‘Hi, Marco. No, it’s fine. Robert’s already been in for breakfast with the girls but I must have missed them. Do you know what time they left?’
‘Robert and the girls? No, they haven’t been here today.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. Hundred per cent.’ He calls over one of his waiting staff and speaks to her in rapid Italian before turning back to me once more. ‘No. Lucia says they haven’t been here today.’
‘Okay, no problem. Maybe they saw how busy you are.’
‘Always we make space for you. You tell him to come back, okay.’
‘Thanks, Marco. I’ll see you soon.’ I hurry out of the restaurant, past the families and the couples, their laughter sounding hollow to my ears, their happy chatter an insult to my broken heart.
Back outside, I call Robert, but it goes to voicemail so I leave a message. ‘Are you still out with the girls? Your mum said you were coming to Marco’s, but you’re not here. Let me know where you are and I’ll come and get them.’
I bash out a text with the same message.
There’s no point hanging around down at the beach. I may as well return to the car and head back home.
It takes me ages to get out of the car park, and I’m starting to get an uneasy feeling in my gut. I’ve put my phone on the passenger seat in case Robert calls to tell me they’re at a different café and I have to turn around. But I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been sent on a wild goose chase.
My need to get back home suddenly becomes urgent. Once I’m on the dual carriageway of the A338, I press my foot down hard on the accelerator, darting between lanes and earning a few flashing lights and beeping horns from other drivers. I’ve probably got a speeding ticket from that last camera, but I don’t care. All I know is, I have to get home. Something isn’t right. Why did Diane wait until I was leaving her house to tell me they were at Marco’s?
I eventually manage to get home in one piece, without getting into an accident or being arrested for reckless driving; which is a miracle. But Robert’s car isn’t here. Maybe they’re still having breakfast. Or maybe they walked over here from Diane’s.
My pulse is racing, my breathing shallow. I almost fall onto the driveway in my haste to get out of the car.
Don’t let me be right. Please, don’t let me be right.
I let myself in and immediately sense there is no one home. But I can see that they’ve been here since I left this morning. The girls’ school coats and bags are missing from the hallway.
No, no, no.
I scramble up the stairs and go into Katie’s room. It’s been stripped of all her favourite toys. I throw open her wardrobe – empty.
How could Robert do this! What is he playing at?
I go into Eva’s room and it’s the same thing. Her room is decimated. Her clothes are gone. What the hell?
He can’t do this, can he?
Fifty-Two
Robert has taken our children without my consent. I sit on the floor in Eva’s room and with shaking fingers I put a call through to him. As expected, it goes to voicemail.
‘Robert? Where are you? What the hell are you doing taking the girls’ things? Is this your mother’s idea? Why would you do this? I’ve done nothing wrong! You’re the one who’s had an affair. If you don’t bring the girls home now, I’m calling the police.’
I call again, and again, but every time it goes to voicemail. He must have it switched off so he doesn’t have to speak to me. Well, if my husband won’t talk to me, maybe Sadie will. I call her number and wait, expecting her to pick up, or for the call to go to voicemail. Unfortunately it does neither. A pre-recorded voice tells me: ‘The number you have called has not been recognised.’
What?
I call again and get the same thing. Sadie has obviously ditched her number. Has she gone off with Robert and the girls somewhere?
I race downstairs into the dining room, where we keep all our paperwork. I haven’t done any filing for months, and piles of unsorted letters and papers sit on the dusty dining table waiting for the twelfth of never when I’ll finally get around to putting it all in its proper place. Right now, I’m regretting my lack of organisation as I begin frantically searching through the first pile. But I find what I’m looking for almost immediately – Sadie’s résumé.
There’s no address listed on it, and the phone number is the same as the discontinued one. My laptop is on the table so I open it up and go into my emails. I find her email address and tap out a message:
Sadie, can you contact me ASAP. Your phone number isn’t working and I need to talk to you urgently. Please don’t ignore this!!!!
