by Beth Thomas
I sit outside again while Matt goes in for sandwiches, and we munch them in desultory silence. Well, there’s a dog barking somewhere, and sheep bleating, and a tractor rumbling, and a loud conversation between two men at the next table. But we are silent.
Eventually Matt says, ‘I think this is a dead end.’
‘Oh God, me too. I don’t know why we came, really. There’s literally nothing here.’
‘It’s the foremost setting in the whole of the Yorkshire Dales, actually,’ a female voice says, passing our table as she collects the glasses.
‘Oh, no, I only meant …’ I start, but she’s gone. Matt is chuckling. ‘Stop laughing.’ I struggle to stop myself from smiling, and eventually give in.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ he says, leaning forward. ‘Let’s just enjoy ourselves here for another day, walk round, make the most of it. Maybe talk to a few people. And if we see or hear something interesting, we can investigate that. And if we don’t, it won’t matter, we’ll have had a lovely break in the Dales.’
I nod. The idea lifts me, gives me something positive to focus on. ‘OK.’
‘And then tomorrow, how about we go back home and look into that stuff in the safe a bit more? Find out where – what’s the bloke’s name?’
‘Ryan Moorfield?’
‘Yeah, him. Find out where he lives, or that address on the paperwork, or ask Ray or something. And see where that leads us.’
This doesn’t sound like a particularly good idea to me. Going back home feels like taking a step backwards. And I don’t think Ryan Moorfield, whoever he is, is going to know anything about where Adam is. He’s probably just some dubious old partner of Adam’s, or a dodgy business connection. I shrug. ‘I dunno. Do you really think that will help?’
‘At this point, Gracie, I have no idea what to think. All I know is, you want—’ he closes his eyes and shudders – ‘closure. Ugh, hate that word. And I don’t think there’s any to be had round this way.’
We both glance around. Two people have stopped to talk to each other on the green. They’re too far away to hear, but I imagine each one is saying ‘’Owdoo’ to the other.
‘No, you’re right. This place is too … rural to house the answers to mysterious behaviour and a strange disappearance.’
He blinks. ‘Too rural?’
‘Oh, you know what I mean.’
‘Well, I think Agatha Christie would probably disagree with you.’
I smile. ‘OK, too serene then. I don’t know, it’s just too … quiet.’
‘This is the Yorkshire Dales, love.’ The waitress is back to collect the plates. ‘If you want loud, go to Manchester.’
She tuts and crashes the plates together as we each stifle our giggles, then we watch her go, head high, flicking her hair indignantly.
‘OK,’ I say, turning back to Matt. ‘One more day, then home.’
‘Excellent.’ He’s so delighted, he practically claps his hands. ‘Drink up, then. We’re hiring bikes.’
SEVENTEEN
The next day, driving back, I feel the same sense of increasing heaviness the nearer we get to home. It’s as if the trip to Linton was a beautiful break from reality, surreal and dreamlike, but now here we are, right back in the thick of it, forced to deal with things again.
Matt pulls the car up outside Mum and Dad’s and turns off the ignition. Neither of us speaks for a moment, even though we’ve literally just finished a conversation about people who laugh very loudly in the cinema. My tummy is jumping, anticipating the awkwardness of saying goodbye – should I kiss him? Give him a hug? Revert to the standard grateful-arm-squeeze? It seems so dismissive, but kissing his cheek feels as difficult a prospect as jumping out of a helicopter on a piece of elastic. But then I remember that it’s just Ginger’s annoying little brother, and feel ridiculous. What am I feeling shy for? It’s so weird to feel like this about someone I’ve known since we were children. I turn a little in my seat to look at him. Good God, no, it’s not weird at all. Look at him, filling up the car with his shoulders and his arms and his eyes. I can’t reconcile this image with Ginger’s weedy little brother; this is a large, attractive man, wearing a scruffy old blue tee shirt with a smiley on it that says ‘Hi’ underneath. He’s turned too, and is gazing at me steadfastly, a small smile on his lips, his right elbow on the steering wheel, his chin on his hand. As we make eye contact, his elbow slips off the wheel and he punches himself in the face.
‘Ow!’
