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I take the opportunity to turn the tables. ‘You must like vulnerable people. I hear you’ve been badgering the neighbours for odd-job work while you’ve been in Avringstone. Flirting with a few of the ladies, eh?’ I add cruelly. His jaw tightens.
‘Have you been asking around about me then?’ Paul’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘You know what small villages are like. People like to chat.’
‘And gossip.’
‘People only call it gossip when they’ve got something to hide.’
‘I’m an open book.’
‘Talking of books, I stumbled on Help for Homes’ Facebook page recently. I spotted you in a photo.’ He looks at me sharply then softens his gaze a little too late. ‘You were helping create a room for autistic children in a daycentre,’ I go on. ‘Do you have any family? Any kids from a previous relationship?’
‘No, not that I’m aware of. But you never know, eh?’ He nudges her arm and she giggles.
‘Any brothers or sisters?’
He shakes his head. ‘Like you, I’m an only child. I prefer it that way.’
This meal – or more accurately, this endurance test – continues along these lines for another fifty minutes. It’s as if we are amidst a tennis rally, neither of us ready to flag and lose a point to the other. And it solidifies what I was already convinced of before tonight – I cannot trust this man. Our deadlock is only broken when I clear the table of dirty dishes and prepare to return from the kitchen with the raspberry panna cotta desserts. I hover by the door when I overhear them talking quietly. ‘I won’t say a thing,’ she whispers, then puts her finger up to pursed lips. I don’t catch his response.
‘What have I missed?’ I ask as I enter the room.
‘Nothing,’ they say together, and I realise Paul isn’t the only one keeping things from me. He has her doing it too.
CHAPTER 14
JOE LAWSON, NEIGHBOUR
When the bell rings to the tune of ‘Greensleeves’, I open the front door and see Gwen’s daughter Connie. She looks anxious. We have spoken if we’ve bumped into one another in the village shop or while she’s walking her mum to church on a Sunday morning, but she’s never been round to the house before, so this appearance is a little unexpected. And it’s not great timing, if I’m being honest. I have a round of golf booked this afternoon. My clubs are already in the boot of the car.
‘I’m really sorry to bother you ...’ she begins, but gets distracted by Mary’s appearance behind me. She’s drying her hands with a tea towel.
‘Hi luv,’ Mary says. ‘Joe, where are your manners? Don’t leave the girl on the doorstep.’ I move to one side. She follows Mary into the lounge. ‘Now, how can we help?’ asks Mary.
‘Have you seen Mum today?’
‘No, but then I don’t see her very often these days,’ says Mary. ‘What about you, Joe? Nothing escapes your beady eye.’
It bothers me whenever she makes me sound like a curtain twitcher. I’ve reminded her many times that I take my job as Neighbourhood Watch coordinator seriously and that means knowing other people’s business. ‘No, I haven’t seen her,’ I tell Connie. ‘Isn’t she at home?’
‘No,’ she replies. ‘I was there at a quarter to seven this morning but the house was empty. I’ve been searching the village ever since. But there’s no sign of her.’
I take a sideways look towards the carriage clock on the fireplace. It’s approaching eleven and I really should be on the road by now. I’m sure Mary can deal with this on her own.
‘She’s wandered off before, hasn’t she?’ Mary recalls. ‘I think someone said you found her in the bowling club car park once, looking for your dad. Perhaps she’s gone for a walk and has lost track of time?’
‘I bought her a mobile phone to take with her if she goes out,’ Connie explains. Her hands are trembling. ‘I put that app on it where you can track where a person is. But either she’s forgotten to switch it on or she hasn’t recharged the phone, because it keeps going to voicemail. She’s taken her handbag with her but she’s left her debit cards.’
‘Might she have gone into town on the Hopper?’ I suggest.
‘I’ve already called the driver and he hasn’t seen her. And she never lets me book her a taxi because she thinks they’re all going to overcharge her.’
‘She’s not wrong there,’ adds Mary.
‘Hmm,’ I say as I think. ‘If she’s got herself lost, can she communicate well enough to ask for help?’
‘Yes. But what if she’s gone wandering through the fields at the end of the garden? She had the bushes cut down, so she could’ve left through the gate. If she’s gone that way and she’s made it right to the back, there are miles of forests she could get lost in.’
