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

Have you ever grated a fingernail on a cheese grater by accident? The same grim feeling is exactly what the woman’s voice does to me, permeating through each and every pore of my body until I shudder.

I didn’t plan a row. I wanted to slip out of here unnoticed before they got home. But they weren’t meant to be back for another hour. I had it all planned, but she had to start, didn’t she? And when she starts, I can’t stop. I let them have it, both of them. Every ounce of anger I feel towards them catapults out, as I hurl insults and accusations so rancidly bitter, I even surprise myself.

I storm up Balham Hill to the taxi rank; no more messing about with Oyster cards and Tube trains for me anymore. It’s not until we join the M4 that I remember the laptop again. The bloody laptop. Bloody hell! Oh, well. Nothing I can do about it now. A wry smile crosses my face. I’ve got what I need. They’ll find what they find.

Arriving at the airport, I check into the hotel. My room is clean and spacious, and the water pressure impressive. Small bottles of luxury toiletries line the shelf below an ornate mirror in the bathroom. I take a long, hot shower, sampling the sweet aroma of the cedarwood body wash. Afterwards, I lounge around in a fluffy white dressing gown, sipping a beer from the fridge and flicking through the numerous channels on the large flatscreen.

Later, I wander down to the bar and locate a wing back chair. It sits beside a sprawling palm in an enormous wooden planter. Waiters coast around with drinks and bowls of sea salt almonds and stuffed olives, while smooth music plays. Boring, but I guess it fits the scene.

A gangly waiter appears carrying a silver tray and a menu. Having already browsed through what’s on offer earlier in the room, I wave it away. ‘A bottle of Krug Grande, please.’

‘Shall I bring one or two glasses for you, sir?’

‘One will do. And a portion of tempura king prawns, followed by a club sandwich, please.’

He places a coaster on the table, and I log onto my laptop to finalise arrangements. Within minutes he returns with the bottle of bubbly and pours me a glass. ‘Your prawns will be with you shortly, sir. Would you like chilli or soy dipping sauce with them?’

‘I’m not sure. Which would you recommend?’

‘The chilli,’ he says.

‘Bring them both.’

‘Very well,’ he says, laying a crisp white serviette on the table followed by a knife and fork. ‘Enjoy your drink, sir. I will bring your food along shortly.’

When he’s gone, I sip the champagne as I scroll through my emails, having a good tidy up as I go along. I set up a mailbox, titled, ‘BEFORE’ then add several folders under this heading, dropping emails into appropriate subheadings.

Time to start afresh, put this all behind me. Phase one of my life complete. I’ll have my inbox clear before I finish that club sandwich.

My tempura prawns arrive. I lay the serviette over my knees and sample the sauces. The waiter is wrong. The chilli sauce is too hot. It adds fire to each bite, and I’ve had enough heat these past few weeks. Settling for the soy sauce, I dip a prawn, thinking how well I have managed to link it all up in the end. At times, I didn’t think I’d make it. But you have to carry on. And slowly, the threads tie up perfectly.

I persevered, until I got there.

You’ve just got to believe, kiddo!

Thirty-Four

I swipe the laptop and file from Sasha’s reach. The file drops to the floor, causing the press stud closure to break open. Pages covered with mathematical formulae flutter to the carpet.

‘Give that here. It’s Marc’s!’ Sasha screams, trying to grab the laptop.

Annie reaches for it. ‘It can’t be. What would it be doing in here?’

‘That’s what your blasted son needs to tell us!’ Sasha is losing control, widening fissures threatening to expose the despair beneath her solid wall of strength. Having desperately tried to hold herself and her family together for so long, she is cracking.

‘Go. And leave this with me.’ Annie catches me unaware and snaps the laptop from my grip. ‘This isn’t Marc’s. It’s Luke’s. I’m sure of it.’ She bends down and gathers the file and its contents. ‘And these are Luke’s revision papers. See.’ She slips the laptop between her thighs and fans the pages in our faces. ‘All of Luke’s school notes.’

Sasha drops her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, but something is missing from her tone, suggesting her apology is not authentic.

I give Annie a sympathetic smile and tug on Sasha’s sleeve. ‘Come on. Let’s take a breather.’

‘I can’t. I need proof that isn’t Marc’s laptop.’ Sasha shoves her hands on her hips. ‘Please show me, Annie, switch it on. Marc has a screensaver of us with the kids on holiday in Spain last year.’

Annie glances from me to Sasha as she stuffs the maths papers back into the file. She pauses before walking over to Luke’s desk and placing the laptop and file on the surface.

Sasha holds her breath, so do I.

Sitting down, Annie pulls open the screen. She pauses halfway. ‘I know this is Luke’s. He has a map of the world as his screensaver.’ Undaunted, she spins the laptop to face us, but darkness meets our eyes. Annie glances at the screen and tuts. She stabs the return key. ‘The bloody thing’s out of battery.’

‘Where’s the charger?’ Sasha asks, clenching her jaw.

‘Hang on. Hang on.’ One by one, Annie opens the desk drawers. No need to rummage, they are as tidy as every other space in the room. She retrieves a laptop charger from the bottom drawer. ‘Let’s try this.’ She unravels it. Dropping to her knees, she reaches under the desk to find a socket. She tries to plug the other end into the laptop. It doesn’t fit. ‘This must