He Will Find You

by Diane Jeffrey

  I’m suddenly overcome with panic about leaving Chloe outside. ‘You’re obviously busy,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I’ll come back another time. Sorry to disturb you.’

  How odd. I’m sure Vicky said Swift and Taylor Properties. She even has their name on a sticker plastered along the side of her car. I remember seeing it in the car park at the swimming pool. She said she hated that advert and used her mother’s car at weekends.

  As I go back outside, it occurs to me that Vicky’s colleagues may call her Victoria, supposing that’s the unabbreviated form of her first name. Or perhaps they use ‘Miss’ and her surname. I’m about to turn around and enquire again, but then my heart stops. The pram has gone. I can hear the woman call out to me as I race down the steps shouting.

  ‘Chloe!’ I almost lose my footing. ‘Chloe!’

  My world crumbles around me in slow motion. My chest tightens so that I can’t breathe; my eyes mist over so that I can’t see.

  ‘My baby!’ I cry.

  ‘It’s OK. She’s here with me.’ I know who it is, although she has her back to me and doesn’t turn round. I recognise her mellifluous voice. ‘I saw you through the window, so I realised this must be Chloe.’ She’s pushing the pram backwards and forwards as if to calm Chloe, although there’s no noise coming from the pram. ‘You’re so tiny,’ she coos, bending over and stroking Chloe’s cheek.

  ‘Hi, Vicky. It’s great to see you,’ I say, feeling stupid and trying to recover. I walk round in front of her and kiss her on the cheek. She’s wearing a cornflower blue cotton skirt and a white strappy top and looks lovely, as always. ‘You scared me!’

  ‘Did I? I’m sorry.’ Vicky focuses her attention back on Chloe. ‘Your baby is so beautiful.’

  I smile at that. I take a peek at Chloe. Still fast asleep. I can breathe evenly and see clearly again.

  ‘Who does she look like?’ Vicky asks.

  ‘Well, she has my mouth and complexion, but the blue eyes are Alex’s. She doesn’t have his nose, thankfully, or my ginger hair!’

  ‘I assumed you dyed your hair! You’re so lucky!’

  ‘Hmm. I didn’t use to think so. I’m glad Chloe’s fair like her dad when he was little and my dad when he still had hair!’

  I look down at Chloe again. She’s so pretty when she’s sleeping. ‘Your colleague didn’t seem to want to tell me where to find you.’ I nod towards the window of the estate agency.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The woman with the glasses. Well, the man – Dennis is it? – wasn’t much help, either, actually.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Ruth’s a dotty old bat! Harmless, but a bit overprotective. And that Dennis is a waste of space. Have you got time for a coffee?’ She pauses long enough for me to nod. ‘Wait here a tick.’

  And with that she runs up the steps and disappears. For the few seconds she’s gone, I wonder if Vicky really does work here. Then I wonder if I’m the one who is dotty. Of course she works here. She’s just gone inside. And anyway, why would she say she works here if she doesn’t? The misunderstanding with Vicky’s colleague Ruth is down to me. Vicky is my friend – the only friend I’ve made since moving here – and I don’t even know her full name.

  Vicky re-emerges with a plastic bag in her hand. She waves it at me and I wonder what’s in it, but I don’t dare ask.

  ‘I haven’t got long, I’m afraid,’ she tells me. ‘I went to a private viewing this morning and my colleagues think I should be pulling my weight this afternoon to make up for it.’ She winks conspiratorially, but I’ve missed the point.

  ‘What? I don’t––’

  ‘I think I’ve found a little house. Well, a garden flat. Near Troutbeck.’

  I furrow my brows.

  ‘About three miles north of Windermere,’ Vicky informs me. ‘It’s perfect for me and the dogs. I’m going to put in an offer and avoid showing anyone else around it for the time being.’ She grins. ‘My mum is paying the deposit. I lost all my money when … well, that’s another story.’

  ‘Oh, Vicky, that sounds wonderful!’ I ask her loads of questions and she tells me all about the house as we walk along the narrow pavement side by side. Her excitement is palpable and contagious.

