Read Presumed Dead for Free Online

you have to give him my name? The very thought of that night makes me want to throw up.”
    “She vanished, Yvonne. She went off with some bloke, like she always did—and usually one of our blokes at that—and didn’t come back. That weren’t our fault, were it?”
    Yvonne didn’t answer.
    “I’ll have to go,” Sandra said, “or Mabel’s hair’ll be dropping out. I’ll ring you later, okay?”
    “God, Sand, I wish you hadn’t done this. I really do.”
    “Yeah, well, I’ll speak to you later.”
    Yvonne replaced the receiver and strode to the kitchen and the drawer where she kept her emergency ciggies. If this wasn’t an emergency, she didn’t know what was.
    What in hell’s name had possessed Sandra to give this bloke her phone number? Why pick on her?
    Of course, as far as Sandra was concerned, it was just a joke. She had no need to worry because she hadn’t been there that night. She’d sent the rest of them to do her dirty work.
    Damn. She had cigarettes but no lighter.
    She switched on the electric hob, pulled her hair back from her face, and lit her cigarette.
    Why now? She inhaled deeply and had to perch on the kitchen stool as a wave of nausea hit her. It was early, but she needed a drink. A cigarette always went better with a drink.
    She poured herself a vodka and took a swallow.
    Why now? Why, after thirteen years, was some stranger sniffing round after Anita?
    Once the nausea had worn off, the cigarette and the vodka calmed her a little. Sandra was right. Anita had vanished and they knew nothing about it. There was nothing to worry about from some ex-boyfriend. God, she thought with a snort of laughter, if all Anita’s exes crawled out of the woodwork—
    She almost fell off her stool when her phone rang. A quick look at the display showed her that someone was calling from a mobile. It must be him.
    She couldn’t answer it.
    Then again, it might be about the job she’d been interviewed for last week. They wouldn’t call from a mobile though, would they?
    It rang out until the machine clicked on. No message was left.
    Now she didn’t know if she should have answered it or not. If it was about that job, they’d call back. They wouldn’t not give her the job just because she’d been unable to take the call. She’d spent years working in an estate agent’s office and she could do the job backwards. Besides being smart and intelligent, which was more than could be said for the gum-chewing girl sitting in the office when she’d gone for the interview, she had a knack for selling houses.
    Her spirits lifted somewhat. Perhaps, after all, she had a job lined up. God knows, she needed it.
    Seventeen years of marriage down the toilet, just like that. It hadn’t been a great marriage, but it still hurt. No doubt countless other women felt the same when their husbands left them for a younger model. Now, Ken had two step-kids and a baby on the way. That’s what hurt most.
    She wasn’t going to dwell on that. Far better to think of the financial mess she was in. Ken had paid off the mortgage, thank God, but he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to pay the bills for ever. She desperately needed a job.
    She couldn’t help thinking that if Sandra was the friend she claimed to be, she would have let her work in the salon on Fridays and Saturdays instead of employing that spotty sixteen-year-old. Yvonne had no intention of begging, though, especially to be a glorified skivvy to Sandra.
    The caller would try again and she would have to answer it. Even if it was Anita’s ex, it was no big deal. Her, Maggie and Brenda—they didn’t know anything. They’d gone for a night out, as they often did. Anita had been chatting up some bloke, as she always did. They hadn’t seen her since. That was all there was to it.
    It was no big deal.
    Shortly before six o’clock that evening, the phone rang again and, this time, with a voice that shook, she answered it.
    “Yvonne Yates?” a man asked.
    It was him.