The Missing Wife

8

THE GUEST

Friday p.m.

After what felt like five minutes of silently staring, Louisa’s brain kicked in, her feet finally moving. Without being able to speak, she pushed past Oliver and the unknown woman by his side and, with as much composure as she could muster, descended the stairs. Tiff’s blonde hair was visible above the group of punters congregating at the bar, and as Louisa struggled to get to the exit, she heard Tiff shout to her.

‘Where are you off to?’

Louisa shoved through more people, anger propelling her towards Tiff. Without daring to speak, she snatched one of the glasses of wine off the round tray Tiff held in her hands and knocked back the bitter-tasting liquid in one, before continuing towards the door leading out to the beer garden.

Whatever good intentions Tiff believed she had in going through her Facebook friends list, she shouldn’t have done it. Going one step further than that and accepting the group invitation to join Exeter College leavers on her behalf was just wrong. It wasn’t Tiff’s place to decide what group of friends she should be involved with. And inviting Oliver? Jesus.

Finding a quiet corner of the garden, away from prying eyes, Louisa unzipped her bag and took out the pack of cigarettes. Her head swam, as it usually did with the first few draws. It was worse now though – she had too much alcohol in her system, as well as the tablets. Likely a dangerous mix, but no more dangerous than the mix of people in that room.

‘Are you mad at me?’

She turned sharply at the sound of the voice. Tiff approached Louisa with another glass of wine in her outstretched hand. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘This might take the edge off the shock.’

‘I doubt it.’ The words carried more venom than she’d realised she possessed. She took the drink anyway, not making eye contact with Tiff.

‘I’m sorry. I really thought we were doing something positive, and that it would give you a lift. Organising a small party—’

‘Small? Call that small, Tiff?’ She waved her arm towards the pub. ‘Shit. Small would be my little family and you. And that would’ve been fine. I’d have coped with that. But not this.’ She dragged on her cigarette. Her eyes stung. From the smoke, or from tears, she was unable to distinguish.

Tiff was silent, her eyes downcast. She didn’t even mention the fact that Louisa was smoking – it was Tiff who’d helped her give up four years ago, but she’d obviously decided now wasn’t the time to give a lecture.

‘I realise you were trying to do something nice. But why invite all the people from my Facebook? And – for God’s sake – why did you accept that stupid invitation to the Exeter College group and then invite Oliver Dunmore here?’

‘Shit. Because you didn’t talk about other friends – you never have! But, you know, I assumed those on your Facebook were friends, so didn’t see the harm—’

‘Tiffany. Really?’ Louisa shot her a disdainful look. ‘You were the one who added half of them when you set up the account in the first place, remember?’

‘Well, yes, but they are still your friends.’

‘So, you’re friends with everyone on your Facebook are you? Should I invite Sarah to our next girly night? You’d be good with that, would you?’

‘I – no.’ Tiff sighed loudly. ‘Sorry. Okay, okay. Fair point. But chill. So you don’t actually like some people I invited, no biggie – you don’t have to speak to them all. Everyone will be eating soon, and drinking loads – they won’t notice if you’re not being particularly sociable. And Oliver said only good things; he made it sound like you were great friends.’

Tiff telling her to ‘chill’ was bad enough, but her last line was the one requiring Louisa’s response.

‘How exactly did you contact Oliver, Tiff? There were no messages on my Facebook.’

‘There’d been one. I deleted it as soon as I read and replied to it, giving him my mobile instead. I immediately fessed up, Lou. Told him I wasn’t you, and that I was arranging this surprise party for your fortieth. He jumped at the chance to come.’

‘I bet he did,’ Louisa said, her teeth clenched.

‘Weren’t you good friends then?’ Tiff’s eyebrows knitted, a brief look of panic fleeting across her perfectly made-up face.

‘We were more than that, Tiff.’ Louisa put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the closest wooden table. ‘He was my first love. He broke my heart. Broke me, in fact, and when he left he took a part of me with him. A part of my memory at least.’