  As she’s talking about how she’s going to decorate what to her mind has evidently already become her new home, I think about the house I used to live in with Kevin in Minehead. Some time ago, Alex offered to invest my half of the money from the sale. He mentioned something about a high-interest building society account, but I didn’t pay much attention. I’m relieved he’s happy to sort that all out for me. I’ll have to remember to text Kevin with my postal address and tell Alex the house has been sold.

  Vicky stops walking and talking at the same time and I realise I’ve tuned out. I don’t seem to have missed anything important, though.

  ‘This café is quite nice,’ she says. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘It looks great,’ I say and Vicky holds the door open so that I can manoeuvre the pram inside.

  Over coffee, she hands me the bag she retrieved from inside the estate agency.

  ‘This is for you,’ she says. ‘A present for the baby.’

  I’m touched by Vicky’s thoughtfulness. I’m holding Chloe, and Vicky reaches out to take her so I can open the present. It’s beautifully wrapped and as I tear off the paper and ribbons, I can feel Vicky’s eyes on me, keen to see what I make of her gift.

  It’s a baby carrier.

  ‘You haven’t got one already, have you? If so, we can exchange it.’

  ‘No. No, I haven’t got one.’ My family have sent lots of clothes and my mother-in-law bought the activity playmat. Alex and I had already bought the pram and cot. We have no end of baby paraphernalia. But I haven’t got one of these.

  ‘You can carry Chloe around like a baby kangaroo in a pouch,’ she says, her eyes bright, ‘and use your hands to do other things, like read a book or tidy up. A friend of mine had one and couldn’t recommend it highly enough when I asked her for advice on what to buy you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. I’m very moved by all the trouble Vicky has gone to.

  ‘Also, I’ve found a sports centre with crèche facilities in Cockermouth. It doesn’t have a pool, but it does have a gym. It’s a bit of a trek, but I thought when you were feeling up to it, we could go?’

  ‘Oh, Vicky, that’s really sweet of you.’ I’m tired all the time and the last thing I feel like doing is sport, but I hear myself saying, ‘Give me a couple more weeks!’

  Then I remember the barbecue.

  ‘Ooh. Alex is having a barbecue this weekend for some of his friends. Would you like to come?’ I ask.

  Vicky looks shocked, but her tweezed eyebrows do tend to give her that expression. ‘I’m not free this weekend, I’m afraid. Sorry,’ she says. She finishes her coffee, leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, before adding, ‘I thought your husband didn’t know about me?’

  ‘He doesn’t. But I could tell him about you now. I’m no longer pregnant so I don’t need to meet up with you for swimming sessions behind his back.’

  Vicky chuckles. ‘Oh, you should think twice about that,’ she jokes. ‘You might need an alibi one day. And anyway, I quite like being a secret.’ She winks. I’m a little disappointed she can’t come, but I’m not sure how Alex would feel about me inviting a friend round to his party without running it by him first, so it’s probably just as well.

  As I stifle a yawn, I notice Vicky check her watch. I down the dregs of my coffee. Vicky is apologetic about having to rush off, but I’m feeling much better for seeing her.

  By the time I get home, however, I’m utterly exhausted. I feed and change Chloe and when she falls asleep, I put her down gently in the pram, which I’d left in the hall, and wheel it into the sitting room. I lie down on the sofa with my book, planning to read a few chapters before getting the dinner ready for this evening. If I can show Alex I have a handle on everything when he comes home, there’s a good chance we’l
l spend an evening without him losing his temper or me getting upset.

  I immediately feel guilty for thinking along those lines. Alex has been terrific recently. In fact, there hasn’t been a cross word or a bad mood since the day Chloe came into the world. He seems to be back to his default setting. But at the same time, I’m not going to take that for granted. I’d like things to stay the way they are. Keep on top of things. Keep him happy.

  Before long, though, my eyelids get heavy. Slight change of plan. Plenty of time. Right now, I’m going to take a nap.

  Chapter 10

  ~

  It’s six o’clock in the evening when Chloe wakes up and wakes me. My neck is stiff from the position I’ve slept in on the sofa. I carry her upstairs to give her a bath. I cherish this moment with my daughter. Keeping up an endless stream of chatter, I talk to her about Hannah and Kevin, about feeling lonely and homesick, about my dad, whom I haven’t seen since the wedding and who hasn’t seen his granddaughter yet, about the things I can’t tell Alex. Then I talk to her about her daddy, who should be home soon.

