by Heidi Perks
BEFORE
HARRIET
Captain Hayes arrived ten minutes after Angela had hung up, and Brian quickly ushered him into the backyard. “Let’s not worry my wife further,” he snapped at the detective. “She’s dealing with enough at the moment.”
Harriet watched them from the window. Both men had their backs to her; Angela stood mutely at their side. She knew that if it was anything serious they’d have taken Brian to the station, but she was still desperate to hear what they were talking to him about. What had he done to make the detective come by so quickly?
When Brian eventually came back inside, Angela and Hayes stayed talking outside. He slammed the door and banged his fists on the table, snapping his head up when he noticed Harriet hovering.
“Why were they questioning you?” She continued to watch the detectives.
“They weren’t,” Brian replied curtly. “They had questions, yes, but they weren’t questioning me.” He hesitated as if he was thinking about how to continue. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m not,” she said.
His body softened as he removed his balled fists from the table. “You haven’t eaten anything all morning. I’ll make you some toast.”
“Brian, I don’t want toast.”
“I’ll put some honey on it for you.” He began hunting through the jars in the pantry until he found a pot of honey at the back. He knew she didn’t like honey. He was the only one who ate it.
Harriet took a deep breath. “Why won’t you tell me what they wanted to talk to you about?” She hated begging, yet it scared her that Brian knew something about Alice she didn’t.
“Harriet.” Brian slammed the jar hard on the counter. “I am going to have something to eat. As I have just told you, I will tell you everything after I’ve eaten. But please, will you listen to me for once and accept what I’ve said instead of trying to manipulate everything? You must see what you’re doing to me.”
The scream started in her gut, shooting up through her body like a bullet, as it often did. If she opened her mouth she wouldn’t be able to stop it from coming out and filling the room with all the anguish inside her. She knew too well that if she screamed Brian would win, calling in Angela and the detective to tell them his wife seemed to be suffering a breakdown.
Brian wouldn’t tell her what had happened outside until he was ready. Not until he had played with the situation a little more. Maybe not until she left the room, wondering if a conversation with the detectives had even taken place by the sandpit.
Resigned, Harriet squeezed her eyes shut to push back the threat of tears until the smell of toast wafted under her nose. “Eat up.” He smiled, waving a plate of toast that was slathered in honey under her nose.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then why did you just ask me to make this for you?” he snapped, and threw the toast into the sink.
• • •
ONCE HAYES HAD left, Angela came into the kitchen and found Harriet sitting at the table with her head in her hands.
“I’m trying to get my wife to eat something,” Brian said. When Harriet looked up at him he flashed her a smile.
“What were you talking about out there?” Harriet asked. She didn’t care who answered, as long as one of them did.
“Have you not said anything, Brian?” Angela asked.
“Oh, Harriet.” Brian shook his head and swept across the room toward her. Kneeling down beside her, he took her face between his hands, gently brushing her hair as he spoke. “Of course I’ve told her, Angela,” he said without taking his eyes off his wife. “I’ve just been through it all with her while you were both outside. Have you forgotten already, my love?
“I told Harriet it would be sorted and it’s nothing for her to worry about. Because I don’t want her worrying anymore.” He looked worried himself as he stood.
“Are you okay, Harriet? You do look a bit pale,” Angela asked her.
“You haven’t told me anything, Brian,” she said. “So will one of you please tell me what’s going on?”
Brian took another deep breath and gently nodded. “Of course. I’ll go through it all again if that will help,” he said with feigned patience. “The detective wanted to know why my alibi had fallen through.”
“Your alibi’s fallen through?” Harriet repeated.
“Yes. Ken Harris,” he said, rubbing her shoulders. “You know what he’s like. You’ve said yourself the man forgets what day it is half the time.” Brian paused. “Well, now it seems he can’t actually remember seeing me the day Alice went missing.”
“I’ve never even met Ken Harris,” Harriet said slowly, watching Brian carefully for a reaction. When he didn’t give one she went on. “So what does that mean, that he can’t remember seeing you?”
“Nothing. Please don’t look at me like that, Harriet. You know I’m telling the truth. I wouldn’t lie about where I was.”
Harriet chewed on her lip, unsure what to say as Brian leaned in closer. “Harriet, I’m not lying; you know that, don’t you?” She could hear the desperation in his voice, feel the tremble in his hands, and see the beseeching way his eyes flickered over her. Harriet looked at Angela, who gave her nothing.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore, do I, Brian?” she said quietly.
• • •
TEN MINUTES LATER, while Brian was still in the kitchen with Angela, Harriet crouched beside her bed and peeled back the corner of the carpet. She reached under the loose floorboard for her notebook, tucked it under her top and crept into the bathroom, carefully stepping over Brian’s iPad that had strangely been left charging on the landing.
She locked the door and sat on the closed toilet, opening up the thick, deep gray Moleskine notebook that she had treated herself to on a trip to Wareham. Turning to the next clean sheet, Harriet pressed it flat with the heel of her hand. Then she pulled the silver pen out of the spine and started to write.
