Louisa had managed it, but that was before. There was no telling how this would affect her marriage now. Now she knew the devastating truth.
Being with the only other person who knew might be the answer.
Louisa filled the bottles with powdered milk, shaking them violently as she thought about Oliver and Melissa.
Cold grass under her feet.
‘Can I blag one of them off you?’
A sense of dread.
Fear.
Running.
Falling.
Blood.
Louisa shook the vision away. While some of her flashes of memory could now be explained, this couldn’t so easily be tagged to ‘back then’. This felt recent. Something must have happened the night of her party to trigger the concealed memories to begin resurfacing. And Louisa now considered that her mind was mixing up the two separate things. Some flashes were from the night of the accident, but some, the cold grass, the person asking for a cigarette, they were from her fortieth party.
When Oliver had told her the secret, she’d assumed her visions had nothing to do with Melissa. But now she wasn’t so sure. After all, if she’d successfully covered up something in the past, there was every chance she could be covering up something now. For the moment Louisa couldn’t afford to worry that she’d done something else – she had to focus on the reason for her first episode of dissociative amnesia to begin with.
Oliver had been adamant he wouldn’t tell Louisa who the victim was, where he’d disposed of her body. How. While she thought at the time he was protecting her by ensuring she didn’t know the details, Louisa wondered now if there was an element of control. Oliver was controlling what she knew. That didn’t sit well with her. Knowledge was power.
Having had no luck on the internet, Louisa refused to give up trying to find out who the victim was. She’d have to opt for something else – research the original missing persons case at the library, search out the archived newspapers for missing persons reports for herself. Oliver said that the woman had been missing for a year prior to the accident. This was Devon, surely there weren’t that many missing people reported? She could at least narrow down a list and go from there.
The thought of taking Noah with her whilst she was researching struck a horrible chord in Louisa. She couldn’t take him, wouldn’t. Though she hadn’t spoken to Tiff since the frosty reception she’d given Louisa at her house yesterday, she’d ask her to look after Noah while she went to the library. And when she got back, she could confront her about what was going on.
Not trusting herself to speak, Louisa tapped out a text.
Any chance you could have Noah for a few hours today? xx
She didn’t give a reason, best not to complicate it. If Tiff returned the text asking what she was doing, she’d say she needed some time alone – wanted to get the bus into town without stressing about the pram and Noah screaming.
Her phone pinged.
I’m sorry, I can’t today. So much on, lots of prep for the school end of term party. Hope all OK. xx
Louisa stared at the phone. Another brush-off. It could purely be that she was busy; organising stuff was her priority. But it was the tone of the message that wasn’t right. Tiff was usually far more flouncy, her texts longer, gushier. And she’d usually give an alternative, like: I can’t do today, but what about tomorrow? Something was going on.
Louisa started typing a message back but gave up. She didn’t even know what she wanted to say. She’d go with Noah. She’d have to.
The baby-changing bag was fit to bursting. Louisa had filled it with everything she could think of to make the journey as stress-free as possible, but her muscles immediately tensed at the thought of catching the bus. It was never easy to get the pram folded with Noah in one arm, and her bag in the other. She’d done it once since Noah was born, and it’d been an experience she didn’t want to repeat. She’d previously assumed that, living a small village, people would rush to help her. But no. Those already on the bus watched her in what appeared to be either amusement or pity as she struggled on board. They were elderly, mostly, so she guessed they could be forgiven. But the bus driver – well, he’d been plain rude, tutting at her as she dropped her bag, crashing the half-folded pram against the side of the bus. Get out and fucking help me then! She’d been close to screaming at him.
As she bumped the pram down the steps of the house onto the pavement, Louisa hoped today’s journey would be better. The knot of anxiety grew as she walked to the bus stop. She was relieved to see some people standing waiting. At least one of them might help her.
