Night Falls, Still Missing

by Helen Callaghan

  ‘Oh, I never saw him. They’d discharged him by the time I arrived and taken him home. Dom says it turned out to be nothing.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  By the time she and Mads ran into him ‘accidentally’ in the bar at the South Bank Centre after a concert, her suspicions had hardened into hostility.

  Madison affected to take these overt manipulations at face value, but Fiona wondered. She suspected, in her heart of hearts, that Mads didn’t believe them either, not really, but somehow the idea of being contested, of feeling fought over, did something for her on a fundamental level that no considerations of friendship or common sense could allay.

  ‘Hello, Fiona,’ Dom ground out through gritted teeth, as though being gracious in the face of some offered offence.

  ‘Let’s go in,’ Madison cut in, steering Fiona back into the hall. ‘I need a glass of something.’

  They emerged into the little living room, where a dozen or so people stood around or sat on the bowing sofa or mismatched chairs while low music played. Some of them, like Anneka, Fiona’s old roommate, and Ken, a senior lecturer at the Archaeology department, knew Madison quite well already and greeted her, and Fiona left them there, though not before asking them what they wanted to drink.

  ‘A beer,’ said Dom shortly. He stood ramrod straight behind Madison and did not look at Fiona.

  ‘I’ll have a glass of white, please,’ said Madison. ‘Where should we put our coats?’

  ‘Just throw them on the bed,’ she called back from the kitchen, busying herself pouring out a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

  She thought Mads might follow her into the kitchen, so was not surprised when she stole in behind her after a few minutes.

  ‘Anything to eat?’ she asked. Her voice was slightly slurred. She had gravitated to the open back door and was peering out into the foggy yard.

  ‘Yeah, there’s crisps and dips,’ said Fiona, bent over the beer bottles chilling in the fridge. ‘There might still be some crusty bread and cheese left out on the table.’

  Madison frowned. ‘I thought you were cooking.’

  ‘I did cook,’ said Fiona, trying to keep her voice even. Madison’s defection had hurt her. ‘I cooked hot food earlier. It all got eaten.’

  Madison let her back rest against the wall, her eyes downcast. ‘Sorry, Fee. I know I said I’d come by and help. I just couldn’t get away. I had to …’

  ‘So, the party’s in here?’ Dominic had appeared behind Madison. He still wasn’t smiling. In fact, watching him, Fiona had the sense of a prison guard escorting a criminal to a court hearing.

  ‘Apparently so.’ Madison rolled her eyes, seemingly indifferent as to whether he could see this or not, as Fiona passed out the drinks.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ said Fiona, suddenly unable to bear either of them for a moment longer. ‘Need to go and do the hostess thing.’ She raised a half-hearted smile and scurried out with a bottle of wine in her hand.

  ‘Fiona!’ said Anneka, her face flushed with alcohol, gently clasping her hand in passing and pulling her down next to her on the ancient sofa. ‘Stop rushing about. Sit down for a minute and relax. You are making my head spin.’

  ‘We’ve hardly seen you,’ said Liam, her partner.

  ‘Sorry, I know, but I’ve been so …’

  ‘But all is done. Everyone is fed, everyone has a drink. Now you can join the party. Where is your drink? Please tell me you have something to drink.’

  Liam had stood up and sourced a clean glass for her, lifting the wine out of her unresisting hands. ‘She does now.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, guys …’

  She glanced sideways, through the open kitchen door. Within, Madison was hissing loudly at the stone-faced Dominic, gesturing and pointing sharply into his face with her wicked purple gel nails.

  ‘Leave them to it,’ murmured Anneka.

  Liam merely scowled, scratching his ginger curls. ‘I’m getting a bad vibe off that guy,’ he muttered.

  ‘How’s work?’ asked Anneka, keen to change the subject.

  ‘Oh, really good! I’ve been asked to present a paper at …’

  Suddenly Mads was in the hallway, catching Fiona’s eye and jerking her head towards the door with the emphasis of a command, gesturing with her vaper. Her coat was back on.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Fiona said, feeling bullied and defeated. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She followed Madison out on to her own front step. After the warmth of the house, she felt cold in her thin blouse and wrapped her hands around her arms.

