Chapter 34 The Worst Possible Timing
The Worst Possible Timing
Blue does not come home, but I watch his tracker dot bounce from garden to garden, street to street.
All I need to find out where Anna is being held is for Blue’s tracker to stop moving for a decent amount of time, but when I open the tracking app, the blue dot is still bopping merrily along.
I consider my plan again: once I have the address of where Anna is, I will take it to the police and lie if I have to; I’ll tell them I heard Anna screaming, if need be. The ends will justify the means, a little lie to save a life.
My phone pings in my hand with a text message. It’s the address of a vibey new local restaurant. I frown at my screen until I figure it out: my “real” date with Matt. His words ping onto the screen beneath the first message.
Still on for tonight? Table booked for 7:30
I get an oddly contradictory burst of dread and embarrassment as I read it. I had completely forgotten.
I could just text back and say I’m busy, but I just moved here. What, other than a job—which I’m going to have to admit to him at some point that I haven’t started yet—am I supposed to be busy with?
I could go, and then leave if the tracker stops. I could even tell him; he could come with me to the police station. But then I’d have to explain the camera.
I check Blue’s tracking app again. He appears to be batting back and forth in a garden a street or two away, with the tracker still in motion. Anna hasn’t got my message yet, clearly. I need to wait until I know she has it.
I tap out an unimaginative reply to Matt. Staying here and waiting alone is not good for my stress levels.
Great. See you there. x
As I shower, images of Anna hobbling about her tiny basement room flood my mind. Her bruised face, her desperate eyes, the way she steadied herself on objects as she walked. Soon, I tell myself, soon she will be out, and safe. I just need to do this right, to be patient.
I try not to think of what might happen if Simon finds the message that I wrote Anna on the back of the tracker—how much worse I could be making things for her.
But what else should I be doing, could I be doing—other than waiting to find out where she is being held?
The police can, will, must take it from there, surely?
The timing of this date couldn’t be worse. But I’d rather be with someone right now than alone in this house.
But I can’t tell Matt my concerns, obviously. Whatever happens, I can’t tell him about filming everyone, about the police caution, about a woman trapped in a basement.
The room is full of steam when I finally shut off the shower and step onto the bath mat. I run a hand across the squeaking mirror to reveal myself.
I think of Matt: handsome, easygoing, clever, funny, ludicrously handsome Matt.
I check the tracker again. Blue weaves through the neighborhood. There’s nothing I can do until he stops moving.
I dry my hair and leave it loose and wild, spiraling in thick auburn curls.
I pop on a simple spaghetti-strap black dress and spritz some scent.
I think of Matt’s eyes, the way he looks at me.
Downstairs, as I grab my jacket and bag, I hear a throaty meow from the back door. Startled, I look back toward the kitchen, then back at my phone. Blue and the tracker are back home. Anna did not get her message.
I head to the kitchen and let him in, bending to stroke him and check the tracker. The message is still firmly taped there.
Damn.
Blue didn’t go there today. I check the time, then slide his collar and tracker off, lock the back door, and place down a hearty dinner for him as he gurgles a thankful mew.
I realize I can do no more here tonight, and I need to talk to another human being or I might go mad.
“Blue,” I tell the cat, his eyes briefly flicking up to me. “Mummy’s going out, okay? I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He resumes greedily chomping through his food.
I think of when Matt hugged me goodbye after the drink we had yesterday, the warmth of his breath on my ear, his scent woody and clean, and the tired, loping quality his baby-induced exhaustion had on his strong athletic form.
This is a good idea, I tell myself. Matt is one of the good guys.