He Will Find You

by Diane Jeffrey

  I wonder if this is the first time DC Bryant has had the job of reassuring the spouse of a missing person that she’s definitely a widow. Wouldn’t he normally be promising that there’s still hope the police will find that person alive? But Alex is not your run-of-the-mill missing person. He’s ‘missing, presumed dead’.

  ‘I just need to know for sure that he’s dead,’ I say in a low voice to Nikki over the phone late one evening. ‘I’ve never wanted his body as much as I do now!’

  Nikki roars with laughter and I almost manage a smile.

  I’m sitting on the sofa next to Dad, who is prising his slipper out of Marley’s jaws. The TV is on, but neither Dad nor I are watching it.

  ‘You can apply to have Alex declared dead even without a corpse,’ Nikki says. ‘I Googled it. You’ll need a death certificate so you can inherit his property and get your money back and also if you want to remarry one day.’

  ‘There’s no risk––’

  ‘The process is quite short and simple if the circumstances surrounding his disappearance leave little doubt about his death. When there’s no body, they rely on police evidence.’

  I shudder. This is a bit morbid for me this evening. I’m too tired. But after ending the call with Nikki, I start to read ‘declared death in absentia’ on Wikipedia while Dad puts his slipper back on and gets Marley ready for bed.

  As I’m scrolling through the article on my mobile, there’s a notification sound for an incoming text. I read the message, staring at the phone in disbelief. I check the sender. No, I haven’t made a mistake. It feels as if the temperature in the room has dropped by at least five degrees all of a sudden.

  I pick up the phone and read the text again. I’ve been waiting for proof that Alex is dead, but now I have proof that he’s still alive. Just as I feared.

  It’s definitely from him. The message has been sent from his mobile. I close my eyes, as if that will make it go away. But I can still see the screen of my phone behind my eyelids. And I can see his signature. Alexxx.

  I don’t want Dad to worry. I try to act normal while I say goodnight. I check that the doors are locked and then I go upstairs, where I check on Chloe. She’s sound asleep in her cot, back in the boys’ bedroom. In Julie’s room – my bedroom for now – I catch my leg on the flap of one of the cardboard boxes that Nikki brought down containing my stuff. I’ve unpacked, but I still haven’t taken out the boxes. I certainly couldn’t have left them lying around for several days in the Old Vicarage. Alex wouldn’t have stood for such untidiness.

  Climbing into bed, I call Julie. I know she and Daniel both leave their mobiles on for me at the moment. Just in case. I can tell by Julie’s sleepy voice that I’ve just woken her up. I tell her I’ve received a text from Alex.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure it’s from him? I mean, wouldn’t he have had his mobile on him when he went over the cliff? Is there any chance someone might have found it on the rocks below?’

  ‘No, they would have needed his passcode. It’s definitely from him. He signed it the way he always does.’

  ‘What did he say in his text?’

  ‘He said, “I’ll never regret falling for you”,’ I tell her. I hear her inhale sharply.

  ‘Oh, God. It really is from him, isn’t it? He’s a sick prick!’ she exclaims. ‘Have you rung the police?’ For once, I appreciate her big sister tone.

  ‘I’ll do it now,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want to alarm Dad.’

  ‘Do you want Daniel and me to come round?’

  ‘No, you go back to sleep. I’ll ring the police. Anyway, Alex will be lying low, lying in wait. I doubt he’ll do anything tonight. It would be too risky after sending the text. Wouldn’t it?’ I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince Julie or myself. She promises me that they’ll be there first thing in the morning.

  I call DC Bryant on the mobile number he gave me. It’s a quarter past eleven now and his phone rings for a while before going to voicemail. Despite the late hour, this surprises me. I leave a message. I contemplate calling 999. I know I should, but in the end, I decide not to. I have a half-formed idea in my head and I need to think it through. I even wonder if I’ve made a mistake leaving a message for DC Bryant.

  I’m jittery and tense and I don’t expect to sleep, but after a while, I can feel myself starting to drift off.

