In Too Deep (3 page)

Now it’s a comfort that she’s nearby. Sometimes I take her out for lunch under the pretence of having an afternoon off work. Once, when she was too busy to see me, I drove out to her campus anyway. I sat in the car watching the students walking between lectures, hoping to catch a
glimpse of her. I needed to know she was OK, that she was still alive.

‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘We’re busy at work. Steph’s got a new man,’ I say, trying to force a twinkle in my eye. ‘
Again
. And Mick is thinking of opening a new branch in another part of the city. I’m hoping he’ll consider me for manager.’

A fresh start would do me good, I think.

‘That’s great, Mum,’ Hannah says. ‘Dad would be proud of you.’

‘And he’d be so proud of you too,’ I say in return. But Hannah doesn’t reply. Her eyes close, and her face falls parallel to her legs.

‘A woman phoned earlier,’ I tell Hannah later.

My mouth is full of chicken. It’s supper on trays, a bottle of wine, and Saturday-night TV blaring out as loud as we can stand it. It goes some way towards a brief respite; to getting through another evening any way I can. ‘It was about the dog.’

‘Cooper?’ Hannah says, chewing and frowning. ‘How come?’ She reaches for the remote control and jabs it at the television, sinking the volume.

I lay down my knife and fork, wiping my mouth. ‘She was calling from a hotel in the Cotswolds and wanted to know if we’re bringing our dog along.’

‘You’re not making sense, Mum.’ Hannah is beginning to lose interest. She knocks the volume back up a pip or two. ‘We?’

But it makes sense to me. I’ve been making sense of it all afternoon. Rick booked five nights in a country hotel. It means he was making plans. He was thinking ahead. He was doing something nice. For me. For
us
. He wanted
to celebrate our wedding anniversary. He wanted to be alive.

‘Think about it, Hannah,’ I say, trying to get her full attention again. ‘Dad wouldn’t have been sure of your plans this holiday, so he booked a dog-friendly hotel in case you were busy.’

Hannah glances at me. ‘What’s Dad got to do with it?’ she says, her eyes narrowing, as if she’s processing the information, trying to make sense of it just as I have been all afternoon. ‘Are you sure you’re not doing that thing again, Mum? Reading something into nothing? What hotel, anyway?’

I ignore her comment and put my tray on the sofa beside me. I fetch my laptop from the table in the window, gently nudging Cooper away from my food as I sit back down. I log in and go to the website I found earlier.

‘This hotel,’ I say, twisting the computer round so she can see the soft gingery stone façade of Fox Court. The main picture shows the building at night, lit up yellow and gold with a crown of snow on the rooftop. Christmas lights adorn a monkey puzzle tree in the foreground. It looks idyllic.

Hannah studies the pictures as I scroll down, revealing yet more images of the hotel in spring and summer. The internal shots make her eyebrows rise as she forks up her food.

‘Very posh,’ she says, making an approving face. ‘But I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The more I think about it, the more important I realise
this is. I’ve already decided to tell PC Kath Lane, let her know that Rick wasn’t even close to winding up his affairs, or facing an empty void in his future, or running away, or even planning suicide.

He was booking a romantic trip for our anniversary.

I fight back the tears. I mustn’t upset Hannah. The counsellor warned me about the temporary boundaries she’ll have put up to protect herself; made sure I understood how important it is that they stay intact for as long as she needs them.

But then there’s the flip side of this new discovery. If Rick didn’t plan it, if he intended on coming home that morning after going to the shop, then all I’m left with is that something bad must have happened to him.

After four months, it’s the not knowing that’s killing me.

‘Dad booked a break at this hotel,’ I explain. ‘He found a good deal online. It was going to be a surprise for me. It’s all paid for.’

Saying it out loud makes me want to call the woman back, get her to tell me absolutely everything about the booking, what she knows, if she spoke to Rick personally, or if he did it all on the internet.

Hannah still looks blank. I want her to sense my excitement. I want her to know what this means – that Rick still loved me, that he wanted to take me away and celebrate our special day together.

‘That was a waste of money then,’ she says flatly. She turns up the volume again, her back rounded against the
cushions on the sofa. She puts her tray on the floor, her food virtually untouched. Cooper moves in immediately, but Hannah pushes him away with her foot. For a moment she holds her tummy and pulls a face.

