Sleep Tight (3 page)

‘Okay, but you’re going to have to tell me why,’ Tom responded.

‘Because I’m with her now. This time it’s her husband – Robert Brookes – who’s missing, and so are her three children.’

4

They want to know about Robert, to understand our relationship. How can I explain it to them when I can’t even figure it out for myself? All I know is that Robert rescued me from everything at a terrible time in my life. First I’d lost Dan, and then just two months later, I lost my parents. Dead. Both of them.

I don’t know what I would have done if Robert hadn’t come into my life at that moment. He was a virtual stranger to me then. He was just the man who had bought my flat, but somehow he seemed to understand what I needed and had steered me through the worst time of my life.

Since Dan had gone I’d been sleepwalking through the days. The only thing that penetrated the fog of my confusion was the realisation that I had to sell the flat that Dan and I had lived in together. I couldn’t afford it on my own, and every corner of the place reminded me of him: the furniture we had bought from junk shops and car boot sales, the hideous pale pink paint we had used in the kitchen because it was free. Every nook and cranny held a memory. But I was out of options. Jaz and I were going to have to go back home to Mum and Dad’s and, much as I loved them, I didn’t know how I would cope.

When Robert arrived to move into the flat on a freezing cold day I was still there, standing in the hall with Jaz in a buggy, my boxes around us, waiting for Dad to arrive. My dad who, it turns out, I was never going to see again.

Robert was the only person who seemed to know what to do afterwards. He let me stay in the flat and he kept his old place on for a couple of months. He wouldn’t hear of me trying to find somewhere else to live, and when he finally had to move in, he let us have the spare room. He even dealt with the funeral and the sale of my parents’ bungalow for me.

I know I should be grateful, and I am. I don’t know how I would have coped without him then, but his constant silent demands for praise and recognition for all he does for us have become exhausting.

And he is always watching, looking at me. Even when the children are being funny and
making me laugh, he doesn’t watch them. His eyes are on me, and he smiles when I smile. If I walk out of a room, he watches me as I go. I can feel him staring. And when I return, he is still looking at the door as if his eyes have never left it.

It’s why we don’t have friends. On the few occasions that I have tried to mix with other couples, Robert’s gaze never leaves me. If I talk to a woman, he is wondering what I’m saying and I have to suffer an inquisition on the way home until I have recounted every word. If I talk to a man, he’s by my side in seconds.

For the first time in years, I long for Sophie. Sophie was the closest thing I ever had to a sister, and a vivid memory of her eyes, brimming with laughter, flashes into my mind like a bright, white light – there and gone in a second.

When I met Sophie, she drew me into her world and everything became more fun; life was our adventure. I had seriously believed we would be friends forever, but all Sophie had ever wanted was to join the army, and within weeks of leaving university, she was off to Sandhurst to begin her training. Suddenly she was no longer part of my everyday life, and nobody has ever filled her place.

So here I am, alone, with just one thought.

Where are my children?

*

I can sense that the police are getting increasingly concerned. It’s mid-morning, and nothing seems to have advanced at all since last night. I can’t stop shaking. My hands are clammy and clumsy and each time somebody tries to tempt me with coffee or tea I have to say no because I don’t think I could hold the cup. There’s a change in the atmosphere. It’s much more urgent, and I know they are seriously worried about my children.

Philippa has already told me they are checking the cameras on the main A roads. I know how crucial the first twenty-four hours are, though she’s kind enough not to remind me.

When they discovered some of the children’s clothes were missing, they started asking me about passports. I’m sure they think he’s abducted them and taken them out of the country as part of some ridiculous custody battle. But they don’t have passports, and neither do I. We don’t go on exotic holidays. We like Anglesey, an island off the coast of North Wales. It’s only a couple of hours’ drive, and we know our way around.

Philippa has come to sit down next to me again. I worry when she does this. I always expect it to be bad news.

