The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Read online

  Sonya wasn’t the only one, that was what Polly said. If that’s true, how long has he been cheating on her? Was it going on at sports college? Is this a new thing, or has he behaved like this at every gym he’s worked at? Have they all been one-night stands, or have there been more serious relationships? Who are these women – has she met them? She wants names, addresses, full details.

  Sally’s five minutes become ten. Amber sweats as she waits. She feels faint, partly due to the fact that she hasn’t eaten all day. Her thoughts turn to Lewis. How is he doing? She hopes to God he doesn’t die.

  The doorbell rings. She takes a deep breath and waddles downstairs. Sally is wearing a large padded anorak and a hat with ear flaps.

  ‘Ready?’ she asks.

  Amber nods automatically and follows her to the waiting patrol car. She heaves herself onto the back seat. Sally gets in next to her and the driver speeds off.

  ‘Okay, here’s the situation,’ says Sally. ‘George was spotted over an hour ago. When an officer approached, he waded into the water and refused to come out. He’s threatening to drown himself.’

  Amber flinches. ‘Jesus …’ she murmurs.

  ‘Obviously we’re not going to put you in any physical danger. But if you could talk to him …’

  ‘Why would he listen to me?’

  ‘Because you’re his wife, and although he’s very angry and hurting, he loves you. That’s why he attacked Lewis.’

  A week ago, she would have agreed, but now George’s love for her holds no meaning. She turns her thoughts away from him and towards the man lying in hospital. ‘How is he? Lewis, I mean.’

  Sally pulls a face. ‘He’s been put into an induced coma,’ she says. ‘I gather it’s touch and go.’

  ‘And my sister?’

  ‘She’s at his side.’

  Amber raises her brows. Yet why is she surprised? Ruby is the most generous-spirited person she knows. Of course she would set aside her anger with Lewis and support him in his darkest hour.

  Amber really wants to see her sister – to explain, to apologise, to beg forgiveness. Maybe when Mabel comes back – if she does come back … She sinks back in the seat, feeling defeated.

  ‘All this, this shit,’ she says. ‘It gets in the way, doesn’t it? Stops you finding her.’

  ‘Not at all. Mabel is still our primary focus.’

  ‘Has anyone interviewed George’s colleagues at the gym?’

  ‘Um, yes, I believe so. Why do you ask?’

  Amber stares out of the window at the flitting scenery. ‘A sort of friend came round today. She told me George had …’ the words catch in her throat, ‘a fling with Sonya. Do you already know that?’

  There’s a short pause, then Sally takes a breath and speaks. ‘A couple of female colleagues mentioned it, yes. It’s been a line of enquiry. At one stage we thought he might have been the father of Sonya’s child, but she said not. Said the timing didn’t tally.’

  ‘You knew but you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘George begged us not to. Just as you begged us not to tell him.’

  ‘You must think we’re both utterly appalling.’

  ‘Everyone has complicated lives,’ Sally replies. ‘I don’t judge.’

  They’ve reached the reservoir. The car slows and turns down a service road, reserved for maintenance workers. It’s a narrow, bumpy track swathed in darkness. From her side, all Amber can see is a tall, thick hedge. Beyond that, she knows there is a large expanse of murky, swirling water – an angler’s paradise during the day, but treacherous at night.

  The driver pulls up behind three other vehicles – two police cars and an ambulance. DI Benedict is there, blowing on his fingers and stamping his feet. He’s not dressed for being outside in this weather. As soon as Amber gets out of the car, he walks over to her.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ he says quietly. ‘George is still in the water. We’re getting very concerned about hypothermia.’

  Amber gulps. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Just stand on the bank, where he can see you. That may be enough. If you want to say anything, keep it simple. My guess is that he’s scared.’

  ‘Okay.’ She follows Benedict down a narrow path and through a gap in the hedge. It opens out onto a small gravel beach.

  There’s no moon visible tonight; it’s hidden behind a cloud of orangey-brown pollution that hovers over the reservoir like an alien presence. George’s silhouette rises from the water, making him look as if he’s been cut off at the knees. Even in the dark, from a distance, she can tell that he’s shivering.

