I listen as Nick continues to go over the details of his brother’s disappearance – how it affected him and his family. I know the story, of course, but allow him to talk through it again anyway. The narrative seems slightly different now – certain things he says catch me off-guard. Have a few new bits of information been dropped in – things I don’t remember him or Barb talking about? Before I can probe, Nick carries on speaking.
‘I didn’t really expect the past to be opened up again, not in this way.’
The microwave dings and I make the hot chocolates, sprinkling a layer of chocolate powder on the froth before handing one to Nick.
‘Initially, though, you did join the force because of it. Didn’t you always secretly hope you’d stumble across evidence that might finally lead you to determine what happened to Tim?’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, it was certainly a contributing factor. Over the years, though, once I realised it was unlikely I’d be able to miraculously solve the case, I suppose I buried it. Buried Tim’s memory. Just like Mum had to. This has reopened the wound; it’s making me want to scratch that old itch again.’
‘What makes you think this is a similar case? Is it the timing, or have you remembered something important?’
‘I don’t think it’s because of something I recalled. It’s just that this case has sparked a memory of that time. I was only seven, remember. My main memories are Mum crying a lot, Dad not being around much, but when he was there, he’d be shouting. Then, I have a recollection of Mum telling me about his heart attack. The funeral. I remember a sea of faces and the black, shiny coffin. Nothing else much.’
‘Do you think this cold case is linked to Tim’s disappearance, then?’ I probe. I thought he was only mentioning it because it reminded him of that time, not because he was considering actual links.
‘I don’t know. Probably not. It’s the timing, like you say.’
‘Probably not? What do you mean?’
‘Well, this young woman, she went missing the same year Tim did.’
‘Sadly, there’s probably lots of missing people reported each year, though?’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Nick sighs and shakes his head. ‘Someone is reported missing every ninety seconds in the UK. As I said, it’s not likely to be linked as such. But she was from here, too. Well, five miles the other side of Stockwood. And she was also seventeen.’
‘Are you thinking they could’ve run away together?’
‘It’s one theory,’ Nick says.
‘You have another?’
His face darkens; the creases at the corner of his mouth seem to deepen. ‘The other theory, the one I don’t really want to think about, is that they were both victims.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Amber
Nick’s words sink in. ‘Victims of …?’ I ask, but I know the answer.
‘Murder,’ Nick states simply with a shrug.
‘There’s no evidence of Tim coming to harm, though, is there?’
‘Not yet, no. But this cold case is certainly pointing us in the direction of foul play. So, if it’s linked …’
I let the conversation slide while I finish my hot chocolate. I’m attempting to assimilate this new line of inquiry but failing. Nothing at the time of Tim’s disappearance led the police to suspect foul play – in fact, I was under the impression there’d been an argument and Tim had left of his own accord. But maybe, given he never contacted them again, something did later happen to him. The possibility he was killed, accidentally or otherwise, does hold credence. I’m tired now, and don’t want to get further into this. Nick has been great to look around the house for me, but now I think it’s best he leave. I noisily drain my mug, get up and pop it into the sink, then look to Nick.
He seems to pick up on my subtle prompt and does likewise.
‘Thanks for tonight, Amber. It means a lot to know you’ll still call on me if you need me.’ He places his mug in the sink and turns to face me. My heart stutters and I have the urge to quickly bundle him out the door because I’m worried I know what’s coming.
‘Well, you’re the only detective I know, so …’ I try to sound blasé, and I move away, out of his gaze.
‘Sure,’ he says. His eyes are sad and watery. ‘But you know, if you ever change your mind and think you could give me another chance …’
I feel heat rush to my face. God, no. I don’t want this. ‘I won’t, Nick. Sorry.’ I give an apologetic smile, but, deep down, I’m not sorry. I’m relieved to be moving on. I certainly won’t be going backwards. And how can he even suggest it when he knows what he did? I’m sure whatsherface wouldn’t be too impressed with his offer either. ‘Thanks so much for coming over, though. I really do appreciate it. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.’ As the words leave my mouth, I know they sound awful and I regret adding that bit. To avoid further awkwardness, I head towards the front door.
