Reported Missing: A gripping psychological thriller with a breath-taking twist

by Sarah Wray

  Julie is sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, reading the paper and eating crisps.

  ‘Eh up! Look who it is. How are you, love? Come and sit with me, will you.’ She pats her hand on one of the bar stools.

  ‘I’m bored shitless in here tonight,’ she says, when I get a bit closer. ‘Sent Beth home, it were that dead. No point in us both standing about doing nowt all night, eh? What are you having?’

  ‘Erm… brandy, please.’ I spread coins out in my hand, counting the change.

  She bats her hand at me. ‘Bit posh for you. Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house. You’d be doing me a favour.’ She pushes the glass into the optic. ‘Might join you, actually.’

  She reaches for another glass. ‘So, what’ve you been up to? Out and about anywhere nice?’

  ‘Just er… been into town for a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘Eeh, you don’t give much away you, do you? Well, good for you, petal. Do you good to get out and about a bit, eh? Listen to me – I sound like a right patronising old bat, don’t I?’

  The sound of snooker balls clacking together in the background and the whir of a fruit machine is the only other noise.

  She throws me a packet of crisps. ‘Go mad. Treat yourself,’ she says, and winks at me.

  The woman on the stool is tapping her feet but there isn’t any music on. They’re still not talking.

  ‘Julie?’

  ‘That’s me, love.’

  ‘Do you know Lisle Street?’

  ‘Lisle Street? Off the seafront? Let me think… I usually do know because I used to do the taxis. Not driving. Switchboard. Good laugh, shit hours. Same as here! I don’t learn, do I?’ She lets out a chesty laugh and pulls her T-shirt down over the back of her hips where it had ridden up.

  ‘There’s a takeaway there.’

  ‘Yeah, think it’s a pizza place. I remember now. Star Pizza. We used to pick people up there pissed at kicking-out time. They’d always want to scoff their bloody kebabs in the back of the taxi.’

  ‘Did you ever pick up any young people – you know, like teenagers?’

  She tips her chin down and looks at me over invisible glasses.

  ‘Rebecca. I said I had a good memory. I don’t have a superpower! I can’t remember that. We’re talking years ago, woman!’

  ‘Yeah, right, sorry.’ I sip the brandy and it warms my insides.

  ‘Why do you want to know that, anyway?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘Bollocks. There’s never no reason. Especially not with you, given that you hardly say two words.’

  ‘Well, it’s just that— No, really, it’s nothing.’

  She raises her eyebrow. She’s signalling it won’t drop. She’s waiting for an answer.

  ‘Well, I don’t know; I just saw something, that’s all. And I was just wondering. Being nosey, I suppose.’

  There’s a clatter of dominoes and a small cheer from the table of men behind.

  ‘Jesus wept. It’s a bit exciting in here tonight! Another drink, lads?’ She starts to pull pints for the men.

  I sip the rest of my brandy and Julie tops it up again.

  ‘Want my advice?’

  ‘Always, Julie.’ I give her my best attempt at a cheeky smile.

  ‘Turn a blind eye. Don’t get involved. You’ve got enough on your plate. Leave it to the neighbourhood watch brigade or whoever. You need to look after number one right now.’ She jabs a finger at me.

  ‘I know, just ignore me.’ I offer her a crisp and she reaches in with her maroon-chipped talon.

  But I can’t get Paige out of my mind, the man she was with near the beach. I keep seeing Chris’s face with his eyes sunken in like that too. In that filthy toilet cubicle. The crisps repeat on me, rancid oil, and I push them away.

  ‘Here,’ Julie says to the glamorous lady and the man she’s with. ‘Stick a song on the jukebox or something, will you? And make it something lively too, for God’s sake.’

  Fifteen

  Thursday, 12 November

  ‘Thought it was my turn to come and see you.’ Jeannie beams as I open the caravan door. I am still not dressed even though it’s almost midday but my nightwear involves bundling up so much perhaps she won’t notice.

  Jeannie makes a point of shivering, rubbing her hands together and jiggling the baby’s pram. I realise that I have just been standing there, leaning out of the door, looking at her.

  ‘Erm, did you want something? Sorry... I wasn’t expecting you.’

