Captured (6 page)

Grace couldn’t focus her eyes on her phone’s tiny screen any longer. She had spent hours in the bar the night before trying to make sense of Kirsty’s non-appearance. After breakfast, she stared blindly at the colourful cafe wall in front of her. It hadn’t seemed real until the day before: she’d been angry at Kirsty, but she had pictured them strolling around Bangkok in a huffy silence for a couple of hours, before Grace inevitably thawed, as she always did.  Now though, she was worried for her friend. Should she call the police? How did one call the police in Thailand? Wearily, she paid the waitress and returned to the hotel with a thousand questions for the receptionist.

Lumpini police station was thronged with people; the air thick with the frenzied hum of a language and culture she didn’t understand. She scanned the room for some semblance of a queue. Seeing none, she pushed her way apologetically to the desk on the far side. The officer – an affable looking young man with brilliant white teeth, who looked several years her junior – smiled brightly as she approached, before bursting into a torrent of rapid-fire Thai. Appearing unsurprised at her expression of total incomprehension, he stood quickly, and hurried through the door behind the desk. Behind her, the crowd jostled and chatted, ignoring her.

The young officer soon returned, followed by an older man, who was dressed in a more decorous grey uniform.

“Hello, how can I help you?” he asked in slow, heavily-accented English, gesturing towards the door behind him. She followed him through the door and along a narrow corridor to a rudimentary interview room.

Sitting in one of the blue plastic chairs, Grace explained her situation, feeling reassured by the grave expression on the officer’s face.

“Your friend. Where she stay?” he asked, looking down to his notepad, pen poised.

“She was due to fly into Bangkok five... no, six days ago.”

He looked up, waiting for her to continue.

She tried to think of more to add.
Where had Kirsty been?

“Do’n know if she in Bangkok. In Thailand?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t know! She should be - she didn’t meet me at the hotel. I don’t know where she was flying from but she definitely had a flight booked, she told me, and...” Grace realised that she was babbling. “No, I don’t know if she’s in Thailand,” she admitted.

Sitting down at the grubby internet cafe computer, Grace discreetly tried to wipe the keyboard with hand sanitiser. She had been trying to figure out what to do all the way back to the hotel in the cab. For starters she needed a real screen, she decided: spending so long focussed on the tiny display on her phone the day before had given her a severe migraine, which she still hadn’t managed to shake. The police would be no help until she could provide them with more information as to Kirsty’s whereabouts. The officer was right: she could be anywhere, maybe she never made it to Thailand at all.
But she had been preparing to leave for the airport,
Grace thought, remembering their last conversation.

Opening the browser, Grace typed ‘Bangkok airport’ into the search field. Clicking on the first result, she navigated through to the list of arrivals. There were hundreds of flights with countless airlines. She tapped her phone looking for the call log, trying to remember the date Kirsty had last called her, before her heart sank with the realisation that they had spoken on her office line. Without a rough idea of the departure time, or the departure city, this was hopeless. Grace drummed her fingers on the table and opened Kirsty’s Facebook profile to resume her search for incongruities.

Twenty four new friends since she’d left, two months before. Status updates bearing no new information over and above what she’d already told Grace in her emails. Posts on her wall from people Grace hadn’t heard of before, mainly about places they’d been together and suggestions of new places to go. Full of what looked like little in-jokes. Grace presumed it must be intense, spending all that time with people in countries completely different to anything she’d experienced before. She was about to close the page, when a short post caught her eye:

Hannah Grimes: hola chica [Grace groaned inwardly], hope you and your sexy boy are having fun in Vientiene, my bus was late but I’m finally in Vang Vieng. Msg when I get to Vientiene xxx.

Head spinning, Grace willed the adrenaline to reach her brain and register the date. The old Thai man at the counter gazed at her inquisitively, looking away when she shook her head. Who was this sexy guy? Maybe it was just another one of those in-jokes, but deep down Grace felt otherwise. Kirsty was an open book where the opposite sex was concerned. If she had met someone significant, Grace would have heard all about him. Opening another tab in the browser for her email, she scrambled around in her bag for a pen, and pulled a piece of paper from the printer, scoring another curious look from the old man.

”I need to be methodical,” she muttered, drawing vertical and horizontal lines until she had a grid of almost one hundred little boxes. She started a timeline, beginning with Kirsty’s departure. After scribbling this in the first box, she paused, grabbed another page, and started to note the names of Kirsty’s new Facebook friends too.

Simon stared at the computer screen aghast. He had tried to forget Kirsty, but hadn’t succeeded in preventing himself from keeping up to date with what she was doing. Her attempts to contact him had dwindled, but she hadn’t removed him from her Facebook friend list. This gave him some hope that she wasn’t completely done with him, but he knew in his heart that it was more likely she’d forgotten all about it. She had never been a big user of social media before she left, but she was all over it now.

