by Daniel Hurst
‘But we do need to avoid other people.’
Adam stares at me for a second, and he is probably trying to work out if I am serious, which I am. I am willing to have my baby in this cottage if it means my husband doesn’t have to get caught and go to prison.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Adam says.
‘Don’t think about it for too long,’ I tell him. ‘This baby isn’t going to wait forever.’
29
ADAM
I’ve underestimated my wife. She is fully committed to the cause. She is willing to give birth with just me to hand instead of several midwives with years of experience, so it’s obvious she is willing to do anything to keep me out of prison. This is good.
This is very good.
I’m back in the car again and headed for the police station to tick off the next thing on my ‘To Do’ list. Laura has been convinced to stay back at the cottage after my little explanation I gave her about not being seen with me in public so she won’t get into any trouble if I get caught. I know she is eager to get out of the cottage, but she is more eager to keep the pair of us out of prison, so she has reluctantly agreed to remain on the sofa until I return. I did say she could go for a walk if she wanted to get a bit of fresh air, but the rainy weather is back again, and I doubt she’ll fancy that. Therefore, I am free to focus on what I need to do today.
I am on my way to provide the police with some information which may be able to help them in their investigation into my wife’s disappearance. This is not information that I would have been able to provide at the time I reported Laura going missing, but thanks to recent developments, it is now something I am able to come forward with. After all, I’m just a worried husband trying to find his wife.
Why wouldn’t I tell the police anything that might help me be reunited with her?
I turn off the country lane and turn down the radio as I come to a stop at the traffic lights. I’ve just been rocking out to an old AC/DC album that I haven’t listened to in ages, and I must say, it’s a lot better than the music Laura played for me back at the cottage a short time ago. I used to love the song that she walked down the aisle to on our wedding day, but now I detest it with every fibre of my being. Thankfully, I’ve been able to get it out of my head by replacing it with guitar riffs and heavy drumbeats.
As I move on through the streets on this route that has become familiar to me, I smirk at the little stunt I played with my wife this morning. Telling her that I had taken her sim card out of her phone was a risky but calculated move. I know she could have been mad at me, but I firmly believed that she would back down as soon as I told her why I had done it. Telling her that I took it out because I was so scared of her contacting somebody was a good cover to use, and she bought it, hook, line and sinker. I don’t have to worry about her making calls on it anymore. She won’t betray me like that after she saw how worried I was.
Of course, now she has the sim card again, there is still the risk that she might go out and try to get on the internet, but I doubt she will. But if she does, she will simply find that her phone isn’t working as well as it used to. That’s because I took the sim card into the shower with me this morning and exposed it to water long enough for the electronics inside to be permanently damaged. I’ll never know for sure if Laura knew her sim card was missing or not, but if she did know, she won’t be worried about why anymore.
She has it back.
She just isn’t aware that it is of no use to her yet.
I had planned all along to damage her sim card, not just to stop her from making contact with the outside world, but because I know the police will be in touch with her phone provider to see if there are any hits from her device on a tower. They could use those pings to try and get an idea of her location, which obviously wouldn’t be good for me, but that’s one problem solved now.
I pull into the police station car park and turn off the engine whilst running over the order of things I need to say when I go inside this building. When I’m happy, I exit my vehicle and walk inside, transforming myself as I go from a man who has just spent the last twenty minutes singing away to seventies rock music into a man who is sick with worry about his missing wife.
I enter the station and speak to the officer behind the screen, asking for the detective who has just been put in charge of Laura’s case before taking a seat for a minute while she puts a call through to him. I could have asked for PC McGregor or PC Stone, but this is important news and requires that I speak to the top dog and not his minions.
I hear footsteps approaching me and look up to see Detective Cleevely reach me. He’s a bald-headed man of fifty, wearing a suit that doesn’t fit him and an expression that doesn’t help him. He looks tired. He looks jaded.
He looks just like the kind of person I want running this investigation.
‘Mr Stevenson. Are you okay?’
I stand up and ignore the question because I want to seem like a man with the weight of the world on my shoulders.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I say. ‘It’s about my wife.’
‘Follow me.’
Detective Cleevely turns and walks back the way he came, and I follow him through a set of double doors into a small room very similar to the one I sat in when I first reported that my wife was missing two days ago.
‘Are you going to record this?’ I ask him as I take a seat and glance up at the camera in the corner of the room.
‘That depends. Do I need to?’ he replies, and I wonder if he is waiting to see if I am about to confess to being the person behind the mysterious disappearance of my wife. But I’m not about to say anything of the sort. I am, however, going to tell him who I think is behind it.
I take a deep breath before I begin. I want to seem like this is something I am embarrassed to reveal. It is, in a way, although much of the embarrassment I felt around the matter has since passed and has now been replaced by a burning rage which has fuelled this whole plan into existence.
‘Last year I found something out about my wife,’ I say, looking down and clasping my hands together tightly on the table.
‘What was that?’ the detective asks.
I take a deep breath, and then I go for it.
