Page 104 of Serenity Falls

‘Sounds like you’re trying to move the furniture all the way through the ceiling.’

I popped the tab on the Diet Coke. ‘Sorry, Gran. Just shifting some stuff around.’

She nodded. ‘Yeah, my old lodger did the same. Always thought it was weird how he wanted the bed all the way over there.’ She waved a hand. ‘You go ahead, kid. I want you to feel at home here. I like having you.’

She grinned, and I grinned, and after she went, I go back up feeling kind of energized. I loved Gran, and I guess in a way I’ve always felt closer to her than to Mom and Dad.

Anyways, up I got and set about shifting that old bed. It was heavy like every other fucking thing in the room, but I grunted and heaved and managed to shove it into place in the middle of the bedroom.

And that’s when I saw it.

Right under where the bed had been.

When I say Gran’s house is old, it’s not like ‘olde worlde’ old, beams and proper floorboards and all that shit, but upstairs there’s some kind of wooden flooring covered with faded old rugs. It’s not real wood. Like most stuff in Serenity Falls, it’s some fake-ass shit made to look genuine. Everything here is a reproduction. Like a movie set.

But anyway, point is, under the bed it was plain to see a section of the wooden flooring had been cut out and stuck back down again. Not well, either. You could see it didn’t join properly and stuck up a bit.

I stood for a moment, scratching at my head. There was something about that patch of floor. It sounds weird, but looking at it made me feel kind of ick. Like I was looking at a puddle of vomit. It was wrong. It made the part of my brain that the weed soothed start to jangle.

I crouched down, fished in my pocket and took out my multipurpose knife/bottle opener. Everyone in the diner has one. I jabbed the blade down by the slightly sticking-up corner and pushed. The board was thin laminate, and it popped right up.

Underneath was a layer of chipboard. I could see where it had been cut roughly and shoved back into place. I didn’t need the knife this time. I used my fingers and yanked it up.

Something had been wedged beneath the flooring, in between the joists of the sub floor. It was bulky, covered in bubble wrap. I wedged my fingers in and pulled it out. It felt like a book or a bunch of papers. Carefully, I unpeeled the wrap. I sat back on my haunches and looked at it. A thin sheaf of papers bound with large multicoloured elastic bands, the sort you get around a pile of post.

In fact, the first page on top looked like a letter.

I pulled it from the bands, and that’s when I realized this was some serious shit.

30

Serenity Falls Wine Bar and Café is understated and slightly less kitsch than everything else in the town. It’s on the corner of Main Street, identifiable by a subtle chalk sign and a dark crimson canopy.

I can do this, I tell myself. It’s just a drink. With someone who looks a lot like my wife. My missing, presumed dead, wife. Nothing weird about that at all. In fact, this is probably good for me. Maybe, after tonight I’ll have exorcised that ghost. I almost convince myself. So, before I can call bullshit or change my mind, I push open the door and step inside.

The lighting is low, the tables are small and most have candles. I swallow. This immediately feels a little more date-like than I expected. There are several couples drinking wine or coffee and snacking on olives. Piano music plays softly. A slowed-down version of an old fifties tune: ‘Life Could be a Dream’.

I hover self-consciously by the entrance, scanning the room for Lori. She might not be here yet. We arranged to meet at 8 p.m. and I’m slightly early. I search for a suitable table. There’s one tucked in a far corner that seems nice and private.

I walk over and pull out a chair. It squeals on the floor. A few people glance over. I make vague apologetic gestures and sit down, already sweating. Fuck. I am not ready for this. Not at all.

Silently, like a ninja, a waiter glides up to my side. ‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’

I pick up the drink menu, start to flick through and then realize I should probably wait for Lori before ordering anything alcoholic.

‘Err, I’m waiting for someone, so just a sparkling water for now.’

‘Of course, sir.’

He glides away again like he’s on roller skates. I put the drink menu down. I pick up my phone and debate with myself whether to check in on Sadie. With everything that’s going on, I’m a little worried about her going out tonight. But she’s with her friends, I tell myself. She needs some normality, some fun. She doesn’t need me on her case, embarrassing her.

The waiter returns with my water and I gulp at it, wishing it was neat gin. I check the time: 8.07 p.m. Maybe Lori isn’t coming. Maybe something has come up or she’s had second thoughts. I bring up my messages, but nothing. I put the phone down again. I wonder if it’s obvious I’m waiting for a date and how long you’re supposed to wait until you accept that you’ve been stood up.

And then the door to the café opens.

Fuck.

I try to breathe. It’s hard. Memories are rushing at me fast, snatching my breath away. Lori is dressed in a simple black vest top and loose jeans. Her hair is down, falling in a slight wave to her shoulders. She looks beautiful. She looks like Nat.