Louisa didn’t want to explain more. Couldn’t explain more even if she’d wanted to.

‘Oh. I’ve screwed up then, haven’t I?’ Tiff’s face paled.

‘Quite possibly, Tiff. Yes,’ Louisa said as she drained the glass of wine and turned to walk back inside.

9

THE PARTY

‘Mum, where’ve you been? Come on, the food is out. It’s the most food I’ve seen in ages.’ Emily’s eyes were wide as she took Louisa’s arm, dragging her towards a long table to the side of the room filled with a buffet-style feast.

‘Oh, sorry, love. Just had to get some fresh air, it’s all been a bit overwhelming.’ Her tongue felt funny: tingly and enlarged. She worried she was slurring her words.

‘I bet. I did tell Dad it wasn’t a great idea – that you were dreading being forty so a bloody party drawing attention to the fact would only make matters worse.’

‘Language, Emily. But thanks.’ Louisa put her arm around her daughter and pulled her in close. She realised it was the first moment of real closeness they’d had since Noah’s birth. Louisa had always felt lucky to have such a good relationship with Emily; they shared a closer bond than she’d ever had with her own mother. There’d been times when Brian had commented they were more like sisters: chatting about the latest films and TV programmes, gossiping and going clothes shopping together most weekends. Louisa hoped those moments would return once she’d got through the awkward early months with a new baby.

She turned her face towards Emily and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘You were right,’ Louisa whispered in her ear. As she lifted her head again, her balance faltered, and she had to hold on to Emily to keep herself upright.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Lack …’ Louisa took a slow, deep breath in and out. ‘Lack of food. Blood sugar’s low I think.’

‘Dad!’ Emily’s voice was shrill in Louisa’s ear. Damn. Now everyone was looking over at her. But it wasn’t Brian who came to her side.

‘Are you okay?’ Oliver had obviously been right behind her the whole time.

‘I’m fine. Emily’s just making a fuss. I’ll take these roasties and sit down for a bit. I’ll be all right.’

‘I’m not fussing, Mum. You looked as though you were about to faint.’

‘Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll take her, you go find your dad.’ Oliver’s dark eyes found Louisa’s – the intensity in them was one thing she hadn’t forgotten about the past, but the strong arm she felt around her waist was something new. He’d always been fit, but the thickness in his arms now was clearly the result of regular weights. Her heart picked up speed. She hated herself for it.

Oliver sat her down, placing the plate of food in front of her before sitting down himself.

‘How have you been?’

‘For the past twenty-two years? How long have you got?’

He gave a quick, nasal laugh. ‘I guess it’s been a long time. How about you tell me over lunch one day?’

‘God, Oliver,’ Louisa said, shaking her head in disbelief. The same slick Oliver who’d been the centre of her world for two years before he left her in their small town while he escaped to the University of York – the opposite end of the country – to do something with his life and ‘be something; someone important’. She wondered what, or who, he’d become, but she wasn’t going to ask.

‘Why are you at my surprise party?’

‘You mean apart from the opportunity to meet up with old friends?’ He cast his eyes around the room, but clearly not spotting any of those said friends, returned his attention to her. ‘I’ve just moved back here, temporarily at least, to oversee a new business project.’

‘Right.’ Louisa didn’t want to get into a conversation about what precisely this business was; she didn’t want any conversation really.

‘And, well, if I’m honest, I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Lou-Lou.’

She straightened, her muscles tensing, her lips pursed. ‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Sorry, old habits.’ He grinned. Louisa looked at his face properly for the first time. The square jawline, once smooth, was now dotted with stubble. It suited him. He still had black hair, but the hairline was higher up and less defined at the crown and temples than it’d been when he was eighteen. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but they weren’t deep like Brian’s crow’s feet – somehow, Oliver’s made him appear distinguished. Rugged. He’d practically been a boy when he left. Now Louisa was sitting opposite a man. She didn’t know him anymore, but the spark that had drawn her to him at college alighted again now. Despite her mixed feelings, she was still attracted to Oliver Dunmore’s charm and good looks.

