‘Were you two close?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I mean, we fought – fought all the time growing up, and even when we were adults and supposed to know better – but, yeah, we were brothers. We always made time for each other. We used to meet up for lunch, and after work for a drink, because, as I’m sure Julia told you, I commute in from Reading, and I’ve got a couple of kids, so it was much harder for me to meet up with Sam on weekends without military-grade planning.’
I got out my pad and set it down on the table. ‘What was your impression of Sam during the year before he went missing?’
‘Impression?’
‘Do you think he changed during that time?’
He frowned. ‘Not really.’
‘You never got that from him?’
He paused for a moment and looked off to the marina. ‘I remember when he came in here one lunchtime, spitting bullets because they’d cut his bonuses. He vented big time that day. I’m sure he did the same at Julia when he got home.’ He stopped for a second time and then started shaking his head. ‘After that, he became a bit disillusioned with the whole thing. I remember he talked a couple of times about finding another job, but what job are you going to find in the middle of a recession?’
‘Julia said he was worried about the mortgage.’
‘Yes,’ Wren said, nodding. ‘It gave him some sleepless nights, particularly when Julia was made redundant. I told him not to stress about it. I told him, if it came to it, we’d help them out. But Sam …’ He sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘Sam was very independent. He was hard on himself; put pressure on himself. He was definitely cut out for investment banking. He was a lovely guy, don’t get me wrong, but he had a tough streak; he could swim with the sharks. He also found it difficult to accept charity, particularly after so many years of making big bonuses.’
So Sam definitely hadn’t left that day because he was worried about paying the mortgage. An offer was on the table from his brother, one Sam had been too proud to communicate to Julia. Or maybe too preoccupied. She was still under the impression the bailiffs would be kicking down the door any second.
Wren looked at me, and for the first time there was a sadness in his face. A shimmer flashed in one of his eyes, then he flattened his lips, as if this was some kind of a defeat. ‘I wouldn’t have put Sam down as the kind of guy to walk away. Not someone who abandons his family. But we all have a tipping point, I guess.’
‘So what was Sam’s tipping point, do you think?’
Another flash of sadness, but something else too: the same thing I’d noticed when he’d laughed earlier. Nerves.
‘Robert?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing he ever spoke about. Nothing that would make him up and leave like he did.’
‘But something did make him leave.’
Wren looked at me. ‘Right.’
‘So something was bothering him.’
‘Like I said, I think the financial side of things really got to him.’
‘But you’d offered to help him.’
A moment of hesitation. ‘He felt boxed in by the fact that he couldn’t earn what he was capable of earning. And he felt pressure to provide for Julia, especially after she was made redundant. I’m certain that’s why he left.’
‘Did Sam tell you something?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
I leaned forward, into his space, and he reacted exactly how I wanted him to: he moved back, seeing confidence and certainty in me. ‘I think we both know that Sam left because something was eating at him,’ I said. ‘What I want to know is what you know.’
He was frowning. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Here are the theories, Robert. Sam left because he couldn’t face up to his financial responsibilities. I don’t believe that, especially now. Sam left because Julia and he were fighting, and that drove him away. I don’t believe that either, even if she does. What husband disappears at the first sign of a fight?’ I paused, let him take it in. He was still frowning, but I could see a shift in his expression. Something giving. ‘Do you want to find him?’
His cheeks coloured. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or embarrassment, and at this point didn’t really care. ‘Yes, of course I do,’ he said, his voice raised for the first time. I left it there to see where it took us – but it didn’t take us anywhere. He peered down into his coffee cup, his thumb and forefinger turning it gently, and then looked up.
‘I can’t …’
‘Can’t what?’
His lips flattened again. ‘Who gets to hear this?’
‘Gets to hear what?’
‘This. This conversation we’re having.’
‘Who don’t you want to hear it?’
He leaned back in his seat and looked around the café. It was quiet now. The mid-morning meetings were over and lunch was yet to come. Behind Wren, the sun reflected in every panel, collecting in a pool on the floor of the foyer below us. The building was air conditioned but Robert Wren had small dots of perspiration all along his hairline.
His eyes came back to me. ‘About ten, maybe twelve years ago, Sam and I went on a cheapo package deal to Ibiza. Had a week there. We were both single, no ties, just went over to have a bit of fun. One night we were in this club and we’d had an absolute ton to drink, and we got separated. I’d seen him earlier in the night with this girl, really attractive, and they’d been getting on, so I left them to it. I hooked up with another girl, we had a good time …’ He paused, twirled his finger: and the rest of it. ‘Anyway, she left and I went looking for Sam. About five minutes later, I found the girl he’d been chatting to – but she was with some other guy. I asked her where Sam was and she said he’d left in the middle of the evening and never come back. She was pissed off, understandably.’
He looked around him again, but the nearest people to us were a couple of men on a table on the far side. ‘I looked all over the club but couldn’t find him anywhere, so I went outside. Nothing out front, but around the back – in the car park – I found Sam talking to someone. I was drunk. Annoyed. I’d spent half the evening trying to find him and all the time he was in the bloody car park. So I started over towards him, ready to let him have it, but when I got closer he started kissing this woman, and I thought, “Leave it until the morning. Let him have his fun for tonight.” ’ He brought his coffee towards him, eyes distant, replaying the moment over. ‘Except …’
‘It wasn’t a woman.’
He looked at me, not sure how I’d put it together. ‘Right.’
‘It was a man.’
He nodded. ‘How did you know?’
‘Was that the first time?’ I asked, sidestepping the question.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you bring it up the next day?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘He called it a “mistake”. Said he was drunk, didn’t know what he was doing. But it wasn’t much of a lie. We could both see through it. After that, he just … broke down.’
‘No one else knew?’
‘No. He made me promise not to tell anyone. Not a soul. When he started dating Julia, I had to sit there saying nothing to her, nothing to Mum and Dad before they passed on. They died without even knowing who their son was. Mum would have understood. Dad was more old-fashioned, but he would have come round. I used to have screaming matches with Sam, telling him over and over it wasn’t fair on Julia, on his family, that mostly it wasn’t fair on him. But he was so conflicted. He just didn’t know how to handle it.’