The Missing (28 page)

He shrugged. ‘Well, I didn’t. But that’s not the point.’

‘Look, what happened the other night – it was great. But it’s not my life. My life is going into school day after day, hoping that I’m doing a good enough job. I go home in the evenings and I never know what I’m going to find. On a good night, I stay in and mark papers while Mum drinks until she passes out. On a bad night – well, I do much the same. I might not like it, but that’s how it is. Just for a moment a couple of nights ago, I felt like having a break from all that, and I was brave enough and stupid enough to do it. And I should probably have found someone who wasn’t involved in the case to sleep with, but I
just—’
I broke off. I couldn’t say the next two words in that bland, dead little room.
Wanted you
. It was too much.

‘As I said, I didn’t mind.’ Blake sounded as if his mind was on something else.

I sat back in my chair. ‘You should probably just leave me to it.’ I meant
don’t try to understand me. Don’t try to fix me. I’m far too broken
.

He clearly thought I was talking about Geoff. ‘You aren’t going back in there to do the fainting maiden bit, are you?’ He looked disgusted. ‘I thought more of you, Sarah. You’ve got all the nurses thinking this is some big tragedy for you, and really you’re just loving the attention.’

‘I am not,’ I said, outraged. ‘I just wanted—’

‘You just want another reason to avoid living your life. And if he recovers, will you become his chief carer? Follow him around and let him decide how you run your life, like he wanted all along? Will he take over from your mum, bossing you around?’

‘I make my own choices,’ I said, furious, standing up. ‘You might not understand them, but they are my decisions. No one makes me be this way. This is who I am. And this is the right thing to do.’

He stood up too and stepped around the table, moving fast, stopping so close to me that his face was inches away from mine. ‘You just keep lying to me, and to yourself, and maybe one day you’ll convince yourself that you’re happy. But sooner or later, you’re going to regret it.’

‘That’s my problem, not yours.’

His eyes were dark. I felt dizzy, as if I was falling. ‘What happened the other night,’ he said flatly, ‘that’s real. That’s
how
you should be living. With this,’ and his fingertips grazed my chest, just over my heart.

I was irritated with him, and furious with myself, but at his touch I forgot everything, pressing against him, needing to feel him, turning my face up to his mouth. There was no warmth in him when we kissed, just frustration and anger. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

The next second there was a perfunctory knock on the door as it opened. The two of us leaped apart at the same time, knowing that we’d been spotted already and it was too late.

‘Sorry to disturb,’ said the West Indian nurse, sounding deeply sarcastic. ‘Your boss is on the phone.’

Blake swore quietly and grabbed his pile of papers, including the newspaper, before hurrying out past the nurse without another word to her or me. I looked at her, acutely aware of the colour in my face, and didn’t say anything either.

‘Mm-hmm,’ she said, with great and deliberate meaning, and walked away.

There was no way I could stay at Geoff’s bedside after that. I crept back to his room to get my things. As I slid out, I muttered an apology to him. Whatever Blake said, I couldn’t help thinking I would have to add Geoff to my list of obligations; I had a responsibility to him, whether I liked it or not. It wasn’t unreasonable. Blake was wrong. And so typical of him that he thought he knew what was best for me. As well as being embarrassed at being caught by the nurse in his arms, I was annoyed that I’d thrown
myself
at him again, that I had so little self-respect. Even now, my body was humming with excitement and frustration, traitor that it was.

I went wrong once or twice on my way out of the hospital, confused without the gawky doctor’s guidance. When I at last found a door that led to the outside world, I shot through it with a feeling of release, glad to be back in the fresh air. It was a lovely day, bright and warm. I shaded my eyes, dazzled by the sunlight reflecting off car windscreens in the hospital car park, wondering which way to go, and didn’t notice at first when a car drew up alongside me.

‘Sarah,’ said a cheerful voice from the driver’s seat. ‘Where are you off to?’

I bent down to see DCI Vickers looking at me. Between us sat Blake, who was staring out through the windscreen, pointedly not looking at me.

‘Er – I’m just going home,’ I said hesitantly.

‘We’re going back to your neck of the woods, so let me give you a lift,’ Vickers said. ‘Hop in.’

I couldn’t really see how to refuse. It was a couple of miles back along the dual carriageway, not a nice country stroll. Vickers would never believe me if I said I’d prefer to walk.