‘Olivia, I think the time has come to notify the press about your children. I know they’re with their father, but we haven’t managed to track him down. You gave us a picture of the three of them last night, but can you find some more photos for us, please? It might be
useful to have some individual shots as well as group ones.’

I stand up, hoping my legs will hold me, go to the sideboard and pull out the box of photos. I’m not sure that I can bear to look at them, because all I see when I picture my children is pain. Surely if there had been an accident, somebody would have found them by now? Maybe my children are in a hospital somewhere, crying for me and wondering why I’m not there. But why am I even thinking that? I know this is no accident.

I carry the box to the dining table, but somebody has left a coat scrunched up on the floor, and in my clumsy, inattentive state I trip over it. I’m caught just in time, but the photos fly everywhere.

I recognise the man who catches my arm now. I couldn’t work it out earlier, but he was one of the policemen who came when Dan didn’t come home that night. The one I didn’t like; the one who searched under the beds and in the wardrobes as if Dan might be hiding there. I suppose it’s all part of their procedure. I hadn’t remembered his name until I heard Philippa say, ‘Is that your coat, DC Tippetts?’

Tippetts. It fits. There’s something mean sounding about the name, and he has a rat-like face with a pointy nose and beady eyes. I can’t help feeling glad he is not in charge.

I look away from his face and down at the mess all over the floor. Trivial as it is, it’s nearly enough to make me collapse and I grab the back of the sofa for support. Pictures of my children are smiling up at me from amongst the debris.

On the top is a picture of Danush. I’ve tried not to look at his picture for so long, and I stifle a gasp as I devour every feature. Curly black hair down to just below his collar, brushed back from his face, his dark brown eyes are sparkling with laughter and his generous mouth is smiling down at a lovely young girl with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, wearing a cream baker boy hat with a shiny buckle on the side.

Philippa looks at me, and then back at the photo.

‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ she says, barely able to keep the disbelief from her voice. Yes, that was me.

I had a bit of an obsession with hats at the time, and I used to try to persuade Sophie to wear them too – I even offered to lend her my favourite black fedora, but she said the only hat she would ever wear, and even then only under duress, would be her army officer’s cap.

It suddenly hit me that not only has Robert has never met Sophie, he’s never met Liv either – he’s only met Olivia – the sensible, vanilla version of me.

I look at Dan’s picture. What would he think of the person standing before him now? My hair is still long, although the striking blonde has faded into a pleasant light brown. My old obsession with choosing the brightest, most vibrant shades has disappeared, along with my love of danger and excitement. Sophie and I did some wild things together, usually with Dan
cheering on the sidelines – everything from skydiving for charity to bungee jumping from a bridge. But now I realise that I’ve settled for mediocrity. How had I let it happen? How did I lose myself?

At the back of my mind there’s a little voice, telling me that if my children come back – no,
when
they come back – I must revert to being that person. I have to find a way to rediscover myself. Perhaps Robert isn’t the uninspired one after all.

I push the photo of Danush into the pocket of my jeans. I don’t think it’s a picture that Robert will want to see when he gets home. Because he
will
come home – he has to.

*

I can’t believe I’ve slept. I refused to go to my bedroom to lie down, even though the living room was full of people talking. But I think exhaustion must have taken over – or perhaps my body just couldn’t take any more stress.

I wake to sounds of instructions being fired at everybody in the room. Suddenly, instead of the slow, plodding, subdued tones of concern there is a heightened sense of excitement.

‘Cancel the press briefing. Don’t tell them anything; we’ll fill them in later.’

I don’t think they have realised I’m awake, but the sense of urgency is driving me to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. The empty void inside me starts to fill with a strange sensation that I can only believe is hope, and I struggle to sit up. Philippa notices, and casts a silencing glance around the room. They take her cue and leave as she sits down next to me.

‘Olivia, we’ve got some good news. Your husband’s car was picked up by cameras in North Wales, and the children appear to be in the car with him. That was a few hours ago, and we’ve not seen him since, but we’ve got the local police looking out for him.’

