Then She Was Gone - Lisa Jewell Page 0,14

begins.

Hanna throws her a look of dread. It’s the same look she throws her any time she starts a conversation about anything, as though she’s terrified of being dragged into something she hasn’t got the emotional capacity to deal with.

“A man gave me his phone number. Asked me out for dinner.”

The look of dread turns to horror and Laurel feels she would do anything, pay anything, give anything to be having this conversation now with Ellie, not with Hanna. Ellie would whoop and beam, throw herself at Laurel and squeeze her hard, tell her it was amazing and incredible and awesome. And Ellie would have made it all those things.

“Of course I’m not going to call him. Of course I’m not. But it got me thinking. About us. About all of us. How we’re all floating about like separate islands.”

“Well, yes.” There’s a note of accusation in Hanna’s voice.

“It’s been so long now. And yet we still haven’t found a way to be a family again. It’s like we’re all stuck. Stuck inside that day. I mean, look at you.” She knows the moment the words leave her mouth that they are completely the wrong ones.

“What?” Hanna sits up, unknits her fingertips. “What about me?”

“Well, you’re amazing, obviously you’re amazing, and I am so proud of you and how hard you work and everything you’ve achieved. But don’t you ever feel . . . ? Don’t you ever think it’s all a bit one-dimensional? I mean, you don’t even have a cat.”

“What! A cat? Are you being serious? How the hell could I have a cat? I’m out all day and all night. I’d never see it, I’d . . .”

Laurel puts a hand out to her daughter. “Forget about the cat,” she says. “I was just using it as an example. I mean, all these hours you work, isn’t there anything? Some other dimension? A friend? A man?”

Her daughter blinks slowly at her. “Why are you asking me about men? You know I don’t have time for men. I don’t have time for anything. I don’t even have time for this conversation.”

Laurel sighs and touches the back of her neck. “I just noticed,” she says, “a few times recently, when I’ve been in to clean, you haven’t been home the night before.”

Hanna flushes and then grimaces. “Ah,” she says, “you thought I had a boyfriend?”

“Well, yes. I did wonder.”

Hanna smiles, patronizingly. “No, Mother,” she says, “sadly not. No boyfriend. Just, you know, parties, drinks, that kind of thing. I stay at friends’ places.” She shrugs and picks again at the dry skin around her nails.

Laurel narrows her eyes. Parties? Hanna? Hanna’s body language is all skew-whiff and Laurel doesn’t believe her. But she doesn’t push it. She forces a smile and says, “Ah. I see.”

Hanna softens then and leans toward her. “I’m still young, Mum. There’ll be time for men. And cats. Just not now.”

But what about us, Laurel wants to ask, when will this stop being our life? When will there be time for us to be a family again? When will any of us ever truly laugh or truly smile without feeling guilty?

But she doesn’t ask it. Instead she takes Hanna’s hand across the table and says, “I know, darling. I do know. I just so want you to be happy. I want us all to be happy. I want . . .”

“You want Ellie back.”

She looks up at Hanna in surprise. “Yes,” she says. “Yes. I want Ellie back.”

“So do I,” says Hanna. “But now we know. We know she’s not coming back and we’re just going to have to get on with it.”

“Yes,” says Laurel, “yes. You’re absolutely right.”

Her fingers find the piece of paper in her pocket again; they rub against it and a shiver goes down her spine.

14

“Hi. Floyd. It’s Laurel. Laurel Mack.”

“Mrs. Mack.”

That soft transatlantic drawl, so lazy and dry.

“Or are you a ms.?”

“I’m a ms.,” she replies.

“Ms. Mack, then. How good to hear from you. I could not be more delighted.”

Laurel smiles. “Good.”

“Are we making a dinner plan?”

“Well, yes. I suppose. Unless . . .”

“There’s no unless. Unless you have a specific unless in mind?”

She laughs. “No, I have no unless in mind.”

“Good then,” he says. “How about Friday night?”

“Good,” she says, knowing without checking that she will be free. “Lovely.”

“Shall we go into town? See some bright lights? Or somewhere near me? Somewhere near you?”

“Bright lights sound good,” she says, her voice emerging breathlessly, almost girlishly.

“I was hoping you’d say