Come Back to Me by Sara Foster

Net.’
    â€˜Yes, but even if she’s seen it she might not realise it’s possibly connected to her,’ Alex said, thinking aloud.
    There was a pause on the line. ‘Al, has something happened? You know, if you’ve heard from her then we need to know. Her family will still be suffering.’
    â€˜I haven’t,’ he told her quickly, hating himself for lying. ‘I was just reminded of her the other day, and I realised I haven’t called for a while, and felt a bit guilty, I guess. I still hope …’ He trailed off. He didn’t want to weave himself into a growing lie any more than he had to.
    â€˜We all do, Al,’ Kelly said gently. ‘We all do.’
    As soon as he had hung up, Alex logged on to the web and began flicking through news articles with growing shock, printing out everything he could find. The need to locate Amy and tell her the news became more pressing with every article he read. Eventually his work head and his emotions had a gentleman’s handshake that he would concentrate for a couple of hours and get lots done, and then he would think about how to find her. Since it looked like Mark would rather actively hinder him than help, he would have to do it another way.
    Having made a short-term decision he began to get into his work. Before he knew it his stomach was growling, and a quick glance at the clock told him it was after eleven.
    He was leaning back in his chair, studying the design he was currently manipulating on screen, when he heard a noise outside. Footsteps. He glanced up at the long, thin, rectangular window, and saw a pair of scruffy suede boots, the kind with no heel and a thick woollen lining, pass by.
    He didn’t recognise the boots, but his heart did a bungee dive inside his ribcage as he understood for certain just who they belonged to.
    He jumped up and moved quickly to the window to get the best glimpse he could, even then doubting his own conclusion, wanting to double check. The boots were outsidethe front door, and he waited for the sound of the doorbell, but it didn’t come.
    He was holding his breath, watching this pair of feet, half-joyous, half-terrified that she had found him.
    And then the boots moved. Past the window, quickly, as though their owner had had serious second thoughts about where she was. And that movement catapulted him into action.
    â€˜Fuck!’ he yelled, and rushed to the stairs, taking them two at a time, fumbling with the catch of the cellar door at the top, rounding the doorpost, down the long hallway, grabbing his keys off the hall table – every movement taking forever – and unlocking the front door. Even though it was still wet outside from the intermittent rain, he raced down the path in his T-shirt and slippers, feeling the water seeping through his flimsy footwear, but not caring. He ran into the road in a panic.
    They lived on a street of large terraced houses set back from the wide road, with old horse chestnut trees standing guard at periodic intervals either side. The paving stones were uneven, and most people had some kind of hedgerow built up at the front to discourage intruders or busybodies. Alex took all this in, all those places to hide, all those places she might be. Surely she was close. He looked around wildly for anything that might betray where she was, but it was quiet. He was about to shout her name, when he heard a woman’s voice.
    â€˜Are you okay?’
    It was Esther, from the house opposite. On her way to collect her son from nursery. Wrapped up for the weather, inlong coat and gloves, and doing a swift appraising top-to-toe of him, her face clouding with worry as she did so.
    Alex gulped back the cry in his throat, and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to intimate some level of composure. But he couldn’t. ‘Did you see a woman, just now, in the street?’ he jabbered. ‘Wearing boots, suede boots?’
    He could see Esther