The Missing: The gripping psychological thriller that’s got everyone talking... (9 page)

My thumb slides across the screen as I tap out a text.

Mark. I’m sorry. Going into work was a mistake. Can we talk when you come home tonight? Maybe go out for dinner, or to the pub?

I’m just about to start the engine when the phone bleeps in my hand. But the text isn’t from Mark, it’s an answerphone message. I must have missed a call when I turned my phone to silent before I went in to work.

‘
This is a message for Mrs Claire Wilkinson. This is Hartfield Road Surgery, just ringing to let you know that your test results are in. If you could give us a ring back on—
’

I stab my index finger onto the green phone icon to return the call.

‘Hello, this is Claire Wilkinson. I’m ringing about my test results. Yes, I’ll hold …’

‘Cheers, son,’ Mark says as Jake picks up his empty dinner plate from the table beside his armchair and adds it to the pile of dirty dishes he’s carrying.

Kira follows in Jake’s wake, collecting up the glasses before they both disappear through the living-room door. Thirty seconds later I hear the clunk of the dishwasher door being pulled over and the
clash-clang
of plates, glasses and saucepans being roughly stacked. Since Mark and Jake’s argument they’ve pretty much avoided each other. They’ve been cordial but any warmth between them has gone.

‘Good dinner, love,’ Mark says as the stairs creak under the weight of Jake and Kira’s steps as they disappear up to their bedroom.

I wait until the sound of footsteps on the landing fades away before I speak.

‘Mark?’

He grunts in reply. Neither of us has mentioned the fact that I went to Wilkinson & Son earlier today. When he got in from work I was peeling veg in the kitchen. He gave me a perfunctory kiss on the forehead and then, just as I was about to tell him about my day, he went upstairs to get changed. We haven’t had a moment alone since.

‘I heard back from the doctor’s today.’

His eyes remain fixed on the flickering screen directly in front of him. ‘Did you?’

‘The test results are back. From my blackout.’

The programme he’s watching freezes onscreen as he hits the pause button. ‘Oh?’

‘The receptionist couldn’t tell me whether they’re good or bad, just that I need to discuss them with the doctor. And I’ve got to wait until next week for an appointment.’

‘Next week? Bloody hell. Well, it can’t be anything serious. I’m sure they’d see you quicker than that if it was something to worry about.’ He studies my face. ‘You’re worried, aren’t you?’

‘I’m scared it’ll happen again.’

‘Oh, love.’ He grunts as he pushes himself up and out of his armchair. I half-rise, hoping he’ll give me a hug. Instead he slumps onto the sofa beside me and rests a heavy hand on my knee. ‘You haven’t said anything about it so I assumed you were coping.’

I almost smile. It won’t have crossed his mind to ask me how I feel about what happened. Once the A&E doctor gave me the all-clear and Mark realized I was in no immediate danger he filed the experience away in a box in his head marked
Claire amnesia episode
and then went to work the next day. Because I haven’t mentioned it since there’s been no need for him to reopen the box. It must be so nice to live in his black-and-white world where you only have to react when people tell you there’s something to react to, when you don’t spend your whole life second-guessing how the people you love feel.

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘You should have said something.’ He tightens his grip on my knee. ‘I do care, Claire. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I place my hand over Mark’s and meet his gaze. He doesn’t look away and, as the TV glows in the corner of the room, something – sadness, hope, regret, I can’t be sure – swells in my chest. I used to be able to read Mark’s emotions as though they were my own but I have no idea what is going on behind his eyes. All I can see is my own concerned face reflected back at me.

‘Can I talk to you about something else?’ I ask.

He tenses. He thinks I’m going to mention Stephen. I can just tell.

‘Can you make things up with Jake? Please.’

His hand slips from my knee and he leans back into the sofa. ‘Do we have to do this now? I’ve had a hell of a day at work and I just want to relax.’

‘But he’s not happy, Mark. We had a chat the other day, in the garage. He’s worried about his relationship with Kira and I know he’s hurt by the things you said last week.’

‘Jake’s hurt?’ He shifts across the sofa and angles himself towards me. ‘Seriously, Claire? He gets pissed and causes a scene at the press conference and you’re having a go at me? What did you expect me to do – pat him on the back?’

‘We could have handled it differently. Instead of flying off the handle we could have—’

‘Done what? Sat down and had a nice chat? Taken him to a counsellor? Because that worked out well for you, didn’t it? You stopped going after three weeks.’

‘Why are you having a go at me, all of a sudden?’

