Missing Molly

by Natalie Barelli

  Vivian grabs my hand and pulls me close to kiss my cheek. My palms are sweaty and I quickly pull my hand back and wipe them on the sides of my hips.

  “Your cheeks are cold,” I say, taking her face in my hands.

  “It’s freezing out there!”

  Matt offers everyone drinks and it’s going to be all right. From the corner of my eye I watch Matt greet Peter, and when Peter puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder and squeezes it, as if they were buddies, it’s all I can do not to slap it away.

  Vivian and Peter sit on the sofa, with Gracie on Vivian's lap, playing with a bracelet Vivian has just given her. Peter has one hand next to Vivian's thigh and is rubbing his fingertips against the fabric of her dress. I can’t bear his proximity to Gracie, so I whisk her up in my arms with a quick “Come on, bed for you, young lady!” She’s about to cry in disappointment but Vivian offers to put her to bed and read her a story. I wait until she’s out of earshot.

  “So, Peter, Vivian said you moved to London recently, where were you before?”

  He leans forward and picks up a handful of peanuts from the bowl.

  “Birmingham. Have you been there?”

  “I don’t think so. Is it nice?”

  “It’s all right, but I was ready for a change.”

  “Oh?”

  He looks away, shifty eyes, “I like London. And there’s more opportunities for advancement in the London office, at my firm, so when the position came up, I thought why not?”

  “Good for you. And what firm would that be?” I ask.

  “I’m in finance, investments,” he replies, not answering my question.

  “And you travel quite a bit, Vivian said you’re never around on weekends. I didn’t know finance required extensive weekend travel.” Matt shoots me a funny look that says, ‘what’s the matter with you’. Peter looks at me with a small smile, but if he finds me rude, he doesn’t show it.

  I want to ask more but Vivian has returned with a “Fast asleep. Is that a reflection of my story telling skills, I wonder?” and we all laugh. She sits back on the sofa and nestles herself against Peter as he puts his arm around her shoulders.

  “I am—was—the primary carer for my elderly parents,” Peter says. “They’ve moved into assisted care now, which is a relief to be honest. Not because I minded looking after them, far from it, but because I have to work. I always worried about them during the day.”

  “And they’re in a good place, aren’t they,” Vivian says. It’s not a question. Peter has obviously spun this touching, bullshit story before. A perfect excuse to explain why he’s never in London on weekends.

  “It’s great. Excellent facilities. Great people. I wouldn’t mind being there myself, truth be told.” We all laugh, or rather they all laugh, and I pull my lips away from my teeth.

  “They still have to sell the house and I’m helping with that. And getting everything organised. It’s all very recent. I’m looking forward to it being over, to be honest. It would be nice to be here and get a chance to settle in.”

  They look so comfortable, the two of them. Like they’ve been dating for months, rather than barely a couple of weeks. She rests her head against his shoulder, tickling his hand with the tip of her fingers.

  “Are your parents in good health?” he asks me.

  I feel a crimson wave rise up my neck. I shake my head. “My mother has passed away. My father and I aren’t close, but I think if he was ill he would tell me.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s tough, losing your mother, when did it happen?” he asks.

  I flick my eyes up at him, ambers burning. There’s a funny look in his eyes, like a question. I catch myself and say, “About ten years ago.” Then I turn to Matt and add, “But I have my own family now, and I’m close to Matt’s mum.” Matt smiles at me and a current of tenderness passes between us.

  “Well, cheers to that then,” Peter says. He raises his glass at me, then squeezes Vivian's shoulders with his other arm. I can’t stop myself from watching his every move and while that gesture is meant to be affectionate, it creeps me out. I want to slap his arm away from her.

  I try to remember what he was like with my sister. Did I ever see them like this? I stare at my hands in my lap and catch sight of the raw skin around my nails. I quickly pull my sleeves over them.

  “I should put the pasta on,” I announce, and leave the room.

  When we are all seated at the dinner table, I contemplate making a prayer. Just to see his face. Lord, thank You for the food before us, the family and friends beside us and the love between us. Keep us safe and let our enemies die a horrible death. Amen.

