The Missing

by C. L. Taylor

  “I don’t know, Claire.” There’s something in the way she sighs that reminds me of myself. She’s exhausted. She can’t take any more.

  “I don’t know if it’s us not being able to have kids, or work, or Billy going missing,” she says after a pause, “but he needs to sort himself out. I can’t keep living like this, not knowing where he is or what he’s doing. I’ve had enough of being woken up when he stumbles into the bedroom at all hours of the night. Why can’t he be more like Mark? You don’t see him falling apart, do you?”

  We’re all falling apart, I think, but not all of us show it.

  As the barman places a pint of lager on the table I twist around in my chair, so Stephen can’t see my lips, and lower my voice. “Do you still love him?”

  Caroline hesitates. “I don’t know. He’s not the same man I married. He’s changed, and not for the better. I think I’d be happier on my own.”

  “It’s not too late. He can change.” I look back at Stephen and he nods. “He still loves you.”

  I don’t know why I’m acting as a marriage counselor for a man who has insulted my husband, criticized my son’s girlfriend and admitted to goading one of my sons into punching his brother. It goes beyond getting answers from Stephen. Maybe I’m tired of being surrounded by unhappiness. Maybe I see shades of myself in Caroline. Or maybe I can relate to their situation. They lost a child. They’re still grieving.

  Caroline sighs again. “I’m sorry, Claire. I know you’re just trying to help but it’s not as if I’m overreacting to a couple of drunken nights. Things have been bad for a while. What happened last night was the last straw. I think it’s over.”

  My heart sinks, and not just because I know it’s not the answer Stephen is hoping for.

  “Are you okay?” Caroline asks. “Stephen told me about Jason Davies and what he said. Have there been any developments? I gather you haven’t been in to work for a while. Have the police said—”

  “No. There’s no news.” I glance toward the door as two men walk into the pub, laughing and punching the air. My car is parked in a dodgy one-way street nearby, the tote bag tucked under the passenger seat. I think I’ve hidden it well enough that anyone walking past won’t see it and I don’t imagine car thieves operate this early but I can’t take the risk. “I’m really sorry. I’ve got to go, Caroline.”

  “Oh.” She sounds affronted. “Okay then.”

  “I’ll give you a ring soon. Talk to you properly.”

  “No worries. Take care of yourself, Claire. Bye.”

  Stephen reaches for his pint and drains half of it in one gulp.

  “Well?” he asks as I tuck my phone back into my handbag. “What did she say?”

  “She’s still angry. You’re going to have to work hard to win her around.”

  “But she’ll give me a chance?”

  I want to lie. I want to tell him that she loves him and she’s just a bit pissed off but I can’t do that, to either of them.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fat lot of good you’ve been.”

  “Stephen, I tried.”

  “Bollocks.” He drains the pint and then signals to the barman. “Another pint and a whisky chaser, please.”

  Then he hitches up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, revealing his tattooed forearms. “I don’t know what you’re looking so smug about,” he says.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You and Goldenballs. You can pity me all you like, Claire, but you haven’t got the first clue about the man you married. You’re the one who deserves pity, not me.”

  “I’m not listening to this.” I push back my chair and stand up. “I tried to help you and now you’re insulting my husband because you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Stay here and drown your sorrows, Stephen. I’ve got more important things to do.”

  I reach for my handbag and start walking away but I haven’t taken more than three paces before he grabs my wrist.

  “Wait!” He looms over me, stinking of cigarettes, sweat and beer. “You need to hear this.”

  “No.” I wrench my arm away. “I really don’t.”

  “There’s something you don’t know about Mark.”

  I turn back. The barman, the two men in the corner of the room and a young lad playing the fruit machine all turn and stare.

  “You need to hear this, Claire.”

  I stalk back to him and push him down toward his seat. “Keep your bloody voice down.”

  “Mark kissed Billy’s teacher.”

  “What?” I sink into a chair.

