The Widow(74)

I didn’t use it much, anyway, and when he came out, he was surprised but not in an angry way. I suppose there was too much going on for anything I did to matter much.

But he certainly didn’t know that I was a Facebook friend of Dawn’s, and now Bob Sparkes was here to make trouble about it. It was stupid of me—“reckless,” Glen would say if he knew. I did it one night after I saw Dawn on the news. I just wanted to be part of the campaign to find Bella, to do something to help, because I believed she was alive.

I didn’t think the police would see me in the middle of all those hundreds of names, but, of course, they see everything. “You never think, Jean,” Glen would have said if he were here now. I shouldn’t have done it, though, because it would make the police look at us all over again. It would cause Glen problems. Sparkes was looking at me, but I decided I would say nothing and look stupid and let him blunder on.

And on he went. “Did you sign up to the campaign, Jean, or did someone use your identity?”

I supposed he meant Glen.

“How would I know, Inspector Sparkes?” Needed to keep my distance. No first names. Where was Glen? He said he’d be only ten minutes. Finally, I heard his key in the lock.

“We’re in here, Glen,” I called. “DI Sparkes is here.”

Glen looked in, his coat still on, and nodded to the inspector. Bob Sparkes stood and went into the hall to talk to him on his own. I sat, petrified that Glen would explode about the Facebook thing, but there were no raised voices, and then I heard the door click.

“He’s gone,” Glen said from the hall. “He shouldn’t have come. I told him it’s police harassment and he left. What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He wanted to know when you’d be back.” Well, he did.

I went upstairs to put my rinsed tights on the drying rack over the bath, then got my laptop out to see if I could delete myself from Bella’s Facebook page. Bit pointless really, as the police had already seen it, but Glen hadn’t. I don’t think Inspector Sparkes said anything to him. That was good of him.

I expected he’d be back, though.

Glen was rummaging in the fridge for something to put in a sandwich when I came downstairs, and I jokily pushed him aside so I could do it for him. “What do you fancy? Cheese or tuna?”

“Tuna, please. Have we got any crisps to go with it?”

I fixed up a plate of food with a bit of lettuce and tomato. He needed to eat more fresh veg. He was looking pasty and putting on weight with all this sitting around indoors.

“Where did you go?” I said as I put the plate in front of him. “Just now?”

Glen put on that face, the one when I’m irritating him. “Down to the paper shop, Jean. Stop checking up on me.”

“I’m just interested, that’s all. How’s your sandwich? Can I have a look at the paper?”

“I forgot to buy one. Now, let me eat in peace.”

I went off into the other room and tried not to worry, but I began thinking that it was all starting again. His nonsense. He had begun doing his disappearing act again. Not in the house—I would have known. But sometimes he’d go out for an hour or two and would come back unable to say what he’d been doing and would get cross if I asked too many questions.

I didn’t really want to know, but I needed to. If I was being honest, I’d thought that was why Bob Sparkes came today. I thought Glen had been caught doing something on a computer again.

I tried so hard not to doubt him, but some days, like today, I struggled. I started imagining what could happen. No point thinking the worst, my dad would say to my mum when she got in a state, but it was hard not to. Hard when the worst is just out there. Just outside the door.

I felt I should do something to stop it. If I didn’t, we’d both be lost.





FORTY-ONE


The Widow

FRIDAY, JUNE 11, 2010


Tom Payne calls me back at the hotel and says the contract looks okay but he’s worried about what they’ll write. It’s hard to talk with Kate in the room, so I go into the bathroom for a bit of privacy. “The press are not your friends, Jean,” he says. “They’ll get the story they want to write. There is no copy control in the contract, so you’ve got no comeback if they twist things around. I’m concerned that you are doing this alone. Do you want me to come over?”

I don’t want Tom there. He’ll want me to change my mind, but I know what I’m doing. I’m ready.

“I’m fine, Tom, thanks. I’ll let you know how I get on.”

Kate’s back in my room, clutching the contract again. “Come on, Jean,” she says. “Let’s get this signed and get on with the interview.”

She’s determined, and I want to go home, so I reach for the piece of paper and sign my name on the dotted line. Kate smiles and her shoulders relax and she sits herself down in one of the armchairs.

“That’s the formalities out of the way, Jean,” she says, and pulls a battered tape recorder out of the bottom of her handbag. “You don’t mind if I tape the interview?” she says, putting the machine in front of me. “Just in case my shorthand blows up,” she adds, smiling.

I nod dumbly and try to sort out how to start, but I needn’t have bothered. Kate’s in charge.