Date Night (ARC) Page 11

  I nod again.

  The solicitor – Claire something, I think they said she was called – looks at me, leaning forward slightly. I smell her perfume – sweet and flowery with a hint of something else. Something strong and dark. Like her. ‘And there will be more evidence, Libby, please be assured of that. They’ll likely lay their best cards on the table towards the end of the interview, trying to wrong-foot you, trip you up over what you’ve already said – if you say anything at all. You’ve been arrested for a reason, and the alleged crime is serious. Very serious, Libby, so if you’re innocent and want to walk out of here later with no further action, you need to completely refute what they’re saying by giving your version of events.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘Or, of course, if it’s appropriate, I can advise you how to make a confession.’

  She sits back in her chair, her nude-coloured blouse falling open a little at the front so I can just make out the edge of her pale bra. Her black pencil skirt and court shoes, her subtle yet flawless make-up, her hands that don’t look as though they’ve ever seen a washing-up bowl, are a stark contrast to my current state. Unwashed, unmade-up, exhausted and terrified. Shaking from the inside out, I am the opposite of the woman sitting across from me.

  ‘Of course, you have the right to remain silent and say “no comment” to everything you’re asked in interview. But please do keep in mind that if this case goes to court and you later wish to rely on evidence there that you don’t provide now, it’s not going to help your cause. Not at all.’

  ‘But what evidence?’ I say, my thoughts coming out as actual words. Tiny, barely audible words. ‘They’re saying I did something and I didn’t.’ I cover my face, not wanting her to see my tears. ‘It was only a meal. A meal in a pub and then all this happens. A living nightmare. And poor Sasha… gone.’ I try to sniff back the sobs but can’t hold them in any longer. My head drops to the table. ‘I can’t stand the thought of what Jan and her family are going through, and I hate that this has happened to them and to Sasha. But how can my life go from perfectly normal, perfectly wonderful, to this? I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear I didn’t.’ I look up, snivelling, wiping my nose across the back of my sweatshirt sleeve. ‘We just went out for a meal.’

  ‘OK,’ Claire says, taking a clean tissue from a pack in her handbag and passing it to me. ‘That’s a start. Now, why don’t you tell me everything about that night…’ She glances down at her papers. ‘The night Sasha Long went missing.’

  * * *

  ‘You never know what you’re going to need to remember,’ I say after blowing my nose, wiping my face and having a few sips of water. When they question me, I just need to tell them what happened. Exactly the same as Sean and I have done all along.

  Sean, I think, picturing my husband’s face as I stare at the solicitor. He’s smiling, standing in front of me with his big hands planted firmly on my shoulders and he’s looking me squarely in the eyes. I see his mouth moving, telling me something, overlaid on top of Claire’s face as she sits opposite. As ever, I know he’s got my back, that he’s by my side, telling me that we’ll get through this together, that none of it is our fault, that we’ll one day look back and know it made us stronger, closer, more in love than ever. I try to lip-read what he’s telling me, wanting nothing more than to hear I’ll get you out of there, Lib, don’t you worry… but all I can see are his lips saying It is what it is… over and over.

  ‘Sean and I went out on a “date night”,’ I tell her, sniffing. ‘Sounds silly, I know, but… but something had happened in the few days before to make me feel a bit, well, insecure. It was stupid of me, I now realise, and completely unjustified. Sean knew I was upset so he suggested a meal out on the Friday night, at the Old Fox in Chalwell. We’d both been working hard and needed some time out together.’

  ‘Can you tell me more about what it was that had made you feel insecure?’ Claire asked, making notes at the same time. ‘Am I right in thinking it was perhaps a… trust thing between you?’

  I pause, thinking of Sean again, trying to read his lips, what he’s telling me to say. ‘It’s not really relevant,’ I reply. ‘But it’s the reason we went out that night.’

  Claire’s face softens slightly – eyes narrowing just a touch so the tiniest of lines appear at the corners, her lips pursing, not in pity but rather in understanding, empathy. As if she knows exactly how I felt that night.

