by B. A. Paris
‘Hi, Cass, it’s me, phoning from sunny Siena. I already tried your mobile, so I’ll phone back. I have to tell you about Alfie. Oh, my God, he’s soooo boring!’
Laughing with relief, I go upstairs to call her from my mobile. I’m halfway up when the house phone starts ringing again so, guessing it’s her, I run back down and snatch it up. But as soon as I put it to my ear, I know. I know that it’s not her, just as I knew that the call I heard coming in as I was leaving the house yesterday was him, even though I chose to believe that it wasn’t. And I feel such rage at having hope snatched away from me that I cut the call, effectively slamming the phone down. He calls straight back, as I knew he would, so I answer and cut the call, like before. After a minute or so – as if he can’t quite believe what I’ve done – he calls again. So I answer and hang up, and he calls back, so I answer and hang up and he calls back and we go back and forth for a while because, for some reason, our little game amuses me. But then I realise it’s one I’m not going to win, because he’s not going to leave me alone until I’ve given him what he wants. So I stay on the phone and listen to his silent menace coming down the line. And then I phone Matthew.
The call goes straight through to his voicemail, so I phone the main number and ask to be put through to his assistant.
‘Hello, Valerie, it’s Cass, Matthew’s wife.’
‘Hi, Cass. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. I tried to call Matthew but it went straight through to his voicemail.’
‘That’s because he’s in a meeting.’
‘Has he been in there long?’
‘Since nine o’clock.’
‘I suppose once he’s in there, he won’t come out until it’s finished?’
‘Well, only to get coffee or something. But if it’s urgent, I can get him for you.’
‘No, it’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll catch him later.’
Well, at least I had one day’s respite, I tell myself dully as I pop a couple of pills and swallow them down with water. At least I managed to believe for one day that Matthew was right when he said the calls were coming from a call centre. And now that I can no longer fool myself, at least I have the pills to help get me through the day.
While I wait for them to take effect, I slump on the sofa in the sitting room, the remote in my hand. I’ve never watched daytime television before and as I flick through the channels I come across a shopping channel. I watch it for a while, marvelling at all the different gadgets that I never knew I needed, and when I see a pair of long silver earrings, which I know Rachel would love, I quickly find a pen and jot down the details so that I can order them later.
An hour or so goes by, then the phones rings and because the pills have begun to work, I feel only apprehension, not dread. It’s Matthew.
‘Good morning, sweetheart, did you sleep well?’ His voice is tender, a legacy of our lovemaking the previous night.
‘Yes, I did.’ I pause, not wanting to spoil the intimacy of the moment by mentioning the call I received.
‘Valerie said you called,’ he prompts.
‘Yes. I got another call this morning.’
‘And?’ He can’t hide his disappointment and I kick myself for not having found something more loving to say before dragging him back into my nightmare.
‘I just thought I’d tell you, that’s all.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe we should tell the police.’
‘We could, but I’m not sure they’d take a few silent calls seriously, not when they’re busy looking for a murderer.’
‘They might if I tell them I think they’re coming from the murderer.’ The words are out before I can stop them and, although I don’t hear it, I can imagine Matthew stifling a sigh of impatience.
‘Look, you’re tired, run-down, it’s easy to jump to conclusions when you’re feeling a bit fragile. But it’s not logical to suppose that the calls are coming from the murderer. Try and remember that.’
‘I will,’ I say dutifully.
‘I’ll see you later.’
‘All right.’ I put the phone down, hating that I’ve destroyed the sense of relief he must have felt yesterday when I told him I was feeling a whole lot better. Ignoring my laptop, I go back to watching the shopping channel until I sink into oblivion.
The phone wakes me. Outside, the sun has shifted towards the afternoon and as my mind clears I instinctively hold my breath. The answering machine picks up the call and my lungs collapse in relief. I expect it to be Rachel, calling me back, but it sounds suspiciously like Mary, our head teacher, saying something about the forthcoming Inset day. I don’t want to feel under any more pressure than I already do so I block out the sound of her voice. But once the call is finished, feeling like a student who hasn’t done her homework, I fetch my laptop and carry it through to the study to work at the table there.
I’ve barely made a start when a car accelerates hard in the road outside, making me jump. I listen as it travels up the road towards the other houses, the sound of its engine growing fainter by the second, wondering why I hadn’t heard it approaching. Unless it had been sitting outside the house all along.
I try to push the thought away but I can’t. Panic sets in and questions tumble feverishly through my mind. Had the car arrived earlier, while I’d been asleep? Who had been driving it? The murderer? Had he been watching me through the window as I slept on the sofa, like a puppet in play? I know it sounds crazy, my mind tells me it is. But the fear I feel is horribly real.
I run into the hall, grab the car keys from the table and unlock the front door. The glare of the sun catches me unawares and, as I hurry to the car, I duck my head, shielding my eyes with my hand. I drive out of the gate, not really thinking about where I’m going, only intent on getting away, and find myself on the road to Castle Wells. When I arrive I try two of the smaller car parks but they’re both full so I park in the multi-storey. I walk aimlessly around the shops, buy a few things, nurse a cup of tea in a café for a while, then walk around the shops a little more, trying to put off the moment when I’ll have to go back to the house. At six o’clock, I head for the car park, hoping that Matthew will already be home because the thought of going back to an empty house makes me feel panicky.
