When I Find You

by Emma Curtis

  She has decided not to tell David yet. It’s far too soon and it would be selfish to celebrate when a woman is missing and possibly in danger. And she’s worried about how he’ll react.

  ‘Agnes,’ Rebecca says now. ‘What can we do for you?’

  David had pitched up looking terrible, just as she got back from Laura’s flat. She cut him some slack, even though he didn’t apologize; he rarely does. She’s worried. Throughout the morning she’s been sensing something; an invisible energy gathering force. He is as concerned as she is about Laura, especially now that she’s told him Laura’s secret. She feels a twinge of guilt about betraying her trust, but what else could she do under the circumstances? He’d been angry that he hadn’t been told before about her condition, but his unsettling mood seems to be about something else. The Laura situation is a distraction, an added stress, not the root of it.

  ‘There are two police officers wanting to speak to you,’ Agnes says.

  Her voice is level, but there is anxiety in the way her glance flits between the two of them. Rebecca wonders if she knows about them. Rebecca is hyper-sensitive to changes in the atmosphere and is almost certain that news of their affair has leaked into the building, moved through the walls to pool amongst their employees, that the air smells of it. She has intercepted covert glances.

  Agnes doesn’t listen to office gossip, but when something breaks, when it starts to skip from desk to desk like a flat stone on a still lake, there’s no getting away from it. Or maybe she’s always known.

  Actually, Rebecca realizes with a stab of guilt at her own selfishness, it’s far more likely that she’s merely concerned about Laura. She doubts Agnes gives two hoots about what Rebecca and David get up to.

  ‘Ask them to come in. Have you offered them coffee?’

  ‘Yes. They declined.’

  Jamie and Eddie get up. She watches them search Logan’s face as they pass him in the doorway.

  Once alone, she introduces Logan and Mughal to David. David lays on the Gunner charm.

  ‘How can we help? We’re naturally very concerned about Laura.’

  Logan glances Rebecca’s way. ‘We’ve spoken to her mother. Apparently, Laura told her there was someone she was interested in. Someone here. Do you have any idea?’

  Rebecca rests her elbows on the table and rubs her forehead. Should she mention Jamie? If his mood this morning is anything to go by, he obviously cares. But then so does Eddie, so do they all. And last night it was definitely Bettina he was interested in. ‘I don’t think so. But she’s a very private person so I don’t know anything about her romantic life or her friendships outside work.’

  ‘Eddie might know more,’ David says.

  ‘Eddie?’ Logan looks down at his notes. ‘Edward King?’

  ‘Eddie is … was … her creative partner. They’ve worked together for three years; if anyone knows her well, it would be him. He’s one of the guys who was in the room with us when you arrived. I can get him back if you like.’

  ‘We’ll definitely be talking to him, but there’re a few more questions I’d like to put to you two first.’

  Logan is respectful, but Rebecca senses a surprising edge of steel for one so fresh-faced. He is immune to David’s charm, has probably met his type before, men who think they can get one over on him because they are more successful. She glances at David, but he doesn’t catch her eye.

  Agnes brings Laura’s file in and hands it to Rebecca, then backs out. Her face is marvellously neutral. Rebecca passes it on to Logan, who opens it and quickly scans the information. Everyone they employ, from the two of them down to the cleaners, will have filled out a form detailing any medical issues – allergies, prescriptions, that kind of thing – and listed an emergency contact number. Laura, she notices, reading upside down, has written N/A beside Chronic Health Problems.

  ‘Nothing about her face-blindness in here,’ Logan says. He moves it across to Mughal.

  ‘Well, technically, it’s a learning difficulty, not a medical condition,’ Rebecca says.

  Logan drums his fingers on the table. ‘You held an event last night.’

  ‘Yes,’ David replies. ‘We were launching a campaign.’

  ‘Laura organized it,’ Rebecca says.

  ‘Did you notice anything odd about her behaviour? Was she upset, or tense?’

  ‘She was upset because she was leaving, but she behaved professionally. She was very busy, but she seemed to be coping well. I left before her. And you did too, didn’t you, David?’

