The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Page 23

  ‘Oh Ruby, you’ve always been so jealous. You have such a nasty streak.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of the character assassination, Mum. I’m going home.’

  Her eyebrows rise. ‘To Lewis?’

  ‘He won’t be there. I told him he had three hours to get out.’

  ‘Ruby—’

  She storms out, slamming the front door behind her. She picks up her cycle helmet and is fastening the strap under her chin when her phone bleeps, announcing a new text. Whipping the handset out, she sees the message is from Amber.

  Told George. He took it extremely badly. My daughter is missing and my marriage is over. Thanks a lot. Hope you’re happy now.

  Despite being exhausted, Ruby pedals furiously back across London, carelessly navigating the increasingly heavy traffic. The cauldron is still bubbling and frothing, spitting out bile. She curses herself for going to see her mother; she should have known she would take Amber’s side. It was supposed to be payback time, but it misfired. As ever. And now she has nobody to turn to, except George perhaps – they could form a victims’ support group. The thought of the two of them bonding almost makes her laugh.

  Mum didn’t even offer her a cup of tea, her water bottle’s empty, and after burning hundreds of calories on the bike, she’s hungry for a big breakfast. The vegan café a hundred yards from the flat beckons. But the real motivation for going there is to delay going back to the flat. The deadline she gave Lewis elapsed hours ago; he should be long gone, but what if he’s still there, waiting for her? Her nerve endings feel raw and exposed; she can’t take another bout of emotional outpourings.

  The café is busy with people having Sunday brunch. The rough wooden tables are full and there’s a queue of hopefuls crowding at the counter. As she surveys the scene, a memory stabs her in the gut – this is where she came with Lewis after the first night he stayed over at her flat. They were in that embarrassing loved-up phase, constantly stroking and pecking lips, unable to leave each other alone. She remembers holding hands across the table while they waited for their veggie sausages, beans and hash browns. With a sudden loss of appetite, she turns on her heel and leaves.

  Fortunately, the media are no longer camped outside her block. Since the reconstruction yesterday, attention has been refocused on Lilac Park. Or maybe the journalists are bored with Missing Mabel and have moved on to new stories. Either way, she’s thankful to be able to get through the metal gates unmolested. She wheels the bike down the path, feeling more and more apprehensive as she approaches the flat. Please don’t let him still be there.

  Heart in mouth, she pushes open the front door and walks into the hallway. Silence greets her and she lets out a sigh of relief, only for the breath to catch immediately as she sees two large rucksacks stacked outside the bedroom door.

  ‘Lewis?’ she calls. ‘Lewis! Why haven’t you left?’ Bubbles of anger immediately rise to the surface and she goes into the kitchen, then back across the hallway towards the sitting room. ‘I thought we agreed you’d be gone by—’

  She stops in her tracks and gasps. Lewis is lying motionless on the floor, his clothes dishevelled, limbs askew. His face is covered in purple bruises and dark, sticky blood is pooling around his head.

  Ruby recoils in horror, then a sense of urgency kicks in. She rushes forward and crouches down at his side. He doesn’t seem to be breathing. Hands trembling, she reaches for her phone.

  ‘Who did this to you?’ she whispers as she dials 999. But Lewis can’t answer. And besides, she already knows.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Day Eight without Mabel

  Amber opens the fridge and takes out a half-drunk bottle of white wine. It’s been sitting there for over a week and will probably taste like vinegar, but she doesn’t care. She needs alcohol to dull the pain that’s emanating from every nerve. Pouring herself a full glass, she knocks it back in one go, coughing as it whooshes down. As she guessed, it tastes disgusting.

