‘How could you tell from looking?’ I say, sounding sharper than I intended as I piece together the dates and places and postcards and letters.
‘I couldn’t, obviously, Jess – but you looked well. You were with your mum, you clearly weren’t in hospital, and you seemed healthy and competent. Which is a big improvement on the last time I saw you, when you were sleeping in Grace’s toddler bed and hadn’t eaten for a week. So – I told him what I’d seen, and he was just silent for a bit, like he was adding it all up in his mind, and then he said he was glad for you and that he had to go. And that was it – I never heard from him again. His phone stopped working, and he disappeared.
‘I’ve thought about him over the years. Wondered where he was, if I should try and find him. If I should contact you. But … look, this sounds like an excuse, but my life was hectic. I had my mum, and Mal, and my work, and I just got on with all of that and—’
‘It’s all right,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s not your fault. We’re not your responsibility. But it does explain something. He stayed in touch for a while, without me knowing, of course, and that year he sent me a note for my birthday, along with the chewing gum? You remember that thing with the gum? Anyway, he included a postcard, and on all the earlier ones he’d put “wish you were here”. On that one, he put “wish you were here, but I know you never will be – so I’ll settle for I hope you’re happy.”
‘After that he sent two more birthday cards for Grace, and that was it for years. I didn’t know why it changed, but now I do. He thought I was well, and healthy, and competent, and living a normal life in Manchester – and that I’d still not been in touch. Maybe for all that time he was thinking that as soon as I was able, I’d find him …’
A silence falls over the three of us, Nina managing to sound devastated even though she’s feeling good. I don’t think any of us are. Michael never even knew Joe, and I can see that he’s grasped the implications. The heartbreak. The disappointment. The loneliness of finding out that you are forgotten, apparently left behind by the person you loved most in the world.
I know exactly how that feels – because it’s what happened to me. My pain, at least, was dulled by circumstances and intense medical management. He just had to deal with it, alone.
‘Oh God,’ I say, my hand over my heart as I picture him – sitting somewhere, far away, having that conversation. ‘Poor Joe.’
Belinda nods, and she is crying freely now, for him and his pain, and for her unintentional part in causing it.
‘I just thought he should know … I don’t know why. You looked good, and I thought it would be a relief to him. He’d been so worried about you. But I’m an idiot. I didn’t think at all. I was like a kid who knew a good bit of gossip and shared it without imagining the consequences. I’m so sorry. We … we have to find him.’
I nod, biting my lip, cursing my tears, wishing Nina would shut up because she’s really not helping. Wishing I could turn back time. Wishing I could put my arms around him and tell him I love him, that I always loved him, that I never, ever stopped loving him.
‘I’m going to find him,’ I say, taking my anguish and transforming it into a determination that at least gives me something to hold onto. ‘Will you help me? I have the letters and the cards. Can we get together and see what we can figure out? See if we can make any sense of it? I don’t care how hard it is or how long it takes – I am going to find him. I need to. I need to at least try and make this right …’
‘Yes!’ she replies emphatically. ‘A million times yes! I can help – I need to help. And I have contacts now, and I know how to do this kind of thing, and … yes. Do you want another drink?’
I stand up, and feel a wave of dizziness. I lean back against the chair, and breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, and blink my eyes a few times to clear the weird mosaic of shapes that’s formed in front of my pupils.
‘No, thank you. I think I’m going out for a walk. Then I’ll come back, and we’ll formulate a plan, and everything will feel better. Belinda – come with us. To find Joe. Michael’s already signed on for the road trip – why don’t you come too?’
She looks around the office, at the googly eyes and the files and the cheese plant, and seems to come to a decision.
‘I was going to say no,’ she replies. ‘Automatically. Because I’m always so busy, and because of Mal, and because of work. But the reality is I’ve just finished the big case I was working on, and can share out the smaller ones with colleagues at other firms. And Mal is saving street kids on the other side of the world, and my mum is fine.
‘And Joe … Joe was always such a good friend to me. When we were teenagers, at that time when even being alive embarrasses you, my mum would turn up at school dressed as Batman. Or she’d be down, and forget to buy food, or need me to stay at home with her. He was always there for me. He didn’t let anyone pick on me, not even myself. I owe him. So yes – I’ll come with you. Bet that’s made your day, hasn’t it, Michael?’
‘I’m as thrilled as fat Elvis in an all-you-can-eat buffet,’ he replies with a smile.
There is a slight buzz in the air as we all stand in a small circle, as though we’ve made a fateful decision, concluded something significant.
I pick up my bag, and gulp down the cold brandy-coffee. It makes my whole body shudder.
‘Where are we going?’ asks Michael, as I prepare to leave.
‘We’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay here and talk to Belinda. I’ll be back soon. Belinda, are they at the same place? The Crazy Bunch?’
At first, I’d never understood why he gave his foster family such an amusing name – like they were such great fun, and life with them was one jolly scrape after another. Then he explained – that mocking them made them less scary. That reducing them to a nickname lessened their power over him. After that, I refused to even think of them as anything else, because they deserved to be reduced to nothing at all.
She frowns at me, and wipes her hands down her jeans, as though she feels soiled at even the mention of their name.
‘Why would you want to see them? They won’t help you. They don’t help anyone.’
‘I know that. I just … need to. Are they at the same address?’
‘They are, though the street’s been done up a bit. Are you sure? Do you want me to come with you? You used to shit yourself walking around here in the old days …’
I shake my head, and grasp my bag, and reply: ‘Well, this isn’t the old days. I’m different. This place is different. I’m a lot braver now. Anyway, there’s another reason I want to leave you two alone for a bit.’
She raises her eyebrows into a perfect arch, and Michael shifts uncomfortably beside me.
‘I need you to tell Michael what happened,’ I explain simply. ‘With Grace. He should know, and I can’t talk about it – not yet. It’s like … I don’t know, that memory is a supporting wall, and if I knock it down, the roof will fall in. Or something like that. But he should know, and I suspect he’s absolutely desperate to anyway.’