The Missing Wife

by Sam Carrington

  She wasn’t the one who killed someone, though, was she?

  If she hadn’t done that, then none of this would be happening now.

  The fault was her own.

  Louisa tapped out a long message.

  Louisa had forced down a salad sandwich while feeding Noah. There’d been no response from Tiff since she sent the text two hours ago, which was hardly surprising given the way they’d left things. It would need more than a text to get their friendship back on track; it would have to be a face-to-face conversation. Louisa did want to apologise. She felt terrible about her accusations, but she also wanted to know the truth. She had to find out why Oliver had been visiting Tiff, because she was sure it was more than just friendly concern for her, and despite his assertion it was all in Louisa’s mind – another hallucination – she knew it hadn’t been.

  And she wanted to know more about Brian’s friendship with her. If it was more than that, an affair, or even the thought of one, Louisa needed to know. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Oliver had said her car wasn’t in her driveway so she could still be out and about, but he might well have been trying to put her off because he was going to Tiff’s house himself and didn’t want to be caught again. The thought made her cheeks burn.

  ‘Come on, Noah – let’s get some fresh air.’ Louisa scooped him up out of his bouncy chair and smiled at how his face lit up and his little legs pumped in excitement. He was getting fuller in the face, its shape changing daily. A flood of affection filled her. Despite everything – the sleepless nights and hallucinations, the terrible forgetfulness – the fear of going through all the stages again – Louisa was glad she had him. In a funny way, he was actually helping her to keep her shit together now.

  As Louisa drew close to the church, she wondered how the event had gone. She hadn’t been up the church tower since she was a child, when her father had climbed the steep, spiral steps with her, behind her every step of the way, encouraging her with a gentle push when she slowed. She’d been afraid that when she reached the highest point, a strong gust of wind would push her from the top, sending her hurtling to the ground, her small body splattering on the concrete. She’d seen danger in everything. A trait she seemed to lose during her teenage years.

  Louisa had to admit, Tiff’s idea about using the drone was actually really good. She hadn’t told Brian about it in the end – no doubt he’d see the footage of the church event posted somewhere like Facebook, and go mad at her for lending it out without his permission. He hadn’t even used it properly yet – he’d be pissed off that someone had played with it first. She hoped Tiff hadn’t crashed it.

  Louisa was surprised to see Tiff’s car was in the drive – she must’ve popped out earlier when Oliver had driven past. Louisa swung the pram through the open gate and proceeded around the back. She hesitated at the patio door, her clenched fist about to knock on the glass. She couldn’t bear to get the brush-off again, couldn’t cope with the questions that would throw up. The paranoia – as Oliver would put it – that would ensue. If someone else was in there with Tiff, she wasn’t sure how she’d handle the situation. Barge past, rush inside and see for herself who her visitor was? Or leave with her tail between her legs, annoyed and upset by what she’d see as another snub?

  She leant her forehead against the cold glass. She had to make a decision. Knock – or walk away.

  She knocked.

  With her breath held, Louisa waited. There was no movement. She hammered on the door again, her knuckles smarting from the force. She stood, rubbing them, watching for Tiff to come to the door.

  Damn her. Louisa knew she was in there, hiding, waiting for her to leave. Perhaps she wanted to avoid further confrontation or, as was the case last time, someone could be in there with her and she didn’t want Louisa to see who. Anger surged through her veins, a dark veil cascading down over her eyes.

  Louisa stomped down the decking steps and, turning back to the house, looked up at the top windows. No sign of anyone watching her. She took her mobile and rang Tiff’s. Straight to voicemail. She’d obviously turned it off – which proved Louisa’s theory: Tiff knew she was here, outside her house, and was avoiding her.

  As she took another step backwards, a sharp pain shot through her calf and she tripped, losing her balance, but with arms flailing, managed to keep herself from falling to the floor. ‘Shit.’ She rubbed her hand over the area on her calf that had struck the object. Louisa’s mouth slackened as she realised what she’d walked into. Bloody hell. Tiff had crashed the drone. It lay, partly concealed by a circle of shrubs in the middle of the garden. How irresponsible to borrow something then not look after it.

