The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,46

all there, on his phone. You couldn’t have imagined we wouldn’t find them. They make for some reading. You’d obviously found out he was leaving you. It’s all there – you begging him to stay, threatening him that if he left you’d come and find him.’

My mouth falls open. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t send him messages. I called him several times and asked him to text me when he could, but nothing like you’ve just said.’ I break off, incredulous, because they’re not my messages. ‘Are you sure it’s Matt’s phone?’

‘It’s pointless you denying it.’ PC Page’s voice is abrupt. ‘Your number is listed against your photo.’

‘But I didn’t send them. I really didn’t.’ I stare at her, unable to believe the way the police are speaking to me, desperate for her to believe me. ‘Someone must have set it up to look like it was me. But it wasn’t.’

‘So where’s your phone?’

I glance around for my iphone, cursing that I’ve never bothered to lock it. ‘I don’t know. I need to find it. You’ll see there aren’t any texts on it. I don’t know how this has happened, but someone’s setting me up.’ But my heart sinks, because I know what she’ll say, that it was me who could have sent the texts and deleted them afterwards; how she won’t believe me when I tell her I didn’t write them in the first place. When she doesn’t reply, I follow her gaze across the garden. His hands in his pockets, the DI is walking back towards the house.

Suddenly I’m terrified. ‘If they find anything, it’s because someone’s planted it.’

Her voice is sharp. ‘Who would do that?’

I stare at her aghast. Any sympathy she’s shown in the past has vanished. Instead, she’s brusque, forthright. What’s changed? Wretchedly I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know why any of this is happening. I don’t know where the flowers came from, or the blood, but someone’s trying to get at me. Please. You have to believe that.’

As DI Lacey comes back in, he nods towards PC Page. Her eyes flicker briefly away from me, as his fix on mine. ‘Amy Reid, I’m arresting you in connection with the disappearance of Matthew Roche. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

His words are lost as blood rushes in my ears. Dazed, I shake my head, trying to take this all in. ‘This is wrong.’ I stare at them, imagining some kind of sick joke. ‘I haven’t done anything to Matt.’

‘Please, Amy …’ PC Page’s voice is firm. ‘Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.’

‘No.’ This is insanity. When she doesn’t respond, I repeat it, louder this time, my voice panic stricken. ‘PC Page, no. This is a mistake. You know it is.’

But DI Lacey’s voice is firm. ‘Ms Reid, you need to come with us.’

PART TWO

Fiona

Chapter Seventeen

In the weeks since Matt disappeared, my life has been on hold. One day he was moving in, the next there was no trace of him. Instead, I find myself waiting, aware that the more time passes, the more unlikely it is that he’ll be found alive.

As I contemplate life without Matt, sadness fills me. Then anger, at the universe, for giving me a glimpse of something magical, before taking it away. What the hell was the fucking point? Why couldn’t I have just carried on as I was, my life undisrupted? Why deliberately screw things up for me, yet again?

Nothing has ever been easy. From starting out without a penny to my name, hard work and determination have got me where I am today. In ten years, my entire life has changed beyond recognition. Not just my clothes – the real deal instead of cheap and make do – but my flat in Regency Square, with its elegant proportions and sea view. But in building a successful career, the greatest reward has been the credibility I’d for so long been seeking. Instead of being dismissed as I was in the past, I have a voice now. People listen to me.

Grabbing the mirror out of my bag, I check my make-up and add a sweep of the same red lipstick I’ve always worn, then pick up the pile of paperwork on my desk. On top is a file, entitled