I'll Never Tell, page 7
After another moment, he checked his watch yet again. Five minutes now, if the schedule was running smoothly and none of the players had gone over time. A twelve-minute performance: that was all they were allowed. He and Chrissie had timed it, setting their tempos carefully. Their two pieces, back to back, came in at eleven minutes and three seconds. So plenty of time, if she needed it, to breathe in between.
A young woman with a clipboard popped her head round the door. ‘Christine Goodlight? Paul Goodlight?’
By now Chrissie had her violin out and was tuned and ready, rubbing last-minute rosin on her bow. ‘Yep?’
The woman smiled. ‘You’re next. Would the two of you like to come with me?’
Paul felt a thin sheen of sweat build up, the way it always did in the moments just before he had to perform. It’s not about you or me, Dad. It’s about the music. So often, Chrissie would say that, and she was right; but it was about so much more than that too. Paul knew his daughter could go the whole way in this competition. She was good enough, absolutely. But even if she got through to the Finals and won it, the competition would still come to an end – and what then? She was still only sixteen. The next step, then. He needed to secure the next step. But his thoughts looped back round to the money. It was too much of a risk to come straight out and ask Julia. He had to work round that. He had to find a way.
Right now, though, it was hugs and kisses from Julia and good luck. Not break a leg, for heaven’s sake.
‘See you on the other side,’ said Julia. ‘There’s a little window, Reece and I can watch through the door.’
The four of them stepped back as the previous performer – a cellist – came out. He looked furious. His accompanist gave a thin smile as he exited too, a tiny shake of the head. A mistake? A memory slip? It hadn’t gone well, that was clear enough. Paul shivered; it could happen to anyone. He glanced across at Chrissie to reassure her, but she wasn’t even looking at him, busy snapping off a loose bow hair instead.
He leaned back against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes and readying himself.
‘Dad.’
‘What?’ He snapped his eyes open.
She pointed. ‘Mind the fire alarm.’
He checked over his shoulder. ‘Whoops!’ He’d been leaning against the little red box.
The woman with the clipboard ducked inside the audition room, then reappeared a few seconds later. She held the door open for them. ‘All right. The judges are ready. Best of luck!’
‘Good luck, Chrissie,’ Reece echoed as they passed through the door.
Inside, the room was smarter than the space they’d had in the last round. This one had polished wood floorboards and thick purple drapes to cover the walls. Three judges ready and smiling, and the piano and the music stand that Chrissie wouldn’t need. She had memorized her pieces.
Paul glanced back over his shoulder, glimpsing Julia and Reece as the heavy door swung shut. Then he settled himself at the piano: a Steinway, very nice. He set his music out carefully on the stand, then turned to look at Chrissie. Her dark brown eyes met his and held his gaze steady.
‘When you’re ready …’ said a judge.
Ready? Chrissie lifted her violin up under her chin in one assured, fluid movement. Paul turned to his music.
Yes. Of course they were.
Chapter 9
Paul
FIVE WEEKS BEFORE
She played wonderfully. Paul was so proud of her; he had seen the admiration in the judges’ faces and had no doubt that she would get through. For the next round he would have to push her further still, but she would do it. And he was lifted as well, ever closer to the prize.
The following morning, on his way to the gym, kit bag slung over his shoulder, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket. The walk to the gym would give him time; the exercise at the end would burn off the adrenaline that was already building. He tried not to think of what it said about him, the sense of reaching out, cap in hand. This was necessary, securing the next step. It took him a beat, two beats, three before he could steel himself to do it, but eventually he made the call.
He listened to the ringing of the familiar landline number, then Celina answered. It was almost always Celina.
‘Paul …’ Her voice was crystal clear now, no hint of the slurring from the other night.
‘Celina. I wanted to say thank you again for the wonderful dinner the other weekend. It was a lovely evening.’
‘Well, I’m glad. Duncan and I enjoyed ourselves very much too.’
