by Darren Wills
I rang George and Lillian.
Lillian answered. “You mean she didn’t come home? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I was hoping she might be with you. She’s not, is she?”
“Just give me a minute.” I stayed on the phone while she was clearly conferring with her husband. It was unlikely that he would know anything that Lillian didn’t, but not impossible.
Lillian came back on the phone. “I’m sorry, Dom. We’ve not heard from her. Neither of us. I’m sure it won’t be anything serious. George thinks she might just be wanting a bit of time alone. Perhaps she wants to think about things.”
I paused and thought about that, before realising this was George’s attitude coming through loud and clear. “Come on! I’m not buying that. If she had asked me, she could have had some time alone. She didn’t need to do a disappearing act.”
“Don’t speak to me like that.’ Lilian had adopted a pained tone. “I don’t know anything so don’t take it out on me. It’s hardly a disappearing act.”
“Well, she’s fucking disappeared, so is it an act or not? If it’s not an act, what the fuck is it?” I knew I was becoming aggressive and that Lillian didn’t deserve it, but I just couldn’t help myself.
George was suddenly on the phone. “What’s going on?”
“She’s disappeared. Laura’s disappeared.”
“What do you mean, disappeared?”
“She was supposed to meet me. She didn’t come home.” I explained about the car.
“That’s not right. That’s not like her. Have you argued?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Well we’ll text her from here. Listen, Dominic, if she doesn’t show up this morning, you need to go to the police.”
“I know. I’m thinking I should do that now.”
“I’d give it a bit longer. Try her work. Then you should report it.”
“OK. I’m going to do that.” I hung up.
I rang the art gallery. They paid her wages, so perhaps they would know more than I did. I spoke to Max, the manager. He knew nothing. “To be honest I was going to ring you. She hasn’t shown up this morning and her phone’s dead.”
I had to ring the police. I had begun to worry about her safety. In waiting for me, had she become totally vulnerable and an easy victim for some sicko who chanced to go walking on Loxley Common that early evening. Was it he who had driven her car away, with Laura inside? On the other hand, should I have stayed on the common longer? Would I have discovered something? I just didn’t know, and this uncertainty was suffocating. I didn’t fully comprehend anything: what I had done, what I should have done, and what I should do now. Could somebody walking in that area have had intentions and the means of carrying out those intentions? That seemed unlikely, just like the notion of our relationship ending, but what else could this be? The only problem was that Laura had not been missing long. At what point would my concern be the concern of the police too?
I left a message on the school’s answering machine saying that I had a stomach upset and that I wouldn’t be in work that day. I had to make some kind of sense of it all.
My phone rang. Laura’s parents again. George spoke. “We’ve not heard from you. Laura’s not replied to anything. Have you found anything out?”
“No?”
“Have you asked around?”
“I’ve rung everybody – her work, her friends. Nobody knows anything. I’m worried about her. I think something bad might have happened.”
“We’re coming around. Don’t go anywhere.”
They both came. Lillian rang people, some of the same people I had rung, but she sensed, as did I, that they wouldn’t know anything. Laura’s disappearance was nothing to do with old school friends, the uncle in Manchester or Lillian’s best friend. Laura herself had probably had a big say in what had happened although I hadn’t a clue why.
George was imagining a similar reality to the one I had been enduring. “You have to phone the police.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Well you need to report her missing. This is terrible. Where is she?” He looked at his wife with the same desperation as I had been looking at them.
“He’s right,” Lillian said. “From what you’ve said, something awful’s gone on. Laura loves you. Ring the police. You can ring them while we are here.”
“OK. But what if she’s met someone else? What if she’s with somebody.”
George gave me a look. “Stop being stupid. Ring the police.”
I picked up my mobile.
George and Lillian were staring at me as I phoned. As the dialing tone sounded, I was hoping that they wouldn’t be thinking that this had anything to do with last year. In all truth, I was hoping it had nothing to do with last year. The only problem with that was that the alternative was worse.
“I want to report a missing person.”
“Right, sir. Can you tell me the name of the person missing?”
“Laura Walker. She’s my wife.” As I said this, I felt a combination of shame and fear.
“Ok. When did she go missing?”
“Yesterday evening, about four o’clock.”
“Is that when you last saw her?”
“Yes. I went to meet her at Loxley Common to go walking but she wasn’t there.”
“Do you go there regularly.”
“Probably about twice or three times a month.”
“Have you heard from her at all?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“No note or letter? Perhaps an email or text?”
“No. It’s just that she always comes home and last night she didn’t.”
I gave her all of Laura’s details: her full name, age, address and job. She asked me questions about her state of mind, medical condition and the nature of our relationship. She asked me about our marriage and I told her that everything was positive, as I thought it was. I didn’t mention last year. George might have wanted me to do that, but I didn’t look in his direction.
