died, they’d rarely left the county for years, never mind the country,’ Danny had told me. ‘It’s a shame, but I’ll send her pictures and videos. She’s not that bothered anyway, you know what she’s like. And I’ve told her it’s just a modest do, and she’s not missing much.’
I’d only met Bridget once, but I knew what he meant. Danny had told me he’d never really got on well with either of his parents, and I had seen why when I’d met them. Bridget was definitely an odd one, and I hadn’t warmed to his father at all. And he was right, it wasn’t much, our wedding reception, but it was perfect for us and I loved it: a knees-up at the local pub, champagne and fish and chips, photos snapped on friends’ phones, to be collated and put into an album later. It was really how Danny had wanted it – he hated fuss, as he called it – but I’d been happy to go along with it, as long as a few key people were there: Mum, Dad, my closest friends. I still wore white though, a beautiful Chanel sheath, and insisted he wear a suit and cut his wild locks into something resembling a hair style. He’d moaned, but he’d complied, and I’d never seen him look more gorgeous than he did that day. I’d never felt more in love, or happier. Never dreamt that just a year later …
There was a lump in my throat, and I swallowed hard, feeling the nausea rising again. We’d been happy, we had. We fitted. And I hadn’t lied when I’d told the police we’d been virtually inseparable most of the time. OK, so Danny, very occasionally, would become a little withdrawn, wanted to be alone, would head off on his bike for a couple of hours, but that was natural; he loved cycling, and he had a stressful job, cooped up in a stuffy office, staring at a screen. It was a bit like that for me too, with my writing, and I’d always understood his need for a bit of solitude. He’d always come back a few hours later, smiling, relaxed, rejuvenated. So this, this complete disappearance – this wasn’t Danny. Or not the Danny I thought I knew, certainly.
He lied to me, I thought again. He lied. And not just a little white lie, a massive one.
And if Danny had lied to me about something as huge as his job, hadn’t told me what was really going on in his life, it suddenly seemed to me that it was much more likely that he had just left me, just walked out, despite my previous insistence that he wouldn’t do that. Could he have been having an affair? Were those solitary cycle rides not what I thought they were – had he been meeting up with somebody after all? Had he now gone off to be with her, whoever she was? And yet, I thought, rubbing my throbbing temples, even that didn’t make much sense, for why had he taken nothing with him? His passport, toiletries, clothes – everything was still here. If you were leaving your partner, and wanted to do it quickly while they were away for a night, surely you’d still take the basics? One bag, with a few clothes, bits and pieces to keep you going until you could come back and collect the rest? I would. Why leave with nothing …?
BRRRRR.
I jumped as the doorbell rang, Albert instantly awake and on his feet, running across the room, yelping excitedly. I groaned. Now what? Police, again, with news this time maybe? Had they found him? I pushed the throw off and followed my dog to the front door. I was right. It was them again, DS Clarke and DC Stevens and, feeling suddenly shaky, I showed them into the sitting room, sending Albert to the kitchen again. We sat down in the same positions we’d been in that morning, me on the sofa, DS Clarke on the armchair opposite, his colleague remaining standing, hovering. I had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to cover my ears with my hands and sing ‘la la la’ like a child. The police officers’ faces were serious, and whatever they were about to say, I could already tell I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t think I could take much more.
‘Mrs O’Connor, Gemma … is it OK, if I call you Gemma?’