‘And did David ever talk about his marriage? Would you have known if there were any difficulties there?’
‘Why don’t you ask Andy whatever-his-name-is? He seems to have plenty to say about David’s private life.’
‘Maybe, but he got it wrong, didn’t he?’
She didn’t answer, just stared defiantly past him, then made a thing of looking at her watch despite the clock on the wall in front of her. ‘Look, Mr Drake, I told you I didn’t have long. Is there anything you want to ask me that’s going to be of any use here?’
Nick sighed. ‘Louise, you haven’t been straight with me. To tell you the truth, I haven’t exactly been straight with you either.’
She fiddled with the strap of her bag, wary. ‘What do you mean?’ she said.
‘We know that you and David were involved. What I need to know is who else might have known about the two of you. Is there anyone, apart from Caitlin obviously, who might have found out – a boyfriend, for example? Someone who might have done something …?’
She seemed to pale before him. ‘You’re wrong,’ she said. ‘David and I were just friends.’
‘Your text messages would suggest otherwise,’ he said.
‘You found his phone?’ She continued to play with the bag, refusing to meet his eye. He didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘Nothing happened between us,’ she said. ‘He was married; I had a boyfriend. It was just banter … flirtation, nothing more.’
‘And your boyfriend, did he know about this banter?’
She shook her head. ‘That was already falling apart. We’re not together anymore. But it had nothing to do with David. It just fizzled out. You know how it is.’
‘How did he take it?’
She shrugged. ‘He couldn’t understand. Kept asking me why.’
‘Do you think someone might have told him about David? Maybe someone who’d seen the two of you together? Even if you weren’t doing anything, a jealous boyfriend mightn’t see it that way. Someone who’s just been dumped may go to great lengths to find the reason.’
Louise shook her head. ‘It didn’t happen like that. David was already gone. I kept ringing and not getting any answer. He didn’t show up at work, and then the police came … said David’s car had been found, that he’d been reported missing. I couldn’t handle it. Aaron kept asking what was wrong … he kept hounding me – it got too much.’
‘So, you finished it?’
‘Yeah, it was going to end one way or the other. But none of this, nothing I’ve told you, has made any difference, has it? You’re no closer to finding David. He’s not going to be found – he’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t say. We’re following some leads, but we can’t release any information to the public, not yet.’
‘But his phone, where did his phone turn up?’ she asked.
‘I’m sorry, Louise. I’ve said more than I should have. You’ve been very helpful. I know it isn’t easy. I’d best let you get on. Oh, just one thing, if you wouldn’t mind giving me your number, I’ll call you if we have any news.’
She called out her number, and Nick punched it into his phone. Then he stood up, moved towards the door and gestured for her to do the same.
He watched Louise get into the red car, pretending to search for something on the passenger seat, and waited until she’d reversed out of the parking space and exited the school gates before starting his own car. He’d done well to guess about the text messages – it was a gamble, but he knew that if they had been seeing each other they’d have left a trail. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t acted on their feelings for each other; the intention had been there. He wondered how much, if anything, Caitlin Davis knew about her husband’s indiscretion.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Caitlin
Caitlin wasn’t at all pleased to hear Andy’s news. He’d phoned her at lunchtime, and she still hadn’t shaken the headache that she’d woken with that morning. She and Dar Bryan had not left the Bailey until close to eleven o’clock, and in that time she’d managed to finish four, or had it been five, glasses of red wine on top of the Irish coffee. She wasn’t used to it; she hadn’t drunk so much in a long time. The last time she had – she’d felt it loosen her tongue when she was out with Andy one night, and she’d had to leave abruptly before she said something that she’d undoubtedly regret.
Dar Bryan could really put them away. He’d ordered pint after pint of Guinness and had become surprisingly talkative as the alcohol lubricated his tongue. He’d talked a lot about his girlfriend; the false sightings, the lost hope as time elapsed and no new developments occurred. When she’d asked him, gently, if he thought she was still alive, he hadn’t answered. His silence was enough to say. She’d put her hand on his arm and told him that she was sorry, that she knew what he was going through, that she of all people understood his conflicted emotions.
He’d ordered another pint then, and when it arrived he’d asked her about herself – not about David, but about her, and that felt good. He was funny when he wasn’t talking about the bad stuff. He regaled her with more tales about his days working for a tabloid that he refused to name. He told her that he’d really wanted to become a foreign correspondent, but he hadn’t because Lisa thought it was too dangerous. ‘The irony,’ he’d said, and she’d moved in quickly to change the topic before he regressed again to the past.
After they’d finished their drinks, they’d stood awkwardly in the street. When she told him it would be nice to meet again, he didn’t answer, instead raising his hand in half salute and walking away in the direction of Dawson Street. He didn’t turn his head, and she’d turned away after a moment and lost herself in the crowds of Thursday night revellers in Grafton Street bound for who-knew-where.
