Mummy's Favourite (13 page)

‘We checked the phone messages at the time and nothing in particular came up,' Hunter explained. ‘And Keith Hubbard didn't initially say anything, for some reason. Most of the focus has been on Julie's mobile phone and locating that, rather than the home phone.'

Dana was quiet for several minutes. She got up and went to the window, staring out at the vast expanse of back lawn.

‘Justin rarely uses the home phone. He's got a spare phone that's pay as you go. I think he uses that one for his affairs. I found it once.' She paused, swallowing, as if to catch her breath. ‘Justin's going to get into trouble because of all this, isn't he?'

‘We will need to speak to him again, yes.' She was already looking forward to the opportunity.

‘And all the sordid secrets of our marriage will come out, won't they?'

‘Well, we won't let them out on purpose, but it will depend on whether he knows more about Julie and Richard's disappearance than he's letting on. There may be further leads or alibis that we will have to investigate.'

‘I don't know what he knows. I hope to God it's not much. I don't know how the children are going to cope. It's going to blow our world apart as it is.'

‘We'll be in touch with him very soon.' Charlie got up to leave.

‘I'll tell him to expect you, but then I would imagine he's already expecting a call. I don't know what he's playing at.'

They walked towards the front door. When they got there, Dana leant forward and peered through the spyhole.

‘I thought you were only supposed to check when you were letting someone in? Not when you're letting someone out?'

‘I've had a strange man turning up at my front door. I opened the door the first time and he didn't say a word; just stared at me. It gave me the creeps. He's been round several times since, but I don't open the door.'

‘Hence the wait when we've been both times? We knew you were in but you took ages to answer.'

‘Yes, sorry. I had to be sure it wasn't him or he wasn't hiding just round the corner.'

‘Do you know him?'

‘I think I might, but I couldn't say for certain. He does frighten me though.'

‘So, who is it then?' Hunter looked impatient.

‘Well,' Dana's voice was almost a whisper. She looked towards Charlie, her eyes fearful again. ‘I haven't told Justin yet, by the way, because I was hoping the man would just stop without us having to get the police involved, but he hasn't. I didn't really want to have to explain about our situation at a police station, but now you both know, hopefully you might be able to help without it going any further.'

She paused, glancing around the front of the house one last time. ‘I'm not positive, because I've only passed him on the very occasional school do and I didn't know who he was then, but I think it's Julie Hubbard's husband, Keith.'

Annabel Leigh-Matthews couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was being followed. It was only 5.45 p.m. and she had stopped off at the local 24/7 supermarket to buy some essentials on the way home, but now she was on edge. She turned to look down the aisle she had just come from for the fourth time and could see nothing out of the ordinary, but still her heart was pounding faster than usual.

For days now she had been like this and she couldn't quite fathom why. Maybe it was the horror film she had watched with Greg, her husband, the other day that had spooked her? Maybe it was the nature of her job: she had been stalked before on several occasions by over enthusiastic clients. Once, she had even been spied on by another defence brief, anxious to do everything in his power to discover what her client's alibi was. But whatever it was, it had left her with clammy hands and a racing pulse, and she didn't like it.

She breathed in deeply and looked around again. There really was nothing out of the ordinary to prompt the anxiety. It was only a small supermarket, but it was busy, mostly with business-type people nipping in to buy a bottle of Merlot or two to drink before the next day's return to work and the onslaught of the following week's busy work schedule. There were a few frazzled-looking mothers, trying to select healthy cereals for tomorrow's breakfast, while their offspring pulled chocolate-coated cornflakes or equally sugary wheat puffs from the shelves. The only other people were several elderly folk hovering around the reduced shelf for any bargains, thrown in as evening approached and the sell-by dates started to expire.

All in all, nothing and nobody to worry about.