  How the media would love to get this shot of her, she thinks bitterly as she refills. Mabel’s Mummy Hits the Bottle. They are gathered outside again, fewer of them today, but still enough to be a nuisance. A small number of rubberneckers are there too, almost constantly pointing their phone cameras at the house. And at last they were rewarded for their patience. When George stormed out – three hours ago now – there was a great frenzy of excitement. Reporters and photographers clustered around him, firing questions as he tried to get into his car. She was watching from the bathroom window, fingers parting the slatted blinds, praying that he wouldn’t rise to their bait. But he was already way out of control. He swore violently at the throng and deliberately bashed the driver’s door into one of the photographers. Then he screeched off at high speed. All caught on camera, of course. It’s probably already been posted on social media, accompanied by wild speculation.

  After George drove away, journalists crowded at the door and rang the bell several times. Somebody even shouted through the letter box, asking for Amber’s side of the story. As if … She ignored them and eventually they retreated to the pavement, but now she daren’t step outside the door.

  A searing pain stabs her between the eyes. Oh, this is all too much. If the press finds out, they will make mincemeat of all four of them; the headlines will be lurid and vile. Worst of all, it will take attention away from the search for Mabel. That’s the only thing that really matters. Her baby is with a stranger – who knows what they’re doing to her? She may not even be alive. Violent images start to invade her mind, fuelled by the alcohol, which is now on a helter-skelter ride through her body. She feels dizzy and grips the edge of the granite worktop to steady herself.

  ‘Damn you, Ruby,’ she mutters. ‘You should have let me tell him in my own time.’

  She pours a third glassful, then throws the empty bottle into the sink. Staggering across the room, she collapses in the armchair in the corner, where she so often sat to breastfeed – or rather, try to. The cushions smell vaguely of stale milk and sicky infant dribble, conjuring up the feel of Mabel wriggling in her arms. Curling herself into a hedgehog-like ball, Amber buries her head and cries.

  Where has George gone? she wonders. He shouldn’t be driving in that state. When she told him the truth, he went all rigid, as if he’d been tasered, and his mouth gaped, but no sound came out. Then suddenly he exploded like a bomb. He thumped the walls with his fists and even his forehead. His anger was uncontrollable; at one point she thought he was going to strike her and had to lock herself in the bathroom. The neighbours must have heard it. The whole street was probably listening in. The shame of it … the shame. She was terrified for herself, but now she’s terrified for George. He could easily have an accident or knock over a pedestrian. She needs to find him before he does something that he’ll later regret. Not that he’ll listen to her. Their marriage is wrecked. Over. Irreparable. She feels utterly alone.

  George is her life partner. Amber can’t remember what it was like to be single and can’t imagine being without him. He is part of her, an extra limb. She could no more cut him off than she could her own hand. If that’s a definition of love, then she loves him with all her heart. But as time has gone on, she’s realised they have little in common. The uncomfortable truth is that if she met him now, she would find him sexually attractive but not be that interested in his personality. It’s a horrible thing to admit, even to herself. She hasn’t even said that to Seth, and he knows everything: how much she misses her dead father, how problematic she finds her mother, how ambivalent she feels towards Ruby, how much she longed to have a baby, how frustrated she was with George for refusing to get tested …

  When she and Seth decided – after several vodkas in the Ice Bar in Mayfair – that he would donate his sperm, their friendship moved to a whole new level. They were having one of their secret get-togethers – usually a pizza in Soho followed by either a film or cocktails, occasionally both. George didn’t know about their meetings, because as far as he was conce
rned, Seth was banned. It was absurd. Amber and Seth were best friends, that was all; there wasn’t a glimmer of attraction there. They were on the same course at university and went through three significant years of growing up together, supporting each other through some rough times. George didn’t have the imagination to believe that a man and woman could be friends without wanting to jump into bed. He decided for no good reason that he hated Seth, and after they graduated, he refused to meet up socially or invite him over to their house. At first Amber continued to see Seth on the quiet because she was embarrassed; then she told him about George’s reaction and they began what they laughingly called their ‘sordid affair’. It was a bit of fun really, pretending to be lovers, making secret phone calls and sending saucy texts almost every day. They even had a running joke about deleting messages. Beneath it all, however, there was something deep and genuine. Quite simply, Seth was the dearest friend she’d ever had.

