The Night Away: An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller Read online

  ‘That was me,’ says Ruby. ‘I opened the window after I changed Mabel’s nappy.’

  Benedict nods. ‘Okay, that’s helpful. Do you remember seeing this person – or somebody similar – on either Saturday?’

  ‘No, not at all … Sorry.’

  Amber stares and stares at the e-fit. This could be the man or woman who took Mabel, who is with her now. Judging by the fine cut of the jaw and the slender neck, she thinks it’s a woman. There’s something slightly familiar about her, the shape of her eyes perhaps, or the length of the gap between mouth and nose … The face flies around her head like a butterfly, landing every so often on a memory, only to fly off again just as she reaches out to pin it down.

  She has seen millions of faces in her life, but only stored a fraction of them in her brain. Even so, she must have many thousands filed away, grouped in categories for easy reference. Work, home, university, family, journeys, experiences, childhood, past and present, immediate surroundings … She definitely doesn’t recognise this face from the park. Or the shops, or the gym, or the medical centre, or anywhere else locally. No, it comes from another part of her life. But which part, and when? Maybe she’s imagining it, wanting to recognise it too much and playing tricks on herself. But no, she’s seen this woman before – or at least somebody who looks a bit like her … Then it hits her.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she cries out, slapping her hand across her mouth. ‘It’s Terri.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Day Nine with Mabel

  I wake this morning to joyful news. There has been a significant development in the Missing Mabel case. George has been charged with the attempted murder of the sister’s boyfriend. The BBC is being boringly circumspect, but the implications are obvious. George attacked Lewis because he believed he killed his daughter. If Lewis dies, he’ll take the secrets of Mabel’s whereabouts to his grave. How tragic, how delicious. Social media will be on fire.

  I switch the television off and skip into the kitchen to make breakfast. My mood is euphoric, despite the close shaves yesterday and another terrible night with Mabel. I can’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep. But not to worry, I’ll catch up when she goes down for her morning nap. I can relax now, give myself some much-needed rest. My shoulders have already dropped and the knot of tension at the back of my neck is loosening.

  Mabel is sitting in her bouncy chair with a face like a smacked bottom. Every toy I’ve given her to play with has been thrown grumpily to the floor. ‘Have some toast,’ I say, returning to the lounge and tearing off a piece. She curls her little hands into fists and refuses to take it from me. ‘Oh, hunger strike now, is it?’ I quip. ‘That’s fine. All the more for me.’

  I plonk myself down on the sofa and chew my toast thoughtfully. How is Amber feeling right now? I wonder. She must be distraught. First she loses her baby, now her husband faces several years in prison. If Lewis dies, it’ll be a life sentence. A smirk spreads across my face. Poor Amber, what a shame …

  The stupid bitch never realised I was stalking her in the park, even though sometimes we were only a few metres from each other. I wasn’t surprised. Amber only notices people if she thinks she might have something to gain from them, otherwise her brain filters them out. The first time we met, she looked straight through me, as if I were invisible.

  It was so insulting it made me sizzle with indignation, but I didn’t say anything. I was new then, a fringe member of a well-established group. Amber didn’t think I should even have been there, although she never said as much. She didn’t have to – it was clear from the way she behaved: talking over me with an abrupt change of subject, standing between the two of us and then turning her back so that I was left out on a limb. I wasn’t the only plus one at the party. Several other guests had brought their partners, although everyone else seemed to know each other.

  We made a mistake, thinking it was more of a social get-together rather than an official university reunion. But there was no need to blank me like that, to make me feel like I was an intruder trying to muscle in. The event was full of obscure in-jokes and photo-sharing and unfunny anecdotes about people I’d never heard of. Nobody had any desire to get to know me; they were too busy rummaging around in the past.

  I stood quietly on the outside, looking in. Observing in my usual way. As the evening wore on, I could see the threads running between the men and women, broken in some places, tangled in others. Who was enjoying themselves and who was wishing they hadn’t come? Who had once been in love with whom? Who was still in love? Who were the truest friends and who were secret enemies?