He had been taken aback when the tall, tanned man started making an appearance in her pictures. Phil had had great fun with that one, laughing about how she’d taken the opportunity to trade up. She looked so happy, wrapped around that He-Man; so carefree. He could only imagine how much everyone was laughing at him behind his back right now. Daniel especially.

It was all his fault. Simon had been shocked to see him that day in the canteen. What were the chances? Initially, he thought that Daniel might keep his mouth shut; after all, what was in it for him? So much time had passed now, that Simon had gradually stopped anticipating the worst.

What a naive idiot I’ve been
, he thought.

The little room was dimly lit from the bluish glow of the old monitor. He clicked on, facing more images of the happy couple. Was he going to keep going on like this? What would happen the next time he met someone,
if
he met someone. Would Daniel come crawling out of the woodwork again and destroy that too? He shut down the machine, not moving even as the light ebbed from the screen and left the room in warm, still darkness. Thinking.

It was different now than it had been all those years ago, locked away for all that time. Back then, he expected the knocks, and life didn’t disappoint. Now, he had built up some semblance of a life for himself, only to see it all fall away when he least expected it. He had to do something.

Kirsty and Grant sat side-by-side in a dingy internet cafe near the hotel Grace had booked for the next day, giggling and unable to keep their hands off each other. They were staying at a much cheaper establishment down the street. A subtle disapproving tut from the old man sitting at the counter brought a fresh fit of laughter, but they abruptly moved away from each other and smiled apologetically.

“’Hannah Grimes: hola chica...’ oh my god, that girl was such a pain,” Kirsty groaned, reading through her messages on Facebook. “Ugh, talk about over-sharing. How do I delete her?”

“Stop putting it off, just email Grace,” Grant chided.

“I know, I know, I’m doing it now. ‘Hi Grace, someone’s going to be tagging along with us...’” she dissolved in a fit of giggles when he punched her thigh playfully.

“Stop, you’ll get us in
trouble
!” she laughed, looking back towards the counter.

“Just write the bloody email so we can go eat, I’m starving!” He looked up to see why she hadn’t responded.

Weeks later, in the same corner, Grace was sending an email to her entire Contact List, as well as to a list of Kirsty’s colleagues, gleaned from the latter’s farewell email to her colleagues at the bank.

Hi everyone,

I’m sorry to contact you out of the blue. I’m currently in Thailand, having travelled here to meet my friend Kirsty Anderson. Kirsty didn’t show up to meet me when I arrived here several days ago. I’m really worried and unless I can confirm that she’s in Thailand, the police here won’t be able to help.

If you’ve heard from her, or heard about her, I’d appreciate if you could get in touch and let me know, whether at this email address or at (0718) 454 2319.

Regards,

Grace Harris

Grace awoke and began what had now become a new ritual. After checking her phone for news from Kirsty, she turned on the TV for background noise, then she showered quickly and dressed. After a quick breakfast in a smart little cafe down the street from the hotel, it was time for her to go back to the internet cafe.

The old man smirked as Grace pulled her sleeves over her hands, ready to face the communal computers. She started with the responses to her email about Kirsty. Although there were a lot of well wishes among the out of office messages, no one provided any pertinent information that might help her find out where Kirsty had last been.

She pulled the crumpled list of Facebook friends from her bag. Kirsty’s profile hadn’t been updated since she’d last checked. Grace noticed the photos at the top of the page: a smiling sunburned Kirsty at the beach, in the mountains... She clicked on one of the photos for a closer look. She hadn’t thought of looking through them before, probably because she seldom used Facebook herself. She was definitely getting a crash-course now, she thought.

Grace marvelled at how Kirsty could have appeared in hundreds of pictures when she’d only left two months before. She clicked on the last photo of her friend’s leaving party and began to work through them from there.

From:  Richard Jones

To: Grace Harris

Hi Grace, 

I have just received your email about Kirsty. I haven’t heard from her, apart from an email she sent a couple of weeks ago. She was in Malaysia, heading for Vietnam, but I’m sure you received the same message.

Let me know if there’s anything I can do. My sister’s husband is Thai and I’m sure he’d be happy to help if you need assistance speaking to the police there.

Best Regards,

Richard Jones

From:  Daniel Lane

To: Grace Harris

Grace,

Re. Your email about Kirsty. I’ve been getting emails from her every now and again but haven’t heard from her in about a week or so. We split up before she left, as I’m sure you know.

I know there’s not much I can do from here but let me know if there’s any way I can help.

Daniel

Grace’s eyes ached after she’d studied one hundred or so of the photos. Kirsty looked so happy relaxing on beaches and abseiling down cliff-faces. Grace swallowed a fleeting feeling of envy: here she was running around trying to convince the police that her friend was in trouble, and Kirsty was probably having the time of her life somewhere with all of her new friends.

On her list, Grace had noted any places mentioned in the photos those friends appeared in. She had gotten to pictures of Vietnam, but Grace still had a lot to sift through. She started to notice a tall, muscular, blonde man in the most of the more recent pictures, wrapped around Kirsty in front of mystical rocky outcrops and in frenetic markets, both of them grinning like children.
He’s the ‘sexy boy’ that girl mentioned
, Grace realised. She could tell from Kirsty’s expressions in the photos that he was more to her than just a travel buddy. She couldn’t understand why Kirsty hadn’t mentioned him to her.

