There was a slight pause.
‘If he’s missing, love, and you’re concerned, then you want the police. Not the hospitals. Try them.’
Suzie sat for a moment. Of course. The police.
They would know and should anything terrible have happened to him, so would she. They’d have been knocking at her door by now, all solemn faces and asking to come in. Feeling slightly relieved that he wasn’t dead at least, she went to her phone but paused before making the call.
If Adam had just got delayed on his shoot he wouldn’t thank her for getting the police involved. He’d be livid. The police would interfere, start sniffing around, she’d be bringing attention to his businesses, they would ask questions. Want to know where he was last. They’d probably want to have a look at the studio, maybe even his flat and then what? When they saw the open safe?
‘Too demanding. Too Exhausting.’ Carl’s voice was in her head again, the reasons he'd gone after Tina. But if she didn’t find Adam she could lose her flat, her business, everything.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Facts, that's what she needed to look at. Adam had not contacted her in a day and a half. He'd been missing for less than twenty-four hours. But this was not unusual for Adam, he often spent more time than he intended when he went away on a job.
There was no money in the safe.
Again, not completely unusual. Adam rented a safety deposit box somewhere in Manchester. She knew he kept large sums of cash there, cash he'd not been able to declare, and she'd seen the safe empty before now.
Her bank account was overdrawn by thirty thousand; he'd forged her signature to put the loan against her flat.
She took in a sharp intake of breath. What was the logical reason for that?
This was harder to understand. Adam fiddled businesses, avoided tax, so it was possible he'd done something with her account in the interests of getting a better deal and the bigger loan against the flat was just a formality. Something he'd forgotten to tell her. It was plausible that he'd simply not told her when he did it because it was all under control and it hadn’t occurred to him to tell her. She was not happy he’d forged her signature, but she could have that out with him once he finally called her back.
Feeling a little calmer, Suzie put her phone away. She'd not call the police just yet, if Adam wasn't back by the evening, then she'd ring. He wouldn't be able to argue with that, especially if he'd not replied to any of her messages by then. She took out her purse, forty pounds. Enough to last her a couple of days and the bank could wait a few more hours. They weren't taking back her flat today. There was no need to be hysterical. No need to panic. She could work, wait it out and if she hadn't heard from Adam by the evening, then she'd report him as a missing person.
A missing person. With missing money.
12
Rachel
I watched as Della bustled about the kitchen. Although no one had eaten in there that morning it was still a mess. Jessica had left her study notes on the table and Katie's plate and mug from the previous evening was out along with magazines, spilt coffee and other debris.
It was Della’s earring. There was a perfectly rational explanation for it being in my bedroom. Did that mean there was a rational explanation for the map? The car parking ticket? His lies?
‘Rachel?’ Della was at my side and I jumped a little. I hadn’t heard her come over. ‘Shall I put the heating on?’
I nodded and watched as she went into the hallway, her slim figure cutting a trim silhouette against the morning light. She was wearing a close fitted jumper dress over thick tights that displayed her curvy figure to its best advantage. Had she always dressed like that? I seemed to remember her usual attire was jeans and a jumper.
‘Shall I ask Phil if he wants coffee?’ she asked, as she came back into the kitchen. ‘Is he in the office?’
Adrenaline whooshed through my body.
‘He's not here,’ I said, and made an effort to sit up. ‘He'll be home later.’
‘Phil's out?’ Della asked, and then: ‘Of course. Is it his stolen car? Has he gone to sort out a new one? He said last night the police hadn't found it.’
She ran a hand through her long auburn hair. It was past her shoulders, slightly wavy, and I could never understand why she didn't tie it back. She was forever pulling and pushing it away from her face. I mentioned it to Phil once and he'd replied that he thought it was nice, in a hippyish kind of way. I put my hand up to my neat bob that finished around my chin.
‘Della,’ I asked. ‘Can you stop a moment?’
She put down the cups that she’d been taking to the sink. ‘What is it?’ she asked, coming over to me. ‘Do you need some help?’