Dar Bryan was not her man, she thought, as she waited for the Luas. He wasn’t the one who was playing with her. There was nothing to suggest that he wanted anything from her, nothing to suggest he’d been aware of her existence before she’d tweeted that request. She was too tired by the time she sat on the tram to even consider the other options. Her head was swimming, but she’d enjoyed the night despite everything. And she’d gone to bed and slept until she woke, head throbbing, to the alarm at seven o’clock.
Since then she’d been hiding at her desk, doing as little work as she could get away with all morning. That was the beauty of being her own boss, and on Fridays she didn’t have too much to do anyway; the magazine was signed off on a Thursday, so she had plenty of time to work on the next issue. There was nothing that urgently required her attention.
At twelve o’clock she grabbed her coat and bag and headed out for an early lunch. She was walking down Grafton Street when her phone began to ring. She didn’t feel like talking to Andy, but given the way she’d been treating him recently, she decided she’d better answer it.
‘I went out for a pint with your friend Nick last night,’ he told her.
‘Oh? How did that come about?’ she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. The idea that Andy was moving in on her new friends bothered her. Why couldn’t he just give her the space she needed?
‘We exchanged numbers that night in the wine bar. I thought I’d suss him out, see if he was the one behind all this nonsense with the Twitter account – figure out what his agenda could be.’
‘And? Do you think it’s him?’ she asked. Once she’d ruled Dar Bryan out of the equation she couldn’t get this thought out of her head. If it wasn’t Nick, she couldn’t think who else it might be. The idea that it might be someone unknown was even more alarming; there was no way of knowing their motives then. Not that she had any clue why Nick might be doing it either. She waited, anxious for Andy’s reply.
‘I’m not sure. He said he might be able to help, that he knows people.’
‘What do you mean? What people?’ She’d stopped, stepping into the doorway of a closed-down store so she could hear what Andy was saying. She pressed the phone close to her ear to
block out the voices of passers-by, as well as the music of a nearby busker.
‘He wants to help to find David.’
‘And you think that means he’s not our man? What did he ask you, Andy? What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing much. I said he should talk to you.’
Bullshit. They must have talked about something. Had Andy told him about her? About that little bitch, Louise? She’d never discussed it with him, but she figured he knew. Men talked, didn’t they? They liked to pretend they didn’t, but she knew better. And so, she’d played dumb, turned a blind eye as it were. All in the name of self-preservation.
‘He has no right poking around in my business,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you’ve become so pally with him all of a sudden. You’re the one who warned me about him – you’re the one who thought he was too eager to get talking. Maybe you were right, Andy. And I’m going to figure out exactly what it is he’s up to.’
‘Don’t go jumping the gun, Caitie. He seems a decent guy. And the girl, Michelle, you’re friendly with her, aren’t you? Maybe they genuinely want to help.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m not convinced.’
She moved out of the doorway and continued walking. Andy didn’t say anything and for a moment she thought they’d been disconnected.
‘Okay. Do you want me to have a word with Nick, tell him you’d prefer if he didn’t do anything? All I can say is if it were me I’d let him fire away. Anything that might help can’t be a bad thing, surely.’
‘Hmm. Don’t say anything for the moment. I’ll talk to Michelle, see what she has to say about it.’
As soon as she ended the call she phoned Michelle, but there was no answer and she hung up without leaving a message. She wasn’t sure, after all, what it was she wanted to say. And would they not be better off discussing it face-to-face? She went back to the office, deciding that she would call by Nick and Michelle’s place that evening. She wanted to see their reactions when she talked to them – wanted them to convince her that their intentions were benevolent.
Once she was home she logged on to Twitter. She’d resisted looking at it all day. She hoped that maybe Dar Bryan had sent a message saying that he’d enjoyed the evening, but he hadn’t tweeted anything that day. Maybe he felt just as hungover as she did. She was only just beginning to feel normal.
Upstairs she got undressed, pulled on her jogging clothes and headed for the park. She wasn’t in the mood for a run, but she knew she’d feel better. The evenings were fast closing in as winter approached; the trees had turned bronze and red and ochre. Soon she’d have to forfeit her runs in the park and stick to road running until the days turned lighter again.
When she returned home she made a quick pasta dish, showered and carefully applied her make-up again. She wanted to look good when she confronted her new friends, wanted to look like someone in control.
Before going out she checked her email and was paralyzed when she saw she had a notification in her junk mail telling her she’d received a direct message on Twitter from David A. An invisible vice gripped her insides as she opened her account and saw the white flag highlighting the new message.
@DavidA: Bet you didn’t expect to hear from me, Caitlin.
She stared at the screen. What should she answer? Or should she answer at all? Maybe she should wait until she’d spoken to Nick Drake, see if he would say something to hang himself. She felt so creeped out by the message she considered phoning Andy. There was no way this was her husband. It couldn’t be. She clicked on the profile again, examining it in detail, trying to figure out if there was any way of tracing it back to the person who had set it up, but there was nothing. Anyone could set up an account on social media; all you needed was an email address.
She thought about blocking or reporting the user, but no – better to leave it be for now. Maybe she could find someone techie who knew a way to trace it back somehow.
She shut down her computer and grabbed her bag, making sure to leave both the kitchen and landing lights on. She didn’t want to return to the house in darkness. As a precaution, she texted Nick Drake’s address to Andy, saying that she was going over to find out what he was up to.
