Last Seen

by Lucy Clarke

  I LOVE YOU.

  I think you need to know that.

  I’ll say it again in case you don’t believe me: I love you!

  Maybe this is too much. But it’s the truth. So that’s it, I guess.

  Jacob xx

  PS. Last night was amazing

  ‘A love letter!’ My chest swells with relief. ‘Just a love letter.’

  ‘This is a good thing,’ Nick says, tapping the letter. ‘It means Jacob is seventeen years old and in love. So what if he didn’t have his rucksack with him. He had a big fight with his girlfriend – the love of his life – and he took off.’ He turns to Luke. ‘It is serious then, with Caz?’

  ‘I get that impression, yeah.’

  Last night was amazing, I repeat in my head. If Jacob intended to give Caz that letter on his birthday, then he must have been referring to the previous evening they’d spent together. Nick and I had been having dinner at a friend’s hut further up the sandbank – and I imagine the opportunity of a free hut would have been too good to pass up for Jacob and Caz. I remember putting a pizza in the oven for Jacob – and coming back to find a plate of crusts flagging on the kitchen side, and a large packet of crisps emptied, two glasses on the draining board.

  What seems odd to me is that they had an amazing time one night – and then the next, they had a huge blow-up. Actually, no. Maybe that’s anything but odd. Maybe those tempestuous highs and lows are a defining characteristic of young love.

  I ask Luke, ‘Why were Jacob and Caz arguing at the party?’

  Luke lifts his shoulders. ‘No idea.’

  I glance towards Jacob’s drawer and say, ‘We’ve been looking through Jacob’s things – and found an envelope with five hundred pounds inside. We think his grandmother gave him the money.’ I pause. ‘Do you know what he was planning to spend it on?’

  ‘No,’ Luke says, shaking his head quickly.

  I wonder whether I believe him. ‘Could it have been drugs?’

  ‘Drugs. No, not Jacob.’

  ‘We found some weed in his drawer.’

  ‘He had the odd joint,’ Luke admits, ‘but he wasn’t into other stuff.’

  ‘You certain?’ Nick asks.

  ‘Well, he never took anything around me. That’s all I can tell you.’ Luke shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘Guess I should head off.’

  ‘Wait,’ I say. ‘It might sound like an odd question – but the police asked us, so I thought it’d be worth asking you, too – can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt Jacob? Anyone who, I don’t know, had a grudge against him?’

  He lifts and drops his shoulders. ‘Like who?’

  ‘Maybe another boy who was jealous about his relationship with Caz, or someone he’d annoyed for some reason or other.’

  Luke pulls his lips to one side and I can tell that something has crossed his mind – that he’s deciding whether or not to tell us.

  ‘This is important,’ I remind him.

  He rubs a hand around the back of his neck. ‘Well, I don’t think Caz’s dad is his biggest fan.’

  ‘Robert?’ I say, glancing over at Nick.

  Luke nods.

  Robert’s made no pretence of the fact that he isn’t thrilled about Jacob dating his daughter. He’d be happier to see her coupled with one of the boys from the private school she attends.

  ‘He’s pretty protective when it comes to Caz. Intense, you know?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Never wants her staying out late. Doesn’t like the idea of her having the odd drink, even though she’s like, seventeen. He came by the party looking for Jacob.’

  ‘Robert was looking for Jacob?’ I repeat, goose bumps rising across my arms. ‘Why?’

  ‘Didn’t say. Jacob and Caz were out the back of the hut at the time, so we told Robert that Jacob wasn’t around.’

  ‘What did Robert say?’

  Luke glances through the open hut doors, then back to me. ‘That he’d find Jacob later.’

  15. SARAH

  DAY THREE, 2.45 P.M.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Nick says. ‘If we both turn up at Robert’s hut, it’ll look like an inquisition.’

  ‘Maybe that’s exactly what this needs to be,’ I reply.

  Nick sighs. ‘All Luke’s told us is that Robert was looking for Jacob at the party. There’s probably a perfectly logical explanation. Maybe Robert was actually trying to find Caz – and thought Jacob would know where she was.’

