by Heidi Perks
“All I ask is that you’re truthful with me, Harriet. It’s not too much to ask for, is it?” He always begged her for honesty. As if there were much honesty in their marriage.
The following morning Harriet’s phone pinged with the alert of an unexpected text.
“Everything okay?” Angela asked as Harriet stared at the message.
“Yes. I’ve just heard from an old friend.”
“Oh?”
It was a surprise to her too. “It’s funny,” Harriet said, “I was only thinking about my university friends yesterday and now one of them has texted me.”
“What does it say?” Angela asked as she filled a bucket with water. She’d offered to clean the kitchen floor, though it looked spotless to Harriet.
She read the text aloud. “ ‘I don’t know if this is still your number, but I saw you on the news. I want you to know I’m thinking of you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ ” Harriet looked up. “It’s from my friend Jane. She was one of my best friends at uni. She, Christie, and I did everything together.”
“That’s nice that she got in touch with you.”
“Yes it is. I haven’t seen her for ages. Well, neither of them, actually.”
“Why’s that? Did you just drift apart?” Angela turned off the tap and heaved the bucket onto the floor. Harriet wondered if she was expected to help, but cleaning was the last thing she wanted to do.
“No,” Harriet said. Angela paused expectantly, the mop poised in the air. “Well, maybe we did. I don’t remember exactly,” she said, absently running a finger over the phone. Of course she remembered every detail.
“I liked Jane and Christie a lot. I never had many friends at school. I wasn’t one of the popular girls and I guess it didn’t help that my mum kept me so—” She waved a hand in the air. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“You mean the way she was so protective over you?” Angela asked.
“Yes. She didn’t let me out of her sight, really. It’s hard to make friends when your mum is always hovering nearby.”
Angela dipped her head away before Harriet caught her expression. Did Angela think she was becoming her own mother? It was painfully clear there were more similarities than Harriet would have liked.
“Jane was like me,” she went on. “Studious and sensible. Others probably thought we were boring.” She smiled at the memory. “Christie was wilder, though. Not into clubbing or anything like that, but she was more adventurous. She had this crazy, curly, red hair. It was her who got me into—” Harriet stopped abruptly and fiddled with her top. How easily she’d nearly revealed the truth. It went to show how little she talked about her old friends. “Christie loved traveling. When we left uni she went backpacking; she wanted me to go with her.”
“But you didn’t?”
Harriet shook her head. “I’ve never even been abroad.” She smiled sadly. “Can you believe it? I’ve never had a passport.”
Angela dipped the mop into the bucket, splashing water over its edge. She looked up at Harriet. “Really?”
She could see Angela was shocked, but surely it wasn’t that unusual.
“You really don’t need to do that.” Harriet pointed at the floor. “It’s not that dirty.”
“I just want to be helpful.” Angela smiled. “So, do you miss your friends?”
“I didn’t think so, but hearing from Jane now . . .” Harriet trailed off.
“Then text her back and tell her how nice it is to hear from her and say you’d like to talk. It’s not too late to get back in touch, Harriet. Good friends will be there, no matter how much time has passed.”
“Only I don’t think I was all that kind to her,” Harriet said softly.
“What happened?” Angela asked, genuinely surprised.
“It was a couple of months after I’d started seeing Brian. Jane used to invite me to stay at her flat, but the invitation never openly extended to him. I didn’t mind because it was nice seeing her on my own, but Brian didn’t like it. He said if she was such a good friend, she wouldn’t be trying to keep me away from him.” Harriet remembered how upset he was. She’d told him over and over that she was sure he’d be welcome too, but Brian had blankly refused to listen.
“The thing is, I don’t think Jane would have wanted him, but she was too nice to say it. Only Brian wouldn’t let it drop. He’d say, ‘She doesn’t like the fact you have a boyfriend, Harriet. Girls like her can’t stand it when their friends are happier than them.’
“Schadenfreude, my love,” he would say to her. “It’s completely obvious Jane is jealous of you and will only be happy if you are miserable.”
But that wasn’t Jane. Jane had raced out of her exam when she found out Harriet’s mum had died, scooping her up from the floor of the hospital corridor where she’d still been curled up in a ball half an hour later. She’d stood by her side at her mum’s funeral, and when Harriet went onstage to accept a Promising Student award, it was Jane who’d sat in the allocated family seats, loudly whooping for her best friend.
“I took Brian’s side and asked Jane if she was jealous of me. She said I was crazy, and I’d tried telling Brian he’d gotten it wrong, but he said, ‘Of course she’s saying that, she’s completely manipulating you.’ ” Harriet took a breath. “I believed him,” she said with a thin smile. “No, actually I never believed him; I just chose him.”
“Oh, Harriet,” Angela sighed. “I’m sure Jane will forgive whatever happened in the past. She obviously cares enough about you to get in touch, and besides,” she said, resting the mop against the sink and reaching out to take Harriet’s hand, “I think you could do with a friend right now.”
Harriet shook her head. “I don’t deserve her.” She withdrew from Angela and began fiddling with cups in the sink.
“Do you keep in touch with anyone else from your past, from the school you worked at in Kent?” Angela asked.