‘Oh. I almost forgot again,’ I say as Nick’s about to step outside. ‘The parcel that came for you – it’s here.’ I bend to reach under the hall table. ‘You’ve still not changed your address I take it?’
‘Er … yeah, I have. Must’ve slipped through.’ He frowns as I hand him the brown-paper-covered package. ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I’ll let Mum know about the locksmith. I expect she’ll turn up early, so don’t be surprised if she’s at your door before you leave for school.’
‘I won’t be. And thanks again, Nick.’ I’m so close to saying I’m sorry but bite the inside of my cheek to prevent my apology leaving my mouth. I shouldn’t be sorry. The split is not my fault. Nick had ample opportunity to rectify certain things; he had the chance to put our marriage and his boys first. He chose not to; I have to remind myself of that.
I’m not the one who should be feeling guilty.
It was the first night in a while I slept soundly. I didn’t jump at every noise, didn’t get out of bed and check the boys every hour. I did, however, have some very vivid, and very odd dreams. I splash ice-cold water over my face and rub the remnants of the last dream away. Today is a new day. New locks. And Carl is bringing my key back, so I can put my mind to rest that it hasn’t fallen into someone else’s hands – and hopefully, he’ll also bring news of a buyer.
The boys are getting ready for school painstakingly slowly as usual. I flit about in the lounge, making sure everything’s tidy – I don’t want Barb feeling the need to rearrange anything or clean. Heading into the kitchen, I pop the radio on and go to fill the kettle for a mug of coffee.
As I open the lid of the kettle and place it under the tap to fill it with fresh water, I notice the washing-up bowl – where last night’s mugs were put after Nick and I finished the hot chocolates. Scattered over the mugs and within the bowl are broken pieces of china – as if something has been dropped from a height. For a moment I’m confused – the mugs we used are blue, the shards of broken china are mostly white.
Then I realise.
Barb’s bone-china cup is smashed into several pieces. That’s what’s broken. Not the mugs.
But I hadn’t touched the cup; it’d been in the cupboard when I took the mugs out to make the hot chocolate. I stand frozen in a state of confusion for a while, trying to think how this has happened.
Did the boys come down for a drink of water in the night and use it? Then accidentally break it when putting it in the sink? There’s not usually anything in the bowl as I put everything in the dishwasher, but I hadn’t bothered for just two mugs.
‘Finley! Leo!’ I shout up the stairs.
They slope down and amble into the kitchen, doing their best grumpy-teenager impressions – I’m half dreading them reaching that stage for real. They both immediately deny touching it. Both say they didn’t even come downstairs during the night. I believe them. They’d have had to climb the counters or get the steps to reach that cupboard anyway. I shoo them back out again, telling them to hurry up.
‘If you hadn’t called us down, we’d be ready,’ Finl
ey complains before skulking away. Both of them seem lethargic this morning, as though they haven’t slept well. I’ve no time to grill them on that now, though – I need to clear up the broken china. I groan. Barb is due to come over and sit and wait for the locks to be changed – this will be another thing she’ll add to the “Things Amber has Fucked Up” list, no doubt.
No time to dwell.
I pop back after dropping the boys off to wait for Barb and to make sure everything’s still in its place. I’m aware the idea that it might not be is ludicrous, but nonetheless, I’m compelled to check.
I bet Barb will take this opportunity to mooch around the house.
Maybe Barb is the one who’s been in here creating issues. It’s not the first time I’ve considered that she’s trying to sabotage my move – although I can’t see why she’d be doing things like this as opposed to stopping people coming to view. What could she be trying to achieve? If she were to be behind things going missing, and strange goings-on with the fuse box, then she’s only making me even more determined to leave and as quickly as possible. And that goes against what she says she wants – for us to stay here, in this house and, if she had her way, for me to get back with Nick. No. It doesn’t make sense that she’s somehow behind it. My mind, however, doesn’t quite let go of the possibility – her motives might not be straightforward.