I looked at her for the first time in a while. I really looked at her. Della had been with us for years. She’d come to us as a shy nineteen-year-old, in between studying for her child-care qualifications, and in desperate need of employment. Her gran had recently been diagnosed with dementia and it seemed she had no other family around her. With both her parents gone, Della needed money and needed it fast. Her gran was being taken into care and Della had found out whatever credit or savings they’d been living on had gone, forcing her to leave her studying and get a job.
As she was telling me her heart-wrenching story, Katie had wandered in. She’d been ten at the time and Della had immediately hit it off with her, both suddenly dropping into their own conversation about some boy band I’d never heard of, and I’d hired her on the spot. She was genuine, extremely naive and trusting. I liked her, the girls liked her and she took care of everything wonderfully. She ran our household, slotted into our family perfectly and did everything without me even having to ask.
But now, as I studied her, I saw the fresh-faced nineteen-year-old had morphed into a mature twenty-three-year-old without me even noticing. She was wearing make-up, expertly applied and some kind of musky scent. Her face had thinned out, showing off a set of distinct cheekbones and I realised she was no longer naive or unsophisticated.
‘Did you see Phil yesterday?’ I asked and she took a moment.
‘Only when he brought you back from the hospital,’ she said. ‘He was in London wasn't he?’
‘Yes,’ I said and a vision of Phil and Della together suddenly popped into my mind. Them together in our bed, her earring falling out in the throes of passion. The thought gave me a jolt and I paused, straightened myself, smoothed down my dress. ‘Phil said he was on his way to London,’ I told her, ‘but, I think he might have taken the morning off instead. You didn’t…?’
She looked at me blankly.
‘You didn’t see him here did you?’ I went on, watching her carefully. ‘In the house?’
‘No,’ she looked off, toward the hallway. ‘I did all the bedrooms yesterday, vacuumed, dusted, I had my earphones in, so unless he was…’
She trailed off.
‘You didn’t see him at all?’ I pressed. ‘Not until he brought me back from the hospital?’
She flushed, a crimson blush flooding up from her neck.
‘I’m sorry about calling him,’ she said. ‘I know you said not to, but I panicked. I went to ring Suzie, like you said, but ended up calling Phil instead, I was so worried about you.’
I smiled, nodded.
‘Honestly Rachel, you gave me such a scare yesterday,’ she went on. ‘When you called, you sounded so…’ she paused. ‘Unlike yourself.’ She swallowed and I saw all the muscles in her throat work. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.’
And to my surprise, her eyes flooded.
‘Della!’
‘You gave me such a fright,’ she said quietly.
‘Don’t be silly.’ I leaned forward as she wiped her eyes, put my hand out to her. ‘I only had a small bump.’
She nodded. ‘But you’re family. And when I heard you on the phone, your voice all…’ she shook her head, wiped her face roughly and then gave a forced, bright smile. ‘Sorry, it’s just
… I tend to be a little over dramatic about these kinds of things, since…’ she shook her head.
I had no idea how Della’s parents had died. I had never thought it appropriate to ask, but suddenly I got a little understanding.
‘Oh Della,’ I said and opened my arms out to her.
She came forward and we hugged. I could smell her shampoo as I held her, the musky scent and I knew at that point any idea I had of Della and Phil together was ludicrous. She was still very much the shy girl I’d employed, still genuine and trusting.
‘Listen,’ I said as we pulled apart. ‘I need a favour.’ I glanced at the clock, it was getting on for ten thirty and Phil would be back at any moment. ‘As I'm not able to do much,’ I pointed to my cast, ‘I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping out with the party today?’
‘The party?’
‘It's not much,’ I went on, ‘just a bit of measuring up, but you'd be doing me a massive favour. If you could drive me there, help out a bit, we'll only be a couple of hours at most and then as soon as we're back you can leave. Get off early.’
She looked to the kitchen, the abandoned pots on the counter.
‘Leave that,’ I told her. ‘Don’t bother with any of that today. Just help me. Do what I can’t.’
