by Eleanor Ray
It was when she woke up Friday morning and he still wasn’t there that she started to really worry. She phoned Tim, but it went straight to voice mail. They were probably passed out on Simon’s couch, she decided. Or in a gutter maybe, she thought bitterly.
Amy went about her day, unpacking and doing laundry. She’d brought some of her paintings home in an art bag, and decided that she should put them up in the flat. Especially the painting of naked Antonio. That would serve Tim right.
She phoned Tim again and then Simon every hour or so, feeling worry building up inside her. Still no answer. She tried to stay calm; surely stress wasn’t good for the baby. She was planning to go to the library later and get a book on pregnancy. Already she’d checked online and discovered that the baby was currently the size of a sesame seed.
Eventually, as she was picking the sesame seeds she couldn’t bear to eat off a bread roll that she’d found in the cupboard for lunch, she got a call. Simon. She hurried to pick it up, sending her little pile of sesame seeds flying to the floor.
“Why on earth do I have seven missed calls from you?” asked Simon.
“Where’s Tim?” asked Amy.
“Tim? How should I know?”
“He’s not with you?”
“I haven’t seen Tim in weeks,” replied Simon. “The band broke up, remember? Course you do.”
“You weren’t with him last night?” Amy felt her heart fall into her stomach.
“It’s been weeks,” repeated Simon. He paused. “Have I landed him in it?”
Amy found she was too angry to reply. Why had Tim lied? She’d been away for six weeks. A lot could happen in that time. Amy couldn’t help but leap to conclusions.
* * *
AMY DIALED CHANTEL again. She needed the moral support of her best friend. Chantel’s phone went to voice mail too. Why did no one answer their bloody phones? She looked at her watch. It was lunchtime on a Friday, so Chantel would be at work. She didn’t have the number, but Jack might. He worked shifts, so there was a chance he’d be at home. She scrolled through her numbers until she found the landline for Chantel and Jack. She didn’t think Chantel would mind being disturbed at work. This was an emergency.
“Who’s that?” Jack snapped.
“It’s Amy,” she said, then paused at the silence on the line. “Amy Ashton,” she clarified.
“Why are you phoning?”
“Sorry,” said Amy. “You sound tired.”
“No,” said Jack. “I’m not tired. Why would I be?”
Amy had no answer to that. “Sorry,” she said again. “I was hoping to speak to Chantel.”
“She’s at work,” said Jack. “Why would she be here?”
“I know she’s at work,” said Amy, thinking she’d never heard Jack be this rude before. “Can I have her number there? It’s urgent.”
“I don’t have it,” said Jack.
“Oh,” said Amy, not really believing him. “I suppose I could try to find it online.”
Silence greeted her on the line. “Actually, we’ve had a bit of an argument,” said Jack. “If you must know, she didn’t come home last night.”
“Neither did Tim,” said Amy.
“You don’t think…” began Jack.
“Of course not,” said Amy. But the seed had been planted.
* * *
AMY HAD NEVER been a big reader of newspapers. When she read, she liked novels. Beautiful books with stories where people made mistakes and learned from them and grew. The papers were full of people doing terrible things to each other and never getting any better. Not to her taste at all.
But after Amy reported Tim missing, the news was suddenly relevant. It wasn’t some story about something awful that had happened a long way away and that would never affect her. There could be news in there about Tim. And about Chantel.
She found herself collecting all the papers when the story first broke. It was never headline news, even in the local papers. But there was something about the disappearance, at least at first. After a day or so the stories grew shorter, but still Amy bought all the papers, hoping for more. She carefully cut out any reference to Tim or Chantel, and she studied Jack’s comments over and over.
Amy spent hours at the police station, making statement after statement. She had endless cups of sweet tepid tea, and was assured again and again that the police were doing everything in their power. Jack was a godsend, explaining the process to her and keeping her updated on every development.
Except there were very few developments. No one seemed to know anything. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air.
