They walked in silence for a while. Bella ran through what had just happened, screening her own private picture show inside her head. The meeting had an air of unreality about it. No, the whole thing had an air of unreality about it. She looked back along the street, half expecting the house to have vanished. No – it was still there, huge and pushy and ugly.
Bella opened her mouth, just to break the silence. Before she could speak, Jake had grabbed her into an embrace, crushing her against him. She gave a squeak of surprise which was quickly smothered against his chest.
His voice was muffled against the side of her head.
“Bella, don’t ever leave me. I couldn’t bear it.”
“I won’t.” She could barely breath but she managed to get the words out. “I won’t, Jake.”
“Who gives a shit about the old man, anyway?” He sounded like he was talking to himself. “He’s no good. You’re all the family I need.”
Bella pushed herself a little away, so she could look into his face.
“Me and Carl,” she said, trying to smile.
He didn’t smile. He pulled her close to him again and they stood there, entwined and silent, for a long moment.
“You and Carl,” said Jake. “You and Carl. You and Carl.”
Chapter Seventeen
He kissed her goodbye, bending over her, a tall shadow in the dimness of the living room. Bella pulled the rug tighter about her neck and coughed.
“You going to be okay?” Jake put a hand on her forehead. “You feel a bit clammy.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ll just rest.”
“Okay babe. I’ll cook something tonight, yeah? Whatever you fancy. Have you called work?”
“No, I’ll wait until nine. Don’t worry about me.”
“Okay.”
Jake stroked her head again gently. Bella was suddenly reminded of Veronica doing the same thing and of her reaction. She felt a hot jab of shame.
“Go on,” she said to Jake. “You’ll be late.”
She lay still until she heard the front door close behind him, the crash reverberating up through the house. Veronica and Carl had already left – Bella had heard them arguing softly as they passed the living room door. She lay for a moment longer, breathing deeply. The enormity of what she was about to do struck her. Inescapably, she recalled how wonderful Jake had been these last few days; how kind and considerate and affectionate. And now she was going to do something terrible. Why can’t I just leave it? she asked herself. But the answer was too quick in coming back. Because I just can’t.
Bella made her call to her workplace, telling them she wasn’t well and wouldn’t be in. She didn’t have to fake the tremor in her voice. When she put the phone back in its rest, she stood for a moment in the hallway. Why can’t I just trust him? She began to walk up the stairs, dragging her feet, letting one hand trail slowly up the slippery banister. Because I just can’t.
In the bedroom, she pushed back her sleeves and tucked her hair behind her ears. Then, finally, she began to search. She lifted stacks of paper from the desk, sorting through sheet by sheet. She found the photograph again and forced herself to look at it. Carl, Jake, Veronica – and that girl. It was the girl who was driving her to do this. The identity of this strange woman was tormenting Bella. Was she a previous girlfriend of Jake’s? Of Carl’s? Of Veronica’s? Who was she?
Bella looked at the four of them on the bed. She even took the photograph over to the window to look at it in daylight. In the harsher light, she could see small details that she’d missed before. There was a glint of metal from one of the girl’s nipples – she had one of them pierced. Bella felt her mouth turn down. She looked, grimly fascinated, at Carl’s penis. He was big; bigger than Jake, she thought disloyally and felt herself go hot at the thought. She wondered again how it would feel to be naked, naked and erect, in front of a family member. To see your own brother touching your girlfriend. Fucking your girlfriend. She looked at Jake’s hand, resting on Veronica’s hip. Veronica’s breasts were shallow, her nipples almost colourless. Her eyes shone red in the flash from the camera.
Bella made herself put the photo down. She turned again to the desk, digging out more paper, careful to remember how things were set so she could replace it afterwards. She sat on the floor of the bedroom, reading through countless bills, bank statements, riffling through other, more innocuous photographs, old postcards, odd scraps of paper, discarded envelopes, curled up post-it notes and broken CD cases. There were no other photographs of the girl.
Bella piled all the paper back on the desk, fitting things back into their previous position. She sat on the bed, gnawing at her nails, baulked. The sick, self-righteous feeling she’d had since beginning to search Jake’s possessions had abated somewhat. Every time she looked at the photograph of the four of them, it ebbed away a little more. Who was that girl? Bella brushed her hair back from her face and sighed. Go downstairs, she told herself. Go downstairs and make yourself some lunch and forget about this.
No. She moved to the wardrobe and opened the door. This was Jake’s territory; his suits and jackets and shirts hung in haphazard order. One solitary dress of Bella’s was wedged at the end of the rail. Bella stood, gripping the door handle in frustration. She fetched a chair and climbed carefully up to peer at the shelf that ran along the top of the wardrobe. Jumpers, T-shirts, a brown leather belt that slithered out and dropped like a snake to the floor. Bella thrust her hand into the mass of clothes that packed the shelf. Nothing, just masses of cloth that weighed down her arm. She moved her fingers. Ah – she could feel something – the sharp corner of a box. She scrabbled for it, trying to grip the sides to draw it towards her.
It turned out to be an old cigar box, still redolent with a faint whiff of tobacco that had Bella wrinkling her nose as she raised the lid. Inside there was a jumble of cufflinks, a champagne cork, an old playing card. A scrap of newspaper. Some old copper coins, a silver dollar. Bella sighed. She climbed down from the chair, still holding the box. All of a sudden, the irrationality of her behaviour struck her anew. What was she doing? What did she hope to find? She sat back down on the bed, the box in her lap. You idiot, she told herself. Just let it go. Idly, she stirred the contents of the box with her finger. She picked up the newspaper clipping and unfolded it, and froze.
Missing. Have you Seen…? said the headline. The face below the uncompromising black letters was young, plump-cheeked; blonde hair straggling, black smudgy roots. It was the face of the girl from the picture. Bella closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. Then she went to the desk and picked through the stack of paper she’d put back on the surface until she unearthed the photograph. She compared the two faces. It was the same girl. She looked younger in the newspaper clipping, her chin stippled with acne. She looked very young. Bella read the clipping, trying to hold her hand still. Have you seen Candice Stanton, she read. Candice, 15, was last seen in Camden Town on the night of July the first, 2004. She was wearing jeans and a white vest top. There is great concern for Candice because of her age. If you have any information about her disappearance, or have seen her, please call… Bella looked unheedingly at the string of numbers at the bottom of the clipping. She looked again at the face of the girl and at her name. Candice Stanton. Candice. With a shiver, she recalled Jake’s mumbling in his sleep, his bad dreams, the name from his nightmares. Candy.
She tried to think. Jake had known this girl, known her intimately. So had Carl and Veronica. And now she was missing, she’d been missing for more than a year. Or had she? You don’t know that, she told herself. She could have been found two days after the paper published that clipping. She walked back to the bedroom and picked up the scrap of newsprint again. The date of the newspaper ran along the top left hand corner of the article. 14 September 2004. Bella pressed her fingers into her forehead. So, what does that prove? This girl, this Candice, was still missing last autumn. It doesn’t mean she still missing now. And even if she is – if she is – Bella felt herself falter. She forced herself to complete the sentence in her head. Even if she is, it doesn’t mean that Jake had anything to do with it.