‘To sucker punch me?’
I pressed my lips together and tried to arrange my face into something sympathetic. ‘I’m sorry he lashed out,’ I said, but bit my tongue so I didn’t add ‘you deserved it’. I cleared my throat. ‘But his daughter is missing. He’s devastated and confused. Really he—’
‘What do you want?’
‘Drop the charges.’
‘Nope.’
‘But—’
‘Freedom of speech – I had every right to go to the newspaper.’
I stared into his shifty eyes and down at the too-tight chinos digging into his doughy midriff and I hated him. He’s a bottom-feeder, desperate for attention; he sold his story to make himself feel important.
‘I’m not talking about this anymore,’ he said. ‘Leave, before I call the police myself.’
And with that, he slammed the door in my face.
All the day’s frustrations built and built until I felt like a kettle coming to the boil. I wanted to pound on his door or kick it in. Curling my hands into fists, I turned and jogged back down the path, through the gate and into my car. My life was in tatters, scattered all around me, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t pick up any of the pieces.
Tapping on my car window made me jump. A young woman I vaguely recognised, with red hair and an elfin nose, was crouching beside my door. I rolled my window down.
‘You Elodie’s sister?’
I nodded. ‘And you are …’
‘Hannah. I worked with Elodie.’ She looked back towards Richard’s house. It took me a second to realise that’s where she’d just come from, wrapped in a bathrobe. She lowered her voice. ‘I didn’t always get on with her.’
‘Neither did I.’
She smiled. ‘But I’m sorry about what’s happened to her. Sorry for your family too.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s my fault she was fired.’
‘Doesn’t matter now.’
She lingered, biting her bottom lip like she wanted to say more.
‘Yes?’ I prompted.
She sighed. ‘Months ago, Elodie mentioned a customer was following her. I laughed, joked about how all the boys love Elodie Fray and told her to get over it. I should’ve made her go to the police. When I saw David’s face on the news, I recognised him instantly.’
‘Hannah—’
‘Rich shouldn’t have accused your dad of hurting Elodie. It wasn’t him. I’ll make sure he drops the charges.’
I blinked in surprise. ‘Thank you.’
She nodded, then turned and started hurrying towards the house. Impulsively, I leaned out the window and called softly, ‘You can do better.’
Hand on the gate she replied, ‘I know.’
Later, I got the call to pick Dad up. Christopher was waiting for me in the police station car park.
‘Martin’s inside,’ he said before I could ask. ‘I just wanted to come and see you before you took him home. How did you get Richard to drop the charges?’ He looked at me in a way I realised my husband never has: with admiration and respect. As an equal.
‘I didn’t. It was Elodie’s co-worker, Hannah, said she’d talk to Richard.’
‘But if you hadn’t got the ball rolling …’
I shrugged, feeling awkward.
‘I don’t condone what your dad did,’ he said gravely, and I felt a twinge of shame because Dad is a good man, I don’t want anyone to think of him as a violent drunk. Christopher leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘But, off the record, I saw the footage from some bystanders and it’s a shame Martin didn’t break Richard’s nose.’
I laughed. Six weeks ago, if you’d told me I’d be in a police car park, laughing about a coffee shop owner having his bones broken, I’d have thought you were off your rocker.
‘Your dad has got a lot to thank you for,’ he said.
Christopher sees me as this capable, tenacious, bright woman, and not just some childless, trivial little housewife like everyone else does. I’m not sure which version is the correct one, but I know which version I want to be. It’s possible though that Christopher sees me through the same rose-tinted specs you view Jack. The kind that are fixed to your face after years of knowing someone.
‘While you’re going around taking care of everyone else, I hope you’re taking care of yourself too,’ he said. ‘Or that you’ve got someone making sure you do.’
And then something embarrassing happened: hot tears sprang to my eyes. I am usually so collected, but everything is falling apart.
‘God, Ada, I didn’t mean to …’ he trailed off and pulled me into his chest.
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
His smell was so familiar and brought with it a thousand teenage memories: Christopher and I driving around the countryside on a hot summer’s night with the windows down and the music up; panting breaths and fumbling hands beneath the sheets in my old room. Back then I was so young and carefree and invincible. In every one of those memories, in the background, you were safe and alive and waiting at home for me with Mum and Dad.
‘You’re not fine,’ he said. ‘It’s okay to not be okay.’
Suddenly embarrassed, I pulled back and wiped my eyes. Christopher opened his mouth to say something, then Dad called my name. Over my shoulder, I saw him marching across the car park. ‘I better get him home,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
I wasn’t sure what I was thanking him for, but I owed him gratitude. On the way back home, I let Christopher’s words and all I’d achieved sink in. He was right; if I hadn’t gone to Richard’s house, he wouldn’t have dropped the charges.
I made a difference. Me.
And you know what, I’m not leaving it up to other people to find you. I won’t stop looking for you, Ellie-Bee, not until my heart stops beating.
Chapter Thirty-Three
35 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
The sound of my heart is loud in my ears as I swim towards consciousness. Finally breaking through the surface on a gasp, I am lying on my back, inhaling the powdery freshness of clean sheets. My eyes flicker open – the bright white light of day burns so I close them again. The insides of my lids are painted red. Opening my eyes and keeping them that way is a struggle; they keep sliding shut.
A gabled ceiling.
Red.
Wooden beams.
Red.
French doors – the sky.
I am in the attic room in Wisteria Cottage. I try to sit up, but I can’t. I can’t.
My arms have been pulled up over my head and secured to the iron-cast headboard behind me. Metal clinks on metal; I am handcuffed. Memories rush in on a tidal wave: the speeding car, Jack pinning me to the hard ground, his fingers between my legs as I begged him to stop, tumbling down a bank. My left temple throbs.
I test my bonds again but the metal cuts into my wrists; the pain is excruciating, and I clench my jaw to stop myself from crying out. There’s no way I can get free without help. I go from hot to cold and back again; my chest tightening to a painful degree as panic threatens to consume me.
Inhale.
Exhale.