  She flinches. ‘I just wanted to pop round and see you. Don’t worry about it; I can just go if you’re busy.’ She is subtly straining to look behind me. ‘You got company or something?’

  ‘Like who?! Ignore me; I’m sorry.’ I gesture for her to come in. ‘I’m just tired. Please… but you’ll have to ignore the mess.’

  ‘God, don’t worry about it – my place is always a total mess with this one!’ She gestures at Sam.

  The house always looks pretty pristine to me. I help her lift the bulky buggy through the door. It almost looks like it isn’t going to fit. Once we’re all inside with the buggy, it feels like there’s very little room to move. The windows steam up within a few minutes, once I put the gas fire on, so I open the window a small crack.

  Jeannie unclips a wriggling Sam from his buggy and releases him from the bulky, hooded snowsuit that he’s wearing. He seems to like the caravan. I am sure it’s a novelty for him, like it was for me when we went on holiday when I was little, and he crawls quickly backwards and forwards along the bench by the table, squealing with delight. It’s undeniable that he is pretty cute.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Jeannie jumps when my phone suddenly rings, the vibration making it shuffle across the table. A high-pitched ring. I need to change the ringtone; something less abrasive.

  I snatch it up. ‘Unknown number’ the phone says.

  She’s already seen it. ‘Ignore it, Becs. If they’re legit, they’ll leave a message.’

  When Chris first went missing, it was non-stop. Journalists, mostly, wanting an interview or a ‘quick quote’. Other times it was people giving me abuse, people calling me a ‘cunt’ or ‘a paedo lover’ down the phone. A few were just silence. There were pranksters too; people saying they knew where he was but then they’d say he’d run away with the circus and burst out laughing, or that he’d been abducted by aliens. One time, even, a medium rang. She meant well. She said she’d had a vision of Chris and that he was still alive – he was happy, somewhere, somewhere sunny, but wanted me to know he was ‘sorry’. I almost followed it up until she told me she accepted payments by card and cash, or cheque. She even took PayPal. They all got the number from the Facebook page. I won’t take the number down, though. The idea of missing out on something that would help to find Chris is worse than what they say.

  It’s all been quiet recently anyway, until now. Now it feels like everything is repeating itself. Maybe it’s because of the fresh leaflets I posted, with my number at the bottom. The phone is still ringing. Sam puts his hands over his ears, shaking his head. The vigil announcement, the TV coverage, it’s got everyone worked up all over again. They want fresh blood.

  I snap myself round. I have to answer; you never know when it might be a clue, maybe even Chris.

  ‘Hello.’ I try to sound decisive, assertive; approachable.

  Jeannie tuts and shakes her head. She focuses on Sam’s coat, pretending not to listen.

  I wait for the insult to be spat at me. Or the journalist to talk as fast as possible, trying to get their spiel out before I cut them off: How do you feel about the vigil, Ms Pendle? Is there any message you’d like to give to the Jackson family? But the line is silent, a few breaths close to the mouthpiece. ‘Hello?’ I repeat. I wait but there’s nothing, just the low hum of the line. Then a click and the line goes dead. It’s unsettling; a tingle goes over my skin.

  ‘Who was that?’ Jeannie forces a lightness into her tone.

  ‘Wrong number, I thi
nk. No one there.’ I shrug.

  She purses her lips.

  ‘So, how’s it going?’ Jeannie can’t help casting an eye around the place. I see her notice the half-empty vodka bottle near the sink, but she doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Oh, you know.’

  ‘I’m not being funny, Becs, but you look terrible. Sorry, I just mean really pale.’

  ‘What’s new there then?’

  ‘You’re beautiful, babes, and you always will be. I just mean you look tired. Are you OK?’

  ‘You mean even more tired than usual?’

  ‘Well… yeah.’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I try not to sound petulant. ‘It’s nice to see you both.’ I gesture with a spoon and an open coffee jar, and she nods.

  I turn my back to make the coffee.

  ‘Got any biscuits?’ she asks from behind me. I don’t – I have a few jelly sweets left, so I offer her those. She looks amused and puts them to one side behind her bag, out of Sam’s sight, no doubt. Is he old enough for jelly sweets or could he choke? No wonder she never leaves him with me.

