Twisted

Chapter 2

Agnes Moors had left a message that she was going to collect the dry-cleaning and then do the grocery shopping so would not be back until after lunch. She had made sure the kitchen was spotless and gleaming – in fact the whole house was always polished to within an inch of its life. She had a mild obsessive-compulsive disorder that Lena put up with, simply because she was such a methodical and good housekeeper. Irritating little things, such as her obsession with straight lines, the way she organized the cushions on the sofa, the bed, and even the decorative pillows were an anathema to Lena – everything had to be too neat and precisely lined up. The curtains had to be exactly symmetrical, each drawn across the same distance, no showing of the silk lining that Lena rather liked, so it was a ritual that Agnes would hang the curtains dead straight and Lena would flick them around and tie the coiled loops more loosely.

Agnes was about sixty, square-shouldered, thickset, with an oval-shaped and age-lined face, and small unblinking piercing brown eyes. She wore reading glasses when she worked so that she could see every speck of dust or finger mark. She used over-the-counter hair dye, and it was hard to detect her original colour, as her hair was now reddish brown with darker almost black streaks and a quarter inch of grey growth at her roots, which were very obvious as she had a prominent widow’s peak.

Lena, still seething, had uncorked a bottle of wine and sat fuming about the meeting. She opened a bag of Kettle Chips and munched one after the other, unable to think about anything other than the fact she felt as if she was being harassed and for no reason but Marcus’s greed. It took a while for her to eventually calm down; she had a shower and dressed in her towelling robe and then returned to the kitchen. She’d forgotten that she had switched off her mobile at the morning’s meeting and switching it on now she saw that there were now fifteen unanswered calls, and numerous text messages about a new delivery of fabric from India. Simply scrolling through them made her head ache. She realized that she had not heard from Amy, and there was no message or text from her. However, there were two from her school requesting Lena make contact regarding Amy’s attendance. She rang Amy but it went straight to voicemail, and checking the time was after three, she decided she’d wait until classes ended at four before calling the school matron. She was not unduly concerned – often, if Amy had been on a sleepover, she returned to school later than usual.

Lena replied to a few text messages that needed to be attended to directly, but then didn’t have the energy to return a couple of social calls. Instead she sat scrolling through her contacts, wondering if there was anyone who could have been passing over information to Marcus. She also wondered if one of her women friends might have been having a closer friendship with her husband than she knew about. No names jumped out, and in many instances she had not even been in recent contact with them. It started to really niggle her, as Henshaw had said whoever had passed on her business details would have to have had access to her accounts and it was more than possible it was someone very close to her. She tapped her fingers on the polished glass surface of the kitchen table. Who knew her password? Someone had to have gained entry into her computer, but she doubted anyone would know it; the only possibility was Amy, although she always hated anyone – even her daughter – using her computer.

Agnes arrived with the dry-cleaning and groceries, and began to unload the shopping, crossing backwards and forwards to the cupboards.

‘Everything go all right earlier today?’ she asked.

‘No, and I don’t want to talk about it.’ Lena picked up her half-filled glass of wine. ‘I’ll be in my office. See you in the morning.’ She paused in the doorway and cocked her head to one side. ’Agnes, have you ever used my computer?’

‘Good heavens, no. Is there a problem with it?’

‘No, I’m just concerned that somebody has been going through some personal files.’

‘You mean you’ve had some kind of virus?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t leave anything out for dinner – I’m not hungry.’

Agnes continued putting away the remaining groceries, then wiped around the sink, and gave a squirt of glass polish to the kitchen table that didn’t really need it. Deciding she’d take the dry-cleaning upstairs the following morning as Lena was clearly not in the best of moods, she turned off the lights, and since it was by now almost five she let herself out and went home.

Lena was in her Spartan immaculate high-tech office. Shelves and filing cabinets were the only furnishings apart from her desk, computer, printer and telephone. It was clear of any knick-knacks. Her filing system was brought up to date every Monday; mail to be checked over was in a drawer in her desk as she hated it piling up on the desktop. She paid bills promptly or by direct debit, and records of these and wages for domestic staff were in separate compartments. She had a small cash box with usually two or three hundred pounds for any emergency, and always kept receipts, which she collected regularly to be switched to her tax drawer. All her bank statements were clipped together in yet another drawer. Everything was neat and orderly with nothing out of place, and it really frustrated her to think that someone had to have had access to be able to give such details to Marcus and his solicitor. Question was, exactly who, and she sat wondering if it was Agnes, but somehow she didn’t think it could be, and then depressingly she began to return to the idea that it had to be Amy. Amy would be the only person that could possibly guess her password, and it made her feel so betrayed that she at first wanted to cry, but then became really angry.

