I paused, not really knowing how to explain. Just say it, I suppose, I thought.
‘It’s just … well, I know the police have been to see you? My husband, Danny, has gone missing. I haven’t seen him since last Thursday. And the police said that when they came to ask if you’d seen him around at all recently, you said … well, you said you’d never seen him. That you thought I’d moved in next door alone. Is that right?’
Jo narrowed her eyes slightly, then nodded.
‘Well … yes,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’ve seen you coming in and out a few times. But there’s never been anyone with you. So I just assumed, you know … I mean, I’m sorry, I just did.’
Her accent was broad Bristolian. I thought for a moment. It was true that Danny did generally come and go via the back door, because of his bike. Maybe I hadn’t ever been with him when I’d seen Jo.
‘He comes and goes through the back mostly,’ I said. ‘He cycles, and he keeps his bike out in the courtyard; there’s a little bike shelter thing out there. You never saw him out there, or in the lane behind? He’s tall, dark curly hair.’
She was shaking her head.
‘I don’t use that lane. Spooks me a bit, especially at this time of year – no lights, you know? Silly, I know, I mean it’s a nice area and everything and nothing’s ever happened to anyone along there, but it’s just me. I always use the front door. I’m really sorry, I’ve just never seen him. I’m sorry he’s gone missing, though. If there’s anything I can do?’ She shrugged.
‘Oh, that’s very kind, thank you. And sorry to knock so late. I’ll leave you in peace. Do you know the names of the people on the other side, there? It’s a couple, isn’t it?’
I gestured to the house to the left of ours, and Jo peered out into the darkness, then nodded.
‘Yes, that’s Jenny and Clive’s. They’re away quite a lot but you might be lucky.’
I thanked her and walked the short distance down the path, along the pavement and through a creaky metal gate to Jenny and Clive’s door. I’d seen them less frequently than I’d seen Jo since we’d moved in, on maybe just three or four occasions, and again it had just been a friendly wave or ‘good morning’. Suddenly feeling that all of this was a little pointless, I pressed the doorbell and waited. Thirty seconds or so later a light came on in the hallway and the door was opened by a short, completely bald man in a checked shirt.
‘Yes?’ he said, tersely.
‘Oh, hello, I’m Gemma O’Connor – I moved in next door a few weeks ago? I was just wondering …’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you,’ he interrupted. ‘We’ve had the police round here, asking about you. Well, about somebody called, what was it? Daniel?’
‘Danny. My husband, Danny. He’s gone missing,’ I said.
He stared at me for a moment, giving me time to note that he had very long eyelashes for a man who otherwise seemed to be distinctly follicly challenged.
‘Yes, so I hear.’ His tone was less terse now, warmer. ‘That must be horrible. We couldn’t help though, I’m afraid. We remembered seeing you a couple of times in the past few weeks, but not your husband, I’m afraid. To be honest, we’re not around that much – I travel a lot for work and Jenny, that’s my wife, she doesn’t like to be in the house on her own, so she often goes to stay with her sister in Winchester when I’m away. So we couldn’t recall seeing him, your husband I mean, at all. Not much help, sorry.’
‘That’s OK. If you’re away a lot … and we’ve only been here a few weeks. It’s nice to meet you properly, anyway. Sorry to disturb.’
He smiled, showing crooked front teeth.
‘Not a problem. I hope he turns up soon. We’ll have to get together, maybe? Have a drink?’
I smiled back, even though my stomach was twisting.
Danny, where are you?
‘That would be nice. And thank you.’
Back in the house I walked straight to the kitchen and unlocked the back door, stepping out into the dark courtyard, my mind racing. How often did Danny use the front door? Never on a week day, when he used his bike to go to work … I corrected myself. To go wherever he was