Harriet shook her head, thinking of Tina. The reason they had moved to Dorset. “No. Everyone else disappeared from my life too,” she said flatly.
Angela opened her mouth as if she were about to speak, but before she had the chance, her cell rang. “It’s Hayes,” she said, gesturing toward the hallway. “I’ll take it in there.” She answered the phone as she left the kitchen. “What the hell do you mean?” Angela murmured, disappearing into the living room and closing the door behind her.
Harriet stepped forward. Angela’s voice was muffled, but Harriet could just make out what she was saying.
“Who? Brian? But why would he do that? No, you’re right,” Angela sighed. “This changes things a lot.”
CHARLOTTE
When the doorbell rang on Monday morning I’d been lost in thought. None of us expected a whole week would come and go with no news of Alice. I had dropped the children at school, Evie at nursery, and phoned the office to explain I still couldn’t face coming in, and as was frequently the case, my mind wandered to thoughts of Harriet and Brian.
When the bell blasted a second time, I answered the door to a man who looked vaguely familiar. He had a goatee and eyes that bulged under a fringe that hung slightly too long.
“Charlotte Reynolds? I’m Josh Gates,” he said, holding out a hand, a gaudy, gold signet ring glistening on his little finger. I shook it tentatively. “How are you today?” he asked in the irritatingly confident manner of a salesperson. I told him I was fine.
“I’m with the Dorset Eye.”
“Oh.” Now I knew where I’d seen him. He was the journalist at the news conference who’d accused me of being on Facebook when Alice disappeared. The one who’d subsequently written a piece in the paper. “I have nothing to say,” I said and started closing the door, but quick as a flash Josh’s foot stopped me from pushing any farther. “Please,” I said, “can you move your foot?”
“I wondered if you’d like to tell your side of the story? Make sure people know the truth?”
“I told you I don’t have anyt
hing to say. Now move your foot.” I pushed the door again but it wouldn’t budge.
“Actually, I don’t mean about this case. I mean the other story, Charlotte.”
“What other one? What are you talking about?”
“Beautiful place you have here,” he said, peering over my shoulder. “Must be worth a fair bit. Maybe I could come in so we can chat inside?”
“I asked you what you’re talking about,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Well, I’ve heard this isn’t the first time you’ve lost a child.”
“What?”
“And that one time your little boy, Jack, went missing.”
“I don’t, I—” I shook my head. In the corner of my mind, I saw a flash of the time Josh was talking about. I saw the only person who knew what I’d done, and I saw tiny pieces of my loosely-held-together world falling apart.
“Apparently he went off one afternoon and you didn’t realize he was gone?” He raised his eyebrows in dramatic shock.
“Who have you been speaking to?” I cried, though of course I already knew. I just couldn’t believe Harriet would do it.
“So it’s true?”
“Get off my property,” I said, and kicked Josh’s foot out of the doorway, slamming it shut. “Get away from my house!” I screamed from the other side of my door. “I’m calling the police.”
“I can always speak to the newsagent who found him, if you’d rather?” Josh shouted back.
“Just piss off!” I cried. I slumped back against the front door, sliding down it, burying my head in my hands. The room spun around me, bringing with it waves of nausea. Why was everyone so interested in me? They should be focusing on the monster who had taken Alice, but instead their attention was on me. Why was everyone so eager to make sure I was the one to blame?
• • •
IT WAS THREE years ago when Jack went missing. I’d walked home from the shops with the children, Molly asleep in the double buggy, her baby sister next to her screaming all the way, while Jack scooted a few feet ahead. As soon as I let us into the house, I needed to feed Evie before she woke Molly up.
“I hope you’re not going to be this demanding forever,” I’d murmured, lifting Evie out.
I pushed the stroller into the hallway and settled Evie on my lap in the living room. Jack was quiet and I’d assumed he was playing with his new set of trains.
With Evie latched, silence filled the house. I rested my head on the back of the sofa, closed my eyes, and let the exhaustion take over. My body ached with tiredness and it didn’t take long for me to drift off to sleep while Evie fed.
When I woke with a start, Evie’s eyes were fluttering closed in the early stages of sleep. I didn’t want to disturb her, but I called out quietly to Jack anyway. He didn’t answer, but then he didn’t always, so I lay my head back and closed my eyes again.
When the phone rang I ignored it. I didn’t want to move and I was loath to transfer Evie to her crib. When it stopped and immediately started ringing again, I carefully maneuvered Evie onto the sofa and got up to answer it. As soon as I walked into the hallway, the first thing I noticed was that the front door was wide open.
“Jack, where are you?” I called out. I was sure I’d closed it behind me. Evie started crying again. I could see her squirming on the couch that I knew I really shouldn’t have left her on, but Jack still wasn’t answering.
“Jack?” I checked my watch. We’d been home for over half an hour. “Jack?” His name caught in my throat as I sprinted up the stairs, looking into each of the rooms. “If you’re hiding, you need to come out right now.”
