‘It is to me!’
‘Why would I move it?’
‘Well, I don’t know, but I thought I’d check, seeing as it’s gone missing.’
‘No, I haven’t seen it. I’ll be back in a bit. I’m having my usual one pint only, then I’ll be in for my dinner.’ And before Dawn could ask anything else, the line went dead.
‘Yeah, OK,’ she said into the air. The ‘one pint only’ joke was so thin it was positively threadbare. In fact, more and more she was feeling that it was better when he
was
in the pub. He seemed to have only two states when he was in the house: half-drunk or comatose. She wondered how long he used to sleep as a teenager if he was this bad as a man. He slept more than a dead sloth.
Sure enough, a good hour and a half passed before Calum showed his face. In that time, Dawn had turned out every cupboard in the house, even searching places where the guitar couldn’t possibly fit, but still she didn’t find it.
‘Put an insurance claim in,’ was Calum’s only suggestion, watching her standing there, scratching her head.
‘What, and say that my guitar got stolen by aliens because it can’t have just vanished?’
‘Well, it has, hasn’t it? What do you want it for anyway? You never play it.’
‘I’m going to start playing it a lot more.’
‘Well, wait till I’m out before you do, for Christ’s sake!’ he said, muttering about her playing being akin to a ‘right row’.
He went to bed immediately after his Sunday lunch which he ate alone because Dawn was, once again, checking around just in case she had missed an obvious hiding place. He got out of her way very quickly, suspecting this was something else she wouldn’t let drop.
Dawn didn’t want a new guitar. She wanted her Gibson. She would never have let it go in a million years. How could she? She could still recall her dad’s face when he brought it from behind his back and presented it to her on her seventeenth birthday. Her parents hadn’t wrapped it because they knew she wouldn’t have wanted to waste time ripping paper off when she could be playing it.
Dee Dee, take good care of it and it will last you a lifetime.
A crazy idea came to her. Maybe if she went through the motions of replacing it, it would suddenly turn up. That had happened to her before with a bracelet she had once lost. She bought another and then found the original down the sofa. Giving up all hope of finding things maybe invited the cosmos to make them appear again. It was worth a try because her guitar couldn’t have just vaporized. It must be in a stupidly silly place she hadn’t yet thought of.
She went into the kitchen and pulled the laptop out from the drawer to get a street value. She typed in the make and model and the first entry took her to eBay. She wondered what other people were selling on there. She couldn’t believe how many guitars were listed. A gorgeous Kirk Palomino Archtop, and even ones signed by AC/DC, Paul McCartney and Jeff Beck. There was a Gibson, like her own, at a ridiculous bargain starting price of £304.00 – although twelve bids had driven it up to £1,400. There were five days to go before the auction ended. Wow, she thought, there was going to be an exciting war over that one in the final half an hour. The postage was £60. Blimey, where was it being shipped from, Pluto? She looked at the item location: Barnsley.
Barnsley?
Her eye flashed over the screen, trying to find the seller.
Cal412.
Calum’s birthday was 4 December. Dawn’s head started to spin and prickle with anxiety. He wouldn’t have done that, would he? Not knowing what the guitar meant to her. Her confusion segued into anger at the realization that, yes, he apparently would because this was no coincidence and that wasn’t an exact replica of her own guitar, it
was
her guitar. He wouldn’t get out of this one by accusing her of nagging.
Dawn tried to compose herself and keep calm, but her whole body had become a racing heartbeat and there was no way she could stop herself running up the stairs and shaking Calum awake. It took a couple of attempts.
‘What the fu—’
‘My guitar is on eBay and you put it there, didn’t you?’
He yawned and stretched. The fact that she was starting to cry with rage didn’t phase him in the slightest.
‘I knew you’d say that, that’s why I didn’t tell you.’
‘Wha . . . at?’
Dawn was so gobsmacked by his easy admission that she laughed, but it was a very hollow laugh. Then she rubbed at her forehead as if that would make some sense of the scene she was in. It didn’t.
‘You’re selling my guitar! My last ever birthday present from my parents! What did you expect that I’d say?’
‘Calm down, you silly tart!’
