Mark jumped into a taxi outside Bournemouth railway station and told the cheery cabbie Diane’s address. It was in a suburb a couple of miles away from the main town centre. Mia had given him the details.
He had wavered about whether or not to tell her why he needed to know. His chief concern had been that she might speak to her mother in the meantime and tip her off. But Hannah had felt it best to be upfront and honest with her, so that’s what they’d done. The pair of them had sat Mia down over the weekend to discuss the matter.
‘What’s going on?’ she’d asked them, her face pale and lined with concern. ‘Is everything okay? Is it about Mum?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Mark had said. ‘But there’s no news, as such: nothing to be concerned about. It’s just that we’ve not heard anything from her since that single text message she sent to Hannah.’
‘No, neither have I,’ Mia had replied, letting out a long sigh. ‘Not since the one time she phoned me.’
‘Have you tried messaging her?’
‘No, she said not to; that she’d probably be too busy to reply.’ Reaching for her phone, she’d added: ‘I can do, though, if you want me to.’
‘No, no, that’s fine,’ Hannah had said, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘You’d best do as your mother asked.’
Clearing his throat, Mark had gone on to explain about his business trip to Southampton and how he was planning to call in and see Diane while he was down there. But he’d carefully framed this as a friendly visit to see if there was anything he could do to help, rather than checking up on her.
‘Southampton?’ Mia had replied. ‘That’s not around the corner.’
‘Well, it’s a lot closer than Manchester; it’ll only take me half an hour by train.’
‘Oh, okay. Mum and I hardly ever take the train. She prefers to drive.’
Back in the present, Mark glanced at his watch. It was 6.03 p.m. on Tuesday. Thankfully, he’d managed to escape the office – and Joe Wilder’s moaning – in good time. Although Adam had been disappointed to be left alone with a dinner invite from Wilder, meaning an evening of yet more ear-bending, he’d graciously accepted the situation after Mark had brought him up to speed with what was going on. Mark had at least helped Adam out earlier by knocking Wilder down a peg or two, thanks to his downbeat analysis of the taken-over firm’s current financials.
‘Lovely warm evening, isn’t it?’ the taxi driver said, turning around to wink at his fare as he added: ‘Anyone would think it was summer.’
Mark laughed. ‘Definitely.’
‘In town on business, mate?’
‘No, I’m visiting, um … a relative,’ Mark replied, smiling at the man’s reflection in the rear-view mirror and loosening the tie he’d put on that morning at Adam’s request ‘to power dress the shite out of Wilder’. He hadn’t had time to change before taking the train and now he felt overdressed. Oh well. At least it would support his story that he was in the area on business, assuming he actually managed to find Diane to tell it to her.
‘Not from round here?’ the cabbie asked.
‘No,’ Mark replied.
‘I didn’t think so.’
‘That obvious?’
‘Well, the accent’s a bit of a giveaway. Where are you from? Somewhere up north?’
‘Manchester.’
‘Oh yeah? Red or blue?’
‘Blue.’
Mark expected some football banter to follow, but instead the vehicle jerked to a sudden halt, making Mark glad he’d put on his seatbelt. Next thing, Mr Cheery turned into Mr Sweary and stuck his head out of the window, effing and jeffing at the van driver in front, accusing him of driving like an imbecile, only to get a mouthful back in return.
He thought for a moment that his driver might actually get out of the taxi and start scrapping in the street, but luckily a police car drove past in the other direction at just the right moment, pouring cold water on the dispute.
‘What a bloody idiot,’ the cabbie said, shaking his head. ‘They give a driving licence to anyone these days.’
‘Mmm,’ Mark replied through pursed lips, feeling awkward as hell and wishing the journey over as soon as possible.
There was little conversation after that. Just a lot of tutting and more headshaking from behind the wheel as they made their way along a road that gradually turned from leafy suburban affluence to a tired commercial zone of discount shops, fast food takeaways, To Let signs and vape stores.
‘Nearly there now,’ Mark was told as they took a speedy sharp left turn, which had him clawing his fingers into the spongy material of his seat in a bid to stay vertical.