‘Hey, there’s no need for that,’ I say, smiling. ‘I’m sure we can sort this out amicably.’
We chuckle a bit while he rubs his chin comically, then he drops his hand and gazes at me again. ‘Grace,’ he whispers huskily, and my spine vibrates in harmony with his voice. He gently runs his hand down my arm and every nerve ending elsewhere in my body stops and turns to see what the commotion is. Come on, Grace, get it together. It’s nothing more than his version of the grateful-arm-squeeze. He leans towards me a little. ‘I’ve had a truly amazing time,’ he says in a low voice.
‘Me too.’ I check myself. ‘Well, you know, apart from the whole looking-for-information-about-my-mysterious-missing-husband bit, of course.’
‘Oh, yes, apart from that.’ His hand moves off my arm back to the steering wheel, and he clears his throat. ‘I didn’t mean … I mean …’
‘No, no, I know what you mean.’
He smiles that sidelong smile again. ‘Thanks.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘I said it first.’
‘No, you definitely didn’t. Anyway, you have no reason to be saying it. I do. So there.’
‘It’s not a competition.’
‘I know that, but if it was, I’d be winning.’
He laughs a little and it has an air of finality about it. Time to get out of the car, it’s telling me. I turn away from him and push the door open.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he says, as if I’m never going to see him again.
I swing round to face him. ‘What?’ It comes out a bit panicky, so I take a deep breath. ‘I mean, you are going to help me again, aren’t you? With the investigation and everything?’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
I release the breath. ‘I can’t do it without you.’
‘You can. But,’ he cuts me off as I start to object, ‘I will see you in the morning anyway. OK?’ His breath stirs the fine hair of my fringe.
I nod, and he visibly relaxes. ‘Yes, definitely.’
‘OK then. Until tomorrow.’
The instant I step inside the front door, I have reality shoved in my face. It seems there is some kind of row going on, judging from the sight of Lauren standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up them, red and frowning.
‘YOU’RE ALWAYS BLAMING THAT ON ME,’ she yells suddenly. ‘IT’S SO SHITTING UNFAIR! Oh, hi sibling. Where ya been?’
‘STOP BLOODY WELL SWEARING AT YOUR MOTHER!’ Dad’s voice, distant, somewhere downstairs.
‘Hi sibling. Just … away for a couple of days. What’s going on?’
She sighs. ‘The Golden Duo.’
I grin. It used to be the Golden Trio – Housework, Responsibility and Homework, rather than Harry, Ron and Hermione. Now that none of us is at school any more, the trio has lost a member.
‘Still?’
‘’Fraid so.’ She takes a breath and turns her mouth in the direction of the living room. ‘WELL SHE’S SWEARING AT ME, DAD. WHY IS IT OK FOR HER BUT NOT FOR ME?!’
‘Because she’s your mother,’ I say quietly, at the same time as a shriek comes down the stairs, ‘BECAUSE I’M YOUR SODDING MOTHER!’
Lauren looks at me and nods. ‘Nice.’
‘Thanks.’ I desperately want to get upstairs to my room and close the door so that I can rummage through Adam’s safe again. But it seems somehow disrespectful to push past a row and blithely get on with my life. ‘Um, anything I can do?’
Lauren shrugs nonchalantly. ‘Nah, don’t think so. It’ll
be over in a minute.’
‘IF YOU WANT TO BORROW THE CAR, YOU EFFING WELL CUT THE GRASS FIRST, THAT’S THE DEAL. Oh, is that you, Gracie?’ Mum’s voice sing-songs down the stairs now. ‘Are you back then?’
Lauren looks at me and we stifle a giggle. ‘Yes Mum, just got in.’
‘How was your trip, love?’
‘Very nice thank you.’
There’s an extended pause while everyone waits for me to elaborate. Eventually Dad’s faint voice reaches us from the living room. ‘Was it useful?’
‘Useful?’ Lauren says, and a second later Mum’s voice comes down from on high, ‘Useful?’
I told Dad where I was going and why; I didn’t tell anyone else. I can just hear his voice now, quietly saying, ‘Bugger. Stupid man.’
‘Yeah, it was useful, thanks. Very relaxing. I feel much less stressed now.’