  Amber was at the centre of the action. The party was held upstairs in a pub, but as she’d organised it, she behaved as if she were entertaining at home. She was the queen and George her handsome consort. Everyone else was a mere attendant whose job it was to follow the golden couple around and laugh in all the right places. To make matters worse, I seemed to be attached to the Court Jester. I was the sidekick’s sidekick, and by that I mean Amber’s sidekick, not George’s. Oh no. He did not like my boyfriend. There was bad blood there, for sure. I found him smug and overconfident, although who wouldn’t be, with a nickname like Gorgeous George?

  I have to admit he was incredibly attractive …

  I spent the evening studying Amber over the rim of my wine glass. She wasn’t as stunning as her husband, but her looks were striking in their own way – healthy Pre-Raphaelite, I dubbed it privately. Wavy auburn hair, skin so pale it was almost transparent, and an aquiline nose artistically dotted with freckles. Her laugh was rich and deep and she had this habit of raising her eyebrows in mild disbelief when anyone spoke. She was so entitled, so sure-footed, like she knew exactly what she wanted and where she was going in life. I immediately wanted to trip her up.

  Admittedly, I was jealous. I’d heard a lot about her in advance and resented being required to be impressed. The way she exchanged glances with my boyfriend across the crowded room that evening made me realise that the bond between them would be hard to break. I guessed they’d had sex in the past and now kept each other’s secrets. I’d probably already been discussed in great gossipy detail. No wonder she gave me that supercilious smile when we were introduced. We’d only just met and she already had power over me. I couldn’t stand it.

  I wanted to destroy her. Don’t ask me why, because I can’t explain it. It was an instinctive dislike, a deep-seated knowledge that she was my enemy. Which, as it turned out, she was. Of course, my reaction was deemed unreasonable, even pathological. When I made negative comments about her, I was told that Amber was a beautiful person, soft and vulnerable beneath that hard, shiny exterior. Yeah, right. When I refused to invite her over, I was made to feel mean. So I changed tactics, kept my mouth shut and my bad thoughts to myself. I’d find a way to get at her, I decided. But Amber, being Amber, found a way to get to me first.

  There’s a loud knock at the door, jolting me out of my musings. I start to panic, then remember that I’m safe. Brushing a few crumbs from my lap, I put on my game face and open the front door.

  ‘Yes?’ I say to the elderly woman standing before me.

  ‘Hello, I’m Barbara,’ she says. ‘Bob’s wife. You met him the other day, we live at the Nook.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ I smile, seething inside. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘It’s more a case of how we can help you.’ She takes a small photocopied booklet out of her bag. ‘We thought you might like a copy of the parish magazine. There’s lots of useful information inside about the local area, services and activities, adverts for tradesmen. And we have a mother-and-baby group you might be interested in. They meet every Wednesday morning in the community hall in the next village.’ She plants the booklet in my hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Very kind of you.’

  ‘Well, I thought, seeing as how you’re on your own, you might like to get to know a few people your own age.’

  I put on a confused expression. ‘But I’m not on my own
. Where did you get that idea from?’

  ‘Um … I don’t know … I thought …’ She squirms uncomfortably, cheeks pinking beneath her powdery make-up.

  ‘My husband’s been working abroad. He’s due home next weekend.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘Our little boy has been missing him so much; he can’t wait to see him,’ I add for extra authenticity.

  She tries to peer around me. ‘Where is he? I’d love to meet him.’

  ‘He’s having a nap at the moment,’ I reply, mentally crossing my fingers that Mabel doesn’t choose this moment to bawl. ‘Anyway, I must get on. Thanks for the mag, very helpful.’ I wave it dismissively at her and start to close the door.

  ‘You haven’t told me your—’ she says as I shut it firmly in her face.

  No, dear, I haven’t told you my name and I’ve no intention of doing so either. Not my real name, anyway …

  I stop off in the kitchen to hurl the parish magazine into the bin, then go back to the sitting room to check on Mabel. She glares up at me from the bouncy chair, kicking her chubby little legs in defiance.

