Tracy Buchanan - The Atlas of Us

I take everything out of my suitcase, re-folding each item before placing it on the shelves of the wardrobe. I wonder where Mum stayed last. Did she unpack like I’m doing now? Or, more likely, fling her suitcase into the corner, her clothes spilling out of it as she headed straight out onto the streets – to ‘breathe in the atmosphere’ as she used to say?

After unpacking, I try to call home but it just rings and rings. Maybe Will has taken the girls out. I hope so. I leave a quick message then lie back on the bed, the jetlag catching up on me. But all I can see is Mum painting again, lip caught snugly between her teeth as she swirls pink with white to create her own pale skin on canvas. It’s almost like she’s there, right in the room with me.

‘Don’t look so anxious, Lou,’ she’d say if she were. ‘It’ll turn out all right in the end. And look,’ she’d add, gesturing towards the window. ‘The sun’s shining, there’s no children yanking you about, no husband insisting on his dinner. Make the most of it!’

I smile to myself. Yes, that’s what she’d say. Turn a serious moment into something frivolous.

‘I’m going to find you, Mum,’ I say to her mirage, my voice trembling with determination. ‘I’m going to bloody find you.’

My phone rings and I see it’s Will’s mobile. The image of Mum drifts away. ‘How are the girls?’ I ask as soon as I pick it up.

‘I told them you’ll be back in a couple of days. Jesus, I didn’t think you were serious. Do you realise how stupid you’re being?’

That word again. Stupid.

‘She’s my mother, Will. Wouldn’t you do the same for yours?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Different because Mum doesn’t wear pearl necklaces and attend WI meetings?’

He laughs bitterly. ‘Funny you say all that now considering you were only telling me last week you’d had enough of your mother not talking to you.’

‘That’s unfair to bring up.’

‘Why? Because she might be dead?’

I open and close my mouth in shock.

‘Because let’s be frank,’ Will continues, ‘there’s more chance she’s passed out in some shoddy hotel somewhere than—’

There’s the sound of crying in the background.

Chloe.

He’d said all that in front of her?

‘Let me speak to Chloe,’ I say, voice firm.

‘Why? You’re the one who left her to fly to the other side of the world.’

‘To find my missing mother, for Christ’s sake! Put Chloe on right now, Will.’

He’s silent for a few moments then sighs. ‘Come on, Chloe, your mother wants to talk to you.’

‘Mummy!’

I have to use every ounce of strength I have left not to sob out loud. ‘Hello, poppet. Have you been having a good time with Daddy?’

‘We’ve been at Grandma’s! She helped us make dolls.’

My stomach sinks. So Will drove them all the way to Surrey so he didn’t have to spend time alone with his own children?

‘That’s nice,’ I say, keeping my voice cheerful. ‘Are you staying tonight?’

‘Yes!’

‘Daddy too?’

‘He needs to work , Mummy,’ Chloe replies in an exasperated tone, the same tone Will adopts when he’s using that excuse.

‘Is Olivia there, darling?’

‘She’s sleeping. She thinks Nanna’s in the Nile.’

I press my eyes tight shut.

‘But I told her you’ll bring her back,’ Chloe says, her voice trembling. ‘You are going to bring Nanna back, aren’t you? She can sleep in my room if she wants and draw in my art book again.’

‘I hope so, darling.’ My voice catches. ‘You be a good girl for your grandparents, okay?’

‘Okay, Mummy. I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

There’s the sound of the phone being passed over then Will comes back on. ‘I’m sorry for what I said about your mother,’ he says, his voice contrite. ‘It’s just been very difficult with you disappearing like that.’

‘I did tell you I’d be going. Chloe said they’re staying at your parents. It wouldn’t kill you to spend some time alone with your daughters, Will.’

‘Says the woman who left them to find her eccentric mother!’

‘I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.’ My voice is shaking so hard now, I’m surprised I can get my words out properly. ‘Remember Olivia’s cough medicine and Chloe needs new shoes so your mum might want to try the sales tomorrow. Goodbye, Will.’

‘Don’t put your phone down on me or—’

I slam the phone down and the four walls close in around me, making me feel like Alice spiralling down the rabbit hole. I grab my bag, slipping my shoes back on before making my way outside. The heat makes me sweat again, that horrible stench clogging my nostrils.

There’s even more sadness in the air now evening is approaching, people sticking posters on lampposts, Thais huddled in groups in café, heads close together, some of them crying. How trivial my argument with Will seems now.

My stomach gurgles, reminding me I haven’t eaten a thing all day. A lone street vendor shoots me a toothless smile and gestures to his wok. I lean over it then let out a small gasp when I see huge crickets, cooked legs pulled close to their scorched bellies. I stumble away, putting my hand to my mouth as the vendor laughs. Someone grabs me.

‘You want a new bag?’ a Thai woman says, gesturing towards one of just three stalls that are now open.

‘Sorry, I—’

‘I give you good price.’

‘No, please, I feel sick.’

I pull away from the woman and lean against a nearby wall, taking in huge gulps of air. Terror starts working its way inside. Will’s right, what the hell was I thinking, coming here alone? Before I even realise what I’m doing, I’m scrolling through the contacts on my phone with trembling fingers, finding Sam’s number. It rings and rings before eventually he answers.

‘Hello?’ Northern lilt, voice breathless.

‘Sam?’

‘Louise? Are you okay?’

‘Not really. They’re – they’re baking insects. It’s horrible.’ I let out a small sob then cringe with embarrassment. Get a grip, Louise. ‘I’m just being silly,’ I say, pulling myself together. ‘I’m exhausted and hungry and—’

‘You still haven’t eaten?’

‘No. Only insects on the menu, I’m afraid.’ I peer towards the vendor again. He smiles at me and waves. I force myself to wave back.

‘You have to eat,’ Sam says. ‘What hotel are you staying at?’ I give him the name of my hotel. ‘I know a place near there,’ he says. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’

I pause. He’s a virtual stranger. And yet my stomach feels clawed out, my nerves shot to pieces and I’m craving the sight of another English face. ‘All right,’ I say.

‘Wait in reception, I’ll come get you.’

I disconnect and notice I’ve received a text from Will. I place the phone into my bag without reading it.

Thirty minutes later, there’s a sound like thunder outside. For a moment, I panic, thinking it might be the sea roaring towards the island as it had a few days ago. But then my eyes snag on something approaching in the distance – a huge chrome motorbike that sticks out like a sore thumb among the tiny mopeds whizzing past it, steered by familiar tanned arms.

I pull my bag close to my chest as I step outside, my forehead already growing slick with sweat. I’d showered then changed into a pair of cut-off white trousers and a pink petal blouse, but now it feels just like I’m wearing my old clothes again.

Sam pulls off his helmet, his gold hair standing on end. He looks even more exhausted, face grimy with specks of sand. He clocks the look on my face and smiles. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to get on this. The restaurant’s only a five-minute walk.’