My first thought is relief. They’re alive. Thank God. Then I suddenly feel dizzy.
Oh no – not that, Robert
.

‘Where was he? Where in North Wales? Are you sure it was him?’ I know Philippa can hear the panic in my voice, but she remains calm.

‘He was crossing the Menai Bridge into Anglesey. And it was definitely his car. Do you have some idea where he might be going? He hasn’t been picked up on any cameras since, and that’s unusual.’

She’s looking at me with concern.

‘He’d take the side roads,’ I tell her. ‘He always says it’s a mistake to stick to the A roads when the others are so much more interesting.’ I have to ask. I can’t help myself. ‘Do you think he could have got as far as Holyhead without being picked up again?’

‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of the ferry port, aren’t you?’ Philippa leans
over and reaches for my hand. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve got people checking the details of all the boats. He wouldn’t need a passport to get to Ireland, but he would need some form of identification. Nobody’s booked anything in his name yet.’

She turns her body through forty-five degrees so she is partially facing me, and I focus on looking at her, thinking only of what I can see in front of me and not what is trying to send piercing warning bells through my brain.

‘What are you not telling me, Olivia?’ she asks. ‘Do you know where he might have gone?’

It was safer when I could block out the thoughts, but now I must face my recollection of the first time we went to Anglesey. Robert took us all to South Stack Lighthouse, to the west of Holyhead. We stood looking out to sea, a cold wind whipping my hair back from my face. I loved it. It made me feel alive. I was gazing at the magnificent breakers, listening to them crash on to the rocks below, my thoughts a million miles away, when Robert told me that earlier in the year a man had jumped to his death off these very same cliffs.

‘This is the perfect place to die,’ he’d said.

I remember it clearly. I’d turned to look at him with a puzzled expression on my face, but he was staring down at the turbulent water far below.

‘If I lost you from my life, this is where I would come,’ he’d said. ‘This would be a beautiful place to remember you. You do know that I couldn’t bear life without you, don’t you?’ he’d said.

But I’m still
here
. Has he guessed I’ve been thinking of leaving him? He can’t have – at least, I don’t see how. I close my eyes and try to stem the panic.

A sob bursts from my throat, and I curl up in a ball on the sofa, trying my best to nurse the pain and drive the memory from my mind.

5

The waiting – the uncertainty and the frustration of being unable to do anything – is unbearable. I begged Philippa to let me go to Anglesey, even if she wasn’t prepared to take me, but she insisted that the local police are best placed to make enquiries. They know the area. Nothing I can say or do seems likely to change her opinion and angry, defeated tears continue to pour down my cheeks. Clutching a sodden handkerchief to my eyes, I shut out the sounds in the room and focus on the faces of my children, willing them to come back to me, whispering words of comfort and reassurance that they can’t hear.

Vaguely, through the gulping sounds of my sobbing, I hear a change in the voices again. This time it is different. No staccato instructions or sense of purpose. It almost feels as if the breath has gone out of the room on a large sigh. I don’t know if it is a sigh of sorrow and distress, or something else completely.

I feel the other end of the sofa compress. Somebody is sitting there, stroking my damp hair away from my face. I can hear a voice, but the words don’t penetrate.

‘We’ve found them, Olivia. They’re safe. Your husband and children are all safe, and they’re on their way home. They’re okay.’

I can hear the smile in Philippa’s voice, and I’m glad something has pleased her, but it takes a moment or two for her words to sink in.

‘What?’ I ask shakily. ‘Where were they? Are you sure they’re all right?’

Philippa reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

‘They were found at a bed and breakfast in Anglesey – one you often stayed at, according to your husband.’ Philippa looks at me closely. ‘And they’re absolutely fine. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

Before I have a chance to fully absorb any detail other than the fact that my children are unhurt and on their way back to me, I notice that DC Tippetts is packing up his bag. The others seem to have gone already, and only Philippa and Tippetts are still here.

Are they going?
I don’t think I could bear to be on my own when Robert gets back. I look around in panic. It seems Philippa has read my mind.