  David nods. He looks thoughtful. ‘I didn’t like that guy she invited. Some friend of hers.’

  Logan glances at his notes. ‘Do you mean Elliot Hill?’

  ‘I don’t know what his name was.’

  ‘But you disliked him. Why was that, sir?’

  David rotates his head, stretching out the kinks. ‘Bit of a tosser. Too pleased with himself.’

  And you’re not? Rebecca thinks, wincing at his language.

  Logan and Mughal watch him in silence, waiting for more.

  ‘What exactly did you base your opinion on?’ Logan says. He holds his ballpoint poised over the paper, as if this piece of information is too important not to note down.

  David flushes. ‘You got me there. Nothing. A gut feeling. For all I know, he’s a perfectly decent bloke.’

  The atmosphere relaxes somewhat. The two officers signal that they’ve finished with them for now, pushing back their chairs.

  ‘Thank you both for your time. We’d like to have a chat with everyone at that party, if you could supply us with a list.’

  ‘Agnes can do that,’ Rebecca says.

  ‘We’ll start with Edward King. Is there a private room we could use?’

  Every five to ten minutes, someone passes Rebecca’s window on their way to take their turn. Bettina glances in and catches her eye. She doesn’t return for twenty minutes, taking much longer than anyone else, and when she does, she knocks on David’s door. He’s needed again.

  Rebecca waits for him to come back, and as soon as she spots him, she walks into his office. He has his phone in his hand, but he puts it down when he sees her.

  ‘What happened?’

  He rubs his fingers through his hair and stifles a yawn. A nerve flutters under his right eye.

  ‘You’ll know soon enough, so I might as well tell you.’

  But he doesn’t. He bows his head and she thinks he might have nodded off. She rests her hand on his shoulder then removes it quickly. She made the gesture without thinking. That’s not like her.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks.

  ‘I had a row with Laura out in the alleyway behind the venue, when we were taking the rubbish out. Bettina witnessed it. She felt she had to tell the police.’

  ‘A row? What about?’

  ‘About the circumstances of her resignation. She accused me of letting her down. Apparently, I should have stuck up for her, not made her feel small.’

  ‘You should have.’

  ‘Whatever. She said she’d had no option but to resign, that I shouldn’t have accepted it. She was angry and unreasonable. I went on the defensive and told her a few home truths. Bettina interrupted just as it was getting nasty.’

  ‘And you told them all that?’

  ‘I didn’t have an option. But Laura went back inside, and that was the end of it. And we all know she left with Elliot. There’s no secret about that.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have let it get that far, David. You should have tried to take the heat out of it, even if it meant shouldering some of the blame.’

  ‘I know that now,’ he snaps. ‘Sorry.’ He holds up his hands. ‘You’re right. And now I feel guilty because we parted on a bad note. I meant to apologize to her today but … Well, obviously she’s not here.’ He sighs. ‘I feel like a jerk. Jesus, I don’t need this right now …’

  She waits a moment. ‘Are you OK?’

  He laughs brusquely. ‘I’m not going to lose it again, if that’s what
you’re worried about.’

  ‘Of course I’m worried. Wouldn’t you be if it was me? Listen, David, deal with one thing at a time. Get Tony and Georgie settled into a home, so that you can focus again. And for God’s sake get some sleep tonight. You look terrible.’

  ‘Yeah, well, living under the same roof as those two has its challenges.’

  ‘You’ve only been there one night.’

  ‘Long enough. They have my undying devotion, but I’m no good as a carer. I contacted another residential home yesterday and set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. It costs an arm and a leg, but the most important thing is that they remain together.’

  ‘How long are you going to stay with them?’

  ‘If I can move them next week, I’ll rent a place in town. If not, I’ll have to rethink; maybe try live-in carers again. Either way, I can’t stay there; the broadband provision is crap.’

  ‘Can I come and see you?’ That was stupid. She shouldn’t have asked.