The response came before she’d even reversed out of the driveway.
Want me to come with you?
No, I’m sure it’ll be fine.
She already regretted how dramatic she’d sounded, but it was only sensible to let someone know where she was going. She wasn’t about to become another statistic posted on a missing persons site.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Michelle
Michelle hadn’t been seeking Tessa’s number. She’d found the hypnotist’s card by accident in the back pocket of Nick’s jeans when she was preparing to do a wash. She’d taken the card and put it in her own wallet. Nick had told her of Tessa’s reluctance to continue with the regression after it had happened. She was a sceptic, not someone who specialized in these things. She’d done her research; there was a woman up the Dublin mountains who specialized in it. She’d looked at the website, seen that the process took three hours and cost 280 euros. She didn’t think that was excessive – 60 euros an hour was a general therapist’s fee. But what if the woman was a charlatan? The occult was full of them.
Tessa had regressed Nick by mistake; she’d never set out to do it. But there was a reason why it had happened. Michelle believed there was a reason for everything, including a reason why she’d met Nick. Nothing was random.
Since it had happened, she’d begun re-reading the books she’d read before – books about past lives. She’d always been fascinated by the idea, and now that she had proof that it was true, she was unable to rid herself of a desire to find out about her own past.
Now, Michelle took the card from her wallet. Nick had said that he was going to try to talk to that girl Louise, the one that Andy Quinn had told him about, so he wouldn’t get back until late. Michelle had asked him if it wouldn’t be better to talk to Caitlin first, but he’d told her it wouldn’t make much difference given that the two women didn’t know about each other. He’d also told her he planned on calling Caitlin too, to see if he could arrange to meet up with her. He imagined that Andy Quinn would soon relay their conversation if he hadn’t done so already, and it would be best coming from him, this offer to trace her missing husband.
Michelle looked at the card, at the hypnotist’s name embossed in gold ink, the credentials and number beneath. She couldn’t make an appointment for tomorrow as she had the soup run, and the following night she was giving a Zumba class in the community centre. So it was either today if Tessa could fit her in, or she’d have to wait until Thursday. In that case she might have to lie to Nick about where she was going, and she didn’t like lying.
She knew that she’d have to lie to the therapist though. Otherwise, the woman would never agree to see her. Michelle picked up the phone and dialled the number. As luck, or maybe fate, would have it, the woman had had a cancellation for an appointment at three thirty that afternoon. When Tessa asked what the problem was, Michelle told her that she’d been having panic attacks and that she’d like to try to get to the root of the problem. Tessa had sounded understanding. Michelle liked the soft, slow way that she spoke, and immediately she felt guilty for lying. At two o’clock though she left the house, bound for Valleymount, a tiny village near the Blessington Lakes in County Wicklow.
She enjoyed the drive out; it was nice to leave the suburbs behind. She took the route, which she’d checked on Google Maps, that took her around the lake until the road branched off and narrowed until it was little more than a boreen. She hoped she wouldn’t meet another car coming from the opposite direction. All the time, she was thinking about Nick, seeing the landscape through his eyes. She slowed as she drove past the row of neat houses just off the narrow road until she reached the long white bungalow, which had a sign that said The Arches. She rumbled over the cattle grid, pulled up behind a silver BMW and parked in the driveway.
When she got out of the car, she could hear children playing somewhere round the back. She took her time walking up to the door, pausing to look round her. The lawn was littered with leaves, and through the bare trees the people who lived here must have a view of the lake – a silver disk under the white sky.
Unable to delay any longer, she pressed the doorbell. She heard a door open inside, and the sound of heels on a tiled floor. The door opened and a woman in her fifties stood before her. The woman looked at her, curious, and for a moment Michelle thought she’d come to the wrong house.
‘I’ve got an appointment,’ she said. ‘Michelle Carlin.’
‘Of course.’ Tessa smiled briefly and stood back to admit her. ‘If you’d like to come this way,’ she said, and Michelle followed her down the hallway. On a table stood family photos: the woman with a man Michelle imagined was her husband. She wondered what it would be like to work from this beautiful home.
Tessa gestured to a chair and walked round to sit at the other side of the desk. She picked up a pen and smiled reassuringly at Michelle. ‘So – you say you’ve been suffering from anxiety. When did this start?’
Michelle swallowed. ‘To be honest, that’s not really why I’m here.’
The woman looked up, eyebrows raised. ‘Oh?’
‘My partner, Nick Drake, is one of your regular clients.’
Tessa sat back, putting down her pen. ‘I see. You must know I’m not at liberty to discuss a client with anyone? That what happens here is completely confidential?’
Michelle nodded. ‘Nick tells me everything though. I know about the regression, about his past life. I haven’t come to ask you anything.’
‘Okay, so what can I do for you?’
‘I’d like to be hypnotized myself – not just hypnotized but regressed. I want to find out who I was before.’
Tessa sighed, she looked for a moment as if she were about to stand and show Michelle out of the room, but she stayed sitting.
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