‘You’re a teacher! I used to fancy the pants off one of mine. I’ve had a thing about teachers ever since.’
Amy shook her head. She could collect together some of these emails and compile them into a guide: ‘How to Blow Your Chances of a Date.’ Rule 1: Use LOL, ROFL and LMAO at all opportunities. Rule 2: Be as creepy as fuck.
If she saw that the exchange of messages had not resulted in a date – usually when Becky had sent them a message at the end of the flirtation to say she was too busy to meet up with them, sorry – Amy cut and pasted these into another document. These made up the majority, but there were a few exchanges that ended with the promise of a meeting. Amy wrote down their user names, real names (if indeed they were) and the dates of the correspondence.
‘I’d very much like to meet up. Where’s good for you? I work in Soho so we’d be spoilt for choice but there’s a very nice wine bar on Dean Street. How does that sound?’
All of the men with whom Becky had arranged a date appeared sane and, well, normal. But Amy knew from bitter experience that men who appeared pleasant and ordinary at first could be anything but.
She turned to Gary, who was checking his watch. ‘Take a look.’
He leaned forward and read the list of names aloud. ‘Ross – Rosski20; Shaun – Notthesheep; Daniel – DannyBoy? He gave her a puzzled look. ‘What exactly are we looking for?’
‘Becky had a date on Thursday night. I’m trying to find out who it was with.’
‘Well, all of these messages are from ages ago. There’s nothing about a date last weekend.’
‘I know. But if she’d already been on a date with this guy – starting back with one of these messages – they probably would have switched to arranging things by phone or text.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He slapped his own forehead. ‘I’m an idiot. But you’re good at this.’
‘What?’
‘Investigating.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He smiled at her. ‘Yeah, you are. You’re clever. Becky’s lucky to have someone so smart watching out for her.’
She flicked her eyes up to his and couldn’t help but enjoy the praise, feeling it like warm sunshine on her face. But a moment later, the dark cloud returned along with a stab of guilt. What was she doing flirting – was it flirting? – with Gary, when Becky was missing?
She stared at the list and tapped the desk, thinking, wondering. Becky hadn’t been seen since Wednesday, and trawling through Becky’s computer was making Amy even more convinced that something awful had happened to her. There was nothing on there to suggest Becky had been unhappy or having problems. No weird emails. No gloomy Facebook status updates. Both Gary and Katherine said that Becky had seemed fine when they’d last seen her. Happy, in fact, according to Katherine. Excited.
Amy went over to Becky’s new iMac, opened the web browser and went on to Google, which showed a list of Becky’s recent searches. All of the searches were completely innocuous: Kate Middleton dress; Chinese takeaway SE21; Made in Chelsea. Nothing to suggest she was depressed or had any worries. Neither were there any searches about flights to Asia or accommodation over there.
No evidence at all that she had been planning to flee the country, nor that there was any reason for her to do so.
She needed to track down the hot date urgently. Because she could only think of two scenarios:
One: Becky had been in love with this guy but he had let her down, broken her heart and sent her into a wild tailspin, making her leave the country in a desperate bid to get away from him and forget him. Amy would have hoped that Becky might have confided in her, had this been the case – but she supposed that she never told Becky anything about Nathan, not until it was too late.
Two: He had done something much worse than break her heart.
‘What are you going to do next?’ Gary asked.
She shook her head, stood up and crossed over to the bookshelf, picking up the framed photo of her and Becky, hugging it against her chest. The flat seemed to be mourning its owner, the sunlight that washed the room felt cold, the sofa looked sad and empty. A peace lily drooped its head on the windowsill, and Amy went into the kitchen and filled a small jug, returning to water the plant.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘What do you think I should do?’
He flexed his shoulders and she could almost hear the muscles pop. ‘The obvious thing, I guess, would be to call the blokes she emailed.’
‘But I can’t do that. I can’t just call them.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … for one thing, I don’t have their numbers, and for another … what if one of them has done something to her?’
Gary’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t think Becky’s been murdered?’
Hearing the word out loud made Amy’s eyes fill with tears and for a moment she was unable to reply. ‘I don’t know. But there has to be a chance. Someone sent that email, didn’t they?’ She told him about Cambodia.
Amy liked the way Gary’s eyebrows scrunched when he was thinking. ‘Maybe she’s blocked the Cambodia thing from her mind so much that she’s actually forgotten she went. Or she just made a mistake. It wouldn’t be hard to do.’
She stroked the leaves of the lily between forefinger and thumb. ‘I know that. But don’t you understand? I have to find out. If something awful has happened to her, even if the chances are really slim, I’m the only person who will look for her.’
‘You can see why the police aren’t being that keen, though, can’t you? They’re obviously just waiting for her to email you from Thailand or wherever. Probably happens all the time – people take off, and the police get brought in for nothing. Don’t you think you should give it a few more days? Otherwise, what are you going to do? Sneak around spying on all the dates she’s been on?’
She looked at him.
‘Amy. You can’t do that.’
‘But like you said, the police don’t want to know. They’ve made that clear already.’
Gary sat down on the sofa and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand.
‘OK. I understand. If it’s what you think you need to do.’
‘I’m going to try the police one more time, though. Just so it’s on record.’
Gary paused. ‘Fair enough. And if they won’t help you, I will. It’s not safe for you to do it on your own.’
‘But …’
‘Don’t argue, all right? I want to help you. I really like Becky. She’s a … mate. I’m not taking no for an answer.’
She noted his eyes had misted over as he’d delivered these words. ‘Thanks, Gary.’
His mobile rang.
He muttered an apology before answering it. ‘Hi. Yeah, sorry … I’ll be there in ten.’
Amy looked at him quizzically
‘Sorry, I’m meant to be meeting my mate for a drink. I’m already late. But call me if you need anything. And let me know what the police say. Are you going to stay here?’
‘Not for long. I ought to get back. Boris needs feeding.’
‘Is that your bloke?’
She laughed. ‘My dog.’
‘Oh. And do you, um, have a bloke?’