‘Prone to wander off.’ The captain repeated what Jack had also already told him.
Jack noted the facetiousness in his voice and it grated. He was bone-weary with exhaustion and worried sick about Evie. She and her mother had been at loggerheads before all of this, Natalia accusing Evie of being antisocial, uncommunicative and moody, spending hours on social media and excluding the people around her. Evie’s response had been swift and aggressive. ‘Take a look at your own behaviour,’ she’d snarled. ‘If anyone’s moody around here, it’s you! I have no idea how Dad puts up with you. You’re a fucking nightmare!’
Jack needed to be with her. She had no clue what was happening. She’d retreated into herself. As far as he could see, she hadn’t gone on social media at all. She hadn’t spoken to anyone on her phone. She wasn’t speaking full stop, and it scared him. Could the people firing endless questions at him not realise she would be traumatised?
‘Did you and your wife argue, Mr Conley?’ the guy leading the investigation picked up. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but I’m sure you understand why we would need to establish the facts.’
Jack drew in a breath. Held it. He couldn’t tell them everything. Couldn’t have them questioning his daughter. ‘I can’t do this,’ he said instead, his voice ragged. Sinking into the chair he’d declined to sit in until now, he buried his head in his hands. ‘Can you not just stop with the questions and put some resources into findingmy wife?’ he asked.
They didn’t believe him. They suspected him, he could feel it, and he was scared. If they decided to launch a full-scale investigation, how would that impact on Evie?
THREE
KARA
Six months later
After paying off the taxi, I stand on the pavement outside Jemma’s house, reluctant to go in. I can see Mark as if he were here, stumbling drunkenly down the step. I whisper his name as he walks towards me, brushing past me, so close I feel him like a bolt of electricity shooting through me. For a fleeting second, I feel my boy’s warm body pressed close to mine, the weight of him before Jack had lifted him from my arms. I smell him, the unique smell that binds baby and mother together forever. And then it hits me, stark, cold reality, the excruciating hollow emptiness inside me, and my tears blind me.I can’t do this.Why did I come? Swallowing back the shard of glass that seems to be lodged in my throat, I spin around, wanting to go home, even though the house doesn’t feel like a home any more, and cuddle up with my faithful dog.
I’m blundering blindly along the pavement when I hear Jemma call worriedly behind me. ‘Kara?’ Quickly she catches up with me. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart?’ she asks, sliding an arm around me.
I shake my head. ‘I shouldn’t have come, Jemma. It’s too soon.’
‘I know. I understand,’ she says soothingly. ‘You’re here now, though.’ She steps around in front of me and takes hold of my hands. ‘And you’re freezing. Come on, come inside. At least get warm while I call you a taxi.’
She’s aware that I can’t bring myself to drive. I’ve tried, but the horrendous flashbacks hit me as soon as I’m behind the wheel. As a psychologist and someone who specialises in post-traumatic stress disorder, Jemma has managed to persuade me to open up to her, becoming my shoulder and my friend. She’s the only person I’ve spoken to honestly. My feelings are still so raw I can’t bear to see the sympathy in people’s eyes, the awkwardness that’s so often there when they ask me how I am, which of course they’re bound to. How can I tell them I’m utterly broken?
‘It’s just a small crowd, people you’ve met before,’ Jemma assures me. ‘You have to allow yourself a life, Kara. You can’t live in isolation forever.’
‘Why?’ I ask, genuinely wondering why that would be a bad thing. Better that than to try to live a life I don’t feel I deserve.
‘Because I won’t let you.’ She squeezes my hands. ‘Come on. Come in and have a hot drink. Andrew will drive you back when you’re ready.’
I see the concern in her eyes and I realise I can’t just go off now that I’m here, leaving her to worry. ‘Okay.’ I give her a small smile. ‘Just for a little while.’ I can’t ask her husband to leave his own birthday party to drive me home, though. I’ll stay for half an hour, I decide. Book a taxi once I’m inside.
I’ve been there for five minutes when I dearly wish I wasn’t. It’s clear from the embarrassment I see in people’s eyes that they don’t know what to say to me. They simply don’t know how tobe around someone who’s been so tragically bereaved. I don’t blame them. I’m not sure I would either.
After a moment trying to make uncomfortable conversation with someone, I feel Jemma’s hands on my shoulders. ‘They’re settled, finally.’ She eyes the ceiling, above which her children are tucked up in bed. I feel a pang of such longing, I’m hard pushed to hide it. ‘Would you like to see the new orangery?’ she asks. ‘They finished it last week.’
‘Please,’ I say, relieved to be rescued. Also feeling I should show some enthusiasm, as it was me who suggested that the property lent itself to extending.
As I step into the orangery, I’m amazed at how much it’s improved the house. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur. With a solid double-glazed roof, which will allow natural light to flood into the room, and decorated tastefully in soft creams and whites, it’s perfect.
‘Thank you.’ Jemma smiles. ‘I would never have gone for it if not for you.’
‘And Mark,’ I remind her. It was Mark who’d recommended a builder – Jack, ironically – to design the orangery and carry out the works with the help of local suppliers.
Jemma squeezes me into a gentle hug. ‘And Mark,’ she repeats, deep sympathy in her eyes as she eases back. ‘Would you like to finish your coffee in here while you wait for your taxi?’ she asks, clearly realising I’m finding things difficult.
I nod gratefully. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ she assures me. ‘You’ve done well, Kara. Baby steps,’ she reminds me. ‘You’ve taken the first step. The next will be easier.’
‘I hope so,’ I say, as she leads the way to the comfy-looking seating area. I’m about to sit down when I notice a movement outside. Someone on their phone, I realise. ‘Isn’t that Jack?’ I ask as I catch his profile under the patio lighting.
‘It is. You know about his circumstances?’ Jemma asks with an uncertain frown. ‘Oh, hell, of course you wouldn’t,’ she adds, shaking her head as if in despair at herself. ‘He lost his wife not long after?—’
‘Jem,’ Andrew calls from the kitchen area. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he says, giving me an apologetic smile as he comes through. ‘The oven’s not playing ball. I’ve fiddled with it but I can’t work the timer out.’