The library at Newton was a short distance from the bus stop. The journey had in fact gone smoothly and, for once, Louisa had enjoyed the attention she and Noah had received on the bus. Lots of cooing over him and Elsie, an older woman from the village, had chatted incessantly on the journey, keeping Noah fully enthralled with her red glasses and cackly voice. With help from a teenage lad, she’d disembarked from the bus easily. All was going well on this outing to town. She silently prayed it would continue that way as she manoeuvred the pram through the entrance into the hushed interior of the building.
An hour later and Louisa was hot, bothered and disappointed. She’d found zero evidence of a young woman disappearing around the time of the accident, or the year prior to it. Noah squirmed in his pram next to her – she only had another five, maybe ten minutes before he turned from cute baby into screaming devil child. She needed to get to the library’s café so she could warm his bottle. If he settled after, she might be able to come back and search through the archives for different years – perhaps Oliver had remembered it wrongly.
Or, perhaps Oliver had purposely given her false information. He’d said they’d agreed never to dig up the past, and now Louisa was trying to do just that. Oliver might’ve known she’d go looking. Maybe even now he knew more about her than she knew about herself.
31
THE PHOTO
Louisa had admitted defeat when she’d still failed to find evidence of a woman going missing in the Devon area during the years she’d searched – and time had run out, together with Noah’s patience, which meant she’d been unable to check other dates. Deflated from a wasted afternoon, she’d made the trip home on the bus and was now sitting on the sofa, coffee in hand, scrolling through her Facebook feed, despite promising herself she wouldn’t go on it again.
At first, she was horrified to find that she’d been tagged in a few photos from her fortieth birthday evening – inwardly cringing at the thought of what state she’d look – but then curiosity took over and she clicked on them. She studied each picture with an eye to finding Melissa in at least one of them. According to Oliver, the police said they’d looked at all the known photographs of that night and hadn’t found any with Melissa in, but she felt compelled to check herself. Her calls to a few of the people on her friends list hadn’t borne fruit – three of them saying they hadn’t seen Oliver or Melissa, two saying that they’d assumed Oliver was alone as he was so flirty. Louisa’s face had burned with what she thought was anger, but then burned further with the embarrassment that it was actually jealousy. The thought of Oliver openly chatting up her friends – or non-friends – had annoyed her.
Then there was Tiff.
Not only had Oliver been all over her that night, but she knew he’d also been to her house doing God knows what. Although she’d only seen him there yesterday, that didn’t mean that was his first visit.
It was certainly a hell of a way for a newly married man to behave – let alone one whose wife was missing. It just didn’t add up. Louisa typed out a Facebook message to Tiff:
Need to speak to you urgently.
No kisses. No fluff. Hopefully that would get her attention and elicit a response.
Noah stirred, then Louisa heard the revving up he did just prior to crying. She left the laptop open and went to his nursery to fetch him. He’d slept on the bus home from town, so she couldn’t complain �
�� he’d given her a few hours of peace.
As she walked back into the lounge with Noah’s cries piercing her ears, Louisa glanced at the laptop. At the photo she’d clicked on before going upstairs.
She squinted. Now, standing further away, she noticed that what she’d thought was dark background was in fact a person behind the three women who were ‘dancing’ in the forefront of the picture.
‘Shhh, Noah,’ she said, bouncing him in her arms while she stepped closer.
The figure, a woman in a below-the-knee black dress, was blurred – caught as she was walking. Louisa blinked repeatedly, as if that would help focus the photo. It didn’t. But what she could see was the woman’s tanned legs.
Black dress. Tanned legs.
Noah’s cries intensified. ‘Okay, okay, baby. Milk’s coming.’
As quickly as she could, Louisa warmed a bottle of milk. Rushing back in to the lounge she sat at the table and shoved the teat in Noah’s mouth to stop the high-pitched scream. With one leg crossed over the other, Louisa balanced Noah so she could feed him and still have one hand free. Now she knew there was one photo, she had to search for others – hopefully there’d be one that was in better focus. Maybe even one of Melissa with Oliver.
