The Missing (17 page)

A low rumble of conversation came from the back of the church. I craned my neck to see what was going on and realised that the police had arrived, along with the Shepherds. DCI Vickers led the procession up the aisle, as unlikely a bride as you ever saw. He filed into the pew in front of the journalist, who caught his eye as he did so. She dropped her head and a flush swept up her face.
I
didn’t think that he had spoken to her; perhaps he hadn’t needed to.

The Shepherds weren’t far behind, walking in the company of the vicar. Diane Shepherd didn’t seem to know where she was, looking around her with a little half-smile frozen on her face. Her husband walked heavily, his head down. He had lost a lot of weight in the days since Jenny disappeared and his clothes hung on his frame. The collar of his shirt was loose, but he was smartly dressed; this was a man for whom appearance mattered, and even in his grief he was conscious of dressing appropriately. Valerie walked behind them, her self-important strut only slightly muted by the circumstances. And at the back of the church, Blake. Of course he was there. He took up a position by the door, flanked by a couple of colleagues. Their backs were to the wall, hands clasped in front of them in the classic footballer’s pose. They looked remote, as if what was going on had nothing to do with them, but their eyes swept over the congregation. I wondered what they were looking for, and at that moment Blake caught my eye. He raised one eyebrow a millimetre and I whipped around to face the front of the church, embarrassed at being caught staring, as the young vicar launched into his opening prayer. It evolved into a bit of a sermon, which apparently came as a surprise to him as well as everyone else. His Adam’s apple shuttled up and down his neck in between phrases that led nowhere. Fatally off the point, he plunged about, getting more and more lost.

‘For without God, where can there be comfort?
But
with God, what can there be but comfort, the comfort that is of God and from God. That comfort that … who is the one true God. And Jennifer is with God, in the sanctity of heaven, one of his children as we all are … and for her family, that must console. That must console, because …’

He shuffled papers, looking in them for the answer and, finding neither a conclusion to his train of thought nor a new one to follow, gave up and rather lamely introduced the school choir. They launched into a hymn, a loud and enthusiastic rendition of ‘Be Thou My Vision’. I gazed sightlessly at the hymnal in front of me, not reading the words, wondering if Jenny had prayed before she died, and if her prayers had been heard.

To say that my attention wandered during the service would be an understatement. Elaine’s voice rang out, the words of a suitable bit of Ecclesiastes delivered in measured cadences, and I drifted, contemplating the fine vaulted ceiling above my head and the gothic arch that led to the transept. Thoughts slid into my mind and I let them float there, not really focusing.

But someone was focusing on me. As I rose to my feet along with the rest of the congregation to sing ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’, I looked around idly and found myself looking straight at Geoff, who was staring back. As soon as he made eye contact with me, he raised his hand, cupping it around an invisible glass, and tilted it – the universal sign for ‘do you fancy a drink?’ I frowned discouragingly and bent my head to the hymnal as though I had never read the words of the psalm before.

When the last notes from the organ had died away, the vicar bent down and wrestled the microphone from its stand. It issued short barks of static and feedback as the stony-faced congregation watched him struggle. He launched into another endless, rambling prayer delivered off the cuff, apparently without any forethought, and I found my attention wandering again.

‘I’ll now invite the rest of Jennifer’s class to come up onto the altar to sing the final hymn,’ he intoned breathily at last and waited while girls came from all over the church, looking self-conscious and hanging back so as not to arrive on the altar first. Some of them had shot up to their adult height already, looking years older than their classmates in their outfits and demeanour – all straightened hair and emo-eyeliner. But there were those who held on to childish prettiness and fragility, as Jenny had done, small-framed girls with babyish faces. They all shared the same expression: frozen confusion.

‘If you’d all just hold hands …’ the vicar suggested and Jenny’s classmates linked hands obediently. The school choir mistress stepped delicately in front of the altar and gave a nod to the organist. A long-held note resolved itself into the opening bars of ‘Amazing Grace’. The girls were word perfect. They had learned it for a school concert a couple of months earlier. I wondered what their parents were feeling, watching them. Sick with fear at the thought that it might have been their daughter who was missing from the line-up? Secretly giving thanks that it wasn’t? Who could blame them for that?

