Page 77 of Close to You
‘No idea.’
‘What about the taxi company he used to get to the airport?’
‘I don’t know that either. I think he kept the details on his phone – but I don’t know where that is.’
I can feel my hand starting to shake with the pressure of the lies building up. It’s a lot of front to maintain. I stand abruptly and ask if they’d like some tea. They each say yes, so I cross to the kitchen and find myself standing on the precise spot where David died. It only occurred to me this morning that I don’t know how deep the water is at the lake in Little Bush Woods. There’s a ‘deep water’ sign – but that doesn’t necessarily mean much. I keep thinking his body will appear, despite the bricks.
There are a few moments of respite as I make three teas and, by the time I get back to the living room area, my nerves have settled.
The officer asks questions about the length of time we’ve been together and how long we’ve been married. I play up a little ditziness by counting on my fingers and glancing upwards, as if counting the months is an enormous challenge.
The next question is the one I expected. I’ve been practising the answer in my head, knowing it’s what will matter when it comes to it.
‘Has he ever done this before?’ the officer asks.
I pause for a moment and then: ‘No, well…’ I stare wistfully off towards the window and sigh loudly enough that it can’t be missed. ‘I suppose I caught him out once,’ I say.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He told me he was going to an event in Newcastle, but my friend, Jane, saw his car at the service station just outside Kingbridge. I went there and he was sitting in the Burger King by himself.’
The story gets the confusion I hoped for. The officer with the pen stops writing as the other glances sideways.
‘Why?’ the officer asks.
‘He said it was because his business wasn’t going well at the time. He didn’t want to sit around all day and make it obvious, so he invented the trip. He said he was afraid of losing me…’
I can see in their faces that they’re hooked. It isn’t simply a missing person now; it’s a person shamed by a failing business who has probably jumped off a cliff somewhere.
‘What was your relationship like?’ he asks.
I leave another gap and throw in a smaller sigh. ‘We only got married six months ago.’ I point him towards the photo at the side of the TV which was taken on the day. All these types of pictures end up looking the same: blokes in suits and brides in white smiling for the camera. Wedding photos can reveal a lot about the bride – simply look to see what the bridesmaids are wearing. If it’s a sensible colour and style, she’s probably sane. Something garishly bright, or hideously poufy, and she’s a divorce waiting to happen. Jane is in something slimming and turquoise that was chosen entirely by her.
‘How was the marriage?’ he asks.
‘It had been good. We were trying for a baby.’
The officer with the pen tilts his head ever so slightly and I know I have them. It’s sympathy for the wronged woman whose husband disappears on mysterious trips all the time. He’ll be having an affair, or living a second life. Maybe he’ll show up in five years married to another woman, who knows nothing about me. Cogs are turning. They know something isn’t right – except it’s something not right with David.
‘I was happy,’ I say. ‘He was a bit moody sometimes, but I suppose everyone is.’
‘Did he drink?’
‘Socially. He liked the odd whisky and lager. Sometimes he’d come home with a bottle of wine he’d bought wherever he’d been.’
‘Drugs?’
‘No. That wasn’t him.’
‘Could he be with any friends or family?’
‘He’s never really had that many friends that I know of.’ I let that settle and then add: ‘As for family, there’s only his sister. She’s called Yasmine and lives in Kingbridge. I’ve only met her a couple of times. I don’t think they’re in contact that often – but I guess she’ll know better than me. I don’t have her number, so I haven’t called. I don’t know why he’d be at hers, though. The last I heard, she was pregnant.’
They check the full details of her name and then ask if there’s anything else I can think of. There isn’t – but I give them his laptop, even though I don’t know the password. I also give them his car key and an envelope of documents, including a few innocuous letters from his bank.
I lead them to the door and they wait on the precipice.
‘What happens next?’ I ask.
