Missing Molly

by Natalie Barelli

  “You said some things too, yesterday, about me going to Whitbrook with Jacob. You didn’t seem very happy about it.”

  I sit cross-legged on the floor with my back against the couch. She hands me a beer.

  “It’s just, I’m surprised, that’s all. For someone who didn’t like the idea, you seem to be all over this podcast. It’s like you want to get all the credit.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Why would you put your hand up to go to Whitbrook? We never discussed it. By the time I’d heard of it, it was a done deal.”

  I swirl my drink for a couple of seconds. “Jacob told me about the call he got, from Mrs Dawson.”

  “So?”

  “So it sounded like a breakthrough, I guess.”

  She snorts. “A breakthrough? What are you? A detective now?”

  I scowl at her. “It’s not like that.”

  “It didn’t quite work out the way you wanted though, did it,” she says.

  I sigh. “I think there’s a lot more to it. I don’t think Mrs Dawson—”

  “Yeah I know, you told me. She was murdered by the real killer. There’s another possibility though, one that you haven’t thought of.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That she killed herself.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s very likely that you’re in over your head there, Rachel.”

  “Vivian, stop. I don’t want to argue with you anymore.”

  She shakes her head, but then her face softens.

  “I should go,” I say, standing up. I knock back the rest of my beer, then I blurt, “Matt’s lost his job.”

  “Oh no, what happened?”

  “He was working on a big commercial contract and that ended, basically. They hired a bunch of tradesmen for that contract, and now they can’t keep them all employed. Last in, first out, so he had to go.”

  “That sucks,” she looks at me gently, and gives me a small smile. “I’m really sorry. Is Matt very upset?”

  “He’s been applying for jobs, electricians are always in demand, it won’t take him long. Might not be the same pay though, that was a good contract.”

  She leans over and hugs me. We’re both a little stiff, but it’s a start. I stay like this, sad and deflated. I have rarely felt so lonely as I do now, so physically close and yet I can’t tell her the thing that is scaring the hell out of me. They’re getting close, I’m scared they’re going to find me. I’m scared they’re going to hurt you.

  “I miss you,” I tell her.

  She hugs me again, tightly this time. The way she used to.

  “I miss you too. I miss the way things were. You’re my friend. My best friend.”

  “How did we come to this?” I ask.

  She releases me. Her face looks sad. “I wish I knew,” she says.

  On impulse I say, “Matt organised for his mum to look after Gracie on Friday, we’re going out to that club, in Camden Town. Why don’t you come with us? We’ll make a night of it. I’m sure Matt would love you to come along.”

  Which I think will be true, once I tell him.

  I gently punch her shoulder. “Hey why don’t you bring someone? One of your Tinder guys. We could go on a double date. What do you say?”

  She doesn’t say anything but there’s a smile lifting one corner of her lips.

  “There might be someone,” she says, coyly.

  “What?” I laugh and suddenly I don’t want to leave anymore. It’s almost like old times, between us. I get us another beer.

  “Tell me everything. What’s his name?”

  “Peter,” she says, and smiles, then she adds, “It’s a nice name, don’t you think?”

  I let out a short laugh. “Wow, you really are smitten!” We clink our bottles together.

  “You’re sure Matt won’t mind if we crash your date?” she asks.

  “He’ll love it.”

  Matt and I are both fairly social people, and when you have a child, as wonderful as that is, the thing you miss is hanging out with your friends. The idea of going out just the two of us is nice, but the idea of going out with other people is even better.

  Or at least that’s what I thought, but Matt isn’t jumping with joy at the news.

  “I thought you wanted it to be just us. Isn’t that what we said?”

  “I know, I did, I do. I’m sorry, love, I kind of made a mistake I think. I spoke too soon.”

  “So undo it, Rach, how hard can it be?”

  “You know I can’t.” As if I would tell Vivian that no, actually, she’s not invited, I made a mistake. This would snap our friendship in half.

  He groans loudly. “You can, but you won’t.”

