It was the sunlight filtering through the window that woke Molly and made her push up with a groan of pain. Her phone was on the coffee table, she checked the time. Seven. There was no message from Jack. Perhaps the police had taken longer to get the warrant than they’d expected.
Carefully and very slowly, she got to her feet. The few hours’ sleep had served to clear her head a little, but they’d made no impact on the pains and aches that seemed to have doubled overnight. It wasn’t surprising considering she’d been dragged, yanked, punched and pulled by a maniac. What was surprising was that she could move at all. She was lucky; her broken rib hadn’t sustained further damage. Reluctantly, she headed to the kitchen, found a packet of paracetamol and swallowed two.
Later, she’d ring Fanshawe and see what the story was. She had a mug of coffee while she waited for the pills to take the edge off the pain then dragged herself up the stairs. She pulled off her clothes and examined the damage in the mirror. Her body was a mass of old and new bruises. She ran a hand over them; they hurt and probably would for a while.
A long hot shower eased some of the aches and she felt more herself an hour later as she came back downstairs.
There was still no message from Jack. She tried ringing, left a voicemail, left a text and threw the phone on the table in frustration. Finally, she could wait no longer and at eight thirty she rang DI Fanshawe. The call was answered immediately, the detective’s voice brisk and alert. At least, she hadn’t woken him. ‘Jack hasn’t come home,’ she said, dispensing with any preliminaries.
There was a moment’s silence before he answered. ‘We went around to Charlie Forster’s apartment around three,’ he said, ‘there was nobody there. The spare bedroom had obviously been used. I left an officer there, and he reported back about twenty minutes ago. Mr Chatwell hasn’t turned up.’
Molly’s heart fell. ‘He isn’t answering the phone. Oh God, you don’t think he’s done something stupid, do you?’
She heard a heavy breath on the line before Fanshawe answered. ‘I’ll have one of my men make some calls, Mrs Chatwell, but I wouldn’t start worrying. There are any number of places he could be, there are far more places to gamble in London than people are aware of. If it’s suitable, I’d like to call around later and get that statement done.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she answered, her mind on Jack. How could he gamble, he’d no money? ‘I’ll be here whenever you want to come,’ she said and hung up. She tapped the phone against her lips, then did an internet search for casinos. Far more than she expected. Twenty something in central London alone. She tried the first on the list, hanging up moments later with a frustrated grunt. Unsurprising, they weren’t giving out any information. She’d have to rely on DI Fanshawe.
Restless, she sat on the sofa and switched on the TV for company. A minute later, she switched it off and reached for a book, only to put it down without opening it. What were they going to do? Her eyes drifted around the room, lingering on the furniture, the ornaments, all the lovely things they’d acquired over the years. She’d been wrong; it wasn’t the house or the stuff that was important, it was all the memories attached to them.
They could make new ones elsewhere. They’d sell up, move out of London and buy something smaller. They’d have a spare bedroom where Freya and Remi could visit. Visit. With a sad smile, she decided it was time she accepted the truth; they were unlikely to ever live at home again. But, if they were happy, that was okay.
Now Molly knew what Jack’s problem was, she could help him. Gambling… it was a disease; she’d help him recover and they’d get back their lives and be more solid than ever. They weren’t like Amelia and Tristan; they’d always been enough for each other.
She was debating which part of the country they should move to when she heard a knock on the door. Jack! As fast as she was able, she got to the door, slid back the safety chain and turned the key in the lock. Everything would be all right now.
The clunk of the lock turning was loud, the sound barely faded before the door was pushed open, almost knocking her off her feet. Staggering backwards, she stared at the bedraggled man who came through the door. ‘Jack, where have you been?’
He pushed past her. Shutting and locking the door, she followed him; he was home, safe, suddenly that was all that mattered. He was standing in the middle of the living room when she followed him in, his clothes wrinkled, coat ripped. Had he been mugged?
She went to him, put her arms around his neck and pressed up against him, ignoring the dampness, the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol that came off him in waves. ‘Oh Jack,’ she said, burying her face in his neck. ‘It’s been so awful, and I’ve needed you so desperately.’
‘Awful?’ he said, pushing her away and taking a few steps back. ‘What in your cushy overindulged life, could be classified as awful?’
Shock kept her silent for a few seconds. ‘Of course, you don’t know it all,’ she said slowly, ‘but you do know someone tried to push me under a car.’
Ignoring her, he pulled off his coat, flung it onto the sofa and went to the kitchen to switch on the kettle.
‘It was Charlie,’ she said, waiting for Jack’s shocked reaction, for him to come to her and take her in his arms, for the reassurance, the comfort she needed. Instead, he continued to ignore her, standing and staring at the damn kettle. ‘Did you hear me?’ she said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. ‘Jack… it was Charlie who tried to kill me by pushing me under a car, then last night, he came here and tried again. He tried to kill me again, Jack… for the insurance money. He wanted to kill me so you could get the damn insurance money to pay back the money you owed him.’ She was almost panting by the time she finished. ‘The police arrested him,’ she added quietly.
Finally, Jack turned to stare at her. ‘I wondered what had happened to him,’ he said before spooning coffee into a mug and adding water.
Molly stared at him. Was that all he had to say? Was it shock that was making him behave so oddly or maybe, she hadn’t made it clear? ‘He was going to drown me,’ she said. She was pleased to see this had some effect. Jack lifted his eyes from contemplating the coffee and stared at her.
‘Yes, Charlie went upstairs for those painkillers the hospital gave me. He said you’d mentioned they made me sleepy and he was waiting for them to take effect before putting me into the bath and drowning me. But I fooled him,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘I didn’t take them.’