The Missing: The gripping psychological thriller that’s got everyone talking... (27 page)

We sit as we did the last time he visited: DS Forbes in the armchair and Mark and I on the sofa. We’re holding hands, our damp palms pressed together, fingers entwined. Mark launched himself at me the moment I walked through the back door. We clung to each other. When I pulled away from him he had tears in his eyes.

‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ I whispered.

Mark shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘DS Forbes said there’d been a development. That word scares me.’

‘Me too.’

‘Oh God, Mark. I don’t think I can do this.’

He smoothed a hair back from my cheek. His hand lingered there, then fell away awkwardly. He was thinking about the conversation we’d had two days earlier, the one that ended with me telling him that I was going to see Edie Christian.

The image of my husband pressing his lips to hers had haunted me for days but, compared with what we might be about to face, it felt like nothing. It felt utterly insignificant.

‘It might be good news,’ he said. ‘There’s always that possibility.’

I didn’t tell him that I don’t believe in good news any more. Or that, for me, it was no longer a matter of if we were told that Billy was dead but when. But I didn’t want it to be now. I didn’t feel ready. I would never feel ready.

‘Mr and Mrs Wilkinson.’ DS Forbes gives us the same look he gave us last time, professional but sympathetic. ‘I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to give you an update into Jason Davies’s claims but the investigation had to be thorough, given the nature of those claims.’

‘Claims?’ I say.

‘He confessed to the abduction and murder of multiple children.’

‘Oh my God.’ The horror I feel is reflected on Mark’s face.

‘The process for investigating claims of this type is extensive. We’ve had to liaise with the prison warden in order to take a statement from the cellmate and then we had to match dates with the known movements of—’

‘Just tell us.’ Mark’s grip on my hand tightens. ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’

DS Forbes shuffles forward in his seat and presses his palms to his thighs. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. There is no evidence to support the claim that Jason Davies was responsible for Billy’s disappearance. The dates don’t match up. He was nowhere near Bristol on the fifth of February. He was in Aberdeen the week before and after that date. We have several sources that corroborate that fact.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ Mark’s hand slips from mine as he slumps forward. ‘Oh, thank God.’

He takes a minute to compose himself, then looks at me. ‘It’s good news, Claire.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you okay?’

I nod but the motion does little to shake the dark cloud that has engulfed me. I should be as relieved as my husband that Jason Davies isn’t responsible for abducting Billy but then I never thought he was. So why do I feel so numb and disappointed?

‘Are there any other leads?’ Mark asks DS Forbes.

He shakes his head. ‘Not at this time, although we are still following up on some possible sightings that were reported after the television appeal.’

Possible sightings. We’ve been there before. Sightings of kids going to a skate park, graffitiing a bridge or sleeping on a street corner. Sightings of children who look nothing like my son. Children who are not my son.

And there’s my answer.

That’s why a cloud of despair has descended. We are still no closer to finding out what happened to my Billy. The torturous limbo we’ve existed in for the last seven months continues. I no longer believe that my son is alive but every day that passes feels like a week. Every week a month. Every month a year. I want Billy to be returned to me. Alive or dead. I just want him to come home.

‘We’re doing everything we can,’ DS Forbes says.

Mark and I both nod but mine is as automated as that stupid dog in the insurance commercial.

‘Do you have any other questions?’ DS Forbes asks.

‘Yeah.’ Mark leans back on the sofa and crosses his arms over his chest. ‘Why would that fucker admit to abducting our son if he didn’t do it? We’ve been tearing ourselves apart for weeks now and for what? So some twisted bastard can get his kicks? Men like him don’t deserve to live. If we still had the death penalty I’d be first in line to watch him hang.’

DS Forbes nods minutely. Whether to placate my husband or because he agrees with him I can’t tell. ‘I understand why you’re angry, Mr Wilkinson. This individual has done more than waste police time and he will be punished for it. He’ll go to court, most likely be awarded extra time to his sentence—’

‘But why?’ Mark says. ‘Why would he admit to something like that if he knew he’d be found out and get more time?’

