Since You've Been Gone - Anouska Knight

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week. I could see what every last one of them saw in him. I loved him too. He’d played big brother when I needed it more than I’d known, and was like a kid brother to me for the rest of the time. I had a lot to thank him for. For things I didn’t know how to say.

      ‘Probably.’ He shrugged, all big brown-eyed innocence. ‘But I haven’t found it on the map yet.’

      By the time I’d done my eight hour stint, I was ready to call it a day, and left Jess to lock up at closing time. It had been a steady day, and with all the people coming and going, I’d hardly thought about teepees until the drive home.

      It was still warm when I rattled down the track towards the cottage and, as I parked up, Dave walked out into the yard to greet me.

      ‘Hey, fella,’ I called creaking the van door closed with my bum. I reached into my shopping bag as I walked towards Dave, fishing for a little of the meat I’d bought from the deli on the way.

      I slid the key into the lock and pushed on the peeling crimson paintwork. Dave followed me in, nearly knocking my legs out from under me, excited for the other contents of the grocery bag in my arms. Inside the hall, the answer machine was flashing red. I hit the button and went through into the kitchen.

      You have three new messages. I started picking through the groceries while wrestling my bag and cardigan from my shoulders.

       First new message, received today at eight-sixteen a.m.: ‘Holly love, phone Mum, would you? She’s getting a bit tetchy that you haven’t called for a little while. I’ve told her you’re busy but well … just give her a call, love. It would be nice to hear what you’ve been up to. Bye, love.’

      ‘Holly love, it’s Dad again. Just don’t tell your mother I called, you know it’s just, she’d like to think you’ve just called her up. All right, love, bye for now.’ Received at eight-nineteen a.m.

      Seeing all the little pots on the counter made my stomach growl.

      ‘Holly, I know you are busy, but really? Is one call a week unreasonable? Martha’s telling me everything’s fine, and the scan was OK, but I’m not sure, Holly, I think that maybe she just doesn’t want us to worry. I’m stuck over here and I don’t know what’s happening! Anyway, I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Martha says you’ve lost a little weight? Call me. Bye.

      Received at twelve-fifty-two p.m.

      ‘Well, that’s kinda what happens when you move to another country, Ma,’ I said, picking at a pot of olives. I had not lost weight. Martha had just temporarily outgrown me.

      I stuffed a few more salty morsels into my mouth and threw my things over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. I needed to work out a better warning system with Dad.

      I deleted the messages and thought about calling them as I scanned the hall for the slipper I couldn’t see. Maybe after dinner. Off the hallway I could see into the drab front room, and my other felt slipper waiting for recovery.

      It was always cold in this room. We hadn’t lit the fire in here since the first few weeks of Chinese takeaways and grand plans and I’d since turned off the radiators to conserve energy. Until we’d knocked through the kitchen, this had been the largest open space in the whole house, and we’d used it as a dumping ground for all the furniture we were gradually rehousing around the rest of the place. It was a bit like an elephants’ graveyard in here now, picture frames long unhung and lamps long unlit. There was still plenty of furniture in here too, including the beat-up old chesterfield Mrs Hedley had insisted we have.

      While I was being indecisive about what was going to be my favourite room in the house, Charlie had commandeered the smaller snug just off through the rear doors, officially declaring it as his man cave. He had everything he needed in there, he’d said, sofa bed for when I was mean to him, and flat screen for when the boys came over on footy nights. It was just a cave now.

      I scooped up my slipper and went back to sit with it on the stairs. The wood was hard under my backside as I changed out of my shoes.

      The inside of one slipper was contorted enough that it scratched my foot as I tried to put it on. ‘Dave! You’ve been chewing again! You bad dog.’ Again, I really needed to work on my boss voice. I pushed my foot into the slipper—

      A cold wet residue spread itself across my toes. Gross.

      ‘They’re the third pair since April, Dave! What are you—a fetishist?’ He whimpered at that.

      I reached into my bag hanging next to me for a tissue to wipe Dave’s essence away. The last thing I’d put in there was Charlie’s mail. I left the tissue and pulled the pamphlet free of my bag for another look at that which had captured Charlie’s imagination. The perfect couple, toasting their quirky getaway under a twilit sky. How could we have known how fragile it all was? The infinity of the world around us, the promise of our youth, the protection of our love. All gone in seconds, leaving nothing to believe in.

      

      CHAPTER 7

      ‘Mrs Jefferson!’ came the boom of a voice I hadn’t heard for a while. ‘How are you doin’, darlin’?’

      The forest air was crisp and fresh, and exactly the pick-me-up I’d needed. I hadn’t spent an afternoon in the forest for so long, it had been a stretch of many more months since I’d last bumped into any of Charlie’s crew. Dave ran ahead to the base of the tree from where Big Frank Stanley’s familiar tone was emanating, and wagged himself silly until Big Frank shuffled down.

      ‘Agh, get away mad dog!’ Frank jovially cried as I staggered through the mulch towards them. Frank was the biggest man I’d ever met, but still Dave looked like a monster as he charged playfully towards him.

      ‘Dave! Leave him alone … he’s only little.’ I grinned as Frank pushed Dave aside to come greet me.

      Frank grabbed hold of me in a bear hug. ‘Hello, darlin’,’ he rumbled, his beard bristling uncomfortably against my face. He smelled like Charlie after a long day. Of chainsaw fuel, and pine needles.

      ‘Hey, Frank. How have you been?’ I asked, fighting the urge to smooth the itch he’d left on my cheek. He had the look of a Viking about him, but if I thought Charlie’s broad shoulders were well suited to working the forest, Frank made Charlie look as though he shouldn’t be far from his mother. I hadn’t missed being eaten out of house and home by him on footy nights, but seeing him now I realised that I had indeed missed him.

      ‘Same old same old.’ He smiled through a covering of reddish whiskers thick enough to hide his lips. ‘Where have you been hiding?’

      ‘Nowhere—’ I shrugged ‘—just been busy with work and things.’

      ‘I know that feeling. I’m just trying to get a few extra quid in over a weekend.’

      ‘I hadn’t expected to see anyone up here on a Saturday,’ I said as we strolled through the trees.

      ‘It’s all go up here at the moment.’ A seriousness settled in his features. ‘There’s a few of the lads out today. Deckard and Jimmy are here somewhere, marking off the boundaries for the suits. You know about the slade, over on the west side?’

      ‘I heard they were talking about it. But then it all went quiet. We don’t hear much over our way without anyone to keep us in the loop.’ I shrugged.

      ‘Three years fighting and now they’re still selling them out from under us.’

      The campaigners had put up a good fight, but we knew there would be a domino effect once the sell-offs had started. Before long, none of these forests would be open to the public any more, worse still they would be developed.

      ‘I’m sorry, Frank.’ I really was. Sick with sorry, in fact. For all of Charlie’s efforts here

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