‘Didn’t you like it?’ I say, hardly able to believe what she just said.

‘It was nice,’ she says, staring at the telly. ‘I just feel a bit sick.’

I wish I could break down the barriers between us, cross the mile-high fence she’s put up. Whenever I talk about Rick, it seems as if every part of her becomes numb and desensitised. She hears what I’m saying, and I think she recognises my pain. She just refuses to partake of it. The counsellor said this is natural, said that teenagers have a very different way of coping with grief. And it’s true. I remember how she was when we lost Jacob. She was only thirteen at the time.

‘Maybe we could still go on the spa break,’ I say on impulse. ‘You and me.’

I wait a moment, but she doesn’t reply.

‘It would be nice to spend some time together. And at least it wouldn’t be a waste of money then and . . .’

Hannah doesn’t respond. She stares at the television, looking pale and fragile.

‘I’ll wash up,’ I say, standing and gathering the dirty plates. I haven’t finished my food either, but I can’t face it now.

The kitchen is dark and cool, and seems to stay this way even when I switch on the lights. I hear clicking on
the tiles behind me. Cooper has followed me out, so I pluck a piece of chicken skin from a plate and drop it into his open mouth. His jaws clap together gratefully, and he watches me through eyes so dark and glassy they could be fake. I crouch down.

‘Where’s he gone, boy?’ I ruffle the thick fur on his neck, pressing my face into it, wondering if he knows. I’ve asked him a thousand times.

I stand up again and snap on rubber gloves, staring down the garden. I was here in this very spot, washing up at the kitchen sink, when the front door banged shut behind Rick for the last time. I lean against the worktop, head bowed, eyes closed, fighting the tears.

Think, think,
think
.

It was nine thirty. Nine thirty-three perhaps. Radio 4 was on quietly and Hannah was still upstairs in her room. Rick and I had eaten toast and marmalade, and we’d made coffee. We sat at the kitchen table for a while, chatting, talking about Hannah, how low she’d seemed since she’d come home early from university. She was missing the last couple of weeks of term and we didn’t know why.

‘Give her time,’ Rick said. His voice was soft and velvety, and his grey eyes were calm and reassuring, with fine lines etched underneath whenever he smiled. He was right. Hannah had always been the edgy sort, up for drama more than her friends, usually pulling out of her funk after a few days. But she’d been in her room a week, with no sign of it abating.

‘I’m going to have a proper chat with her later,’ I said.

Rick frowned. I didn’t like it when he did that. It was so un-Rick-like. My man was affable, courteous, considerate and kind. And he always respected my opinion. He ruffled his hair next, I remember that. I thought:
You need a haircut
, but I didn’t say it. Truth was, I quite liked it a bit long and shaggy. Sandy strands bothering his neck, and a sweep of salt-and-pepper beige falling over his eyes. It was sexy.

‘Do you want a magazine?’ Rick then asked. He stood and stretched, swigging the last of his coffee. ‘I’m going to the shop to get a newspaper.’ Then he shoved his right hand inside the back pocket of his jeans and fished out some coins. He looked at them, nodded, and put them back in his pocket. I recall seeing several pounds. Not much more.

‘No. I’m fine thanks.’ I had too much to do to be spending time reading a magazine. We had Steph and Pete coming round for supper that night and I needed a trip to the supermarket. And the bathroom had to be cleaned, and the rest of the house wanted a quick vacuuming. Then I had to cook the meal, even though I knew Rick would help with that. He’d help me with anything I asked, in fact, and if I’d said I wanted to spend the day in bed, he would have agreed and taken care of everything. He was like that. Champion.

I’ve gone over events a thousand times since that day. Nothing new comes up any more. In fact, I’m afraid I’m going to start filling in the gaps with make-believe. The
counsellor said that can happen. That for my brain to make sense of everything, to give some kind of meaning to it, I may begin colouring in the outline of what happened. I don’t want to hinder the search with wrong information. As it is, I’m now in two minds whether I should even tell Kath about the phone call from the hotel. What good will it do, apart from confirm that I’m obsessed, constantly reading something into nothing?

As I pottered about the kitchen that Saturday morning, I remember seeing Rick scuffing on his trainers ready to go out. Then I heard him telling Cooper not to get excited, that he was only nipping to the shop, not going for a long walk. The dog seemed to understand, came back into the kitchen and hung around me, whining. Looking glum.

