THE DISAPPEARANCE CONCLUDES: 'Steven' by Richard Wells

“It’s time for me to move on – again - Dad!” I remove the dying flowers from the vase and replace them with a fresh, petrol-station bunch. The display looks a bit thin so I pinch one or two extra blooms from nearby graves.

“That looks better. They’ll never miss them.” I reach for a ready-made roll-up. I know as a regular smoker, Dad won’t mind. And like me it wasn’t just tobacco he inhaled.

“I went down to see Sarah, to sort of say goodbye. Had my old clothes on – well she wouldn’t be used to seeing me in a suit. She hasn’t changed, offered me a spliff and was surprised when I refused. To be honest we didn’t really have much to talk about. I can’t believe we spent a whole year together –till I moved back north. Still she was good for me. I’d just been released and she helped me get things back together. So different from the saintly Rebecca – mum’s favourite, although I’m not sure you ever really liked her.” I take a sip of water.

“Talking of mum – which I’d rather not – I can’t forgive her for what she did to you. I only found out recently. Well I won’t be seeing her again. She was the start of most of my problems. I never knew why she wanted me to be a medic – me! I just wanted to make money, which I did once I’d dropped out, selling dope, easy money until I got caught.”

I unzip my bag just to check the cash is there. Passport’s in my pocket – Ellie thought I’d lost it, but it was just a ploy.

“It’s Ellie I feel sorry for. I’d always fancied her even when she was still married to Danny. Anyway, Dad, I’ve written this letter to her. I hope you don’t mind if I read it to you. I kept a copy.

Dear Ellie

I’ve never been any good at telling you personal stuff – face to face I mean.

It was all great when we started, an instant family – me, who couldn’t have kids.

But we lost our way didn’t we and I’m not really cut out to be a dad. And I couldn’t handle all that stuff about your past.

No doubt mum will be round, bothering you. My advice is to stay away from her – but you probably don’t need me to tell you that.

Oh, and the same goes for Jim. You must realise he’s had his eye on you – he’s so bloody obvious. Steer clear of him. I mean he’s a good drinking partner – he’s the reason I’ve put so much weight on - but beyond that there’s nothing there. And he still owes me money.  

As for the business – I’ve had to wind it up. I’ve put some money in your account to tide you over.

That’s about it really. As you’ve probably guessed, I won’t be coming back.

Thanks for the good times

Steven

“Do you think that sounds OK Dad? I was never any good with words. Frankie said she’d post it for me, once I’m out of the country. You always had a soft spot for Frankie. Well I did ask her to come with me, but she turned me down. It was a bit of a shock. She said I shouldn’t confuse liking with loving.”

I notice the headstone is flaking, pick out a sliver and put it in my pocket, something I can hang on to when I think of Dad.

“I’ve kept it to myself, but the business did really well, although you won’t be surprised to hear that I sailed too close to the wind. I can do with figures what I can’t do with words and there are plenty of people who want their books sorted out – creatively - if I can put it that way. I got rid of the evidence, paperwork shredded, laptop wiped, hard drive destroyed. Bit of a job that.

“So this is it Dad. I’ve got my usual train to catch and then a plane. Not sure where yet. I won’t forget you, I promise.”

THE DISAPPEARANCE: Part Four. ‘Sarah’ by Clair Wright

I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Not after all this time. I thought you’d left me, and all this, behind you. What made you come? Why now? Funny that you knew I would still be at the flat, our flat. Did you know I wouldn’t move on? Not like you, Steven. You, with your nice job, nice home, nice life – all very settled, all very safe. Is that why you came? Is it all getting a bit boring for you?

Did you want a reminder of the old life, the old you? Was it strange to be sitting in our old flat, on our old sofa? It hasn’t changed much; there’s still a bit of damp in the corner of the bedroom, the tap still drips in the bathroom. I keep it tidier now, of course. But then, I’m not smoking as much as we were then.

It was nice to see you. You looked different - fatter, comfortable in your cord trousers and your chain store jumper. You look like a father, a family man. Are you a father Steven? You didn’t say, and I didn’t want to ask.