‘Because you’re the one that’s brought it up! Jake is a nineteen-year-old man, Claire. He’s not a kid. I’m not going to mollycoddle him. He needs to hear it how it is.’

‘You squared up to him. You goaded him. And you’re supposed to be the parent. You’re supposed to—’

‘Don’t tell me what I’m supposed to do!’ He leaps off the sofa and glares down at me.

‘All I’m saying is that, if you’d have listened to me in the first place – if you toned it down instead of exploding whenever you get angry – then we wouldn’t be in this position.’

‘What position?’

‘Billy wouldn’t be missing.’

Mark freezes, hands still clenched at his sides, eyes fixed on mine, his lips moist with saliva. It’s as though someone has pressed pause on our argument.

‘I’m sorry.’ I can’t get the words out fast enough. ‘I didn’t mean it. I was angry. I’m not saying it was your fault. Mark! Mark!’

I continue to shout his name as he walks out of the room. Seconds later I hear the back door slam.

ICE9:
I am having a shit day. How about you?

Jackdaw44:

ICE9:
You’re sad?

Jackdaw44:
Cos you’re having a shit day. What’s up?

ICE9:
Arguments.

Jackdaw44:
Relationships suck. You should be single like me. No women. No drama. Result!

ICE9:
No drama? What about the graffitiing at school? (Tell me to fuck off and I’ll never text you again.)

Jackdaw44:
Fuck yyyyy … (Just kidding!) Bollocks to the graffiti. I’m expressing myself. No bastard understands that.

ICE9:
You can express yourself without doing it on school property.

Jackdaw44:
Don’t you start!

ICE9:
You brought it up.

Jackdaw44:
Actually, you did. Anyway, forget that shit. Do you want to go for a beer?

ICE9:
Ha! Ha!

Jackdaw44:
What’s so funny?

ICE9:
a) It’s 3pm and b) You’re 15.

Jackdaw44:
a) It’s never too early for a beer and b) I look 18.

ICE9:
Well b) is true.

Jackdaw44:
So?
?

ICE9:
You’re at school.

Jackdaw44:

ICE9:
Skiving again!

Jackdaw44:
Yeah, and I’m bored. Come to the pub with me.

ICE9:
I’m busy.

Jackdaw44:
No, you’re not. You’re having a shit day.
+
=

ICE9:
Look at you, the emoticon mathematician!

Jackdaw44:
It’s all true. So is that a yes then?

ICE9:
Oh, sod it. What harm could one beer do?

There’s a cold space on the left of the bed, where the warm imprint of Mark’s body should be.

I didn’t chase after him when he left last night. Instead I sat on the sofa with my arms crossed and the TV still on pause and reran the argument in my head. How had we gone from me asking him to have a word with Jake to me implying that he was responsible for Billy going missing? Because he’d pushed my buttons, that’s why. He’d gone straight on the offensive, bringing up my failed sessions with the counsellor and implying that I didn’t know what I was talking about. I hadn’t even mentioned getting counselling – just that he should talk to his son. What was so wrong with that?

I rehearsed what I’d say when Mark came back from the pub. I had it all word perfect. Only he didn’t come back. There was a space in the street outside the house, where his silver Ford Focus had been parked. He’d taken his jacket too, and his briefcase from the hall. Wherever he’d gone he was planning on staying overnight.

I rang him several times but his mobile went straight to answerphone. I sent text after text.

I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s your fault.

Please, Mark. Let’s not fall out. We need to stick together. I’m sorry.

Please. Please talk to me.

And then, after an hour of silence, I got angry.

You’ve made mistakes. You’ve said things you didn’t mean in the heat of the moment and I’ve always forgiven you. Just talk to me, let’s sort this out.

OK, fine. Ignore me. Because that makes everything better, doesn’t it?

I’m going to bed.

Any anger I felt towards him has evaporated overnight. I’m pissed off with myself now. I was an idiot for taking my stress out on him. He didn’t deserve it.

I glance at the bedside clock. 8.30 a.m. With any luck he’ll be sitting in his car outside an appointment and I’ll catch him before he goes in.

Mark. I’m sorry. Please. Just send me a text to let me know you’re OK. I know you’re angry. But please. Just let me know you’re—

A noise from downstairs makes me jump. I heard Jake and Kira clattering down the stairs at least half an hour ago so it can’t be them. And Mark should be on his way to work. Unless he’s come back. Maybe he’s decided to take the morning off and sort things out?