‘I will not calm down, Calum, how could you—’
‘Shut up, you hysterical cow, and listen. No, I’m not selling it actually, so button it for a minute, will you. I just wondered what it was worth. I was going to pull it off sale at the last minute, saying it got damaged. But I thought that if it were worth a lot, you might –
might
consider selling it so we could go on a nice honeymoon or something. It’s not as if you play it any more so I didn’t think there was any harm in just testing the water. It’s safe, at Empty Head’s house – he took the photo and put it on for me. BUT I WASN’T SELLING IT – OK!’
Dawn’s breathing slowed. Was he telling the truth? She could never tell when Calum was lying because he was so good at it. She wanted to believe him so much. She didn’t want to think that the man she was marrying would do something as rotten as sell her precious guitar. He even sounded quite selfless and honourable until she remembered how often he was at the pub. He could have taken her away to the Bahamas for three months if all his money didn’t go over the counter of the Dog and Duck.
‘I want that guitar back,’ Dawn said, her voice shaking with anger. ‘I will never sell it, ever.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Calum, shrugging his shoulders and settling his head back down on the pillow. ‘Can’t see why you’re making such a fuss; it was only an idea! God, Dawn, get a grip.’
He had drifted off again before she had reached the bottom of the stairs. He looked as innocent as a child in sleep.
They had make-up sex that night after Calum had made some attempt at an apology cushioned in excuses that he was ‘only thinking of ways to raise some money’. Dawn didn’t turn down his advances but she found herself merely going through the motions. Not that he noticed. She wanted to believe him, but she was having difficulty on this occasion. There were too many questions that kept interfering in the logic of his story. Why didn’t he admit that was what he was doing instead of lying and saying that he knew nothing about the whereabouts of her guitar? And what if she had put an insurance claim in? She could have been arrested for fraud! He would have found that funny. She could imagine him laughing as the police came to cart her off. The Crookes would have enjoyed her falling so dramatically ‘from her pedestal’ too. She blushed with hurt and shame as she thought of that happening.
Dawn lay in bed with doubts circling in her head like vultures on speed. She also wondered about her gold belcher chain that had gone missing since she had moved in with Calum Crooke.
At home the next night, Raychel was modelling for Ben the snazzy red shirt she had bought when Anna invited her to wander around the shops with her at lunchtime. It wasn’t something she would normally have picked. She tended to be drawn to dark colours that kept her in the background. But Anna had convinced her that it would suit her and it did. And lovely Ben, of course, agreed. It was great to see his wife in something that wasn’t dull. Those women she worked with seemed to be coaxing her out of her shell and he loved that. Then the buzzer rang and Ben picked up the intercom phone. Raychel heard him press the entry button.
‘It’s only John, he’s dropping off my tool kit. I left it on site by mistake.’
‘Did you tell him that I wouldn’t see his wife?’
‘I did.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Ben. ‘Nothing at all.’ He was telling the truth for John had silently nodded in a way that said he understood.
Raychel walked warily into the kitchen in order to stay there while Ben’s boss was around. She didn’t want him staring at her like last time.
There was a knock at the door and Ben opened it to find John standing there with a tool kit, but he wasn’t alone. In front of him was a small woman, one with dark curly hair and grey, grey eyes. Ben immediately saw the likeness of this woman to his wife. He could see why John had been transfixed now.
‘Can I see her, please?’ asked the woman. Raychel stole a glance around the doorframe and when she saw the surprise visitor, the plate she was drying dropped from her hand and smashed on the floor.
‘Jesus Christ, it is you, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to see me, but wild horses wouldn’t have stopped me. You’re Bev’s daughter, you have to be!’ said the woman, coming into the room past Ben and patting her breathless chest. ‘I’m Elizabeth, I’m Bev’s sister.’
‘You’re mistaken,’ Raychel said, but she was evidently flustered.
‘Your mother must have been called Beverley. The likeness is too much to ignore.’
‘No . . . no . . . she wasn’t. I’m sorry.’
Raychel looked to Ben for back-up, but he was shaking his head with resignation.
‘Tell them, Raychel. Tell them they’re right.’
Elizabeth burst into tears and then struggled to rein them back. ‘Oh my God. You’re so beautiful, Raychel. I’ve always wondered if you were born and where you were. I’ve tried so hard to find you and your mother. Where is Bev? Is she all right?’
