Frailty: a haunting psychological page-turner

by Betsy Reavley

  ‘I spoke to him yesterday. I was visiting family in Cornwall. I’m on my way back now. Is it something to do with Hope?’

  ‘I can’t divulge that information at this time but we are eager to speak to your husband regarding an urgent matter.’

  ‘He’s not answering his phone,’ my voice quivers down the line.

  ‘We have been trying to trace his calls but the last one picked up was made to you yesterday. Do you have any idea where he might be?’

  ‘No, I don’t. He’s meant to be at home.’

  ‘OK, Mrs Bird. Well thank you for your time. If you speak to your husband, would you please let me know his whereabouts?’

  ‘Yes. But can’t you just–’

  ‘I’m not able to share any information with you at this time. I’m sorry.’ King’s interruption is unnecessarily abrupt.

  ‘Fine.’ I’m beginning to feel myself getting huffy.

  ‘Please call us the moment you hear from him.’ If I hear from him, I think to myself, realising that he has been ignoring my calls for a reason. ‘Thank you for your time.’ The line goes dead before I have a chance to ask any more questions.

  The strange sickness I felt before leaving Ickleton returns to haunt me as I stare down at the mobile phone in my hand wondering what on earth just took place. From behind me a pair of large Americans barge their way out of the lift.

  Looking up I see that Gracie has returned to tormenting the plant. I see what she is doing but I am unable to move to stop her because I am glued to the spot with fear. When I open my mouth to call her nothing comes out and quickly the world begins to spin. Putting my hand out against the clean wall I steady myself. Don’t let me lose Danny too, please, I pray to any god that might be listening.

  After a minute spent composing myself I realise I need to get home. Not wanting to disappoint Gracie yet again or break another promise I approach the reception desk.

  ‘Can I help?’ Mascara lady looks up at me.

  ‘Yes. I won’t need the room tonight after all. Something personal has come up but would it be OK if I took my daughter for a quick swim before we leave. I promised her she could go to the pool.’

  The receptionist stares at me as if I just asked her to do a striptease.

  ‘Look, I’m not asking for a refund for the room. Can I take my daughter for a swim?’

  A bemused look spreads across her face and she frowns at Gracie who is still tormenting the plant.

  ‘The pool is that way.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Come on, girlie.’ I try to sound as normal as possible. ‘Time for a swim.’ She drops the shredded leaf she is playing with, claps her hands and charges across the stone floor shrieking like a banshee. ‘Just a quick one, OK?’ I lead the way towards the pool. ‘Afterwards we need to go home.’

  ‘OK, Mama.’ She skips along beside me. Thankfully she couldn’t care less that we aren’t spending the night and I’m grateful for small mercies. I don’t need her causing a scene.

  Pushing open the heavy door for Gracie, I dread the thought of getting into the pool. It’s the last thing I want to do but I’m determined to keep my promise, especially since our visit to Cornwall was such a disaster.

  ‘Just a quick swim, OK?’ We enter the changing room.

  ‘Can I have treat after? Please, mama?’ Who could resist that cheeky little face?

  ‘Yes, if you get out of the pool without making a fuss.’

  ‘Yay, yay.’ She jumps up and down on the spot, her grubby pink shoes squeaking on the floor. Then I remember neither of us have our swimming costumes. Shit.

  ‘Gracie,’ I bend down and tuck a loose curl behind her ear, ‘Mummy can’t come in the pool because she doesn’t have her swimsuit,’ Gracie is immediately ready to kick off, ‘but,’ I interrupt just in time, ‘You can swim in your pants for a bit and I’ll sit on the side holding you.’

  She offers a shrug of acceptance before bending down to undo the Velcro on her shoes.

  I watch my daughter for a moment, so oblivious to the looming drama. Whatever is going on my job is simple; I have to look after Gracie. I let Hope down and I am not about to make the same mistake again.

  Danny

  Pulling off the cloth sack I’d placed over Amit’s head, I watch as he squints and tightly shuts his eyes.

