Sam Carrington - The Missing Wife

Louisa reached around to the outside and scraped the cigarette along the wall to extinguish it; then she hid the butt in one of Emily’s discarded Coke cans. That girl was drinking far too much fizzy rubbish. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink, spread a liberal spray of Oust around and then closed and locked the back door.

Brian’s mobile was charging on the worktop near the bread bin. He never took it to bed, always fearing he’d get a late-night call from his sister Alison, who lived in Yorkshire with his mother, taking care of her following the death of Brian’s dad. She’d phoned several times in the middle of the night, worrying about their mother’s behaviour and her health. It’s not that Brian didn’t care – he did. He was a good son on the whole. But his sister was needy and felt it was her responsibility to tell Brian every little detail of what was going on up there, while he ‘lived life’ at the opposite end of the country. She’d been bitter ever since Brian chose to move to Devon, where Louisa had always lived. And when they’d married, her bitterness intensified. For some reason, Brian felt Alison had always wanted to punish him for that choice.

Louisa took the phone, pressing the button to bring up the home screen. It was password-protected, but she could see the first part of each of the last few notifications and texts. Her breath caught. Tiff’s message was the last one. She could only see the first line.

All good for meeting Friday still? I assume you’ve managed to keep it from

Louisa’s face grew hot. She tapped the screen even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to access the full message. She placed it back on the worktop in the same position she’d found it in. Her heart beat wildly; she could feel pressure in her chest. Friday was when he was supposedly going out with the lads; Louisa distinctly remembered him arranging it. To her knowledge, Brian had never lied to her.

She wondered why he would start now.

Noah enjoyed being pushed in his pram, as long as Louisa kept it moving. If she could spend every hour of each day treading the pavements of Little Penchurch, he’d be a quiet baby. Tiff only lived a few minutes from her house, so rather than take the direct route, she went the long way around, circumnavigating the village in the hope Noah may stay asleep once she stopped at her destination. It was unlikely, but nevertheless she had to try something – and she was determined that nothing would stop her seeing Tiff this morning.

Tiff’s house was stunning, like her. It was detached – which again, some would say was one of her traits – standing in its own grounds set back from the road. Inside it was modern, spotless – like a show home. No husband or children to mess it up. Louisa opened the heavy wooden gate, manoeuvred Noah’s pram through and closed it behind her before walking down the side of the house to the back entrance. It was easier to get the pram through the patio doors at the rear. She hadn’t called ahead, so she hoped Tiff hadn’t left yet – she couldn’t remember if it was her yoga day.

‘Well, this a lovely surprise,’ Tiff said as she slid the patio doors fully open. ‘A bit early for you.’ She smiled, her wide grin revealing perfectly whitened, straight teeth.

‘Yeah, hope you don’t mind. I just had to get out of the house for a bit, and walking seems to be the only thing that keeps Noah quiet.’

Tiff crouched down to peek inside the pram. ‘Aw, he’s getting bigger. It’s all that good milk he’s getting.’

‘Not sure he is getting enough milk, actually.’ Now Louisa was inside her best friend’s house, she let her guard down. Without even realising she felt sad, tears began to trickle down her face.

‘Oh, lovely. Come here.’ Tiff enveloped Louisa in a tight hug, rocking her gently. This only added to Louisa’s unexpected outpouring of tears and suddenly she was sobbing.

‘I don’t know what’s happening to me.’ Her voice was muffled in Tiff’s white T-shirt.

‘Baby blues, love. They’ll pass. Come on, let’s get you a coffee.’

Louisa left Noah, who was thankfully still asleep despite the movement of the pram ceasing, and followed Tiff into her huge kitchen, wiping her tears with her jumper sleeve as she walked.

‘Here.’ Tiff handed Louisa a small cube of coloured tissues. Louisa took a few sheets and swiped them across her nose, annoyed with herself for crying the second she’d walked in. She watched through tingling eyes as her friend of eight years filled the see-through kettle with bottled water – she didn’t trust tap water, convinced she’d get cancer from drinking it – and stared at the blue light radiating through the liquid.

‘So—’ Tiff turned to look at her ‘—I take it you’re not sleeping, looking at those bags.’

Louisa couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Hah! Thanks, I feel better already!’

‘Sorry. I’d be a total mess if I were you. If I don’t get at least eight hours a night I’m a total bitch and I’d look like something from a horror movie.’

‘I doubt that, Tiff.’ She looked down at the scrunched ball of soggy tissue in her hand.

‘It’s a good job it doesn’t happen often, I can tell you.’

The kettle clicked off, and Tiff busied herself making the two coffees. Louisa glanced around the kitchen. Her whole downstairs would fit in this space. Her thoughts turned to the text message, and how she could bring it up without making herself sound distrustful of her friend. Her only friend. Well, the only one that counted, anyway – she knew lots of people: colleagues from the accountancy firm she worked for, other mums of kids Emily’s age, and now some mums from her antenatal and baby groups. But she didn’t socialise with them. She wasn’t like Tiff, who had dozens of close friends and revelled in moving in different social circles. That would only stress Louisa. Keeping a single friend was difficult enough for her, always had been.

‘Any goss?’ Louisa asked. It was the best way of getting Tiff chatting, so that she could find an opportunity to slip in her question.

‘Ooh, well, yes, actually!’ Tiff planted the mugs on two glass coasters and flounced away, disappearing through the double doors that led to the lounge. She returned, laptop in her hands. ‘Did you see this?’ Tiff twisted the screen to face Louisa. Sarah Weaver’s Facebook profile was displayed.

‘Oh, what’s going on with her?’ Louisa squinted at the page as Tiff reached around the laptop and scrolled down to Sarah’s latest status update.

‘Life is too short to be with people who hold you back. Embrace change. Don’t be afraid to turn the page of your own story or you’ll never reach the next chapter.’

‘Okay, it’s a bit deep – but I don’t understand, what’s wrong with it? It’s just some motivational quote.’

‘Haven’t you been keeping up? Don’t you realise what this means?’

Louisa sighed. Keeping up with Facebook wasn’t something that had occurred to her during the last three months of sleep-deprived baby tasks. She hadn’t been that great with social media prior to Noah’s birth, but the most she used the internet for at the moment was searching for ‘how to prevent colic’ or ‘tricks to make him sleep like a baby’. As well as the chat rooms on Mumsnet – they were her current lifeline. Not the goings-on with friends-who-weren’t-even-real-friends on bloody Facebook. If it wasn’t for Tiff having set up her Facebook profile in the first place, she’d never have bothered with it. Fake lives and fake friends were not her thing.

‘It’s not something I’ve been compelled to do, no. I’ve been a little preoccupied …’