by Wendy Clarke
‘Oh, Mark. While you’re down there, I don’t suppose you could go to my car and get my charger cable for me? I left it in there, and there’s not much charge left on my phone.’
‘Of course.’ Mark holds out his hand. ‘Keys?’
I fetch my bag from the bedroom and unzip the front pocket. Taking out the keys, I hand them to him. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
He pockets them and lets himself out of the apartment, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Tomorrow the police will be here, and I feel nothing but relief. The only way I’d feel better is if Joanna would come home.
Eighteen
I’m awake. Lying in the pitch black, my eyes wide open searching for the tiniest scrap of light. Sitting bolt upright, I clutch the duvet in my fists, knowing it’s a dream. Willing myself to wake.
But I don’t.
I open my eyes wider, but there’s still only darkness. Heavy. Claustrophobic. My heart thumping in my chest, I turn and look in the direction of the tall warehouse windows. Last night, their curtainless panes had shown up pale grey against the brickwork, but not tonight. Now there’s nothing – only the darkness pushing in on me.
It’s terrifying. Like a different room.
Swinging my legs out of the bed, I reach my arms in front of me into the pitch-blackness. Walking forward until I reach the brick wall, I work my way along it like a mime artist. After what seems like an age, I find the door and grasp the handle, relief flooding through me. But when I press down, it doesn’t give.
I’m trapped. Trapped in this room with no windows. The blackness pressing against my eyeballs. Fighting for air. Fighting to breathe.
A sob escapes me. And then I’m hammering against the door, again and again, before sliding to the bare boards. Sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Joanna,’ I scream. But Joanna isn’t here to save me. Not this time.
The door opens. Light floods into the room. Arms are lifting me, laying me back on the bed, but I don’t want to lie down. I want to get away from the room. From whoever is in here with me. I kick out at them as they try to hold me still.
‘Alice. For goodness’ sake. It’s me, Mark. Stop it.’
My hair is stuck to my face, my nightdress twisted around my legs. As my eyes focus, I see that Mark is standing over me in navy blue pyjama bottoms and a grey T-shirt.
He rubs at a scratch on his arm. ‘Jesus, your nails are sharp. What’s the matter? You’d wake the neighbours, if there were any.’
‘I was scared. I panicked. I couldn’t see,’ I say feebly. ‘It was so dark.’
‘It would be. The blinds are closed.’
Looking at the windows, I see that he’s right. Across each one, from nearly floor to ceiling, are horizontal metal blinds, their grey louvres tightly shut.
‘But I didn’t shut them?’ My breathing is beginning to return to normal. ‘They were open when I went to sleep.’
Mark looks unconvinced. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod unhappily. ‘Of course I’m sure. I don’t even shut my curtains at night in my own house.’
‘Well, let’s get them open for you.’ He walks to the bedside table. ‘Where’s the remote?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen it.’
‘We usually keep it next to the bedside light.’ He looks at me. ‘Why didn’t you turn it on if you were scared?’
I look over at the light, embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. I panicked and didn’t think. I just wanted to get out.’
Mark’s hand is fishing between the bedside table and the mattress. After a moment or two he holds the remote aloft like a prize. ‘Here we are. You must have knocked it off the table when you turned over and activated it.’
‘But it wasn’t on there when I went to bed. I would have noticed.’
‘You were tired.’ He smiles. ‘We’d also had rather a lot of wine.’
He points the remote at the window, and the horrible blinds slide back up into their housing. Outside, the sky is dotted with stars. The tall buildings on the other side of the river brightly lit. If I went over to the window, I know I’d see their silver reflections bringing the dark water of the dock to life.
Mark puts the remote back on the table. ‘Are you all right now?’
I want him to leave, but equally I want him to stay. A glance at my phone shows me it’s only three in the morning. Switching on the bedside light, I nod. ‘Yes. I’m fine now. It probably didn’t do me any good eating the steak so soon before going to bed. I’m sorry for waking you.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It was thoughtless of me to expect you to eat so late. I should have waited and seen Derek in the morning. Please forgive me.’