Suddenly, my arm is grabbed from behind and with a cry of alarm I whip round. Connie is standing there, a huge smile on her face. The sight of her makes everything normal again and I hug her in relief.
‘Don’t do that!’ I say, trying to gain control of my racing heart. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t have a heart attack!’
She hugs me back, her floral perfume familiar and reassuring. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. How are you, Cass? Enjoying the holidays?’
I pull my hair off my face and nod, wondering if I look as crazy as I feel. She’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. ‘Yes, especially when the weather’s as good as it is today,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘It’s glorious, isn’t it? How about you? You must be leaving soon.’
‘Yes, on Saturday. I can’t wait.’
‘I hope you didn’t mind me not coming back to yours after the end-of-year dinner,’ I go on, because I still feel guilty about pulling out at the last minute.
‘No, of course not. Except that as you didn’t come, John didn’t either, so we had to make our own entertainment.’
‘Sorry,’ I say, grimacing.
‘It was fine – we put a karaoke thing on the television and tried to drown out the sound of the thunder with our singing. I have an incriminating video somewhere.’
‘You’ll have to show it to me.’
‘Don’t worry, I will!’ She takes out her phone and checks the time. ‘I’m meeting Dan for a drink. Why don’t you join us?’
‘I won’t, thanks, I was just on my way back to the car park. Are you all packed?’
‘Almost. I just need to get everything ready for the Inset day – I presume you got the call from Mary conf
irming Friday twenty-eighth? – as I only get back on the Wednesday. I’m almost there, how about you?’
‘Almost there too,’ I lie.
‘I’ll see you on the twenty-eighth then.’
‘Definitely.’ I give her a last hug. ‘Have a great time!’
‘You too!’
I carry on to the car park, feeling much better for having seen Connie, despite having lied to her about the work I’d supposedly done. And now I’m going to have to listen to the call Mary left on the answering machine in case there’s something she’s expecting me to bring to the table at the meeting. Worry gnaws away at me because how can I get down to work when there’s so much else going on? If only the murderer was behind bars. He might soon be, I tell myself. Now that the police think that he was somebody Jane knew, surely they’ll be able to find him.
I arrive at the car park, take the lift to the fourth floor and head towards Row E, where I left my car. Or where I thought I’d left it, because it isn’t there. Feeling stupid, I walk up and down the row and, when I still can’t find it, turn and scan Row F. But my car isn’t there either.
Baffled, I begin to walk up and down the other rows, even though I know I parked in Row E. And I know I parked on the fourth floor because, knowing I wouldn’t find a space on the first two floors, I’d driven straight to the third. It had been full so I’d carried on up here. So why can’t I find my car? Within a few minutes, I’ve covered the whole floor so I take the stairs to the fifth, because maybe I did make a mistake. Again, I walk up and down the rows, sidestepping the cars moving in and out of parking places, trying not to look as if I’ve lost mine. But there’s no sign of my Mini there either.
I go back down to the fourth floor and stand for a moment, trying to get my bearings. There’s only one lift so I walk over to it and retrace the steps I would have taken that morning, except in the other direction, until I come to where my car would be. But it isn’t there. Tears of frustration prick my eyelids. The only thing I can do is go down to the booth on the ground floor and report it missing.
I head towards the lift but at the last minute I change my mind and make my way down on foot, stopping off at each level to check that my car isn’t there. On the ground floor I find the booth, where a middle-aged man is sitting in front of a computer.
‘Excuse me, I think my car has been stolen,’ I say, making an effort not to sound hysterical.
He carries on looking at the screen and, presuming he didn’t hear me, I speak again, only louder.
‘I heard you the first time,’ he says, raising his head and looking back at me through the glass.
‘Oh. Well, in that case, can you tell me what I should do?’
‘Yes, you should take another look.’
‘I have looked,’ I say indignantly.
‘Where?’
‘On the fourth floor, where I left it. I also checked on the second, third and fifth floors.’
‘So you’re not sure where you left it.’
‘Yes, I’m perfectly sure!’
‘If I had a pound for every person who told me their car’s been stolen, I’d be a rich man. Do you have your ticket?’
‘Yes,’ I say, taking my purse out of my bag and opening it. ‘Here.’ I push the ticket under the hatch, expecting him to take it.
‘So how did whoever has taken your car manage to get it through the barrier without the ticket?’
‘I presume they pretended they’d lost it and paid here, at the exit.’
‘What’s the registration number?’
‘R-V-zero-seven-B-W-W. It’s a Mini, black.’
He looks as his computer screen and shakes his head. ‘That car registration hasn’t been logged as going through on a reissued ticket.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that your car hasn’t been stolen.’
‘So where is it then?’
‘Probably where you left it.’