‘The food was delicious …’
‘Mmm.’
‘That monkfish. Julia was saying, we should ask you for the recipe.’ He made no reference to the whispered conversation they’d held in her old room. It wasn’t done. It had been the same in his own family. There was the surface layer, and the layer underneath. And that was how you learned to read between the lines. Suddenly, a memory flashed across his mind: an evening last week when an exhausted Chrissie was watching television downstairs. He’d come upstairs slowly and quietly, not with his usual thumping steps, and spotted Julia through the crack in Chrissie’s bedroom door. She was kneeling on the floor, fiddling with something. He shoved the door open wide.
What are you doing?
She got to her feet, brushing down her trousers. Nothing. There’s a floorboard here that seemed a bit loose. She’d repeated herself again, with a smile. It’s nothing though. I fixed it. She’d poked it with her foot to show him.
Why was Paul suddenly thinking of that now?
‘Of course,’ said Celina. ‘I can write it out for you.’
Paul had lost the thread. ‘I’m sorry – what was that?’
‘The recipe.’
‘Oh – yes. That would be wonderful.’ Paul sidestepped a woman with a buggy on the pavement. ‘Chrissie said she had a lovely time too.’
‘Oh good.’
Paul was at the junction, waiting for the pedestrian lights. As the conversation foundered, he cleared his throat. There was never an easy way to do it – open up the topic of money. You had to tread so carefully in that field.
‘Speaking of Chrissie … She and I … we’ve been talking about boarding school. There’s the Royal Institute where she could study. It would be invaluable in furthering her career.’
The green man flashed on and the crossing beeped with a harsh, strident tone.
‘Is that so? You know boarding school was good for Julia,’ Celina mused. ‘And … well – like mother, like daughter, as I’ve always said.’
‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘Exactly. However …’ The pavement on the other side of the junction was cracked and uneven. Paul slowed, taking care with his footing. ‘The fees are high. And Julia …’
He didn’t need to finish the sentence: Celina understood him. ‘Julia. Yes.’
He hadn’t talked to her at all about the application. Julia had always been vehemently against sending Chrissie away, despite the fact she had boarded herself in her school years. But it wasn’t good for me to be away from home like that, she’d told him. Away from my parents.
But it’s you who’s always away from your daughter these days, he’d wanted to retort.
‘So that’s difficult …’ He was a little out of breath now, walking and talking and carrying a kit bag. Never ask outright, he’d learned. Only hint. ‘I hope you don’t mind my mentioning it.’
It took a moment before Celina answered. ‘Paul, you know, ordinarily we wouldn’t hesitate to contribute. But lately … Duncan …’ Her voice grew faint and Paul found himself straining to hear. The traffic was loud: the roar of a taxi and the racket of a cyclist ringing her bell.
‘Yes? You said – Duncan …?’ Paul stopped walking and pressed the phone to his jaw, blocking his other ear so he could hear. He missed a bit, caught the rest.
‘… Spending money we don’t really have. His mind … Such a fine mind, but he doesn’t always think straight.’ Celina’s voice was brittle. ‘He’s become terribly impulsive these days.’
Paul’s voice died in his throat; what was he supposed to say to that? The statement was the closest Celina would ever come to admitting anything was wrong. But was it even true, what Celina was telling him, or was this just another way to hold him at arm’s length – by refusing his rare request for a favour? But he wasn’t asking for himself; he was asking for Chrissie, and they’d always said they’d do anything for their granddaughter. Perhaps then they really didn’t have the money to spare. If so, he had really stamped his foot in it. He shouldn’t have asked. He had embarrassed her; he had embarrassed them both, putting her in a position where she was forced to reveal that. Spending money … doesn’t always think straight …
Paul cleared his throat, with a desperate urge to get off the phone. ‘Of course. Not to worry. I’m sure when I look into things, I’ll find a suitable way.’
