by Clare Boyd
When they reached Billingshurst, Izzy complained of feeling sick.
‘I get carsick on these windy roads,’ Izzy said.
‘You shouldn’t have eaten your Crunchie bar so quickly,’ Diana said smugly, sounding just like Naomi.
‘Do you need me to stop?’ Sophie asked.
‘No. It’s okay.’
‘This is taking ages,’ Dylan piped up.
‘Mummy goes a much quicker way to Guildford,’ Diana said.
Sophie decided it would be safe to tell them where they were going now.
‘Well, actually, we’re not going to boring old Guildford, we’re off to the big Imax cinema in Brighton. They’ve got a special 3-D showing of Mamma Mia 2, but before that I thought you might like a doughnut on the pier and then supper at Bill’s.’
There were yelps of delight and then a full rendition of all the ABBA songs, most of which Dylan knew off by heart. Even Sophie joined in for ‘The Winner Takes It All’.
The wind was whipping off the sea and blowing up through the wooden slats of the pier. Sophie looked down, beyond her feet. The white froth below made her head spin.
The three children did not care about the tide beneath them; they were awed by the doughnuts being plopped into perfect rings behind the glass.
Sophie bought three.
Izzy and Diana’s noses were pink from cold and covered in sugar.
She took a photograph of them against the railings. They were bright in their coats against the backdrop of the grey, squally sea. The girls’ blonde ringlets were whipped straight by the wind.
Usually she would send photographs of the girls to Naomi straight away. Not this evening. She wanted her to sweat, to feel the girls’ absence, to fear for their safety. She wanted Naomi to know how far she was prepared to go. This was a warning shot. This was a taster of how vulnerable her two beautiful girls were. What would become of them if Naomi dared tell?
Izzy dashed off to the coin-raking game and Diana ran straight to the shooting stall and Dylan ambled over to the queue for the ghost train. Sophie kept her eye on Dylan only. Gathering the three of them together, with scary warnings about creepy strangers, was what she might have done if Naomi were around. This afternoon, she didn’t feel especially nervous for the girls’ safety. Their fate was in the lap of the gods tonight. Poseidon’s, perhaps, she thought, amusing herself, looking out to the choppy horizon.
She looked at her phone. Naomi would not be worried yet, she didn’t think. An hour or so, she gave it.
‘Can we go on the helter-skelter?’ Diana asked.
They battled the wind to the end of the pier, where Sophie watched the three children whoosh around and down the helter-skelter, legs and arms flying over the edge.
At the point when Diana was pleading for another token, Sophie received her first call from Naomi. The circular photograph of her smiling face was central on the screen. It rang out. Sophie could not imagine that there would be a real smile on Naomi’s face right now. She hoped there would not be, and she contemplated keeping the girls for longer, finding a hotel for a sleepover in Brighton, to fray Naomi’s nerves further. If they left first thing the following morning, she and Dylan would have time to get back for their planned drive in the Giulia with Adam. It would depend on how frantic Naomi became. If the girls’ absence failed to have the desired effect on Naomi, Sophie would prolong their Brighton excursion indefinitely. They were having so much fun, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Are the girls watching telly?’ I said, scooping Harley into my arms, exhaling heavily and kissing Charlie on the lips.
Almost out of habit, I was pleased to be home. The good feeling did not linger. I found it impossible to sustain any positive feelings about anything of any importance. The awards ceremony had been debilitating, beyond tiring, surreal almost. I had managed my inebriation carefully, to function, to forget. It was a balancing act. One drink would not be enough to repress everything; one too many brought it rushing to the surface.
‘They’re with Sophie, remember?’
Harley scuffled at my feet when I put him down too quickly.
‘No, they’re not.’
Charlie laughed, innocent in his Friday-night casual crew neck, chopping the coriander with his double-handled herb knife. ‘The cinema, remember?’
‘No. I don’t remember.’
