Free What You Wish For by Mark Edwards Page A

But . . .’ He shrugged.
    I stared at him. I couldn’t think of anything to say. It was obvious he wasn’t going to help. I was wasting my time. I stood up.
    ‘Look, I’ll enter her details on the MISPER database, OK? But I reckon she’s just gone off somewhere to get her head together. I mean, your best friend dying, that’s a pretty big deal, isn’t it? She’s probably just gone off to think. I’m sure she’ll be in touch soon, Richard. Most missing persons reappear within two days.’
    I stepped out into the fading afternoon sunlight and wondered what to do. I was certain by now that she wasn’t going to suddenly reappear. I felt completely and chillingly alone.

    What had happened to her? I decided there were six possibilities:
     
    1. She had run away with another man.
    2. She had run away for some other unknown reason.
    3. She had been called away suddenly and for some reason that I couldn’t imagine had been unable or unwilling to contact me.
    4. She had been kidnapped or murdered.
    5. She had had some sort of breakdown or crisis (possibly because of Andrew’s death) and had gone away to sort herself out. Somehow. Somewhere.
    6. She’d had an accident and was lying injured or dead in some remote place.
     
    And there was a seventh possibility, wasn’t there? The possibility that she had been taken away by aliens. I thought it was the craziest thing that had ever entered my head, but the thing was, she had talked about aliens (or visitors, as she called them) so much that I couldn’t help but think of it, even if I immediately dismissed it as ridiculous. I didn’t believe in aliens. I certainly didn’t believe that my girlfriend had been stolen away by little grey men. No, whatever had happened to her was something grounded in reality. Something earthly.
    After leaving the police station, I called Simon and asked him to meet me for a coffee. I named a little café in the Old Town. I sat outside, smoking, until Simon arrived.
    He sat opposite me. ‘Bob said to tell you he hopes you have a happy holiday.’ Luckily, the Herald owed me annual leave, so the day after Marie disappeared I had phoned Bob, the editor, and asked for a couple of weeks’ holiday. I didn’t tell him why.
    Simon looked at my smouldering cigarette, then at my face. He said, ‘You look fucking terrible, mate.’
    Simon and I didn’t usually do emotional support. Occasionally, when very pissed, he would tell me about his marital problems and I would tut sympathetically, but that was about the extent of it. Now, wincing, Simon asked, ‘How are you feeling?’
    ‘Sick with dread. I’m so worried that something awful’s happened to her. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere. And then I think, What if she’s gone off with another bloke? I keep picturing all these terrible scenarios – her being hurt, or wandering around, lost and confused, or in hospital.’ I sucked on my cigarette. ‘You know when you’re having a really bad dream and you wake up and you’re overwhelmed with relief and you kind of laugh but feel a bit shaky? That’s what I want to happen to me. I’ll wake up and she’ll be asleep beside me, all warm, and I’ll lean over and kiss her and not want to close my eyes in case she vanishes again.’
    Simon stared at me like I had lost the plot. ‘Right. I want you to think hard. Did she say anything that morning, or in the few days before, that might give you a clue as to where she’s gone?’
    I ran a finger around the rim of my coffee cup. ‘Monday morning I left really early. She was still in bed. She asked what time I’d be home and said goodbye. That was about it. And no, she didn’t say goodbye wistfully or regretfully. It was just a “What time will you be home, see you later” – nothing more. I’ve replayed that scene so many times that it feels like a hallucination now.’
    ‘And she gave you no other clues at all over the weekend?’
    ‘No. We stayed in on Saturday night with a DVD.