Gone Without a Trace

by Mary Torjussen

  ‘So,’ said James, ‘he’s gone, has he?’

  In a flash I came back to the present, just in time to see Katie fire him a glance. This time I was the outsider. I was so tempted to turn the tables and remind him that we’d discussed this when he called round to mine the other night, but I knew that would be the end of the evening for all of us.

  ‘You wouldn’t know he’d been there,’ I said and drank some wine. I don’t think they realised how difficult it was for me to talk about it.

  ‘And he deleted his phone number?’ asked James.

  ‘And his texts and emails,’ said Katie.

  I glared at her.

  ‘Wasn’t his number on the call history?’

  I shook my head. ‘The calls to and from him were deleted too.’

  James frowned. ‘But there must have been loads of calls over the years. Nobody else’s were deleted?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it. When I got my new phone at Christmas, I changed providers and it kept all my contacts, but the call and text history weren’t saved. Obviously my emails were there, but the rest had gone.’ I shrugged. ‘It didn’t bother me. Why would I want to keep old texts and records of people I rang years ago?’

  ‘And you hadn’t backed it up?’

  ‘Only the photos. But he deleted the backups, too.’

  ‘Well it doesn’t matter anyway,’ he said. ‘It looks as though he isn’t using that phone any more.’ He poured us another glass of wine. ‘Did he leave his keys behind?’

  I nodded. ‘They were on the hook in the kitchen.’

  ‘And,’ added Katie helpfully, ‘her old television and books were put back where they’d been before he moved in.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The room looked just as it did before he moved in, didn’t it, Hannah?’

  I flushed. James had barely glanced into the living room when he called round and hadn’t seemed to notice the change. It had been clear he was only looking for Matt. I’d had no intention of letting him know what Matt had done. OK, if he already knew about it from Katie, that was fine, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. Even though our relationship had ended a long time ago, he was still an ex, and I didn’t want to look small in front of him.

  ‘Katie told me he’d taken all his things,’ said James. He avoided my eyes. ‘I didn’t realise he’d put your stuff back.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Katie. ‘Even the bedding. It was amazing, the job he did on it.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It was fantastic.’

  She shut up a little at that.

  ‘So,’ said James carefully, as though he sensed danger ahead. ‘You went to see his mum, did you?’

  ‘I didn’t intend to go there. I was just driving nearby and thought I’d call in and talk to her.’ Suddenly I was hot with anger. ‘Do you know something? That woman spent Christmas Day in my house and didn’t say a word about moving!’

  ‘It probably wasn’t deliberate,’ said James. ‘Maybe she only decided to put it on the market in the New Year and it sold quickly.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I looked it up on Zoopla. She sold the house on the thirtieth of November; she left there a month before she came to us on Christmas Day.’

  There was silence in the room.

  ‘I didn’t realise you could find that out,’ said Katie.

  ‘It’s on Zoopla as soon as the sale’s been registered,’ said James. ‘Nothing’s private any more.’

  ‘I wonder where she’s gone,’ said Katie. ‘Is there any way of finding that out?’

  ‘Electoral register?’ asked James.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I made a mental note to check.

  ‘I doubt if she’s on there,’ said Katie. ‘Remember when we moved in here, we clicked a box to say we didn’t want our details made public? The council sells on your name and address and you get a load of junk mail otherwise. Wouldn’t she have done that?’

  ‘She might not have registered online,’ said James. ‘But what good will it do you if you find out where she’s gone anyway? It’s not as though you want to speak to her, is it? You didn’t have much of a relationship with her.’

  ‘I was civil enough,’ I snapped. ‘But you’re right, I don’t want to see her. I just don’t see it as a coincidence, her moving house and him moving out within a few months of each other.’

  ‘They’re not going to be living together, though, are they?’ said Katie. ‘I know he got on all right with her, but he wouldn’t want to move in with her, would he?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Sometimes she drove him mad. He often came home in a bad mood after seeing her, particularly in the last few months.’

  ‘See?’ said James. ‘There’s one advantage to living on your own. You don’t have to put up with his moods.’

  I couldn’t think of anything polite to say to this, and then the curry was delivered and the subject changed.

  Later in the evening we sat listening to music, watching the way the shadows in the room danced as the candles flickered. I know I was a bit drunk, and I could tell from the way Katie was slurring her words that she was on her way, too. James hadn’t drunk as much as us and was flicking through Facebook on his phone and giving us a running commentary. I was still fuming about Matt.

  ‘I wish I knew where he was,’ I said for the twentieth time that night.

  ‘Are you sure you were getting along all right?’ asked Katie. I could hear that note of patience in her voice, and it really irritated me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Nothing was different, that’s the thing. We’d been getting on really well. It’d been ages since we even argued.’ I thought of our lives together the last few months. I’d been happy; work had been going well and Matt and I were getting along. There was no reason for him to go like that. Not then.

  Katie stood up and started to take the plates out of the room.

  When the sound of water running in the kitchen could be heard, James said suddenly, ‘You hadn’t been having arguments, then?’

  I flushed. ‘No, we hadn’t.’ I probably said it a bit louder than I meant to.