While the singing was still going on, Vickers and Valerie
marched
the Shepherds out before anyone else in the congregation had a chance to stir. I found myself wondering who, exactly, the service had been intended to help. The Shepherds looked just as stunned and heartsick going out as they had when they came in.

A tug at my sleeve turned out to be the little old ladies wanting to escape, and I got up so the three of us could slide away. It was a fine plan, but two things served to sabotage it. One, my knee gave way almost as soon as I tried to walk on it and I ended up leaning against a pillar, waiting for the world to stop whirling. Two, Geoff had been waiting for his opportunity, and while I was standing there, he swooped.

‘Hey you,’ he murmured, coming much too close. I felt like the weakest animal in the herd, defenceless and vulnerable; it was as if he could sense it. He wrapped his arms around me for a too-enthusiastic hug. The pressure on my arm sent shooting pains from my shoulder up to my neck and I gasped. Geoff looked down, assessing me. ‘Was it a bit much for you? All the emotion?’

‘I’m OK,’ I gritted, peeling myself off the pillar and starting to make for the door. Every other punter in the congregation had had the same thought by now, though, so I was forced to stand and wait while the crowd trickled through the double doors agonisingly slowly, like cattle at a mart. Geoff followed, of course, and stood behind me, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. I edged forwards into a non-existent gap, pushing through the crowd to put some distance between us.

‘I think what you need is a drink,’ he said into my ear,
shuffling
forwards too. Net gain to me: nil. ‘Come on. We’ll find somewhere nice.’

‘No thanks. I’m going to go home.’ My knee was aching and I felt sick. Even if I had wanted to go out for a drink – even in the exceptionally unlikely circumstances that I might have considered going out for that drink with Geoff – I really, truly didn’t feel up to it. The next minute, I nearly jumped out of my skin as two heavy hands landed on my shoulders and started kneading them. It was as if he was irresistibly attracted to the place that would cause me the most pain and I ducked free of him before whipping around, one hand protectively guarding my shoulder in case he tried again. ‘Geoff, for God’s sake!’

‘You’re so tense,’ he whispered. ‘Calm down.’

‘Stop mauling me!’

He held his hands up. ‘OK, you win. What’s the problem? Have you done something to your back?’

‘It’s nothing,’ I said, noticing that we were attracting strange looks from others in the crowd. ‘Forget it.’

We were at the doorway by now. Heavy raindrops splashing on the path beyond the porch reminded me to retrieve my umbrella. I manoeuvred across to where I had left it, to discover that the umbrella stand was empty. Someone had taken it already. I stood there, looking stupidly at where it should have been, until a man shouldered past me with a tut of irritation.

‘No umbrella?’ Geoff sounded sympathetic. ‘How far away is your car?’

‘At home,’ I said, without thinking. It was going to be a long walk back, given my ever-stiffer leg and the thundery
rain
that showed no sign of slackening off. The puddles that had been collecting on the pavements earlier would be lakes by now.

‘You can’t walk in this,’ Geoff said firmly, taking my arm and drawing me out of the way. ‘Let me drive you.’

I was just about to say no when I saw Blake coming towards us, a look of concern on his face. Of all the ways I would have chosen to meet him again, this was absolutely not one of them.

‘You’re limping,’ he said without preamble. ‘What happened?’

‘I caught my heel and fell downstairs.’

A sceptical look came over his face. Before he could say anything else, Geoff said, ‘I really think we should get a move on, Sarah.’ He sounded bossy and possessive and Blake glared at him.

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘I didn’t. Geoff Turnbull.’ He stuck out his hand and Blake shook it briefly, introducing himself with his full rank, and without enthusiasm.

‘I didn’t meet you at the school.’

‘One of your collegues interviewed me. Nice girl.’ Geoff sounded relaxed, but one of his feet was tapping and I realised he was tense under his surface calm.

Formalities over, the two of them stared at one another with undisguised hostility. Deadlock.

I turned to Geoff. ‘You know, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d be really grateful for a lift. Where did you say you were parked?’