  ‘Yeah?’ she asked Madison. She felt a hot flare of resentment. Already her first party in her new home was being bent and warped into another platform for Mads’ dysfunctional relationships, for her … for her grandstanding. ‘This had better be good.’

  Madison was silent for a long moment, as though wondering how to proceed.

  ‘I’m sorry, I really am,’ she said. ‘I know I’m being a rubbish friend. I meant to be here hours ago, I did, but he … he was waiting for me at the house after work, wanting to talk about our relationship, and I just … I just couldn’t get rid of him.’ She darted a look at Fiona, and in the darkness her eyes were little more than tiny points of light. ‘He’s … so intense. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Finish with him,’ said Fiona. ‘Obviously. He’s stalking you. I told you this.’

  ‘I tried …’ said Madison. ‘That’s what I’ve spent my whole fucking evening trying to do in the pub. But he just won’t accept it … it was all, I’m running away from our problems, from my issues …’ She shot Fiona a glance. ‘I know you’ve never liked him …’

  Fiona shrugged helplessly. ‘He’s never liked me …’

  ‘… but he was different in the beginning …’

  ‘No, he was always the same, he just hid it better.’ Fiona sighed in exasperation. ‘He’s a proper psycho. How do you get in these situations, Mads?’

  Madison didn’t answer, instead putting her vaper in her mouth and inhaling.

  And the Yeats quote that Madison herself often used came into Fiona’s mind: It’s certain that fine women eat/A crazy salad with their meat.

  For Mads, crazy salad always seemed to be the dish of the day.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ asked Fiona.

  ‘I want us to turn the music up,’ said Madison. ‘And have a proper dance.’

  ‘I can’t play the music any louder.’ Fiona cast an apprehensive glance up the brick wall, to where yellow light glowed out from an upstairs window. ‘I’m not supposed to have loud parties, annoy the neighbours, you know … they’re very strict about it. It’s the only downside about having college-owned accommodation.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound much fun.’ Madison gestured contemptuously, then overbalanced and staggered backwards against the wall, giggling. Fiona realised she was quite drunk. ‘Fine.’ She turned her head, gave Fiona a misty smile. ‘You know, I just wanted to say congratulations, Fee. It’s a lovely flat. Just perfect for you.’ She lifted the vaper to her lips, sucked in, and then reached into her coat pocket. ‘Listen. I’m going to call a taxi.’

  ‘You don’t need to leave, Mads. You know, if you want him to leave …’

  ‘Hello, ladies,’ said Dominic, appearing not out of the front door, but instead out of the narrow alley at the side of the house.

  Fiona flinched, startled. What had he been doing back there?

  The answer came to her instantly. He had come out of the back door and lingered in the little alleyway in order to eavesdrop on them both.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Madison coldly, turning to glare at him. ‘I already told you, you’re leaving or I am. Since you’re not leaving, I’m going home. Don’t try to stop me.’

  Dom turned to Fiona. ‘You know, could you give us some privacy, please?’

  The request was perfectly neutral, almost civil, but radiating out of him there was a sense of stifled, barely controlled rage. Fiona threw an al
armed look at Madison.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Madison, with a weary wave. ‘Go back to your party. I’ll ring you when I get in.’

  ‘I’m asking nicely,’ said Dom to Fiona.

  Fiona ignored him. Who the hell was he to order her around outside her own home? ‘Are you sure?’ she asked Madison.

  Madison nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  Reluctantly, with a last warning glance at Dominic, she went in – but she didn’t shut the door after herself.

  Her guests were inside, but as she passed back into the living room, she heard a man’s voice coming from outside.

  ‘GIVE ME THAT FUCKING PHONE!’

  It cut through the music, and everybody seemed to freeze.

  ‘Fuck off!’ screamed Madison. ‘Fuck off before I call the police!’

  With a sudden crash the living room window shattered into pieces, glass falling on to the little table with its burden of nibbles and drinks. Anneka shrieked, and Alex, a friend of Fiona’s from work, leapt up, his hair and back full of sharp slivers.

