The Missing: The gripping psychological thriller that’s got everyone talking... (24 page)

Jackdaw44:
I saw you arguing last night.

ICE9:
Where?

Jackdaw44:
Outside the Southside pub.

ICE9:
Are you stalking me?

Jackdaw44:
I was going to meet Archie. I saw you from across the street.

ICE9:
We need to stop this. I love being with you but I can’t bear the deceit. I’m lying all the time and I can’t do it any more. I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions. It’s tearing me apart.

Jackdaw44:
Make a choice then.

ICE9:
I have.

Jackdaw44:
So?

ICE9:
I’m sorry.

Jackdaw44:
You’re dumping me?

ICE9:
Don’t put it like that. What we had was a bit of fun. It wasn’t real.

Jackdaw44:
Felt fucking real to me.

ICE9:
I’m really sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.

Jackdaw44:
Well, I’m hurt. OK?

ICE9:
You said we could end this at any time. You said I could stop it if I wasn’t happy.

Jackdaw44:
That was before you said it was just a bit of fun. I thought you had feelings for me.

ICE9:
I did. I do. But we could never work. You’re too young and we’re too different.

Jackdaw44:
Fuck YOUNG. You didn’t complain about how young I am when my dick was in your arse.

Jackdaw44:
I fucking LOVE YOU.

Jackdaw44:
That’s it? I tell you I love you and you ignore me???

ICE9:
I’m not ignoring you. I just don’t know what to say.

Jackdaw44:
You could start by telling me that you love me too.

ICE9:
You know I can’t do that.

Jackdaw44:
Why? Because you love someone else? People in love don’t cheat!

ICE9:
You’re angry and you’ve got good reason to be and I’m sorry.

Jackdaw44:
Meet me in the park at 8 tonight.

ICE9:
I can’t.

Jackdaw44:
Please. You owe me that much. I just want to see you again. I need to say goodbye properly.

ICE9:
I don’t know.

Jackdaw44:
I love you. Just let me say goodbye.

ICE9:
OK. Tonight. But I can’t stay long.

A sex offender? My husband is a sex offender and a cheat? What else don’t I know about him?

I sit alone in the kitchen watching the back door. Six hours have passed since I walked out of the Ostrich, leaving Stephen with his head in his hands.

The first thing I did when I got home was to go through the pockets of all Mark’s jackets and coats. Then I searched through his chest of drawers. I had no idea what I was looking for – a charge sheet, a love note from Edie Christian, a hotel receipt, a cinema ticket, a petrol receipt – something, anything, to explain what Stephen had told me. I found nothing incriminating. I called Billy’s school but then put the phone down again when the receptionist answered. I did the same with DS Forbes’s number.

I need to talk to my husband, not anyone else. I need to ask him face to face if what Stephen said is true. I’ll know if he’s lying. I can normally tell by the small half-smile that flickers at the edges of his lips.

After Lloyd left her Liz read up on the signs that someone is lying. Apparently all that stuff about people looking up and to the left is wrong. You can’t tell whether someone is lying by filling out a check sheet of facial expressions; you look for differences from the way they normally behave. That’s why I believed Mark when he said he didn’t know why Billy had defaced the photos and—

No. That’s not what happened. When I asked him if he could think of a reason why Billy would do that he didn’t actually answer the question. He said something about fathers and sons clashing and reminded me that he hadn’t got on with his own dad. Then he asked me if I was accusing him of doing something to Billy. He deflected me. Twice. I asked him twice and he changed the subject both times. He didn’t actually lie.

A new thought occurs to me. Billy was doing an art project at school. That was why he’d borrowed it in the first place. When was that? I pull open the junk drawer and rummage around in the bottom where I keep the family calendars. I never knew what to say when the kids asked me what I wanted for Christmas so I’d always say a calendar because they were cheap and useful and it meant I wouldn’t have to smuggle overpriced bath-bomb sets that brought me out in hives into the charity-shop bag on Boxing Day.

Mark’s always teased me about keeping the old calendars. ‘You’re turning into a hoarder like your mum,’ he’d joke as I’d slip another one into the drawer on 1st January after I’d copied everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries onto the new calendar. I didn’t pay him any attention. I liked looking back on all the things we’d done each year: the kids’ swimming lessons, the birthday parties they attended, the holidays we took. They were all recorded in my small, neat handwriting. Billy and Jake hated it when I pumped them for information about exam dates and coursework deadlines.

‘Stop being such a control freak, Mum,’ they’d chorus.

That accusation again.

I pull out a wad of calendars. Last year’s is on the top. I flick through it, find nothing and then start again, reading each entry carefully.

5th January – Mum’s birthday.

16th January – Parents’ evening (Billy).

21st January – Dentist appointment for Jake and Billy.

