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CHAPTER 23 : A VACATION IS ANNOUNCED : JUNE
June: 19 Months, 597 Days Since Jenny’s Disappearance
I’m sitting here waiting for a phone call. I’m still not sure if I’ve done the right thing but maybe it really is time to move on. It’s an irony that Jenny’s mother and father have brought matters to a head, but that’s how it is. A few weeks ago, I took a call from Inga Palmer. She said that she and Andrew were going to their summer house, south of Stockholm and would I like to go? I was in two minds. Jenny’s parents have been enormously supportive but going on holiday with them, going somewhere I had been with Jenny, somewhere that Jenny had known as a child, somewhere haunted with memories of Jenny; was that really such a good idea?
Then Inga said, “and why don’t you bring a friend Zhoe? Anybody at all. Andrew and I would not mind.” (Even though she has lived in England for almost thirty years, she still can’t quite manage all the sounds of English. I have always been ‘Zhoesef,’ not ‘Jozeph’)
I realised just how tough and brave the Palmers were being. Brave and typically generous. They were telling me that I had to move on, that they had to move on; to leave Jenny as she had left us, on a November afternoon in London: it will soon be two years ago. They were telling me that they understood that I would form new relationships; that they would open their hearts to whoever I chose.
I expect they need me to be part of the process. To show I am moving on so that in some way they could justify to themselves that they should move on, too.
Confronted with their kindness, how could I turn them down? I agreed and said yes, I might bring a friend. Now I knew exactly who I wanted to take. I wanted to take Gwenda.
It’s her call I’m waiting for. The vacation is next week. I called her. She wasn’t there; anticlimax! I left a message; asked her to call me.
My mobile rings, it’s her number.
“Gwenda?”
“Joseph! How’s things?”
Her voice, as ever, is deep, soft, warm, and has laughter in it.
“Well fine. I’m glad I reached you,” I can almost see her putting her head on one side and pursing her lips in the way that she does when she’s confronted with a problem. I can sense her thinking, ‘get to the point’.
“Sorry I wasn’t there earlier, I was ... , well there’s always stuff going on. I’ve been up to my ears in it.”
“Well, maybe you need a break. How would you like a few days in Stockholm?”
“Stockholm? That’s seriously smart. Why Stockholm?”
“Jenny’s parents have a summer house there and they have invited me ...”
“Oh …”
“… in particular me and a friend.”
“Ah, that’s better. Joseph, that’s very brave of them.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
Gwenda pauses. “Joseph I should love to! When were you going?”
“Well, I’ve booked a couple of weeks annual leave and I happen to know you did too, so I thought we could …”
“Next week?”
Yes: next week.”
“Oh, Joseph! I am so sorry!” Her disappointment sounds genuine. This isn’t a casual brush off but why would it be? After all, we have some shared history now, Gwenda and me. “I’m going over to a wedding in Tobago. Relatives. I really can’t duck it. I’ve got to be there. You could always come with me?”
“I would absolutely love to go to a wedding in Tobago with you, Gwenda but I have said ‘yes’ to Inga and Andrew. In the circumstances I think I should …”
“Yes, of course you should. You definitely should but ... well I am coming back, you know?”
“I should hope so!”
“So when we are both back, you know I will have had enough rice and peas and you’ll have had enough of tall blonde girls.” …. She pauses and gives Joe a broad smile ... “So, you can take me to the best restaurant you can get a table at and I’ll give you … a roll in the hay with something not so blonde!”
Gwenda laughs at her own joke. I laugh too but inside I’m not laughing; my heart is beating faster and I seem to be salivating. So, definitely not a brush off, then. And definitely something to look forward to when I get back!
It’s the night before I’m due to leave for Stockholm. I’m staying in a hotel in London to save time in the morning, before I meet Andrew and Inga. The room’s hot; it took me ages to get to sleep.
I’m dreaming. I know I’m dreaming but that doesn’t make it any less real. I’m holding two lengths of rope, one red and one white. My eyes follow the red rope to where it is entwined, shibari style around a girl’s bald head. She turns to face me and smiles in spite of the rope that frames her head and gags her. It’s Jenny. Naked and wrapped in the red rope she looks calm and peaceful; standing, accepting her restraint.
