“Where are you?” I asked aloud. I stirred the red pasta sauce absent-mindedly with a wooden spoon that I’d found after a long search between the wine glasses. The contents of the holiday bungalow could be described as sparse at best. Tim was sat kneeling on a tattered rug in the living room playing with a toy car making humming noises. We’d brought a box of toys from home to keep him entertained during our weekend getaway.
I tried Oliver’s mobile again as I doodled in the margins of a map of the holiday park we’d received at the reception upon arrival yesterday. It rang about five times.
“This is Oliver Smits’ voicemail,” I heard again. “Leave a message after the …”
I threw my phone on the counter and cursed loudly.
Why did he not just check in to let me know where he was? I hated not knowing what was going on.
Tim turned his head and looked questioningly at me.
“Sorry, pumpkin,” I said in a loving voice. “You just go and play.”
He didn’t reply and returned to playing with his toy.
I stared into the distance, biting my lip. Oliver had been gone for hours. This wasn’t like him at all. Was he angry with me? Maybe I shouldn’t have exploded like that. Even though it clearly had been a bit careless, Oliver hadn’t lost sight of Tim on purpose. I had to admit, something similar could have happened to any parent.
The sound of the kettle made me jump. Before pouring the boiling water into the pan, I automatically checked whether Tim was still at a safe distance from me. I tore open the packet of macaroni, the only type of pasta we could get our hands on at the mini store in the park, and shook half of the contents into the bubbling water.
While the pasta was gently cooking, Tim and I played together on the rug, but my thoughts were somewhere else.
After draining the macaroni, I took the blender I’d brought from home out of one of the cupboards in the out-dated, pale green kitchen. Purifying his food was the only way to get Tim to eat anything, he didn’t seem to like any of the vegetables I offered him lately. I mixed the mashed sauce with the macaroni and placed the pan on a coaster on the oak table, which was, by the look of it, as worn down as the rest of the interior.
I decided to make a final attempt to get hold of Oliver, but my call remained unanswered yet again.
I lifted Tim from the floor despite his protest and placed him in the wooden high chair. “Come on, baby. Dinner is ready,” I said, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach.
Tim looked at me with his big blue, innocent eyes. “Daddy?”
I went out of my way to sound as normal as possible. “Daddy will eat later.” Tim was used to regularly having dinner with just one of us, so in that respect, nothing was out of the ordinary. As a high-powered lawyer, Oliver was swamped with cases, making long hours while I occasionally had to work evening or night shifts at the out-of-hours health clinic. We sometimes seemed to be leading separate lives.
I scooped a small amount of the hot food onto a plastic plate, cheerfully decorated with Disney characters. “Would Timmy like some yummy pasta? Mummy cooked it especially for you,” I said brightly, but inside this whole situation was grinding me down. Something was terribly wrong.
After I put Tim to bed around eight, I couldn’t help myself any longer. I immediately grabbed my phone and closed the door to the corridor to prevent Tim from overhearing, although these walls, which looked like cardboard, would probably not block out much noise.
I heard the telephone ringing as I paced up and down the room on bare feet across the cold tiled floor.
“Hello,” sounded the familiar voice.
I could hear chatter and laughter in the background. “Lindsey. It’s Jennifer,” I said.
“Hey sweetie, how are you? Having a nice weekend getaway with the family?” she asked in a loud voice, sounding more animated than usual.
I ignored her question. “Where are you? Can we talk?”
“I’m in a restaurant. Paul and I are having a bite to eat.” She remained silent for a moment as I heard the clickity-clack of her familiar, ultra-high heels against the floors while the voices in the background fell quiet. Since the time we’d first met at college, Lindsey always wore stilettos and despite my nervousness at the current situation – or perhaps as a result of it – I gave a jittery laugh.
“I’m in the hallway now so I can hear you properly,” Lindsey continued moments later. “What’s wrong?” Her voice sounded sober again, and hoarse, as was often the case.
