may have married and changed names or moved out of the area. The only way we’ll find out is if we ring these numbers to see. If they all say they don’t know Clive then at least we know we tried.’
‘It seems so implausible,’ George says.
Lucy is still busy retrieving her biscuit with her spoon.
‘It certainly does,’ says Tess. ‘But Clive isn’t able to tell us the full story. The only way we’ll get that is if we talk to Nancy. I know I want to hear the other half of Clive’s life.’
I pick up the piece of paper and rub a finger across the names, as if somehow I’ll develop telepathic skills that will lead me to knowing which of these women to call first.
‘I’m just worried that we’re opening up a can of worms. Shouldn’t we just be telling the police?’ I ask.
‘They didn’t come up with anything. And they’d be duty bound to tell him if they did have new information. At least if we do this we’re preventing any more potential hurt,’ George says.
I opt to be the one that makes the calls. I feel like I’ll be more in tune with the potential responses, as if it is possible to listen to the heart from afar and know what it is saying. I decide to approach the list from top to bottom, practical as ever. I stand behind the counter to make the call as if that somehow gives me protection from the anticipation that’s pulsing around us.
‘Do you know a Clive Ellington?’ is the question I settle on as an opener.
‘This is not the garage. How many times do I have to tell people?’ is the response from the first call.
‘I’m sorry. What’s this about? I’m just heading out to the gym,’ is the second. From her voice I can tell she’s far too young to be our Nancy.
After those unwelcome responses, I’m getting ready to throw in the towel. This isn’t my puzzle to solve. But I know I need to at least get to the end of the list, to try to find the missing piece.
On the third call, there is silence.
‘Hello, did you hear me? Are you still there?’ I ask.
I hear a swallow and a faint cough from the other end of the line.
‘You do know Clive Ellington.’ I mean to say it in my head, but the truth is those words need airtime.
‘I’ve been waiting a lot of years for someone to call,’ the faint female voice says from the other end.
46
Clive
A few hours at the allotment had made Clive feel considerably better about the prospect of living nearby again. The past few weeks had been full of uncertainty. What Clive had known to be a happy life had been turned upside down.
Even now, weeks after it happened, Clive didn’t think he would be able to wander back down that short road to his old life, knowing what he’d imagined there. It was still trapped in his mind and it was so vivid it was heartbreaking.
Instead, while Clive waited for George to pick him up, after receiving a message to say he was on his way, he was making the last of his plans for the allotment and what he hoped to grow over the coming weeks.
He was opting to go with some quick-to-grow items that he knew Tess would be able to make use of: lettuce, radishes, spring onions and the like. He was also going for some staples that he enjoyed: potatoes, white onions, shallots, carrots, beans and peas. In addition he was also going to have a go at growing peppers. He’d never tried to grow them before, as the soil conditions might not be the best for them, but as they were something Tess used regularly, it was worth giving it a try to see how well they did. It was an experiment of sorts so Keisha was bound to approve. Thinking of Keisha made him add beetroot to the list. He was beginning to feel a lot better and, along with the company he was keeping, the juice regime seemed to be helping. He planned to start making his own once the trial period was over to keep up the health benefits he was experiencing.
His plans were a thinned-down version of what he usually went for each year, but as he was late to start and he was still recovering it seemed sensible not to overdo it. Getting the allotment straight again would keep