by Linda Coles
“I’ll call you later,” he said, and clicked off, returning his focus to the street he was cruising down. His stomach felt like someone had filled it with cement. His thoughts circled back to Sam and her lazy ways, lying in bed while his girls wandered out of the house. Were they warm enough? Had she checked if their coats were gone? He didn’t remember asking her, and the point was important. He called her using the hands-free and she picked up almost instantly.
“Found them?” she blurted.
“No. No, not yet.” Keep positive. “Have you checked if they took their coats with them?”
“What? Oh, no – hang on. I’ll run and look.” The car was silent while he waited for her to check the hall cupboard. Then she was back.
“Both coats are gone. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure if there is anything good here, but yes, it could mean they went under their own steam. I’ll keep looking.”
He rang off, not bothering with goodbye, and let out a heavy sigh of relief that their coats were in fact gone. What predator would kit them out before snatching them? No, on the surface, it looked like they had let themselves out and gone on an adventure.
So where the hell were they?
Chapter Sixteen
Back at the house, Sam had called everyone she could think of, but nobody had seen her two girls. She then called Anika and told her the full story, big wet tears falling down both cheeks as she talked.
“What can I do to help?” her friend asked her.
Anika wasn’t one for sitting around in a crisis, and Sam welcomed her strength. While Duncan had strength, their relationship was at breaking point and she was unable to draw any reassurance from him.
“Duncan is out searching the streets, as are some officers. Can you come over? I could do with a hug.”
Anika agreed, though she thought it odd that her friend wanted her for a hug. Surely, she could be more productive elsewhere? Sighing, she grabbed her purse and said she’d be right over.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Sam rang off and reached for her own bag. She pulled out the painkillers she’d bought from a pharmacy on the edge of town yesterday. She stared at the half-empty blister pack; there were only six left. They’d have to do. She pushed all six Paramol into the palm of her hand and threw them all to the back of her mouth, then washed them down with the remainder of the almost-cold tea that was in her mug. That should take the edge off for a while. She tossed the empty packet into the pedal bin in the kitchen cupboard and closed the door.
On any other day, she would have shredded the packaging into tiny pieces to make it invisible amongst the other bin contents. Half the problem of taking as many painkillers as she did was destroying the evidence. She had almost bought a small garden incinerator from the hardware store for the job, but she knew Duncan would have asked her what it was for, since she did no work in or out of the house.
She heard the front door open as Anika let herself in and called out to Sam.
“I’m in the lounge. Come on through.”
Anika came straight over to her, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close. Sam’s skin on her face was hot and damp with tears, her eyes puffy and swollen. Finally, she stepped back, took Sam’s clammy hands in her own and sat them both on the sofa.
“I feel for you, Sam, I really do. But let’s stay positive. You said they have their coats, so I’m betting they are off playing someplace and will be home later. Didn’t you ever go off when you were little and scare your parents half to death, like they’re doing right now with you both?”
Sam nodded ever so slightly as she remembered. Anika smiled.
“And what made you go back home? Do you remember?”
Sam nodded again. “I got hungry. I’d missed dinner and it was going dark.”
“There you are, then. They’ll be famished soon enough and either make their way home or, if they’ve got lost, go and tell someone. You’ll see I’m right.” Anika beamed at Sam in the hope it would cheer her, help her think back to her own experience and how she’d got home that night. It made it all the more believable and was better than the alternative story.
“I’ll make some more tea,” Anika said, pointing to Sam’s empty mug.
Sam tried to stand but her head had other ideas. Her vision swam and she sat straight back down. She closed her eyes for a moment while Anika busied herself in the kitchen. By the time the fresh tea was ready and the two mugs were on the coffee table, Sam was fast asleep.