  He takes her hand and looks deep into her eyes. ‘Not yet, my love. I need some time on my own. You understand, don’t you? There’s too much going on.’

  She says coolly, ‘Well, as long as it doesn’t affect the business.’

  ‘Of course not. You know me better than that.’

  Does she? She is beginning to wonder. There’s so much at stake. GZ is going to begin casting for the TV commercial next week and he’s said he will be there, as well as at the pre-production meetings and the tech recce. He’ll want to show his face at the shoot and at post-production. David is constitutionally incapable of taking a back seat, and now that he’s being forced to do so because of circumstances not entirely under his control, it’s affecting him. But she can’t tell him what to do. All she can do is cross her fingers and hope he keeps it together.

  46

  Laura

  MY BODY JERKS as I fall out of my dream. I lie still, waking properly, allowing the sounds and smells to register, only opening my eyes once I’ve told myself what to expect. In my dreams, I always know who people are, because I put them there. In this one Elliot Hill was in my flat, holding me in his arms. When I fell, it was because he had dropped me.

  The pillow is peculiarly pungent, but trussed up like this, there is no getting away from it. My wrists are chafed from trying to work them loose, my throat sore from the effort to be heard. I’m shivering with cold.

  It started to rain while I was sleeping, the drumming amplified because I’m under the roof. For a while, it drowns out the other noises this house makes: the creak of floorboards, the clunk of elderly plumbing and the television’s muted hum. I have no idea what time it is, even if it’s the same day. I think I only nodded off for a few minutes, but I suppose I could have been asleep for hours. It’s dark outside, but then it’s dark by around five at this time of year, and the darkness is deeper in the countryside.

  David rarely leaves the office till after eight. Sometimes later. I hope he’ll make an exception today. My stomach aches from holding on to my bladder, but I refuse to pee into a nappy. It would be like giving up.

  I’m alert to the old couple’s movements, but as far as I know they haven’t come upstairs. I think they would have disturbed my sleep if they had. I doubt they come up here much these days. I close my eyes and try to drift off, but I can hear the old man. Sometimes he doesn’t know where she’s gone and calls out a mournful, ‘Georgie, Georgie. Where are you, dear? Georgie?’ He can go on like that for upwards of fifteen minutes, until she reveals herself. Then he gets reproachful and she becomes angry and defensive. Her language is quite something. Even worse than David’s.

  I go still, holding my breath. They are making their way upstairs. Every step they take is laboured. They stop to argue, Tony wanting to wait until David gets home, Georgie barking at him and calling him wet. They finally reach the landing outside my door, one of them breathing hard. I jolt my body to rock the bed. Every time I move it hurts but I ignore the pain and keep rocking and eventually the metal spoke which normally holds the door handle jiggles.

  ‘Is David here?’ Tony says. ‘When did he get back?’

  ‘He must have let himself in.’

  ‘Not like him not to say hello.’

  ‘He’ll be in one of his moods.’

  They confer for a while, even giving the door a tentative push. Then Georgie says, ‘I’ll put his supper on. He can come down when he’s ready to be pleasant.’

  When they leave, I groan in despair. My mouth aches, I’m hungry and thirsty and every so often I get an agonizing cramp in my left calf. Tears make my nose tickle which means rubbing it against the musty pillow.

  I hear the owl hoot. It starts to rain again, the wind occasionally turning and flinging it against the window panes in a sharp scatter that makes my nerves leap. The later it becomes the more noises develop, old rafters creaking, pipes knocking. I even think I hear something scurry across the floor. A mouse?

  Am I right about Elliot? I met him on the tube that afternoon, and he told me that he worked close by. He also told me that he used to play practical jokes on his brothers. What if, on the night of the twenty-second of December, he was there, on the street, and decided to try his luck? What if the whole thing was a joke gone wrong? Or what if he just wanted to see how much he could push it; how close he could get to me?

  Five minutes before David’s headlights sweep across the window, I give up the struggle and urinate. The warmth permeates the pad but leaves me feeling wet and uncomfortable. I’ve lost.

