Clara knelt down next to her and took her hands. ‘Sorry? Oh, Rose, why are you sorry? None of this is your fault. How could it be?’
At that moment Oliver appeared, their dog, Clemmy, at his heels. Mac stepped forward to greet him but received barely a glance, as though Oliver could see nothing or no one but his wife. ‘Rose,’ he said, his voice full of tenderness. ‘Oh, darling, why are you crying? Don’t cry, please don’t cry.’ He went to her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, fixing him with her gaze, something that Clara couldn’t read passing between them and then, to Clara’s astonishment, Rose very slowly and very deliberately removed his hand from her shoulder and got up. She stared back at her husband, a look on her face of such coldness, of such breathtaking dislike, that Clara felt her heart jolt in shock. And then Rose turned and left the room, leaving the three of them to stare silently after her.
Later, as they were unloading Luke’s belongings from the van, Clara said quietly to Mac, ‘What the hell is going on?’
He shook his head. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
At Oliver’s request they brought the boxes and furniture up to Luke’s old bedroom. When they reached his door, Mac opened it and stopped. ‘Christ. I haven’t been up here for years,’ he said. He wandered over to a skateboard propped against the wall, then looked up at a Beastie Boys poster above the bed, the words ‘Fight For Your Right To Party!’ emblazoned across it, and smiled sadly. ‘The times we spent up here, smoking out of the window, smuggling up beer, talking about girls. This used to be my second home.’
He sat down heavily on Luke’s bed and to Clara’s surprise put his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he began to cry.
Clara stood, stricken at the sight. She realized she had never seen Mac cry before; that throughout the days since Luke had gone missing he had remained unfailingly strong – far stronger than she herself had. It had been he who had comforted her, who had listened to and looked after her. The thought of him giving in to the despair that had threatened her so often, made dread rise inside her. She went to him. ‘Mac,’ she said, ‘it’s going to be OK.’
He wiped his face and exhaled a long breath. ‘I’m all right. Ignore me. It’s just being here, seeing his stuff again, you know?’
She nodded, sitting down next to him. ‘We’ve got to believe that he’s going to come back to us,’ she said, trying to put some conviction into the words he’d used to comfort her so many times. ‘We’ve got to keep going, try to keep positive.’
‘Clara,’ he said, turning his face to hers, and the expression she saw there was so strange, so desperate, so unlike any she’d ever seen there before that she felt a chill.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it, Mac?’
He held her gaze for a moment, before finally dropping it. ‘Nothing.’ He took a gulp of air and stood up. ‘Nothing. You’re right. Got to keep positive.’ He took her hand and pulled her up. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
She nodded, and together they went back down to finish unloading the van.
When Rose next appeared she looked very different; her hair neatly brushed and her make-up carefully applied. She smiled at them as she came into the room, but made no mention of the scene earlier. ‘I hope you’ll stay for dinner?’ she said.
Mac and Clara exchanged glances. ‘It’s getting rather late, Rose, the traffic …’
Her face fell. ‘But maybe you could stay the night? Oh, please say you will. It would be so lovely to have you here.’
‘Well …’ Rose’s face was so beseeching that Clara shot Mac a questioning look.
‘Of course,’ he said, shrugging, ‘if you want us to.’
For the first time that day, Rose’s face brightened with something resembling her old, charming smile. ‘Oh wonderful! Mac, you can have Luke’s room, and Clara can have Emi— the spare room.’
After a pause Clara turned to Oliver and asked as casually as she could, ‘Have you heard from Tom recently?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Not for a few days actually, though that’s not unusual. Why do you ask?’
She looked away. ‘Oh, no reason.’
He nodded absently and the moment passed, but she wondered what Anderson’s enquiries were leading to, whether her suspicions would be proven correct. It was almost too terrible to think about, that it could be Tom who was behind everything, that the person responsible had been among them all along.
The evening passed slowly. They sat down together for a meal – a half-hearted affair of sausages and mash – and though Clara and Mac did their best to make conversation, the strange, stiff atmosphere between Rose and Oliver remained. There was a sense of waiting, of impending doom, and they were both relieved when Rose took herself off to bed early, Oliver padding up not far behind her.
Clara and Mac took their drinks into the living room. ‘My God,’ Clara said, flopping on to the sofa. ‘I had no idea they were in such a bad way.’ She shook her head miserably. ‘I feel so sorry for them both.’
‘I know,’ Mac nodded grimly, taking the armchair opposite her. ‘They look terrible. Do you think they’re even eating properly? Maybe we should try to get them some help, contact their GP or something …’
Wearily she rubbed her eyes. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Tom. I wonder where he is, whether the police have talked to him yet. I tried to call Anderson earlier but he didn’t pick up.’
‘Do you really think he’s involved?’ Mac asked her doubtfully. ‘It seems so …’
‘Yes,’ she said emphatically. ‘I do.’
There was silence for a while, both of them lost in their own thoughts. A fire Oliver had lit earlier crackled in the grate, an unwelcome reminder of what had happened at her flat only three nights before. Even Clemmy seemed on edge tonight, restlessly pacing the room, ears pricked as if alert to something they couldn’t hear.
Finally, Mac asked cautiously, ‘How are you feeling now about what Alison told you?’
She sighed. ‘To be honest, it just made me wonder what the hell else Luke was up to that I didn’t know about. Which reminds me,’ she added, getting to her feet again. ‘Remember that picture of the girl I found in Luke’s filing cabinet?’
‘Yeah. Any idea who she is yet?’
She shook her head. ‘No, but I haven’t had much chance to think about it. Hang on, I’ll see if I can find it.’
When she reached Luke’s old bedroom she went straight to his filing cabinet which they’d wedged in the corner earlier, two bags of Luke’s clothes balanced on top of it. She rifled through his papers before she came to the manila envelope. When she returned to the living room she slid the pictures out and passed one to Mac.
‘I wonder who she is,’ he said as they both stared down at the stranger’s beautiful face.
‘Must have been someone else he was shagging,’ she replied. ‘I mean, it has to be, don’t you reckon?’
‘I guess, seems a bit young, though—’
They were interrupted by a noise from outside. Clemmy sat up, her hackles raised, a low growl emanating from her throat. Clara’s chest tightened in fear. There it was again, followed by the sound of a car door slamming. ‘What was that?’ she asked, alarmed.
They sat very still and listened, their eyes widening when they heard footsteps crunching on the gravel outside the front door, followed by a loud barrage of knocks. They looked at each other. ‘It’s half past ten,’ Mac said. ‘Who the fuck would be out here at this time?’
There was the sound of a key being put to the lock followed by someone swearing, a voice saying, ‘Mum? Dad? Why’s the door bolted?’
‘It’s Tom!’ Clara said, another jolt of fear shooting through her, while Clemmy continued to growl.
The hammering intensified. ‘Mum? What’s going on? Let me in!’
Fear nestled in Clara’s chest. What was he doing here? Did he know she’d told the police about him? Had he come to hurt Rose and Oliver? When Mac got to his feet, she put a hand out to stop him. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘What if he—’