‘I’m sure you will. You’re a clever man, Paul. And – as I’ve often said – we are very grateful.’ Her voice was stronger now, picking up its familiar authority, and Paul could almost hear the unspoken message down the line: it’s your responsibility now, I’m asking you to step up for this. You should know by now what’s expected of you.
‘Understood. Well, I won’t keep you. Really, I just wanted to thank you.’
‘Of course. You’re most welcome. As I’ve said, I’ve always known I can count on you.’
That evening, Paul readied a favourite meal for Julia. He needed to speak to her. He wanted to assure himself that she was okay. He told Chrissie she could go round to Reece’s; it was a reward, he said, for doing so well in the Category Auditions. Though he made her promise to be home by eight thirty.
At seven, he set the formal table in the dining room, not the white kitchen table where they typically ate in a rush. He took a clean linen napkin out of the drawer in the sideboard, folded it, and laid it next to the silver cutlery. He set a candle on the table and lit it. All these things to soften her up.
Julia came through the front door half an hour later than she’d promised. The food was past its best by now, faintly congealed, but he served it to her anyway, on one of the best plates.
‘What’s all this?’ she said, shrugging off her blazer.
‘I wanted to say thank you. For coming to the audition. For being there for Chrissie.’ He led her through to the dining room.
‘You don’t have to thank me for that.’
‘A treat then. Just something nice.’ He pulled out a chair for her and re-lit the candle he’d had to blow out earlier.
‘It is nice.’ She took her seat and smoothed the crisp napkin onto her lap. ‘This is lovely, Paul. Delicious. Aren’t you having any?’
He sat alongside her. ‘I ate earlier. You know I’m not good at eating so late.’
‘Oh. Well, thank you even more. I didn’t get lunch today. This is great.’
Silence a moment while she took a mouthful, then a second. She was eating quickly, hungrily.
‘Where’s Chrissie?’ she asked. ‘Upstairs?’
‘Round at Reece’s.’
‘On a school night?’
Paul cocked his head. ‘Well, she insisted.’ He leaned his elbows on the table, then lifted them off again, recalling how Julia had once told him it was uncouth. He looked across at her. ‘And how have you been?’
Julia glanced up at him, distracted for a moment by a faint buzzing of her phone through in the kitchen. ‘What about me?’
‘How are you? How is everything going at work?’
She pushed a wisp of hair back from her forehead. ‘You know.’
Not really, thought Paul, I don’t.
‘This case,’ she said, bending her head to her food again. She had already cleared half her plate. ‘It’s intense. There are so many challenges.’
‘Hence the long hours,’ Paul said, like a prompt.
‘Hence the long hours,’ she confirmed.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly in the gaps between their words. ‘If there’s anything else,’ he said. ‘… Any other ways I can support you, while work is so busy.’
Talk to me, he wanted to say to her. Warn me now if something is starting to go wrong.
‘That’s kind of you,’ Julia said, her fork squeaking against the china plate.
Of course it is, Paul thought. I’m meant to be kind. I’m your husband. You’re supposed to come to me for support.
‘It’s just very full-on right now.’
‘Yes.’ Paul watched a thread of molten wax slip down the candlestick, thinking, you said that already. ‘I’m aware …’ He hesitated, then pushed on. ‘You’ve seemed distant lately. I mean, not just physically with the long hours.’
‘Distant?’
‘I think,’ he said carefully, ‘we should try to spend more time together.’
‘O-kay …’ Julia set down her knife and fork. ‘Right. Well, I’m here now.’
‘Yes, of course, but—’
‘But what?’
Paul retreated, stung by her abruptness. The candle flame on the table flickered. He thought of their therapist: don’t do it. Don’t let yourselves play accuser and accused. Julia dropped her linen napkin on her plate and pushed both away, the way she did whenever they dined in a restaurant, a strange show of disregard that Paul had never understood, as if she never thought of the person who had to launder those cloths.
‘Thank you for supper. It really was delicious.’
‘Julia …’ From the hallway came the sound of Chrissie’s key, scratching in the door lock.
