Chapter 1

I was singing as I walked up the path to my house that day. Actually singing. I feel sick at the thought of that now.

I’d been on a training course in Oxford, leaving Liverpool as the sun rose at six, returning at sunset. I work as a senior manager for a large firm of accountants and when I got to the reception of our head office and signed myself in, I scanned the list of attendees from other branches and recognized several names, though they weren’t people I’d met. I’d read about them in our company’s newsletters and knew they were highflyers, and for the first time I realized that must have been what the company thought of me, too.

My skin had prickled with excitement at the thought, but I’d tried not to let my feelings show, relaxing my face into that calm mask I’d practiced so assiduously over the years. When I went into the conference room, I saw the others standing around chatting as though they were old friends. They looked polished and professional, as though they were used to this sort of event, and I was glad I’d spent a fortune on my clothes and hair and nails. One of the other women had the same Hobbs suit as mine, though luckily in a different color; another gave a covetous look at the chocolate Mulberry bag Matt had bought me for Christmas. I took a deep breath; I looked like one of them. I smiled at the nearest person, asked which branch she worked for and that was it, I was part of the group and soon my nerves were forgotten.

In the afternoon we were set a task to complete in a team and at the end I was chosen to present our findings to the whole group. I was terrified and spent the break time in a corner feverishly memorizing my speech while the others sat around chatting, but it seemed to go well. Once I’d made the presentation I could relax and was able to answer everyone’s questions in full, anticipating follow-up questions, too. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Alex Hughes, one of our partners, nodding as I spoke, and at one point he made a note about something I said. When everyone was packing up to leave, he took me to one side.

“Hannah, I have to say you performed very well there,” he said. “We’ve been looking at your work for a while now and have been absolutely delighted with your progress.”

“Thank you.”

Just then Oliver Sutton, the firm’s managing partner, came to join us. “Well done, Hannah. You were excellent today. When Colin Jamison leaves in September I think you’ll be on track for promotion to director. Wouldn’t that make you the youngest in your branch?”

I don’t know what I replied. I was so surprised to hear him say that; it was like one of my dreams had come to life. Of course I knew exactly when each director had been promoted; I’d pored over their bios on the company’s website. I’m thirty-two and I knew the youngest had been appointed at thirty-three. That had helped give a certain edge to my work lately.

The organizer of the event came up to speak to them then and they smiled and shook hands with me before turning to her. I walked as calmly as I could to the cloakrooms and locked myself into a cubicle where I nearly screamed with pleasure. This was what I’d been working toward for years, since leaving university and starting with the firm as an assistant. I’ve never worked as hard as I have this last year or two, and now it looked as though it was going to pay off. When I came out of the cubicle I saw in the mirror that my face was pink, as though I’d been out in the sun all day. I took out my makeup bag and tried to repair the damage, but my cheeks still glowed with pride.

Everything was going to be all right.

I reached into my bag for my phone to send a message to my boyfriend, Matt, but then the Human Resources director came into the cloakrooms and smiled at me, so I smiled back and nodded at her and took out my hairbrush instead to smooth my hair. I didn’t want her to think I was excited about anything, to suspect that maybe I thought I didn’t deserve promotion.

There was also no way I wanted to hang around while she was in the loo, so I went back to the conference room to say good-bye to the others. I decided I’d tell Matt face to face and couldn’t wait to see his excitement. He knew how much I wanted this. Of course it was too early to celebrate—I hadn’t actually been promoted yet, after all—but I was sure that Oliver Sutton wouldn’t have said that lightly. Each time I thought of his words, I felt a swell of pride.

And then in the car before I set off I thought of my dad and how delighted he would be. I knew he’d hear about it from my boss, George, as they played golf together, but I wanted to be the first to tell him. I sent him a text:

Dad, I’m at a training day and the managing partner says they’re considering promoting me to director in a few months! xx

Within seconds I got a reply:

That’s my girl! Well done!

I flushed with pleasure. My father has his own business and he’s always said that the one thing he wants is for me to be successful. As far as my career was concerned, he was my biggest supporter, though it could be stressful if he thought I wasn’t promoted quickly enough. Another text beeped through:

I’ll put a treat in your account—have a celebration!

I winced. That wasn’t the point of telling him. I typed back quickly:

It’s OK, Dad, no need to do that. Just wanted to tell you how I got on. Tell Mum, will you? xx

Another message beeped:

Nonsense! Money’s always good.

Yes, money’s nice but a phone call would be better, I thought, then I shook some sense into myself and started the car.