  I don’t know what has woken me. It feels like I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes, but daylight is forcing its way resolutely through the curtains. I get a strange sense of déjà vu, an unsettling flashback to the morning I woke up handcuffed to the bed in the nursery to discover that Chloe was no longer in the cot. I hear the front door close downstairs and realise my dad must be taking Marley out for an early morning walk.

  It takes me a couple of seconds to make out the shape. I sense him more than see him to begin with. I’m not alone. Someone is sitting on the bed, watching me. I gasp.

  Alex.

  Before I can move, he seizes my arm and pulls me out of bed.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ he says. ‘You and Chloe. You belong to me.’

  As Alex starts to drag me by the wrist across the room, I realise he is injured. He’s limping. He must have hurt himself when he fell from Hurlstone Point. I try to keep my breathing even and calm myself down enough to use my head. Easier to think than to do, but I can see my daughter’s face in my mind and it spurs me on.

  Then I spot them on the floor. The scissors I used to open the cardboard boxes. They’re half-hidden from view by the flap. Bending down, I grab them with my free hand. Alex hasn’t seen. He seems to think I’ve stumbled. He pulls me to him, then pushes me roughly in front of him, pinning me against his chest with his left arm.

  His mouth is next to my ear. ‘Don’t try anything. For Chloe’s sake.’

  I notice he has difficulty opening the bedroom door with his right hand. He seems to have hurt his arm, too. I grip the scissors tightly by my side. Then, as he opens the door, I turn around, pushing against his grasp and raising my arm quickly. In that moment, I remember the movement I practised over and over again as I lay bound to that bed, holding the piece of wood from the broken mobile. I use all my strength as I bring my hand down.

  I feel him slump against me and then he falls to the floor. He tries to say something – I can see his lips moving – but if he does manage to get any words out, they are drowned out by all the noises that start up at the same time. My mobile rings on the nightstand. The doorbell goes. Chloe starts to cry.

  Ignoring the phone, I make my way along the landing to the boys’ room and pick up my daughter. Then I go downstairs and open the door. It’s Julie, Daniel and the boys. Julie takes one look at me and takes Chloe out of my arms.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asks.

  I can’t seem to answer, or perhaps some instinct prevents me from doing so in front of the boys and I nod towards the stairs. Julie hands Chloe to Daniel and follows me upstairs.

  Seconds later, Julie is feeling for a pulse on the side of the neck that doesn’t have the scissors sticking out of it. She shakes her head.

  ‘We need to ring for an ambulance,’ she says.

  ‘But he’s dead.’

  ‘And the police,’ she adds.

  ‘The police already think he’s dead.’

  Just then, my mobile rings again. Almost automatically, I walk round the bed and pick it up from the bedside table.

  ‘It’s DC Bryant,’ I tell Julie.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ she says hastily just as I swipe the screen to take the call.

  DC Bryant apologises profusely for not answering his mobile last night. He says he had the ringer on silent. ‘I’m on my way over now, Kaitlyn,’ he says. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ I say, my eyes locked on Julie’s.

  ‘Have you had any more messages?’

  ‘No. It’s not a good time to come round right now,’ I say. Some part of my brain is kicking in and taking over and I’m n
ot aware of meaning to say any of the words that are spilling out of my mouth. ‘I’m not at home. I made a mistake about the text,’ I continue. ‘It wasn’t from Alex after all. It was someone’s idea of a joke.’

  When I end the call, Julie is nodding. I start to giggle uncontrollably; out of nerves, maybe, or just at how surreal all this seems. But the gravity of the situation soon hits me. My sister and I discuss succinctly what needs to be done.

  We go downstairs and find Daniel and the boys in the kitchen. Daniel has made up a bottle of formula and he’s feeding Chloe.

  Julie starts issuing orders. ‘Oscar, Archie. Granddad has gone out with Marley. I want you to find them, tell Granddad you haven’t had anything to eat and get him to take you to that little café near the harbour that does English breakfasts on Sunday mornings.’ She hands Oscar three ten-pound notes. ‘Here. In case Granddad hasn’t got his wallet on him. Keep him away for as long as you possibly can. Auntie Kaitlyn and I are going to clean the house and if he comes back too early, it’ll ruin the surprise.’

