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I’m going to be moving in with a friend while they fumigate the unit and then do some major renovations, and unfortunately she only hasonespare room so I wouldn’t be able to offer you anywhere to stay. Maybe another time? Finn
There would be no ‘other time’. I knew it. And as though to prove me right, the postcards had stopped after that. Finn had clearly moved on and with reluctance I’d realised I had to do the same.
*
I knocked on the door and waited to be let in. At my feet, Chester, my dad’s crabby and overweight cat, did the same. He rushed through the door first, no doubt heading straight for his food bowl. My manners were a little better, although I did sniff the air appreciatively as the smell of roasting beef wafted down the hallway. For the first time in days, I thought I might actually be hungry.
‘How are you doing, kiddo?’ Dad asked, enveloping me in the kind of hug that made me long for the time when there was no problem he couldn’t fix, no monster he couldn’t slay.
‘I’m okay,’ I lied into the cotton of his shirt front. I made sure there was a passable smile on my lips before I stepped out of his hold. ‘I’m hanging in there.’
Dad nodded. ‘One day at a time, Gem, that’s the only way to cope with this kind of thing.’ He was treating Finn’s disappearance like a bereavement, one I had to grieve my way through, while Hannah was treating it like a crime, whose only fitting punishment was castration. It amazed me how they could both be on my side so wholeheartedly and yet still be completely wrong.
I followed Dad into the kitchen, glancing at the banister post to see the tie that I knew he’d have discarded there. I fingered the silky fabric as I passed, my eyebrows lifting at the vibrant psychedelic pattern.
‘It’s getting harder to find new ones. I’ve pretty much cleaned out every charity shop in the area.’
Dad wore a new tie every Tuesday, without fail. The crazier the better. He was a jeans and T-shirt kind of man, through and through, but Mum used to love getting dressed up and would try to get him to wear a shirt and tie when they went out on Tuesdays, which had always been their ‘date night’. He always resisted, with an obstinacy I never understood. In retaliation, she’d buy him a new tie every single birthday, Christmas and anniversary. He’d never worn any of them until the day of her funeral. Each week since then, he’d pulled a new one from the dresser drawer and worn it to visit the place where she lay in one half of a double plot, patiently waiting for the day he’d join her.
‘It’s his way of saying she was right and showing her how much he still loves her,’ I’d told Finn, trying to explain my father’s Tuesday pilgrimages. ‘Each week he irons a shirt, puts on a new tie and goes to sit on the bench beside her grave. He tells her all about his week, what’s new with me, what the neighbours have been up to, and anything else he thinks she might like to know.’
I’d waited for Finn to back away or say something about it being a little unhealthy – an observation one of my exes had foolishly made. But Finn wasn’t like that. He’d mulled over my words for a moment before nodding slowly.
‘That makes sense. I can see why he’d do that. It’s nice for both of them.’
That might have been the moment when I first realised that everything I’d ever hoped to find in a partner was standing right there in front of me. Finn was the unexpected miracle I’d almost stopped believing in.
*
Dad went straight to the kettle without bothering to ask if I wanted tea. The room felt comfortable and welcoming as I sat down at the same table where earlier versions of me had created finger-painting masterpieces, made cakes with my mum and struggled for hours over my maths homework. I breathed in the memories like Entonox pain relief.
‘Any news today?’ asked Dad, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of me before sitting down with one of his own.
‘No. No news,’ I replied, taking a sip from the scalding brew.
‘What did the police say this morning?’
‘“Please stop calling us three times a day, Miss Fletcher.”’ I’d meant it as a joke, but it was too close to the truth to be funny.
‘Do you think they’ll ever launch a proper investigation?’
I shrugged. ‘According to them, there’s still nothingtoinvestigate. They refer to Finn as being absent rather than missing. I guess it’s all about the semantics.’
Dad looked pained, and I could only imagine how much he hated not being able to help me.
‘Inspector Graham is keeping his eye on the hospitals and his ear to the ground, or so he says. I don’t think he has any other body parts spare to look for my missing fiancé.’
We did well for the next twenty minutes, managing to switch topics and successfully ignore the elephant in the room. But it came trumpeting back as Dad busied himself at the sink. Some questions are easier to ask when you’re not looking into someone’s eyes.
‘What are you going to do now, Gemma?’
My hands were in the cutlery drawer, but somehow I didn’t think ‘Lay the table’ was the answer he was looking for.
‘I’m going to keep looking for him.’
Dad dried his hands on a tea towel and turned to face me. I could sense a question coming and knew it was the kind that demanded eye contact. ‘For how long?’
The tines of a fork were pressing into my palm, but they didn’t hurt as much as his words.