  ‘It was just a stupid misunderstanding really. And trust was at the core of it, yes. It’s the reason Sean booked the table. To make things better between us.’

  ‘You said something had happened in the few days before the meal? Can you tell me about that?’

  ‘Do I need to?’

  ‘Libby, the detective is going to be asking you all kinds of questions. And he’s not going to be gentle like me. You don’t have to answer, like I said, but it’s hard for me to advise you if I don’t have the full picture.’ Claire turns her wrist, glances at her watch. ‘I’m conscious of time too.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, my heart juddering. ‘I’d got reason to believe Sean might be having an affair. Stupid, I know. And he’s not, but something had got to me, made me have doubts.’

  ‘What had got to you?’

  ‘A note,’ I say, half rolling my eyes, shrugging. ‘Someone left a note under my car windscreen wiper saying that Sean was having an affair.’ There. It’s out.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Libby. Did you mention this in your previous police statements?’ Claire shuffles through some papers, scanning the documents in front of her.

  ‘No,’ I say, saving her the trouble. ‘I didn’t think I needed to.’

  She stops, looks up at me, then makes some more notes on her pad. ‘So you’d gone out for a meal to patch things up after getting the note?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She’s silent for a moment, her eyes lingering on my face for a few seconds before turning back to her papers. She taps her pen on her lip as she reads, running her finger down the lines, turning pages.

  ‘And when you came back from the pub, Sasha wasn’t in your house. Alice, your four-year-old daughter was asleep upstairs. You went out in the car looking for Sasha…’ She makes a noise as she speed-reads further into the papers, her finger quickly tracking the words. ‘Then you contacted Sasha’s boyfriend, some friends, her mum, then the police were called… investigation… um… OK, Libby…’ she mumbles, flicking to another document beside her.

  She looks up, laying down her pen and leaning forward on her arms. ‘Part of the police evidence relates to disparities and contradictions between your and your husband’s statements, Libby. Some things don’t match up.’

  ‘What?’ I choke on the water I’m sipping, coughing. ‘What do you mean, disparities?’ I say, covering my mouth. ‘We both know exactly what happened. We were both there.’

  ‘Tell me about your husband’s relationship with Sasha, Libby? How well did they know each other, for instance?’

  I sit there, staring at her, my mouth open and my eyes even wider. ‘Why do you keep saying my name?’ I ask, feeling dizzy, sick, as if I’m not real. ‘Over and over, you keep saying it. Like you’re trying to trick me. Or make me go mad.’ I half stand up, leaning forward on the table. My arms are shaking, my eyes bulging wide. I sit down again when Claire recoils. ‘You’re not on my side at all, are you?’ I whisper, sweating. ‘You’re just trying to catch me out.’

  ‘Libby, I’m not and it’s a simple question. And one the detective will undoubtedly ask you.’ The solicitor taps her pen on the edge of the table, her eyes fixed on mine. Tap, tap, tap… ‘Your husband. Sasha. And you. The jealous wife.’ She tilts her head to one side.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I say, getting up and going over to the wall, standing there with my back to her. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. Sasha and Sean?’ I swing around, my arms clamped across my chest, the long sweatshirt sleeves pulled over my hands. Sean’s sweatshirt. I feel his arms holding me, giving m
e strength like he always has. ‘She’s our babysitter, for God’s sake. And she sometimes helps me out in my business. She’s a student and only seventeen.’

  ‘And she could also be dead, Libby,’ Claire says, making me feel as though the floor has disappeared from beneath me. ‘It may well be that they’ve found a body.’

  Eighteen

  Before

  Marion stared at them, a bottle of pills in her hand, as they stood in the doorway. Alice was perched on Sean’s hip with her arms slung around his neck. It was only a few minutes’ drive to the farm, just a couple of miles outside Great Lyne, but Alice had fallen asleep almost as soon as Sean had started the engine of Libby’s car.