‘We may never know. Maybe he saw the appeal on TV and fancied a share of the limelight? Maybe he thought it would impress his new cellmate? Maybe it was some kind of twisted wish fulfilment. I really can’t say.’

‘Jesus Christ. And people wonder why these paedophile hunters go after them?’ Mark presses his lips together and glances at me. It’s been two days since Jake confessed to what he’d done and we haven’t discussed it since. I’ve rung Jake to check how he’s doing and each time he’s spent the majority of the conversation apologizing over and over again.

We’ll have to tell him about this latest development. Kira too. God knows what the fallout will be like.

‘We need to tell Jake and Kira,’ I say. ‘And Mum and Dad and John and Stephen.’

Mark frowns. ‘Stephen?’

‘I need to talk to you about him,’ I say softly. ‘He’s been drinking a lot. Caroline has left him.’

Mark’s eyes widen. ‘Seriously? When?’

DS Forbes clears his throat.

‘If there’s nothing else.’ He moves to stand up and when neither of us says anything he gets to his feet.

‘Thank you.’ I cross the room, my hand outstretched.

DS Forbes shakes it firmly, then holds out his hand to Mark.

‘Yes,’ Mark says. ‘Thank you.’

The tension in DS Forbes’s face softens as the two men shake hands. Sometimes I forget that there’s a regular bloke, probably with a wife and family, hidden behind the suit and the solemn expression. How did he feel as he walked up to our front door? Tired? Fed up? Bracing himself for an emotional outburst from one or both of us? I wonder where he’ll go after he’s said goodbye. Back to the station or to some other family? God knows how he does this job day after day.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he says.

Jackdaw44:
I miss what we had.

Jackdaw44:
It’s not even about the sex.

Jackdaw44:
What we had was special. You know that. I know that. You made the wrong choice. Deep down you know that.

We watch from the kitchen window as DS Forbes gets into his car.

‘You need to sort things out with Stephen,’ I say as the black Volvo disappears down the street.

‘Why should I?’ Mark’s tone is defensive, but I can hear the pain behind it.

It’s a good question. I’ve been thinking about Stephen for days. I was so, so angry with him after I met him in the pub. I felt as though he was deliberately trying to destroy what little life I have left by getting his own back on Mark. Only he wasn’t, was he? Not completely. He was telling me things other people had kept from me. Wherever I look I unearth another lie or another secret and Stephen is one of the few people who’s been straight with me – or as straight as a broken drunk can be.

‘He’s your brother, Mark.’

‘Stepbrother.’

‘You used to be close.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘He needs you. And you need him.’

Mark yanks at the handle on the dishwasher door and pulls out the tray at the top. There’s a saucepan and baking tray jammed in with the mugs and glasses instead of down at the bottom where the jets are stronger.

‘Stephen’s in a bad place,’ I say. ‘He’s drinking too much. His marriage is on its last legs and he’s torn up about Billy.’

Mark hooks his thick fingers through the handles of several mugs and transfers them to the mug tree by the kettle.

‘I think he’d talk if you reached out to him.’

‘And why would I want to do that?’

‘Because you miss him. Because you both need someone to talk to. And because your argument is eating away at you as much as it’s eating away at him. Don’t you think Jake would go back and sort things out with Billy if he could? He’d do it in a heartbeat. Don’t leave it too late to talk to Stephen. That’s all I’m saying.’

He reaches for the saucepan, then rests his hand on top of it.

‘I’m just so tired, Claire. I’m tired of fights and tension and not knowing from one day to the next what shitty thing is going to be thrown at us next. I just … I just want to rewind time and go back to when things were good. You know?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Remember that time?’ He looks at me, his eyes lighting up. ‘When the kids were little and they wanted to go camping but we couldn’t afford it so we borrowed a tent off Dad and set it up in the garden. The boys said they were going to stay in it all night but we knew they were both secretly scared and neither of them wanted to be the one to admit it and come in?’