  ‘Here, drink this,’ I hold the bottle of water to his mouth.

  Without bothering to look at me he opens his mouth, desperate for hydration. The water spills running down his chin as he gulps greedily. When I think he’s had enough I take it away and screw the cap back on, watching him pant with relief. Simon stands back, a few feet behind him and Amit is unaware of his presence.

  I go over to the makeshift table and put the water down before turning to him with my arms folded across my chest.

  ‘What do you want?’ His thick Indian accent fills the silence.

  ‘I want to know what you did with my daughter.’ I eyeball the man sat prisoner in front of me, feeling calmer than I presumed I would.

  ‘I had nothing to do with that.’ He shakes his head fervently.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ I tut, circling his chair and making him more nervous.

  ‘Please, Mr. I am very sorry about your little girl but I did not touch her.’

  ‘You’ve got a history of touching little girls, though, haven’t you Amit?’

  His brown cheeks turn a deep shade of pink and he hangs his head. ‘My past is my private business.’

  ‘Now it’s my business too.’ I come round to face him and shove my face up close to his.

  ‘You cannot do this to me!’ He lunges forward so that his forehead meets my nose and I fall back surprised by his sudden show of strength.

  ‘Calm down.’ Simon barks from behind him on the other side of the room. Amit twists in his chair trying to see the person the voice belongs to.

  ‘I will not calm down. You have kidnapped me. This is an outrage.’

  Crawling back to a standing position I dust off my trousers.

  ‘The outrage is that you took my daughter.’ Bunching my fists I step towards him as he cowers with nowhere to go.

  ‘This is a mistake, a horrible mistake.’ Amit pleads, his wide brown eyes searching my face for sympathy.

  Standing there, towering over the snivelling pervert I start to slowly relish the fact that I am in control. Removing the bag that was over his head from my coat pocket I shake my head.

  ‘No, Amit. Wrong answer.’

  His eyes grow wider still when he realises he is going to be plunged back into darkness. ‘Please, Mr, I can’t breathe in there. Please!’ he shakes his head from side to side violently, trying to escape the inevitable.

  With one hand I grab the hair at the back of his head in my fist to hold him still. ‘Night, night.’ The fabric slides down over his face once more.

  Turning to look at Simon, who is watching as if he is an outsider, I raise my finger to my lips telling him to remain quiet then take up my position again sitting in the corner of the room.

  Amit’s head flails about as he does his best to shake the sack off of his head. But it is useless. After five minutes of squealing and thrashing he stops moving and quietens down. Small sobs can be heard coming from beneath the fabric. I look over at Simon who shrugs, wanting instruction. I move my finger back up to my lips suggesting I think we could use silence as a tactic. He nods seeming to understand me and sits down, resting his head against the wall. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the pathetic sounds that come from Amit.

  I start to prepare myself for the long haul. In my head, before this begun, I thought it would be over quickly. I was wrong.

  Libby

  By the time we arrive home I am starving. Having not eaten anything notable since breakfast time I carry Gracie, who remains asleep after drifting off just as we were getting close to the house, up to her room and tuck her in. She needs to sleep and she can clean her teeth in the morning. I’m too exhausted to go
through the rigmarole of the night time regime.

  Danny is nowhere to be seen. The house is dark and quiet and feels unlived in. I’ve been away for less than forty-eight hours. How can so much have changed in that short space of time?

  Turning the kitchen light on I rummage through the fridge looking for something to quell my appetite. Removing an aging Brie from the fridge I go in search of oatcakes, which I know are hiding somewhere in one of the disorganised cupboards.

  After putting a plate, a knife and butter dish on the table I pick up an open bottle of red wine and pour myself a large glass. Before sitting down to enjoy my meal I am overcome with emotion and burst into tears. I have never felt so alone in my life. How is it possible for two members of my family to disappear into thin air?