There were no other pictures that Louisa had been tagged in, but there were likely to be more on others’ Facebook pages from people she hardly knew and who wouldn’t, despite having gone to her party, have thought to include Louisa in the tagging process.
She started with the obvious friends.
Tiff had loads of photos – mostly of her and random men from the bar it seemed, but there were several of people sitting at the upstairs tables eating the buffet food. Louisa smiled – there was actually a good one of Brian holding Noah, with Emily by his side. They’d been caught without their knowledge, and it was a beautiful shot of them deep in conversation. Louisa clicked on it and selected ‘download’. After flicking through the rest of Tiff’s photos, she realised Melissa wasn’t in any of them.
On to the next ‘friend’. Deana, one of the women Louisa had met at an antenatal clinic who’d been further on in her pregnancy than her, had only posted five photos. Louisa scrolled quickly through them not expecting anything. Lurching forwards to get a closer look, Louisa knocked the bottle from Noah’s mouth. Milk leaked onto her jeans.
‘Dammit.’
She rubbed it in, then repositioned Noah so he could carry on drinking. Her attention went back to the screen.
To the woman in the black dress. She was in clear focus.
The full-length photograph showed the woman and Deana standing together, drinks in hand. Tanned legs. Gold-painted toenails. Just as Louisa remembered. But that wasn’t what caused her pulse to race.
Straight, shoulder-length blonde hair.
Deana had tagged the woman, and the Facebook comment that went alongside it read:
Me and Jo – first time out since having our babies – don’t we look awesome!
Louisa read it, and reread it. Then she clicked on Jo’s name. It took her to Jo’s Facebook page, and although it was set as private, she could see her profile picture. Her and her baby girl.
The woman she’d seen on the stairs arriving at the same time as Oliver had not been his wife. Louisa now felt sure Melissa hadn’t been at the party at all.
Oliver was lying.
32
THE GIFT
The realisation that the woman Oliver had been with wasn’t Melissa put Louisa on edge. It threw up so many questions, none of which she could begin to answer. On the plus side, she felt better about not having informed the police that she’d seen Melissa at her party, but every other aspect of this discovery was negative. Why did Oliver tell the police Melissa went missing from Louisa’s party? And if Louisa hadn’t seen her, why had she recognised the photo the police had shown at the appeal?
Louisa ran upstairs and rummaged in the drawer of the bed, taking out the photos of her, Oliver, and her college friends she’d found the other day. She’d never asked Oliver how old Melissa was, but there was a chance she might have been at college with them if she recognised her face. The fact Louisa had blocked so much of that time from her conscious memory could explain why she didn’t know Melissa, but as she skimmed back through the photographs, her hope diminished. She searched through all twenty-four again. Nothing. None of the people in the photos looked similar to how Melissa looked now.
Or how she had looked. She could look very different now: dead.
Louisa shivered.
It struck Louisa now that Oliver might have carefully orchestrated this entire thing. The thought that he’d purposely led her to believe that Melissa’s disappearance had occurred on her party night, and then coerced her into going to the police with him about it, telling her she owed him, was in the forefront of her mind. The fact he’d then told her what she’d done when she was eighteen – the big secret – now seemed disingenuous. Manipulative. Louisa could just be a pawn in Oliver’s game, his plan to get away with murder.
Louisa took a pen, and, turning over a photo depicting just her and Oliver, wrote:
Don’t trust Oliver.
She didn’t know where to go from here. It was as though she were on a speeding merry-go-round, turning one way then suddenly reversing. Currently she felt sick, she was whizzing around backwards, unable to make sense of any of the information she had. If only she wasn’t missing large chunks of memory.
She knew one thing, though: she should back off. And from now on she shouldn’t let Oliver in when he turned up at her door. He’d soon have to move on; he’d get the message that Louisa couldn’t help him anymore. Which was true. She couldn’t. She’d done what he’d asked, gone to the police, supported him. Now it was all in the hands of the detectives.