Charlie stopped chopping. ‘Sophie said you’d forgotten and that I should email the school with permission.’
‘Are you telling me the girls are with Sophie right now?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean, she tricked you into emailing the school for permission, and then she just turned up at the gates?’
‘She didn’t trick me.’
‘Well, she and I never arranged it, Charlie.’
He frowned at me. ‘You must have.’
‘I did not, I swear it.’
Charlie swept the green leaves into his palm and sprinkled them over the dish bubbling on the stove. ‘I don’t mean to be funny, Naomi, but you have been a bit away with the fairies lately.’
The smell of the herbs lingered sweet and sharp in my head.
‘Charlie, I am telling you, I did not arrange it.’
‘It’s just a case of crossed wires.’
‘Why didn’t you call me about this?’ I said, pulling my phone out of my bag.
‘You never have your phone on in those awards thingummy-jigs.’
‘I did today.’
‘Are you bothered about Sophie taking them out tonight?’
I ignored this question. How could I possibly answer him? I won’t let you do anything stupid. Just think of life without those two girls, Sophie had said.
‘What time did she say she’d drop them back?’ I asked.
‘She didn’t specify.’
The officious use of the word ‘specify’ grated on me. He would speak to me like this when he was cross or disapproving.
‘It’s six already,’ I said.
‘That’s not late. If they went to a film, it won’t be finished yet.’
I searched the film showing times on my Odeon app.
‘Lego 3 is the only kids’ film at the Guildford Odeon and it starts at 3.45 p.m. and finishes at six.’
‘It’s only just gone six now.’
I checked my watch again. It was true. I was panicking unnecessarily. ‘True,’ I admitted.
I put my phone down, beginning to think I was being paranoid.
Sophie’s behaviour could be unconventional, imprudent even, but she was not capable of taking my children as a threat. She would never want to scare me or the girls. She loved them almost as much as she loved Dylan. I might have forgotten a conversation about this cinema plan of hers, maybe.
‘I guess they’ll be eating out afterwards, too,’ Charlie said.
‘I’ll try her now, to find out. Just so we know.’ I pressed her number and waited. Her voicemail message announcement came into my ear and panic bubbled up inside me again. ‘It’s her voicemail.’
‘She’d have it on silent in the cinema. Naomi, really, I don’t…’
I put my finger to my lips to shush him and I left a message. ‘Hi, Sophie. It’s Naomi. Just wondering when to expect you back. I’d completely forgotten about this plan! Sorry. Hope you’re having fun! Give me a bell. Bye.’
I had hoped to sound light and casual. I imagined I had not pulled that off.
‘I wish you’d called me,’ I said, reaching for the bottle of wine in the fridge.
‘I didn’t think it mattered so much.’
I took a sip from the glass before I had even put the bottle back.
‘It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. Sorry. I’ve had a stressful day,’ I sighed, glancing at the wall clock, working out timings of the girls’ evening as I could best imagine Sophie had planned it. I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t stop the low-level churn of worry.
If the film finished at six, they would, most likely, be walking
over to Franca Manca or Jamie’s Kitchen by now, which would take no more than fifteen minutes, even if I factored in a loo stop. If they ate starters and puddings, they would be leaving the restaurant by seven thirty latest. The journey from Guildford would take roughly half an hour, which meant they should be home between 8 p.m. and 8.30 p.m. Latest, 9 p.m.
Until nine, I would not think about them, and I would try to enjoy some rare time alone with Charlie.
* * *
But, of course, I did think about it, continually, barely allowing Charlie’s voice to penetrate my thoughts long enough to engage in a conversation, more and more certain that Sophie had never once mentioned this cinema plan. With every second that passed after 8.30 p.m., my worry grew.
By 9.33 p.m., I called Sophie again, unable to hide the frantic edge to my voice when asking her to call me back.