‘Thanks,’ I said eventually, and got into the back seat behind Vickers. Blake’s ears were tinged with red and he didn’t look around at me. I met Vickers’ eyes in the rear-view mirror. I recognised the calculating look he’d had when we’d spoken in the early hours of that morning.

‘So I should have told you about my brother,’ I said levelly.

The wrinkles around his eyes creased and I realised he was smiling. ‘That’s right. But I’m sure you had your reasons.’

‘I didn’t mean to hide anything. I just didn’t think you needed to know about it.’

‘As a matter of fact, I knew already,’ Vickers said, then coughed extravagantly for at least twenty seconds. ‘Sorry,’ he managed at last. ‘Smoking. Never do it, my dear.’

It was clearly my day for getting free advice from the police. I smiled politely, my mind racing. ‘So – you knew?’

‘I’ve done a few of these inquiries,’ Vickers said, flicking an ironic look at me in the rear-view mirror again. ‘I checked up on you after you gave your witness statement. It wasn’t hard to find out all about it. Very sad case.’

‘And – and you don’t mind that I didn’t mention it?’ I didn’t want to talk about Blake, not with him sitting there, but he had made enough of a big deal out of it, hadn’t he? Why didn’t Vickers care? And why hadn’t he bothered to tell his team about it?

The chief inspector croaked, ‘One of the things I’ve learned over the years, Sarah, is that everyone has a secret or two they don’t want to share with the police. Some of them are worth knowing, some of them aren’t. It’s experience that tells you which ones are important. Not everything matters, and I try to pick out what my team needs to know and what they don’t. I judged that your brother’s case wasn’t relevant to this inquiry.’

‘That’s what I thought too,’ I said, monumentally relieved.

‘You would tell us, though,’ Vickers said, pulling on to the main road, ‘if there was anything else you’d been holding back. No more secrets, OK?’

I met his eyes again in the mirror, and this time, I looked away first. I hadn’t been wrong that morning. For all the warmth and superficial friendliness, there was no trust in those cold blue eyes. Vickers suspected something, and I had no idea what it could be. I didn’t answer him, and for the remainder of the journey, the car was silent. It was one of the loudest silences I’d ever heard.

‘Mrs Barnes! Mrs Barnes!’

I know the voice behind us; it’s my teacher, Mrs Hunt. I look up at Mum, wondering if she’s heard her, and if she has, whether she’ll stop. Reluctantly, she turns her head.

‘Yes?’

Mrs Hunt is out of breath. ‘Could I just … ask you to come back … and have a quick chat with me … for a second?’ She looks at me, one hand to her chest. ‘You too, Sarah.’

Mum turns to follow her across the playground and I trudge after them, keeping my eyes on Mum’s feet. Left, right, left, right. I know what Mrs Hunt is going to say. Grey-haired and plump, Mrs Hunt has been my teacher now for a few months, long enough to get the measure of me. I’ve been warned a couple of times. I won’t think about it, I decide, and make my mind go blank. It’s a trick I’ve taught myself. I can just switch off when I feel like I’ve had enough. I do it a lot.

Back in the classroom, in Mrs Hunt’s domain, she pulls up a chair for Mum and motions me to the front row. I sit down slowly, folding myself into Eleanor Price’s seat. I imagine that I am Eleanor, with her thick glasses and bright red hair. Eleanor is a teacher’s pet. She likes sitting at the front, close enough to show Mrs Hunt what page we are on in our history book, close enough to volunteer to carry a message to another teacher.

‘Mrs Barnes, I wanted to speak to you about Sarah, because I am quite concerned about her current performance. I’ve spoken to those of my colleagues who have taught her and we all feel that she’s just not trying. She doesn’t do her homework, Mrs Barnes. She daydreams in class. She can be very rude to her fellow students and she is often offhand with me.’

That’s what annoys her, I think with some satisfaction. Mrs Hunt is a favourite teacher in the school, warm and cheerful, everyone’s friend. I don’t confide in her. I don’t ask for help. I slide out of the classroom before she can get a chance to talk to me.

Mum is making an effort to engage with her. ‘That’s very worrying. I’m sure she’ll try harder now, though. Won’t you, Sarah?’

I stare into space. I am Eleanor Price. This has nothing to do with me.

‘She just seems so withdrawn,’ Mrs Hunt
whispers
, her eyes greedily scanning Mum’s face. ‘Are there any problems at home that I should know about?’

Tell her, I want to shout. Tell her about the drinking and the arguments about it.