I sucked in my upper lip and bit on it. “Oliver’s gone.”
There was a brief pause. “What are you talking about? You were on a weekend getaway, right?”
My gaze wandered outside, where a sudden autumnal shower made the branches of a row of elm trees sway. I really didn’t like this time of year – the realisation that the days were getting shorter and the temperatures were dropping always filled me with a feeling of melancholy. “He’s not answering his phone.”
Lindsey seemed to sense my unrest. “Hold on,” she appeased. “Tell me from the start what’s going on. Where are you?”
I sighed. “I am in one of those godforsaken holiday parks somewhere in the south of the Netherlands,” I said, wondering why I’d agreed to this. When planning our holidays, our destination was always the subject of debate between Oliver and I. I wanted to go camping, just as I’d done as a child and from which I cherished fond memories. Each year my parents and my aunt and uncle travelled with their caravan all the way to the south of France. My cousin and I would spend three weeks at our beloved campsite exploring the grounds and stuffing ourselves with French baguettes. My mother-in-law, on the other hand, had loved to select a luxury resort from The Marriot or Hilton. I knew deep down why I’d come to this park without grumbling – it had been a final reconciliation attempt on Oliver’s part, which I’d seized with both hands.
“Oliver said he’d just go for a stroll around the block but he hasn’t returned,” I elaborated.
I walked to the television cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Merlot left over from last night. I poured a glass and took a gulp of the red wine, feeling the liquid slowly warming my body.
“How long has he been gone?” Lindsey asked.
“All afternoon.” I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and thought for a moment. After Tim’s afternoon nap we’d decided to go swimming. “He left the pool about five hours ago.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I’ll move out of the way,” Lindsey said, to someone else I presumed. Then she responded to me. “I don’t understand. Did anything happen between the two of you?”
Should I confess to the umpteenth conflict that had arisen between us? It felt ridiculous and embarrassing. I took another sip of wine before coming clean. “We had a falling out. Oliver was supposed to watch Tim by the pool, but when I looked up, he was absorbed in his newspaper. Tim was nowhere to be found.”
“Timmy? Oh god, how awful,” Lindsey exclaimed. “Is he okay? You did find him again, didn’t you?”
“Yes, thankfully,” I hurried to add. “We searched the entire pool complex, asked around everywhere until I was almost certain he’d drowned. You can’t imagine the state I was in, I was beside myself.” The overwhelming fear I’d felt came over me again. I shook myself out of it and pulled myself back into the here and now. “I naturally became angry with Oliver and nearly exploded, and then he just took off.” I paused for a moment. “Lin, I’m terribly worried.”
“Hmm …” muttered Lindsey.
I was expecting reassuring words – Lindsey’s reaction only made me more nervous. “Where do you think he’s gone?” He wouldn’t leave me out here, not while we were trying one last time to patch things up … would he?
She spluttered. “Maybe he went back to Amsterdam. Have you already tried your landline?”
I felt stupid. “No, I didn’t think about that.”
“You know what? Why don’t you phone home straight away. I’m sure he’s just relaxing in the bath and left his phone in the car. Or something like that,” she added. “You know what men are like.”
“Yes, maybe you’re right,” I said despondently. I suddenly realised I hadn’t checked whether our car was still parked at the entrance of the holiday park.
“Just try the landline, then call me back to give me the good news.” The concern she’d expressed seemed to have disappeared from her voice, her speech was slurring again. She probably wanted to return to her dinner with Paul, her latest fling, back to her uncomplicated evening. I couldn’t blame her.
I wasn’t reassured, but I didn’t want to take up any more of her time and spoil her date.
“Sure,” I said complacently, putting my wine glass on the wooden coffee table. “I will.”
We hung up.
I pulled myself together and tried our landline as I put my ear to the corridor door – everything was quiet. Tim was probably fast asleep by now.
The phone kept ringing, while the tension in my stomach grew stronger and stronger. “Pick up, Oliver,” I pleaded.
