Page 9 of The World Outside My Window

One of the things Laura loves best about Debbie is how she always knows exactly what she needs. They’ve known each other since secondary school, and while other friends came and went, Laura and Debbie always stayed strong, solid. They were together through the teenage years, when Debbie was off snogging boys while Laura stood shyly on the sidelines, and Debbie was Laura’s cheerleader when she got her first job as a chef. Debbie is, and always has been, the only person Laura’s ever told all her secrets to. The fact that Debbie isn’t Jim’s greatest fan is the only fly in the ointment, and one that’s become harder to ignore over the years. ‘I just think he tries to control you too much,’ was all Debbie would say on the matter when Laura asked her why she didn’t like her husband, and she’s never wavered in her opinion. Which is why Laura is worried what Debbie is going to make of Jim going missing now.

They head straight to the kitchen at the back of the house, where Debbie unpacks the milk and teabags she’s brought with her, flicks the kettle on and opens the cupboards searching for cups. It irks Laura more than it should that her best friend doesn’t know where anything is in her kitchen any more. It shows how little she’s seen her best friend in recent months – and it’s entirely her fault.

‘Have you eaten?’ Debbie says as they sit down at the dining table with their drinks.

‘Not really.’

‘Oh, Lau. You’ve got to look after yourself.’ She peers at her, eyes narrowed, and Laura is acutely aware of how terrible she looks. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No!’ Debbie narrows her eyes.

‘Last night?’

Laura hangs her head. ‘Yeah,’ she admits. ‘Sorry.’

Debbie’s fingers press against her forearm. ‘Don’t be sorry. I just worry about you.’

Debbie stands, opens the fridge, and places a just-in-date yogurt and a KitKat on the table. ‘Eat this, and I’ll make us something proper to eat in a bit.’ She sits down opposite Laura. ‘Now, tell me what’s going on.’

Laura peels the paper wrapper off the KitKat and runs her thumbnail down the foil, snapping the chocolate in half. She takes a bite and chews slowly, then looks up at Debbie’s concerned face.

‘I’m so scared something’s happened to him.’ Her voice is wobbly and she coughs, takes another bite of her KitKat, the sugary chocolate giving her a head rush on an empty stomach. Her hands are shaking and she wraps them around her cup to warm them. The light in the kitchen at this time of the evening is dim with the blinds closed, and dust dances in the tiny stripes of light that slip between the cracks.

‘I’ve rung all the hospitals in and around Leeds, and a few in London,’ Laura says, eventually. ‘I’ve spoken to the police but they’re not interested.’ She stops, aware of how sad it sounds that that’s the extent of her detective work. ‘I just – I don’t really know how to get hold of Jim’s friends since we moved. I don’t even know where his address book is.’ They used to have a book with all the phone numbers of friends and family on the table in the hallway in their flat in London. But she doesn’t remember having seen it since they moved here – and she’s only just noticed.

Debbie breathes out slowly, her forehead creased by a frown.

‘You do remember that Jim’s got form though, don’t you, Lau?’

Laura’s heart drops. Debbie’s right. This isn’t the first time Jim has disappeared – although last time he was home within forty-eight hours and distraught about worrying her, having been called away on urgent business without access to a phone. How could she have forgotten?

‘I know,’ she says, her voice hoarse. ‘I just – this feels different. He knows—’ She stops. Debbie knows what she’s saying. She might not be keen on Jim or even quite understand why Laura loves him so much, but even she understands that Jim would never just up and leave her when she’s so vulnerable.

‘I know, darling,’ Debbie says. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, this is different.Thingsare different.’ She drops her gaze to the list on the table between them, suddenly thoughtful. ‘What are you most scared about, Lau?’ she says eventually. ‘That something terrible has happened to him, or that he’s left you by choice?’

Laura listens to the silence in the room, to Debbie’s gentle breathing, to the drumming of her heel on the floor as her leg jiggles up and down. ‘I don’t think he’s left me,’ she says quietly. ‘I don’t think he’d do that. Would he?’

‘No, I don’t think he would either. But what’s the alternative?’

Laura’s breath hitches. ‘I – I can’t stop thinking about him lying in a ditch somewhere. I keep wondering whether he’s been attacked or hit by a car, or been beaten up…’ She trails off. ‘And I hate myself for thinking that would be a better alternative than him leaving me deliberately.’

There’s the truth she could admit only to Debbie. That it would hurt her more to lose Jim by choice than by accident. Debbie nods in understanding.

‘Well, the good news is that he’s not in hospital, at least not anywhere obvious,’ she says. ‘Have you rung his office?’

Laura shakes her head. ‘I couldn’t remember anything about the company he works for,’ she admits, ashamed. ‘I don’t know anything about his life outside these four walls any more. I’m a terrible wife, no wonder he’s left me.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Debbie says. ‘Anyway, it’s a bit too late in the day to be worrying about tracking down his office now.’ She stands, tying her unruly blonde hair into a high ponytail efficiently. ‘I know you don’t feel hungry but you need to eat. I’ll cook dinner and then we’re going to come up with a plan. Okay?’

Laura feels as if she might cry and swipes her hand across her face. ‘I’ll help.’

For the next twenty minutes they stand in companionable silence boiling water, opening tins of tomatoes, peeling and chopping some past-their-best onions they find in the back of the cupboard, and rustle up a plate of pasta and tomato sauce.

It’s not until the food hits Laura’s stomach that she realises how hungry she is. She wolfs the pasta down, hardly pausing for breath, then clatters her fork against her plate. Debbie is barely halfway through hers and she looks up at her knowingly.

‘I think the first thing we need to do is get some food in that fridge,’ she says, sucking up a piece of spaghetti and slopping sauce on her chin. She wipes it away with a piece of kitchen roll.

‘I know. Jim usually does it.’

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