Jeremy is still watching me, when I open my eyes. He’s put the watch down, but it’s still there in front of him, a sad talisman.
‘I apologise,’ I say. ‘There was a message from Emma to you in her phone. A draft. It said, I know you are the father of my child. I’m not sure how else I was to interpret that.’
He nods, almost as if he saw this coming. ‘I can understand why you’d think what you did.’
He doesn’t offer anything else, but I sense that it’s on its way.
‘I know for a fact that Emma hasn’t had any other children,’ I continue. ‘I was there when Ruby was born. Things started to go wrong and they had to get her out with forceps. I clearly remember the obstetrician telling me this was common for a woman’s first delivery.’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy says, staring down at Janice’s watch. ‘I believe it is.’
‘And as you well know, I’ve seen photos of Janice shortly after she gave birth to your son, Charlie, so Emma can’t be referring to him either, when she talks about this child.’
Rothschild doesn’t say anything. It’s not even 8.30 p.m. and the man looks exhausted. I’ve been in the hellish uncertainty of trying to find my wife for less than twelve hours; I can’t begin to imagine how he’s borne it for two weeks.
‘So I have to ask what has been going on,’ I tell him, and my voice finally crumbles. ‘I don’t know who you are to my wife. Why would she call you the father of her child? And why has she changed her name? This whole thing is awful. Just unreal.’
‘It must be a terrible shock.’
I wait for him to say more but he doesn’t, so I go and sit at his table. ‘Please,’ I say, and I gesture for him to sit down. ‘Talk to me. Why are you trying to reach her? What’s going on?’
After a long pause, he lowers himself into a chair opposite.
‘Can you start off by telling me where she is?’
Rothschild pauses as he pulls in his chair. ‘What do you mean, where she is?’
‘Where Emma is.’
He looks confused.
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘No! What’s happened?’ He looks genuinely worried. ‘Is that what you meant when you mentioned the police to Sheila just now?’
‘She’s gone,’ I tell him, and a vault of panic opens up again. I thought this was how I’d find her. ‘She disappeared nearly twelve hours ago. She went to drop Ruby off at nursery and never came home. She left her wallet and phone in our bedroom . . . That’s why I called you. I found messages from you asking for a meet-up. I thought . . . I thought . . .’
‘That I’d – what? Kidnapped her? Killed her?’
‘I don’t know. I just want to know where she is.’
Jeremy takes this in, across his handsome oak table. I wonder how many dinner parties it has seen. How long it will be before people sit around it again.
He comes to life. ‘Of course. I’ll tell you everything I know. Do you think she’s vulnerable?’
‘She’s had depressive episodes in the past. But I wouldn’t say she’s been in a particularly bad place lately.’ I watch his face. This conversation must be horribly familiar. ‘Why? Do you really not know anything?’
Jeremy shakes his head. ‘I promise you, I have no idea where Emma is. None at all.’
‘Then what’s happening? You must be out of your mind about Janice, and now Emma’s missing too – I don’t understand any of this. Why did you say you needed to be in touch with Emma? What’s going on?’