  As soon as the boys have left, Julie and I bring Daniel up to speed. ‘I’ll ring Kevin,’ he says. At first I don’t want him to. I don’t want Kevin involved in this. But then I reason, Chloe is his daughter.

  An hour or two later, Julie and I have finished cleaning upstairs and I’ve finally taken the boxes out to the garage. The bedroom will need a new carpet, but for now an old rug that used to be kept in the wardrobe is hiding the bloodstains.

  Stepping out of the shower, I hear voices in the hallway. I quickly get dressed and go downstairs to find out how Daniel and Kevin have got on. But it looks like they’ve arrived back at the same time as my dad, Oscar and Archie.

  The boys ask their dad if they can play on their electronic games in their bedroom upstairs.

  ‘Of course you can,’ Julie answers for Daniel. ‘Up you go.’ The boys look at each other, astonished, and then race off before she can change her mind.

  Dad makes everyone a cup of tea and Julie, Daniel and I sit down in the living room. Kevin stays standing. No one speaks, each of us, I imagine, lost in our thoughts and still reeling with shock. We’re all tainted by what we’ve just done, all bound together in Alex’s destructive web and tarnished with Alex’s blood. The silence says it all. It’s a tacit promise never to tell anyone about this, an unspoken pact never to mention it, not even among ourselves.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, Kevin,’ my dad says. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’

  ‘I … um … had to sort out a problem. Daniel gave me a hand and then I came here to see Chloe … and Kaitlyn.’

  ‘Building problem was it?’ Dad has noticed their clothes. Kevin and Daniel are both filthy and have stains – dirt and blood, I imagine, on their jeans and tops. And a grey stain that Kevin’s work clothes have always had from the cement.

  I need to change the subject quickly. Kevin is a terrible liar. But he answers before I can think of anything to say. ‘An urgent problem with the foundations for the leisure centre in Minehead.’

  ‘We had to pour some concrete,’ Daniel chimes in. I watch as he exchanges a glance with Kevin. Its meaning is lost on me.

  ‘The new leisure centre that’s under construction? The one named after that Somerset athlete?’

  ‘Mary Rand. Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kevin repeats. He sounds credible and I’m surprised, but then it occurs to me he probably isn’t lying. Not really.

  ‘Ah,’ Dad says, as if that explains everything.

  Kevin catches my eye and without a word, I get up from the sofa and hand him his daughter. He fixes his gaze on Chloe.

  ‘You’re safe now, Chloe,’ he says, his voice loud enough only for Chloe and me.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I whisper.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he whispers back. ‘And so will you and Chloe.’

  Julie, Daniel and the boys and Kevin leave soon after that and I decide to get out of the house and clear my cluttered mind. Dad looks after Chloe and I drive aimlessly for miles until I see a sign for Nether Stowey. I pass the place where Wordsworth lived until he felt homesick and moved back to the Lake District. How ironic that I’ve left the Lake District and now I’ve come back here to Somerset, to my roots.

  In the village, I park the car and order a pub meal in The Rose and Crown. I’m ravenous, I realise, washing my burger and chips down with half a pint of beer.

  It’s only as I’m parking the car in front of Dad’s house that I realise I haven’t checked in the rear-view mirror. Not once the whole way back to Porlock.

  And as I’m getting ready for bed that night, I realise something else. I’m pretty sure I haven’t locked the front door. But I can’t be bothered to go downstairs. I clamber into bed. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to sleep well tonight.

  2019

  Epilogue

  ~

  Chloe marches up the drive. Kevin opens the front door before we reach it and scoops her up into his arms.

  ‘Daddy,’ she coos, giving him one of her slobbery kisses.

  ‘I like your dress,’ he says. She insisted on wearing her Elsa from Frozen costume, complete with blue gloves and tiara. ‘And who’s this?’ He points at the teddy bear tucked under her arm.

  ‘It’s Sorbet,’ she announces.

  ‘Sorbet, huh? That’s a good name for a bear.’

  ‘I don’t know how she came up with that one,’ I say, although I suspect her granddad has been spoiling her with ice cream and sweets behind my back. He looks after her on Mondays and Thursdays, the two days I’ve been working at the university since I went back, part-time, a few months ago.