I look at my other hand: its holding the white rope. My eyes follow that. It is tied in much the same way around a dark skinned girl. Gwenda. The white rope shows sharply against her dark breasts, pressing in against them; and against her waist and belly where it loops tightly about her. It’s odd, I think to myself. Why would she let herself be tied like this? And why I am I standing here holding the rope?
I turn, as if to ask Jenny, but as my eyes follow the rope I see only its loose end trailing on the floor. She isn’t there.
I wake, knowing that it’s time to leave.
Then, as I leave the hotel, my mobile bleeps telling me I’ve got a text. It’s from Gwenda. “J,” it says, “Can join U after all. Chris P wants to meet me in Sweden to look at the Sysav1 project in Malmo. How about that dinner/roll in the hay?”
I don’t think twice. “Great,” I text back. “Let me know your flights. I’ll book a table and make sure I get my fill of blonde girls in plenty of time.” I press send. It’s a curious feeling.
POSTSCRIPT : STRIFE IN THE GROVES OF ACADEME : JUNE
20 Months, 600 Days Since Jenny’s Disappearance
Cathy Corbin is sitting at her desk, setting out her teaching schedule for the coming months. This is a job she shares with the other lecturers in the department but since Jenny McEwan disappeared, there is one less member of staff to share the burden. Giving the lectures which Jenny used to give is uncomfortable for Cathy: she and Jenny were close and when Cathy has to step into Jenny’s shoes, she feels a real sense of anxiety over what might have become of her friend. That is exactly how she feels now, when the telephone on her desk rings.
“Cathy? It’s Angela. Have you got a few minutes to spare? Can you come and see me please?”
“Yes, of course, Prof, …er … half an hour?”
“Well, I’d like it to be now if you can.”
Cathy bites her lip. The interruption isn’t welcome but there isn’t much else she can do. “Sure, I’ll be right with you.”
Professor Dawney. Cathy is very glad she does not have to work closely with her. Cathy works in a separate research group and this is the sort of incident which makes her very glad she does. Cathy finds Professor Dawney and her prima donna ways a significant irritation. Unfortunately, for this academic year, Angela has the role of organising the undergraduate teaching and so Cathy finds herself in Angela’s orbit.
This perfunctory summons is almost certainly something to do with teaching, probably to ask Cathy (or tell her if Angela can get away with it) to cover some of Angela’s own lectures because Angela has to (probably not) or wants to (almost certainly) go to a research meeting and the date of the meeting clashes with Angela’s own teaching commitments.
Cathy is not inclined to be cooperative and has a few minutes to prepare in her mind at least three reasons why she will be unable to help Angela out of this particular hole.
Cathy knocks and Angela immediately answers “Come!” As Cathy enters her office she looks up sharply.
“Have you seen this?”
“What?”
“This!” Angela brandishes a sheaf of papers.
Cathy takes then and reads. This is typical Angela. It’s a research report translated from a Russian psychological journal or perhaps a pre-publication report from someone known to Angela and obviously something inside Angela’s area of focus of the moment. Cathy’s research interests and Angela’s interests do not overlap very much so why should Cathy have seen the report, whatever it is? This is Angela posturing again.
“Well?”
Cathy sighs and reads – and then reads more closely, more analytically.
“Do you see? An account of a research strategy into the psychology of BDSM and play. Exactly what the McEwan girl was supposed to be working on before the little bitch took herself off somewhere. You don’t know how angry this makes me! We (actually Angela means “I”) should have had the first publication in this field and now it will go to this other group.”
Cathy is confused. Is Angela accusing Jenny of some sort of intellectual defection? Or is she just angry that this other group has pre-empted her?
“Did you know anything about this?”
Cathy has had quite enough of Professor Dawney’s histrionics. The suggestion that she might know more about Jenny’s disappearance is more than enough to raise her hackles. To make sure Angela knows it, she replies slowly and carefully.
