The Missing Husband Page 12

  Sitting up in bed, Jo looked at the clock, which she had been forced to plug back in the night before for fear of sleeping in. It was five to seven. Her body was working to a practised routine even while Jo’s conscious mind had spent the last two weeks learning new ones, like cooking for one person, shopping only for herself, and watching whatever she wanted on TV – not that she could concentrate long enough to take in a storyline. Was David doing the same? And was he hating it as much as she was or had he embraced his new life?

  It didn’t take Jo long to shower and dress but she put off looking in the mirror until she was in the hallway, ready to leave – and then she came face to face with the image her colleagues would be presented with. She had hoped to see a little of her old self staring back at her so she could face their awkward looks and questions and had even dyed her hair an extra bright shade of auburn the day before to deflect some attention away from her pale complexion. Her fringe was perfectly straight with a radiant shine but it framed a set of eyes that were gaunt and would fool no one.

  Her grey cashmere coat was no longer snug across her chest because, unsurprisingly, Jo had lost weight in the last couple of weeks but it gaped open at her middle that little bit more. Trying to ignore the reminder that little FB’s arrival was getting ever nearer, Jo pulled at the red chiffon scarf draped around her neck in an attempt to hide her ill-fitting coat but it wasn’t long enough. She tried to tell herself it would do but then, with a sigh of resignation and a clatter of keys, she pulled the scarf from around her neck and opened a drawer to reveal a selection of gloves and scarves folded in neat piles. She knew if she didn’t leave soon she would become tangled up in the school run traffic and it would take twice as long to get into the city centre, but she had to get her appearance right. She rummaged through the contents of the drawer until she found what she was looking for, a long green woollen scarf that David had bought her last Christmas for their trip to Iceland. She shoved the rejected red scarf in the drawer and slammed it shut, leaving a single beaded tassel poking out.

  Jo wrapped the woollen scarf around her neck and let it hang in front of her protruding stomach. She was finally ready to face the world and grabbed her handbag before heading for the front door. She switched off the hallway light but as her hand touched the doorknob she was already slowing to a stop. Rather than open the door, she released a sigh that ended with a curse. The colourful smears of light seeping through the stained glass brought enough daylight to cut through the gloom, trailing along the hall and guiding Jo’s eyes towards the dresser.

  She couldn’t see the chaos inside but the red tassel bleeding from the drawer taunted her. If David had been there he would have grabbed her by the coat sleeve and yanked her out of the house and she would have forgotten about it by the time the car pulled out of the drive. But David wasn’t there to keep her eccentricities in check and so she pushed him from her mind as she emptied the contents of the drawer and began to neatly fold each scarf as if that act alone would help get her life back in order.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ Jo said as she rushed into Gary’s office. She hadn’t had a chance to switch on her computer or catch up with any of her colleagues although in fairness that had been deliberate. The sympathetic looks had been painful enough.

  ‘You’re not late, Jo. You’re just not ten minutes early like you usually are.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she repeated.

  By the look on Gary’s face he was about to ask how she was coping but the door opened before he could draw breath and Jeanette swept in. ‘Here, you can at least find time to have a cup of coffee even if you can’t stop to say hello. And yes, it is decaf.’

  ‘Thanks, Jeanette,’ Jo said, taking the proffered mug with surprising gratitude. It was the first time in a long time that someone hadn’t forced strong, sweet tea on her.

  Gary’s PA looked as if she was about to leave but then put her hand on Jo’s shoulder. ‘You’re doing great.’

  Jo attempted a half-smile, which trembled with the effort.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ Gary said when they were alone again.

  ‘Look, I can’t deny things are difficult at home but I’d like to get back to my job as quickly as I can. I don’t want any special treatment, I just want normal. I want busy.’

  Gary sucked the air between his teeth as he picked up a folder from his in-tray. It was a personnel file and Jo didn’t need to guess whose it might be. ‘So what’s the decision?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jo but we don’t really have a choice. Until David’s whereabouts are accounted for, we have to assume he’s elected to walk away from, amongst other things, his job. He’s in breach of contract and payroll is in the process of working out his final salary payment.’

  Jo had expected as much. Nelson’s was used to dealing with transient workers and she had dealt with countless cases herself. ‘I understand,’ she said.

  ‘All I will say is that I am truly sympathetic to your circumstances. The company owes you its loyalty, and David too. The post isn’t going to be filled overnight so if he does turn up and there’s a satisfactory explanation then there’s always a chance you can both recover from this.’

  Jo could almost have laughed if she hadn’t been so terrified that she might then cry. ‘If he has a good explanation then I’d love to hear it.’

  Jo spent the rest of the morning going through her emails, a mundane task at the best of times but today she found it therapeutic. She was in the process of reorganising half a dozen meetings when Kelly crept into the office.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.

  Jo accepted Kelly’s concern in the spirit it was given, although the pity in her assistant’s voice grated on her nerves. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Don’t go pushing yourself too hard, you’ve the baby to think of, remember.’

  How could I forget? Jo thought but said, ‘I’ll manage. There’s a bit of catching up to do but I’m getting there.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything glaringly wrong while I’ve been covering for you, have I?’ Kelly said with a confident smile that suggested she held no doubts.

