The Vow: the gripping new thriller from a bestselling author - guaranteed to keep you up all night!

by Debbie Howells

  ‘Yesterday.’ Then I question myself, because it’s been a day in which so much has changed. But it’s the difference between the known and unknown that makes it feel more like a lifetime ago. ‘Yesterday morning. Just before he went to work.’

  ‘And you last heard from him when?’

  ‘He called me later that morning from his office, to say he was going to be late.’ Aware of my voice shaking, I pause. ‘It was a last minute change to his plans. He had a client over from the States. His boss had asked Matt to take him out to dinner.’

  ‘And that was usual?’

  ‘It doesn’t happen that often, but I suppose often enough that it didn’t seem strange.’ I’m gabbling, needing her to understand the feeling I have, deep in my bones, that something’s happened to Matt. ‘He sounded odd. I mean, he said something he wouldn’t normally say. It was as though he was irritated about something. Then he said he’d talk to me later. Just before he hung up, he said, take care, babe.’ I break off, knowing that to anyone who doesn’t know Matt, it sounds trivial. ‘I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it was out of character. It’s not the kind of thing he ever says.’

  PC Page is quiet for a moment. ‘Do you know who the client was?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ For the first time, I’m berating myself that I never ask him, but Matt’s clients are people I never meet. He rarely tells me their names.

  ‘Did he give you any indication where he was going last night?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’ Suddenly I remember something. ‘His boss might know. David. It was David who wanted him to take the client out.’ I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before. As I speak, my sense of urgency grows. ‘I’ll call him. He’s bound to know something.’

  ‘If you give me his details, we’ll speak to him. We need your fiancé’s contact details, too.’ She sounds in control, but her business-like manner does nothing to reassure me.

  ‘His name is David Avery. They work for a company called Orbital.’ I give her Matt’s mobile number and David’s work number. ‘Matt drove to work yesterday morning. He has a red Audi.’ Sharing the car’s registration, I wonder what else she needs to know.

  ‘Do you have a recent photograph you can email to us?’

  ‘Of course. Where shall I send it?’

  ‘I’ll give you an email address. Do you have a pen?’

  After I write it down, she goes on. ‘If you hear anything from him or think of anything else that might be useful, could you let us know? We’ll start making enquiries straight away. Have you been in touch with any local surgeries and hospitals?’

  Her words set off alarm bells. ‘I haven’t.’ Oh God. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might have been taken ill or involved in an accident.

  ‘It’s unlikely there’s been an accident, or we’d have heard about it …’ She hesitates for a moment. ‘Are there any family members nearby? Siblings – or close friends?’

  ‘No. His parents are in Scotland. He’s an only child.’

  ‘Have you spoken to them?’

  ‘I tried calling them, but the line was dead. Matt must have accidentally written down the wrong number.’

  ‘Do you have their address?’

  Frowning, I try to think. ‘Only their email address. It’s how we sent out our wedding invitations.’ I pause, remembering querying Matt about whether his parents would prefer a printed invitation and his amusement when he told me about how his dad was more tech-savvy than even he was.

  ‘Perhaps you could email them? See when they last heard from him?’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask this. It may sound far-fetched, but do you think there’s any possibility he’s keeping anything from you? Financial worries or anything like that?’

  ‘No.’ Indignant at what she’s suggesting, my face grows hot. ‘Matt wouldn’t get involved in anything irresponsible. We’re getting married in two weeks. We don’t keep secrets from each other.’

  ‘Of course.’ Her voice is crisp. ‘Well, we have what we need for now. Perhaps we can talk again later on.’

  I clutch my phone tightly. ‘Do you think you’ll find him? I mean, what usually happens?’ Futile questions, impossible for her to answer, as I seek a reassurance that doesn’t exist.

  ‘In most cases, missing persons turn up; a day, sometimes a week later, sometimes longer than that.’ Her voice is matter of fact. ‘It’s early days, Ms Reid. There’s no point worrying too much. Not just yet.’

