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

Page 14

by Sarah Wray


  Silence hangs between us while she registers. The penny drops.

  ‘Becs, come on! As if Chris would do anything like that; as if I would. Christ’s sake! I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you!’

  Her voice is raised now, the blood has rushed to her face.

  ‘Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he do that?’ I ask. I sound like I am trying to start a fight.

  ‘Get a bloody grip of yourself, Becs. Sam is just a baby, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.’ She shakes her head. ‘Honest to fucking God, I put up with too much from you sometimes, really. And I seriously need to stop swearing if I don’t want this one to grow up to be a delinquent.’

  Sam is wriggling and whining, trying to be upset that he got told off, but his heart isn’t really in it. Calmer, Jeannie says, ‘I’m sorry about the frame. I’ll get you a new one.’

  ‘It’s fine, honestly. It was just cheap.’

  She looks upset, resigned. ‘I’m sorry for shouting. Again. Can we just take it down a notch, yeah?’

  Sam is still whimpering half-heartedly. I suppose he can read the mood, the change in the atmosphere. She starts to bundle him back into his spaceman-like coat. I wince at his little arms staying straight, the awkwardness as she tries to force them into the sleeves.

  I don’t want her to leave yet, not on this note. I don’t want to have ruined it all again.

  ‘I know you don’t approve but I do still love him, you know?’

  ‘Don’t say I don’t approve. Please. It isn’t as simple as that. I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through but I care. I do care.’ She has stopped fussing with the coat. She probably still wants to leave, but it would seem tactless. ‘I can empathise, you know – to an extent.’

  I raise my eyebrows. Can you really?

  ‘Not like that. But because I know you,’ she adds.

  Jeannie doesn’t say anything for a while.

  Then she says, ‘I just don’t know what to think, you know? No one does… do they?’

  She knows she’s on dangerous ground.

  ‘Do you think I do, Jeannie? Do you think I know what to think? How to handle all this? All I know is that, deep down, I just know he wasn’t like that. He isn’t like that. He wouldn’t be involved with a teenage girl. He’s not that stupid. And he just… wouldn’t… couldn’t have.’ My voice is cracking now.

  She shoots a look at the baby. I remember how upset I used to get when I was little if an adult cried, and I force a smile at Sam.

  ‘You didn’t think he’d lie to you about work and about the gambling, though, did you?’

  This again.

  ‘No, I didn’t. But gambling… Jacking your job in… It isn’t abduction, is it?’ I don’t want to say the next but I force it out. ‘It isn’t grooming or paedophilia!’

  She’s rattled by what I have said, taken aback to hear the word out in the wild like that.

  ‘And we were happy, Jeannie. Really, we were. So that’s why I just can’t understand all this. And why I have to try to.’ My voice is really going now but I take deep breaths. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we? Me and Chris, you and Dan. Didn’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, we did.’ There’s warmth in her voice now. ‘Do you remember Tenerife?’ she asks

  ‘No, I have forgotten a whole week of my life, Jeannie,’ I say, but she knows it isn’t real sarcasm.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised, the amount we drank! Ugh, I am gagging even now at the thought of that peach Schnapps we were necking every night. It was like sugary perfume.’

  ‘Ha! God, I know. Well, we had to do something to get through and block out that place, didn’t we? That hotel was such a shithole!’

  ‘It’s all coming back to me now. Remember that awful singer? Singing “Lady in Red” every night?’

  ‘Oh, yeah! And his wife at the end of the bar. How the hell did she put up with that every night? You’d go mad!’

  ‘I can think of worse things,’ I say. ‘Getting pissed on cocktails by the sea every night while your husband does a few karaoke songs. No stress!’

  I used to say to Chris that’s how I wanted us to be when we got older. Me glammed up, and him charming the grannies. My throat is throbbing again at the memory.

  Jeannie touches my hand again. ‘No one would know what to do in this situation, Becs. You’re doing fine.’

  ‘Are you happy?’ I ask Jeannie.

  ‘Christ! We usually need a few wines before we get going with this stuff,’ she says. But the tone is amiable. ‘Yeah, ’course we are.’ She ruffles Sam’s hair.

