Free The Near Miss by Fran Cusworth

the shoulder. ‘Give us a call. Keep us posted. We want to know if she comes back.’
    â€˜ When she comes back,’ said Grace.

Chapter 5
    Thin branches scratched the dark glass; pale twig fingers flashed in and out of sight. Drops trembled their way down the pane. A paperback sat on his lap, lit by lamplight. A comfortable home, his girlfriend had fled. Where was she on this rainy, rainy night?
    He sighed, closed his book and dialed his parents’ number.
    â€˜What’s it been now, over a week? That girl was always going to go and join the circus,’ his father growled.
    â€˜That’s not fair, Dad. Romy never got over losing her parents.’
    â€˜We all lose our parents.’
    â€˜She was young.’
    â€˜She was an adult!’ snapped his father. ‘I was only a kid when we lost our parents.’ A farmhouse fire, an older brother who drove the siblings away from the inferno that their parents stayed to fight, and to die in. Eddy could be surprised anew each time he remembered it, his father orphaned and small.
    â€˜You don’t really know her the way I do.’
    His father choked, as if on something unspeakable, and continued. ‘Well, I’m sorry. But you’ll meet someone else—’
    â€˜Don’t say that! I don’t want to meet someone else. And that’s not the point. I’m worried about her. I want to know she’s safe. And not . . . in trouble.’ Safety. Risk. Loss. A farmhouse in flame while a truck full of children bumped away to the rest of their parentless lives. How much of his own life as a risk analyst, a hedger of disaster, had been influenced by that image passed down by his father.
    â€˜Jesus, Eddy, of course she’s in trouble. She’s been in trouble since the moment you’ve mether. That’s the only place she ever wanted to be . . .’ There were murmurs away from the phone; Merle’s faint protests. Ray returned, grumbling. ‘Well, that’s just my opinion. No one wants to hear the truth these days.’
    Eddy watched his reflection, passive in the rainy window. His father was wrong; Eddy did want to hear the truth. If he’d wanted soft-edged comfort, soothing nothings, he would have asked for his mother. But it was his gruff, angry father he needed now. If he could argue with his dad, he might have a hope of convincing himself. ‘Should I call the police again?’
    â€˜Sure. Tell them to look out for a bloody vegetarian university drop-out who thinks she should be an actress. They can head up to Brunswick Street and bring you back a truckload of them.’
    â€˜Dad.’
    â€˜Joking.’
    â€˜Not very funny.’
    â€˜Well, you wait ’til you have a kid and you work like a dog to give him every opportunity, to raise him right, and then some hussy comes along and wipes her boots on him.’
    â€˜She didn’t!’ Eddy stared at the phone. What an awful image. And what was Romy doing for cash? His own wallet was unnaturally full.
    â€˜Well, she didn’t bother to say goodbye before she pissed off.’
    â€˜Maybe she’s been kidnapped.’
    â€˜Then ring the police.’
    He sighed. ‘Yeah. Maybe. Gotta go, Dad.’ Examination of Romy’s wardrobe and toiletries after the dinner revealed that she had probably stopped by and packed a small bag. He would not share this with his father, who would be so enraged on his behalf that Eddy would be sapped of hisown indignation.
    â€˜Have you eaten? Why don’t you come over here for dinner?’ Behind the abrupt tone, Eddy could hear his father’s worry, and his mother’s murmuring tell him . . . but . . . don’t say that in the background.
    â€˜I’m fine. See you.’
    He sat and watched the window some more. He had been Romy’s hero, her saviour. But saving her from what? Her own vulnerability, her orphaned loneliness, even while he uncomfortably sensed a