“I think that’s all I need, Mr. Walker. The information you have given me will form a missing person’s report. Obviously, only a little time has passed since her disappearance so the next three or four days will be crucial. I know it must seem a lot to you, but these things often have satisfactory endings. Many mispers, missing persons, turn up within this time period, and I hope that will be the case here. I know this won’t reassure you much, but it is highly likely.”
When I put the mobile down, I felt like crying. I hadn’t felt like this for a long time. I just felt so alone and helpless, unable to do anything to take away the pain of the situation.
“She’ll come back,” George said, although I wondered about what he was actually thinking. Did he really think that some harm had come to Laura? I welcomed myself to hell.
The Unfamiliar
I woke up for a second time alone in my bed. It wasn’t good. I felt possessed by emptiness, wondering what was worth getting up for. With the same desperate hope, I listened for some kind of sound downstairs, a sign that my life had had its normality restored, but there was nothing.
I decided to have another day off work. I made the phone call, spent a half hour on the computer, and sent the cover lessons off so that my students would have something to do for the reserve teachers.
I felt powerless, but I had to do something. Laura’s parents had urged me to sit tight and wait, that she would be back. Lillian, always showing calmness and reason, said that her daughter might just need some private time and would doubtlessly return within a day or two. She had smiled at me as they left, whispering out of George’s earshot, “She loves you.”
Obviously, I was close to my mobile at all times. It was as if it was powering my heartbeat. I was still hopeful that I would get a text saying that all was ok, tha
t she had needed some time out, that was all, and that she would be returning soon and we would be back on track.
There was no text. There was no reassurance. I didn’t know whether she would ever be back or not. I hoped she would be. I believed she would be.
Then I remembered Whitby. She had wanted to tell me something, something significant. She had resisted, and I had left it. Perhaps I should have pushed her and pressured her into telling me what was on her mind. Maybe that would have answered the questions I was now asking.
Staring At The Walls Of Heartache
Waking up alone for the third time was no easier than it had been the previous two mornings and it needed a decision. I decided not to go to work and to somehow try to address the riddle that I was now presented with.
Last night I had managed to calm myself. I had decided that one reason I had not to panic was the possibility that Laura had made herself elusive for one of two possible reasons: as a punishment, which I could partly understand, or she was involved with someone else, which was inconceivable and so much worse. In. either case, I could do nothing, so I was going to do nothing.
Today, under the sun’s accusing glare, I decided that neither of these was the case. Something bad had definitely happened. I began to entertain notions that she had been taken against her will and that she was being held somewhere. What if somebody had seen her leave her car near Loxley Common and had the means to take her? If that was the case, where was she now? Where was her car?
As I sat there with the radio playing, I nibbled at a piece of toast, making little progress.
I knew what I now had to do. A phone call to the police wouldn’t suffice. I had to go to see them.
At ten thirty on that Thursday morning, I was entering the main entrance lobby of Sheffield Police Headquarters, a place that had never impressed, but which seemed to be just some mess created by an architect. The chances were that they would tell me nothing of any notable importance. I was expecting some kind of vague reassurance and a clear lack of concern.
“How can I help you?”
“It’s my wife. I phoned you a couple of days ago. She’s missing.”
I gave her the details and she studied a monitor in front of her. “Oh yes,” she said. “Laura Walker. Can you confirm the name for me?”
“That’s my wife.”
Have you heard anything yet?”
“Not one thing. I think she’s been taken by someone.” I tried to sound calm.
“That’s a bit of a leap. Do you have anything to suggest that?”
“Yes. It’s totally out of character for her. She wouldn’t do this.”
“I have to tell you, Mr Walker, we have plenty of missing persons reported to us and to be honest with you, it’s usually of their own free will. Do you have any evidence that an abduction’s taken place?”
“Only my instincts. Can I see a police officer? Is there a detective I can talk to?”
“I’m sorry. Detectives only deal with these cases if there is evidence of foul play.”
“OK. So, my instincts aren’t enough then. Can I see a police officer then, somebody in uniform perhaps?”
“Take a seat, Mr. Walker,” she said, in a reassuring voice that did anything but reassure. “I’m sure an officer will be available soon to interview you.”
I sat there for too many minutes. Clearly, my situation wasn’t as important to the police as it was to me, although I had expected that. Eventually, a stocky bald-headed man in a well-pressed white shirt walked up to me. He introduced himself in a distinct Welsh accent as PC Jon Evans.
He led me to a small, featureless room, just big enough to house two grown men, but which would never allow them to be comfortable. He entered what I presumed was his password into a computer and said little as the relevant information was brought up. “Right, Mr. Walker. I understand you wish to report a missing person. When exactly did she go missing?”