  ‘How do you know, though?’

  ‘I just know.’

  ‘Right. And I just know too that Chris wouldn’t do what they’ve said he’s done.’

  At least, I think I do.

  Sixteen

  Thursday, 12 November

  I am sitting across the road from Star Pizza, where I watched Paige go the other night. I’m in the bus stand on the seafront, shivering in the cold, but sheltered from the full icy blast of the wind so I can wait and watch who comes and goes.

  It’s 6.30 now, a little early for people to be getting a takeaway from somewhere like this. You need to be pretty desperate; that specific gnawing need for greasy food that only a stomachful of alcohol gives. A couple of people come and go, polystyrene boxes tucked under their arms.

  There are two girls coming along, arms linked. They must be around fourteen, fifteen. The bus stop is filling up so I pretend to read the bus timetable, peeping out every now and then as if I am looking for the bus, but really checking over the road. The cold is starting to numb my toes. Eventually, in a slow shuffle, heads down after a long day, everyone files into a brightly lit bus and it moves away. Nothing, the girls are gone now. But a girl with an older man is coming up the side street and they turn left into the takeaway.

  I know I shouldn’t be here. I should listen to what Julie said and stop stalking teenagers like some weirdo. Not just teenagers; the teenage friends of the girl my husband is supposed to have run off with… or taken. I feel a fresh twist of nausea. But still, I am looking side to side, crossing the street, then find myself walking down towards Star Pizza, everything tensed up.

  The darkness of the side street gives way to the white glow of the takeaway and the scramble of techno music blaring out. I take a deep breath and walk past, facing ahead at first but my head automatically turning to look into the takeaway. I see the two girls I saw earlier whose arms were linked. No other customers. I don’t see the other girl and the older man who went in too. There are a few men. I can’t count how many – two, three? – behind the counter, leaning on it, talking and laughing. And there’s one in a navy and white apron playing on a punchball machine. He pulls his fist back and smashes it into the red leather ball, screaming out as he does. One of the men behind the counter notices me and our eyes lock for a second, his gaze seeming to get narrower. Then whooping from the others, but by then I have already walked past.

  I stop in the alley to breathe deeply, taking in the cold air and leaning against the wall, trying to let my heart rate return to normal. The sky is white. ‘It’s trying to snow,’ as my dad would say. I stand and watch for a while to see who comes and goes. A light goes on upstairs in the flat above the shop. But I can’t see anything except dark shapes beyond the grubby lace curtains. Eventually, I can’t stop myself and I walk past the takeaway one more time.

  I try to take a sideways glance without turning my head, and I hold my phone out in front of me, as if engrossed in a text or looking online for directions. The man in the apron is pretending to jab and spar like a boxer, probably preparing to hit the punchbag again.

  ‘You want a kebab, love?’ the voice shouts. ‘Yes, you. You’ve walked past enough times. You want some meat, love?’ They all laugh, the girls and the men.

  As soon as I am past the shop I break into a run, not daring to look back to see whether anyone came out or followed me. I don’t stop until I reach the top
of the alley again. My cheeks are burning and I am out of breath. I crouch down and wait for a while.

  Eventually the two girls come out and start walking towards me. I stand up, trying to look casual, straightening my jeans. I hadn’t intended to but I am blocking off their exit. They look at each other then try to pass, but automatically I go in the same direction. Without trying, without even thinking about it, I am more nimble on my feet than I realise. My body has moved before my mind has made a decision. I think of The Watchers video, the men in the masks.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’ one of them says. Her smooth, high ponytail is immaculate, scalp tight. You can see the hair follicles pulling near her temples. There’s a school tie peeping through the top of her coat. Maroon and blue – not St Augustine’s, though. Theirs is yellow and green.

  ‘What are you doing hanging out here?’ I ask. I am expecting to get a load of lip but the girls just look between themselves.

  ‘We’re just getting some chips to warm us up. Eating’s not a crime now, is it? Are you a copper? We’ve finished school now, you know. I’ve been today; you can check with them. We can do what we like, can’t we?’

