Christina and Stephen had gone inside now and all was quiet. Elsie would have had her bath and be dressed for bed. Snug now in her Hello Kitty dressing gown and slippers that Mark had bought her, she’d be curled up in front of the CBeebies bedtime story. It was too young for her really, but she had a sentimental attachment to it and never missed it. Suddenly Mark felt the anger subside, subsumed by a terrible sadness. He too had found parenthood tough – the never-ending round of baths, bed, stories, play dates and more – but he would have given anything to be back in the midst of it now.
It was stupid to come here. Mark gunned the engine and sped away from the house, hoping to leave his troubles right there in the street. But as he drove they clambered round his brain like monkeys, goading him with his failure, his insignificance, his loneliness. Heading for home, he suddenly changed direction, shooting down Castle Way. There was a pub near the docks that ran illegal lock-ins. As long as you were in there by midnight you could drink all night. Which is exactly what he intended to do.
The Brightston home was an imposing Victorian semi in affluent Eastleigh. Helen paced outside, angry and frustrated. She had arranged to meet Mark here at 9.30 a.m. It was now nearly ten o’clock and there was still no sign of him. She left her third voicemail on his phone, then cut her losses and rang the bell. Why did he have to be such a fuck-up?
The door was opened by Sarah Brightston, a handsome woman in her mid-forties. Expensively dressed, immaculately made up, she betrayed no emotion at finding the police on her doorstep, ushering Helen inside.
‘When did you report your husband missing?’
The pleasantries had been concluded, so Helen cut to the chase.
‘Two days ago.’
‘Even though he hadn’t come home the night before that?’
‘Peter is a lover of life. Too much so sometimes. Those trips to Bournemouth were a jolly and it would’ve been just like Peter to get the whole team pissed, then sleep it off in a local B &B. But he’s not a callous man, he would have called the following morning to talk to me, talk to the boys.’
‘And do you have any idea where he might be now?’
‘Silly sod’s probably lost. They must have broken down and tried to walk to a garage. Probably had too much to drink and twisted an ankle or something – that’d be just like him. He’s never been very coordinated.’
She spoke with total conviction – there was no doubt in her mind that her husband was alive and well. Helen admired her fortitude, but was also intrigued.