by Heidi Perks
• • •
“I’VE BEEN WONDERING why you swapped the photo.” Brian’s voice made her jump. “Did you not like the one I took of you and Alice?” He stood in the doorway with a tumbler of water that he carefully placed on the nightstand. His eyes never left Harriet’s.
“You know I didn’t swap it,” she said, letting the frame drop onto the bed beside her.
Brian leaned forward and picked it up. “And you know I don’t like this picture.”
“I didn’t change the photo, Brian,” she said again, noticing the muscles twitching in his jaw.
“So she’s gone,” he said, waving the frame in front of her.
“What are you saying?” Harriet shifted nervously on the bed. “Brian, you’re scaring me.”
“Am I?” he said, getting closer until she could feel his breath on her cheek. “My love, I wouldn’t do that.” He reached out and took a tendril of her hair, stroking it between his fingers. “You must be getting confused again.” And with that, Brian let go of her hair and walked out of the bedroom.
CHARLOTTE
By Wednesday evening Audrey had persuaded me I should attend the school social, though when Tom arrived to look after the children I was already regretting it because I really didn’t want to go.
I’d fallen into a routine of making pleasantries at the school gate, keeping my eyes hidden behind sunglasses, my head down, and scurrying away again before anyone could stop me. I stopped returning messages and became completely reliant on Audrey acting as a go-between for me, thanking friends for whatever thoughts they were passing on to me.
Aud had removed Facebook from my phone again. She’d told me I was banned from reading anything online. I knew if I did I’d find myself talking to her about what I’d read, and then she’d most likely fulfill her promise to take away my phone. Strangely, I began finding it relatively easy to hide away from the world. What I didn’t know wasn’t hurting me.
But withdrawing had made the thought of the social even more terrifying. I was only going because of Audrey’s insistence and my desire not to let her down after everything she’d done.
“I thought you said it was starting five minutes ago,” Tom said, tapping his watch. “It’s already eight fifty.” He found me rummaging through the children’s schoolbags. I’d already laid out their uniforms and washed up the water bottles—jobs I’d usually leave till morning. “Just go,” he said, practically pushing me out the door.
“When did the light stop working?” I muttered when the outside lamp didn’t automatically come on.
“I’ll have a look at it,” Tom said, peering up before sighing. “Oh, I can hear Evie. I thought you said she was asleep. I’ll see you later.” He closed the door behind him, leaving me standing in the semi-dark walkway. As I walked toward my car a flicker of movement stopped me in my tracks, and Brian’s face suddenly appeared above the corner of the bushes lining the walk.
“Brian, you made me jump,” I said, wondering how long he’d been watching me. “Do you, erm, want to come in?”
“No,” he said coldly. “I want you to come to my car.” When I didn’t move he added, “I don’t think you have the luxury of refusing me, do you?”
I jangled my keys nervously, looking up at the house, hoping that Tom might be looking out, but there was no sign of him. Reluctantly I nodded and followed Brian to the silver Honda parked a few houses up. He held the passenger door open, and as I climbed in the smell of dead fish wafted from the trunk and into my nostrils.
Our cul-de-sac was quiet and eerily still. The click of the car doors locking was loud and sharp in the silence as Brian twisted to face me.
His mouth twitched at the corners and, tilting his head to one side, he spoke slowly. “Tell me what you know.”
“What I know about what?” I asked.
“Tell me what you know about my wife.”
I fidgeted uneasily. “Why are we talking about Harriet?”
“I do everything for her. She’s my world,” he continued. “I always have. But she doesn’t treat me the same, though I assume you know that. She must tell you everything.”
“No, actually, Harriet doesn’t say anything to me,” I said.
“It breaks me. She breaks me. Do you know that? Of course you do. You’re her best friend.” He laughed. “Despite what you say, you must know everything.”
Brian’s behavior was as disturbing as his appearance. His hair stuck out wildly in different directions, as if he’d grabbed it with both hands and ruffled it vigorously. His eyes were dark and heavy as they bored into me. I’d never seen Brian anything less than pristine and, despite the situation, I knew something else was wrong.
“Did she tell you she doesn’t love me?” he went on.
I shuffled forward uncomfortably in my seat. “Harriet loves you,” I said. As much as I didn’t want to confront his anger about Alice, I still thought it would be preferable to whatever this was about. “Whatever is happening right now, you can’t start doubting that.”
“I know you were close, Charlotte. Why else would you tell her about losing your son?”
“What?”
“Make a habit of it, don’t you? Losing children. Almost like it comes easy to you.”
“Brian—” The air in the car was getting unbearably stale. “Can I open the door? Or even just the window?”
Brian ignored me as he slammed the palm of his hand against the steering wheel and turned to stare out the windshield. “Mothers like you should pay for what you do. But you don’t,” he carried on. “You never do.”
“I need to go,” I said, my voice shaking. “I want you to unlock the door now, Brian.”
“I’ll make sure they write stories about you,” he said. “I’ll make sure it’s out there.”
I wondered if I should scream, and whether anyone would hear me if I did. The air was getting closer and I could feel my lungs working harder, yet the only thing stopping me from hammering on the window was the thought that this was nothing less than I deserved.