Sure enough, about thirty seconds later, the taxi drew to a halt on a narrow side road in front of a row of tatty terraced houses. Each property appeared to be a slightly different shade of off-white, and none of them had been painted any time recently. Their paved front yards were filled with wheelie bins that stared up at an assortment of damaged drainpipes, misted double glazing and rickety roofs.
‘Are you sure this is it?’ Mark asked.
‘It’s the address you gave me.’
‘Right. Great. Thanks for that.’
Mark settled up, leaving a small tip out of habit rather than desire, and a moment later the cab was gone.
He stood still on the pavement for a moment, wondering how best to announce himself to Diane if and when she answered the door. It really was a balmy evening, he thought: significantly warmer than it had been when he’d left the apartment that morning. He loosened his tie some more and removed his suit jacket, throwing it over his right forearm and then finally biting the bullet and walking up to Diane’s front door.
He rang on the bell once for a couple of seconds and then waited. There was no answer; after a minute or two, he rang again, immediately following it up with a firm rap on the privacy glass in the black wooden door. He waited for another moment, but again there was no reply.
Great. Mark let out a frustrated sigh and took a few steps away from the house so he had a view of all the windows at the front, upstairs and down. Unfortunately, they were each fitted with vertical blinds, which were closed; since it was still broad daylight, there was little chance of being able to ascertain whether there were any lights on inside.
He walked back up to the house and held his face close enough to the white uPVC bay window to smell the layer of salt coating its grimy outer surface. He guessed there was probably a lounge or dining area on the other side. Not that he could tell. Even that close up, he couldn’t make out anything through the blinds.
Mark’s next move was to kneel down and flip up the letterbox, which he was glad to find didn’t have a draught excluder on the inside. He saw an empty hallway with exposed, polished floorboards, a busy coat stand and a cream carpeted staircase leading upstairs. The house looked much smarter inside than out, with fresh, teal-coloured walls and a large framed print of an L.S. Lowry painting just along from the door, depicting dozens of the artist’s distinctive matchstick people against a backdrop of sooty industrial buildings.
There was no obvious sign of anyone being home, but he decided to call out regardless. What else was he supposed to do: turn around and find another taxi back to the railway station?
‘Hello?’ he bellowed, his voice echoing through the empty space. ‘Diane? It’s Mark. I was working nearby, so I thought I’d call in and check everything was all right. Hello? Can you hear me? Anyone home?’
He waited there after speaking, scouring the visible space for any sign of movement, only to be disappointed. It genuinely looked like no one was home, so what now?
Mark stood back up, brushing off the knees of his suit trousers. He reached into his pocket for his phone, having decided that calling Diane’s mobile was probably the most sensible next move. Recent experience told him it was unlikely she’d answer, but it was definitely worth a try. Perhaps he’d even hear it ringing if she was hiding inside somewhere.
As he was locating the number, Mark heard a deep male voice address him from behind, from the direction of the road. ‘Can I help you?’
The unexpected sound startled him, almost causing his phone to jump out of his hand. Luckily, he managed to keep hold of it, pocketing it again as he turned around to see who was talking to him.
‘Oh, hello,’ he said to a barrel-chested man, who looked to be somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties. He was a little shorter than Mark but stood ramrod straight in jeans and a tight black T-shirt that emphasised his soaring broad shoulders and a set of biceps like cannons. There was a sizeable gut there too, but he carried it well, oozing strength and self-confidence. What little remained of his balding white hair was shaved short; his skin had the kind of brown, leathery hue that spoke of years spent outside in the sun.
‘I’m looking for Diane Wells,’ Mark said after his initial greeting failed to elicit any further response. Realising that his smart business attire might be giving the wrong impression about his reason for calling by, particularly if Diane was in financial trouble, he added: ‘I’m her brother-in-law, Mark Cook. Mia’s currently saying with me and my wife, Hannah, in Manchester.’