  I am crying uncontrollably, with snot running down my face. My eyes ache. I rest my tired head on the table, wishing that I had someone else’s life, just for a minute. I know self-pity doesn’t get me anywhere but I don’t have the energy to stay strong.

  When the tears dry I gulp down half the glass of wine and spread some gooey cheese, which is far past its sell-by date, on a cracker. I take a large messy bite. The food and drink hitting my stomach feels good and I start to regain my composure.

  Three cheese biscuits and a glass and a half of wine later my mood does a flip. I no longer feel sad and alone, instead I feel angry. Angry that Danny has disappeared, angry that we still have no news on Hope, angry that my mother is such a disappointment and angry that Inspector fucking King ruined what was meant to be a deserved break from reality.

  Tidying up the mess of crumbs and putting my plate into the sink I decide I am going to call King in the morning and demand some answers. My husband is missing, the police are looking for him and I don’t have a clue what the fuck is going on. I will not be condemned to the role of gibbering wreck – I’m better than that – and tomorrow, after a good night sleep, I’m going to sort this mess out.

  I flick the light in the kitchen off, pick up my luggage and take myself upstairs to bed. Slowly pushing open my bedroom door, which creaks, I stare at the silhouette of the bed in the darkness and for a moment imagine Danny lying on it fast asleep as I have seen him so many time over the years. But he isn’t there.

  Sighing I throw my bag down onto the floor with a thump and feel for the bedside light switch. A low creamy light fills the room, bringing it to life. I glance over at the pillow and see an envelope with my name on it written in Danny’s handwriting.

  With trepidation I remove a folded sheet of crisp white paper.

  Lib,

  I’ve not been the husband I wanted to be. Since Hope disappeared everything is wrong.

  It is my role to protect this family and I have failed.

  Please know that everything I do, I do it for us. I knew if I’d told you what I was planning to do, you would have tried to talk me out of it. I’m sorry I but I had to keep it to myself.

  I have to do something. We deserve to know where she is. We deserve some peace.

  All being well, we will have the answers we crave when this is over.

  Don’t think badly of me. Remember I love you and Gracie very much.

  Dan xxx

  I read the words over and over again trying to make sense of what Danny is trying to tell me. I don’t understand. What has he done? What is he planning to do?

  My head throbs as I lay back on the pillow holding the letter out so that I can read it one last time. This isn’t a suicide note. It can’t be. He wouldn’t do that to us, would he?

  Folding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope I chastise myself for going to Cornwall. I should have listened to my instincts. I knew something was wrong. Why did I let him persuade me to go? And then it clicks into place and I realise he planned it all along. He implemented the trip by suggesting it in the first place. It was his plan to get me out of the way. But why? For what reason?

  Too tired and too emotionally drained to think straight, I curl up into a ball, pull the duvet up over my clothed body and decide to tackle whatever this is in the morning.

  Danny

  Pointing my head in the direction of the door I signal to Simon that I want us to step outside. He nods and we both get up and leave Amit sitting alone. Once outside in the early morning gloom I go over to the van, reach into the glove compartment and remove a brand new packet of cigarettes.

  ‘Want one?’ I hold the packet out to Simon.

  ‘Thought you gave up?’ He takes the packet and starts to unwrap the cellophane.

  ‘I did.’

  We both puff away in silence for a while, watching the cloud of smoke surround us in the stillness of the morning.

  ‘Do you have Spotify on your phone, Si?’ I ask breaking the quiet.

  ‘Er, yes. Why?’ He looks at me as if I’ve completely lost it.

  ‘I remember seeing on the box once, in a film or documentary or something, that they played really loud music to a terror suspect in order to wear them down and get information. The silence isn’t getting us anywhere so I was thinking that might work.’ Throwing the cigarette butt down on the cold frozen ground I stamp it out with my boot. ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘Nah mate, it sounds like a good idea. Not sure my phone will be loud enough though.’