She nodded and helped me into my jacket. I was gaining confidence on my crutches and with Della’s help I managed to make it to the front door fairly painlessly.
‘Do you want me to see who that is?’ she asked and I looked at her blankly. ‘The answer machine,’ she explained. ‘It’s flashing, you’ve got a message. Want to see who it is?’ She went to press the button, leaning over, her finger ready.
‘No!’ my voice came out louder than I intended and she jumped back. I didn’t want to hear Sergeant Bailey’s voice again. The pausing between his words, the accusations lying heavy in the air. I didn’t want to listen to it with Della, to have to answer her questions, see the look on her face as she worked out the run of events yesterday. Let Phil be the one to listen to it, let him deal with the police and what they wanted to know.
‘Let’s just go,’ I told her. ‘Let’s go now.’
* * *
I was sweating, my head banging and my leg was painful but once inside Della’s car, I felt a modicum of peace. I was out of the house, I hadn’t had to see Phil. Hadn’t had to talk to the police or discuss what the police wanted with Phil. I had the day to myself to think, to sort out my thoughts before having to face any of it.
Della drove us through the busy traffic and once we got to the A41 and out of the built-up areas with fields on either side, I steadied myself and broached the subject.
‘I know I'm a little to blame in this,’ I began. ‘As I might have not made it quite clear, but please, please, do not use my laptop.’
I watched her face as she drove, looking for any signs of remorse. My stomach was churning, I desperately wanted her to flinch, to crumble and apologise, but instead, she kept her eyes on the road and frowned slightly.
‘I understand that sometimes, you may have a few moments when everything is done,’ I went on, ‘and I’m not at all angry, but please, please, don't go on my laptop.’
‘I didn't,’ she said and I looked at her. ‘No, Rachel. I didn't. I wouldn't.’
I took a deep breath.
‘I found something on it yesterday,’ I began, ‘you hadn’t logged out of your Twitter account and it caused all kinds of misunderstandings, so please…’
‘Really,’ Della said. ‘I didn’t! There's no way I would go on your laptop. I know it's got all your work stuff on there and you keep it on the high shelf so the girls can't get at it, and besides, I don't know your password.’
‘Password?’
Della took a moment, the small hedgerows and empty fields whizzed past us as she drove. The sunlight was low in the sky, almost blinding.
‘Phil set it up?’ she said. ‘After you found Jessica on it? You said she couldn't use it because of all your work stuff and that if she wanted a laptop, you’d get one of her own and then you had that massive argument about it because Jessica wanted an iMac. She said yours was too primitive, and she didn’t want anything that wasn’t top of the range. You called her ungrateful and it went on for weeks, remember? So you asked Phil to set this up so she couldn’t go on yours at all.’
I looked out of the window in shock. Of course. How could I have forgotten? We'd offered to buy Jessica a laptop after finding her on mine but it resulted in her being demanding and completely unreasonable. We'd argued and were about to relent when she announced her ‘digital detox’ (along with her vegan diet) and that she'd only be using the computers at college from now on. It was still a bone of contention with Phil, him suggesting getting her a mid-range one instead of her using the ones at college and her refusing, opting to work in her lunch hour rather than bring work home. Even now when she found us staring at a screen, be it our phone or laptop, she’d quote statistics at us about how they rotted your brain and caused all kinds of scary symptoms.
‘Of course,’ I murmured. ‘How could I have forgotten that it needs a password?’
We were quiet a moment, Della changed gears and glanced over at me.
‘Perhaps it's a virus?’ she suggested. ‘Sometimes, when you download something, you download a virus along with it,’ she went on. ‘Happens all the time. You just need someone to take a look at it, or buy some antivirus software. It's easy to install.’
‘But someone was on Twitter,’ I said, still staring out of the window. ‘I was in another person’s account. On my laptop. I went into Twitter, and it logged me in to someone else's account.’
We were both silent.
‘Perhaps it was Katie then,’ she said and I looked at her. ‘Your password, if it's easy to guess, then it's Katie. Whatever you've found on there, it's probably to do with her.’
