Free (2013) Four Widows by Helen MacArthur

people either run from something or towards something.”
    I felt a jolt of shock and thought about Harrison but Suzanne didn’t seem to notice.
    “Either way, someone is running, which isn’t much to go on. All I do is go to church and pray that he’ll come home.
    I nodded, wishing I had a window of hope like this.
    “But I’m not a God botherer,” she added hastily.
    I smiled. “Funny, you sound just like Cece.”
    Suzanne relaxed and smiled. “You don’t think I’m crazy–the church stuff?”
    “Why would I? As far as I know, it could be God out there or a firefly,” I said. “I like to keep an open mind.”
    “I’m flexible, too. I just need to believe someone or something is out there who can help.”
    “Seriously, you don’t need to explain.”
    After a moment she said, “I was told that if someone doesn’t want to be found, there’s nothing I can do. The police are not legally allowed to tell me where he is.”
    “Has there been any indication of this–that he is out there but doesn’t want to be found?”
    Suzanne shook her head, frustrated. “I’ve no idea.”
    “It’s not your fault.”
    She looked unconvinced. “I felt so useless at the time; couldn’t think of anything . He wasn’t the kind to self-harm or attempt suicide, wasn’t on meds. The police had no crime reports and we didn’t have relationship problems… I don’t think…” Her voice tailed off.
    “The police now?”
    “Nothing. There never was much action; low-risk case. It all comes down to a file report–a Missing Person who has ‘voluntarily gone missing’. Reference number 4598.”
    Again, I thought about Harrison and the distance between us, not just through work; voluntarily gone missing in marriage.
    “Here I am, still waiting,” said Suzanne, interrupting my thoughts.
    “Still working ,” I said, gently. “Look at this fabulous debut collection.”
    You know, perhaps it is time to move on. Distract me,” she said, smiling. “Let’s talk about anything but Ted.”
    “Back to fashion?”
    “Definitely yes .”
    While we selected dresses, I continued to think about Ted. And I reckon Suzanne knows as well as I do that you can’t find someone who doesn’t want to be found. You can’t make them come home when they’ve made up their mind to go. Can’t make them love you when they don’t. Won’t.
     
    Later at Hotel Missoni, Suzanne returned to form and didn’t mention Ted again. I think it was an effort on her part to move forward. We didn’t linger long at the hotel bar once the interview was done. Suzanne headed home and I returned to the office to pick up the latest proofs to read at home with a bottle of red.
    It was late. I left the building too exhausted to feel threatened by ghosts. Suzanne’s revelations had drained me. Another purple night. The full moon had diluted the effects of the darkness down to a lilac glow. I was preoccupied while I walked but watchful.
    I inhaled the night air, hot spices from restaurants, cigarette smoke and aftershave, while listening to the continual chink of glassware and voices chattery with news. It was an ordinary evening and I could tell there would be no haunting or chase tonight from The Watcher. I suspected spirits were circling too high above the city, fearing illumination from the moon. It was just me in the world walking through cobbled streets to a rented apartment I now called home.
    I wanted to know the truth, that’s what I remind myself whenever I look back. No, I suppose I didn’t want to know but I’m not stupid. Romantic, yes, not stupid. It all has to come out in the end but, Christ, does it hurt.
    Truth is a rocket in reverse–you travel at speed downwards on a propellant with liquid oxygen mixing with liquid hydrogen, blasting through pavements and hearts, until you reach a place where there’s no further place to fall. When I finally dropped to a stop in the darkness, it would take more than a damn piece of hospital equipment