He goes back to his screen and I stare at him, shocked at how much I suddenly hate him. I know it’s because of what this might mean – more proof of my disintegrating memory – but I hate the way he’s so dismissive and, anyway, I know where I parked my car. I slam my hand against the glass and he eyes me warily.
‘If you come with me, I can prove that it’s not,’ I say firmly.
He looks at me for a moment, then turns his head and calls over his shoulder. ‘Patsy, can you cover for me!’ A woman comes out from the office behind. ‘This lady has had her car stolen,’ he explains.
She looks at me and grins. ‘Of course she has.’
‘I can assure you, I have!’ I snap.
The man comes round from the booth. ‘Come on then.’
We go towards the lift together and while we’re waiting for it to arrive my mobile rings. I don’t really want to answer it in case it’s Mary but I know it’ll look strange if I don’t, so I take it from my bag. When I see that it’s Matthew, relief washes over me.
‘Hello?’
‘You seem pleased to hear from me,’ he remarks. ‘Where are you? I’ve just got home.’
‘I’m in Castle Wells. I decided to come in and do some shopping but there’s a bit of a problem. I think my car’s been stolen.’
‘Stolen?’ His voice rises sharply. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, it looks that way.’
‘Are you sure it hasn’t just been towed away? Did you forget to put a ticket on it, or stay longer than you should have?’
‘No,’ I say, moving away from the parking attendant and the smirk on his face. ‘I parked in the multi-storey.’
‘So it definitely hasn’t been towed away?’
‘No, it’s been stolen.’
‘You haven’t just forgotten where you parked it, have you?’
‘No! And before you ask, yes, I’ve checked the whole car park.’
‘Have you called the police?’
‘Not yet. I’m with someone from the car park and we’re on our way up to check.’
‘So you’re not sure it’s been stolen?’
‘Can I call you back in a minute?’ I ask, my face now burning. ‘The lift is here.’
‘All right.’
The lift doors open and people come flooding out. We get into the lift and the man watches as I press the button for the fourth floor. On the way up, we stop at the second, then at the third. At the fourth, I get out, the man following close behind.
‘I parked it over there,’ I say, pointing to the other side of the car park. ‘Row E.’
‘Lead the way,’ he says.
I thread my way through the rows of cars.
‘It should be somewhere around here.’
‘R-V-zero-seven-B-W-W?’
‘Yes.’ I nod.
‘It’s right there.’
‘Where?’
‘There,’ he says, pointing.
I follow his eyes and find myself staring at my car.
‘It’s not possible,’ I mutter. ‘It wasn’t there before, I promise.’ I walk over to it, wanting it – perversely – to be the wrong car. ‘I don’t understand. I checked the whole row, twice.’
‘It’s easily done,’ he says, generous in victory.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, you’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last. Don’t worry about it.’
‘But it wasn’t here, it really wasn’t.’
‘Maybe you weren’t on the right floor.’
‘I was,’ I insist. ‘I came straight up here and when I couldn’t find it I went up to the fifth and then checked the third. I even checked the second floor.’
‘Did you go up to the sixth?’
‘No, because I knew I hadn’t gone up to the very top of the car park.’
‘The seventh is the top.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I parked it on the fourth.’
‘Yes, you did,’ he agrees. ‘Because it’s here.’
I look around. ‘Is there another li
ft?’
‘No.’
The fight goes out of me. ‘Well, I’m very sorry to have wasted your time,’ I say, desperate to be gone. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he says, walking away with a wave of his hand.
In the safety of my car, I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, turning everything around in my mind, trying to work out how I managed to miss my car when I first came up to the fourth. The only conclusion I can come to is that I wasn’t on the fourth floor but on the fifth. How could I have made such a stupid, stupid mistake? Even worse is the thought of telling Matthew. If only he hadn’t phoned me earlier, if only I hadn’t told him that my car had been stolen. I know I should phone him to tell him that I’ve found it but I can’t bring myself to admit that I made a mistake.
I start the engine and head slowly for the exit, my mind heavy with exhaustion. At the barrier I realise that with everything that’s happened, I forgot to pay at the machine before leaving the fourth floor. I check my rear-view mirror; cars are already stacking up behind me, waiting impatiently for me to go through and, in a complete panic, I press the help button.
‘I forgot to pay!’ I shout, my voice shaking. A horn sounds behind me. ‘What do I do?’
Just as I’m wondering if the car-park attendant is going to punish me by making me get out of the car and go to the nearest machine, incurring the wrath of half a dozen drivers, the barrier swings up.
‘Thank you,’ I mouth gratefully towards the box and before he can change his mind and bring the barrier down on top of me, I drive off with a crunch of gears.
As I head out of town I feel so agitated I know I should pull over and wait until I’m calmer before driving on. My mobile rings, giving me the perfect excuse for stopping but, guessing it’s Matthew, I carry on. The thought of not going home, of staying in the car and driving until it runs out of petrol, is tempting but I love Matthew too much to want to worry him more than is reasonable.
My mobile continues to ring on and off for the rest of the journey and, as I turn into the drive, Matthew comes hurrying out of the house. His face is twisted with worry, and guilt tangles with my exhaustion.