The Storm Page 8

  Nathan is working the room adeptly and has moved on to a different crowd of people and already treated them to an apparently hilarious anecdote. If he’s aware of Alex’s absence he isn’t allowing it to interfere with his performance. A woman marches up to me, her mouth forming an exaggerated and insincere oh-how-lovely-to-meet-you shape. She is grey-haired, thin and spidery, and has an unpleasantly limp handshake. After a short silence which seems to bother her more than it bothers me, she says, ‘We don’t see you at many of the events your husband attends. The talk he gave at the library on the vagaries of the English legal system was fascinating. I had so many questions for him and he knew the answer to every single one.’

  ‘I have a son.’

  She waits for me to say more, to perhaps explain why having a son might prevent me from coming to hear my husband bore on about law. But I stay quiet. I don’t mind if she thinks this is an unsatisfactory excuse. The truth is Nathan doesn’t want me there. He likes me at home to welcome him with a hot meal and a clean house, and he needs me to listen sympathetically when he tells me at length what a dull time he had answering dull questions from dull people.

  You, I think, as I give her a tight smile, bore my husband rigid.

  Nathan looks over in my direction and cranes his head to see who I’m talking to. A subtle look of distaste passes over his face when he recognises the spidery woman. Most people wouldn’t pick up on these fleeting expressions, but I can read him like a book. I smile at her more warmly. It’s sad, really, that her admiration is repaid with such thinly veiled contempt.

  Nathan says something to the group of people he is with, gestures over at me, then laughs and pats a man’s back. The group smile and nod. The man he patted turns to acknowledge me with a raised hand. Nathan leaves them and walks over to us.

  ‘Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to get separated from you.’ He gives the woman a larger than life smile. ‘Emily. How lovely to see you again.’

  The woman beams and places a spidery hand on his arm. ‘I was telling your wife what a marvellous talk you gave at the library a while back. Honestly, one of the most fascinating evenings I’ve spent in a long time.’ She pauses theatrically. Leans in conspiratorially. ‘You know, you’re wasted in Cornwall.’

  I dig my fingernails into my palm.

  ‘You’re too kind, Emily. I wouldn’t live anywhere else. I was away from Cornwall for a while in my twenties…’

  I allow his voice to slip into the background. It’s a skill I’ve developed over the years. Sometimes I can do it when it’s just the two of us. I phase the sound of him out so his mouth moves but there’s no noise, as if muting the television. Selective hearing. Another life-raft.

  ‘Hannah?’

  I click the sound back on and smile.

  ‘Sorry. I drifted off for a moment.’ I pinch the fabric of my blouse and flap it. ‘It’s hot in here, isn’t it?’

  Nathan beckons to one of the waiting staff, a boy who looks no older than Alex and who, by the glum expression on his face, would prefer to be anywhere else but here.

  ‘Could you open a window? It’s rather stuffy in here and my wife is too warm.’

  ‘So considerate,’ croons Emily. ‘You know, there was a question I didn’t ask—’.

  Nathan smiles at Emily as he takes my elbow. ‘Would you excuse us?’

  She swallows her disappointment with a rapid flick of her hand, as if shooing him away. ‘Of course, of course. I mustn’t hog you. You’re the star of the show and everybody wants to talk to you. It’s like a wedding!’

  ‘Hannah,’ Nathan hisses, close to my ear. ‘Where is he? The journalist wants a family shot.’

  I debate lying. I could tell him Alex has been and gone. That he showed up white as a sheet. Poorly. That I sent him home rather than infect everybody. But then what will I do if he then arrives, not ill, but fine? My brain won’t work fast enough and I’m forced to tell the truth.

  ‘I don’t think he’s here yet but I know he wouldn’t miss it. He’ll have been delayed at school. Maybe the maths study group ran over?’

  ‘Christ,’ he breathes angrily. ‘After this morning you’d think he wouldn’t dare step out of line. What will people think? Doesn’t he know how important it is to be seen supporting me?’

  ‘I don’t think anybody cares about Alex, Nathan. We’re here to celebrate you and your marvellous achievements. Don’t let him get to you.’ I smile and make my voice light. ‘What time are you on?’