The doorbell rings, startling me out of my thoughts. Think of the devil …
‘Morning, Barb,’ I say as I open the door and let her in. ‘Thanks so much for staying while the locksmith’s here.’ She’s early, just as Nick predicted, but at least she didn’t get here before I dropped the boys to school. She walks straight through to the kitchen as I pull my shoes from under the stairs and balance against the wall to put them on. I rush into the kitchen to say goodbye. ‘I’ve got to dash, Barb – I’ll hit all the traffic.’
‘I see you broke my cup,’ Barb says, her lips settling into a tight, straight line after delivering her accusation. My spine slumps. She’s going to make me late. And I didn’t break the cup, but I haven’t the strength to try to explain, so merely return her tight-lipped smile and take the blame.
‘Yes, so annoying, it just slipped out of my hand. I’ll buy a replacement when I can.’
‘Hmmm …’ she says.
I can’t believe she’s been so quick to find it. She must’ve gone to the cupboard to get her special cup, then, when it wasn’t there, checked the bin. It was wrapped in newspaper, though, so she obviously unwrapped it to know it was her cup and that it was broken. She goes the extra mile, that woman.
‘Sorry,’ I say, biting my lip and wrinkling my nose in what I hope appears to be an apologetic expression. Then I turn and leave before she keeps me any longer.
I swear I hear Barb say, ‘She’s done that on purpose,’ as I walk out the front door. It’s a cup, for Christ’s sake. Accidents happen.
A niggling voice inside my head says: But you didn’t do it. So, who did?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Barb
It came as a surprise to be invited to Amber’s today. It’s given me an unexpected opportunity. I wait for five minutes after she leaves – to make sure she’s properly gone – and then take Carl’s diary from my canvas shopping bag. I’ve written down everything of value. I don’t need it anymore. I was going to go to the estate agent’s this morning to slip it back, but that plan was scuppered when I was summoned here to wait for the locksmith. There was always the risk I could’ve been caught replacing it at Move Horizon, too, but now I’m here I can pop it somewhere relatively hidden, but not somewhere it’ll never be found, all without fear of detection. Perfect.
‘Now, where would be a good place?’ I gaze around the kitchen, then the lounge. If Carl had put it down during a visit here, where might be a suitable place that’s also not obvious? I can’t have Amber immediately suspect it’s me, which she would if she found it just after I’ve been here. I reach the hallway and the messy area under the stairs where she allows the boys to abandon their shoes haphazardly. There’s all sorts under there. I might be able to get away with sliding it beneath some shoes, or bags, or a coat. She’s very untidy. The under-stairs wasn’t like this when Nick was here.
I duck down, then have to get onto my knees to keep my balance while I find a good spot. A loud bang startles me. I slam my hand onto my chest: Be still my beating heart. I’m unnerved by the sound, which seems to have come from upstairs. But as I haul myself up from the floor another bang comes and I realise it’s the front door. Silly woman, it’s the locksmith. Being underhand like this has made me jittery. If someone found me putting Carl’s diary under the stairs, I don’t know what I’d say to get myself out of the situation. I must be careful.
I answer the door to the locksmith, a jolly-looking man in his fifties, and offer him a drink as he goes about changing the lock.
It takes him less than twenty minutes, then he comes and finds me, leads me to the door, and explains how it works – as if I didn’t know how to put a key in a door – then hands me the two new, shiny silver keys.
I’m fully aware I won’t be given one of these.
And neither will Carl.
So, how will I get inside the house now?
