“Oh no, I’m sorry. I’ll move out of the way,” Lindsey said, to someone else I presumed. Then she responded to me. “I don’t understand. Did anything happen between the two of you?”
Should I confess to the umpteenth conflict that had arisen between us? It felt ridiculous and embarrassing. I took another sip of wine before coming clean. “We had a falling out. Oliver was supposed to watch Tim by the pool, but when I looked up, he was absorbed in his newspaper. Tim was nowhere to be found.”
“Timmy? Oh god, how awful,” Lindsey exclaimed. “Is he okay? You did find him again, didn’t you?”
“Yes, thankfully,” I hurried to add. “We searched the entire pool complex, asked around everywhere until I was almost certain he’d drowned. You can’t imagine the state I was in, I was beside myself.” The overwhelming fear I’d felt came over me again. I shook myself out of it and pulled myself back into the here and now. “I naturally became angry with Oliver and nearly exploded, and then he just took off.” I paused for a moment. “Lin, I’m terribly worried.”
“Hmm …” muttered Lindsey.
I was expecting reassuring words – Lindsey’s reaction only made me more nervous. “Where do you think he’s gone?” He wouldn’t leave me out here, not while we were trying one last time to patch things up … would he?
She spluttered. “Maybe he went back to Amsterdam. Have you already tried your landline?”
I felt stupid. “No, I didn’t think about that.”
“You know what? Why don’t you phone home straight away. I’m sure he’s just relaxing in the bath and left his phone in the car. Or something like that,” she added. “You know what men are like.”
“Yes, maybe you’re right,” I said despondently. I suddenly realised I hadn’t checked whether our car was still parked at the entrance of the holiday park.
“Just try the landline, then call me back to give me the good news.” The concern she’d expressed seemed to have disappeared from her voice, her speech was slurring again. She probably wanted to return to her dinner with Paul, her latest fling, back to her uncomplicated evening. I couldn’t blame her.
I wasn’t reassured, but I didn’t want to take up any more of her time and spoil her date.
“Sure,” I said complacently, putting my wine glass on the wooden coffee table. “I will.”
We hung up.
I pulled myself together and tried our landline as I put my ear to the corridor door – everything was quiet. Tim was probably fast asleep by now.
The phone kept ringing, while the tension in my stomach grew stronger and stronger. “Pick up, Oliver,” I pleaded.
Maybe he was indeed taking a bath and couldn’t hear the telephone ringing, I thought, trying to calm myself down, or he was listening to his beloved jazz music with his head phones on while lounging on our couch, his loafer-clad feet hanging over the armrest.
I lowered myself onto one of the creaky wooden chairs with my phone pressed to my ear and waited and waited, but my call wasn’t answered.
I gave up and flung my phone across the room onto the couch. I rubbed my eyes as the feeling of anxiety continued to grow deep inside. What was I supposed to do now?
I leaped up and went to the kitchen, trying to ignore the mess, which had resulted from preparing dinner in a tiny space. I grabbed a bag of crisps from the cupboard, ripped it open and took it with me to the couch in the lounge where I plopped down. I opened my laptop and whiled away watching an episode of my favourite series on Netflix – if Oliver wasn’t here tonight, I might as well take advantage of it.
I stuck my hand inside the bag and mindlessly stuffed the crisps into my mouth. My gaze was focused on the small screen, where a handsome businessman in an office filing room loosened the buttons of his assistant’s blouse, but it was hard for me to stay focused.
This wasn’t going to work. I slammed the laptop shut and grabbed my phone again.
After only ringing twice, my call was answered.
“Lin, it’s me. Still nothing.”
This time I heard loud music playing in the background. Lindsey remained silent for a moment. “What do you mean, nothing?” she asked.
Where was her mind? “Oliver is not answering!” I shouted sharply. I kneaded my shoulders. “Sorry, my anxiety levels are through the roof. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve called him – the landline, his mobile, nothing. I’m at a loss – I really don’t know what to do anymore. Shall I call the police?” My gaze moved outside, where the lights in almost all the holiday homes had been switched off for the night.
