Never Coming Back by Tim Weaver Page A

blanks. “Both Paul and Carrie wanted kids pretty much from the moment they got married, so they started trying straight away, but both of the girls were . . .” She shrugged. “Both of them were a struggle. Belle less so, I guess, but Olivia definitely. Both times they ended up having to get . . . you know . . .”
    â€œHelp?”
    She nodded. “Yeah, help.”
    â€œIVF?”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œSo the age gap between Annabel and Olivia is seventeen years?”
    â€œYes.”
    I wrote that down. “Annabel was still living at home?”
    No reply. I looked up from my notes and Emily was staring across my shoulder, set adrift in thought.
    â€œEmily?”
    She flinched. “Sorry.”
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œYeah, fine. What was it you asked?”
    â€œWas Annabel still living at home?”
    â€œYes. She’d been at university up in Bristol for four years; she’d done an MA in English Literature. But she couldn’t get a job anywhere. You know what it’s like at the moment.”
    I nodded. “So she moved back home?”
    â€œYes. She got some part-time work in Newton Abbot, teachingdrama to students, but she was applying for jobs all over the country. She had plenty of interviews, but never seemed to quite make the cut. So she kept going with the teaching gig right up until . . .”
    â€œThey all disappeared.”
    â€œRight.”
    I’d filled one side of the paper, and as I turned it over I saw something change in her face. An expectation. A glimmer of hope.
    â€œWere Paul and Carrie having any problems?”
    She frowned. “Problems?”
    â€œWere they fighting?”
    â€œNo. No way.”
    â€œThey didn’t fight?”
    â€œThey fought, but never seriously. Carrie and I were always close—you probably remember that—and she never talked about arguments. Paul was very even-tempered.”
    â€œWhat did he do?”
    â€œHe was a doctor.”
    â€œDid he work here in the village?”
    â€œNo. In Torquay. He was a pediatrician.”
    â€œAnd Carrie?”
    â€œShe was a stay-at-home mum.”
    â€œBut they were doing okay?”
    â€œNice house, nice cars, nice holidays—I’d say so.”
    â€œCarrie never complained of financial worries?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat about Paul?”
    â€œI didn’t really have that kind of relationship with him.”
    â€œYou got on all right with him, though?”
    She glanced at me, and I could read her thoughts like they were written across her face:
Was that a loaded question?
“You mean, did he leave because of me? No.”
    â€œDon’t be offended,” I said to her. “I’m trying to close off dead ends. You’re the person who knew them. You’re basically the best hope of finding out where they went. I’m sure this isn’t anything that you haven’t heard already from the police.”
    She shrugged. “I haven’t spoken to the police for months.”
    â€œWhen was the last time?”
    â€œJuly, August—whenever they returned Paul’s wallet.”
    â€œThat was the last thing they gave back to you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy did they hold on to it for so long?”
    She paused, uncertain. Maybe she’d never thought of it like that. The police would have held on to a lot of the Lings’ property and gradually fed it back over time as it became obvious it wasn’t going to lead anywhere. She probably stopped noticing.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said eventually.
    â€œOkay. But, clearly, Paul left his wallet behind too?”
    â€œOn the kitchen table,” she said, and started to drift away again. Her eyes dulled as the memories rolled back to her. I waited it out, finishing my notes. Then, after a while, she said quietly, “Who leaves like that without their wallet?”
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