that she wasn’t at the flat.’ Lewis wipes a moustache of foam from his top lip.
‘No, I mean she’s lying about other things.’
‘Like what?’
‘The yoga retreat, for example.’ She takes another crisp and it scratches as she swallows. ‘As far as I know, Amber’s never done a yoga class in her life. She hates exercise, and she despises alternative medicine and spiritual healing. Remember how she took the piss out of me when I started that Reiki training?’
‘She was trying something different. For her depression.’
‘No, it was a cover. She was spending the weekend with someone, I’m sure of it.’
Lewis puts his hand gently on her thigh. ‘Look, I know you’re really upset – of course you are – but concocting some conspiracy theory isn’t going to make you feel any better.’
Ruby wants to tell him he’s being naïve, not to say unsupportive, but she bites down on her reply. She knows her sister and she’s up to something, simple as.
There’s an uneasy pause. ‘Better start cooking,’ Lewis says, picking up his half-empty bottle. ‘Mushroom risotto okay?’
‘Sorry, I don’t really feel like eating – not a proper meal.’
‘I’ll make a small portion.’ He goes back to the kitchen and turns some music on.
Ruby drains the bottle of beer and puts it back on the table. Easing herself off the sofa, she stands and stretches her aching limbs. An idea has entered her head, and she feels suddenly compelled to act upon it. She creeps from the room and goes into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
A quick Google search for Gaia Hall brings her to an impressive website full of pictures of waterfalls and people in yoga poses with rolling landscapes behind them. First she checks their programme of retreats. It seems that one did in fact take place last weekend – a beginner’s course offering guided yoga sessions and an introduction to mindfulness. ‘So not Amber’s style,’ she mutters under her breath. It was the kind of course Ruby herself would love to do but could never afford.
She clicks on Contact Us and finds the phone number she was looking for. Dare she make the call? They’re unlikely to tell her whether Amber attended – everyone is so cautious about giving out personal details these days. She’ll have to ask in a roundabout way.
She follows the onscreen link and the line starts to ring.
‘Good evening, Gaia Hall,’ says a very posh female voice.
‘Oh, hello, could I speak to the manager, please?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Good. It’s … er … Amber Walker’s sister here. Amber is Mabel Walker’s mother, you know? The baby that’s gone missing, you’ll have seen it on the news. I gather she was staying at Gaia Hall on Saturday night.’
‘Who is this?’ The manager’s tone is icy cold.
‘Like I said, I’m Amber’s sister.’
‘Are you a journalist?’
‘No, honestly!’
‘You disgusting people. Why don’t you just crawl back into the hole you came from?’ The line goes dead. Ruby throws her phone down on the bed. What a horrible woman; she didn’t even give her a chance to explain.
She paces about, feeling so angry and frustrated she could punch the walls. She has to know if Amber really went to Gaia Hall; a lot depends on it. Because she’s not going to be the fall guy in this tragedy. Nor is she going to slot neatly into their mother’s pigeonholes. Perfect, clever, goody-goody Amber and clumsy, stupid, walking-disaster-area Ruby. Mabel is missing and only the truth will find her.
She opens the wardrobe and takes out a thick jumper. She pulls it over her head, then goes quietly into the hallway and puts her boots on. Lewis is still cooking. His geeky classical music is wafting in from the kitchen. It feels bad, walking out on him while he’s making dinner, but if she tells him where she’s going, he’ll try and stop her. She picks up her helmet, slips on her high-vis waistcoat and creeps out of the flat.
Unlocking the padlock, she wheels her bike down the path and presses the button to open the outer gates. It’s dark, colder than she was expecting. She fastens on her helmet and pushes onto the road. Normally she’d never cycle all the way to Mum’s, but tonight it feels like the only way to go. The intense concentration required to navigate the busy London traffic will make it an almost meditative experience, releasing her brain from thinking about Mabel for every fraction of every second.
As she sets off, sticking to the cycle lanes wherever