‘I found out that she was having an affair.’
I make sure not to look up at the man sitting opposite me because I want him to think I am ashamed of my masculinity for not being able to keep my wife satisfied at home. I feel no such thing. In fact, I feel like more of a man than I ever have right now, but he doesn’t need to know that.
‘I see,’ Detective Cleevely replies, but he says nothing else, clearly wanting me to continue.
‘This morning, I noticed that the man she had that affair with is in the news.’
‘He is?’
‘Yes,’ I say, reaching into my jacket pocket for my mobile phone.
I unlock it, and the screen opens onto the news article that I was reading just before I came into the station. Then I turn my phone around and show it to the detective.
‘It seems his wife has reported him missing too.’
30
LAURA
ONE YEAR EARLIER
After-work drinks.
Sometimes fun. Sometimes dull.
But always boozy.
Tonight is no exception. I’m sitting at a table with several of my colleagues, and there is an array of empty glasses in front of us. I’ve been drinking vodka, lime and soda all evening and I think I’m on my fourth one or it could be my fifth. I wasn’t planning on having this many, but this is one of those after-work events that are fun, rather than boring, so I’ve stayed a while this time. But I do really need to get going if I want to get the next train. Otherwise, it will be after eleven by the time I get back, and Adam will be worried.
I’ve texted him several times this evening, so it’s not as if he doesn’t know where I am, but he doesn’t like the idea of me on the train so late at night, and I understand why, even though
I always assure him I’ll be fine. It’s because the later it gets, the quieter the trains will be, and he worries that makes it more likely for me to encounter someone who could be dangerous. I often joke with him that the train is far more dangerous at 5 pm with everyone battling to get home than it is at 10 pm when it’s nearly empty, but I get his point. He just wants me to be safe because he cares about me. That’s why I’ll get going after this drink and get home to him.
But I am enjoying myself, and it’s exhilarating to feel the buzz of the alcohol in my bloodstream. I used to feel like this all the time in my twenties when I was a single traveller but not so much now that I’m mid-thirties, employed and married. Back then, hangovers weren’t such a problem, but I suspect tomorrow won’t be particularly pleasant for me. It will be a workday, so I won’t be able to sleep it off either. At least everyone else here tonight will be in the same boat as me.
We’ve all had more than our fair share of drinks.
There’s Alec, the HR Manager with a face almost as red as the glass of wine in his hand, and it’s been getting redder the more he consumes. There’s Christine, the receptionist who is laughing like a banshee and getting even louder with each measure of gin. And there’s Bradley, the marketing manager, who always seems to have a fresh pint of lager in his hands every time I look over at him. But that’s not all I’ve noticed about him throughout this evening.
I’ve also noticed that he keeps looking at me.
Like, all the time.
I must admit I’m flattered that I seem to be attracting the attention of someone like him, mainly because he’s several years younger than me and he’s not exactly hard on the eye. But he’s married and so am I, so I guess that’s why he is just looking and not touching. “Window shopping” I believe it is called. I’m guilty of doing that myself from time to time. I see a guy I like, and I’ll have a good look, but it doesn’t mean I’ll ever do anything about it.
I’d never cheat on Adam.
Never.
I listen to Alec finishing up his not-so hilarious story about the team bonding exercise he was once made to take part in at a previous company before realising that my drink is almost gone and I guess that’s my cue to leave.
I gather up my belongings and stand up quickly, knowing that it’s best to get out of these types of situations fast otherwise somebody will thrust another drink into my hand and I’ll find it hard to say no.
I say my goodbyes to everyone at the table, and I’m just thinking about giving Adam a quick call on my walk to the station when Bradley says he is leaving too. He says we can walk to the station together and I don’t see why not. He says his goodbyes too, and we’re on our way.
It’s a cool and crisp evening in Carlisle and Bradley and I walk quickly as we attempt to keep ourselves warm now that we have left the bar behind. The alcohol I have consumed is meaning I’m feeling the effects of the northern weather a little less than I would normally, but it’s definitely too cold for dawdling.
Bradley entertains me with jokey references to some of the colleagues we have just left behind in the bar, many of whom were in fairly inebriated states as we said goodbye to them. God knows what time they will end up calling it a night.
He makes me laugh several times as we walk together and we’re only a couple of minutes away from the station when we hear the live music from the bar just before it. The sign outside says ‘Happy Hour Every Hour’, and the sound of a guitarist performing inside draws our attention to the window where we look in and see a large group of people standing in front of a solo male performer on a small stage.
‘Oh my gosh, I love this song,’ I say as the musician begins the next part of his act, which seems to be covers of well-known tracks that he can be sure an audience will lap up.
‘It’s happy hour, apparently. You want to get one more for the road?’ Bradley asks me, and I’m seriously tempted, not just for the drink but because I absolutely love live music. It always takes me back to my younger, more carefree days when I was a student and backpacker. There’s nothing quite like standing in a crowded pub with a glass of something cold in your hand listening to a guitarist singing a song you know all the words to.