She looked down at the contents of her basket and smiled wryly. Fruit and fibre cereal, a box of non-chocolate-covered muesli bars, fromage frais with pictures of jungle animals on the lids, a carton of stuffed green olives and her own bottle of Merlot. All the necessities for feeding your children good wholesome food at home and school, with nibbles and a couple of glasses of wine to fend off complete capitulation to motherhood. She herself didn't really bother eating at the end of a busy day. By the time she collected the kids from after-school club and got them home, cobbled together a semi-nutritional evening meal and put them through the bedtime routine, she didn't have the energy to prepare another meal. If Greg wasn't away on business she sometimes had to, but more often than not, he would either turn up with a goody bag of specialities from the local deli or with his mother in tow, to babysit so that he could whisk her away for an impromptu meal out. Either way it meant she was saved the trouble of extra cooking, which she appreciated hugely.

She had dropped Greg off at the nearby railway station earlier and he was on his way now to a conference in Birmingham, with a scheduled early start the next morning. She had the whole evening routine to contend with alone.

She went to the self-service check outs, glancing around before allowing her defence to slip and selecting two bars of chocolate from the display, just in case she needed to use bribery to get a few hours to herself. She allowed herself to relax as she placed the wine into her carrier bag, paid and made her way to the exit. Her car was parked outside as close as she could get to the doors. She glanced around the car park. Shoppers were coming and going to their cars but nothing appeared out of order. She just had to collect the kids from her parents and then she would be safely home.

She walked quickly to her car, pinging the boot open as she arrived and placed the bag in as quickly and carefully as she could. Once in the vehicle she locked all the doors and relaxed again. This was stupid, ridiculous even. Everything was fine. She would collect the kids, go home and chill out. There really was nothing to worry about.

She switched the engine on and edged out of her parking bay, concentrating on her manoeuvre. Her breathing was more normal now and the tightness in her chest had almost disappeared. She pulled forward slowly towards the gate, checking the car park one last time. A weary mother was battling to get her errant child strapped into a car seat. A street drinker leant against the supermarket railings swigging from a can of beer, deep in conversation with another drinker, their faces red and blotchy, their movements exaggerated and slow.

The traffic was spaced out now, a gap showing itself just before a double-decker bus full of commuters was about to lumber past. Annabel pulled out into the stream of traffic, quickly bringing her car up to the same speed as the queue. No other cars were tagging in behind her and nobody else seemed interested in her movements. She leant forward and switched the radio on, relaxing at the silky smooth voice of her favourite DJ. She was getting herself in too much of a state. After she'd put the kids to bed, she'd take a long, hot bath and get a good night's sleep. She obviously needed a rest.

*

Back in the car park, out of her sight now the man pulled his woollen hat further down over his ears and smiled to himself. She really was a piece and he wanted her now more than ever. He hoped she would like the flowers he'd left on her doorstep. Maybe he could go to her house and watch her reaction when she saw them there. He already knew the short cuts. She had a nice house; he'd taken a look when she was at work. In fact she had a really nice house and she didn't seem overly worried about security either. He'd got in very easily. Even the alarm hadn't been set. He'd walked from room to room, admiring the decor. She had taste, he could see that. Everything was perfectly matched and so very expensive. He'd loved the bedroom the most. He always did. The way her smell lingered on her pillow, her clothing, even in the air, that deep, intensely sexy scent she always wore; the scent that he had followed on numerous occasions, the scent that had brought him here. He had opened some of her drawers, looking for the one that contained her underwear, and there he had stayed for what seemed like ages.

He loved this drawer, what it said about the woman. How tidy, how ordered, how impulsive, how sexual, how practical she was. Whether the small lacy G-strings were on top of the pile or whether they were hidden below, tucked down at the back. Nearly every woman had them somewhere, either bought by themselves when wanting to impress, or selected by lovers for birthdays or Christmas or as random impulses. Sometimes they were just bought by the woman to feel sexy for a change. Annabel's drawer contained many small sexy pairs, dotted between the more practical day-to-day ones but even they were sexy, with lacy strips, black frills and small red bows. He'd taken his souvenir pair, breathing in the smell of her, spraying a little of her perfume on to the material to allow an even stronger scent.

