The Girl You Lost: A gripping psychological thriller (15 page)

I look from Gabby to Nick and think about all I’ve heard tonight. I have to keep an open mind, but Nick’s suggestion does make sense. I will see what Abbot thinks later.

‘I’m sorry for what he did to you, Gabby, please let me know if I can do anything at all.’

She looks directly at me and smiles for the first time this evening. ‘Just find him.’

‘We’ll try,’ Nick says.

We still have our drinks to finish and I stay silent and listen to Gabby telling Nick about her younger brother’s obsession with computer games. ‘He’d love to meet you,’ she says. ‘Your games are his favourite.’

Nick tells her he’s flattered and that he will definitely arrange something.

Sipping the last of her gin and tonic, Gabby stands up and announces she has to go to work. And when we say our goodbyes and she trots off, I admire her bravery in returning to work after what Lucas did to her.

‘I’d better get back to Sienna,’ Nick says. ‘Make sure she’s okay. But I really will try to help find Lucas. He needs to be held accountable for what he’s done.’

‘How did you find Gabby?’ I ask, wondering why it is only now occurring to me to question him.

‘It was a bit of luck really. I found out Lucas is a regular at The Paradise Club and went down there Sunday afternoon to see if anyone had seen him. Gabby was there helping with a stock check because they were short-staffed and she told me she knew him. And then she burst into tears and told me what had happened.’

‘It won’t be as easy to find him, though, will it?’ I ask, hoping he will correct me.

Nick shakes his head. ‘Not if he doesn’t want to be found.’

We walk outside and I am shocked by how cold it has become since we’ve been sitting in the pub.

‘Thanks for this,’ I say. I want to ask him about Ginny but it would look suspicious. I am supposed to be a friend of Lucas’s from university called Hayley, and even though there is a slim chance I could have met Ginny in the past, I can’t risk Nick wondering about me.

‘No problem. Look, I really don’t think we should mention this to Hannah yet, not until I’ve done some more digging. I don’t want to worry her yet, she’s got enough to deal with. Is that okay with you?’ he says.

I tell him I agree, that it would do more harm than good for her to know before we even find him.

Nick promises to be in touch, and as he walks away, I am grateful for his help, but feel as though we are no closer to the truth.

Back in my car, I decide to text Abbot to tell him I’ll call him later instead of coming over. I have already spent enough time away from Matt, and his company is all I want right now. Even though I can’t tell my husband any of this, his comforting arms around me will be enough.

But as I pull my phone from my bag, it beeps with a text message from Abbot.

Come over right now. Found something on laptop.

L
eanne worked
in Harry’s bar and was older than us. I couldn’t guess at her age then, and still can’t now, but she was too old to be a student, yet young enough to get away with wearing the short skirts (belts, he would call them, mockingly) and clingy low cut tops she liked to parade around in at work.

One evening I went to the bar early. I wasn’t due to meet him for a couple of hours, but I’d finished an exam and was sure I’d aced it, so I wanted to celebrate.

I ordered a vodka and tonic, staring at Leanne’s cleavage as she leaned over the bar, forcing herself to be polite. I could tell she hated her job, detested serving students all evening, and that she dreamed of bigger things. I don’t know how I knew this – perhaps it was just instinct, or maybe her disdain was etched on her face.

Normally she didn’t say much more than the bare minimum needed to work out what I wanted, but tonight was different. ‘Ooh, you’re on the hard stuff tonight, then?’ she said, smirking at me, but making no move to remove her breasts from my view.

I was sure she was mocking me, but perhaps it was an ineffectual attempt at flirting. Either way, I suddenly wanted to smack that condescending smile from her face. Who was she to look down on
me
? But I snapped this thought away and tried to focus on my impending drink, waiting for him to appear.

With her back to me, Leanne prepared my drink. I watched her recklessly flinging ice into the glass, and when she turned, I imagined ripping her tight skirt from her. I hadn’t seen a naked body since Amanda, and felt sure that this time I would enjoy it. It had been so long, I was bound to, wasn’t I?