Louisa knew she had to bring herself back to reality. She thought about the woman standing beside Oliver on the stairs. ‘So, you’re married?’

‘Yes, but not for long,’ he said, matter-of-factly.

‘Oh, I’m sorry …’

He tilted his head back laughing. ‘No, we’re not separating. I meant she’s not been my wife for long. Married last year.’

Louisa’s stomach dropped. She urged herself to get a grip.

It didn’t matter if he was married, so was she.

Louisa’s gaze bounced from person to person around the room, searching for Emily and Brian. She needed them to interrupt this encounter, give her an excuse to get away. The food on the plate Oliver had put in front of her looked unappetising. It would be physically impossible to consume solids right now; she’d choke on every mouthful. Her pleasant, relaxing night away had rapidly turned into a nightmare.

‘Look, I’d best do the rounds, you know – mingle a bit seeing as all these people are apparently here for me.’ If Brian wasn’t coming to save the day, then Louisa had to excuse herself. ‘Thanks for coming. It was … well, good to see you,’ she managed. On trembling legs, Louisa got up and walked across to the nearest table, a fake smile in place to meet and greet her non-friends.

‘You’re doing great,’ Tiff said as she handed Louisa a bottle.

‘Bloody hell, Tiff – what’s this now? Lager? I’ve had far too much already.’

‘Nonsense. We used to put away loads more than this.’

‘But I haven’t—’

‘You haven’t got to worry about Noah,’ she cut in, ‘and I’m reliably informed you’ve expressed enough milk to feed all the babies in Devon. Let your hair down, woman!’

Louisa conceded. She had no strength to argue and couldn’t be bothered to correct Tiff’s memory of them drinking loads. It was always Tiff, not Louisa, who had got drunk. But if having more drink now helped get her through the rest of the party and then sleep solidly for eight hours, she’d take it.

An hour passed with Louisa managing to mingle with a few people, passing the time with basic-level chat, mainly consisting of telling stories about the exploits of their respective children. She’d lost count of how many drinks she’d consumed but she guessed it’d been too many judging by her blurring vision and the reduction in her ability to balance – even while sitting. Her swaying body was beginning to make her feel motion sick.

‘I’ll be back in a bit.’ Her mouth had begun to water as a wave of sickness rocked her. Louisa made her excuses and left the table.

The grass felt tickly and cool under her feet as she walked.

Where was she?

And where were her shoes?

Her handbag was over her shoulder, though. Good, she hadn’t lost that.

She stopped walking and pulled at it, trying to find the zip. Her fingers finally found the little metal pull. She reached inside. The bag dropped to the ground. Louisa’s eyes couldn’t focus well enough, her right hand swooping several times but failing to pick it up. She’d get it in a minute. She had the packet, at least.

A voice came from behind her.

‘Can I blag one of them off you?’

Louisa turned unsteadily to face the person who’d asked but she was still staring down at the cigarettes as she blinked several times in a vain attempt to clear her vision. She shook the packet, not trusting her eyes. Damn. Only one. She thought she’d only smoked five. She didn’t want to give her last one to a stranger.

As she looked up and her eyes finally focused, an image flashed in front of her. It wasn’t like the other ones she’d experienced; this one made each of the tiny hairs on her body tingle and stand erect. She lowered her head again, avoiding eye contact.

‘Yeah, go ahead.’ A fear consumed Louisa as she held out the packet containing the single cigarette. This was no stranger; she was sure it was someone she used to know.

