loves children.
Then they left, Glen and the policemen. Glen told me later that he said goodbye and told me not to worry, it was just a stupid mix-up heâd sort out. But I donât remember that. Other policemen stayed at the house to ask me questions, to root around in our lives, but through it all, going round and round in my brain, I kept thinking about his face and how for a second I didnât know him.
He told me later someone had said heâd been making a delivery near where Bella disappeared, but that didnât mean anything. Just coincidence, he said. There mustâve been hundreds of people in the area that day.
Heâd been nowhere near the scene of the crime â his delivery was miles away, he said. But the police were going through everyone, to check if they had seen anything.
Heâd started as a delivery driver after he got laid off by the bank. They were looking for redundancies, he told people, and he fancied a change. Heâd always dreamed of having the chance to start his own business, be his own boss.
The night I discovered the real reason was a Wednesday. Aerobics for me and late supper for us. He shouted at me about why I was later than usual, horrible tight words spat out, angry and dirty. Words he never used normally. Everything was wrong. He was crowding the kitchen with his accusations, his anger. His eyes were dead, as if he didnât know me. I thought he was going to hit me. I watched his fists clench and unclench at his sides, frozen at the cooker, spatula in my hand.
My kitchen, my rules, we used to joke. But not that Wednesday. Wednesdayâs child is full of woe.
The row ended with a slammed door as he marched off to bed â to sleep in the spare room on the sofa bed, cut off from me. I remember standing at the foot of the stairs, numb. What was this about? What had happened? I didnât want to think about what it meant for us.
âStop it,â I told myself. âItâll be all right. He mustâve had a bad day. Let him sleep it off.â
I started tidying, picking up his scarf and jacket from where heâd hung them on the bannister and putting them on the coat hooks by the door. I felt something stiff in one pocket, a letter. A white envelope with a see-through panel, with his name and our address showing. From the bank. The words were official and as stiff as the envelope: âinquiry ⦠unprofessional behaviour ⦠inappropriate ⦠termination, forthwithâ. I was lost in the formal language but I knew this meant disgrace. The end of our dreams. Our future. Clutching the letter in my hand, I ran up the stairs. I marched into the spare room and flicked on the light. He mustâve heard me coming but pretended to be asleep until I heard myself screech, âWhat is this about?â
He looked at me like I was nothing. âIâve been fired,â he said and rolled back over to pretend to sleep.
The next morning, Glen came into our bedroom with a cup of tea in my favourite cup. He looked like heâd hardly slept and said he was sorry. He sat down on the bed and said he was under a lot of pressure and it was all a misunderstanding at work and that heâd never got on with the boss. He said heâd been set up and blamed for something. Some mistake, he said. Heâd done nothing wrong. His boss was jealous. Glen said he had big plans for his future, but that didnât matter if I wasnât beside him.
âYou are the centre of my world, Jeanie,â he said and held me close, and I hugged him back and let go of my fear.
Mike, a friend he said he met on the internet, told him about the driving job â âjust while I work out what business I want to get into it, Jeanie,â he said. It was cash in hand at first and then they took him on permanently. He stopped talking about being his own boss.
He had to wear a uniform, quite smart: pale-blue shirt with the company logo on the pocket
Then they left, Glen and the policemen. Glen told me later that he said goodbye and told me not to worry, it was just a stupid mix-up heâd sort out. But I donât remember that. Other policemen stayed at the house to ask me questions, to root around in our lives, but through it all, going round and round in my brain, I kept thinking about his face and how for a second I didnât know him.
He told me later someone had said heâd been making a delivery near where Bella disappeared, but that didnât mean anything. Just coincidence, he said. There mustâve been hundreds of people in the area that day.
Heâd been nowhere near the scene of the crime â his delivery was miles away, he said. But the police were going through everyone, to check if they had seen anything.
Heâd started as a delivery driver after he got laid off by the bank. They were looking for redundancies, he told people, and he fancied a change. Heâd always dreamed of having the chance to start his own business, be his own boss.
The night I discovered the real reason was a Wednesday. Aerobics for me and late supper for us. He shouted at me about why I was later than usual, horrible tight words spat out, angry and dirty. Words he never used normally. Everything was wrong. He was crowding the kitchen with his accusations, his anger. His eyes were dead, as if he didnât know me. I thought he was going to hit me. I watched his fists clench and unclench at his sides, frozen at the cooker, spatula in my hand.
My kitchen, my rules, we used to joke. But not that Wednesday. Wednesdayâs child is full of woe.
The row ended with a slammed door as he marched off to bed â to sleep in the spare room on the sofa bed, cut off from me. I remember standing at the foot of the stairs, numb. What was this about? What had happened? I didnât want to think about what it meant for us.
âStop it,â I told myself. âItâll be all right. He mustâve had a bad day. Let him sleep it off.â
I started tidying, picking up his scarf and jacket from where heâd hung them on the bannister and putting them on the coat hooks by the door. I felt something stiff in one pocket, a letter. A white envelope with a see-through panel, with his name and our address showing. From the bank. The words were official and as stiff as the envelope: âinquiry ⦠unprofessional behaviour ⦠inappropriate ⦠termination, forthwithâ. I was lost in the formal language but I knew this meant disgrace. The end of our dreams. Our future. Clutching the letter in my hand, I ran up the stairs. I marched into the spare room and flicked on the light. He mustâve heard me coming but pretended to be asleep until I heard myself screech, âWhat is this about?â
He looked at me like I was nothing. âIâve been fired,â he said and rolled back over to pretend to sleep.
The next morning, Glen came into our bedroom with a cup of tea in my favourite cup. He looked like heâd hardly slept and said he was sorry. He sat down on the bed and said he was under a lot of pressure and it was all a misunderstanding at work and that heâd never got on with the boss. He said heâd been set up and blamed for something. Some mistake, he said. Heâd done nothing wrong. His boss was jealous. Glen said he had big plans for his future, but that didnât matter if I wasnât beside him.
âYou are the centre of my world, Jeanie,â he said and held me close, and I hugged him back and let go of my fear.
Mike, a friend he said he met on the internet, told him about the driving job â âjust while I work out what business I want to get into it, Jeanie,â he said. It was cash in hand at first and then they took him on permanently. He stopped talking about being his own boss.
He had to wear a uniform, quite smart: pale-blue shirt with the company logo on the pocket
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