All in Her Head: The gripping debut thriller that readers are going crazy for in 2020

by Nikki Smith

  ‘Oh, Ali,’ I mumble. Something has burrowed inside her, hiding itself in the darkness where others can’t see it, wrapping itself round her thoughts like a parasite, poisoning them until I wonder if there’s any of the Ali I know still left. It’s been sly, revealing its true nature in tiny glimpses that were over so fast, it made me question whether I actually saw them.

  Em presses her back against the chest of drawers, distancing herself from the horror in front of her. ‘Do you have any idea where she’d have gone?’ she asks.

  I shake my head. ‘No … I don’t know.’ I can’t think.

  Em hesitates. ‘Has she taken the car?’

  I feel for my keys in my pocket and run into the hall. I can’t see hers in the bowl on the shelf where we normally keep them, but there’s a set lying on the table in the sitting room.

  ‘She’s left them in here with her mobile,’ I say.

  Em walks towards me, shutting the door of Tilly’s room behind her, concentrating on organising practicalities in an effort to stay calm. Neither of us mention what’s on the wall.

  ‘If she’s walking, she can’t have got far,’ Em says. Is she reassuring me or herself? ‘My car’s here, I’ll drive and we’ll go and look for her. You call Harry and warn him in case she heads to ours, then phone the police.’

  Acid bile churns in whirlpools in my stomach.

  I dial Harry’s number and he picks up immediately. ‘Jack?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Listen, Ali’s gone. She’s taken Tilly.’

  There’s a short silence whilst my words sink in. ‘What?’ he asks, sounding confused. ‘Where to?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘She must have left the flat whilst I was letting Em in. We’re in the car now looking for her. Can you call me if she comes to yours?’

  ‘Course,’ he says quickly, and then hesitates, but I know what he’s going to say next. ‘I think you should call the police, Jack.’

  ‘Yes,’ I tell him. ‘I’m doing it now.’

  As I end the call, we reach the top of the road.

  ‘Left, or right?’ Em asks.

  I scan both ways but can’t see Ali in either direction. I don’t know which way to choose and turn my head from side to side with paralysing indecision, trying to spot something to help me make up my mind.

  Em makes the choice for me as she turns left and heads up the road, driving slower than the thirty miles an hour speed limit so we don’t miss Ali. We’re far enough away from the town centre to avoid most of the rush-hour traffic, but cars overtake us at regular intervals, the low morning sun casting long shadows that shroud us in gloom each time they go past. The momentary drop in temperature makes me

  shiver.

  I dial the same three digits on my phone and wait to be connected.

  ‘Operator speaking. Which service do you require?’

  ‘Police.’

  ‘Hold the line please.’ There’s a short pause.

  ‘Thank you, caller,’ a different voice states, ‘you’re through to the police. What’s the nature of your emergency?’

  ‘It’s my wife. She’s gone missing with my daughter.’

  ‘Can you tell me your name and location?’

  ‘Jack Reynolds,’ I say. ‘I’m in a friend’s car in Clifton and we’re out looking for them now.’

  ‘What’s your wife’s name, Jack?’

  ‘Alison. Alison Reynolds.’

  ‘Right. And did she tell you she was going out?’

  ‘No. I just left our flat for a minute and when I came back they were both gone.’

  ‘How old is your daughter?’

  ‘She’s six days old.’

  ‘Have you tried contacting your wife?’

  ‘I can’t. She left her mobile in our flat. I’m worried she’s … I’m worried about her mental state.’

  ‘Did you have an argument before she left?’

  ‘No.’ I wonder if the person on the other end of the phone notices the tiny pause before I answer.

  ‘Does your wife have any relatives or friends who live nearby that she might have gone to see?’

  ‘Her dad doesn’t live too far away.’ I wave frantically at Em and press the mute button on my mobile. ‘Station. Head for the station.’ She indicates and turns right as I take the mute button off again. ‘But there’s something in our flat I need you to see. She’s written on one of our

  walls.’

  There’s a short pause. ‘Like graffiti?’