  He’d always insisted that he didn’t want children: ‘Population is the world’s biggest problem and I’m not going to add to it.’ But for Amber he would make an exception. He swore he would never tell a soul or stake a claim to the child if she conceived. ‘Your secret will be safe with me, darling,’ he said. ‘I’ll take it to my grave.’

  But a decision made in drunkenness can be hard to carry out in the sober light of day. They didn’t know how to do it. There was no question of actually having sex. That would have felt totally wrong, not to mention embarrassing. Besides, Seth had a girlfriend at that point and hadn’t yet resolved whether he was bisexual or totally gay. Amber knew he was gay, one hundred per cent. Everyone at university had known it; even the girlfriend knew she was fighting a losing battle, although she didn’t want to admit it. Only George persisted in the theory that he was straight and pretending to be gay so he could get closer to Amber.

  Seth researched DIY artificial insemination online and ordered a turkey baster. Amber calculated when she should be ovulating and took the day off work. He came round to number 74 and went into the bathroom for what turned out to be a considerable length of time. Amber remembers how nervous and excited she felt waiting for him to come out with his plastic bottle. Then it was her turn to go into the bedroom and do the business with the giant syringe. It didn’t seem to work very well; what little sperm Seth had managed to produce dribbled out. Nevertheless, she lay on her back with her legs in the air for an hour while Seth made tea and brought it to the bedside. It was all a bit of a laugh, she remembers, like they were a couple of kids playing doctors and nurses. Considering the immensity of what they were trying to do, and the implications of them succeeding, neither of them took it seriously enough.

  Amber didn’t have to wait for her period to know it hadn’t worked. Turkey basters weren’t the answer; she needed proper professional help. That was why she broached the subject with George again, and why they had such a bad row. And that was how she ended up having sex with Lewis. It was a game of consequences, only instead of a funny picture at the bottom of the page, she created a real-life human being.

  Her heart heaves with love for Mabel and dark thoughts loom, but she bats them away.

  She needs to talk to Seth urgently, before the story breaks in the media. He still doesn’t know that he’s indisputably not Mabel’s father. Despite his assertions that he had no interest in parenthood, she worries that he’s still holding a flickering torch of hope that Mabel is his. Why else back away the moment she was taken? Amber can only guess that he was thinking of her, as always, not wanting to complicate the situation and put her under more pressure from George. But they’re well beyond that now. Picking up her mobile, she dials his number. As before, it goes straight to voicemail without giving her an opportunity to leave a message. Sniffing back the tears, she sends him what she promises herself will be a final plea.

  Darling, please call me. I’ve lost everyone – you’re the only one left. Why are you ignoring me? Have I done something wrong? Please, please get in touch. Love you. A xx

  And as a reminder of all that they’ve been to each other, she adds a PS: Don’t forget to delete.

  Eyes bleary, she lifts her head. Somebody is knocking and ringing at the front door. Wretched journos. ‘Piss off!’ she shouts, covering her ears. She won’t speak to any of them. They are hyenas, picking over the dead scraps of her life. ‘Leave me alone!’

  But the knocking and ringing continue. What is going on? She gets up and walks onto the landing, where she stands at the top of the stairs hugging herself protectively. The flap of the letter box opens and she half expects to see a flaming rag thrown through, but instead she hears a familiar voice.

  ‘Amber? It’s Sally. I know you’re there. Please open the door.’

  The FLO was supposed to turn up this morning, but in the trauma, Amber forgot all about it. She runs down the stairs, her brain already tripping over itself. Sally’s tone sounded urgent. Something has happened. Has Mabel been found?

  She opens up and quickly lets Sally in. The dark expression on the officer’s face immediately tells Amber that she’s not bearing good news.

  ‘What is it?’ she gasps.