Two hours later I was still sitting at the bar, watching Leanne as she served a flock of rowdy students. She had long ago given up talking to me, and was too busy to even glance in my direction, but I was glad he still hadn’t shown up. Normally I would have stewed about his absence, and wondered what it meant, but Leanne distracted me from these thoughts.

‘What time do you finish?’ I asked, when she stopped to breathe.

I waited for sarcasm, or a straight rejection, but her face seemed to soften. ‘About half an hour, why?’

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘Do you live near here?’

‘Yeah.’ Her eyes narrowed, full of mistrust. ‘Five minutes away. Why? What’s with all the questions?’

‘Just being friendly,’ I said. ‘You look like you could do with a break. You’ve been working hard all night. I could walk you home.’ A shrug again.

She gave me a sideways look then, sizing me up, preparing her rejection. But then she surprised me. ‘Sure. Why not? Nothing better to do.’ She gave a brief chuckle, but we both knew she was telling the truth.

H
er flat was a studio
, with barely enough room for the bed. But I thought nothing of it then. I wasn’t living in much better accommodation myself, so who was I to judge?

‘Have a seat,’ she said, pointing to the bed. And that broke the ice because we both started laughing. She had finally warmed towards me.

There were paintings covering the walls, mostly of faces and figures. I knew little about art but thought they were Expressionist, with their blurred, fluid lines. I could picture one of them hanging in my own bedroom so I asked her who the artist was.

‘That would be me,’ she said. There was no gloating or arrogance in her words, just a tinge of sadness. But her melancholy was no surprise – she was a talented artist being forced to work a low-paid job instead of making money from her passion.

‘They’re good,’ I said. ‘Bloody great in fact.’

She didn’t smile or thank me, but poured us something from a clear bottle, without explaining what it was. I couldn’t even identify it by the taste but I was already drunk, and the sharp sting of this liquid went straight to my head. I must have winced, because she laughed at me and downed her own drink without flinching.

We finished the bottle and started another one, and after a couple more drinks she let me kiss her. I could tell I was making all the effort, but she didn’t push me away. Her unenthusiastic response turned me off, as well as the pink lipstick smeared across her lips which I could feel transferring to my own mouth. I wasn’t hard beneath my jeans – I felt nothing.

I stopped kissing her and reached between her legs, hoping that would excite me.

‘I think that’s enough now,’ she said, slapping my hand away. ‘I’m really tired after my shift. Another time, though?’

She attempted to stand up but I pulled her back.

‘Hey, get off me!’ she said, trying to wriggle out of my grip. But her attempts were useless; she was inebriated from the nasty drink she’d given us.

I felt myself harden and blood rushed through me. I had never felt this before. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop what I was doing.

It was frustrating that she squirmed so much, but I pinned down her arms and kept her still with the weight of my body. But then she screamed: a piercing sound I couldn’t bear. So I covered her mouth, forced myself into her, and let myself get lost. And it was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

She was semi-unconscious by the time I’d finished, and I left her lying there and closed the door on her grotty flat.

Only on the walk home did the panic set in. What had I done? It was one thing to have those thoughts in my head, but now I had crossed a line. She would report me, that was inevitable, and then what? Prison? My life would be over.

There was only one person I could turn to.

A
s soon as
he opens the door, Abbot pulls me into the flat and ushers me to the sofa. ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he says. The excitement in his voice is contagious, and I immediately feel my spirits lift.

On the coffee table sits Lucas Hall’s laptop, open and displaying his Internet browser. ‘What is it?’ I say. ‘What have you found?’

Abbot’s smile spreads even further across his face, but he stays standing. ‘Something that will help us find Lucas.’

I lean forward to peer at the screen, but it is only the Google homepage.

‘No, that’s not it, let me show you.’ Abbot joins me on the sofa and places the laptop on his knees before tapping away. ‘There’s nothing dodgy like porn or anything, but I checked through all his emails and this thread disturbed me. Be prepared for a shock.’

I stare at the email message but it takes me a moment to digest the name I am looking at.

Charlotte Bray.

Turning to Abbot, my mouth hangs open. ‘Charlotte Bray?
Our
Charlotte Bray?’

‘Yes. You need to read it.’

Looking at the screen again I begin to read the first email. It’s dated 15
^th
December at 11:13 a.m.