‘We threw marbles at the tent through our bedroom window!’

‘They couldn’t get out fast enough!

‘They were good times.’ His smile disappears and sadness fills his eyes. ‘When did it all go wrong?’

‘They grew up. We did too. We were so young when they were born, not much more than kids ourselves.’

‘You haven’t changed at all.’

‘Haven’t I?’

‘I meant it as a compliment.’

‘I know.’

‘Claire.’ Mark takes a step towards me and his fingers brush the skin on the back of my hand. ‘I never wanted to hurt you. Not then, not now. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy and what—’

‘All right, Mum? Dad.’ Jake steps into the kitchen, followed by Kira who raises her hand in a half-hearted wave.

‘Hello, sweetheart.’ I take a step towards him and give him a hug.

‘Kira.’ I reach for her too but her shoulders twitch away so I plant a kiss on her cheek instead.

‘DS Forbes just left,’ Mark says and they both stiffen. ‘Jason Davies wasn’t responsible for Billy’s disappearance. It was all bullshit. He made it up to get attention.’

Jake stares at him. ‘What?’

‘It’s true,’ I say. ‘The police looked into it and he was nowhere near Bristol the day Billy vanished. He was in Aberdeen. He was there for the two weeks.’

‘Do they know that for sure? Maybe he travelled down here? You hear about it all the time, murderers randomly driving somewhere just to kill someone and then—’

‘Jake.’ Kira pulls on his arm. ‘Jake, please don’t—’

‘Don’t what? Don’t get angry? My God. I could have … I nearly …’ He looks at me and shakes his head. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

He walks back out the back door without saying another word. Kira runs after him.

‘Should we go after him?’ Mark asks.

I shake my head. ‘No, let him go.’

Jackdaw44:
You can’t ignore me for ever you know.

It is the morning after DS Forbes’s visit. I didn’t stay long after Jake left. The decision to go back to Mum’s didn’t come easy. I wanted to wait for him to return, to check he was okay, but that would have meant more time alone with Mark and I knew he’d ask me questions that I’m not ready to answer yet. Questions about the future. Questions about us.

Seven months ago there’s no way I would have left my home when my family needed me. My place was in the heart of the family. I had to know where everyone was, what they were doing and why. Nothing got past me.

At least that’s what I thought.

The kids called me a control freak. Mark did too but only ever in a jokey way. I’m no psychotherapist but I can’t help wondering if I’m like that because of my childhood. Mum’s crap was everywhere, life was chaotic and I lived in a constant state of insecurity, never quite sure when the next argument would be or if it would all get too much for Dad and he’d leave us. I promised myself that my kids would never feel like that. Their mum and dad were going to stick around, no matter what.
I’d
stick around, no matter what.

My first fugue, when I went to Weston, was the first time I’d gone anywhere alone for a long, long time. Sometimes, when the kids were fighting and screaming and Mark was hiding away in the garage, I’d fantasize about running away. About how I’d go to the train station and buy a ticket to St Ives or Brighton or Weymouth, and book a room in a hotel with a double bed just for me and spend the weekend walking along the seafront, drinking coffee in quaint cafés and lying on the beach reading books. I’d breathe in the sea air and I’d daydream about my other life, the one where I turned left instead of right. Me, single and childless, training as a nurse and then going to work for the Red Cross or Médecins Sans Frontières.

I never did jump on a train to St Ives but I did let myself daydream about a different kind of life. I never told anyone about those daydreams, not even Liz, because I didn’t want to appear ungrateful for the life I had. We all have secrets. Most are guilty, a few are wretched and some are too precious to share.

My mobile bleeps, snapping me back into my childhood bedroom where piles of boxes and bags are stacked up beside the bed and a floral duvet that smells of lavender washing powder is pulled up to my chin. It’s 8.05 a.m. and Mum and Dad are moving around in the kitchen. Mum’s singing along to a tinny tune on the radio.

