Forward Slash. Mark Edwards
Читать онлайн книгу.
bar stool. The crush at the bar has thinned out a bit, and I see the woman who spoke to me earlier looking over at me and laughing too, with me. I can tell she’s guessed that I’ve reached my limit with Mr Dull, and it makes me even worse. I can’t speak for laughing. I wish that woman were a bloke; she and I would get on like a house on fire. Why can’t I meet a man I’m on the same wavelength with?
‘It’s not that bloody funny,’ says Shaun, looking offended. He waves at the barman, who brings over a bill on a silver tray. ‘Well, I’d better be going. I’ve had a great time, it’s been lovely to meet you. Let’s split this, shall we? Thirty-eight pounds each should do it.’
He must have ordered one of the priciest wines on the menu, knowing he was going to make me pay half, the bastard, I think, tears of mirth streaming down my face. I hadn’t even touched any of the second bottle – I was driving, so I changed to tap water.
I’d never normally do this, but for some reason I just don’t care. I stand up, make a show of peering in my bag and say, ‘Gosh, Shaun, I’m terribly sorry, but I seem to have forgotten my purse. Can I leave you to sort this one out? It’ll be on me next time, honest. Give me a call sometime?’
I peck him on the cheek, grab my coat and rush out before he can say anything, waving at my new friend on the way, still heaving and gulping with hysterics.
The text comes when I’m halfway home, so I pull over and open it. It says, ‘You are an insane bitch and I’ve totally wasted my evening and my money on you.’
What happened to, ‘I had a great time, it was lovely to meet you?’ I wonder, roaring with fresh laughter. I pull out my phone to ring my sister and tell her about it – but then remember that I don’t want her to know I’m Internet dating; she’s so paranoid about it after what happened with her and that freak, even though it was years ago. She’ll get too involved and start insisting that she vets all the guys, even though I keep telling her that she was just unlucky. She wouldn’t understand that although I do want a relationship, I also just want some good old uncomplicated sex … I might tell her, at some point. Just not yet.
Sunday, 21 July
‘Do you think I should call the police?’ Amy asked Gary.
He pulled a face. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bit early? I mean, assuming the email was a wind-up, she could walk in at any moment. She probably will walk in at any moment.’
‘I’m not worried about looking foolish. I think I should—’
‘Call them. Yeah, well, maybe.’
She was seated on Becky’s desk chair, with Gary perched on the edge of the sofa, one leg bouncing back and forth, one of the most pronounced cases of restless leg syndrome she’d ever seen.
‘You can go now,’ she said. His expression made her realize she’d sounded dismissive. ‘I mean, if you need to.’
He checked his watch. ‘I suppose I really ought to get going – I’m playing five-a-side this morning … Will you be all right?’
‘Yes, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’
‘If you hear anything, let me know, OK?’ He wrote down his mobile number for her on the back of a copy of Heat magazine, ripped it off and handed it to her.
‘Of course. Can you leave me the spare key?’
He gave her the key, went to leave, hesitated in the doorway as though he was about to say something else, then changed his mind. He was an all-right guy, Amy thought, despite his annoying little habits. It was a truism that people in London didn’t get to know their neighbours, and Amy’s main interaction with the people next door to her had been listening to passive-aggressive comments about her noisy bike, so Becky was lucky to have a friend living next door.
So, the police. This would only be the second time in her life she’d called them. In a flash, she was transported back to that moment – the bleak loneliness underpinning the utter panic and disbelief at what had just happened to her at the hands of someone she loved. She hugged herself for comfort and shook the memory away, as she had so many times before.
She was about to look up the number of the local station on the iMac when it struck her that the police might need to examine the computer, and any more activity she did on it could muddy the trail more than she had already. So she looked it up on her phone, then called them.
‘Camberwell Police.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I want to report a missing person.’
She waited while she was put through to somebody who identified himself as Police Constable Ian Norris.
‘How can I help?’
She cleared her throat to unstick the words. ‘I want to report my sister as missing.’
‘Can I take your name please?’
‘Amy Coltman.’
He asked for her address and phone number, which she gave him.
‘And your sister’s name?’
‘Becky … Rebecca Coltman,’ she said, and gave him her sister’s full address and date of birth.
‘How long has your sister been missing?’
‘Well … I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks, but I got an email from her last night.’
She heard an intake of breath at the other end of the line. ‘Last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did the email say?’
‘I know this sounds silly, and that it was only last night, but she said she was going away – going abroad – and that I shouldn’t try to find her.’
His tone changed entirely. ‘Right.’
Before he could say anything else, Amy said, ‘It’s completely out of character. I can’t believe she would go away like that and ask not to be found.’
‘She’s never done anything like this before?’
‘No. She went backpacking around Asia for her gap year but it was all pre-arranged.’
‘What about work? Have you checked with them?’
‘She’s a teacher. The school broke up for the summer holidays last Wednesday.’
‘Last Wednesday. Right …’ He paused, and she imagined him tapping details into his computer. She imagined him as the kind of bloke who typed with one finger, seeking out each letter as if for the first time.
‘What about friends? Family?’
‘Our parents live in Spain. I haven’t checked to see if they’ve heard from her yet. And I haven’t spoken to any of her friends yet.’ Despite what she’d said to Gary, she felt embarrassed now.
‘And have you been to her address?’ Norris asked.
‘I’m there now.’ Pre-empting his questions, she said, ‘It’s hard to tell if she’s packed up and gone away. But the door wasn’t double-locked. I can’t believe she’d go away without doing that.’
‘You’d be amazed, miss. Some people might as well hang a sign on their front door: “Burglars welcome”. What about her passport?’
‘Oh. I don’t know where she keeps it. Please, Officer Norris, I need you to take this seriously. There’s something … not right about the email. I’m sure