I turn back to Abbot, my brain trying to unscramble all the thoughts flooding through it. But I get no further than Charlotte Bray and Lucas Hall – they know each other. ‘What the hell? How is this possible?’

Abbot, still excited, says, ‘That’s the first email, but from what he’s said it’s possible Charlotte texted him first. I don’t know how or where they met. Keep reading.’

Charlotte’s email shows that she replied within ten minutes.

There are only two more emails: Lucas asking if she can meet him the next evening at the entrance to Hyde Park station at eight p.m., and a reply from Charlotte saying she’ll be there.

‘When did Charlotte go missing?’ Abbot asks, as soon as I’ve finished reading and stare at him open-mouthed.

‘4
^th
January,’ I say, the date carved into my brain. So judging by the emails she first met Lucas about two and a half weeks before that. But what does it mean? Did Lucas have something to do with her disappearance? But she’s safely back at home now with her parents, and Lucas is still missing, so it makes no sense. I know coincidences happen every minute of the day, but it seems unfathomable that Helena is somehow linked to Charlotte Bray. The Brays were a story I was working on, not meant to be part of Grace’s life. I manage to communicate this to Abbot, even though my mind is now a mess.

‘I know, it’s crazy,’ Abbot says, ‘but at least now we have someone we can question about Lucas, don’t we?’

I think of Gabby, and her story, and wonder if it’s possible that Lucas has done the same thing to Charlotte. The journalist in me knows I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but I recall the last time I visited the Brays, and my futile attempt to get Charlotte to talk; her catatonic state would be consistent with such an attack. It would make sense that Lucas had something to do with this so it’s worth trying to speak to her again. ‘Okay, I’ll call Tamsin and tell her I’d like to try talking to Charlotte again. But I’ve got to be careful. Charlotte wouldn’t speak a word to me yesterday, so what hope do I have now? Especially if I bring up Lucas. We don’t know what happened between them, and if he’s raped her she won’t want to even hear his name.’ And then I remember that in all the excitement of the laptop, I haven’t yet filled Abbot in on my meeting with Nick. I tell him what happened now, and what I learnt from Gabby, and he shakes his head.

‘All the more reason we need to speak to Charlotte,’ he says. ‘If there’s a chance Lucas has hurt her too then we need to help her.’

Without hesitation I call Tamsin Bray. She sounds pleased to hear from me but tells me Charlotte still hasn’t spoken to them properly. Although she mumbles the odd word, she won’t speak about where she’s been all these weeks.

I tell Tamsin I’ve had some thoughts about how I might get through to her – the whole time swallowing my guilt like a pill – and ask if I can see her tomorrow morning. I have already decided to take the day off work for the first time since I joined News 24.

‘Please do come, Simone, we really appreciate all you’re doing for us,’ Tamsin says.

When I’ve ended the call, Abbot agrees that it’s a good idea I take the day off tomorrow. ‘This is enough for you to deal with,’ he says. ‘But remember I’m here if you need me. I kind of feel like we’re in this together. Even though … well, I know it’s Matt who should be helping you.’

‘I know. I feel awful every time I think of how I’m excluding him, but it’s too late. I’ve been keeping it from him for days, so how can I involve him now?’ I wait for an answer and when it doesn’t come, say, ‘No, it’s best if he’s just focusing on his work.’
And I can sort this out for both of us.

‘Well, at least go and be with him now,’ Abbot says. There’s nothing more you can do tonight.’

I stand up, but then remember Abbot was also looking into Chris Harding’s sister. ‘Did you find anything out about Mel Harding?’ I ask.

Abbot says he checked with a friend of his who works for the police, and apparently the Hardings did file a missing persons report, but their initial investigations came to nothing. ‘The police seem to think she might have deliberately left her life behind.’

Remembering Chris’s anxiety, and his determination to track down Lucas, I doubt this is true. It is no wonder he has taken matters into his own hands. ‘So do you think we should help him? I mean, he could be tied up in this just as the Brays are.’

Abbot nods. ‘It looks that way. This Lucas, whoever he is, clearly has a history of … this kind of thing.’ I am surprised Abbot doesn’t say the word; both of us are used to it from our work.

