Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (always you kirsty moseley .txt) 📗

relays her acute pain of the last twenty-four hours.

‘How are the kids coping?’ Pen asks.

‘They don’t know.’

‘Why ever not? He’s their dad.’

‘Harry’s in the middle of his A levels. He doesn’t finish until next Friday. If Marc’s not back by then, I’ll tell them.’

‘Where do they think he’s gone?’

‘Work assignment in Scotland.’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

A brain does exist somewhere behind those eyelash extensions and slug eyebrows.

‘Men,’ says Pen. ‘They’re a law unto themselves, the useless pricks. I should know. I married one. Why do you think I call mine The Prick? Pete the Prick. I wish he would bleeding disappear too.’ She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s too heavy.

Sasha glances at her watch. ‘I need to go. Art referred a new client to me this morning. I could do without it, but she’ll go elsewhere if I turn her down.’ She pulls a phone out of her pocket. ‘I need to ask you something, Pen.’

‘Sure, honey, anything.’

Sasha pauses, as if preparing herself for an answer she doesn’t want to hear. ‘Why did you send Marc this text this morning?’

Pen takes the phone and holds it at a distance, squinting. ‘Oh, did I send that to Marc? Silly me, I meant to send it to you.’ She points to the end of the room. ‘I was referring to Ralph’s appointment.’

I step out of the door, overdosed on tweeness.

Pen shouts out. ‘I’ll drop Ralph back when he’s finished.’

Sasha turns and waves to her. ‘She’s a character, isn’t she?’

‘You can say that again.’

‘Do you believe her?’ she asks.

‘Are you crazy? If you think she and Marc are having an affair, you really are barking up the wrong tree.’ I laugh, relieved I’ve managed to make her chuckle too.

That said, I’ve seen more unlikely-matched characters indulging in extramarital liaisons. Only recently, I was involved in a case where a seventy-something-year-old was having an affair with his niece’s husband. But Sasha doesn’t need to know that. ‘Is her husband really that bad?’

‘No. He works up in the City. A trader of some sort. He does loads of fundraising runs for Kids with Cancer. Bit of a sad story. Their only child died of leukaemia. He was only six. It was before we moved here.’ She sighs heavily. ‘So, you believe that she texted Marc instead of me by mistake?’

‘One hundred per cent. I think she was telling the truth.’

Harry and Luke are in the kitchen when we arrive back. Bacon fries on the hob as Harry butters bread. ‘Boys! How did the exam go?’ Sasha asks.

Harry chucks the knife in the sink, his expression as depressing as the pile of washing-up that has crept further along the worktop. ‘Crap.’ He yanks open a kitchen drawer and roots around. Removing a pair of tongs, he transfers the bacon to the bread.

Sasha looks at Luke, who shrugs his shoulders.

‘Don’t bother asking him,’ Harry says. ‘You know what the answer will be.’

‘I’m guessing that means you found it easy,’ Sasha says to Luke.

‘He walked it like he always does,’ Harry says, sticking his head in the fridge. ‘When’re you going shopping, Mum? It’s pretty sad in here.’ He takes out a can of Coke and holds it up to Luke. ‘We’ll have to share.’

Luke gives Sasha an apologetic look and follows Harry to the beanbags where they plonk themselves down with doorstop sandwiches and start comparing notes on exponentials and logarithms.

My phone beeps with another text from Rob. ‘I must go,’ I say, and Sasha walks me to the door.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning with Jim.’

‘Any developments on Marc, let me know straight away. Even if it’s the middle of the night. I’m here for you.’

Someone knocks on the door as I reach for the handle. Sasha opens it to Pen standing with her hands behind her back, frowning. ‘I’m not sure if this has any relevance, but I remembered something that I think I should mention.’

Sasha thrusts a finger to her lips. ‘Harry’s in there.’

Pen pulls her outside. I follow. ‘Last Friday morning, when I was walking the dogs, I saw Marc up on the common, next to the railway bridge. He got into Art’s car, and they drove off past the little corner store. Bit weird, I thought to myself, I wonder where they’re going. Usually, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but given what you told me earlier, I thought I should bring it up. Do you know where they were going?’

‘No,’ says Sasha, frowning. ‘He never mentioned anything to me. I thought he went for an interview last Friday morning.’

Six

DAY 3

‘What time did you get home last night?’ Jim asks when I place his morning tea on the bedside cabinet.

‘It was a late one. Past two.’ I yawn, still fuzzy from lack of sleep. ‘An interview with a suspect started later than planned as we had to wait for the duty solicitor. It went on longer than we thought. I couldn’t get away. How are you this morning?’

‘A bit better than in the night. Sorry to get you up again. I didn’t realise I’d run out of painkillers. Come back to bed for five.’

‘I haven’t got time.’ I kiss him. ‘What time did Mel leave?’

‘Around eight. After the kids went to sleep.’

I hate leaving him with the kids when there’s no help around. Just in case. “Just in case of what?” he used to ask when I told him this. But I could never admit the truth – that there are too many what ifs.

What if they play him up?

What if the bathroom floods?

What if there is a fire?

I shudder. What if… what if… what if?

‘I’ll drop them at school, then I need to come back here to send a couple of emails. Can you be ready for nine-thirty to head to Sasha’s?’ He struggles to get moving on pain days. And this is a pain day. I can tell by his face which is a murky shade of grey, and the lines troubling his forehead which