LITMIR.BIZ

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Luke’s hut around –’ he looks at his pad – ‘eight o’clock.’

      ‘That’s correct. My husband left an hour before that. He had to drive to Bristol ready for a pitch on Monday morning and he wanted to miss the traffic.’ As I’m talking about Nick, I hear the tread of his footsteps across the deck, and the three of us turn.

      ‘Nick Symonds,’ he says, offering his hand to both officers in turn.

      ‘We were just hearing about your whereabouts on the night Jacob was last seen. Your wife tells us you were in Bristol.’

      ‘Yes, that’s right.’ I pour Nick a glass of water while he gives the officers the details of his hotel and meeting.

      I must have tuned out for a moment, because all of a sudden PC Evans is saying to me, ‘You and your son had words, did you?’

      I turn, blinking into the spotlight of his question.

      I’m aware of Nick’s brows drawing together as he looks at me, no doubt surprised that I have not shared this detail with the police. ‘Oh, well, we did, I suppose,’ I say to PC Evans, trying to smile. ‘Nothing important – just curfew time. You know what teenagers can be like.’

      Through the corner of my eyes, I can see Nick staring at me, bewildered.

      I panic. I can’t remember what I’d said the argument was about to Nick. It wasn’t curfew time. Why did I tell the police that? I should have stuck to the same story. I can feel heat creeping up my throat, clawing into my cheeks.

      Then it comes back to me: ‘He also got a bit of a lecture about using his phone when I’m talking to him. Nothing serious. He left in a bit of a huff – but that’s nothing unusual! He’s seventeen!’

      PC Roam saves me by smiling.

      I daren’t look at Nick, but I hope he’s bought it, too.

      PC Evans asks, ‘Have there been any signs that Jacob may be depressed?’

      ‘No, not at all,’ Nick answers. ‘Not to my mind, at least. Sarah?’

      I shake my head. Jacob can be moody and challenging, but I wouldn’t say he’s depressed.

      ‘And has he ever suffered from any mental health problems?’

      ‘No,’ we both answer.

      ‘Have you been through Jacob’s belongings?’ PC Evans asks. ‘Noticed anything missing? A laptop, passport, wallet, clothes – anything that stands out?’

      ‘Jacob left the beach hut with his rucksack,’ I tell them, ‘but then he always takes it if he’s going to a friend’s hut for the evening.’

      ‘What do you think was in it?’

      ‘Not much – probably just his wallet and phone, and I think a blue hoodie. I couldn’t find it in his drawer. I’ve checked through his things here, and no other clothes look like they’ve been taken, or his wash stuff. He doesn’t have a laptop any more, just uses an iPad. That’s still here, too.’ I explain that our house is rented out during the summer holidays and all our other belongings are stored in the garage. The police suggest we visit this afternoon to be sure nothing is missing.

      ‘If it’s okay, we’d like to take Jacob’s iPad with us. Just procedure,’ PC Evans adds.

      ‘Course,’ I say.

      Nick turns to me. ‘Have you told them about the weed in Jacob’s drawer, yet?

      ‘Not yet,’ I say tightly. What is he thinking? ‘It was just a tiny amount,’ I tell the police. ‘We’ve never seen Jacob with any before. He’s not into drugs – we’d know. I imagine he’s just experimenting. He’s at the age, isn’t he?’

      ‘Could we see?’ PC Evans asks.

      I move to the drawer, fuming with Nick. This gives completely the wrong impression of Jacob. I take out Jacob’s tin and pass it to PC Evans. He opens it and looks inside, his expression giving nothing away.

      ‘What I did want to show you was this,’ I say, pulling out the envelope with the cash inside. ‘There’s five hundred pounds here. To be honest, I’ve no idea where it came from, or what Jacob is doing with it.’

      I hand it to PC Evans, swapping it for the tin. He looks through the money, asking whether Jacob had a job, or savings, or whether there’s anyone who may have given him this sum of money. Nick and I share what we’d discussed, and the officer notes it down.

      There are a few further formalities to go through, including the police conducting a brief search of the hut. They snap on blue plastic gloves, and move through the small space looking in the drawers and cupboards that I have already turned out.

      ‘If you don’t mind,’ PC Evans says a few minutes later, as he climbs down the ladder from the mezzanine, his knees creaking, ‘we’d like to take Jacob’s toothbrush with us.’ I must look surprised by the request, as he elaborates, ‘It’s just procedure. For his DNA.’

      A flash of horror passes across Nick’s face as he, like me, realizes why the police require this. I fetch the toothbrush, looking away as PC Evans takes out a clear plastic bag to seal it within.

      PC Roam requests a photo of Jacob. Nick takes out his phone and shows them a selection of shots. The police choose one, and Nick emails the image straight over to them. It’s a recent picture of Jacob wading in from the sea. His dark hair is pushed back from his face, and his skin glows in the way that it does after a day in the sunshine. He looks handsome in the photo, and I like it too, because he looks young. Not seventeen. Fresh-faced and innocent.

      As they are closing up their notebooks, getting to their feet, PC Roam asks, ‘Can you think of anyone who may have a grudge against him? Anyone who has ever threatened him, or would have a particular interest in him?’

      The questions catch me off guard, and I open my mouth, but can’t think of what I intended to say.

      It is Nick who steps forward. ‘No. Absolutely not. No one would want to hurt him.’

      PC Roam looks at me for a moment and I wonder what she sees.

      Then she nods.

      Both officers thank us for our time and tell us they’ll be in touch.

      I stand in the doorway of the beach hut, watching as the police walk away.

      Nick folds his arms across his chest. ‘That seemed to go okay.’

      ‘Yes,’ I agree. In the hour the police have been here, I’ve only had to lie to them twice.

       9. ISLA

       Sarah never used to lie. Not to me, anyway. There was a time when we told each other everything. There were no secrets between us – it was what made us work. Maybe that’s what it means to have a best friend – someone you can be wholeheartedly and unashamedly honest with. You can lay yourself bare to them – and they will love you, no matter what. That’s how it felt for us.

       I wonder when we stopped sharing everything. There wasn’t a specific event, not that I remember, anyway. I suppose it’s natural that over time allegiances shift. When we were younger, there was a large, clear space in our lives reserved solely for each other. But then other people moved into our worlds – a lover for me, a husband for Sarah, our children – and the space we’d carved for each other began to reshape, shrink, like a withering balloon that loses air so slowly that you don’t notice until it is hanging limp, lifeless, a deflated reminder that the celebration is over.

       Summer 2000

      Sarah’s fingers

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