  ‘Have a nice time, Kaitlyn,’ Kevin says.

  I grunt. I’m dreading this. I don’t know why I agreed to do it.

  ‘Yeah, try not to tread on too many people’s toes,’ says Hannah, who has appeared behind Kevin and is ruffling Chloe’s hair.

  I’m a few minutes early when I pull into the car park of the new Mary Rand Sports and Fitness Centre just down the road from Kevin and Hannah’s terrace house, but Teddy is already there. I spot him standing on the steps, exhaling vapour from his electronic cigarette as he waits for me.

  My heart skips a beat, but I remind myself that I’m not ready for romance. For the moment, I just need a friend. And Teddy and I have become very good friends over the past eighteen months or so. His daughter, Olivia, dotes on Chloe, who adores her, and the four of us spend a lot of time together.

  Just before I get out of the car to join Teddy, my phone pings with an incoming text. I read it.

  May have found a buyer for The Old Vic. Watch this space …

  Nikki. X

  I smile at the three ‘fingers crossed’ emojis at the end of Nikki’s message as well as at the news. I’ll be relieved to be shot of that house and all the bad memories it holds. When the High Court officially declared Alex presumed dead, as Alex’s widow, I inherited the Old Vicarage. For that, I’m glad, although I have no intention of ever setting foot in that place again.

  The official date on Alex’s death certificate is Monday 4th September 2017, the day he fell from Hurlstone Point. On Tuesday 4th September 2018, a year later to the day, Nikki and I had the ground under and around the damson tree dug up. Just to check. No bones were found, no human remains, nothing. This hasn’t shaken Nikki’s belief that Alex killed Melanie, Poppy and Violet, but I harbour the hope that they got away. Sometimes I wonder if they ever existed at all. I’ll probably never know for certain. Just one of the many secrets the Old Vicarage keeps within its walls.

  Then Nikki put the house on the market and once it has been sold, I’ll pay off the rest of the mortgage. There are surprisingly few monthly payments left. And, although Nikki doesn’t know this yet, I’ll not only pay her estate agent’s fees, but I’ll also pay her back every single penny that Alex stole from her. With interest.

  If my calculations are correct, I should have enough mo
ney for a deposit on a property in the Porlock area. At the moment, I’m still living at Dad’s, and he has been wonderful to Chloe and me. But I’m looking forward to being fully independent again soon.

  I’m still smiling as I walk towards Teddy, despite the butterflies flapping around in my stomach. I’m not sure if all that fluttering is because I’m in Teddy’s company or if it’s nerves about this first lesson.

  ‘I was worried you’d change your mind,’ Teddy says, kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘I’m not sure about it, but this is a free trial lesson, right? If one of us decides we don’t like it, we don’t have to sign up.’

  ‘Exactly. We can just go out for a meal every Friday night instead.’

  ‘OK. I’ll give it a go. But I’ve warned you, I’ve got two left feet.’

  That’s not quite how I phrased it last time and I grimace at my choice of words. Two left feet. That’s the exact phrase Alex used at our wedding to describe my lack of coordination on the dancefloor. I’m well aware that part of the reason I let Teddy persuade me to take ballroom dancing classes is to spite Alex. He’ll never know about this, so he won’t feel at all peeved, but I feel a wonderfully perverse sense of satisfaction.

  Before we get started, I look around at the other dancers in the group. Most of them are wearing jeans, like Teddy and me, but one older woman has a sequined dress on and a younger woman is sporting a grey T-shirt with ‘I carried a watermelon’ on it over Lycra leggings.

  As the instructor takes us through the basic steps for the waltz, I relax and realise I’m enjoying myself. We start to move on the dancefloor, clumsily at first and then more smoothly.

  Suddenly, I freeze. I feel cold fingers running up my spine and then an icy hand on the back of my neck. I shiver. A pang of guilt stabs my conscience. And then the feeling dissipates.

  He would have killed me, I remind myself, continuing my steps. I was never going to get away. Not if Alex lived. It was always going to be him or me. In the end, I’m the one who has survived. I’m the one who, quite literally, gets to dance on his grave.