Normally, I wouldn’t dream of going through Matt’s things, but nothing is normal any more. Going upstairs, I open the wardrobe, beginning with his jackets, then moving to his jeans and trousers. All of them neatly folded; I pull them out, checking each pocket. Finding them empty, I go through drawers, removing t-shirts and underwear, my frustration growing, until the last drawer is empty. I slump onto the floor. Surrounded by his clothes, I pick up one of his sweaters, burying my face in it, inhaling his familiar scent, as despair fills me.
When at last I get up, I cast my eyes around the room, looking for the backpack he takes to work. But then I remember that when he left here yesterday, he was carrying it. Making a mental note to ask David if he’s noticed it in Matt’s office, I keep searching the remaining cupboards, moving to the desk in our tiny study, the spare bedroom, even taking a quick glance around Jess’s room and the bathroom, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but it’s the same everywhere I look. Nothing is out of place. All I have is his unfamiliar words and the memory of a scent.
*
I’ve always believed our closeness is tangible; that if anything happened to one of us, the other would somehow know. But that night, as I lie in bed, I’m numb. Troubled not just by the uncertainty. It’s the knowledge that Matt and I aren’t what I thought we were.
I cling on to the hope that there could still be a reasonable explanation for all of this. But there’s no way to normalise the bouquet of flowers. As I think of them, the stench of the blood comes back to me, my head filling with the worst scenarios as I imagine where it might have come from. After that, sleep is impossible. Instead, fear looms from every direction, a cloak of darkness suffocating me.
*
Another night passes when I hear nothing, until the next morning, when I get a call from PC Page. As she speaks, I’m forced to confront a far more sinister reality.
‘We ran some tests on the sample of blood from the bouquet. It was human. Type B positive.’ She hesitates. ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but do you happen to know Matt’s blood type?’
For a moment I can’t speak. Nausea rises in my throat, unthinkable images filling my head.
‘Ms Reid? Are you alright? We really need to know.’
‘I don’t know.’ Sickened at the thought that someone had somehow got hold of Matt’s blood, I try to pull myself together, remind myself that as yet, we don’t know.
‘Is he registered with a doctor’s practice locally?’
‘Yes … we both are – with the one in Steyning. Why?’ But as she speaks, I realise the police must try to rule out the likelihood that it’s Matt’s blood, before they can consider the shocking possibility that it might be.
‘They should be able to tell us. Don’t worry – we’ll find the number. I take it you’ve still heard nothing from him?’
‘No. I’ve kept trying to call and left messages for him. I’ve even looked on Facebook to see if he’s posted anything, but he hasn’t.’
PC Page is quiet for a moment. ‘Can you send me a link to his profile? And in the meantime, can you contact any friends he’s likely to have been in touch with? See if anyone’s heard from him or noticed anything out of character. Might he have been in touch with your daughter?’
I shake my head. ‘He hasn’t. And I spoke to his best man. Pete. And our wedding planner. Neither of them have heard from him, either.’ Feeling nauseous again as I ask. ‘Will you let me know when you find out – about the blood type?’ But I’m already reasoning that even if it turns out to be the same as Matt’s, it still won’t prove it was his.
‘Of course. Do you have Matt’s best man’s contact details? And the wedding planner?’
‘They’re on my phone. Can you hold on?’ Finding Pete’s number, then Lara’s, I write them down, then repeat them back to PC Page.
‘Thank you. In the meantime, as I said before, you need to be careful. There’s someone out there who got hold of a pint of human blood.’ PC Page’s voice is grim. ‘Unless we can rule it out as some kind of sick joke, we can’t take any risks. If you see anything even remotely out of place, please call us.’
Her words remind me of the woman in Brighton. You’re not safe. Someone’s watching you. You’re in danger. Then I realise that I haven’t even told her.
‘There’s something else I should have mentioned, but at the time, it seemed too unbelievable. It happened the day that Matt disappeared. I was walking through the Lanes, when a woman stopped me. She told me I was being watched. Then she told me Matt wasn’t who I thought he was and that I was in danger. It was strange. I’d never met her before but she was most insistent.’
There’s a brief silence. ‘You’ve no idea who she was?’
‘I’d never seen her before.’ I hesitate, then blurt it out. ‘But now, I can’t help thinking, what if she’s right?’
*
With Matt missing, nowhere feels safe. Even as I walk down my garden, I imagine someone hidden, watching me. I try to work, but it’s impossible to concentrate. Both Cath and Lara call me, brief conversations which end abruptly because I have no news, nor can I think about anything else. Eventually, when I call Matt’s boss, David, he sounds flustered.
‘I wish I could help you, Amy. To be honest, he’s taken quite a few days off recently and it’s left me in rather an awkward position.’
As he speaks, a chill runs through me. He took some time off to look at wedding venues, but that was months ago. ‘But that was a while ago – when we