He had them in his jacket now and even the thought of them excited him. He reached in to his pocket, his fingers brushing against the softness of the material, pressing the lacy panels into the palm of his hand. They were so soft, so sensual, so sexy. He could almost imagine his lips pressed against her flesh, his body writhing against hers, her scent deep inside his nostrils. His reaction was swift and strong and he revelled in it.

One day soon, when he was sure she was ready for him, he'd pay her a visit; one day, or one night when her husband was away on business again.

He'd look forward to that. He'd look forward to that very much.

*

The large bouquet of flowers lay within the confines of the small porch on the mat. She didn't see them straight away when she pulled up outside the house. It was only when her daughter let out an excited squeal that her attention was drawn to them.

‘Mummy, look! Pretty flowers.'

They certainly were pretty. They were beautiful in fact. Upright in a small round oasis of water, the bunch sprayed out into a globe of colour. Predominantly blues and yellows with tiny, perfectly formed and sweetly scented freesias and a raft of bluebells that looked as if they had just been painstakingly selected and brought direct from the epicentre of a Kent bluebell wood. The bouquet was different from standard supermarket fare. Every flower seemed to have been selected for its fragrance and the collective smell filled the whole porch and took her breath away.

‘Are they from Daddy?'

She didn't know. He didn't often buy flowers, but then he knew she was a bit stressed at the moment. Maybe he had arranged for them to be delivered for when she got back from running him to the station. How lovely!

She stuck her key into the lock and pushed the front door open. Jake and Jasmin bounded past her, Jasmin's interest in the flowers disappearing in a flash as she attempted to get to the TV first. Annabel bent down and looked at the bouquet. There was no obvious message attached, so she threw her briefcase inside and picked the flowers up, smiling indulgently as the fragrance hit her nostrils. She searched inside the cellophane for a card but there was none. That was strange, but then Greg was a man who found it hard to express his emotions. He always said that actions spoke louder than words. And in this case, they absolutely did: Greg was such a sweetie.

She didn't hear the twig snapping or the rustle of leaves from the bush by the alleyway at the side of the house as she entered the front door.

Once inside she walked through to the kitchen and placed the bouquet on to one of the surfaces. She never knew whether to leave these types of flowers in their cellophane wrap with the bulb of water underneath or take them out and try to cobble them into some type of sub-standard display in a mismatched vase. She'd leave them as they were, so Greg could see them still in their splendour on his return the next evening. She could hear the kids squabbling in the TV room now, same old argument. Jake would want his idol Fireman Sam on, Jasmin would want to watch anything other than Fireman Sam. Jake would scream the loudest and the longest and eventually they would both capitulate to his request. It wasn't the way to teach him to take turns, but after a long day and the evening routine still to come, it was the only course of action that brought peace to the house.

She sighed loudly and walked into the TV room, ready to at least start the process of dissuasion. Her iPhone vibrated in her pocket. Greg's smiling profile appeared.

‘Look, Daddy's on the phone,' she started, pointing the phone towards Jake, whose scream just intensified. She pressed the phone to her ear.

‘Hi, babe,' she shouted above the scream. ‘How's it going?'

‘Fine this end, though a little boring. Doesn't sound too good your end.'

‘Just the normal Fireman Sam argument. No dramas.'

‘Wish I could be there to help out.' His voice was quieter.

Annabel laughed. ‘No you don't. You're probably breathing a sigh of relief that you're 200 miles away.'

Jake was trying to wrestle the TV remote from Jasmin's hand. Even though he was two years younger than his big sister, her size held no fear for him. He was equally as strong and twice as persistent.

‘Look babe, can I call you back after I've got them settled.'

She shoved the phone between her ear and shoulder and took hold of each of her children's hands, trying to pull them apart.