by T. M. Logan
But it had never been this bad. Not even close.
Ed’s study was the same. Books and papers everywhere. Open notebooks and pens. A Notts Police business card. Mark Preston, Detective Constable. She picked up a book that had been laid face down next to his PC. Inside the Killing Mind: sociopaths, psychopaths and serial murder by Alex Oliver. A forest of Post-it notes sprouted from the pages around a section near the back with the sub-heading ‘The History of Murder’. A sentence was picked out in bright yellow highlighter. ‘. . . Murder is a product of civilisation; it is far more closely linked to our modern civilised world than to anything that came before.’ Another, at the foot of the page: ‘The psychopath is not a monster, he is not inhuman. On the contrary, he is utterly human – as human as you or I.’
Claire picked up the book and flicked through some more pages, frowning as she looked at the passages Ed had marked. The cat had followed her here, her meows becoming louder and even more indignant. She had always been a sociable little thing, but never normally this needy, this desperate.
‘What’s the matter with you, creature?’
Tilly scampered into the kitchen, turning back to check her owner was following.
The kitchen was a bit of a state too, unwashed dishes stacked in the sink and piled up next to it. The recycling box in the kitchen overflowing with empty bottles and cardboard boxes. A musty, fusty odour told her Tilly’s litter tray in the cellar was well overdue to be emptied.
She went into the little utility room by the back door and finally found the source of the cat’s distress. Both her wet and dry food bowls were empty and licked clean, the water bowl too, and the cat had somehow managed to knock down the packet of dry food off the top of the cupboard, the corners of the cardboard box imprinted with dozens of needle-point bite marks and scratches where she had tried to tear it open.
‘Not been fed, eh?’
Seeing her pick the box up, the cat went into a fresh frenzy of meowing as she turned in circles around her legs. Claire fetched a pouch of wet food and fed her, the animal ravenously tucking in as if she had not eaten in a month.
She rang Ed’s mobile again, but it went straight to voicemail. Left him a short message and texted him a few minutes later.
She put the phone on the counter and listened to her empty house.
Something wasn’t right. Tilly had always been Abbie’s pet, right up to the point when she had gone to university, then the cat had switched her fickle allegiances to Ed, as he was the one who fed her most often. Typical feline. These days she followed him around the house and climbed up onto his chest whenever he sat down, rubbing her head against his chin while he talked to her and scratched behind her ears. He might leave the house untidy, he might leave dishes in the sink, he might leave clothes on the floor and the debris of his obsessions scattered across the lounge and the study, but he wouldn’t let the cat go without food, not even for a single meal.
That was not like him. Not like him at all.
55
Abbie
Abbie spent the short drive home hoping that Ryan’s Audi would be there when she arrived, but the small square of pitted concrete that served as their drive was empty.
The house was empty too. Out of desperation, she went straight to the landline on its little table in the lounge, hoping that there might be a message. But the glowing red numeral on the charging base read: zero. She sighed. No one ever called the landline anyway, apart from people trying to sell them stuff they didn’t want. Or occasionally her mum, when she’d forgotten to charge her mobile. She’d already decided they wouldn’t bother having one when they bought their first house together.
‘Ryan?’
It was silly, she knew, but she called out to him anyway. There was no answer.
Her phone beeped in her handbag and she flinched, a little bubble of hope in her chest.
Mum mob:
Have you heard from your dad today? Texted him earlier but no response. X
Abbie frowned and typed a quick reply.
Not since yesterday, maybe got job interview? x
She went through the lounge to the little galley kitchen, with its back door out onto a narrow strip of garden, hoping to find some sign that Ryan had been here earlier in the day. But there was just her own breakfast bowl and mug in the sink, half-filled with water from this morning. Her phone beeped again.
Said he’d be here when I got back but I can’t get hold of him. x
That was a bit weird, both of them being out of contact on the same day. Maybe it was some kind of problem with the mobile network, if they were on the same one.
She thought about sending Ryan another text. But what would be the point? I refuse to worry, she told herself. I’m not going to be one of those worrying wives, always on Ryan’s case about where he is and what he’s doing.
On another day, she would have poured herself a glass of wine. Not today. Instead she got a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and went back into the lounge. Smiling a little to herself as the bubbles fizzed on her tongue: having her own house still had that novelty value, that buzz, that gave her a little glow of happiness even though she’d been here a couple of weeks now. Technically this wasn’t her house – her name wasn’t on the deeds yet – but it felt like hers. Like their first step together. She had left her old bedroom behind, with its posters and beanbags, its toys shoved to the back of the wardrobe and teenage girl fairy lights strung around the makeup mirror. She was moving on, doing all the things that adults were supposed to do but that were proving so difficult for most of her friends, many of whom still lived in shared houses with friends, or with their mum and dad at home.
Her heart ached at the thought of her own dad, at how angry she’d been with him before the wedding. How they hadn’t really made up with each other since.
She fired off another text to her mum.