  ‘That was Busybody Barbara,’ I say. ‘We don’t want to go to a silly mother-and-baby group, do we?’ I extract her from the seat and parade her around the room. ‘Old MacDonald had a farm …’ I sing. ‘Did Mummy used to sing that to you? Your old mummy, I mean. I’m your mummy now.’ I pause in front of the gilt-framed mirror above the fireplace and lift her up so that our faces are close together. Hmm, I think, nobody’s going to believe for a second that we’re mother and daughter. I’m going to have to dye my hair auburn for a start.

  The idea of turning myself into a version of Amber makes me feel slightly nauseous. I squint at my reflection, remodelling my features – lengthening my nose, arching my brows, grinning through even white teeth. No thank you, I’d rather stay as I am. The hair colour, however, is a concession I’m prepared to make.

  I take Mabel into the bedroom, spread a towel over the bed and lay her down on it. As I remove her sleepsuit to change her nappy, I go back over the recent encounter with Barbara. Was it a genuine call, or did she come to check me out? If so, the parish magazine was a clever prop, allowing her to bring up the mother-and-baby group and find out whether I was indeed a single parent. And she asked to meet my ‘son’. Was that neighbourly friendliness or smart detective work?

  As I pluck a baby wipe from its packet, my earlier optimism fades, darkening my mood. The neighbours are a problem.

  ‘Is it all worth it?’ I ask Mabel, forcing her into her nappy and sticking down the flaps. ‘You’re a bloody nightmare.’ She puts up a fight as I re-dress her in pink floral leggings and a white woolly jumper. ‘I guess it would be different if you were really mine.’ I lift her up and set her on my hip. ‘I assumed that because I love your father, I’d love you too. But it hasn’t worked out that way. I actually find you quite objectionable.’

  She scowls back at me. If she could speak, she’d deliver quite a mouthful, I think. I cross the room to the window and draw the curtains across, blocking out the winter sun. ‘Right, I say, enough chat. Time for your nap.’

  It takes nearly an hour to get her off to sleep, by which time my edges are frayed and I could kill a cigarette. I toy with the idea of leaving her in her cot and driving to the petrol station to buy a packet, then decide it’s too much effort.

  Instead, I lie down on the spare bed next to the cot and close my eyes. The darkness cocoons me, and fresh thoughts of Amber and George rumble through my consciousness. I imagine George sitting in a cell in some remand prison, waiting nervously to know his fate. Murder or attempted murder? What an idiot. Typical of him, though, to make some macho gesture.

  We were briefly introduced at that university reunion, but I was aware that he hadn’t registered me – he was too busy swanking around, flirting with all the other women. I was pretty confident that if he saw me again in another setting, he would behave as if we’d never met. And I was right. I knew he was a personal trainer, and a quick internet search located him at a gym in Waltham Green – part of an exclusive national chain. The subscription was way beyond my budget, instantly dashing my plans. But I signed up to their mailing list and after a couple of months received an email announcing an open day with free taster sessions, a meet-and-greet with the staff, complimentary healthy snacks and home-made smoothies. Perfect, I thought.

  I treated myself to some sexy new kit and turned up on the day, panting with eagerness. George was running a spinning session, so I made sure I got a bike in the front row and spent the twenty minutes fluttering my eyelashes in his direction as sweat poured down my cleavage. He clocked me immediately and rewarded me with a few winks of encouragement. After it was over, I made a point of going up to him and asking some inane questions. ‘You were so inspirational,’ I said. He gave me his card, saying that if I decided to join and wanted a personal trainer, to get in touch.

  I didn’t join, but I got in touch anyway. We met in a bar near the gym one evening after his shift ended. It was obvious from the get-go that, if I was up for sex, he’d happily oblige. I asked him if he was married or had a girlfriend, and he told me was single. He said he had no desire to settle down yet and enjoyed casual, fun relationships with no strings attached.