Eventually Jack sat her down and told her, off the record, what his colleagues believed: Chantel and Tim had run away to start a new life together. Jack and Amy were collateral damage.
Amy refused to believe it, and scoured the papers for more news. Perhaps even a message in the personals. She called Tim’s friends again and again, and made a nuisance of herself in both of their offices.
She had to find them, and she felt sure that she would. She had to tell Tim about the baby.
No matter what he had done, he needed to know that he was going to be a father.
Chapter Fourteen
“Hello there, Amy.” Jack smiled at her. “I don’t do house calls much anymore, but I thought I’d make an exception, seeing as how we’re old friends.” He went to move inside, but Amy stood her ground. “Can I come in?” he asked, clearly expecting her to say yes.
Amy slammed the door.
It wouldn’t close. Amy looked down. Jack had his foot in the doorway in a well-practiced maneuver. She looked at him through the narrow gap and realized she was trembling.
“What’s the problem, Amy?” asked Jack, his voice casual, although she could see beads of sweat on his forehead, betraying him. “I got your message. I’m sure I can clear it right up. Let me in.”
Her message. Of course. She’d asked him why he didn’t raise the alarm earlier when Chantel disappeared.
She knew now.
Because he’d killed Tim. And Chantel, the only witness, had fled.
The only witness, who’d escaped him for years.
And who was drinking wine in her kitchen.
“Not now,” said Amy, trying to erase the terror from her voice. “Jack,” she added loudly, for Chantel’s benefit. Jack looked at her, suspicion registering on his face. She attempted a smile but her mouth wasn’t cooperating.
“Have you got company?” he asked.
They both heard a noise from inside, the thud of something falling.
Jack didn’t need a second prompt. He charged at the door, slamming into it with his shoulder. It flung open, its force pushing Amy into her hallway wall. Hard. She hit her head on the shelf and sent one of the bottles flying. It fell to the ground and smashed. She sank down next to it as Jack barged past her, crushing a piece of glass beneath his shoe. Amy stared at the shards for a moment, feeling dizzy.
She reached her hand to the pain on her head and felt a warm wetness. Then she looked at her fingers.
Blood.
Hearing Jack return from the kitchen, Amy looked up. He was alone; Chantel must have escaped through the back door. She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together.
Jack was dangerous and she was alone. Now was not the time for confrontations. Amy tried to swallow down the fury she felt for him and ignore the pounding in her head.
He was looking at her, concern in his features. “God, Amy,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…” He reached out a hand to help her up, but she flinched away. “It’s just when I heard the sound, I thought it might be an intruder,” he said, clearly lying.
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“Don’t be like that,” said Jack. “It was an accident. That shelf…”
“Please go.”
“I really think I should stay,” said Jack. “You can’t be too careful with head injuries.”
It was too much.
; “Get out of my house,” she said, unable to contain her anger.
“What’s going on, Amy?” he asked. His voice was harder now, any concern he felt for her clearly dissipating. “Get up.” He reached down again, but this time it wasn’t an offer. He gripped her arms tightly, too tightly, and dragged her to her feet. She cried out in pain.
Chantel flung open the living-room door and rushed towards them. “Get your hands off her!” she yelled. Amy looked at Chantel. She hadn’t run. Not this time.
“Chantel!” exclaimed Jack. He jerked backwards as if he’d been hit. For a moment Amy thought he might fall, but instead she felt his grip on her arms tightening further. He pushed Amy into the living room and Chantel followed.
“I mean it,” said Chantel. “Let go of her now.”
Jack looked at his hands, as if he’d forgotten he was still holding her. “Amy had an accident,” he explained, releasing her. “That’s all.”
“Another accident?” asked Chantel. She pulled Amy behind her, shielding her from Jack.
“So you told her,” he said.
