I hear a noise coming from upstairs.
I sit up and put my folder back underneath the settee. The pain’s not as bad this morning – all those pills must be doing their job. I swivel my legs to the floor and stand. When I reach the hall, the noise stops for a few seconds before starting again.
I climb the stairs – my ears tingling, listening to try and track the source of the sound.
Craig’s bedroom. It’s the mobile phone I bought him.
It stops again, just before I pick it up.
Fifteen missed calls.
I press select and see that the person who’s been ringing my son is Leanne. I almost collapse on to his bed with the relief of it. She’s alive; she’s fine. And Craig’s not with her.
I’m looking to the ceiling, almost smiling when the phone beeps again.
Three New Messages, it says on the screen.
I press select again. They’re all from Leanne.
I open the oldest one.
Where are u?
I press the exit button and click on the second.
Too dark in here. I’m freezing. The toilet doesn’t work.
My hands are shaking by the time I open the third.
She keeps crying. You have to get me out of here.
I stand, clutching the phone in my hand, and rush to the bathroom. I lean over and retch into the toilet bowl; yellow bile is all that comes up. I flush it, close the lid and sit down.
Oh, Craig. What have you done?
I’m shivering worse than ever now. What am I supposed to do? I can’t phone the police on my own son.
When I try calling Leanne’s number, there’s no answer. It only rang a few minutes ago; she must be all right.
Denise.
I’ll try Denise’s mobile again. Her card is in my cardigan pocket.
Dee’s EZ Cleaning Services.
I dial the number. It rings seven times before it’s answered.
‘Craig?’ A woman’s voice.
‘Denise? Is that you? It’s me, Erica. Thank God you’re all right.’
‘Erica?’
‘Denise? Where are you – why’s your voice echoing?’
‘It’s nothing … I’m fine, I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t sound fine. Jim said you didn’t come back the other night. I’ve been worried about you.’
I’m trying to make out the background noise. Chatting, as though people are in a café.
‘I had to get away – needed time to think about everything.’
‘Have you seen Craig?’
Silence.
‘Not for a while. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll phone you tonight, yeah?’
‘Wait, Denise. Do you think Craig might have gone to the house on Inkerman Street? Only I’ve seen some texts from Leanne Livesey. She says it’s dark and the loo doesn’t work. Do you think we should go round there?’
‘No. No. Don’t go anywhere near that house.’ She coughs down the line. ‘Sorry. I’ve not been feeling too well. Everything will be fine. It’ll all be fine. Bye.’
‘OK. Bye then, Denise,’ I say, but she won’t have heard because the line has already gone dead.
A door downstairs bangs closed.
‘Craig!’ I shout. ‘Is that you?’
There’s no reply. I walk to the top of the stairs, listening for any movement from below.
Footsteps from the kitchen, along the hall.
Then he appears at the bottom.
He’s coming slowly up the stairs. There’s a strange look in his eyes, wild and dazed. Instinctively, I take a step backwards until I’m against the landing wall. There’s a smell to him: something sickly sweet mixed with stale whisky – the same scent of Jim yesterday. Hadn’t he washed in days either? Craig walks towards me; an odd smile on his face.
‘Son? What’s got into you? Why are you looking at me like that?’ I press my back further into the wall, but he’s getting closer. My breathing’s rapid; I can’t stop shaking.
‘Hello, Mother,’ he says, looming towards me. ‘I hope you’ve not been snooping around again.’
33
Luke
Luke wakes three minutes before the alarm, but already senses that there’s something wrong. Helen’s not in bed next to him. He’d managed to stay awake until eleven last night, after his wife had texted him to say she was going to a colleague’s house for more drinks. He grabs his phone – whose house did she say?
He reads the message again; it’s filled with typos, which is unusual for Helen.
Perhaps she fell asleep on the sofa downstairs and he didn’t hear her come in.
