details, the Ship Inn, you said.”
Kate Wilkinson looked up from her cup, gulping at the hot liquid in her mouth. She placed the cup on the desk without really looking where she was putting it. It tipped over as it came to rest unevenly on a thick desk diary, spilling coffee on some papers before she grasped at the cup and managed to right it. She didn’t seem at all concerned.
“You mean you’ll find out what happened to him, Ashley?”
Without giving him time to answer, Kate Wilkinson was on her feet and around Ashley’s side of the desk throwing her arms around him. She released her grip, composed herself and smoothed her skirt down flat against her hips as she straightened up once again.
“Oh thanks, Ashley, thank you so much. I’m so grateful… so, so grateful. It means so much to me.”
And then a look. A look that Ashley Clarke recognised so well. It was a look of resignation. He’d caught the look every time a criminal had finally realised that he or she had been caught in the trap. No escape. No get out of jail card, no pass go, no collect two hundred pounds.
The look that said,’ Okay, you got me’.
And the tears, those tears beginning to form again, distorting her vision, another few seconds and the first one would fall.
“You don’t believe we’ll find him alive, Kate, do you?”
A different look. Be sympathetic. Help me.
“Like I said, Ashley, Mother’s intuition.” She walked slowly around the desk and sat down in the oversized black leather chair. She reached for the cup of coffee but, before it reached her lips, thought better of it and returned it to the desk.
“I sensed something a couple of days after that phone call. He sounded fine on the phone, said he would call by the weekend. Even before then, the Thursday it was, around eight or nine in the evening, I experienced a feeling like I’d never had before.”
She stood up. Turned her back on Ashley and stared deep into the photograph of Tom hanging there. He couldn’t have been more than five years old, that cheeky grin evident even at that early age.
She turned around.
“I tell a lie, Ashley, I had experienced it before.” She hesitated. “Once or twice as a teenager. Remember falling in love, Ashley? Remember the feeling when the person you were dating was the most important creature in the world; remember thinking they were even more special than your parents?”
The inevitable tear trickled onto her delicate and beautifully formed cheek. The mascara followed a split second later.
“And remember the phone call that said it was over? Worse even, your best pal ringing up to say they’d been seen with someone else.”
Ashley remembered.
A vision of Alexis appeared at that exact moment and he knew precisely the feeling Kate Wilkinson was describing.
That night. The thoughts flying around his head, the knot in his stomach, the feeling that the world as he knew it could never be the same again. That feeling. So powerful. So strong.
“On that Thursday evening… that’s what I felt like, Ashley, only a hundred times worse and it stayed with me until the early hours of Friday morning.”
And slowly, as if in slow motion, she sank back and moulded herself into her seat again.
“I knew, Ashley. I knew then he was dead. I know he’s dead.”
“Don’t be silly, Kate, you can’t possibly know that.”
Kate Wilkinson didn’t reply to the statement.
“I went up to Holy Island, Ashley, when I realised that the police weren’t taking me seriously. I booked into The Ship. As soon as the receptionist clapped eyes on the credit card with the name Wilkinson on I swear the entire community clammed up. It was as if everyone knew, Ashley.”
“What do you mean, Kate? Knew what?”
“Knew why I was there, knew I was looking for him.”
“Is that what they said?”
Kate shook her head, climbed from her chair yet again, obviously uncomfortable, nervous relaying the story. She began a slow walk away from the desk,
Kate Wilkinson looked up from her cup, gulping at the hot liquid in her mouth. She placed the cup on the desk without really looking where she was putting it. It tipped over as it came to rest unevenly on a thick desk diary, spilling coffee on some papers before she grasped at the cup and managed to right it. She didn’t seem at all concerned.
“You mean you’ll find out what happened to him, Ashley?”
Without giving him time to answer, Kate Wilkinson was on her feet and around Ashley’s side of the desk throwing her arms around him. She released her grip, composed herself and smoothed her skirt down flat against her hips as she straightened up once again.
“Oh thanks, Ashley, thank you so much. I’m so grateful… so, so grateful. It means so much to me.”
And then a look. A look that Ashley Clarke recognised so well. It was a look of resignation. He’d caught the look every time a criminal had finally realised that he or she had been caught in the trap. No escape. No get out of jail card, no pass go, no collect two hundred pounds.
The look that said,’ Okay, you got me’.
And the tears, those tears beginning to form again, distorting her vision, another few seconds and the first one would fall.
“You don’t believe we’ll find him alive, Kate, do you?”
A different look. Be sympathetic. Help me.
“Like I said, Ashley, Mother’s intuition.” She walked slowly around the desk and sat down in the oversized black leather chair. She reached for the cup of coffee but, before it reached her lips, thought better of it and returned it to the desk.
“I sensed something a couple of days after that phone call. He sounded fine on the phone, said he would call by the weekend. Even before then, the Thursday it was, around eight or nine in the evening, I experienced a feeling like I’d never had before.”
She stood up. Turned her back on Ashley and stared deep into the photograph of Tom hanging there. He couldn’t have been more than five years old, that cheeky grin evident even at that early age.
She turned around.
“I tell a lie, Ashley, I had experienced it before.” She hesitated. “Once or twice as a teenager. Remember falling in love, Ashley? Remember the feeling when the person you were dating was the most important creature in the world; remember thinking they were even more special than your parents?”
The inevitable tear trickled onto her delicate and beautifully formed cheek. The mascara followed a split second later.
“And remember the phone call that said it was over? Worse even, your best pal ringing up to say they’d been seen with someone else.”
Ashley remembered.
A vision of Alexis appeared at that exact moment and he knew precisely the feeling Kate Wilkinson was describing.
That night. The thoughts flying around his head, the knot in his stomach, the feeling that the world as he knew it could never be the same again. That feeling. So powerful. So strong.
“On that Thursday evening… that’s what I felt like, Ashley, only a hundred times worse and it stayed with me until the early hours of Friday morning.”
And slowly, as if in slow motion, she sank back and moulded herself into her seat again.
“I knew, Ashley. I knew then he was dead. I know he’s dead.”
“Don’t be silly, Kate, you can’t possibly know that.”
Kate Wilkinson didn’t reply to the statement.
“I went up to Holy Island, Ashley, when I realised that the police weren’t taking me seriously. I booked into The Ship. As soon as the receptionist clapped eyes on the credit card with the name Wilkinson on I swear the entire community clammed up. It was as if everyone knew, Ashley.”
“What do you mean, Kate? Knew what?”
“Knew why I was there, knew I was looking for him.”
“Is that what they said?”
Kate shook her head, climbed from her chair yet again, obviously uncomfortable, nervous relaying the story. She began a slow walk away from the desk,
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