Encouraged, she walked on and when she entered the bar was relieved to see that at least half the tables were already taken. There was a low buzz of music and conversation in the air and the barman smiled cheerfully at her as she approached. Her body tensed with anticipation and nerves, she scanned the room. There were no lone drinkers, male or female, and she relaxed a little, glad that out of the two of them it was she who had arrived first.
When she’d bought her drink she chose a seat that gave her a good view of the street – close enough to the large plate-glass window to be able to see people as they approached. The minutes passed slowly. Six o’clock became six fifteen, then twenty past. Restlessly she glanced around. It was a nice place, simply decked out without any of the self-consciously hip touches so many bars in the area were afflicted by: no ironic taxidermy on the wall, no neon flamingos, or jam jars used as cocktail glasses. Just an ordinary bar with an unpretentious, after-work crowd. She settled back into her seat and continued to wait, her eyes fixed on the door.
It was quarter to seven before she admitted to herself she’d been stood up. The disappointment crushed her. She realized at that moment the biting anxiety she’d felt since Luke disappeared had been temporarily lifted by the prospect of finally meeting Emily, and it was only now as she slowly and despondently began to gather her coat and bag, that she realized how desperately she’d wanted it to be true. The despair she’d been feeling since the day Luke had gone missing returned now with renewed strength: everything seemed entirely hopeless once more.
The sound of smashing glass turned her attention to the bar, where she saw the guy who’d served her earlier looking down at a dropped tray. He grinned ruefully at her when their eyes met, and she smiled her sympathy back. When she turned again to her table, it was to find a woman standing in front of her and she jumped in surprise.
‘Clara?’ the woman said, and with a quick, tentative smile, added, ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
The stranger was so unmistakably Luke’s sister that at first Clara could only stare at her in stunned silence. She was slim and slightly younger looking than her thirty-seven years, strikingly attractive and dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans. Her hair, thick and dark like her brother’s, framed a finely featured face that had large brown eyes the replica of Luke’s. Even their mouths, with their wide, full lips, were identical. ‘Oh,’ said Clara, jumping to her feet. ‘Oh my goodness, it’s you, isn’t it, it’s really you!’ She wanted to hug Emily but she seemed so nervous, as though she might bolt at any moment, that she just stood with her arms by her side, drinking her in.
When they’d sat down Clara gave a shaky laugh. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
Emily’s voice was low and soft, with the same gentle middle-class Suffolk accent as her brother’s. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, before adding anxiously, ‘You didn’t tell my parents you were meeting me?’
Clara shook her head. ‘No.’
‘You told no one? Are you sure?’
For a split second Mac’s face flashed into her mind but before she could even process the thought, she heard herself say, ‘No. I promise. I didn’t tell a soul.’
At this Emily relaxed a fraction, though she continued to scan the room with quick nervous glances.
What was she so scared of, Clara wondered. Because there was no doubt about it: Emily certainly seemed afraid of something. She was like a tightly wound spring, as though at any moment she might jump out of her chair and run off into the night. ‘Would you like a drink?’ Clara asked, the normalcy of the question sounding utterly surreal in the circumstances.
‘No. No thank you, I’m afraid I can’t stay long.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and the smile that flickered across her lips was one of such sweetness that Clara smiled back.
‘I’m so glad you came,’ she said.
‘When I saw you on the news, I couldn’t believe it … that it was my brother you were talking about.’ Emily shook her head in wonder. ‘When they showed his picture … seeing him again after all these years, all grown up …’ Her eyes swam, and instinctively Clara reached over and put a hand on hers. ‘I’ve missed out on most of his life. He was ten years old when I last saw him and I’ve thought about him every single day since. When I saw you, I couldn’t … I couldn’t not contact you.’
Clara was about to reply when Emily leant down and pulled something from her bag. ‘I have something to show you,’ she said, handing her a small, creased photograph.
Clara gazed at the faded picture in amazement. It was of Luke aged about four, wearing stripy pyjamas and a huge toothy grin. Behind him stood Emily, a gangly, pretty girl of around twelve, her arms wrapped tightly around her brother’s shoulders, her smile a replica of his. In the background was the living room of The Willows, its walls painted an unfamiliar green.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Clara murmured.
‘I carry it with me everywhere,’ Emily said. ‘And this one too.’ She passed her a second picture, which showed herself aged about fourteen or so and standing between a smiling, much younger-looking Rose and Oliver in the back garden of The Willows, each of them with a glass of champagne in their hands. They looked so relaxed and happy, Clara thought; such a stark contrast to how battered by grief and worry they were now. ‘How are they?’ Emily asked. ‘How are Mum and Dad?’
There was such anguish in her face that Clara felt her throat thicken with sympathy. She paused, searching for the right words. ‘They’re not good, Emily,’ she admitted. ‘Luke’s disappearance …’
Emily looked so sad that Clara couldn’t help herself any longer. ‘Emily, what happened to you? Where have you been all this time? What happened when you were eighteen?’
But it was as if the shutters slammed down in her eyes and she looked away.
Into the tense silence, Clara said miserably, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you, it’s just … your mum and dad, it would make them so happy to know that you’re OK. Can I tell them I’ve seen you, that you’re alive and well? It would—’
‘No!’ A group of people sitting at the next table glanced over at them in surprise and Emily stared down at her hands for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was very quiet. ‘I hope, soon, I’ll be able to go home. When all this is over, when we’ve found Luke, I will go back to my parents. But you must let me do that myself. I don’t want someone else to break the news to them, to fill them with hope when I don’t know how long it will be before I can go back to them.’
‘But—’
Emily leaned forward, gazing at her urgently. ‘It wouldn’t be safe, for my parents, or for me, if I return home now. You have to trust me, Clara. But I will go to them. When they’ve found Luke, I will go home, I need more time, that’s all.’
Clara searched Emily’s face. ‘What do you mean,’ she said, ‘“it wouldn’t be safe”? What are you frightened of? If you’re in danger, you must—’
‘Clara,’ Emily cut her off. ‘I can’t talk about it. If you can’t promise me that you won’t tell them, I’ll have to leave.’ She half rose from her seat and Clara put her hand out to stop her.
‘No, please stay, please. I promise. I just …’ she trailed off uncertainly. It didn’t make any sense, and she didn’t know if she could bear to keep something so huge from two people she loved so dearly. But it was clear that Emily wasn’t going to explain herself now. Finally, she said, ‘Do you promise you will go to them, when Luke’s found?’
Emily nodded. ‘I promise, Clara. All the attention should be on him now, on finding him. There’s nothing I want more than to see them again. I’m just asking you to keep this secret for a while longer.’
And what if we don’t find Luke? The unwelcome thought snaked its way through Clara’s mind and with effort she pushed it away. Reluctantly she nodded. ‘OK.’
A man by the bar went over to the jukebox and within moments the soulful strains of a Joan Armatrading song filled the room.