From: Jon Anderson
Dear Grace,
You were right to get in touch. We didn’t know you were going to Thailand, but I suppose that’s not something to get excited about now. Are you sure she knew you were coming? In any case I have spoken to Stephen Jones, he’s the superintendent over in Brighton. He suggested you speak to the police there. Her mother and I would appreciate if you could call and let us know how it went. There’s no point in panicking, but we haven’t heard from her in over a week now either.
Sincerely,
Jonathan Anderson
The response hadn’t jumped out at her in the sea of emails she had received since she sent her message, and she had missed it the previous day. She had practically forgotten about Kirsty’s parents. Grace sighed. She had expected them to know what to do, a hangover from childhood she supposed; the uncomplicated world of omniscient parents. She was exhausted; still affected by jet lag. She knew she would have to call and speak to the Andersons, but she couldn’t face it tonight. Resolving to call them first thing, she shuffled back to her hotel room.
“Mr. Anderson.” Grace played with the cord of the hotel phone. “I just wanted to update you. I went to the police station a couple of days ago. They were helpful, but there’s nothing they could do, they—”
“Grace, didn’t Kirsty contact you?”Jon Anderson interrupted. Grace heard the irritation in his voice. She’d expected them to be upset, which was why she’d put off making the call, but he sounded livid.
“No...” she started.
“Look, I know you were concerned. But think of what you’ve put her mother and me through. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”
“But her...” Grace stopped at the sound of the flat beeping tone that indicated he’d hung up.
She stared at the receiver in amazement, before reaching for the duty free Stoli she’d bought to share with Kirsty on their ‘reunion’. Draining the last of it straight from the bottle, she ignored the clock on the bedside table, which was telling her, in disapproving green neon, that it was 10am.
What the hell is going on , she wondered, looking around to see where she’d left her mobile.
From: Kirsty Anderson
To: Grace Harris
Hi Grace,
Mum and dad said you were worried about me, and now they’re starting to worry. I’m so sorry for not showing up in Bangkok, I can’t really explain it right now. I’ve let my parents know that I’m ok, sorry again. I’ll wire you the money for the flights if you send me your bank details.
I’ll be in touch soon.
Kirsty
Grace shook with rage and disbelief. She couldn’t believe it: this was beyond anything that Kirsty had done before. They had spoken on the phone more than once since Grace had told her she was coming; they’d chosen a place to meet. Grace had reminded her of the date every time they’d spoken. Surely that would have been a good time to voice her hesitation? It was sometimes difficult to gauge enthusiasm in Kirsty, but not this time: she had sounded genuinely delighted about Grace’s imminent arrival.
Grace cast back in her memory to the last conversation between them, three days before Grace had left London. She’d been at work when Kirsty had called her. They hadn’t spoken for long as she’d been in a rush and had struggled to hear what her friend was saying over the background sound of what sounded like a children’s party (Kirsty had been using a borrowed laptop in a cafe), but Kirsty had sounded fine. Grace wished now that she hadn’t been about to race off to a meeting when she took the call: maybe then she’d have had time to chat for longer, to find out where Kirsty was. All she knew was that Kirsty had had a flight to Bangkok booked for later that day, which it now looked like she’d never taken.
Then there was the secret boyfriend. Photos didn’t lie, but why hadn’t
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