But she hasn’t finished.
“Stupid girl. So naïve. I feel sorry for you. He’s used you, and you can’t even see it.” She flounces off, and I hear her car starting up.
I’m stunned. Too shocked to weep properly, but tears squeeze out of my eyes as I stumble out of my chair. I have to pull myself together and get out of there before Reid and the children come back.
He has the car, but I don’t care. I’ll find a way to get home. I don’t even know how to describe this place to call someone to pick me up here. But there must be a train or a bus from the town we passed on the way here. That’s only a few miles away. I can do this.
I shove everything of mine I can grab easily into my weekend bag. The suitcase won’t close at first, the way it has been crammed in, but in the end, I get it zipped up and stumble up the coastal path, the wheels on my bag catching in the pebbles and sandy earth.
Now that I’m on my way, I can hardly see where I’m going for tears. It’s getting dark, but it’s too early for dusk. I look up. The sky is darkening. Good. It matches my mood. But the rain starts coming down, just a few drops at first and then much more heavily, the wheels on my bag gathering wet earth as I drag it along.
I don’t care how difficult it is, I won’t stop and turn back. After a hundred more yards or so, I reach the main road into the town.
CHAPTER 22
Reid
When we arrive at the hospital, Gordon is sitting up in the chair by his bed waiting for the operation he will undergo tomorrow. Of course he’s happy to see the children. But that bitch Mercia, being her usual lying, manipulative self, has dragged me here on false pretenses!
I don’t get why she wanted me here. Is it just to show that she can still make me do what she wants, when I made it perfectly clear last week that I wasn’t interested in her? She never gives up.
This must be just another one of her games.
But I can’t bad-mouth her to her father or the children, so I have to hide my surprise at how well he is, and I like the guy so I’m happy to see there’s nothing seriously wrong with him. No, there’s nothing much wrong with him.
Just with the daughter he spawned.
We leave him as soon as it’s polite to go. I call Holly outside the hospital, but there’s no answer. Maybe she’s down by the sea. Lucky her! I imagine her walking along the shoreline, in her little shorts, sandals in her hand, enjoying the sun.
I leave her a text telling her we’re on our way.
The traffic is worse than I expected, and the weather doesn’t help. It starts to rain heavily, slowing everything down. But we’re back within the hour.
I call out to Holly when I open the front door, but there’s no one there and when I look out onto the beach, there’s no sign of her there either.
I look through the house. That’s when I notice all her things are gone. Was she annoyed that I left her alone for the afternoon? Surely, she’s not as petty as that, sulking because Mercia’s dad wanted to see the kids when we thought he was sick? There’s a pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove. What? She cooked for us and then took off without leaving a note?
This doesn’t add up.
I call her but get no answer.
What happened to her? Should I call the police? No. Too soon. They’ll never take me seriously. I bundle the kids back in the car. They’re grouchy. They’ve been cooped up inside all afternoon. Even though it’s raining, they want to go back to the beach for a “rain walk,” something we usually do when the weather is poor.
“We have to find Holly,” I tell them.
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. We’re going to look for her. Let’s play I-spy. The first one to spot Holly gets to choose what flavor ice cream we have tonight, so keep a look out.”
I don’t have the first fucking clue where Holly went. She has no car. Did she call a cab or get a rental car delivered? If so, she’s well away by now. But I have to look for her. What if she’s hurt? What made her run?
There’s no sign of her on the coastal path—at the end of the road I don’t know whether to go left or right. But if she’s on foot, I’m guessing she would have made for the town, and we didn’t see her when we drove back from the hospital from the other direction, so I turn left.
Scared of missing any sign of her, I drive slowly, watching for her as well as the road in the heavy downpour.
But it’s Katie who pipes up. “Is that Holly’s red bag in the hedge? It’s getting all wet.” I stop the car by the side of the road and yes, it’s hers, still full by the weight of it. One of the wheels has come off. Is she close? I put the bag in the car and tell the kids to keep on looking, and that they’ll both get all the ice cream they want if we find her soon.