  “Don’t be like that please.” I reach out to touch his arm, but he jerks it away.

  And now it’s Friday, and Matt and I find ourselves mingling through the crowd of people who had the same idea.

  Vivian texted that she’d be late, and Matt and I stand together by the bar, barely speaking to each other, waiting to be noticed by the bartender. It takes so long to get a G&T, I almost wish he’d ordered two at the same time. But the band sounds great and I feel like dancing. Maybe Vivian will bail. Maybe she changed her mind. I can’t help wishing she would. Just as I think that, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey, hon!” she says, planting a kiss on my cheek. Then she throws her arms around Matt who can’t help but grin. Maybe it will be all right after all.

  “We got a booth, come with me,” she yells in my ear. She beckons to Matt and we grab our glasses and follow her, elbowing our way across the room.

  The table she makes a beeline for has a guy seated already, who smiles warmly at her and even puts his hand on her arse when she reaches him. For some reason, the gesture annoys me.

  Vivian introduces me to Peter, who shakes my hand and brings his lips close to my ear, and says, “Hi Rachel, it’s nice to meet you.”

  I don’t feel well. I go from too hot to too cold and back again. My skin is clammy to the touch and my heart is beating too fast. The problem with a panic attack, is that you start to panic about having one. But I don’t understand why this is happening to me here, now.

  Except that when he pulls back, smiling at me, the room tilts around me. I know I’ve finally gone crazy as I stare right at Hugo Hennessy.

  Thirty-One

  I have wondered many times what I would do if I came face-to-face with Hugo Hennessy. Each time it went like this: Run. I am a coward. I have always been and always will be, and today is no different so I bolt to the ladies room before he has time to finish saying, I’m Peter.

  I lock myself in a cubicle, close the toilet seat and sit. I’m shaking, wringing my hands together, my thoughts jumbled together. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I couldn’t run even if I wanted to.

  There are girls at the basins chatting and swapping lipstick, then I hear “Rach, you’re in here, hon?” as Vivian crosses the length of the room banging on the cubicle doors one by one.

  “Rach? It’s me, hon! You’re in here?”

  I consider ignoring her, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I lean over and pull the latch so the door opens just as she bangs on it.

  “Oh there you are.” She crouches down at my feet, which is not easy considering how cramped it is in there. I start to cry.

  “Oh Rach. What’s the matter? It was a mistake, this place. Matt should have known better. It’s too crowded on a Friday night.”

  She pulls me close, and I lay my forehead on her shoulder while she pats my back with a series of ‘there there’ and ‘oh hon.’

  “I’m so scared, Viv, I’m just so fucking scared.” I sob.

  “I know, hon, there there. Remember to breathe, hon, it’ll pass, you’ll see.”

  I sniffle. Then she says, “You want me to get Matt?”

  “No, it’s okay,” I manage to say. I pull away from her embrace, grab some toilet paper and blow my nose. M
aybe I’ve imagined it. I never thought I’d find myself hoping I’ve merely been having a panic attack, but this time I do. Maybe it wasn’t Hugo Hennessy but I got myself all confused. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “I’m okay, I think. We should go back.”

  “‘Scuse my French but you look like shit, Rach, let’s get you cleaned up a bit.” We stand up awkwardly and she takes me by the elbow and guides me across to the sinks.

  “‘Scuse me! ‘Scuse me but we have an emergency here!”

  The girls that are already positioned at the mirror come apart just enough for the two of us to slip in, with a chorus of ‘Aw, you okay babe? He’s not worth it, you know, they never are’.

  “What have you got in there?” Vivian asks, pointing at the small bag hanging from my shoulder.

  My fingers shake as I try to open it. She moves my hands out of the way and pulls out my make-up case. She pats some foundation under my eyes with a small sponge. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. What if it’s him? Stop it. You’re being paranoid. How can it be him?

  I smile an apology at her. “Sorry. Your friend must think I’m crazy.”

