Sam Carrington - The Missing Wife

The ringing of the doorbell jolted her from her catastrophising. She stared down at her sleeping baby and considered ignoring the bell. Moving might disturb Noah, and as all good advice informed parents: never wake a sleeping baby . It rang again. She decided she’d answer in case it was a parcel, and shuffled to the edge of the sofa, slowly making her way to the door. If it was important, they’d wait.

Through the textured glass, Louisa could only make out a large dark figure standing on her doorstep. Not someone holding a parcel, she noted. With Noah cradled in one arm, she opened the door tentatively with the other.

A split second after seeing the person in front of her, Louisa’s brain caught up with itself and she recoiled. Instinct told her to close the door and lock it. Her heart couldn’t be so blunt.

‘What are you doing here?’ She shook her head slightly in disbelief that Oliver would be so bold. ‘Who told you where I live?’ If bloody Tiff had something to do with this, their friendship was going to come under some serious scrutiny. Regaining some composure, Louisa tilted her chin up as she waited for him to explain himself.

‘You didn’t reply to my message,’ he said, clearly disregarding her second question.

‘I don’t reply to lots of messages, but the sender rarely shows up at my door because of it.’ A surge of annoyance permeated her tone.

Her curiosity at what his message had meant outweighed the warning signals. When it became clear he wasn’t going to respond to her comment, she continued.

‘I really shouldn’t invite you in.’ Louisa stuck her head outside, checking up and down the road. Oliver’s eyes followed hers.

‘I don’t think anyone is watching. You’re safe.’ He smiled.

‘Fine. Not for long though, you hear?’ She turned, placing Noah in the pram in the hallway before facing Oliver again.

‘Okay, Lou-Lou, anything you say.’

She was transported back – seventeen again – staring into those hypnotic deep-brown eyes, her whole body filled with admiration and love; naive and completely trusting the gorgeous boy who made her stomach shake, her hands tremble, her heart flutter furiously each time he said her name.

She must be careful now.

Louisa stood aside, letting Oliver slide past her into her house.

Into her life once more.

Louisa didn’t go back into the lounge; she didn’t want Oliver making himself too comfortable. Instead she showed him into the kitchen, indicating he could sit at the table. On a hard, wooden chair. So much had been left unsaid since she’d last known him. Despite their proximity now, twenty-two years of nothing but absence separated them, and Louisa didn’t have a clue where to begin. She didn’t know what to say, how to behave. Did he expect her to be angry with him? Or pretend she didn’t remember the fact he’d left her?

‘I know it must be weird, me turning up out of the blue at your fortieth birthday party after all this time. Sorry for springing myself on you like that. I had tried to contact you before, you know.’

‘Oh, the Facebook group invites? Hmmm … No, Oliver, that really isn’t trying, is it? You only invited me recently, so what about the other twenty-odd years? Where were your efforts during that time?’

‘You’re angry with me. I can see that. But you know why I had to leave, Lou. I did it for you.’ He reached across the table, laying his hands on hers. She snatched them away, hot rods shooting through her. The man was deluded if he thought that leaving the girl who he told he would love forever was for her own benefit. Louisa balled her fists.

‘No, Oliver. I don’t think so.’

Oliver’s eyebrows raised, then knitted together, his brow creasing. ‘Is that what you tell yourself?’ He shrugged. ‘If that’s how you made it through, then I guess that’s up to you.’

Louisa was enraged at his attempt to wriggle out of being to blame for leaving her, but she wanted to move this on and, specifically, uncover precisely what had happened the night of her party.

‘Whatever. So anyway, what exactly is it that you want?’

She didn’t expect his answer.

‘Melissa is missing.’ His eyes glistened with tears.

For a second, Louisa struggled to make sense of his statement. Then, perhaps sensing her confusion, he added, ‘My wife, Melissa. I haven’t seen her since the party.’

‘Oh, my God, Oliver. Missing, like, need to call the police missing?’

‘I’ve held off calling them – didn’t want to create a fuss, not yet. We’d had, well … a bit of an argument. Melissa often gets emotional; angry too. She goes off on her own sometimes to sort her head out – doesn’t contact me for days, then comes waltzing back as though nothing ever happened. I assumed this was one of those times. It might still be, I guess. It’s only been just over forty-eight hours.’

‘Assumed. You said assumed . What has changed now, to make you think it might not be one of those times?’

‘You. You happened.’

‘Ah, no … no.’ Louisa put both hands up to her temples, her elbows resting on the table. ‘Don’t bring me into this. What have I got to do with it?’ Louisa got up then, moving away from Oliver. She strode across the kitchen and opened the door leading to the hallway. ‘On second thoughts, don’t answer that. I’m not interested. You can’t show up after twenty-two years and land this on me. I think you should leave now.’ She swung her arm towards the door. ‘Please,’ she added.

‘Louisa. I need you. Your help. I’m about to go to the police and report her as missing. They’re going to ask me all sorts of questions – they’ll blame me, I know they will.’ He was beside her now, the warmth of his body perceptible. He laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s always the husband, Lou. That’s what they believe – the police, the general public. Always.’ His eyes pleaded with Louisa’s. ‘You can help me. Like I once helped you.’

Louisa reeled back from him. ‘I don’t know what you think you did for me but I can assure you, I can’t help you, Oliver. Go to the police, do what you have to do. I really hope Melissa is just having some time out and returns home quickly. Good luck.’ She ushered him through the hall and out of the house.

Leaning against the closed front door, Louisa’s breaths came in short bursts.

You can help me, like I once helped you.

She repeated the sentence in her head. Did his voice have an edge of desperation? It’d sounded almost menacing.

She screamed as a force banged against the door, propelling her back away from it.

‘Please, Lou. At least come with me to the police? I can’t do this on my own.’ His voice sounded distorted through the glass.

‘Why? Why should I? I’m sorry about Melissa, Oliver, I really am. But I’m not coming with you,’ she shouted.

‘But I think it might have been to do with your party. Something happened there, I’m sure of it. Please, Lou-Lou, they’ll want to ask you about the party anyway, may as well come with me – it’ll save you time later.’

His words created a wall of fear around her.

Something had happened that night.

She opened the door again.

‘But I didn’t see Melissa at the party,’ she said coolly. Her voice belied her feelings.

‘You must’ve.’ His voice was almost a whisper. Worry, or concern – or maybe disbelief – etched itself on Oliver’s face.

‘I – I don’t remember. I’d had so much to drink. The evening is pretty much one big blur.’ Louisa regretted her words instantly. If she couldn’t remember anything, she couldn’t tell the police anything. But at the same time, it meant she couldn’t confidently deny seeing Melissa, or knowing anything about her disappearance either.