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‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘What do you think I should do?’

He flexed his shoulders and she could almost hear the muscles pop. ‘The obvious thing, I guess, would be to call the blokes she emailed.’

‘But I can’t do that. I can’t just call them.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because … for one thing, I don’t have their numbers, and for another … what if one of them has done something to her?’

Gary’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t think Becky’s been
murdered
?’

Hearing the word out loud made Amy’s eyes fill with tears and for a moment she was unable to reply. ‘I don’t know. But there has to be a chance. Someone sent that email, didn’t they?’ She told him about Cambodia.

Amy liked the way Gary’s eyebrows scrunched when he was thinking. ‘Maybe she’s blocked the Cambodia thing from her mind so much that she’s actually forgotten she went. Or she just made a mistake. It wouldn’t be hard to do.’

She stroked the leaves of the lily between forefinger and thumb. ‘I know that. But don’t you understand? I have to find out. If something awful has happened to her, even if the chances are really slim, I’m the only person who will look for her.’

‘You can see why the police aren’t being that keen, though, can’t you? They’re obviously just waiting for her to email you from Thailand or wherever. Probably happens all the time – people take off, and the police get brought in for nothing. Don’t you think you should give it a few more days? Otherwise, what are you going to do? Sneak around spying on all the dates she’s been on?’

She looked at him.

‘Amy. You can’t do that.’

‘But like you said, the police don’t want to know. They’ve made that clear already.’

Gary sat down on the sofa and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand.

‘OK. I understand. If it’s what you think you need to do.’

‘I’m going to try the police one more time, though. Just so it’s on record.’

Gary paused. ‘Fair enough. And if they won’t help you, I will. It’s not safe for you to do it on your own.’

‘But …’

‘Don’t argue, all right? I want to help you. I really like Becky. She’s a … mate. I’m not taking no for an answer.’

She noted his eyes had misted over as he’d delivered these words. ‘Thanks, Gary.’

His mobile rang.

He muttered an apology before answering it. ‘Hi. Yeah, sorry … I’ll be there in ten.’

Amy looked at him quizzically

‘Sorry, I’m meant to be meeting my mate for a drink. I’m already late. But call me if you need anything. And let me know what the police say. Are you going to stay here?’

‘Not for long. I ought to get back. Boris needs feeding.’

‘Is that your bloke?’

She laughed. ‘My dog.’

‘Oh. And do you, um, have a bloke?’

‘No.’ Amy spoke a little more curtly than she’d intended. Surely, he wasn’t trying to hit on her? That was the last thing she needed.

Gary walked over to the door, then hesitated and turned back.

‘I know what else you could do. You could put an appeal out, see if anyone’s seen her.’

‘What, like a poster?’

He grinned. ‘For someone who runs a website, you can be surprisingly old-fashioned.’

‘I guess I’m an old-fashioned kind of girl.’

‘I was thinking you could use social media. You do use Facebook and Twitter, right?’

‘I use them a bit. Facebook, of course, for keeping up with friends, and everyone keeps telling me I need to use Twitter for my business, but I don’t really have time.’

‘Well, I’ve got a friend who’s an expert at all that stuff. Social networking. Maybe he could advise you of the best way to go about it. I’ll give him a call, see what he says.’

Gary left and Amy went back over to the desk, tapping the names of the three men who had sent Becky messages into the Notes app on her phone. She called the police station and, after being passed around, was told someone would call her back.

She intended to go home but got drawn into surfing through Becky’s web history, trying to find some clue. She logged into CupidsWeb again and trawled through profiles, read through Becky’s Inbox repeatedly. The room grew darker around her and she felt sleep tugging at her.

Soon, she was dreaming – that Becky was back, with a golden tan, telling Amy about the wonderful time she’d had in Cambodia. ‘I went to the Killing Fields,’ she said. ‘Lovely place. You should go sometime …’

She jerked awake, lifting her head from the desk. The room was almost dark, her neck throbbed and it took her a second to recall where she was, to remember that Becky was missing and to realize what the noise that had woken her was.

Somebody was unlocking the front door.

‘Wait for me, Kath, what’s the matter?’