  She starts to whimper, so I end my monologue, lift her out of the baby bath and pat her body and fine hair dry. Then I hurry to put on her nappy, body and pyjamas before she gets too vocal in demanding another feed.

  Again, Chloe refuses to breastfeed, her face going through every shade on the palette from pink to puce as she howls in objection. It’s only as she’s guzzling away happily on yet another bottle that I wonder where Alex is. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I rotate my head in an attempt to ease my sore neck.

  By the time Chloe has finished her milk, it’s gone seven and I’m a little annoyed. Alex must have gone training. He could have told me! Then I realise he might actually have told me. I haven’t checked my mobile. Holding Chloe so that I can rub her back with one hand – I’m getting good at this – I fetch my handbag from the hall and manage to extract my mobile.

  But there’s no message from Alex. I try calling him, but it goes to voicemail. OK, now I’m done with annoyed and I’m getting anxious. I put Chloe in the baby carrier and over the top of her head I make the dinner. Shepherd’s pie. Alex’s favourite. And I might even feel full after this meal. I put it in the oven. If Alex isn’t back by the time it’s ready, it can easily be heated up later.

  By 8 p.m., I’m so worried that I’m contemplating calling my mother-in-law. He said he wouldn’t be late. Didn’t he? My mind becomes hyperactive. A sudden image of a lorry blindsiding Alex’s car forces its way into my head. There will be a knock on the door any minute now when the police arrive to tell me he’s dead and I’m a widow. Calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’m not sure whose voice is in my head, calming me, but it works for a while.

  By nine, though, I’m wondering how long someone has to be AWOL before they’re considered a missing person. How long are you supposed to wait before notifying the police about a missing person? Is it twenty-four hours or is that just on TV? I look it up on the internet on my phone. No, you don’t have to wait twenty-four hours before contacting the local police. According to the website, they will ask me for details of places he often visits.

  Where could he be? Is there somewhere he goes when he’s not at home or at work or training?

  I text Alex.

  Where are you?

  Then I add three kisses, send the message and wait. No answer. I try to get hold of my mother-in-law. She isn’t answering her mobile or her landline.

  For the next hour, Chloe cries. I change her, attempt to feed her again, rub her tummy in case she’s colicky, push her dummy in her mouth, sing, coo, croon and beg. Eventually, she falls asleep in my arms. She must be able to sense when I’m on edge. I lay her down in her cot.

  It’s getting very late now and there’s still no sign of Alex. Maybe I’m mistaken. Perhaps he said he wasn’t coming home this evening and I forgot. I do feel like I’ve left half of my brain at the maternity hospital sometimes.

  I think about calling the police, but I’m rather embarrassed. I’m sure they’d treat it as an emergency if I reported a missing child. But a missing husband? They’ll find me ridiculous. They’ll ask questions like do we ever argue? Or has he ever slept away from home before? I ring Alex’s mobile again and again, but each time it goes straight to voicemail and I end the calls without leaving a message.

  After expressing some more milk, I heat up some of the meal I made and push it around my plate for a while before scraping it into the bin. I decide to go to bed. I make my way upstairs, hoping there is a perfectly good explanation for his disappearance. Maybe he told me he was away on business and I simply didn’t register what he said.

  I feel worn out, but sleep doesn’t come. I toss and turn for a while and then I switch on my lamp and pick up my novel. The words on the page blur and I can’t make them out. I try harder to concentrate on my book, but after reading the same paragraph five or six times without taking anything in, I give up.

  Twirling a strand of my hair around my index finger, I gaze at the vacant side of the bed where Alex should be. I try to imagine him lying there next to me. Instead, I see him lying in a ditch, bleeding to death, his overturned car hidden from the road, the truck long gone. Shaking my head in an effort to dispel the images, I decide to ring the police in the morning. I notice I’ve cut off the blood supply to my fingertip so I unravel the strand of hair.

