His Other Life. Beth Thomas

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      So twenty minutes later the police turn up and I tell them what happened with Adam and the East of India, and then they interrogate me about his likes and dislikes and habits and hobbies and friends and associates. Once I’ve explained his line of work and the location of his office, I know that there is very little more I can say, so I watch them closely as I answer: they’re very nice and softly spoken and write down the answers I give in their little black notebooks, but I notice their expressions, the furtive looks they’re giving each other, the barely concealed surprise or contempt or impatience with me as I tell them the things I know about my husband.

      ‘OK, Mrs Littleton, I need to know who your husband’s work associates are?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Just one or two of them, then. His main contact. Don’t worry, we can probably find out the rest.’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘OK, not to worry. Who are his drinking mates? And we’ll need their addresses, if you can remember them?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Oh. Well, just his best mate then?’

      I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’

      There’s a very brief pause and the two officers glance at each other. ‘OK, never mind. Where does he drink? What are his hobbies? Where did he go to school? What sport does he follow? Which team does he support?’

      I look at them both, and then at Ginger. ‘I don’t know.’

      There’s an awkward, slightly longer silence. Then the female officer leans towards me. ‘Can you try, Grace? Think really hard. Has he ever mentioned anyone, or talked about a place, the name of a pub, a street even?’

      I’m already shaking my head because I know I don’t need to think hard about this. There’s no point. He has kept everything about himself completely shut off from me, right from the very start of our relationship, right from that moment I stepped into his office looking for a flat to rent. I have tried and tried to find something out about him – asked his mum and step-dad, checked his post, tried to sneak a look at his phone – but I’ve never got anywhere. His mum and step-dad, Julia and Ray Moorfield, just say, ‘Ah, you’ll have to ask Adam about that, lovey.’ All he told me about his real dad is that he’s no longer around, then closed the conversation off definitively. ‘What more do you need to know?’ he said, when I questioned it. And then peered at me, as if I was under a microscope, somehow managing to make me feel horrible for asking. ‘He’s not around any more, that’s that. Jesus, Grace, do you have to know every single minute detail about all your friends’ lives? Is that who you are?’ His post is always generic bills or advertisements. His phone is completely and permanently inaccessible. The absence of any information about him has become like a third person in our marriage. The single piece of information that I do have about Adam is that I have absolutely no information about him.

      ‘Adam never talks about his past, or his work, or what he does when we aren’t together. He just doesn’t.’

      ‘And you don’t question that?’

      ‘No. Why would I?’

      ‘Well, doesn’t it strike you as odd that the man you married apparently has no friends and no past?’

      I open my mouth to answer, but close it again when I realise I have nothing to say. How can I tell them that it has struck me as odd every single second of our marriage? How can I possibly confess to the fact that I was so amazed that someone like him had chosen to marry someone like me that I was terrified to look too closely at any cracks in the façade? That I tried to ignore the nagging doubts about him that wouldn’t leave me alone? That I made myself ignore them? Worse, that I got used to it?

      Eventually I shake my head. ‘Not really. We’re happy, just the two of us.’

      ‘So who was your best man?’ the male officer barks at me now.

      I turn to look at him coolly. ‘Adam’s step-dad.’

      ‘Oh, you’ve met his parents then.’

      ‘Look, I don’t think we’re achieving anything here,’ Ginger butts in at this point. ‘Why don’t I take you upstairs and you can look at Adam’s room and personal belongings? There might be a clue there.’

      The male officer stares at her, then gives one curt nod. He gets up and follows her out of the room and we hear them going upstairs. I turn to look at the female officer and I can see that she’s readying herself to use this opportunity to get more out of me that I might have been reluctant to admit in front of her confrontational colleague. She’s wasting her time.

      ‘Is there anything else you can think of, Grace?’ she says very gently. ‘Anything at all? A first name, a glimpse of something you might have seen on his phone? A street he was maybe interested in …?’

      With a jolt I remember the answer phone. ‘Oh, yes, there is one thing. I completely forgot about this. A man left a message on the answer phone today. A Leon.’ I get up and walk over to the phone, then press play on the machine.

      ‘Hello Adam, it’s Leon.’ That horrible, deep, gravelly voice seeps out of the speaker into my life again. ‘Long time no see. Betcha didn’t expect to hear from me again, did you? Come as a bit of a shock, has it? Ha, I bet it has. Just thought I’d give you a call, let you know I’m in the area – nearby actually. Very nearby. Would only take me two minutes to get to your place from here. Piece of cake. I’m gonna try to catch up with you very soon. Don’t worry about calling me back, I’ll be in touch.’

      The officer listens raptly as the message plays. When it finishes she asks me to play it again and furiously scribbles in her notebook the entire time. Then she asks me if I can give her the tape. I blink and wonder how old she is.

      ‘It’s a digital machine.’

      She stares at me, as if she doesn’t understand what that means.

      ‘There’s no tape,’ I elaborate.

      ‘Oh, God, silly me,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I’ll need to take the whole machine then, please.’

      I unplug it and put it in a bag for her and then Ginger and the male officer come back downstairs.

      ‘Anything?’ I ask them both as they arrive in the room. Ginger shakes her head but the male officer is looking expectantly at the carrier bag containing the answer phone.

      ‘Something interesting?’ he asks her.

      ‘Could be,’ she nods. ‘Message on the answer phone, left this evening, just before Mr Littleton left the house.’

      ‘Uh huh, uh huh.’ He’s nodding approvingly, looking knowledgeable, but I’m sure the answer phone message won’t give them anything other than the overt words in it that we’ve all heard. Someone called Leon phoned and left a message. That’s it, nothing more. Big dumb policeman is probably just showing off since there’s really little point in taking the machine with them. No matter how many times they listen to it, that message won’t tell them anything.

      ‘We’ll have a look into СКАЧАТЬ