  “No, he won’t.” She shrugs. “He might think you’ve got the runs though.” In spite of myself I burst out laughing. I pull a crumpled tissue from my pocket and dab at my nose. Vivian applies a spot of rouge on my cheeks.

  “There. All better now,” she says in a sing-song voice.

  “Thanks, Viv.” She smiles and winks at me. “Let’s go, the boys will be wondering where we went.”

  But the boys are doing no such thing, instead they’re deep in conversation, both leaning across the table to discuss the merits of vinyl versus digital. I slide next to Matt. He looks at me, with a question in his eye that says, ‘you okay?’ I blink my acquiescence.

  “You girls want some sparkling?” Peter asks. There’s a plastic champagne bucket, filled with ice and a bottle. Next to it are four tumblers. “They ran out of champagne glasses apparently,” he adds.

  Matt and I don’t usually drink sparkling but I see that Matt has a glass filled already, so I say “yes please”. Peter pulls the bottle out and fills up the remaining two glasses. Matt puts his hand on my leg. “Peter knows a hell of a lot about sound,” he says to me.

  “Does he?” I say, plastering a smile on my face to pretend that I care.

  “Yes, I’m a bit of an audiophile,” Peter says.

  “It’s all about the signal,” he and Matt say in unison, and toast their shared passion.

  I take a gulp of the sparkling wine. I see from the corner of my eye Vivian tickling the back of Peter’s neck. He whispers something in her ear.

  I make myself look at him, and immediately get the same anxiety in the pit of my stomach. He and Vivian are cooing sweet nothings to each other, and I take the opportunity to study him. He doesn’t have any hair. Hugo Hennessy had thick blond hair but that means sod all. It was a long time ago, and I wasn’t born a brunette either. He could have shaved it off. I can’t make out the colour of his eyes from here, but I’m sure they’re blue from what I saw moments earlier. Hugo Hennessy’s eyes are also blue. The shape of his jaw matches too. But beyond that it’s hard to tell.

  I close my eyes. I can see him now, the bloody cricket bat raised high. The only other way out of the house was through the kitchen, and out the back but I couldn’t bear to go in there. I remember the blood. My mother’s body sprawled… I ran into the bathroom at the back of the house, screaming, and I locked the door.

  Open the door, Molly!

  He started to hit it with the bat, over and over.

  Open the fucking door!

  I stood on the top of the cistern to reach the small window and I got out that way. He was still trying to knock the door down. He probably didn’t know about the window. I ran as fast as I could to the old station and hid there.

  And now, all these years later, sitting here, with Matt’s hand on my thigh, I know, in the pit of my stomach, that it’s him.

  Maybe I could pretend I’m ill and I have to go home. Peter keeps buying bottles of wine and I keep drinking what’s put in front of me. We all do. Then Vivian and I dance together and we’re both so pissed, we have to prop each other up.

  “What do you think of him,” she slurs in my ear.

  “Who?” I say, because I think that makes me sound more natural.

  She punches my shoulder, but not very hard.

  “Peter!” she says, dragging each vowel so it comes out like “Peeeteeer!!!”

  I make a face, pretending to think about it. She looks at me with her big eyes, her face an inch from mine.

  “Sooo?”

  “He’s a bit old, isn’t he?” I shout into her ear.

  “What? No!! Crap!! And what if he is anyway?”

  “How old is he?”

  “I don’t know! Why?”

  I shrug, then I grin.

  She laughs. “You’re funny,” she says.

  “He’s got nice eyes,” I say, and without vomiting too. She smiles. “Yeah, he does. He’s sexy, yeah?”

  She grins so I make a thumbs up gesture.

  I am so drunk by the time we get home that I can’t stand without help anymore. I throw up twice before I get to bed.

  “I think you overdid it there, babe,” Matt says, uselessly I think.

  “No, I’m fine I’m fine,” I slur for the tenth time. He laughs as he helps me take my clothes off. “Where’s Gracie?” I ask, sitting up so quickly it makes the room spin.

