Читать книгу When Your Eyes Close: A psychological thriller unlike anything you’ve read before! - Tanya Farrelly - Страница 16

Caitlin went through the motions of playing at the gig that night. She couldn’t shake the memories of David, but then anniversaries and the days surrounding them were the most difficult, everyone knew that. Andy tapped her lightly on the shoulder with the bow from his cello as they were packing away the instruments.

‘You okay?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘Want to stay for a glass?’

‘I don’t think so; I wouldn’t be much company.’

‘Who says you usually are?’ He swatted her. ‘Just joshing,’ he said. ‘Go on; just one. We can talk about it.’

‘All right,’ she forced a smile and snapped her violin case shut. As much as she wasn’t feeling sociable, she didn’t feel like returning to the empty house either, not yet.

She was sitting at a table in the corner of the wine bar, a tea light candle flickering on the table, when Andy returned from the bar with a bottle of Merlot and two glasses. ‘Don’t worry – you’re just getting the one. The rest is for me.’ He winked and sat next to her. ‘Now, what’s wrong, Caitie? What has you looking so glum?’

Caitie. Andy was the only one who ever called her that, and it always brought back memories of her father who’d never used her full name. ‘The anniversary,’ she said. ‘Can’t believe it’s been a year.’

Andy put a hand on her arm and squeezed it. ‘I tried calling you on Monday.’

‘I know, I got your text. I was with Gillian. God, it was an awful day. I’d just got home, and I got this call … a man telling me that David was alive. I thought it might be something, a real lead, but it turned out to be a hoax after all. Some sick fuck who’d seen David’s name in the paper.’

‘Oh God. I’m sorry, Cait. Any ideas why now?’

‘The Sunday World ran a supplement last week about people who’ve gone missing.’

Andy sighed. ‘Have you thought about changing your number?’

‘No! What if someone really had information … what if David …?’

‘I know, but you should let the guards deal with it, Caitie. What if this person, or someone like him, finds out where you live … have you thought about that?’

‘He won’t. We’re not in the directory. Thank God, David talked me out of that.’

They finished the wine, and then ordered another.

By the time they left the wine bar Caitlin was feeling light-headed. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling. Andy guided her, hand under her arm, out the door and onto the street. It was a quiet night in the city. They walked towards the main street where she waved down a cab. Andy hugged her tight, then pulled back and tucked her hair behind her ears.

‘You can be sure of one thing, Davis,’ he said. ‘David didn’t up and leave. He’d have to be mad to do that to someone like you.’

She smiled and extricated herself from his embrace. There were moments when she thought that Andy Quinn wanted to be more than her friend; it was evident in the way he looked at her. He’d been brilliant since David’s disappearance; he continued to listen when everybody else had grown tired of it, letting her talk it all out without chiding or judging her. She’d gladly do the same for him, he was a wonderful friend, but she hoped he knew it would never grow into anything more.

It was dark when Caitlin stepped into the hall, but a bluish glow illuminated the living room; she’d left the computer on. She really ought to leave on a light when she was out late; Gillian was always warning her about that. She kicked her shoes off and sat down at the computer. She shouldn’t have drunk so much wine; she’d pay for it the next morning. Already there were only six hours until she was due at work. She’d just check her emails and fall into bed.

There was nothing interesting in her mail, except a notification to say that darbryan1 had sent her a message on Twitter. Curious, she opened the website and logged on. There was a short message and a document he’d scanned, a newspaper article about a missing girl, which she skimmed through quickly before reading the message.

@darbryan1: Hi Caitlin. It occurred to me I should have told you my story. Maybe you’re not interested or will think I’m odd telling you, a stranger, but I have a feeling that you’ve been through the same thing. If you want to talk, message me. And if not, best of luck on your own quest. I know I’ll never give up mine. Lisa was my girlfriend, she vanished after a night out with her colleagues almost six years ago.

Caitlin clicked on the article again and read it in detail. Lisa Hunt, it said, had last been seen leaving O’Grady’s bar at around 1.30 a.m. on the morning of 5th September 2011. There had been an unconfirmed sighting of a woman of Lisa’s description getting into a dark-coloured car, possibly a Nissan. After that there was nothing. Lisa, it said, was a twenty-seven-year-old special needs assistant in St Malachy’s Secondary School. A picture inset showed a slim dark-haired girl with a beautiful smile. Caitlin sighed. This girl had vanished in the early hours of the morning, more than likely picked up by a predator. Most people would conclude that the girl had been raped then murdered and her body disposed of in the mountains. The least she could do was sympathize with darbryan1.

@caitlindavis: Hi Dar. I’m so sorry.

… for what? For your loss? That was as good as saying your girlfriend was murdered. She’s not coming back. Okay, she wasn’t a man who had disappeared in the middle of the afternoon, but she could still be alive, couldn’t she? She thought of that case where the woman had been a prisoner in a basement for fifteen years. She’d fallen in love with her captor, mourned him when he died. For most people it was incomprehensible. For Caitlin it was less so: she continued to love her father even after what he’d done. To begin with, people had told her it was an accident. She was five years old, she wouldn’t have understood. When she was older, she’d read the truth – how her father had killed her mother and the man, and then, unable to bear it, had collected Caitlin from a friend’s house, where she’d been playing, and had driven them both off the pier. At first when she’d read this, she had been sure it was lies. She had no recollection of the incident. Had no memory of the car plummeting into the water, or of the stranger who had rescued her. And yet she remembered everything from her life before. She remembered how happy they’d been, the three of them together. Those memories were as clear now as they had been back then.

Caitlin shook herself from the past and started to type:

@caitlindavis: Darren/Daryl? Thank you for sharing your story. You’re right, I do understand. A year ago, my husband walked out of the house and never returned. A police investigation and the hiring of a private detective led nowhere. Only my instinct tells me that David is still alive. I’m so sorry about Lisa’s disappearance. I know the pain you’re feeling and hope that someday, we’ll both find out what has happened to our loved ones. Best, Caitlin.

She was surprised when a few minutes later, she got a reply.

@darbryan1: Caitlin. I’m so sorry. I figured David must be your husband. It’s incredible to think that someone can simply disappear. The pain of wondering if you’ll ever see them again never stops, I know … And yeah, it’s Darren by the way…

For the next hour Caitlin found herself exchanging details with Dar Bryan. At first, she was cautious, she had no idea who he was after all, but then she thought what harm could it do? Everybody already knew what had happened. And besides, it might help to hear his story. To hear first-hand what other people went through. What they both needed was someone to listen. As Dar pointed out, it wasn’t long before people started to avoid you because they couldn’t bear to hear you go over the same things time and again. Caitlin had experienced that too, friends who had distanced themselves from her in her agony. One who had bluntly told her that she couldn’t do it anymore, that Caitlin would simply have to get over it. The last six months had seen the end of more than one of her fair-weather friendships. Dar Bryan understood; he’d been there. It was the first time she’d spoken to someone else who had.