You seemed sad though, Steven. Are you sad? Is that why you came? I wanted to reach out, to touch you, to kiss you again, but I was too afraid that you would push me away. You seemed to be on the edge of something, and I didn’t want to push you, one way or the other.

You didn’t tell me anything about your life now. I think you’re with someone, maybe you’re even married. Why didn’t you want to tell me?  Do you talk about your old life, with her? Do you talk about me? Or do you want to pretend you’ve always lived like you do now, a neat and tidy life, without chaos round every corner?

I bet your Mum’s proud of you now. You always wanted to put on a show for her. You never let her visit the flat, kept her away from the overflowing ashtrays, and the empty wine bottles.  You would go home for the weekend, in your one shirt, and come back angry and silent, to roll another joint and fall into bed, with me. She must be pleased that you’ve settled down, that you’re living the kind of life she approves of.

But we used to laugh at those people, didn’t we Steven? Those dull-eyed zombies getting on the same train every day, to their dull jobs, then home again to their dull lives.  It wasn’t what we wanted for us. We wanted to do it differently. 

Don’t get me wrong. I admire you. You did well, straightening yourself out. I sometimes wish I could have done the same. Maybe then there would have been a future for us, together.

We were happy, weren’t we? Looking back at that year, it’s all a blur, a haze of smoke and red wine and sharing a line on my birthday, a fog of fighting and crying and making up again.  We couldn’t have carried on forever like that; we would have ended up as middle-aged dope-heads, or worse. It always had to end, one way or the other. Maybe the two of us together were like the stuff we were experimenting with; always on the edge of being toxic.

I wanted to tell you how much I’ve missed you, even now, after so long. I wanted to tell you how much I loved you. I still think about you, Steven. Is that why you came?

I always thought we would be together, in the end. I never thought you would leave me. I couldn’t believe it when you’d gone. I waited for you to come back, for days. I just sat in the flat, and smoked and waited.

And then, after all this time, you came back. And you said you would come again, that you’d call me, but you haven’t, yet.  Did you have second thoughts? Did it scare you, seeing me again?

I hope you’re okay, that you’re happy, where ever you are. 

THE DISAPPEARANCE: Part Three. ‘Mrs Fielding’ by Emma Harding

So you’ve left. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. You never seemed able to fully commit to life. To all its responsibilities. To all its difficulties. To everything you owed to people.

Eleanor called to let me know. Yes, I know. Ellie called to tell me you’d gone. She can’t even use her actual name, that one. What do . . . did . . . you see in her? With her dodgy ex-husband and her scruffy children. She can’t even give them proper names. What sort of name is ‘Cassie’ for goodness sake? Cassandra is such a beautiful name. A Greek goddess, I think. Was she the one who could predict the future but no one ever believed her?

Did you tell her? Ellie? She didn’t say anything about it on the phone but I think I should go and see her. Look her in the eyes. Only then will I know if she knows.

I visited your father yesterday. To tell him the news. There were signs you had been there recently. Was that before you left or after? I talked to him about you but he was no more help than he had been when he was alive. Always one for retreating into silence at the first sign of trouble. Then, as now, I suppose.

He’d know what to say to you though. You always had your heads together you two. Plotting some scheme or trip together. You never shared any of that with me. I used to hate it, you know, being left out like that. Now I miss it. Now I’d give anything to be able to walk into the room and find you both there smirking guiltily at each other. Anything.

My head is full of ‘if onlys’. Regrets that I can’t shake off. If only you’d finished your degree. You were intelligent enough. You could have been anything you wanted. I worked so hard to get you there, made so many sacrifices. But you frittered it away, shrugged it off as if it meant nothing to you. I had such dreams for you. Where did all that promise go? I used to watch you as a child, envying your energy, your delight in new things, new experiences. The way you would drink in life. But somewhere along the line you got scared. You refused to push yourself. If you had you could be a doctor by now, earning a good salary, living in a big house. That’s what I wanted for you. But instead you’re in a dead-end job, with a dead-end ‘wife’.

