Luca Veste - DEAD GONE

‘Hello.’ Carla’s husband. The woollyback with the fake Scouse accent. Rob bit his lip.

‘Andy? It’s Rob. Is Carla home?’

‘Yeah, mate. She’s in bed. Left her phone down here. What’s going on – it’s a bit early isn’t it?’

‘Is Jemma there?’

‘Erm, no. Should she be?’

‘She hasn’t come home. Can you see if Carla knows anything? Starting to panic a bit here.’

‘Course, Rob.’

Rob heard him walking, a muffled conversation, before he came back on the phone. ‘Carla said she got off early. Said she was getting a taxi home,’ Andy said.

Rob swore under his breath. ‘Didn’t anyone go with her, make sure she got off okay?’ Rob said, his voice rising. He needed to know whether anyone left with her; to know that she left the club alone, as anything could have happened in that time.

‘I’ve no idea, mate.’ Andy replied. ‘Jemma’s a big girl though, she can look after herself. I wouldn’t worry about it yet. She could have gone on to somewhere else or something.’

‘Who with, Andy? She said she was going home. Get Carla up for me. I need to speak to her.’

‘Come on, Rob, she didn’t get in ’til late. She deserves a lie-in, she hasn’t been out since the baby was born.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Andy, Jemma hasn’t come home. Tell Carla to get on the fucking phone. I want to speak to her.’ His own anger didn’t surprise him. People not listening to him. Always a trigger. He needed to calm down. If he carried on, alarm bells would start ringing with the stupid dickhead on the end of the phone. Rob softened his voice. ‘She could be anywhere.’

‘I understand, mate, but it’s only early, you need to calm down a bit. Don’t start worrying just yet. Give it a couple of hours and see if she turns up. Have you tried ringing her mum yet? She might have gone there for all you know.’

Rob sighed. Strike two. ‘No. I’ll try now.’

‘Cool. Look, I’ve got to get on with giving Leah her feed. Let me know when she turns up, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He ended the call and tried ringing Jemma again. He had to leave a voicemail this time. Could be important.

‘Jemma, it’s Rob. Ring me.’

He sent a text message.

Babe, I’m worried. Where are you? x

He rang the number for Jemma’s mum from memory. When they’d first started seeing each other they spoke on the phone a lot. Her mum used to go mad at her for tying up the line.

Jemma’s mum answered on the third ring. ‘2461.’

‘Hi, Helen, it’s Rob. Is Jemma at your house?’

‘No. Should she be?’ Rob heard her stifle a yawn.

‘I don’t know. She went out with Carla and the others last night. I’ve woke up this morning and she’s not here. Just thought I’d check to see if she’d ended up at yours instead.’

‘I haven’t heard from her for a while. Are you saying she’s missing?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just not like her to not get in touch.’

‘Have you spoken to her friends? Maybe they know something.’

‘Yeah, spoke to Carla, well, Carla’s husband Andy anyway. She left earlier than the others and went for a taxi.’

‘This doesn’t sound good, Rob. Should I come over?’

‘No, you don’t have to. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘Well, I suppose I best stay here just in case she comes here. Ring me the second she turns up.’

‘Will do.’

Rob pressed the red end call button and stared at his phone. He stood next to the bed, and dropped down when he’d ended the call. He tried to think of where else she might have been. Who else he should call before the police.

What was he supposed to do? What was the right course of action?

Carla and her mum, they were the only people he knew Jemma spoke to regularly. He glanced at the alarm clock.

‘Shit.’ He should have been leaving the house now, going in to work at the university for overtime. He wasn’t going anywhere though. He walked back downstairs, going through to the living room and looking outside, hoping to see Jemma passed out on the doorstep. Nothing again. Outside, only socks on his feet, looking around the front of his house, the pavement, the side alley near the bins. Still the expected nothingness. Rob shivered, looking around the quiet street, looking for any curtains twitching. Anyone walking past or peeking out of their windows from the houses surrounding him would have seen a confused looking, average bloke, searching for someone. That was right.

He went back into the living room, ran a hand through his hair, still messed up from sleeping. Dropped his hand across his face and the intentional three-day stubble. Stood near the window, opening the blinds and began drumming his fingers on the windowsill.

It had finally happened.

She was gone, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

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