I hit the button and listened one more time, looking at my reflection in the hallstand mirror. I couldn’t help smiling at her voice. She sounded so happy.
So that’s why I was still standing there when Gus came in. I turned and smiled even wider, but all he did was that flick-flick look that makes me think of a camera taking snapshots. Blink and he’s looking down at the phone. Blink and he’s looking at me again. Flick-flick.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he said. I shook my head, still smiling. “Whoever you’re phoning,” he went on. “Don’t mind me.” He came and stood right behind me to hang his coat on one of the pegs, reached round me to put his keys down but he didn’t touch me. “You never talk about anyone,” he said. “Friends. I’ve never heard you mention a single one. It’d do you good to have a good natter with a pal.”
His face was unreadable, not scowling, not smiling exactly, although he had a twinkle in his eye. He looked… smooth. He looked like you would look if you had a black widow spider crawling on your cheek and you didn’t want to get it angry. I shuddered. Where the hell did that thought come from?
“I have so,” I said. “I’ve mentioned Steve. How could you forget him coming up, eh?”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” said Gus. Finally, he put his arms round me, hooked his head over my shoulder, still looking at me in the mirror. “Go ahead and phone him.”
“I wasn’t phoning Steve!” I said. “I wasn’t phoning anyone.”
“What’s wrong with Steve?” His eyes were dancing now and I smiled at him, crinkling my nose. I couldn’t follow what was going on here.
“Nothing,” I said. “He’s a nice bloke.”
“So why don’t you phone him?” said Gus.
I turned. Maybe I could see him more clearly face-to-face. Maybe the mirror was twisting things.
“Gus,” I said. “I wasn’t phoning Steve. I never mentioned Steve.”
“Yeah, you did. Where are the kids?”
“Kitchen. Okay, yeah, I did, but only after you accused me of-”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything. I said go ahead and phone him.”
It was happening again. It happened one way round and Gus said it happened the other.
“You said I never mentioned anyone from work. I said I did, I mentioned Steve. But I never mentioned phoning him.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want the kids to hear you shouting.”
“I’m not shouting,” I said.
He raised his hand like in some kind of surrender. “Okayyyy,” he said. “Whatever you-”
Then we both flinched, in formation, when the phone rang. I put my hand out to answer, but Gus grabbed my arm.
“I can’t face the cops tonight if it’s them again,” he said.
“I’ll tell them you’re out,” I said. I didn’t try to get my arm free. I didn’t want to find out how hard he would grip if I pulled away. I didn’t want to know.
“Don’t you want me to hear his message?” he said. “I’m not the jealous type, Jessie. I was just trying it on for size yesterday. It’s really not me. If I come and visit the Project tomorrow, it’ll just be to see where you work. It won’t be to check him out.”
The ringing stopped and the machine kicked in. He didn’t even register Becky’s voice, just kept smiling at me. I kissed the end of his nose.
“No need,” I said. “You know Steve. Or he knows you anyway. He was in the Scouts with your brother.”
“Hello?” said the voice on the answering machine. “Yes, hello. My name is Eva Czerwinska. Kazek has given me this number. I am trying to find Jaroslawa. I hope you can help me. My number is 0048 32 413 5857. Thank you very much. Good-bye.”
“Who the hell was that?” said Gus.
“No idea,” I said.
“But you knew they were going to phone,” he said. “You were waiting.”
I shook my head. “I’m just in the door. I was looking in the mirror. I was listening to the message. Becky’s voice, you know.”
“How did they get this number?” said Gus. “Who was that?”
They got the number from a homeless guy with a wad of money. And he got it from me.
I said nothing.
“I’m not phoning Poland,” he said. “Cost a fortune. Not just to tell them she’s gone home.”
“You could report her missing,” I said.
“Again?” said Gus. “You don’t think they’d think that was a bit much? Two in one week? Different with Becky-she left a note.”
“She’ll phone back, probably,” I said.
“Who?” He spun me round and held my arms tight enough to make the flesh squeeze out between his fingers.
“Gus, God’s sake, you’re hurting me.”
“Did you say you’d been listening to Becky?” he said. “Christ, I just got that. Who’ll phone back? What are you trying to say?”
“Her,” I said. “That Polish woman right there. Let me go! I was listening to Becky’s recording-leave a message we’re all at the beach. Let me go!”
He dropped his hands and stared at me. Then he turned and banged the answering machine so hard it bounced on the table.
“Message deleted,” said the voice. He banged it again, twice. “Outgoing message deleted.”
“No!” I said. “That was Becky’s voice. You wiped Becky’s voice!”
“Why the fuck would I want Becky’s voice answering my phone?”
“Not on the phone,” I said. I was scrabbling at it, punching buttons. “Just the tape or whatever it is. For the kids. Her voice sounding so happy. For the wee ones.”
And there they were, summoned by the raised voices, sidling round the living room door. Dillon solemn and soft like he always got when he was tired, his mouth hanging open and blue smudges under his eyes. And Ruby like a sitcom housewife, arms folded, mouth set. “What’s all this then?” her little face seemed to say, and I smiled at the sight of her.
“What’s for tea?” she asked. “We’re starving, by the way. Mummy always used to give us a snack when we came in even if it was nearly teatime, eh Dill?”
“Mummy?” said Dillon.
Gus turned away to face the hall stand mirror. He bent his head until it was pressed against the glass. The stand rocked back on its little ball feet and creaked with the strain. He wasn’t knocking, but he was pushing so hard it might splinter the wood or break through the plaster. And he was whispering. I leaned close.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he was saying. But it wasn’t an apology. It was a mantra. It was stupid bitch with different words. And now he was saying something else. His voice was strangled from keeping it quiet. “Please, Becky. Please, don’t. I can’t take it again. I can’t take it anymore.”
“What did she do to you?” I whispered. Slowly, the pressure of his head on the mirror lessened. The glass creaked in its frame, the front legs came down onto the floor again.
“Kids,” I said, “I’ll make you sugar fingers if you wait in the kitchen.”
“Wot dat?” said Dillon. But Ruby knew sugar anything was great and she dragged him away.
“Gus,” I murmured to him, smoothing his hair back. “Go through and wait in the bedroom, eh? I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Sugar fingers was only buttered toast, dipped in brown sugar and cut into strips, but Dave had some cinnamon in his cupboard and I sprinkled that on. I left them trying to work out whether they liked it or not and hurried back through.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. I went over to him, eased his hands away, and let him rest it on my shoulder instead.
“What did she do?” I said again.