But it’s late. I should be getting back.
Adam will be waiting.
I’m torn, so I check the time again. My train is in three minutes. I’d have to run if I’m going to make it and running and me don’t really go well together. Or I could just get one more quick drink, enjoy a little music and get the train in half an hour.
‘Go on then!’ I say, and Bradley smiles before opening the door to the pub and allowing me to walk inside first.
The volume of the music grows louder as we make our way into the cosy venue and I’m amazed I’ve never been in this place before considering it is so close to the station. It’s just the kind of pub I love.
Low ceilings. Old furniture.
Character. History.
And best of all; cheap drinks.
‘What are you having?’ Bradley asks me as he takes out his wallet from the inside of his suit jacket.
‘I’ll get these,’ I tell him but Bradley insists, and I don’t offer much resistance.
Two minutes later and I have another vodka, lime and soda in my hand and I’m swaying to the music as Bradley sips his lager beside me. I get a strong scent of his aftershave as we stand shoulder to shoulder in the busy room, and I’m surprised I have never registered it before.
I like it, and I like being here right now.
The guitarist finishes his latest song and those in the pub who can bear to put their drink down for two seconds give him a round of applause before he’s quickly into his next cover. I notice there are a few people dancing closer to the stage and it’s great to see people out enjoying themselves on what is nothing more than a work night. I notice that most of the people in here tonight are wearing business attire and I imagine everyone has to be back at some desk somewhere in the city by nine tomorrow morning, but for now, all anybody is thinking about is having fun, and that’s the way it should be.
Bradley is certainly enjoying himself too. He’s already drunk half his lager, and he’s got a big grin across his face.
‘You like this kind of music?’ I ask him because I’m not sure if he’s genuinely enjoying the atmosphere in the pub or he just really wanted one more drink before going home.
‘Are you kidding? I love it,’ he replies. ‘You can’t beat live music. There’s something about being tipsy in a pub while someone plays the guitar that just makes you forget about everything else for a while. You know what I mean?’
I nod my head because I know exactly what he means. In here right now, nobody is worrying about their mortgage payments or their work deadlines. Instead, they are just enjoying the moment because it will be over all too quickly, and those external pressures will be waiting when it is.
‘You want to dance?’ Bradley asks, nodding towards the group of people who are already enjoying themselves on the patch of carpet in front of the stage.
‘Are you joking? I’m nowhere near drunk enough for that,’ I tell him, and Bradley laughs before taking my hand. ‘Come on.’
He leads me through the crowd of people, and suddenly we are right in front of the guitarist who is smiling proudly at all the people who are out enjoying his talents tonight.
Bradley twirls me around, and I can’t stop laughing as we dance and drink and lose ourselves in the music, which seems to be getting louder and louder and louder.
I don’t know how it happened, but I ended up having two more drinks that night before I really had to go before I missed the last train home. I don’t know how it happened, but I found myself disappointed to have to leave Bradley at the station and go back to my real life. And I don’t know how it happened, but we found ourselves kissing on that platform just before we left each other to return to our respective partners who were waiting for us at home.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was that we did it again after that night.
And again.
31
LAURA
I wish the rain would stop so I can go for a little walk around this cottage. I don’t want to go far, and I’m not interested in taking the risk of trying to get a phone signal again out along the main road, but I would like to stretch my legs. There’s so much land around here, and it would be nice to explore a little of it. I wouldn’t have to worry about anybody spotting me as long as I didn’t go too far, and I wouldn’t have to worry about not being back when Adam returns, whenever that may be.
He’s back in the village getting more supplies as well as checking the news and possibly even reading up on homebirths. He seemed a little surprised when I suggested the idea of trying to have Samuel here, but if Adam is a wanted man, then I’m not going to a hospital.
I’m not gaining a child but losing a husband on the same day.
Besides, home birthing isn’t such a big deal these days. Many people do it. I knew a woman in my office who had both her children at home. She said she delivered them in her bathroom and the whole experience was rather serene and nowhere near as stressful as her friends who had their babies in a hospital surrounded by beeping machines and overworked midwives.
I’m sure it’s not quite as simple as that, and I would prefer to deliver Samuel in a hospital, but if Adam is wanted by the police, then I can’t risk it. He could always drop me at the hospital and leave, but I’m sure the police would soon find out if a suspect’s wife had just checked in. Then they would question me, and even if they didn’t, I wouldn’t want to go through it if Adam wasn’t there. I want him beside me, holding my hand because we are in this together.
I glance at the window in the hope that the rain might have stopped, or at least eased off, but it’s still coming down fairly heavily, and I give up on the idea of a walk for another day. Instead, I’m going to have a fiddle around with the TV. I know Adam said it is broken and that he can’t get it working, but I’m so desperate to watch something that I’m going to have a go anyway. I’m going to turn all the switches on and off again, as well as jiggle all the cables around and anything else that might see me get lucky so I actually have something to do during the day.