‘She must have left her phone somewhere,’ Charlie said, coming in again with his sensible explanations.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I replied, rechecking my texts between Sophie and me. I could not find a thread of text chat about a cinema trip.
To calm myself down, I began to think out loud.
‘They could be stuck in traffic, I suppose,’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ he said, placing two plates of curry on the table.
‘Or had a flat tyre or something, and her phone battery has run out.’
‘Let’s hope they haven’t had a flat.’
‘Charlie. What do you think has happened?’ I asked, taking the wine out of the fridge.
‘I think Sophie’s chaos happened. When has she ever arrived on time for anything?’
‘Good point.’
Nevertheless, throughout the meal I continued to hazard guesses, concocting various plotlines: she had lost her car key and had to retrace her steps; she had run out of petrol and they had to walk to the petrol station; one of the children was sick in the car and she was by the roadside cleaning it up.
My theories sounded bland to my own ear, babyish even, never coming close to what I really thought.
I could not share what I feared most.
While we were clearing up our meal, I added more scenarios to the list. Charlie cut me dead, irritable. ‘Stop with the conjecture. They’ll be home any minute.’
‘You’re not worried one bit?’ I asked him, once again taking the bottle of Pinot Grigio out of the fridge to top up my glass, my fourth glass.
He did not answer me. Instead, he took the bottle out of my hand and placed it back into the fridge door. ‘How about a decaf espresso?’
I gaped at him and took the bottle out again, pouring my glass right up to the rim. He turned away to wipe the hob down.
‘You can be so cold, sometimes, did you know that?’ I said, mean and hard.
I regretted it as soon as it had come out of my mouth. He would be hurt, but he remained composed.
‘Sophie’s been taking the girls out since they were babies and she’s never once brought them back on time,’ he said quietly, calmly, wiping, wiping, wiping around in circles, cleaning what was already clean.
‘Adam’s really worried about her.’
‘He said something?’
‘He dropped round to talk to me about her.’
‘Adam dropped round? Here?’
During the mania of organising the dinner party, I had failed to mention it. Afterwards, after the bombshell of Jason Parker, it had seemed irrelevant.
‘It was the night before the dinner party,’ I began, having to draw extra breath into my lungs at the memory of that dinner party. ‘You were in Manchester. He was really worried about her state of mind.’
‘He’s leaving her. It’s obvious why he’d want to justify it.’
‘It’s not that, honestly. That’s what I thought at first, but he was more concerned about Dylan than about himself.’
‘He’s finally noticed that he can’t compete for Sophie’s love?’ Charlie grinned. He was trying for a change of mood. It was my cue to change course, salvage the evening.
‘This isn’t funny. Something happened… it’s… well…’ I stammered, rubbing my face, trying to organise my brain through the wine to remember the story properly. ‘She left him on his own in the cottage… to go to Pilates, to see me, and Dylan was really upset.’
My pronunciation was baggy, my tongue too loose to sound convincing.
‘I’m still not sure why her strange parenting of Dylan has any bearing on tonight.’
‘You don’t understand,’ I cried, exasperated.
‘You’re right. I don’t understand your turnaround. Yesterday, she’s your best friend in all the world. Today she’s… what, kidnapped the girls?’ he laughed. ‘There’s no logic to it, Naomi.’
I wanted to throttle him. ‘Logic? Why can’t you just trust me for once?’
He placed the cloth into the sink and turned to face me. ‘Because I think you’re drunk.’
I felt a surge of humiliation.
‘Ah, right. We’ve got to the bottom of it now,’ I sneered. ‘That’s why you’re behaving as though you’ve got a rod up your arse, is it? Oh, I’m so, so sorry I’m a little bit tipsy after a long day. Woohoo, wow, god forbid we might have a few too many on a Friday night and actually enjoy ourselves. What a bloody shocker.’ I threw my arms about, sloshing wine on the floor, taking up the room with my panic.