I imagine Dad’s face, smiling to himself and nodding, thinking, ‘Clever girl.’
‘Oh that’s good,’ Mum says, a smile in her voice. ‘Glad you’re feeling better.’ She follows this up with, ‘WILL YOU JUST STOP ARGUING ABOUT IT AND GET OUT THERE AND DO IT!’
‘Oh, whatever,’ Lauren says angrily, and stomps up the stairs.
‘So?’ Dad says, coming into the hallway behind me. He glances up the stairs, then takes my arm and guides me into the kitchen. ‘What’d you find out?’
I shake my head. ‘Nothing, Dad. Well, apart from a beautiful little village in the Yorkshire Dales.’
‘What about the car park?’
‘Nothing there. Just a church and some gravestones.’
‘Seriously? Nothing? But, I mean, surely …’ He breaks off, exasperated, and takes a couple of steps away. Then shakes his head and looks back at me. ‘Nothing at all? Not even …?’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I imagined that you’d get there and find something, and at that point you’d know what you were looking for.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ I go over and give him a hug. ‘Never mind. It was a lovely place, breathtaking, so not a completely wasted trip.’
He looks me in the eye. ‘So. What do you think you’ll do now? Go back to work, try and forget about it?’
I know that’s what he wants me to do. That’s probably what everyone wants me to do. But I have a kind of snag in my head that the rest of my life is caught on. I can’t get to it until this is resolved. I shake my head. ‘Not yet, Dad.’
He sighs. ‘Oh, Gracie love. You’ll drive yourself mad with this. There isn’t anything else for you to do. The police are on it. Just leave it to them.’
‘Oh, no, I am. Don’t worry.’ They can look into Adam’s desertion. I want to find out about his life.
As soon as I’m in my room I grab the little safe from the corner and heave it onto the bed. Then I ring Matt.
‘Hey,’ he says, a big smile in his voice. ‘What you doing?’
‘Just about to open the safe.’
‘Christ, you don’t waste any time, do you?’
‘Why wait? I want answers so I can get back to my life.’
‘Totally get that. So? What’s it say?’
‘Hold on.’ I lay my phone down on the bed and, after extracting the key from the chain round my neck, I unlock it. I pull all the papers out and spread them out on the bed, then pick up the phone again. ‘OK, it’s all here, the tenancy agreement, birth certificate, bank statements.’
‘So the tenancy agreement must have an address on it? The property address?’
‘I suppose so. I didn’t really look at it the first time, just the name of the letting agent. Mistvale Lettings.’
‘So have a look now.’ He sounds almost as eager as I am.
‘Already doing it.’ I pick up the document and quickly read the details. ‘It’s a property in Didcot, looks like a flat. Derwent Avenue. Where’s Didcot?’
‘Didcot?’ He sounds thoughtful and I get the impression he’s doing something else in the background. ‘Um … it’s in … Oxford … shire. Quite near to Oxford, I think.’
‘Oh, Oxfordshire. Well, how long do you think it will take to drive there?’
‘Not sure …’
‘Could we walk it? Because that would be a nice afternoon out, wouldn’t it?’
‘Um … possibly …’
‘Or we could ride horses? Up the M1?’
‘Er … no, you wouldn’t … go on the M1. It would be the … er … M4 …’
‘Matt!’
‘Hmm?’
‘What are you doing?’
There’s a pause, then he clears his throat. ‘Oh, sorry. OK. I’m done.’ He pauses briefly. ‘I was just reading …’
‘What?’
‘Sorry. Um. OK. A few days ago, I Googled Ryan Moorfield, just in case there was anything …’
I smack my head with my free hand. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe I haven’t done that! I Google everything, why did this not occur to me?’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, you’ve had a lot to deal with recently.’
‘Yes I know, but still …’
‘Doesn’t matter, Gracie. I’ve done it now.’
‘Yeah, but, I don’t know, it’s kind of my thing. If I don’t Google things, I’m not sure I even know who I am any more.’
There’s a slight pause. ‘Grace, I think, you know, following a traumatic event like this, you probably are going to find that—’
‘Oh shut up, it was a joke. So? What did you find out?’
