“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I have to go. I’m in the car . . .” He talked over her as she tried to cut in once more. “I’ll see you at lunch next week. Or, no doubt, before.” The last part came out more nastily than he’d intended.

As he disconnected the call, his wipers let out a particularly high-pitched squeal. Chris realized he was lathered in sweat. Who the hell did Di think she was? He was furious with himself, too, for not being more discreet, for letting his panic overwhelm him.

His heart was galloping now. Alarmingly fast. His whole body was alive with the feeling that somebody else was in the car. Freya was in the passenger seat, watching him drive, her gaze drawing goose bumps to the surface of his skin. She was in the back, leering over his shoulder, her breath in his ear, then on the wet hood staring into his eyes through the windshield. She had things in her hands, sparkly trinkets that seemed to swell in size, and she was wearing Vicky’s bracelet, Vicky’s new blood-crimson lipstick . . .

He could hear her voice crystal clear. He saw her laughing, tossing her hair, making him laugh, too, with her surprisingly sharp humor. But then cold, as if a switch had been flicked, or angry, gesturing with both long-fingered hands off the wheel. Chris pulled over and curled in on himself, gasping for breath as the wipers continued to scream.

I can’t stand this.

Reaching for his phone, he went to the number he should have deleted, and jabbed at the call button.

It rang and rang.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

Of course there’d be no answer. It was reckless to try, but he needed . . . He didn’t even know what. He just knew he was almost at his limit. Flinging his phone onto the passenger seat, he twisted his rearview mirror toward him and stared into his own red-rimmed eyes.

Pull. Yourself. Together.

His phone beeped with a message and he leaned over to read it. My parents won’t let me have lessons with you anymore. I’m sorry. Jess.

Chris sat back and closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily. A feeling of numbness began to steamroller over him.

He jumped alert when he heard, then spotted, a group of police officers emerging from the park entrance across the road. They all wore gloves and held clipboards, German shepherds trotting beside them, sniffing the damp air. Was this one of the search teams who were combing the area for Freya? Not wanting to provoke any questions, Chris started his car and moved quickly on.

He looped back toward the street he wished they’d never moved into, back toward his wife, who’d started to eye him with as much suspicion as all the others.

He couldn’t think of anything else to do.

27.

EMMA