  Her words do little to set my mind at rest. After ending the call, I sit there, my mind a million miles away as I consider every possible scenario. Then I imagine her thinking I’m naïve, that no-one ever thinks their partner would deceive them – until it happens.

  Firing up my laptop, I open our wedding file, copying Matt’s parents’ email address, staring at the screen while I work out what to write.

  I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I wondered when you last spoke to Matt? I haven’t been able to contact him for a couple of days. Actually, to be honest, I’m really worried …

  Deleting the last line, I add something about how much I’m looking forward to meeting them at the wedding, then press send. While I wait for a response, I email the photo of Matt to PC Page. Then suddenly needing to hear Jess’s voice, I send her a WhatsApp. How are you Jess? Can you give me a quick call when you have time? Xxx

  Ten minutes later, she calls me. ‘Mum? Is everything OK?’

  ‘Not really.’ Then I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know where Matt is, Jess. I haven’t been able to contact him.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ She sounds alarmed. ‘Since when?’

  My voice wobbles. ‘Yesterday morning. I had this really odd call from him saying he would be late because his boss had asked him to take a client out, and that was the last I heard from him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Her voice is sharp.

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you. I was hoping he’d just reappear with an explanation. I’ve been in touch with the police. They may want to talk to you at some point – if he doesn’t turn up. At the moment, I’m still hoping he will …’ Breaking off, I swallow the lump in my throat.

  ‘Mum, people don’t just disappear … Something must have happened to him. The police will find him, won’t they? But are you OK?’ Her voice is suddenly anxious. ‘I can come home. I’ll get a train. I can leave later – or first thing tomorrow …’

  ‘Please don’t, Jess. There’s nothing you can do – and you’re coming back in just over a week for our wedding, anyway.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t …’

  Knowing what she’s about to say, about the wedding, I interrupt. ‘I’m taking each day at a time.’ I try to keep my voice level, because right now, I can’t think that far ahead. ‘It’s the only way.’ Though I want her here more than anything, she has to think of her coursework. And the moment she comes home, in my mind at least, everything escalates.

  After forcing a promise from me to keep her updated, she reluctantly agrees to stay where she is – at least for now. But her unspoken words hang in the air. Less than a fortnight away, ever since we decided on a date, our wedding has filled my head. For a moment, I allow my mind to linger: on my beautiful dress, my vows, everyone important to me in one place. But instead of Matt beside me, I imagine an empty space, as I feel myself shiver. I never thought the day would come I’d have to think about cancelling it.

  As I sit there, a knock on the door makes me jump. Getting up, I go to answer it, but when I see Cath’s face pressed against the glass, my heart sinks.

  ‘I brought lunch!’ As I open the door, she holds up a brown paper carrier bag from the farm shop she would have driven past on her way here. ‘This too.’ She holds up a bottle of champagne. ‘I thought we’d celebrate – your up and coming nuptials and my escape from Oliver. If you’re not too busy?’ She hesitates, frowning as she stares at me. ‘What’s going on?’

  I shake my head. ‘Sorry, I
’d completely forgotten you were coming. Can we do this some other time?’ It isn’t that I don’t want to see her, but today, I don’t have the capacity to listen to her problems or buoy her up. Until I find out where Matt is, there isn’t space in my mind for anything else.

  ‘What’s happened? Is Jess OK?’ Cath stands there. ‘Amy, you’re worrying me.’

  I hesitate, in my state of denial not wanting to tell anyone, still hoping that at any minute Matt will turn up. But she’s one of my oldest friends. ‘You better come in.’

  Closing the door behind us, she follows me through to the kitchen, where she pulls off her jacket then stands there, her eyes fixed on mine, as I perch on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘Matt’s gone missing.’ I say it quietly, reticent, because the more I talk about it, the more real it becomes; the more my fear grows. Not because I don’t care, as the police later suggested. Even with their specialist training, their expertise in psychological profiling, they couldn’t understand how I was so calm.

  A look of incredulity on her face, Cath doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Since when?’ Her voice is sharp.

