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

by Sarah Wray

  I relax a bit at that, but not for long. Your life has come to something when that’s the good news.

  He sucks air in.

  ‘At first…?’ I push him on.

  ‘Well, then there were rumours about what they found on the computer.’

  ‘Rumours about what?’

  ‘Dodgy stuff, you know. Underage stuff.’ He can’t meet my eye now.

  ‘When did they start saying that, that it was more than gambling?’ I remember what Paige said, at the school.

  ‘Was it after the news about Kayleigh?’

  He nods then shakes his head straight after. ‘Maybe, I really don’t recall, sorry.’ He shrugs his shoulders, defeated. He takes a big drink, leaving a thin line of foam along his beard on the top of his lip.

  A lump forms in my throat, a throbbing agony straight away.

  He quickly follows up. ‘But, like I said, I haven’t been told anything for sure, and as far as I know, no one else up there has either – and I’ve said to people, when I’ve heard them gossiping, to get their facts straight or not say anything at all. It’s only fair.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I nod, trying to take it in.

  ‘You getting stick, are you? Heard you’d had a bit.’

  ‘Some. Nothing I can’t handle. People are upset. I get that.’

  He just shakes his head. ‘Can’t believe it, me.’

  ‘So anything else? Before this… this… explosion? Honestly I just can’t get my head around Chris being like that. But I’m just his wife, aren’t I? How did he seem in general?’

  ‘To be honest, he was a bit off. Hard to know if you just think that looking back, though, isn’t it? I’m sure people are weird all the time, me included. You just don’t pay attention.’

  ‘What do you mean “he was off”?’

  ‘He kept… well, he was late a lot. The lunchtime thing wasn’t the first time he was late or had been having a bit of a liquid lunch. But he got away with it. And he was always getting phone calls and texts – more than usual all of a sudden. Sometimes he’d answer, but usually he’d just ignore them, but you could tell the calls had rattled him. I said to Nicola after it all kicked off, I said, “I think there is something going on with him.” But, like I said, I said it after – not at the time. So, I’m not sure. Honestly, I’m not.’

  ‘Do you think he was seeing someone? Kayleigh?’

  He jumps a little. ‘You can’t ask me that. There’s no way for me to be able to answer that. I am just telling you what I know. I mean, I did kind of wonder – he didn’t want to go for a drink anymore, had to pop out at lunchtime. Seemed like he always had somewhere to be. But I honestly have no idea. It wasn’t like I really knew him well enough to judge, you know?’

  ‘And did you ask him? If anything was going on?’

  He drains the rest of his glass now. ‘I didn’t.’ He shakes his head a little. ‘I mean, we were just work friends.’

  The lump again, pulsating in my throat. He’s distancing himself, doesn’t want to be associated.

  ‘I’m sorry, that’s not really true – it’s not fair of me to say that, about just being work friends, I mean. To be honest, I just feel shitty about it. I didn’t ask him before because we never really talked about “stuff”. I didn’t want to pry. Nicola says it’s a man thing.’

  I give a small laugh.

  ‘But after what happened in the office, when he got sacked; I was worried about him. I texted him, but he didn’t reply. I was going to phone. In a while. I just thought maybe he was a bit embarrassed. I figured I’d give it a bit longer, then give him a ring or an email. But then… Well, you know how it is. Time got on and…well I didn’t do it, did I.’

  He looks up, behind me.

  ‘Jesus, there you are, Becs. I was worried about you.’ It’s Jeannie, wrapping her arms around herself from the cold.

  ‘Sorry, I just needed some air. Sean, this is Jeannie. Birthday girl. Jeannie, Sean worked with Chris.’

  ‘Happy birthday.’ Sean raises his empty pint glass.

  Jeannie eyes him suspiciously. ‘Right… You coming back inside? It’s freezing out here.’

  I disentangle myself from the bench. Sean runs his hand through his hair. He seems more sober now. ‘You coming in?’

  ‘Nah, think I’m about done, to be honest. I’ll probably head off.’

  ‘Well, nice to see you, and thanks.’

  ‘No worries. You too. We’ll have to meet up. With Nicola and the kids.’

  ‘Yeah, sounds good,’ I say. I know we won’t. I watch him walk away up the street, zigzagging across the pavement.

