Lynda La Plante: Twisted

Amy’s mobile went yet again to voicemail. Frustrated, Lena called the school communal house phone. A bright girlish voice answered and Lena said she wanted to speak to Amy Fulford, as it was quite urgent. The matron came on the line, and said that they had been trying to contact her, as Amy had not turned up for school. Lena was perplexed, but hardly concerned as she suspected that Amy had simply decided to stay, as naughty as it was, with her friend who had arranged the sleepover.

Harriet Newman, the mother of Serena Newman, answered the phone and sounded rather confused. She knew that her daughter had asked Amy to spend the weekend, and they had collected her from the school at eleven forty-five on the Saturday morning. However, Amy had said that she wanted to see her father on the Saturday afternoon, and would return in the early evening. Serena had been very disappointed as they had arranged to go to see a film together, but Amy had never turned up. Mrs Newman presumed that the girl had decided to stay with her father, as she knew that Amy often did so when not at home with Lena.

‘Did you try to call her?’ Lena asked nervously.

‘Obviously, yes we did, and I left you a message on your house phone, but we never heard back from anyone. Serena went to the film with some other friends and we returned her to school Sunday evening.’ Mrs Newman sounded more irritated than concerned, as if Lena was blaming her in some way.

Lena realized that with the dinner party, the pending solicitor’s meeting and other things on her mind she had not bothered to check any missed calls on her landline since Saturday. ‘Thank you, I’m sorry to bother you. I think I will just call her father and sort it out as she has not returned to school.’

‘Well, I can understand you must be worried. Serena told me you’re going through a divorce so it has to be a difficult time,’ Mrs Newman said, more friendly now.

‘Yes it is, but Amy is handling it very well as it’s amicable. We’ve made sure she didn’t find herself caught in between us. Thank you again.’

Lena replaced the phone, angrier because the least Marcus could have done was to let her know that Amy was staying with him. She had a good few sips of wine before she called him, only to reach his voicemail.

‘Hey, it’s Marcus, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

Trying to keep her voice from becoming shrill, she said, ‘Can you please ask Amy to call me? She is not at school and I am concerned as she has made no contact with them or with me.’ She sat beside the phone, willing it to ring, even while admonishing herself for being stupid and impatient, but she was angry at having to call the last person she wanted to talk to, especially after their meeting that morning. She finally turned her attention to her computer to check the latest emails but there was nothing of any urgency and she didn’t feel like looking at any business arrangements for the following day as she would first have a serious talk with her daughter, and insist she drive her to school to apologize personally.

Amy’s bedroom was just along the landing from her office, with a sign hanging on the door: ‘Privacy Please’. Usually she was very aware of giving Amy exactly that, knocking before entering if she was at home, and rarely if ever going into the bedroom when she wasn’t. Agnes changed the sheets, cleaned and collected any dirty laundry and dry-cleaning. This evening Lena opened the door and stood looking into the room. It was not at all girly or draped in pink, but tasteful, with pale blue fitted carpets, white curtains and wooden slatted blinds. The small double bed had a duvet and frilled pillows, and an old teddy bear that Amy had kept since a toddler. He was worn and moth-eaten with one glass eye missing but was very much loved. She used to always carry ‘Teddy’ around and sleep clasping him tightly, although at about eleven years old, she had stuffed him into a drawer for some reason. Lena couldn’t recall exactly when he had resurfaced but he was now always placed on her pillow. A pair of mule slippers were left on the floor beside the bed, but the rest of the room was exceptionally tidy. Fitted wardrobes took up an entire wall – the sliding doors opened to a bank of drawers and then full-length hanging sections. Winter coats were hung together and all her winter dresses and skirts were colour-coordinated and then there were a few evening dresses and rows of shirts and jackets. Her jeans were folded on the top shelf of the wardrobe alongside hats and scarves. Rows of boots and shoes were lined up along the bottom. Lena didn’t touch anything, she just stood there admiring how neat and tidy everything was. It was hard to believe this was a bedroom of a fifteen-year-old; there were no posters of rock stars on the walls, in fact they were devoid of any kind of pictures apart from some family photographs. The bedside cabinets were uncluttered, with only an alarm clock, two matching lamps, bedside house phone and a stand for her mobile. Beneath their tops were rows of paperback books, all stacked together by size and width. Lena looked at the large antique dressing table; this was placed in front of the window and faced the large garden. A hairbrush and comb were in a blue pottery jar next to a hand mirror and a large bottle of ‘Daisy’ perfume sat beside a tube of moisturizer.

Lena began to look through the neat rows of dresser drawers, starting from the left, and found everything neatly arranged. Lena knew that Agnes was more than likely the person who carefully folded each bra and matching panties, rolled the tights into small balls and tucked them into the plastic dividers: black tights, woollen tights, socks, white tennis and sports socks all rolled up and tidy.

The bottom dressing-table drawers held old school books, sketchpads and envelopes in one, in another some Christmas cards still in their packaging. Only one drawer was locked, a small one on the top right-hand side. Lena had no idea where the key would be, and even had she known she would not have unlocked the drawer to discover what it contained. She reckoned it was probably Amy’s diary – as a child she had always kept diaries but once her schoolwork intensified, she was given her own computer and abandoned the ritual. Then before Christmas she had asked for a journal: she was inspired to write short stories and wanted something special to put them in. She asked to have a proper bound one with a lock and key. Marcus had bought her one with her name embossed in gold letters; it had been very expensive, in dark green leather.

Lena stood in the centre of the room looking from one side to the other. She then went to close the wardrobe and she saw the stack of matching suitcases, in three sizes – small, medium and large. Lena knew Amy also had an overnight cabin bag at school, which she used when visiting Serena’s or her father’s, and it was the only one missing.

By the time Lena returned to her bedroom, it was after seven, and she had still not heard from Marcus. She was loath to call back yet forced herself to do so, but it went straight to voicemail yet again and she didn’t leave a message. She tried Amy’s mobile phone one more time and that too was on voicemail. She next called the school to ask if Amy had turned up or if they had heard either from her or her father.

The matron said they had not, and asked if she would call as soon as she heard when they could expect Amy to arrive. They did not approve of unplanned absences or really allow pupils to return after lights out, but if she was expected to be back that evening there was always someone on duty.

‘I hope there’s nothing wrong?’ the matron asked and Lena, keeping her voice pleasant, replied that she suspected her husband had taken their daughter to the theatre. It felt lame even to her. Replacing the receiver she lay back on her bed, wondering if the school knew about the impending divorce. Because Amy stayed alternate weekends with her father they might very well suspect some kind of marital problem, even though Amy spent her school holidays mostly with Lena and she always allowed her friends to stay. The truth was, it was so much easier if Amy did have a friend to stay as it kept her occupied and Lena didn’t have to arrange activities. It was much easier now that she was a teenager, but when she was younger, having to chauffeur her around had usually fallen to Lena. Marcus said he loathed having to remember which mother was which, and hated the obligatory small talk. The reality was, whenever they had both been to a school function, Marcus had appeared to thoroughly enjoy chatting to the mothers, flirting and being as charming as he could be. Lena had always taken a back seat on these occasions, usually because she was tired out having had to work flat out all day. She remembered a couple of times she had not even managed to wash her hair or get changed. Marcus on the other hand was wearing his Armani suit, shaved and immaculate. He had installed a gym in a studio above their garage so he would work out, for hours on end, then shower, and this he did virtually on a daily basis. In some ways she was grateful he was at least not hanging around the house trying to start yet another business venture, or becoming depressed because one had failed.