What Happened Next? Episode Six

Episode SIX

SECRETS IN THE SUDS

For a moment, I just stood there, one hand pressed to my chest, the other gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The locket inside the machine continued to spin and tumble, catching the light in flashes of silver, as if it were mocking me. My own necklace, warm and familiar against my skin, confirmed what I already knew. The one behind the glass wasn’t mine, and Mark had clearly forgotten it was in his pocket when he threw his soiled clothes in there.

I waited until the bathroom door clicked shut and the pipes rattled, signalling he had started the shower. Only then did I dart forward, wrenching open the machine before the cycle had even finished. Filthy water and soap flooded the kitchen floor, and the heat of the steam prickled my face as I dug through the sodden jeans and sleeves for something metallic. My fingers closed around the chain, so I fished it out, dripping and slick, with my heart thudding so loudly I was sure Mark would hear it over the running water.

It was heavier than mine, the heart-shaped silver tarnished in places and flecked with mud. My hands shook as I turned it over, and there, faintly etched on the back, was a single initial: I.

My skin tingled. It couldn’t be Isobel, could it?

I thumbed at the tiny clasp, too tense, fumbling until it finally gave with a reluctant click. Inside was a miniature photo, warped from damp: a blonde girl in a school uniform, grinning so wide it almost looked forced. I recognised her at once from the detective’s phone. It was the missing girl. That was bad enough, but as I looked closer, tilting it underneath the kitchen lights, I realised that someone had tried to write something in black ink over the girl’s navy-blue blazer.

The ink was smudged, the message hurried.

“Find me.”

My vision wavered as panic clawed up my throat. Before Mark would discover that I had found it, I pressed it shut, shoved it deep in my dressing gown pocket, and then set about mopping up the water that had spilt with an old towel. Once it was dry, I threw it in the machine with his clothes and restarted the cycle before leaning back on the counter, trying to hear if he had been disturbed upstairs.

My thoughts raced, wild and unmoored. Had Isobel been in my house? Had Mark met her, helped her, or something worse? Had he tried to hide this, just as he was hiding everything else?

Panic jolted through me when I heard the shower stop upstairs. My first instinct was to confront Mark about what I had found, but I had no idea how he was involved or how he would react. My next port of call was to ring the police, yet I couldn’t do that either, not if he was innocent. By the time he stomped downstairs, I had already opted to do nothing, leaving the locket in my dressing gown pocket and grabbing a mug from the cupboard to make myself look busy.

“What’s wrong now?” he said, his voice clipped.

“Nothing, honey.” I shrugged, aiming for indifference. “Just making a coffee—do you want one?”

He hesitated, eyes darting to my hands, but shook his head. “It’s late. You should come to bed.”

“I’m wide awake,” I said, throwing my hands up. “I might go out for a run.”

He watched me for a beat, as if weighing up whether to argue, but to my relief, he just sighed, and then rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered. “I’m knackered. I’m going to bed.”

Without giving me an opportunity to respond, he trudged out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving a faint trail of damp footprints behind him. I waited until I heard the bedroom door close and his footsteps fade into silence, and only then did I allow myself to exhale properly. Although the thought of jogging at that ungodly hour made me feel sick to my stomach, I grabbed a clean top from the dryer and tugged on my trainers for appearances’ sake. Before I left, I stashed the locket at the bottom of one of the cereal boxes, being careful to choose one that I knew Mark wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

After I was satisfied it was safe, I shut the front door quietly behind me and paused for a moment, taking in the silence of the street. The sky was still grey and threatening rain, and every window in the whole neighbourhood was still plunged in darkness. I started my usual route down the path, already churning out excuses in my head for the neighbours if any of them happened to see me out in pyjama shorts and muddy trainers.

The garden gate let out a jarring screech as I pushed my way through it, so I started pounding the pavement to avoid the prying eyes of curtain-twitchers. I ran to the end of the street, already feeling like it was a terrible idea, but as soon as I got to the end of the row of houses and turned the corner, I stopped dead in confusion.

About twenty feet away from me was Mark’s van, parked beneath a streetlight and in front of a house at least eight down from ours. Despite living in a well-to-do area, he always parked up in the driveway because he was terrified of his tools getting stolen, so I couldn’t understand why he would just abandon it there.

I strode over to inspect it and scratched my head when I spotted a triangle of navy-blue fabric just sticking out between the back doors. Without thinking, I gripped onto the corners of the fabric and pulled as hard as I could, and slowly, it began to feed through the meagre opening. As the fabric got narrower, it slid faster, and I finally freed it a second later before turning it over in my hands.

I was sure that Mark didn’t even own a tie, let alone wear one, because he didn’t even don one on our wedding day, so why was one poking out of the back of his van? It was only when I realised it was much smaller than usual that it dawned on me what I was holding.

It was a schoolgirl’s tie.

I bashed on the back of the van, half-hoping to hear a girl’s voice inside, and half-praying I wouldn’t.

“Isobel?” I whispered. “Are you in there?”

Thank you to Madison Clarke from Ashland, OR for her contribution to this episode!