Image mattered to Richard too. Rosie had seen him on television talking about his family. The picture he presented was of a close and supportive group. ‘Really, I couldn’t cope without them.’
How did a nervy anorexic fit in with that? Mel said he had ambitions to go into politics. ‘Power. That’s what really turns him on.’ It must have bugged him that he couldn’t turn her into the daughter he wanted.
Richard opened the door to her. She recognized him from the newspaper articles and television reports. He looked younger than Eleanor, hardly old enough to be Mel’s dad. She wondered if he dyed his hair.
‘Hello. You must be Rosie.’ A firm handshake and a smile. Charm on tap. A habit.
He showed her through to the kitchen. It looked over the garden and she thought, as she always did, that you could fit the whole of her house inside it. The style here was farmhouse chic. There was an Aga, a rack of stainless-steel pans hanging from the ceiling, a huge dresser with shelves of glass jars full of beans and pulses. Rosie had never seen either of the parents cook but she imagined them having dinner parties here at the weekends. Of course, the guests would sit at the scrubbed pine kitchen table. Richard would probably do the cooking – Thai perhaps or Mexican. She could imagine him in an apron. Melanie wouldn’t be invited. She couldn’t be trusted around food.
Mel’s mother was sitting in a wicker chair by the Aga. She was wearing leggings and a big sweatshirt – aerobics-class clothes. Rosie knew she belonged to a gym but had never seen her dressed casually before. Without the suit and the make-up she looked like a different woman. She sat with her feet on the edge of the chair, her knees near her chin, her arms clasped around her legs in a sort of foetal coma.
‘Where’s Mel?’ Rosie demanded, thinking from Eleanor’s desolation that an ambulance had already come to cart her away.
Eleanor came to life, shifted position, put her feet on the floor. The wicker creaked. ‘She didn’t come home last night.’
‘I thought she might be at your house,’ Richard said. ‘But obviously not.’
‘Have you tried Joe’s?’ Rosie wasn’t quite sure why they were so worried. Not after one night. They weren’t usually like Hannah, who panicked if Rosie was half an hour late.
‘She’s not with him either. But I’ve asked him to come round. Between us we should be able to work out where she is.’
Rosie sat on one of the reclaimed pine chairs. ‘Is there any chance of a coffee? I came straight out.’ Usually she wouldn’t have had the cheek to ask, but they needed her help, didn’t they?
‘Of course.’ Richard filled the filter machine.
‘Where did she go when she left you last night?’ Eleanor demanded.
‘I didn’t see Mel last night. I haven’t seen her for days. You said she was too ill.’
‘Last night she insisted on going out. She said she was going to the Promenade. It was only down the road, so we thought…’ her voice tailed off. ‘Anyway, we couldn’t stop her.’
That explained some of their anxiety. Mel had left in a strop after a fight. They’d be feeling guilty too.
‘What time did she leave home?’
‘Late,’ Richard said. ‘She told us she’d just go in for last orders. She knew you’d be working. We thought she’d be all right with you.’
Christ, Rosie thought. As if it’s my fault.
He went on. ‘It was probably about quarter-past ten. We went to bed soon after, assumed she’d go back to your house or Joe’s and let herself in late. It was only this morning when Eleanor got back from the gym that she realized Mel’s bed hadn’t been slept in.’ And had an attack of anxiety and guilt and summoned Richard back from work.
‘I’d already left the pub at ten,’ Rosie said. ‘Frank let me go early.’
‘Were any of her other friends in the pub?’
Rosie thought, shook her head. Monday was usually quiet; people spent all their money at the weekend. ‘Have you spoken to Frank?’
‘Frank?’
‘The manager. To check that she arrived there.’
‘Not yet. We didn’t want to make a lot of fuss until we were sure it was justified.’
‘Do you want me to phone him? He needn’t know she’s missing.’
‘Yes,’ Richard said. ‘That’d be helpful.’ Another flash of the smile.
Rosie would have preferred not to have an audience, but they obviously expected her to use the phone in the kitchen. She looked at her watch. Ten o’clock. Frank should be up by now. He answered quickly. ‘The Promenade. Frank speaking. How may I help you?’ Very brisk and efficient. He must have been expecting a call from his boss at headquarters.
‘Hi. It’s me. Rosie.’
‘Hey, lass. I hope you’re in a better mood than you were last night.’
‘Did Mel come in after I left?’
‘Aye but only to poke her head round the door to ask where you were. I’d have bought her a drink if she’d hung around. She looked like she could do with one.’
‘Do you know where she went after?’
‘No idea, pet.’
Rosie replaced the receiver. ‘Sorry,’ she said. Both Gillespies were staring at her. ‘She was there but only for a couple of minutes.’
Eleanor gave a little whimper. Rosie felt sorry for her though she’d never much taken to her before. She’d been friendly enough, but in a desperate way. She tried too hard to be one of the girls.
There was a knock on the door. Richard touched Eleanor’s hand, extinguishing the hope before it was lit. ‘That’ll be Joe.’
Joe looked shattered. He was still wearing his uniform from the supermarket. It had been one of his nights for work. Any other time Rosie would have teased him about the shiny grey trousers, the blazer with the company logo on the breast pocket.
Now she just said, ‘You must have had time to change.’ His night shift finished at seven thirty.
‘It’s been a nightmare. I borrowed my mum’s car. It broke down on the bypass on my way home. It took the AA an hour and a half to get there and then they couldn’t fix it. By the time they’d got it to the garage…’ He stopped, shrugged, turned to the Gillespies. ‘Anyway, I got your message.’
Richard seemed to have forgotten about the coffee. Rosie tipped some into a mug, waved the jug towards the others.
‘Yeah,’ Joe said. ‘Thanks.’ She poured one for him and replaced the jug on the hotplate.
‘Mel’s gone missing,’ Rosie said. ‘She came to see me at the Prom but I wasn’t there. She didn’t come to your house? It would have been between ten thirty and eleven.’ She felt the need to take charge. Even Richard seemed to have given in to lethargy. He was staring out of the window.
‘It was one of my regular work nights,’ Joe said. ‘She might have forgotten and gone to the house but no one would have been there. Mum and Dad were at the theatre and Grace spent the night with a mate.’ Grace was his thirteen-year-old sister.
They sat round the table looking at each other. Eleanor had moved away from the Aga to join them. Richard was at the head. He dragged his attention away from the garden. The chairman of the board, Rosie thought, trying to hold his team together.
‘She has other friends,’ he said. ‘She’ll have wanted to teach us a lesson. That’s what this is all about. It would be best if the kids phoned around.’ He looked at Rosie and Joe. ‘You know the names and the numbers and they’d be more likely to tell you the truth.’
They started with a pretence of enthusiasm, but soon it was obvious to them both that Mel wasn’t with any of the usual gang. Eleanor would have had them phoning all day. It was Joe, hollow-eyed and fraught, who said, ‘Look, I think you should go to the police.’