By two o’clock she couldn’t help herself, she rang Lydia. She told herself Lydia often stayed awake late, reading – and indeed, she picked up the phone almost at once, spoke into it warily. Christine knew there was a handset on the bedside table at Garret’s Lane. She poured out her distress, so glad to talk to someone. — Lyd, I’m so really, really sorry to call at this time of night. I know it’s completely selfish of me, but I’m so stuck, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know who else to call. I don’t want to bother the children. It’s Alex. He’s not back yet, I don’t know where he is, he said he’d be back by ten and he isn’t here, and his phone’s turned off. I’ve got myself worked up into a state, imagining every kind of disaster. D’you think he’s had an accident?
Lydia’s voice was hesitant, but not as if she’d been woken from sleep. — Oh Chris, she said. — Don’t worry, he’s all right.
— I know it’s stupid, he’ll be fine. But I am worrying.
— Don’t worry though, really. Alex is here.
She could hardly take in what she heard, at first. — What d’you mean he’s there? What’s he doing there? Why hasn’t he rung me?
– I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell you.
It was as if dark forms crowded suddenly into the room around Christine, recognition was so violent; one stark and ghastly white face showed in the mirror – she didn’t know her own self for a moment. Lydia ploughed on, as if bemused by wonders. — Everything’s so strange, Chris. I’m so sorry.
Alex had reached the outskirts of London at about eleven, and although he was exhausted from driving he hadn’t wanted to go straight home. He’d got into the habit of calling in at Garret’s Lane, telling himself he was just checking that the premises were secure, everything was OK. The place was a solace to him, it soothed his restlessness to be in there, browsing among Zachary’s books or just sitting. If he went home, he’d only be breaking in on Christine’s days-long conversation with Lydia. The air would be thick with their confidences; he knew just how they’d turn to look at him as he entered, faces replete with interpretation as if they knew him.