  Everyone has helped themselves to some pasta and now I am serving the sauce from the heavy pan.

  “If you pass me your plate,” I say, to no one in particular.

  “Let me do it,” Peter says. “You’ve done all the work, Rachel, you relax.”

  “Oh, that’s so kind of you, Pete,” Vivian gushes.

  Pete.

  I have the ladle in my hand, poised to serve. Peter is sitting on my right and he leans across, and takes the spoon from me, brushing his fingers against mine for just a little longer than necessary. I want to vomit. He lifts Vivian's steaming plate. “Say when, Viv.”

  Matt laughs, Vivian chuckles, but I saw the look she gave me.

  When Peter comes to serve me and I hold out my plate, he looks straight into my eyes and says, “This smells divine, Rachel.”

  I shoot him a fake smile and pull my plate back.

  “Rach has been telling me about all the trouble you’ve had online,” Matt says to Vivian. “Are you okay?”

  I watch his reaction, Peter slash Hugo, because I’ve been poring over our social media accounts and Vivian's too. It’s always one person who’s doing the bulk of the abuse, and there’s almost always a mention of Grace. She was a fucking slag, a fucking whore. Something like that.

  I know it’s him. He’s screwing Vivian and trying to terrorise her at the same time, while pretending to protect her.

  She shrugs, gives a small smile. She wants to pretend she’s taking it in her stride, but I can see it’s upsetting her.

  “I just ignore it. I stopped looking to be honest. Jacob at work is monitoring it for me now.”

  This is news to me. “Is he?”

  “He suggested it. I didn’t want to look at any messages on social media, but he said in case there’s something we need to report, someone should keep an eye on it. I spoke to him just before I came here, he said that the messages were dwindling anyway. Seems the troll caravan has moved on.”

  “I’m glad you guys are taking a break from the podcast,” Matt says.

  “I agree,” Peter adds. “With all the press lately, it feels like you’re embarking on dangerous territory. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very impressive, what you’ve been doing, Vivian. I’m in awe of your talent. But I think a break is a good idea.”

  “How old are you?” I blurt out.

  Matt frowns at me and Vivian sighs, audibly.

  “Twenty-eight, why?”

  I shrug. “No reason. I don’t know why I asked.” I would have loved to catch him out in the lie, but he’s ahead of me.

  He runs his hand over his head. “Is it the hair?” he asks to polite titters of laughter. “I had hair just like yours once, Rachel, thick and dark, same colour in fact,” he says. Then with a sigh, “Unfortunately every male in my family lose their hair in their twenties. What can you do?”

  I stand, praying, willing Matt and Vivian to say nothing. “Does anyone want more of this before I take this away?” I ask quickly.

  “Rachel’s hair isn’t really that colour, actually,” Vivian says.

  Well, fuck.

  “I don’t know why she colours it. She has the most beautiful natural colour. Kind of like copper,” Matt adds.

  I reach for the heavy pot. I don’t need to look at Peter to know he’s staring at me. “Why would you colour it, Rachel? Not that’s in any of my bus
iness, but it sounds nice,” he says.

  I catch a flicker of irritation pass over Vivian's face.

  “It is,” Matt says, taking the pot from me and setting it down on the stove. He must have sensed something in me because he reaches out to touch my waist. “But she’s beautiful, either way.”

  “There’s dessert,” I say.

  “I’ll get it.” Matt walks across to the fridge. I want to stop him. I wanted to get it because I need a moment to steady myself.

  Peter picks up the plates from the table, stacks them up and takes them to the worktop by the sink. Matt hands out bowls of vanilla ice cream all around.

  “What is it you do on the podcast again, Rachel?” Peter asks, with a fake nonchalance that makes the hair on my arm stand up.

  “Rachel works on the production side,” Vivian says quickly.

  “And she’s obsessed with it,” Matt mumbles.

  And just like that, I understand what a phenomenally stupid idea this dinner had been.