  “You heard me. That’s why your boys came to blows in the garden of the Lodekka last summer. While you and Liz were in the bathroom Mark got a call from his boss. When he left to answer it Billy said he hoped his dad wasn’t being bollocked again because Miss Christian wasn’t here to kiss him better. He said it quietly, so only I could hear, and I laughed. Jake wanted to know what was so funny so I told Billy to tell him.”

  Stephen falls silent as the barman approaches our table and places a pint and a glass of whisky in front of him, but the self-satisfied smirk on his lips stays in place. I want to tell him that he’s drunk and he’s talking shit but I can’t.

  “Why would Billy say that about Miss Christian?”

  Stephen shakes his head. “I’ve said enough.”

  I stare at him in disgust. “No, you haven’t. Tell me what Billy meant.”

  “No. I’ve changed my mind.”

  As he reaches for his pint a wave of fury courses through me and I sweep it clean off the table. It hits the ground and explodes, showering my lower leg with glass and beer.

  “Tell me. Now. Or I’ll give Caroline a call later and convince her never to take you back.”

  Stephen remains straight-backed in his chair, refusing to be intimidated, but as his gaze shifts from mine I know that I have won.

  “I’ll tell you,” he says. “But you won’t like it.”

  The barman approaches with a brush and pan in his hands and a weary expression on his face. I sit back down.

  Stephen waits until the barman has tidied away the mess, then sits forward in his seat, elbows on the table.

  “I loved Billy,” he says. “Really loved him. But we weren’t always close, you know that. He used to hero-worship Mark but I noticed that changing when Billy hit his teens. I’d seen Jake do the same thing. It happens with boys, when they grow bigger and stronger. They feel like men, not little boys, and they question their dad’s authority. Mark did it with his dad. I would have done it with mine too, if he hadn’t fucked off.” He laughs drily. “But I kicked off at John a few times, even if he was just my stepdad. No one was more surprised than me when I ended up joining the firm instead of Mark.”

  He stares off wistfully into the distance and I clear my throat.

  “Yeah, yeah.” He reaches for his whisky and drinks it. “So I wasn’t surprised when Billy came around my house one Sunday and said that his dad was a dick. He said Mark was coming down hard on him for doing badly at school. But then he started going on about how weak Mark was and how he had no respect for him.” He scratches the back of his neck. “He said he was embarrassed by him.”

  “Embarrassed? Why?”

  He reaches for his empty whisky glass and raises it to his lips. A single drip trickles into his mouth. “Because of what he saw.”

  I don’t like the way this conversation is going. I want to leave. I want to walk out of the pub before Stephen can say another word but I force myself to stay in my seat. “Go on.”

  “Billy went to the pub one night. It was some time last summer. He was meeting a mate who was going to smuggle a couple of bottles out so they could get drunk in the park. Billy spotted Mark and some of his teachers from school in the pub and he hid behind a skip so they wouldn’t see him.”

  “Mark was with Billy’s teachers?”

  “No. He was by himself. Anyway, he came out to take a call. It was his boss, Billy said. Mark sounded really
pissed and he was trying to keep the conversation light-hearted but then he started pleading.”

  “What for?”

  “His job. Mark was saying that John had had a heart attack and he thought he was going to die and that was the reason he hadn’t been meeting his targets, and that he was sorry. He begged his boss not to fire him. He said he had a wife and two kids to support and a mortgage to pay.”

  I stare at him in horror. Mark’s boss nearly fired him and he didn’t tell me?

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Stephen says, misinterpreting the expression on my face. “Mark started to cry then. Really blubbed down the phone to his boss, apparently. Billy said he’d never been so embarrassed in his life, listening to his dad sobbing down the phone. He said his dad was a hypocrite for the way he’d laid into Billy about the trouble he’d got into at school. His dad acted like he was the big “I am,” like he was this strong, respectable pillar of the community that his sons should look up to, when really he was weak and spineless. A snivelling little shit, Billy said. He told me he couldn’t respect a man like that—a man who’d rather beg than tell his boss to fuck off. According to Billy, Mark was still crying when he went back into the pub. That’s when one of his teachers went over to him and he kissed her.”