In meticulous detail she wrote down what had just happened. What Brian had actually said to her while Angela and the detective were in the yard, her husband’s promise to tell her eventually, his intent on forcing her to eat toast and honey. Then how he had calmly told Angela he’d already relayed the story of his lack of an alibi to her. When she’d finished, Harriet read through her notes and the discrepancies between what Brian said and what he tried to make her believe, until she was confident she knew the truth.
Before she closed the book she flicked through the pages that came before, ones that had become a lifeline to her since she’d started writing. Her first entry was dated May 18, 2016, almost twelve months ago.
The rest of the world may think she was losing her mind, and Brian might be trying to prove she was. But at least she’d found a small way of gripping tightly to reality.
• • •
THAT EVENING, WHILE Harriet ran herself a bath, she thought how Brian had been unnervingly calm. He seemed unfazed by the fact his alibi had fallen through, as he skittered around the house, tidying shelves, offering cups of tea, and casually flicking through an old copy of Angling Times.
She had run the bathwater so hot, it almost scalded her as she placed a foot in to test it, but Harriet couldn’t stand baths that turned cold soon after she’d gotten in. As the bubbles soaked around her, she closed her eyes and felt herself drifting into the state where she was almost falling asleep, when there was a shriek.
She jolted upright to find Brian standing in the doorway as her phone, attached to its charger, slipped off the side of the tub and into the water. Harriet screamed and jumped out in horror, standing naked on the mat.
“What were you doing?” Brian yelled.
She stared at him wide-eyed, her shivering body dripping water into a puddle around her feet. “I didn’t do anything,” she said. She’d never felt so exposed as she did then, the thought of lying naked in the bath while Brian had crept in.
He took a towel off the radiator and wrapped it around her so tightly she co
uldn’t move her arms. “You can kill yourself doing something stupid like that.”
“But I didn’t. My phone wasn’t even upstairs. I wasn’t charging it. I’d never pull it into the bathroom.” She tried to untangle herself from the towel, but with every movement he swaddled her tighter.
“So tell me what it’s doing here,” he said, pulling her against him as they heard Angela racing up the stairs.
“What’s happened?” she asked, looking from one to the other.
“Thankfully there’s no harm done,” Brian said as his eyes wandered to the bath where the phone lay sadly at the bottom, its cord still attached and snaking out of the door onto the landing. “Please just give me a minute to get my wife dressed,” he said, and Angela nodded, silently backing out of the room.
“You were lucky I got there in time,” he said, loud enough that Angela would hear. “I saw the phone plugged in and pulled it out of the socket before I found you in the bath.”
“I didn’t do it, Brian,” she said as he wrapped his arms tightly around her and led her onto the landing where Angela hovered.
“It was an accident,” he said, and she could have sworn she saw him furrowing his brow at Angela. “Thankfully everyone’s fine.”
“I saw your iPad charging. It wasn’t my phone.” Harriet looked over her shoulder, but there was no sign of Brian’s iPad. It wasn’t me, she mouthed at Angela, whose eyes flicked to the plug that had been pulled out of the socket just as Brian had said it was.
“If I hadn’t been here,” he said as they disappeared into the bedroom, pausing and shaking his head, “you’d be dead, my love.”
HARRIET
It was Wednesday, eleven days after Alice had disappeared, and Harriet knew she had to get out of the house again. She called to Brian and Angela that they needed milk, but before she got to the front door Brian appeared at her side. Where he had sprung from this time she wasn’t sure, but he was making a habit of skulking around corners, then pouncing out at her.
“But we don’t need milk, my love,” he said. “We only bought some last night.”
“No, it’s all gone,” she assured him, standing her ground. “You can check if you like.”
Brian’s tongue whipped out, licking his bottom lip as he was about to protest, when Angela called from the kitchen. They both turned to see her shaking an empty plastic bottle. “Actually, we do need some,” she said, and while Brian was looking the other way, Harriet took the chance to slip out.
She didn’t look back as she hurried down the path, which meant she didn’t notice him still waiting on the doorstep, watching her. When she returned half an hour later, he was still standing in the open doorway. Had he been there the whole time? She couldn’t care less, she thought, as she tried to push past him. All she needed was to get inside so she could lie down, because all of a sudden she was feeling dreadful.
“And how was your walk?” He didn’t budge as he held his ground, his eyes crawling over her face as he didn’t let her pass.
“I was just getting milk,” she muttered. Her hands were trembling and amid the hot flushes that ran through her, Harriet felt surprisingly cold. She hoped she’d be able to pass it off as coming down with something—Brian was already looking at her strangely.
“Are you okay?” he said, eventually stepping back so she could get inside. “You look very white.” He reached out and took the milk from her.
“I don’t feel well.”
“Are you sick? You look as if you’re going to be. I hope nothing’s happened while you’ve been out?” His smile vanished.
“No,” she whispered. “Nothing’s happened, I just really don’t feel well and I need to lie down.” She slipped off her shoes and pushed them into the corner with her foot.
“Okay, let’s get you up to bed. I’ll come and lie down with you.”
Harriet took hold of the banister. “No,” she said. “I’ll go on my own.” She started to walk up the stairs when he grabbed her arm and stopped her.