  Fiona was running outside, a couple of the men with her, including Liam. Mads was alone, sobbing, her coat ripped, her phone clutched in her shaking hand.

  Dominic Tate was already running, his back retreating up Saxon Street into the darkness. From upstairs, Fiona noticed with despair that the neighbours were opening their windows, peering down to see the source of the fracas. The disapproval in their lined faces was intense.

  Oh my God, she thought. Am I going to get kicked out of this flat now?

  She had to pull herself together. Her own fears would have to wait. Madison was in trouble.

  ‘Mads, are you all right?’ she asked. Liam was already calling the police, talking urgently into his mobile.

  Madison nodded, still tearful, but composing herself. ‘Yeah. He didn’t want me to get the taxi.’ She sniffed. ‘He grabbed my phone and I pulled back and he went to punch me and his fist went into the window.’ She brushed her fallen hair out of her eyes. ‘He ripped my coat, the bastard.’

  Her mascara was running down her face, and she swiped at it with her fingers. ‘Still, I think he got the message. I reckon I’m rid of him now.’

  Fiona bit her lip, her eyes searching out the top of the street.

  She wasn’t so sure.

  8

  Helly Holm, Orkney, January 2020

  There were four of them now, two women and two men, standing around her as she sat on the stool, all of them buttoned up against the cold in arctic jackets and thick work boots.

  In contrast to Jack, the other man, Callum, was dark, with pale skin and white teeth that seemed to be slightly too big for his face. His waterproof jacket and trousers looked expensive. He was staring at Fiona in brooding silence.

  The girl, Becky, short, freckled, with fizzy brown curls and big square glasses on her small square face, stood slightly apart from them, at the back of the tent.

  Fiona smiled weakly at her. She did not smile back.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Iris demanded. ‘Madison’s run away?’

  Fiona, her stammered explanations over, felt a hot blush rise up her cheeks.

  ‘I’m sure she’s not run away,’ she said, though an internal voice murmured, Are you completely sure about that?

  What if something had frightened her enough?

  ‘Madison left?’ Becky asked.

  Callum twitched out a shrug. ‘She told us she was sick, not her mother,’ he said, while Iris shot a look at Jack.

  Fiona had the sudden sense that something about this development pleased Callum.

  Becky raised a suspicious eyebrow at Fiona. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘She’s been texting me since I set off on Thursday. In the texts she claimed to be at the dig here … to have found “something big” and that’s why she was so hard to reach.’ She sighed. ‘Certainly nothing about leaving.’

  ‘Found something big?’ asked Becky. ‘That’s weird.’

  The others exchanged looks, and Callum gave Becky a theatrical glare, before seeming to realise that Fiona could see this.

  How very interesting.

  ‘Well, I can tell you that we’ve not seen her since we finished up here on Wednesday afternoon.’ Iris’s lips compressed as she rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Then she was in touch first thing Thursday, saying she had a sore throat and a fever. She was going to take a couple of days off and hopefully be back today. I tried to phone yesterday, and this morning, and got no answer. And as Becky says, she seemed fine Wednesday night.’ She tightened her folded arms.

  Something struck Fiona then. ‘Did she call you, or did she send a text? When she told you she was sick?’

  ‘She …’ Iris opened her mouth, then closed it. ‘You know, I can’t remember. But thinking about it, I think she texted.’ She sighed, gestured helplessly. ‘I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I remember being annoyed. We were all very annoyed with her. She can’t help being ill, I know, but with the terrible weather and the dig running late, her timing was abominable.’

  There was an eloquent pause, as though Iris was reviewing her next words carefully.

  ‘And, well … it wasn’t the first time we’d noticed that Madison had something on her mind.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Fiona, struck by her tone.

  Callum let out an embarrassed little cough. ‘There’d been some problems with the finds. And bagging up the samples.’ He threw Fiona an apologetic look, in a I’m just the messenger way. ‘Mads was the Finds Manager here on the dig – it was her responsibility to prepare them …’

  ‘Oh, don’t labour the point, Callum,’ said Iris. ‘There were, admittedly, a couple of mistakes …’

  ‘Expensive mistakes,’ Callum replied with gloomy emphasis, though it seemed once more to Fiona that saying this gave him a measure of inexplicable satisfaction, as though watching Madison fail had pleased him. ‘Hundreds of pounds a throw.’

