‘You were right – about what you said at the beginning.’ As I looked at him quizzically, he went on. ‘You said you can’t marry someone because you’re worried about them. There has to be love.’ He hesitated again. ‘It isn’t Amy I love. It’s you. I think I always have, right from when I first met you.’
As he spoke, I felt victorious. Walking over, I put my arms around him, claiming my prize. ‘I love you, too. So what are you going to do?’ But already, I knew the answer.
He kissed me, a drawn out kiss that went on and on, until he gently pulled away. ‘I’ll tell her when I get home.’ He kissed me again, more urgently. ‘She won’t like it, but it can’t be helped.’ His mouth was on my neck, as he spoke into my hair. ‘I’ll pack first thing and bring everything over in the morning, before work.’
Ever practical, I pulled away, then went to one of the kitchen drawers, rummaging around until I found what I was looking for, holding it out as I walked towards him. ‘I’m out early tomorrow. And if you’re moving in, you’d better have a key.’
Something flickered in his eyes as he took it from me. ‘Maybe tomorrow night we can go out and celebrate!’ When I didn’t reply, he added more soberly, ‘It’s a new beginning, Fiona. It’s going to be good.’
As I started to let myself believe that this was really happening, I felt a weight begin to lift. He stayed a couple of hours longer, talking about the future, making plans, only falling silent as our bodies became entwined.
When the time came for him to leave, I kissed him goodbye at the bedroom door.
‘I’ll call you in the morning, when I’m on my way.’ His dark eyes were thoughtful as he lingered a moment.
Standing there, I watched him go downstairs, knowing that leaving Amy wasn’t going to be easy for him, yet filled with a sense of anticipation. I still have an image of him, his hair dishevelled, his shirt button undone, his smile as he turned to look at me before he went outside, thinking about him going back to sad, mad Amy one more time. I couldn’t have known it was the last time I’d ever see him.
1996
It takes time for seeds to be nurtured. Blue sky days during which an idea takes root, form, definition, fed with your hatred. The most shocking of thoughts becomes less so, the more you think about it.
It’s where it started, isn’t it? With thoughts. Such a simple act, you told yourself. People did far worse. This was nothing. An anti-love spell to break two people up, it wasn’t much more than a practical joke. Each time you thought about it, the idea grew stronger. What harm was there in a benign spell? The world’s a battlefield, remember?
But you had no right to change the course of nature; to intervene in the purest of love. You didn’t stop to think about how what you were doing might become complicated; that there was always going to be an explosion of consequences. You can’t interfere with destiny and expect to get away with it. No question, one day, it would catch up with you.
Fiona
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, as I left for work early, to prepare for a court case, I was on alert for Matt’s call telling me he was on his way. By late morning, when I still hadn’t heard from him, I called his phone, leaving a voicemail, before trying his office. When they told me he hadn’t been in, I was filled with apprehension. I couldn’t believe he’d had a change of heart – not when he’d seemed so decisive. But when I called him several more times, on each occasion it went to voicemail.
Another uneasy night passed, as I waited to hear from Matt, unable to sleep. Imagined all hell had broken loose when he told Amy, her talons digging into him, drawing blood as she refused to let go of him. At work, I tried to concentrate. But I couldn’t get it out of my head that something had happened to him. The following morning, in between calls and client letters, I thought about our last conversation. He’d been distracted, talking about how Amy’s moods were all over the place; how he was worried about what she’d do when he told her – not just to herself, but to him.
As I considered calling the police, I couldn’t rule out him changing his mind about us, deciding that when it came to it, he couldn’t leave Amy. If he was cosily back at home with her, I was past caring if the police turned up and embarrassed him. But if he genuinely was missing, I needed to be sure the police knew.
Halfway through the morning, having still heard nothing, I called them. A male voice answered. ‘Brighton and Hove Police. Can I take your name and the reason for your call?’
‘Fiona Rose. I wonder if you could help me. It’s about my partner. We don’t live together, but I haven’t heard from him since the day before yesterday. It’s completely out of character and I’m worried about him. Is it possible to check if anyone else has reported him missing?’
‘Can I take his name?’
‘Matthew Roche.’
‘Can I take your contact details?’ After giving them to him, he took more information: Matt’s description and when I last saw him. Then for the rest of the morning, I tried to concentrate on work. In between calls, I thought about our last conversation. He’d been distracted, talking about how Amy’s moods were all over the place; how he was worried about what she’d do when he told her – not just to herself, but to him.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that I got the call back from the police.
‘Ms Rose? It’s PC Page – Brighton and Hove Police. I understand you reported a missing person earlier