How Kath can run so fast is beyond me, considering the amount of fags she smokes, but she seems annoyed about something and is doggedly jogging much harder than me. We’re on our third lap of Dulwich Park and I’m too knackered to speak. I stop, and bend over to put my hands on my knees, panting. A man riding one of those reclining cycles almost crashes into me. Katherine stops too, but continues to jog on the spot. She scowls at me.

When I get my breath back enough to speak, I straighten up, trying to rub a stitch out of my side. ‘
What?
’

Her shoulders slump a little.

‘Nothing – well, nothing that’s your fault anyway. Shit date the other night – he took me out to dinner, and I must have eaten a dodgy prawn. When I got home I spent the whole night puking my guts out. Still feeling a bit rough today.’

‘Oh, no! Poor you. Can’t believe you can feel that rough and run so bloody fast, though … Who was he? And what did you tell Clive?’

I walk over to a nearby bench and sit down on it. Katherine looks disapproving, but joins me, looking at her watch. ‘Might do another lap in a minute, but let’s have a rest anyway.’

She takes a big suck on her water bottle and hands it to me – as usual, I’ve forgotten mine. I feel dehydrated; crusty, like an empty hull.

‘So?’

‘Oh, yeah … It was just really disappointing. He’d seemed like such a laugh in his profile, and then on the phone – you know, one of those really confident, quirky guys who say outrageous things. Sexy.’

I wipe my dripping face with my sleeve, and feel spikes of damp hair plaster themselves to my forehead. I remembered back to my first date, Big-Bum Shaun. ‘And then they turn out to be the opposite of sexy.’

‘Tell me about it. When I got to the restaurant I didn’t even recognize him at first, he looked so embarrassed – and embarrassing. He was quite a lot fatter than I thought he’d be and he had these awful smokers’ teeth, really yellow and crumbly and disgusting. I realized that he hadn’t been smiling in any of his profile photos.

‘Good on the phone, rubbish in the flesh.’

We watch a sparrow land on the topmost, flimsiest branch of the bush opposite. The branch bows, taking the bird with it, until both are horizontal, and the sparrow flies off, looking confused.

‘It was such a bloody waste of an evening. I only agreed to stay for dinner because I was starving, and I’d told Clive I was going out for a meal with the girls and he’d think it was weird if I came home so early having
not
eaten.’

I stand up, mostly to try to quash the impulse to say,
Well that’s what happens when you start lying …
‘Come on, tell me the rest as we walk – let’s just have a cool-down for a lap. But honestly, Kath, it doesn’t sound that bad! One dull evening with one dull guy?’

‘It really pissed me off. I mean, this guy honestly thought that we were starting a relationship! I thought most men were just interested in sex. They’re supposed to think about it every fifteen seconds or something, aren’t they? Surely, it can’t be that hard to find men who just want some uncomplicated naughty
fun
? It’s so difficult for me to get away from Clive for an evening without having to tell a ton of lies, so I don’t want to waste it sitting in a BORING restaurant with a BORING man who is waffling on about the hamster called Chips he had when he was eight years old!’

I sort of see her point. I remember the only one-night stand I’ve ever had – a night of smooth skin, words, admiration and sex, which was all the better for its lack of intimacy and the knowledge that it would never come with all the dull constraints and conditions of coupledom. A man I’d never want to be in a relationship with, but who was just perfect for one night. I wouldn’t mind a few more nights like that, with other men like him.

‘There’s an obvious answer though, Kath – if it’s so hard to get away, and you don’t want to be with Clive, why don’t you finish it? Then you’d be free to go on dates every night!’

She scowls again. In fact, I think I see her lip wobble, which is very unlike her.

‘It would be really hard for me to leave him.’

‘Why? Your cat? The mortgage?’

We walk on around the track in silence for a couple of minutes, as the serious runners whiz past us, giving us an exaggeratedly wide berth to express their annoyance at us cluttering up their track.

‘Come on, you can tell me, I’m a doctor,’ I joke, although I’m starting to feel a little worried.

There are actual tears in her eyes now, so we stop again. I put my arm around her and she looks at me.

‘Yes, the cat, yes, the mortgage – but it’s worse than that. Thing is, Becks, I owe him money.’ Her voice is flat and resigned.

