It Could Have Been Her(60)
“And it’s OK for me to…?”
The woman nods. “Say I sent you. My name is Morea.”
* * *
Jane knocks gently against the plastic-clad door of the caravan. A man’s voice says, “Come in.”
Jane breathes in, uncertainty racing through her nervous system. Then she pulls down the handle and peers into the unit. She sees two men sitting on the sofa area at the back of the caravan. Both are in sportswear. One, wearing a baseball cap, is eating a wrap and watching the other, who is wearing pink Nike slides, play a video game.
“Steve?” she says. “Dave? Morea sent me.”
“Yeah,” says the guy with the wrap. “I’m Steve.”
The other guy doesn’t take his eyes from the TV screen.
“Come in,” says Steve. “Excuse the mess.”
She steps into the unit. It’s not messy, but it does smell overwhelmingly of whatever is inside Steve’s wrap.
“Thank you.”
The other guy makes a noise of annoyance at something that has just happened in his game and then slams down his console. He looks at Jane and says, “Hi.”
“I’m really sorry to disturb you,” she says. “But I’m looking for your colleague. Jasper? Or… Patch?”
“Yeah,” says Dave. “Aren’t we all.” His accent is pure estuary. Steve’s is a little more West Country.
“I was just talking to Morea. Out there. She said he disappeared? On the bank holiday?”
“Yup,” says Steve. “That’s right. Did a runner. Left us in the shit.”
“She said he was a bit of a mystery man. Is that how you think of him?”
Steve moves across the seat and gestures to Jane to sit down.
Dave says, “Yeah. Jasper, total freak. But kind of… innocent? If you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” says Steve. “Like a child really.”
“So him being out there in the world? Is that unlikely?”
Dave nods. “Totally. That man has only known this place, this world, since he was virtually a kid, you know? I can’t see him out there. Fending for himself. In here, you see”—he gestures through the window—“he had us to look after him. To make sure he didn’t just, you know, spiral into his weird fantasy world.”
“You hung out?”
“Yeah, we hung out. He liked a drink or two. He liked playing games with us. He liked reading books.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Always, always reading.”
“What sort of books?”
They both shrug. “Facts?” says Steve.
“Yeah. Nonfiction.”
“And what about family? Did he ever tell you about them?”
They glance at each other. Then Steve says, “Not really. I mean, I know he left home when he was quite young and I did get the impression that something bad had happened. That maybe his family life was a little bit…”
“Dysfunctional,” Dave finishes.
“Yeah. Dysfunctional.”
“Where was he from?”
“London, I think?”
Jane nods. “Hampstead?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“And did he mention a sister? Or a niece?”
They glance at each other and shake their heads.
“He didn’t talk much,” says Steve. “He said his family was a ‘bad memory.’?”
“Yeah,” says Dave. “I remember him saying that once.”
“So, do either of you have any idea at all where he might have gone? Was he doing anything unusual? Did he seem different? Talk about anything new?”
They both look at each other again and shake their heads. “No,” says Dave, “he was totally normal…”
“Well,” says Steve, “as normal as he ever really was.”
“Which wasn’t very,” says Dave, and they both laugh wryly.
“You didn’t see him with a young woman? A girl with a white dog? Here.” She shows them the photo of Daisy in her phone, and then a photo of Hugo.
“Nope. I’d definitely have noticed if I’d seen him with a girl. Or a dog. And I definitely didn’t.”
“Me neither,” says Steve.
Jane sighs and puts her phone back in her pocket. “So, what happened to his stuff? His caravan?”
“Well, it’s not his, is it? It belongs to Martello’s. So it stays with the circus. Did you want to have a look?”
Jane widens her eyes and nods. “Yes, please,” she says, “that would be amazing.”
* * *
Jasper’s caravan is a one-berth unit in a pale lemony yellow. Dave opens it up and then stands back to let her in. It’s small and cozy, with a cream seating area at the back and a tiny, well-maintained kitchenette. “Could I have a snoop around?”
“Go for it. We’ll just be over there. Take your time.”
The unit appears to have been cleared out completely; everything is clean and shiny, no personal effects on display. Jane goes through drawers and cupboards. She finds utensils and cutlery, packets of tissues, of batteries. She finds tins of greasepaints and pots of brushes. She also finds a wad of printed flyers of Jasper in full clown regalia, smiling unnervingly into the camera, with the name “Patch” in curly graphic printed in the corner. She takes a couple and slides them into her bag.