  The anger she felt so strongly in the car evaporates, and she’s overcome with pity for him. For both of them. They’ve both behaved abominably towards each other, but what does it matter? They are just a grimy subplot of the main tragedy. Lewis is lying in a coma. Mabel is missing. Gone. Vanished. Spirited away. The last sighting of her no more than a bulge in a jacket creeping through the shadows.

  ‘George?’ she calls, moving towards the line of inky water. ‘It’s me. Amber.’

  ‘She’s here somewhere!’ he shouts. ‘This is where he dumped her.’

  Her heart flutters like a bird trapped in her ribcage. ‘How do you know? Did he tell you?’

  ‘No … couldn’t make him confess, the little shit … But I know she’s here.’ He brushes the water with his hands. ‘This is where he dumped her. It’s the obvious place, virtually within walking distance. I’ve looked everywhere else. I’m going to find her, bring her home.’

  She inches forward. Icy rivulets lap around her fine leather boots. ‘You can’t see properly in the dark,’ she says. ‘Wait until it’s light and I’ll help you. We can search for her together.’ It’s a lie, but then what’s one more after so many that have passed between them?

  He shakes his head. ‘No, I need to find her now.’

  ‘It’s too cold, too dark. Please come out, George.’ She takes a step. Then another. The water is up to her ankles now. Next it will find the hem of her coat. ‘You’ll freeze to death. Come out and we’ll try again tomorrow.’

  He tugs at his hair and lets out a long, anguished moan. ‘I’m sorry,’ he cries. ‘I fucked it all up.’

  ‘We both did. I’m sorry too. For everything.’ She extends her arm. ‘Please come out. It’s dangerous. You’ll die of cold. Please? I can’t lose you. I need your help to find Mabel.’

  He doesn’t respond. It feels as if it’s just the two of them out here in the dark and wet, even though there are a dozen people behind the hedge – still as statues, collectively holding their breath. The seconds are ticking by and the temperature is plummeting. DI Benedict won’t let this go on forever.

  The water creeps up her coat, making the woollen fabric cling to her thighs. Her bones ache with cold and the heels of her boots are sinking into the mud, trapping her. ‘George!’ she tries again. ‘I can’t go any further. You have to come to me.’

  Suddenly there’s a thunderous roar as officers rush out of the bushes as if fired from a starting gun. They charge into the water, almost knocking Amber over as they lunge at George. He topples backwards and goes under for a few terrifying moments before he’s wrenched out, dripping wet, spitting and spluttering for breath. He’s dragged out of the water and onto the gravel beach. Officers surround him, shouting out his rights and applying handcuffs. A paramedic hovers, clutching a foil blanket.

  Amber feels strong arms around her. ‘Well done,’ a voice says. Her heels squelch as she twists them free and allows herself to be led back to the bank.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Day Nine without Mabel

  Amber watches sadly as George is taken away in an ambulance, escorted by two patrol cars, blue lights flashing, sirens blaring.

  A paramedic puts a blanket around her shoulders. ‘You need to get out of those wet clothes,’ he says. ‘I’d like to take you to A&E, get you checked out.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, I’m fine, really. I just want
to go home.’

  By the time she arrives back at William Morris Terrace, it’s late. Now that George is in custody, the police vehicles have left, along with the media. Thank God. An old guy is walking his dog and a few teenagers on bikes are hanging around the park entrance. If it weren’t for the lilac ribbons festooning every gate and tree, the scene would appear normal. She could be simply returning home after a night out.

  She lets herself in and wearily climbs all the way to the top floor. Her trousers are still soaking and the sensation of standing in the freezing water won’t leave her. Her bones are like icicles, and the pungent smell of the reservoir has penetrated her skin. She takes a long, hot shower and washes her hair, then puts on clean pyjamas and her thick dressing gown.

  Pangs of hunger are gnawing at her stomach. Realising she hasn’t eaten all day, she goes down to the kitchen, thinking she might manage a sandwich. But the bread’s stale and the sliced ham smells dodgy. Cheese on toast, then, she decides. Simply turning on the grill makes her feel utterly exhausted.