“Let’s not jump the gun. Damn it. Wait a minute, I’ll go to the hallway.”
I heard Lindsey mutter something to Paul. A moment later the music fell silent.
Lindsey spoke tenderly. “Hun, I understand you’re upset. But if you ask me, there’s no need to worry. You and Oliver are going through a rough time. Every couple has their ups and downs every now and then,” she said as if she were an expert on relationships. “Give him some space.”
I contemplated Lindsey’s words for a moment. Was she right? I felt confused – Oliver had been the one to surprise me with a minibreak and had even specifically blocked his schedule for it. “This weekend was meant to breathe new life into our relationship,” I responded. “It was actually his idea. I can’t imagine him just leaving me out here all alone with Tim.”
“I’m sure his intentions were all good,” she spoke with confidence. “But you two unexpectedly had a row, which put a spanner in the works. Maybe he just wants some time to himself. You said yourself that Oliver has been occupied at the firm lately.”
I thought back to the past few months during which Oliver often had to work overtime. When he did finally make it home as Tim was well asleep and I was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, he often seemed deep in thought, his head buried in his phone. Whenever I’d confronted him about his behaviour, he’d reacted irritably and brushed me off.
I let out a big sigh. “Maybe you’re right. He may simply want to recharge his batteries,” I concluded. The feeling of anguish gave way to annoyance. “You would think he’d have had the decency to inform me rather than just sneaking off.”
“It sucks, you’re right. Quite inconsiderate.”
Lindsey started laughing. “Make sure you give him a good telling off when he returns.” She spoke in a calm and serious voice again. “Darling, don’t drive yourself nuts. Have a nice bath, drink a glass of wine. Relax. I’ll bet you anything he’ll call tomorrow morning begging you to forgive him.”
“You’re probably right,” I murmured without sounding particularly convinced.
“Of course I’m right,” Lindsey said, with a tinkling laugh. “Babe, I’m going to pop back to Paul before he thinks I’ve bailed on him.”
“Sure,” I said and tried my best to sound jaunty. “Thanks Lin for taking the time.”
“Any time, darling.”
I followed Lindsey’s advice, filled the tub, added a dash of lavender oil, and tried to get Oliver out of my mind.
3
When I went to bed around midnight, I put my mobile phone on the bedside table next to me with the volume turned up. I wanted to be absolutely sure I’d hear if Oliver were to call me. I jolted awake around three in the morning and immediately checked my phone, but the screen was blank. I opened WhatsApp and saw that he hadn’t been online since the beginning of the afternoon. This wasn’t like him at all.
I lay down in bed again and saw the moonlight cast a shadow on the white wall, revealing greasy finger smudges. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fall back asleep anymore. As I kept tossing and turning I loosened the fitted sheets, exposing the grubby mattress. Around five o’clock I got up and made myself a cup of warm milk, after which I must have dozed off.
Suddenly I heard a loud “mummy” from the adjacent room. The first sunlight trickled in through the plain, transparent curtains. I reached out next to me, but Oliver’s side of the bed was still empty and
cold.
After I got out of bed and headed for the small nursery, I felt a dull headache form behind my brow as a result of the restless night. I squeezed myself between the wall and the cot, which barely fitted next to the bunk bed, and lifted Tim up. I buried my face in his neck and breathed in his well-known, comforting scent.
With Tim in my arms, I walked the few metres to the living room of the single-storey bungalow and sank down on the couch. “Did you sleep well, sweetie?” I asked, unzipping his sleeping bag and freeing his arms.
He nodded and slid straight off my lap, then plodded barefoot to the box of toys and tipped it over. The sound made my head pound. I frowned as a sigh escaped my lips.
Tim pointed to the Duplo. “Mummy play?”
