Discarded by M. Hunter (the reading list .txt) 📕

Weymouth, Dorset

The wind has whipped up since we’ve been inside and the sun is now nowhere in sight; what little glow emanates from the lampposts is barely enough to light the path back to the main road towards Weymouth town centre.

‘It’s so dark around here,’ I comment, as we once more pass the playground, but it is impossible to even see the play equipment unless an occasional car’s headlights catch the railings as it passes.

It’s almost Gothic, and certainly reminds me of horror stories Anna would tell me about the monsters lurking beneath my bed when she wanted to give me a fright; if only she knew they were more than just stories. There’s no sign of the group that went out from the Nevilles’s house to search for Joanna; I suppose maybe they’ve already been along this way, or are headed further into Portland. I can’t imagine that Jo-Jo is hiding out here in the dark on her own. It’s interesting that Cavendish was adamant in her thinking that Jo-Jo had been abducted, and yet the family seem to think a search of the neighbourhood will prove more successful. Something doesn’t add up, but I can’t quite put my finger on what.

‘You look troubled,’ Freddie comments beside me. ‘You’re pulling that face that makes you look like a squirrel sucking on a lemon. What’s wrong?’

I don’t know whether I should be a tad offended at the squirrel comparison, but I let it slide as Freddie isn’t the sort to take such a cheap shot.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit with a deep sigh. ‘I guess I was just wondering what could lead a normal person to do something so cruel as to abduct a child from her family.’

‘You’ve answered your own question there, Em,’ he replies. ‘Those people aren’t normal. I read once that the majority of physical and mental abusers were once abused themselves, and so it becomes this never-ending cycle of depravity. I think the world’s been broken for a long time, it’s just many years ago it was all taboo. Kids were warned not to talk to strangers but they weren’t told why. Then you have operations like Yewtree, and my own story becoming an international bestseller, and suddenly the world is enlightened about just how evil some bastards are. Throw social media into the mix and there aren’t many places left to hide.’

‘And yet they somehow manage to,’ I say grimly. ‘With surveillance as advanced as it is, how can a person seemingly abduct a child and nobody see it?’

Freddie can only shrug. ‘The world sees what it wants to see. How many homeless people do you think really get seen by those walking past? If you’re lucky, and you get just the right pitch near a shop or the train station, then you might get a couple of dozen noticing you over the course of the day, but most choose not to see what’s right in front of them.’

I link my arm through his. ‘Well, I see you, Freddie Mitchell, and I am so proud of the man you’ve become today. Weaker men would have given up, but you’re resilient, and there’s a lot to be said for that.’

‘Does that mean I can convince you to come and help me with my shift at the shelter tonight? I imagine we’ll be pretty busy with how cold it is right now. We’ve got an enormous batch of vegan chicken soup on the go.’

I cock my eyebrow. ‘Vegan chicken soup? How does that even work?’

He snorts with laughter. ‘Don’t ask me; I’m not in charge. If they can make sausage rolls that look and taste like meat but aren’t, who’s to say what they can do with chicken? I mean, it has such a nondescript taste anyway, so it’s probably pretty easy. Is that a yes then?’

I fold my face into an apologetic grimace. ‘Sorry, but I can’t. I have a date. Well, no, not a date as such, but I’m meeting someone for a drink in town.’

Freddie’s eyes widen in gleeful surprise. ‘A date?’ He adopts a sarcastic flourish. ‘The Emma Hunter – Weymouth’s answer to Bridget Jones – is going on an actual date? Someone pinch me; I must be dreaming.’

My cheeks shade with embarrassment. ‘Just a drink.’

‘Who with? Don’t tell me Jack has finally stepped up to the plate and offered to make an honest woman of you. God knows I was starting to wonder whether I should buy you your first cat.’

‘No, not Jack,’ I say with more than an edge of remorse. ‘I’m meeting Rick for a drink.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Boy, can you pick them! When things don’t work out with Jack and Rick, who’s next? Dick? Vic? Mac?’

I playfully slap Freddie’s arm but I know he’s only teasing me. The name similarity is unfortunate, but given this will probably be our first and only non-date, it shouldn’t matter anyway.

We arrive at the pub and, although I’m ten minutes early, I can see Rick is already inside, sitting at a table with a single-stemmed rose in a small vase. He appears to be talking to himself, occasionally pausing and laughing at whatever imagined conversation he’s heard. It’s sweet, and I feel bad for watching, but I can’t help it. He’s wearing navy jeans and a formal shirt with the top two buttons unfastened. He suddenly looks up to the window and smiles broadly when he sees me there.

‘You’d better go in,’ Freddie says, flouncing my hair before giving me the thumbs-up.

I take a deep breath and am about to follow Freddie’s instruction when Rick appears at the door, pulling on his jacket.

‘Emma, I’m so sorry, but do you think we can take a raincheck?’

I won’t deny that the possibility of a postponement is a relief.

‘Of course,’ I tell him quickly. ‘Is everything okay?’

He looks at the phone in his hand before shaking his head.

‘Yes and no. Detective Cavendish has called everyone back to the station. Rumour is there’s been a