  It’s only as she’s cutting open a fresh packet of cheese that the idea comes to her. Once she thinks of it, she can’t let it go. She can’t stay locked in the flat forever, afraid to go out; a sad, demented creature, the object of some people’s pity and others’ speculation. But neither can she bear to court the media or ask for help from celebrities and billionaires. She will not give her side of the story to the tabloids, or appear on breakfast television, or write a book to raise money for the Find Mabel campaign.

  With the scissors still in her hand, she takes an empty bin liner and goes out into the street. She’s barefoot and clad only in her nightwear, but she doesn’t care. Starting at the end of the terrace, she goes from gate to gate and tree to tree, cutting off the lilac ribbons. They fall gracefully to the ground like discarded items of lingerie. She scoops them into the bag, popping it in the wheelie bin before going back inside the flat.

  Early the next morning, Amber squeezes her fingers around the bunch of flowers as the lift takes her up to the intensive care unit. She’s not sure why she bought them, considering Lewis is in a coma, but visiting hospital empty-handed doesn’t feel right. In this case, they are symbolic. A sign to Ruby that she wants to make peace.

  The lift doors open and she steps out. Following the signs, she walks down the corridor, pulse rate increasing with every pace. She didn’t sleep last night and feels light-headed, detached from herself. After several hours of imagining coming to the hospital, it seems strange that she’s actually here now – so strange that she might be dreaming it.

  She wonders whether George is still here, in a private room guarded by a police officer, or whether by now he’s at the station, being questioned. She pauses outside the double doors of the intensive care unit and tries to summon up the courage she felt last night on the banks of Batley Reservoir. Stuffing the bouquet under one arm, she applies hand sanitiser, then presses the entry button.

  The nurse who answers takes a little persuading to allow her in, but when he realises who Amber is, and that she only wants to talk to her sister, he finally relents.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter,’ he says, meeting her at the door. ‘It must be agony for you. Everyone here is rooting for Mabel. We all want her to be found alive and well.’

  The ward is quiet, bathed in calm. Private rooms, their doors closed and blinds pulled down, surround a small waiting area by the reception desk. Ruby is sitting there, hunched over, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She hasn’t seen Amber walking towards her.

  ‘Hi, Ruby,’ Amber says softly.

  Ruby starts and looks up, her eyes immediately narrowing. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she says. ‘Have you no shame?’

  Amber absorbs the blow, then sits down on the chair next to her sister, shoving the bunch of flowers out of sight. ‘I had to come.’

  ‘Well I’m afraid your lover isn’t receiving visitors at the moment.’

  Amber swallows hard. ‘How is he?’

  ‘In a bad way. Might never wake up.’

  ‘Oh I’m so sorry, Ruby.’

  ‘So you fucking well should be. Lewis behaved appallingly, I’m absolutely furious with him – with both of you – but he doesn’t deserve to die for it.’ Her eyes flash angrily. ‘Why did George think he had the right to attack him? God help anyone who defiles his property, was that it?’

  ‘No, he was just … Oh, I don’t know. He was trying to make Lewis confess to killing Mabel, I think. He felt I’d humiliated him; he couldn’t cope with not being Mabel’s father … But Lewis isn’t my lover – he never was. It was a stupid one-off thing we both instantly regretted. And yet …’ She pauses, fighting to get the words out. ‘Yet Mabel came out of it and I can’t regret her.’ The tears roll down her cheeks. ‘I wanted her too much, you see. Losing her is my punishment.’

  ‘Look, I’m not really interested in your angst.’ Ruby’s tone is icy. ‘I’ve got enough of my own to worry about. If you need a shoulder to cry on, go and see Mum.’

  ‘But I need you! You’re my sister.’

  Ruby shrugs. ‘My birth sister, that’s all. It doesn’t count for much.’

  ‘I know, I know, I don’t deserve you. I’ve never treated you well,’ Amber sniffs through her tears. ‘But I’ve always loved you, Rubes.’

  ‘Don’t “Rubes” me.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me. I’m begging you.’