Charlie tugged the bottom of his sweater down and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He looked like a schoolboy and I wondered how I could be so unpleasant to him.
‘I’ll be in my study,’ he said, squeezing past me, head down, uncomfortable to pass by me so close.
At his back, I threw up my two fingers, mouthing expletives. He thought I was drunk, unreasonable, but I was armed with more facts than he was. I knew what Sophie was capable of. If he knew the truth, he would be frantic, too.
But he didn’t know. That was the point. A key piece of evidence had not been given to him. A vital slice of my past was missing from his knowledge, with its potentially dire consequences for our shared future and I was blaming him for it, as though he should be able to mine my mind for information at his own convenience, like he might flick through a document at work.
My unjustified, wrongly directed anger at Charlie brought a rush of tears to my eyes.
When I imagined the girls’ innocent little faces smiling at Sophie, with her underhand motives, I wanted to unleash a scream so loud it would break the windows of our house and send its soundwaves rattling through Sophie’s bones.
* * *
I sat forward on the sofa as I watched television. The volume was low. My phone was clutched in my palm. I had stopped drinking, to clear my head, but I craved another. When this was all over, when everyone was safely tucked up in bed, I would be able to open the bottle of Malbec.
Every quarter of an hour, I called Sophie. Her mechanical message rang in my ear, repetitive like a line in a film that is echoed to evoke fear, to signpost upcoming danger.
Occasionally I leapt up and checked outside, listening out for the sound of an engine on our quiet lane, looking for the flash of headlights across the tangle of trees.
A rota of those reassuring scenarios continued to run through my head: she had lost her phone, they had broken down, they had seen a later film, they had got lost, they had gone home to Sophie’s where they would call, and so on. There were a million and one different sequences of events that could lead to their late return and her failure to call.
The palatable alternatives drowned out what I feared most, and I enjoyed imagining how I would laugh with the girls about my neuroses when they came through the door any minute now.
At eleven, they had still not come through that door.
I knew I had to do something.
I burst into Charlie’s study.
‘I think we should call someone.’ I meant the police.
Braced for a fight, I mentally prepared to blurt out the whole truth, to give him the full measure of Sophie an
d the volatility of the situation, if I had to.
Then I noticed that there was a window open on his laptop showing the screen times for the Chichester Odeon. This was the other cinema that Sophie might have considered travelling a little further to.
‘You’re worried too!’
He turned to me. There were smears on his glasses.
‘It’s very late now,’ he conceded.
I wanted to collapse. ‘It is. Yes. Shall I call the police?’
‘I’ve just called Adam and left a message, so let’s wait and see whether he knows anything.’
‘Really?’ I asked. The delay would be excruciating.
‘Adam might know where they are. She might have mentioned something to him.’
‘Why don’t we call the police while we wait to hear from him?’
‘The police won’t do anything for us anyway unless we’ve exhausted all avenues.’
‘Okay.’ My breathing became shallow. I understood why we had to be methodical, but I was not sure I could wait a second longer without combusting.
I sat on the arm of his low leather armchair. We remained silent for a moment, staring at his phone, waiting for it to ring with news. Doing nothing made time go slowly.
‘Is it true we have to wait twenty-four hours to ring the police if you think someone is missing? Or is it different when it’s about children?’
‘I’ve looked it up. You can ring any time.’
My heart bulged. He had looked it up. ‘You’ve looked it up already?’
He handed me his phone. On the screen were clear instructions about how to call the police when you suspected a missing person.
As I read it, the phone rang in my hand. I almost dropped it in shock.
‘It’s Adam,’ I said, shoving it at Charlie.
Our eyes met as he answered it. I looked deep into his soul, seeing my own love for the girls reflected back at me.
‘Hi, Adam. Sorry to call so late… We’ve been expecting Izzy and Diana back from a trip to the cinema with Sophie and Dylan, and it’s getting rather late. Have you heard from her? Did you know of any cinema plans this evening?’