  ‘Only . . . for him to go off like that . . . Why would he do that if he was happy?’

  I felt like my skin was burning from head to toe now. ‘Well how do I know? He didn’t exactly stop to explain himself, did he?’

  ‘I know you’re not going to like this,’ said James, ‘but I bet there’s another woman involved.’

  Of course I’d already wondered about that, but when he suggested it, I was instantly livid. ‘You would say that!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Because that’s all people think of when someone disappears like this, that they’ve run off with someone else! How do you think it makes me feel, knowing people think that?’

  He shrugged and went back to his phone.

  ‘Which people?’ asked Katie, coming back into the room. ‘Who’ve you told?’

  I shook my head, unwilling to repeat what James had said. ‘I’ve only told Sam,’ I said. ‘And he couldn’t believe it either.’

  ‘He doesn’t really know Matt very well, though, does he?’ asked Katie. ‘Besides, Sam wouldn’t believe anyone would want to leave you.’

  They both laughed. It was a long-standing joke that Sam had a crush on me.

  ‘You still haven’t told your mum and dad?’

  I shook my head, my mouth tight.

  ‘Did anyone see him leave?’ asked James. ‘What about your neighbours? Do you think one of them helped him?’

  ‘Sheila and Ray were at their daughter’s in Devon,’ I said. ‘There’s a new family on the other side who moved in that day. Looks like a couple in their twenties with a little boy.’

  Just then I heard a text message alert. I picked up my bag and searched through it for my phone.

  Katie was halfway out of the room but came back to say, ‘I didn’t know anyone had moved in yet. Did they see anything?’

  ‘No idea. I haven’t spoken to
them. I don’t know what time they got there, either. I saw them bring some of their things at about eight o’clock that night, but they might have been there all day, for all I know.’

  ‘Are you going to ask them?’ James was standing now, stretching and yawning, a clear hint that it was time for me to go.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said slowly. ‘I haven’t even met them yet. It might seem odd just asking them that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ said Katie. ‘They might think you’re a bit strange.’

  ‘Oh thanks!’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’ve got to live next door to them. You don’t want their first impression of you to be that your boyfriend’s disappeared, do you?’

  I know that victims can be tainted by the crimes committed against them, but I couldn’t believe I was in that position, where I couldn’t even speak to my neighbours about my own boyfriend going missing without them thinking I was odd.

  ‘I suppose not,’ I said. ‘I won’t say anything.’

  I’d walked the couple of miles to their house and booked a taxi for the return journey in advance, knowing I’d have a few drinks and wouldn’t want to walk home. The taxi sounded its horn then, and James went to fetch my jacket. I opened my phone and glanced down at the message on the screen. When I saw what it said, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Katie. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t recognise the number.’

  She came to stand next to me and turned my hand so that she could see the message.

  It said: I’m home.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Is that Matt?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I looked at the phone again. ‘I don’t know who it’s from.’

  James came round and looked over my shoulder at the message. ‘It’s just someone messing about,’ he said. ‘It’s not Matt, is it?’ He checked his own phone and held the screen next to mine. ‘See? They’re different numbers.’

  I hesitated, confused, then everything became clear. ‘He’s changed his number, remember?’ I said. I gave Katie a huge hug, nearly lifting her off her feet. ‘He’s back, Katie, he’s come back!’

  13

  The taxi ride from Katie’s house to mine seemed to take ages. On the way, I replied to Matt, sending message after message, full of hope and promises.

  Back in a minute. xxx

  Matt, wait for me, home soon. xxx

  Wait! Won’t be long! xxxxxxxxxxxx

  When we arrived, I flung some money at the driver, who sped off, leaving me standing on the path. I hesitated for a moment. The front of the house was dark. How had he got in without a key? Then reason left me. Quickly, I pulled my own key from my bag, opened the door and switched on the lamp on the cabinet in the hall.

  ‘Matt?’ I called. ‘Matt, I’m home!’

  I raced through the hall and into the kitchen. It was in darkness. I flicked the switch and the room flooded with light. There was no one there.

  I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and threw open the bedroom door. Again the room was dark and the quilt on the bed was smooth and straight, just as it had been when I’d left the house. I turned to the en suite – it was empty.

  I sat on the bed, breathing heavily. My phone was still in my hand and I looked at the message again.

  I’m home.

  My heart was pounding and my face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

  Why had he sent that message if he wasn’t here?

  I went slowly back downstairs. I opened the living room door, but of course he wasn’t there. I knew it was stupid, but I checked the cupboard under the stairs and the utility room, and then I went to make sure he hadn’t locked himself out in the garden. Back inside, I ran up to the spare room and the family bathroom, just in case I’d missed something. When I came downstairs again, I was hot with embarrassment.

  My phone beeped and I leapt up, thinking it was Matt again, but it was a message from Katie:

  Is he there?

  I stared down at the phone. I knew James and Katie would be talking about me. It beeped again.

  Has he come back?

