jewellery is proof enough. Before locking the trunk, she searches beneath the wedding-dress box but finds nothing else. Certainly nothing to indicate when the wedding took place or how long she has been married. She finds nothing to suggest where Freddie might be now. Alive or dead, in the UK or on the opposite side of the planet.
Closer than you think, whispers a voice in her head in the early hours of Sunday morning.
Getting up soon afterwards, she brings the wedding photograph and the trinket box downstairs, locking the trunk behind her and tucking the keys at the back of a drawer in the kitchen that she rarely uses. The two retrieved items are in the bedside cabinet now, the one furthest away from where she sleeps. She has yet to bring herself to look at either again, but finds their very presence is staining her thoughts.
She wanders her house, opening cupboard doors, checking everything is in its proper place. As she does so, she knows that lurking at the back of her mind is the dangerous thought that she may not, after all, have been responsible for the disorder in her home. Remembering Joe’s advice about changing the locks, she finds the number for local locksmiths and determines to contact them first thing on Monday. She tells herself that it is a sensible precaution, but the question she asked of Joe keeps coming back to haunt her.
You really think someone is coming into my house? When I’m out and when I’m asleep?
By mid-morning, she is unable to stay in the house a moment longer. She goes out running, but the church bells that fill the city on Sunday mornings make her think of weddings. The scent of flowers in the gardens she runs past remind her of a church filled with roses and lilies, but whether the memory is real or imagined, she cannot tell.
The run is a failure. It’s far too hot and her heart isn’t in it. Exhaustion sweeps over her after only two miles and she turns for home. Limping back across the common she catches sight of a man who looks a little like Joe, and for a moment her heart leaps. But even if it is him, how can she possibly tell him this?
Oh, by the way, I’m married. Sorry, I should have mentioned it before. My bad. No, I don’t know where my husband is. I seem to have mislaid him. This won’t impact upon your assessment of my mental state, will it?
This is not something she can tell Joe.
She spends the rest of Sunday numb with anxiety and indecision, unable to see any way forward. She has no idea how she can be married and not know it until now. Losing a few hours of the day is one thing; losing months, even years of her life is another altogether. The trick she’s developed out of necessity, of flicking back through pages in her memory, has been no help to her with this, because no one can keep a detailed record in their head of every day of their lives. Until recently, she has never thought of keeping a diary of any kind so she cannot go back through the years and say, on this day I was not married, nor on this one, nor this.
She cannot be married, to a perfect stranger, and yet she knows with a certainty she can’t explain, that Freddie is no stranger.
As the clocks strike four in the afternoon, she plucks up the courage and pulls the photograph from the cabinet. She wastes no time looking at herself but focuses all her attention on her husband. Freddie’s face is faultless, handsome as a dream. He is tall and looks both strong and athletic. She cannot imagine a man more perfect, or any she would sooner choose to spend her life with. And yet merely looking at his image makes her sick with fear.
She loved Freddie once. She knows this as surely as she is afraid of him now.
By Sunday evening, she hasn’t come to any decisions about her marriage. She has though, devised a plan for dealing with her car. She will report it missing on Monday morning, claiming she hasn’t used it over the weekend and has only just noticed it’s gone. It takes her a long time, even after that, to fall asleep.
* * *
You think there’s any place on Earth he won’t find you?