Paul pulled his chair towards Julia and placed one hand on top of hers.
‘Julia,’ he repeated. ‘I’m here for you. You know that, don’t you?’
He and Julia were holding hands – it would look that way from a distance anyway. The front door banged open, shuddered, banged shut. Paul held his wife tight, his thumb printing itself on her wrist as he tried to steady himself.
‘I do,’ Julia murmured.
Chrissie’s footsteps in the hallway; her outline in the far doorway.
‘Then please, Julia,’ Paul whispered. ‘Please don’t throw my kindness back in my face.’
Chapter 10
Julia
NOW
The constables offer to drive round the city to see if they can spot her. It seems as good an idea as any.
They’ve asked us for a photo, and now we dig one out for them: the professional headshot that’s on Chrissie’s website as well. Along with the photo, they ask for her toothbrush. For DNA. The thought makes me shudder as I hand it over: the little pink Oral-B one from her bathroom. I want to put that brush in my own mouth, like kissing it. Instead, I just let the officers slip it into an evidence bag.
For the drive round, we tell them to try the Botanical Gardens, the academy and her school. The male officer studiously jots these locations down, and then heads out to the car, while the female officer stays in the house with us. Sally and Danny are still here too, and Sally has made us another round of tea. But once the front door closes again and I hear the police car rev in the street, I have to leave them in the kitchen and escape upstairs. I just need a break. I tell them I need to call my parents, who are on the other side of the world, in Kenya. Instead, I go into the bathroom and lock the door.
Once inside, I lower myself to my knees, forehead to the bathmat: ‘child’s pose’ in yoga terms. I close my eyes and, like a good lawyer, try to compile some reasonable explanations. Maybe Chrissie’s phone screen was smashed before and she just didn’t say anything because she didn’t want a telling-off and that was why she only pretended to bring it to London. Maybe she did leave her bed in such a state this morning, and maybe it was Jackson who tipped over the chair.
But why leave her phone just lying on the floor like that?
And where has she gone if she didn’t come back here?
My phone bleeps yet again in my pocket and I drag myself upright, forcing myself to sift through the texts that are already cluttering the screen. By now, we’ve sent out messages to everyone we can think of, but no one seems to know anything. Just friends desperately trying to be good friends. I try to answer a few – thank you, we’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything, we’ll keep you posted, we appreciate the support. Among the deluge, though, there are messages that are missing – ones I’ve got so used to expecting but which now, for some reason, aren’t there.
A moment later I hear Paul calling upstairs for me. ‘Julia?’
And then Sally’s voice in the hallway downstairs. ‘It’s okay, let her be, I’m just on the end of the phone. Or tell Julia to just come round, it doesn’t matter what time.’
Sally and Danny are leaving. As silently as I can, I get up and unlock the bathroom door, but I pause on the staircase, holding the banister tight, unable to face anyone yet.
The front door slams shut. Paul returns to the kitchen. When I’m sure he isn’t coming upstairs, I go into Chrissie’s bedroom and crouch down. I lift up the loose floorboard – the place I know Chrissie keeps her diary, the place I easily discovered because it’s so similar to where I used to keep mine when I was a child, under a loose floor panel in the corner of my room. I’ve read Chrissie’s diary so many times; it’s the way I feel close to her and it’s the way I can protect her, too, and I’m always so careful to put it back in the same position, so she’ll never have to know. I’m not sure exactly what I’m expecting to find when I lift the floorboard this time, but in the end it feels inevitable when I see that there’s nothing there. She has got rid of it, and I find myself wondering now whether she knew all along that I had been reading it.
I sit back on my heels. There is nothing here that can help us or explain where she has gone. We have to keep going, look elsewhere, carry on. I go back to the top of the staircase, finally ready to go back down. I pause and listen out. Now there’s silence below me, and I’m about to head down when there’s the sound of thick paper rustling, and the female officer speaks: ‘May I ask a little more about … this?’