“Everything okay?” Angela asked, stepping into the hallway. Her handbag was slung over her shoulder and a cardigan draped over her arm. “You don’t look well, Harriet.”
“She’s not,” Brian said. “But I’m taking care of her. Aren’t I, my love?”
“Can I get you anything before I go?”
“No,” Brian said. “We’re fine. I can get my wife what she needs. Thank you, Angela,” he added as an afterthought, or maybe because Brian was never one to forget his manners.
• • •
ALL HARRIET WANTED was to be left alone, but as she climbed the stairs Brian was right behind her. When she got to the bedroom, she asked him for a glass of water just so he had to reluctantly go down again. Curling up on top of the covers, Harriet found that every time she tried closing her eyes, they sprang open. The swirling patterns on the wallpaper danced in front of her until they blurred into one large fuzzy shape.
Harriet knew every inch of those walls by heart. Every change of color in the paper, all the bits that didn’t quite match. She had loved it when she’d picked it out, her tummy swollen with her baby, wondering if they were having a girl or a boy. Brian was adamant he wanted a son. An heir, someone just like him, he was always saying, and in turn Harriet found herself praying they’d be blessed with a girl.
Now she hated the wallpaper. Its swirling patterns made her feel even more nauseous, until Harriet thought she actually would be sick. She pushed herself up and held a hand over her mouth, waiting for the feeling to pass.
How happy she had been when she was expecting Alice. What a lifetime ago that felt like, wandering the aisles of Buy Buy Baby, promising herself she would always protect her baby. She could never have foreseen this. The terror of not knowing where her daughter was and whether she was safe coursed through her veins until it paralyzed her. And for a moment, Harriet didn’t register that something wasn’t quite right in their bedroom, even though she was staring right at it.
When her eyes finally refocused, the silver frame on her dressing table eventually became clear. “Oh my God.” Harriet shuffled to the end of her bed and reached out to pick it up. The day Brian had bought her the frame three years ago, he had put a photo of her and Alice in it. He’d taken the picture on a beach in Devon and given it to Harriet as a present. It was a beautiful picture of her baby girl, their cheeks pressed against each other’s, Alice’s wide eyes bright blue as they reflected the light. Her yellow dotted sunhat skewed at an angle on top of her head, tufts of baby blond hair poking out beneath it.
But now Harriet was looking at a very different picture. It was a photo of their wedding day, one she’d never liked because her eyes were half closed and she was looking away from Brian while he stared intently at her. “Look at you,” the inexperienced but cheap photographer had said with a laugh. “You adore her.”
“Of course I do, she’s my wife,” Brian had said.
“Yes, and she’s not even looking back at you.” The young man laughed at what he thought was a very comical situation.
Brian’s head had snapped up to look at Harriet. “Well, she is a lot more beautiful than me.” Brian smiled.
When the photographer had finished, Harriet had forced herself to drink the lukewarm champagne. “Why would you do that to me?” Brian had leaned in close as he spoke into her ear.
“Do what?” Harriet was genuinely baffled.
“Try and make me look a fool on our wedding day. That boy is laughing at me, no doubt telling everyone my new wife doesn’t even want to look at me, while I can’t take my eyes off you.”
“Don’t be silly, Brian, of course I was looking at you,” she’d said. “I just saw that waiter spill red wine down this man’s shirt.” Harriet giggled. “He was so flustered, trying to mop it up as—”
“Well,” he’d spat, taking her hand as he’d led her off toward the restaurant. “Isn’t that just wonderful.”
When he’d slipped into bed beside her that night, Brian had lef
t a cold space between them. “You didn’t take your eyes off him all night.”
“Who?” Harriet had turned toward her new husband.
“The waiter, of course. You embarrassed me on purpose, Harriet.”
“What do you mean? I wasn’t looking at him all night,” she’d pleaded. He’d caught her attention a couple of times because he was so incompetent, but that was all. Did it look like she was staring too much though? she’d wondered with a pang of guilt.
“You spoiled the day for me. How do you think you made me feel on our wedding day when you kept looking at another man?”
“I wasn’t looking at him. Not like that,” she’d implored. “Brian, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. What you think happened just isn’t true.”
“You think I’m lying? That I’m making things up? I know what I saw.”
“No, I don’t think you’re lying but—”
“You made me look like an idiot,” he’d snapped, his face flushing with rage. “So don’t start trying to pretend this is my fault.”
“Brian, I’m sorry.” Harriet couldn’t believe she’d hurt him so badly. How stupid she had been. She’d reached over to touch her husband, moving closer, hoping that as it was their wedding night he could forgive her. He wasn’t a big drinker, so maybe he’d had a little too much. But then she didn’t remember him having any alcohol after the champagne on the terrace. “Come here,” she’d murmured softly. She’d make him forget whatever he was working himself up over.
But Brian had rolled away and she’d been left looking at the back of his broad shoulders, rising and dipping with his sharp breaths.
Harriet had turned onto her back and stared at the hotel ceiling, tears sliding down her cheeks that their wedding night had come to this. It was nothing she had hoped for. She had never felt so alone.
“I’m sorry,” Harriet had whispered to her husband’s back. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” She’d known he was still awake, but he hadn’t answered.