Thorn in the Flesh (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kate made sure she arrived at Nicky’s and David’s house by 8.30am. In the end she’d managed no more than three hours’ sleep but it would have to be enough. No matter how long the day to come might be. She’d thought about telephoning first but in the end had decided against it. David might assume it would be Nicky and she didn’t want to dash that hope so soon. He’d known Kate would return. He’d be expecting her and, besides, he would be able to see who it was from the hallway.

When he opened the door, she gasped aloud. David was standing in front of her, eyes glazed and clothes crumpled. He smelt of stale cigarettes and the faint trace of alcohol. It was obvious he had neither slept nor changed since last night. He leant heavily against the doorframe as if he might fall.

‘For God’s sake,’ she whispered. ‘David.’

He didn’t answer and she squeezed past him. Once inside, she shook herself and made several decisions.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘You need to shower and change. Do you think you can do that? Good. While you’re up there, I’ll make coffee and whatever I can find in the cupboards for breakfast. When you’re ready, come down and eat.’

He obeyed. While he was gone, Kate cleared the living room of its crumpled newspapers and the half-empty whisky bottle. At first she couldn’t trace any sign of a glass, but eventually found a scattering of broken shards next to the dresser. It looked as if he’d thrown it across the room. Tightening her lips, she picked up the pieces, placed them in the newspaper, wrapped them up for safety and discarded them in the outside bin. Afterwards she made coffee – as strong as she could get it – and located the cereal packet.

When David appeared again, he was dressed in a clean blue shirt and chinos, and his eyes were more focused. In addition, she was pleased to see he’d shaved and brushed his hair. She pointed to the place at the table.

‘Please, you have to eat,’ she said. ‘Then we can plan a course of action and carry it out.’

In the five minutes it took David to finish his breakfast, Kate had already begun the day’s schedule. Leaving him alone, she made her way out to the garden and into Nicky’s studio. It seemed an age since she’d last been here and, of course, she should have looked for any clues that might have been left by her friend’s kidnapper yesterday. If she’d been thinking logically, she would have done. But yesterday had not been a day for clear thinking. Now, that time was over and she would have to be cool-headed. And brave. She knew it, but here she would not name what she knew, not even to herself. For now, she would think only of searching the studio and the house. David could help her.

Pushing aside the sense that Nicky was here still, in the place she loved most, Kate began to search. The studio was suffused with the bright morning sun, the arc of it alighting on the easel that, when not in use, Nicky kept to the left of the available space. It was empty, of course. Nicky only took out paper when she was ready to use it. First, Kate opened all the drawers in the cabinets, trying to find something, anything, even if she didn’t know quite what it was. It was astonishing how neatly her friend kept things in this, her special place; Kate discovered sets of paint pots of similar colours together, and also brushes of the same size. In one drawer, she found knives – all still there, as far as she could tell, or at least nothing obvious was missing, for which she thanked God – and in another were pads of papers arranged in order of thickness. Nothing appeared to have been taken.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. No, she was being foolish. If there was a clue, then something would have been left. Not taken. But what?

Running her hand along one of the shelves, she found it yielded nothing but a small and focused collection of art books and leaflets for Nicky’s past and upcoming exhibitions. She picked up a handful of the latter and flicked through them: a couple of London dates from last year, information about her recent shared space in Farnham and her rapidly-approaching slot in the Godalming Pepperpot. Nothing that sprang out as important.

‘Kate?’

At the sound of her name, she glanced up to see David at the door. His tall frame, with the light behind him, was simply a dark outline. She hadn’t heard him approach and now dropped what she’d been holding onto the shelf again.

‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

He nodded, but Kate knew there was no truth in it.

‘I’ve finished breakfast,’ he said simply. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Have you rung the children?’

‘Yes. My mother will look after them today too. She’ll drive them back over here tomorrow, she says. They’re fine, though Charlotte is still asking for her mummy. I …’

He broke off and took two steps forward. Kate could see the strain across his eyes. The dust of the studio drifting round them like strange mist, she waited until he spoke again.

‘Give me something to do,’ he said.

Kate thought for a moment. She could get nothing more out of the studio – no clue as to Nicky’s disappearance or where she might be now. When the police came, they would search again but she was sure they’d find nothing here. When the police eventually took this seriously, they …
no
. By that time something told her it would be too late – for Nicky, for herself, for David, for all of them. They must find her friend over the next twenty-four hours or not at all. They would have to search elsewhere, but first they would have to be sure that all possible ground was covered.

‘We need to have a thorough look around the house,’ she said, answering him at last. ‘Then, if nothing comes to light, we’ll walk into town, ask people if they saw anything unusual on Wednesday. Visit each shop, each place where Nicky might have gone. He took her in daylight, David – someone will have seen something. After that, if we haven’t found her, we go to the police again.’

His head jerked up as if she’d punched him. ‘And then?’

‘
God
, David,’ she stretched out her hand towards him as if pleading. ‘I don’t know, I simply don’t know. I’m sorry.’

‘Why do you think she might still be here? She could be anywhere, anywhere at all. London, the rest of the south,
anywhere
. What makes
you
so sure?’

By the time he’d finished, David was shouting, but Kate stood her ground.

‘Because whatever … this man has done,’ she said, quietly so David had to be silent to hear her, ‘he’s done in this area. Nowhere else. He never made any attempt to find me when I was elsewhere: not in Bruges, not in London and not in York. Don’t ask me why I should know this, but I am as sure as I can be that that’s what he’ll continue to do.’

A moment more of silence and then David spoke again.

