Left You Dead

9

Niall Paternoster was woken with a start by the clatter of the letter box. The orange glow of the street lighting had been replaced by daylight. From the brightness around the edges of the curtains it looked like a fine day. He glanced at the clock radio by his bed: 7.03 a.m. The morning paper delivery, he realized.

Then he realized something else as he became more awake.

The right-hand side of the bed was empty. Undisturbed.

Hauling himself up against the headboard, he reached over to the table, grabbed his phone and peered at it. No texts. There were a couple of emails, which he opened. One was from a newsfeed he subscribed to, the other was spam his filter hadn’t picked up. No word from Eden.

He slipped out of bed, padded out onto the landing and checked the spare room, where she sometimes slept on the few occasions when they’d had a really bad row. But the bed was clearly unused. ‘Eden!’ he called out in the forlorn hope she was somewhere else in the house. But the only reply was a plaintive miaow from Reggie downstairs. No doubt hungry, as ever.

‘I’ll be down soon, Reggie!’ he called out.

The cat responded with a noise that sounded like he was being tortured to death.

Niall went back into their bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. Thinking hard. He rang Eden’s mobile, but nothing. Was its battery completely dead? He had to keep trying. Who to call next? Her four best friends, Georgie, Dem, Helen and Sharon? Her sister? Her mother? The local hospitals, Worthing and the Royal Sussex, in case she’d been in an accident or taken ill?

He went downstairs, threw a handful of dry pellets into Reggie’s bowl to shut him up, made himself a strong coffee, then began phoning each of Eden’s girlfriends in turn, telling them what had happened. What he got back from each of them was concern for Eden, but not much sympathy, nor surprise. No, they hadn’t seen her. Would he please let them know when she turned up?

Of course.

He rang the hospitals. No patient by the name of Eden Paternoster had been admitted during the past twenty-four hours.

Next, he rang her elder sister, Evelyn. She and Eden were close, too. Evelyn hadn’t seen her either. Nor had her brother, Adam — her parents sure had referenced the Bible for their children’s names. He rang her mum, who had never liked him, and was interrogated by her for a full ten minutes.

Ending the call, Niall continued thumbing through the book. Who the hell else might she have contacted?

He made more calls. Finally, all out of ideas, he looked at the ridiculously modern and stupid clock on the wall. The one she had chosen, which had no numbers on it, so you had to look at your watch anyway to be sure of the time.

8.55 a.m.

The house phone rang. Hardly anyone rang that these days. He dived over to the dresser, where it sat, and snatched the receiver off the cradle. Eden?

It was her mother, wondering if she had turned up.

‘No, Margaret,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’

‘Will you tell me when she does? I’m really worried about her.’

‘Of course I will, Mags,’ he assured her in his warmest, most wonderful and caring son-in-law voice. ‘You’ll be the first.’

‘Have you called the police?’

‘No, but I’m thinking about it if she doesn’t turn up soon, as I just told you.’

Ending the call, promising again to let her know the moment he heard anything, he stared at the address book. There was no one else he could think of. He’d exhausted all the possibilities. Hadn’t he?

Who hadn’t he thought of? What hadn’t he thought of?

Through the window on to their small rear garden, he could see a bird drinking from the ornamental birdbath that Eden topped up with water every day. Then Reggie began whinging. ‘Way past breakfast time, eh?’ Niall said. Reluctantly slipping off his stool, he walked over to the cupboard where Eden kept the pouches of cat food, took one out and opened it. Reggie leaped onto the draining board and carried on whining and trying to eat while he emptied the contents into the red bowl.

He put the bowl on the floor, went back to his bar stool and sipped his coffee. Then he noticed that the finger he’d cut last night was bleeding again — he must have done it opening the cat food. Sucking it, he decided maybe it was time to call the police. On the other hand, perhaps he should give her a little longer. See if she turned up to work today, first?

He decided to get some exercise, go for a bike ride down to the seafront, and give her time to make contact. If not, when he came back he’d call her work number. If she hadn’t gone into work — she’d told him she had a really busy day with a new computer system being installed — then he would really start to worry.