Amy’s mobile went yet again to voicemail. Frustrated, Lena called the school communal house phone. A bright girlish voice answered and Lena said she wanted to speak to Amy Fulford, as it was quite urgent. The matron came on the line, and said that they had been trying to contact her, as Amy had not turned up for school. Lena was perplexed, but hardly concerned as she suspected that Amy had simply decided to stay, as naughty as it was, with her friend who had arranged the sleepover.

Harriet Newman, the mother of Serena Newman, answered the phone and sounded rather confused. She knew that her daughter had asked Amy to spend the weekend, and they had collected her from the school at eleven forty-five on the Saturday morning. However, Amy had said that she wanted to see her father on the Saturday afternoon, and would return in the early evening. Serena had been very disappointed as they had arranged to go to see a film together, but Amy had never turned up. Mrs Newman presumed that the girl had decided to stay with her father, as she knew that Amy often did so when not at home with Lena.

‘Did you try to call her?’ Lena asked nervously.

‘Obviously, yes we did, and I left you a message on your house phone, but we never heard back from anyone. Serena went to the film with some other friends and we returned her to school Sunday evening.’ Mrs Newman sounded more irritated than concerned, as if Lena was blaming her in some way.

Lena realized that with the dinner party, the pending solicitor’s meeting and other things on her mind she had not bothered to check any missed calls on her landline since Saturday. ‘Thank you, I’m sorry to bother you. I think I will just call her father and sort it out as she has not returned to school.’

‘Well, I can understand you must be worried. Serena told me you’re going through a divorce so it has to be a difficult time,’ Mrs Newman said, more friendly now.

‘Yes it is, but Amy is handling it very well as it’s amicable. We’ve made sure she didn’t find herself caught in between us. Thank you again.’

Lena replaced the phone, angrier because the least Marcus could have done was to let her know that Amy was staying with him. She had a good few sips of wine before she called him, only to reach his voicemail.

‘Hey, it’s Marcus, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’

Trying to keep her voice from becoming shrill, she said, ‘Can you please ask Amy to call me? She is not at school and I am concerned as she has made no contact with them or with me.’ She sat beside the phone, willing it to ring, even while admonishing herself for being stupid and impatient, but she was angry at having to call the last person she wanted to talk to, especially after their meeting that morning. She finally turned her attention to her computer to check the latest emails but there was nothing of any urgency and she didn’t feel like looking at any business arrangements for the following day as she would first have a serious talk with her daughter, and insist she drive her to school to apologize personally.

Amy’s bedroom was just along the landing from her office, with a sign hanging on the door: ‘Privacy Please’. Usually she was very aware of giving Amy exactly that, knocking before entering if she was at home, and rarely if ever going into the bedroom when she wasn’t. Agnes changed the sheets, cleaned and collected any dirty laundry and dry-cleaning. This evening Lena opened the door and stood looking into the room. It was not at all girly or draped in pink, but tasteful, with pale blue fitted carpets, white curtains and wooden slatted blinds. The small double bed had a duvet and frilled pillows, and an old teddy bear that Amy had kept since a toddler. He was worn and moth-eaten with one glass eye missing but was very much loved. She used to always carry ‘Teddy’ around and sleep clasping him tightly, although at about eleven years old, she had stuffed him into a drawer for some reason. Lena couldn’t recall exactly when he had resurfaced but he was now always placed on her pillow. A pair of mule slippers were left on the floor beside the bed, but the rest of the room was exceptionally tidy. Fitted wardrobes took up an entire wall – the sliding doors opened to a bank of drawers and then full-length hanging sections. Winter coats were hung together and all her winter dresses and skirts were colour-coordinated and then there were a few evening dresses and rows of shirts and jackets. Her jeans were folded on the top shelf of the wardrobe alongside hats and scarves. Rows of boots and shoes were lined up along the bottom. Lena didn’t touch anything, she just stood there admiring how neat and tidy everything was. It was hard to believe this was a bedroom of a fifteen-year-old; there were no posters of rock stars on the walls, in fact they were devoid of any kind of pictures apart from some family photographs. The bedside cabinets were uncluttered, with only an alarm clock, two matching lamps, bedside house phone and a stand for her mobile. Beneath their tops were rows of paperback books, all stacked together by size and width. Lena looked at the large antique dressing table; this was placed in front of the window and faced the large garden. A hairbrush and comb were in a blue pottery jar next to a hand mirror and a large bottle of ‘Daisy’ perfume sat beside a tube of moisturizer.

