The Missing: The gripping psychological thriller that’s got everyone talking... (21 page)

Sonia gestures for me to take a seat and smiles warmly. The box of tissues that normally sits on the windowsill behind her has been relocated to the coffee table next to me. I don’t know if that’s because her last client was a crier or because she’s expecting me to be.

‘Thanks for seeing me,’ I say. ‘If you hadn’t had a cancellation I don’t know what I would have done.’

‘No problem at all.’ She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and settles herself in the seat, neatly tucking one ankle over the other. ‘Tell me what’s going on with you, Claire.’

She listens silently as I tell her what happened after I read the message on Jake’s phone. Almost everything. I don’t mention the blood or the knife.

‘Then,’ I say, ‘when Kira came home I managed to have a quick word with her before she went up to Jake’s room. I told her he was in a bad way. That he felt guilty about Billy’s disappearance but that didn’t give him the right to talk to her the way he had. I said that if he spoke to her like again she needed to tell me.’

‘How did she respond?’

‘She looked shocked.’

‘Did you ask her about the night Billy disappeared?’

‘Yes. She said it happened exactly as Jake had described. She said she’d been angry too, that Jake would believe that she’d cheat on him. That’s why she wouldn’t talk to him.’

‘How do you feel, Claire? Knowing more about that night?’

‘Confused.’ I run a hand over my face. The window on the other side of the room is open a few inches but the air feels too thick to breathe. ‘If Billy did run away there were a lot of reasons why, not just because he was in trouble with the police and us.’

‘And how do you feel now, about spending that night at your mum’s?’

‘I don’t know.’ My head is pounding so I close my eyes.

‘What is it, Claire? What’s wrong?’

‘I just … there are so many things going round in my head and none of it makes sense. I thought the fugues would stop after I started seeing you but the last one was terrifying.’

‘Because of where you were?’

Do I tell her? I didn’t tell Mark about my blackout when he came home. I don’t know why. Maybe because there’s a tiny part of me that’s worried he’s lying about the photo album? What if there is more evidence that links him with Billy’s disappearance? But what? None of it makes sense. Mark loved Billy. He’d shout at him and come down on him hard but he’s not a cruel or violent man. So why is part of me so suspicious? What is it that I don’t know?

‘Claire?’ Sonia says. ‘What is it?’

I look at her through my fingers. If I tell her about the knife will she inform the police? My GP? Could she have me sectioned if she thinks I’m dangerous?

‘If I …’ I falter. ‘If I tell you there’s a chance I’ve committed a crime will you tell the police?’

‘A chance?’

I sit forward in my chair. ‘Will you tell the police?’

For the first time since I sat down Sonia looks ruffled. ‘I am not legally obliged to report any crimes that my clients may confess to but it does present me with an ethical dilemma.’

‘So you would, then?’

‘No.’ She regains her composure. ‘That’s not what I said. I’d use my professional judgement to work out what to do, and what to advise you.’

‘You’d tell me to go to the police?’

‘Well, yes. I’d be more likely to advise you to go to the police than do it myself but if I did report the crime to the police it wouldn’t be without your knowledge. And I would discuss it with my supervisor first.’

I weigh up my options. I could keep quiet and get rid of the knife. I could talk to Liz about it. Yes, that’s what I should do. I should tell Liz. But if I have committed a crime that would make her an accomplice. And what could she do, anyway, other than tell me to go to the police, tell Mark or keep quiet about it – all possibilities I’ve already considered myself.

If I tell Sonia, I get a psychologist’s insight into what happened. And if she can’t help me maybe I should go to the police? The only way I’ll find out whose blood is on the knife is for them to check it for DNA and ask the car-park company to look at the CCTV. But what if it reveals that I stabbed someone? I kicked a cyclist after I came round from my second fugue. What if I’m capable of worse? If I killed someone I’d be jailed for murder.

‘Claire.’ Sonia moves the box of tissues away from me. ‘Claire, it’s okay.’

There is a pile of torn tissues on the floor in front of me. I don’t remember reaching for the box. How can I have shredded that many and not noticed?

‘Whatever happened –’ Sonia crouches on the floor beside me, her eyes soft and non-judgemental – ‘it has obviously really upset you. Have you spoken to anyone about it? A member of your family, or a friend?’

I shake my head.

‘You said you
might
have committed a crime, not that you
did
,’ she says softly. ‘There’s a difference. Tell me what happened.’

‘I can’t.’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Then what makes you think that’s a possibility?’

‘There was a knife –’ the word catches in my throat – ‘on the floor next to me in the car-park toilet. It was covered in blood.’

She nods, gently urging me to continue.

‘It was one of my steak knives. I checked the drawer when I got home. There are supposed to be six, but one is missing.’