  ‘No. Not like graffiti. It’s just lots of words. I can’t really describe it, someone needs to see it.’ I can hear a couple of voices murmuring on the other end of the phone before someone speaks to me again.

  ‘I’m going to send someone out to you. What’s your address, Jack?’

  ‘15 York Crescent, Bristol.’

  ‘They’ll be there as soon as they can.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I put my mobile on my lap. ‘She might be going to see her dad,’ I say to Em.

  She nods. ‘Maybe.’ She doesn’t sound convinced. ‘You don’t want to check anywhere else first?’

  I stare at her. ‘Like where?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m just worried she might—’

  ‘She’d never hurt Tilly,’ I interrupt flatly.

  ‘I’m not saying she would.’ She doesn’t mention the wall, but I know she’s thinking about it. I am too. I try to focus on keeping my mind like a blank page. I will not take any notice of what she wrote. She’s not that person. Em grips the steering wheel and stares straight ahead.

  ‘Let’s check the station.’ I’m confident. ‘I think she’s going to her dad’s. He’s only a couple of stops away.’

  She hesitates, then turns right.

  I try calling Edward but his landline goes to answerphone and his mobile is switched off; he never remembers to charge it. I don’t leave a message. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to tell him Ali’s taken his granddaughter and they’re missing. Not yet. She’ll turn up in a minute and I’ll have worried him for no reason.

  We drive up the suburban roads, searching the grey pavements that are quiet in the early-morning light. A mother carrying a baby should be easy to spot, but there’s no sign of them.

  I jump out of the car when Em pulls into the station, leaving her to turn the car around. I scour the platform and ticket hall. A few commuters stare at the departure boards, but I can’t see Ali.

  Em lowers her window as I walk back across the tarmac.

  I shake my head. ‘She might have gone to the main one in town,’ I say hopefully.

  ‘She couldn’t have walked that distance,’ Em replies. ‘She’d have had to get a bus. I think it’s unlikely.’ She looks at her watch. ‘It’s been fifteen minutes. We need to get back to yours so we’re there when the police arrive. Try Harry again. He might not have been able to get through when you were on the phone.’

  I can tell by the tone of his voice before he says the words that he hasn’t heard from her. I squeeze the phone tightly.

  ‘We need to head back,’ Em says. I search for something in her face but there’s nothing to reassure me.

  ‘OK,’ I say reluctantly.

  She looks away and as she wipes something off her cheek, I notice her hands are shaking.

  The traffic is starting to build up and I can hear sirens faintly in the distance. The police must be on their way over. At least they’re treating it urgently. I don’t want Em to leave me on my own. I have no idea what I’m going to say to them. She pulls up in my road and looks at me as she puts the handbrake on.

  Em hesitates before she asks, ‘Had you been arguing?’

  I swallow, looking out of the window to avoid her question, and see my father standing outside the entrance to our block of flats. He’s staring at me. I blink in case I’m imagining it, but it’s definitely him. Wearing his blazer. He smiles as he sees me notice him. I didn’t think he’d come this quickly after my text, but he doesn’t realise he’s already too late. His gr
in falters slightly as he puts his hands into his pockets. He was expecting to see me panic. He doesn’t understand he can’t make things any worse than they already

  are.

  I turn back to Em who’s trying to see what I’m looking at. ‘What d’you mean?’ I ask.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she says. ‘You paused before you answered the question when you were on the phone to the police.’

  I don’t reply. My face is hot. I don’t want to tell her how we’d screamed at each other when I’d found Ali trying to leave last night. That she’d accused me of trying to hurt Tilly. It hadn’t been an argument. It had felt like the obliteration of our relationship. And every time I think about what happened yesterday in the car, I feel sick.

  Em turns off the engine and reaches into the footwell by my feet for her bag. I glance out of the window but my father hasn’t moved. She hands me a small notebook. ‘Ali gave me this when I saw her a few days ago. Told me it was a birthday present and not to open it until the weekend. You can read it if you want, but I think we should give it to the police.’ She looks in her mirror as a marked car pulls up behind us and a couple of policemen get out.