‘Honestly. There’s nothing to forgive.’
‘I’ll say good night then.’
Mark closes the door, and I lay back on my pillow, my eyes fixed to the grey squares of windowpane between the thin metal frames. What happened has brought back a terror from my childhood that I’ve tried to forget. Joanna and I had been in the grounds of her parents’ house playing dares. She’d dared me to touch the electric fence around the paddock, that thankfully turned out not to be turned on, and I’d dared her to ride one of her horses, the piebald, bareback. Her final dare, though, had been something that had put fear into my heart. I dare you to go into the garage and shut the door, then count to ten. She knew I hated the dark but said it would help me face my fears.
I hadn’t wanted Joanna to think me a baby, and she had, after all, completed all my dares without hesitation. How could I not? With thumping heart, I’d gone into that garage, now empty as her dad had taken the car to the golf course, and standing on tiptoe, I had pulled the door closed. I’d thought that there would have been some light coming under the door, but there wasn’t. It was pitch black.
I hadn’t got to ten. I hadn’t even started to count. The suffocating darkness pressed in on me until I knew, with absolute certainty, that I’d gone blind. That my fear was slowly shutting down each part of my body, and I was going to die. Not caring that I’d failed the dare, I pushed at the lower part of the door, thinking that it would swing up, but it didn’t. I banged on the door, screamed at Joanna, and she’d tried too, but it wouldn’t budge. Eventually, she’d run to get her mum, and when eventually the door opened, I was sobbing like a five-year-old.
It’s horrible being alone in this room with my fears, and for the first time since I found out what a snake Drew was, I miss him. Reaching out to my phone, I draw it towards me and press the button to bring it to life, wanting to see the screen saver of the two of us. The one we took last Christmas when we were happy. Not caring that it will be painful. Was it true what he said when he came to pick up the last of his things? Had I really been pushing him away?
I’m just about to switch the phone off again, when I notice the battery symbol in the top right-hand corner of the screen is red. The number beside it showing twelve per cent. Last night I’d plugged my phone into the cable Mark brought up from my car, but clearly it hasn’t been charging. I pull out the cable, then push it back in again. The zigzag sign that shows it’s charging properly doesn’t appear. Maybe the wall socket isn’t switched on. Leaning over the side of the bed I check it, but the switch is down. I don’t understand. The phone was fully charged when I arrived here on Saturday, so the charger must have been working properly in the car.
A wave of anxiety washes over me again. My phone is my link to the outside world. It’s a funny expression to use, but that’s how I feel. For at this moment, New Tobacco Wharf, with its musty corridors and empty apartments, feels a million miles from anywhere.
And, despite the fact that Mark is in the bedroom on the other side of the apartment, I’ve never felt so alone. Or so desperate to see Joanna.
Nineteen
The two police constables sit side by side on the leather settee. A woman and a young man who looks barely old enough to be doing this job, acne scars still gracing his cheeks. They’ve introduced
themselves as PC Rose and PC Jameson. We sit opposite them, the coffee table between us, and I’m feeling decidedly underdressed in my jeans as Mark’s in his tailored suit. After they’ve gone, he’ll be going into the office.
All the time Mark’s been talking, giving the basic details – Joanna’s age, description and what she was wearing the last time he saw her, the policewoman has been scribbling in her notebook. Now, she looks up, her pen tapping at the page. ‘And you say you’ve been married how long, Mr Belmont? Or are you happy for me to call you Mark?’
Mark purses his lips. ‘Mark is fine. We got married just over a week ago. Last Thursday week actually.’
PC Jameson looks up. ‘Congratulations.’
‘I don’t think at this precise moment there’s much to be congratulating me about, do you?’
The young man lowers his eyes, the red that’s creeping up his neck evidence of his embarrassment. ‘No, I suppose not.’
PC Rose narrows her eyes slightly at him, then carries on. ‘Thursday. That’s not your usual day for a wedding.’