I push back the duvet and swing my legs out of bed, then cross the bedroom and take the stairs one at a time, treading quietly. Logically I know I’ll find Mark sitting at the kitchen table, or standing by the sink, looking moodily out into the street, but there’s still a tiny part of me that hopes that it’s Billy. And if it is, if a miracle has occurred and he’s home and he’s tired and he’s dirty and he’s traumatized, I don’t want to be the one who scares him off.

But it’s not Billy bent over the kitchen table with his head bowed low. It’s Kira, an ear bud in one hand, a camera lens in the other, her tongue stud clacking against her front teeth as she flicks her tongue forwards and backwards in her mouth. It’s a habit she’s developed since she had her tongue pierced a few months ago.

Clack-clack-clack
.

She looks deep in thought, totally focused on wiping every last smear and streak from the glass.

I swallow my disappointment and step into the kitchen. ‘You’ll damage your front teeth if you keep doing that.’

She jumps at the sound of my voice and gathers her camera equipment to her chest.

‘Sorry I startled you. I thought you were at college. Cup of tea?’

‘No, thanks.’ She stands up and begins replacing lens caps and zipping lenses and camera bodies into their cases. ‘I’ve got a couple of free periods this morning so I thought I’d clean my kit before I head into town to take some photos.’

‘Don’t mind me. This is your home too.’ I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve told her that. When she first moved in she could barely look me in the eye. I don’t know if it was because she was shy or if the way her mother had treated her had left such a terrible imprint that she was intimidated by older women. She’s been living with us for eighteen months now and she’s still not comfortable being alone with me. If anything she’s worse. A small, possibly foolish, part of me thought that we might develop a mother-daughter type relationship after she moved in. I thought we’d go to the cinema to watch romcoms or to the nail bar in town to get manicures but you can’t force a relationship where there isn’t one. Some people need time to settle in to new situations, to get used to people, to trust them. I genuinely care about Kira. I worry about her, almost as much as I worry about my own sons, but she’s still not ready to let me in.

She continues to shovel her belongings into a large carry case at breakneck speed, her blonde hair covering her face. ‘It’s okay, I was pretty much finished anyway and I really should get—’

‘Don’t go. Please.’ I approach the table, my hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. ‘I’d like to have a chat with you.’

She peers at me through the curtain of hair that hangs over her face. ‘What about?’

‘About you, and how you’re doing.’ I pull out a chair and sit down. We haven’t really had a conversation since my blackout in Weston. I’ve barely seen her to talk to, but I imagine Jake will have filled her in. Whenever I pass their room on my way to bed each night the low rumbling of their hushed conversations creeps from beneath the door.

‘I’m fine.’ Her gaze flits towards the kitchen window and the driveway outside and I instantly understand. She thinks I want to have another chat about her relationship with Jake and she wants to escape.

‘Can we chat later?’ She glances at the kitchen clock. ‘I really need to get into town. I’m taking photos of someone and she’s got to go to work at half past nine.’

‘Okay, don’t worry.’

I watch as she crosses the kitchen, her body sloped to the right under the weight of her camera bag and her battered trainers squeaking on the kitchen tiles. Her long, thin legs look pale and mottled despite the fact that it’s the middle of summer.

‘Kira!’ I call as she reaches for the doorknob.

‘Yes.’ She turns back.

‘Has Stephen – Jake’s uncle Stephen – has he ever said anything inappropriate to you?’

She frowns. ‘Like what?’

‘About … I don’t know … the way you dress?’

‘The way I look?’ She glances down, at the black T-shirt that clings to her body, the denim skirt that ends mid-thigh and the faded purple Converse on her feet. ‘Why would he comment on that?’

‘I don’t know. I just wanted to check that he’s never said anything to upset you?’

‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘Never. He’s always been really nice to me.’

‘And no one else in the family has ever made you feel uncomfortable? You don’t feel uncomfortable being around Mark …’

‘No!’ She glances down at her outfit again and I feel angry at myself for paying attention to what Stephen told me. I’ve made her feel self-conscious about the way she dresses now. As if her self-esteem wasn’t fragile enough anyway.

‘No,’ she says again, more softly this time. When she looks back up I’m startled to see tears shining in her eyes. ‘Of course not. You’ve all been lovely to me. I’d be on the streets if you hadn’t taken me in.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘It is. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t said I could live here. Mum was … Living with her could be difficult and Jake knew that. He rescued me. I know we’ve had our problems but I do love him. He’s everything to me and I’d die if I lost him. Actually die.’

‘Oh, Kira.’ I cross the room, arms outstretched, but she twists away before I can hug her.

‘Please don’t, Claire.’ She fumbles the back door open and squeezes through the gap, knocking her camera bag against the wall in her haste to escape.