Dont Go Missing Again!
And take that! declared George Andrewson, giving the kitchen table a hearty thump, sending the draughts pieces rattling. One of the white checkers bounced off and landed on the battered wooden tabletop, scarred by battles past and Georges penchant for whittling with his trusty penknife. So, what do you say to that, chaps?!
George gave a victorious chuckle. His carefully masterminded move had just trounced Zachary, his neighbour from flat five. Zachary, caught off guard, pulled his flat cap over his shiny head and rubbed his bald patch.
Eh? Whats that about then?! How on earth Zach tried frantically to wave his hands over the board like a wizard casting a spell, but George was already off, whistling and stretching his arms with a leisurely sort of satisfaction. No way was he going to give away his championship secrets! How, how? Well, just like that.
He ambled back towards his house and scanned the small square below. At this hour, all the youngsters were somewhere gainfully employed. The only souls wandering along the slabs were pensioners and a rogue gathering of children dreadfully dull! Uncle George rather missed bantering with the younger lot: a quick exchange, a spot of needling, a barrage of questions then, naturally, a good old you know, back in my day And everyone in the neighbourhood knew: in his time, water was wetter, the trees leafier, the milk whiter, and, generally, people were robust now it was all doom and gloom, with modern youth drifting around and the shops full of rubbish.
Oh! Annabel Victoria! George swooped on a woman striding briskly along the path, colourful summer dress swaying, a little straw hat pinned to her bun with the sort of knitting needle that doubles as a weapon. Whereve you been? What are you lugging now?
Without waiting for an answer, George snatched her bags and fell into step beside her.
Oh, you know, nothing major popped out for a loaf, some sausages, and suddenly Im stocked up as if hosting the entire Grenadier Guards, Annabel replied, barely hiding her embarrassment. The grandchildren are coming for the weekend, got to wow them with something soup and cutlets are so last year.
Grandchildren thats the spirit, George murmured distractedly. He hardly heard her, really. He was thinking about absolutely everything except sausages and grandchildren.
Well, here we are, George Andrewson, thank you! Annabel reached for her bags; George started and relinquished them, mumbling some apology for good measure. She vanished through the forest green door of the block, which promptly slammed behind her, sending a shockwave of noise echoing round the old brick well. It sounded as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the building, then given a melodramatic groan for good measure.
George tutted. He really must get round to fitting that door closer hardly complicated, but somehow there never seemed to be the time or will. Sometimes it was laziness, sometimes he forgot, sometimes he simply didnt fancy traipsing to the hardware shop
Enough dithering! Hed sort it now! Just nip up, grab his bus pass, dig out his wallet, maybe change into a clean shirt for decencys sake, find those corduroy trousers, and head off. No use bumbling about aimlessly!..
He caught a lift with his upstairs neighbour, a young chap named Nicholas Gull, whod splashed out on a two-bed three floors up. George, as ever, quizzed him about work, about hobbies, about the mysterious ways of modern youth. Nicholas, as always, claimed he hadnt the faintest idea what young people got up to said he was always bogged down at work shuffling numbers. Business as usual.
Well, as long as alls well! nodded George sagely, stepping out. Cheerio now!
Nicholas nodded back, doors slid shut. Once hed reached his own flat, hed grumble to his wife, Rita, about how the nosy old George from downstairs was up to his tricks again with those silly questions, driving him half-crazy. Rita would quietly nod along, bring him a cool glass of milk, and watch her husband as he drank it she quite liked that, actually, watching him eat, drink, brush his teeth. There was a kind of perfection to every movement he made. And it did irk her that George so rattled her shining Nicholas.
He even asked about work! Didnt just come out with it all, How are things? at first, Nicholas would complain as his lips sported a splendid white milk moustache. Hes after something! Probably wants the lowdown on our finances or something. Nowadays, everyones got their nose in each others business!
I really couldnt say, Rita would mumble, suddenly appearing fragile and helpless (just as Nicholas liked her). Hed sigh, hug her, plant a kiss on her hair, and shuffle back to his computer to carry on shuffling numbers from the council spreadsheet
Meanwhile, George was in his element, bustling round the local builders market. He refused on principle to buy from the corner shop right by his building. Bunch of con artists there! Triple the price in that place! hed justify his market loyalty.
Just browsing eyeballing wares, fingering shiny new tools, clicking his tongue, muttering crafty how things are made nowadays, shaking his head at exorbitant prices, or simply marvelling as blokes manhandled peculiar construction contraptions hed never heard of, inhaling fresh paint and sawdust, sizing up wallpaper samples all of it was priceless. George always went solo on these outings, and always, but always, relished every moment
Except, well not today. Standing in front of the door closer display, George found himself staring blankly, feeling sudden melancholy. Rachel still hadnt come back… or even rung. That was the stinger. Life seemed bleak, blurry, and pointless without her even that blasted door closer meant nothing.