  ‘Callum, this is not the time …’

  ‘Blew up her own laptop, too – expensive little MacBook. We had to lend her one of ours …’

  Fiona glanced at him. Madison had loved that laptop.

  ‘I think the point Iris is trying to make,’ Jack interrupted quietly, but both Iris and Callum nevertheless fell silent, ‘is that it was very out of character for Madison. She’d always been one hundred per cent reliable.’

  Fiona wasn’t sure why, but knowing Madison as she did, this assessment struck her as unlikely. And yet it wasn’t, really. However chaotic her personal life was, Madison worked hard and was very smart – people told her this, time and time again.

  She had a tiny flash of self-insight then – you don’t believe in her, do you? Then a pang of guilt. Does Madison know that you don’t believe in her?

  She shook her head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t help any of them now.

  ‘So none of you have actually physically spoken to her since Wednesday night?’ she persisted.

  They looked around at one another, shook their heads.

  ‘No,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t think so.’

  Fiona bit her lip, her hands clasped around her cooling coffee.

  ‘Um, I don’t want to … well, I don’t want to alarm anybody …’ she began.

  Iris’s head came up again, and that intense gaze was on her once more. Fiona could feel how nervous it made her.

  ‘What?’ Iris asked. ‘What is it?’

  Fiona swallowed. ‘I’m not convinced that Mads would do this – any of this.’ She took a deep breath, rallied her wandering thoughts. ‘I don’t believe that she’d bail on an important dig. That she’d leave without telling me after I travelled two days to get here. There were – I dunno – I got a strange feeling from some of her texts, and from what you’ve said, and the Fletts, it seems that nobody has seen her since Wednesday night.

  ‘And I don’t know if you know this, but Madison had a stalker.’

  ‘A stalker?’ squeaked Becky. ‘What kind of
stalker?’

  The others merely stared at her, shocked into silence.

  The only exception to this was Iris. From her still, thoughtful expression, Fiona realised that this was no surprise to her.

  Fiona looked out through the tent flap. Beyond, she could see the trenches, three big rectangular storage boxes, the causeway leading back to the mainland. Across the strait, she could see a couple, little more than stick figures from here. Around their feet played a couple of large yellow dogs.

  If someone had been watching Madison while she worked, she realised, they would have to do it either from very far away or very close up.

  And if Dom Tate had come to Helly Holm, Madison would have recognised him.

  ‘Did you … I don’t know, happen to see anyone hanging around here?’ she asked. ‘Someone unusually interested in Madison, or did she mention anything to you?’

  They all looked at one another, shook their heads. They seemed genuinely at a loss.

  ‘People – locals and tourists – know that we’re digging here. Sometimes they watch from the mainland, sometimes they come over the causeway and have a nose around,’ Callum said slowly.

  ‘Callum handles our IT and does our social media out here,’ said Iris. ‘It’s his job to show people the dig, answer questions.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Fiona, seized with an idea. ‘So … sorry, hang on a sec,’ she was digging for her phone, swiping through her pictures. ‘So, Callum, have you ever seen this guy around here?’

  She held up the phone. It was the picture Madison had sent her prior to that disastrous Christmas party at Saxon Street the year before last.

  Dominic Tate stood there, with his unsmiling narrow eyes and grin too wide for his face and his neat brown hair, one arm possessively tightened around Madison’s waist. She too wore a loose smile, her head cocked, her cat-like eyes vacant in drink. One hand rested gently on his shoulder.

  With a little start, Fiona realised that Madison was wearing the forest-green mohair cardigan, loosely gathered under her breasts, fastened with little copper toggles. It was one of those expensive, arty pieces that Madison had an infallible nose for. Fiona had loved that cardigan and told Madison so. A week later, it had arrived in the post, wrapped in a gold ribbon with a card tucked in. ‘This is for you. I know you liked it. The colour will be better with your hair anyway. All my love, Mads XXX’