  Again, Jo tried not to let her irritability show. While her assistant’s need for reassurance wasn’t unreasonable, it was ill-timed and her role ‘covering’ for her was somewhat overstated.

  ‘Gary and I are very grateful for your help,’ she said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Did you notice?’ Kelly said. When Jo looked nonplussed she tipped her head towards the coat stand. ‘I managed to get you issued with a coat.’

  ‘Yes, I was wondering where that came from,’ Jo said without looking over. It was olive green with the Nelson’s logo on the lapel and reflective strips on the sleeves. Most employees had to make do with the Day-Glo yellow jackets for site work so these coats were like gold dust, but Jo didn’t feel particularly fortunate. The last time she had seen someone wearing this type of coat was on the CCTV footage DS Baxter had shown her of David’s last movements at West Allerton station, and she didn’t so much feel as if she had gained a coat but was reminded that she had lost a husband.

  ‘You’ll probably swim in it, but at least you’ll be able to fasten it up. How about you try it out? We could always go out for something to eat.’

  ‘I’m really not that hungry,’ Jo said, grimacing at the idea of lunch, especially lunch with Kelly.

  ‘By the look of you I’d say you haven’t been hungry for weeks but if you don’t fancy eating out, you at least deserve a break,’ Kelly persisted. ‘You can’t hide away in here all day.’

  Jo didn’t have the energy to argue but fortunately she didn’t have to. Over Kelly’s shoulder, she had noticed the welcome arrival of a friendly face.

  Heather popped her head through the door. ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I?’ she asked. ‘I thought you might like to pop out for lunch.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ Kelly said but loitered a little longer as if hoping for an invitation.

  ‘Thanks,
Kelly, and thanks for organising the coat for me,’ Jo said then felt obliged to add, ‘I promise we’ll do lunch another time.’ She was trying not to let the relief show.

  ‘How about Chinese?’ Heather asked.

  ‘Wherever you fancy,’ Jo said, more interested in the company than the food. She picked up her bag and mobile and was even ready to slip on her newly acquired coat when her phone rang. The number wasn’t one she recognized which meant she couldn’t ignore it. ‘Sorry, I’d better get this.’

  Rather than providing her with new information, the caller confirmed something Jo already knew. It was one of the midwives at the health centre checking up on her. She had missed both a hospital and an antenatal appointment in the last two weeks. Jo tried explaining that she had been busy but it wasn’t necessary: the midwife had seen the news report.

  ‘It’s my first day back at work today and antenatal clinics are the last thing on my mind,’ Jo said when the midwife suggested she call into the clinic later that day.

  ‘If you’re back at work then it’s even more important that you find time to look after yourself,’ the midwife replied curtly.

  ‘So people keep telling me,’ Jo said with a sigh and then tried to make vague promises about calling in soon but the midwife was insisting on seeing her that week. ‘OK, Friday then.’

  ‘And don’t miss this one,’ the persistent midwife said.

  ‘I won’t,’ Jo promised then cut off the call as quickly as she could.

  ‘You’ve missed an appointment?’ Heather asked.

  ‘Or two,’ Jo confessed. She watched Heather’s jaw drop and then said, ‘For goodness’ sake don’t turn into my mother; I have enough earache from the real one. I’m only five months pregnant. There’s still plenty of time to get my head around what to do about the baby when the dust has settled around the disaster area that’s become my life.’

  ‘You’re six months pregnant, Jo.’

  ‘Really?’ Jo turned to the calendar on the wall to check for herself. It was 4 November and her baby was due at the beginning of February, three months away. For a moment she didn’t think she was going to keep down the contents of her empty stomach as it did a somersault.

  Was it possible to feel even more guilt? Her baby deserved better. It ought to be nurtured and brought into a world where it would find two joyful parents eagerly awaiting its arrival. But its father hadn’t wanted it and now even its conniving mother couldn’t bring herself to think about it without feeling sick with dread. What had David reduced her to? She had tried so hard not to hate him in the last few weeks and was surprised at how deeply her loathing for her husband now burned.

  12

  The light from the back of the house stretched out over the glistening patio but no further and Jo needed a flashlight to find her way across the damp, squelchy lawn. She came to a halt when she stepped on to the jagged concrete edge of foundations to an old outbuilding David had demolished a couple of years earlier. It was wide enough to provide a solid base for the new shed with a fair amount of working space left for other projects. David had talked about building raised beds for Jo to grow herbs and vegetables and had even suggested a hen coop. As Jo surveyed the scene of chaos in front of her, she still didn’t know if he had been serious. She knew less about her husband with each passing day.

  ‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Jo said as the flashlight traced the outline of the huge pile of wood David had amassed over the summer while replacing some fencing. ‘It’s Bonfire Night and what better time to have a fire at the back of the garden without half the neighbourhood objecting?’

  Lauren dropped a black bin liner on to the ground. Jo did the same.

  ‘Won’t it be too wet to light?’ Lauren asked, still unconvinced.

