‘Ada …’
‘Please.’
We were only a couple of minutes away from Jack’s and in that time, Christopher’s phone hadn’t stopped ringing. He parked on the corner again. I hopped out of the car. ‘I’ll get the photo and come right back.’
Then I turned and hurried down the street, leaving Christopher to answer the phone, not knowing that call was about to make everything crumble around me.
I hadn’t even made it up the path when the front door flew open. Ethan looked frantic. When he saw me, sorrow washed over him, softening his features. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked gently.
‘Fresh air,’ I managed. ‘Has something happened?’
Then I heard urgent footsteps behind me. It was Christopher, his phone gripped tightly in his hand.
‘Will someone tell me what’s happened?’ I asked, terrified. I could sense what was coming; my knees felt weak, my skin felt hot, my lungs felt empty.
And just as I changed my mind and thought I don’t want to know – Christopher said it.
‘We’ve found a body.’
Chapter Forty-One
112 Days Missing
Adaline Archer
The next morning, I took my time showering and doing my make-up. Nightmares of you have left me with dark circles, so I carefully applied concealer. It made little difference – I still looked tired. I didn’t really care how I looked, but there was something comforting about the routine of getting ready for the day. It didn’t give me much time to think about the task ahead. With Mum refusing to identify the body, I stepped in, aghast at the idea of leaving Dad to do it all alone. They hadn’t told us much about the body, just that it matched your description and had been found dumped in a river.
When I heard Dad pulling up outside, I went downstairs to Ethan and kissed him, winding my arms around his neck and up through his hair, pressing myself close to him. ‘Thank you for being here,’ I whispered.
Ethan was supposed to catch the train to Brighton today for a friend’s birthday, but he cancelled. He didn’t have to do that, especially since things have been rocky between us after I admitted I didn’t want children. Not that we’ve discussed the issue since.
On the way to the morgue, Dad and I didn’t speak. He’s a man of very few words at the best of times, so I didn’t expect much in the way of conversation. Instead, I thought only of you. One memory was pin-sharp. The day you left for university. I came by to see you off. You were pink-cheeked with excitement and nerves. We hugged. Your breath was warm in my ear as you whispered, ‘Love you.’ I didn’t say it back. Then you climbed into the car and you were gone.
All the way to the morgue car park, I paused and rewound this small unchangeable moment. And as Dad and I were led into a waiting room and given weak cups of coffee, the guilt and regret of not telling you I loved you too sat like curdled milk in my stomach.
When we were taken through to view the body, I was trembling. I glanced at Dad for reassurance, but he looked afraid too. And frail. It was the day we’d been dreading since the moment you went missing because if you were lying cold and dead on a steel table just metres from us, any hope of finding you alive was lost for ever.
Ritter talked to us outside the mortuary door. I nodded along, not taking in a word of it. All I could think was: is it you? Are you in there? Please don’t be in there. Please, please don’t be in there.
I think you’re in there.
Then the door was pushed open and Dad stepped inside. I hesitated, not sure I could do this, but Ritter was at my back and the only way to go was forward. The mortuary was exactly what you’d expect: clinical, quiet, clean. Everything was shiny steel. Practical. Decomposing bodies leak fluids and steel is easy to keep clean. No stains. My stomach turned over.
I spotted the body laid out on a gurney beneath a white sheet, and felt faint.
I don’t know how, but I forced myself to keep moving forward. It seemed to take a long time to cross the room and take my place beside Dad. We both stared silently at the covered body.
I waited without moving, without breathing.
It was you. I knew it was you.
A man wearing a plastic tabard over pale blue scrubs pulled back the sheet.
Dad let out a sob, clinging to me like a child.
We both sank to our knees.
Chapter Forty-Two
117 Days Missing
Adaline Archer
My rings were missing. I had a vague memory of taking them off and laying them on the sink in Jack’s bathroom the day of Kathryn’s birthday party. Years ago, I had a duplicate engagement ring made to wear when travelling in case of theft or loss, so I’ve spent the last couple of weeks wearing that. Despite having spent thousands on it, Ethan is none the wiser.