The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,7
a moment, knowing whatever I say, I’m going to worry them. But I make the call anyway, steeling myself to explain to them why I’m phoning, but instead of someone answering, the line goes dead.
Frowning, I check the number, but when I try it again, the same thing happens. Staring at my phone, there’s only one explanation, that Matt must have made a mistake when he typed the number next to their names on the wedding list. Uncomfortable, I call Pete again, swearing under my breath when my call goes to voicemail, before texting him instead. The number I have for Matt’s parents isn’t connected. Sitting there, I wait for his response, but when I remember the list of orders I need to prepare I head outside towards my workshop.
Even in my sanctuary, it’s impossible to focus. My unease, no longer a shadow, is palpable. Trying to distract myself, I think about our wedding, holding on to the image of us in my mind. Matt tall, his suit and white shirt showing off the tan he’ll have after his stag do in Malaga; me spray-tanned, because it’s all I have time for, setting off the dusky pink dress that’s hanging in the spare room. The flowers I’m growing from which to make the simplest, most delicate of bouquets; Jess beside me in pale grey, her long hair loosely pinned up. The hotel cosy, decorated with flowers and candles, the wood fires lit, on the most perfect of winter days where the air is crisp, the sky blue, the sun shining. In the dream, the sun always shines.
A text from Pete jolts me out of my thoughts. He must have made a mistake. I’ve been asking around but no-one’s seen him. I’d call the police, Amy. And keep in touch.
Still holding on to hope that Matt will call me, that there’s an innocent explanation, I put it off a little longer, turning my attention to the orders coming in, until by mid-morning, fear gets the better of me. Filled with trepidation, as I walk back to the house, I dial 999. Half expecting to be told to give it twenty-four hours, I’m surprised when the woman who takes my call efficiently records my details, before putting me through to a PC Page.
‘When did you last see your fiancé?’ From her voice, I know she’s taking me seriously. It’s what I’d dreaded most before I called – not being taken seriously.
‘Yesterday.’ Then I question myself, because it’s been a day in which so much has changed. But it’s the difference between the known and unknown that makes it feel more like a lifetime ago. ‘Yesterday morning. Just before he went to work.’
‘And you last heard from him when?’
‘He called me later that morning from his office, to say he was going to be late.’ Aware of my voice shaking, I pause. ‘It was a last minute change to his plans. He had a client over from the States. His boss had asked Matt to take him out to dinner.’
‘And that was usual?’
‘It doesn’t happen that often, but I suppose often enough that it didn’t seem strange.’ I’m gabbling, needing her to understand the feeling I have, deep in my bones, that something’s happened to Matt. ‘He sounded odd. I mean, he said something he wouldn’t normally say. It was as though he was irritated about something. Then he said he’d talk to me later. Just before he hung up, he said, take care, babe.’ I break off, knowing that to anyone who doesn’t know Matt, it sounds trivial. ‘I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it was out of character. It’s not the kind of thing he ever says.’
PC Page is quiet for a moment. ‘Do you know who the client was?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ For the first time, I’m berating myself that I never ask him, but Matt’s clients are people I never meet. He rarely tells me their names.
‘Did he give you any indication where he was going last night?’
‘He didn’t say.’ Suddenly I remember something. ‘His boss might know. David. It was David who wanted him to take the client out.’ I can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before. As I speak, my sense of urgency grows. ‘I’ll call him. He’s bound to know something.’
‘If you give me his details, we’ll speak to him. We need your fiancé’s contact details, too.’ She sounds in control, but her business-like manner does nothing to reassure me.
‘His name is David Avery.