Falling Walls (III)

Chapter 31

I couldn't remember how I ended up on the train. Endless rows of fir trees rushed past me, the speed of the Intercity-Express blending them into one long ribbon of dark green and brown shades. From time to time, a speckle of blue ruptured the dun-coloured silent film playing alongside my window. I had blended out the rattling of the train some time after crossing the Elbe river on one of it's many bridges. Which one, I couldn't remember. I tried to focus my eyes on individual trees, following them against the movement of the train. Woosh. Next one. Woosh. Next tree. It was exhausting and I preferred the dull ribbon, staring back into the speeding landscape. Everything around me seemed to rush by, had so in the past week, while I was stuck somewhere in the middle, merely a bystander. Has Tom been playing me?

Some time after my mum had told me her story about Tom, I had found myself at the doorsteps of Eva's hotel. I forced my eyes off the trees through the empty carriage, then scrolled through my phone. The call history revealed that I had called Eva at exactly quarter past one, five days ago. The picture of me standing in the middle of her hotel room, holding her business card in one hand, Tom's hair- and toothbrush in the other while requesting from her to take a DNA test flashed through my mind. She had been unbelievably contained, never once questioned my absurd behaviour, at least not that I could recall. The next thing I remembered was Eva and me sitting in a hospital room. A nurse was taking a swap from Eva's mouth. I handed over Tom's hair- and toothbrush. At least I think I did. At some point I noticed them each separately concealed in a plastic bag with black writing on it.

And then Dave had arrived. I didn't think I called him. Again, I scrolled through my phone. Nope. No calls to or from Dave on my phone. Maybe I called him from Tom's landline, or office. Had I even been to the office in the past week? I didn't think I did. And Tom hadn't called either. I scrolled through my phone once more. No. Definitely no call from Tom, no message from Tom. No anything from Tom. In my call history, I clicked on the first entry with Tom's name. One of so many unanswered attempts. I had given up sometime on day two to put the phone to my ear. I watched the screen light up, I watched the dialing sign and the empty corner where the seconds and minutes would appear if answered. Even from the distance I could hear Tom's voice. The same message as always. I was so sick of it. What was he doing? What was I doing on that train, looking for him. If he wanted to, he would have called or answered. I hated this game, I hated this phone. And in my fit of silent anger I took my phone and smashed it onto the ground. A feeling of welcome release flooded through me, until I picked up the phone and the same empty screen mocked me. In one swift move I swung up my arm and smashed the phone against the small iron bar underneath the armrest. The bar vibrated from the shock, faster and faster as I continued hitting my phone against it until I heard a loud crack. Shit, shit, shit. I just smashed my phone. Remorse spread through me immediately as I looked around me, hoping no one had passed my compartment and witnessed my outbreak. Luckily, no one was nearby and I examined the damage I had done. It was weird how one minute you want to damage something because you think it makes you feel better, and when you finally have done so, you wished you could press that reverse button and just relive those past ten seconds. The only good thing that came from it was that my stupidity helped me to focus. I could think clearly again.

Dave - I hadn't called him. As I tried to turn my phone back on in vain, I thought back to the past few days. I definitely hadn't called Dave. Someone else must have. Maybe my mum, I wondered. She didn't have his number, but neither did anyone else. Ah well. It didn't matter anyways. Dave came and saved me again like the guardian angel he was. He talked to me, made sure I slept and eventually took Sam and Emma back to Australia. School had started again and they had already missed a few days. I had become a terrible mum. I told Dave that I felt that way but he ensured me they were fine, that I needed to look after myself and do what I had to do. Then he booked me the train ticket.

The train ticket. I sat on this train in a southward direction because I had asked Eva after the DNA test why she thought Tom never replied to her messages. Later that day I asked my mum that same question. "Because his secretary told me to stop harassing him," they both had replied. His secretary. Who was his secretary? I decided I needed to talk to her, but was less enthusiastic when both my mum and Eva gave me the name Jennifer.

Jennifer - the Jennifer who Tom fired? I had asked Jan about her and it seemed like she had worked for Tom for many years. HR confirmed the time frames and were able to pass her details on to me. It had been Dave's idea to arrange a meeting with her, but I resorted to stalking. I had lain in ambush in front of her apartment for an entire afternoon, until she tottered around the corner in her bright red heels. She hadn't seemed fazed by seeing me, wearing a smug smile on her pretty face. Her piercing words still vibrated in my ears: "There were so many women interested in Tom, I couldn't possibly let them all near him. - It was my job to look out for him. - Maybe they were not all love interests, but they were cheats all the same. - Just after his money. I cared. I really did." The way she looked at me let a spark of disappointment, maybe sadness, shine through. If she did act in Tom's best interest, I wouldn't have known. But just when I was about to believe that she truly may have cared for Tom as a person, she added a spiteful: "All the times we spent in St Moritz, in his hideout..." I didn't hear what else she had to say, her words turning into a disturbing background nuisance while my brain worked on overload.

I had spent that entire night debating about whether or not to tell Jan about Tom's disappearance. In the early hours of the following morning I went downstairs to tell him everything that had happened. I had felt queasy going down the lift and standing in front of the only friend Tom has had over the past years. Jan listened carefully to everything I said, no judgement showing on his face. I had hoped I'd feel relieved, easier, but that sick feeling in my stomach wouldn't go.

"Tom is in St Moritz," Jan said out of nowhere once I had finished telling him how I hadn't heard from Tom since our visit to the library. "That's where he goes when he needs a timeout," Jan clarified. If only I had spoken to him earlier.