The Mistake I Made (25 page)

Petra pretended to swat him away and told him to fetch some more water for the table.

Once Vince was in the kitchen out of earshot, I remarked that they seemed to be on speaking terms again.

‘We’re fine,’ she said.

‘What was it about?’

‘Honestly?’ she asked. ‘Dissatisfaction dressed up as something else, I suppose. Do you ever look at your life and think you were meant to have more?’

‘More of what?’

‘More of everything.’

‘Petra, you do have everything.’

‘I know. I have all of the important stuff. And I’m not being ungrateful, I’m really not. It’s just, sometimes, I look at other people and I think—’

‘You’re talking about Nadine.’

Sheepishly, she admitted, ‘That’s wrong, I know,’ she said. ‘Nadine is a wonderful person and she and Scott are so good together, and they didn’t always have all that wealth. Sometimes envy gets the better of me, though, and I get annoyed about everything. I get so bloody angry.’

I stopped eating and held her gaze. ‘Vince is a great guy, Petra.’

She nodded. ‘I’m a bitch to take it out on him, aren’t I?’

‘How would you feel if he ignored you for not being good enough? Not being pretty enough? Rich enough?’

She threw me an outraged look as though to say,
He … would … not … dare
.

‘Precisely,’ I said.

She told me she’d try to be kinder with him. ‘You know, Henry might be a great guy for you. Nadine absolutely adores him,’ she prattled on, before pausing and glaring at her daughter. ‘Clara, that is way too much pasta you have on your fork. You really mustn’t shovel your food into your mouth like that.’

I caught George’s eye as he surreptitiously removed half of the spaghetti loaded on his fork.

A few weeks ago I’d caught him twirling the fork in the centre of the plate to see if it was possible to get his entire serving on to it and, incredibly, he managed it. I didn’t reprimand him, as he picked the whole lot up and chewed bits off, much as you would a toffee apple. It took me back to when Petra and I were kids and we’d have competitions to see who could pile the most chips on our forks.

I remember Petra winning on most occasions.

‘Nadine is very protective of Henry,’ Petra continued now, ‘because of what happened.’

I stopped chewing. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t tell you?’

‘I don’t know if he told me or not, because I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Petra lowered her eyes to her plate and dropped her voice to all but a whisper. ‘His son died.’

‘Oh,’ I said, utterly floored. ‘I didn’t know that.’

There was a moment of silence when she let me process what had just been said. Then she went on. ‘It was a swimming-pool accident. He got sucked into a faulty filter when diving down for pennies.’

‘Oh, God,’ I said.

‘Terrible thing,’ said Petra. ‘His wife took her eyes off the boy to help clean up after a party. Their marriage didn’t survive after that. Understandable, really.’

Petra put her cutlery at the side of her plate. ‘Do you mind if I leave this?’ she said, and I shook my head. I’d lost my appetite, too, I told her. ‘Nadine said that’s why Henry came back here,’ Petra explained. ‘He couldn’t bear to be amongst people who knew. He needed a clean break.’

‘Where did it happen?’ I asked.

‘It was at a friend’s house. He and his wife were in London for work. He had a high-powered job to do with chemical something-or-other.’

‘Engineering,’ I said.

‘That’s right.’ Petra gulped down the remainder of her wine.

‘Should I open another?’ Vince asked, coming back outside.

His tone was gentle, fatherly. He said it in a way you would ask a person if they needed another ice pack, another painkiller.

‘Please,’ Petra replied. ‘Do you mind driving home?’ she asked, and Vince said he didn’t.

With her glass refreshed, Petra leaned in towards me. ‘Henry didn’t mention
any
of this to you?’

‘Nothing,’ I replied.

‘He didn’t hint at what had happened to him? You didn’t detect the sadness at all?’

‘Quite the contrary. He was quite exuberant, pretty forceful in his ideas. For the whole of the evening he was in a jolly mood. Although—’ I said and hesitated. Dropped my gaze as I remembered. ‘There was one moment when there was something …’

I felt the sting of shame as it came back to me fully.

‘He wanted to come in – to come into the house – and I didn’t want him to.’

‘Why not?’