After fidgeting at the stand, he turned on his heel and left. On the tram back, he suddenly realised he hadnt bought anything at all, but shrugged. The door could rattle a bit longer hed survived worse.
Back in his square, the same old ladies were parked on their bench in wide-brimmed sun hats, squinting into the sunshine, gossiping at half-speed. Bet they missed Rachel too And she still wasnt back.
Well, ladies! George bellowed in mock cheer. Good afternoon to you! Cant get a proper chinwag going without my Rachel, what? Not to worry once she gets back from her sisters, thingsll liven up again! Looks to me like youre all pining without her!
He was about to saunter along when the eldest of the bunch, Nora Packham, retired chairwoman of the residents association, flicked out a dry retort at his back:
Oh, dont mind us! Serials and EastEnders are still on without your Rachel, thank heavens. You, on the other hand, lad, are a wreck You cant sit still, can you?
Me? What? George bristled, turning back. Ive only just come back from the builders, all right?!
And what did you buy? Nora absently squashed a dozy fly hovering by her face.
Just what I needed, thanks very much, snapped George.
Oh, you bought nothing, just killing time! Nora scoffed, with that familiar, syrupy glee shed had since shed teased George as a girl across the courtyard. They had grown up together, lived side by side all their lives, married, raised kids, grown old enough to compare knee operations and yet George still got under Noras skin Weve had a bit of a think, you know. No, you dont. Listen. We reckon Rachel isnt coming back. Seriously! Younger than you by a decade, isnt she? Probably found herself some fit chap by the seaside! Thats what everyone does now: off they go, start over, find someone new. Why hasnt she come back, eh? Love affair, thats what! Not that I blame her whod put up with a life of porridge and tinned beans, eh? Rachels off living life to the fullest! She dispatched a second fly. They were so drowsy from the heat they barely noticed her lethal palm.
Sod off, the lot of you! George was genuinely rattled. Blasted Nora! Always knew exactly where to poke.
All those years he and Rachel had been together, part of George never quite believed she wouldnt leave him honestly, what did she want with a bloke like him? She loved music, parties, wild chats, charades, and a proper knees-up round the guitar. George, meanwhile
Well. He built matchstick models. After work at the research institute, hed have a natter with Rachel, run errands, pick up the kids, and finally, at last, settle in to build his tiny matchstick world. Hed made Buckingham Palace, St Pauls Cathedral, Tower Bridge, even Eiffel Tower for the fun of it. There were chapels, thatched cottages, minuscule village squares. Windows opened, doors creaked, gates swung all from ordinary old matches. Some of Georges masterpieces sat proudly in the local library or at the museum, thanks to Rachel. Their own flat was far too small for the entire collection. George had done whole neighbourhoods in matches, every detail just so hed even done tiny sitting rooms with little bookshelves and furniture. Wonders to behold! Yet why on earth did Rachel stick with a daft hobbyist like him?
She, Rachel, full of fire. When she announced that she had to help her sister with the garden harvest for a couple of weeks, she told him not to worry, that phone signals at her sisters were dire, so no point ringing. Just drop a sign of life at least once a week! he called after her, fiddling with a particularly unruly match on his new high street model (Rachel had adored that tiny market square in Bristol). She replied something, but he didnt catch it as the match fell yet again, stubbornly resisting perfection.
What did she say? Promise to ring, or not bother? George kept wondering, bitterly, cursing old Nora and her wild conjectures. He hadnt the faintest memory.
And he never finished that high street either, despite his promise to have it ready for Rachels return! It just wouldnt come together. No heart in it… not without her.
Oi, lads! Whys it suddenly gone deathly quiet? George asked, popping his head round to Zachary in the communal garage, the same Zachary hed bested at draughts earlier. The blokes were all peering under the bonnet of someones battered Mitsubishi. George peered in too.
Whats up? he whispered. Grunts all round. Let me have a go!
George leapt in the drivers seat, turned the key, and was instantly engulfed by a cloud of burning oil. The men frantically waved him off the job.
Honestly, George! sighed Victor Zachary, wiping his hands on an oily rag. Youre everywhere, always poking your nose in, arent you? If the children so much as get their bikes out, youre there tightening bolts and fixing bells. Heaven forbid they cope without you! When the girls do hopscotch, there you are joining in. They giggle, you beam but, really, George, its silly. Time to… you know, leave it be.
George shrugged, turned obediently, and plodded out.
Perhaps old Noras got a point, George Zachary couldnt resist a sly jab. Maybe your Rachel isnt yours anymore! Been gone ages.
Sod off, Zachary! George punted an empty paint tin across the garage. Noras only bitter because she fancied me herself in the fifties. You love listening to her gossip, you do!
