Thorn in the Flesh

by Anne Brooke

  Getting up, she poured herself a glass of water. The taste of it felt like silver on her tongue. Something cold and precious. At the door, she listened but she could hear nothing. Time to check with David.

  When she found him, he was sitting on the sofa, shoulders bowed, and staring again at something she couldn’t see. The mobile lurked, an uneasy friend, next to his elbow.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

  He stirred himself, as if travelling back across a great divide, and shook his head, not looking at her. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

  ‘All right.’ Kate sat down, careful to choose the chair as far away from David as possible. ‘Then this is what I think we should do. If you wish it, I can stay here overnight if you don’t want to be alone in the house. If not, I think I should go home and we should both try and get what sleep we can. But, in the latter case, I’ll be grateful if you could come home with me first and check the house, secure my front door for tonight. In the morning, I’ll drive over and we can start looking in places where we think Nicky might be. Your mother can keep the children for another day.’

  ‘Won’t the police be looking for Nicky?’

  Kate laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. ‘Perhaps they will be, but they won’t be serious about it. Not yet. They’ll be busy with security after the bombings and, besides, Nicky hasn’t been gone for long. Although I don’t know when the point occurs when they will start to take it seriously, I imagine it won’t be this week. We need to find her ourselves.’

  ‘Okay.’

  After a minute or two, Kate rose to her feet again and turned to go. A thought occurred to her.

  ‘Would you like me to prepare you some food before I leave?’ she asked. ‘I don’t mind and it won’t take long.’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll manage.’ His voice was gruff, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time, in spite of all those telephone calls.

  Kate shrugged and was halfway to the door before David spoke again.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For what you’ve done today.’

  He followed her home in his car, checked and cleared up the damage done to the front door and ensured the bolts were working. While he was doing that, Kate searched the house. She felt calm, unafraid, even while she was doing it. She didn’t expect to find anyone here, but she had hoped there’d be another clue, apart from the scrap of drawing, that she might have missed before. That was another reason for coming home which she hadn’t told David. If her son had taken Nicky, then he would want Kate to know about it. He would want her to search in the right places until she found her friend. Then … then … well, she didn’t like to think about what would happen then. The mind of a criminal, no matter how close they might be in blood, was like something seen through a mist. Kate could make out enough to walk one or even two steps further, but the path beyond was covered in darkness.

  Once David had gone, she ate lightly, nothing but pasta, mushrooms and the last of the parmesan, followed by a glass of sparkling water. It wasn’t enough to load the dishwasher, so instead she washed up the utensils in the sink, staring out at the garden and the houses opposite. The shapes of the neighbours moving across their windows made her envy the privacy and comfort of their lives. She shook her head. How could she tell that? She had no idea what problems they faced. She was only on nodding terms with them. Neither she nor they had ever shared their secrets, but only the visible, casual parts of their lives: holidays; town news; jobs. The shell only of a life, not the inner substance.

  In bed, she found she couldn’t sleep. It was no good staring at the ceiling’s faintness and waiting for morning to come. Her body was twitching as if impatient to get started on the day’s work.

  Switching on the bedside lamp, she swung herself upright and gazed round the room. It was strange how different everything was at night, as if objects gathered to themselves an unfamiliar energy which would disperse again with the morning sun. Somehow everything now looked more mystical: her dressing table; the bedside table; the wardrobe; the mirror. She almost expected them to come alive and even speak to her. Between the edges of day, a fairy-tale land existed, which no-one discussed and in which anything might happen. She shook her head and grimaced. She was being ridiculous; physical objects in themselves had no power to harm. It was how they were used which made the difference.

  For a while, she drifted round her bedroom and the ensuite, picking up items and discarding them as quickly. A comb, her night cream, a candle, an old photograph of her mother; she touched them all for a moment or two as if staking ownership before moving to the next, and then the next. Parts of my life, she thought. But what do they amount to really? It struck her then how quickly things moved on from where they were. This morning, her thoughts had been filled with the London disaster and her son. Now these things were forgotten and her head was full only of Nicky. And David.

  Eyes tingling, she stretched and yawned. She couldn’t afford to be tired tomorrow. She must look for Nicky. Lying down on the bed again, she found herself praying to something she no longer believed in, echoing the words in her mind like a mantra: tomorrow, please God, let us find her, let us find her.

  It was the thought of Nicky which finally made the tears come and she cried quietly in the night where no-one else could see, wiping her face with the back of her hand when her skin became too wet. What was happening to her friend? Where was she now? Was she drugged? Unconscious? Hurt? Afraid? And what had he done to her? More than anything, that was the fear that gripped Kate’s heart and wouldn’t let go. If he’d injured Nicky in any way, any way at all, then she would …

  … yes, she knew what she would do.

  Blinking back more tears, she whispered her promise into the unfathomable night.