‘Round the corner, but you wait here. I don’t want you
getting
drenched. I’ll fetch the car.’ He shot off down the path.

Blake looked after him. ‘You’re going home with him? Why don’t you wait? I can drive you.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ I meant for his sake, in case anyone guessed there was something going on between us, but he looked hurt for a second. Then his face went blank, unreadable, the mask back in place.

‘Oh, I didn’t realise. Are you fucking him too?’

‘For God’s sake,’ I hissed, grabbing him by the arm and moving away from where the last of the congregation were leaving. ‘Keep your voice down. This isn’t the time or place.’

‘When would suit you? I noticed you didn’t hang around last night.’

‘I can’t have this conversation now,’ I said flatly. ‘And you of all people should be trying to stay away from me in public. I can’t think that your boss would be pleased to know what we did.’

Blake frowned. ‘That’s my problem.’

‘Yes, it is, so I suggest you worry about that and let me leave with my colleague without making a fuss.’ I turned to go, then swung back. ‘Er – that’s all he is, by the way. Just a colleague.’

‘Pretty friendly for a colleague. Isn’t he the one you were hugging at the school the other day? I knew I recognised him from somewhere.’

‘
He
was hugging
me
,’ I said, annoyed. ‘But I’m not – I mean, I don’t – I mean, you’re different.’ I could feel the heat radiate from my face as I blushed, wondering what the hell I’d said.

The corner of Blake’s mouth twitched. Before he could respond, a car horn beeped and I peered through the rain to see a VW Golf had drawn up at the churchyard gate.

‘There he is. I’ve got to go.’ I hobbled away from Blake, hoping that he wouldn’t bother to ask again about my limp.

Always the gentleman, Geoff leaned across to pop the passenger door open and I slid into the car. For the second time in three days I was aware of how small a space there is between the passenger and driver in the average car. Blake – even though he would have interrogated me about what had happened to my leg, even though I didn’t want anyone to know what we had done the night before – might just have been a better option. Geoff turned to look at me, giving me the benefit of his brilliant blue eyes. ‘OK?’

‘Fine. Turn left at the lights and I’ll guide you from there,’ I said shortly, determined to keep conversation to a minimum. Naturally, Geoff had other ideas.

‘How come you never want to spend any time with me, Sarah?’ This was accompanied by a mournful look.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Left again here.’

Geoff turned the wheel smoothly. ‘I was beginning to think that you didn’t like me.’

‘Not at all,’ I said, aiming for politeness. ‘You’re – er – very nice. A very nice colleague.’

‘I was hoping I could be a bit more than a colleague.’

I dug my nails into the palms of my hands.
Dear God, please no
. If he tried to make a pass at me, I would die. Just die. The irony was that it was all because I didn’t want him to like me that he was so single-minded in his pursuit of me. There were women who suffered torments because
he
didn’t speak to them, and others who glowed for days after earning one of his smiles. Why couldn’t he go after one of them?

He flicked another look at me. ‘I turn right up here, yeah?’

I nodded, surprised.
And how exactly do you know where to go, Geoff?

As if he’d heard me, he said easily, ‘I remember you said once that you lived on the Wilmington Estate. You haven’t moved, have you?’

‘No.’ I was racking my brains, trying to think when I might have let that slip in front of him. As if he wanted to change the subject, he rattled on, making small talk about the other teachers. I made noncommittal noises in response, miles away. And then I looked down to see something that brought me back to the present in a hurry. I bent down and hooked the object out from under my seat. I’d only needed to see a corner of the familiar white and red livery to recognise a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

‘Geoff, what are you doing with these?’

He glanced over. ‘You aren’t going to give me a hard time, are you? I sometimes have one, when I need a break.’

‘But you’re a PE teacher,’ I said.

‘Yeah, but I’m not a monk. So I drink a fair bit, smoke now and then – so what? You don’t need to be an athlete to teach sport at a girls’ school, I promise you.’ He looked over at me again. ‘Elaine doesn’t know – I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘Of course.’ My mind was whirling. I hadn’t thought that Geoff might have been the one that attacked me,
perhaps
because I had been sure the mugger was a smoker. But now …