It was a two-hundred-mile drive home and I did it without a break. I live on the Wirral peninsula in the northwest of England, just across the River Mersey from Liverpool. Despite the evening traffic, it was an easy drive with motorways all the way and it seemed as though the journey passed in a flash. I was so excited I couldn’t stop myself wriggling on my seat as I practiced what I would tell Matt and how I would say it. I wanted to stay calm and to just mention it casually when he asked me how my day had gone, but I knew I’d just burst out with it as soon as I saw him. When I reached Ellesmere Port, about fifteen miles from home, I saw the Sainsbury’s sign shining brightly in the distance and at the last minute I indicated to take the exit. This was a night for champagne. In the shop I picked up a bottle of Moët, then hesitated and picked up another. One isn’t enough when you have news like that, and besides, it was Friday; no work the next day.

Back on the motorway I pictured Matt’s reaction as I told him the news. It wasn’t as though I’d have to exaggerate. Just repeating what Alex Hughes and Oliver Sutton had said would be enough. Matt worked as an architect and had done well for himself; he’d understand how important it was for my career. And financially, too, I’d be level with him, if I was promoted. I thought of the salary scale for directors and felt a shiver of excitement—maybe I’d earn more than Matt soon!

I stroked my soft leather bag. “There’ll be more of you soon, sweetheart,” I said. “You’ll have to learn to share.”

It wasn’t just the money, though. I’d take a pay cut to have that kind of status.

I opened the windows and let the warm breeze run through my hair. The sun was setting and the sky ahead was filled with brilliant red and gold streaks. My iPod was on shuffle and I sang song after song at the top of my lungs. When Elbow played “One Day Like This,” I pressed Repeat over and over until I reached my home. By the time I arrived, I was almost in a state of fever and my throat was throbbing and sore.

The streetlights on my road popped on to celebrate my arrival. My heart pounded with the excitement of the day and the fervor of the music. The champagne bottles clinked in their bag and I pulled them out so that I could present Matt with them in a ta-da! kind of moment.

I parked on the driveway and jumped out. The house was in darkness. I looked at my watch. It was 7:20 p.m. Matt had told me last night that he’d be late, but I’d thought he’d be back by now.

Still. There’d be time to put the bottles in the freezer and get them really chilled. I put them back in the bag, picked up my handbag and opened the front door.

I reached inside for the hall light, clicked it on and stopped still. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

Was someone in our house?

Chapter 2

For the last four years I’ve had pictures on the hallway walls that Matt brought with him when he moved in. They’re huge photos of jazz musicians in heavy black frames. Ella Fitzgerald usually faced the front door, her eyes half-closed in a shy, ecstatic smile. Now there was nothing but the smooth cream paint we’d used when we painted the hallway last summer.

I dropped my coat and bags on the polished oak floor and on automatic pilot stooped to steady the bottles as they tilted to the ground. I stepped forward and stared again. There was nothing on the wall. I turned and looked at the wall alongside the staircase. Charlie Parker was usually there. He was bathed in a golden light and faced Miles Davis. It had always looked as though they were playing together. Both were gone.

I looked around in disbelief. Had we been burgled? But why had they taken the pictures? The walnut cabinet I’d bought from Heal’s was worth a lot and that was still there. On it, alongside the landline and a lamp, sat the silver and enamel Tiffany bowl that my parents had bought me when I graduated. Surely a burglar would have taken that?

I put my hand on the door to the living room, then hesitated.

What if someone’s still here? What if they’ve only just got here?

Quietly I took my handbag and backed out of the front door. On the path, safely away from the house, I took out my phone, uncertain whether to call the police or to wait for Matt. I stared at the house. Apart from the hallway, it was in darkness. The house attached to mine was dark, too; Sheila and Ray, our neighbors, had told me they’d be away until Sunday. The house on the other side had sold a month or two ago and its owners had long gone. A new couple would be moving in soon, but it didn’t look as though anyone was there yet; the rooms were empty and there were no curtains at the windows. Opposite us was the wide entrance to another road; the houses there were bigger, set well back with high hedges to stop them having to view the rest of the estate.

There didn’t seem to be any movement in our house. Slowly I walked across the lawn to the living room window and looked through into the darkened room.

At first I thought the television had gone. That would definitely be burglars. Then I froze. The television had gone; that was true. Matt had bought a massive flat-screen when he moved in. It had surround sound and a huge fancy black glass table and, to be honest, it took up half the room. All of it had gone.

Now in its place was the old coffee table I’d had for years, which I’d brought with me from my parents’ house when I left home. On it was my old television, a great big useless thing that used to shine blue and flicker if there was a storm. It had been in the spare room all this time, waiting until we had the energy to chuck it out. I’d hardly noticed it in all the time it had been up there.

My face was so close to the living room window that I could see the mist of my breath on it.

A car braked sharply in the distance and I jumped and turned, thinking it was Matt. I don’t know why I thought that.