Twenty minutes later, I left the interview, somewhat deflated. He told me that in ninety per cent of cases like this, the ‘misper’ turned up after a few days and this was still within that time period. He was almost grinning when I told him about the circumstances of Laura’s disappearance, as if walking in the woods was something out of the ordinary. However, he did add information to the notes on the computer, which made me feel that I was officially contributing to the situation, even if no investigation was taking place at this stage.
Once home, I went straight to the laptop on the kitchen table. I half-heartedly shouted, “Laura” up the stairs but expected no reply and wasn’t surprised therefore when none came.
I sat there thinking about what the officer had said. For me it was a waiting game and I had to do some waiting. I needed to check for messages again. I pressed the button to activate the laptop. I looked down the list of deliveries in my inbox and saw something dramatic. There was a message from Laura’s email account. Now I was terrified, with a heartbeat that made my whole body vibrate. I took control of myself and opened it.
Dear Dominic
I know that this will come as a shock to you and I am sorry. I have gone away for a while. Please don’t think the worst of me. I needed some time to myself and decided that I didn’t want to say a sad goodbye as I don’t know when and even if I will be coming back.
The thing is, I never really got over what happened last year. I need some time to sort myself out, one way or another. What you did was pretty hard to forgive. I hope that in a not-too-long amount of time I can come to terms with it and we can move forward, but I want to be sure.
Please don’t try to find me. You won’t.
Take care, my darling.
L xxxx
I sat there staring at the words she had written. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or burst into tears. I went through a range of emotions, mainly in the negative spectrum.
How could she? How could she do this? I went through everything over and over again, re-reading the email many times, and I was struggling to accept it all. This was a total departure from anything I might have expected.
Subsequently, I spent the rest of the day in a total daze, trying to come to terms with the idea that my wife had left me. I began to consider the notion that she had made a move away from me and might never return. This was all down to me. Why had I done it?
The house was eerily silent except for the dull tick of the kitchen clock. I spent the rest of that day and night just staring at the four walls, trying to extract meaning from the wallpaper and the furniture, trying to make some sense of her disappearance. That email. This seemed like the wrong final piece in the incomplete jigsaw, yet it was undeniable.
Electronic Mail
I had printed out Laura’s email. For no discernable reason at all, I printed out three copies, as if it was an important receipt or certificate that I was frightened of losing. George was holding it like it was an extortionate bill that he had paid that day. “I think this is pretty clear, Dominic. Laura needs some time.”
“I don’t believe it. I know it’s from her email account, but it just seems so unlike her. It is not her.”
Lillian was holding my hand. “I think you have to accept it, love. She wanted some time away. People sometimes need some time to themselves.”
I shook my head. “I know that happens. But this is just so unlike her. She would have told me to my face. Having this out with me wouldn’t have been a problem for her. I could accept this if this was what she was like, but it all seems so different from what she would do.”
George passed the printed sheet back to me. “I don’t know. She’s not contacted us. We probably won’t be happy until she does. But this is all your fault.”
“My fault? I didn’t make her go away like this.”
“This is what happens when somebody does something stupid. She obviously needs to get clear of your stupidity and I don’t b
lame her.”
“George.” Lillian reached out to touch his arm in an attempt at restraint.
“No, love, he has to accept this. He brought it on himself. She’s gone because of the shit he caused.” He looked at me, and I sensed the pain and anger that now preoccupied him, like it did me. “To be honest, I don’t understand why you’re questioning it.”
‘OK,” I said, wanting to tell him where to go but accepting in my head that it would be hollow, possibly wrong, since I hadn’t done everything right and that this in actual fact could be seen as a deserved consequence. “OK. So I am the villain in all this. Why didn’t she tell you beforehand what she was going to do? And why hasn’t she been in touch with you?”
George paused and looked at me and then his wife for an answer that wasn’t forthcoming. “Perhaps she will be in touch. In fact, she had better be. For your sake.”
I told them about the text message and the piece of paper on the passenger seat of her car. “What were they about then? Read it!” I passed my phone to them with that most recent text message from her on display.
George spoke first. “Strange, but it changes nothing. That email shows everything for me.”
“Could you see any other words on that paper?” Lillian asked.
“No. Just please and meet.”
George exercised his power of dismissal. “That could mean absolutely anything. Probably nothing to do with anything, I reckon. Sorry, Dominic, but the truth is in this.” He held up the printed email and shook it gently. Part of me felt that he was actually enjoying this.
Car
“Hello.”
“Mr. Walker?”
“That’s me.”
“It’s South Yorkshire Police, Mr. Walker. I’m just ringing to inform you that your wife’s car has been found. You wanted to report her as a missing person.”