The Vow

Chapter Three

I drive towards Brighton on autopilot, barely noticing as the sea, then the town come into view. Reaching the outskirts, I hit the early morning traffic, slowed by roadworks that weren’t there yesterday, unable to stop worrying about Matt. When at last I turn off the main road and head for the quiet tree-lined street of Regency houses where my client lives, I’m running late. Managing to park outside her house, I’m flustered as I take her order from the back of my car and ring the bell. Davina opens the door straight away.

‘Amy. I was about to call you. I was getting worried.’ There’s a look of concern in her clear brown eyes as an air of strong perfume and calm wafts over me. A client for five years, Davina’s always the same, unflustered – her dark hair sleek, her make-up minimal. As she looks at me, she frowns. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘I’m so sorry.’ My nerves are on edge. ‘I should have been here ages ago. I hit the traffic.’ Trying to compose myself, I pass her the order. ‘You should find everything’s there.’

‘Thank you. Is the invoice inside?’

I flounder for a moment, realising my error, then shake my head. ‘I completely forgot. Can I email it to you?’

As I walk back to my car, I’m cursing myself. I’m meticulous about finances and I’ve never forgotten an invoice. But Matt has never gone missing before. With hindsight, I wished I’d told her what had happened. I’ve no way of knowing that when the police talk to her, she’ll tell them I was agitated, flustered, as though my mind was elsewhere. I didn’t tell her that my head was spinning, how worried about Matt I was.

Before I head home, I call him again. When it goes to voicemail, I call his office. A management consultant for a company called Orbital, Matt can work anywhere their clients are based, but at the moment I happen to know he’s working in Brighton.

‘Good morning. Can I speak to Matthew Roche?’

‘One moment please.’ I don’t recognise the clipped, professional voice of the receptionist, unlike her predecessor, Sophie, who would have known instantly who I was. ‘I’ll put you through. Who’s calling, please?’

I forget that he hasn’t called me in nearly twenty-four hours, just feel a layer of normality return, relief flooding through me that he’s there. ‘Amy – his fiancée.’

As she connects me and the line starts to ring, I feel a weight start to lift. Then the ringing stops, but instead of Matt’s voice, it’s the receptionist again. ‘I’m sorry. Mr Roche doesn’t appear to be in his office. Would you like to leave a message?’

Any sense of relief instantly vanishes. Instead my voice is shaking, as my fear comes flooding back. ‘Yes. Please ask him to call Amy. As soon as he gets in. It’s important.’

Ending the call, I sit there for a moment, oblivious to the rush hour traffic flashing past, trying to think of who else I can call. Pete, his best man, is the obvious place to start. Then, even though I’ve never met them, his parents. Knowing their contact details should be in our wedding file, I pull out onto the road again.

In a hurry to get home, I drive too fast, unable to concentrate. Then as I turn into our lane, I catch sight of the stooped figure of Mrs Guthrie, our closest neighbour, who lives in one of the three cottages further up the lane. She may look fragile, but she ferociously maintains her independence. Recognising my car, she raises a hand in greeting, as hope rises in me that she may have seen Matt. Pulling into my driveway, I get out and hurry to meet her. ‘Morning … How are you?’

Wearing a padded coat that hides her diminutive frame, her face breaks into a smile. Then as I get closer, she peers into my face. ‘Amy, dear. I was going to come and see you. My Japanese anemones are still flowering and I thought you might like some for your wedding.’ Her garden has always been her passion, as mine is to me.

‘I’d love some – thank you.’ It’s by some quirk of her garden’s microclimate that her flowers bloom slightly later in the year than mine. But right now, I can’t think about flowers. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything of Matt?’

‘Now why would you be asking me about Matt?’ She starts to chuckle, then realising I’m serious, stops. ‘Is something wrong?’ A frown wrinkles her brow as she studies me.

‘It’s probably nothing.’ Even now, I try to play it down. ‘It’s just that he went out with a client last night and didn’t come home. He hasn’t called me, either.’

She doesn’t hesitate. ‘Then you should call the police, dear, don’t you think?’

*

As I walk back home and go inside, my fear is building, that something terrible has happened. But when I think about what Mrs Guthrie said, I’m convinced it’s still too soon for the police to be interested. Knowing I need to make some calls, I open my laptop and bring up our wedding file. Sure enough, Pete’s mobile number is there. With shaking hands, I call it.

‘Pete? It’s Amy.’

‘Hey. How’s it going?’ His voice is characteristically cheerful. ‘Not long till the big day, is it! How can I help?’

‘It’s Matt.’ My voice is husky as I grip my phone. ‘I don’t know where he is. Have you spoken to him?’

‘Is something wrong?’ Suddenly he’s sharp. ‘When did you last see him?’

