“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” Anne said.
“I’m not hungry,” Frankie replied.
“Leave her be. Won’t go to waste — dogs can eat it,” Steve said unsympathetically. He knew she’d eat when she was hungry. She wasn’t stupid after all. And if she wasn’t wanting to eat now — then he wasn’t going to force her. It would have only led to arguments which he couldn’t be bothered with. He also knew that Mia, their Siberian husky, and Alfie, their German Shepherd, would be only too happy to help polish the scraps off.
Frankie left the room, pulling her mobile from her jeans pocket; still no message, or missed call. As she walked through the bungalow, back towards her bedroom, she pressed through her contacts to find his number again. With it selected, she pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear.
It was ringing, and ringing, and ringing… ‘Click’. The phone went through to the voicemail service once more.
“Hey! It’s me! Just trying to get hold of you still,” she said, “call me when you can. Love you!” She hung up, a feeling of disappointment rushing through her once more at not being able to speak to him. In her mind — all sorts of bad things had happened to him. That was the problem with people like Frankie. Those people with active imaginations who loved nothing more than to get lost in a good book, especially a horror. See — to most people — Shaun was just busy, hence his lack of contact. To Frankie though — something terrible had happened to him. She didn’t know what. She just knew something had happened and kept imagining his body broken, and twisted, in different angles; bones poking through his ripped skin and his eyes staring up; lifeless.
Frankie felt nauseous as all the different, varied ways Shaun’s body could have been broken flew through her mind at an alarming speed. She knew she was being stupid. He was absolutely fine. He was just busy. Or he had lost his phone and couldn’t remember her number. That was it; he’d lost his phone — or it had got broken at work? He had accidentally dropped it in a pot of paint?
She walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed, putting the phone down next to her with a casual glance — still no missed calls or text messages. She pulled her laptop from the small table next to her bed and opened the screen up. The page loaded instantly to Facebook, her preferred social media site. A few notifications — nothing of any importance — but no messages to speak of. She sighed and put the computer down next to her phone.
“Where is he Gizmo?”
Gizmo was Frankie’s pet cat; a little black and white ball of fluff who always seemed to gravitate towards Frankie — even when she didn’t want him to. She’d be working on her laptop — laying on the floor — and he’d come up and start rubbing the side of his neck against the machine’s flimsy lid. Cute? Yes. Irritating at those particular moments in time? No. Never.
It dawned on her that there was one thing she hadn’t thought to do yet. A status update. Hopefully one of his bandmates would see, and answer. At least that way she’d be able to go to bed and not worry as much; although it was still unusual for him to be so quiet.
As she reached for the computer, she started to cast her mind back to the last time they had spoken. It had only been yesterday and — try as she might — she wasn’t able to think of anything that had happened between the two of them which could have pissed him off. If anything, she should have been upset with him. She loved him — a lot — but there were times when he really annoyed her; little things that he did for the sole purpose of winding her up like repeating everything she said by singing it back to her.
Anyone heard from Shaun today? Getting worried.
She put the computer down, next to her, but left the lid up. She hoped that some notifications would come through sooner rather than later. Anything to put her out of misery.
She actually felt stupid. She wasn’t normally like this. She wasn’t usually so possessive. She loved him. He loved her. That was enough for her. She didn’t need to be in his pocket all the time. She had her life, he had his life. They liked sharing times together but were also more than capable of doing their own thing too. But — during the times when they were occupying themselves — they still stayed in contact with one another. They’d both know what the other was doing. And it was that — the not knowing — that was stressing her out.
II
I love you and a second message that said I’m sorry.
That’s what Frankie had woken up to. Two separate text messages sent within minutes of each other. Nothing else whatsoever; no mention of where he was, no answers to yesterday’s many text messages. Nothing. Just ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m sorry’. Had she received the first message only — the one claiming his love for her — she might have felt better but… What did he have to be sorry for?
Looking at the screen — the text had come through a little after one in the morning. She had no idea what time she’d dozed off but wished she’d been there when the messages had come through. That way she could have called him back straight away and stood more chance of him answering. Now though. Now the stupid phone was just ringing right up until the voicemail service interrupted again.
She hung up and tried calling again.
In her mind she started thinking about his cock being inside someone else. His cum trickling from between her pussy lips. Was that what he had to be sorry about? He had got drunk and met someone else? He had had sex with her? He had sent a text through yesterday because he had felt guilty? Was that it? Had he been with this mystery woman all day? What was it? Was it a case of the grass being greener on the other side? A part of him thought this other woman would be a better girlfriend than Frankie? Is that what had happened?
Fucking voicemail again.
She hung up and called back.
Voicemail.
Enough was enough. She looked at the time. Half seven in the morning. He wouldn’t be leaving for work for another hour yet and she had an hour and a half before she had to be at her place of work so — looking at it like that — there was plenty of time to get to his house.
Having fallen asleep in her clothes the previous night, she didn’t need to worry about what she was wearing. A quick spray of perfume would mask the fact she’d dozed off fully dressed. Mints would detract from the fact she’d not brushed her teeth; something she’d worry about after getting round to Shaun’s place.
She hurried from the bedroom and up to the front door. Her father — Steve — called out from the kitchen.
“Oi!”
She turned to see him. He was looking out, down the hallway to where she was standing.
“Did you go out last night and leave the front door open?” he asked.
“What? No.” Frankie said.
“Well if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t your sister — who was it?”
“I guess it would have had to have been mum,” Frankie said — a cocky know-it-all look upon her face.
“Don’t get lippy!” he warned her. “I’ve already spoken to your mother.”
“Well I don’t know!” Frankie said. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t even know it was open.” She stood there a moment as the two stared at each other, waiting for either one to crack first. “Can I go?” she asked eventually.
“Where are you going?” Anne stepped into the doorway.
“I’m going to see Shaun,” she replied.
“Well drive carefully,” Anne smiled. Frankie smiled back — if only to keep her happy — and stepped from the house.
“Don’t be late for work!” her dad shouted after her.
The door slammed behind her as she hurried towards her little red Renault Clio. Her mind had gone from imagining him dead to wondering what she’d do if she caught him with someone else. What if she got round to his place and the mystery woman was still there, in bed with him?