No one spoke. The three of them stood together in silence, and Amy heard a clock ticking from inside one of her boxes. She glanced around and saw Scarlett perched on another box, watching the drama unfold. Amy longed to reach out and grab the robin, to hug her close to her chest.
“I looked for you, Chantel,” said Jack finally, his voice eerily calm. “For a long time.”
“I know,” she said.
“Where were you?”
“I’d rather not say,” said Chantel.
“Even now?” asked Jack, the calmness in his voice starting to evaporate. “What happened to Tim—it was an accident. You know it was.”
“What you did to me wasn’t an accident,” said Chantel.
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “It’s different now. I’m married,” he said. “Two little girls.”
“I feel sorry for them,” said Chantel.
“I’ve never laid a finger on a child,” said Jack. “I’m not like that. Never was.”
“That makes it all right?”
“The accident with Tim,” continued Jack, ignoring her. “It changed me. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“To you?” questioned Amy, incredulous.
“She told you it wasn’t my fault, right?” he asked, turning to Amy. “It was an accident, that was all.”
“You hit Tim and killed him,” said Amy. The words tasted sour in her mouth.
“That’s what she told you?” asked Jack. Amy nodded. “It wasn’t like that. Chantel lied to me and sneaked off to see Tim. They were kissing in the park.”
“We weren’t kissing,” said Chantel.
“What was I supposed to think?” continued Jack, ignoring her. “I was angry. You would have been too. Anyone in my shoes would have done what I did.”
“Really?” questioned Chantel. “I don’t think so.”
“It was an accident,” said Jack again. He looked at Amy, as if willing her to believe him. “I didn’t even hit him that hard. But he fell backwards and hit his head on a railing. That was what killed him. It wasn’t my fault.”
“You hit him and now he’s dead.”
“But I didn’t mean to kill him,” said Jack, his voice rising. “It was a stupid accident that could have ruined my life.”
“What about Tim’s life?” asked Amy. Her head was throbbing.
“It was tragic,” said Jack. “But there was nothing I could do. He was gone already.”
Amy looked at him. Ruthlessly selfish, and he didn’t even seem sorry. Just worried for what would happen to him.
“I could have got ten years in prison for manslaughter,” said Jack. “And you know what they do to police in prison.”
“You want us to feel sorry for you?” asked Amy.
“I couldn’t let that happen,” continued Jack. “Then I saw it. A hole. The machines. A way out. There was no one around. I had to take that chance.”
“No you didn’t,” said Amy.
“I’ve been a model citizen ever since,” said Jack. “A good policeman, a good husband and father. I’ve never lifted a hand to anyone.” He looked at Chantel, then Amy. “Not really. And it was so long ago. There’s no need to go raking up the past.”
He’d said that to Amy before, and her pots had ended up destroyed. Amy wondered if Jack was responsible, trying to scare her into leaving things alone. She felt a cocktail of anger and fear well up inside her.
“Yes there is,” she said. “Tim deserves justice.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” said Jack, desperation creeping into his voice.
“No,” said Amy. “We just need the truth. We all do.”
“Chantel?” Jack turned to her. “I was heartbroken when you left. I thought you, of all people, would stand by me.”
“You were wrong,” said Chantel. “Jack, I was terrified of you. Of what you would do to me. To Amy. I don’t want to live in fear. But I’m not going to hide away. Not anymore.”
Jack seemed to grow bigger. Amy noticed him looking around the room. “You two are making this very difficult for me,” he said. “I promised myself I wouldn’t hurt anyone again.”
“You already have,” said Chantel. “Look at Amy.”
“It could be worse,” said Jack, menace in his voice.
Amy slowly sidestepped towards the window, pulling Chantel with her. Amy looked up at Scarlett, watching the action from her perch on top of a large stack of boxes. The top one contained cookery books, Amy was sure of it. The next one down had clocks, and she could see a heavy mirror, squeezed in between them.
“Are you threatening us?” asked Amy.