Chapter Seventeen
The elderly woman had been watching from her bedroom window. Two young girls were playing alone in the park and had been enjoying themselves for more than an hour. She’d thought it strange that they weren’t in school, but in this neighbourhood it wasn’t that unusual to see truant ones hanging about – though she had to concede they were generally older than the two she’d been watching. Still, they were having fun out in the open; no harm in that.
Mrs. Skeen had never had children of her own, never been lucky in that way, but she had always enjoyed the company of young ones where she could, helping as a teacher’s assistant years back and with local playgroups until more recently. She so enjoyed their chatter, their young words of random wisdom and oblivious reasoning, their eager young minds so alive with wonder before reality set in. She always hoped their lives wouldn’t turn out as hers had.
She checked the clock on the mantelpiece as she passed it on her way to get her coat and boots, but that really wasn’t necessary. Instinctively, she knew it was time, time to bring them inside, time to make a call. She pulled on an old pair of knitted gloves, put her hood up against the cold wind and set off. It would take her a while to move the short distance, but that didn’t matter; time was something she had plenty of.
Closing the back door behind her, she made her way down the side alley and out towards the park and the busy A57 that ran along it, right along the front of her house. A heavy-goods truck whooshed past and whipped the cold, damp air into her face. Miniscule droplets of moisture clung to her skin, making the fine hairs on her jaw look like cobwebs drenched in heavy morning dew. She waited on the pavement opposite the park entrance. And waited. Finally, the traffic cleared, and she ambled across towards the metal railings and the gate. How she was going to get back across the busy road was a different matter, but she figured the answer would come to her at the time. It usually did.
Each breath preceded her like small fog clouds in front of her face; her breathing was short and shallow. As she made her way towards the two little girls, she wondered absently what their education had been thus far on not talking to strangers. Her task could prove a little more difficult than she thought. Again, the answer would be clear soon enough.
Little voices giggling up ahead made her smile. Oh, so innocent. Oh, to be that tender young age again, with not a care in the world, no knowledge of what lay ahead of them. Oh, the changes she would have made to her own life – if only she’d been able... The giggles increased in volume as she neared them both and now the old woman could see their matching pink coats, their matching rosy cheeks, pink from the cold.
They stopped giggling when they saw her. Victoria, the eldest at seven, gently nudged Jasmine behind her, much to Jasmine’s annoyance. The old woman noticed and smiled; one day protecting her sister in that manner might come in handy, she thought. Bending down to their level, she spoke.
“Having fun?” she enquired cheerily.
Victoria didn’t say a word. Jasmine nodded in reply. Both wore serious expressions on their tiny faces. It was clear the ‘Don’t talk to strangers’ message had been learned in their home. Wise indeed, thought Mrs. Skeen.
She pressed on. “I couldn’t help noticing you were out here alone on such a cold day, and not at school. Are you on an adventure, by chance?”
She beamed at them both. The moisture clinging to her hairy chin made the dark hairs look lighter than they really were.
Vict
oria had never seen such a hairy chin, and fixated on it, trying not to blink.
“I won’t bite you, you know. I’m not the bad wolf, my loves. You can tell me what you’re up to. I’m guessing it’s your secret?”
Jasmine nodded again and opened her mouth to speak, but Victoria dug her elbow into her ribs.
“Ouch!” Jasmine exclaimed.
Then Victoria spoke. “We’re off school. Mummy isn’t feeling very well, so we’ve left her sleeping.” Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s damp chin.
“Well, since you’ve been here a while now in the cold, who would like some warm blackcurrant and a biscuit or two? I’ll be betting you’re both hungry by now?”
Two little faces bobbed up and down as they nodded.
“I live just over there,” Mrs. Skeen said, pointing to the house across the way. “Let’s get you warmed up, and I’ll see if there’s a chocolate biscuit or two left, shall we? Then we can let your mummy know you’re both okay.”
Two blank faces stared at her, so she carried on. “I’ll be betting when she wakes up and finds you gone, she’ll be worried, and we don’t want that, do we?”