  I couldn’t face that all night, so I sent a quick message:

  No, it must have been a mistake. He’s not here. Night. x

  For hours I lay in bed sending text after text to that number, telling Matt that I loved him, that I wanted him to come home to me.

  He didn’t reply.

  14

  I woke early the next morning to find I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. Hovering over the toilet bowl, I tried to think how much I’d drunk the night before, but just the thought of white wine made me feel even worse.

  Later, in the kitchen, I sat in the cool morning light with a glass of water, staring at the garden, trying not to move. My head was pounding, partly from the hangover but mainly with all the thoughts slamming round it. I knew I would have to eat before going to work. I looked awful, and if I went into the office smelling of wine, I’d be likely to lose my job.

  I showered and dressed, thinking of the day ahead. I had a meeting at a client’s office first thing. Lucy would be coming with me to observe; I had to pick her up at the office at 9 a.m. We’d organised the paperwork on Friday, making sure everything was ready and we were both primed for the meeting. I used to love going to visit clients, enjoying the chance to get out of the office for a few hours, but right now all I wanted was to sit at my desk with the blinds pulled down and call Matt’s number to ask him why he’d said he was home when he clearly wasn’t.

  Downstairs, as I put bread into the toaster, I spotted the little pile of Post-it notes on the island. I looked through them again, then sat down to update them.

  Olivia moved house on 30 November, I wrote.

  I searched online for the electoral register and found I’d have to go to the town hall or a main library to view it. Then I grimaced as I read, Your name and address will be included in the open register unless you ask for them to be removed. I had no doubt Olivia would have made that request, but I still made a note to remind myself to call at the library on my way home from work. It had to be worth a try.

  On another note I jotted down the phone number that had sent me the message. I’d googled the number the night before, but couldn’t find it anywhere.

  I sat at the island trying to eat some toast, hoping to ease my queasy stomach, and looking through the pile of notes. I laid them out again in a different formation, but there just wasn’t much there. I needed more information than this, otherwise I’d never find out where he was.

  With a start, I realised I’d been sitting there too long and I’d have to rush. I sent Lucy a text reminding her to be in reception at nine, then quickly put on my make-up. I couldn’t afford to turn up looking like I didn’t care.

  The meeting went well, I thought, though I noticed Lucy glancing at me occasionally and I didn’t know what was wrong. That worried me; I’d always prided myself on picking up cues, but that day I couldn’t. Later, as we drove back to the office, I confronted her.

  ‘In the meeting, I noticed you staring at me. Was something wrong?’

  She jumped a little, and blushed. ‘No, no, there was nothing wrong.’

  ‘So why did you keep staring? It was embarrassing.’ I drove on, gripping the steering wheel. ‘If you’ve got something to say, just say it!’

  ‘It’s just . . . sometimes you seemed to drift off. As though you’d forgotten what we were talking about. I wondered whether you were all right.’

  I stared at her. ‘What? I didn’t do that!’

  ‘I just thought you ought to know,’ she said quietly. ‘It was only sometimes.’ She started to backtrack. ‘Not often.’

  We drove on in silence. I was sure I hadn’t been doing that! I’d paid really close attention to everything that was said. Did it look like I was thinking about something else? I felt cold at the thought. If it looked like I wasn’t concentrating, word would get round in no t
ime.

  Back at the office, I stopped by to see Sam, troubled by what Lucy had said.

  ‘Sam, when we’re in meetings, do you think sometimes I’m not paying attention?’

  He flushed. ‘I think you’re fine, Hannah. Just a bit distracted, perhaps, nothing else. I don’t think anyone else has noticed.’

  I left his room, determined to work hard. To focus. Within ten minutes, I’d googled Matt’s number again, and sent him four texts.

  I called at the supermarket on my way home, having decided to cook something that night. I needed to look after myself. I hadn’t eaten properly since Matt left, and after Lucy’s comments, I knew I needed to get a grip. I bought chicken and vegetables, and when I got home, I started to prepare a stir fry. I was about to chop an onion when I saw the notes on the kitchen island. I turned off the heat under the wok and picked them up.

  As though they were a pack of cards, I laid them out on the marble surface and tried to think what I’d missed. Nothing new came to mind. I’d just arranged them in a different order when I glanced over at the dining table.

  I blinked.

  The square glass vase was still there, full of tulips. This morning the flowers had been blowsy and full-blown, their petals about to drop. I’d left them there thinking I’d throw them away later.

  Now they were fresh, their petals dewy in their tight purple buds, their leaves standing to attention.

  My head pounded. Was I going mad? I knew the flowers had been nearly dead this morning. I hadn’t even dared touch them; I’d been in a rush, and thought I’d get rid of them when I got home. Lately I’d had too much on my mind to change the water in the vase; by this morning it had been murky, and fronds had come away from the stems and were floating in the stagnant water, the petals drooping so they almost touched the table.

  So if the flowers were dying this morning and fresh this evening, someone must have replaced them. And it wasn’t me. I shook my head. I knew it wasn’t me. I’d been at work all day! I was sure I hadn’t bought any from the supermarket. I opened my purse to find the receipt, and swore as I realised I’d thrown it in the bin as I left the shop.