by Sibel Hodge
I finish the toast and leave the plate on the kitchen side. Liam would hate that. He can’t stand clutter or mess. He’d want it put straight in the dishwasher out of sight. Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I leave it there in all its messy glory, pick up the phone from the base unit in the kitchen, and dial Sara’s number as I pace up and down. It rings mockingly in my ear before cutting off. I try again. And again.
Where is she?
DI Summers. He might have got hold of her already. What did I do with his card?
It’s then I realize Liam took it when Summers gave it to me. He put it in the pocket of his suit jacket, but I don’t remember which one he was wearing. There was too much going on. Too many horrible skeletons jumping out of my closet.
I go into our bedroom and slide open the mirrored door to his side of the wardrobe. All his suits are lined up in a colour-coordinated fashion. Black ones to the left, charcoal next, then light grey, and blue. His shirts are the same. Ties hang neatly on a metal tie rack. His shoes on a shelf at the bottom, all polished and shiny.
One by one, I check his pockets for the card until I touch something. I pull it out. It’s a piece of paper. A credit card receipt in Liam’s name. It’s dated twenty-first of March for a hotel in Welwyn. One double room. I stare at it until my eyes water, a cold shiver sliding up my spine.
So, two days before his birthday party, Liam had stayed in a hotel in a village a few miles away, but he’d told me he was going up to Scotland then. I distinctly remember, because I was worried he wouldn’t make it back in time for the celebrations. He assured me he would, said it was only a quick overnight trip to sort out some problems that had cropped up with the diabetes drug. But he’d lied. Again. I wonder what else he’s lied to me about.
I go through the other jacket pockets and find Summers’ card in the last one, along with something else. Another receipt. This time for a white gold and diamond heart-shaped locket, costing twelve-hundred pounds. It’s dated twenty-second of April. I finger the piece of paper. Who did he buy it for? Was it a gift for me to cheer me up, or was it for someone else?
I stride across the room to my dressing table. My jewellery box sits on top. It’s one of those I always wanted as a child but never had, the kind with a ballerina that spins around to a melody when you open it. Liam bought it for me shortly after we first met when I saw it in a department store.
I lift the lid and root through. There’s some costume jewellery, the gold bracelet Liam bought me for our first wedding anniversary, and a ring with a stone missing. Odds and sods I’ve never got round to throwing away. The silver necklace with a turquoise pendant Liam bought me on our first Valentine’s Day together, now broken, but I’d kept it anyway. After he gave it to me at the romantic restaurant he’d chosen, he expectantly waited for his gift, which I’d forgotten to buy. The longer the night went on, the more I could see him getting agitated. He demanded the bill before we even had coffee. When we got in the car on the way home, I tried to apologize that I’d been so busy with my new job I’d forgotten to get him something. Gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white, he spat out, ‘I spent ages choosing that necklace, and you couldn’t even be bothered to get me anything to show how much you love me. Thanks a fucking lot!’ He reached across and yanked the necklace from around my throat, sending it hurtling to the foot well.
I force myself back to the task in hand and lift up the top tray of the jewellery box, going through what’s underneath. This is where I keep my personal documents, and all I find is my passport, birth and marriage certificate. There’s no white gold and diamond heart-shaped locket.
I suppose I could’ve been wearing it when I disappeared. It could’ve got lost. The chain broken in a struggle with whoever took me. Or had I never been given it?
I search through the rest of Liam’s wardrobe, looking for something else that might help me. I find nothing of any importance and take great care to rearrange everything as neatly as I found it. I swear he’s got a photographic memory for minute details, and he’ll know I’ve been looking through his stuff.
Next, I rummage through his bedside drawers. Maybe he’s hidden the necklace in here and he’s going to surprise me with it. I go through socks arranged in neat little bundles and boxers that look like they’ve been ironed, but the necklace definitely isn’t there.
I head downstairs with Summers’ card and make myself some more tea. Peppermint this time, to calm the rising and falling in my stomach. I take a sip, feeling like my life belongs to someone else, someone I no longer know. I pick up the phone from the kitchen table and dial Summers’ number with a shaky hand.
‘DI Summers,’ he answers on the fifth ring.
‘Hello, it’s Chloe Benson.’
A pause. Then, ‘Hello, Chloe. I heard the hospital released you. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m OK. Just confused about everything still. Did you manage to get hold of Sara? I’ve tried lots of times, but she’s still not answering.’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He clears his throat. ‘Actually, I was going to call you today. Unfortunately, we have no leads and no clear lines of enquiry to follow up regarding your…incident. In view of your recent history, and our liaison with your doctors, we’ll be putting the investigation on hold unless something new comes to light.’
My eyes well up, but I refuse to cry. I want to scream at him. Rant and rave, and tell him he doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but, of course, that will just make me look unhinged. ‘You read the letter I left Liam, didn’t you?’
‘He’s very worried about your health, Chloe. So is Dr Traynor.’
‘Liam’s convinced you it was some kind of suicide letter.’
‘Wasn’t it? After reviewing everything, it seems the most likely theory, don’t you agree?’
