Her One Mistake(34)
“Possibly late sixties,” Hayes told him. “How do you mean ‘oddly familiar’? Can you be a little more specific?”
“There’s just something about him that looks like I might have seen him. But—” Brian shook his head. “I can’t place him.”
“And Harriet,” he said, with the smallest hint of a sigh that Hayes had most likely not intended to let out. “Definitely not?”
“Not at all. Sorry,” she added.
“Don’t be sorry. It was a bit of a long shot. And I apologize for getting your hopes up too. Of course, it doesn’t mean we won’t be looking into this more,” he added, flapping the paper in the air.
Harriet stood by the front door as Hayes left, feeling the welcome burst of outside air as it touched her face. It would be so easy to follow him. Apart from the short drive to the hotel that morning, she hadn’t been out and the walls were closing in tighter than usual. She felt trapped, like she was in a coffin and someone was hammering in the final nail. Now she had the overwhelming feeling that if she didn’t run out of the door right now, she might never be able to scratch her way out.
“I’m going for a walk to clear my head,” she called toward the kitchen, where she could see Angela tidying the table. Brian appeared in the doorway as quick as a rabbit. Harriet grabbed her cardigan off a coat hook and slipped on a pair of shoes that were neatly tucked into the corner beside the fishing rods that still hadn’t been moved.
“I’ll come with you, darling.” He was already reaching one arm across her for his jacket.
“No. Please. I just need to be on my own for a bit.” She didn’t want him with her, step-by-step at her side, clutching on to her hand as he led her around the block. That wasn’t her idea of getting out and being able to breathe.
“Harriet.” He held on to her arm like a child who wouldn’t let go of his parent. “If you go alone I’ll worry about you. I’ll feel awful if I’m left here not knowing where you are.”
How would she ever be able to escape now? With him looking at her, that forlorn expression hanging on his face. As soon as she stepped outside the house he would follow her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“Just let her go,” Angela said softly from behind, wiping her hands on a towel. Harriet released a deep breath that made Brian stare at her. “It will do her good,” Angela continued, nodding at Brian as she gently pulled his arm away. Harriet took the chance to step outside.
Brian remained rigid in the hallway. She felt him behind her but didn’t dare look back. Instead she hurried down the path, running past the reporters, her heart beating fast, expecting any moment he would break free.
She could have cried with relief as her legs carried her as fast as they could away from that house.
CHARLOTTE
I couldn’t face going into the office that week, and my manager quickly told me to take as long as I needed. How long would I need? I’d thought, putting the phone down on Monday morning. Two days had passed, but it already felt like weeks. There was every possibility that nothing would return to normal again.
For the next couple of days I twisted myself into knots over what I could do to help. I walked up and down the roads that surrounded the field in hopes that I would see Alice, even though I knew my search was futile—the area had been meticulously covered in the hours after she’d disappeared.
I called Captain Hayes and offered to find money to help the search.
“What for?” he had asked me.
“I don’t know, PR, any kind of publicity. I can get whatever is needed,” I said, sure my stepfather would hand over the money unquestioningly and without expecting a penny back. Funds had been set up for missing people before, appeals for contributions, surely the police would be grateful for the help.
Hayes told me there was no need, but I was getting desperate. I called my mum and asked if she thought we could pay for a private detective, but she told me I should let the police do their jobs.
“What can I do, Aud?” I cried into the phone. “I have to do something. I can’t sit around waiting for news.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think your priority has to be being there for Harriet.”
“But she won’t see me.”
“Maybe ask Angela what you can do,” Audrey suggested, and I wondered if I could hear the tiredness in my friend’s voice or if I was imagining it. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d called her in the last few days.
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” I said. “I’m sorry, Aud.”
Instead I focused on chores that didn’t require thinking between taking Molly and Jack to school and picking them up again. I bought a new mop, a packet of dusters and spray for every surface, and I cleaned my house from top to bottom. I scrubbed the back of cupboards, emptied, cleaned, and refilled the fridge, and scraped away remnants of stickers that were still stuck to the insides of windows I’d replaced two years ago. I sorted through the children’s clothes and bought Jack a new pair of pajamas.
On Wednesday I bought fresh food from the butcher and the grocery. But by the time it came to cooking dinner, I was so tired from cleaning that I couldn’t concentrate. As I stood by the stove and prepared lasagna, I found myself thinking about Alice, the investigation, and what was in the press, and I ended up throwing everything into one pan and serving it as a pile of mush that the children refused to eat.