  Twenty-Six

  Saturday, 14 November

  Gemma brings more drinks but everyone’s enthusiasm is waning now – they probably can’t stomach much more booze. No one is showing any signs of wanting to actually leave yet, though.

  Jeannie, Angela, Gemma and Shelley seem to be deep in conversation, crowded together in the booth, shouting at each other over the din. I stand and drink for a while, hoping the fizziness will start to cut through how full and bloated I feel. The strobe lights on the dance floor make it look like a weird kaleidoscope: arms, legs, colours.

  I battle my way to the bathroom. The place has filled up and I am jostling against drunk girls, dancing and gyrating without looking around them, and gangs of raucous lads standing round the edge of the dance floor and by the bar, pushing each other around.

  Luckily, there is no queue, and I hang my head over the silver toilet, the floor covered in grey, slimy tissue and dirty footprints. I try to be sick but there’s nothing to come up except sugary, foamy saliva, dangling from my mouth. It doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s not just the alcohol, it’s what Sean said… picturing Chris at work, the ‘prohibited activities’ on the computer.

  I sit on the toilet with the lid down for a good few minutes, enjoying the respite. I could almost fall asleep, but I know Jeannie will be in to look for me soon enough.

  Outside, a toilet attendant in a winter coat wordlessly offers me perfume from a collection of bottles. ‘Or a lollipop instead, miss?’ She rattles a tray of money.

  I shake my head, moving towards the taps to splash some water on my face. I try to look down and avoid eye contact with the other people in the queue, but there’s something I recognise about one of the girls – perhaps her voice. She is chatting to her friend, but I hadn’t registered the words. It’s Paige and Kat from the school. Paige is wearing a dress that is too tight, belly rolls visible under the Lycra. I look up; she’s wearing too much make-up, harsh black liner rimming her bottom lashes, making her eyes look hard. Kat’s hair looks even bluer under the strip light over the sink. It reminds me of an old glass Christmas decoration. Her eyeshadow is metallic purple and her eyelashes spike out like Kayleigh’s in the now-famous picture. A flash of slim, toned midriff peeps out from under denim shirt and boob tube.

  ‘Excuse me, can I just…’ I gesture at the sink. My heart is vibrating in my chest.

  But Paige doesn’t move. I go to use the other sink, but she slides along and blocks that too. Instinctively, I try the other one again, but she does the same thing. I can’t look at her directly so I stare down, cheeks blazing.

  ‘Here. You looking at my tits? She’s looking at my tits, K.’ She nudges Kat.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I couldn’t sound more school ma’am-ish if I tried.

  Paige mimics me. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  She laughs, but Kat just looks at the ground, fidgeting with her hair.

  ‘Maybe she’s a bit of a perv, like her husband, eh?’

  The toilet attendant’s radio crackles. She rearranges her perfumes, trying to look busy. She’s probably used to quickly getting out of the way when fights break out.

  ‘What you’re saying is slanderous and you need to stop. You don’t have any proof.’ I take a sharp breath and look her in the eyes this time. She doesn’t look away.

  ‘More than you think.’ She taps her no
se. ‘Eh, Kat?’

  Kat still looks at her feet, glancing at the toilet attendant to see if she will step in.

  ‘We haven’t seen you in here before, that’s all. Have you, K?’

  Kat shakes her head but doesn’t look up.

  ‘You’re too young to be in here. Far too young.’

  ‘Your husband wouldn’t mind that, would he?’ She nudges Kat again.

  I wipe my hands against my jeans, even though they’re not wet, and go to leave.

  ‘You’ve not washed your hands, you scruff!’ she shouts after me, laughing, as I push the door to go back into the bar. The lights dazzle my eyes, disorientating me, and my head pounds.

  Barging through the crowd, I reach Jeannie and shout in her ear, ‘I want to go. Now. I mean it, Jeannie.’

  Jeannie is oblivious to the fact that I’m upset, that anything has happened. She’s drunk now.

  ‘Uh-uh. Not before we’ve had a dance, Becs.’ She is shouting right in my ear, spit spraying onto the side of my face. ‘It is my birthday and I’ve got the night off. And we are out together for the first time in forever. You are not going yet!’ I try to protest but she’s already dragging me onto the floor, spinning round and looping under my arm as she does, bashing me into people.

