Don't Come Looking by AJ Campbell (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📕

He looks like Luke. I wish I could afford the luxury of using black cabs. I swerve as a blue Mini Metro pulls in front of me. It slots into a space behind the cab. Why are the roads so full of idiot drivers?

When I arrive at Napier Close, I find a police car blocking Sasha’s drive. My heart beats double time.

Marc?

I divert my car to the empty space in front of the neighbour’s studio and run to Sasha’s house. I bang on the front door, desperate to know what’s going on. Sasha appears. ‘What’s happened?’ I point to the police car.

Her eyebrows squish together. Signs of confusion, her constant companion of the past eleven days. ‘I haven’t a clue.’

What is it doing here? Which house are they in?

As I debate what to do, two uniformed officers exit Art and Annie’s house. I don’t recognise them. It’s not like me to dither, but I don’t know what to do for the best. I am off duty, after all. They jump in the car and drive off, and the commotion begins with screaming and bellowing resonating from the house.

Sasha’s questions mirror my thoughts. ‘Whatever’s going on in there? Do you think we should go and see?’

I shrug. ‘Sounds like a marital row to me.’

Annie comes running out, hysterical tears staining her usually perfectly made-up face. Art follows, lunging to grasp her arm. She tries to shake him free, but his hold is too tight.

Sasha runs over to them. ‘Hey, hey, what’s going on?’

In two minds, I follow her.

Annie succumbs to her husband’s strength. He pulls her into his arms, catching her wails in the crook of his neck. His hands cradle her head, but she swings around as Sasha asks. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Luke’s gone!’ Annie cries.

Thirty-Two

‘Gone? Where?’ asks Sasha.

‘We had a massive argument, and he walked out. I’ve tried calling him, but his phone is switched off,’ Annie replies.

‘Is that why the police were here?’ Sasha asks.

‘Routine enquiries. Nothing to do with you,’ Art says in a firm voice. Sasha looks taken aback. Art drags his fretful wife by the arm. ‘Come on, let’s go inside. The neighbours don’t want to listen to our rendition of EastEnders.’

‘Can I do anything for you?’ Sasha calls after them.

Annie forces her arm from Art’s hand. She directs her question at me. ‘Where do you think he’s gone?’

How would I know?

‘I could be mistaken, but I think I saw him getting into a cab on my way here. What did he take with him?’ I ask.

A phone rings. ‘Quick, quick.’ Annie shoves Art towards the house. ‘That’s yours. It could be him.’ Art tuts and runs in.

‘Do you want us to go?’ Sasha asks.

‘No, no. Come in. Come in. Art’s not being rational. We need someone rational to talk this through with.’

My shoulders shudder as I walk in. It’s the first time I’ve been in their house, and I can’t identify the exact reason, but an eerie sense of foreboding hangs about the rafters. The aromatic smell of lavender wafts about, but there’s nothing calming about this place. I’m not the tidiest person, the semblance of order in my house is solely attributed to Mel’s presence, but even so, when she’s away, it’s never this messy. Stuff lies everywhere. A coat rack, overloaded with jackets and hoodies, sweatshirts and bags, crowds the space by the door, along with a set of free weights, a football and a cycling helmet. We follow a trail of trainers and sports bags into the kitchen, where Art is ranting on the phone. It sounds like a problem down at the gym. He inflicts upon his wife a dirty look, clearly indicating his irritation at our presence. Annie snatches several tissues from the box on the centre island and wipes her cheeks, smearing them with red and black from her makeup. She dabs the swollen skin beneath her puffy eyes. ‘I must look such a state.’

Art finishes his call. A deluge of expletives floods from his mouth. ‘I’ve got to pop down the gym. There’s all kinds of trouble going on. Angelo hasn’t turned up, again, and that bloody JJ hasn’t delivered.’

It seems these protein powders are more important than Art would have me believe.

He grabs his jacket from a chair. ‘As if I need all this crap at the moment.’ I catch a look between him and his wife, a knowing glance of a married couple. He slings the jacket over his shoulder and bounds out.

Sasha looks confused, as if she is seeing a side he’s never allowed her to view before. I must admit, it’s a complete opposite to the friendly one I’ve observed too. ‘Shall I make us some tea?’ Sasha asks.

‘There’s some gin in the fridge. Want some?’ Annie looks from Sasha to me.

‘Not for me,’ I say. ‘I’m driving.’

‘I’ll join you,’ Sasha says. Opening the fridge, she grabs a bottle of gin and some tonic and takes them to the table. ‘Do you want to tell us what’s going on?’

It takes Annie a while to regain her composure. ‘You know I’ve mentioned how difficult Luke has been this past year – more so since Easter. I haven’t told you the half of it. He’s been secretive and so defiant.’

Sasha loads a couple of glasses with ice and plonks them down in front of Annie. Shaking her head, Annie fills them with equal amounts of gin and tonic, takes several gulps of one then slides the other across the table to Sasha. Not the best medicine for either of them in the circumstances, but who am I to prescribe their beverage intake?

‘We’ve come to the conclusion he’s got serious issues. We thought it was normal teenage behaviour. You know – him expressing himself as an adult. Well, today we discovered the real reason.’

Sasha wriggles out of her cardigan and arranges it over the back of the chair. ‘And?’

Annie pauses as if mulling over what to tell us. ‘I suppose it’ll come out at some point.’ She