30th January – Car MOT (mine).

I flick over the page.

4th February – Caleb’s birthday.

17th February – Doctor’s appt (Mark).

24th February – Billy GCSE art DEADLINE.

There! There it is. The end of February. And we went to the pub to celebrate my birthday on …

I flip the pages over and stab the date with my finger. Sunday 31st August. At some point between 24th February and Sunday 31st August Mark went to the pub, nearly lost his job and kissed Billy’s teacher. Stephen said it happened last summer but he didn’t say when. I turn the page.

5th/6th July – Mark to London for annual general meeting

2nd/3rd August – Mark conference

13th/14th September – Mark training weekend

25th November – Mark sales team meeting

How many of those were real? Or was Mark shacked up in a hotel with Edie Christian, the fact that he was married and a father of two locked up in a box in his head and filed away?

My hands shake as I place the calendar and the photo album on the kitchen table.

It’s nearly five o’clock. The knife is still stashed in the tote bag under the passenger seat in my car. I can’t go to the police until I’ve found out the truth. God knows what time Mark will get home from work but I’m not going anywhere until he does.

‘Coo-ee! Just me! Claire, are you home? What are you doing sitting in the dark?’

Liz reaches around the door and flicks the light switch. I blink as the kitchen fills with fluorescent light.

‘Claire?’ She crosses the kitchen and pulls out the chair opposite me. ‘Are you okay? I saw your car in the drive. You didn’t tell me you were coming back today.’

I sent Liz a text from Mum and Dad’s the day after my session with Sonia. I told her that things were stressful at home and that I needed a few days’ peace and quiet. She responded immediately, asking if I needed to talk. I said no, but that I’d ring her in a couple of days.

‘I didn’t know I was coming back today either,’ I say.

I want to tell her everything. I want to let every last worry and fear spill out but I haven’t got the energy. I need to save what little I have left for my conversation with Mark.

‘Liz,’ I say instead, ‘did Caleb ever mention anything to you about Billy being in love with someone? Maybe Jake told him—’

I’m interrupted by the sound of the back door opening.

‘Claire!’ Kira says. ‘You’re back.’

‘For now.’ I keep the smile fixed on my face. ‘How’s college? It must be your exhibition soon.’

‘Yeah.’ She lowers the art folder she’s carrying to the floor and wiggles the fingers of her left hand.

‘Can we come and see it?’ Liz asks. ‘Is there any nudity? I can’t remember the last time I saw a naked man.’

The base of Kira’s throat turns red as Liz laughs raucously. ‘No, not really,’ she says.

‘So what’s it about then?’

Kira’s tongue moves back and forward in her mouth as she clacks her piercing against her teeth. ‘Tattoos.’

Tattoos? Jake told me Kira wouldn’t let him go to her exhibition because it was too personal. What’s so personal about photos of tattoos?

‘Hey, Kira!’ Liz lifts her top and flashes her tummy. ‘You could have taken a photo of my dolphin. Although I’m such a fat fucker now it looks more like a whale.’

‘Do you regret it?’ Kira asks as she peers at it.

‘Cheeky bitch!’

‘No, no. That’s what my project is about. Tattoos and regrets. I’ve been taking photos of tattoos that people regret and then interviewing them. The project’s a mixture of photos and words. It’s all anonymous. There are no faces and no names.’

‘Then you should have given Lloyd a ring. He’s got a fuckload of tattoos, most of them grim. Apart from the one of my name. Obviously that’s a beauty although I bet he bloody regrets it now! Oh, that reminds me, Claire. Guess who texted me yesterday?’

‘Lloyd?’

‘Yep. He’s coming to Bristol this weekend.’

‘To your house?’ Kira asks. She looks as horrified as Liz does.

‘Mmm-hmm.’ Liz nods. ‘I said I’d meet him in Charlie’s Bar but he wouldn’t have it. He’s insisting on coming to the house.’

‘Why?’

‘Maybe he wants to get back with you?’ Kira says.

‘No chance. I wouldn’t take him back even if he begged. No, my guess is that he wants to meet at home because he doesn’t want a row in public. Or tears,’ she adds quickly. ‘I think he’s going to ask for a divorce.’

‘Why not tell you that over the phone?’

‘Because he’s a sadist?’

‘Will he be coming round here?’ Kira asks. Considering she normally takes the first opportunity to escape from the kitchen and go up to her room she seems unusually interested in this conversation.

‘Yeah.’ Liz laughs. ‘I thought we’d throw a welcome-home celebration for him and parade him round the streets. The prodigal fuckhead returns! Why the hell would he come round here?’

Kira shrugs. ‘To see Mark?’