  ‘I will kill you,’ she whispered, ‘no matter what happens and no matter where you are, I will find you and kill you if you have hurt my friend. I swear it.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kate made sure she arrived at Nicky’s and David’s house by 8.30am. In the end she’d managed no more than three hours’ sleep but it would have to be enough. No matter how long the day to come might be. She’d thought about telephoning first but in the end had decided against it. David might assume it would be Nicky and she didn’t want to dash that hope so soon. He’d known Kate would return. He’d be expecting her and, besides, he would be able to see who it was from the hallway.

  When he opened the door, she gasped aloud. David was standing in front of her, eyes glazed and clothes crumpled. He smelt of stale cigarettes and the faint trace of alcohol. It was obvious he had neither slept nor changed since last night. He leant heavily against the doorframe as if he might fall.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ she whispered. ‘David.’

  He didn’t answer and she squeezed past him. Once inside, she shook herself and made several decisions.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘You need to shower and change. Do you think you can do that? Good. While you’re up there, I’ll make coffee and whatever I can find in the cupboards for breakfast. When you’re ready, come down and eat.’

  He obeyed. While he was gone, Kate cleared the living room of its crumpled newspapers and the half-empty whisky bottle. At first she couldn’t trace any sign of a glass, but eventually found a scattering of broken shards next to the dresser. It looked as if he’d thrown it across the room. Tightening her lips, she picked up the pieces, placed them in the newspaper, wrapped them up for safety and discarded them in the outside bin. Afterwards she made coffee – as strong as she could get it – and located the cereal packet.

  When David appeared again, he was dressed in a clean blue shirt and chinos, and his eyes were more focused. In addition, she was pleased to see he’d shaved and brushed his hair. She pointed to the place at the table.

  ‘Please, you have to eat,’ she said. ‘Then we can plan a course of action and carry it out.’

  In the five minutes it took David to finish his breakfast, Kate had already
begun the day’s schedule. Leaving him alone, she made her way out to the garden and into Nicky’s studio. It seemed an age since she’d last been here and, of course, she should have looked for any clues that might have been left by her friend’s kidnapper yesterday. If she’d been thinking logically, she would have done. But yesterday had not been a day for clear thinking. Now, that time was over and she would have to be cool-headed. And brave. She knew it, but here she would not name what she knew, not even to herself. For now, she would think only of searching the studio and the house. David could help her.

  Pushing aside the sense that Nicky was here still, in the place she loved most, Kate began to search. The studio was suffused with the bright morning sun, the arc of it alighting on the easel that, when not in use, Nicky kept to the left of the available space. It was empty, of course. Nicky only took out paper when she was ready to use it. First, Kate opened all the drawers in the cabinets, trying to find something, anything, even if she didn’t know quite what it was. It was astonishing how neatly her friend kept things in this, her special place; Kate discovered sets of paint pots of similar colours together, and also brushes of the same size. In one drawer, she found knives – all still there, as far as she could tell, or at least nothing obvious was missing, for which she thanked God – and in another were pads of papers arranged in order of thickness. Nothing appeared to have been taken.

  She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. No, she was being foolish. If there was a clue, then something would have been left. Not taken. But what?

  Running her hand along one of the shelves, she found it yielded nothing but a small and focused collection of art books and leaflets for Nicky’s past and upcoming exhibitions. She picked up a handful of the latter and flicked through them: a couple of London dates from last year, information about her recent shared space in Farnham and her rapidly-approaching slot in the Godalming Pepperpot. Nothing that sprang out as important.

  ‘Kate?’

  At the sound of her name, she glanced up to see David at the door. His tall frame, with the light behind him, was simply a dark outline. She hadn’t heard him approach and now dropped what she’d been holding onto the shelf again.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

  He nodded, but Kate knew there was no truth in it.

  ‘I’ve finished breakfast,’ he said simply. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Have you rung the children?’

  ‘Yes. My mother will look after them today too. She’ll drive them back over here tomorrow, she says. They’re fine, though Charlotte is still asking for her mummy. I …’

  He broke off and took two steps forward. Kate could see the strain across his eyes. The dust of the studio drifting round them like strange mist, she waited until he spoke again.

  ‘Give me something to do,’ he said.

  Kate thought for a moment. She could get nothing more out of the studio – no clue as to Nicky’s disappearance or where she might be now. When the police came, they would search again but she was sure they’d find nothing here. When the police eventually took this seriously, they … no. By that time something told her it would be too late – for Nicky, for herself, for David, for all of them. They must find her friend over the next twenty-four hours or not at all. They would have to search elsewhere, but first they would have to be sure that all possible ground was covered.

  ‘We need to have a thorough look around the house,’ she said, answering him at last. ‘Then, if nothing comes to light, we’ll walk into town, ask people if they saw anything unusual on Wednesday. Visit each shop, each place where Nicky might have gone. He took her in daylight, David – someone will have seen something. After that, if we haven’t found her, we go to the police again.’

  His head jerked up as if she’d punched him. ‘And then?’

