‘I will,’ Alicia said, and then wondered what else to say. There was no subject that was safe. There was no future they could discuss, as Justin had pointed out. No present. No past. Every memory they’d made together had been tarnished.
‘Right, I’ll get off,’ he said, when it was clear they’d exhausted all topics. ‘Talk tomorrow.’
‘Okay.’ Alicia’s heart fractured a little further. ‘Be careful, Justin.’
‘I will. You too,’ Justin said, and ended the call.
Alicia listened to the empty silence. There had been no coldness in his voice – he’d sounded like Justin – but it was as if he’d been talking to a sister or a friend, not his wife, not his lover. But then, she wasn’t either of those any more.
Going to the fridge to pour herself a large wine, Alicia swallowed hard on the thought that one day he would stop calling. That would be the day she would stop breathing.
Forty-Four
JUSTIN
Justin ended his call to Alicia. He’d been relieved to hear that Radley hadn’t been in touch. Fury driving him, he hadn’t been thinking clearly, hadn’t considered what the consequences for Alicia might be when he’d stormed into that office. He hadn’t been capable of anything beyond his fervent wish to do him permanent damage. He almost had.
Realising the man was a coward and likely to react in the way cowards did and pick on someone physically weaker than him, Justin had been worried he might retaliate and choose Alicia. He hadn’t wanted to admit to her he’d been aggressive. In the normal run of things, he considered himself level-headed, and hated violence or confrontation of any sort. It rarely solved anything. Knowing Radley had threatened Alicia, though, that he thought he had a hold over her and was continuing to contact her when it was clear she didn’t want him to, that had been beyond discussion of any sort. The man was pond scum, which begged the question again: what the bloody hell had she ever seen in him? He doubted he’d ever know the answer to that.
Pocketing his phone, he checked the time on the dashboard. Two weeks, he thought, his gaze flicking back to the windscreen. Fourteen days. He focussed, calculated the hours, the minutes, the seconds Sophie had been gone. The time he and Alicia had been apart. He tried to pinpoint the exact moment things had started to fall apart and he hadn’t noticed. Or had noticed – he dragged a hand hard over the back of his neck – but had chosen to ignore it.
Why hadn’t he quizzed her? Why had he ignored it and allowed her lie to perpetuate? His breathing suddenly shallow, indicating an imminent panic attack, Justin concentrated on the coping techniques he’d learned when he’d lost his family the first time around: breathing in to the count of four, holding for seven, breathing out for eight, repeating four times: re-oxygenating his body, attempting to get his anxiety back under control.
He’d conquered this once, found a way to get a grip on his emotions when the anger at their senseless murder; the guilt that he hadn’t been able to help them, threatened to assuage him.
He didn’t stand a chance this time. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the images out of his mind: of Radley and Alicia together; of where Sophie might be, in some dirty, flea-bitten dive. On the streets. His fault. Whatever Alicia had done, he was the one who’d driven Sophie to run. He recalled the words he’d spat in anger when he’d found out. He’d played those words over and over ever since. And no matter how many times he did, what he’d said sounded exactly the way it would have to Sophie – that he no longer considered her to be his daughter. He would never forgive himself.
He should have done something when he’d suspected she might have overheard. He should have gone straight to see her. He wasn’t able to even begin to process the knowledge that the child he’d brought home from the hospital, loved with every fibre of his being since before she’d been born, might not be his; that his wife had had an affair with another man, had sex with another man.
He missed her. Missed what he thought they’d had.
Missed his children, so much his heart physically ached.
He might never have a chance to tell Sophie how much he loved her; that’s what hurt most of all. Whatever a paternity test might prove, she was his daughter. No one could take that away from him.
Apart from Sophie.
Justin swallowed hard on that thought. He would give his life to go back and undo the damage he’d caused the day he’d climbed into his car exhausted, distracted. But he couldn’t. All he could do now was pray. Pray and keep scouring the streets in the hope of unearthing some small piece of information that might lead him to her. He would keep searching. Had to. His past had been obliterated. He had no life now, no purpose, other than to keep searching. Without Sophie, without some knowledge she was safe, there was no future.
Forty-Five
JUSTIN
Heading towards the canal towpath, planning to cover a section of the main line out of Birmingham, Justin stopped at the doorway of a derelict shop to talk to a guy who was tucked into his sleeping bag.
‘Spare some change, mate?’ the guy asked as Justin approached him. His look wasn’t hopeful – more resigned. Any vitality he might have once had in his eyes had been dulled; by booze, Justin guessed, noting the several empty beer cans to his side.
Justin offered him a smile. ‘I’m looking for someone,’ he said. The guy recoiled, shuffling further into the doorway, assuming he was something to do with the police. ‘My daughter,’ he elaborated, drawing Sophie’s photo from his inside pocket.
The guy looked warily up at him and then down to the photo. Looking at it for a second, he shook his head. Justin sighed. Even if alcohol hadn’t addled his brain, the chances were the guy wouldn’t remember anyway.
Sighing, he nodded his thanks and reached into his pocket again, this time for money, though it went against the grain. Maybe the guy would buy food; maybe he’d spend it on booze. The dog would get fed, though. Justin was certain of that. Checking his watch, he bent down to pat the animal, then headed for the towpath, hoping that this time he might get lucky.
The wind was bitter, channelled by abandoned factory buildings, converted warehouses and high embankments. It stung his face and sliced through his clothes. Pulling his collar high, chilled to the bone, he thought about Sophie, and the clothes she’d been wearing, which would do nothing to warm her. He walked on, speaking to homeless people as he went. Receiving nothing but negative answers to his questions, some incoherent mumblings, he searched all the likely places: benches located within walking distance of one-stop shops and garages, bridges that provided sparse protection from the elements, counting them off as he went.
He’d gone a fair distance when his phone buzzed. Pulling it from his pocket, Justin checked the caller display, and then furrowed his brow and took the call. ‘Jessica?’
‘Justin, I have to be quick. Alicia doesn’t know I’m calling you.’ Jess’s voice was a hurried whisper, which immediately rang alarm bells.
‘And?’ Apprehensively, Justin urged her on.
‘I wouldn’t normally go behind her back, but I think she won’t want to tell you, so—’
‘Jess, can you just cut to the chase,’ Justin interrupted, his gut clenching.
‘He’s had a test. Paul Radley, he’s had a paternity test, apparently, and I think you should know. I did suggest to Alicia that she should—’
‘I do know,’ Justin cut across her.
‘You do?’ Jessica sounded surprised.
‘We talked. She told me.’
‘Oh.’ Jessica went quiet. ‘Well, that’s good,’ she went on, after a second. ‘That’s she’s finally decided to talk to you, I mean. It’s a pity she didn’t years ago. She’s my sister and I love her to bits, and she’s beside herself with remorse now, but I told her she needed to tell you everything from the beginning.’
Justin ran his hand over his neck. He was too tired for repeat conversations. ‘I know, Jess. You said.’