  ‘Alright,’ says the other girl, nodding her head in recognition of someone behind me. Another girl their age and a teenage boy. The boy’s hair is shaved almost to the scalp round the back and sides, leaving a textureless shading on the skin that almost looks painted on. The mop of dark hair on the top brings to mind a comedy toupee. His features are hard. The girl is wearing ice-pink lip gloss, slathered on thickly.

  ‘What’s going on? You two alright?’ the boy asks, sizing me up.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, no bother, we’re fine. We’ll see you in a bit, yeah?’

  ‘Who’s this old wifey?’ he asks, gesturing at me.

  ‘Shut up, Maz. We’ll catch up with you in a bit, like I said.’

  ‘You not sitting in?’ He gestures down the alley. ‘It’s proper brass monkeys outside.’

  The boy and girl walk on into the alley, looking back every few steps, suspicious of me.

  ‘So is there something you want like? Can we get past, please?’ The girl with the tight ponytail nudges her friend.

  ‘Do you know a girl called Paige?’

  ‘Yeah, we know her from round and about.’

  ‘And her friend, Kayleigh Jackson?’

  They look at each other again.

  ‘We know her. We’re not like bezzie mates or nothing. Everyone says they were best mates with her since she went missing. But yeah, we know her. It’s a small place, round here.’

  ‘Did she used to come round here? Hang round at the takeaway?’

  ‘Sometimes. I think so, yeah. They do good chips. Ashy lets us sit inside, as long as we buy stuff every now and again. It’s better than freezing your tits off out here.’ She rubs her gloved hands together and stamps her feet lightly to warm up.

  ‘Are you safe?’ I ask. I notice the other girl looking at the floor, kicking her battered Converse shoes at pebbles.

  ‘Safe? We’re eating chips, missus, that’s it. Is that something else we’re not allowed to do now?’

  The girls’ attention is drawn down the alley. One of the men from behind the counter is walking up towards us.

  ‘Let’s go.’ The girl yanks at her friend’s arm to pull her away. ‘I need to get home or my mam will kick off.’

  ‘Here!’ shouts the man – but the girls have already ducked into an amusement arcade. I look the other way. I don’t know why but I don’t want him to know which way they’ve gone.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asks me. His face is pock-marked, a greasy sheen to his skin and hair. Under the street light it makes him look waxy. His white T-shirt has faint brown stains on it.

  ‘All what?’ I say, being careful to stand my ground.

  ‘Why are you hanging around here, asking questions?’

  His colleague is coming up the alley too now. I look around but the seafront is deserted.

  ‘We’ve got a nosey one here,’ the greasy one says to the new arrival, a short, pasty-faced man. Early forties, I reckon. ‘We hear you’re asking questions – harassing my customers. Didn’t we, Daz?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  My legs are wobbling but I make a point of standing straight, pushing my shoulders back. ‘I was just asking about Kayleigh Jackson actually. The missing girl.’

  ‘What the fuck has that got to do with me and my shop?’ He steps forward. I don’t move.

  ‘Ashy, cool it, mate, yeah? Come on.’ Daz pulls him back slightly.

  I don’t think they recognise me or know who I am.

  ‘What’s this Hayley to you?’ says the one called Ashy, looking me up and down.

  ‘Kayleigh. It’s Kayleigh. I just want to find her like everyone else round here. She’s only fourteen so, you know, I am concerned for her well-being.’

  ‘Well, don’t come around here pointing the finger at us.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve made any accusations, have I?’

  Ashy repeats my words in a mock posh accent and Daz smirks.

  My temper flares. ‘Why have you got so many young girls hanging around your little establishment anyway?’

  ‘Huh,’ he pretends to give a mocking laugh. ‘Dunno what you’re talking about, do you, Daz? Ain’t any girls in there now.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ He shakes his head.

  ‘I’m not stupid; I’ve just watched them coming and going.’