  ‘Let’s go upstairs. Away from this mob.’ Sally nods at her to lead the way. Amber’s legs feel like jelly as she climbs back to the first floor. Can Sally smell the alcohol on her breath? She covers her face with her hand and surreptitiously sniffs. The results are inconclusive.

  They go into the front room. Amber glances out of the window and sees two patrol cars parked outside the door, blue lights flashing.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘We’re looking for George,’ says Sally. ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘Um … about three hours ago. He left the house and drove off.’

  ‘Do you know where he went?’

  ‘No. Why? What’s happened? Is he okay?’

  ‘Lewis Chambers was attacked in his flat this morning,’ Sally replies, keeping her tone even. ‘He was severely beaten and is fighting for his life.’

  The words punch Amber in the stomach, winding her. She reaches out for support and lowers herself onto a chair. ‘Oh my God …’

  ‘Your sister thinks it was George that attacked him.’

  ‘No … no … he wouldn’t …’ She stops. Inside, she knows it’s true. His parting words were along the lines of ‘The next time I see Lewis, I’ll kill him.’ Stupid, stupid man. As if that’s going to make things any better. As if it’s going to help find Mabel …

  Sally clears her throat. ‘Do you know where George is? We’ve tried reaching him by phone …’

  ‘He took the car, that’s all I know.’

  ‘Did he say anything about going to see Lewis?’

  ‘No, but …’ She hesitates. ‘It’s possible. He was very upset. And angry.’

  ‘With Lewis?’

  She nods. ‘And me.’ She chews her lip. ‘We had a bad row.’

  ‘Hmm … You told him, I presume? That Lewis is Mabel’s biological father.’

  ‘Yes.’ Heat rises to her cheeks. ‘He took it very badly. But I didn’t think—’

  ‘Have you any idea where he might be now?’

  ‘No.’ Sally shoots her a disbelieving look. ‘Honestly, I’ve no idea. If I knew, I’d tell you.’

  ‘Okay.’ The FLO puffs out. ‘We’re monitoring his phone, but if he gets in touch with you, let us know straight away.’

  ‘I’ll tell him to hand himself in,’ Amber mumbles.

  ‘You do that.’ Sally walks over to the window and looks down into the street below. ‘You should know that pictures of Lewis being loaded into an ambulance are already flying around social media. Some people are saying he tried to kill himself, others are pointing the finger at George. There are all kinds of theories circulating; it’s getting extremely nasty. You’re going to be besieged, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘The patrol cars will stay outside. The officers will make sure nobody gets
too close.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  There’s a long pause. Sally turns to her. ‘This must be very tough. How are you? You look … worn to a frazzle.’

  ‘It’s just going from bad to worse,’ Amber says. ‘Everything’s falling apart. And all this time, Mabel is still missing. Everyone’s forgotten about her.’

  ‘No they haven’t. We’ve got a huge team working around the clock, processing all the intelligence that’s come through since yesterday. We’ve had an amazing response from the public, we feel very positive that—’

  ‘Don’t bullshit me,’ she snaps. ‘I know you all think she’s dead.’

  ‘That’s not true. This is a missing person case, not a murder. Finding Mabel alive remains our overwhelming priority.’

  ‘For once, can you stop talking like you’re at a press conference?’

  Sally stiffens. ‘I was just trying to reassure you that we’re doing …’ She stops, takes a deep breath and starts again. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I can see you’re under tremendous pressure. The last thing you need is some trite—’

  ‘Please, don’t say any more,’ Amber sighs. ‘Just find my daughter, that’s all I want.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Day Eight with Mabel

  I can’t get the Nosy Neighbour out of my head. Yesterday evening, I went into the garden, convinced that he was snooping around, lurking in the shadows. I couldn’t see him, but I sensed his presence, creeping towards me in a game of grandmother’s footsteps. When I had my back to him, he inched forward, little by little, but the moment I turned around, he froze, invisible in his country camouflage of tweed and corduroy. I knew he was there, though. I could hear his threatening voice in my head. I’m coming to get you …