Then She Was Gone

‘To you,’ says Floyd. ‘To wonderful extraordinary you. You are the most remarkable person, I think, that I have ever known. I am honoured to call you a friend. Cheers, Laurel Mack. Cheers.’

Laurel smiles tightly. She feels that she should reciprocate in some way. But all she can think of to say is, ‘Cheers. You’re pretty fab too.’ Which sounds utterly pathetic.

She glances upwards to the ceiling. ‘Is Poppy coming down?’ she says, her voice catching nervously on the last word.

Floyd smiles at her. ‘Should be,’ he replies simply. ‘Should be.’

‘Here.’ She hands him the bag with his gift in it. ‘You may as well have this now. Save taking it to Bonny’s.’

He opens the shaving mirror and he makes all the right noises and all the right gestures. And then he comes towards her with his arms outstretched and she flinches as he hugs her, feels her breath catch, adrenaline pulsing through her. She is ready to push him from her, ready to escape. She can’t imagine that she’d ever found this man’s touch pleasing. She can’t imagine she’d ever found this man anything other than terrifying.

‘Here,’ he says, handing her an envelope. ‘Open that first. I’m just popping out to my car to get your other gift.’

‘Oh,’ she says, ‘OK.’

He stops in the doorway and looks at her. A small smile plays on his lips.

‘Goodbye,’ he says.

She hears the front door open and close.

The house, now that Floyd has gone, is completely silent.

She glances down at the card in front of her and she opens it.

It has a picture on the front of a dove in flight. It is strangely un-Christmassy.

Inside the card is a letter. She begins to read:

Laurel,

I sense that you are tiring of me. I sense that you have worked out what a hundred women before you have worked out. That I’m not the man for them.

That is fine. Because I have worked out that I am not worthy of you. And that I must let you go. And before I let you go, I must also unburden myself of an appalling, unthinkable truth. I have something of yours. It was not given to me; rather, bequeathed to me in a terrible sequence of events. I need you to know that when I first came into possession of this precious thing, it had been horribly abused by another person and for five years I have tended and cared for this possession. I have polished it and nurtured it.

And now it is time to return it to you. I am glad we had this time together. Time for you to see me not as a monster but as a normal man. A man worthy of your affections. If only for a few short weeks. It has been an extraordinary experience for me after so many years in an emotional wasteland. A precious gift. I cannot thank you enough. And I am glad you have had a chance to get to know me, to hopefully view me as a man capable of being trusted with your most precious possession.

My study door is unlocked. On my desktop computer I have left you a video message. Simply press play and I will explain everything.

Yours, always and in good faith,

Floyd Dunn



Laurel rests the card on the table and looks through the kitchen door. Slowly she gets to her feet and walks towards Floyd’s study. She sits in Floyd’s chair and grasps the mouse tentatively. As she touches it the screen comes to life, and there is Floyd, dressed in the same jumper he wore this morning, his face paused in an expression of terrible grief. She clicks the play button and she watches his confession.





Sixty


Laurel, there are so many things I want you to know. But the first is this: when I walked into that café in November, when I chose the table next to yours, when I complimented you on your hair and invited you to share my cake, I was not trying to seduce you. You were far too beautiful and far too delicate and I would never have been so presumptuous.

Everything that happened after that meeting was entirely unexpected, and, I can see now with hindsight, horribly, horribly selfish.

Earlier this year I switched on the TV to watch the news and there was a trailer for the show coming up afterwards. Crimewatch. Not a show I’d normally watch. Not my thing at all. But they said they’d be staging a reconstruction of the disappearance of a girl called Ellie Mack and then a picture of Ellie Mack appeared on the screen and my heart stopped. The missing girl looked exactly like Poppy. Older than Poppy. But exactly like her.

So I sat and I watched the show.

‘It’s been ten years since Ellie Mack, a fifteen-year-old from north London, disappeared on her way to the library,’ the presenter said. ‘Ellie was a popular girl, well liked at school, in a happy relationship with her boyfriend of eight months, and the beloved heart and soul of her family. According to her teachers, she was set for a full house of As and A stars in the GCSE exams she was sitting that month. There appeared to be no obvious reason why this smiley, charmed girl should leave her home one Thursday morning and not return.

‘We first launched an appeal for witnesses to Ellie’s disappearance in 2005. That appeal was unsuccessful. Now, ten years on, with no sightings of Ellie and no evidence to suggest her abduction, we have staged a reconstruction. But first, here’s Ellie’s mum and dad, Laurel and Paul Mack, to remind us of the girl they haven’t seen for ten long years.’

The footage shifted from the presenter to a VCR of a tired-looking couple sitting side by side in a very nice kitchen. She had a sheet of vanilla-blonde hair, cut sharp at the ends and clipped back on one side. She wore a black polo neck with the sleeves pushed back, a simple watch, no rings. He was a classic city boy: pale blue shirt unbuttoned at the neck, thick greying hair parted at the side, short at the back and longer on top, a soft, spoon-fed face that was probably steam shaved in Jermyn Street twice a week.

It was you and Paul.

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