“Tell me what she’s told you!” he yelled.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I pleaded. Harriet had never uttered a word against her husband. “Harriet’s only ever had good things to say about you—”
“You know I’ve always liked you, Charlotte,” he said, his words suddenly sounding lighter and softer as he arched forward. “Of course I’m glad she has you as a friend, but I need you to be honest with me.”
“Brian, what are you talking about?”
“I’m sure you can make her see sense,” he said. “I need to go now.”
“Brian, I don’t understand what you’re—” I stopped as he stretched across me to open the door, giving it a shove so it swung open.
“I’m sure you do, Charlotte,” he said. “I’m positive you understand very well what I’m talking about. Now please get out of my car.”
I stared at him incredulously as I backed out of the car. He pulled the door shut behind me, started the engine, and hastily drove away. All thoughts of the school social had vanished. It was with relief that I made my way back to the house.
I had no idea what had just happened. Whether he and Harriet had had an argument, if this was Brian’s way of taking it out on me. Wasn’t it all any father would do in his situation? I didn’t stop to think Harriet was in any danger because, despite his behavior that evening, I still didn’t think Brian was to blame. His words were nothing compared to what the trolls had said they would do to me, after all. I should have expected much worse.
NOW
Do I have to go over the facts?” Detective Rawlings says. “We have a missing person and someone died tonight.”
“I know.” I press my fingers to my eyes, squeezing them shut. “I know.”
“And we still aren’t getting to the truth,” she goes on.
“I’m telling you what I know,” I snap.
“Are you?” She sits back in her chair and stares at me.
“Yes,” I plead, though even I know I don’t sound sincere.
Harriet had never told me what was going on in her marriage. Yet as much as I can tell myself it was because she didn’t want me to know, I can’t ignore the feeling I didn’t look hard enough.
Maybe that’s what the detective saw the moment I walked into the room. That right from the start of our friendship I was wrapped up in my own life. Isn’t that what the mums like us are like? The gaggle of women who take over the playground with our raucous laughter, acting like the school owes us something for being there?
I saw that in some of them over the days after the school fair, the way they ushered their kids away from me, afraid if I came too near that one of their children would disappear too. Not all of them. Not Aud, of course. But it made me realize how fragile the strings were that tied the rest of us together. How some friendships are built on so little they can fall apart at the slightest strain.
But I wasn’t like them, I wanted to plead with Rawlings. I still feel the urge to persuade her that I wasn’t, and that is why I was drawn to Harriet.
Harriet reminded me of the person I wanted to be, the one I still was in the heart of my soul. Harriet didn’t kiss the air or gush over handbags like they alone would solve third-world problems. I could tell Harriet anything and I knew she cared.
She could have told me anything too. Only she hadn’t.
“But you didn’t see any clues?” the detective persists.
Looking back, there were possibly many clues, but I tell the detective I didn’t. Yet as I sit here in the whitewashed room, with the microphone still recording and my mind dissolving, I remember a particular time when Harriet and I sat on our usual bench in the park.
Evie had been a baby and was finally asleep in the stroller and, while I hadn’t been able to rest completely with the threat of her waking any moment, I’d closed my eyes and reveled in the moment’s peace, when Harriet’s voice rang out from behind me. For a moment, I’d felt my stomach sink. I hadn’t thought we’d arranged to meet.
When I’d opened my eyes, I’d seen Alice toddling off to the sandpit where Molly was filling a bucket. Harriet had stripped off her cardigan and pulled a lunch box out, and I remember thinking it looked like she was there to stay. “What are your plans today?” I’d asked. “Are you and Alice off anywhere nice?”
“No, nothing special. I have to go back to the shops later.”
“What, on a lovely day like this?” I’d said.
“Yes, I bought this jumper for Brian and I need to take it back.” Harriet had reached into her bag and grabbed a handful of the top.
“Tom had one like this,” I’d murmured, running my hand over the soft wool. “What’s wrong with it? Doesn’t Brian like it?”
“Oh, I think he probably does. I just got the wrong one. He said he’d asked me for red.” Harriet had shrugged her shoulders. “I could have sworn he said green.”
I sighed and folded the top back. They were hardly two colors you could mix up, and I had felt myself getting irritated by Harriet’s mistake. My patience had almost been on empty, and in those times her carelessness annoyed me.
“I could do with going shopping,” I’d said. “We should go one day, blow some money and treat ourselves.” When Harriet didn’t answer, I’d realized my tactlessness and said, “I mean, I’d like to treat you to something. You’d be doing me a favor just by coming. I’ll dump Evie on my mum for the day.”
“Yes, maybe.”
I’d looked over at Harriet, who had been waving at Alice, holding up a packet of raisins to her daughter while she’d played obliviously in the sandpit. Nearby a mother had been raising her voice at her young son, her finger wagging an inch from his face as the little boy started sobbing.
“He didn’t even do anything wrong,” Harriet had said. “I was watching him. He only wanted another go on the swing.”