  Chesney Hawkes’s ‘I Am the One and Only’ is blasting out. We’ve moved into the cheesy music section of the night – I remember the format now. A few of the younger people are leaving the dance floor. At least I know this one. Gemma, Angela, Shelley and Jeannie jump up and down, and Jeannie throws her handbag into the middle of the circle. They all twirl and shout and mouth the words to a blast from our shared youth. Younger girls stand at the edge of the dance floor, sucking Vodka Red Bull through straws: tiny waists, sculpted cheeks, lots of hair. The whole bar smells of sweat and the smoke machine and the sugary energy drink. I stand there shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, refusing to dance. A man with gelled hair is looking over at me – sneering or sleazing, I can’t quite tell.

  Then, I’m surging forward, shoved from behind. Paige and Kat again.

  ‘Oi, watch what you’re doing,’ says Jeannie, as she recovers herself from almost falling over. But I tell her to leave it and move us along, mingling between the next group of friends. I try to look out for Paige, but it’s impossible with the moving lights and the crowd.

  We get through ‘Summer of ’69’, ‘Disco 2000’ and ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, which brings a group of men onto the dance floor standing in a circle, arms round each other. On the chorus they all shout out the words and jump up and down, meaning everyone else has to get out of their way, unless they want to get pushed over and trampled on.

  Finally, Angela says she’s had enough. ‘I’m ready for off?’ she mouths, pointing to the door. The others agree. Finally. They carry on dancing as we leave the bar, conga-ing towards the door before collapsing into laughter when we get outside.

  Shelley rubs her feet before putting her shoes back on – they are black on the soles. Under the street lights outside the club, everyone looks tired – me too, no doubt. I feel exhausted, but strangely proud of myself for surviving the night out. Jeannie’s mascara is smeared under her eyes, making her look quite startling. Everyone looks pale and glassy-eyed compared to the pristine sheen they started out with at the restaurant.

  ‘Chips!’ shouts Jeannie, clapping with excitement. ‘Chips, chips, chips!’

  ‘You must be joking,’ I say. ‘We’ve just had a massive meal!’ It’s the most I’ve eaten in one go in weeks, and even though I didn’t eat most of it, my stomach still feels uncomfortably bloated, the garlic repeating on me and congealing with the brightly coloured booze.

  ‘Pah! That was ages ago!’ Shelley says. ‘I’m starving. Cheesy chips!’

  We walk towards the seafront, and the cool air makes me feel cleaner after the sweat and fake smoke of the club. I realise where we are heading. ‘I’m just going to walk back from here, I’ll be fine, honest.’

  Jeannie is more sober now. ‘Becs, no. Give me ten minutes to get some frigging chips will you, and I will put you in a taxi myself. You can’t be walking around on your own at this time of night. It’s pitch dark round by the caravan park. You don’t know who’s about.’

  We are walking up the alley now, the neon Star Pizza sign coming into view.

  ‘Well, I am waiting outside. I can’t eat anything and I don’t feel great. I drank too much.’

  ‘If you say so. It’s bloody freezing, though. I’ll get you a can of full-fat pop. That’ll sort you out,’ Jeannie says as she goes inside.

  I pace up and down the pavement for a while, willing Jeannie and the girls to hurry up. I consider leaving and just going back to the caravan. I could text Jeannie. But I know it’s not fair. I’ve got this far – no point in spoiling her night now.

  I can hear them laughing and messing about inside the takeaway. But a big group of lads is coming down the alley. An array of coloured shirts, jumping around and shouting, pushing each other.

  ‘Oi oi, bird ahead,’ shouts one of them. ‘Alright, love? You looking for the last chance saloon?’

  I go inside the shop to avoid them.

  ‘Don’t go, darling, don’t go,’ one of the group half sings at me.

  They bang hard on the window when they go past, and when we look, a couple of them grab and thrust their crotches. Jeannie waggles her little finger at them, and Gemma, Angela and Shelley burst out laughing.

  ‘You’re all dogs anyway!’ one of the men shouts when they’re out of view.