Tell Dad I said hi when you hear from him. Don’t suppose you’ve heard from Ryan? x
The reply was almost immediate.
No, sorry. All OK with you? How was work? You at home? x
Abbie smiled, took another sip of her drink. Always the questions, with her mother, one question spawning at least three others. It was actually quicker to call her and have a chat.
The bubble of hope bloomed again in her chest as she heard a key in the front door.
56
Abbie
And then he was standing on the doorstep in his shirtsleeves, holding a bouquet of lilies that was so big it was almost bursting out of its cellophane wrapping.
‘I am so sorry,’ Ryan said, giving her a sheepish look. ‘I promise to make it up to you twice over, we can—’
She circled her arms around his waist and kissed him, long and slow and deep, her heart fluttering.
‘Hello stranger,’ she said finally, her forehead against his. ‘I was starting to think you’d run off with Colin from accounts.’
‘Sadly, he’s not my type.’
She kissed him again, drinking him in, spearmint and stubble and clean eucalyptus aftershave. ‘What is your type?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Brunette, about 5’9”, slim, smart, funny, preferably a primary school teacher with a dimple right here.’ He touched his index finger to her chin. ‘And an amazing arse.’
She disengaged from his embrace, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. ‘You were doing so well.’
‘It is amazing though. That’s just scientific fact.’
‘So where have you been?’
He held out the bouquet to her and produced a bottle of wine from his overnight bag. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘My favourite,’ she smiled, taking the flowers from him. ‘Thank you.’
He took her in his arms and they kissed again, her heart flooding with relief. I always want to feel like this, she thought. Just like this moment. Full and happy and loved. Just me and this man who came into my life and showed me how sweet it could be.
She went with him into
the kitchen, noticing for the first time how tired he looked. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, his tie askew beneath an open top button.
‘You look knackered,’ she said.
‘Busy day,’ he said with a weary grin. ‘There was a bit of a crisis yesterday in the Manchester office and it spilled over into today, so I stayed over.’
‘You don’t work there anymore, though.’
‘I know, but I got copied into an email on Sunday morning. The MD had looked at one of their big pitch documents on Saturday and torn it to shreds, everyone blaming everyone else, a proper headless chickens situation; then the client brought the re-pitch forward to this afternoon and since it’s one of my old accounts . . .’
‘You run the Nottingham office now, it doesn’t seem fair that they can call you in at such short notice when it’s not even your patch anymore.’
Ryan pulled the cork from the wine bottle with a soft pop. ‘They didn’t exactly call me in,’ he said slowly. ‘I was on the way to Manchester anyway when I got the email, so I sort of . . . volunteered.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘OK.’
She wondered briefly whether this was what married life would be like: Ryan still volunteering for everything, covering for his teammates, always thinking about the company first. Giving up what little free time he had to make sure they hit every target and won every contract. For a selfish moment, she wished he could take a step back from work and put their relationship first. He’d have to do that when they had kids, she wanted them to be a team when it came to childcare. Not that they’d talked about kids yet, but she knew Ryan wanted them, she could tell by the way he was when there were kids on TV or when they saw them in town. He’d be a great dad.
I wish you weren’t such a nice guy, she thought. Then checked herself. It was because he was a nice guy that they were together: he was different from the rest.
‘Where did you stay last night? she said, keeping her voice neutral. ‘Where did you sleep?’
‘Crashed at James’s, his flat is nearest to the office. Just for a few hours kip, then we had to be straight back at it to meet the new deadline. Always keep an overnight bag in the boot of my car, learned that lesson a long time ago.’
‘So did you get all the work stuff sorted out?’
‘Eventually.’
‘But why didn’t you let me know?’ She tried to keep any hint of accusation out of her voice. ‘I was worried about you.’
‘I know and I’m so sorry. My phone died on the way to Manchester. Whenever I charged it, the battery went up to 100 per cent really fast, then half an hour later it was dead again. I was charging it in the car and it got so hot I could hardly even pick it up, then the screen went off and wouldn’t turn back on. I tried calling you but all my numbers are stored in that mobile, I literally don’t know anyone’s number off by heart. I tried loads of different variations on your number from the Manchester office but kept dialling strangers, and everyone was so up against it with the bid document, so . . .’ He took an iPhone 10 box out of his messenger bag. ‘Had to treat myself to a whole new phone in the end.’
‘Silver lining,’ Abbie said.
‘Sorry,’ he said again.
‘It’s OK, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘You were helping your old team.’
‘How about we go out to dinner tonight? Cinnamon shouldn’t be busy on a Monday night.’
‘Sure, that would be nice.’
He poured a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape and held it up.
‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking his wine glass against her Diet Coke. ‘So, am I forgiven?’
‘Forgiven for what?’
He considered her for a moment, his dark eyes glittering over the top of the glass as he took a sip. The wine was a deep, dark ruby red. She recognised it as the one he had ordered on their first proper date.
A wine for celebrating new beginnings, he had said.
‘Everything,’ he said.
Her phone rang before she could answer. ‘Mum mob’ flashing up on the display.
