I hesitate, in my state of denial not wanting to tell anyone, still hoping that at any minute Matt will turn up. But she’s one of my oldest friends. ‘You better come in.’
Closing the door behind us, she follows me through to the kitchen, where she pulls off her jacket then stands there, her eyes fixed on mine, as I perch on the edge of the sofa.
‘Matt’s gone missing.’ I say it quietly, reticent, because the more I talk about it, the more real it becomes; the more my fear grows. Not because I don’t care, as the police later suggested. Even with their specialist training, their expertise in psychological profiling, they couldn’t understand how I was so calm.
A look of incredulity on her face, Cath doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Since when?’ Her voice is sharp.
‘Last night.’ Feeling tears fill my eyes, I wipe them away. ‘He didn’t come home. I thought he was out late with a business client. I didn’t think any more of it, until this morning.’
A frown wrinkles her forehead. ‘He isn’t answering his phone?’
I shake my head. ‘I’ve been trying all day. I’ve called his office, too. Left messages, but no-one’s heard from him. Just now, I called the police.’
‘Jesus.’ White as a sheet, Cath sits down next to me. A hint of her scent reaches me. Citrus notes – and basil. ‘I mean, that’s so not like Matt.’
‘I know.’ I’ve never known her lost for words before. Then I tell her about the old woman and what she said to me.
A look of shock crosses her face. ‘You were right when you said it was weird. It’s too much of a coincidence, surely.’ Cath stares at me. ‘What happens now?’
‘So now, I wait for the police to get back to me. Unless he turns up – in which case I call them.’
‘Jesus, Amy.’ Cath sits there, then she gets up again. ‘There’s an explanation. There has to be. You’re getting married. You’re love’s dream, for fuck’s sake. Don’t I know better than anyone.’
Hearing the bitterness in her voice, I look up. I hadn’t realised she felt that way.
‘Don’t mind me.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m cynical and twisted because of Oliver, but I’ll get over it.’
I stare at her, not knowing what to say. Then something makes me look at her more closely, as I notice how much weight she’s lost, how she’s cut her hair shorter, so that it falls in soft waves that frame her face. I’ve always thought of her as large-framed, heavy, but she isn’t. Her broken heart has left her slender.
Cath gazes out of the window. ‘It’s OK. It really is. It was a bit galling for a while, if I’m honest. There’s nothing like looking at other people and wishing you had even a fraction of their happiness. But Oliver’s gone and I’m moving to Bristol. It’s fine – honestly. I’m happy for you.’ But the tightness of her voice belies her words.
Later, when the police asked about our friends, their lives, how well we knew them, I told them what Cath said, watching them write it down, word for word, only then remembering the hardness in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice, as the first waves of suspicion crept over me, that there was something she wasn’t telling me. Jealousy was toxic enough, but unrequited love could be just as destructive; could drive the most unlikely person over the edge.
*
After a lunch that neither Cath nor I have an appetite for, our mood is subdued and she doesn’t stay long. Checking my emails, there’s no reply yet from Matt’s parents and as I head across the garden towards my workshop, I’m unsettled. Ignoring the list of orders waiting for me, I wander over to the bench under the oak tree, placed there for the most far-reaching views of the Downs. Sitting down, I gaze out across the outline of the hills, my mind flitting all over the place as I breathe deeply,trying to slow it down, still jittery as the buzz of my mobile startles me.
‘Ms Reid? It’s PC Page.’
As she speaks, fear courses through me. ‘Have you heard anything?’
‘Not as yet.’ She hesitates. ‘I wanted to clarify one or two things about the conversation you had with your fiancé yesterday morning. Earlier, you told me his boss had asked him to take an American client out to dinner – that’s correct isn’t it?’
I frown, wondering why she’s asking. ‘Yes. Why?’
As she goes on, she sounds puzzled. ‘The thing is, we spoke to David Avery – Matthew’s boss. He says he doesn’t know anything about an American client.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ My heart misses a beat. It doesn’t make sense that Matt would have lied to me. ‘David must have that wrong. There’s no other explanation. Why else would Matt have told me that?’
‘I’m only repeating what he told us. According to Mr Avery, Matthew left work at the normal time, but to the best of his knowledge, there are no clients from the States – at least, not at this present time. Currently their work is here and in Dubai.’
‘He must have made a mistake …’ I’m searching wildly for answers. ‘There could be someone David doesn’t know about. A new client … Matt wouldn’t lie about something like that.’ Mystified, my voice fades to a whisper.
‘I take it you still haven’t heard from him?’ PC Page speaks quietly.
‘Not yet.’ I’m trying to take in what she’s said. ‘He’ll call me, though. I’m sure he will – if he can.’ But it’s myself I’m trying to convince, rather than her.
‘Did you email his parents?’