‘It’s not. I mean, I don’t think—’
‘But that’s just it, Chloe, you don’t know for certain because you can’t remember.’
I couldn’t argue with that. I wonder if I should tell him about the receipts I found, but what would I say? That Liam stayed in a hotel in Welwyn one night? That he bought a piece of jewellery I can’t find? That he’s lying about the argument we had because I hate marmalade? It would only confirm what Summers already thought, that I was crazy and paranoid.
No, the only way to get him to take me seriously is to find some kind of evidence of my abduction. Then he could protect me from the madman out there I can’t yet identify. He’d do an investigation and arrest him. Put him in prison, and I’d be able to live again. But until I had proof, he wouldn’t believe me. ‘I’m not going mad,’ I say, wondering if that’s what all mad people say. If in doubt, just deny you’re mad. Am I really just losing my grip on reality?
No. I know me. I know I’m not bloody losing it. I’m the sane one. It’s everyone else who’s the problem.
‘I think we need to respect the advice of medical experts here. Look, if you remember something else, you can call me on this number,’ he says in a bored tone that clearly means he doesn’t want me to call him at all.
‘Right.’ I don’t know what else to say.
‘Take care of yourself, Chloe.’
I hang up and stare at the phone, wondering what to do next. Thoughts buzz around in my brain like wasps caught in a bottle. I’m utterly alone and utterly lost.
I go into the dining room and take a sheet of paper from the printer and a pen from the office desk in the corner. I take them back to the kitchen and think about finishing off that open bottle of wine. God knows I could do with it. Instead, I rummage around in the back of the cupboard under the sink and find an old packet of cigarettes left from before I gave up smoking.
Eleven remain, the white paper now tinged an orangey colour. A lighter with I Love You written on it is stuffed inside. A memento Liam picked up for me on a trip to London one day shortly after he said those words to me for the very first time. I remember the heart-soaring feeling I ha
d every time he said it or wrote it on a note. Liam loved me. The girl who never thought anyone would.
I make a strong coffee, the next best thing to wine, and take everything out into the garden. My gaze flits to the trees at the end to make sure no one is here but me. I’m alone. Completely alone, apart from two magpies and a squirrel.
I sit at the patio table and light the cigarette, inhaling deeply. The first rush of dizziness hits me. It’s nice. Makes me lightheaded and relaxed for a moment. I take another drag then a sip of coffee.
So, what do I really know for certain? What is only a possibility?
In between drinking and dragging on the cigarette, I write down everything I’m certain of in chronological order.
21st March
Liam stayed in the Royal Lodge Hotel, but said he was in Scotland.
23rd March
Liam’s party. Was going to tell him about the baby.
25th March
Had miscarriage in early hours of morning. Became depressed.
10th April
Went to GP. Was prescribed antidepressants and sleeping tablets.
13th April
I’m sectioned. Liam told doctors he found me clawing at garden path.
In psychiatric wing having treatment. (Dr Drew and Dr Traynor told me I was paranoid and hallucinating. I thought a man was chasing me, and I was trying to get away.)
20th April
Released from hospital. Still mildly depressed but otherwise OK.
22nd April
Liam bought locket I can’t find.
29th April
I phoned Sara and spoke for over an hour.
9th May
Rescued by a woman on the Great North Road. Ran through woods from an underground structure where I was being held. Lost memory of everything since the party.
I stare out at the garden path at which I was supposedly clawing. How did I get from point A to point B?
I don’t know.
The only thing I do know is that I have to somehow retrace my recent past and find the parts that are missing. The answer is out there somewhere, the vital clue to prove I’m not making this all up.
The hotel, then. The first lie I remember Liam telling me. That’s where I’ll start.
PART THREE
LOOK BEHIND YOU
14
I check the kitchen clock and find it’s one p.m. I’ve got plenty of time before Liam returns from work.
I put the makings of lunch on the worktop and prepare a ham and tomato sandwich with mayonnaise. I’m not hungry, but I need something to do with my hands. Need a distraction to keep me busy. And in some bizarre way, doing something mundane that I’ve done a million times before is comforting. It almost makes me feel normal for a moment.
I’m just about to take a bite when the phone rings. ‘Hello?’ I answer.
‘Who were you talking to?’ are the first words out of Liam’s mouth.
‘When?’
‘Earlier. I tried to call you, but it was engaged.’
‘Oh, it was just someone who had the wrong number,’ I say. Liam’s not the only one who can tell lies. ‘How’s work going?’
‘Busy. What are you up to?’
‘Nothing much. Just taking it easy like the doctors suggested. I’m just about to eat lunch.’
‘What are you having?’
‘A ham and tomato sandwich.’
‘Don’t make a mess, will you? You know how you always leave crumbs everywhere.’
I fight the urge to tell him I’m allowed to leave crumbs in my own house if I want to. I’m the one that has to clean it up, after all. But it would be futile, anyway. I’m not allowed to leave a mess. Even a stray crumb would wind Liam up. ‘No, I won’t leave a mess,’ I say breezily, and it sounds a little manic to my ears.
