The cab pulled up to the terraced house, and Nick Andrews froze when he saw the silhouette in the upstairs window his wife, gone for a year and a half.
Enough! How many times must we sift through the past? Nick slammed a photograph onto the kitchen table, his voice trembling. Its been eighteen months, Ellie. She wont come back.
Detective Sergeant Margaret Clarke lifted the picture gently, slipped it back into the file. Were closing the case, Mr. Andrews. By law enough time has passed to declare Victoria Clarke missing as presumed dead.
Nick let out a bitter laugh. You mean dead?
I didnt say that, Margaret replied, smoothing the papers. Just that the paperwork needs signing. Please sign here.
He took the pen, stared at the form for a few seconds, then signed in a sweeping flourish.
Is that all? Will you finally leave me alone?
Mr. Andrews, I understand how you feel. Weve done everything we can.
I know, Nick said, rubbing his eyes. Sorry. Every time you bring that file, it starts the whole nightmare again sleepless nights, endless thoughts
I get it, Margaret said. But if anything does come back to you, anything at all, let us know.
Ive run the whole timeline through my head every single day since she vanished, Nick said, shaking his head. Nothing. Just a normal morning, a normal breakfast. See you tonight, love. And then she was gone, somewhere between home and work.
Margaret gathered the papers and stood. In my experience, people do turn up after three, five years.
Have you ever had a case where a wife just up and left for someone else without a word? Nick snapped.
She hesitated, then nodded. Yes. But they usually leave a note.
When the officer left, Nick sank into his armchair and closed his eyes. Eighteen months had passed since Victoria walked out of the house and never returned. No call, no text. Her phone was disconnected, her credit cards untouched. She seemed to have simply evaporated.
Hed tried everything the police, private detectives, ads in the Sunday papers, posts on the internet. Nothing. No one had seen her, no one knew anything.
The first months were the worst endless interrogations (of course the husband is always the prime suspect), frantic searches, false hope. Then came the numbness, a dull ache in his chest, and a flood of unanswered questions.
Why? Was she unhappy? Had she met someone? Was something terrible happening? Maybe she was alive but couldnt reach out? He tried not to think about it.
A sudden ring pulled him from the gloom. The caller ID showed City Cabs.
Hello, Nick? the dispatcher, Tamara, sounded weary. Can you start early tomorrow? Mr. Peters is on the floor with high blood pressure and weve got orders coming at us.
Sure, what time?
At six if you can. First job is the airport.
Got it.
Nick had taken the taxi job three months after Victoria disappeared. Hed lost his engineering post endless sick days and unpaid leave finally wore out his bosss patience, and his own concentration on schematics had evaporated. Steering a cab, however, was just the right fit: a mechanical job that demanded attention but not deep thought, and no emotional strings attached. Passengers came and went, stories swapped, responsibilities limited to getting someone from point A to point B.
Mornings began the same up at five, a bracing shower, strong tea. He stared at his reflection: a gaunt face, silver at the temples, lines that werent there a year ago. Fortytwo, looking fifty.
The first fare waited at the flat a portly man with two suitcases, jittery and chatty. He jabbered about a business trip to Manchester, his motherinlaws nagging, his bosss mood swings. Nick nodded, gave the occasional right, but his mind was elsewhere.
The day rolled on: train station, shopping centre, office block, back to the station. By evening fatigue set in, but the dispatcher threw another job his way.
Nick, we need you from River Road to Green Meadows. Last one today, client waiting.
Nick sighed, entered the address into the satnav.
The client turned out to be a young mother, Hannah, with a restless little boy of about three. The boy refused to get into the boot.
Mike, please, Hannah coaxed. Well be home soon, Daddys waiting.
Dont want to go home! the boy shouted. I want Grandmas!
Well see Grandma on Saturday, I promise. Right now we just need to get home.
Nick waited while they settled in. The ride was long a traffic jam after an accident held them up for nearly an hour. The boy eventually dozed in his mothers arms, she stared out the window, and Nick turned on a soft station tune so as not to wake him.
When they finally cleared the jam, dusk had fallen, a light drizzle misted the streets, puddles glistened. Nick drove carefully, fighting a growing headache.
Green Meadows was a suburban estate of new flats and unfinished gardens not Nicks favourite scenery, but he kept his focus.
Right here, please, Hannah said as they turned into a courtyard, third building on the left.
Nick obeyed, stopped at a plain brick block, lifted his hand to the meter.
£4.20, please.
Hannah handed over a £5 note.
No change needed, thank you.
Thanks for your patience, Nick replied, offering to help with the child. He opened the rear door, took the sleepy boy from her, and set him gently in the passenger seat.
Ill take him in, Hannah said. No need to bring him back inside.
Are you sure? Nick asked.
Yes, well manage. My husbands home, hell look after him.
Nick watched as she shuffled to the entrance, the rain still pattering. He lingered, the cold seeping through his coat, until she was safely inside.
He turned the key in the ignition, then glanced up at the windows of the building. On the third floor, a single light flickered. A woman stood at the sill, looking out at the rain. Her profile was instantly familiar the same cheekbones, the same mole just above the right eyebrow that Nick had memorised in countless photographs.
