I hear bones cracking – where, I don’t know – but it sounds like fireworks popping off in my brain. Tears stream from my eyes and I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe and I am slipping. My back arches and I try to scream but I can’t, and I feel bubbles of spit on my lips and Jack squeezes even harder.
His eyes are bloodshot and full of hate and we both know the truth: I am a dying animal and he is willing to go all the way.
Chapter Forty
106 Days Missing
Adaline Archer
The flyers we put up for you around town all those weeks ago were weather-beaten and peeling off buildings and lamp-posts, so I got a group together – me, Ethan, our parents, Kathryn and Jack – and we all went out wrapped up in coats and scarves against the frosty November air, and set to work replacing the old missing person posters with new ones.
Since we haven’t found your body, the police could only charge David with kidnap. Even though everyone else believes he’s the only one involved, I’m not convinced. I’ve kept my suspicions about Jack largely to myself; telling our parents about my theory will only upset them.
After an hour of flyer distribution, we reconvened for coffee and cake at The Busy Bean in town.
‘So, Kathryn,’ I began, ‘what’re we doing for your birthday next week?’
‘I thought I’d have a quiet one this year.’ This was because of you and the smog of grief which has followed our parents since the discovery of your bloody clothes.
‘I think we could all do with something to look forward to,’ I said, sounding like an enthusiastic children’s TV host. ‘We should have a little get-together.’
‘That would be lovely, Ada, but the downstairs is being repainted next week and it might be difficult to find a venue at such short notice.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, frowning as though in concentration. I counted to five before widening my eyes as if I’d just had a bright idea. ‘Well, it doesn’t need to be a huge celebration. Perhaps we could have a small gathering of twenty or so for drinks, and then the six of us plus Charlie and Tobin could go to Castello’s for a meal afterwards.’
‘Oh, Ada, that’s a wonderful idea,’ said Mum with more cheer in her voice than I’d heard in a long while. ‘We could host the drinks if you like,’ she offered.
‘Or we could have drinks at Jack’s,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘It’s far more spacious and much closer to town.’ I stared at Jack over the rim of my mug, and he returned my gaze with a steely one of his own.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ Kathryn said to Jack. ‘I know you haven’t been feeling your best of late.’
‘Oh?’ I said and refrained from facetiously asking, ‘Cramps?’ at the memory of the tampons in his basket.
‘Is your foot still bothering you, love?’ asked Mum. Then she turned to me. ‘Jack trod on a nail at a worksite a few weeks ago.’
‘Headaches,’ he said shortly.
‘He’s not sleeping well,’ Kathryn elaborated, and Jack’s expression soured.
‘Why aren’t you sleeping well, Jack?’ I asked.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Oh well, that’s great,’ I said brightly. ‘Drinks at yours around six on Friday night then?’ I held his stare, daring him to refuse and before he could, I added a sprinkle of challenge. ‘Unless you don’t think you can manage …’
His smile was easy and relaxed, but he was gripping the handle of his mug so tightly I thought it might snap off in his hand. ‘Great idea, Ada. Drinks at mine.’
Triumph. Instead of squealing with delight, I smiled demurely and said, ‘Perfect!’
The following Friday, in the taxi ride over to Jack’s, I studied my husband. He looked good in his best jeans and white shirt. His eyes have the beginnings of fine lines now. I don’t know how. It’s not as though we laugh together all that much anymore. Then, appraising me too, he said, ‘Isn’t that a little bit too … sexy for a middle-aged woman’s birthday celebration?’
I was wearing a pencil dress in livid scarlet with a Charlotte Tilbury lipstick to match. I always feel powerful in red and if there was ever a night to feel powerful, this was it. ‘At your request, I’ve worn this to many of your tiresome business dinners.’
He didn’t reply because we both knew he liked to show off to his colleagues what he had and they didn’t, and when it came to clients, whether it’s cars or accounts, sex sells.