Where Have You Been? — a short story for English reading and speaking

“Where have you been?”

Sam looked at his wife, Claire, and shook his head.

“The shop.”

He held up the pint of milk as if to provide proof.

She stood in front of him, staring at him, her eyes like saucers. Sam laughed, and edged past her.

What was up with her today? She had been fine when he left twenty minutes ago.

He put the milk in the fridge and filled the kettle with water. Things looked different in the kitchen. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly it was that was not the same, but something.

Sam called out to Claire. “Coffee?”

There was no response, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

She stood by the doorway, her mouth still open in the shocked expression she had when he opened the front door.

Sam let out another short laugh. “So that’s a no, then.”

“Sam, where have you been?”

He spooned coffee into two cups.

“Only the shop. Where did you think I went?”

He turned round to face her. Her expression had not changed since he came through the door.

“What’s the matter, love?”

She stared back at him, slowly shaking her head.

“Three days, Sam.” For the first time, she closed her mouth and swallowed.

Sam saw the alarm in her eyes, that flicker of fear. This better not be another bust-up with her brother again.

“Three days? What do you mean?”

“You’ve been gone for three days.”

He stared back at her. He’d only been out the door for less than thirty minutes. What was she talking about?

Claire picked up a piece of paper on the kitchen table in a rapid movement and thrust it at him. He took it. A police report, something about a missing person, a description, where last seen and a photograph of him.

He read it, reread it. It didn’t make sense.

He looked up at Claire and tried to find answers in her face. He just saw panic.

“I have no idea what this is. What is it?”

He looked back at Claire to find an answer. A practical joke, a prank.

She stared back at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

She spoke: “Sam, you walked out that door three days ago. You said you were going to the shop. All you had was the shirt you are wearing now, those same jeans and shoes. You had about five pounds in loose change. I know because I asked you if you needed more cash and you showed me.”

She shook her head.

“But you didn’t come back,” she said, her voice quiet. “You walked out of the door and you were gone for three days. I had no idea where you were.”

Tears welled up in her eyes.

Sam stared back at her. He shook his head, looked back at the missing person’s report to find an answer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love,” he said. “I’ve only been gone about half an hour.”

“Then why do I have this?” She snatched the missing person’s report from his hand. “Why are the police looking for you now?”

Sam didn’t move. He just stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking back at Claire.

“You walked out of here on Sunday morning,” she continued. “You said you would be half an hour — just like you always do — and it got to an hour and I started to wonder where you were.”

She smacked the missing person report on the kitchen table.

“I thought perhaps you’d bumped into Colin and you’d gone to his place. It got to two hours, and I was getting angry. I sent a message to Colin, and he said he hadn’t seen you. That’s when I went to the shop and asked if they had seen you. They said you’d been in there almost two hours earlier.”

Sam shook his head.

“This can’t be right. It’s silly. I know I’ve only been gone for thirty minutes. I know I have.”

He moved to the window, then he pulled out his phone. The time and date would be on there.

It said the time was nine-twenty. The date Sunday, the fifteenth of September.

He smiled at Claire. “There you go. Look.” He showed her his phone. He nodded at the police report on the table. “I don’t understand what this is though.”

Claire’s face showed no sign of any expression. She took her phone from her pocket, tapped at the screen, and showed it to him.

It said the date was Wednesday, the eighteenth.

Sam stared back at her phone in disbelief. He shook his head. He refused to believe this.

He went from the kitchen into the living room and turned on the TV. That would solve it once and for all.

Breakfast TV was on one of the channels, and the date showed at the bottom of the screen. It said it was the eighteenth.

He stared at the TV screen, unable to make any sense of what he saw before him.

“Where did you go, Sam?” Claire joined him in the living room. “I was worried about you. I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

Thoughts fired through Sam’s brain in quick succession.

“Claire. I didn’t go anywhere. I swear on my life. I went to the shop — that’s it. I left here no more than thirty minutes ago.”

Claire stared back at Sam, slowly shaking her head. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Three days, Sam. Three days. I wondered what had happened —”

Clair’s face began to crease into different lines. Her voice crackled like it was coming from a radio. Right before Sam’s eyes, he watched as she flickered on and off.

Then she was gone.

He stood still, his mouth wide open.

He turned his head to look around the room. Maybe she had just stepped to the side. But she was nowhere in the room.

She was gone.