  “Mark kissed Edie Christian?”

  Stephen glances away. “Yeah. Billy didn’t take it too well. First the begging and the crying, then his dad snogging his teacher. He put a brick through Mark’s car window.”

  “Billy did that? Mark said it was some random vandal.”

  “Mark didn’t know who did it. He didn’t see him, did he? Billy said when he got back home afterward he was so angry he wanted to smash up more of Mark’s stuff but you were in bed so he destroyed a photo album or something.”

  “He blacked out all the photos of Mark. I’ve seen it.”

  “Oh, right. Well, there’s something else you should know too.”

  I grit my teeth. “What?”

  “The real reason Mark didn’t get into the police.”

  “When he was nineteen? Why the hell are you bringing that up now?”

  “Because you need to know the truth.”

  “I know the truth. He didn’t get in because a couple of his uncles had criminal contacts. Mark told me.”

  Stephen raises his eyebrows. “He lied. You thought I was a twat for saying you should be careful about Mark and Kira living in the same house. You thought I was shit-stirring but I’m not the one with a record for having sex with an underage girl.” He shifts in his seat as I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. “Hmm . . . I thought it would feel good to get all that off my chest but I feel like shit.” He slumps forward, head in his hands, and lets out a low moan. “No wonder Caroline has left me. I’m a total cunt.”

  I don’t say a word. There isn’t a shred of sympathy in my heart for the man sitting in the chair opposite me. How can there be when he’s just ripped it apart?

  Friday, January 2, 2015

  Jackdaw44: I saw you arguing last night.

  ICE9: Where?

  Jackdaw44: Outside the Southside pub.

  ICE9: Are you stalking me?

  Jackdaw44: I was going to meet Archie. I saw you from across the street.

  ICE9: We need to stop this. I love being with you but I can’t bear the deceit. I’m lying all the time and I can’t do it anymore. I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions. It’s tearing me apart.

  Jackdaw44: Make a choice then.

  ICE9: I have.

  Jackdaw44: So?

  ICE9: I’m sorry.

  Jackdaw44: You’re dumping me?

  ICE9: Don’t put it like that. What we had was a bit of fun. It wasn’t real.

  Jackdaw44: Felt fucking real to me.

  ICE9: I’m really sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.

  Jackdaw44: Well, I’m hurt. OK?

  ICE9: You said we could end this at any time. You said I could stop it if I wasn’t happy.

  Jackdaw44: That was before you said it was just a bit of fun. I thought you had feelings for me.

  ICE9: I did. I do. But we could never work. You’re too young and we’re too different.

  Jackdaw44: Fuck YOUNG. You didn’t complain about how young I am when my dick was in your arse.

  Jackdaw44: I fucking LOVE YOU.

  Jackdaw44: That’s it? I tell you I love you and you ignore me???

  ICE9: I’m not ignoring you. I just don’t know what to say.

  Jackdaw44: You could start by telling me that you love me too.

  ICE9: You know I can’t do that.

  Jackdaw44: Why? Because you love someone else? People in love don’t cheat!

  ICE9: You’re angry and you’ve got good reason to be and I’m sorry.

  Jackdaw44: Meet me in the park at 8 tonight.

  ICE9: I can’t.

  Jackdaw44: Please. You owe me that much. I just want to see you again. I need to say goodbye properly.

  ICE9: I don’t know.

  Jackdaw44: I love you. Just let me say goodbye.

  ICE9: OK. Tonight. But I can’t stay long.

  Chapter 46

  A sex offender? My husband is a sex offender and a cheat? What else don’t I know about him?

  I sit alone in the kitchen watching the back door. Six hours have passed since I walked out of the Ostrich, leaving Stephen with his head in his hands.

  The first thing I did when I got home was to go through the pockets of all Mark’s jackets and coats. Then I searched through his chest of drawers. I had no idea what I was looking for—a charge sheet, a love note from Edie Christian, a hotel receipt, a cinema ticket, a petrol receipt—something, anything, to explain what Stephen had told me. I found nothing incriminating. I called Billy’s school but then put the phone down again when the receptionist answered. I did the same with DS Forbes’s number.