See you later!

His voice echoes through every one of my days.

‘OK, bye,’ I called back, pulling on my rubber gloves. Different gloves to the pair I’m wearing now. Time passes. Things change. Rubber gloves get holes.

The door slammed hard. I flinched, waited for the expected
Sorry
.

But there was no sorry. And then there was no Rick.

‘Hello, Kath, it’s Gina Forrester calling. Sorry to bother you so late. Something’s happened. When you get a moment, perhaps you could call me back. Thanks. Bye.’

I hang up. I’m on my own. Hannah has gone to her friend’s house a few streets away. I’d hoped we could spend the evening together, but she seemed so flat and
miserable I didn’t say anything when she announced she was going out. And I didn’t mention the hotel again, either.

Emma’s company will hopefully cheer her up, though I worry about seeds being sown while Hannah’s so vulnerable. Emma decided to go straight into work from school, rather than getting a degree. I don’t think it would take much to turn Hannah’s head, especially now that Emma has bought her own car and, according to her mum, she’s thinking about getting a flat. Heaven only knows how she’ll afford that on a trainee hairdresser’s salary. Probably by sharing with friends, I think, praying she doesn’t ask Hannah.

Something is vibrating. It wakes me. What time is it? My hands slap the sofa cushions as I search, bleary-eyed, for my phone. ‘Hello?’ My heart is thumping, my mouth dry. The shakes come, as do the usual shots of adrenalin. I sit up, forcing myself to be alert, to make my mouth form words properly.

‘Hello, who is it?’

‘Gina, it’s Kath here. I got your message.’

I stand up, forcing myself awake. I’d drifted off to a safe place where none of this exists. The television is chattering in the background, so I flick it off.

‘Thanks for calling back,’ I say breathily. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you on a Saturday night.’

‘So how are you doing?’

I know Kath really cares. In the early days, we necessarily spent a lot of time together. But for the circumstances, she’s the type of woman who would be my friend – honest,
hard-working, kind. She says it like it is. And she has a family, too, though her kids are younger than mine. My
kid
. And she knows the value of a family being together. Of all crew being present and correct. I said that to her once, that it feels as if we’ve lost our captain. Not that I think men should be in charge, but there was something about Rick, something safe, something dependable and beautiful about the way he cared for us.

I always thought he would be there.

‘Not too bad, thanks,’ I lie.

‘What’s been going on?’ Kath asks, wanting to get down to business.

I explain to her about the call, the booking. She listens without interruption, sipping on something as I talk. Perhaps wine if she’s not on duty, the thought of which makes me reach for my glass. It’s nearly empty, so in between sentences I drain it. There’s another bottle in the kitchen. I admit it’s been my friend these last few months.

‘Do you think it’s worth following up?’ I ask. Recounting the story again, it doesn’t sound that important any more. She’ll probably just log it in the file.

‘Possibly,’ Kath replies. ‘I’ll give the manager of the hotel a call, if you like. You never know, she may have some little detail that could help. But other than that, Gina, I’m afraid we’re still pretty much working blind.’

I pause, eyeing my empty glass.
But you’re not working any more, are you?
I want to say.
You haven’t been active on the case for weeks
.

‘Husbands do this sometimes,’ Kath told me not long
after it happened. She had a pitying but kind look on her face. An expression that told me she was glad it hadn’t happened to her.

‘People go missing all the time,’ she continued. ‘And often we never find out why. Of course, many of them come back,’ she added, when she saw how crushed I looked. But again she countered my optimism by saying that as long as there wasn’t a body, then we should keep the hope alive.

A
body
.

Now I’m wondering if she could ever truly be my friend. I don’t think we’re seeing eye to eye.

‘I understand,’ I say. I’ve already learned that pushing against the police simply makes me weaker, less in control. I need them on my side. ‘If you could contact the hotel, that would be great. You never know, do you?’

‘No, you don’t,’ she replies kindly. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’ And after a brief exchange about Hannah being home from university, a few words about her twin boys, I hear background noise at her end growing louder, as if she’s walked back into a party. PC Lane ends the conversation, and I go to the kitchen to open another bottle of wine.