Sara Foster - Come Back to Me

She walked a few paces then automatically looked back for Mark, to see he was still in the office, saying something further to David and Neil, and then shaking both men’s hands. She paused, wondering what was going on, but thought it better not to hang around too obviously in the light of what had been said. So she made her way back to her office deliberately slowly, hearing Mark’s footfalls catching up behind her.

She turned around. ‘Jesus!’ she said to Mark, smiling, ‘you’d think we’d shot the drummer, not just wobbled into his kit.’

Mark looked at her solemnly. ‘Don’t, Chloe,’ he replied, sounding irritated. He walked past her towards his room, and she followed, unnerved.

‘Mark, it’ll blow over. And thanks for trying to get me off the hook,’ she said, coming towards his desk.

‘For Christ’s sake, Chloe,’ he hissed, throwing himself onto his chair, ‘get out of here, will you. It’s hardly the best start if they come round and find us gossiping two seconds after they told us to cool it.’

Chloe was taken aback at his tone. ‘Okay,’ she said, holding her hands up. ‘I’m going.’

‘Good,’ Mark retorted grumpily, looking at his computer screen.

Back in her office, Chloe was unsettled by Mark’s demeanour. Surely this was a storm in a teacup, and would be forgotten by next week.

But now she couldn’t stop dwelling on it, and found herself typing an email to Mark, thinking that he couldn’t berate her for double-checking after what had just happened.

‘ Are you still coming on Saturday? ’ she wrote nervously. ‘ For the family do? ’

Her inbox bleeped a moment later.

‘ Yes .’

Chloe let out a sigh, feeling a little better. They could talk about everything then, away from the office, and by next week it would all be back to normal.

It was only eight a.m., but the sun was already merciless as Alex made his way to the hospital, forcing his feet to move in the direction he dreaded going. It was a long walk, but his funds were seriously low and he couldn’t afford a taxi. There had been a small amount of coverage from the local press in the week since Amy had been kidnapped, and Alex was notorious in the hostel now. Most people tried to stare without him noticing, but wouldn’t catch his eye. One or two had attempted to confront the situation head on, offering their condolences – they appeared earnest, but Alex couldn’t believe they wanted anything more than gossip, so he had been surly enough to stop them in their tracks. Since he had taken all Amy’s things to the hospital the room was just a dark place to rest his head. He rarely saw it in daylight.

The police were encouraging the media interest, hoping for leads. Alex felt they were useless; they had got nowhere so far. He thought they were probably keeping their fingers crossed that the publicity would outrage the friends and relatives of the perpetrators and thus do their job for them.

Each day this journey was getting more and more difficult to make. He didn’t know what to say to Amy, or to Amy’s parents, or especially to Amy in front of her parents. Ray seemed to avoid looking at him; Amy too sometimes, and even when she did, he couldn’t read her expression. Was it a plea? For what? Action? Compassion? Something he needed to do…?

When he arrived, Amy was resting, her skin grey against the white sheets. He took up his position in this excruciating daily tableau – on another hard plastic chair brought in for the extra visitor, which he moved to the window. He was sick of these four walls and their minimal furnishings, the beige linoleum.

Amy’s parents were either side of her bed: her mother sewing; her father dozing. Each time Amy woke up they all jumped to attention, and Alex could see in her eyes how awful she found it. What else should they do? he thought. Ignore her? Sing and dance for her? He had no fucking idea at all. He wished someone would give him some kind of clue.

In the past couple of days, Amy had not been as sedated, and so when she was awake they all watched TV. Heaps of it. Hours and hours of shitty TV, so they didn’t have to talk – Alex couldn’t tell whether that little box in the corner was a blessing or a curse.

As Amy was asleep this morning, he flicked idly through an old magazine that was on her bedside table, presumably left by a hospital worker. It was full of pretty dresses and anxious headlines: model can’t cope; actress can’t have a baby; alcoholic sports star shames his wife again. He didn’t feel a jot of sympathy for any of them.

He had returned to gazing out the window when a doctor poked his head in, saw Amy was asleep and said ‘A word?’, looking at each of them. Amy’s parents quickly jumped up and headed out, not looking back. The door swung shut behind them. Alex took it that he was not welcome.

They were alone. He went over to the bed, pulled up a chair and leaned forward, peering at Amy’s face. He reached out his hand and, as softly as he could, stroked her hair, her brow, then her cheek. Her eyes remained closed, but a single tear escaped from beneath one of them and quickly ran towards his hand. He stopped it, held his fingers still, and Amy opened her eyes.

‘Hello.’ He smiled at her.

‘Hello,’ she whispered, watching him.

Quickly, not knowing how much of this precious time he had, he reached into his bag and pulled out Bug-Eye, the weird gecko toy he’d bought Amy as a joke in Thailand, knowing how cute she found the tiny real-life counterparts that stuck themselves to the hostel walls in the evenings. He tried not to remember how her eyes had lit up with laughter when he had given it to her, for now she could barely raise a smile, let alone one that reached her eyes.

‘This little guy got left behind,’ he told her, waving the toy at her as though she were a child, not telling her that he’d gone to sleep holding it on a few occasions to try to feel close to her.

She took the toy and looked at it for a moment, managing a weak smile, then said, ‘Alex…’

‘What is it?’ He leaned towards her.

Her gaze moved to meet his. ‘You don’t have to stay.’

‘What?’ He recoiled as though she had just spat in his face. ‘What do you mean?’

‘This…’ A weak arm came up and gestured around the room. ‘It must be awful for you.’

‘Well, not as awful as it is for you.’

‘Use your plane ticket tomorrow – go home. I’ll be home soon. Don’t miss out on Christmas with your family.’

‘Amy, I…’

‘Al, go home. Mum and Dad are here now… I don’t need…’

She cut the sentence short, but he had no doubt about which word she had faltered at.

‘Okay,’ he said, getting up, heading over to grab his things. ‘I see.’

He could hear her ragged breathing, and, just for a moment, he looked at her face. The appeal in it was plain.

‘This is silly, Amy. Do you want me to stay?’

She shook her head, still crying silently.

He couldn’t bear this. ‘For CHRIST ’s -’

The door opened and Amy’s parents were back. Amy’s mother looked alarmed to find Alex yelling at her daughter. Amy’s father’s face instantly clouded with anger. Before either of them could do any more, Alex grabbed his things, and without a word or a look at anybody, he walked out the door.

Amy was in turmoil. She loved Alex so desperately, but now she was not the same. He hadn’t changed; but she had transformed. She was ugly and scarred. He didn’t love this girl – how could he, he didn’t even know her. At the moment he was just holding out, hoping that the woman he knew was still there somewhere. But Amy was certain that person was gone for good.