‘I think you’ll find that all depends on what your priorities are. It’s not unusual if the only thing you care about is marrying the person you’re in love with. If the only person’s wishes you want to take into account are theirs.’
As he speaks, Mark rubs circles on the pinstripe fabric of his knees. Round and round. I’m mesmerised by it, and when I see the policewoman has noticed too, I wish he would stop.
Raising her eyes to his face, she gives a brief smile. ‘Yes, of course.’
She flicks back a page in her notebook. ‘Now, you said that no one else was with you at your marriage. Just the witnesses. And they were…’
‘I don’t know their bloody names.’ Mark throws up his hands in frustration. ‘I told you, I’d never set eyes on them before. We wanted their signatures, not their life stories. What’s this got to do with anything?’
I try to signal with my eyes for him to stay calm, but he’s not looking at me. So instead, hoping to break the tension in the room, I clear my throat.
‘Mark’s been under a lot of pressure… at work. And now his wife is missing. You can’t blame him for being upset.’
I think about how he must be feeling: his dream project here at Tobacco Wharf failing and now his wife gone.
The policewoman glances at me, then at her colleague and writes something in her notebook. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Mark. I know that this must be very tedious and upsetting, but we just want to get a better picture of what happened.’
Mark leans his elbows on his knees and rests his forehead against the heels of his hands. ‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I’m just worried something might have happened to her, that’s all.’
The policewoman closes her notebook. ‘Of course you are, and it’s understandable, but try not to worry. From what you’ve told us your wife isn’t vulnerable. You’ve said she doesn’t have a problem with depression or her mental health, and she doesn’t abuse alcohol or drugs. So, in all likelihood, she’ll be just another adult who, for whatever reason, has decided they need a break.’
‘But Joanna wouldn’t—’ I stop, wishing I hadn’t said anything. Not wanting to get involved. Up until now, I’ve done nothing but give my name and explain who I am. I’ve let Mark answer the few questions the policewoman has asked, but now her attention has turned to me again.
‘Miss…’ She runs her finger down the page. ‘Solomon. Remind me again why you were visiting Joanna?’
‘You can call me Alice.’ I glance at Mark. ‘She wanted me to meet him. Meet Mark… to find out what I thought,’ I finish lamely.
‘What you thought of the man she’d already married.’ Despite the ironic smile, her tone is scrupulously polite.
‘Yes.’
‘And do you still have this message?’
I nod, realising as I hand my phone to her, that I’ve been economical with the truth. I haven’t mentioned that, as far as I knew, they were still planning the wedding.
She reads the message and makes some more notes before handing my phone back.
‘And this was the last message you received from her?’
‘Well, no. Not the last. There were a couple of others after that.’ I find them and show her, listening to the scribble of her pen on the page. ‘She was excited. Happy.’
‘But that was the last you heard from her?’
‘Yes. I thought it was odd that she hadn’t replied to my messages.’ I turn the phone off quickly to conserve what little battery I have left.
‘And yet you came all the way to Black Water from the south coast to see her, even though you hadn’t made any specific arrangements. That was quite impulsive, Alice. Was it because you were worried about her?’
‘No, I wasn’t worried. Why would I be? Joanna could be like that sometimes… distracted. Scatty. I expect she forgot she hadn’t replied to me. My life had just been turned upside down, and I wanted to see her.’
PC Rose nods and smiles, but even to my ears, the way I’ve tried to excuse Joanna sounds feeble. ‘Look, I’d just lost my job. Split up with my fiancé. My life was coming apart, and I knew Joanna would understand. She’s helped me through some difficult times in the past and was the obvious person to turn to.’
‘Of course.’ It seems to be her stock phrase.
‘So the last time you saw Joanna was when?’
I bite my bottom lip and look away. ‘I haven’t seen her for a while.’
I can feel her eyes boring into my head. ‘How long exactly?’
Colour flushes up my neck. ‘Ten years.’
Mark’s head snaps up. PC Rose looks from him to me, then back down to her notebook. ‘Ten years,’ she repeats as she writes it down. ‘And do you mind me asking why you haven’t seen each other in all that time?’