Lena began to look through the neat rows of dresser drawers, starting from the left, and found everything neatly arranged. Lena knew that Agnes was more than likely the person who carefully folded each bra and matching panties, rolled the tights into small balls and tucked them into the plastic dividers: black tights, woollen tights, socks, white tennis and sports socks all rolled up and tidy.

The bottom dressing-table drawers held old school books, sketchpads and envelopes in one, in another some Christmas cards still in their packaging. Only one drawer was locked, a small one on the top right-hand side. Lena had no idea where the key would be, and even had she known she would not have unlocked the drawer to discover what it contained. She reckoned it was probably Amy’s diary – as a child she had always kept diaries but once her schoolwork intensified, she was given her own computer and abandoned the ritual. Then before Christmas she had asked for a journal: she was inspired to write short stories and wanted something special to put them in. She asked to have a proper bound one with a lock and key. Marcus had bought her one with her name embossed in gold letters; it had been very expensive, in dark green leather.

Lena stood in the centre of the room looking from one side to the other. She then went to close the wardrobe and she saw the stack of matching suitcases, in three sizes – small, medium and large. Lena knew Amy also had an overnight cabin bag at school, which she used when visiting Serena’s or her father’s, and it was the only one missing.

By the time Lena returned to her bedroom, it was after seven, and she had still not heard from Marcus. She was loath to call back yet forced herself to do so, but it went straight to voicemail yet again and she didn’t leave a message. She tried Amy’s mobile phone one more time and that too was on voicemail. She next called the school to ask if Amy had turned up or if they had heard either from her or her father.

The matron said they had not, and asked if she would call as soon as she heard when they could expect Amy to arrive. They did not approve of unplanned absences or really allow pupils to return after lights out, but if she was expected to be back that evening there was always someone on duty.

‘I hope there’s nothing wrong?’ the matron asked and Lena, keeping her voice pleasant, replied that she suspected her husband had taken their daughter to the theatre. It felt lame even to her. Replacing the receiver she lay back on her bed, wondering if the school knew about the impending divorce. Because Amy stayed alternate weekends with her father they might very well suspect some kind of marital problem, even though Amy spent her school holidays mostly with Lena and she always allowed her friends to stay. The truth was, it was so much easier if Amy did have a friend to stay as it kept her occupied and Lena didn’t have to arrange activities. It was much easier now that she was a teenager, but when she was younger, having to chauffeur her around had usually fallen to Lena. Marcus said he loathed having to remember which mother was which, and hated the obligatory small talk. The reality was, whenever they had both been to a school function, Marcus had appeared to thoroughly enjoy chatting to the mothers, flirting and being as charming as he could be. Lena had always taken a back seat on these occasions, usually because she was tired out having had to work flat out all day. She remembered a couple of times she had not even managed to wash her hair or get changed. Marcus on the other hand was wearing his Armani suit, shaved and immaculate. He had installed a gym in a studio above their garage so he would work out, for hours on end, then shower, and this he did virtually on a daily basis. In some ways she was grateful he was at least not hanging around the house trying to start yet another business venture, or becoming depressed because one had failed.

Lena rolled over, thumped the pillow with her fist. Just thinking about what had happened that morning made her furious all over again. Two years’ separation and here she was still annoyed by all the things Marcus did, and had done before he had left. Yet again she was wasting her time on him.

At some point she must have fallen asleep, and with all the bedroom lights on. The phone ringing woke her with such a start that for a few moments she was completely disorientated, but then swung her legs to the ground and grabbed the receiver. It was seven a.m.

‘Lena, it’s me, I’ve just noticed your missed calls,’ Marcus said abruptly.

