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Deceptions: A Novel - Softcover

Frayn, Rebecca

 
9781439196397: Deceptions: A Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1439196397 ISBN 13: 9781439196397
Verlag: Washington Square Press, 2011

Inhaltsangabe

HOW WELL CAN A MOTHER EVER REALLY KNOW HER CHILD?

Julian and Annie have only just announced their forthcoming marriage when Annie’s twelve-year-old son, Dan, fails to come home from school. Despite an extensive police investigation, the days turn into weeks and it is as if Dan has vanished into thin air.

Over the next three years Annie refuses to give up hope that somewhere her son is alive and will one day return home. Julian, meanwhile, can’t help but yearn for Annie to put the past behind her and move on. Then, out of the blue, a call brings shocking news of Dan’s fate. And far from being over, it seems the mystery of his disappearance is only just beginning.

In spare, searing prose, Deceptions addresses our simultaneous need for—and wariness of—human connection and the extremes that we are driven to by these competing impulses. Marking British literary star Rebecca Frayn’s arrival in the United States, this is fiction at its riveting best.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Rebecca Frayn is a critcally-acclaimed film maker. She is also the author of One Life, which was published by Simon & Schuster UK in 2006. Rebecca is the daughter of Michael Frayn, a highly respected British playwright and author, whose plays have been produced on Broadway. She lives in London with her husband, Andy Harries, a noted television and film producer (whose credits include "The Queen" starring Helen Mirren), and their three children.

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Prologue

Ask me why I have never told this story before and I will tell you quite straightforwardly. I’ve always believed one must strive to put painful episodes behind one with the minimum of fuss and bother. In an age obsessed by introspection I may be out of step, but it’s nonetheless a strategy that has served me perfectly well.

Until this morning, when the letter came—one glimpse of that distinctive handwriting enough to conjure her out of the darkness again, tentatively smiling that pearly smile of hers.

More in apprehension than hope, I tore the envelope open. Inside, a birthday card! After all these years of silence, she has sent me a birthday card … I suppose the vagaries of the overseas post must have sabotaged its punctual arrival. On the front of the card was a painting by Constable, while inside she had added nothing but her name. It was only as I was about to throw the envelope away that the newspaper cutting fluttered free. Overcome by foreboding, I hastily secreted it in my pocket, where it has remained ever since. I will read it presently. Of course I will. But for the time being, the possibility that our private misfortune could have excited further publicity is more than I can bear.

Once work is over, I drive to the coast in the hope that the sea will soothe me. But the attic door stands ajar now—forbidden memories clamoring and agitating as if in deliberate defiance of my authority. At the time I considered myself a man more sinned against than sinning. Why then does the view backward suggest a rather more sinister interpretation?

© 2010 Rebecca Frayn

26

It happened on a dazzling spring day in April. One that had in every other way been quite unremarkable. Monday mornings were always a hurried affair, the alarm at seven summoning each of us from our beds to make our preparations for the coming day.

In the year since I had moved in with Annie, my attempts to introduce some order into the household had made little impression. As usual, the sink was still stacked with dirty plates from our supper the night before. We had barely embarked on breakfast before the milk ran out, and as we ate there was once again no indication that Dan, Annie’s twelve-year-old son, was even yet awake. Several times, with mounting impatience, Annie went to the foot of the stairs and called his name, before hastening back to the kitchen to throw together a packed lunch for his younger sister Rachel and gather coursework for her classes that day. As often happened, certain key papers had been mislaid, prompting a new flurry of panic. Then there were the usual squawks of protest when Rachel’s hair had to be brushed and another bout of frantic searching when her school shoes could not be found. I, for my part, sat quietly at work on my BlackBerry while all of this went on, for I had learned by now to allow the daily dramas of the household to flow over me.

And Dan? What of Dan? Afterwards I could at best recall a wraithlike presence who sloped down the stairs at the eleventh hour to stand for some while adjusting his tie and preening his hair in the hall mirror. Annie remembered his cramming schoolbooks into his bag and a last bite of toast into his mouth. She had hovered briefly at the front door to watch as he set off at a half run, mounting his father’s old bicycle as he went. Later she was to bitterly regret how distracted she had been. Perhaps she might have borne it all a little better, she said, if she had only thought to bestow a farewell kiss, or an affectionate last word. Instead, she had rather mechanically called after him to take care on the road—to which he’d responded with a brief roll of the eyes, before turning the corner and vanishing from our lives.

Once college finished at five, as yet oblivious that anything might be amiss, Annie had collected Rachel from the child-minder before stopping off to pick up some food for supper. She had chosen chicken Kiev as a special treat, because she knew it was Dan’s favorite dish. It had been a tiring day, and she was fortified by the thought of the large glass of white wine she had promised herself once she got home.

She and Rachel arrived home shortly after six to find the place in darkness. Though Dan usually got back at four, he had recently taken to meeting up with schoolfriends from the sprawling council estate just down the road, and Annie had agreed to these occasional excursions on the strict understanding that he was back no later than six thirty. Assuming his return could only be imminent, a myriad of domestic duties soon distracted her. She put the oven on, poured herself the long-anticipated glass of wine, and sat down to peel potatoes while overseeing Rachel’s homework. Once that was done she returned a phone call to her sister Emma she had been meaning to make for days, and as she chatted with the phone balanced between shoulder and ear, she simultaneously put in a load of washing.

The moment the conversation ended, noting with a start that six thirty had come and gone, she rang Dan’s mobile, more irritated than anxious to find herself being put through to his voice mail. Annie had given in to Dan’s pleas for a mobile phone only once he started secondary school and it became apparent it would be the best way to keep tabs on him. But it had proved a far more fallible system than she had anticipated, since he was obliged to switch the phone off while at school and more often than not simply forgot to switch it on again once he left. And so it was, as she later explained to the police, that each little misgiving was readily rationalized and set aside.

* * *

By seven she experienced the first real pang of unease. The sky was rapidly darkening, and his supper now ready. It was cold outside. She couldn’t imagine what might be detaining him. She tried his phone again and then, in growing alarm, sought out the class contact list. She rang a few names at random. John wasn’t home. Rajesh said they’d spoken at final register. She left a message for Obi, who rang back to say that he had last seen Dan setting off from the school gates at three thirty on his bicycle. He’d definitely been heading home. At least he had presumed he was. Dan certainly hadn’t mentioned having plans of any kind. He’d probably just bumped into some friends on the way and lost track of the time. Obi sounded so unperturbed that when Annie put the phone down, she found her apprehension had somewhat subsided again. She even remembered congratulating herself on having resisted the impulse to call me. It was always a matter of pride to Annie not to fuss unnecessarily.

Mentally preparing a sharp lecture for Dan when he stepped through the door, she gave Rachel a bath, read her a story, and put her to bed.

So it wasn’t until eight that evening that my phone finally rang at work, and a tremulous-sounding Annie asked if I thought she should call the police. I’m ashamed to recall that I didn’t give the question serious consideration, distracted as I was by a document I was preparing. So with my mind only half engaged I offered her the reassurance I presumed she required of me. On the cusp of becoming a teenager, Dan’s unreliability was becoming something of a strained joke between us.

“You know what he’s like, Annie. Any minute now, he’ll swing through that door, the center of his own universe, utterly clueless that his poor mother might be climbing the walls.”

“That’s just what I thought you’d say,” she said, sounding rueful.

At nine exactly, Annie finally called the police. As the minute hand clicked into alignment with the twelve she pressed the...

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Verlag
Washington Square Press
Erscheinungsdatum
2011
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1439196397
ISBN 13 
9781439196397
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
288
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Verantwortliche Person
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