The Atlas of Us - Tracy Buchanan

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under a table at the back.

      She stood on her own, imagining what it would be like at future weddings without Ben. She’d cope. She’d always been independent. She glanced at Yasmine. Maybe she wouldn’t have time to go to weddings if she was jet-setting around the world with Travel magazine? It was a completely different vibe from her magazine, which was run on a shoestring … and from her ramshackle travelling days with her family. She’d be drawn into a different world, a world with money and privilege. Did she want that, no matter how much of a welcome change it offered? She looked over at Jay, who was clearly used to a world like that. One of the bridesmaids he was talking to, a beautiful girl with long black hair, let out an ear-piercing laugh as he whispered something in her ear.

      ‘What is he like?’ Claire turned to see Sarah smiling down at her. She’d seen her earlier, looking dazzling in her sleek ivory wedding dress, her curly blonde hair piled on top of her head, set off by a silver and pink tiara. ‘I thought he was gay the first time I met him. But he’s since slept with half my friends. And that fashion sense of his? Turns out he got all his style from his mother, she was a fashion designer. She died when he was young and his dad’s a typical rich banker type, hence Jay’s job at Daily Telegraph. But his heart is in culture and the arts.’

      Maybe her and Jay weren’t so different.

      Sarah peered towards a woman with black hair. ‘You must meet my boss later, Audrey Monroe. Have you heard of her?’

      Claire shook her head.

      ‘She set up her own foundation, the Audrey Monroe Foundation,’ Sarah explained. ‘It helps animals affected by war. Our volunteers are in Chechnya right now and I’m due to go to Serbia in a year or so, my first trip for work. We rely on volunteers to pass the message around so please do.’

      ‘I will. Sounds like a wonderful charity.’

      Sarah looked around her. ‘Where’s Milo?’

      ‘I don’t know. He just disappeared.’

      ‘I suppose this isn’t his kind of thing really, is it? All these people, hemmed in by white plastic?’

      Claire laughed. ‘No, you’re right.’

      ‘You like him, don’t you?’ Claire’s laughter trickled away. Sarah clearly hadn’t noticed her wedding ring. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t let a hunky farmer like Milo slip from my grasp. In fact, I’d be down at the stream at this very moment.’

      ‘The stream?’

      ‘He’s there, I saw him a moment ago when I popped out for some fresh air. Archie’s fine.’ Claire followed Sarah’s gaze towards Archie, who was tentatively lifting his paw towards Holly as she hovered a piece of wedding cake over his nose. ‘Go on, go find Milo. Make sure your dog isn’t the only one having some fun tonight,’ she added with a wink.

      Claire looked out into the warm summer evening, the soft tinkle of the nearby stream calling out to her like a siren, the champagne running through her veins making her feel brave and foolish. Maybe Sarah was right, maybe she shouldn’t let a man like Milo slip from her grasp? She put her arms around herself and stepped out of the marquee, the grass tickling her toes …

       Chapter Four

       Krabi, Thailand

       2004

      I look up from the note I’d found in Claire Shreve’s atlas, eyes blinking into the sun as I peer out of the window. Huge mountains hover in the distance, large signs and palm trees jostling for position on the dusty roadsides. I think we’re in Ao Nang now, I recognise it from the tourist book I got at the airport. But the busy market stalls they showed in the photos are empty, the glimpses of a sweeping yellow beach in the distance clear of crowds. I’d heard it wasn’t hit as badly as other resorts I’d seen on the news, hence choosing it as somewhere to stay. Its location meant the power of the waves had dissipated a little by the time they reached its shores. But lives were still claimed here, and I see signs of that now: wood clogging the road’s edges, photos hung up on walls, ripped clothes tangled around lampposts. And then there’s the eerie silence.

      I quickly gather my stuff and stand on shaky legs, moving down the middle of the bus as quickly as I can as it bounces up and down. ‘Stop?’ I say to the bus driver. ‘Can you stop please?’

      He seems to be ignoring me. I panic. What if he doesn’t stop and takes me to some far-flung town? I shake his shoulder and point out the window. He brings the bus to an abrupt stop and I stumble backwards, my mum’s bag dropping from my shoulder, its contents spilling out onto the bus’s floor. The Thai couple next to me scramble to pick everything up, even smiling at me as they do so. I’m grateful for their kindness and smile back.

      When I get off the bus, I look up and down the street, trying to recognise the orange exterior of my hotel. Then I notice it a few doors down, one of several small two-storey buildings sitting right in the heart of Ao Nang’s shopping district. Though the streets are quiet, there are people milling about, including exhausted-looking relatives handing out posters of their loved ones.

      I check in, struggling with the heavily accented voice of the receptionist, then head to my room. It looks different from what I expected, more ‘Western’, with clean white sheets over the small double bed, a dark wooden table fitted to the wall with a leather-topped stool, a small balcony overlooking the quiet streets. A fan whirs above, my shoes making a clicking sound as I walk across the cream-tiled floor. The wardrobe is the only indication of the country I’m in, made from thick pale wood, two square panels with ornate wooden carvings running down each door. As I move past it, I breathe in the faint scent of eucalyptus.

      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?

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