  I raise my eyebrows at this. I’m not a fan of Robert’s. Isla and I call him ‘The Cockerel’ (although the shortened version rolls off the tongue a little easier), as he spends the summer striding up and down the beach, chest puffed out, pecking into other people’s business. He was one of those called on to help with the search for Marley – but Isla’s never forgiven him for being the first boat to return to shore. Robert claimed he was low on petrol, but we all saw him roaring off the following day to visit his regular waterside lunch spot.

  ‘You go then,’ Nick relents, ‘but Sarah? Tread carefully.’ As I turn to leave, he passes me the love letter. ‘If Caz is there, ask her about this. She might open up to you.’

  I doubt it, I think, remembering our frosty interaction yesterday. ‘Shouldn’t we keep the letter? Give it to the police?’

  ‘I’ll photograph it – email it to them now.’ He takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture.

  I leave the hut and walk into the easterly wind, folding my arms across my chest. The bright sails of windsurfers race out towards the horizon, then tack back towards shore with a flick of the board.

  I’ve not gone far when I experience the unsettling sensation that I’m being watched. I turn back towards our hut, but Nick has already returned inside, the doors pulled to. I glance along the row of open huts, half expecting to see a face pressed to a window, a pair of eyes tracing my path. Everyone will know by now that Jacob’s missing. The news will be traded as gossip, updates blowing along the sandbank with the speed and force of a weather front. But there’s no one there.

  I tell myself I’m imagining it and press on, but the feeling doesn’t disappear. If anything, it intensifies. The hairs on the backs of my arms stand on end and I feel my shoulders hunching protectively towards my ears.

  I startle at a sudden rush of footsteps behind me.

  A woman jogs past, apologizing for surprising me. She’s my sort of age and wears a baseball cap. Her skin glistens with perspiration and two grey lurchers lope at her side. I press my fingers against my chest, trying to laugh off my jumpiness. My gaze follows the dogs as they bound towards the shoreline; they are beautiful – muscular and athletic looking, eyes bright. As I watch them race through the shallows, I become aware of a boat in the bay, turning lightly on its mooring. Isaac’s boat. My skin tightens. I find myself searching for his figure at the wheelhouse – but I can’t see clearly enough whether anyone is there. Isaac works on an offshore rig doing six days on, six days off. Over the years I’ve come to know the rhythm of his schedule – and he should be away right now.

  I squint into the flat light, peering at the boat, wondering, Could he be on the sandbank? Is he on board right now, watching me?

  I pull my cardigan tight around my shoulders, dip my head and walk on.

  When I reach Robert’s hut, I find the doors thrown open and Caz sitting in the corner of the sofa, legs tucked to one side, reading a magazine. She wears a long charcoal-grey top, shapeless and drab on most, but with her jutting hip bones and long legs, the top hugs her body in just the right places.

  On seeing me, she sets down the magazine and emerges from the beach hut.

  ‘Is your father here?’

  She shakes her head. As she does, I notice a dark purple bruise across her cheekbone that looks angry against the even, tanned skin. ‘Your cheek?’

  ‘Oh.’ Her hand lightly travels to her face. ‘Embarrassing, really. Drunken tumble a couple of nights ago.’

  Now I remember the fresh red mark on her cheek t
he last time I saw her. ‘It happened on the night of Luke’s party?’

  Her eyes flick slightly away from mine. ‘Yes. Tripped up the steps to the hut.’

  There’s something guarded about her expression that makes me wonder if she’s lying. ‘Could I come in for a moment?’

  She shrugs, then turns and moves inside.

  ‘Have the police been to see you yet?’ I ask as I sit down. I already know they were here yesterday – PC Roam called to update us on their interviews so far. She said that Caz seemed nervous, cagey. Caz claims that she and Jacob had been arguing because she’d had too much to drink and was embarrassing him – although PC Roam felt there was more to it than that.

  ‘I didn’t have much I could tell them. I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘I’ve got something for you, actually. From Jacob. He left his rucksack at Luke’s party. We found it earlier today. There was a letter inside for you.’ I take the letter from my pocket, but don’t immediately give it to her. I want her to wait.

  Her eyes dart across my face. ‘What does it say?’