My skin suddenly felt very cold, though the evening was warm and still. I took a deep breath and pulled my jacket tightly around me. I went back into the house, shutting the door quietly behind me. In the living room, I put the overhead light on, then quickly went to the window to draw the curtains, even though it was still light outside. I didn’t want an audience. I stood with my back to the window and looked at the room. Above the mantelpiece was a huge silver mirror and I could see my face, pale and shocked, reflected in it. I moved away so that I didn’t have to look at myself.

On either side of the fireplace, white-painted shelves filled the alcoves. Our DVDs and books and CDs had been on them. On the big, lower shelves Matt had kept his vinyl, hundreds of albums, all in alphabetical order by band, the more obscure the better. I remembered the day he moved in, how I’d taken dozens of my books from the shelves and put them in boxes in the spare room so he had space for his records.

Those books were now back there, looking as though they’d never been away. Most of the DVDs and CDs had gone. All of the vinyl was gone.

I turned to the other corner. His record player was no longer there, neither was his iPod dock. My old stereo was back; his had gone. Gone, too, were the headphones he’d bought when I’d complained I couldn’t watch television because of his music.

I felt as though my legs were about to give way. I sat down on the sofa and looked at the room. My stomach was clenched so tightly I almost doubled over.

What’s happened?

I didn’t dare go into the rest of the house.

I took my mobile from my bag. I knew I shouldn’t call Matt—what was the point? He’d sent me the clearest message he could. At that moment, though, I had no pride. I wanted to talk to him, to ask him what was happening. I knew, though. I knew exactly what had happened. What he’d done.

There were no missed calls, no new messages, no new emails. Suddenly furious—he might at least have had the decency to let me know—I clicked on Recent Calls and scrolled down to find his name so that I could call him. I frowned. I knew I’d called him a few nights ago; I’d been in the car, just about to leave work; my friend, Katie, had sent a message saying that she and her boyfriend, James, might come round and I’d phoned Matt to check we had some drinks in. There was no record of that call on my phone. I scrolled down further. Months of calls flashed by. None of them was to him or from him.

I closed my eyes for a second and tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t. I felt as though I was going to faint and had to put my head down on my knees. After a few minutes, I looked back at the screen, clicked on Contacts and typed M for Matt, but nothing came up. Panicking I typed S for his surname, Stone. His name wasn’t there.

My fingers were suddenly hot and damp, slipping on the screen as I scrolled down the list of text conversations. Again, there were none to him and none from him, though we had sent a few each week. We tended to do that rather than call lately. There were still messages to friends and to my parents and to Sam at work, but nothing to Matt. I’d bought that phone at Christmas with my bonus. I sent him a message then, though he was only in the kitchen, asking him to bring a bottle of prosecco into the living room. I could hear him laugh when he read the message and he brought it in with some more chocolate mousse. I was lying comatose; the agreement had been that I’d cook Christmas lunch for his mother and us, but wouldn’t have to do anything else for the rest of the day.

I double-checked now and looked at my texts to Katie. It took a while to scroll through them as we sent several a week—several a day at times—but eventually I found the first one, wishing her a happy Christmas and telling her that Matt had bought me a Mulberry bag. She’d acted amazed, but I knew he’d asked her advice on it. I don’t know how she’d kept it a secret.

My mind whirled. What had happened to Matt’s texts and calls?

I switched the phone off and on again, hoping that might do something. There were text messages from Katie, sent yesterday afternoon, asking me about my trip to Oxford today. She’d phoned me just before the training started this morning, too, to wish me luck, knowing how much the day meant to me. I’d spent a few minutes talking to her in the car park before I had to go in. There were texts to and from Sam, my friend at work, and Lucy, my assistant, as well as some from my mum and a few from my dad, including those exchanged in Oxford just hours ago. There were also messages from Fran and Jenny, old friends who I run with sometimes, and some from university friends that I still saw occasionally. There wasn’t anything from Matt at all.

Of course I knew what was going to happen when I opened my emails. No new messages, but that wasn’t a surprise. I tried to think of the last time Matt had emailed me; usually he’d text. Back when we first met we’d email several times a day; we both used to have our private emails open on our computers while we were working, so we could chat to each other throughout the day. You’d think that would have made us less productive but the opposite happened and we found we were firing on all cylinders, working fast and furious and making great decisions. We were so fired up we both got promotions and it was only when Matt’s company started logging network accounts after some idiot was found to be looking at porn all day that we had to stop. My heart sank now as I looked at the folders; the one with all his emails in it was missing. I opened a new message and entered “Matt” into the address bar. Nothing came up, not even his email address.

I could hear myself breathing, short, shallow breaths. There was the beginning of a red mist around my eyes and I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate.

I had no way of contacting him.

Gone Without a Trace
by by Mary Torjussen

• Genres: Fiction, Psychological Suspense, Psychological Thriller, Suspense, Thriller
• paperback: 352 pages
• Publisher: Berkley
• ISBN-10: 039958501X
• ISBN-13: 9780399585012