by M. D. Archer
“Did you see Polly, before she disappeared?”
“They’re always coming and going, that family, all of them. Everyone is so busy these days.”
“Yes, busy... but Polly?”
“No, I didn’t see Polly that day; I couldn’t tell you where she went.”
“Do you think she’s gone away on her own?”
“I have no idea, my dear. The younger generation, you are all so independent. She could be anywhere.”
Paige returned to her car. She would wait for another half an hour and then go home for an afternoon nap.
STILL SWADDLED ON THE couch in misery an hour later, Sophie was driving herself nuts.
Richard had not returned her call yet and anxiety about the impending conversation was eating away at her. She needed to do something, but what? What she really wanted to do was drown her sorrows in a tub of ice cream and a good Netflix binge, but she couldn’t do that with Declan here. She glanced over at him, considering him as a possible source of stress relief, before deciding she couldn’t encourage him further by introducing the exciting possibility of spontaneous daytime sex. No, she would go for a walk, or maybe even a run. She could have a break from Declan and clear her head.
Sophie was neither a natural nor regular runner, so she started off at a brisk walk, eventually breaking into a slow jog as she neared Pt Chev beach. She carefully navigated the steep hill, muddy from recent rain, to get down to the water’s edge. There, she felt instantly calmer. What was it about water that could have such a profound effect, Sophie mused, walking along the edge where the sand was hardest. After reaching the far end, she climbed up the steps to take her back to the road. Sophie attempted to break into a jog again, but she felt so awkward and ungainly, like her arms and legs were flopping about at weird angles (they were), that she dropped back to a walk.
Maybe she should take up yoga. It was supposed to deliver a number of health benefits, including reducing stress and anxiety. Maybe that would help quiet her racing mind. Sophie made a mental note to check out nearby classes and even this act of doing something, making a future plan to make her feel better, in fact made her feel a bit better.
But when she got home and saw Declan sitting exactly where he had been when she left—on the couch—irritation swept through her once again.
“How was your run, Princess?”
Sophie stared at the coffee table.
There was now a teacup and an empty packet of biscuits sitting next to her phone, which is what Sophie was staring at, because when she’d left the house, her phone had been in her room.
“Fine thanks,” Sophie said, eyes on the table. “Um... why is my phone out here?”
“Oh, it rang.”
“So?”
“So, I answered it.”
“You answered my phone?”
“I thought it might be important?” Declan said. “I was trying to be helpful,” he said, a hint of a complaint in his voice.
“Who was it?”
“Uh... Robert... no... hmmm.” Declan squinted into the distance as he tried to remember the name. Meanwhile, Sophie’s chest had tightened uncomfortably.
“Roman? Roman called me?”
“That’s it. He said he heard about your car. Asked if you wanted to file a report or something?”
“What did you say to him?” Sophie was panicked. “Did he ask who you were?”
“Yeah.”
“And what did you tell him?” Sophie’s teeth were clenched. She stepped toward Declan, who looked confused.
“Well, of course, I said it was Declan, love.” He shook his head as if Sophie was losing her mind.
Sophie collapsed on the couch. Roman probably thinks Declan is her boyfriend. Who wouldn’t? It was the logical assumption. A serious enough boyfriend that he felt he could answer her phone. She looked over at Declan, his eyes fixed on the TV. His hair flopped over one eye, which must have been annoying to see through, but looked rather dashing.
“Declan?”
“Yes, love.”
“Get out,” Sophie said, then offered a tentative smile. “Please.”
WHEN POLLY WOKE, THE same cotton wool fog encased her brain.
Her throat was painfully dry, she had furry teeth and a vile taste in her mouth. As she struggled to reach the bottle of water sitting on the bed stand, she heard a key rattle in the door. She quickly retracted her arm and shut her eyes. The door opened and someone entered the room.
When she found the courage to open one eye just a slit, she saw a figure wearing bulky overalls, a ski mask and a cap, depositing something on the table in the corner. More water, napkins and a container of something. It smelt like chicken soup. Thank God, Polly was starving. The figure dragged the small table over so it was right next to the bed and retreated without uttering a single word, without even turning their head properly in her direction.
Polly pulled herself up and propped herself against the bed with the two thin pillows, retrieved the napkins, spoon and soup from the table, and balanced the tub of soup on her lap. She managed to eat half of it before her lip quivered, her brow crumpled, and hot tears started streaming down her face.
12
It was Monday morning and there was a ball of cement in Sophie’s stomach.
She had a meeting with Richard later today to discuss the research project. She felt sick about it, but she had no choice. She could borrow a bit of money from her mum, but she needed to pay her back ASAP. She needed a source of income and she needed it now.
“You look nice,” Paige said as she entered the office.
Sophie was wearing a smart navy blue pencil skirt, black ankle boots and a crisp white shirt. It was ridiculous to get dressed up for Richard, for someone who had seen her—pulling an all-nighter with Paige in the final stages of their PhDs—wearing grey tracksuit pants and a food-stained t-shirt, but still.
“Got a job interview?” Paige teased.
Sophie’s stomach squirmed.
“Or a date?” Paige said more seriously.