The phone rang and stopped and began again. It must have been the fifth time when I picked it up and cried, “Yes?” into the receiver, only to hear the calm voice of Mr. Hadlow from the corner store telling me Jack was at his counter. Someone walking past had found him outside his shop.
• • •
“WHY DID YOU never tell me that?” Audrey asked when she turned up fifteen minutes after Josh Gates had left. I was still sitting on the hallway floor when she’d arrived.
“I didn’t tell Tom, either.”
I couldn’t have told my husband because it would have confirmed I was failing. I couldn’t have told my mother who would have reminded me three children was more than I could handle, and I didn’t tell Audrey because she would have told me “these things happen,” but I would have still seen the shock on her face. Audrey locks the door behind her, she doesn’t leave car doors wide open all night by mistake. She doesn’t lose her sunglasses case or her watch or her children, and Audrey would never ever lose someone else’s child.
“But you told Harriet?”
“Is that the important bit right now?” I said, though I did feel guilty. I couldn’t tell her I’d confided in another friend because I’d wanted someone who wouldn’t’ve judged me. Not when Aud was the only friend not judging me right now.
“Yes and no,” Aud said. “She’s obviously talked to this horrible Gates character.”
“I only told her to make her feel better about herself,” I admitted.
“How?”
“She was panicking about something utterly unimportant. Forgetting to pack a spare nappy for Alice or something. I don’t even remember what it was. It was a year after I’d lost Jack anyway. I wanted her to realize that mums aren’t perfect, even the ones she seemed to think were.” We both knew Harriet put me on a pedestal. “I told her to make her feel better and made her promise not to tell a soul.”
“Well, she’s done that all right.”
“I even said, ‘Don’t tell Brian,’ and she said, ‘Oh God, no, I would never tell Brian,’ so I didn’t worry about it going any further.”
“That’s an odd thing to say.”
“What is?”
“ ‘God, no, I would never tell Brian.’ ”
“Maybe.”
“I’d never say that about David.”
“Oh, Aud,” I sighed. “Does it really matter?”
“No, probably not,” Audrey said. “But I still think it’s odd.”
“What am I going to do?” I asked, burying my head in my hands. “Harriet must hate me to speak to that journalist.” Telling him this story did nothing but back up what he’d already implied about me. That I was irresponsible and couldn’t be trusted. “I know she must be hurting, but this,” I said, “it just doesn’t feel right.”
NOW
Why do you think Harriet went to the press?” Detective Rawlings asks.
“I don’t know that she did anymore,” I say. My eyes are sore from rubbing them. I ache for the luxury of being able to place a cold pack on them, but all I can do is try to stop touching the tender skin.
“But she must have told someone?” The detective is relentless. “Even though you asked her not to. That must have made you angry?”
“Angry?” I could laugh at the woman who quite obviously has no clue. “No, it didn’t make me angry. In some ways I thought she had every right to tell that journalist or her husband or whoever she wanted.” I sigh. “I think it was Brian. I believe Harriet told him at some point and he was the one who spoke to Josh Gates.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because of what he said when he came to see me on Wednesday night, two days ago,” I say with bite. I take a breath and then add, a little more calmly, “I’m struggling to see how this is relevant. What happened when Jack was young has nothing to do with any of this.”
“We’re just trying to build a picture,” Rawlings says, and presses her lips into a perfect heart.
I look away and sit back, resisting the urge to fold my arms. She knows she’s getting to me, and I have to be careful, but to say I’m exhausted is an understatement.
“Let’s talk about the call you received this morning,” she says. “Friday morning, thirteen days after you’d last spoken to her. It must have been a shock?”
“It was.”
“What were you doing
when she called?”
“I was supposed to be meeting Captain Hayes. He’d asked me to come to the station, but then the school called to say Molly was ill. So I was going to pick her up first.”
“And the call from Harriet was totally unexpected?”
“Yes.”
“How did she sound?”
“Frightened. Desperate,” I say, remembering the sound of her voice with unnerving clarity.
“And why do you think she called you?”
“Probably because I was the first person she thought of.”
“After what had happened, she still turned to you? Why would she do that?” Rawlings asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice rising a notch. “She was afraid. Most likely it’s because Harriet has no one else to call.”
“So as soon as she called you, you went to help her?” she asks, pinning me with her eyes as she waits for me to respond.
“Well, no,” I say. “Like I said, I had to pick up my daughter from school.”
“So your close friend calls you, frightened and desperate, and for a while you did—nothing?”
“Not nothing. I had my daughter to look after—”
“But you didn’t call the police?”
“No.”
“Or tell anyone else?”
“No.”
“Despite how desperate Harriet sounded?”
I nod silently.
“Then what I don’t understand is why the delay in doing anything, Charlotte?” she asks. “Why did you sit around for what—an hour, more even—before deciding what to do?”
My mouth is dry regardless of how many times I swallow. I lean forward, my hands underneath my legs. My heart hurts it’s beating so hard, and all the while she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
But I cannot tell her the truth.
“Charlotte?” she prompts.
I wipe a thin streak of sweat from my hairline. I have to say something, but the harder I try, the faster words escape me. My voice is low and hoarse when I finally whisper, “I’d like to take another break, please.”