Page 11 of The World Outside My Window

‘But… I can’t.’

Debbie prises Laura’s fingers away from her empty wine glass and cradles them in her hands. ‘Youcan, Laura. I promise. I’ll be here, I’ll help you, with all of it. And in the absence of any real help from the police or any way of getting hold of Jim’s friends or colleagues, it could be your only option.’

Laura studies her friend’s familiar face and sees nothing but warmth in it. She’s only trying to help, Laura knows. But she also simply doesn’t have the same faith as Debbie appears to have in her. She pulls her hands away and shakily pours another glass of wine.

‘I know you don’t want to do this, Lau, but promise me you’ll at least think about it? I just think there’s a chance that people who don’t know Jim as well as you do could hold a clue as to where he’s gone, even if they don’t realise it. He was always trying to protect you from anything bad, so he’d have been unlikely to tell you if anything was troubling him. But he might have told someone else.’ She stops, waiting for Laura to reply. And because Laura hates letting her friends down, she finds herself nodding, and agreeing to give it a try.

* * *

Debbie stays over in the end, promising that Steve and the kids totally understand. ‘It’s not as though I’m away a lot,’ she says, pulling an emergency toothbrush from her bag. ‘Besides, we’ve got work to do tomorrow, and I need to go and buy you some food.’

‘Thank you,’ Laura says. Although she’s relieved not to be alone again, she can’t help but feel a stab of panic that Debbie’s presence means she can’t drink herself into oblivion again. Instead, she’ll have to face things head-on, something she hasn’t been good at these past few months.

Bright and early the next morning and, in Laura’s case at least, with much less of a hangover than usual, the pair find themselves at the dining table again, this time with more paper and some coloured pens they’ve dug out from a drawer. Laura has searched for Jim’s address book on the off-chance it was hidden somewhere, but had no luck, while Debbie has already been to the corner shop for supplies. They munch on toast and jam and drink tea and juice, Laura’s belly gurgling at the welcome sustenance.

‘Okay, let’s draw a bigger map, and try to work out who lives where and who might know Jim the best,’ Debbie says, smoothing out a large sheet of paper with her hand. ‘Then we can decide where to start.’

Laura’s grateful for Debbie taking charge, and watches as she draws a circle for Willow Crescent, adding the road that comes off it heading towards the main road. She adds boxes for houses, checking them against her earlier sketch, then finishes it off with the green and the willow tree in the centre, sitting back to admire her work.

‘Ta-da.’

Laura leans forward and studies it more closely. ‘Now what?’

‘Now you have to tell me everything you know about who lives in these houses. Names, how old they are, how well they know Jim. Their shoe size, if you know it. Anything could be useful.’

‘Okay.’ Laura studies the houses one by one, wracking her brains for anything Jim might have told her about the occupants.

She stabs the house immediately next door with her index finger as inspiration strikes. ‘The people who live here, number one, are Mr and Mrs Loveday. She’s Carol and he’s…’ she closes her eyes and thinks for a second ‘…Arthur. Carol and Arthur.’

‘Great.’ Debbie writes their house number and names inside the square. ‘What do you know about them?

‘They’re retired. She likes to garden and he – actually I don’t know much about him. But Jim seems to like them. They often chat in the garden, and he’s been to their house a few times, I think.’ She stops, disappointed she can’t remember anything more, but Debbie’s unperturbed, scribbling a few notes beside it and moving on.

‘What about this one?’ Debbie jabs the next square, the one on the other side, with her pen. ‘Any ideas?’

Laura shakes her head. ‘They’re hardly ever there. I think he’s a pilot or something, away a lot, and she works long hours. No kids, and they seem to be on holiday half the year. I don’t think Jim knows them very well.’

‘Okay.’ Debbie scribbles

number three, away lots

and moves on.

Number four?

Laura leans forward. ‘That’s Ben.’

Ben?

Debbie writes the name carefully on the paper.

‘I’m fairly sure he lives alone.’ She searches the dark corners of her brain for more. ‘Yes, he does. Jim’s been out drinking with him a couple of times, and he’s never mentioned a wife or girlfriend. They play poker occasionally with some of Ben’s local friends. Jim seems to like him.’

Debbie jots down

single man, poker and nights out.

‘I don’t know anything about number five. I think a couple live there but I hardly ever see them. Number six, though, is a woman called Jane. She’s got kids – teenagers. Abbie and Archie, Jim says. He’s helped her out a few times with odd jobs. She’s a single mum, works full time, the kids are left pretty much to themselves during the day. Archie’s always out there kicking a football around, Abbie seems quieter, but Jim says she’s an amazing artist. Good kids, I think.’

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