Spider Light(31)

‘Dad’s mobile phone’s here though.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything. He’s always forgetting it or letting it run out of charge.’ Donna sat down on the edge of the big double bed to think. ‘It doesn’t look as if they just went for a stroll along the lane, does it? It looks as if they went somewhere where they’d need money and keys and things.’

‘But wherever they are, they’ve walked,’ said Don. ‘Because the car’s still here. That means they didn’t intend to go very far.’

This was unarguable. Maria Robards had brought four pairs of expensive leather walking shoes with her, but she had never had any real intention of actually walking anywhere in them. The little post-office-cum-shop on Amberwood’s outskirts was her absolute limit, and even then she complained about blisters when she got back and wanted to plug in the foot spa she had brought with her.

‘I expect they’re just sheltering from the rain,’ said Donna at last. ‘It’s coming down in torrents.’

‘Ought we to do anything? Go out and look for them?’

‘Yes, we’d better. Let’s walk along the lane. We’ll go as far as that little shop that sells newspapers–that’s the likeliest place they went to anyway.’

‘OK.’

They put on waterproofs and hoods, and tramped along the road. The little shop was closed at this hour, but they walked all round it. There was nothing to be seen, and there was only the dismal wet splatter of the rain everywhere.

They got back to the cottage just after seven. Donna heated some tinned soup, and Don made ham rolls and coffee to go with it. They ate at the kitchen table, trying not to look at the clock on the old-fashioned mantel ticking the minutes away. It was not getting dark yet, but shadows were certainly starting to creep across the garden and the parkland that surrounded Quire House. Twice Don said that there was most likely some perfectly ordinary explanation–a sprained ankle or something, and they must be out of reach of a phone box.

‘If so, he’s probably cursing like fury. Is there any more soup? I daresay it’s heartless of me, but I’m starving.’

They finished the soup and washed-up, and by this time it was quarter to nine. They looked at one another.

‘Police?’ said Don at last.

‘Yes, we’ll have to.’

‘Where’s the nearest station? We haven’t got to go all the way into Stockport or Chester, have we?’

‘No, there’s a little station in Amberwood. One man and a phone, probably, but they’ll know what to do.’

‘They’ll say we’re being neurotic and not to worry,’ said Don.



But the officer at the little police station did not say this at all. He took the details, and said they would make a few checks. Well, no, they would not actually mount a search–not for two adults, at least not yet–but they would get in touch with the local hospitals and so forth. You never knew. Oh yes, people did vanish for several hours and then turn up unharmed. They fell into ditches and knocked themselves out, or they broke their ankles clambering across stiles, and were stranded. Neither Donna nor Don said that their parents were not the kind of people who walked in ditches or clambered across stiles.

Donna drove back to the cottage in silence. Don leaned forward eagerly when they swung off the main road and turned along the narrow track leading to the cottage, and she realized he was hoping to see lights blazing from the windows, indicating that their parents were safely back. But Charity Cottage was still in darkness, except for the table lamp they had left burning in the little sitting room and the rather dim light over the front door.

Neither of them went to bed that night. Don fell asleep on the settee but Donna stayed awake, lying in one of the armchairs, trying not to listen to the rain that was still pattering ceaselessly down on the roof. It would be a dreadful night to be lying injured somewhere. Half of her–more than half of her–wanted to join Don on the settee, but she did not.

The police came at nine the next morning to see if the absentees had turned up. Ah, they had not. Oh dear. They had drawn a blank with their own inquiries, they said, and so the next thing was to draw up a bit of a timetable, in order to establish who had been where at what time.

This was simple enough. The morning had been spent at the cottage. Don had taken a book and his unfinished holiday homework into the garden after breakfast, along with his Walkman. He had stayed there until lunchtime, half-heartedly writing the essay he was supposed to be working on, and listening to CDs.

All morning, was that?

Yes, and most of the afternoon. Oh, wait though, he had come in about eleven to get a drink of orange juice. Everyone had been here then.

‘I sort of mooched around doing nothing most of the morning,’ said Donna. ‘I had a bit of a headache as a matter of fact. I walked down to the little shop shortly before lunch to get some air. I got back just after twelve, I think.’

How about lunch? Had they all had lunch together?

‘No. My mother made some sandwiches about half past twelve,’ said Donna. ‘I took some out to Don in the garden.’

‘I brought the plate back in at quarter past one or thereabouts,’ said Don. ‘And got some more orange juice from the fridge. They were here then.’

‘We’re narrowing it down,’ said the sergeant, making notes. ‘And then?’