‘Yesterday. Before he left for work,’ I whisper. ‘Then he called me during the morning, to tell me he’d be late home – he had to take a client out. I’ve been calling him ever since. Countless times, but he isn’t answering his phone.’ There’s a note of panic in my voice. ‘I’ve called his office, too. But he wasn’t there.’

‘Jeez, Amy. I last spoke to him the day before that, but not since. You must be worried sick.’

My eyes fill with tears. ‘I am.’

‘There has to be an explanation.’ Pete’s silent for a moment. ‘Have you spoken to his parents?’

‘Not yet. I was going to call them next, after speaking to you.’

‘I’ll make some calls. Check out the bars he goes to. Let me know when you’ve spoken to his parents. But if there’s still no sign of him …’

‘I know.’ I’m biting my lip. ‘I’ll call the police.’

Putting down my mobile, I turn back to my laptop, scrolling down the list of wedding guests until I find Matt’s parents. Punching the number into my phone, I pause for 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. They work for a company called Orbital.’ I give her Matt’s mobile number and David’s work number. ‘Matt drove to work yesterday morning. He has a red Audi.’ Sharing the car’s registration, I wonder what else she needs to know.

‘Do you have a recent photograph you can email to us?’

‘Of course. Where shall I send it?’

‘I’ll give you an email address. Do you have a pen?’

After I write it down, she goes on. ‘If you hear anything from him or think of anything else that might be useful, could you let us know? We’ll start making enquiries straight away. Have you been in touch with any local surgeries and hospitals?’

Her words set off alarm bells. ‘I haven’t.’ Oh God. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he might have been taken ill or involved in an accident.

‘It’s unlikely there’s been an accident, or we’d have heard about it …’ She hesitates for a moment. ‘Are there any family members nearby? Siblings – or close friends?’

‘No. His parents are in Scotland. He’s an only child.’

‘Have you spoken to them?’

‘I tried calling them, but the line was dead. Matt must have accidentally written down the wrong number.’

‘Do you have their address?’

Frowning, I try to think. ‘Only their email address. It’s how we sent out our wedding invitations.’ I pause, remembering querying Matt about whether his parents would prefer a printed invitation and his amusement when he told me about how his dad was more tech-savvy than even he was.

‘Perhaps you could email them? See when they last heard from him?’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask this. It may sound far-fetched, but do you think there’s any possibility he’s keeping anything from you? Financial worries or anything like that?’

‘No.’ Indignant at what she’s suggesting, my face grows hot. ‘Matt wouldn’t get involved in anything irresponsible. We’re getting married in two weeks. We don’t keep secrets from each other.’

‘Of course.’ Her voice is crisp. ‘Well, we have what we need for now. Perhaps we can talk again later on.’

I clutch my phone tightly. ‘Do you think you’ll find him? I mean, what usually happens?’ Futile questions, impossible for her to answer, as I seek a reassurance that doesn’t exist.

‘In most cases, missing persons turn up; a day, sometimes a week later, sometimes longer than that.’ Her voice is matter of fact. ‘It’s early days, Ms Reid. There’s no point worrying too much. Not just yet.’

Her words do little to set my mind at rest. After ending the call, I sit there, my mind a million miles away as I consider every possible scenario. Then I imagine her thinking I’m naïve, that no-one ever thinks their partner would deceive them – until it happens.

Firing up my laptop, I open our wedding file, copying Matt’s parents’ email address, staring at the screen while I work out what to write.

I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I wondered when you last spoke to Matt? I haven’t been able to contact him for a couple of days. Actually, to be honest, I’m really worried …

Deleting the last line, I add something about how much I’m looking forward to meeting them at the wedding, then press send. While I wait for a response, I email the photo of Matt to PC Page. Then suddenly needing to hear Jess’s voice, I send her a WhatsApp. How are you Jess? Can you give me a quick call when you have time? Xxx

Ten minutes later, she calls me. ‘Mum? Is everything OK?’

‘Not really.’ Then I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know where Matt is, Jess. I haven’t been able to contact him.’

‘What d’you mean?’ She sounds alarmed. ‘Since when?’

My voice wobbles. ‘Yesterday morning. I had this really odd call from him saying he would be late because his boss had asked him to take a client out, and that was the last I heard from him.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Her voice is sharp.

‘I didn’t want to worry you. I was hoping he’d just reappear with an explanation. I’ve been in touch with the police. They may want to talk to you at some point – if he doesn’t turn up. At the moment, I’m still hoping he will …’ Breaking off, I swallow the lump in my throat.