The girls shook their heads gravely, taking in her every word. Mrs. Skeen reached out to take their hands now, enfolding one in each of her woolly paws. Hand in hand, the little group walked slowly out of the park gates and back towards the A57.
“So,” said Mrs. Skeen brightly as they walked slowly along, “what are your names?”
“I’m Victoria, and this is Jasmine.”
“What pretty names for pretty girls. Do you live around here?”
“Sort of. It’s quite a walk away.”
“Not to worry. Let’s get across the road and have some juice, shall we?”
Both girls had started to relax a little and nodded excitedly. They’d missed breakfast and were hungry. The thought of something warming in their tums was appealing.
The three of them stood on the edge of the pavement waiting for the traffic to ease. Finally, there was a gap, and they made their way across and up the short distance to Mrs. Skeen’s house. Steering them both down the side entry, she unlocked the door and led them both inside. The warmth of the house took the chill off them all as she led them through to the lounge and the welcoming open fire.
“You get yourselves warmed up and I’ll get the juice ready,” she said, and pottered off to the kitchen out back. She flicked the button on the kettle, poured cordial into three mugs and searched the biscuit barrel for six chocolate biscuits.
Then she made a phone call.
Chapter Eighteen
“It’s got to be time for a break, hasn’t it? I’m starved,” moaned Ruth. “My stomach thinks my throat has been cut it’s so long since it was last fed.”
Amanda smiled across at Ruth. “You can when we’ve finished this wall. I’m almost out of paint in the tray anyway. Hold on until then?”
Ruth rolled her bottom lip over her top like a child, knowing it worked most times on Amanda. She’d get what she wanted almost immediately. Today though, Amanda wanted to get the walls finished at the very least. She had pale blue paint in her blonde fringe, which was sticking out from under her cap, and paint covered the top of that too.
“That won’t work on me today, sweetheart. I’m on a mission to get this finished. I’m over it already – aren’t you?”
“I’ll be fine when I’ve been fed and watered – ready to go with gusto, I’m sure. I just need sustenance to carry on.” Ruth wiped the back of her hand across her forehead to mimic fainting.
“You sound like a frail old woman, Mrs. McGregor-Lacey. If you stopped moaning and finished the wall, you’d get your sustenance quicker.”
Ruth smiled broadly. “It sounds great, doesn’t it? ‘Mrs. McGregor-Lacey.’” She enunciated each word, feeling each of them on her tongue, and beamed at Amanda. “What a fab day that was, wasn’t it?”
Amanda watched Ruth savour the memory, paintbrush in hand, nowhere near the wall she was supposed to be doing the edges of. Ruth was someplace else.
“Okay, you win. Down tools,” Amanda said reluctantly, though without any malice. “I’ll put the kettle on. Or do you want coffee?”
Smiling, knowing she’d won, Ruth placed a sticky brush on the upturned paint tin lid and went to Amanda, arms open.
“Coffee, please, and a kiss. Then I’ll have some of that banana cake you bought if there’s any left.”
The two women embraced, savouring for a moment the closeness of being a newly married couple.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ruth said softly.
“It certainly does.” Amanda smiled back at her. “Okay, I’ll get the coffee while you clean your hands. How on earth do you manage to get so much paint off the bristles and onto places you’re not directing them? Is the wall not a big enough canvas for you?” She looked Ruth up and down. “I bet you were terrible at potato-stamp painting in preschool,” she added as she headed downstairs.
Ruth smiled to herself and went to gaze out of the front bedroom window. The pale sky blue of the nearly finished walls almost matched the winter sky outside. The sun had only managed to climb a little way up and was hanging low over the rooftops. Wet washing blew on clotheslines in back gardens like bunting at a fete. An elderly couple sauntered up the road together and unclipped a front gate; Ruth heard it clank and rattle as it closed again. Probably visiting their grandchildren, thought Ruth. Would she and Amanda ever have children? she wondered, not for the first time.