  When I turn to put the coffee cups down, Jeannie is looking at my laptop. I should have closed it when I went to answer the door.

  I see her click between the tabs. News stories about Chris and Kayleigh. Kayleigh’s Facebook page.

  ‘Jeannie. Do you mind?’

  ‘Sorry. I just—’

  ‘I don’t go through your stuff when I come round, do I?’

  ‘I wouldn’t really mind if you did, but sorry; I know that’s not the point. Why are you looking at all this stuff again now, Becs? This isn’t good.’

  ‘This is good, though, Jeannie! Can’t you see that? I was in bed for all those weeks. It was wasted time. Time I could have been going over everything. Finding Chris – clearing his name.’

  I think about telling her about Paige, down near the beach. That it’s worth it doing my own research.

  ‘You’ve not been out with the leaflets again, have you? Tell me that you haven’t.’

  I don’t answer. Mentioning Paige will only make her more worried. And worse, she might interfere, try to stop me.

  ‘Becs, I get where you’re coming from but we’ve talked about this. Tensions are high around here. Things had calmed down a bit… but, this vigil. It could stir things up again. It’s almost like you’re... provoking people. I really think you should lie low.’

  ‘Provoking people! What do you expect me to do, Jeannie? Sit around? Do nothing, say nothing and focus all my energies on not upsetting anyone at all?’

  ‘That isn’t what I am saying. You know it isn’t. You need to focus on looking after yourself and letting the police do their job.’

  ‘OK, Jeannie. Yes, miss, no, miss, three bags full, miss.’

  ‘Becs, please.’

  ‘Can we talk about something else now?’

  ‘After the other night and everything, round mine, I’m worried about you, Becs. You’re not yourself.’

  I shrug at her and gesture around the caravan. ‘Hello-oh! I do have quite a lot going on, if you hadn’t noticed?’

  She sighs, exasperated. ‘I know that. I just mean you seem to be… getting worse. Again. God, sorry, you know me, I’ve never been that tactful. I know you hate me for nagging you, Becs, but you have to look after yourself and you have to talk to someone – if not me, someone else, about what’s going on in your head. I’m not surprised you’re having a hard time. I bloody would be.’

  She covers her mouth and quickly fakes a sing-songy voice to distract Sam from the fact she swore. He hasn’t noticed. How much does he take in? What does he understand?

  ‘Look, all I’m saying is what you went through is not to be taken lightly. You’ve got to take care of yourself.’

  ‘What I’m still going through, I think you’ll find, Jeannie.’

  ‘I don’t just mean that. Becs. You had a nervous breakdown. I mean, bloody hell…’ She half-heartedly covers her mouth again, but doesn’t bother addressing Sam this time.

  ‘Did I? Don’t be so dramatic.’

  ‘Come on. You just said yourself you hardly got up for a month.’

  ‘I was just… you know... ’

  ‘Well, whatever you want to call it, you can’t go back there.’

  I want to tell her this is different. What tipped me over the edge last time wasn’t so much the escalation of the attacks, the comments. More the opposite. Kayleigh’s disappearance slipped down the news agenda, then off it altogether. More bad things in the world surpassed it – there isn’t space for them all. People weren’t looking for her anymore and therefore there was no interest in Chris either. And I felt Chris – everything we had together, all those years, our whole future – sliding away, a paper boat towards a waterfall.

  ‘I know’ – I manage to get in before she continues – ‘I’m not going to.’

  ‘It was painful to see, Becs. You hardly knew – or cared – what day it was.’ She’s welling up.

  ‘I wasn’t that bad!’

  She just raises her eyebrows at me.

  I change the subject. ‘Sorry. I feel guilty I have nothing for Sam.’

  She smiles and sniffs the tears back. Sam looks at her, worried. ‘Oh, he’s OK with his sippy cup, aren’t you?’ She strokes his fat rosy cheek and he giggles again.

  ‘Was Dan pissed off the other night then? After I was at yours? Sorry.’

  ‘Dan? No, he’s alright.’

  ‘Liar,’ I say. I can hear it in her voice.

