The Disappearance. Annabel Kantaria

always hung in the loo in Barnes. ‘If anything happens to your father and me, and you need money,’ she’d told John and I while we were growing up, ‘that painting’s worth as much as the house.’ I’d found it hard to believe: although the scene of country flowers was pretty, I saw nothing special in it: the lines were blurry and the colours muted – it wasn’t to my taste at all.

      Still, a few months ago, John had arrived for lunch to find Mum had almost handed over the painting to a conman. John knew at once it was a scam that’d been going on in the area: the gang targeted the elderly. Under the pretence of cleaning artwork, jewellery, and antiques, they would take the originals and swap them for copies. Most of the victims never noticed the difference. Although Mum had denied she’d ever been going to get the painting cleaned, John had thought differently.

      ‘You don’t know she was going to hand it over,’ I said now.

      ‘Why else would she have had it out?’ he asked. ‘She was so evasive about the whole thing. Thank God I turned up when I did. She wouldn’t tell me why that man had been there, nor why the painting was out. When I told her about the scam, she had to sit down with a sherry.’ John shook his head as he recalled the day. ‘We nearly lost our inheritance that day, Lexi.’

      ‘You’ve no idea if that’s our inheritance or not.’

      ‘Oh, come on, Lexi! What else is she going to do with it?’

      ‘Pa didn’t leave anything to us. Remember he wanted us to “make our own way in the world”? Maybe she’ll do the same?’

      ‘I know, I know. “I’m a self-made man and proud of it.”’ John’s impression of our father was also eerily good; for a moment he was right back in the pub with us. ‘Anyway, this is Mum. Of course she’ll leave us something, and the painting’s worth a fortune.’

      I shook my head. ‘That’s all by the by. The point is, we can’t push her out of her home just because she might – or might not – have believed a con artist.’ I paused. ‘She’d hate it. She’d curl up and die.’ I snorted. ‘Maybe Valya dived headfirst down the stairs rather than go into a home.’

      ‘Valya didn’t know what her name was, let alone what was about to happen to her. She had the memory of a goldfish by the time she died.’

      I tutted. ‘Anyway,’ I leaned forward over my coffee cup, cupping it with my hands. ‘Back to Mum. So you want a plan “moving forward” and you’re thinking sheltered housing?’

      John leaned back. ‘Yes. Exactly. Somewhere where there are people – professionals – there to keep an unobtrusive eye on her. Where she’s got a built-in support network to act in an emergency. Maybe she’ll even make some friends.’

      ‘Hmph.’ I was trying to imagine explaining all that to Mum.

      ‘If we go for something where she can sell her current house and invest the money in a flat of some sort, it can continue to be an investment. Rather than, say, something like a retirement home where you’re paying people to look after her and there’s no investment.’

      I closed my eyes. My brother: always looking at the financial bottom line.

      John buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again, he looked utterly defeated. ‘Well, can you come up with a better idea?’ he said. ‘I can’t think of any other solution. I mean, God, Lexi. Work is shit at the moment. I mean, really shit.’ His voice caught. ‘The twins just seem to need money all the time. Money and lifts and clothes and gym classes and riding lessons and music classes and school trips. It’s one thing after another. I’m hard up against it and worrying about Mum is just one thing I don’t need.’

      I rubbed my jaw. As far as I knew, John was doing really well. He must be ploughing all his money back into the business. But, if cash flow was an issue, why didn’t Anastasia get a job? Even something part-time while the twins were at school?

      ‘All right, all right,’ I said. ‘But isn’t this something that should come from Mum herself? She needs to believe she needs to move, otherwise it’ll be a disaster. We can’t force her.’

      ‘That’s where we come in. We need to plant the idea in her head. Water it.’

      I laughed. ‘Good luck with that!’

      John narrowed his eyes and exhaled. ‘We could always try to expedite things.’ His voice was low and I wasn’t sure I’d heard correctly.

      ‘Expedite?’

      He cocked his head. ‘You know … speed things up a little.’

      I shook my head.

      ‘Do small things to make her start doubting herself.’

      ‘What?’ I stared at my brother.

      John shifted awkwardly on his seat. ‘You know … there are ways. It wouldn’t be too difficult.’

      ‘John! That’s evil! Pure evil. How could you even think of such a thing?’

      He closed his eyes. He had the grace to look sheepish, I’ll give him that. ‘But if we don’t,’ he said, ‘how are we going to get her to agree to move?’

      ‘How about we talk to her? Express our concerns. Good grief, John, she’s our mother, not the enemy!’

      John drained his pint. ‘Anyway, think about it. I’m going to do some research, check out some places.’

      I closed my eyes.

      ‘I’ll send you some info,’ he said. ‘Maybe we can see a few places together.’ I didn’t say anything. ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking,’ John continued. ‘But they have nice retirement villages these days.’

      ‘Whatever,’ I said. I pushed back my chair and stood up. ‘Do what you want. I’m going to go and see Mum. I know it’s not your turn, but why don’t you come too?’

      ‘Sure,’ John sighed. ‘As long as the end’s in sight.’