The Doll's House - [36]

61

Hurrying straight into his bedroom, he locked the door and lay down on the bed. Unzipping his flies, he slipped his hand inside his trousers. The feeling of flesh on flesh made him shiver.

He knew he should resist but there was no fighting it tonight. He had returned home in such a low mood, riven with doubts and fears, so this evening had totally ambushed him. Where he had been expecting defiance, hurt and acrimony, he had in fact found compliance and kindness.

Was he foolish to think that Summer was starting to love him again? Things had been so difficult and distressing, but suddenly she seemed to have turned a corner. She wanted to be with him and took pleasure in his company. And tonight he had responded, in a manner that surprised and energized him. He had felt so aroused in her company that the greater part of him had wanted to take her to bed there and then.

Normally he managed to contain his urges. But not tonight. He climaxed quickly and fiercely. Lying on the bed later, he felt happy but oddly dissatisfied. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself even the release of fantasy – so fearful was he of ultimate disappointment – but even that failed to satisfy his needs now. With the realization that Summer might finally be coming home to him, his desire to be with her was growing stronger. He would not rush her – he had made that mistake before – but his feelings spurred him on. The dark days were coming to an end, his salvation was at hand and everything was prompting him to act.

Soon the waiting would be over. Soon their love would be real.

62

Alison Sprackling stood in her daughter’s bedroom and stared out of the window. She often came here once everyone else in the house was asleep. Had she slept at all since Ruby had gone missing? She supposed she must have, otherwise she wouldn’t still be able to function, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. Jonathan was no different, tossing and turning from dusk till dawn, but this was little comfort. They seemed to be talking to each other less and less.

Alison sat down on Ruby’s bed and opened her bedside drawers. She knew she cut a sorry figure sitting on the old John Lewis duvet, rootling through drawers she had once been banned from opening, but what else could she do? She had been through Ruby’s stuff three or four times now, searching for some small clue as to her whereabouts – leafing through shoe boxes of old letters, discarded shopping receipts, old school reports – but to no avail. Ruby continued to elude her.

She knew the police no longer had a suspect in custody. There had been a brief surge in optimism when they had been questioning that builder, but that had turned out to be a dead end. How she’d cursed them when she found out. Jonathan had counselled her against false hope, but Alison had already played out the narrative in her head. A speedy investigation, a swift arrest and Ruby returned to them safe and well.

The truth was that there weren’t many obvious culprits and that was what unnerved her. Shanelle had been exonerated, as had this other guy, and, despite all of Alison’s desperate searching, no one else had come out of the woodwork. They said it was often family members who were responsible for these things, but that was impossible surely? She had contacted Ruby’s boyfriends and schoolmates, but they were all awkward, surprised and innocent of any wrongdoing as far as she could tell.

So who? Who would do such a thing? Alison sensed the answer must be obvious and simple: she didn’t believe in bogeymen or stranger danger, but this was baffling and dispiriting. Ceasing her searching, Alison curled up on Ruby’s bed. Just the smell of the pillow made her cry. It smelt of Ruby’s perfume. Alison had always privately disliked Ruby’s choice of scent – it was one of those celebrity-endorsed products that cost nothing to make and everything to buy – but it smelt sweet to her now. It smelt of her Ruby. Burying her face in the pillow, Alison sobbed quietly. Another sleepless night beckoned but tonight for once she wouldn’t feel so desperately alone.

63

Dawn was yet to break and the streets were dark and deserted. Recession cutbacks meant the city’s lamp posts were switched off after midnight, with the result that Southampton felt a lonely and threatening place in the small hours. Oddly Helen liked it that way, enjoying the cloak of anonymity that it gave her. Cutting through the streets on her bike now, she felt relaxed and at ease – despite the early hour. And despite what lay ahead of her.

She was soon on the ring road, then on the motorway, heading north. Pushing past London, she skirted Northampton, before heading towards a village just to the west of the city. Bugbrooke was an old Norman village, populated by young families and retired workers – it was a pleasant, relaxed village with a friendly vibe.

Georges Avenue was just waking up as Helen parked her bike across the road from number 82. The curtains of the house remained closed, but all around the early birds were heading out to work – firing up the vans and swigging coffee from Thermoses in expectation of a long day ahead. Helen watched them go, taking in their curious looks, well aware that she stood out like a sore thumb, leaning against her Kawasaki in her biking leathers.