  ‘I’m exactly the same,’ I lied. We got quite drunk together, and when the bar closed, he tried to come home with me. I made an excuse, saying I had a friend staying over and it would cramp our style. Funnily enough, he didn’t invite me back to his fictional bachelor pad and we ended the evening with a gropy snog.

  I never intended to sleep with him, as gorgeous as he was. I just wanted ammunition against Amber. I was already in a relationship – it wasn’t the smoothest of rides, but I was determined to stay on the horse. We were living together, talking vaguely about marriage, and even more vaguely about the possibility of having children one day in the future.

  Children. Ah yes, that explosive word …

  A noise drags me back to the present. I open my eyes and wrench myself free from the memory. It’s the front door. Again. Somebody ringing the bell this time.

  I swing my feet over the side of the bed and stand up. Pushing my feet into my mules, I march out of the room and into the hallway, swearing under my breath. What’s the excuse going to be this time? Am I interested in joining the WI? Would I like a jar of home-made jam? With an irritable sigh, I open the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Day Nine without Mabel

  Amber twists her fingers in her lap, as DI Benedict makes notes. They are at the police station, in the family room, seated around a low coffee table. The detective asks his questions calmly and methodically, but she can sense the frantic atmosphere in the rest of the building, as everyone tries to trace the woman who may – and it is still only a ‘may’ – have taken her child.

  ‘Okay, so you think her full name is Theresa.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t know for sure. What else is Terri short for?’

  ‘Don’t know, we’re looking into that now … And you’ve no idea of her surname.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Sorry. I only met her a couple of times. She wasn’t very interested in getting to know me. I think she was jealous that Seth and I were so close. Like George. Neither of them understood that we were just friends.’

  ‘Is there anyone else apart from’ – he looks down at his notes – ‘Seth Williams who would know her surname? Or where she lives or works?’ He puts down his pencil. ‘At the moment, we’ve nothing to go on. Please think.’

  ‘Seth will be able to tell you all about her. I’ve given you his details.’

  Benedict nods. ‘I’m just trying to get ahead of the game. He hasn’t responded to our messages yet. I’ve sent officers to his address and workplace.’ He heaves a frustrated sigh. ‘When did you last see him?’

  Amber looks into her lap. Some very uncomfortable thoughts are circulating in her head, spinning faster and faster. She feels dizzy and sick, a
s if she’s on a fairground ride and can’t get off.

  ‘I was with him the night Mabel was taken,’ she says finally. ‘At Gaia Hall, on the yoga retreat. I’m not really into that kind of thing, but Seth thought it might help with my depression.’

  ‘You didn’t mention that before.’

  ‘I didn’t want George to know, that’s why.’

  ‘It was Seth’s idea?’

  ‘Yes. I was in a bit of a state and he suggested I join him.’

  ‘So he knew you’d be away that night.’

  ‘Yes, but …’ She screws her face up.

  ‘Did you share a room?’

  ‘No. I told you, we’re not lovers, just best friends.’

  DI Benedict makes a considering noise in his throat. ‘What time did you last see him?’

  Amber has a moment of total recall. She hears her sister’s strangulated voice uttering words she recognises but whose meaning she can’t grasp. Weakness spreads through her limbs. Her fingers start to tingle as the blood rushes away.

  ‘You okay, Amber?’ DI Benedict leans in. ‘Take your time.’

  She coughs, trying to clear the emotion that’s welling in her throat. ‘After Ruby rang to tell me Mabel had been taken, I immediately went to Seth’s room and woke him up. He was really upset and offered to come back to London with me, but I said no. We agreed it would only complicate things if George found out we’d been together.’

  ‘Did Seth stay on at Gaia Hall after you left?’ She shrugs. ‘Don’t worry if you don’t know, we can check.’ He makes a note.

  ‘We didn’t text or speak that day – there was so much going on. I tried contacting him the day after, I think … I’m not sure, I can’t remember. It’ll be on my phone. I texted, called, left messages on his voicemail, but he didn’t reply.’

  Benedict frowns. ‘Did that seem strange to you?’