  I log all the sounds he makes; his car door locking; his steps on the gravel; the jangle of keys. He lets himself in and the house seems to give a little cough when he closes the door. I hear him clattering around in the kitchen, talking to his grandparents. After what feels like an hour but is probably only half that time, he comes up and fits the doorknob back on, then brings in a tray and sets it down on the bedside cabinet. When he switches on the light it momentarily blinds me. Once I can see, I stare at him, itemizing details about his hair, his separate features, his jawline, his hands. I will never make assumptions again.

  ‘Are you going to scream?’

  I shake my head and he ungags me.

  ‘Water!’

  ‘Here.’

  His hands tremble as he holds the glass to my lips and I drink my fill, spilling half of it down my chin. There’s toast and baked beans on the tray, a feast as far as I’m concerned. He unties my wrists and ankles from the bedposts but not from each other and sits me up so that he can feed me. When he’s done, he wipes my mouth with a pale pink fabric napkin with tiny flowers embroidered in one corner.

  ‘What are you going to do with me?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  He has a tic. It forces me to focus on his features. It’s under his right eye and every so often it flickers into life, like there’s an insect trapped under the skin.

  ‘Surely it would be better to turn yourself in and be charged with manslaughter than to make things worse by keeping me here.’ My chest starts to rise and fall, my breath shortening. ‘Are you going to hurt me?’

  ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone.’ He shrinks into himself, his shoulders hunching and curving forward. He makes a wrenching sound; somewhere between a croak and a sob.

  I wonder what we both mean by hurt. I’m scared to think about the options playing through his mind but maintaining the status quo can’t be one of them. He can’t keep me locked up here for ever. The way I see it, he has drunk-driven himself into a nightmare from which he can see no escape. He is responsible for the death of a young man and he’s abducted me, and as far as he is concerned there is no way of undoing the damage. He’s desperate, anyone can see that, so, surely, all I need do is show him a way out?

  ‘This is not who you are, David. Let me go, and I promise, if you own up to Guy, I won’t mention this.’ I know he doesn’t believe I’d keep quiet about Guy, so it would be a waste of energy trying to convince him. ‘I’ll say I we
nt away to get my head together.’

  He wipes his forearm across his face and stands up. ‘I can’t do it. You’re asking me to lose everything I’ve worked for and everyone I love. People will hate and despise me. If I have to go to court, I’d rather kill myself.’ The tic flutters again. ‘My kids … what do you think that would do to them? No, I can make this go away.’

  ‘By making me go away?’

  His gaze shifts over my shoulder. He can’t look at me. Finally, he says it. ‘Yes.’

  I lean forward, bowing my head over my knees. My shoulders are aching, my hands have intermittent pins and needles. I cry, and he puts his hand on the back of my head, like he’s giving the Benediction. My bladder muscles pick that moment to let me down again.

  ‘I’ve wet myself.’

  When he unties my ankles to change the incontinence pants, I jerk my knees up and kick out, catching him on the jaw. He reels, but rights himself quickly and grasps my neck, forcing me back down on to the pillows. We stare at each other, panting. His free hand is tucked under my armpit, his forearm close to brushing my breast, his knee hard between my legs. Then he abruptly releases me.

  ‘Did you do what I asked you? Did you ring the club?’ I mumble. I don’t know why I still want to know, it all seems so futile now.

  He picks up the damp sock he uses to gag me. ‘For Christ’s sake. I’ve got enough on my mind.’

  I sink back on to the bed, open my mouth for the sock and close my eyes.

  47

  Rebecca

  Concern is growing for twenty-nine-year-old Laura Maguire. Miss Maguire lives in Kentish Town and was last seen entering her flat at eleven thirty-five p.m. on Thursday the eighth of February, after a night out in Dalston. Miss Maguire works for the advertising agency Gunner Munro, the same company that employed Christmas hit-and-run victim Guy Holt. The police have declined to comment on this connection. If you have any information, please call the number below. Miss Maguire has recently cut her hair short and sometimes wears glasses.