He gets up, rushing to check his daughters are safe. He usually can’t sleep until his wife gets in from a night out. How did he sleep so deeply last night? He gently pushes open the door. Thank God. They’re both sound asleep.
He goes quietly down the stairs, opens the lounge door, but she’s not there.
He feels the panic rising in his chest. No, it’ll be fine – she’ll be OK. She said she was going to Amelia’s house. She probably fell asleep there, though she’s never stayed overnight somewhere and not contacted him first – not because he’s possessive; it’s simply a courtesy.
He tries Helen’s mobile, but it goes straight to voicemail. His hands feel too clumsy as he searches for Amelia’s number.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Amelia, it’s Luke – Helen’s husband. I was wondering if she was there.’
‘I … what time is it?’
‘Sorry, it’s early, and I know you were probably up late …’
‘No … I went to bed about ten … I’ve been off sick for two days.’
‘Oh, OK.’ He’s talking in his work voice. ‘Sorry to wake you … hope you feel better soon.’
Adrenaline and suspicion course through Luke’s body. He looks out of the lounge window. His car’s on the drive – she’s not asleep on the back seat.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ says a little voice behind him.
It’s Alice, holding Ted by the arm so he dangles at her side.
‘She’s staying at a friend from work’s house.’
Yes, that must be it, thinks Luke. She’ll have been too drunk to type properly – the predictive text got the wrong name. It always happens to Luke.
‘Like a sleepover,’ says Alice.
‘Yes. Exactly like that. Let’s get you some breakfast. Is your sister up yet?’
‘Yes,’ says Alice. ‘She’s having a poo.’
‘Nice,’ he says. ‘Glad you’re keeping me informed.’
Unlike his wife.
He gets the Rice Krispies from the cupboard and pours some into two bowls. Alice hops on to one of the dining chairs as he gets out the milk.
‘Can I pour my own today, Daddy? Megan never lets me do my own.’
Luke opens his phone’s messages – ‘Yes, yes. Go on …’ – and types a few lines to another of Helen’s colleagues, Simon. He always got on with Simon – well, he used to. Luke hasn’t been out for a pint with him for ages.
He stares at his phone, waiting for Delivered to turn to Read, but it doesn’t.
It doesn’t change after the kids have eaten their breakfast and gone upstairs to get dressed.
If he still hasn’t heard from Helen after the school run, then he’ll ring Simon, then Helen’s work to see if he can find out about this night out. He doesn’t want to come across as some jealous husband. He’ll tell them that a man’s been following them and he’s afraid something terrible might have happened to his wife.
Megan wouldn’t stop talking about Helen all the way to school.
‘Mummy said last night that she was taking us this morning.’
‘I doubt she said that,’ said Luke. ‘Not if she knew she was going to a work party.’
‘She never told me she was going to a party.’
‘She probably forgot.’
But Helen never forgets things. The calendar on the kitchen wall is what she lives by. Her shi
fts are marked with colour-coded sticky dots on the relevant days. Nights out and day trips are planned at least four weeks in advance. Luke looked this morning and there was no entry for anything yesterday.
By the time he gets to his desk, there’s been no reply from Helen or Simon.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ says Amanda. ‘You’ve been standing there, staring into space with your coat on.’
‘Helen didn’t come home last night.’
‘From work?’
‘No. She went to someone’s leaving do.’
‘She’s probably at a friend’s. I do it all the time.’
‘Yeah, but you haven’t got two kids to take to school. And it was a Tuesday night.’
‘I … No. You’re right. It does sound odd for Helen. She’s usually so sensible.’
‘Her phone’s dead. It must’ve run out of battery.’ Luke puts his phone on his desk, not taking his eyes from it as he takes off his coat. ‘I’ll ring the hospital – see if I can get hold of one of her colleagues.’
He uses the phone on his desk and gets put through to the ward.
‘Staff nurse, Ward 19.’
‘Hello. It’s Luke, Helen’s husband. Who’s that?’
‘Hi, Luke. It’s Ivy. Is everything all right with Helen? She’s hasn’t got that awful bug that’s going round, has she?’