  ‘Oh, so you’re watching us now, are you? I let them sit in the shop if they want. It’s freezing, if you hadn’t noticed. They’re just kids; they get bored. They need somewhere to go. They meet their mates here, eat chips, go home – I make money, they stay warm. That alright with you? Who the fuck are you anyway?’

  ‘I just wanted to see they were OK, that’s all. And ask if you knew anything about Kayleigh. I’m asking around everywhere.’

  ‘Just what do you think we know about this Katie? Should we be running to the police? “Ooh excuse me, Officer. I’m worried little Katie might have been eating chips. Do something: it’s an emergency, Officer, I’ve seen some teenage girls eating chips.”’

  His friend Daz forces a laugh. Arse-licker, I think to myself.

  ‘You won’t mind them knowing then, will you, just in case that you “saw Kayleigh Jackson eating chips”?’

  He shrugs. I could easily slap him for the disgusting, cocky look on his face. My temple is pulsing.

  ‘You won’t mind me telling them about girls going upstairs either then, will you?’

  His eyes flash. ‘What girls?’

  ‘I saw a girl go in tonight. With a bloke. She didn’t come out again. Then I saw them upstairs through the window. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen. The police might be interested, mightn’t they?’

  I hold his stare and refuse to look away. I hope his face will give something away, confirm that I’m right about the girl but he just looks calm, cocky like before.

  Ashy whirls his finger near his temple.

  ‘Well, they might be, but I doubt it. You’re deluded, love. Simple as. Is a dad not allowed to buy his daughter a pizza for her tea?’

  ‘But – no – I saw them go in and not come out. I saw people upstairs.’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a flat above the takeaway. I let the staff use it on their breaks. I’m nice like that.’

  ‘I didn’t see her come back out, though.’

  ‘Not my problem, babe. I know her dad. Know where they live if you want to go round. I’ll give them a ring, will I? See if they’ll save you a slice of pizza.’

  My heartbeat pulses in my ears.

  ‘What did you think we’ve done with this mystery girl, put her on a pizza?’ He looks to Daz for the obligatory laugh. ‘Hehe!’

  My stomach rolls.

  ‘I mean, they are pretty tasty some of the girls round here, right, Daz?’ He rolls his tongue across his teeth, making my stomach churn again.

  They both snigger.
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  ‘Look, fuck off, alright, Miss Marple? We don’t know nothing about this Hayley, Katie, whatever her name is. Just don’t come back round here, alright?’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Just don’t.’ Rubbing his hands together. ‘Come on, Daz, we’ve got kebabs to make. Crazy bitch,’ he hisses under his breath as they walk away.

  Seventeen

  Thursday, 12 November

  I go to Barnacles when I get back to the caravan park. I need to calm down after my run-in with Ashy and Daz. It feels like I am looking at the situation through frosted glass. The shape and colours are there but I can’t make sense of the details. I need to get to the details if I’m ever to get any answers. I think about Paige at the school, near the beach. What she said about Chris’s job, about his computer. I have to drink most of the half of lager down in one to push out the mental flash that has invaded again.

  I sit near the door at the edge of the bar because Julie’s running a bingo night. It’s draughty but the tables further in are full, mostly older people but a few young ones too. Everyone is hunched over, marker pens at the ready, far too engrossed to pay me any attention.

  Julie raises a plate of pie and peas to me from the other side of the room, but I shake my head.

  One of the young lads I sometimes see around the park is doing the bingo. He spins the little metal cage and lines up the balls. No one speaks. Julie comes by and wipes the tables. ‘Deadly serious about it, this lot,’ she says quietly. ‘Still, nice little earner for me. Good to see it packed, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, great.’

  ‘You don’t fancy a game? I can get you a card.’

  ‘No, you’re alright, thanks.’

  ‘Well, give us a shout if you want a go.’

  ‘Unlucky for one some… number thirteen,’ says the bingo caller. A murmur goes through the room, people conferring on their numbers. ‘Key of the door... twenty-one.’

  ‘I made him learn all the proper names. I’ve been testing him behind the bar. Doing alright, isn’t he? Eh, think on, I’m doing fish and chips every Friday so pop in.’

 

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