‘Good girl. How about making something nice for dinner when I get home, hmm? That will give you something to do that’s not too taxing.’
‘Of course. Let me think of something.’
‘In fact, I think you should reconsider my suggestion to give up work permanently. You know I earn in two hours what you can earn in a week. It would be much better for you to be at home where I can take care of you. We can take care of each other.’
Home waiting for your beck and call, you mean? I’ve heard that line so many times I barely bat an eyelid. ‘I like working. I’m going to go back soon.’
‘It would mean you’d have time to do all the stuff round the house that never gets done. It would be less pressure on you, darling, you know how fragile you are.’
‘But—’
‘We’ll talk about it again. When you’re feeling better.’ He cuts me off in a tone that’s not a request; it’s a promise.
I stick two fingers up at the phone. Maybe it’s childish, but it’s my little bit of rebellion.
‘I have to go now. I’ll see you about seven o’ clock.’
‘OK, bye.’ I press the end call button before he can say anything else.
I chew the rest of my lunch automatically, totally preoccupied with the confusion of thoughts in my head.
A few minutes later, I look at the plate and wonder where the sandwich went. I rinse the plate, along with the one I left from breakfast, and stack them both in the dishwasher. Then I head upstairs and search out something I can use to disguise myself. After twisting my hair up into a bun, I pull on a big, floppy sunhat I bought for our honeymoon and never wore. Good, now it looks like my hair is short. Next, I put some big sunglasses on and survey myself in the mirror from all angles. I look nothing like me.
Liam hasn’t given me a replacement front door key after the change of locks, so I take the new key from inside the kitchen door and step out into the back garden, shutting the door. It closes silently behind me. That’s another pet hate of Liam’s, you see. Squeaking doors drive him mad. He’s always oiling the hinges, just to make sure they don’t make a sound.
I lock the door and put the key in an old handbag of mine then walk along the gravel path that leads down the side of the house to the driveway. I’ve never learnt how to drive. To be honest, the idea of it scares me. Being in control of a big hunk of metal is intimidating. So I make do with walking. I can walk to work in thirty minutes. Walk to the main high street area in the opposite direction in twenty-five. Liam takes me food shopping when he’s off work at the weekends. He moans about it, but really, I think he likes it. It means I’m more dependent on him. Maybe one day I’ll learn how to.
I step out onto the street and look both ways. No one is around, but as I walk out of my cul-de-sac towards the bus stop at the bottom of the hill I have a horrible feeling I’m being watched. I turn round to see if anyone’s following me, but there’s only a young mum pushing a buggy. She’s leaning over the handles, talking to her baby cocooned inside and doesn’t even notice me. I scan the houses either side of the street but don’t see anyone in their gardens or looking through their windows at me.
I carry on walking, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who looks like a potential threat. It’s scary being out here. Alone. Exposed.
When I get to the bus stop, I breathe a sigh of relief that other people are there. A teenage boy with angry red spots on his face is sitting on the bench. He’s plugged into earphones, miming the words to a song. An elderly woman smiles at me and starts talking about how wonderful the weather’s been lately. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to think, but I feel a bit safer amongst other people so I humour her as best as I can. At least no one can touch me in broad daylight with all these witnesses around.
I check the timetable. A bus is heading towards Welwyn village in ten minutes. I shift from foot to foot and manage a few yeses and nos now and then as the woman speaks to me until my bus arrives.
It takes forty-five minutes to get to the stop nearest the hotel. I get off the bus and walk to the end of the road then take a right. I glance behind me. No one else is around. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
&n
bsp; When I get to the car park at the front of the hotel, I have a weird sense of déjà vu. I’ve never stayed here, but I feel like I’ve been here before, standing in the same spot, staring at it and wondering what I’m about to find out. Maybe I’ve seen it advertised somewhere locally, a photo taken from this very spot in the Welwyn Gazette. My heartbeat flutters inside my chest as I force myself to walk forward on shaky legs.
The building is sleek, bright, and modern; exactly the kind of place Liam took me on our first romantic weekend away two weeks into our relationship. We stayed in York, since Liam had never been and wanted to see it. We didn’t actually get to see much, though. Instead, we spent most of the time tangled up in the sheets with each other, ordering room service if we were hungry.
When I finally got away from the children’s home and escaped to Uni, where no one knew my past, I reinvented myself. The new Chloe was carefree, fun, and flirty, but I still wasn’t confident enough to attract the boys. I seemed to lack some natural skill to find love that everyone else seemed to have, so I’d only ever slept with one person before Liam, and it had only been a brief fling. That’s why I thought it was a miracle Liam could love me at all. That anyone could. And even after such a short time together, I already knew I felt the same way about him, too.
When we arrived at the hotel, he’d already organized for champagne and strawberries to be brought up to the room. He fed me the strawberries dipped in champagne, and it was the most sophisticated and romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. Later, after the first time we made love, his gaze roamed my naked body, as if he was trying to commit every part of me to memory. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said, his fingers sweeping over the curve of my breasts. ‘Who cares if you have tiny boobs?’