George Paget School sits behind vast swathes of old trees, planted before I was born, or my great-grandparents were. The driveway languishes uphill for a quarter of a mile and I wonder if the fees are really worth it. Ewan, Lydia…
She’s waiting for me with the nurse and she looks like death.
‘She fainted, twice.’
‘Did you call a doctor?’
‘Yes, she’s been checked over, Doctor Moore. Can we talk in private?’
I don’t want to leave Lydia but she barely notices me.
I’m told that if she doesn’t start eating properly, she’ll have to be admitted to hospital. The next stage is an intervention care plan. I’ve heard those words before, but it wasn’t about my own child. I feel sick.
The drive home is desperately lonely and long. I don’t know what to say. I seemed to get through to Grace this morning, but my own daughter is a puzzle too far.
‘Let’s get you home and into bed, darling,’ is all I can muster.
She smiles weakly at me.
‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’
It pierces my heart.
I reach my hand across to her and tell her it’s not her fault.
‘I wish I could make your pain go away.’
I wish she were my client and not my daughter.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Why is Daddy drunk all the time?’
There. The elephant has finally crept out of its tiny hiding space and it sits on me like a crushing weight.
‘He scares me when he’s drunk.’
I rage inside, but my lips won’t move and I know I have to make a plan for our futures, to survive, for my kids to pull through.
‘Let me take care of that,’ is all I can say. I can’t share with her all the reasons he’s an alcoholic. I can’t burden her or force her into a parenting role. But it’s happening right in front of me. She’s not stupid, none of them are. Kids see things for what they are. My knuckles turn white around the steering wheel and I taste the anger in my mouth. It wriggles around like a great serpent, trying to poison my children, who I can’t protect.
I turn into our driveway and it’s some relief, because at least I can move my body, for want of moving my tongue. I help her out of the car and into the house. She can barely make it upstairs and flops onto her bed and I tuck her in, not bothering to undress her. I’ve already chosen a doctor to call. Thankfully, Jeremy is nowhere to be seen.
I’ve been away from the office for too long and my diversions will make me late for my afternoon appointments. I call Dora to let her know. I look inside the fridge for inspiration, but nothing shouts out to me and I slam it shut, imagining it’s Jeremy’s head. My phone makes me jump.
It’s the police.
He introduces himself as Detective Inspector Paul Hunt, and he’s gathering information on Monika’s last known whereabouts.
The officer sounds bored, but I know that’s just a hazard of his job. Crime is pedestrian to them.
I tell him that I saw Monika on Sunday at our house. He tells me she was last seen on Tuesday night, by her husband, confused, possibly drunk, and walking around her garden. It sounds about right for a night in the Thorpe house, but I don’t divulge that to DI Hunt; it’s none of his business.
I know the police well enough to understand their agenda as toxically benign. DI Hunt digs around looking for titbits about the Thorpes’ marriage.
‘We had butterflied lamb.’
I’m acutely aware that the choice of cut on Sunday is irrelevant but I’ve slipped easily into witness mode, where one drones on about anything and everything one remembers for want of not coming across as guilty as hell.
I apologise.
‘Don’t worry at all, doc.’ I didn’t say he could call me that. ‘It’s completely normal. So, was everything all right between the Thorpes? Normal behaviour?’
I know where this is going. In a missing persons investigation, the spouse is always suspect number one.
‘Is Monika in some kind of danger?’
‘No. Just background.’
‘Of course.’ My guts turn over. ‘The kids came and went. We drank a fair amount, I think, and Tony and Monika got a cab home.’
‘Would you say they were both drunk?’
I recall the afternoon in a series of vague stills, as if taken with an underwater movie camera. I see Tony with his arm around Lydia. Fencing with Ewan, with sticks. I remember Monika being sick all over the downstairs toilet. Ewan’s face when Jeremy slurred his words. Then Lydia’s turn over the toilet. Tony squaring up to his wife with his fists clenched.
‘Not really. A bit squiffy, I suppose.’
‘Right, doc, we’re just getting a picture together, nothing to worry about. Would you say that Mrs Thorpe is a big drinker, then?’
‘It depends what you call a big drinker, I suppose. She likes a drink.’
‘Right. Is that the last time you saw Mrs Thorpe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Thorpe mentioned to us that his wife has taken off for periods of time before.’
‘Yes, I believe she has.’
‘Do you know anything about that? Where did she go? Who did she see?’
‘Well, I seem to remember Tony telling me that she’d gone to Scotland, in her car, to get some space, a long time ago.’
‘Her car is parked in the family home driveway, so wherever she’s gone, she isn’t in her car.’
My heart rate rises.
‘Do you know why she needs space from time to time, doc?’
‘Don’t we all? I mean, marriage is not plain sailing, is it?’
‘Is there something about the Thorpes’ marriage that strikes you as unhappy, then?’
‘Not at all, they love each other, very much. Monika just struggles to fit in, I guess.’
‘What exactly do you mean?’
‘It’s not easy coming from a foreign country and making a life, is it? She misses home, I think.’
‘Right. Well, we’ll check if she took her passport. Has she ever left the country before?’
‘I really can’t answer that, you’ll have to ask Tony.’
‘We will. It’s a delicate subject, but I have to ask, do you know if a third party is involved at all, doc?’
‘You mean an affair? Goodness, I think not. They’re relative newlyweds.’
‘Thank you for your time. Of course, if you remember anything or come across more information, please get in touch.’
‘Of course, I will.’
A sinking feeling spreads across my gut. Tuesday was two days ago. A long time with no phone calls or messages in today’s world. Then Tony’s hand on my body. The way he looked at me as if he wanted to take me right there in the hallway like he used to. As if Monika has gone for good.