‘Oh. Right.’ I imagine him blinking and staring at his phone as if it’s faulty. ‘Well, not very much, in fact. Just a few links to some guy on Twitter and Facebook. Not interesting really, and no real information there.’
‘Oh. Disappointing.’
‘Well, to start with, yes. But then when you put in Didcot, and Mistvale Lettings, something very interesting comes up. Something …’ He breaks off. ‘Maybe you should see it yourself.’
‘Really? Something significant?’
‘I think so, yes. Have you got your laptop there?’
‘It’s downstairs. Don’t hang up, I’m going down for it.’
‘OK.’
I lay the phone down on my bed again and dart out of the room. On my breakneck journey down the stairs and into the kitchen, I get a snapshot of my family, frozen in those few seconds as I zoom past like a car advert. Robbie is crossing the landing with headphones on; Lauren is visible through the window pushing the lawnmower; Mum and Dad are in the kitchen, Mum by the kettle, Dad sitting at the table holding his head over a conservatory brochure. I imagine myself to be moving so fast, I’m just a blur, a rush of air, rocking crockery or fluttering letters; then gone before anyone had even noticed, or was entirely sure that—
‘Oh Grace, that policewoman called for you while you were away.’
I screech to a halt. ‘What?’ I turn slowly to the direction of Mum’s voice. ‘You mean Linda Patterson?’
‘Is that her name?’
‘It’s Linda Patterson’s name, yes. Is that who you’re talking about?’
‘The policewoman, the one who’s been coming round.’
‘OK, Linda Patterson. What did she say?’
Mum shrugs nonchalantly and pours hot water into two mugs. ‘Nothing much. I don’t think she had anything to report, actually. Bit of a pointless phone call, if you ask me.’
‘But Mum. What did she actually say?’
Dad looks up from the catalogue as Mum pauses with the milk in her hand and turns to face me head on. ‘Snapping at me isn’t going to help, is it? She didn’t say much because there wasn’t much to say. Just about the investigation, you know. A tiny update. Nothing much.’ She turns back to the mugs. ‘Like I said.’
‘OK, great, thanks, brilliant.’ I grab my laptop from the table and sprint back upstairs. ‘I’m back,’ I shout towards my phone as I enter the room.
‘Did you look it up?’ Matt asks urgently, as soon as I pick up the handset.
‘No, no
, I was just …’
‘Thank God. You were gone so long, I thought …’
‘Oh sorry, I bumped into Mum who chose that moment to tell me that the family liaison officer called for me while I was away.’
‘Oh, did she? What about? Have they got some news for you?’
‘I don’t know. Mum wasn’t very helpful there. Just kept saying “Nothing much” when I asked her what they’d said. So annoying that she doesn’t remember things now she’s got old.’
‘Well to be fair, “Nothing much” is probably what the FLO said in the first place.’
‘Oh. Well anyway, I need to ring her.’
‘Yes, you do. Go on then, it’s OK, I’ll wait.’
‘That’s great, thanks. Except I need to use the phone to make the call …’
‘Oh, God, yes of course you do.’ There’s a rustling sound, as if he’s shaking his head. ‘Stupid. OK, I’ll hang up now.’
‘OK.’ I clutch the phone more tightly to my head.
‘OK.’
‘Speak later then?’
‘Ring me back when you’ve finished.’
I’m smiling as I answer. ‘Will do.’
‘Straight away?’
I smile. How sweet that he doesn’t want be disconnected for long. ‘I promise.’
Eventually we both hang up and quickly I ring the number for Linda Patterson.
‘Oh, hello Grace,’ she says affably. ‘How are you?’
I just manage to stop myself giving my standard ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Might go against me mere days after my husband has mysteriously vanished. ‘I’ve been better, thanks. Did you have some news?’
‘Oh, right, yes. Um, it wasn’t anything much, actually. Just to say that we’re making progress with identifying the internet user who booked the flight ticket.’
‘Oh. Really? Right.’ That’s something I hadn’t given any thought to. Didn’t think they would even bother with it. My mind is saying, he didn’t use the ticket, that’s the only relevant thing. How it was bought, or by whom, is not important.
‘Yes. We’ve got our IT nerds to try and trace the – oh, I don’t know the terminology, but they’re confident they’ll identify the individual.’