if he remembers seeing Jacob, I think as an aside, adding his name to the list.
It’s also possible that Jacob left the sandbank in the middle of the night without using the ferry; if you know the route through the wooded path, you can walk across the headland, which takes just over an hour on foot.
If Jacob has left – who would he choose to visit, and why? His closest friends are here on the beach. There’s family, I suppose. Jacob gets on well with his aunties and uncles – but both Nick’s brothers live in America with their families; east coast for Ted and Linda, west coast for Brian, Sally and their twins. The only family member who lives nearby is my mother and, although she’s very fond of Jacob, I don’t think she’d have been his first choice of refuge. Apart from our visits on her birthday and at Christmas, we see very little of her.
I glance down guiltily, picturing my mother sitting at the large mahogany dining table, with a crystal water jug on the table and the best silver cutlery laid out ready for a breakfast for one. The house is far too big for her now. I imagine the clink of her spoon against her china bowl, the sound ringing out in all that deafening silence. I don’t know how she can bear it.
I suddenly want to call her – to tell her about Jacob.
I take out my mobile, not caring that it’s early.
When she answers, the sound of her voice causes a lump of emotion to rise in my throat. ‘Oh Mum,’ I begin …
The police said they’d arrive on the first ferry, but they don’t. It’s ten o’clock when they finally trudge across the beach, their dark uniforms looking incongruous against the backdrop of the sea.
‘Sarah Symonds?’ the male officer asks, approaching our hut.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
Next door, Diane pauses from sweeping the deck to watch, eyes narrowing with interest.
I glare at her, irritated.
‘I’m Police Constable Steven Evans.’ A thin man with delicate, almost effeminate features, and a round nub of a chin, steps on to the deck, stretching out a pale hand, which I shake. ‘And this is PC Jacqui Roam,’ he says, introducing the woman at his side. She is about ten years younger than me, with thin brown hair in a plain bob, and pencilled-in eyebrows. There are dark circles beneath her eyes and the purple traces of acne scars around her chin and mouth. Her cheeks are flushed from the walk and, when she smiles, her eyes show warmth.
‘Come in.’ I usher them inside and point to the sofa. I imagine Diane will be lingering on her deck still. I want to pull our beach hut doors shut so that there’s nothing to overhear, but it’s already too warm inside.
PC Jacqui Roam whistles through her teeth. ‘Beautiful beach hut. I didn’t realize they were so spacious inside. And there’s an upstairs, too?’ She glances up at the wooden stepladder leading to the mezzanine.
It’s what always surprises people the first time they step inside the huts. From the outside, the beach huts look little more than colourful sheds, but inside they are like miniature homes. Usually I would chat easily about the layout of the beach hut, or show them the view from the porthole window upstairs – but the only thing I want to talk about right now is Jacob.
Sensing this, PC Evans takes out his notebook and a black biro. ‘Let’s start with the details.’
‘My husband will be in shortly. He’s just finishing up a call,’ I say glancing towards the shoreline, where Nick is pacing. He’s on the phone to his office and looks tense, preoccupied. He stares at the ground as he moves, his right hand gesturing blindly at his side. Occasionally his hand travels to his hairline, which he half-heartedly rubs. He should be in this beach hut with me, his hand holding mine. I try to catch his eye to let him know the police are here, but he doesn’t glance up.
PC Evans begins by running through a long list of questions about Jacob – most of which Nick covered when he rang the station last night. He makes notes about Jacob’s eye colour, whether he’s right or left handed, the details of his social media accounts, his mobile telephone number, his access to funds. The list goes on and on.
PC Roam then takes over, asking, ‘Sarah, why don’t you tell us everything you can about the day of your son’s disappearance?’
I sit up straight and clasp my hands together. I speak in a clear, precise voice, wanting to give them all the facts as succinctly and exactly as possible. I tell them it was Jacob’s seventeenth birthday and that we opened presents and had a family barbecue with Nick’s parents and Jacob’s godmother. Then I describe Jacob’s plans to go to Luke’s party that evening for some birthday drinks. I explain that I’ve talked to Luke, who told me that Jacob left the party at around eleven with his girlfriend, Caz, although Luke believed Jacob planned on returning to the party. I then repeat what I overheard – that Caz was very drunk – and that she and Jacob walked along the beach, then stopped at the rocks at the edge of bay, which I point to through the beach hut doors. I add that there may have been a disagreement, and that Caz then went back to her beach hut, leaving Jacob there. ‘That was the last time he’s been seen.’
I pass PC Evans the list of names I have written down, along with contact details, and – where relevant – the number of their beach huts. I have done my homework. I want to make things as easy as possible for the police.
PC Roam leans forward. ‘How has Jacob seemed to you, lately? What sort of mood has he been in?’ When she talks, her pencilled brows lift and dip above her eyes.
‘He’s been a little distracted,’ I admit. ‘I think it’s his girlfriend. My husband and I think it might be love.’
‘Things were … going well between them?’ PC Roam asks.
Earlier in the week I’d been washing up breakfast dishes, while Jacob sat slumped in the deckchair, his feet resting on the balcony railing, binoculars pressed to his face. ‘What are you looking at?’
Jacob whipped the binoculars away and turned to glare at me, as if shocked by my audacious attempt at communicating with him. ‘Nothing. A cormorant.’ He pushed himself up, his height still taking me by surprise. ‘I’m gonna see Luke,’ he’d grunted, then climbed from the deck and loped away across the beach.
Exhausted by the constant sensation that I needed to walk on eggshells, I’d settled into the deckchair he’d vacated and sighed.
Jacob had left his binoculars perched on the deck railing, so I picked them up and held them to my face, pointing them in the direction he’d been looking.
I squinted along the shoreline, looking for a cormorant. Joe and Binks were talking to Lorrain and Isla, who’d just come in from a swim and, beyond them, I saw what had caught Jacob’s attention: Caz was sitting on the shoreline in her bikini, between two boys. She had her head tipped back, laughing. Then she playfully slapped one of the boys. I remember thinking then: jealousy can be a toxic emotion.
I knew that very well.
Now I answer PC Roam. ‘Jacob doesn’t talk to me about his love life. Obviously,’ I say, imitating his gruff tone. I’ve no idea why I’m trying so hard to make the officers like me. Maybe I think they’ll put more effort into finding Jacob. ‘I imagine that there were the normal jealousies and arguments and make-ups.’
PC Roam nods, then asks, ‘What about your relationship with Jacob? How were things between the two of you?’
‘Fine. Everything was fine,’ I say, and I wonder if I’ve answered too brightly.
PC Roam’s mobile rings and she glances at the screen. When she flicks it to silent, apologizing for the interruption, I catch a glimpse of her screen saver – a picture of a round-faced baby smiling with a bib on. So she’s a mother, too. I wonder who her child is with while she’s at work, and how hard she must find it to leave.
When she looks up, I catch her eye and she seems to read my thoughts. She smiles.
‘And where were you