Dark Place to Hide by A J Waines Read Free Book Online Page A

hostility. She’s always been like this. I’ve run out of ways to try to appease her.
    ‘You make it sound like my fault.’
    ‘I can’t believe you found out something as huge as that and didn’t tell her.’
    You must have told Alexa about my diagnosis sometime before you left yesterday. I don’t blame you. I know you sometimes have the need to turn to others, not just me. It’s often hard to say how you really feel to the person who is the source of the problem.
    ‘I’ve only just found out,’ I tell her, stretching the truth.
    ‘Six weeks, she said. That’s how long you’ve had the results and you must have had check-ups and tests long before that and never said a word.’
    ‘I was going to.’ Alexa is the last person I want to be justifying myself to.
    ‘Of course you were.’ She’s short and sharp with me. ‘I’ve got to go.’
    ‘Ring me – please – if you hear—’
    She’s already gone.
    I am stunned. You’re not missing – you’ve left of your own accord. I’m struggling with the notion that you need space. I can’t get my head around it. At what point did you make this decision? You left so casually – you didn’t look like someone who was taking off.
    I try to recall exactly what happened that night. We were hugging on the sofa discussing how we might mark the loss of our baby with some kind of ritual with candles and roses. I’ddrunk too much – I apologise for that – and you offered to go to the village shop for me when I realised we were out of painkillers. It was last minute, you were just in your jogging pants. What did you say at the door? I can’t remember exactly.
See you in a minute? See you soon? Back shortly?
It wasn’t a grand goodbye.
    You kissed me. Yes, you did. You reached up on tiptoes as I stood on the doorstep and pressed your lips against mine. Not a dismissive peck on the cheek, but a plump back-before-you-know-it kind of kiss.
    You didn’t take anything with you apart from your phone and your handbag. Or did you?
    I hurtle up the stairs and fling open the wardrobes. Four empty hangers rattle as they swing loose. This isn’t the way it normally looks; we’re for ever having to double-up, because there are no hangers to spare. I check the bathroom cabinet – why didn’t I do this yesterday? Your little bottle of sedatives has gone. I sit on the bed and drag at my hair. Why is there no note? At least you could have left me a few words of explanation. Were you that angry with me?
    I check the top of the wardrobe – the suitcases are all still there. The holdall and overnight bags are still squashed up alongside the towels in the cupboard. I check your bedside cabinet. Your watch has gone – but you were wearing that during the day. There’s a hairclip, one with a butterfly – I notice you’ve started wearing the one with a kingfisher instead, lately. The novel you started is still here. I pick it up, flick through the pages. That’s odd. You told me you’ve read at bedtime ever since you were a child and can’t do without it – you say it’s a vital comfort that helps you get off to sleep. You always take a book when we go away. It’s still here.
    I call the police again and give them this new information; you’ve been in touch with your sister. I explain that your appointment diary isn’t by the bed, but that doesn’t mean a great deal. It could be downstairs. The same duty sergeant as before tells me to keep them informed,but as you’ve been in touch, they won’t be taking any further action for the time being. ‘It’s not a police matter if someone chooses to leave,’ she tells me. She’s no doubt had specialist training in handling ‘relationship breakdown’ cases and is drawing her own conclusions. We must have had a terrible row, but I’m refusing to acknowledge it. You must have taken off to make some serious decisions about your future…
    A new surge of energy consumes me as I start a major treasure hunt for your