10

THE HANGOVER

Saturday a.m. – Day 1 post-party

It took a few moments for Louisa to remember where she was. It was daytime – the light easily penetrating the pale cream curtains. She didn’t move; she couldn’t. Any movement might make her sick. Had she already thrown up? The taste in her mouth suggested she had. Slowly, she slid her mobile from the bedside table and tried to focus on the display.

10.23 a.m.

She stared in disbelief at the time. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept in that late, and she had no memory of waking during the night. That had obviously been Tiff’s plan all along – get her blotto knowing she’d pass out and be guaranteed to get solid sleep.

She didn’t feel all that rested though, just hungover. And that was a feeling she hadn’t had for a very long time. Her head screamed for water so, reluctantly, she eased herself out from under the covers.

Louisa winced as her feet made contact with the floor. Shit. They felt sore. Bruised. God, please say she hadn’t been dancing barefoot, making a fool of herself in front of her family. Her fake friends.

Oliver.

She shivered. It was as if her alcohol-soaked brain had only just remembered he’d been there – and it was reliving the shock of seeing him all over again. Louisa tried to recall if she’d spoken to him again after their first brief conversation. She screwed up her eyes. No. No memory of talking to him. But there was something – some elusive image teasing her, coming to the edges of her memory but no further. She couldn’t capture it. Tiff would more than likely fill her in on the night’s events, though she was probably feeling as rough as Louisa was.

Like an old woman – hunched and slow – Louisa walked to the table-top fridge in the corner of the room and retrieved a small bottle of sparkling water. The liquid she expected to be flavourless was sour in her dry, foul-tasting mouth, but it refreshed her. As she was about to place it back inside the fridge, a sharp pain, almost like an electric shock, pulsed through her head. She dropped the bottle. Water spread and puddled on the grey carpet.

Blood.

Louisa stumbled backwards.

With her next blink, the vision of the dark red pool had shot away and she was left staring at the water-soaked carpet.

There was a sharp knock on her door. Louisa took a hand towel from the bathroom, placing it over the spilled water, before opening the door.

‘Thank God for that.’ Tiff, her face serious and completely free of make-up, stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her.

‘What are we thanking God for?’

‘For you being in here.’

‘Where else would I be?’ A knot of worry began to tighten in her already painful tummy.

‘I lost track of you last night—’

‘What do you mean, you lost track of me? Didn’t we just get back here together?’

‘You don’t remember?’

Louisa’s initial worry-knot grew in size and intensity, the sensation increasing the sick feeling. No, she didn’t remember.

‘I’d had a lot to drink … I think I have you to thank for that.’

‘Sorry, you know what I get like after I’ve had one too many – I’m pushy.’ Tiff smiled apologetically and sat down on the bed beside Louisa.

For most people, having a lapse in memory after a heavy drinking session was funny – an expected side effect that gave rise to mickey-taking from others who had witnessed the drunken antics. But for Louisa, any gaps in memory only added to the dread that it was happening again. A period of her life during her last year of college was a complete blur to her – not just a day or two, but a huge chunk. For a long time afterwards, Louisa had experienced regular panic attacks, often for no apparent reason. The distress of why she couldn’t remember often overwhelmed her.

Her mum had pushed for her to see a doctor, saying it wasn’t right for a healthy teenager to have such debilitating attacks of anxiety. Louisa had only agreed on the premise that she could go on her own – not wanting her mother to know what might be causing them. Deep down she’d known that something bad had happened to cause them; there’d been a trigger – but she’d pushed it to the back of her mind until her mum had forced the situation.

The doctor had said stress was a factor for the panic attacks, but in relation to the missing chunks of memory, he’d mentioned something called dissociative amnesia. This in itself had caused more stress than if she’d not gone to the doctor at all. He’d talked about how someone could block out certain information because they’d suffered a traumatic event. Louisa had obsessed about this, gaining as much information about it as she could through library books and journals at the time, then looking up everything about it online years later. The memory loss associated with the disorder included gaps in memory for long periods of time, or of any memories that involved the traumatic event.