‘You took your time getting back to me. I have had the school calling me; I have tried ringing her, just what the hell is going on? Where is she?’

‘She had a sleepover,’ he said, and his voice sounded slurred.

‘Yes I know, but she told Serena’s mother on Saturday afternoon she was going to see you, and she never went back there so Mrs Newman presumed she was staying with you.’

‘She wasn’t with me, I never saw her.’

‘What?’

‘I just said Amy never came here to me, I haven’t heard from her all weekend or yesterday. I thought she was with her friend. I mean, she mentioned some sleepover – I dunno, what’s all the panic about?’

Lena wanted to scream.

‘Is she at school?’ he asked stupidly.

‘No she is not, I just told you, they called here, and I have not seen her.’

‘What about this girl she was staying with?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Marcus, don’t you listen to what I am saying? I have spoken to them. I talked to Serena’s mother and she picked her up on Saturday morning and drove her to Fulham. Amy then told Mrs Newman she was going to see you and would be back in the evening, but she never turned up.’

‘Why didn’t they call me?’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I have no idea, but we have to find her. If she didn’t come over to you on Saturday afternoon, it means she’s been somewhere else since then and she is still not back at school.’

‘Well I don’t know where she is,’ he said lamely, almost as an excuse. Clearly he still hadn’t realized that something could have happened to his daughter. Lena swallowed and gripped the phone tighter.

‘Marcus, she has not been seen for over two days now. Don’t you understand how serious this is? Now think if there is someone she might have gone to see.’

He said something inaudible, and Lena had to ask him to repeat it. But he cleared his throat.

‘Sorry, I was just thinking, you have talked to Serena?’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Only her mother.’

‘And they had no idea where she is?’

‘For God’s sake, Marcus, try and concentrate. I am asking you to think if she was friendly with anyone you’ve met recently?’

‘Erm, to be honest I’ve not met any of her friends. When she’s here they, well, they might come over but on the whole she’s usually on her own and we go out to see a movie, or just watch TV…’

‘Think, Marcus. Is there anyone she might have gone to see?’

‘I’m fucking thinking,’ he groaned.

Lena closed her eyes and sighed with impatience. ‘Were you at home on Saturday afternoon?’

‘No, I was at a football match.’

‘So she could have gone to see you and you weren’t in. Does she have a key?’

‘Yes of course she does, but if she was here she never left me a note and I didn’t get back until Sunday…’

‘You mean you were staying somewhere else?’

‘Yes, at a friend’s from football.’

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, clenching her teeth. ‘Okay, what about a boyfriend, do you know if she has a boyfriend?’

‘She’s not mentioned one. Look, you know you’re firing off questions but I could be asking the same ones of you. Do you know if she was seeing a boy? And you’d know more than me who her close friends would be. We should start ringing around.’

‘But her friends are at the school, so they would be there and not with their parents. Marcus, I don’t know what we should do. I mean, do we wait until a bit later this morning and call around or…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Let me just go over it all. She was last seen on Saturday afternoon, and no one has heard from her since and it’s now Tuesday morning, so what about her mobile? Have you tried calling her?’

‘Of course, it goes straight to voicemail; I’ve tried numerous times. I think we should go to the police.’

‘Hang on, hang on. Obviously we have to think about that, but at the same time, we could be getting into a panic over Amy just being a bit of a truant and taking off with a pal.’

‘She has never been a bit of a truant, for God’s sake. She has never done anything like this before, and it’s totally out of character. She always calls me when she stays over with you, she calls me if she’s having a sleepover. I have never known her not to make sure I knew where she was and the more I think of it, the worse I am starting to feel. Something is really not right.’

‘Okay, call the hospitals,’ sighed Marcus. ‘She may have had an accident, and we can both start doing that.’

‘You start calling them, Marcus, I am going to the police. If anything, I should have gone to them earlier. I’ll call you, stay by your phone.’

She didn’t wait for him to reply but slammed down the receiver. She pulled on a pair of jeans, sneakers, a polo-neck sweater, and a camel-hair coat. She didn’t even comb her hair or check her makeup. She was in the Lexus within minutes of hanging up on Marcus, and she drove to the local Richmond police station, so tense her knuckles were white as she clenched the steering wheel, all the while keeping up a mantra to herself of ‘please don’t let anything bad have happened to her, please don’t let anything have happened to my baby.’