‘Various reasons. I didn’t want him to meet’ – I paused, tilting my head in George’s direction – ‘so there was that. And of course, the house is a disaster, and I just didn’t want him inside – you know, judging me.

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘he thought I was being over the top about him not meeting George, and I kind of blew my top at him. Saying that, since he wasn’t a father, I’d appreciate it if he kept his parenting advice to himself.’

Petra winced.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’ll apologize.’

Quite unaware of our conversation, Clara and George were talking amongst themselves at the end of the table. ‘You two finished with your plates?’ I asked, and George said yes, while Clara looked to Petra to check if it was okay to leave what was left of her meal. Petra didn’t notice, lost in thought as she was, so I mouthed it was fine. ‘Scoot,’ I told them quietly. ‘Go and play. I’ll call you when dessert is ready.’

We sat in silence, each of us watching the kids at the end of the garden. They were pointing to the wild rabbits, and giggling, George making Clara laugh with whatever he was saying.

‘Just imagine,’ said Petra softly, gesturing to the children, ‘just
imagine
. That poor, poor guy,’ and her eyes began to fill. Both Vince and I nodded without answering.

The minutes passed.

Eventually, I gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I love you, Petra,’ I said. ‘I don’t tell you often enough. You’re such a good sister to me and I love you.’

‘Oh, honey,’ she replied, overwhelmed. She searched for a tissue before blowing her nose. ‘I love you, too.’

And then, between the tears, she said, ‘Vincent, you tell those children to get back over here right this instant. I need to hold on to them. Tight.’

28

WHEN I ARRIVED
at work on Monday morning there was a familiar vehicle in the car park: the black Ford belonging to the two detectives. Wayne hadn’t been in work now for a week.

It felt like rain. The air had that thick quality that made it hard to breathe. I closed the sun roof and got out, making my way over to the driver’s-side door of the Ford. DS Aspinall lowered the window. ‘Morning,’ she said. Her partner was finishing a sausage roll, dusting off his moustache with the paper bag. The car smelled of buttery pastry and sage.

‘Good morning,’ I replied.

‘Time for a quick word?’ DS Aspinall asked.

‘Just let me get opened up. Give me two minutes?’

‘Much obliged,’ she replied, and raised the window. They remained inside the car, as requested, and by the time they entered the clinic I had the kettle on, had removed the post, opened the window in reception as the air was a little stale, and was more or less ready.

‘Any news?’ I asked.

‘Wayne Geddes is officially missing.’

‘He wasn’t before?’ I said.

‘Not exactly. Mr Geddes was accused of theft from his employers. They reported the theft to the police, and we were looking into it for them.’

I got the impression from her tone that the small amount of missing money had not exactly been high priority. That she had not expected theft to turn into a missing-person case.

‘So you haven’t found the money?’ I said shakily.

‘No. And we haven’t found Wayne Geddes either.’

‘There really is no sign of him?’ I asked, perplexed, because where the hell was he? Sure, I’d expected Wayne to lie low for a few days. Get over his embarrassment, get his head together and so forth, but now this woman was telling me he was nowhere to be found.

He wouldn’t abandon his house and take off. I was almost certain of that. He had a lot of equity in that house. He would be leaving behind everything he had. His security for the future. It didn’t make any sense.

‘His mobile phone hasn’t been used,’ DS Aspinall said.

‘What about his credit cards?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘Although that’s not unusual for a person wanting to disappear. They’re aware that most retailers have cameras above the tills, as do most cashpoints. Often there is a period of inactivity on that front for up to a month. Especially if they have a surplus of cash – which we believe Mr Geddes has.’

But he hadn’t. That cash had long gone.

‘By the way, the stretch you recommended has been working,’ she said.

‘Sorry?’

‘Upward-facing dog?’ she said. ‘The yoga stretch? My neck’s much improved. I felt the benefit straight away. I can reverse the car now without it hurting.’

‘Oh – good,’ I stammered. ‘Good to hear. Listen, did you go to Wayne’s house?’

‘We did. After to speaking to you previously.’

DS Quigley, who had been silent up until now, held his notepad in the arm’s-length position of the long-sighted and agreed that’s what they had done.

‘And, obviously, he wasn’t there or else you wouldn’t be here,’ I said. ‘What did you find?’

