The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

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СКАЧАТЬ looked at the floor, then back up at John. ‘I should know, shouldn’t I?’

      His look said yes, you should. ‘Don’t you speak to her every week?’ he asked.

      ‘I used to. I don’t know what happened. It just kind of petered out when we moved down here. I guess I thought I’d see more of her so I stopped calling …’

      ‘But you don’t see much of her, either.’

      ‘I know. It’s just … argh. When I did see her, I got the feeling she didn’t particularly want me there. That I was interrupting her weekend. She almost used to tell me off for going down and that’s the last thing I want when I’ve fought my way down the bloody A30 just to see her.’ I ran my hand through my hair. ‘God. I’ve got so much going on at home. So much to cram into the weekends. I guess I just stopped.’

      I looked at John. I was hoping for empathy; some sort of understanding. There were a hundred things begging for my attention these days: work, finances, keeping things normal while Mark was unemployed – not to mention the all-consuming desire to conceive. I’d become almost obsessed with the idea of how it would feel to hold a tiny, living, breathing human being in my arms; the baby-scent of his or her skin. When I saw women out with prams, it was all I could do not to lean into them and scoop up the babies; to hold them against my shoulder and gaze at their tiny little features.

      ‘I know. We’re all busy. But you should try, Lexi,’ John said. ‘It takes – what – an hour to get there?’

      ‘I know … it’s just … you know.’ I almost said it. I almost told him about the difficulties I was having conceiving but, as the words formed in my mouth, so much emotion swelled inside me that I couldn’t get the words out. John wouldn’t understand. He’d tell me to adopt, like he had. ‘You know how it is.’ I pressed my lips together, suppressing the secret that was eating me alive.

      ‘And you don’t even have kids.’ John gave a bitter laugh.

      The words pierced me with a physical pain in my uterus. I inhaled, took a moment.

      ‘What’s it like, adopting?’ I asked. ‘Is it the same as … you know, having your own?’

      John gave another bitter laugh. ‘I can’t really answer that, never having had my own.’

      ‘But do you love them?’

      ‘Of course I do. I’m officially their father.’

      ‘But do you feel like their father?’

      He folded his arms. ‘What is this? Twenty questions?’

      ‘Sorry. I just – y’know. I wonder sometimes.’

      John raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you and Mark considering …?’

      ‘What? Adopting?’ I made a great show of shaking my head. ‘God, no!’ I laughed to show how silly the idea was. And, to be fair, it was. Mark and I had discussed it. While he was happy to support whatever I wanted to do, I think we both knew that, if we couldn’t have our own children, our hearts were not in adoption. But sometimes, as the dream of a baby of my own slipped further away, I found myself wondering: could I do it? Could I love someone else’s baby as my own?

      ‘Anyway,’ I said. ‘About Mum. What do you think?’

      John exhaled, fiddled with a newspaper lying on the coffee table. ‘I don’t know, Lex. It seems to have suddenly got worse. I think we should watch her – we, Lexi, not just me – and see how it goes.’

      ‘Okay.’ As I said it, I vowed to be a better daughter, to take better care of my mother. I would do it. I would.

      ‘And,’ said John, turning his gaze onto me, ‘if things don’t get better, I think we should start thinking about trying to get her to move into some sort of sheltered housing.’

      ‘What? She’s not even seventy!’

      ‘I’ve just been through all this with Valya. Trust me, having scrambled around to find the right place for her at the eleventh hour, I know it’s better to have plans in place.’ He looked at me but I didn’t reply. ‘She’s not getting any younger, Lex. If we start looking at places now and get an idea of what’s out there … you know, before we know it she’ll be in her seventies. I’d just like to know what we’re going to do, moving forward.’

      ‘Hmm.’ I drummed my fingers on the armrest.

      ‘She can’t live on her own in that house forever. It’s only a matter of time before something happens. There are some really nice places out there. I’m not talking retirement homes. Of course not! But there are some lovely residential developments where the oldies buy a place – like a one- or two-bedroom apartment, or even a small house – and there are social clubs and restaurants. It’s nice. Honestly.’

      ‘I think you’ll have your job cut out getting her to move. She loves her house. She loves that garden. The view …’

      ‘I know, Lex. But I’m just thinking about her safety and her health. She crashed her car. For how much longer do you think she can continue driving? Being independent? It’s not going to go on forever.’

      ‘I don’t know, John. It seems awfully premature.’

      John groaned and buried his face in his hands. ‘Then you’ve got to help me,’ he said, looking up again, his voice desperate. ‘With the physical stuff, not just phoning her. I can’t do it all! I’m running around like a headless chicken trying to keep on top of Anastasia and the kids, not to mention work. There aren’t enough hours in the day! The last thing I need is to worry about Mum going doolally.’ He looked at me. ‘Are you willing to pull your weight a bit more?’

      ‘Pull my weight a bit more?’ I snorted. ‘Mark and I moved from London to be closer! He now has no job. We have no money.’ My voice broke. Even as I spoke, I realised John was right: the effort to conceive had taken over my life and, when it came to neglecting Mum, I was guilty as charged.

      ‘Lexi, if you don’t make the effort to see Mum, you may as well be living in Timbuk-bloody-tu,’ John said.

      I held up my hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try. I promise to call her more often and go down more often? Okay?’

      John took a deep breath. ‘Thanks. Maybe we can come up with a rota where we take it in turns to visit her. But, meanwhile, I think we should start looking at those home places. I really do.’

       July 1972

       Bombay, India

      Audrey Templeton examines herself in the mirror: she’s pleased with the way the sleeveless silk sheath dress Ralph’s tailor has made for her has turned out. The neckline reveals her collar bones, and the slit at the front reveals just enough leg to be daring but not vulgar. An opening at the back dips almost to her waist, making onlookers wonder how she could possibly be wearing a СКАЧАТЬ