  ‘Right, the booze is wearing off now, let’s hurry up and get this over with and get home,’ says Jeannie. ‘That’s it until next year.’

  The takeaway is surgically lit. It shows up the grubby sole prints on the floor and the greasy smears across the table, dried-on ketchup. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and my skin looks haggard – dry, make-up collecting in the lines around my eyes. I pinch my cheeks to try and wake myself up a little, sliding into a plastic seat. They’re all locked together with the table and other chairs for maximum inconvenience and discomfort.

  I can’t hear what’s being said but Jeannie and the girls giggle at the man behind the counter. He pretends to pass Shelley her takeaway ticket, then snatches it away again. What are we, ten? I cringe at them lapping it up. Thankfully, though, it isn’t Ashy or Daz. There’s a younger man in tonight who I don’t recognise. Tall, soft-featured, a crop of angry spots along the hollows of his cheeks and his jawline.

  I can’t see Ashy and Daz anywhere so I begin to relax a bit. It’s almost over. Jeannie, Gemma, Shelley and Angela go to sit with me but I cover my nose with my sleeve and point to the next table along, trying to restrain a look of disgust as they gobble their food. Jeannie offers me a tray of grey kebab meat, hanging in strips like old, dead skin, and cardboardy chips drowning in so much vinegar it catches in your throat. I refuse and stare at the tiled wall.

  Eventually, they start to shove their empty, greasy, white polystyrene boxes into the bins. Finally, we are ready to leave. Bed and the solitude of the caravan are in sight. As I angle myself out of the stupid plastic seat, I feel something hit my hair. I reach up and it’s a chip. Turning to look, it’s Paige and Kat again. I didn’t see them come in.

  ‘You dirty cow. You didn’t even wash your hands in the bathroom.’ Paige, of course.

  I try to leave, but I can see Jeannie calculating, starting to react.

  ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ she says half laughing. ‘You’re about twelve. Becs, who are these clowns? Clowns with the appalling make-up to match.’ Jeannie looks Paige up and down and scoffs.

  ‘They’re no one; just leave it.’

  ‘Piss off. You’re the no one,’ says Paige, genuine venom. ‘Your pervy husband didn’t mind about people only looking twelve, did he?’

  I feel sick, frozen to the spot. I know this will incense Jeannie even more.

  ‘Look, you little bitch… You don’t know what you are t
alking about and you’ve got no right talking to her like th—’

  There’s a crack as Paige smacks Jeannie across the face from the side. There’s already blood. The panic is rising. I see a flash in the corner of my eye. I am terrified it’s a knife but it’s just Paige’s gold ring.

  Someone runs from behind the counter. ‘Hey, ladies! Please.’ It’s Daz.

  ‘Don’t patronise me. You need to ring the police on this little psycho,’ says Jeannie, shaking him off as he grabs her arm.

  The two girls stand close to the counter, laughing with the younger man behind it. Jeannie and the girls talk among themselves, shaking their heads and fussing over Jeannie’s bloody mouth.

  ‘You heard the latest about her husband?’ Paige shouts over, stopping the chatter dead.

  ‘Just leave it, you vindictive little bitch.’ Jeannie is dabbing at her mouth with a serviette, bright red blotches on the paper.

  My teeth are pressed together.

  ‘Wonder where they are now, him and Kayleigh. He’s probably got her locked away in some basement somewhere as his sex slave. Eurgh! You can’t have been very good in bed, love.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ I can hear myself screaming. ‘And what is it that you’re doing in here?’

  I take a step towards her.

  ‘Calm down, love. Just eating chips, like you.’ But she flinches.

  ‘Are you, though? Are you just eating chips? Why are you always hanging around here? Did Kayleigh hang around in here, did she? I saw you, Paige. On the beach.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I saw you meet a man and go into the disabled toilets.’

  Her face drops.

  ‘Becs. Leave it,’ Jeannie says but she sounds far away.

  ‘What’s this? Paige?’ It’s the younger man from behind the counter.

  ‘It’s nothing. Leave it, yeah. She don’t know what she’s on about. You following me or something?’

  I feel something hot on my neck. Then the voice I recognise. ‘Are you causing more trouble in my shop?’ It’s Ashy.