The men burst out laughing and got back to their car. George, meanwhile, headed home for lunch. Having exhausted all the ready meals Rachel had left, he was down to baked beans, boiled potatoes, and pilchards on toast. Hed crush the pilchards onto the bread, let the oil soak in, and scoop mashed potatoes up after. Tasted better than posh fish stew! Except somehow… not the same without Rachel. He couldnt even be bothered for a beer.
Why wouldnt she ring? Couldnt she climb to the top of a hill and find some signal? Its not the Arctic Circle, is it…
George tried calling, but number not recognised was his only greeting. Same story with Rachels sister, Elaine.
George and Elaine never saw eye to eye. She reckoned anyone who wasted government-issue matches on models was dead loss as a husband. Elaine would always snipe about his buildings collecting dust in the spare room.
How much wood have you destroyed in your lifetime, George darling? Never for a shed or a deck always some… little toy house! shed tut during visits.
Rachel would hush her, insist that Georges job was a stressful business and his hobby was harmlessand besides, who cares how he spends his spare time?
Not the point, Rachel! her sister would narrow her eyes Hed be better off fixing up the house instead of gluing his fingers together!
She was exaggerating. Their home was in tip-top shape, every tap closed, wallpaper smooth, shelves straight, not a crumb of plaster falling, every bit of skirting where it ought to be. All for Rachel. Otherwise, shed leave him, for sure…
After floundering round the flat all evening (avoiding the square so as not to flaunt his lonesomeness), George could only half-heartedly attempt to finish the matchstick model his hands refused cooperation; everything went wrong. He decided on a bath. There, his dressing gown still smelled of Rachels soapso sad.
While shaving, he noticed the bathroom tap had started to drip not too badly, but the drip-drip-drip on the enamel was enough to fray any nerves. Something about that sound really got to him.
He should fetch a spanner, tighten things, maybe swap the washer a job for the whole evening!
George almost perked up at the prospect but then slumped. Not tonight. Rachel wasnt here. Didnt matter.
The truth was, Rachel pulled the train of their lives he was the carriage bobbing along behind. She made the decisions, kept things lively. While they were busy with work and kids, it didnt stand out, but when retirement hit, George totally depended on her spark. When Rachel was working, he refused point-blank to retire too couldnt let her pull the weight alone! But once both were officially in the pensioner club, life took on a new flavour: they hit the markets in summer, boiling jam and canning everything in sight, kitchen like a tropical jungle. Theyd fill the boot with goodies, deliver them all round. Autumn brought sauerkraut and pumpkin slicing, drying apples, pickling all sorts. In winter, Rachel would knit for the grandchildren, sending George out to every yarn shop in the city. He knew all their shades and weights by heart, tried knitting himself once, but soon scurried back to his trusty matches. Rachel didnt seem to mind.
Or maybe… maybe she did find it boring?!
George gave up on his bath and left the tap to its own devices, even as it dripped with extra purpose, and drooped onto the divan.
The telly was wittering on about the weather. Somewhere, young people warbled guitar songs, girls giggled. Upstairs, Nicholas hugged Rita but mostly stewed about the intrusive old George with his annoying questions. Nora stood in her kitchen declining yet another call from an unknown number probably scammers, pestering her for five days straight. Best stay away only gives her heart palpitations anyway.
Victor Zachary, meanwhile, was tucking into fish en croûte crafted by his wife Nina, praising the dinner but mind busy with thoughts of missing Rachel. Anything could happen to an older lady
Should I ring the morgue, just in case? he mused. Ninas eyes widened, nearly dropping her plate of scones. Victor loved her scones; she baked them every day.
Why the morgue? What are you on about? she whispered, face pink and wobbly with tears. Age had softened Nina; a sob-fest was only ever a moment away.
Well, you never know! Victor reasoned What if somethings happened to Rachel and no ones told us?
Oh, dont be ridiculous! Nina spluttered. Our Rachels got all her documents, theyd notify! Shes fine, just relaxing. Time slows down at the seaside, you know. Your George ought to go visit her himself.
But Rachels sister cant stick George theyve always been at odds. Silly squabbling. Thats why he didnt go. I do feel for him Hes so lost, poor George. And I went and teased him about Rachel too, today
Did you really? You lot and your silly gossip! Shame on you, Victor! That mans in bits, already fretting over being older than her. Rachel thinks the world of him! Dont wind him up! Enough! Suddenly, Nina stood up. Someone needs to do something for once!
She disappeared to their room, phone in hand, leaving Victor to nurse his tea and ponder exactly what a person was meant to do…
…At five AM, George was woken by a thunderous banging at his door. Not a polite knock, not even the doorbell, but a frenzied battering, as if the cavalry was about to burst in.
Ive flooded the Uptons below with that blasted tap! Georges sleep-mossed mind panicked. No, couldnt be the leak was tiny
Another round. Was that a herd of bison?