But why didn’t this thought give her comfort?
She had a strong suspicion Oliver Dunmore was not finished with her yet.
The Facebook message from Tiff was as abrupt as her text message had been.
More drama? Busy at the min, but catch you later.
Louisa narrowed her eyes and huffed. Clearly something was going on. Without thinking through other options, Louisa unfolded the pram, bundled Noah in it and then grabbed the baby-changing bag and her house keys.
She’d walk over to Tiff’s and find out what was going on with her. If she turned up at her house, she’d be less inclined to brush her off. Although, that hadn’t stopped her yesterday. This time though, Louisa wasn’t going to go quietly.
The pram wedged itself on the top step of the doorway.
‘For God’s sake!’ Louisa pushed it, but the wheels were jammed. Carefully swinging the top part of the pram around and going out backwards, she was able to bypass the obstruction.
A large box, now slightly crushed, sat half on, half off the step. She didn’t have time to open it – she wanted to get to Tiff’s before she buggered off. Louisa unlocked the front door again and picked up the box, noting it wasn’t for her anyway – it was addressed to Brian – and placed it just inside the hall. She hadn’t received a gift from Brian other than her nightmare party, so she wondered if the box contained a present for her actual birthday on Friday.
Louisa took the direct route to Tiff’s, no detours today. Approaching the driveway cautiously, she tilted her head to see over the hedge. The gate was open. For a moment, she slumped, disappointed that she’d obviously missed her. But then she saw the Audi in the driveway. A mixed feeling of relief and nerves consumed her. Whatever was going on with Tiff, Louisa had to consider the very real possibility that she wasn’t going to like it.
But then, the last two days hadn’t brought anything she had liked, so why should this be any different?
Louisa glanced up the road to where she’d seen Oliver parked before. No car. Good. In a swift movement, she entered the driveway and then marched up to the front door. She took a breath, then rang the bell. She wasn’t going to risk going around the back as she usually did, in fear that
Tiff would take the opportunity to make a quick getaway. No, this time she wasn’t going to accept a brush-off; she was going to make sure Tiff invited her in.
Louisa pressed herself up against the door, listening for any movement from within.
She hesitated. Tiff might know she was on the doorstep and be keeping quiet, waiting for Louisa to leave. She rang the bell again. The little light blinked to show it was working. Nothing. Louisa backed up, her head tilted upwards, so she could take in the upstairs windows. The curtains in Tiff’s room were closed.
Louisa’s jaw slackened, her body becoming rigid.
Tiff was up in her bedroom with someone.
Walking back to the pram, Louisa pushed it up, positioning it sideways in front of the door. Taking her mobile from the changing bag, Louisa called Tiff’s number. When that went to answerphone, she called the landline. The answer machine kicked in there, too.
Struggling to keep her rising temper under control, Louisa walked around the side of the house.
A voice reached her ears.
Tiff was in the back garden. Louisa knew she couldn’t be speaking on the phone because she’d just called both numbers and neither had been engaged. With her back flat to the wall, she crept further to the rear of the house.
‘I’ve literally no idea. She’s been acting very strangely since having Noah. She has taken baby brain to a whole new level. It’s difficult to trust anything she says or does.’ Tiff’s laughter floated in the air, carried along on the breeze around the corner, delivering it to Louisa in the form of a punch to the stomach.
The realisation struck her suddenly: it was possible Tiff always spoke about Louisa in that way. She wouldn’t know seeing as she didn’t socialise with the same groups of people. With any people. Tears burned her eyes. She was back at school – the unpopular spotty teenager who everyone talked about rather than talked to – hiding in the toilet block at break times, listening to the sniggering popular girls as they talked shit about her. It wasn’t something she expected to be experiencing at forty.
The Missing Wife Page 15