  ‘God, David,’ she stretched out her hand towards him as if pleading. ‘I don’t know, I simply don’t know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why do you think she might still be here? She could be anywhere, anywhere at all. London, the rest of the south, anywhere. What makes you so sure?’

  By the time he’d finished, David was shouting, but Kate stood her ground.

  ‘Because whatever … this man has done,’ she said, quietly so David had to be silent to hear her, ‘he’s done in this area. Nowhere else. He never made any attempt to find me when I was elsewhere: not in Bruges, not in London and not in York. Don’t ask me why I should know this, but I am as sure as I can be that that’s what he’ll continue to do.’

  A moment more of silence and then David spoke again.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, fiercely. ‘Let’s do as you suggest then. I don’t have any other options.’

  They searched through the house, working in unison as they had over the earlier telephone calls. Kate took the more public rooms downstairs, whilst David allocated himself the privacy of the upstairs areas. He only asked one question, right at the beginning of their quest.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ he said.

  ‘Anything out of place, which you think shouldn’t be here,’ was Kate’s answer.

  Their search lasted nearly one hour and at the end yielded nothing. Meeting up together again in the dining room, Kate felt tense, uncertain, as if she’d been on the edge of something important but had somehow failed to spot it. She sat down into the nearest armchair and put her head in her hands.

  ‘You know,’ she said, her voice muffled, ‘you know, I was so sure there’d be something. Something to put us on the right track. I was so sure that what he would really be after would be me. Perhaps I’ve been wrong all along. Perhaps all this has just made things more difficult. For everyone.’

  Her words drifted outwards, taking her heart with them. Had she been stupid beyond belief? After all this?

  A slow hand touched her shoulder and she glanced upwards. David was standing next to her. His eyes were unreadable.

  ‘I think … I think maybe we’re doing the best we both can,’ he said and she saw him swallow once before releasing her and moving away. ‘I think we can only go forwards now.’

  ‘The town then?’ she gulped. ‘Bring a picture of Nicky.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his tone of voice more sure. ‘The town.’

  ***

  They walked down the Brighton Road and across at the lights. It didn’t take long, and Kate wondered if Nicky and the family did this on a regular basis. She didn’t ask.

  The journey through Godalming, stopping and talking to everyone they met, asking the same question over and over again, visiting every shop, every business, took the rest of the morning and the whole of the afternoon. They stopped once, in the Slug and Lettuce, for a quick snack and a glass of orange juice for David and water for Kate, but neither of them talked. They simply ate their meal, paid and left.

  ‘I’ve never eaten there before,’ David said as the two of them stood outside, blinking in the afternoon light. ‘It always seemed so …’

  ‘… for the young?’ Kate finished his sentence with a brief smile.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Or at least it’s always been full of teenagers and young twenties whenever I’ve walked past.’

  ‘It can be,’ agreed Kate. ‘But not always. I’ve eaten there alone before. It’s not so frightening.’

  David grimaced. ‘So speaks the lecturer.’

  Kate didn’t correct him. The future was a land in which she couldn’t see the contours. She must simply get to the end of this day and pick her path from there. They continued their search, speaking to everyone from the small woman in the craft shop to the tall, gaunt man in the town museum, with its narrow mirrored entrance and vast central counter. To no avail. Finally, at gone 6pm, they rested on the bench underneath the Pepperpot where once, a long time ago surely, Kate had eaten her breakfast on her first outing since the attack.

  David reached into his pocket and took out the snapshot of his wife. Smoothing it down, he stared at it as if it might hold the secrets o
f her whereabouts. Around them, a light evening breeze drifted, lifting Kate’s hair and making her shiver, in spite of the warmth.

  ‘Nothing,’ David said at last. ‘Nothing. No-one saw anything and no-one knows anything. But I know she was in the town on Wednesday, or was intending to go.’

  His face twisted as he talked and Kate put her arm around his shoulder. Inside, she felt sick with frustration and the burden of not showing it, and knew that, if she’d been alone, she might have shouted, screamed, cursed perhaps or anything that might have helped find her friend. Instead, she held the feeling in, hugging David closer. A few people walked past, taking home their shopping, and gave the couple curious glances, but Kate stared them out and they walked on.

  After a while, David pulled away. He sat gazing ahead at the houses opposite as if seeing through them.

  ‘Come on,’ Kate said at last. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Back at his house, Kate installed her friend’s husband into the living room, bringing him the telephone.

  ‘You need to speak to your children,’ she said, ‘before your mother puts them to bed. Give them my love.’

  He nodded and she left the room. In the kitchen, she found bread, cheese and a few mushrooms, and began to prepare a makeshift supper for two. Whatever happened, the pull towards life continued to pulsate, and people would still be obliged to eat. She found herself no longer able to think more than one step ahead. The night beckoned before her, like a vast cavern from which there was no way out. She would feed them both, she thought, then go home, try to get some sleep. In the morning they would go to the police. In the morning, the words whispered through her mind, Nicky will be dead.