‘I see.’ Her expression remains impassive. ‘And when was the last time you counted the knives? When did you last check that there were six?’

‘I don’t think I ever have. I bought them years ago and put them in the drawer. I’ve never bothered counting them because we only ever needed five.’

‘Are you the only person in your family with access to those knives?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Claire,’ she says softly, laying her hand on the table, ‘what if you weren’t the one to commit the crime? What if someone else took that knife?’

‘But it can’t have been anyone else,’ I say. ‘Jake was at home, Kira was at a friend’s house and Mark was away.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ Sonia’s knees click as she eases herself up from her crouched position and returns to her chair. ‘The knife could have been taken from the drawer months ago and you wouldn’t have noticed.’

‘You think …’ My heart double-beats in my chest. ‘You think Billy could have taken it?’

‘I think anyone could have. But what I’m most interested in is why you’ve jumped to the conclusion that you were the one who used the knife to commit a crime.’

‘Because it was right next to me and I was alone. Wait!’ I jolt forward in my seat. ‘The couple who found me saw a man running across the car park. He told them I’d collapsed. I thought it was Billy.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But it could have been someone else?’

‘Yes, yes, it could.’

‘Which means there’s a possibility that you witnessed a crime. Claire, I’m going to be completely honest here. I think you should go to the police and tell them what happened. Do you still have the knife?’

Yesterday, before Mark came home, I wrapped the knife in a plastic bag and hid it in an old tote bag in the bottom of my wardrobe.

‘But what if you’re wrong? What if … I don’t know … what if the man who was running away was a witness and I had stabbed someone?’

‘Why would a witness run away? And why would he ask total strangers to help you?’

‘I don’t know.’

Neither of us says anything for several minutes.

If I contact the police I could be turning in someone I love without knowing what they did or why. Just yesterday Jake was asking me if I’d still love him and Billy if either of them did something awful. What if it was him? What if I caught him stabbing someone? But he wouldn’t run away and leave me in such a confused state. Or would he? No, I won’t let myself go there. I can’t.

‘Claire,’ Sonia says. ‘I have a suggestion. In our last session we tried to make sense of the causes of your fugues so we could work on preventing them from happening again. Unfortunately it seems that it didn’t have enough of an effect so I have another suggestion.’

I eye her warily. ‘What kind of suggestion?’

‘Would you agree to be hypnotized by me?’

I make my decision in a split second. ‘Yes, yes, I would.’

My mind has retreated deep inside itself. Normally my thoughts are at the front of my brain, whizzing and whirling around each other, but those thoughts are a long way away now. It is dark, this place I have reached inside my head. It feels as though I’m in the depths of a tunnel. The sides are grey and cloud-like but they make me feel protected, not scared.

Sonia’s voice surrounds me, telling me to relax, telling me to let myself go deeper with each breath. I do as I am told and my body becomes limp and heavy and my heart stops thudding in my chest. As Sonia continues to speak random thoughts pop into my head – thoughts telling me that I should be worried, that I need to stay in control. I acknowledge them and then, as Sonia tells me to, I let them drift away.

‘I’m going to take you back,’ she says, ‘to the moments before your first fugue. You were in Liz’s house and you went to the bathroom. Remember it now, remember what her bathroom looked like. Have a look around and tell me how you feel.’

I am so relaxed I have to work hard to form words in my throat but the urge to answer her question is stronger than my desire to remain silent. ‘Liz just suggested that Billy might never come home and I feel sick.’

‘Let that feeling go,’ Sonia says. ‘Let it go. You no longer feel sick. You are running the tap. Feel the sensation of the water on your face.’

I hear myself sigh.

‘What happens now, Claire?’

‘I see … I see a newspaper, sticking out of the bin. Billy’s name is on the front page.’

‘What else does it say?’

‘There’s a quote. Someone, a neighbour. They said … they said …’

‘It’s okay, Claire. You’re safe here. You can tell me what it says.’

‘Maybe someone in that family knows more about Billy’s disappearance than they’re letting on.’

‘How do you feel now, Claire?’

Panic grips my chest and my breath catches in my throat.

‘Relax. Relax and go deeper. Those memories cannot hurt you now. Listen to my voice and go deeper, Claire. Let your whole body relax. You are safe.’

‘No. No, I’m not. They know.’

‘Who? What do they know?’

‘Everyone. They know what I fear.’

‘What do you fear, Claire?’

I hear a low groan. It must be coming from me.

‘That someone I know hurt Billy.’

‘And why do you fear that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do. Let yourself go deeper, Claire. As you listen to my voice let yourself go deeper. Let your body and mind relax. You are safe. You have nothing to fear.’

