Chapter 16

After three days my mother picked the lock on my bedroom door with a hair pin, marched in and threw open my curtains.

“Up. Now,” she commanded. When I didn’t respond, she grabbed the edge of the duvet I was wrapped in and hauled on it like a fisherman, dumping me on the floor.

“Ow! What the actual fuck?!”

“That,” she pointed at me, “is the only curse word I will hear from you in relation to this whole thing. Get in the shower. You stink.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled from the floor.

“Nao doesn’t matter?”

“Obviously she does, otherwise I wouldn’t have spent the last three days in HERE!” My voice gradually grew to a roar. My mother was unimpressed.

“Spare me. You think you invented broken-hearted sulking? She didn’t break up with you.”

“But she’s GONE! And the fuc-” I broke off as my mother shot me a warning glare. “The stupid machine ate her message. So, she’s just gone.”

“Yes. To another country on the planet Earth. And lucky you, you have the name of the country and the city.”

“Yeah, with like a billion people in it,” I sulked.

“She’s gone to England, not China, you bork. Get in the shower, then come to the kitchen. We’ll talk strategy.”

“Strategy?”

“We’ll there’s two PhDs in the house. You don’t get one of those without a bit of perseverance and some research chops. Besides, your father and I will be damned if we put up with your moping any longer. So, get your arse in the shower.”

After a long hot shower, I came back to my room to find my windows fully open to the chill of a sunny winter’s day. I slammed them shut.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I called out.

“No, just the smell!” came the reply. “Come down. I made cheese dreams.”

I threw some clothes on and stomped down to the kitchen.

“Eat.” My mother indicated the bowl of tomato soup and plate full of cheesy toast on the table. “Then we’ll talk.”

“Better?” asked my mother?

“Better,” I said, stifling a belch. I reached for the mug of tea she had set in front of me. “You wanted to strategize, so strategies,”

“Please,” prompted my mother. I rolled my eyes.

“Please help me to strategize to find Nao.”

She looked to the heavens for a moment, then spoke.

“So, start with what you know.

“Her dad was transferred, so they’ve moved to England. He’s working in London. Somewhere.”

“Okay, that’s a good start,” she said encouragingly. “What does he do?”

“Huh?”

“Nao’s father. What does he do?”

“Oh, uh ... he wears a suit. He travels a lot for work. Sometimes he brings a laptop home...” I faltered.

“You don’t know what he actually does?”

“Well, I wasn’t dating him,” I retorted. “Didn’t you guys ever talk about work? You’re adults after all.”

“Yes, which only limits us to three topics of conversation: work, children and renovating the bathrooms.” My mother rolled her eyes. “I just figured with all the time you and Nao spent together, it might have come up.”

“Look, I can tell you her event PBs, how she takes her tea, her coffee, what she won’t eat on a pizza, her favourite Narnia book, her favourite summer colour, her favourite winter colour, what ChapStick brand she likes, how she got the scar on her elbow ... I wasn’t interested in grilling her about her dad’s work. Wait, her mum said he was a consultant,” I finished hopefully.

“A consultant? Of what variety? That’s about as specific as ‘wears a suit, travels, uses a laptop sometimes’.” My mum sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Do you know if they owned their house?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, let’s go for a drive-by and see if we can’t find something out.”

“I’m calling about the property you have for rent on Park Road. Ah sorry, I’m not interested in renting it, but I was wondering if you could help me get in touch with the owners, the MacRaes ... Sorry? With an A before the C. Sure, I’ll wait.” My mother looked at me from across the kitchen table, holding up crossed fingers. “Hello? Yes, I’m here. That’s not the owner’s name? Oh, well they could be previous tenants. We’re good family friends you see and were away over the New Year when they moved. Would you have any forwarding details at all? I understand if you can’t ... Oh, I see.” Her brow furrowed as she listened. “Is that common? Okay. Thank you very much. No, you’ve been more than ... thank you.” She took the phone from her ear and pressed the END button, frowning.

“So ... what’s that face mean?”

My mother turned to me, still frowning.

“Basically, they can’t give out any forwarding details because they don’t have any. Their house was leased by a relocation company. Sometimes large businesses will use a specialist agent to handle moving, finding a house, setting up in a new country or area. Whoever Nao’s dad worked for used one of those companies. It was probably part of his salary package for the business to pay the rent, so he was effectively living in company housing. Basically, the agent has no details for the MacRaes,” she explained.

“But,” I said, suddenly inspired, “we can contact that company, the one that organised the house, and see if they have details for Nao’s dad.” My mother looked at me sadly.

“It’s not that simple. Large corporations use relocation companies because of confidentiality and convenience. There’re all sorts of privacy laws. I can’t just ring up a multi-national company and demand the details of one of their clients. They’d politely decline, hang up and laugh about me.”

“So, there’s nothing else we can do?”

“If Nao had given a bit more information in her letter ... Can I see it?” she asked. I hadn’t actually shown them the full letter, just read parts out to them, the parts that weren’t personal.

“It’s upstairs, but I pretty much have it memorised.” All three hundred twenty-eight words. Plus, the date.

“Of course you have.” A soft look passed over her face.