  I ignore the question, and instead ask: ‘You’ve spent more time with Jacob than I have this summer. How do you think he’s been?’

  Caz shrugs. ‘Fine, I guess.’

  ‘One of the police’s lines of inquiry is that something prompted Jacob to run away. Perhaps something that happened that night.’ I pause. ‘What were the two of you arguing about?’

  ‘Just stuff. I can’t even remember.’

  ‘Then try,’ I snap. The veneer of politeness that glosses my interactions with Caz is starting to thin. I will shake the truth from her if I have to.

  She turns her head to look past me. Daylight hits the smooth planes of her face, and I remember how besotted Jacob was with her. I think of what I’ve learnt so far: the passion in his letter; his apparent jealousy; the way he marched her out of Luke’s party.

  ‘Were you cheating on him?’

  Her head snaps around. ‘No! Of course I wasn’t! I loved him.’

  There’s a beat of silence.

  ‘Loved?’ I repeat quietly.

  She presses her fingertips to her face, and I see once again that livid bruise.

  I picture my son by the rocks with Caz – a beautiful girl he’s wildly in love with – while alcohol courses through his system. I think of the anger I’d seen in his eyes earlier that night, and the way I’d flinched as he’d come towards me. My question is whispered, barely audible. ‘Did Jacob hit you?’

  ‘Is that what you think? That Jacob would hit me?’ Caz looks at me with disbelief.

  ‘I … I …’ My throat tightens. I don’t know what to say. I shake my head, shocked at myself.

  ‘Jacob would never hurt anyone.’

  ‘Yes. I know,’ I say, heat flooding to my face. ‘It was just … well …’ I trail off, unable to finish. I am mortified.

  ‘He’s kind. Good.’ Caz’s eyes well with tears. She presses a hand over her mouth, as if to contain a sob. Watching her, I’m certain she knows something important that she’s not telling me: she was the last person to see Jacob; the one he confided in; the girl he loved.

  ‘Why was your dad looking for Jacob the night he disappeared?’

  Surprise registers in the widening of her eyes.

  ‘Luke told us Robert interrupted the party looking for Jacob. He was angry.’

  ‘I … I don’t know …’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  Her gaze drops to her lap.

  ‘I can ask your father about it, if you’d prefer?’

  ‘Dad didn’t even see Jacob. I promise.’

  ‘Why was he looking for him?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Caz,’ I say, softening my tone. ‘I’m not angry with you – or your father. All I’m interested in is finding Jacob.’

  I wait, giving her space to respond.

  When she doesn’t, I add, ‘If you don’t talk to me, you know the police will be back here to see you.’

  There is the slightest nod, a relenting. She swallows and lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  My hands fall to my sides.

  ‘That’s what we were arguing about. Jacob and I got pregnant.’

  My gaze trails to Caz’s stomach, which is hidden beneath her loose grey top. ‘Jacob found out that night?’

  ‘No. We did the test together last month.’

  I can’t hide my shock. Jacob had known Caz was pregnant for a month, but said nothing to us. It is staggering. How had I missed it?

  ‘Dad found out … I was talking to Mum about it on the phone. I didn’t see Dad come into the hut.’

  ‘That’s why he went looking for Jacob.’

  ‘Yes, but Dad didn’t see him – so he went to the pub instead.’

  ‘Perhaps he caught up with Jacob later – after the pub?’

  ‘No, he would’ve said,’ she tells me, although I catch a note of uncertainty in her voice.

  Caz draws her knees towards her chest. She suddenly looks very young. ‘Jacob didn’t want the baby.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I want to go to university. I want to travel the world. I want to be me for a bit longer, you know?’

  I do know. I know exactly what she means.

  ‘But … it’s a baby. An actual baby growing inside me. We’re the ones who got pregnant. It’s not the baby’s fault.’ She pauses, looking out over the water. ‘I’ve booked it, though. Tomorrow.’

  ‘An abortion?’

  She nods.

  I don’t know how I feel. Everything’s come too quickly. A few days ago the thought of my son as a father would have seemed utterly surreal and preposterous – a parent’s nightmare. Yet right now, all I want is for Jacob to be alive, safe. Here.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us any of this, Caz?’

