You always see the best in people. You root for the underdog. Which has blinded you to how smarmy and sly Jack is. When we were kids, other little girls wanted puppies, but you were obsessed with getting an elderly rescue from the shelter, something broken you could nurture. In Jack, you assumed you had a friendly Labrador (loyal and affectionate) when what you actually have is a rabid Rottweiler (territorial and vicious). I remember the way he marched you through my garden party, handed me that bottle of Dom Pérignon and made that nasty remark about my schooling. You were mortified, El, mortified. Yes, things between us that afternoon had been coated in a familiar frost, and maybe you thought I deserved it, but that little attack was led by him. He’s so … controlling, and he only gets away with it because he’s good-looking and full of false charm.
The conference went as well as it could, I suppose. Mum was in pieces afterwards, and Dad went for a walk to sober up from the drink no one realised he’d had until it was too late. He’s drunk more in the last three weeks than he has in the last three years. Mum performed her wifely duties, defending Dad even though I could see she was upset with him. ‘He just needed to take the edge off, love. He’s been stressed.’
I was surprised to see Christopher standing outside my front door after our TV appearance, holding a bottle of red. His hair was shiny, and he was wearing a gorgeous suede jacket. He seemed a little awkward as I got out of the car and went towards him. ‘I picked this up for you,’ he said, lifting the bottle. ‘You did really well today, taking control of the situation the way you did. I, uh, forgot how capable you are.’
‘Capable?’
He nodded. ‘Even at seventeen you knew what you wanted and how to get it. You never needed anyone’s help.’
‘Well, the house wasn’t exactly paid for by my wages.’
He looked over his shoulder at the house, as though seeing it for the first time. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant you know how to handle yourself, how to take charge, organise people.’ He smiled. ‘Remember my eighteenth birthday when we hired those cabins in the Lake District?’
You’d have loved it, El. Waking every morning to the sound of laughter. The cool lake water on sun-warmed skin. Bikinis laid out on the jetty to dry. Dancing barefoot around the bonfire. Summer 2006 was the best summer of my life. It’s the summer I fell in love with Christopher Jones. ‘What about it?’
‘The fire.’
As soon as he mentioned it, I could smell the smoke. It was an accident; someone lit the log fire and didn’t keep an eye on it.
‘You launched out of bed and banged on doors. You woke people up and got them out. You directed people. Took control. Everyone else was running around, panicking, but you were …’ He shook his head. Then he met my eyes and I think maybe I wasn’t the only one who fell in love that summer. ‘You never need rescuing. You’re so capable, Ada. You haven’t changed.’
I didn’t know what to say, but my heart was beating hard. I never realised anyone saw me like that, in a way I’ve never even seen myself. ‘Thank you.’
I smiled, feeling good about myself for the first time in … well, for the first time in a while, and took the bottle from him. When our hands grazed, I got a hot, lustful flashback to being a teenager again, stopping off on the way up to the cabin and letting Christopher go down on me in the back of his brother’s Nissan Micra to ‘Dani California’ playing on the radio. God, we were so young.
‘Is this a personal visit?’ I asked, my voice low and husky. Why was my voice low and husky? I’m not a cheater. I’ve never cheated. I wouldn’t.
‘Personal.’ He glanced down at my ring finger. Cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to come by and drop this off. Seriously, Ada, well done today.’
Then he walked down the drive, climbed into his car and left.
It took a couple of seconds for me to turn and go into the house. I read a text from Ethan informing me he had a meeting Friday morning, so it made sense to stay in London until then. I took the bottle of wine my ex-boyfriend had given me, curled up on the sofa and drank the entire thing all by myself in my big, beautiful house, and tried not to think about you or how lonely I am.
Chapter Twenty-Five
20 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
The next morning Jack returns to Wisteria and my face is mask-tight with tears. He’s barely through the front door when I pounce. ‘Please take me home,’ I say. ‘I need to go back. I can’t stay here anymore. I need to leave. I need—’
‘Whoa. Slow down. What’s happened?’
He wraps his arms around me and keeps me pressed tightly to him. My head is buried in his shoulder and I’m sobbing. I regret coming here. I should never have agreed to it. I should’ve pushed harder to go home after Jack found me in the car.
He makes soothing noises into my hair while I dampen his shirt with tears. When I pull back, he keeps his hands on my upper arms and I’m glad. He’s solid and warm. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I saw the news. I watched the appeal.’
He stiffens.
‘My parents were so upset. I feel sick with guilt. I need to go home.’ Urgency churns my stomach and I struggle to draw breath. ‘Please can you take me back? I would’ve left already but I don’t have a car and—’
‘You want to go back to Crosshaven?’
I nod.
He stares. ‘You are joking.’ Anger simmers beneath his skin, tightening his muscles, tightening his fingers around my arms. Just as I’m about to tell him he’s hurting me, he lets go and shoves past me.
Confused and unsure, I don’t follow right away. In the kitchen is a furious symphony of cupboard doors opening and slamming shut. Eventually, I go to him. His back is to me. He clutches a tumbler of whisky.
‘Why’re you so mad?’
‘Why do you think, Elodie?’ He wheels around. There’s a livid jut to his chin. He brings his face close to mine. ‘Jesus fucking Christ. I told you not to watch anything with your family in it, didn’t I? I knew you couldn’t handle it.’
I take a step back. ‘I was only ever meant to be missing for a few days. It’s been three weeks.’
‘You agreed to an extension.’
‘Yes, because you said we should wait until my parents held a press conference. Well, now they have, and I want to go back.’
‘What’re you going to do, Elodie?’ His voice grows fake-bright. ‘Just drive back home, hop out the car and shout, “Ta da – gotcha!” or maybe you’ll just grab an apron and turn up at Mugs tomorrow for the early shift, pretend like half the fucking nation hasn’t been looking for you?’
‘Don’t be facetious, Jack. We can stick to the plan: I was taken, he wore a mask, I didn’t see his face.’
He thrusts his hand back through his hair and shakes his head.
‘I want to go home.’
‘The police hauled me into the station.’
I swallow, digesting this revelation. ‘You knew they’d question you.’
‘Not questioning, Elodie, interrogating.’ He pours himself a second glass.
‘But you have the perfect alibi. They can’t connect you to any of this.’
‘They’re trying. I was held for six hours last night. Going over and over the same shit.’ He takes another desperate gulp. ‘They suspect me.’
My stomach clenches. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know. But they do. And it’s going to look really suspicious if you reappear the day after they’ve leaned on me.’ He rubs the back of his neck.
‘Jack … my parents are in pieces. I need to see them.’
He scoffs.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What is it?’
‘Just leave it, El.’
‘No. I want to know – what’s happened?’
Silence. Then, ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’