you more than the bits in between. Sure enough, she cracked.
‘We’ve been seeing each other, a bit. On and off. You know.’
‘Fuck, yes,’ said Jo, with heartfelt meaning. She checked her lipstick in the mirror. I love that Jo wears make-up. I’ve never got further than black eyeliner, which I can’t live without. But beyond that, I’ve never understood how women know what goes where. Jo’s an expert. Watching Jo get ready for a night out is to watch an artist at work. She can paint herself into a whole different person. ‘When was it last on?’ she asked Carly.
Carly took a mouthful of beer then turned to the mirror so that she was side by side with Jo. I stood back, observing their mirror reflections from a distance. Carly tugged at her curls, like she was trying to get them to stay in one place. They disobeyed her immediately, springing back into their own chaotic arrangement. She sighed and gave up. Carly looked about nineteen, cute in an Annie kind of way. If I had to guess, I’d say she was one of those students who probably came from some poxy little village in Cumbria or Northumberland and was thrilled to be living it up in the city. She pulled a stick of mascara out of the back pocket of her jeans.
‘That’s the weird thing, you know?’
I felt like a voyeur – didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I turned and studied the signs on the condom dispenser.
‘We’ve been, like, seeing each other nearly four months. Always more off than on. His choice.’ She stuck out her tongue at her own reflection. ‘He’s got … issues. Wouldn’t walk down the street with me when we first got together.’
‘Been there,’ said Jo.
I tried not to let anything show on my face, but inside I marvelled at what women put up with. Carly went out with someone who didn’t want to be seen in public with her? And Jo had too? What the fuck?
‘But then, lately,’ Carly continued, ‘we’ve been more on than off. I thought we’d turned a corner. Even talked about going travelling together. Said he wanted to get his head sorted.’
‘Heard that too,’ said Jo, cynic to the core. ‘They never mean it.’
I abandoned the condom dispenser and watched for Carly’s reaction. Her eyes grew brighter in the mirror.
‘Two weeks ago, he said he loved me. First time ever.’
‘You believed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what happened?’ asked Jo, puckering up her lips like she might just kiss her own reflection.
‘He disappears.’
‘Typical,’ said Jo, and I braced myself for a diatribe.
I watched their reflections, half-fascinated, half-repulsed. So intimate and intense, the kind of scrutiny I could never face. Jo took a deep breath, applied a deep red smudge of colour to her lower lip.
Carly wiped a finger under the eyelashes of her right eye, creating a soft black line that made her eyes appear bigger. ‘He was supposed to meet me at the Hyde Park cinema, week last Sunday. Never showed.’
‘Did he ring?’
‘No.’
‘Has he disappeared before?’ I asked.
‘Not for this long.’ Carly’s voice wobbled again. ‘It’s been nearly a week.’
‘Tell me about the last time you saw him,’ said Jo.
I watched her hesitate. ‘It might help us find him,’ I said, trying to draw the words out of her.
Water drizzled from the tap at the far sink. I tried to turn it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Carly shrugged at her reflection.
‘Just over a week ago, last Thursday. We both worked here. Thursday. Normal night. Afterwards he came back to mine. We hung out, watched a film. Then, you know.’ She paused, and I envied her the memory as a small smile flickered across her face. ‘That’s when he told me he loved me.’
The sadness returned, and she drank more beer. ‘He got up the next morning, we got breakfast at Chichini’s. Said he had to go see someone but asked if I wanted to go to the pictures on Sunday. Said to meet him outside at eight. That’s it.’
‘Did he seem worried about anything?’
‘You know what he’s like. Always worried about something, but he never lets on. He can’t sit still, always has to be doing something.’
‘What does Brownie think?’ asked Jo.
At the mention of Brownie’s name, a wall sprang up. Carly’s tone, her whole demeanour changed. She straightened up. ‘I don’t give a fuck what Brownie thinks.’
‘Bill says he might be in later,’ I said.
‘He’s always in later.’
‘He might know where Jack is.’
She shook her head so that her curls bobbed. ‘He’s looking for him. That’s why he comes here every night. He’s following me, thinks I’ll lead him to Jack.’ She wiped at her eyes in the mirror. ‘He’s bad news.’
‘Bad news how?’
She tucked the mascara brush back into its bottle and turned to stare at Jo. ‘Come on, friend of a friend? Balls.’
Jo glanced at me, and I nodded.
‘We’re private detectives,’ Jo said, handing over another of our cards. She hitched herself up onto the worktop next to the sink, next to the toilet rolls, sitting with her legs swinging as she lit a fag. ‘We’ve been employed by his mum. She hasn’t seen—’
‘Jack’s mum?’ The disbelief in Carly’s voice was about the same I’d expect if Jo’d said we’d been hired by the Tooth Fairy.
‘Yeah,’ said Jo, exhaling smoke into the small room. ‘She’s not heard from—’
‘Jack hasn’t got a mum.’
That stopped us. The music continued to bounce off the walls and the tap at the far sink continued to drizzle, but I had the feeling everything else stood still.
‘Everyone’s got a mum,’ said Jo eventually.
‘Yeah. And Jack’s died when he was 5.’
The three of us stood there in the women’s toilets, staring at each other as we let Carly’s statement sink in. This time it was me that cracked.
‘She can’t have.’
Carly turned to face me, so I could see the back of her head in the mirror. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘She did.’
‘Jack’s mum died?’ I repeated. I saw Mrs Wilkins in our offices, twisting the wedding ring on her finger.
‘He could be telling you a sob story,’ said Jo. ‘Blokes’ll tell you anything if they think they’re in with a mercy shag.’
Carly shook her head in a way that didn’t brook any argument. ‘She was killed in a car crash. He was in the car. He survived. She died. He’s never got over it.’
No one spoke.
Jo frowned at me. I felt panic stir in my belly.
‘You need to be careful,’ said Carly. ‘This woman could be anyone. What did she look like?’
‘What about his dad?’ Jo asked.
‘Never talks about him. Never talks about his past. All I know about his dad is that he’s a workaholic. They have no relationship. Jack never goes