  Jo pulled open the shed door and picked up a petrol can, which was at least half-full. ‘Now don’t think for a minute I would normally condone this but needs must.’ Jo was trying too hard to sound confident as she contradicted the internal voice in her head which was telling her it might not be one of her best ideas. She had actually told David off when he started building the bonfire, warning him it was too close to the shed and that they should hire a skip for all the rubbish instead. But David had insisted he would be careful and she had trusted him. She had trusted him.

  Jo took a couple of T-shirts from one of the bin bags and shoved them between planks of wood at the base of the wood pile. Lauren followed her example and took out a suit jacket. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked again.

  ‘I’m not burning everything, Lauren. I’ve had a clear out and this stuff would all be thrown out anyway. It’s all right, honestly.’

  Thankfully Lauren didn’t question why it was only David’s belongings that Jo was about to burn, including the pile of holiday brochures he had been hoarding. Jo didn’t know what she would say if Lauren did ask, not because she couldn’t justify her actions but because she didn’t want to face the humiliation of admitting there was little doubt now that David had left her. The evidence was irrefutable. It was there in black and white and it was in David’s handwriting.

  Since discovering David’s passport was missing on the night he failed to come home, Jo had gone through everything in the house with a fine-toothed comb, and not only once but time and time again. Even last night, after a long and tiring first day back at the office she had been compelled to search for clues, the action replacing another insidious compulsion to scrub and polish until her nostrils burned with the smell of bleach.

  She had started by going through his wardrobe yet again, but that had proved as fruitless as ever so she had turned her attention to the chest of drawers. She searched every item of clothing, every pocket and any other hiding place she could think of. She had found what she was looking for tucked inside a pair of socks. Except it wasn’t what she had been looking for – it wasn’t what she had wanted to find at all.

  The note was a half-written letter that had been screwed up and then perhaps hidden away quickly from prying eyes. There was no way of knowing when David had written it, but she guessed it would have been shortly after she had told him her good news. The letter was in her pocket now and she had already memorized every venomous word that had not only obliterated her wavering hope that David simply needed some space and time, but had poisoned some of her most precious memories like the one of him putting his hand on her stomach and feeling little FB kick for the very first time. And to add insult to injury, the letter wasn’t even addressed to her. Apparently she wasn’t that important in his life.

  Dear Dad,

  I can’t believe it, I really can’t, which is why I think I have to write it down otherwise the news just won’t sink in.

  Jo’s pregnant. I’m going to be a dad!

  I’m still in shock. Seriously, I wasn’t expecting this at all. She came off the pill without telling me and apparently she’s known for weeks that she was pregnant, but hadn’t had the courage to tell me. She even pretended she’d had PMT the other month to stop me getting suspicious. Why did she do that? What the hell was she thinking? How could she make that kind of decision without me? What does it say about us, what does it say about me?

  It doesn’t matter now, I suppose, what’s done is done and I keep trying to imagine what it will be like this time next year. Am I going to be like you, Dad? Am I going to spend the rest of my life relying on documentaries on TV to show me the world instead of going out and experiencing it for myself? I wanted to wait. I wanted some more memories under my belt to keep me smiling while I’m changing nappies and wiping snotty noses. I didn’t want my kids ending up like me, being a fucking burden to their father. A Fucking Burden!

  There had been a brief moment when Jo had read the first lines and her heart had soared, she had thought she was about to be vindicated. She had thought David was describing his joy but it had been a cruel ruse and, even as his initial words lifted her up, the next paragraph sent her plummeting to n
ew depths. The letter had broken off abruptly and she supposed she should be grateful that she hadn’t been subjected to even more of her husband’s diatribe.

  She had sat on the bed, sobbing, staring at the letter long after the tears had blinded her. She had been brought down as low as she could possibly get, or so she believed until another thought struck her. She had wiped her eyes and glared at the last two words he had written and her misery was compounded. Fucking Burden, he had written. FB. Fucking Burden – not Fur Ball …

  And that was why she was burning his clothes. She was terrified of finding another note but that wouldn’t stop her continuing the search, and that was when she had come up with a simple solution. She wouldn’t need to check jacket pockets ever again if they had been reduced to ashes and so she had stayed up until the early hours removing David from her life as ruthlessly as he had removed her from his. And she had sobbed as though her heart would break the entire time.

  ‘Stay as far back as you can,’ Jo warned as she turned up the sleeves of her newly acquired coat and began pouring petrol over the rags and rolled-up magazines they had already poked into the wood pile. She was grateful for Lauren’s presence; it forced her to act calm and collected; only she could hear the scream inside her head.

  Jo wiped her hands with a rag but the cloying scent of petrol was too strong to be whipped away by the biting wind. ‘I think it would be safer if we stood upwind,’ she said and guided Lauren to the furthest reaches of the garden. ‘Ready?’

  Holding the rag at arm’s-length, Jo set fire to it with a gas lighter. Flames licked gently around one leg of the boxer shorts but suddenly the whole garment was alight and she let go of it reflexively. Still several feet from its intended target, Lauren quickly picked up an old fence pole and used it to fling the flaming rag towards the bonfire. The whoosh of hot air made them both step backwards and the ensuing heat forced them to retreat further until they had their backs pressed against the fence at the end of the garden.