairs and screams down:

“Did you know he was taking drugs again? Did you?”

Robert comes to the bottom of the stairs and screams back:

“Don’t start trying to tell me how to parent our son.” But she can see she has got to him. She goes back into the spare room, gets down on her hands and knees and crawls through Nick’s mess, sifting through it for God knows what. She finds a letter from John Lewis. A letter of dismissal dated two weeks ago. She snatches it up in triumph and rushes down the stairs with it.

“He’s lost his job. So where’s he been every day when you thought he was at work?”

Robert can’t answer that. Now, he is as shocked and frightened as Catherine and she feels ashamed. How could she have felt triumphant? She looks down at him and says in quiet desperation:

“Don’t you have any idea who he might be with? Hasn’t he mentioned anyone?” Robert doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. Neither of them does. What a state of parenthood, she thinks. Neither of them knowing who to call — neither of them knowing who their son might be with. Does he have friends? There are none left from teenage years, she is pretty sure of that.

“He mentioned a girlfriend but I’ve never met her, I don’t know her name. I’m not sure whether she even exists….” He tries Nick’s number but it goes straight to voice mail: “Hi, mate. Give us a call when you wake up. Just let me know you’re okay… Love you…”

Then Catherine’s phone rings; she doesn’t recognise the number. Her fingers shake as she presses Answer.

“Hello?”