I nodded with little enthusiasm and lowered myself to the floor. Together we built a tower out of the colourful blocks, but after a while I started to feel antsy. “Pumpkin, you carry on playing. Mummy needs to do something,” I said and went to the bedroom.
I took my phone from the bedside table, but much to my disappointment I had still not received a message from Oliver.
In a flash I remembered something. How could it have slipped my mind? I flung on the crumpled trousers that I’d tossed carelessly onto a chair last night.
I returned to the living room, where Tim was playing. Could I leave him alone for a few minutes? I grabbed my laptop. “Timmy, would you like to watch a movie?”
He immediately dropped the Duplo block he was holding and jumped up excitedly.
I put Tim on the couch and turned on an episode of Peppa Pig. “Mummy will be right back,” I promised, but he didn’t seem to hear me anymore.
I hurried to the front door where I put my coat over my nightgown and stepped into my ballerina shoes.
On the asphalt road I scurried past all the bungalows, most of which still had no lights on. The air was clear and crisp, creating the expectation of a beautiful autumn day. At the end of the road I turned the corner in the direction of the car park, which was less than a few hundred metres from the house. As I got closer, I slowed down my pace.
I leaned forward and rested my hands on my thighs to catch my breath, while scanning the full length of the car park, which was packed with cars.
My heart skipped a beat. Our Volvo was right where we’d left it on Friday night. A gnawing started in my stomach – it was evident now that something wasn’t right.
I rushed back to our house, ignoring the bewildered look of an early brisk hiker accompanied by a Labrador.
Once inside, I saw Tim still sitting on the couch, his feet dangling over the edge, staring blankly at the screen. With trembling fingers I tried to press the buttons on my phone.
A sing-song voice sounded on the other side. “Good morning, police speaking. How may I help you?”
I bit my cuticle. “It’s my husband. He left yesterday afternoon and never returned home.”
“What’s your residence?”
“Amsterdam.”
“Hold on. I will put you through.”
“No, wait!” I said. “We’re not at home right now. We are in America.”
It remained quiet for a moment on the other side. “America? You shouldn’t be calling this number. The one you need is 911,” the woman said kindly.
I swore under my breath. “No, I mean America in the Netherlands. It’s a small village in the south of the country. We’re staying at a holiday park for a weekend getaway,” I explained.
She temporarily switched out of her role as a professional officer coming to my aid and laughed out loud. “Oh dear. How funny, America. I’ve never heard of the place. What a coincidence.”
I muttered something meaningless. Just please connect me with the right person, I thought. I couldn’t bear the thought of wasting anymore time.
“One moment. I’ll put you through.”
I let out a sigh and a few seconds later heard a male voice. “Good morning, this is Jennifer Smits speaking. I need to speak to …” I faltered. “It’s about a missing person. I want to report my husband – he has disappeared. He’s vanished, I mean gone missing,” I rattled on.
Again I was reconnected.
Für Elise blared through the phone while I was on hold, the harsh, mechanical sounds hurting my ear. I rubbed my eyes, feeling exhausted.
My gaze moved to Tim, who still looked unperturbed as he watched the cheerful figures dancing across the screen.
“Department of Missing Persons,” I suddenly heard.
I snapped to attention and introduced myself. “Yes hello. It’s regarding my husband. Jennifer Smits speaking, by the way.” I shook my head. “Oh I’m sorry, I already gave my name. My husband left yesterday and didn’t come home. Something serious must have happened to him. This is unlike him. He’s never been unaccounted for before,” I blurted.
“Hold on, ma’am,” the police officer hissed. He sounded like a man close to retiring, not easily impressed by anything. “Calm down, Mrs Smits. First, take a deep breath.”
I rolled my eyes and sighed demonstratively. “Okay, I’m calm,” I said to satisfy him.
“Very good.” The officer spoke painfully slowly, with a local accent. “Tell me again. Your husband left home yesterday and didn’t return?”
“That’s correct. I’d like to report him missing. His disappearance is completely out of character.” Admittedly, we’d had quite a lot of arguments lately, but he had never picked up and just left.
