The moment the door closes behind them Fiona dashes into the kitchen and opens the cupboard where Leigh keeps the vodka.
‘What the fuck?’ she says as she sloshes generous measures into two glasses.
Mark gives a weak shrug of his shoulders. Lost, defeated. ‘I don’t understand. I can’t believe it. They must have it wrong.’
‘They seemed pretty certain. They wouldn’t have come round here unless they were sure,’ she says carefully. She doesn’t want to twist the knife but it’s in no one’s interest to hide from the facts. Mark stares at Fiona. Glares. His face is stone.
She doesn’t like it.
Suddenly, she feels uncomfortable; it is as though the air is being sucked out of the room. She sees the tension build in his face, will it explode through his mouth or fists? He has no control over this situation. Mark needs to be in control. They are too close to each other and yet utterly distanced. It’s odd. Normally they get on really well, but he’s making her feel uneasy. She straightens her shoulders and reminds herself that everything about this is odd. Off-the-scale crazy. No one is behaving normally. Some women don’t get on with their bestie’s partners, but Fiona has always loved Mark. She’s always thought he was one of the good ones who are few and far between. He looks cold now. Stony. She doesn’t know how to reach him.
‘They clearly think I have something to do with her disappearance,’ Mark continues to glare. His chocolate eyes that bowled Leigh over more than a decade ago bore into Fiona. Alive – not with passion, the way they were for Leigh – but spitting anger. Fiona edges away from him and her back bangs up against the corner of the kitchen counter. She winces. He reaches out a hand towards her, but then hesitates from making contact when he sees her instinctually shrink a fraction. ‘Ouch, are you hurt?’ His tone is forced jovial.
Fiona shakes her head. ‘I’m fine.’
Her voice seems to jar Mark back into himself, in an instant his expression changes. Melts. He looks suddenly vulnerable. ‘You don’t think I have anything to do with her disappearance, do you?’
Fiona holds his gaze, wondering what to say. The truth is no one knows what people are capable of. Who knew that Leigh was capable of being a bigamist, married to two men, running two lives for years and never telling a soul? Never telling her. Fiona thought she knew her best friend inside out. She thought Leigh trusted her. Who can say what secrets Mark might be hiding? What anyone is capable of. It is totally feasible that Mark discovered Leigh’s lie. What might that have led to? Crimes of passion are reported in the newspapers all the time. People murder betraying loved ones. It happens.
Fiona takes a deep breath.
She does not believe that about Mark.
‘No,’ she says eventually. ‘No, I don’t think you have anything to do with her disappearance, obviously not. My guess is she has run off. Leading a double life must be—’ She shrugs, embarrassed. ‘Well, fuck, what must it be, Mark? Unbelievably stressful. I can’t comprehend it.’
Fiona pours them both another vodka. They knock them back without saying anything more for a moment. They can’t find the words.
‘It can’t be true,’ says Mark eventually.
‘But she is only here half the time,’ Fiona says quietly, trying to convey as much sympathy as humanly possible. ‘And the photo.’ She shrugs apologetically, although it isn’t her that should be apologising.
‘What shall I tell the boys?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know. You should talk to the police. See whether they think this is going to hit the papers.’
Mark looks horrified. ‘Do you think it will?’
‘Well, it might, it’s – you know— Juicy. And well—’ Fiona falters, finding it difficult to say any of the stuff that needs to be said. ‘It might hit the papers if she hasn’t just run off. If there is more to this.’ If they find a body. ‘I hate it that these thoughts are even in my head.’
‘This can’t be my world,’ says Mark. ‘It can’t be Leigh’s world.’
‘But it is.’ Fiona coughs to swallow the tears that are threatening. ‘If the papers pick up on this the boys need to be prepared and protected.’ Mark nods. ‘Would you like me to stay? To be with you when you tell them?’
He nods again. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa, you can have our bed.’
‘No, no, Mark. I’ll take the sofa. Honestly.’ Fiona doesn’t want to lie on their sheets. She doesn’t want to smell Leigh’s sweat, perfume or washing powder, maybe their loving, whereas presumably that is something Mark might need.
‘I should have taken the sofa,’ he mutters. Fiona doesn’t really understand his meaning. She thinks he’s not thinking clearly when he adds, ‘I want to meet this other man.’
‘What? No!’
‘I have to. I need to see him. See their home. See it all for myself.’
‘That’s probably not a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
Fiona plays with her empty glass, wishing it were full. ‘Well, she’s missing, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘So— Well— In cases like these, the husband is always the suspect and we know you didn’t do it.’
‘You just said you think she’s run away.’
‘Well, yes, let’s hope she has.’
‘She’s not dead, Fiona.’
Fiona sighs. ‘We don’t know what she is.’
17
Kylie
Wednesday 18th March
I slept last night. I didn’t expect to but the blackness swallowed me. I woke as the morning sunlight crept under the boarded window. I strain my eyes and look around the room for the millionth time. Waiting for something new to jump out at me, something that will help me get out of here. What? I’m not sure. It’s not as though a
