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We were stopped at a set of traffic lights, so she was able to swivel in her seat and give me her full attention. ‘You think he’s hiding out inside his flat?’
I didn’t like the look in her eyes and glanced at the lights, willing them to turn amber, but they remained obstinately on red.
‘No. Of course not. But what if he fell in the shower and is lying unconscious in a pool of blood in the bathroom? Or maybe he’s sick; too weak to even make it to his phone to call for help.’
Hannah drew in a deep breath, which she trapped behind tightly pursed lips before replying. ‘And Finn’s car? Why would that be missing too?’
We used to do this all the time, play devil’s advocate when one of us came up with a controversial theory. I’d always rather enjoyed the game, but today I had no appetite for her insightful questions. Probably because they were the ones I should have been asking myself anyway.
‘There’s a car park around the corner from the flat. Finn sometimes parks his car there when he’s expecting visitors.’
The lights had changed while we’d been talking, and an impatient blast of a car horn cut short the Q & A before Hannah could ask why Finn might have done something so bizarre. Forgetting she was a responsible wife and mother, Hannah gave the other driver a highly unorthodox hand signal. His dumbfounded expression when he drew alongside us and saw that the occupants of the car were a bride and her bridesmaid almost made me laugh out loud.
But as we neared Finn’s flat, I felt none of the excitement that usually kicked in at this point of the journey, when I knew I was only minutes away from seeing him. In place of the bubbling anticipation, a cold, sick dread slithered into my stomach and writhed there like a snake.
In a subdued voice, I directed Hannah to the small car park I’d mentioned. We drove around it in a slow circle, but it was easy to see that Finn’s car wasn’t among the half-dozen or so that were parked there. Hannah said nothing. She didn’t have to, and yet I responded as though she had.
‘This doesn’t prove anything. His car could have been stolen overnight. It happens,’ I declared, with more than a hint of challenge in my voice.
‘It does,’ agreed Hannah as she pointed her own vehicle towards the exit. ‘But you have to wonder how unlucky Finn would have to be to get his car nicked on the same day that he knocks himself out cold in his own bathroom.’
She was trying to prepare me, to lead me to a place where I’d allow in other – more plausible – explanations. But it was too soon.
I took one last lingering look around the car park and felt it pull on my memories, tugging them inexorably back to the day Finn and I first met.
5
THEINTERVIEW
Seven years earlier
It had taken me a further ten minutes to find another parking space. By the time I ran across the car park towardsGlow’s reception, my composure had melted like a polar ice cap. My hair was sticking unpleasantly to the back of my neck, and I was seriously worried my antiperspirant wasn’t up to the challenge I’d unexpectedly set it. The air-conditioned reception was balm to my overheated skin, but there was no time to linger and enjoy it.
‘Hello,’ I gasped, scarcely waiting for the receptionist to look up from her computer screen. ‘My name is Gemma Fletcher and I have an interview atGlowmagazine.’ I paused for a moment, still trying to catch my breath. ‘I’m afraid I’m a bit late.’
The receptionist flashed me a professional smile and I felt my self-confidence teetering like a skittle. She was the kind of immaculately groomed woman you’d expect only ever to see on the cover of a magazine, not in real life. Even on my best day, I would have felt unkempt and dishevelled beside her, and this was definitelynotmy best day.
‘Gloware on the eighth floor. Someone will meet you by the lifts,’ she trilled, sliding a visitor’s pass across the marble counter towards me.
The walls of the lift were mirrored; ideal for checking your appearance on your ascent. But I would have needed a building taller than the Empire State to repair the damage the humidity had done to my hair or subdue the flush on my cheeks, which were far too pink to be called becoming. Four flustered versions of me stared back wherever I looked. Who needed this many mirrors? It was a far cry from the offices ofThe Chronicle, where the only looking glass to be found was an ancient water-spotted rectangle in the Ladies’ loo. Working atGlowwould either make you incredibly vain or give you an enormous insecurity complex. It was worrying to recognise that even before my interview I was trying to find an upside tonotgetting the job.
A young, trendily dressed assistant was waiting for me by the lifts, and everything about her was fast: the way she spoke, the speed she walked, and the tap of her fingers on the electronic keypad to gain entry to the magazine offices. I was virtually having to trot to keep up with her as she led me down a glass-walled corridor. ‘I’m afraid we’re running desperatelybehind schedule,’ she apologised in a posh-school, Home Counties voice. ‘I hope you don’t mind waiting.’
‘Not at all,’ I replied, just about managing to hide my enormous sigh of relief. ‘I was really worried I’d be late myself. The traffic was terrible and then there was this total jerk in the car park…’ My voice trailed away. Even I could hear I was babbling. Nerves always did that to me, and I was determined not to be scuppered by my own tongue. ‘I’m happy to wait for as long as you need,’ I added, hoping that would score me extra brownie points.
Her smile was as fast as a camera flash. ‘We’ve set all the candidates up in the conference room,’ she explained, coming to a halt in front of a pair of wooden doors. ‘Someone will be along to collect you for your various interviews throughout the morning.’ It all sounded very much like the penultimate episode ofThe Apprentice, although hopefully without the bit where they tore your CV to shreds and someone pointed at you and said ‘You’re fired’.
‘There’s tea and coffee in here, so please help yourself. And the toilets are just down the corridor.’
I smiled gratefully, already knowing which of those facilities I intended to use first.
The whole building was chilled to the point of being almost cold, but inside the toilets the temperature dipped several degrees lower. It was also incredibly dark. It took several moments for my eyes to adjust as I slipped into a stall at the end of the row. A minute or so later I heard the muted sound of another cubicle door closing.
Even the poor lighting by the row of basins couldn’t disguise the ruinous state of my appearance. I rummaged in my bag for a comb, but despite my best efforts there was little to be done to reverse the effects of the humidity. I scowled back at my reflection as the unruly curls refused to be controlled. What I really needed was a shower, and not just for my hair. My worst fears about my antiperspirant had been realised and although there were no telltale damp patches on my white shirt, I really needed to freshen up. I bit my lip in indecision. There’s an old saying that women don’t sweat, they simply glow – and I was glowing big time. It might be the name of the magazine, but it definitely wasn’t the look I’d been going for.
With a quick glance at my watch, I made up my mind. I whipped off my shirt and rapidly fashioned a makeshift sponge from a bundle of paper towels. One armpit was done, and I was just about to attend to the other when my day took an enormous turn for the worse. At the sound of a bolt sliding open, my head shot up while my stomach plummeted to new depths as a cubicle door opened and the most obnoxious man I’d ever met emerged from the stall.
To be fair, I’m not sure which of us was the more startled, but as I was the one who was semi-naked, I believe that title was mine to claim.