‘Hi Mum,’ Abbie said, putting her can down on the kitchen counter. ‘How was Ireland?’
‘Fine.’ That single word conveying a whole range of feelings, none of which was fine. ‘Listen, I wasn’t going to ring you or disturb your tea, but I’ve got myself a little bit worried and I don’t really know what to do.’
Abbie pressed the phone closer to her ear. ‘What’s the matter, Mum?’
‘It might just be me being silly,’ Claire said. ‘But I’m really struggling to get hold of your dad.’
57
Claire
‘He was supposed to be here the whole time I was away,’ Claire told her daughter. She had changed into jeans and a T-shirt and was flicking rapidly through emails on the iPad. ‘And he was going to cook me something nice for when I got back this evening. But he’s not here and the house is a tip. Both Tilly’s bowls were empty and she was literally lying in wait for me at the front door when I came in, meowing so loud the whole street could have heard her. I don’t think she’s been fed today at all.’
‘Poor baby,’ Abbie said. ‘Is she all right?’
‘She seems OK. I gave her a whole packet of wet food and she’s gone back to sleep.’
‘Was there a note from Dad to say where he was going to be, anything like that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Has he taken any of his stuff with him?’
‘His car’s gone, his phone, wallet and keys, but there’s nothing else obvious. Maybe one of his pairs of trainers from the rack? A jacket? I don’t know for sure.’
‘Have you tried Jason? They might be out together.’
‘I’ve just texted him,’ Claire said. ‘Listen, I should leave the line clear for when he calls. Let me know if your dad gets in touch?’
‘Will do. Love you, Mum.’
‘Oh, Abbie?’ Claire said quickly. ‘Did you hear from Ryan?’
‘Yes, thanks. He had a bit of a nightmare at work, that’s all.’
They hung up and Claire instinctively tried Ed’s mobile again. Voicemail.
It wasn’t like Ed not to answer his phone. She’d now called him three times, and texted him twice, without reply. She texted a couple of his former work colleagues, Siobhan and Paul. It felt a bit awkward asking them if they knew where her husband was, but any awkwardness was already melting away in the face of her mounting concern. Neither of them had seen or heard from Ed since he’d left his job.
She went upstairs and checked his wardrobe, to see if there was anything obvious missing. Then the bathroom cabinet, and the cupboard under the stairs where they kept the holiday suitcases. But apart from his Peugeot not being on the drive, everything else seemed to be in its usual place.
Jason called within minutes of her text.
‘He’s not mentioned anything to me about going away,’ he said. From the background noise it sounded like he was driving, talking on the hands-free. ‘Are you sure he’s not just forgotten you were back today?’
‘I put all the dates into his Outlook calendar, and on the paper calendar in the kitchen. And we’ve been texting while I’ve been away. I don’t think he’d forget.’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time though, would it?’
‘How’s he been this past fortnight, while I’ve been away?’ she said, deflecting his question. ‘Did he seem . . . like his normal self?’
Jason hesitated before answering, the white noise of road traffic filling the gap. ‘Well . . .’
‘What?’ Claire said. ‘Tell me, Jason. Please.’
‘The last couple of times I saw him he’s seemed a bit . . . distracted, to be honest. I’m not sure the break from work has been very good for him, having all that time on his own.’
‘What else?’
‘I suppose he’s been quite up and down recently, with losing his job and all that. He’s pretty upset about the situation with Abbie’s fella. But not like depressed or anything.’
&nb
sp; ‘What did he say about Ryan?’
Jason paused again before answering. ‘He wasn’t keen.’
‘I know that, but did he say anything in particular about him?’
‘Just that he wasn’t right for Abbie. But he tended to say that about all the guys she went out with.’
‘Did he ever talk about going away anywhere, on his own? Taking himself off for a little while?’
‘Sometimes he spoke about places he fancied seeing, but the two of you – you and him together. Not on his own.’
‘What was the last contact you had with him?’
‘Spoke to him on the phone on . . . Wednesday night, I think it was. We were trying to get a date sorted to see the new Scorsese film.’
‘Jason?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think I’m over-reacting, being silly?’
‘Course not.’ More road noise. ‘But I’m sure he’s fine, he’s probably lost his phone again, or his keys, or forgotten what day you were coming back, like I said. You know what he’s like. He’s probably going to turn up any time now, wondering what all the fuss is about.’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘Look, I’m on the way back from a client at the moment but keep me in the loop, yeah? I’ll make some more calls in the meantime.’
Claire promised to keep him updated and they said their goodbyes. She made a quick meal of salmon and pasta, putting half of it on a covered plate in the microwave for Ed to have on his return. She ended up throwing most of her half in the bin. She wasn’t really hungry.
Jason was right. Any time now, Ed would walk through the door asking her how the shows had gone in Ireland. Then he’d be instantly apologetic that he had worried her, guilty that the cat had not been fed, giving a simple explanation for his absence that would be obvious when he laid it all out for her.