“I don’t see what alternative you’re giving me,” Jack replied. He stepped backwards, bumping into a stack of boxes. “What the hell is wrong with your house, Amy?” he said suddenly. “Are you some sort of hoarder?”
Jack paused for a moment, then smiled. A nasty smile. Amy felt Chantel flinch next to her. “This place is an accident waiting to happen,” he said, his hand on one of Amy’s boxes.
Amy didn’t reply. She looked up at Scarlett, the lovely robin who had stuck by her all these years. Why did she have to be there? She bit her lip. And the boxes. The boxes full of her lovely things. Her loyal possessions. Her delicate belongings.
Her heavy treasures.
Amy released Chantel’s hand and lunged forwards. She pushed the tower of boxes from the bottom. It teetered for a moment, and she saw confusion flash across Jack’s face. Then it toppled. A crash. Deafening. The sickening sound of breakages. A mirror smashed. Scarlett’s china wings destroyed. Jack’s bones broken.
Chantel’s voice.
“Run.”
June 2008
“No, Amy, there haven’t been any new developments in the case.” DC Jack Hooper spoke softly, but Amy could hear the edge in his voice. “Not the last time you came to see me, and not today.”
“Still nothing from Toyah?” Amy squeezed the plastic cup of institutional tea tightly. The hot liquid spilled over the top and scalded her hand, but she barely noticed.
“She said that you’d been to see her again. Listen, Amy, her daughter is missing. You need to give her some space. She’s heard nothing from Chantel.” He paused. “Neither have I,” he added.
“What about Tim?” Amy found desperation creeping into her voice again, although she’d asked the question over and over.
“No news. Not from Simon, not from Idris, not from his dad. As you well know. You’ve been in contact with all of them again, haven’t you?”
“I need to find him,” said Amy. “I need to find Tim. And Chantel. Something terrible must have happened.”
“Must it?” asked Jack. Amy didn’t answer, not wanting to hear what he said next. “Because you know what my colleagues on the case believe.”
“Not my best friend and my boyfriend.” Amy watched the skin on her hand turn an angry shade of red in response t
o the spilt tea.
“It’s what it looks like,” replied Jack. “Listen. I’m as hurt as you are. But we need to face the possibility that they don’t want to be found. Not by us.”
“They wouldn’t do that to me,” insisted Amy, though the days of hounding anyone she could think of had taken their toll. No one had seen Tim. No one had heard from Chantel. The worried looks and sympathy that she’d encountered when she first asked had turned to pity and annoyance as she went back to people again and again. “I don’t believe it,” said Amy, her voice less certain.
“Don’t you?” queried Jack. “You might not want to. But I think by now you must.”
“Maybe,” admitted Amy.
“You leave things to me now,” said Jack. “It’s not good for you, hunting for them like this. I’m the professional. If they can be found, I’ll do it. Promise you’ll let me help?”
“I promise,” said Amy.
“Good,” replied Jack. “Leave it to me.”
* * *
AMY SAT IN her garden, watching a bloated cigarette floating in an ashtray full of rainwater. It had been two weeks since Tim went missing, and she’d heard nothing. Chantel was gone too, and Jack was convinced that the two of them were having an affair and had run away together.
It wasn’t possible. Not Chantel and Tim. Something had happened to them. Amy’s mind raced through the possibilities, none of them good.
They were being held hostage somewhere by a violent psychopath.
They’d been in a car that had veered off the road into the sea, despite the fact that neither owned a car and they all lived miles inland.
They’d been abducted by aliens.
When she thought about it like that, Amy understood why Jack believed they had run away together. It was certainly more plausible than anything she could fathom. And yet, it seemed equally unlikely. There must be another explanation. An explanation that would help Amy find them. Every time someone walked by her house, Amy found herself at the window, but it was never them. Every time the doorbell rang, Amy sprang up and ran to it. Never them. She’d collected stacks of newspapers, desperate for news. Nothing.