  ‘The marketing girl from the tourist board said around fifteen minutes,’ he says, his annoyance still obvious. ‘That was ten minutes ago. I should go.’ He smiles tightly. ‘Can I suggest you circulate a bit more?’

  I nod.

  ‘And, Hannah, do try and smile. You look much prettier when you smile.’

  I circulate over to a chair near the entrance to wait for Alex. There are banners either side of the double doors with the logo of the sponsors, the Cornish Tourist Board, emblazoned on them proudly. I’ve no idea how providing the warm wine at an awards ceremony for a local lawyer who ran a marathon three years ago will promote holidays to the West Country, but then again what do I know about anything?

  The room quietens at the sound of a knife clinking a wine glass. A man in an ill-fitting suit clears his throat and begins to talk. His voice is monotonous and his attempt at a joke sends a muted ripple of uncertain laughter through the crowd, so when he finally introduces my husband, the audience clap with both enthusiasm and relief. Nathan walks on to the stage with the confidence of a rock star. Watching him is surreal, this attractive, suave character, oozing charisma, is a world away from the awkward, socially inept man I first knew.

  I scan the room and see a doll-like blonde with toned arms and perfect figure standing a little way away from me. She is dressed in a knee-length maroon jersey dress, with dewy skin, barely-there make-up, and doe-like eyes that drink him in. Around her neck is a gold chain carrying a solid gold heart. There’s a sadness in the way she holds her wine glass, close to her chest as if for comfort, and I know, instinctively, she’s screwed my husband. He’s had plenty of sex with other women. I can smell them on him sometimes. Once I found a receipt for a Premier Inn in his jacket pocket. I checked the date in our diary. He’d been at home that night. Grubby daytime sex, Nathan? Classy. Was it this blonde china doll who’d spent a few hours with him in that hotel on the outskirts of Hayle? Did she cry when he told her they wouldn’t be having sex again? Because that’s what he’d have done. An affair is beneath him. One-off sex? Justifiable in Nathan’s head. She means nothing, I can hear him say. She pursued me. If you think about it, I’m the victim. Men are, after all, at the mercy of women’s sexuality. But I finished it. Immediately. I’d never have an affair. I love you too much.

  And now Nathan’s acceptance speech is drawing to a close.

  ‘You’re all too kind,’ he says, glancing down at the typed-out pages on the lectern in front of him. ‘I feel, in many ways, unworthy of this award. What I do is not done for thanks or recognition, but because this place is where my heart lies. In Cornwall. I’ve been away. I’ve studied and worked in London. I’ve lived and worked in Paris. But my heart was always here, where I grew up, where my family are. My home.’

  I watch him search the crowd for me. When he finds me he smiles, but it’s a surface smile that doesn’t crease his eyes. My cheeks burn hot as people turn to see who he’s looking at. The scrutiny makes me want to curl up and die.

  ‘I’d like to share this award,’ he continues, ‘with each and every one of you who goes above and beyond to support the community we all love so dearly.’

  The room erupts into rapturous applause.

  After the ceremony I wait near the entrance, smiling and nodding as people leave, but avoiding conversation. I’m tired and Nathan is on a warpath for Alex.

  ‘Any sign of him?’ Nathan demands as he appears at my side.

  I shake my head.

  ‘He should have phoned.’r />
  ‘You took his phone.’

  Nathan’s eyes narrow.

  ‘Shall I call the school?’

  ‘For God’s sake, school closed hours ago. He’s not at school. He never was at school. He’s missed this on purpose and you can’t even imagine the amount of trouble he’s in.’

  The glint in his eye is unmistakable. And is that the hint of a smile? Are you relishing the prospect of punishing him, Nathan?

  Before I have a chance to respond, he’s turned his back on me, and is talking to Annie, who is gushing about his speech.

  ‘Honestly, you were brilliant, Nathan. You didn’t put a foot wrong. I’m incredibly proud of you.’ The words drip off her glistening plum-coloured lips as unctuous as double cream. ‘But now, I’m famished. Shall we eat?’