  Louisa pulled it from its resting place, brushing off loose soil, and walked back up the steps. After placing it on the patio table, she banged on the door once again. She’d trusted Tiff with Brian’s new gadget and now it looked as though it had done a round with a plane. He really was going to be mad at her for giving it to Tiff, however much he liked her friend.

  ‘Tiff! Tiffany! Open the door, I need to talk to you.’ She banged on the glass again. ‘I know you’re in there.’ Perhaps the damaged drone was the reason she didn’t want to answer the door. A sudden ringing in her ears, high-pitched – almost a screech – made her lower her hands and cover her ears. A dizzy sensation washed over her. She turned and leant her back against the patio doors, her breaths coming in short bursts. Was she having a panic attack?

  It took a few moments to regain control over her breathing; she felt tired, drained, as if she’d had a migraine and was now suffering the after effects: the heavy feeling, the foggy head, the inability to focus. She would have to give up, go home. Rest. She gave one more look in through the glass doors before taking the drone, propping it awkwardly on the top of Noah’s pram, and leaving. She had to get it home, hide it in the garage before Brian came back. She couldn’t face the fallout today, too much else had stressed her out.

  She’d deal with Tiff tomorrow.

  37

  THE DISCOVERY

  Saturday a.m. – Day 15 post-party

  The battered drone, the way Tiff had avoided her, the visits from Oliver – it all rattled around in Louisa’s mind every waking moment, like bees buzzing around the queen, haphazardly and noisily. As soon as Noah had finished his morning bottle, Louisa bundled him in his pram and she left to walk to Tiff’s. She’d decided to stage a ‘sit-in’ – literally park herself and Noah on Tiff’s driveway until she had no choice but to see her. She’d refrained from sharing this plan with Brian or Emily, leaving them to have their Saturday lie-in. Hopefully they would sleep for hours yet and then when they woke, they’d find her note telling them she was out on a ‘long walk’ to settle Noah and they’d be oblivious to her using the baby as a co-conspirator.

  Even more hopefully, Brian wouldn’t decide that this was the weekend he’d like to try out his drone. Louisa still hadn’t been brave enough to see if it worked after its apparent accident, instead, shoving it in a box and hiding it behind the old dressing table in the garage. She’d check out the damage after the weekend, but thought it highly likely she’d have to go onto Amazon and buy a replacement.

  She packed up Noah’s changing bag and popped in a few drinks for herself. As mad as it seemed, she felt sitting it out was the only way she’d gain answers and have the opportunity to apologise for her erratic and neurotic behaviour if the need for that arose.

  She strolled through the open gate at Tiff’s house and stopped in front of the Audi, pushing the pram brake down with her foot.

  ‘Sorry, Noah – but you’ll be safe, baby. She’s not going to drive off with you in her way.’ She tucked the mint-green knitted blanket, the only thing her mum had given him when he was born, around his body, and headed for the front door. Louisa hoped that Tiff might think it was a delivery at the door, this early on a Saturday, and open up willingly. Louisa kept her finger on the bell, the insistent noise echoing inside the house.

  Nothing.
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  Surely Tiff couldn’t have seen her coming into the driveway.

  For God’s sake, this is ridiculous.

  Stretching her neck up to see over the Audi, Louisa checked Noah’s pram was still in situ, then proceeded down the path at the side of the house. Like yesterday, there was no sign of movement when Louisa looked through the patio door. She whacked both her palms against the glass, sending a stinging sensation across her hands and pain shooting up her wrists. The glass wobbled in response, sending light rippling across the surface. No movement came from inside.

  She gave her hands a quick rub, then banged against it again.