  ‘Oh my goodness, is everything OK?’ Marion said as she tucked the pills in her pocket. Libby thought that they must look like refugees – Alice still in her nightie and wrapped up in a dressing gown and coat, with Libby in old tracksuit bottoms and a baggy cardigan over a T-shirt, the first things she could find when it became clear they had to leave the cottage. She’d wanted to change out of her dress. Her hair was messy and last night’s make-up was still smudged under her eyes. It was 5.40 a.m. and neither of them had been to bed, with Sean not looking much better, having also changed out of what he was wearing last night. In a fit of distraction, Libby had put a load of washing on, trying to keep herself busy with menial tasks. It hadn’t worked.

  ‘Mum, I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour. Can we come in?’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ Marion said, her face crumpling with concern as she stepped aside. Libby had been due to drop Alice off with Marion at nine o’clock anyway, while she got on with preparations for that evening’s dinner party and Sean worked a morning surgery, but the three of them arriving at this hour was not what she was expecting. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine. You know I’m up early anyway,’ she added, rubbing Alice’s back as Sean passed through into the kitchen. ‘You both look as white as sheets and done in. Tell me, what’s going on?’ She pulled out a couple of chairs from the big kitchen table, pushing aside some papers and other clutter that had accumulated at one end. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Sean said, lowering himself into the chair, trying not to wake Alice. Libby remained silent, wondering how Sean was going to break the news that Sasha was missing and their cottage was soon to be filled with a police forensics team.

  ‘How was your meal at the Fox?’ Marion asked, reaching down some mugs. ‘You can’t have stayed out very late if you’re up this early.’

  ‘It was lovely, thanks, Marion. Just what we needed and the food’s always good,’ Libby said when Sean didn’t answer.

  ‘Well you know us, we’re not exactly party animals any more,’ Sean said, giving Libby a look. ‘But something a bit odd has happened, Mum, which is why we’re here.’

  ‘Oh?’ Marion said, pausing what she was doing. ‘That sounds ominous. Firstly, tell me – are the three of you OK? You’re not ill or in any kind of danger?’ Usually cool-headed and stoic, Libby saw the look in Marion’s eyes, the way they latched onto Sean’s.

  ‘We’re fine, Mum. But like I said, something happened last night.’ Sean waited until Marion had made a pot of tea and sat down. Her hands shook as she poured it. She then went to the fridge for a carton of juice for Alice, who had woken and was grumbling on Sean’s knee.

  ‘Alice, darling, do you want to watch some telly while we chat to Nanny?’ Libby said, scooping up her daughter. Alice kicked her legs against Libby for a moment, whining, but the promise of breakfast biscuits and cartoons won her over.

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point, Mum,’ Libby heard Sean explain as she sat back down at the table. ‘When we came home from the pub, Sasha was gone.’

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ Marion said, covering her mouth for a second. ‘When you say “gone”, do you mean, literally gone?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sean said. ‘She just wasn’t there.’

  ‘We looked everywhere, of course,’ Libby added. ‘Alice was on her own upstairs. Asleep, thank heavens.’

  ‘So, what… the girl had just abandoned her? Where did she go? Has she apologised yet?’

  ‘That’s the thing, Mum,’ Sean went on. ‘We still don’t know where she is. No one’s seen her. Jan, her mum, came over immediately and, in the end, we had to call the police.’

  ‘The police?’ Marion said. Her mug quivered as she brought it to her mouth slowly, eyeing her son over the rim.

  ‘It’s why we’re here,’ Libby said. ‘They need to…’

  ‘They need to look over the cottage,’ Sean finished when Libby’s voice wavered.

  ‘I just can’t believe any of this is happening,’ Libby said, glancing out of the kitchen window, across the farmyard. The first flecks of red were vaguely visible above the furthest barn.

  ‘Well, I’m shocked at how irresponsible she’s been,’ Marion said, shaking her head. ‘There’s no excuse for leaving a four-year-old alone. You must both be livid.’

  ‘I think it’s past being angry with her,’ Libby said. ‘It’s completely out of character. I know Sasha pretty well and she wouldn’t do something like this without a good reason.’