  ‘Go away, Amber, I can’t be doing with this. Lewis could die!’

  The nurse standing at the computer shoots a reproving look towards them. Ruby holds up a hand in apology, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, the tone calmer. ‘Forget about us, we’re not important. Concentrate on finding Mabel, that’s all you need to do right now. And get the police off my back. Every minute they spend investigating me is time wasted.’

  ‘Yes, I know …’ Amber hangs her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘Sorry for everything.’

  ‘Just go away and leave me be. Find Mabel.’

  She nods. She rummages in her pocket for a tissue and blows her nose, then stands up, eyes full of liquid, tears choking her throat.

  ‘Ah, Amber, you’re here too,’ says a surprised voice. ‘Bit early for visiting.’ Both of them look up to see DI Benedict, carrying a large brown envelope. He stops in his tracks as he takes in the scene, eyes flicking between them, looking for signs and clues. ‘What is it? Lewis? Is he …?’

  ‘No change,’ replies Ruby stiffly.

  ‘Right … Okay.’ DI Benedict breathes in. ‘Amber, I didn’t realise you’d be here. Sally is on her way to your place.’

  ‘Why? Is there news?’ Amber asks.

  ‘We’ve been processing all the data and interviewing new witnesses. I think, at long last, we might be getting somewhere.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We put together various descriptions and have an e-fit. Our witnesses think it’s pretty good.’ He casts around. ‘I’d rather do this somewhere else. Would you mind? There’s a café downstairs; it’s not open yet, but we can sit at a table. It’s very quiet.’

  Amber and Ruby follow him out of the ward. Nobody says anything as they wait for the lift. Its arrival is signalled by a loud ping that makes Ruby jump. They step in together, still unable or unwilling to speak. Amber gulps back her tears and tries to surreptitiously dry her cheeks with the back of her hand. The tension between her and Ruby is thick and suffocating – you don’t have to be a detective to be aware of it. But Benedict doesn’t say anything; just bangs the brown envelope absent-mindedly against his thigh as the lift descends.

  He leads them to the corner of the deserted café and they sit down at a white plastic table.

  ‘Pity it’s not open yet,’ he says, breaking the silence. ‘Don’t know about you two, but I could really do with a coffee.’ He opens the envelope and takes out a sheet of paper. ‘Okay. So, here is the e-fit for a woman who’s been seen hanging ar
ound Lilac Park for the last few weeks – general consensus is that it is a woman, although a few witnesses say it’s a man, so keep your mind open.’ He puts the paper in front of them and sits back. ‘Take your time …’

  Amber and Ruby zoom in on the image. A face stares back at them, passive and robotic. The expression is neutral and yet looks sinister. She or he is white, with short brown hair and small, nondescript features. Either a woman or a feminine-looking man, it’s hard to know.

  ‘Do you recognise them, Amber?’ asks Benedict.

  Amber’s brain is scrambling at high speed, sifting through millions of stored images, putting them into piles, assessing and mainly discarding. ‘Hmm … sort of … I’m not sure … Trouble is, there’s nothing distinctive about this person. They could be anyone. And yet …’ She studies the face again. ‘They look familiar.’ She shakes her head. ‘Sorry, but I don’t think I ever saw them in the park.’

  DI Benedict looks briefly disappointed, then rallies. ‘According to our witnesses, she – or he – usually wore their hood up, or put a scarf over their face. One of them said they looked like they were trying to hide. Importantly, they haven’t been seen since Mabel was taken.’

  ‘Really?’ Amber feels a surge of hope. ‘And what about on the day Ruby left the key in the door?’

  Benedict’s eyes twinkle. ‘One of the witnesses – who thinks this is a man, incidentally – saw them hanging around the front garden of your flat, though she didn’t see them actually take the key. She says she thought they’d rung the bell and were waiting for someone to answer, but nobody did so they gave up. About five minutes after they left, the witness saw the window in the bathroom being opened, meaning somebody was in the house. She thought it was a bit odd, but as it was the week before Mabel was taken, she didn’t think it was relevant.’