  Supper with friends. His friends. Annie, a colleague of his, and her husband Steve, who works in data analytics at an accountancy firm based in Plymouth. Steve’s only conversation consists of blow-by-blow stories of commuting hell, including complaints directed at rail companies and road maintenance departments, both national and local, with special interest in idle workmen, pot holes, and traffic jams, which he’d expect in London, but not in the West Country for God’s sake.

  Annie is in love with Nathan, well maybe not love, but she one hundred per cent wants to sleep with him. She hasn’t a chance though. She goes heavy on the make-up and favours chunky costume jewellery in gaudy colours. One day I might give her a couple of tips on how to tempt him. Ditch the femme fatale. Channel the ingénue. Incredibly, Steve is oblivious to her flirting. I assume this is either because he’s having an affair himself or is so consumed by his commuting traumas he hasn’t noticed, both of which, I suppose, would explain why she’s so desperate to screw my husband.

  ‘It’ll be more fun just the four of us,’ Annie purrs when Nathan vents about Alex’s inability to show up. ‘Having a child around makes everybody more boring, don’t you think, Hannah?’

  I briefly imagine slapping her face, but instead give an insipid smile and nod. It strikes me then how much insipid smiling and nodding I do.

  The blonde woman who I suspect, unlike Annie, has already slept with Nathan, walks quietly up to him and touches his elbow.

  He registers alarm, but manages to reaffix his mask quickly. ‘Hilary,’ he says, as he gives her hand a decorous pat. ‘So sweet of you to make time to come tonight. I’m afraid we’re dashing out to dinner. See you in the office tomorrow?’

  As he guides me out of the hall, I glance back. She remains standing in the emptying hall, hands clasped loosely, isolated from the bustle around her, sad and alone. Her hair has a straight-from-the-salon sheen to it. She had it done especially. Poor cow.

  Nathan drives us to Mousehole. There’s a new gastropub there which he wants to try. At the table I can’t concentrate. Annie and Nathan are talking animatedly. Her grating, girlish laughter cuts right through me and makes it harder for me to tune their voices out. I’m vaguely aware of her pouring his wine, resting a hand on his arm, speaking to him in whispers from behind her raised menu while Steve talks to me about a proposed train strike.

  ‘Don’t they realise some people actually need to work.’

  Every few minutes I glance at my phone which I’m holding as surreptitiously as possible beneath the table in the hope Alex might text me from a friend’s phone. At various points in the meal I get up and go to the toilet where I lock myself in a cubicle to call our home number. Each time the phone rings and rings. I imagine it reverberating around the empty house and stirring a disgruntled Charles Cardew. Unease creeps deeper into me. My mother’s intuition knows something is wrong.

  It occurs to me suddenly, while Steve is ordering another bottle of red wine, that if Alex wanted to hide somewhere to avoid the award ceremony, with no risk of being forced to go, he could have gone to Vicky’s. How stupid of me not to think of this earlier. I excuse myself again, and ignoring Nathan’s irritation and Annie’s evident amusement, hurry through the restaurant.

  ‘Is Alex there?’ I ask, when she picks up the call.

  ‘No. Should he be?’

  My heart sinks and the niggling fear I felt earlier returns tenfold.

  ‘I thought you both had to go and play happy families with your award-winning husband?’

  ‘He didn’t bloody turn up, the pest.’ I force myself to sound annoyed and unpanicked. ‘Nathan’s fuming.’

  Vicky tuts. ‘He only has to blame himself. He shouldn’t be such a controlling arsehole.’

  I don’t reply.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry,’ she says then. ‘Alex is a bright kid with his head screwed on. He’ll be fine. He’s probably staying over with a friend.’

  ‘But what if he’s not? What if he’s hurt? What if he’s lying in a ditch?’

  ‘He’s fine, sweetheart. I promise. He’s probably met some gorgeous girl and they’ve run off for a night of crazy sex away from the prying eyes of Adolf. Genes will out, after all.’

  I stifle a laugh through fresh tears as I picture the look of horror on Nathan’s face hearing Vicky call him Adolf. We say goodbye and I promise her at least five times I will call – whatever the time – with any updates.