  I turn off the lamp and lie in the dark, my eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. When Chloe wakes for the first of her nightly feeds, it comes as a welcome respite from the tangle of alarm and anger that’s beginning to overwhelm me.

  I do sleep for a couple of hours and I immediately check my mobile when I wake, although I’ve left it on with the volume right up so I would have heard if it had rung or even beeped with a message. Still no news. I get up, check on Chloe, who is sleeping soundly, and go downstairs to make a cup of tea.

  It’s early, but I ring Julie. Normally, I would turn to Hannah. But even though I don’t often confide in Julie, she does give good advice. Usually when I don’t want to hear it. Right now, I do. So, I tell my sister everything. Alex is missing, I’m not one hundred per cent sure he was meant to come home, I don’t want to call the police unnecessarily because they’ll take me for an idiot.

  ‘Why don’t you ring the local hospitals before you call the police?’ My pragmatic sister suggests.

  Why didn’t I think of that? Julie would, though. She’s a nurse.

  ‘We get calls at the hospital all the time asking that sort of thing,’ she adds.

  ‘Good idea. I’ll do that.’

  ‘I’m going to come up there,’ Julie says.

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘This weekend. I’ll have to discuss it with Daniel, but I don’t see why that would be a problem.’

  It might not be a problem for her. I’m not sure Alex will be too happy about it, though. ‘But Alex thinks—’

  ‘I know what Alex thinks,’ Julie says, ‘but I think – and so does Daniel – that you need some help. Especially now Alex has gone back to work. He might say you need rest and can do that better without having people around, but I can assure you, a sleepless night does not constitute rest and you could do without that when you’ve got to look after a newborn baby. Anyway, I’m not people, I’m family.’

  ‘OK.’ I sip my tea and make a face. It’s cold.

  ‘I’ll come up with Daniel and the boys on Friday evening and we’ll book a hotel. Then Daniel can take Oscar and Archie home on Sunday and I’ll stay with you for a while. I’m due some paid leave.’

  ‘OK,’ I repeat. I’m not sure how Alex is going to take this – assuming he has resurfaced by the weekend – but I desperately want Julie with me for a while. I swallow down a lump in my throat as I realise that my sister wouldn’t be doing this if our mother were still alive. Mum would.

  ‘And, Kaitlyn?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t panic. No news is good news.’

  I’m so touched b
y Julie’s kindness that Alex’s barbecue this Saturday completely slips my mind.

  As soon as I’ve finished talking to Julie, I look up the nearest hospitals on the internet. I start by phoning the Urgent Care Centre in Kendal, then the A&E in Whitehaven. I get the same result. No patient with that name.

  Then I ring the number for the A&E in Barrow-in-Furness.

  ‘Hello,’ I begin. I can deliver my spiel fluently now. ‘My husband has been missing since yesterday and I’m worried he might have had an accident. I wonder if you could tell me if he was brought in. His name is Alexander Riley.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information,’ comes the answer.

  This throws me. Who talks like that? Why not? What do I say now?

  ‘I … my … we have a baby girl … I’m worried sick about …’ I sigh. ‘Please?’ I start striding up and down the hallway.

  ‘I’ll put you on hold for a second. Don’t go away.’

  Thinking I’m going to get an earful of some tinny music, I hold the mobile away, but she’s back a few seconds later.

  ‘No one called Alexander Riley has been admitted,’ she says. I’m going to have to call the police now. But then the receptionist adds, ‘But there is a Mrs Sandra Riley.’

  My mother-in-law. I stop pacing and end the call. My mother-in-law is in hospital. I’m trying to digest this piece of information, but it seems to raise more questions than it answers.

  At that moment, two things happen at the same time. Chloe starts crying and Alex bursts through the front door.

  ‘Are you going to get that?’ he demands, nodding his head towards the stairs, as if Chloe is a ringing telephone.

  I glare at him as wordlessly I push past him and run up the stairs.

  When I come back down with Chloe in my arms, Alex is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He could have got the bottle ready, but I don’t complain. He follows me into the kitchen and watches me while I do it.

  As soon as I’ve sat down with Chloe, I turn to Alex. ‘What’s happened? I couldn’t get through on your mobile.’