and me that are everywhere. Us at my sister’s twenty-first birthday party last year; us feeding goats on our honeymoon in the Cotswolds; us having Christmas dinner at his parents’ house. Something occurs to me suddenly and I slam my hands to my head. ‘Oh my God!’
‘Oh my God what?! What is it?’
‘Adam’s parents! I haven’t even told them what’s happened! Oh arses, this is terrible. He’s been gone for four days, he could even be dead …’
‘He’s not dead.’
‘… and they don’t even know anything odd has happened.’ I turn to look at Ginge, my eyes wild. ‘They might even have heard from him by now! God, maybe they know something, maybe he’s explained everything to them and told them to fill me in the moment I got in touch with them …’
‘Gee …’
‘… which he would have expected me to do that same night.’
‘Gee, listen.’
‘But I didn’t, I completely forgot about them. Bloody hell, Ginge, what sort of person does that make me?’
‘It makes you the sort of person that’s going through a pretty terrible ordeal, that’s all. It’s completely understandable, given what you’ve had to deal with, stop stressing.’
By now I’m up off the sofa pacing the room, each fist clamped around a handful of hair. It’s still attached to my head, don’t worry. I’m not quite there yet.
‘I can’t stop stressing, I’m a terrible, awful, horrible person.’ I lunge towards the phone but Ginger is already up and grabs my arm.
‘Stop!’ she says, almost shouting. ‘Seriously Gee, stop acting mad.’
‘I’m not acting mad!’ I halt in my tracks. ‘Am I acting mad?’
‘Yes. Oh, I don’t know. Just for God’s sake calm down and listen.’
I do a ‘relax’ thing, making a concerted effort to breathe deeply for a few seconds with my eyes closed, and actively loosen my arms and shoulders. ‘OK. What?’
‘The police will have let Adam’s parents know. You don’t need to worry about that.’
I stare at her. Of course they would have. Relief floods through me. ‘Oh, thank God. Yes, of course they would. Jesus, I’m such a plank!’
‘No, you’re not, you’re just not thinking straight at the moment.’
‘I’m really not.’ Another sudden thought. ‘Do you think they’ll have let my parents know?’
Ginger bites her lip and breaks eye contact. ‘I don’t know. They might have. Depends if they’ve been round to see them already, I expect … But no, if they’d already been round there to ask questions, your mum would have phoned you after, wouldn’t she? So they probably don’t know yet. Good idea if you call them and let them know first. Otherwise it’ll come as a bit of a shock when the boys in blue turn up on their doorstep …’ She tails off and watches me. ‘What’s up?’
I’m pacing again, rubbing my head and face, and I stop and turn to face her. ‘Ask questions? What do you mean, ask questions? Why would the police need to question my parents at all? I mean, Adam is just their son-in-law, there’s no other connection, they’re not going to be able to tell them anything. He just drove off, no one knows what happened to him – well, I expect someone does, somewhere, probably Adam himself in fact, the lying SCUMBAG!’ – I shout the word out, as if somewhere he can still hear me – ‘but my mum and dad certainly don’t know, why would the police even bother with them?’
Ginger walks across to where I’ve stopped and takes hold of my upper arms. ‘OK, now I want you to try and be calm about this. Will you? Are you calm?’
Her words shoot darts of panic into me and my agitated heart dials up a notch. ‘Christ Ginge, what do you know?’
She shakes her head. ‘Nothing, nothing like that. I’m only guessing here. Matt will be able to—’
‘Guessing about what?’
She takes a deep breath.
‘What Ginge? What is it?’
‘Thepoliceprobablythinkyoudidit!’
There’s a brief but grotesquely tense silence as her words and all their ramifications make their way into my brain.
Ginger is shaking her head, plucking at my arm. ‘No, no, that sounds awful. I don’t mean … What I mean is, it will be one of their lines of enquiry. That’s all.’
The police probably think I did it. That’s what she said. They think I did it. But Adam has disappeared, so what do they think I … did …? If anyone did something, the thing they think someone, anyone, did, must be … I feel all the blood drain from my face and head, and sway a bit where I’m standing. They think Adam is dead.
‘Oh God, Gracie, I’m so sorry …’
I shake my head and frown at her. ‘No no. That’s not … He isn’t …’ I look up frankly into her face. ‘You think they think he’s been … done in? And that I was the one who … did … him?’
She shakes her head again. ‘No, no, I don’t think they think that. It’s just one of the possibilities they have to consider, when someone—’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Oh my effing God, no way!’ She flies at me and seizes me in a tight hug. ‘You think I’d be here right now, calmly eating caramelised onion sausages if I thought you were a violent, psychopathic killer capable of ending your own husband and coolly vanishing the body?’
‘No, no, I suppose not.’
‘Damn straight.’
I think for a few seconds. ‘So you don’t think I killed him.’
‘I do not.’
‘But you do think he’s dead?’
She looks at me sidelong and gives a wry smile. ‘Of course he’s not effing dead. Although he sodding well deserves to be, after this. Little shit.’
I close my eyes and release a breath. ‘It’s such a massive relief to hear you say that. I mean, I’ve been feeling so sure he’s alive, but if the police think he’s dead, and then if you did …’
‘Don’t worry. Matt’s told me it’s fairly standard for the police to think along those lines when someone is inexplicably no longer around. They have to think worst case scenario, don’t they?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Yeah. But that doesn’t mean that they necessarily really actually think it.’
A sudden loud bang on the front door makes us jump and we both turn to stare wide-eyed in the direction of the hallway. Goosebumps rise on my arms and shoulders.
‘Who. The fuck. Is that?’ I breathe, reaching out blindly to grab Ginger’s arm. I can almost believe it’s murdered Adam, head caved in and dripping with gore, returned from the grave to seek revenge on the one who ended him.
‘It’s Matt,’ she says, and gets up to let him in.
I eat the last piece of sausage then put my knife and fork down on the plate, and the plate on the floor. It’ll be nice to see Matt again. Haven’t seen him for years and I was always fond of the kid, in a big sister kind of way.
‘Here he is,’ Ginge is saying, coming back in. And filling the doorway behind her, even without his hat on, is a giant policeman. I stand up, because my neck is aching looking up at him. It doesn’t make much difference.
‘Is this … Matt?’ I ask the room, sounding painfully