  ‘It will, if we Sellotape it to his fucking head.’ The appalled look on Simon’s face takes me back. ‘What? This isn’t a game. I need to break this fucker somehow.’

  ‘Yeah I know, Dan. I just didn’t think it wasn’t going to be this hard. I thought that once you got him here he’d be so shit scared he’d just open up. But he hasn’t.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t so we have to do something.’

  Simon nods and kicks the hard ground with the toe of his shoes.

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘I don’t know maybe some heavy metal or something like that. I’d confess to anything if you played that stuff to me long enough.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Simon throws his hands up in the air. ‘You want a genuine confession.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s worth a go.’

  ‘But we can’t leave him alone in there so that means we have to listen to that shite too.’ It’s a good point, one that I hadn’t considered.

  ‘We’ll sit in the van. He’s not going anywhere.’ I hold my hand out wanting Simon to give me his phone.

  ‘If you think it will work.’ Simon hands his Samsung over to me begrudgingly.

  ‘An hour tops.’ A strange excitement floods over me. ‘Go sit in the van,’ I call over my shoulder heading back into the building, ‘I’ll be with you in a minute. Gaffer tape is on the table, right?’

  Libby

  ‘I really think you owe me an explanation.’ I hold the phone between my ear and shoulder while buttering Gracie’s toast.

  ‘I cannot comment at this time, Mrs Bird.’ Inspector King will not give an inch.

  ‘My husband is missing. This is my business. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘It’s an on-going investigation.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘When I have something to tell you I will be in touch.’

  ‘That’s not good enough.’

  ‘Look, this is a very fragile situation. Until we have more information I cannot discuss it with you.’

  ‘I’m worried, Inspector. I found a letter from Danny.’

  ‘Oh?’ That has piqued his interest.

  ‘I’m really worried.’

  ‘I need to see the letter. I’m coming over.’

  ‘You aren’t seeing anything unless you tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’ King hangs up, leaving me fuming.

  I hand Gracie her breakfast and then I dial Danny’s parents. They have a right to know he is missing.

  ‘Hello?’ Clare answers the phone.

  ‘Clare, it’s Libby,’ I don’t know what I’m going to say.

  ‘Hello darling. How are y
ou?’

  ‘Not great, to be honest.’ A lump forms in my throat. ‘It’s Danny.’

  There is a long silence before she responds.

  ‘What is it?’ Her tone is grave.

  ‘He’s, well, he’s disappeared.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on. I went to see my parents in Cornwall. He suggested I go and then on my way back I got a call from the police asking me if I knew where he was. I came straight home and when I got here I found a letter. He’s left his mobile phone, too. I don’t know where he is. Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘Not a word. What did the letter say?’

  ‘I can’t make sense of it.’

  ‘Do you think,’ she swallows, ‘he’s hurt himself?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The tears begin to well.

  ‘We’re coming down. I’m going to speak to Paul. We’ll be there by the afternoon.’

  ‘Thanks Clare,’ I didn’t realise until that moment that I’d actually called

  her for support, ‘I’ll make up the spare room.’

  Just as I am about to go and change the bedding there is a loud thump at the door. I rush to it hoping, but knowing it’s unlikely, that it’s Danny.

  The woman standing on the other side of the door is the last person I was expecting.

  ‘Simran.’ In her arms she cradles her baby.

  ‘What have you done with my husband?’ Her eyes are red and swollen and she looks exhausted.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Where is Amit? Where have you taken him?’

  The world begins to spin as all the pieces start to fall into place.

  ‘Danny is missing,’ I hear the words come out of my mouth but feel like someone else has spoken them.

  ‘So is my Amit. He didn’t come home two nights ago. I’ve been worried sick.’ The baby in her arms begins to cry, sensing her mother’s despair.

  ‘Have you spoken to the police?’ We remain standing in the cold on the doorstep.

  ‘Yes. They are looking for him. He would not walk out on us. Something has happened to him.’

  ‘What makes you think Danny is involved?’ I feel myself growing defensive.