Chapter Thirty
Amber
It feels good to be home and with a new set of keys in my possession. Barb dropped them both into the optician’s this morning. I’m confident she came straight to me with them. The bus she caught into town would’ve got her there at eleven twenty and she handed them to me at eleven thirty, so she wouldn’t have had time to get her own cut. I feel a twinge of guilt even thinking she would.
I manage to do a quick search through the house before the doorbell rings. It’s Davina – she must’ve seen me arrive home.
‘Afternoon, Davina,’ I say as I let her in. I think she’s dressed up, made an effort for our coffee date. She’s wearing smart black jeans and a pretty cream-coloured cashmere jumper and her hair is neatly brushed. She’s even exchanged her usual slippers for black pump shoes. My muscles judder, and my skin prickles slightly as she walks past me and carries on into the lounge. I’ve spent so long trying to keep her out; allowing her in now goes against everything. It’s as though my body is rejecting her.
This is the right thing to do. This is the kind, neighbourly thing to do.
She’s standing in front of the bookshelf when I go into the lounge. Her eyes trail from one photo to the next. It’s like she’s scanning them. I imagine a computer screen in her head, text bringing up all the details of each person she’s seeing. A bit like in The Terminator. I push this image away.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Oh, I don’t have coffee after midday!’ she says, in such a way as to make me feel I should already know this about her.
‘Tea it is, then.’ I’m regretting my invitation and she’s only been here two minutes.
Davina follows me into the kitchen – she’s at my heel like a puppy. I wish she’d stayed in the lounge and sat down.
‘It looks so different to when Barbara had the house,’ she remarks as her gaze flits from one corner to the other.
I’m taken aback by her statement. ‘Oh? I didn’t realise you and Barb were ever friends,’ I say.
‘Oh, we weren’t. It was when I first moved to Apple Grove. She only ever invited me the once.’
I can’t imagine why.
‘A strange one, isn’t she?’ Davina says.
Although on the whole I agree, I don’t say so. Barb has been good to us; it would be disrespectful to bad-mouth her to Davina. My silence doesn’t deter her, though, and she continues to say how she found Barb “edgy and abrupt” as she wanders around my kitchen, taking everything in. I was right to think she’d have been nosing in the cupboards and drawers if she’d been here for the open-house event. Even with me here, I’m half expecting her to rifle through my fridge or something.
‘Barb can come across a bit like that,’ I say. ‘But
she’s a good sort, really.’
‘Hmmm …’ Davina mumbles before walking to the back door and pulling down the handle. If Davina was doing this when she came here before, it’s no wonder Barb was edgy. I wouldn’t blame her for one minute. Nor for never inviting her again. It does strike me a little odd, though, that Barb didn’t mention this when I was speaking about Davina before. I’d often brought up my “nosy neighbour, Davina” to Barb in conversation, but she hadn’t once remarked she even knew who I was talking about.
‘Lovely garden – so long,’ Davina is saying now. I’m so keyed up I haven’t even made the tea yet.
‘Yes, it is,’ I say absently as I pour the hot water over the teabags. I’m splashing it everywhere, trying to do it quickly so I can keep my eyes on Davina.
‘That’s why the developers want it, I suppose.’
I mop up the spilled water and take the mugs to the table in the corner of the kitchen and sit down, hoping Davina will follow suit.
‘I guess so. The initial proposal was to purchase just part of the garden – and to be honest, we don’t really use that end; we never have. Apart from the boys’ trampoline being there – and that’s to keep them relatively out of earshot of the neighbours. We wouldn’t miss it – but it was the principle. Then, of course, they began trying to buy the properties. The knowledge that once they’ve got a bit of the land, then the entire house, they’d likely push the boundary and demolish the house to make way for their project was too much. The villagers don’t want a huge construction site here. You’re lucky you live on the opposite side of the road, though. Even if it did go ahead, at least you wouldn’t see it. Well, not until they knock the houses down …’
‘It’ll still affect me, as well you know. All that noise when they begin building … then whatever comes after.’
The Open House Page 10