  ‘Last night.’ Feeling tears fill my eyes, I wipe them away. ‘He didn’t come home. I thought he was out late with a business client. I didn’t think any more of it, until this morning.’

  A frown wrinkles her forehead. ‘He isn’t answering his phone?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ve been trying all day. I’ve called his office, too. Left messages, but no-one’s heard from him. Just now, I called the police.’

  ‘Jesus.’ White as a sheet, Cath sits down next to me. A hint of her scent reaches me. Citrus notes – and basil. ‘I mean, that’s so not like Matt.’

  ‘I know.’ I’ve never known her lost for words before. Then I tell her about the old woman and what she said to me.

  A look of shock crosses her face. ‘You were right when you said it was weird. It’s too much of a coincidence, surely.’ Cath stares at me. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘So now, I wait for the police to get back to me. Unless he turns up – in which case I call them.’

  ‘Jesus, Amy.’ Cath sits there, then she gets up again. ‘There’s an explanation. There has to be. You’re getting married. You’re love’s dream, for fuck’s sake. Don’t I know better than anyone.’

  Hearing the bitterness in her voice, I look up. I hadn’t realised she felt that way.

  ‘Don’t mind me.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m cynical and twisted because of Oliver, but I’ll get over it.’

  I stare at her, not knowing what to say. Then something makes me look at her more closely, as I notice how much weight she’s lost, how she’s cut her hair shorter, so that it falls in soft waves that frame her face. I’ve always thought of her as large-framed, heavy, but she isn’t. Her broken heart has left her slender.

  Cath gazes out of the window. ‘It’s OK. It really is. It was a bit galling for a while, if I’m honest. There’s nothing like looking at other people and wishing you had even a fraction of their happiness. But Oliver’s gone and I’m moving to Bristol. It’s fine – honestly. I’m happy for you.’ But the tightness of her voice belies her words.

  Later, when the police asked about our friends, their lives, how well we knew them, I told them what Cath said, watching them write it down, word for word, only then remembering the hardness in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice, as the first waves of suspicion crept over me, that there was something she wasn’t telling me. Jealousy was toxic enough, but unrequited love could be just as destructive; could drive the most unlikely person over the edge.

  *

  After a lunch that neither Cath nor I have an appetite for, our mood is subdued and she doesn’t stay long. Checking my emails, there’s no reply yet from Matt’s parents and as I head across the garden towards my workshop, I’m unsettled. Ignoring the list of orders waiting for me, I wander over to the bench under the oak tree, placed there for the most far-reaching views of the Downs. Sitting down, I gaze out across the outline of the hills, my mind flitting all over the place as I breathe deeply, trying to slow it down, still jittery as the buzz of my mobile startles me.

  ‘Ms Reid? It’s PC Page.’

  As she speaks, fear courses through me. ‘Have you heard anything?’

  ‘Not as yet.’ She hesitates. ‘I wanted to clarify one or two things about the conversation you had with your fiancé yesterday morning. Earlier, you told me his boss had asked him to take an American client out to dinner – that’s correct isn’t it?’

  I frown, wondering why she’s asking. ‘Yes. Why?’

  As she goes on, she sounds puzzled. ‘The thing is, we spoke to David Avery – Matthew’s boss. He says he doesn’t know anything about an American client.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ My heart misses a beat. It doesn’t make sense that Matt would have lied to me. ‘David must have that wrong. There’s no other explanation. Why else would Matt have told me that?’

  ‘I’m only repeating what he told us. According to Mr Avery, Matthew left work at the normal time, but to the best of his knowledge, there are no clients from the States – at least, not at this present time. Currently their work is here and in Dubai.’

  ‘He must have made a mistake …’ I’m searching wildly for answers. ‘There could be someone David doesn’t know about. A new client … Matt wouldn’t lie about something like that.’ Mystified, my voice fades to a whisper.

  ‘I take it you still haven’t heard from him?’ PC Page speaks quietly.

  ‘Not yet.’ I’m trying to take in what she’s said. ‘He’ll call me, though. I’m sure he will – if he can.’ But it’s myself I’m trying to convince, rather than her.