Knowing I have to pull myself together, I raise my chin and look her in the eyes. ‘We’ve both been busy. Our lives have taken us on different paths. It’s not necessary to see someone to still be in their heart. And it’s not a coincidence that it was me Joanna contacted to meet Mark. She’s always valued my opinion.’
‘I see.’ PC Rose turns to Mark again. ‘And you say that nothing is missing. Her passport? Clothes?’
‘No. She’s taken her bag that would have her purse and phone in. To be honest, I wouldn’t know if there were any clothes missing.’ He looks towards the bedroom. ‘She has rather a lot, you see.’
‘And you say your wife is a life coach? What exactly does that entail?’
‘She helps people make changes that put them back in charge of their lives.’
‘And she works for a company?’
‘No, she’s self-employed.’
‘Does she have an appointments book? Something that would give us an idea of who she might have seen over the course of last week.’
Mark shakes his head. ‘We have a home diary where she jots down if she’s working, but the details of the appointments she keeps on her phone.’
PC Rose makes a note. ‘Do you remember if she said she had an appointment with anyone on Saturday? Does she work at weekends?’
‘Sometimes. But I don’t know if she was seeing anyone. There was no record of it in the diary.’ He’s starting to sound defensive again. ‘We don’t live in each other’s pockets.’
‘No, that wouldn’t be a good thing.’ PC Rose puts the notebook into her pocket. ‘We’ll need to see the diary, Mark, and I wonder if you’d mind us searching the apartment.’
‘Will that be necessary?’ He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple dipping. ‘You can see she isn’t here.’
PC Jameson scratches his head. ‘You’d be surprised how often missing friends and relatives are found safe and sound in their own homes. Sometimes, people have been known just to be hiding.’
Mark looks incredulous. ‘Are you seriously expecting me to believe that my wife is simply hiding in the wardrobe? This isn’t a joke, you know.’
‘No, o
f course not. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’ The young policeman looks awkward, and I wonder how long he’s been doing this job.
PC Rose stands. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we’d like to start in your wife’s bedroom, if you could just show us which one it is.’
Looking relieved, PC Jameson stands too. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’
Mark indicates the door, and we sit in silence while they conduct their search. After a while, he looks at me. ‘Is it true you haven’t seen Joanna in ten years?’
‘Why would I lie?’
A smile hovers on his lips. ‘The same reason you fabricated the truth from the police and didn’t tell them Joanna’s been missing for longer than they think. You like to please.’
I’m taken aback. ‘That’s not true,’ I say, prepared to explain myself.
There’s a movement in the doorway of Joanna’s bedroom and PC Rose comes out, followed by PC Jameson. I close my lips, scared they’ll hear. The young constable was right; it hasn’t taken long to search the apartment as, despite its size, it’s clear Joanna isn’t here.
PC Rose comes over to us. ‘Could you please tell me which is Joanna’s toothbrush? I’d like to take it back to the station with me as it will contain her DNA.’
Mark tenses. ‘Yes, of course. It’s the yellow one.’
She disappears back into the bathroom, then returns with the toothbrush in a sealed plastic bag. ‘We also need a list of your wife’s friends and a recent photo. One that’s a good likeness.’
‘I’ll try to find one.’ Mark gets up and goes over to the cupboard under the television. Sliding open a drawer, he takes out an envelope containing a few photographs and looks through. ‘Will this one do? We’re not really ones for taking pictures.’
I’d somehow expected it to be one of their wedding, but it isn’t. Instead, it’s a photograph of Joanna taken in the apartment. She’s leaning against the iron balcony railings, her back to the river. The heavy wooden doors a perfect frame for her tall slim body.
‘Yes, that’s fine. If you find a head and shoulders one, you can always send it through later.’ PC Rose picks up her hat and places it on her head. ‘At the moment your wife isn’t a priority, Mark, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be starting enquiries. We’ll be in touch but, in the meantime, if you think of anything, anything at all, let us know straight away. With any luck, she’ll be home soon.’