‘No, she’s fine. Actually, no. I don’t know. Did you go to that leaving do last night?’
‘Yeah, I only stayed for one – early shift today.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Did Helen make it back OK?’
‘No, she hasn’t come home yet.’
‘Really?’ She pauses for a few moments. ‘That’s strange.’
‘Did she drink a lot last night?’
‘No more than the rest of them, but I left early. If we’ve had a bad day here, we can certainly go for it in the pub.’
‘Do you have any contact details for anyone else that went out?’
‘I can’t really give that information out. Leave it with me. I’ll do some asking around and I’ll call you.’
‘Thanks, Ivy.’
‘And try not to worry. She’ll turn up. I expect it happens all the time.’
Amanda looks up as he replaces the handset.
‘No joy, then?’ she says, not disguising the fact she was listening to his conversation.
‘I’m really worried. It’s not like her.’ Luke falls on to his chair. ‘What if it’s something to do with Craig Wright? He might have followed her to work … watched her leave the pub. She’ll have been vulnerable … everyone is when they’re pissed.’
‘Didn’t she contact you at all last night?’
Luke picks up his mobile and hands it to Amanda.
Hey Lukey buoy going for after party at Amelia’s buck ltr loadsa luv.
‘Right,’ she says, handing it back. ‘Does she always text like that?’
‘No, but she hasn’t been on a big night out for a while. I guess some of her texts in the past have been as dubious as that.’
Luke paces up and down along the bank of desks.
‘It’ll be fine, Luke,’ says Amanda. ‘She’ll turn up – she’ll ring you when she gets home and charges her phone.’
‘I’ve got a horrible feeling about this. Seeing Craig outside the kids’ school and now Helen’s gone missing.’
Luke can’t keep still. It seems wrong to sit when something could’ve happened to his wife. He looks around the newsroom. It’s silent; everyone looks down quickly.
His desk phone rings, making him jump. He doesn’t recognise the number on the display. Please let it be Helen, he thinks. He almost doesn’t want to answer it. So long as it’s ringing, he can cling to the hope that it’s her calling.
He grabs the handset.
‘Helen?’
‘Excuse me?’ A man’s voice.
Luke’s shoulders slump. He shouldn’t have picked up the phone.
‘Sorry. Luke Simmons, the Chronicle.’
‘Thought I’d dialled the wrong number, then.’ His voice is deep with a broad Chorley accent. ‘You say that’s Luke Simmons?’
‘It is.’
Luke keeps his eye on his mobile, flicking from the last message he sent to Helen and the one he sent to Simon. Neither has been read – only Simon’s has been delivered.
‘It’s Brian here. I’ve never telephoned a newspaper before. I got your number from my wife.’
‘Brian?’
‘Brian Sharpe.’
Luke hesitates for a second. Lucy’s father is the last person he’d have expected to hear from.
‘Of course. How can I help?’
‘I don’t need anything … I thought I could help you,’ he speaks quickly, with confidence. ‘I know this sounds odd, but I’ve been keeping tabs on Craig Wright since he left prison. Not stalking, like. Just had my eye out for him when he’s been out and about. Saw him talking to that young girl, though I didn’t see where they took her. Bit pissed off with myself for that, to tell the truth.’
‘Have you seen him since the girl went missing?’
‘Yes. My wife Gillian says I’m getting a bit fixated about it all … but it’s given me a reason to get up and out in the morning. I need to stop him before he does it again – and he will, if he hasn’t already. The boy has no fear; he’ll do anything he wants. Nobody can see that but me. He shouldn’t have been let out. Everyone knows that he killed Jenna Threlfall, too. If he’d been convicted of that, he might not have been released.’
‘I was convinced of that, too. What are you phoning me in connection with?’
‘I’m ringing about your wife.’
34
Luke
Amanda wasn’t eavesdropping on Luke’s last phone call; she didn’t look up as he replaced the handset.