‘I’ll keep him updated,’ I say. ‘And maybe he’ll find Lucas before we do.’

At the door, I ask Abbot what he will do now.

‘I think it’s time I pay Ginny a proper visit. I’ve been thinking about this. Now that Hannah has basically given us an excuse to approach Lucas’s friends – why not Ginny?’

‘But she wasn’t on the list, was she?’

‘No, but she doesn’t know that, does she? I don’t know why I didn’t do it before. It just feels like time is running out, and she must know something about Lucas.’

I picture the scene: Abbot turning up on her doorstep, flashing a smile. Ginny will be putty in his hands. ‘Do it,’ I say. ‘But just be careful.’ I don’t know why I add this, but we are mixed up in something we don’t understand, with people we know nothing about. All I can say for sure is that it involves rape and possibly child abduction. And Ginny is the key to all this, I can feel it.

‘
H
ow was your meeting
?’ Matt says, pouring us each a glass of wine.

‘Quite productive,’ I say, moving across to him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He has his back to me and the solid feel of him reminds me of when we first lost Helena. How the firmness of his body comforted me, let me know that somehow we would get through it together.

‘Mrs Craig died tonight,’ he says, turning to me, his eyes swollen and red. ‘You know, the lady with cancer? She was only in her late forties.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

‘I just feel bad for her husband. Nice guy, he was always there for every appointment.’ He hands me a glass. ‘I just keep thinking, what if that happens to one of us? We’ve already lost our daughter, how would it be without each other?’

I am surprised to hear Matt saying this, he is normally a man of few words.

Keeping one arm wrapped around him, I tell him to think of everything we’ve already been through. That if someone had told us before we had Helena that we would lose her we would never have believed we could survive that.

‘You’re right,’ he says, taking a sip of wine.

‘I know it was touch and go,’ I say, remembering the months – years – when we could barely function, the strained silences between us and our parents, nobody knowing what to say. Particularly Miriam. But counselling eventually helped, and we both threw ourselves into studying and then our careers, filling a void.

‘But we stuck together, didn’t we, even though there were times we could barely speak to each other. And look at us now.’ As I say this, I know the words come more easily because I may be close to finding our daughter.

‘You’re right. I never would have got through this without you. Never would have finished my medical training.’ He rubs my arm. ‘Are you okay? I’m just worried. You’ve been quite distant lately and I know Grace turning up shocked us, but is there something else? You’re normally so …’

‘Talkative?’

‘Well, yeah.’

We take our wine to the table, and I remember one week ago Grace sitting exactly where Matt is now. ‘I’m just caught up in work, that’s all. I’m sorry. What I’m working on will be finished soon, and then I’ll have a bit more time to annoy you with my ramblings.’

‘I miss it,’ Matt says, the sadness visible in his eyes. I know he must be thinking of his patient again. Of us. Of our mortality.

‘Let’s watch a film,’ I say. ‘You can choose it. What do you think?’ If anything has a chance of lifting his mood, it’s watching a film.

Matt perks up. ‘You mean you’ll actually sit through a sci-fi film with me?’

‘Yeah, as long as it’s got
Star Wars
in the title.’

We both smile at this and I know, for the time being at least, I have distracted Matt from his melancholy.

A
fter the film
, I leave him to watch another one while I go upstairs to bed. I haven’t been able to focus on anything, my mind wondering how Abbot is getting on with Ginny. I have texted him three times already, but he hasn’t replied, and now my anxiety increases. I try to call his mobile, but again, there is no response, only Abbot’s cheery voice telling me to leave a message.

The next thing I do is text Chris Harding to let him know I’ve found someone who may have been in a relationship with Lucas. I don’t give him any more details, but it will be enough to let him know we’re making progress.

His reply is instant: a short
thank you
, and I wonder what he is doing at this moment; if, like me, he cannot switch off from this.

It is cold under the sheets, but I am too frozen to get out and turn on the heating. Instead, I email work to let them know I need an emergency day off, then I stare at the phone, willing it to ring.

I think of Grace and hope she is safe, wherever she is.

By the time Matt comes to bed, I have still not heard from Abbot.