I nod. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Thanks for talking to me.’
In the lift on the way down I think about Rachel, sitting at her desk late at night. Newspaper cuttings stuck on her wall. What was her project? What was she up to?
On the ground floor, through the dirty windows, I see the rain is still battering at the glass. I pull my hood up, head home. I can’t face it tonight. But I know what I need to do next. Where I need to go. To the club Jane mentioned. The X.
I know exactly where it is. I’ve been there plenty of times.
It’s the club where Charlie works.
HELEN
I am so huge now I can barely drive, but the vet’s is too far to walk. The bump presses into the bottom of the steering wheel. I have to push the driver’s seat right back on its sliders. It is icy now, but none of my coats fit. I’ve pulled on one of Daniel’s jumpers instead, the sleeves bunching at my wrists.
As I start the engine, the radio blasts on automatically. I quickly turn the volume down. Monty is staring miserably out of his cage on the passenger’s seat. When we drive over speed bumps, the baby presses down on my pelvis. I wince. Monty howls. I squeeze a tuna treat through the bars. It makes the car smell like fish. I feel a wave of nausea, press the button to open the window. The air is sharp and cold; it makes me gasp.
And then I hear something that makes me turn the radio back up.
‘Police have today launched a murder inquiry following the disappearance of Rachel Wells. The 25-year-old disappeared in Greenwich, south-east London, after attending a party a fortnight ago. Police have been appealing for any information about her disappearance, which they described as being out of character …’
I feel hot all over.
I flick on the indicator, veer left and pull over so I can listen properly, cutting up another car in the process. He honks loudly. Monty starts to howl. I shush him, shove another treat through the bars.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Lauren Betsky said the force were keeping an open mind about her disappearance but had become increasingly concerned for her welfare. It is understood Miss Wells has not had any contact with her family or friends since the night of November 5th.’
I can hear my own breathing. I can’t seem to process the words. Murder inquiry. They think she’s dead. They think someone’s killed her. So that’s why they turned up yesterday. That’s why the new detectives are involved. That’s why they searched her room. Asked us everything, all over again.
‘At a press conference earlier this morning, her family appealed for anyone with any information on her possible whereabouts to come forward.’
I frown. Her family? She never mentioned any family. Except her mother, who she said she was going to stay with.
‘If anyone knows anything about where my daughter is,’ a gravelly male voice on the radio is saying now, ‘I would ask them to please, please …’
My phone rings. I jump, turn the radio down.
‘Hello, Mrs Thorpe? It’s the Greenwich Veterinary Practice. Are you still coming in with Monty today?’
I take a deep breath. I apologise, tell them I’m on my way. I turn Rachel’s father off, start the engine. I can’t take it in. I can’t think about this now. I can’t keep letting it go round and round in my head, blocking out everything else.
When the vet sees Monty, he smiles. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it, old boy?’ I can tell he means it kindly, but a stab of guilt pierces my stomach.
With everything that had been going on, neither of us had really noticed how oddly Monty had been acting. But the morning after we got back from the police station, I saw that his food bowl had been left untouched, again. I looked at him properly. Was he always so skinny? I’d placed my hands either side of his body and his ribs had felt hard as curtain rings against the soft palms of my hands.
The vet holds Monty’s abdomen in his hands, feels along his ribs, his spine. Listens to his heart, then places him on the scales. They beep, and the vet frowns.
‘Yes, he has lost a bit more weight than I’d like. Is there anything obvious that could account for his not eating? Anything going on at home?’
I hesitate, unsure whether to mention the police. I think again about the radio. A murder inquiry. My stomach twists.
The vet breaks my concentration. ‘I guess … there have been a few changes, in the house? Cats can be very sensitive to changes in their environment.’ He is looking down at my bump, over the top of his glasses.
I force myself to smile, happy to let him attribute my silence to the pregnancy.