  ‘I … I thought Jacob would be back by now. That it wouldn’t make any difference.’

  Something comes to me. ‘Did Jacob offer to pay for the abortion?’

  Caz straightens. ‘Yes, but that didn’t even come into my decision—’

  ‘We found five hundred pounds in Jacob’s drawer. We’ve been wondering what the money was for.’

  We’re both silent for a minute or two. Then I ask, ‘Jacob doesn’t know, then, about your decision?’

  She shakes her head. ‘I’ve called him – but his phone is off.’

  ‘Did you see where he went that night after you finished talking by the rocks? Did he walk towards the beach huts? Towards the headland?’

  ‘He told me he wanted to be on his own. He was … crying.’ Caz swallows. ‘He kept telling me, I’m not a good person. You’re better off without me. I didn’t know what to do … what to say. When he told me to leave, I did.’

  I’m not a good person. Is that how he felt? But, why?

  I need to get out of here. Think. I stand, passing Jacob’s letter to Caz.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiles, grateful.

  As I turn to go, I say, ‘Caz, do you need someone to go with you? Tomorrow?’

  She looks up, surprised. ‘Dad’ll be there. But, thanks.’

  As I’m making my way back to the beach hut, Robert comes marching in the opposite direction. A salmon-pink polo shirt clings to his barrel chest, the collar pushed up so that it brushes the ends of his thick grey hair. ‘Sarah! So sorry to hear about Jacob taking off,’ he booms without breaking stride. ‘Any news?’

  ‘He’s still missing,’ I tell him, pointedly.

  ‘Sure he’ll turn up,’ he says, with a flippancy that makes my jaw tighten.

  ‘I’ve just been to your hut, actually. I spoke to Caz.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘She told me. About the pregnancy.’

  Robert halts. His whole face changes, his mouth sliding downwards, eyes narrowing. He glances over his shoulder to check who is within earshot, and then he steps close to me. ‘Seventeen,’ he hisses. �
��That’s how old my Cassie is! For Christ’s sake, what was Jacob thinking?’

  ‘It takes two people to make a baby.’

  ‘Yes – and I can bloody well imagine whose idea it was!’ he says, hands clenching into fists.

  I could point out that Caz isn’t exactly a shrinking violet – rumour has it that there’ve been a series of older boyfriends before Jacob piqued her interest – but I’m not concerned with point-scoring. All I want to know is whether Robert saw Jacob the night he disappeared.

  ‘You must have been shocked when you found out. Angry, even.’

  Robert eyes me carefully.

  ‘It was the night Jacob disappeared, wasn’t it?’

  The edge of his mouth lifts in a wry smile. ‘Yes, I was angry. I was fuming. But I didn’t tell him to sling his hook – disappear – if that’s what you’re thinking. I probably would’ve done, if I’d seen him.’

  ‘Yet you went looking for Jacob.’

  ‘Yes, Detective. I did. But I never caught up with him – lucky for him. Drowned my sorrows at The Rope and Anchor instead.’

  ‘When the police interviewed Caz, she didn’t tell them about the pregnancy.’

  ‘Didn’t she?’ Robert says, although there’s no hint of surprise in his voice.

  ‘Caz withheld important information. It could be critical in finding Jacob.’ I wonder if it was Robert who suggested that she keep quiet. I feel certain that there’s something he’s not telling me about that evening.

  ‘I’ll have a word with her,’ he says, without a degree of conviction.

  Robert looks over my shoulder as if something’s caught his attention. I turn and see Neil, Diane’s husband, coming towards us, his gaze moving warily over Robert. There’s something in Neil’s expression that I don’t understand. I know there’s a history between the two men, but I can’t think where it stems from. I have a vague recollection of Diane once saying they were at the same school.

  ‘Everything okay, Sarah?’ Neil asks.

  I nod quickly.

  Robert uses the interruption as an excuse to disappear. ‘Lovely to chat, as ever,’ he says with a loose wave.

  I bristle as I watch him stalk away.

  When I turn back to Neil, he’s looking at me closely. ‘I heard Marley’s missing.’