The mother had shouted louder, the little boy slunk backward. Her hand drew back and the next moment she’d slapped him across the back of his legs and marched him through the park.
“We should say something,” Harriet had gasped.
“Don’t get involved,” I’d said quickly, placing a hand on Harriet’s arm.
“But he’s in a dreadful state.”
“I know and it’s horrible, but no one will thank you for saying anything. About this shopping trip,” I’d added, desperate to avoid confrontation with the mother who was by now at the gate. She had hard features that looked like she was permanently angry and I knew who’d come off worse if Harriet got into it with her. “When shall we go?”
I’d opened up Harriet’s bag and was about to put the jumper back in when I’d noticed a necklace glistening at the bottom. “Harriet, I haven’t seen this before.” I’d pulled out the chain, holding its delicate gold leaf pendant in the palm of my hand. “It’s beautiful.”
“My necklace,” Harriet had gasped and grabbed the chain from me. “Where did you— Where was it?”
“It was just lying in your bag. It’s gorgeous.” It really was, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing Harriet wear it.
“I thought I’d lost it.” Harriet had stared at it suspiciously, turning the leaf over in her fingers. “I thought—” She’d shaken her head and hadn’t finished the sentence. “It was my mum’s. I know it was in my jewelry box. I don’t wear it because it’s so precious. But then it was gone and I looked everywhere.”
“Well, you have it now.”
“But I searched the house.” Harriet’s voice had dropped as she continued to marvel at the pendant, and I’d stared at her, wondering if she was talking to it or to me. “I don’t get it. How could it even be in my handbag?” she’d said in little more than a whisper.
“Does it really matter, if you’ve found it?” I’d sighed, fearing I might have snapped at Harriet as I closed my eyes again. I could hear Aud’s voice as clear as if she were sitting on the bench between us. “Charlotte, I’m sure your friend is very sweet, but she looks like she’s away with the fairies half the time.”
I remember turning to look at Harriet, who was then staring at a point in the distance, past Alice, past the trees that lined the park. Her lips had twitched; she was deep in thought. I had lost Harriet completely and Evie was stirring and I knew any minute she’d start screaming, and I’d felt the rise of irritation spreading inside me like a fire.
• • •
“WHEN YOU ASK me if there were any signs,” I tell Detective Rawlings, “it’s that bloody memory that comes to mind, and I think if that’s all I had to go on, then did I really miss anything?”
When she doesn’t answer, my body burns with the sheer frustration that we are going around and around in circles and somehow end up in the same spot every time.
My arms feel like jelly as they hang limply by my sides. My back slumps as I reach forward and my hands fall onto the table. “Please,” I say, “I need to go home. I want to go now.”
Yet I know that if I’d sensed what was going on behind Harriet’s closed doors, I could have helped. I would never have convinced her to leave her daughter with me, promising that Alice would be safe. I knew, more than many, how controlling some fathers and husbands can be because my own dad was that way. Harriet understood that, yet still she didn’t confide in me. She hadn’t trusted me to help her.
And Brian knew so much more than she’d given him credit for.
BEFORE
HARRIET
On Thursday morning, twelve days after Alice went missing, Harriet woke knowing that, like it or not, everything was about to change. She was relieved that on that day Angela wasn’t getting to the house until 4:00 p.m.
She’d watched Brian cautiously as he moved around like a ticking time bomb. He hadn’t uttered one word since he’d walked out of the bedroom the night before, leaving her staring at their wedding photo. But she could see by the way he flitted about that he was still wired.
Above her, the floorboards of the bathroom cre
aked. It was already late morning and Brian still wasn’t dressed. There had been plenty of times when she’d sat like this at her kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a cold mug of tea waiting for her husband to appear, though never so late in the day. She didn’t know what to expect as her mind raced through thoughts of the previous night, trying to figure out if she’d done something wrong. Over the years memories had faded into a dark recess in her mind until she had no way of gripping on to them again. She knew she’d become reliant on Brian reminding her, because he’d told her often enough. Her husband’s support had never wavered, though. Brian would always be there for her.
He’d told her that enough, too.
He’d promised that.
Threatened it.
At first Harriet hadn’t wanted to believe she had problems with her memory, but Brian had been insistent. He took her to a private doctor two years ago, to a practice on the other side of Chiddenford. Harriet had sat mutely as her husband had described her problems, the many mistakes she made, how concerned he was for his wife and daughter’s safety.
“I didn’t have an issue as a child,” she’d told the doctor when he’d asked if she knew when it started.
“Well, it often comes on in adulthood,” Brian had said sharply.
Like the day I met you? Harriet now wondered.
The not knowing was frightening. Believing so adamantly in one thing but then having the one person she loved and trusted tell her the reverse was true left her fearful and worried. Harriet had once found herself standing in the middle of a supermarket, frantically trying to remember if Brian preferred the biscuits covered in milk chocolate or dark.
“I’ve told you so many times, Harriet,” he’d said as she’d handed him the packet of milk chocolate cookies later that evening. “It’s the dark ones I like.”
The next time she went to the store, Harriet rolled his words around and around on her tongue. “Dark chocolate, dark. Remember it’s dark, Alice.”