“I managed to get rid of Declan last night.”
“You did? How? Why?” Paige lifted the coffee pot in Sophie’s direction, asking about a refill. Sophie shook her head. Paige filled her own cup and took it back to her desk, setting it down before plugging in her laptop.
“He answered my phone. Can you believe it?”
Paige’s eyes widened. “No way.”
Sophie picked up her phone and played with it. “Yeah.”
Silence fell in the office. Neither of them wanted to bring up the evaporation of both of their cases. Sophie would not raise this topic because she didn’t want Paige to try and convince her it was just a hiccup; and Paige would not because she thought it was just a small hiccup that would resolve itself. But the silence was pressing on Sophie and she felt like the longer it went on, the more likely it was someone would say something that could generate an unpleasant conversation.
“Hey so, the call Declan answered was Roman. How did he know about my car?”
Sophie, wiped out by confronting Declan, had not been able to cope with calling Roman back last night. She’d tried, but she’d been so nervous she’d skulled back a glass of wine, and then didn’t want to call because she was worried she’d slur her words and give Roman the impression she was drunk. Plus, she wanted to talk to Paige and get a bit of intel first.
“Oh, he did?” Paige said innocently.
Sophie assessed her friend with surprise. Was it possible Paige had actually noticed something about someone else’s behaviour?
“Was it you? Did you tell him about the... I guess it was a hit and run, right? But Roman wouldn’t normally deal with those would he?”
“No, but... we were talking about the Dixon case, and I mentioned your car and he said he could file a report at least.”
“Huh,” Sophie said. Was Roman just helping his friend’s daughter or was this something more? He had called her, after all, and it hadn’t been strictly necessary, or
within his purview. For the first time in 24-hours, Sophie’s head wasn’t full of Richard and his stupid job offer. It was pleasantly full of Roman. “He’s really good at his job, aye? You can just tell,” Sophie said.
“Roman? Yeah, I think he is. And better yet, he seems to be on our side.”
“Mmmm,” Sophie agreed.
Paige went back to her laptop.
“And he seems nice, doesn’t he? Like he’s a nice person,” Sophie continued.
“Yup,” Paige said, still typing.
“And did you see his hands?” Sophie said as she leaned back in her chair.
Paige smirked. “No, I didn’t, why, does he have six fingers or something?”
Sophie gazed up at the ceiling as she let her chair turn in slow circles. “No, they just...” She sat up to look at Paige properly. “They just looked, so, capable, like, he can do stuff,” she breathed.
“And what kind of stuff would that be Soph?” Paige grinned.
Sophie blushed. “You know. Fix things... and stuff.” The hue of her cheeks brightened even more. “Whatever, shut up. I have to get back to this,” Sophie turned back to her own laptop, which was blank.
ROMAN TOPPED UP HIS coffee from the pot in the breakroom and ambled back to his desk.
He’d been surprised when a male voice answered Sophie’s phone, and a little disappointed, he could not deny. But what had he expected? And he shouldn’t be thinking about Sophie in that way, he admonished himself. It was hardly appropriate.
He started typing up notes for a crime scene report but gave up five minutes later to lean back in his chair to think. An Irish accent with a vocal swagger. He could just imagine him, this Declan character, and he wondered what Sophie was doing with him. It didn’t fit with what he knew of her, although this was very little, he had to admit. He had only met her once, spent twenty minutes with her, at most.
He leaned forward again and opened up Google.
WHEN SOPHIE HEARD THE jaunty footfalls coming up the stairs she had a sudden and awful foreshadowing of what was about to happen.
Sure enough, a moment later Richard appeared around the doorway. Sophie wanted the ground to open up. She should’ve known. Why hadn’t she realised Richard would do this?
“Well, if it isn’t Cagney and Lacey.” Richard chortled to himself.
Paige, who had watched every single detective show ever made, knew what TV series he meant. “Gosh, what a topical and timely reference,” she said. “Just how old are you?”
Richard’s eyes glinted with malice. Sophie wanted to yell at Paige to stop. Taunting him would just make this all the worse.
“Although, that isn’t so relevant anymore, is it?” He glanced over at Sophie. “It’s going to be Cagney without the Lacey soon, isn’t it?”
Paige frowned. Sophie’s stomach heaved and she hunched down further in her chair.
“I just came by to confirm our meeting this afternoon, Sophie. We said five o’clock, didn’t we? We’ll go over the details but I’ll make sure the contract is all ready for you to sign straight away.” He stepped up to Paige’s desk and leaned down so he was a foot away from Paige’s shocked face. “Sophie and I have an exciting new research project to set up. Don’t we?” he added.
Sophie didn’t say anything.
Richard, satisfied without an answer from either of them, straightened and moved toward the door. “Ciao.” He waved as he strolled out.
Sophie turned to Paige, assessing the damage.
Paige sat motionless, still stunned. “Why?”
“I’m totally broke, Paige.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Soph... I could have lent you some money. We could have talked about it, worked it out.”
“I’m sorry, I know, and I know you would, but I can’t just keep borrowing money from you. I need a job. But Paige, it’s not that bad... I can keep working here, part time, until we get going. I’m not abandoning you, I promise. I can still help; I just need to be working, earning money, as well.”
