Free Missing, Presumed by Susie Steiner

specimens Cambridge will ever produce. When they got together in our final year, it was like Kate-Middleton-Barbie had found Ken.’
    ‘Sorry, I don’t get it. How is growing fresh food vanity?’
    ‘Life’s a competition,’ says Farrer. ‘Their superior lifestyle was their quickest route to looking down on people. I mean, that’s why people do it, isn’t it? Grow loads of chard? It isn’t because they
want
chard. I mean, no one
buys
chard. It’s so they can tell someone else they grow chard. And that someone will go away worrying about the fact they don’t grow chard.’
    ‘Except you.’
    ‘I’ve never wanted to grow chard.’
    They look at each other. Farrer is slumped, lolling with the drink. He lets out a little girlish giggle, like gas bubbles escaping – then puts a hand in front of his mouth to stifle them.
    ‘You do realise you’re being questioned in relation to the disappearance and possible abduction of a young woman,’ says Manon.
    ‘Sorry,’ says Farrer, another little giggle escaping involuntarily. ‘I find it hard to take anything seriously. Look, they used to bang on about it endlessly.’ His words are not quite slurring but rolling up against each other, like waves swelling out at sea. ‘You know, “Here’s some organic muffins I made.” “Will is at home, fashioning us a table out of reclaimed crutches.” It was tiresome.’
    Manon nods.
    ‘Still, it’s not enough to murder someone, is it?’ says Farrer. ‘I mean, you don’t think Edith was abducted because she had a curly kale glut, do you?’
    ‘You don’t seem very concerned,’ says Manon.
    ‘That’s me all over.’
    ‘Can we go back to Saturday night at The Crown? You were with Edith at the bar.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And what made the two of you go outside?’
    ‘She put her mouth next to my ear and whispered, “Let’s go outside, Farrer.” Very sexy it was, too.’
    ‘Had she been flirting with you in the run-up to that night?’
    ‘God, no. Edith always treated me with the utter contempt I deserve. That’s what made it so exciting when she came on to me.’
    ‘So you went outside. Then what happened?’
    ‘Well, lots of heavy breathing. She was up against me, against the wall of the pub. It was freezing and dark. She was whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Then we had … Well, I’ll protect her honour, if you don’t mind. Then she suddenly stopped and went back inside.’
    ‘I’m sorry, we’re going to need some detail. Did you kiss?’
    ‘I’ll say.’
    ‘Did it go further than that?’
    Farrer smiles at Manon but she has done too many of these interviews to be squeamish.
    ‘Digital penetration?’ she asks.
    ‘You make it sound so romantic,’ he says.
    ‘Answer the question, please.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Consensual?’
    ‘I had given my consent, yes,’ he says, giggling again.
    ‘How did Edith call a halt?’
    ‘She pulled my hand out from her knickers, straightened her clothes, and went back inside the pub.’
    ‘Did you follow her?’
    ‘No, I didn’t.’
    ‘You didn’t want to pursue her, to finish what she started?’
    ‘Yes, I can see how you’d think that,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘But I’m not really the type to pursue anything. I don’t really have it in me.’
    ‘You’re doing an English PhD at Cambridge,’ says Manon. ‘You must be able to pursue things rather vigorously.’
    ‘Gosh. Vigorous. What a terrific word, Sergeant. It’s certainly never been used to describe me. But you’re right, of course. Poetry is my secret weapon. Give me a spot of Gerard Manley Hopkins and I soar. In all other areas of my life, I’m a total fuck-up. No one believes I’ll finish my PhD, least of all me.’
    ‘How did you get home from the pub?’
    ‘I walked – well, fell, really – down Grange Road to my rooms in Leckhampton House. Porter’ll confirm it, and no doubt some of your evil big brother cameras have me weaving about the streets. And then I spent the night with the