“That’s three years we’ve been together and I’ve never even spoken to your parents on the phone.” Fiona smiled. “Do they actually exist?

The Night He Left: Episode Two

F iona’s love of walking was new, developed since she and Jamie moved to Glenisla two years previously.

When she arrived she had been a city slicker from Dundee who hadn’t donned hiking boots since school; now, though, she was hooked – and was even a member of the local hillwalking club.

She’d been unsure when Pete had asked her to move with him to Glenisla, but Jamie soon loved living in the country and made friends easily at the village school.

She looked at her watch. Pete would have finished service by now; he must have become embroiled in the bar chatting to the locals.

Fiona switched on her ipad and Googled J. M. Barrie. He had been born in nearby Kirriemuir but she knew very little else about him.

Thank God for Wikipedia, she thought.

She put down her empty glass on the coaster, which read The Old Chain Pier, and smiled to herself.

This was the pub where she’d met Pete some three years before; she had been taken in not only by his looks but by his easy Antipodean manner.

She hadn’t had much fun since Iain had died. It had taken her years to get over his death but now, at last, she felt secure and happy; and Jamie adored Pete, though he didn’t call him Dad.

Disappeared

Fiona was in bed by the time Pete got in, propped up against a pile of pillows with her ipad on her lap. She pushed her glasses up over her forehead. “You’re late. Busy night?”

Pete threw his jacket on the chair and sat on the bed to take off his trainers.

“Yeah, and loads of bookings over the weekend.” He leant over to give her a kiss. “What’re you looking at?”

“J. M. Barrie. You know, the Peter Pan author? Jamie was on his school trip today to Kirriemuir.

“He enjoyed it but the best thing seemed to be some little girl vomiting all over the bus on the way home!”

Pete smiled as he disappeared into the bathroom. “Oh,” shouted Fiona. “Before I forget, there was a phone call a couple of hours ago.

“Someone called Cress – or was it Lettuce – anyway, a woman with a silly name.

“She was from The Scotsman – must have been that girl who was up a few weeks ago.

“She told me she couldn’t get through on the hotel phone. She said to let you know the restaurant review’s going in the paper tomorrow.”

Pete came back into the room, toothbrush in hand. “Did she say if it was any good?”

Fiona smiled. “I obviously tried to probe but got nothing. I’m sure it’ll be a rave review though.”

Pete returned to the bathroom and continued to brush his teeth.

Fiona leant forward so her voice would carry. “I was thinking how brilliant it is we’re all online now.

“Instead of having to post the newspaper cutting to your folks in Melbourne, you can just send them the link. I could do it tomorrow if you give me an email address.”

There was silence, followed by the noise of Pete spitting out his toothpaste.

He wandered back into the bedroom and pulled off his T-shirt.

Fiona noticed the rolls of fat around his midriff; too much tasting his good food.

“I don’t know why you don’t tell me more about them. I mean, that’s three years we’ve been together and I’ve never even spoken to your parents on the phone.”

Fiona smiled. “Do they actually exist?”

Pete sat down on his side of the bed and slipped off his jeans. “What time does Doreen get the papers in on a Saturday?”

“Well, the shop opens at eight, but the papers only come up from Alyth about half nine.

“If you’re desperate to see the review you could check it out online first thing.”

Five-star review

She put two pillows back to his side, popped a couple of pills in her mouth and swigged from her water bottle, then switched off her bedside lamp.

“Anyway, come to bed. You’ll need a good night’s sleep – if it’s a five-star review, Michelin may well come calling!”

“To the sleepiest village in Perthshire? Bloody doubt it.”

He slipped into bed, gave her a kiss and rolled on to his side. “Night.”

A couple of minutes later, he turned and whispered, “Fi, you know I love you, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, darling.”

Next morning, Fiona woke up to the sound of the phone ringing.

She looked at the clock: 08:30. How had she slept so long?

She ran downstairs and grabbed the phone. It was Mrs Cumberland, the receptionist at Glenisla Hotel. “Is that you, Fiona?”

“Yes, is everything okay?”

“Well, no, not really. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, and when he’s got a late night tonight too, but can you tell Pete to get over here as soon as he can.

“That new sous chef can’t get the grill on and a guest’s wanting kippers.

“Pete’s always saying not to do them in a pan as they stink everything else out.”

“Sorry, Mrs C, he’s not here,” said Fiona, walking through the cottage.

“No idea where he’s gone.” She frowned; usually on a Saturday morning he loved long lies.

“I’ll call you back.”

Fiona went back upstairs to the bedroom and pulled open the curtains to let the daylight in.

As she looked around, she noticed that his drawers were pulled open and half empty.

Missing

She rushed to the wardrobe – an overnight bag had been taken.

How could she not have heard him open the creaky wardrobe door?

Then she remembered that she was taking antihistamine for her hay fever and slept heavily, as if drugged.

She glanced at the packet of Piriton on her bedside table and then noticed the envelope.

She eased herself on to the bed to sit down, put on her glasses and ripped open the envelope.

Fi, like I said, I love you, always will. But I’ve got to move on.

Give Jamie a hug and tell him to keep up the drawing. He’ll be an architect one day like his dad. xx

Fiona stared at the note, then pulled open Pete’s bedside table drawer.

She rifled through letters and bills then let out a long breath. His passport was missing.

More on Monday.

Sue Lawrence is a popular novelist as well as a cookery book author. The Night He Left is published by Freight. Down To The Sea, her first historical mystery, was published by Contraband in 2019. Sue’s latest book, The Unreliable Death of Lady Grange, was published in March by Saraband.