  The door shifted. Louisa saw a gap appear. Yes. She slowly and quietly slid it open then stepped inside. She thought about shouting out but decided not to announce the fact she’d managed to gain entry uninvited. Pausing at the threshold to the kitchen, Louisa held her breath and strained to hear noises. Tiff may well still be in bed – it was relatively early, and it wasn’t like she had children to wake her, or get up for. At least she knew it wouldn’t be Brian lying next to her as he was snoring loudly in their bed. But would Oliver be there, curled up beside Tiff?

  Louisa slipped her shoes off, then padded into the kitchen, the icy-cold tiles taking her breath away.

  As she was about to take another breath, that too was stolen from her lungs.

  Louisa’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling the scream that threatened.

  Red.

  The white tiles were red.

  Blonde hair, spreading outwards, tipped with red.

  Blood.

  Tiff’s face, drained of colour, stared unseeing up at the ceiling, her unblemished porcelain skin almost shimmering under the light coming in from the Velux window above her.

  The tile grout was stained red, the course of the spilled blood tracking in squares across the kitchen floor.

  The scream found its way through Louisa’s fingers.

  Followed by vomit.

  She’d backed up, banging her shoulder against the doorframe leading out to the patio doors, but collapsed before she reached them. Her legs had lost their feeling and could no longer hold the rest of her body upright. Now she leant unsteadily against the wall adjacent to the back door – the kitchen no longer in her eyeline – gasping, heaving. Sobs intermittently broke through the breaths; tears stung her eyes.

  She hadn’t checked for a pulse. Should she have checked? She hadn’t wanted to go that close, but the reason for that – Tiff’s wide, staring eyes – also justified the fact that resuscitation would’ve been futile. It was blatantly obvious all life had left Tiff’s body.

  Shit, shit, shit. She’s dead. Tiff’s dead. How?

  God. The realisation that Tiff might’ve been lying on the kitchen floor bleeding out when she’d been there yesterday hit her. No wonder her knocking, the ringing of the doorbell, went unanswered.

  Tiff hadn’t been ignoring her.

  She’d been dying.

  Louisa’s mouth widened, a high-pitched wailing emitting from it. She’d been right outside when her best friend had needed her most, and what had she been thinking? That Tiff was inside, ignoring her, or hiding Oliver. If she’d pushed the patio door open yesterday, Tiff might still have been alive.

  She could’ve saved her life.

  Another wave of nausea crashed over her and she retched. More bile forced its way into her mouth. She swallowed, again and again, her throat burning with more ferocity each time. She needed water.

  Pulling her legs up with both arms, Louisa forced them into a kneeling position, then attempted to stand. Her whole body shook, her legs like rubber – bending and wobbling, threatening to give out again. With her hands on the walls to keep herself steady, Louisa took small steps and shuffled back towards the kitchen. Now she was over the initial shock of seeing her friend on the floor, blood oozing from her head, Louisa took a closer look at her surroundings. A thick smearing of blood was visible along the rolled edge of the granite worktop, which covered the centre island, the feature Tiff had wanted most when she’d had her kitchen redesigned. A one-litre plastic bottle lay on its side, the lid off, and the water that had evidently spilled over the edge had mixed with, and diluted, the blood, making an obscene pinky puddle to the side of Tiff’s head.

  Louisa tried to take it all in; figure out what had happened. It looked as though Tiff might have slipped on the wet tiles, fallen and banged her head. How tragic something so trivial could end a life. Water. Something essential in keeping us alive. Louisa pressed her fingertips to her eyes to prevent more tears escaping. It seemed Tiff’s obsession with only drinking bottled water because she was afraid of getting cancer from tap water had ultimately been the reason she’d died. If the situation wasn’t so dreadful, Louisa might have laughed at the irony.

  With her legs still shaking, Louisa walked to the sink and ran the tap. Bending over she put her mouth to the running water and gulped a few mouthfuls to dilute the bitter taste of bile and to lubricate her dried throat. With her hands on the side of the sink steadying her, she took some long, slow breaths. An icy sensation swept over her skin as she stared out of the kitchen window, knowing Tiff’s lifeless body lay behind her.

  What had made her drop the bottle? Why didn’t she just step around the water?