  ‘What’s in it?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I only had a quick look when we stopped at the station. I forgot she’d given it to me, to be honest. I’d left it in the car. It’s like the stuff she’s written on the wall of Tilly’s room. Something about a voice. That she’s been chosen. Rules telling her what she can and can’t do.’ She hesitates. ‘That you’re trying to take Tilly away from her.’

  I swallow hard as I flick through the pages, tiny narrow lines covered with ink. It doesn’t even look like Ali’s handwriting.

  The officers walk towards me and I slide the book into my pocket as I wind down the window.

  ‘Mr Reynolds?’

  I nod.

  ‘I’m Sergeant Turner and this is my colleague PC Simmons. Shall we talk inside?’

  I nod and open the car door. We walk side by side, Em following behind, up the pavement to the entrance. My father sees us coming and I stare at him as we get closer. He’s no longer smiling. We almost reach him before he breaks eye contact and doesn’t acknowledge me as he steps away from the iron railings and heads out onto the street. He doesn’t realise who the police are here for. Threatening my wife won’t get him what he wants. Ali’s already gone.

  My hands tremble as I push open the main door and we head down the corridor, the waterproof material of their uniform rubbing against itself, the rhythmic swishing sound exaggerated in the silence.

  ‘Can I get you anything …?’ I stammer when we get into the flat.

  ‘No thanks.’ The sergeant is polite but brisk. His colleague shakes her head. I can see them glance round the flat, looking to see if anything seems out of place.

  I usher them into the sitting room, where we sit awkwardly on the sofas. I try to ignore Ali’s jacket and the pink teddy that lies on top of the empty plastic bag on the floor.

  ‘So, Mr Reynolds, you say your wife left here this morning around six-thirty?’ he asks, pulling out a notebook.

  ‘Yes.’ I clear my throat.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘I’d left the flat to go and open the main front door to let Em in. Ali must have got out of bed and taken Tilly … our daughter … and gone out that way.’ I point at the patio doors. ‘They were open when we came back.’

  ‘And you’re Em?’ the sergeant queries.

  ‘Yes. Emma Butler. I live in Percival Road. About five minutes’ drive away. With my husband, who is currently looking after our two children. Ali’s one of my closest

  friends.’

  The PC is writing as Em speaks.

  I cut across her. ‘I’d called Em earlier to ask her to come over because I was worried about Ali. She hasn’t been … well.’

  The police officers exchange a glance.

  ‘And what time was that?’ the sergeant asks.

  ‘Around five o’clock.’

  ‘In the morning?’ He raises his eyebrows.

  ‘Yes …’ I mutter. ‘Ali wasn’t herself last night—’

  He interrupts. ‘How d’you mean, not herself, Mr Reynolds?’

  ‘I mean not herself. Not how she used to be. Since she had Tilly, she’s been … different. Saying things that aren’t true.’

  ‘Like?’ The PC doesn’t smile as she speaks.

  I take a deep breath. ‘Like, she thinks I want to hurt Tilly.’

  The sergeant studies me as he speaks. ‘And you’d never do that.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I reply.

  ‘And you’ve never hurt Tilly or your wife in anyway?’ he continues.

  ‘No. Never.’ An image of a red mark imprinted on Ali’s cheek rises in my head and I feel my face colour. The sergeant doesn’t comment but I can tell he’s seen it.

  Em nudges me.

  ‘Ali gave this to Em last week.’ I hold out the notebook. ‘I didn’t know about it. She said it was for Em’s birthday, which isn’t until the weekend.’

  The PC flicks through the pages, a frown settling on her face.

  ‘How old is your daughter, Mr Reynolds?’ the sergeant asks.

  ‘Six days old. And please call me Jack.’

  ‘And did the midwife have any concerns when she visited?’ he continues.

  I hesitate. ‘Not really. I told her a couple of days ago Ali wasn’t sleeping well.’

  ‘And since then?’

  ‘She hasn’t been back. She said to call if we needed her, and we agreed she’d visit today.’ I clasp my hands together and take a deep breath. ‘There’s something you should see.’