  I hang up and spend a few moments breathing deeply to stop myself from crying. Alex should have made contact by now. It’s late. My heart hammers as I stare at the reflection of my face in the dead black of my phone. He has to be with a friend. I dial the first name which springs to mind.

  ‘Caroline? It’s Hannah Cardew. Alex’s mum?’

  ‘Oh, hi. Everything OK?’ She sounds understandably surprised. We have only ever communicated very briefly and always via text or the class WhatsApp group.

  ‘I don’t suppose Ben is out with Alex? He—’ I pause to exhale to keep my voice from wavering. ‘He forgot to take his phone today and, well, I’m out and I need to get hold of him.’

  ‘No, sorry, love. Ben’s back now. A group of them went to the park after school and played football. He only got back about an hour ago. Little sod. He had cold fish and chips for supper.’ She laughs. ‘I imagine Alex was with them. He’s no doubt home by now. Have you tried calling him there?’

  I have to bite my tongue to stop myself saying something sarcastic. ‘I have. Yes.’

  ‘I bet you he’s lying on his bed with his headphones on and can’t hear the telephone.’

  ‘Would you mind asking Ben if Alex was with them and if he knows whether he went on anywhere?’

  ‘These kids will be the death of us, won’t they?’

  I force a tight laugh.

  ‘Hang on a moment.’

  I picture her turning her face away from the phone, holding her hand over the receiver to muffle her voice as she yells up the stairs.

  ‘Ben!’

  A pause.

  ‘Ben! Was Alex at the park earlier?’

  Another pause.

  ‘Alex. Cardew!’

  I strain to hear her son’s reply. ‘Well, try to remember, for Christ’s sake. I’ve got his mum on the line and the daft boy doesn’t have his phone. She sounds worried.’

  Another pause before she comes back on the line.

  ‘He says he’s not a hundred per cent but doesn’t think so. Honestly,’ she says with a tut, ‘these boys don’t have a clue, do they?’ She titters gaily. ‘My daughter would have known exactly who was there, who everybody spoke to, what time they all left, and who was going where. But I don’t suppose that’s much help to you.’

  Not much help to me, no, Caroline.

  ‘Thanks, Caroline. I’m sure he’s fine.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Hannah

  Cass is waiting at the door when we walk in, her tail wagging frantically. I drop my hand to stroke her head whilst checking the kitchen for Alex’s schoolbag. It’s not here. It’s not in the hall either. Or the living room.

  Panic rips through me with the intensity of forest fire. ‘He’s not home, Nathan.’

  ‘He’s i
n so much trouble.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I mean, he’s not home. It’s eleven-thirty and he’s not here. Where is he?’

  I don’t wait for a reply and take the stairs two at a time.

  His room is a tip and eerily quiet, the bed unmade, the floor littered with schoolbooks, his pencil case and calculator, muddled in with assorted balled tissues, ink cartridges, a browned apple core, as if his bag has been upended.

  Nathan appears behind me and mutters something ill-tempered about the mess.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he says sharply. ‘Stop looking so worried. He’s rebelling, can’t you see? Missing the ceremony? It’s his idea of a petty stand against me. He’s probably drinking somewhere, thinking he’s oh-so-clever and cool.’

  I don’t say anything but, God, I hope he’s drinking somewhere. I hope he’s with a group of friends drinking cheap cider out of two-litre bottles, laughing and flirting. I hope his friends asked him if he should be at that thing his dad’s doing and I hope he made a face and said, ‘Fuck, no, why would I do that when I can get drunk with you lot?’ I hope this because if he’s drunk with his friends he isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.

  I want him home.

  Nathan takes in the mess on the floor. ‘That looks like stuff from his bag. He didn’t go to school?’

  ‘Yes, he did. I mean, I think so. They’d have called, surely?’

  Nathan moves with purpose down the stairs. I follow even though I want to run to our room and cocoon myself beneath the covers of the bed. I am bombarded by horrific scenario after horrific scenario. Each one more terrifying than the one before it. Alex lying, broken-limbed, at the bottom of a mine shaft. Alex unconscious at the foot of a cliff. Alex dead beside the road. Alex at the bottom of the sea, his bloated body leaking blood into the salty water…