Ruth was a career woman, running her own successful digital business, and her biological clock was rapidly approaching its use-by date. Amanda had already passed that point, though a pregnancy at her age wasn’t impossible, just riskier – if they decided to go that way, that was. If not, there were plenty of other ways to have a family.
Ruth could hear the coffee machine chugging in the kitchen as she headed out the back door to the outside tap. Bits of blue sluiced onto the concrete as she rinsed her hands, though her fingernails looked like they’d need a scrubbing brush. She sensed Amanda nearby.
“Perhaps rubber gloves for you, eh? That’s going to take some removing later,” she said, watching over Ruth’s bent body.
“Good job I’ve not got a hot date tonight, then,” Ruth quipped. “Which reminds me, I’m thinking Wong’s for takeaway later, then we can order and pick it up when it suits rather than go out to eat. Cooking is too much bother when the place is in uproar with decorating. Does that work for you?”
“I’m never one to turn down sweet-and-sour pork balls; you know that,” Amanda said.
“And since we need to keep on painting, why don’t we go have brunch tomorrow before we get started?” Ruth said. She cocked her head back and painted in the imaginary sky with her hands. “Crispy bacon, lightly scrambled eggs, thick toast and a couple of mugs of coffee. Mmm, bliss – my idea of heaven. What do you say?”
Looking bemused again, Amanda conceded. “Talking of bacon, Jack and I called in at a layby food van for a bacon sandwich and a cuppa a couple of days ago. And the oddest thing happened.”
“Oh? What was that?” Ruth asked as she turned the tap off and dried her hands on her shirt-tail.
“It was tipping down, but the van was as busy as ever, and the men in front of us went back to their BMW with their order, sat for a moment or two as we watched, then threw their bacon sandwiches and drinks straight out of the window and drove off. They weren’t speeding off in a mad hurry, but it was odd. Who throws bacon sandwiches away? And they were damn good too, if ours were anything to go by.”
The two women went back indoors and sat down to coffee and banana cake.
“Well, not me, that’s for sure,” Ruth said, licking frosting from her fingers. “Did you do them for littering?” She took another big bite of cake. Crumbs dropped down the front of her paint-splattered shirt.
“No, I had better things to do with my time. Anyway, I was busy with my own sandwich. We both thought
it was strange, though.”
With a mouth full of the remaining cake, Ruth stood and grabbed her coffee, scattering crumbs on the floor.
“It is. But now, Sherlock, it’s time to get the next and final wall done, so bring your coffee and let’s get to it.”
“Yes, master – or should I say ‘Yes, Doctor Watson’?” Amanda kidded, and followed Ruth back upstairs for the final leg of decorating their bedroom. But despite their joking, the question still nagged at her. Why would someone, two people actually, throw perfectly good bacon sandwiches out the window – ever?
Chapter Nineteen
Jack was hard at work when Amanda put her face around his computer screen.
“Morning, sunshine,” she greeted him brightly. Jack noticed a twinkle in her blue eyes.
“Morning, Lacey, or should I say McGregor-Lacey now?”
“Either is fine, but Lacey will do. You’ve called me that for so many years now. What are you up to?”
Jack peered closely at a list on his screen.
“I had a bit of a thought – a hunch, really.” His forefinger scrolled down the screen like a pointer as he read, the words coming slowly as he searched.
“Oh? What about?”
“About the chaps who threw away their sandwiches at that food van the other day.” He continued to scroll.
“I’ve not got that out of my mind either, funnily enough. Seems silly, eh?”
Jack looked away from his screen. He wore bright-pink reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
Amanda smiled. “But not as silly as you wearing my spare reading glasses. Where are yours?”
“First, I’d have thought this early on in your newly wedded bliss you’d be thinking about other things at weekends than sandwiches flying from windows. Second, someone has swiped mine from my drawer and I can’t see a damn thing close up without a pair.”