Two text messages. One from Stephen. One from Kira.

Stephen:
I had a text from Mark asking me to go to the pub with him tonight. Do you know what he wants?

Kira:
Hi Claire. I hope you’re OK. Just to let you know that Jake’s all right. He’s gone to work. Only trouble is Ian has asked him to work on a job in Cheltenham so he’s had to take his van and he was going to let me borrow it to help my friend bring in her sculptures for the exhibition, ready for the opening on Monday. I don’t suppose you know where we could rent one for cheap? K x

I text them back:

Hi Stephen. I think Mark wants to sort things out between the two of you. You should call him. Life’s too short. C.

Hi Kira. Glad to hear Jake is OK.

I pause. Has he told her what happened in the car park that night? He can’t have. She wouldn’t have stuck around if she knew, not when her own mum is so violent. Jake must have decided not to tell her until after her exhibition.

More secrets. Will they never end?

You can borrow my car,
I tap out
. I’m not planning on going anywhere today. Pop round to my mum’s and I’ll give you the keys.

A text from Stephen appears the second I press ‘send’.

Is he angry? I’m not going to meet him if he’s angry.

He’s not angry,
I type back.
He wants to put things right.

Another text from Kira.

That’s very kind but I don’t know how long I’ll need it for and I wouldn’t want to put you out. K x

It’s fine. Honestly. It’s insured for other drivers. Come round.

Will you be there?
Stephen types back.
I’d prefer it if you were.

‘Claire!’ Mum calls up the stairs. ‘Dad’s making some bacon sandwiches. Would you like one?’

I am up to my elbows in bubbles, scrubbing at an oven tray shiny with bacon fat, when there’s a knock at the front door.

‘I’ll get it.’ Dad shuffles out of the kitchen in his slippers. At the same time Mum appears from the living room with her laptop in her hands. She joins me at the sink and lifts it up so it’s at eye level.

‘Claire, I know you said you didn’t want to hear about any more psychics but someone called Athena Larkin has been in touch. She said she’s helped the police in a number of high-profile cases and—’

‘Claire! It’s Kira. She says she’s come to collect the car.’

‘One second, Dad!’

Mum paws at my shoulder. ‘At least read the email she sent. She says that—’

‘Are those the keys?’ Dad shuffles back into the room and points towards the kitchen table where my car keys are lying on top of my handbag.

‘Yes. Hang on a second, though, because there’s something I need to— Mum, could you get the laptop out of my face? It’s going to get wet and anyway, I told you I’m not interested in—’

‘Got them.’

‘But we’re back at square one now, aren’t we? And it’s not like the police have got any new leads. Not from what you said last night, anyway. Look at this part.’ Mum takes one hand off the base and points to the screen.

‘Careful!’ I reach for the laptop as it lurches towards the sink. The oven tray I’ve been holding drops back into the washing-up bowl, spraying me with soapy water.

I’m vaguely aware of the front door closing with a click and the sound of Dad walking back to the kitchen but I’m distracted by my T-shirt clinging damply to my stomach.

‘Claire!’ Mum whips the laptop away from me. ‘You nearly knocked it into the water.’

‘I was trying to stop you from dropping it!’

‘What the hell’s going on in here?’ Dad stops in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Claire, there’s half a swimming pool on the kitchen floor! Bloody hell, girl. That’s what happens when you get a dishwasher. You forget how to do the washing-up.’

‘Dad.’ I look from the kitchen table to my dad’s empty hands.

‘Yes, love.’

‘Did you just give Kira the keys to my car?’

‘Yeah. She said you’d given her the okay to borrow it.’ He glances back towards the front door.

‘Claire!’ he shouts as I sprint down the hall. ‘Claire? What’s the matter?’

I wrench the door open and stare out onto the street but my red Polo is no longer parked behind Dad’s blue Peugeot. It’s gone. Along with Kira, the tote bag tucked under the passenger seat, and the knife.