Maybe he was indeed taking a bath and couldn’t hear the telephone ringing, I thought, trying to calm myself down, or he was listening to his beloved jazz music with his head phones on while lounging on our couch, his loafer-clad feet hanging over the armrest.
I lowered myself onto one of the creaky wooden chairs with my phone pressed to my ear and waited and waited, but my call wasn’t answered.
I gave up and flung my phone across the room onto the couch. I rubbed my eyes as the feeling of anxiety continued to grow deep inside. What was I supposed to do now?
I leaped up and went to the kitchen, trying to ignore the mess, which had resulted from preparing dinner in a tiny space. I grabbed a bag of crisps from the cupboard, ripped it open and took it with me to the couch in the lounge where I plopped down. I opened my laptop and whiled away watching an episode of my favourite series on Netflix – if Oliver wasn’t here tonight, I might as well take advantage of it.
I stuck my hand inside the bag and mindlessly stuffed the crisps into my mouth. My gaze was focused on the small screen, where a handsome businessman in an office filing room loosened the buttons of his assistant’s blouse, but it was hard for me to stay focused.
This wasn’t going to work. I slammed the laptop shut and grabbed my phone again.
After only ringing twice, my call was answered.
“Lin, it’s me. Still nothing.”
This time I heard loud music playing in the background. Lindsey remained silent for a moment. “What do you mean, nothing?” she asked.
Where was her mind? “Oliver is not answering!” I shouted sharply. I kneaded my shoulders. “Sorry, my anxiety levels are through the roof. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve called him – the landline, his mobile, nothing. I’m at a loss – I really don’t know what to do anymore. Shall I call the police?” My gaze moved outside, where the lights in almost all the holiday homes had been switched off for the night.
“Let’s not jump the gun. Damn it. Wait a minute, I’ll go to the hallway.”
I heard Lindsey mutter something to Paul. A moment later the music fell silent.
Lindsey spoke tenderly. “Hun, I understand you’re upset. But if you ask me, there’s no need to worry. You and Oliver are going through a rough time. Every couple has their ups and downs every now and then,” she said as if she were an expert on relationships. “Give him some space.”
I contemplated Lindsey’s words for a moment. Was she right? I felt confused – Oliver had been the one to surprise me with a minibreak and had even specifically blocked his schedule for it. “This weekend was meant to breathe new life into our relationship,” I responded. “It was actually his idea. I can’t imagine him just leaving me out here all alone with Tim.”
“I’m sure his intentions were all good,” she spoke with confidence. “But you two unexpectedly had a row, which put a spanner in the works. Maybe he just wants some time to himself. You said yourself that Oliver has been occupied at the firm lately.”
I thought back to the past few months during which Oliver often had to work overtime. When he did finally make it home as Tim was well asleep and I was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, he often seemed deep in thought, his head buried in his phone. Whenever I’d confronted him about his behaviour, he’d reacted irritably and brushed me off.
I let out a big sigh. “Maybe you’re right. He may simply want to recharge his batteries,” I concluded. The feeling of anguish gave way to annoyance. “You would think he’d have had the decency to inform me rather than just sneaking off.”
“It sucks, you’re right. Quite inconsiderate.”
Lindsey started laughing. “Make sure you give him a good telling off when he returns.” She spoke in a calm and serious voice again. “Darling, don’t drive yourself nuts. Have a nice bath, drink a glass of wine. Relax. I’ll bet you anything he’ll call tomorrow morning begging you to forgive him.”
“You’re probably right,” I murmured without sounding particularly convinced.
“Of course I’m right,” Lindsey said, with a tinkling laugh. “Babe, I’m going to pop back to Paul before he thinks I’ve bailed on him.”
“Sure,” I said and tried my best to sound jaunty. “Thanks Lin for taking the time.”
“Any time, darling.”
I followed Lindsey’s advice, filled the tub, added a dash of lavender oil, and tried to get Oliver out of my mind.