She managed a dignifi ed silence for the first twenty-four hours, told herself it was a blip that could come right if she just gave him some space; he would regret what he said, realising what a special thing they were letting go of.
But nothing.
No calls, no texts, and in his silence she has read equanimity. After a bad night, her emotions are as ragged as the Alps. Fitful sleep, wishful dreams, ended by waking to a vision of Helena Reed’s body hanging from the back of her bedroom door.
Now, Manon is exhausted, slumped over her desk in MIT, glancing again and again at her phone, her collapsing face resting on the heel of one hand. So far she’s sent seven texts, smoked five cigarettes, and pranged the car. And it’s not yet 11 a.m.
I’m sorry for what I said the other night. Let’s not leave it like this. M
Listen, I know I can be difficult, I do know that. I just want to set things straight. M
Hey Big Al, thinkin’ about ya.
(She particularly regrets this one)
Listen, even if you’re sure, let’s just talk it over, as I believe a song once said.
No wonder you’ve never had a relationship last more than six months.
It’s a fucking relief, to be honest. Cocksucker.
Please don’t leave me.
There is Kim at the front of the room, writing on a whiteboard in marker pen, while Manon examines Kim’s bottom. It clenches to a point at its base and then joins to two very ample, ocean-going thighs, not even the hint of a gap between them. My bottom’s probably as big as that, she thinks. A single person’s bottom. I’m about to be forty, I will never have a baby, and I have a bottom the size of— Don’t cry. Just don’t cry, not in the middle of MIT.
‘Dawn’s doing baby-led weaning, which is great because they just learn to feed themselves, and they don’t grow up with any food issues,’ Nigel is saying, as Davy hands Manon a coffee.
‘Kill me now,’ she mouths at Davy.
She hears the trill of a text message alert and her heart flips over itself just as Kim says, ‘Ready, everyone?’ and turns to reveal her work on the whiteboard.
Davy
Now we’re getting somewhere, he thinks, reading Kim’s looping handwriting. Five weeks missing and we’ve finally got some detail on Edith Hind’s movements in the days running up to her disappearance.
He casts a look at Manon, who is so slumped she’s practically laid her head on the table.
‘The new information is from Scope – the charity shop on the high street. They’ve come forward with CCTV footage showing Edith buying a whole heap of stuff on Friday sixteenth of December, the day before she disappeared.’
‘Such as?’ asks Davy.
‘Can’t say exactly. Footage is grainy and from the wrong angle to see what’s on the counter. We interviewed the old dear on the till but, to use official police parlance, she’s quite a few sandwiches short of a picnic.’
‘Wouldn’t that indicate she’s trying to disguise herself?’ Davy asks.
‘Not really,’ says Kim. ‘Will Carter says she was fond of buying clothes at charity shops – fitted with her environmental, y’know, what-not.’
Davy glances at the board.
Saturday 10 Dec: Visits Helena Reed’s flat in the early hours. Intercourse with HR.
Sunday 11: Drives out to Deeping in G-Wiz, 3.20 p.m. ANPR return into Hunts at 10.45 p.m.
Monday 12: Pays rent to landlord next door, who says she seemed ‘distracted’.
Call to Tony Wright’s phone.
Wednesday 14: Visits Helena Reed’s flat again. Intercourse with HR.
Friday 16: Second call to Tony Wright’s phone. Shops at Scope on high st. Intercourse with Will Carter. He states she was ‘highly emotional’.
Saturday 17: Christmas do at The Crown, Cambs. Sexual contact with Jason Farrer. Guided bus back to Huntingdon with HR.
‘Well, you know the rest from here,’ Kim is saying.
‘Fuck,’ Manon blurts, so the department, Davy included, turns to look at her. Her eyes brim with tears.
‘Good to know I had everyone’s attention,’ says Kim.
Manon
Her screen reads Alan P – so rare to see his name on her mobile phone – and might this be the volte-face she’s been waiting for? Might it be that as she lands, he flies down also, coming to a graceful stop beside her? Might this be the moment he tells her he misses her, that he wants them to be properly together, on week nights and everything?
I’m sorry, Manon. I have enjoyed our time together, but I’m looking for something exceptional.
In her haste to leave the room, all eyes staring at her, she trips over a wastepaper basket and slams into the sharp corner of a desk, wounding her thigh.