DEAD GONE

He sent a text message.

Babe, I’m worried. Where are you? x

He rang the number for Jemma’s mum from memory. When they’d first started seeing each other they spoke on the phone a lot. Her mum used to go mad at her for tying up the line.

Jemma’s mum answered on the third ring. ‘2461.’

‘Hi, Helen, it’s Rob. Is Jemma at your house?’

‘No. Should she be?’ Rob heard her stifle a yawn.

‘I don’t know. She went out with Carla and the others last night. I’ve woke up this morning and she’s not here. Just thought I’d check to see if she’d ended up at yours instead.’

‘I haven’t heard from her for a while. Are you saying she’s missing?’

‘I don’t know. It’s just not like her to not get in touch.’

‘Have you spoken to her friends? Maybe they know something.’

‘Yeah, spoke to Carla, well, Carla’s husband Andy anyway. She left earlier than the others and went for a taxi.’

‘This doesn’t sound good, Rob. Should I come over?’

‘No, you don’t have to. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

‘Well, I suppose I best stay here just in case she comes here. Ring me the second she turns up.’

‘Will do.’

Rob pressed the red end call button and stared at his phone. He stood next to the bed, and dropped down when he’d ended the call. He tried to think of where else she might have been. Who else he should call before the police.

What was he supposed to do? What was the right course of action?

Carla and her mum, they were the only people he knew Jemma spoke to regularly. He glanced at the alarm clock.

‘Shit.’ He should have been leaving the house now, going in to work at the university for overtime. He wasn’t going anywhere though. He walked back downstairs, going through to the living room and looking outside, hoping to see Jemma passed out on the doorstep. Nothing again. Outside, only socks on his feet, looking around the front of his house, the pavement, the side alley near the bins. Still the expected nothingness. Rob shivered, looking around the quiet street, looking for any curtains twitching. Anyone walking past or peeking out of their windows from the houses surrounding him would have seen a confused looking, average bloke, searching for someone. That was right.

He went back into the living room, ran a hand through his hair, still messed up from sleeping. Dropped his hand across his face and the intentional three-day stubble. Stood near the window, opening the blinds and began drumming his fingers on the windowsill.

It had finally happened.

She was gone, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

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