‘That was Brian Sharpe,’ he says.
‘You’re joking!’ She looks up from what Luke assumes is her Twitter feed. ‘What did he want?’
‘He’s been following Craig Wright since he was released from prison.’
‘What?’ she says, frowning.
‘Yeah, I know. It’s all a bit strange. But he rang about Helen. He said Craig’s been watching her. Brian followed him into the hospital car park, then as Helen came home.’
‘Are you sure this Brian isn’t some crank?’ says Amanda. ‘I mean, how did he know that Helen’s your wife?’
‘Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.’
Luke rests his elbows on his desk and covers his face with his hands. What will he tell the girls if something has happened to their mother? He can’t bear to think of their little faces, their tears, their lives growing up without her.
Luke sits up, wiping his eyes. He’ll call the police and tell them what Brian said.
After replacing the handset, he clicks on to Facebook to see if Helen was tagged in any photos last night. Luke wonders why he hadn’t thought of that earlier, but he sees none. He clicks on Helen’s colleague Simon’s page, and he’s uploaded seven pictures. Helen is in all of them, but they’re not sitting together, which is obvious if Simon’s the one taking the photos. In the first few, she’s sitting next to Ivy, so it must’ve been early. Ivy has her arm around Helen, whose hand is shielding her eyes, her head lowered. Was she crying, or didn’t she want her picture taken?
Luke clicks on to his Facebook messages. There’s still no reply from Denise; the message remains unread, but that might be because they’re not friends and it’s gone into a separate folder. He goes to Helen’s profile. There’s a post on her page:
U lost ur phone, hun? Missed u at work today. Give us a call when u see this xx
‘Have you rung the police about Helen?’ says Amanda.
She places a cup of coffee on his desk; he hadn’t noticed her get up. She sits back opposite him.
‘Yeah.’ Luke rubs his face, trying to rid himself of weariness. It doesn’t work. ‘They said they’d keep a lookout for her. I don’t know what else they
can do – they’re already looking for Craig Wright.’
‘What else did Brian say?’ She leans forward, resting her chin in her hands. ‘He’s gone to the police with what he saw, hasn’t he?’
‘I don’t know.’ Luke sighs, checking his mobile again.
‘What did he say about Craig? Has he been home since the other day?’
‘I didn’t ask.’ He throws his phone on to the desk. ‘Sorry. I sound useless, don’t I? I just want to know she’s OK.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘But Brian might be mistaken. He’s probably losing it. He can’t be that good at following Craig or he’d know where he is now.’
‘You can’t say he’s losing it, Amanda. His child was murdered.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘How’s the Jenna Threlfall piece coming on?’ asks Sarah, appearing from nowhere.
She’s wearing her running gear, complete with a rucksack and ear muffs that are hanging around her neck.
‘How did you … ?’ says Luke.
‘I just mentioned it to Sarah,’ says Amanda, ‘because she wondered what you’d been up to after writing your articles so quickly …’
Fuck.
The week started so well and now it’s all turning to shit.
Amanda’s doing that thing with her eyebrows, where she assumes Luke’s a mind reader. He guesses that she wrote the book and takeaway reviews for him and promises her (mentally, with a lift of his own eyebrow) to buy her lunch tomorrow.
‘Heard from Brian Sharpe today,’ says Luke. ‘He’s been watching Craig Wright and said that he’d been following my wife, Helen. I’ve telephoned the police, but I haven’t heard from her.’
‘Oh God,’ says Sarah. ‘You should get home. Are your daughters all right?’
‘Yes. I phoned their childminder straight after I spoke to the police. She’s going to have them until I get back, however late.’
‘Shit. I assume Brian Sharpe’s taken whatever information he has to the police?’
‘He didn’t specifically say that he’d spoken to the police …’
Sarah puts her hands on her hips.
‘OK, right. Do you want me to hang on here with you?’ she says.
‘No, no. I’ll be fine,’ says Luke. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
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