The grey walls close in on me and I drift backwards, deeper into myself. It is dark but it is safe. I am safe. I want to stay here.

‘Why do you think that someone in your family hurt Billy?’

‘Gut. Gut feeling.’

‘Is it something someone has done or said?’

I don’t want to talk any more. I feel tired. I want to go to sleep.

‘Claire? Was it something someone said or did?’

‘I don’t know.’

There is a pause, silence, and I drift around within it until Sonia’s voice calls me back again. ‘Okay. Okay, let’s move on. To the next fugue. You found a photo album with images of Mark blacked out and abuse scrawled over the pages. You went looking for Mark, didn’t you?’

I try to search my memory, to answer her question, to please her, but there’s nothing there. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What did you feel? When you saw those photos?’

‘Scared. Shocked.’

‘And did it occur to you that maybe Mark had hurt Billy? That he’d had something to do with his disappearance?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the next fugue. When you saw the message on Jake’s mobile phone. What did you think?’

‘Secret. About Billy.’

‘You thought Jake and someone else knew what had happened to Billy?’

‘Yes.’

‘And who did you think sent the text to Jake?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who could it have been, Claire?’

Faces flash at me through the darkness. Kira. Mark. Liz. Caleb. Stephen. Lloyd. Edie Christian. Caroline. Ian.

‘Someone you know?’ Sonia says and I don’t know if I said those names aloud or if she can see inside my head. ‘You think your friends and family are keeping secrets from you, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m going to bring you out of your trance in a minute, Claire, but I’ve got one more question I’d like to ask you first. It’s a difficult question but I want you to give me the first answer that comes into your head. Can you do that for me?’

I attempt to nod my head. It feels heavy and unwieldy. ‘Yes.’

‘Claire, do you think Billy is alive or dead?’

I don’t want to speak. I don’t want to say a word but the compulsion to answer her is too strong. My lips part and my tongue taps at the roof of my mouth. ‘Dead.’

We drive in silence through Bristol and up the Wells Road. The streets flash past. Mothers, bent double and panting, heave their buggies up the hill as schoolchildren speed past them on scooters. Old men sit at bus stops staring vacantly into space as their wives natter, unheard, beside them. Weary shoppers pour out of the Co-op, heavy carrier bags cutting into their palms, and men stride out of the barber’s, tapping at their hair. Everywhere I look there is life but mine has ended.

‘Here we are, love,’ Mum says as she turns off the engine and I am surprised to find myself outside her two-bed semi on the edge of Knowle. ‘Let’s get you in.’

She reaches over and unbuckles my seat belt, then gets out of the car and disappears from view. A second later she is beside me and I feel a rush of cool air on my face as she reaches for my hand. ‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you inside.’

She leads me towards the front door and I stumble after her like a child who’s just learned to take its first steps. She turns the key in the lock and gently ushers me into the lounge. She angles me towards the sofa and I land heavily as my feet disappear from beneath me.

‘Tea,’ she says under her breath as she disappears back out through the living-room door.

Sounds drift towards me from the kitchen: a tap running, a kettle boiling, mugs clanking together and my mother speaking in a low voice.

‘I’ve rung Mark and Jake,’ she says as she reappears beside me, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. ‘I’ve told them you’ll be staying with me for a bit. They were both concerned, of course. They want to come and see you but I told them you need a break, just for a few days.

‘I put some sugar in yours,’ she says as she presses the mug into my hands. ‘Good for the shock.’

I don’t know what Sonia said to her. She took Mum into another room when she came to collect me. When they reappeared my mother’s eyes were red and shiny. Sonia had promised me that anything I told her was strictly confidential but, in that moment, I didn’t care if she’d told Mum everything. I just wanted her to get me out of that room.

I drink my tea, draining every last drop as my mother sits beside me, her eyes never once leaving my face. She takes my empty mug away when I’m finished and places it on the floor in front of the sofa.

‘Do you want to talk?’ she asks. ‘Would it help?’

I am so exhausted I can only manage a single word.

‘Sleep.’

‘Of course. I’ve got the spare room made up.’ She reaches for my hand and helps me to my feet.

Together we walk up the stairs, Mum leading, me following, my hand drifting along the same banister I slid down as a child.

She pulls back the covers of the double bed that nearly fills my childhood room. Piles of cardboard boxes bursting with clothes, toys and ornaments take up the rest of the space. To get onto the bed I have to sit on the end and crawl up to the pillow.

‘Let’s get your sandals off,’ Mum says as she fiddles with the straps, then pulls them off my feet.

She hovers at the end of the bed as I curl my knees up to my chest and pull the duvet over my shoulders.

‘You sleep,’ she says as my eyes close. ‘You sleep, sweetheart, for as long as you need.’