‘A lot of money?’

She nods. ‘He’s been lending me cash for years – for my car, and that kiln I bought so I can make those silver pendants of baby footprints, you know. My laptop, holidays we’ve had together. The mortgage. It’s thousands, on top of what I already owe on my maxed-out credit cards. And when I said I wanted us to split up, he said, “There’s no way you’re leaving me till you pay me back.” Arsehole. He knows I’ve got no money. He told me if I ever leave him he’ll shop me to the Inland Revenue about not declaring my income from my jewellery sideline, and he’ll tell the school that I’m sleeping with the sixth-formers.’

I put my hands on my hips. ‘That’s ridiculous!’ A thought occurs. ‘You’re
not
sleeping with the sixth-formers, are you?’

She shrugs. ‘I did once give Jonty Pendleton a blowjob, but he left years ago. It’s fine.’

A jogger runs past at that moment and does a comic double take over his shoulder at the word ‘blowjob’. ‘Oh, Kath! You’re outrageous. But you can’t let him blackmail you into staying.’

She wipes her eyes. ‘No. You’re right. I can’t. I’m going to have to risk it, let him do his worst. But in the meantime, don’t give me a hard time about wanting a little fun in my life too?’

‘I can’t believe Clive would ever be that horrible,’ I say.

She catches my eye for a split second, then stares at the ground, watching a ladybird crawl across the path. ‘It’s why I don’t feel guilty about what I’m doing – or intending to do. You have no idea what he’s like behind closed doors.’

I wondered if Kath was exaggerating, as she had a tendency to do. Clive always seemed pretty innocuous to me. But then I remembered Amy’s experience with Mr Lover-Lover man, and what hidden murky depths people are able to conceal from the outside world, when they want to …

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ I say. ‘What a nightmare for you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, won’t you?’

She smiles, a trace of the old wickedness returning. ‘How about joining me in having some fun?’

‘Becky?’

Amy yelled her sister’s name then jumped up from the desk chair and ran into the hallway, almost falling over her boots, which she’d taken off hours before. The front door was open an inch, but as she reached it she heard footsteps pounding in the opposite direction.

‘Becky!’

She yanked open the door and ran out of the flat. Someone was hurtling down the stairs. She chased after them, down one flight, skidding and almost tripping in her socked feet, grabbing hold of the rail to steady herself, her heart leaping into her throat. As she reached the first floor and started to run down the next flight of stairs, the outside door slammed below her.

She raced out and stood in the street, looking left and right. There was no one in sight. Her heart hammered in her chest. She called Becky’s name again, but with less conviction. She ran along the road to the left, wishing she’d never taken her boots off, but there was nobody to be seen apart from an elderly black woman who eyed her suspiciously.

‘Did you see anyone run this way?’ Amy asked.

The woman scowled and hurried on.

Thanks a lot, Amy thought. It was no good. Whoever had opened the door to the flat was long gone. But who had it been? Becky? If it had been her, why had she sprinted away upon hearing Amy’s voice? And if it wasn’t Becky, then who was it?

She shivered.

She headed back inside after a final look around, and knocked on Gary’s door. No answer. She pressed her ear against the wooden panel but couldn’t hear anything. Pulling out her phone, she pressed Becky’s name in the ‘Favourites’ folder of her address book, but nothing had changed. The call still went straight to voicemail. After a moment’s hesitation, she called Gary instead.

He answered on the fourth ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Gary, it’s Amy. Are you in?’

‘Eh? Oh – no. I’m still at the pub. Everything all right? Has Becky turned up?’

‘Somebody just walked into her flat. They had a key, Gary. When I called out they ran off.’

‘Are you still there?’

‘Yeah – well, I’m in the hallway, outside your place. Just been knocking at your door.’

‘Right, well, get back into Becky’s, lock the door, and I’ll come straight back.’

‘You don’t have—’

But he had disconnected.

She wandered back to Becky’s place, shaking with adrenaline and unable to stand still. She paced around the living room, frequently looking out the window. She felt sick. If it hadn’t been Becky, then did that mean it was whoever had sent the email? Oh, God … What if they came back? She went into the kitchen and slid a knife from the block.