‘Impossible,’ I said quickly. ‘Katie’s fourteen, she wouldn’t know how and besides, she knows she's not allowed.’
Della said nothing.
‘She wouldn't,’ I insisted, ‘Katie wouldn't do that. She’s not like Jessica, once she knows something is out of bounds, she respects our decision.’
Della opened her mouth to argue but I carried on.
‘Besides, the messages I saw weren't from a fourteen-year-old. They were…’
I stopped. I couldn’t tell Della the nature of the messages. What they'd said. Katie was at school yesterday afternoon. She wouldn't be at a hotel drinking champagne any more than she would be at the zoo feeding monkeys. It was ridiculous. I stared out of the windscreen, watched the passing hedgerows.
A feeling of nausea washed over me and the sunlight was suddenly blinding, it was too hot and I needed to open the window. A blast of icy air shot through the car, cooling my face and neck. I closed my eyes as it washed over me. Why was I pretending? The messages must have been from Phil. I’d seen him, I knew where he’d been.
I opened my eyes and found Della staring at me.
‘Are you sure you should be working?’ she asked. ‘Only you seem…’
‘I’m fine,’ I told her, ‘absolutely fine. Take the next right,’ I told her as I saw where we were. ‘It’s the second left after the roundabout.’
Della stared at me a moment and then nodded as she followed my directions in silence. We’d arrived. I had a party to organise. I took a deep breath and swallowed down my nausea. My heart beating, thudding against my ribs and the open window making me shiver. It must have been Phil, my mind repeated as I tried to behave normally, as I smiled at Della and told her where to park.
Phil’s Twitter account. Phil having an affair. Phil driving at the retail park.
13
Suzie
She was putting away the rubbish when she saw him, stuffing the overfilled bin bag from Adam’s flat into the outside skip when she saw a figure at the front of the shop. He was pacing up and down, staring up at the drawn shutters, a mobile phone in his hand and she guessed it was his
Jaguar alongside hers in the tiny car park.
Suzie put her head down, she had no time to talk to customers now, and she went toward her car as quickly as she could without being seen. When her phone started to ring, she looked up and their eyes met momentarily.
She fumbled in her bag, eventually fishing out her phone. ‘Hello? Adam?’
There was silence on the other end.
‘Adam,’ she pressed. ‘Is that you? Can you hear me?’
‘It's me, love.’ He was walking toward her, switching off his phone and ending the call. ‘I’m the one ringing. And you, I take it, are the lovely Suzie.’
Suzie looked at her phone; the call had ended. It hadn’t been Adam, it was this man in front of her, smiling and putting his phone back in his pocket and stretching out his open hand to her for her to shake. He was mid-fifties, possibly early sixties, and the way he was dressed didn’t match the luxury of the Jaguar she was stood beside. He had on a heavy black jacket, clearly worn and his jeans were scuffed. He was also wearing black slip-on shoes, old fashioned things that were an odd combination to put with his jeans and it reminded Suzie of when she was small and would meet her parents’ friends at functions. How men would put jeans together with a pair of formal shoes and think it represented ‘smart casual’. She tentatively shook his hand. It was warm, clammy and he smelt of cigarettes.
‘Nice to meet you, love,’ he said and his voice sounded familiar, the way he called her ‘love’ and suddenly she made the connection. She raised her chin, put back her shoulders and resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her jacket.
‘I told you before,’ she said going to her car. ‘Adam is away on location, he won't be back until later.’
‘And I told you,’ he said, taking a step toward her, ‘that I'd come here and explain what Adam's been up to, why he owes me four grand.’
Suzie glanced at her parked car. Rachel was waiting for her and, at that very moment, Della was most likely making a mess of measuring up the garden. She needed to be in her car and on the way to Tattenhall ten minutes ago. She needed to be calling the Manchester safety deposit boxes, asking them if Adam had an account with them and finding where he’d put all the money. She needed to be so many other places than talking to this man about what he thought Adam owed him.
If He Wakes Page 10