  Oliver’s face popped into her mind – his words from earlier in the day reverberating in her head:

  ‘I wouldn’t bother with Tiff.’

  He’d been adamant that Tiff was out, that she’d be wasting her time going over there. Because her car wasn’t in the drive.

  But it must’ve been.

  Louisa shook her head, trying to rid the thought that he somehow knew about this. It was just an accident – an awful, stupid accident. Oliver couldn’t be involved.

  But the niggle at the back of her mind didn’t fully agree.

  Without looking at Tiff again, Louisa skirted around the side of the kitchen and walked out of the house.

  Noah.

  She’d left her poor baby parked in front of Tiff’s car. What kind of mother was she?

  He gurgled happily as she poked her head around the pram. She ran a finger across his cheek and forced herself to smile. This wasn’t how the sit-in was meant to end.

  Louisa let out a long sigh, then took her mobile from the changing bag and with trembling fingers dialled 999.

  38

  THE AFTERSHOCK

  ‘Are you going to be all right getting home from here?’

  Louisa lifted her head to see who was speaking. The paramedic, a stocky woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, was bending over her offering a lopsided, sympathetic smile.

  Louisa hesitated, not because she wasn’t sure if she was all right, but because she couldn’t process the words she needed to use; they failed to form on her lips. She stuttered random noises instead, drawing a frown from the woman.

  ‘You need to get checked out – you’ve had a terrible shock. Have you any history of heart problems, or any other medical issues?’

  Louisa silently shook her head and watched in a dazed bubble as the paramedic jumped inside the ambulance and came out with a small black bag.

  ‘I’m going to take your blood pressure,’ she said as she pushed Louisa’s sleeve up and began folding the blood pressure cuff around her upper arm. Louisa stared back at Tiff’s house. The perfect show home now cordoned off, with numerous police officers coming and going.

  ‘How? Why?’ The two words somehow squeezed themselves from Louisa’s mouth as she continued to watch the unfolding scene – wondering how she’d got caught up in this surreal moment.

  The paramedic let the air expel from the cuff, removed the stethoscope from her ears and gave Louisa’s arm a rub.

  ‘Accidents in the home, particularly in the kitchen and bathroom, are among the top reasons we’re called out,’ she said. ‘It’s tragic when the result is a fatality. There’s nothing you could’ve done, love. Such a severe ban
g to the head, I don’t think there’d have been any coming back from that. I’m so sorry.’

  Louisa tore her eyes from the house and looked up at the paramedic. She was just being kind, doing her job. Did she really think there was nothing Louisa could’ve done, even if she’d realised the previous day and been able to call the ambulance straight away?

  Because the feeling in her gut was telling her it was likely that Tiff had been lying on the kitchen floor for over twenty-four hours.

  ‘If you’re so sure it was an accident, why are all these police here?’ The amount of police presence seemed incongruent for the situation.

  ‘It’s procedure, love. A sudden death, like this one, has to be investigated and the police do have to consider whether, well, you know, whether there was … third party involvement, let’s say.’

  ‘You mean they’re treating it as suspicious?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Yeah, well – they have to do it all properly, don’t they? And until they’re sure that the circumstances indicate otherwise, yes, they will have to approach the scene as potentially requiring a homicide investigation.’

  It was a good thing Louisa was already sitting because the strange flip-flop her insides performed caused her to wobble.

  Pain throbbed at her temples as questions bombarded her shocked mind. What happened now? Who would inform Tiff’s family, her friends? Should she? She ran her fingers through her hair, catching them in the tangles where the breeze had whipped it up. She suddenly realised she was cold. Really cold – her skin rough with goose bumps.

  ‘Can I call someone for you?’ The uniformed officer she’d first spoken to when he arrived at the house appeared beside her and crouched down to her level. Her bum was numb from sitting on the ground, but she didn’t have the energy to stand.

  ‘Brian, my husband, please?’ she said weakly, handing over her mobile phone without making eye contact with the officer. ‘It’s unlocked, his number is in the recent call history.’