She created a new message, and added the names of Kirsty’s new friends to the recipient list.

Hi,

You recently added my friend Kirsty Anderson on Facebook. I haven’t heard from her in some time, and this isn’t like her. If you could reply and let me know when you last saw her, I’d really appreciate it.

Grace Harris

Standing up from the computer and stretching, she looked at the old man and gestured at her papers. He nodded: she’d been coming here for days now, and he could tell, even without any common language, that something wasn’t right. She rubbed her eyes and crossed the street to the busy little noodle stand.

To: Grace Harris

From: Jon Anderson

Dear Grace,

You were right to get in touch. We didn’t know you were going to Thailand, but I suppose that’s not something to get excited about now. Are you sure she knew you were coming? In any case I have spoken to Stephen Jones, he’s the superintendent over in Brighton. He suggested you speak to the police there. Her mother and I would appreciate if you could call and let us know how it went. There’s no point in panicking, but we haven’t heard from her in over a week now either.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Anderson

The response hadn’t jumped out at her in the sea of emails she had received since she sent her message, and she had missed it the previous day. She had practically forgotten about Kirsty’s parents. Grace sighed. She had expected them to know what to do, a hangover from childhood she supposed; the uncomplicated world of omniscient parents. She was exhausted; still affected by jet lag. She knew she would have to call and speak to the Andersons, but she couldn’t face it tonight. Resolving to call them first thing, she shuffled back to her hotel room.

“Mr. Anderson.” Grace played with the cord of the hotel phone. “I just wanted to update you. I went to the police station a couple of days ago. They were helpful, but there’s nothing they could do, they—”

“Grace, didn’t Kirsty contact you?”Jon Anderson interrupted. Grace heard the irritation in his voice. She’d expected them to be upset, which was why she’d put off making the call, but he sounded livid.

“No...” she started.

“Look, I know you were concerned. But think of what you’ve put her mother and me through. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

“But her...” Grace stopped at the sound of the flat beeping tone that indicated he’d hung up.

She stared at the receiver in amazement, before reaching for the duty free Stoli she’d bought to share with Kirsty on their ‘reunion’. Draining the last of it straight from the bottle, she ignored the clock on the bedside table, which was telling her, in disapproving green neon, that it was 10am.

What the hell is going on
, she wondered, looking around to see where she’d left her mobile.

From: Kirsty Anderson

To: Grace Harris

Hi Grace,

Mum and dad said you were worried about me, and now they’re starting to worry. I’m so sorry for not showing up in Bangkok, I can’t really explain it right now. I’ve let my parents know that I’m ok, sorry again. I’ll wire you the money for the flights if you send me your bank details.

I’ll be in touch soon.

Kirsty

Grace shook with rage and disbelief. She couldn’t believe it:  this was beyond anything that Kirsty had done before. They had spoken on the phone more than once since Grace had told her she was coming; they’d chosen a place to meet. Grace had reminded her of the date every time they’d spoken. Surely that would have been a good time to voice her hesitation? It was sometimes difficult to gauge enthusiasm in Kirsty, but not this time: she had sounded genuinely delighted about Grace’s imminent arrival.

Grace cast back in her memory to the last conversation between them, three days before Grace had left London. She’d been at work when Kirsty had called her. They hadn’t spoken for long as she’d been in a rush and had struggled to hear what her friend was saying over the background sound of what sounded like a children’s party (Kirsty had been using a borrowed laptop in a cafe), but Kirsty had sounded fine. Grace wished now that she hadn’t been about to race off to a meeting when she took the call: maybe then she’d have had time to chat for longer, to find out where Kirsty was. All she knew was that Kirsty had had a flight to Bangkok booked for later that day, which it now looked like she’d never taken.

Then there was the secret boyfriend. Photos didn’t lie, but why hadn’t she told Grace? Perhaps she had become swept up in the new relationship: it certainly looked intense in the photos. She had never seen Kirsty like that with anyone.

She looked around the room. Its sleek fittings and decor had lost their appeal now that she knew Kirsty wouldn’t be coming. She spent enough time sitting in hotel rooms on work trips that she saw no appeal in spending any more of her free time in one.  Flinging the covers back, she shuffled down the bed and tried to stand with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. Her indignant rage helped her along. So Kirsty was having so much fun that she couldn’t be bothered to come and meet Grace? She’d make her own fun.

She walked into the marble bathroom and turned on the shower. The power still surprised her: it was better than her shower at home. She stepped in and scrubbed at her hair, trying to shake off the hurt and disappointment she felt. She had taken all this time off.
I might as well make the most of it
, she thought.

Drying off and wrapping a towel around her wet hair, she sat down on the bed and opened the to-do list she had compiled for Bangkok and synced to her phone.