  “She’s asleep, where else?”

  I lay back down. “Where’s your mum?”

  “She’s asleep, with her.”

  “Oh. She doesn’t want to go home now?”

  “It’s after three in the morning, Rach.”

  “Oh yeah.” I close my eyes as Matt helps me get under the covers.

  “How did we get home?” I ask.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Hum …”

  “We got a cab.”

  “Ah.”

  “You were so funny.”

  “Was I?”

  “You thought the fare was two pounds fifty—”

  “Did I?”

  “—and he kept saying, ‘no ma’am, that’s the time’” he laughs.

  I don’t get it, but I laugh too. “Ah, that’s funny,” I say.

  “Yeah, you go to sleep now, Rach. You’re going to get a heck of a hangover tomorrow.”

  “Will I?”

  “I’d say so.”

  I open my eyes. “What did you think of Hugo?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  I close them again. “Hugo.”

  “Vivian's friend?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “His name’s Peter. Go to sleep.”

  “Oh yeah, Peter,” I giggle. “What did you think of Peter?” I say his name in a deeper voice, like I’m making fun of him. Matt doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I liked him. He’s a nice guy. It’s nice to see Vivian with a nice bloke.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Poor bloke,” he chuckles.

  Matt’s voice sounds further and further away, so I’m not sure I hear him correctly when he says, from a great distance, “He might be able to help me get a job.”

  I am slipping into darkness, and it’s almost a relief.

  “I’m going to die,” I murmur, matter-of-factly.

  “No, you’re not. You’ll have a heck of a hangover, that’s all.”

  Thirty-Two

  I don’t die that night, but the way I feel the next morning, I may as well have. I wake up with the worst headache in history, but it’s more than that.

  I’ve been so stupid. I should have made him talk. I should have asked questions, I should have done plenty of things to try and assess why he was here now, and whether or not he knows who I am. I should have figured out if he was just after Vivian to find out how much we know. I should have asked how he met Vivian. But no, instead of using my brain,
I’ve got myself completely drunk and spent hours dancing. If that’s what it was called, whatever I was doing on the dance floor. Maybe I should be running away from myself.

  We spend the morning as a family. Matt makes fun of me, but in a nice, teasing way. The three of us go to the park, we watch Gracie squeal with joy at the ponies on display. I don’t know why there are ponies in the park.

  “You okay now, babe?” Matt asks. I put my hand in the crook of his arm and hold tight.

  “I’m good. Don’t you believe me?”

  “You’re miles away, that’s all.”

  I squeeze his arm tighter.

  I need to come up with a plan. I am shocked at the realisation that I haven’t planned for anything like this. It’s all very well to use the podcast to expose the real killer, flush him out, but then what? I almost want to laugh at my own stupidity. The killer is flushed out and he’s dating your best mate. Well done.

  He’s going to hurt her. The very thought makes my stomach lurch. I let go of Matt and fish around in my bag for my mobile. “What are you looking for?” he asks.

  “My phone. I just want to make sure Vivian got home okay,” I say, by way of explanation. I send her a text that says exactly that.

  Did you get home okay? How you feeling?

  I stare at the screen after pressing send, then I chide myself for thinking she’d be holding the phone waiting for a message from me. I keep it in my hand, but at least I stop staring at it. Then it buzzes.

  Thanks hon, all good, chat later ok x

  I let out the breath I’d forgotten I was holding. Gracie comes running back to us and rushes into Matt’s arms. We wander off to the other side of the park, where the playground is. I am filled with dread.

  “Did you have fun last night?” I ask Matt.

  “Yeah, it was good,” he replies, in typical Matt fashion: economically. I nod gravely as if I had to think about what he just said, then I change my mind. It hurt my head too much.

  “What did you think of Peter?” I ask instead.

  “Grace! Come down please! Now!” I turn to look. She’s climbing up a tree, all joy and no fear. She makes a face at us but comes back down easily and jumps to the ground, then she runs to the sand pit.