  They follow me into Tilly’s nursery, where I point at the wall.

  ‘Ali must have done this yesterday or the day before. I’d told her not to take Tilly in there whilst the paint was still drying. I only finished putting the bookshelf up in here two days ago and it obviously wasn’t here then. I haven’t been in there since and only saw it this morning.’

  The PC stares at her colleague, who walks out into the hall and begins talking into his radio.

  ‘He’s calling our control room,’ she says. ‘Let’s go back in the sitting room and you can get me your midwife’s contact details.’

  I walk past the sergeant into the kitchen and search for Lisa’s details amongst the various piles of paper. I can hear Em’s voice as she interrupts the PC in the other room. My vision blurs when I finally find them, paper-clipped to Ali’s hospital notes. I separate the pieces of paper and go into the sitting room to hand the details to the policewoman.

  ‘I’ll give her a call now, if you don’t mind, to get her take on things,’ she says. ‘Try not to panic. Have you got a photo of your wife we can circulate?’

  I nod, fetching the one of us in a restaurant in Amalfi a few years ago from her bedside table. I love that picture of her. We’d both been laughing with relief after she’d shaken off a bee that had flown into her hair.

  ‘Here.’ I hand it to her. ‘It’s a bit old, but she hasn’t changed much.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She undoes the frame and clips the picture to her notebook. ‘Have you got one of Tilly?’

  ‘Yes.’ I show her one on my phone that I’d taken when she was in the hospital crib and she nods.

  ‘Can you get a copy of that one for me?’

  I send it to our printer, my hands shaking as I load in the photo paper.

  ‘I thought she might have gone to her dad’s. He only lives locally. Just the other side of town. It’s a couple of stops on the train,’ I blurt out.

  The PC nods. ‘I’ll need his contact details and address so we can check. You said you weren’t sure what she was wearing when she left. Can you have a look?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I go into our bedroom. It’s so empty without them. The sight of Tilly’s bare Moses basket makes me shudder. I pick up one of her Babygros, which is lying on the floor. It smells of her as I hold it
against my face. Where are you? I need you to come home. I sink down on my knees at the side of the crib, a tear falling onto the white sheet that’s covering the small mattress.

  The PC makes me jump as she puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sure we’ll find them,’ she says.

  I wipe my face.

  ‘It doesn’t look like Ali’s taken any clothes with her,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing obvious I can see, anyway.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jack,’ she speaks gently. ‘I just wanted you to check in case you noticed something in particular. Are her pyjamas still here?’

  I look on the floor and behind the pillows on the bed.

  ‘I can’t see them, so I think she must still be wearing them.’ I push back the bedroom door to reveal an empty hook. ‘Her dressing gown’s gone. It’s a white towelling one.’

  The PC nods.

  I look at her. ‘You think they’re in danger, don’t you?’ I grip the side of the dressing table.

  ‘I’m not going to assume anything at this stage. Let’s just concentrate on doing what we can to find them. Come back into the sitting room and write down her father’s details, and anyone else you think she might have contacted. Any other friends, or family.’

  I sit on the sofa next to the sergeant, who’s now off his radio. The PC hands me a piece of paper and a pen. I write down a few names, including my mum’s and Ali’s work address.

  I show Em and she nods before adding, ‘I can’t think of anyone else. Her work colleagues might know more. But she hasn’t been there for the past month or so. She’s been on maternity leave.’

  The sergeant’s radio crackles. He picks it up.

  ‘’Scuse me, I need to take this.’ He walks out of the sitting room.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Em addresses the PC directly.

  ‘Well, we’ll circulate the photos and a description and have a drive round locally ourselves. I’m going to try your midwife again as she didn’t pick up when I called her before. We’ll also contact your wife’s father and visit her work to see if anyone knows anything there.’

  I hesitate, my frustration hardening into anger. ‘She’s in her pyjamas. Walking the streets at …’ I check my watch, ‘not even eight o’clock in the morning. With a newborn baby. She won’t be heading into her office. She’s not thinking logically.’