‘As far as we could tell there was no one home and—’

‘You didn’t go
inside
?’ I asked, astonished.

‘We were not authorized to do so. There was no warrant at that time, Mrs Toovey. We’re not allowed to break in.’

‘Was his car there?’

‘I believe so.’

Again, a quick glance to her partner, who, after a moment, concurred with her statement.

‘So, what we’d like to do, Mrs Toovey, is take a look around here, see if we can’t come up with something to point us in the right direction. This was his desk, was it?’

‘Yes, this is where Wayne would spend his time.’

‘Any other areas you think would be relevant?’

‘The kitchen,’ I said. ‘He did a lot of brewing up. And he was in charge of the stock. To be honest, he had his hands in everything.’

Where had Wayne gone after I hightailed it on Saturday? My memory of leaving the house was sketchy at best. There were pockets of time that were simply missing. Had something happened that I couldn’t recall? Had
I
done something to Wayne that I couldn’t recall? I remembered waking and there being no sign of Wayne. But what if that wasn’t correct? What if I had simply blanked out his presence?

Christ.

‘What time do the clients arrive?’ DS Aspinall asked.

‘Patients. My first arrives in fifteen minutes.’

They started poking around. I suspected they would find little of interest but didn’t quibble all the same. They asked a few further questions: Did Wayne mention any financial difficulties? Did he talk about meeting anyone straight from work on the Friday he was last seen, or over the weekend? Did he talk about leaving the area?

No, no and no.

When it seemed as though they had finished, I asked why Wayne was now classed as officially missing, when he wasn’t before. What had changed exactly?

‘His cousin,’ replied DS Aspinall. ‘He’d not heard from Mr Geddes and so let himself into the property. Once inside, he became worried. He said it was very out of character for Mr Geddes not to be in touch.’

‘So
his cousin
doesn’t think Wayne cleared off without telling anyone?’ I asked.

‘He says not. He says Mr Geddes would never have left without making proper arrangements with him. Arrangements to take care of his fish.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Of course. The fish.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, without looking my way. ‘They’re all dead.’

29

WAYNE’S DISAPPEARANCE HAD
thrown me completely off balance and so, even though I did
want
to call Henry, I kept picking up my mobile, going to contacts, and then bottling out. I was being a coward about it. I just couldn’t seem to find the right words.

Henry hadn’t been in touch either, since our date of last week. I think after his small speech about Scott Elias, I had clammed up a little and given off an abashed air which may have been misinterpreted as disinterest.

When I say I
may
have done this, I mean definitely.

Henry must have left with the impression I didn’t care for him.

But I couldn’t leave it like that. Not now.

He picked up on the tenth ring.

‘Henry,’ I said.

‘Roz,’ he replied.

‘I didn’t think you were going to answer.’

‘I didn’t think you were going to call.’

‘Henry—’ I began and stopped.

‘What is it, Roz?’

I took a breath. ‘Petra told me about your son,’ I said, ‘and I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. I was abrupt and insensitive on Thursday, back at the house, and I wanted to apologize. I wouldn’t have said what I said about not wanting your parenting advice if I’d known, and—’

‘You didn’t know,’ he cut in, his tone brusque but not unkind. ‘No harm done.’

‘I feel terrible.’

‘I didn’t
want
you to know. Not straight away, anyway. And it was six years ago, so you’re hardly at fault.’

There was a silence.

I could hear Henry’s breath, heavy, as though he was walking.

‘What was he like?’ I asked quietly, after a moment, and Henry didn’t speak. Eventually, he gave a small, humourless laugh and instantly I regretted my question.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Henry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—’

‘No,’ he replied. Then he sighed. ‘No, it’s not that. No one ever asks, that’s all. No one ever asks me about him. They ask how
I
cope. How I get through the days. “How do you go on,” they say, “when the very worst thing in the world has happened?” They make it all about me. No one ever wants to know about Elliot.’

‘It’s because they’re frightened, Henry.’

‘I know.’

‘Elliot,’ I said. ‘Tell me about Elliot.’

‘I loved him.’

His breathing quietened and I sensed he had stopped walking now. Paused right where he was on the street to think about his son. I didn’t talk. I waited.