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

‘But this can’t be right. He wouldn’t leave us. He wouldn’t. I’m begging you. You have to help me find him.’

‘Take one day at a time. You should tell the children.’

She shakes her head, forcefully. ‘No, I can’t. Not until Harry has finished his A levels. I can’t ruin his future. Hannah will be devastated. You know her, she’s such a daddy’s girl.’ She pauses, deep in thought. ‘That’s what I can’t understand about all this. Harry has to get his grades, or he won’t get his place at uni. Marc knows this. He wouldn’t walk out at such a delicate time. He wouldn’t.’

‘When do Harry’s exams finish?’

‘Friday week.’

‘There’s only one thing for it, then.’

She looks at me, questioningly.

‘We’ve got eleven days to find Marc.’

Two

‘So, you can help me find him?’ Sasha says.

‘Not officially, no.’

‘But you know him, Eva. You know he wouldn’t do anything like this.’

It doesn’t make sense to me either. I’ve seen Marc with their kids numerous times. Aside from Sasha being Jim’s physio, we are like family. We’ve spent birthdays with them, last New Year’s Eve too. And the whole family regularly come over to ours for a barbecue which Marc always cooks. He has always appeared the devoted husband and father. The type who attends parents’ evenings and stands, cheering, on the rugby pitch sidelines – even when he’s drenched in torrential rain. They are both always helping us out in one way or another.

‘Have you noticed any change in him these last few weeks?’

‘He’s been up and down. Very up and down. He’s been having some dreadful mood swings. Today marked six months since he was made redundant. He always said he’d be in work again within a month. You know Marc, forever the optimist, but he’s not even had one offer despite more than two dozen or so interviews. He’s tried so hard. He’s had a few temporary offers, but nothing permanent. I can’t understand it. He’s so good at what he does.’ She shrugs. ‘Perhaps it’s his interview technique. He’s taken it badly.’ She shakes her head. ‘But not enough to run away, surely?’

‘I didn’t know he’d been for so many interviews.’

‘He doesn’t like me to tell anyone. Sharing the disappointment when he gets the rejection emails has got too much to bear for him. The agencies don’t even call him anymore. He’s even attended a few interviews below his pay grade.’

‘Apart from disappearing in the evening, was there anything else odd about his behaviour yesterday?’

‘Not to start with. We had a typical family Sunday. Harry was revising, so Marc took Hannah and George to see a film while I did some housework and caught up on my patient files. He cooked dinner. I washed up, and he dried as normal. Luke came over, Harry’s friend, who lives next door. Marc tested the two of them on some maths for their exam today. We watched some telly. A usual Sunday until he got a call and went out.’ She pauses and thinks. ‘Before he went to sleep last night, he hugged me really tight.’

‘Do you know who called him?’

She shrugs. ‘I checked his phone earlier – No caller ID.’

‘Can I look at his phone?’

‘Why?’

‘To see if I can find anything suspicious.’

‘I need to text the kids from it first.’

‘What?’

‘I’m going to pretend to be him and send them all a quick text to say everything is OK.’

What is she thinking? ‘Anything else you’ve noticed strange about him lately?’

‘He hasn’t been sleeping properly. Not since he was made redundant. He wakes up in the early hours and goes into his study and works, which explains why he can’t get up in the morning.’

‘What, job-searching?’

‘Yeah. And faffing about on this project he’s been working on for ages. Some security device for the clothing industry. “It’s going to make us millionaires,” he always says.’ She laughs, but only briefly. ‘And he plays those stupid computer games the kids are addicted to. I keep telling him that mucking about on technology will only keep him awake, but he doesn’t listen. I’ve given him books to help him, but you know what blokes are like.’ She gestures to a shelf behind her stacked with books on muscles and stretches, sports injury prevention and rehabilitation, pilates and relaxation. Leaning back, she picks up a paperback from the small desk behind her: The Effortless Sleep Method. She waves it at me before hurling it across the room. ‘He didn’t even open the blasted thing.’

As five years in the police have taught me, certain emotions are best to ignore. ‘Anything else?’

‘He’s had dreadful mood swings. Some real highs, but mostly lows. Terrible. But look, he lost his job. What can I expect? He’s taken it hard. The redundancy money has run out, so we’ve had to dip into our savings which weren’t that big to start with. That hasn’t helped. I’ve upped my hours to full-time.’ She throws her hands up towards the house. ‘But with three kids’ school fees and a mortgage, we’re struggling.’ She does that – talks with her hands. It’s more apparent today than usual. ‘He was so confident he would be in work again by the end of January that we didn’t curb our spending for the first few months after the redundancy.’ She pauses before adding, ‘Do you think he’s had some kind of breakdown? How was he when you saw him?’

‘He was angry with me for following him. And serious. I’ve never seen him like that before.’

‘Because he’s not the serious type.’

George’s sudden burst through the door interrupts our conversation. ‘What time’s dinner, Mum?’ he asks as if he hasn’t eaten all day. He stops in his tracks. ‘What’s wrong?’

Sasha jumps up, magicking a smile. A trick only a mother could perform in these circumstances. ‘Nothing, we were discussing Jim’s treatment plan. I’m coming in now.’ She turns to me. ‘Stay for dinner? I made a salad earlier and put some jackets in the oven.’

‘Oh, not salad,’ George