If only you’d stayed with Rebecca. Not Becky, never Becky. Beautiful, refined Rebecca. She had enough drive for both of you. She’d have made you what you should have been. She’d have given you children of your own. You would have been happy then. Settled.

If only your father was still alive. Yes I know what you said. That I was glad to be rid of him. I haven’t seen you since the day you said those awful things. I swore I’d wait for you to apologise. But you haven’t been back and now maybe you never will.

If only you hadn’t found those things. I’m sorry about that. You weren’t meant to. I meant to throw them out but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But it’s not what you thought. I tried to explain but you wouldn’t listen. You said such horrible things to me. I thought I’d let you stew for a bit and then I’d explain. Now, maybe I won’t get the chance. I loved your father you know. I couldn’t bear seeing him in so much pain.

There’s something I want you to know, wherever you are. I want you to know that your dad smiled at the end. He knew. And I knew. It was the right thing to do.

THE DISAPPEARANCE: Part Two. ‘Jim’ by Andrew Shephard

Every time my mind races ahead I pinch myself hard. Stay calm, Jimmy Boy, stay calm. The important thing is to act normal, do nothing unusual. They know that in the films, but then they do something stupid that gives them away.

She rang me, Ellie did. She’s never rung me before. That’s how good she is at hiding her feelings. I was half way down the High Street on my morning trip to look at the runners and riders in Ladbrokes. Ellie said she needed to talk to me.

“Sure, Babe. Talk away.” I bobbed into a coffee shop and mouthed espresso to the barista. My heart was thumping. It was the call I’d been waiting for.

“It’s Steven. I’m worried sick, Jim. Have you seen him?” She really did sound worried. She didn’t even bother to tell me not to call her Babe.

“Seen him? When d’you mean?”

“I mean he left for work yesterday morning and hasn’t been home. I told the police and they asked if I’d checked with all his friends.” She sounded really stressed. The police; was that a warning?

“Hold on, I need to pay for the coffee.” I needed a minute to work out the right answer. Had I seen Steve? Did she want me to say I’d seen him?

“No. I waited for him in the Head of Steam last night but he didn’t show.”

“Is he in trouble, Jim? You must tell me. Does he owe someone money?” I had to stifle a laugh. Owe money? I was the one who owed Steve money. He was always helping me out, like a good old friend should.

“Jim, promise me. I mean this. If he contacts you let me know, right away. You must.”

“I will, I promise. You know I will. I’d do anything for you.”

I’d do anything for you. Was that giving too much away? What if the police were actually listening? Be cool, Jimmy Boy. I think she started to cry.

“Don’t worry, love. He’s probably got some business to attend to. He’ll turn up in a day or two. I’ll ask around if anyone’s seen him. Are you all right on your own with the kids? Do you want me to come round?”

“No, Jim. I’m fine. I just want to know where he is.”

I took my coffee outside and rolled a cigarette. I wondered how long I’d have to wait before it wouldn’t look suspicious. A month? Six months? I’d already been waiting two years. Two years of hiding our feelings for each other. Two years of hanging around with Steve so I would have an excuse to see Ellie every few days. She played her part, never betraying the buzz we both felt when we were in the same room. She even blamed me for Steve’s gambling and I went along with it, persuading Steve to lend me money so I had another reason to go round to their house.

Another six months of waiting would be hard. I will leave it to Ellie. She seems to have handled everything good enough up to now. She’ll give me a sign. How will she let me know it’s time? A kiss, as long and full on as all those kisses I’ve imagined? Or will she fall sobbing with relief into my arms? Or will it be that smouldering look she gave me the first time we met? I had just moved back into town and bumped into Steve when he was coming out of the station. He invited me home for a meal and to catch up on the last five years. It was late, and we were talking about people Ellie didn’t know.  She yawned, said she was going to bed, and smiled over her shoulder at me as she was climbing the stairs. A look that said it all.