‘It’s been almost five years since she went missing,’ I say, tense. ‘Two years went to the police, and nearly three years to you… and still we’re nowhere.’
I sigh as I say it – more false starts and empty promises. It had been the same with the police investigation, I’d put my faith in their considerable resources and been let down. I’d turned to Chad when the leads dried up, but perhaps I should have taken matters into my own hands earlier, shouldn’t have left it for so long in the incapable palms of too many incapable men.
Chad ruffles his lips and exhales like a shire horse.
‘I get it. Three years. It’s a long time. And, you know, maybe we should take a break for a few months. I don’t want to keep taking your money when I know I’m not about to uncover anything new, it’s not fair.’
Excuse me?
‘I like you, Annabella, you’re a good person, but you deserve to know that this case is dead. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for, no matter how hard you hope for it.’
My eyes crack as he lets me down. For the first time I see the game he’s been playing for what it really is. This is what he does, pounces on the friends and families of missing people at their lowest ebb and drains what’s left.
‘Rick’s clean. I’ve followed him for years and he hasn’t so much as exceeded the speed limit.’
He reaches across and touches my skin with slimy fingers.
‘It’s time to move on, Annabella. It’s time to put what happened to Tabitha Rice behind you.’
Tabby
Five Years Ago
I shift from foot to foot as I fumble with the key, my hands slippery.
‘Not now,’ I gasp as the lock jams. I press my weight against the frame and push hard, re-aligning the lock and freeing the door. Was it already open? It’s just gone ten and the surgery technically opened an hour ago. My nose enters first, ears pricked for signs of life from within – I’m praying the lack of commotion on my phone means I haven’t been rumbled – and step gently into the building.
‘Hello?’ I call quietly, waiting for a cavalcade of where-were-yous and you-should-have been-here-an-hour-agos, but hear nothing. The truth is, I was up late last night waiting for my husband to come home. Then I slept through my alarm. I’ve been doing that a lot recently.
I breathe out as I sink into my office chair, my armpits slick, and feel the wheels bounce over the dark grout between the white tiles of the reception floor as I pull myself into the desk. Luckily no patients have arrived yet but, as I fire my computer into action, my forehead crunches with confusion when the system fails to recognise my log-in details.
My desk phone rings and, reaching for the handset, I startle at a clipped knock at the surgery door. I’m jumpy this morning, anxious; I need to relax. Make a pot of mint tea or something. I buzz open the door, the sound of the mechanism echoing off the tiles, and watch the threshold intently, relieved to see Annabella on the other side. Her brown-blonde hair is poker-straight today, barely a strand out of place as she steps from the outside in. ‘Morning,’ she talk-whispers, noticing the phone in my hand, her voice light and fresh.
‘Morning,’ I mouth back, then put the receiver to my ear.
‘Tabitha, it’s Caroline.’ My heart beats a little faster. Caroline’s the owner of the surgery and I’ve been wearing her patience thin with my timekeeping recently. ‘Can I have a word? I’m coming down.’
The colour drains from my cheeks as I check the number. Caroline’s dialling from her office upstairs. I swear under my breath.
‘Everything all right?’ Annabella asks, pulling up her sleeves, swirling a Mr Whippy of foam from the anti-bac dispenser into her palms. She’s clocked my sudden activity.
‘I was late, I was really late,’ I splutter. ‘And Caroline, she…’ I stop mid-sentence as I open the drawers beneath the desk, looking for my notepad, panicking, wanting something to hold, something to act as a barrier, but they’re all empty. Even my personal things aren’t there – the packet of chewing gum I keep on hand for breath-emergencies, the multi-coloured hairbands that litter every drawer, the half-peeled perfume samples I rip out of the surgery magazines – they’re all gone.
‘My things,’ I mutter, glancing up at my friend. ‘Bella, she’s moved all of my stuff.’
This is a nightmare, this isn’t really happening, I’ll wake up in a moment, in bed, Rick breathing heavily by my side. I’ll get up and dress and arrive here on time, just as I should have…
‘Tabitha,’ Caroline announces, her heels striking the tiles as she moves into the sterile space, her angular chin pointed slightly upwards, the smooth contours of her heavily edited face fixed firmly on the bumps of mine. Her weave sways behind her, shiny black hair stretching long to her waist. We’re twenty years apart, but Caroline hasn’t aged a day since she turned thirty.
‘I’m very sorry, darling,’ she begins, and it’s then that the jigsaw pieces of this morning begin to tessellate. The reason why my computer wouldn’t log me in, the obvious explanation behind my empty drawers. Caroline probably arrived early, reasoning she’d give me one final chance to prove her wrong and, when nine became nine-thirty, she made the decision to fire me on the spot. I shiver with humiliation; I can’t bear to look at Bella. ‘This morning was your last chance,’ Caroline begins.
‘She was with me,’ Bella interrupts. ‘I had a home-visit this morning and needed help getting my equipment back.’
Goose bumps bubble beneath the thick cotton of my uniform. Bella’s lying to save me, and Caroline knows it.
Caroline’s eyes narrow. ‘Why wasn’t it in the calendar?’ she asks, her voice tight and distrusting.
‘Last minute,’ Bella replies. ‘I got the call this morning.’
I nod at Caroline as she twists her dark gaze back towards me, my blue eyes shining with nervous tears. I didn’t mean to start making a habit of late nights and missed alarms. I don’t want to spend the small hours of each morning pondering my husband’s every move. I want to lead a normal life, stable and settled, to have a partner I can trust. Perhaps my foster mum had been right that getting married young was a mistake. Why the rush? If it’s meant to be, it will be.
Bella steps forward, gaining in confidence, and my heart twangs, my memory flitting to the first time we met, the smile behind her aqua eyes as I’d welcomed her to Pure You. It’s not often you meet a best friend at work, but that’s what we are. We have our little routines – Thursday night dinners, every other Saturday night out, coffee every weekday at the café across the road, quick gossips during break-time, instant-messaging between patients. She even fits in with Rick and me; she isn’t jealous if I cancel our plans to spend time with my husband, she doesn’t judge me like so many other young twenty-somethings in the city for having a husband. And, the more distant Rick grows, the closer we become, the more time we spend together.
‘What’s more,’ Annabella continues, ‘Tabby has had this great idea. You have to hear it. We were going to tell you about it today, actually.’