Raychel covered her ears. ‘Please, please, Ben. I can’t . . .’
Ben strode to Raychel’s side and put a strong, protective arm around her.
‘I think you had better leave,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask that, John. This is upsetting Raychel too much. There’s a lot to think about.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Elizabeth, the tears plop-plopping from her eyes. ‘I had to come.’
John tugged gently on Elizabeth’s arm, even though he could see she was drinking in the sight of Raychel with the thirst of so many missing years. ‘Come on, love, enough for now.’
‘I don’t want to bother you, I just wanted to see you. Please come to me,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Ben knows where we live. When you’re ready.’
Ben didn’t say anything, just squeezed Raychel hard into his side. He was surprised when he felt her nod that she would.
‘Soon,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I don’t mean you any harm at all. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’ Then she let her husband lead her out of the door and shut it gently behind them.
Ben and Raychel stood entwined, still, silent. Then she looked up at his kind face and said in a calm and conceding voice, ‘I will go and see her, Ben. I’ll tell her what she wants to know. Maybe the only way we can get peace is to fight for it.’
‘You’re very quiet today, Raychel,’ said Christie the following morning. ‘Everything OK?’
Raychel snapped out of her reverie. ‘Sorry, yes, I’m fine.’
‘No need to apologize, I’m just enquiring.’
‘She’ll have got her first mortgage bill,’ Anna shouted over. ‘That’s enough to drive anyone to despair.’
‘It’s just my time of the month.’ Raychel went for an obvious excuse. ‘I’ll go and get some sugar in my blood. Anyone want anything from the chocolate machine?’
‘Just bring the whole chocolate machine back with you,’ smiled Christie. ‘We’ll share it out between us.’
‘Back in a tick then.’ Raychel made her way out of the office. She didn’t really want anything from the machine but she’d go through the pretence of enjoying something. What she did need was for this day to be over. She was going to Elizabeth Silkstone’s house that evening and she was absolutely dreading it.
John Silkstone had taken his son on a ride to a building site after tea so that Elizabeth and Raychel could be alone to talk. Elizabeth had been on tenterhooks all day but that last half-hour of waiting made her anxiety levels flare up. When the bell rang, she opened the door to a whey-faced Raychel with her grey, nervous eyes. The same eyes that she had seen so many times in the mirror before John Silkstone put peace behind them.
‘Come in, love, come in.’
Raychel moved slowly over the threshold. It was a beautiful house, the sort of house that she and Ben used to dream of having when they were little. Lots of rooms and light and polish-smelling wood and a big kitchen like the one Elizabeth was now leading her into and telling her to sit down at a massive, thick-topped pine table while she put the kettle on.
There were pencil sketches on the table of a small boy being copied from a photo.
‘Is this your baby?’ said Raychel.
‘Yes, that’s my little two year old, Ellis,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He’s out with his dad,’ she added. ‘Can I get you a coffee? Tea?’
‘Coffee, please. Black.’
‘And . . . and have you any plans for children?’
Raychel’s eyes flashed towards her.
‘If you’re truly my aunt, then you’ll know that I can’t,’ she said and with a dry little laugh added, ‘Well, I can but I can’t.’
‘Did you say you take sugar?’ said Elizabeth, with a shake in her voice.
‘My mother told me who my father was,’ said Raychel. ‘Is it true?’
‘I don’t know what she told—’
‘She told me that my father is my grandfather. She and you and I all have the same dad.’
‘She told you that?’ said Elizabeth in shock, but still she didn’t deny it.
‘That’s why I can’t have children,’ said Raychel, her voice hard like a protective shell. ‘Because I’m dirty. I have
dirty blood,
was how she used to put it.’
Elizabeth’s face dropped into her hands as she stood waiting for the kettle to boil. She had only been a little girl when her sister, Beverley, ran away, pregnant at fifteen. Elizabeth had been too young to realize that her father had been abusing her sister. Only when his attentions turned to Elizabeth did her juvenile brain tell her that she needed to run to the safety of her Auntie Elsie, who brought her up, loved her and kept her safe. It wasn’t this beautiful girl’s fault that her parentage was so warped.