‘Okay,’ he said, fiercely. ‘Let’s do as you suggest then. I don’t have any other options.’

They searched through the house, working in unison as they had over the earlier telephone calls. Kate took the more public rooms downstairs, whilst David allocated himself the privacy of the upstairs areas. He only asked one question, right at the beginning of their quest.

‘What are we looking for?’ he said.

‘Anything out of place, which you think shouldn’t be here,’ was Kate’s answer.

Their search lasted nearly one hour and at the end yielded nothing. Meeting up together again in the dining room, Kate felt tense, uncertain, as if she’d been on the edge of something important but had somehow failed to spot it. She sat down into the nearest armchair and put her head in her hands.

‘You know,’ she said, her voice muffled, ‘you know, I was so sure there’d be
something
. Something to put us on the right track. I was so sure that what he would really be after would be me. Perhaps I’ve been wrong all along. Perhaps all this has just made things more difficult. For everyone.’

Her words drifted outwards, taking her heart with them. Had she been stupid beyond belief? After all this?

A slow hand touched her shoulder and she glanced upwards. David was standing next to her. His eyes were unreadable.

‘I think … I think maybe we’re doing the best we both can,’ he said and she saw him swallow once before releasing her and moving away. ‘I think we can only go forwards now.’

‘The town then?’ she gulped. ‘Bring a picture of Nicky.’

‘Yes,’ he said, his tone of voice more sure. ‘The town.’

***

They walked down the Brighton Road and across at the lights. It didn’t take long, and Kate wondered if Nicky and the family did this on a regular basis. She didn’t ask.

The journey through Godalming, stopping and talking to everyone they met, asking the same question over and over again, visiting every shop, every business, took the rest of the morning and the whole of the afternoon. They stopped once, in the Slug and Lettuce, for a quick snack and a glass of orange juice for David and water for Kate, but neither of them talked. They simply ate their meal, paid and left.

‘I’ve never eaten there before,’ David said as the two of them stood outside, blinking in the afternoon light. ‘It always seemed so …’

‘… for the young?’ Kate finished his sentence with a brief smile.

‘Yes, I suppose so. Or at least it’s always been full of teenagers and young twenties whenever I’ve walked past.’

‘It can be,’ agreed Kate. ‘But not always. I’ve eaten there alone before. It’s not so frightening.’

David grimaced. ‘So speaks the lecturer.’

Kate didn’t correct him. The future was a land in which she couldn’t see the contours. She must simply get to the end of this day and pick her path from there. They continued their search, speaking to everyone from the small woman in the craft shop to the tall, gaunt man in the town museum, with its narrow mirrored entrance and vast central counter. To no avail. Finally, at gone 6pm, they rested on the bench underneath the Pepperpot where once, a long time ago surely, Kate had eaten her breakfast on her first outing since the attack.

David reached into his pocket and took out the snapshot of his wife. Smoothing it down, he stared at it as if it might hold the secrets of her whereabouts. Around them, a light evening breeze drifted, lifting Kate’s hair and making her shiver, in spite of the warmth.

‘Nothing,’ David said at last. ‘Nothing. No-one saw anything and no-one knows anything. But I know she was in the town on Wednesday, or was intending to go.’

His face twisted as he talked and Kate put her arm around his shoulder. Inside, she felt sick with frustration and the burden of not showing it, and knew that, if she’d been alone, she might have shouted, screamed, cursed perhaps or anything that might have helped find her friend. Instead, she held the feeling in, hugging David closer. A few people walked past, taking home their shopping, and gave the couple curious glances, but Kate stared them out and they walked on.

After a while, David pulled away. He sat gazing ahead at the houses opposite as if seeing through them.

‘Come on,’ Kate said at last. ‘Let’s go home.’

Back at his house, Kate installed her friend’s husband into the living room, bringing him the telephone.

‘You need to speak to your children,’ she said, ‘before your mother puts them to bed. Give them my love.’

He nodded and she left the room. In the kitchen, she found bread, cheese and a few mushrooms, and began to prepare a makeshift supper for two. Whatever happened, the pull towards life continued to pulsate, and people would still be obliged to eat. She found herself no longer able to think more than one step ahead. The night beckoned before her, like a vast cavern from which there was no way out. She would feed them both, she thought, then go home, try to get some sleep. In the morning they would go to the police. In the morning, the words whispered through her mind, Nicky will be dead.

No.

No, please God, let it not be the case. She’d do anything,
anything
…

The pain in her hand brought her back to her senses and she realised she was gripping the cheese grater so tightly that red marks had gouged themselves into her palm. Almost like blood.

Nicky, Nicky, where are you?

For the first time since she’d woken up, her face felt wet and, grabbing a section of kitchen towel, she wiped the tears away. No point being weak. She couldn’t afford any weakness now. It was a battle, she knew it, how she knew it, and for a while longer she would have no option but to be strong.

‘You won’t win, you bastard,’ she whispered as she hunched over the grill and laid the mushrooms on top of the cheese. ‘You won’t win.’

‘What’s that? What’re you saying?’

David. Once again, she hadn’t heard him. She must be so full of her own thoughts and fears that she had no room for the acknowledgement of anyone else.

‘Nothing,’ she said, without turning round. ‘Talking to myself, that’s all. I’m cooking us both supper. Bread, cheese and mushrooms. Which is all I could find. I hope that’s all right. Are the children well?’

‘Yes. I told them that you sent them your love. And that their mother did too. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.’

‘No, of course.’

He said nothing more but, going to the fridge, he took out an already opened bottle of Chablis. ‘This should be finished off. It’ll only go to waste.’