Im coming, Im coming! he shuffled, feet bare and hair wild.
Nina, red-faced and on the brink of tears, stood on the landing, gasping, gripping him round the neck in a bone-crushing hug.
Found her! Today. Heathrow. Your phones down. Water, Im going to collapse!
George gasped, bolted to the kitchen. Nina sank into the hall chair.
Listen, George Andrewson, she began (always formal, always polite). Rachels lost her phone. Well, not just her phone her whole handbag, and her little address book was in there too. She tried ringing your home phone, but (Nina nodded at the receiver) its kaput, as you know. Rachel forgot all your neighbours new numbers, and its strangers everywhere nowadays. She found Noras number in some pocket, but Nora never answers unknown calls. Rachel phoned from her sisters, but got nowhere. The long and short of it is shes been frantic all week, shes flying in today, laden with a suitcase of oranges, and you must go fetch her. Thats all, George, now let me go back to sleep!
Nina had already drifted one flight down when George snapped to attention and chased after her.
But Nina, how on earth did you find all this out?
Ive got contacts in Brighton, havent I? Rachel said shed be at her sisters there. I remembered her sisters name and pulled some strings. She tried emailing you as well, by the way. Read it?
Good Lord, email! Slipped my mind entirely Last time she called, told me shed landed and all was well. Then silence Why didnt she ring the kids? Theyre all gallivanting round Europe half the time Oh, Im such a numpty! Thank you, lovely Nina! Ive been beside myself all week, not a whisper from Rachel. Thank you!
It only dawned on George, as Nina vanished round the bend, that he was standing outside in a pair of boxer shorts and slippers he blushed and slunk back in.
He knocked the tap issue on the head, threw on proper clothes, and raced off to the airport. He didnt know the flight, didnt know the time hadnt caught half of what Nina said. No matter! Hed meet every single flight coming in! Piece of cake.
He jostled among families at arrivals, gripping a bunch of daffodils for Rachel, ducked and weaved, and finally there she was! Rachel, waving, tanned as a conker, fresh as a daisy, positively sparkling, looking years younger. George suddenly felt self-conscious about his own age as he shuffled towards her.
Oh, George! Thank heavens Nina tracked me down! This whole trip was a nightmare. My things everywhere and you werent picking up! I worried something had happened… that you didnt want me
She took the flowers, stroked his cheek, leaned in for a kiss.
I cant survive without you, Rachel! Dont you dare go missing like that ever again, promise? George hugged her for dear life.
I, er, never did finish your high street, he confessed on the taxi ride home. Couldnt manage it on my own It felt flat without you.
Never mind about the model! Rachel smiled. Well finish it together. I missed you so much, Im not leaving your side now not for a moment. Maybe were mad, George? Maybe its old age? she worried.
Old age, my foot! George laughed, squeezing her tight. Were like a good Stilton only better with the years! And you, my Rachel Im never letting you out of my sight again, you hear me?
She nodded and buried her face in his shoulder
The taxi driver smiled into his rear-view mirror at the besotted pair. If only he and his missus could make it to that age a bit grey, a bit wobbly, hands shaking but eyes sharp and young with love. If onlyOn the drive home, Rachel gushed about her sisters endless courgettes and the stray cat theyd adopted for three days, while George clung to every word as if he were breathing for the first time in weeks. The city outside whirled past in a mosaic of shopfronts and bus stops, but in the snug of the backseat, the world seemed smaller and warmer, shaped by two hands clasped together.
As they turned onto their street, the neighbours were already gathering in windows, peering outnews travels at lightning speed in Georges square. Zachary was pretending to mess with his bicycle, but he grinned and tipped his cap when he spotted Rachel; Nora, in her lair behind twitching curtains, pretended not to watch, yet her smile glimmered despite herself.
When Rachel stepped from the cab, her suitcase jammed with oranges and half the markets bonbons, a cheer erupted from the bench. Annabel swooped over first, arms open wide; then Nicholass little boy darted over with a daisy, shy but determined.
George glowed in the middle of it all, not minding the fuss one bit. Everything hummed with familiarity again, like the satisfying click of a well-fit matchstick. At home, the flat suddenly felt right againthe hallway kaleidoscopic with her scarves, laughter fluttering like bunting through the kitchen. Rachel sprinkled fresh oranges into a blue bowl, banished beans and pilchards to the far end of the cupboard, and took Georges strong, weathered hand in hers.
Evening settled, and George found himself at the table, matchbox at the ready. Rachel sat beside him, guiding a tiny roof onto the Bristol high street as if gluing all the fractured hours back together. She hummed her favourite tune, and George, for once, let the model remain imperfectone lopsided window, one door a little ajar, a place for surprises and coming home.
Outside, the door slammed with its familiar thunder. George smiled: hed fix it tomorrow, or maybe he wouldnt. Tonight, everything important was already mended.