‘Yeah, like they’re the best of friends. I think they only tolerated each other because Claire and I are such good mates.’ She looks at me. ‘Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes.’ It’s a lie, but only to spare her feelings. It took our husbands a while to warm to each other but they did get on and by the time Liz and Lloyd’s marriage was on its last legs they were definitely friends. Not that Mark has heard much from Lloyd since he walked out on Liz; a couple of replies to his texts but never more than a terse
I’m good, mate
or
I’m living up north
.

‘Kira, are you okay? You look a bit pale, sweetheart.’ Liz pulls out a chair. ‘Have a seat.’

‘I do feel a bit light-headed.’ She presses a hand to the side of her head. ‘I think I’ll have a lie-down upstairs.’

She makes a move towards the hallway but I move to intercept her.

‘Kira, before you go. Could I talk to you about something?’

‘Um …’ She touches the side of her head again. ‘I’m really not feeling very—’

‘I know what happened in the Lodekka last year. I know why Jake hit Billy.’

She says nothing, but her gaze flicks from left to right as though she’s looking at each of my eyes in turn. She’s trying to work out how I’m feeling.

‘It was about Mark, wasn’t it?’ I say. ‘About him kissing Billy’s form tutor.’

I hear Liz inhale sharply behind me but don’t turn round.

Kira looks down at her feet. ‘Yes,’ she breathes.

‘Jake told you?’

‘Um … yeah. He said it was bullshit and Billy was shit-stirring because he had nothing better to do. He said Billy wanted to fuck everyone else’s lives up because he couldn’t stand anyone else being happy.’

‘Did Jake ask Mark if it was true?’

She chews on the side of her lip and says nothing.

‘Kira? Did Jake ask Mark if it was true?’

She nods, her eyes still downcast.

‘And? Did Mark admit it?’

Her gaze flickers up and her eyes meet mine. ‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘Yes, he did but—’

‘One more question,’ I add quickly, before she can leave. ‘Did Billy ever tell you that he was in love with someone?’

Her gaze flits towards Liz, still sitting at the kitchen table with a shocked expression on her face, then returns to me. ‘I heard Caleb and Jake talking once, about a girl Billy liked. Jess, I think her name was. Is that who you mean?’

‘Did he love her?’

She shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How are you feeling?’ Liz asks for what feels like the hundredth time.

Physically I’m fine. I’m sitting on a wooden chair across the table from my best friend with my arms crossed. Emotionally I am numb. I can’t process what Stephen told me earlier. Billy was in love with someone he couldn’t be with and Mark’s been prosecuted for sleeping with an underage girl. And he’s cheated on me. More secrets. More bloody secrets.

Mark and I have been together for over twenty years and it’s always been there, that fear that he might have strayed at some point in our relationship, but I never truly believed he was capable of that kind of deceit.

‘Men are such shits,’ Liz says. ‘I swear. I’m going to delete Tinder and go celibate. Do you think there’s an app that teaches you how to be a nun? How best to style your habit? How to get the no-make-up look? That sort of thing.’ She pushes her chair back from the table and sighs. ‘It’s not the actual shagging that’s the problem, is it? It’s all the lying and the sneaking around. I know they lie to their mistresses and say they’re not getting any at home but Lloyd and I were still having sex until the month before he—’

‘We didn’t have sex for nine months.’

‘Sorry?’ She shuffles her chair closer to the table.

‘By last summer Mark and I hadn’t had sex for nine months. I remember thinking to myself at the time that it was the longest I’d gone without sex since I was a teenager.’

‘Are you blaming yourself? Because if you are we’re going to have words. It’s totally normal for couples to have dry spots when they’ve been married as long as you two have. Some couples stop shagging completely. It’s no excuse for an affair.’

‘I know. And Mark didn’t put any pressure on me to have sex. He didn’t seem that bothered either, if I’m honest. He was tired, I was tired and suddenly nine months had gone by.’

‘Well, it happens, doesn’t it?’ She shrugs. ‘Sorry, that doesn’t really help, does it?’

I force a smile. ‘Talking to you does help but there’s no point analysing it to death.’ I glance at the kitchen clock.

‘Shit.’ Liz glances at the clock too. ‘Caleb’s motorbike is in the shop and I said I’d pick him up from work and give him a lift to the mechanic’s. Are you going to be all right?’

When I nod she says, ‘Whatever happens you’ve always got me. Come and stay at mine if you want. The box room’s a mess but you’re welcome to share my bed if you don’t fancy the sofa. I promise not to poke you in the back with a hard-on in the middle of the night.’

‘Thank you.’ I reach for her hand and squeeze it. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘Well, you’d probably drink less,’ she says and laughs. ‘Seriously, Claire, if there’s anything you—’

She’s interrupted by the sound of a car drawing up outside the house. The familiar sound of late-nineties drum and bass drifts through the window and then stops.

We share a look.

‘It’s Mark,’ I say.