Paige stood up.
“I can keep working here... I can do both,” Sophie continued.
Paige opened her mouth, shut it again, picked up her bag, and left.
13
Paige and Sophie might never have been friends—different research foci, supervisors and temperaments, not to mention their first meeting had been awful—but for two twists of fate.
One day at the start of their PhD studies, Paige was just emerging from a rage-inducing meeting with the university enrolment office, when she’d barrelled around a blind corner into Sophie. Paige had blamed Sophie for their collision, and had chosen this moment to release the frustration that had been building all morning. Sophie, being the kind, non-confrontational person she was, had stood there and absorbed Paige’s tirade. At first shocked, Sophie later felt stupid and angry. It had been neither of their faults, but she’d let Paige shout at her without reservation.
When they discovered their desks were located on the same floor, and that they were on the same doctoral study timeline, destined to attend training courses and induction seminars together, they’d taken to studiously avoiding each other. Paige had decided, on zero evidence, Sophie must be an arrogant cow, and retroactively altered the memory of their first encounter as Sophie being the one who’d told her off. Paige’s ability to misremember events so they suited her was quite the marvel to behold. Sophie, not wishing to be on the receiving end of any future rants, stayed well clear of Paige.
But then the hand of fate dealt its first card.
They were both selected as the doctoral representatives to attend departmental meetings. This was a job neither of them had volunteered for, both averse to this kind of role, but their supervisors had insisted. After spending some time together and with the establishment of a new common enemy (long and pointless meetings), Sophie realised Paige didn’t regularly throw such tantrums, and underneath her blunt tactlessness, she could be funny and kind. Paige learned you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—Sophie was the least arrogant person she’d ever met. Over the next three months they developed a mutual respect and an amicable working relationship, but it was fate’s second intervention, a tragic turn of events, that bonded them together for life.
Their fathers died within just a couple of weeks of each other. Both deaths were sudden and unexpected.
Sophie had only recently reconnected with her father, but his death had still dealt her a visceral blow. Jasper Swanephol had been a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Dutchman, lured to NZ with a dream of unlimited surfing. He had impregnated and married Sophie’s mother Mirabelle, with whom he had fallen instantly in love over the front desk of the Kaikoura Visitor Centre. Jasper Swanephol had cared for them both dearly, but his vision of life involved a main course of surfing, with just a side of husbandry and parenting.
After the marriage had broken up, during Sophie’s tenth birthday party no less, he’d seemed content with only seeing Sophie on the weekends. Sophie had no choice but to go along with this. After Mirabelle re-married Kevin (a lovely South Island farmer), Jasper had evolved from Weekend Dad to Holidays and Special Occasions Dad, and then the classic, Deadbeat Dad. Four years ago, out of nowhere, he’d had some sort of parental epiphany and moved to Auckland to reconnect with his daughter. He had been doing his best to win Sophie’s trust back, and they’d been forging a tentative relationship when out of nowhere a heart attack killed him where he stood.
Paige’s relationship with her father, in contrast, had been as close as they come. They had a natural affinity, a deep connection that was both kindred and nurtured. Terry shared his passion for criminology with his daughter, and from this grew many common interests and experiences, ranging from Sunday night Murder Mystery Movie Night to the “off the record” analysis of Terry’s criminal case details when Paige was old enough.
Terry Garnet had drowned during a fishing trip off the coast of Whangarei and his death had nearly destroyed Paige.
He’d been missing for
two days before he was found, and those two days were perhaps worse for Paige than the actual news it was a body that was being brought back. In those two days Paige had discovered hope is lost in incremental moments. As time slips by, so does the likelihood your father will be returned to you alive, and so little by little, despair takes over. When it finally happened, when they confirmed her dad was dead, she was already engulfed. Paige had leaned heavily on Sophie, the only person she knew who had experienced the nature of this awful loss, and together they had navigated their grief alongside the new world of doctoral study.
MAYBE NONE OF THAT mattered anymore, Sophie thought miserably as she slumped over her desk, head in her arms.
How could she have done this to Paige? She should have told her how bad her financial situation was. Even if Paige could not solve it for her, to not confide in her was unforgivable. Not to mention giving Richard the opportunity to do what he just did. Sophie raised her head and ran her fingers through her hair. Her legs felt tingly. Sophie thought she’d read somewhere that strokes sometimes started with tingling limbs. She was just opening Google to look up the signs of a stroke, when the ping of a Facebook message drew her attention to her phone. Maybe it was Paige.
It was Talia.
“That msge Polly posted was BS.” Talia’s message read. Sophie quickly typed a response.
“Why?”
“She wouldn’t say that.”
“You still think something’s wrong? Something’s happened to her?”
“Yes. Please help.”
Despite Talia’s concern, most evidence pointed to Polly just being off on her own, to return home soon. But still. It was too important. If anyone knew whether something was off with Polly’s postings, it would be Talia. Sophie checked the time. She had to go pick up her car from the panel beaters, but she would check in again with Talia as soon as she got back.