My legs are twitching, as if they can feel the hot water I’m immersing myself in, as it slowly and painfully rises. I wonder if I shouldn’t just put myself out of my misery and tell them everything, but I can picture Leon’s face as he finds out that I met Jacob in a hotel and lied about it. And that I went to the flat last night, the flat that he thinks is empty.
“To say that his wife had found out where he was,” I say, naively believing that I’ve found some safe ground. This will give them the evidence they need to pursue her, because sitting here questioning me is wasting valuable time.
“And you haven’t seen or heard from him since?” she asks.
I feel as if I’m being slowly injected with a noxious substance, numbly waiting for the effects to take hold. If I admit to seeing Jacob in the hotel, I’ll be incriminating myself, not just to the police but to Leon as well. But if I don’t come clean, I might hamper their efforts to find him.
“Mrs. Chandler?” prompts Robson. “So you haven’t seen him since?”
I look her straight in the eyes. “No,” I say, choosing my poison.
I only hope I don’t choke on it.
12
I’m half a bottle of wine down by the time I hear Leon’s key in the lock this evening. I’d thankfully been ensconced back in my office by the time he left for work this morning. But now I regret not telling him about my police visit then, because even with the wine softening the sharp edges, this is going to be difficult.
What am I supposed to say to him? Do I tell him exactly what I told the police, selfishly disregarding the role I played in the lead-up to Jacob’s disappearance? Or do I tell him the truth? Because despite myself, I can’t help but feel I’m going to need him on side.
As I peer around the kitchen door and see who’s walking down the hall, I fear the decision’s already been made for me.
“Look who I found loitering around,” says Leon, with a big smile on his face.
“Shelley!” I exclaim.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it loitering,” she says, laughing. “It was more of a slow saunter past in the hope that you’d offer me a coffee.”
“We can do better than that,” says Leon, eyeing up the half-empty bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.
I stand there, poleaxed, as Shelley’s Irish terrier jumps up at me, her demands for attention ignored.
“Sorry,” says Shelley. “You look like this is the last thing you need.”
“No,” I mumble. “It’s fine. It’s lovely to see you. What are you doing over this way?”
“Well, I just thought we’d have a nose at the preparations for Saturday,” she says. “It’s incredible to see the place transformed into a venue. The stage, the lighting—even the porta-potties … it’s like a mini-Glastonbury. You’ve done a great job, Leon.”
“Well, let’s see how great it is when two thousand people need the toilet,” he says, laughing.
“I was also hoping to have a look at the old stables,” she says. “But it’s all fenced off.”
“We had to make it out of bounds,” says Leon. “Just in case a member of the public wandered over there from the concert.”
“Right,” says Shelley, nodding. “Though they’d have to be going out of their way.”
“True, but we couldn’t take any chances. Not on health and safety. Don’t forget—as well as the old stables, which are in very real danger of collapsing, there’s also a disused swimming pool over there, which is full of dirty water. God knows what’s lurking under the surface, and if someone happened to trip and fall, we wouldn’t find them until we start the renovation works.” He laughs awkwardly.
“Well, that was what I was trying to get a bit more of a feel for,” says Shelley, looking a little embarrassed. “This is strictly between us, as my fellow Parish Councillors won’t thank me for it, but it looks like we’ll be objecting to the planning permission Tattenhall has applied for.”
“On what grounds?” says Leon, instantly agitated.
Shelley sighs. “The chairman thinks there’s enough of a holiday rental market within the town already; so not only will it bring more tourists in, but it will likely take the business away from a local, who needs all the bookings they can get.”
“It’s five cottages,” says Leon. “Buried so deep in the estate that they won’t even know they’re there.”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,” says Shelley, holding her hands up. “I’m on your side. It’s just typical nimbyism and I’ll be reporting back favorably.”
“Maybe I should invite the residents to come and see for themselves how little it will affect them,” says Leon.
“That might not be a bad shout,” says Shelley, sipping on her wine. “When might you be able to do that?”
Leon rubs at his forehead; as if he hasn’t got enough to do. “As soon as the concert’s over with, I’ll get the place cleaned up a bit and put a post up on Nextdoor—see if anyone has any questions or wants to come and have a look.”
Shelley nods. “That’ll definitely help.”
Leon grimaces, but I can’t tell if it’s at her or me. Though any doubt is quashed when he says, “So how’s your day been, darling?”
I didn’t think it could get much worse, but now I’m not so sure.
“Actually, I won’t,” I say, as he goes to pour me a refill. “I’ve got a bit of a headache.” I hope that Shelley might take the hint.
“You do look a bit heavy-eyed,” is all she says.
My heart sinks as I wonder how long I’ve got to stand here and pretend everything is normal.
“So, how have you been?” Shelley asks, looking directly at me. It doesn’t sound like a question you’d ask someone you’d seen a couple of days ago.
“Not bad,” I bat back quickly, before she has a chance to add, I haven’t seen you in ages. “Not much has changed since the last time I saw you.” I chuckle so that Leon thinks I’m making a joke. This is already exhausting.
“So what’s been going on with you?” asks Leon, when I neglect to.
“Well, the kitchen is finally finished,” she says. “And the living room and hall have been redecorated.”
“Great,” says Leon. “Are you happy with it?”
I feel as if I’m on mute, unable to join this conversation for fear of saying something incriminating.
“Yeah, the decorators did a really good job,” says Shelley.
Leon nods appreciatively. “It might be worth getting them to look at the flat,” he says. “Were you impressed?”
“Yes, might be a good idea,” I say, ignoring the last question so clearly directed at me.
“You ought to come around and have a look,” says Shelley.
I want to pretend she’s talking to Leon, but beads of sweat instantly collect on my upper lip when I realize she’s talking to me.
“Oh,” says Leon.
Everything stalls, as if I’m watching the scene in front of me unfold in slow-motion. Leon’s mouth opens, and I want to rush toward him and cover it to stop him from saying anything more. His lips move and a low-pitched sound buffers around my head, like a lagging tape recorder.
“Didn’t you see it the other night?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
My eyes dart from him to Shelley, desperately trying to gauge how much attention she’s paying and whether I can stop the scales from tipping precariously against me.
She raises her eyebrows questioningly and I widen my eyes to silently plead with her not to push this any further. But how can I alert her and answer Leon with a single look?
“I-I … don’t think you’ve seen it,” she says, knowing full well I haven’t.
“I thought you were round there the other night,” says Leon. A rhetorical question he expects an answer to.
Shelley looks at me with a furrowed brow, waiting for me to take the lead. A flush of heat engulfs me as I try to work out how to navigate my way around this, though as the pair of them stand there looking at me, it seems my only option is to steamroll my way straight through the middle of it.
“Well, I didn’t actually go in,” I offer, unable to meet Shelley’s inquisitive gaze, which I can feel burning into me. “So I didn’t get the chance to see it.”