His heart thumped like a kettle about to whistle. He recognised the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Vera. His Vera.
He didnt know how he had left the car, how hed crossed the courtyard, how hed gotten to the stairs. He heard muffled voices, felt eyes on him. All that mattered was the thirdfloor flat, the window with that yellow glow.
The lift was out of order, so Nick sprinted up the stairwell, breathless, stopping at the third floor. Four doors faced him; the second from the left matched the layout hed memorised. He pressed the doorbell, hand shaking.
A long, tense pause. Then footsteps. The lock clicked. The door swung open.
A man in his forties, wearing pajama pants and a Tshirt, stood there, looking bewildered.
Can I help you? he asked.
Nick opened his mouth, words stuck. Im looking for Vera Clarke.
The mans eyebrows rose. Theres no Vera here.
He began to shut the door, but Nick grabbed the handle.
Wait! I just saw her through the window. Im not crazy, I swear. Shes my wife.
The man hesitated, then the door opened wider. Behind him stood a woman the very passenger Nick had just dropped off, cradling a sleepy child.
Whats going on, Serge? the woman asked, confused.
This fellow says hes seen his missing wife in our flat, Serge replied. Hes quite insistent.
The womans eyes widened. Youre the driver who took us here, arent you?
Yes, Nick repeated, voice firm. Vera Clarke. About the same height as you, dark hair to her shoulders, mole above the right brow.
Serges face hardened, then softened. Theres no Vera Clarke here. Only Helena Clarke.
The names not right, Nick said, desperation edging his tone. Look at her, youll see the mole.
Helena or rather, the woman standing there glanced at the child, then at Nick, a flicker of something crossing her face.
Serge, can I at least have a look? Nick pleaded. A minute. If its not her, Ill leave and never bother you again.
Serge hesitated, then nodded. Fine. One minute.
They led Nick through the hallway into a modest sitting room. Helena slipped into a chair by the window, the rain streaking the glass. Nick stepped forward, heart pounding.
Vera? he whispered.
She turned slowly, a soft smile playing on her lips. Im sorry, you must be mistaken. Im Helena.
Her voice was familiar, yet the cadence was different. Nick stared at the mole, the small scar on her chin from a childhood bike fall, the greenish eyes hed known for years.
I he began, voice cracking. You look like her. Youre youre my wife.
Helena stared at him, confusion mingling with something like fear. I dont know you.
Nick fell to his knees, his hands shaking. We were married eight years. We had a flat on Garden Street, I work as an engineer, we dreamed of a child.
Helenas brow furrowed. Ive been told Im Hannahs mother. Thats my life now.
Serge, standing nearby, placed a hand on Nicks shoulder. Maybe you should step back, mate. Shes taken a new life.
Nick stared at Helena, searching for a spark of recognition. Suddenly, a flash of memory flickered in her eyes the taste of icecream on a summer day, the laugh theyd shared at a park concert when shed dropped a cone on his shirt and hed joked she owed him a marriage.
A thin thread of recognition tightened. You you liked strawberry icecream, didnt you?
Helenas mouth twitched. Yes.
Nicks voice grew steadier. Youre scared of heights, you have a scar from falling off a bike, you adore the smell of fresh lilies. Those are tiny things, but theyre ours.
Helena clutched her chin, the scar appearing more prominent under the dim light. I I cant remember.
Hannah entered, wiping a tear from her cheek. Whats happening?
Serge stepped forward. We found her on a field near the Northern Bridge after an accident. She had amnesia, no ID. We took her in, gave her our names. Shes been with us for a year now.
Nicks mind raced. I filed a missing person report the same day she disappeared!
Hannah looked between them, bewildered. If youre her husband, why is she calling you Serge?
Nick swallowed. I dont know. I just know Ive been looking for her for eighteen months.
Helena or perhaps the woman who was truly his Vera whispered, I feel something. A vague sense that Ive known you before, but its blurred.
Serge nodded. Shes safe here. We love her.
Nick took a deep breath, the irony not lost on him. Im not here to take her away by force. I just want her to choose. If she wants to be with me, well sort it. If not, Ill step aside.
Helenas eyes glistened. I need time, she said softly. All of this is a whirlwind.
Nick nodded, the tension easing a fraction. Take all the time you need. Ill be around.
Serge gave a reluctant smile. Well keep the door open.
Nick stood, feeling the weight lift slightly. He walked back to his cab, paused at the thirdfloor window, and saw Helenas silhouette framed by the soft glow. He raised his hand in a gentle wave; she waved back, a faint smile curving her lips.
Tomorrow would be another shift, another fare, another chance to keep moving forward. Hed call Sergeant Margaret later, tell her the case wasnt quite closed. Sometimes the missing turned up in the most unlikely of places a flat in Green Meadows, a rainslicked street, a strangers car.
He slipped into the drivers seat, turned the key, and as the engine purred, he felt a strange optimism. The sky cleared, stars peeking through the clouds. He breathed in the damp night air and thought, Well, thats life for you full of twists, turns, and the occasional surprise reunion.
Home awaited, a kettle ready, a quiet phone, and perhaps a fresh pot of tea. He smiled, knowing the story was far from over, but at least the missing piece had finally been found.
