The Disappeared

He glanced down at the pills then back at her with the same questioning eyes he'd had as a young child. 'What happened?'

She didn't have a clue. Didn't remember going to bed or even arriving home. A dim memory surfaced of driving out of Bristol on the motorway, jerking awake at the sound of a rumble strip under her tyres, a loud horn sounding behind her . . .

'I'll be right down,' she said weakly. 'Just give me a moment.'

She moved to the edge of the bed and swung her legs out onto the floor to prove the point. Unconvinced, Ross withdrew and went downstairs.

'You could make some coffee,' Jenny called after him.

It took several minutes under a cool shower to get any life back into her muscles. As the blood started to flow, the previous evening's events gradually drifted back to her. She remembered driving back from the pub to Bristol feeling fine. She and McAvoy were laughing and listening to music. Nearing the city, she'd become drowsy - that would be the alcohol combining with her beta blocker, slowing her heart. She had dropped him off outside his office. He told her to look after herself, then reached out and brushed her cheek with his hand. There had been a moment when he might have leaned forward and kissed her, but he did it with a look instead. She relived a feeling of near elation as she drove back through Clifton, crystal white fairy lights glittering on trees outside the cafes and boutiques like star dust. Then it went hazy . . . drooping at the wheel . . . crossing the Severn Bridge . . . her shoulder dragging against the wall as she climbed the stairs, Ross following behind her.

She was back in her bedroom pulling on a sweater over her blouse when she noticed the notebook, her journal, lying open on the floor at the foot of the bed where Ross had been standing. She stooped down and snatched it up, her heart in her throat. She had written yesterday's date in an erratic hand, and three scrawled lines:

I don't know what happened tonight. That man ... he does something to me. I don't even find him attractive - he's so tired and used up. But when he looks in my eyes I know he's not afraid of anything. What does it mean? Why him? Why now? It's as if

The last 'f' trickled off down the page leaving the thought forever incomplete.

She stuffed the journal into the drawer at the foot of her wardrobe, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame.

Ross called up the stairs. 'What do you want for breakfast?'

'Toast is fine. I'm coming now.' She took a deep breath and told herself not to panic. He hadn't seen the journal. He'd been too concerned about her to notice it. He'd probably spotted the pills, but she could explain those - stress of the divorce, new career; the medication a temporary help in easing the strain. Everyone took them at some point in their life. He'd understand.

He'd made toast and coffee and set out cups and plates on the small fold-out table, only big enough for two, which took up most of the floor space in the tiny kitchen. He was showered and shaved and wearing clean clothes - unheard of on a weekend.

She put on a bright smile. 'Anything planned for today?' He shook his head. 'Karen's away with her mum.' 'I've got to work tomorrow so I thought maybe we could go for a walk, drive over to the Beacons as it's sunny.'

Ross poured her some coffee. 'Don't you think you'd better rest?'

'It was a long week,' Jenny said, 'that's all. The mother of the boy who disappeared died on Thursday—'

'I read about it in the paper.' 'Oh?'

'This case is a big deal. It's been on the news and everything.'

'I try not to listen. They never get their facts straight.' She tried to sound light-hearted and fell short.

'Are you sure you're up to it?' Ross said, in the scathing way only a teenager can. 'You seem pretty stressed to me, crashing out in your clothes.'

'I fell asleep reading. Don't you ever do that?'

'God, do you have to be so touchy all the time?'

'I'm sorry if I'm not Julie-bloody-Andrews.'

'Why do you always over-react?'

'Can we just have breakfast without arguing?' She grabbed a piece of toast and stabbed her knife into the butter. It slipped out of her fingers. She picked it up and fumbled it again. She gave up and forced her hands into her lap, tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

'What's wrong with you?' Ross said.

'Nothing.' She sniffed. Damn. Why did she have to fold now?

His irritation melted into concern.

'What are all those pills for?'

'They're just to help me cope . . . It's taken me a while to get over the divorce.'

'But you were ill before you got divorced.'

'I wasn't—'

'Then why were you seeing a psychiatrist?'

'Who told you that?' she said, as if he'd been fed a lie.

'I heard you and Dad arguing about it.'

It took all Jenny's effort not to break down. 'I'm better now. Everything's changed. I've got a new life. It just takes a while to adjust.'

He was having none of it. 'Why can't you just tell me the truth for once? Steve doesn't think you're better. I know he doesn't.'

'What's he been saying?'

'Nothing specific. I can just tell from the way he talks about you.'

'Ross, please, you have to believe me. Yes, I was very unhappy for a time, but I'd been with your father since I was twenty, barely older than you are now. Being on your own takes some getting used to.' She forced in a breath, somehow managing to keep the tears at bay. 'It's all getting better now. I've got a great job, you . . .' She reached across the table and took his hand. 'You don't know how much that means to me.'

'No pressure then,' he said sarcastically.

'No. There isn't. Honestly.' She let go, realizing how oppressive and guilt-making she must feel to him, but at the same time filled with the selfish need for his reassurance. 'All I want is for you to feel free, but cared for. Your father and I both-'

He recoiled in embarrassment. 'Yeah, all right.'

Jenny allowed herself to smile. They'd made connection. 'I was serious about the two of us going out together. How about it?'

'Whatever you like,' Ross said, and took a mouthful of toast.

Jenny knew the expression he was trying to hide from her behind his mask of macho indifference. In all its essential elements his face hadn't changed since he was a toddler. He felt reassured, comforted in the way he had when he'd run to her with scraped knees needing a hug.

'Do you have to keep looking at me?'

'I'm not-'

The phone rang in the sitting room.

'I'll get it,' Ross said, and went to answer, eager to break the tension.

He came back with the receiver and handed it to her. 'For you. Andy someone.'

Andy? She had a mental blank. 'Hello . . . ?'

'Mrs Cooper. Andy Kerr, sorry to call you on a weekend - your officer gave me your number.'

'Is this about the Jane Doe?'

'I'm not sure ... I came into work this morning to catch up. I still had the dosimeter kicking around my office. I was playing around with it waiting for my computer to boot up when I realized it was still picking something up. I took it over to the fridge thinking there might still be traces from the body when it started going crazy . . .' He paused, sounding as if he scarcely believed what he was about to say. 'Mrs Jamal's body is giving off radiation.