her. It wasn’t as if he’d ever seen her break the rules but there was a defiant, rebellious streak to the way she spoke that wasn’t
matched by the way she drove.
Trundle, trundle, trundle.
Richard and Elaine Carr’s house was much like Stewart and Violet Deacon’s: big without being extravagant, on a sleepy street away from the main road. It was somewhere between
Prestwich and Bury, a little outside of the city of Manchester itself but part of the Greater Manchester county.
All the houses were pretty four- and five-bedroom places, with wide driveways and trimmed expanses of lawn at the front. On a patch of green separating two houses a few down from the
Carrs’, three young boys were kicking a football around, using a tree and rucksack as a goal. Their improvised commentaries drifted on the wind, added to – and perhaps improved –
by the squawk of a blackbird somewhere nearby.
Andrew and Jenny made their way up the driveway, each looking around and taking in the scene. For Andrew, he’d seen much of the same that morning: clean brickwork, paving slabs, a lawn,
tidy hedges. Apart from the cosmetic differences, the Carrs and the Deacons seemed to be largely similar.
Richard Carr was already standing on the front step before they’d reached the door. He squinted past them at Jenny’s Beetle at the front of the house.
‘I had an
accident
in my car,’ Andrew said in answer to the question which hadn’t been asked.
Richard hurried them inside with various offerings of thanks. Out of the rain, his hair looked thicker than it had the previous day. He seemed thinner and a little frailer now he was dressed
down. He’d obviously discovered the middle-aged man clothes shop too, the location of which was only revealed to you once you’d had children. His brown slacks were topped off with a
purple and yellow monstrosity that was masquerading as a woolly jumper.
He led Andrew and Jenny into a living room that screamed ‘beige’. From the light brown carpets to the greyey-browny nothingness of the three-piece suite, with matching lampshades, it
was as if someone had pointed to a page in the IKEA catalogue and said ‘that one’.
Elaine Carr was pretty much what Andrew would have guessed: mid-fifties like her husband but with a hint of the looks she’d once had. Her greying hair had been coiffured up into a
backcombed bob and she was wearing a below-the-knee skirt with a knitted cardigan.
She stood and shook hands with Andrew and Jenny, introducing herself and offering to make them all some tea. Before she could leave the room, Jenny blocked the door in a
not-blocking-the-door-half-in-half-out-look-at-me-smile way.
‘I’ll make it, if you want,’ she said. ‘Let you two have a good chat with Andrew.’ She pointed towards the back of the house. ‘Through there, is it? I’m
sure I’ll find everything.’ A nod towards Richard. ‘Milk with one sugar, wasn’t it?’
He tilted his head slightly. Jenny had spoken so quickly that it seemed like he needed a moment to catch up. ‘Right, er, well remembered. Elaine has it the same way, don’t you,
dear?’
After a nod from Elaine, Jenny skipped away, all smiles, swinging hair and single dimple, as if what had just happened was perfectly normal. In many ways, with Jenny, it was.
Andrew sat in the armchair as the Carrs took the sofa. Richard reached out for his wife’s hand, giving it a squeeze before they returned to their own corners.
After taking the notepad and pen from his satchel, Andrew offered a sympathetic smile. ‘Thank you for the information you sent through yesterday. If possible, I’d like to go more or
less back to the beginning. I realise you’ve been over this, probably many times, but I always prefer dealing with primary information.’
Two nods.
‘Can you talk me through the circumstances leading up to when Nicholas disappeared?’
Elaine pressed back into the sofa, clearly willing her husband to do the talking.
matched by the way she drove.
Trundle, trundle, trundle.
Richard and Elaine Carr’s house was much like Stewart and Violet Deacon’s: big without being extravagant, on a sleepy street away from the main road. It was somewhere between
Prestwich and Bury, a little outside of the city of Manchester itself but part of the Greater Manchester county.
All the houses were pretty four- and five-bedroom places, with wide driveways and trimmed expanses of lawn at the front. On a patch of green separating two houses a few down from the
Carrs’, three young boys were kicking a football around, using a tree and rucksack as a goal. Their improvised commentaries drifted on the wind, added to – and perhaps improved –
by the squawk of a blackbird somewhere nearby.
Andrew and Jenny made their way up the driveway, each looking around and taking in the scene. For Andrew, he’d seen much of the same that morning: clean brickwork, paving slabs, a lawn,
tidy hedges. Apart from the cosmetic differences, the Carrs and the Deacons seemed to be largely similar.
Richard Carr was already standing on the front step before they’d reached the door. He squinted past them at Jenny’s Beetle at the front of the house.
‘I had an
accident
in my car,’ Andrew said in answer to the question which hadn’t been asked.
Richard hurried them inside with various offerings of thanks. Out of the rain, his hair looked thicker than it had the previous day. He seemed thinner and a little frailer now he was dressed
down. He’d obviously discovered the middle-aged man clothes shop too, the location of which was only revealed to you once you’d had children. His brown slacks were topped off with a
purple and yellow monstrosity that was masquerading as a woolly jumper.
He led Andrew and Jenny into a living room that screamed ‘beige’. From the light brown carpets to the greyey-browny nothingness of the three-piece suite, with matching lampshades, it
was as if someone had pointed to a page in the IKEA catalogue and said ‘that one’.
Elaine Carr was pretty much what Andrew would have guessed: mid-fifties like her husband but with a hint of the looks she’d once had. Her greying hair had been coiffured up into a
backcombed bob and she was wearing a below-the-knee skirt with a knitted cardigan.
She stood and shook hands with Andrew and Jenny, introducing herself and offering to make them all some tea. Before she could leave the room, Jenny blocked the door in a
not-blocking-the-door-half-in-half-out-look-at-me-smile way.
‘I’ll make it, if you want,’ she said. ‘Let you two have a good chat with Andrew.’ She pointed towards the back of the house. ‘Through there, is it? I’m
sure I’ll find everything.’ A nod towards Richard. ‘Milk with one sugar, wasn’t it?’
He tilted his head slightly. Jenny had spoken so quickly that it seemed like he needed a moment to catch up. ‘Right, er, well remembered. Elaine has it the same way, don’t you,
dear?’
After a nod from Elaine, Jenny skipped away, all smiles, swinging hair and single dimple, as if what had just happened was perfectly normal. In many ways, with Jenny, it was.
Andrew sat in the armchair as the Carrs took the sofa. Richard reached out for his wife’s hand, giving it a squeeze before they returned to their own corners.
After taking the notepad and pen from his satchel, Andrew offered a sympathetic smile. ‘Thank you for the information you sent through yesterday. If possible, I’d like to go more or
less back to the beginning. I realise you’ve been over this, probably many times, but I always prefer dealing with primary information.’
Two nods.
‘Can you talk me through the circumstances leading up to when Nicholas disappeared?’
Elaine pressed back into the sofa, clearly willing her husband to do the talking.
Similar Books