The explanation appeared to work, as the man’s face softened before Mark’s eyes. ‘Oh, right,’ he said, his lips rising very slightly on one side in an almost-smile. ‘Hello, in that case. I’m Rod. I live next door.’
Seizing the moment, Mark held out his right hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Rod,’ he said.
With a subtle nod of his head, Rod reached out and accepted the handshake, almost crushing Mark’s fingers in the process. ‘You too. Matt, did you say?’
‘Mark.’
‘Right. Diane mentioned that Mia was staying with relatives up in Manchester for a bit.’ He squinted at Mark as he continued: ‘She didn’t say anything about anyone coming to visit, though.’
‘No, she wouldn’t have. I happened to be working nearby as a last-minute thing, so I thought I’d surprise her. It doesn’t look like she’s home, though. I don’t suppose you have any idea where she is, do you? I was about to phone her mobile …’
Rod shrugged. ‘Sorry, no idea.’ He turned around and scanned up and down the street for a moment. ‘Nope. Can’t see her car.’
Of course, Mark thought. Why hadn’t he checked for the white Astra? He could picture Diane in it now, driving away from him in that Manchester car park, having handed over her incendiary letter.
‘Is she usually out at this time, or—’
Rod frowned. ‘I’m her neighbour, not her keeper, son. I have better things to do than monitor her every move.’
‘What about work?’ Mark was on treacherous ground here, since all he’d gleaned about her job these days was that it involved recruitment; knowing so little might sound odd to Rod’s ears.
Diane had had various roles during the time he’d known her up north – mainly office-based – but none had lasted particularly long. The only occasion he could remember her staying in one place for any significant period had been the job she’d been doing when she fell pregnant, which had been something to do with insurance. She’d timed that just right to get her maternity entitlement and then, thanks to the office being relocated, had picked up a redundancy payment only a few weeks after returning to work. Otherwise, she’d flitted from one job to another, quickly growing bored of whatever she was doing and moving on. Whether that was still the case today or she’d found herself a proper career, he had no idea.
‘What about it?’ Rod asked, helpfully.
‘Could she be there now?’
‘Possibly. I don’t think she’s been at work much recently, though. When we bumped into each other the other day, she said she hadn’t been feeling well. She looked under the weather too. I assumed that was why Mia was staying with you, to be honest.’
‘Right,’ Mark said, nodding his head like he knew what Rod was talking about.
Realising this conversation wasn’t getting him anywhere, he reached for his mobile. ‘I’d probably best try calling her again, then.’
But before he had a chance to do so, he heard the sound of a car and looked up to see Diane’s Vauxhall pulling into a spare space on the street. For a long moment she stared at him wide-eyed from behind the wheel, barely moving; then she stepped out of the car and found a smile to paint over her confusion.
‘Mark!’ she said, approaching him and his new acquaintance while slowly shaking her head. ‘Well, this is a surprise.’ Her smile vanished as quickly as it had arrived when she asked him, frowning: ‘Is everything okay in Manchester? Is Mia all right?’
‘Yes, she’s absolutely fine,’ Mark replied. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. That’s not why I’m here.’
Relief washed over her face. ‘Good. You had me worried for a moment.’
Turning to her neighbour, she said: ‘Hello, Rod. I see you’ve met my, um, brother-in-law. I would have mentioned to you that he was coming, but er—’
‘It’s okay,’ Rod replied. ‘He already told me you weren’t expecting him. I actually thought he was up to no good when I spotted him poking around, but – well – I’m glad to see his story holds up. Anyway, I’ll leave you both to it. I’m on my way to the offie for some beers. Feeling any better today, love?’
Diane, dressed in skinny jeans and a green tank top, smiled at him. ‘Yes, not too bad, thanks.’
On the contrary, Mark thought she looked pretty rough: pasty-skinned in the absence of make-up, noticeably thinner than her sister and with dark bags under eyes that spoke of several sleepless nights.
‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ she told Mark in a quiet, monotone voice once Rod had strode off along the pavement. ‘Then you can explain what the hell you’re doing here.’