‘Mum, people don’t just disappear … Something must have happened to him. The police will find him, won’t they? But are you OK?’ Her voice is suddenly anxious. ‘I can come home. I’ll get a train. I can leave later – or first thing tomorrow …’

‘Please don’t, Jess. There’s nothing you can do – and you’re coming back in just over a week for our wedding, anyway.’

‘But if he doesn’t …’

Knowing what she’s about to say, about the wedding, I interrupt. ‘I’m taking each day at a time.’ I try to keep my voice level, because right now, I can’t think that far ahead. ‘It’s the only way.’ Though I want her here more than anything, she has to think of her coursework. And the moment she comes home, in my mind at least, everything escalates.

After forcing a promise from me to keep her updated, she reluctantly agrees to stay where she is – at least for now. But her unspoken words hang in the air. Less than a fortnight away, ever since we decided on a date, our wedding has filled my head. For a moment, I allow my mind to linger: on my beautiful dress, my vows, everyone important to me in one place. But instead of Matt beside me, I imagine an empty space, as I feel myself shiver. I never thought the day would come I’d have to think about cancelling it.

As I sit there, a knock on the door makes me jump. Getting up, I go to answer it, but when I see Cath’s face pressed against the glass, my heart sinks.

‘I brought lunch!’ As I open the door, she holds up a brown paper carrier bag from the farm shop she would have driven past on her way here. ‘This too.’ She holds up a bottle of champagne. ‘I thought we’d celebrate – your up and coming nuptials and my escape from Oliver. If you’re not too busy?’ She hesitates, frowning as she stares at me. ‘What’s going on?’

I shake my head. ‘Sorry, I’d completely forgotten you were coming. Can we do this some other time?’ It isn’t that I don’t want to see her, but today, I don’t have the capacity to listen to her problems or buoy her up. Until I find out where Matt is, there isn’t space in my mind for anything else.

‘What’s happened? Is Jess OK?’ Cath stands there. ‘Amy, you’re worrying me.’

I hesitate, in my state of denial not wanting to tell anyone, still hoping that at any minute Matt will turn up. But she’s one of my oldest friends. ‘You better come in.’

Closing the door behind us, she follows me through to the kitchen, where she pulls off her jacket then stands there, her eyes fixed on mine, as I perch on the edge of the sofa.

‘Matt’s gone missing.’ I say it quietly, reticent, because the more I talk about it, the more real it becomes; the more my fear grows. Not because I don’t care, as the police later suggested. Even with their specialist training, their expertise in psychological profiling, they couldn’t understand how I was so calm.

A look of incredulity on her face, Cath doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Since when?’ Her voice is sharp.

‘Last night.’ Feeling tears fill my eyes, I wipe them away. ‘He didn’t come home. I thought he was out late with a business client. I didn’t think any more of it, until this morning.’

A frown wrinkles her forehead. ‘He isn’t answering his phone?’

I shake my head. ‘I’ve been trying all day. I’ve called his office, too. Left messages, but no-one’s heard from him. Just now, I called the police.’

‘Jesus.’ White as a sheet, Cath sits down next to me. A hint of her scent reaches me. Citrus notes – and basil. ‘I mean, that’s so not like Matt.’

‘I know.’ I’ve never known her lost for words before. Then I tell her about the old woman and what she said to me.

A look of shock crosses her face. ‘You were right when you said it was weird. It’s too much of a coincidence, surely.’ Cath stares at me. ‘What happens now?’

‘So now, I wait for the police to get back to me. Unless he turns up – in which case I call them.’

‘Jesus, Amy.’ Cath sits there, then she gets up again. ‘There’s an explanation. There has to be. You’re getting married. You’re love’s dream, for fuck’s sake. Don’t I know better than anyone.’

Hearing the bitterness in her voice, I look up. I hadn’t realised she felt that way.

‘Don’t mind me.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m cynical and twisted because of Oliver, but I’ll get over it.’

I stare at her, not knowing what to say. Then something makes me look at her more closely, as I notice how much weight she’s lost, how she’s cut her hair shorter, so that it falls in soft waves that frame her face. I’ve always thought of her as large-framed, heavy, but she isn’t. Her broken heart has left her slender.

Cath gazes out of the window. ‘It’s OK. It really is. It was a bit galling for a while, if I’m honest. There’s nothing like looking at other people and wishing you had even a fraction of their happiness. But Oliver’s gone and I’m moving to Bristol. It’s fine – honestly. I’m happy for you.’ But the tightness of her voice belies her words.

Later, when the police asked about our friends, their lives, how well we knew them, I told them what Cath said, watching them write it down, word for word, only then remembering the hardness in her eyes, the bitterness in her voice, as the first waves of suspicion crept over me, that there was something she wasn’t telling me. Jealousy was toxic enough, but unrequited love could be just as destructive; could drive the most unlikely person over the edge.