  I need to talk to my husband, not anyone else. I need to ask him face-to-face if what Stephen said is true. I’ll know if he’s lying. I can normally tell by the small half-smile that flickers at the edges of his lips.

  After Lloyd left her Liz read up on the signs that someone is lying. Apparently all that stuff about people looking up and to the left is wrong. You can’t tell whether someone is lying by filling out a check sheet of facial expressions; you look for differences from the way they normally behave. That’s why I believed Mark when he said he didn’t know why Billy had defaced the photos and—

  No. That’s not what happened. When I asked him if he could think of a reason why Billy would do that he didn’t actually answer the question. He said something about fathers and sons clashing and reminded me that he hadn’t got on with his own dad. Then he asked me if I was accusing him of doing something to Billy. He deflected me. Twice. I asked him twice and he changed the subject both times. He didn’t actually lie.

  A new thought occurs to me. Billy was doing an art project at school. That was why he’d borrowed it in the first place. When was that? I pull open the junk drawer and rummage around in the bottom where I keep the family calendars. I never knew what to say when the kids asked me what I wanted for Christmas so I’d always say a calendar because they were cheap and useful and it meant I wouldn’t have to smuggle overpriced bath-bomb sets that made me break out in hives into the charity-shop bag on Boxing Day.

  Mark’s always teased me about keeping the old calendars. “You’re turning into a hoarder like your mum,” he’d joke as I’d slip another one into the drawer on January 1st after I’d copied everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries onto the new calendar. I didn’t pay him any attention. I liked looking back on all the things we’d done each year: the kids’ swimming lessons, the birthday parties they attended, the holidays we took. They were all recorded in my small, neat handwriting. Billy and Jake hated it when I pumped them for information about exam dates and coursework deadlines.

  “Stop being such a control freak, Mum,” they’d chorus.

  That accusation again.

  I
pull out a wad of calendars. Last year’s is on the top. I flick through it, find nothing and then start again, reading each entry carefully.

  January 5—Mum’s birthday.

  January 16—Parents’ evening (Billy).

  January 21—Dentist appointment for Jake and Billy.

  January 30—Car MOT (mine).

  I flick over the page.

  February 4—Caleb’s birthday.

  February 17—Doctor’s appt (Mark).

  February 24—Billy GCSE art DEADLINE.

  There! There it is. The end of February. And we went to the pub to celebrate my birthday on . . .

  I flip the pages over and stab the date with my finger. Sunday, August 31st. At some point between February 24th and Sunday, August 31st, Mark went to the pub, nearly lost his job and kissed Billy’s teacher. Stephen said it happened last summer but he didn’t say when. I turn the page.

  July 5/6—Mark to London for annual general meeting

  August 2/3—Mark conference

  September 13/14—Mark training weekend

  November 25—Mark sales team meeting

  How many of those were real? Or was Mark shacked up in a hotel with Edie Christian, the fact that he was married and a father of two locked up in a box in his head and filed away?

  My hands shake as I place the calendar and the photo album on the kitchen table.

  It’s nearly five o’clock. The knife is still stashed in the tote bag under the passenger seat in my car. I can’t go to the police until I’ve found out the truth. God knows what time Mark will get home from work but I’m not going anywhere until he does.

  Chapter 47

  “Coo-ee! Just me! Claire, are you home? What are you doing sitting in the dark?”

  Liz reaches around the door and flicks the light switch. I blink as the kitchen fills with fluorescent light.

  “Claire?” She crosses the kitchen and pulls out the chair opposite me. “Are you okay? I saw your car in the drive. You didn’t tell me you were coming back today.”

  I sent Liz a text from Mum and Dad’s the day after my session with Sonia. I told her that things were stressful at home and that I needed a few days’ peace and quiet. She responded immediately, asking if I needed to talk. I said no, but that I’d ring her in a couple of days.