With feet sore from dancing, her head a little dizzy from the gin, wine and champagne she’d consumed, Ashleigh waltzed through the front door of her flat and threw her keys on to the side table. She was in that pleasant stage where she’d gone from drunk to almost sober. With it enough to function competently, even passing to an unknowing ear as clear-headed, but with just enough booze in her system to coat the world in a pleasant haze of joy. A warm and comforting sleepy kind of high that was always the perfect end to a perfect night.
For perfect it was.
Having jumped out of the cab, Archie had kissed her long and hard on the doorstep before going to buy beer from the twenty-four-hour off-licence. She had been too cold to go with him. Plus, the last thing she wanted was beer, she was far keener to pull Archie’s shirt from his body and get to bed, longing to feel him next to her, skin to skin. She figured she had approximately twenty odd minutes to shed her frock, shower, climb beneath the covers, and wait for him. Although she had to admit, it felt like a shame to have to take off her fabulous dress. It had been quite the draw.
An invitation to Mulverton!
She danced her feet on the spot with her eyes closed and her arms in the air. It might now be nearly three in the morning, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to sleep, not with her adrenaline pumping, so excited about the next few days. The big question was what to pack. Her one decent pair of pyjamas, for sure; wellies, obviously; and a nice gift for Elaine – flowers? Chocolates? Both? Not that she’d explicitly saidCall me Elaine, but that couldn’t be far off.
‘Ash?’ Fran called from her room along the hall.
‘Oh, sorry, love. Did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet. Archie’s gone to get beer. We’ve had the most amazing night! We started off at the wine bar, I met his parents, who were a hoot’ – she stole the phrase – ‘and then the ball. We all arrived late, missed dinner, but the band were brilliant! My feet are killing me – whoever thought dancing in heels was a good idea! And tomorrow we’re off to stay with his parents for a few days! I saywe, because we are, officially, awe!’
Fran appeared in the doorway of her room, hair mussed, glasses in lieu of her contact lenses, which quite changed her appearance, her pyjamas crumpled from sleep and an air of fogginess that was to be forgiven at this hour. Her flatmate, it seemed, shared none of Ashleigh’s enthusiasm for her news, which was mildly disappointing.
‘Your mum called earlier.’
‘Oh right. Well, thank you, darling, I’ll give her a shout tomorrow.’ She knew her mother would want all the details.
‘No,’ Fran shook her head and walked into the hallway. ‘She was quite insistent. She said that you needed to call her the moment you got in from your party.’
‘Why?’ She couldn’t think of any good reason for such an instruction and her heart lurched at all the possibilities. Was her dad okay?
‘She didn’t say. She just made me promise to tell you to call when you got in. So here I am.’ Fran raised her arms and let them fall by her sides.
‘Well, I can’t call now. She goes to bed before nine p.m., and it’s three in the morning!’
‘She said to say,call her even if it’s two or three in the morning. Those were her actual words.’ Fran shrugged and sighed; message delivered.
‘How did she sound?’
‘She sounded like she wanted you to call her!’ Fran displayed understandable impatience at the fact that this conversation was happening at this time of the morning, and finished with a slight shake of her head.
‘Okay, thanks, Fran. Sorry!’
The girl sloped back to her room and Ashleigh stared at the phone on the small table by the door, unsure if she wanted to hear whatever it was her mum had to tell her. If itwassomething bad, she’d almost prefer to leave it until tomorrow, unwilling to spoil the joyous fairy tale that had been her evening, yet understanding her mum well enough to know she wouldn’t settle until she had relayed whatever it was she had to say. On the other hand,knowingRuthie as she did, it could be something and nothing. Maybe a letter had arrived for her; did she want it opening? How was the ball? Did people say her dress looked nice? It was a relief to think this was more likely the case.
Her shower would just have to wait.
With her face screwed up in anticipation, she lifted the receiver and exhaled as she dialled her home telephone number. Holding the phone under her chin, she cringed, imagining the ring echoing all around their little house in Church Lane, disturbing the quiet, raising her parents from their bed. She pictured her mum sitting up in bed and running down the narrow stairs while she struggledto get her arms into her wool dressing gown, as her dad boomed, ‘Who the bloody hell is that at this time of night!’
The phone rang.
And it rang.
She gripped it tightly and willed them to answer.
It was at that point that Ashleigh felt the pleasant haze of joy, the warm and comforting, sleepy kind of high spiral from her body. And in its place: a cold and sobering intensity that was as scary as it was unwelcome.
They didn’t answer.
They weren’t home.
It was a little after three in the morning.
Where were they?Of course, she had no way of knowing where they were, but one thing was for certain, it was nowhere good. How could it be? It was at this realisation that the strength left her legs. She put the phone back into its cradle and slid down the wall until she landed on the wooden floor. Her dress bunched up around her waist, her head buzzing, and a feeling of dread in her limbs that made the prospect of moving unpleasant.
‘Where are you?’ she whispered into the stillness, as her thoughts raced. Was one of them ill? Had one of them died? Had they been burgled? Were they being held against their will? With her hand on her stomach, she did her best to control her desire to vomit, and considered calling again, but didn’t want them not to answer, knowing it might just send her over the edge. With an ache to be at home, curled warmly in her childhood bed with her sister in the room next door and her parents snoring through the wall, she wished she had called more often. Wished she had visited. Wished she and Remy were closer. Wished she’d told them all she loved them, wished she knew where the hell they were.