“First, Prof, no. Of course, I did not know anything about it. This is not my research area so I do not keep up with this particular literature and, no, I am not in clandestine touch with Jenny. You may remember there has been a police investigation into her disappearance. Whatever you think of me, I haven’t held anything back from them.
“Second, you may know Jenny and I were close and I am very hurt when I hear you refer to her as “the little bitch” or “that McEwan girl”. I will be grateful if you can not do that in future. Is there anything else?”
Angela is taken aback by Cathy’s forthright response. It’s obvious that her bullying isn’t going to have any effect. She purses her lips. “No, no nothing. Look, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” Her placatory manner doesn’t last long though. “It is just so frustrating, when this sort of thing happens! I just had to get it off my chest to someone.”
“And I happened to be the nearest one to lash out at,” Cathy thinks to herself. To Angela she says, “Here’s what I can do. Jenny had asked me to read over some of the work she had done, to be a critical friend so to speak. I will read through the report and compare it with what Jenny gave me. There may be fewer similarities than appears at first glance.”
After Cathy’s confrontational manner, Angela is surprised that she is offering to help and finds herself backing off. “Would you? I would be grateful.”
“Next week?”
“Yes … next week will be fine. I know you have a lot on your plate, Cathy, and I am grateful for your help.”
Once back in her office, Cathy allows herself a smirk. She had put Angela in her place for once. Might as well get this chore out of the way, she thinks. Cathy reads. The Russian report is by Mendeleyev, Romanova and Kuznetsova.
Mendeleyev is the head of department, Romanova is the statistician and Kuznetsova … who is Kuznetsova? Is she a junior colleague or someone who has made a more substantial contribution? Cathy continues reading. The flow of words is disquietingly familiar.
She gets up and picks a file of the book case. It contains the written work Jenny asked her to read over. Cathy opens the file beside the translation. She scans the two. Back and forth; back and forth. As she reads, she feels more and more uncomfortable with what she is seeing. The feeling spreads up the back of her neck, making her hair prickle. It’s like seeing a ghost. The organisation of the ideas, the sentence order, the words chosen - allowing for the peculiarities of the quaint translation - are all the same. In every essential it’s the same document that Jenny gave her. It’s almost as if it has been written by Jenny or by someone deliberately using Jenny’s own words. Another wave of discomfort washes over her. Is “V.A. Kuznetsova” really Jennifer Karin McEwan?
Cathy finds herself breathing faster. She is torn between three emotions: joy at (perhaps) finding her friend, dismay at how her (possible) discovery has been made and fear at what this might mean for her, because she is now someone who knows the secret.
Cath’s mind races through possibilities:
Jenny has been abducted and through this paper, is sending a forelorn, desperate cry for help. The bottle with a note inside, thrown into the sea from a desert island and washed up on a distant shore.
Perhaps Jenny has fled the country, to start her life afresh, free from the difficulties that her relationship with Joe had been going through and free from the consequences that her old relationship with Angela might bring, but at least this paper is evidence that she is alive and well and brings with it the hope that there could be reconciliation with Joe.
Maybe Jenny has been killed because of what she discovered or more likely, killed by Angela out of jealousy and here is Angela testing her, Cathy, to see if she notices anything strange in the Russian research paper.
Jenny is alive and being held prisoner, perhaps even enslaved by these others and now Cathy is the only one who knows it, the one who will be in danger herself, if she shares her suspicions.
What should she do? Who should she tell? She has promised Angela a report on the article in a week. She has a week to decide. A week with the fate of Jenny and perhaps herself resting in her own hands ….
As she reflects, the copy of the Big Issue Cathy bought from the street vendor rolls across the desk, propelled by the shuffling of papers and opening of files during the past few moments. It’s open at the last page; the page with appeals for information about missing people. From the top right quarter of the page, Jenny McEwan’s face stares out at her from a photograph – silent; patiently watching Cathy; waiting to see what she will do …
THE END
© Phil Lane & Freddie Clegg 2010
All characters fictitious
No reposting without permission
1 Europe’s largest waste-to-energy project, curiously not located in Strasbourg or Brussels. Gwenda would be better getting a flight to Copenhagen but geography isn’t her strong point.
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