‘Hi, is your guide Dain Whitmore on today?’
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him anyway.’
I think quickly. ‘Can I speak to Bridget then? Sorry, I don’t have her mobile number. It’s a bit urgent.’
The man pauses before answering, ‘I’ll have to hunt her down and get her to call you back. What’s your name and number?’
Relieved he’s being helpful and not brushing me off, I give him my name and number and make him repeat it back to me. I’m not going to chance fate on a mistaken digit.
Bridget rings as I’m halfway to Leeds. I’m trying not to lose it, but each time I ring Dain and it goes to voicemail, my anxiety spikes.
‘Hi, Lizzy. You left a message for me to call you?’
‘Bridget ...’ I’m so relieved to hear her voice I choke up and have to cough to clear my throat. ‘Bridget, can you please go round to Dain’s and check on him?’ She knows we’re flatmates, but I’m not sure what else Dain has told her.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’ she asks, concern creeping into her tone.
‘Nothing. But I’m out of town, and he’s not answering his mobile, and I’m ...’ I take a deep breath. ‘Slightly worried. It’s not like him.’
‘OK, I’m sure he’s fine, but I’ll check. I needed to pop round anyway.’
‘How’s the editing going?’ I ask. Dain’s told her I know about him being Tabitha Lavish since she comes round to collect his pages.
‘Good! This latest one is my favourite.’ Her voice lowers. ‘Very racy ...’
I smile to myself. You wouldn’t know it looking at her, but Bridget is definitely an undercover spicy reader. My mind flashes back to when I first met her and how I thought she and Dain were having trysts on the moors. Ironically, I’m the one that’s been having a secret affair with him.
Bridget promises to call me as soon as she’s seen Dain, and my anxiety eases. At least I’ll find out second-hand that he’s all right, even if he doesn’t want to reply to my messages. A plan of action is underway, but I still have one further train change and a bus ride before I reach Haworth.
***
What the hell is she doing? Washing her hair before she goes round there? Maybe I should’ve emphasised the urgency.
It’s been an hour, but still nothing from Bridget, and my heart constantly rises and dips like a roller coaster whenever I check my phone.Hello, someone? Anyone!
***
It’s early evening; and I’m on the Brontë bus, almost in Haworth, when Bridget finally calls back.
‘Sorry it took me so long. I had to sort out some stuff at home before I went round.’ Seriously? I really should’ve told her it was urgent! ‘I knocked quite a few times,’ she continues. ‘But there was no answer. The house was dark, but that’s not unusual since he doesn’t have lighting. Maybe he’s writing upstairs and turned his phone off?’
‘Maybe.’
But he never writes upstairs, and I still can’t shake this apprehensive feeling in my lower gut.
‘He could also be at the Black Bull. Do you want me to check?’
Is Dain drowning his sorrows in whisky and crying over me in the corner like Branwell? God, I hope not.
‘No, no, I’m ten minutes away from Haworth. I’ll be there shortly anyway. But thank you.’
‘No problem. Let me know if you do need anything. I’ll stay up for a bit.’
‘Thanks.’
I feel grateful that Bridget is involved. The next option was to call Gareth, and I didn’t want to do that.
My footsteps slow as I near the house, my suitcases reverberating on the dimly lit pavement of the cold empty street. I think I’ve convinced myself that whatever I’m going to find inside is going to be bad, and I don’t want to face it. But my feelings for Dain are spurring me on and making me brave enough to put my key in the lock. This isn’t the same as my mother, and he might need help.