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, he was a bit, but he’s over it now. He does understand, you know. He liked Chris.’ I see her flinch at the past tense, but she doesn’t correct it, avoiding drawing more attention.

  ‘Does he ever say anything to you… about Chris? When they were at football and stuff?’

  Jeannie bristles. It’s unmistakable.

  ‘Jeannie?’

  She doesn’t answer.

  ‘He knows something, doesn’t he?’

  ‘It isn’t anything big.’

  ‘What is it?’

  She chews at some loose skin on the edge of her nail. ‘He said Chris hadn’t been turning up sometimes. To football. That’s all.’

  Air escapes from me.

  ‘Why the fuck have you not said anything?’

  I bang a cup down, and Sam looks startled.

  ‘Presumed you knew from the police and, well, it’s never come up, OK? You never asked me and I didn’t think it would help. You’ve asked me now outright and I’ve told you. What does it change?’

  ‘What does it change? How could Dan not say anything?’

  Jeannie’s head snaps up, her eyes fixed.

  ‘You never said anything at the time. Used to Dan lying, are you?’

  ‘Becs, do not go there. Seriously – let’s not do this, right?’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘I didn’t know anything at the time.’ Her voice is raised again. ‘He told Dan he was working, told you he was at football. It’s not like we talked about football, is it? I wouldn’t hide something like that from you, Becs. Never.’

  Wednesday nights. I would paint my nails, batch cook for the freezer, watch The Apprentice. Chris always took a shower as soon as he got in.

  ‘He might have been gambling again.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Jeannie says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. ‘I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to pile it on, but now you’ve asked me and I’ve told you.’

  She looks shattered in the light in here and it makes my anger at her subside. I hate that all this is taking such a toll on her. She always takes things to heart too much; takes other people’s problems on as her own.

  ‘You keep too much in,’ she says, picking at something that isn’t there on the table.

  ‘I don’t really know what you want me to say, Jeannie. I am feeling a little on edge with the vigil approaching. Of course I am. But what do you want me to say?’

  ‘I just want to know
what’s going on. We need to get you out of here, out of this caravan. Back in the house. You can’t live like this. The police should be offering you some support or protection.’

  ‘I am fine – honestly. I really quite like it here.’

  She looks around, bemused.

  ‘I mean, obviously it’s not like my dream home or anything. But in the circumstances, you know...’

  I think it’s the combination of the term ‘dream home’, the fusty-smelling washing and the rain that has started – making it ‘feel like we’re inside a drum’, as my mum always used to say on caravan holidays – that makes us both start laughing. Sam looks confused, but then he joins in and starts to laugh as well.

  The laughing fit breaks the ice between us a bit. Jeannie’s never been afraid of a little gallows humour.

  But Sam is making me tense, touching things, tipping cups so they teeter and almost spill. Jeannie is still recovering from her laughing fit, unaware of or ignoring what he’s doing. I look obviously between her and Sam, willing her to intervene.

  Jeannie rifles in her bag, probably for some tissue or breadsticks for Sam. She’s always producing plastic tubs of food for him from nowhere. Then I see him reach for it. But I am too late. He grabs the corner of the picture of me and Chris. The Brooklyn Bridge is behind us, the sun low. The honeymoon. It’s in a faux vintage gold frame. It looks out of place in the style-less caravan, but it sort of fitted in with the look we – mainly I – were going for in the house. Each time I look at the picture, I can almost feel the warmth of the week, walking around bookshops in Brooklyn, cocktails in the West Village.

  The frame rocks back and forward, slow motion. My reaction is too late. I reach out and almost grab it, but I feel the air whip between my fingertips, and it falls backwards and smashes. Sam screeches with laughter and bunches his fingers up around his mouth. He squeals and points at Chris in the picture. ‘Dada,’ he shouts, laughing with glee. ‘Da! Hahahahaha.’

  Jeannie is horrified. ‘Sam! No!’

  ‘Dada hahahahahahaha.’

  Before I can say anything, she says, ‘He’s going through a weird phase; he’s saying that to every man he sees!’

  ‘Is he? That’s weird... Why would he say that?’ I know I sound accusatory.