  ‘Or,’ Sean added, ‘without coercion.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Marion added more sugar to her tea, stirring it longer than was necessary. ‘I knew I should have cancelled my church meeting last night to babysit for you. We were only setting some rotas. Frankly, they could have done without me and then none of this would have happened. I feel terrible.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Mum,’ Sean said. ‘I’m going out to search soon,’ he continued. ‘I’ll get some of the shooting guys together to scour the area. If she’s wandered off in the dark, anything could have happened. She might be lying in a ditch with a broken ankle for all we know. And no one knows the countryside around here like the beaters.’

  Marion nodded, staring at Sean, her eyes wide and incredulous, but also with a tinge of adoration for her son. ‘Meantime, you and Alice stay right here with me, OK?’ she said to Libby. ‘Stay as long as you need.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Libby said, wondering how on earth she was going to cater for the dinner she’d committed to tonight or, worse, break it to her clients that she would most likely have to cancel.

  * * *

  It was light and Sean had been gone nearly two hours and, having forgotten to bring her charger and mindful of preserving her battery, Libby hadn’t texted or called to see if there was news. Marion didn’t have an iPhone cable, preferring to stick with her old flip phone. Besides, she knew Sean would call her if there was anything to report.

  As Libby half-heartedly entertained a grumpy, sleepy Alice on the sofa, she imagined Sean rallying a couple of the local farmers and their workers to help, perhaps some of them out on quad bikes, covering more distance quickly. Sean had made several calls before he left, telling a couple of the guys he went shooting with what had happened. As the under-keeper on the local estate, Sasha’s dad, Phil, was of course involved. Pheasant season hadn’t long started and, between them, they had five or six eager spaniels who would instinctively pick up a trail. The regular beaters would scour the land on foot, familiar with every inch of it from flushing out the birds on shoots, the gun dogs following on. And, with Phil being a key participant, support for finding Sasha would be high. If anyone could find her, they would.

  ‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with the police’s plan,’ Libby had said to Sean as he pulled on his heavy jacket ready to leave. A hard frost had formed overnight, everything encrusted white with an eerie silence hanging over the farmyard as Sean opened the back door. ‘They mentioned about getting a dog handler in,’ she’d reminded him. ‘We don’t want to get in the way.’

  ‘Trust me, we won’t,’ Sean had replied, staring at her, his eyes boring into hers as she balanced Alice on her hip. She pulled her fluffy gown around her, shivering. Then he’d leant down and kissed her, squeezing her hand. ‘Everything will be OK,’ he’
d said, punctuating each syllable with a nod, before turning and leaving.

  ‘Marion, is that you?’ Libby suddenly called out from the sofa, hearing a noise, wondering if it was Sean back already. She looked at her watch. It was nearly 10 a.m. and she’d been dozing by the fire in the living room with Alice snuggled up against her, cartoons on the TV in the background.

  But Marion didn’t reply. Then the noise again. A knock – someone at the door, sounding like it was at the back door that led into the kitchen. Marion had probably ventured out on the farm, helping out when she felt able, even if it was just cleaning out the henhouse or sorting out Fred’s tool shed. Libby knew her health issues slowed her down, though Marion was the type never to discuss such things, believing that if she didn’t acknowledge her ailments, they’d go away. Libby had offered to go with her to her hospital appointments, but she’d flatly refused the support, not even confiding in Sean.

  ‘Just sit up a moment, sweetie,’ she said to Alice, sliding out from underneath her daughter. ‘I’d better see who it is.’

  Libby’s heart raced as she headed for the door – her first thought that it was the police with news of Sasha. But when she answered the back door it took her a few moments to realise who it actually was standing there. And it certainly wasn’t the police.

  ‘Oh. Hello, Libby,’ the woman said. The corners of her mouth lifted and her eyes shone with one-upmanship as she hitched up the strap of her smart bag, hung over the immaculate tan wool coat she wore flapping open over skinny jeans. Her black leather boots seemed endless on her long legs. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be here.’

  Libby stared at her. ‘Natalie,’ she said finally, her voice cracking under the weight of her name. She was the last person she wanted to be dealing with right now. ‘How… how are you?’