Waiting for Wednesday

possible to fail.’
    Frieda looked at the two men. Gerry was
staring into his tea. Maybe he’d never heard his friend talk so openly and
emotionally before.
    ‘The reason I’m here,’
said Frieda, ‘is that I wanted to tell you what I’ve done. I’d hoped I
could find your daughter butI haven’t got very far. I’ve
heard from someone who knew her slightly.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘A girl called Maria. I didn’t
even meet her so it’s second-hand. But apparently she mentioned a man called
Shane, who was some sort of friend of your daughter. Or, at least, he had some kind of
connection with her. I don’t have a second name and I don’t know anything
about him. I wondered if the name rang any bells with you.’
    ‘Shane?’ said Dawes. ‘Was
he a boyfriend?’
    ‘I don’t know. I only have the
name. He might have been a friend, or some sort of associate. Or it may all be a
misunderstanding. This woman was quite vague, I think.’
    Dawes shook his head slowly. ‘I
don’t know anyone by that name. But as I told you when we met before, in the last
years I didn’t know anything about my daughter’s friends. I think she lived
in different worlds. The only names I have are of schoolfriends and she’d lost
touch with all of them.’
    ‘Mr Dawes …’
    ‘Please, call me Larry.’
    ‘Larry, I was hoping you could give me
the names of her friends. If I talked to them, I might be able to get some
information.’
    Dawes glanced at his friend.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re a good person
and I’m touched by anyone who cares about my daughter. God knows, most people have
already forgotten her. But if you have suspicions, why don’t you go to the
police?’
    ‘Because that’s all I’ve
got: suspicions, feelings. I know people in the police and that won’t be enough
for them.’
    ‘Yet you’ve come all the way
down here twice, just because of your feelings.’
    ‘I know,’ said Frieda. ‘It
sounds stupid, but I can’t stop myself.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Dawes.
‘I can’t help you.’
    ‘I’d just like some
numbers.’
    ‘No. I’ve been through this too
often. I spent months looking and worrying and getting false hope. If you get any real
information, then just tell the police, or come and see me and I’ll do what I can.
But I can’t stir it all up again – I just can’t.’
    Frieda put her mug on the table and stood
up. ‘I understand. It’s funny. It should be easy to find a missing person
nowadays.’
    ‘Sometimes,’ said Dawes.
‘But if someone really wants to get lost, then they can stay lost.’
    ‘You’re right. Perhaps I was
really coming to see you to say sorry.’
    Dawes seemed puzzled. ‘Sorry? What
for?’
    ‘Various things. I tried to look for
your daughter and I haven’t succeeded. And I blundered into your personal grief.
I’ve got a habit of doing that.’
    ‘Maybe that’s your job,
Frieda.’
    ‘Yes, but they’re usually
supposed to ask me before I do it.’
    Dawes’s expression turned bleak.
‘You’re just realizing what I realized some time ago. You think you can
protect people, care for them, but sometimes they just get away from you.’
    Frieda looked at the two men, sitting there
like a comfortable old couple. ‘And I interrupted your work as well,’ she
said.
    ‘He needs interrupting,’ said
Gerry, with a smile. ‘Otherwise he never stops with his gardening and his building
and his mending and his painting.’
    ‘Thank you for the tea. It’s
been nice, sitting in the garden with you both.’
    ‘Are you going to the station?’
asked Gerry.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’m going that way so I’ll
walk with you.’
    Together they left the house. Gerry insisted
on carrying Frieda’s bag, though she really didn’t want him to. He strode
along beside her, in his mismatching, multicoloured checks, with his lopsided moustache,
a woman’s leather bag slung incongruously from his shoulder, and for a few minutes
they didn’t speak.
    ‘Do you have a garden?’ asked
Gerry, eventually.
    ‘Not really. A bit of a
yard.’
    ‘Soil’s the thing – getting your
hands dirty. The pleasure of eating your own produce. Do you like broad
beans?’
    ‘I do,’ said Frieda.
    ‘From the plant to the pan. Nothing
like it. Lawrence gardens so he doesn’t have to brood.’
    ‘About his daughter, you
mean?’
    ‘He doted on her.’
    ‘I’m sorry if I’ve stirred
up painful memories.’
    ‘No. It’s not as if he ever
forgets. He’s always