“What time did he leave the house?”
“We’re not at home but we’re residing in a holiday home in Limburg,” I said, purposefully not mentioning the name of the village again. My nerves wouldn’t be able to handle any more jokes being cracked. “He left around three o’clock yesterday afternoon and I have no idea where he went. He didn’t take the car – it’s still sitting in the village car park. Something’s not right.”
“Aha.” The policeman was still speaking at a snail’s pace. “Do I understand correctly that your husband has been gone for less than 24 hours?”
I glanced at the clock, but I didn’t actually need to do the calculation. Oliver had left in the afternoon and I hadn’t yet had breakfast today. “Yes,” I replied reluctantly. It didn’t take a genius to see where this was going.
“I’m afraid, I won’t be able to help you, ma’am. We can only officially register an adult as missing after forty-eight hours.”
I felt the earth disappearing from beneath me. Wait until tomorrow? This was impossible – I’d never be able to make it through the day. “That’s not an option.” I thought of the crime series Oliver was a huge fan of, where the first few hours after a person went missing were portrayed as critical. “We’re wasting valuable time here. You must do something.” I appealed to his humanity. “We have a son, what should I tell him?”
“Madam, you …”
I interrupted him. “We can’t wait that long to start searching! Something has happened to him.” I felt desperate as I spoke of the unthinkable. “The longer we wait, the less likely we are to find him.”
He sighed audibly. “Madam, eighty per cent of all missing persons return home within forty-eight hours. There is a solid chance he’ll simply be back on your doorstep, claiming his car had a flat tire or he got caught up at work. You have no idea how often that happens,” he said patronisingly.
I felt frantic. “That may well be, but that is not the case here.”
The man was unimpressed and sighed again. “Has something happened between you and your husband?”
I could feel my guard rising. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps you had a disagreement? You wouldn’t be the first. Many people break up due to a fight and the next day they just continue as if nothing was wrong.”
I paused for a moment and then decided to come clean. “Alright, so we did have an argument. I understand that it’d make you think he left on purpose and truth be told, I had drawn the same conclusion as well at first. However, now I’m completely
convinced that his disappearance has nothing to do with our disagreement. He’d never leave his phone unattended for that long nor leave me completely in the dark as to his whereabouts. Besides, where could he have gone without our car? We’re in the middle of nowhere,” I said, cursing this rotten holiday park.
“Who knows, he might have taken a cab,” the man suggested tediously.
I thought about his suggestion for a brief moment before rejecting it. I knew Oliver detested taking cabs, he didn’t like the idea of having no control of the vehicle he was in.
I shook my head. “I’m convinced something has happened to him, really.” The thought of my husband, perhaps lying by the side of the road after a car had hit him, helplessly waiting for someone to come and rescue him filled me with dread.
“I want to believe you, ma’am,” he said in a way that made it clear he didn’t. “I’ll make a note of your call. But as I said, it’s only after forty-eight hours that I’m authorised to take any action on your behalf. I’m sorry, I really am. But until that time has passed, unfortunately, you’re wasting your time,” he added, but the way he said it made me think he was more concerned about his own time.
As the officer wrote down my name and number, I stared out of the small window, where two children were strolling along the road with a paper bag of fresh rolls under their arms. For a moment I considered the option of going out to search for Oliver myself. But I came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be wise to start aimlessly wandering the streets looking for him.
A feeling of hopelessness came over me. There was nothing else to be done. Only tomorrow afternoon would they be able to undertake steps to find him. I had no choice but to try to somehow make it through this livelong day ahead of me.
I heard the officer from afar. “Mark my words, he’ll soon just walk straight back into the house.”
4
There was a gentle knock at the door of the holiday home. That must be Lindsey, I thought with a sigh of relief.
When I’d rang her after the phone call to the police, she said she’d jump in the car right away. She didn’t want to leave me alone right now and I was so grateful.
Double Deceit Page 2
