Page 97 of The Housewarming

‘Right,’ she says, blowing good-humouredly at her fringe. ‘Finally.’

‘Did you see Neil, by the way?’

‘No, actually.’

‘Right.’

He pulls out. The garage door closes slowly. He drives into the longest day of his life.

He has no memory whatsoever of the 10 a.m. meeting. The rest of the day is a wash – colours, noise, a panic attack in a toilet cubicle. Liquid guts. All day, all fucking day, he was expecting a call from the police.

Mr Lovegood? I’m afraid there’s been an accident at your property.

But nothing. It makes no sense. Hours-long tension of waiting, waiting, waiting. Rehearsing his story. There is no story. It’s the truth now. He got up, fetched the car. Jen and the girls were last in the house. He saw nothing. Heard nothing. He thinks Neil might have been there but can’t be sure – yes, best to be vague, he doesn’t want to look like he’s trying to pin it on anyone. Jen didn’t see Neil. Best keep out of it all together. He doesn’t know. He went to work. Literally nothing out of the ordinary. He had no idea. The less he says, the better.My God, this is terrible, he will say.How did this happen? He told the builder, told him… his wife had a lock fitted, had a key made for him. Totally irresponsible.

But no such call comes. All day, no call. He has no idea what this means, knows he will not find out until he gets home. Can’t go home until he would normally.

Towards seven, he picks up Jen from the station, nerves jangling like loose change.

‘Johnnie? John?’ Jen is looking at him with concern as she buckles her seat belt. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I feel a bit sick actually,’ he says. ‘I think I had dodgy sushi at lunch.’

‘Oh no.’

He lets Jen talk as he drives the short distance home. Today wasn’t too bad actually. She’ll probably have to work at the weekend though – there’s quite a complicated case involving—

‘Is that…’ She breaks off. ‘Is that a policeman at the end of our road?’

Yes. Yes, it is. Momentarily Johnnie thinks about revving hard, speeding off, away, away, before, guts folding, he slows the car. The guy waves at them to stop.

‘What’s going on?’ Jen asks.

‘No idea.’ Sweat beading on his brow, he lowers his window and greets the cop.

‘Has something happened?’

‘Do you live here, sir?’

‘Yes. We’re just coming home from work. What’s happened?’

‘Little girl has gone missing.’ He takes out a notebook. ‘Can I ask you a couple of questions? We’re talking to all the neighbours.’

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Sure. But we’ve been out all day. We were at work.’

‘A little girl?’ Jen says. ‘Oh my God, that’s terrible. Can you say who?’

The policeman hands Johnnie a leaflet:HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL?

Yes. Yes, he has. But she wasn’t missing.

Her name is Abi Atkins. If you have any information, please call…

His hand shakes. He hands the flyer to Jen.

‘Do you know her?’ he asks.

‘Oh my God, I think that’s next door’s little girl!’ She weeps, immediately, into her hand. How do women do that? ‘Oh, poor, poor things.’ Christ, she is sobbing. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it.’ Her hand drops from her face and he can feel she’s turned to look at him. ‘It’s next door’s little girl,’ she says again, her tone urgent. ‘I didn’t know her name but I think she’s about Cossie’s age. Oh God, how awful, how absolutely awful.’

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