‘Oh my God, that’s terrible!’ Margot exclaimed. ‘And it definitely wasn’t a friend?’ she asked.
‘No. I’m sure.’ Beth shook her head.
‘Is Daisy okay?’
Beth shrugged, shaking her head again. ‘She was upset, but probably more because I totally flipped out. I’m so embarrassed. And you should have seen Peter. He hates me now, I’m sure.’
Margot placed a hand gently on Beth’s arm. ‘It’s understandable, darling. Children are precious. The little ones I care for, they’re not even mine, and I get so anxious if I lose sight of one of them for a moment. It really is an awful emotion. God knows, there are terrible people out there, you never know what might happen. I think your reaction is completely justified. Don’t worry, Peter will get over it. He’s a teenager. He’s probably forgotten about it already.’
They walked into a deli and perused the daily selection.
‘And how about Charlie?’ Margot asked, her voice dripping with concern. ‘Is he all right?’
Margot made no secret of the fact she thought Charlie was a dish. Beth found it hilarious. Charlie found it terrifying.
Beth picked up a ham and pickle sandwich and shrugged. ‘I think we’re both a little shaken. He wants to get the police involved, but I’m really not sure.’
‘Oh, darling, you must! Daisy may be okay, but what if the next child isn’t so fortunate?’ Margot picked up a quinoa and pine nut salad, and they both joined the queue.
‘I really don’t know what I’d say to them. I’m pretty sure they would tell me that nothing illegal has happened. There’s probably nothing they can do.’
‘That’s not the point, my dear. At least you would have reported it so they would be aware.’ She gripped Beth’s arm. ‘Think about how terrible you would feel if a child were to be abducted.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
Margot smiled. ‘Good girl.’
They walked back to the office, chatting about the rest of Margot’s weekend, with Beth only really half listening. Other things were on her mind…
7
The late evening sun bled into a beautiful bruise across the sky as Charlie stared out of the window. His office had a magnificent view out over the rooftops of Brighton and further afield towards the remains of the fire-ravaged West Pier in Hove. What once had been a stunning example of Victorian engineering was now little more than a skeletal silhouette. A blot on the horizon.
An orange glow fell onto Charlie’s desk, hitting his keyboard and dancing off the edges of the keys. He usually loved this time of the evening towards the end of the summer. Everyone else had gone home for the night and he had the peace and quiet he needed to concentrate on his work. More and more frequently these days, Charlie was starting to feel that his job in advertising was no longer for him; that he was too old for it all now.
A team of noisy twenty-somethings sat at the bank of desks behind him. Painfully close. They didn’t stop talking all day. It was a constant stream of verbal diarrhoea. Usually about Love Island, or Made in Chelsea, or some other nonsensical reality TV show that Charlie had never seen. From the moment they arrived at nine each morning, to the minute they shut down their computers just before five every evening. You could set your watch by them. Youngsters nowadays did not understand hard work, Charlie thought. He saw it in his own son regularly. They seemed to do the bare minimum to get by. The idea of working a second past their contracted time filled them with horror.
These few precious hours after they were all gone. These were Charlie’s golden moments.
Tonight, though, he was distracted. He gleaned no pleasure from watching the sun set over the city he’d loved and called home since meeting Beth here at university over twenty years ago. Things at the house were still tense. Charlie was able to count on one hand the occasions he’d felt like this during his time with Beth.
They had a great relationship. Generally they put their differences aside quickly. Although they chatted for a short while yesterday evening, things were far from normal.
He powered down his computer and packed his belongings into a rucksack. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he typed a message to Beth.
Heading to the gym. Don’t wait for me for dinner.
Reading it back, he added an x at the end before sending it.
He grabbed his bag and moved to the lift at the opposite end of the floor, taking it down to the basement. He knew he was avoiding going home, but exercise was an excellent excuse. He could work off some pent-up frustration at the same time.
He changed into his running gear, threw his stuff into a locker, and headed down the corridor towards the gym.
The motion-activated lights came on one at a time as he made his way along the narrow walkway. He swiped his access card and pushed the door open. He stepped into pitch darkness briefly, before the sensors picked up his movement and the white lights flickered on. He filled his bottle at the water cooler, then walked around the corner towards the treadmills. The lights came on in the far corner of the room. The basement of the building was predominantly storage, but an odd, compact space in one corner had been converted into a gym. It was an L shape, made up from two isosceles triangles, with large cubic pillars dotted around the room, holding up the rest of the vast building above it. The cardio equipment was housed in the smaller of the two triangles, with the weights and other machines in the larger main area.
Charlie pushed his wireless headphones into his ears and started his running playlist on his phone. The loud repetitive beat thumped, getting him in the mood for a long run. He hopped onto the treadmill, pushing up the speed to a comfortably paced jog.
After