  Peter cocks his head at Matt. Then out of nowhere, Vivian bursts out in a peel of laugher and puts her hand on Peter’s arm. “Obsessed is right! In the closing segment we put out this morning,” she begins, trying to stop laughing.

  No don’t, please don’t say it.

  “In today’s episode, announcement, whatever,” she continues, still chuckling, “Rachel slipped up, and do you know what she said?”

  Matt and Peter are both laughing, anticipating the joke, I’m staring at Vivian, making small shakes of my head. She’s laughing hard, one hand on her chest. I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s been watching Peter pay too much attention to me all evening. She wants to make me look foolish. It’s a putdown in front of him, and maybe it’s innocent enough, maybe, in any other circumstances it would have been fine. But not now. Not this.

  “Don’t,” I say, quietly.

  “In the closing segment,” Vivian repeats, breathless. “Normally I say, Thank you for listening blah blah blah, I’m Vivian Brown and this is Missing Molly.”

  “Okay, so?” Matt says, smiling.

  “Don’t,” I repeat, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice, and telegraphing it at the same time. Vivian is laughing so much she’s hiccupping.

  “In the recording, Rachel said ‘Thank you for listening, I am Molly Forster, and this is Missing Molly!’”

  Now she’s laughing so hard she’s screaming.

  “‘I am Molly Forster!’” she says again, slapping her palm on the table.

  I close my eyes.

  “What?” Matt asks. He’s not laughing anymore. Up until then both Peter and Matt had a big smile on their face, ready for the joke. But Matt’s smile has vanished and he turns to me.

  “You did? Why?”

  I shake my head. “I just messed up.”

  “You sure did!” Vivian almost yells, pointing her finger at me. She erupts in a fresh round of laughter that brings tears to her eyes. “Chris nearly killed her for posting it!”

  “I got my words muddled! We had to get it out fast. I made a mistake, that’s all! It happens to everyone!” I speak really quickly, feeling the corners of my mouth drooping.

  “Jacob had to fix it, he told me,” Vivian says, wiping tears of laugher from her eyes. “I swear, people were freaking out on the Internet.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I say lamely.

  But now, even Matt is laughing. “I told you you’re getting obsessed, Rach!”

  I look at Peter. He stares at me. He doesn’t laugh, but a small smirk dances on his lips. He pats my hand, and with a wink he says, “Don’t worry, Rachel, your secret’s safe with me.”

  Thirty-Seven

  If I had wanted to put myself in the line of fire, I couldn’t have done a better job. I finish the evening pretending everything is fine and dandy and what a nice time we are all having. Matt and Peter even get into a conversation about some job Peter knows about, supposedly. A big commercial contract and they are urgently looking for electricians. It’s a total lie, of course. Peter is just trying to insinuate himself among us. And by the time the two of them come to their senses it will be too late. By then he will have reached inside our group and plucked me up.

  After they’re gone, I tell Matt that I’ll clean up. He likes to watch the late news sometimes so I encourage him, “Why don’t you? I can do it, love. I don’t mind.”

  As I dry plates, I can no longer stop the tears. The enormity of what just happened finally sinks in, and all I can think about is my daughter. What will happen to her? What will he do to her? To us?

  I never pray. I know first-hand that praying means sod all, but I have nothing left, so if there is some kind of god, I beg him not to let me die. I beg him to protect my child. I feel so powerless that I drop to the floor and put my hands in prayer and whisper to myself, tears wetting my cheeks.

  Please Lord. Please don’t let anything happen to me or my family. Not again. Please protect us.

  “What are you doing?”

  I scramble back up quickly. I don’t know how long Matt has been standing there, but it’s certainly long enough to make the lie futile.

  “Nothing. I’m going to bed.” I throw the tea towel on the back of a chair. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me walk out of the room.

  It’s early, so early that when I drop Gracie off at preschool this morning she’s the first one there, which never happens. I haven’t slept at all. It’s like my limbs won’t work properly. My reflexes are too slow or just wrong. I’m not looking forward to what I’m about to do, but I don’t think I have a choice anymore. Because he knows. I’m sure of it.