  ‘Did you email his parents?’

  ‘I did. They haven’t replied yet.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask this.’ PC Page sounds reluctant. ‘Can you think of any reason why Matt would just take off? Were there any problems between you? Had you argued, for example?’

  ‘No.’ I’m outraged that she’s even asking. ‘We’re getting married in two weeks. Like I said to you before, everything is fine between us.’

  It’s what I want to believe. But I’m running out of logical explanations. Matt wouldn’t take off – not unless he’d inadvertently got caught up in something and had no choice. It’s either that, or something’s happened to him.

  After PC Page’s call, uncertainty hangs over me as my restlessness builds. Not knowing what to do with myself, I pull on a coat and trainers, needing to breathe in cold air to clear my head. Closing the door behind me, instead of heading for the road that winds downhill towards Steyning, I walk up the lane, past Mrs Guthrie’s house. Walking further on, I pass the pair of semi-detached flint cottages, then where the road ends, I climb the stile onto the footpath.

  Snaking beneath tall beech trees, the path is covered in autumn leaves and I follow it until it eventually opens out onto sloping grassland. Wanting to push my body, to reach the top and feel the force of the wind around me, I take the steeper of the two paths. Narrow and chalky, it’s slippery underfoot. Oblivious to the water soaking through my trainers, I constantly check my phone, racking my brain for the smallest detail that might make sense of everything, tears filling my eyes as I think about the future I’d believed lay ahead of us. A future that’s been disrupted, unexpectedly, without warning or explanation, leaving me in unknown territory, where I no longer know what tomorrow holds.

  At the top, I keep walking as my emotions overwhelm me; walking faster, racked with sobs, until physically and emotionally, I’m exhausted. Losing track of time, I berate myself when I realise how late it’s got. What if Matt’s come back and he’s at home, wondering where I am? But I know he isn’t. If he was, he would have called me.

  As the light fades, I turn to make my way back, dusk descending into darkness by the time I reach my lane. But it’s not too dark to know that while I was out, someone’s been here. As the house comes into view, I see that there are flow
ers on the doorstep.

  Chapter Four

  When I pick it up, the bouquet is heavy enough that it takes both hands to carry it inside, as it occurs to me fleetingly that Matt might have sent it. Pushing the front door closed with one foot, I carry it along the hallway to the kitchen.

  Switching on the light, I place the bouquet on one of the worktops, taking in the densely packed white lilies and tulips, intermingled with deep red velvet roses – expensive, hot house varieties, with lavish layers of elaborate wrapping concealing the bag of water encasing the stems. Peeling off the envelope that’s been attached, I imagine an apology – or an explanation, then my mind races. Maybe it’s a surprise and Matt’s already here waiting for me. Filled with hope, I call out. ‘Matt? Honey? Are you there?’

  The silence adds to my already fraying nerves, the scent from the lilies cloying, the significance of red and white flowers not lost on me. Silence has a weight, I wanted to explain to the police later. If I could have felt what it contained, listened to its secrets, maybe it would have told me where Matt was.

  Through the kitchen window, a sudden movement catches my eye. ‘Matt?’ Spinning round, I knock the bouquet, watching as it sways for a moment before falling sideways, then slipping slow motion to the floor.

  As water leaks out onto the dark slate, I curse my clumsiness. Crouching down, as I go to pick it up, an alien scent reaches my nostrils, growing stronger, more abhorrent, as simultaneously I notice splatters of red on the white tulips. Recoiling, shock hits me as I realise. It isn’t water on the floor. The stems of the bouquet have been wrapped in blood.

  *

  ‘I went for a walk. They were on my doorstep when I got home.’ My voice echoes in the silence of the kitchen. ‘I assumed they were from Matt – an apology or something.’

  ‘You’ve no idea who might have sent them?’ As she stares at the flowers, PC Page is smaller, younger than I’d imagined from talking to her on the phone. Slightly built, her straight fair hair doesn’t quite touch her shoulders.