Artlessly, Mum lifts a hand to brush her hair off her forehead. As her sleeve slips back, Mrs Hunt’s face is a picture of shock and curiosity. Mum’s forearm is blue-black with bruising. There are other bruises, I know, other marks. She is a clumsy drinker. Often, she falls.

I am waiting for her to explain this, but before Mum speaks, the teacher leans forward. ‘There are places you can go, you know. Shelters. I can give you an address—’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mum says.

‘But if there’s violence in the home – if your husband—’

‘Please,’ Mum says, a hand up to halt her. ‘Not in front of Sarah.’

I am paying attention now, properly. She can’t let Mrs Hunt think that Dad is responsible for her injuries. She couldn’t.

‘There are things I have to put up with, but I keep them from her,’ Mum is saying, her voice low. ‘She has no idea—’

‘Oh, but she must!’ Mrs Hunt says, her fingers sinking into her face as if her cheeks are made of dough. ‘How could you keep it from her?’

Mum shakes her head. ‘We’re working things
out
, Mrs Hunt. We’ll get there in the end. Things are improving between us, really, they are. And Sarah will improve too. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me about her.’ She is standing up, picking up her bag. ‘I assure you, Sarah is our top priority.’

Mrs Hunt nods, her eyes moist. ‘If there’s ever anything I can do for you—’

‘I’ll let you know.’ Mum turns to me with a brave little smile. ‘Come on, Sarah. Let’s go home.’

I don’t say anything until we’ve left the school building and walked back out to the road, away from the crowds by the gate.

‘Why didn’t you tell Mrs Hunt the truth?’

‘It’s none of her business,’ Mum says shortly.

‘But she’ll think that Dad – I mean, she sort of said she thought he’d done that to you.’

‘So?’ Mum whirls around and looks at me. ‘You know, your father isn’t perfect, whatever you might think.’

‘He didn’t do that,’ I say, pointing at her arm. ‘You did that to yourself.’

‘One day,’ Mum says softly, ‘you’ll understand that your father has done plenty of damage to me, even if you can’t see the bruises.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Think what you like. It’s true.’

My eyes have filled with tears, and my heart is thudding. ‘I wish you were dead,’ I say, and mean it.

Mum pulls back for a second, then laughs. ‘If there’s one thing you should know, Sarah dear, it’s that wishes don’t work.’

And I do know it. She’s right about that, even if she’s wrong about absolutely everything else.

FOR THE SECOND
time that day, Curzon Close was full of police cars when we pulled into it, and I exclaimed in surprise.

Without turning his head, Blake said flatly, ‘We’ve got a warrant to execute.’

‘A warrant? I thought you usually did that sort of thing at five in the morning.’

‘Only when we think we might catch someone napping,’ Vickers said over his shoulder, pulling in by the side of the road. ‘We’re pretty sure the house is empty this time.’

I had a nasty feeling I knew which house he was talking about.

‘The officers didn’t get an answer when they started knocking around, asking about what happened last night,’ Vickers continued. ‘Not that we got much help from anyone else, to be honest. Sound sleepers on this road, but they did do their best to answer our questions. It’s part of our protocol to do a check on all the locals to see if there’s anyone who might be – of interest, shall we say. And who popped up but your neighbour across the road, one Daniel Keane. Know him?’

I started to shake my head, then stopped. ‘Sort of,’ I said in the end. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in years. No, I don’t really know him. I used to.’ I was babbling. I stopped talking and bit my lip.

Vickers and Blake were both looking at me. The matching expressions on their faces suggested they were interested.

I sighed. ‘Look, he was a friend of Charlie’s, OK? After Charlie disappeared, I wasn’t allowed to talk to him any more. We grew up. I didn’t speak to him. I see him from time to time, but I can’t honestly say I know him.’

Vickers looked satisfied. ‘Right, well, in that case you may not know about Mr Keane’s past. A few years ago, he was in all sorts of trouble. Convictions for assault, which amounted to getting into fights outside pubs, pretty much – a bit of theft, driving offences, that sort of thing. Small-time bad behaviour. He got picked up after a very nasty GBH where some poor laddie got a fractured skull, but they never had enough to charge him with it. Then, magic. No more offences. He stopped getting in trouble, got a job, and we stopped watching what he was up to. Until now. We’ve called the garage where he works, and he hasn’t been seen there today – he was expected to show up as usual this morning, and he hasn’t been in touch. Incidentally, they have no complaints about him. Never even been late for work before.’