  When I get to Vivian’s building, I wait just across the road, in the cafe. I know he’s upstairs with her and I don’t care how long it takes. Finally, he walks out, preening like a peacock. Even from here I can see the smug look on his face. He checks his watch, then looks up and down both sides of the street and hails a cab.

  As soon as the taxi turns the corner I run across the road and press the buzzer. I leave my finger on it the whole time I wait for her, until her voice comes on with, “Miss me already?”

  “It’s me, Viv. Let me in please.”

  I think I hear a ‘oh’ of disappointment, but I hear the familiar click and push against the door.

  “Everything all right?”

  She’s wearing her dressing gown, knotted at the waist, a cup of coffee in her hand. She hugs me awkwardly with one arm.

  I pull away and take her free hand in both of mine and lead her inside the living room.

  “You have to listen to me, okay? Listen to what I have to tell you.”

  She frowns at me. I know I’m probably shaking a little, and my eyes are wide and darting everywhere. “What is it?” she asks.

  “Let’s sit down, okay?”

  I notice the bit of silky fabric on the sofa. I pick it up to make space. It’s her knickers. I blush furiously but she just takes them from me and lets them flop to the floor over the back of the sofa. She’s not even embarrassed, she’s downright cocky in fact. She raises one eyebrow, as if to say, so what?

  I take both her hands in mine again.

  “Peter is not who he says he is.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  I lean into her, I’m almost talking into her face and she pulls away from me. “You have to believe me, Viv. I can’t explain everything, and maybe one day I will, I hope I do. But you need to trust me, darling. His name is Hugo Hennessy, and he’s a dangerous man.”

  “What?”

  “Hugo Hennessy. Grace’s old boyfriend. He killed them all, Vivian.”

  She recoils, pulls her hand from my grasp. She thinks I’m crazy, it’s written all over her face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You have to break it off with him, now, today. Tell him something, anything. You’ve already got a boyfriend, and you’re really sorry, but you wanted to make him jealous, I don’t know. But break it off, okay? I’m begging you.”
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  Now that I’ve let it out, I can’t stop. I’m grasping her arm like she’s the raft that is stopping me from drowning. And yet I’m the one who is supposed to save her.

  “He’s not a good man, Vivian, I swear. He’ll hurt you.”

  “I’m worried about you, Rach, I really am. I think you should go and see Barbara.”

  “What? No! It’s nothing like that!” I take hold of her arm again and dig my fingertips into the skin. “Please listen. Hugo Hennessy killed them all, except Molly who ran away. He set up Dennis to take the fall. I’m telling you Viv, I swear, he’s very, very dangerous. He’s a liar, and he’s a killer, and he’s—”

  “Rachel! Stop!” She yells, pulling her arm away. “You’re scaring me! You’ve gone completely mad!”

  “No, don’t say that. Don’t choose him over me. You have to believe me. He’s just using you to get to M—”

  “I’m calling Matt.”

  “No, no, no don’t call Matt. Please Viv, listen to me. One day, I will be able to explain, I swear. I’m doing everything I can to make that happen.”

  “Go home, Rachel. Go get some rest. Go and be with your family.”

  “Just listen to me. Peter is not a good man!”

  She’s rubbing her arm where I gripped her just before. “You’re confused, hon.”

  “I am not confused—”

  “Yes, you are. Rachel, please, hon, listen to me. You’re confused, but it’s okay. We can get ahead of this one, okay? Just listen to me. We are not in danger. Peter is not Hugo. Peter is Peter. And Peter is a good man.”

  Why doesn’t anyone ever believe me when I say the truth?

  “Rachel?”

  “Yes?”

  “You need to call Barbara.”

  I shake my head. She’s rubbing my back while I bite at the side of my thumb. I’ve lost. I know it. The tears well up, they’re already on my cheeks. I need to get out of here.

  “You really think that?” I ask, brushing my cheek with the back of my hand.