Me and You. Claudia Carroll

big thumbs up sign to me, then finally he wraps it up.

      ‘Well? Any news?’ I ask, on edge of seat, bowels knotted and palms sweating, too antsy even to say hi properly.

      ‘I’m so sorry about that, Angie,’ he says, not answering my question and instead coming over to give me a big, warm hug. I hug him back and for a moment, we hold each other v. tight. And it’s comforting. He smells lovely too, but then Simon always smells delicious. Citrussy.

      Then he slumps down in the armchair beside me and rubs his eyes like he’s ready to flake out with exhaustion. Unsurprising really, given that the poor guy must have left Galway at some ridiculous sparrow fart of an hour this morning, to drive all the way to the nursing home in Limerick, not to mention coming straight on to Dublin.

      ‘Simon, you mentioned the police?’

      ‘It’s not going to come to that, trust me. She’ll have materialised by then,’ he says. ‘But if we’ve no more news today, then I think maybe it’s our best option.’

      Then he clocks the stressed-out-of-mind look on me and softens. Even sits forward and takes both my hands in his. Feels warm and reassuring.

      ‘Oh, now, come on, Ange, you’ve got to keep calm. Chances are she’s safe and well, and, for whatever reason, just can’t get a message through to us. Maybe she’s been staying with someone she works with who lives down the country, where there’s no phone signal, for instance.’

      ‘You honestly think she could just crash out with friends and not even go to see Mrs K.? On Christmas Day? You really think she’d be capable of doing that? Because I, for one, just aren’t buying it!’

      ‘I know, I know,’ he sighs, letting go of my hands and staring straight ahead of him now, the gorgeous green eyes focused, v. on-the-case. ‘Believe me I know that none of this adds up. But all you and I can do for the moment at least, is take this one step at a time. Worse thing is jumping to conclusions. And the second worse thing we can do is panic.’

      I nod, a bit numbly.

      ‘By the way, I guessed you talking to Sacetti just now? Any news?’

      ‘Yeah, that was Sacetti all right. Ever met him through Kitty?’

      I shake my head. Though I’ve often heard her talking about him. Apparently, although happily married with five grown-up kids who all work for him, he has a terrible eye for the laydeez, and Kitty claims he’s an outrageous flirt, particularly with the younger waitresses. Even tried it on with her once, but was swiftly met with a sharp knee to the groin and a stern lecture about how he should try being a bit nicer to his gorgeous and v. hard-working wife.

      ‘Well, like just about everyone else, he hasn’t seen her in a few days …’

      ‘Oh for God’s sake! When will someone turn up with news that can actually help us?’

      ‘No, hang on, there’s more,’ Simon gently cuts across me. ‘I asked him for a full list of all the staff who were working alongside Kitty on her last night there.

      ‘OK. Well … good thinking.’

      ‘And Sacetti immediately agreed, said he was glad to be of help. They’re actually open today and he’s in work, so we can call in, if you’ve time. Then maybe the two of us could come back here and do a ring-around of all her co-workers to see if anyone knows anything.’

      I nod eagerly.

      ‘Because,’ he continues, sounding supremely confident, ‘someone just has to. She could easily have gone to another work colleague’s house after she clocked off her last shift, maybe for a few Christmas drinks and somehow ended up staying there. Maybe she figured Mrs K. was fine, so she just decided to hang out wherever she was for Christmas. She and I aren’t due to go away on holidays till tomorrow, so for now at least, let’s just assume the best. We might even hear from her later on today; you of all people know how scatty Kitty can sometimes be. She’s well capable of just bouncing through the front door this evening like absolutely nothing’s wrong and start flinging stuff into a suitcase for the trip. You know what she’s like. So until then, the best thing you and I can do is stay focused and keep our heads. Just remember, there’s dozens of perfectly reasonable explanations for this.’

      Simon sounds calm, self-assured, completely confident. And, amazingly, given the state I’m in, some of it manages to rub off on me. Even though I know deep down in my bowels this is a big load of horse manure. My best pal in the world would NOT stand me up on my own birthday. It’s unthinkable. Just not possible.

      ‘So, are you free to come to the restaurant with me right now, by any chance?’ he asks, hauling himself up and rooting around for his car keys. ‘Sooner we get that list from Sacetti, the sooner we can start ringing around. Be a helluva lot quicker if we work together.’

      ‘’Course I’m coming with you,’ I tell him firmly. ‘You think I’m going anywhere till all this is sorted?’

      He looks gratefully down at me and smiles.

      ‘You’re a good friend, Angie. Kitty always says you’re the best and it’s only the truth.’

      ‘She’d do exactly the same for me. I know she would.’

      ‘So apart from all this,’ he says, helping me on with my heavy, winter coat like the perfect gentleman he is, ‘how are you doing? Holding up?’

      ‘Been better,’ I shrug up at him. ‘People keep telling me to relax, that she’ll turn up, but I can’t listen to them. I just know in my bones that there’s something seriously wrong. And I don’t care what anyone else says, nothing about this feels right, not even for Kitty.’

      Then I can’t help myself.

      ‘Simon, if I ask you a straight question, will you give me a straight answer?’

      ‘’Course I will. You know that.’

      ‘And I want the truth from you now, and none of your spin.’

      ‘Truth and nothing but,’ he says, the eyes boring into me.

      ‘You seem so calm and reassured and that’s brilliant, but, well … just how worried are you at this point in time? Because you must be, just a bit. I mean, deep down.’

      Desperately need him to say, ‘Worried? Me? Not a bit of it! In fact, I’m so supremely confident she’ll walk through the door this evening, that I’m fully intending to start packing ski gear and snow boots for our holliers tomorrow, the very minute I get back from the restaurant.’

      But instead, he goes quiet. Worryingly quiet.

      Which is wrong, all wrong! I’m the one having a wobbly here; he’s meant to be rock of sense that talks me in off the ledge!

      ‘At this point in time?’ he eventually says, ‘I’d give it a four out of ten. If I ever make it all the way up to ten, then I’ll really start panicking.’

      Have to bite my tongue clambering into his car. It was a trick question! He was supposed to say zero out of ten!

      Cosmic shift in that moment. And I’ve now officially gone from absorbing his calm aura, into hand-me-a-Xanax territory.

      2.25 p.m.

      Stephano Sacetti turns out to be short, round and welcoming. Kisses us both on both cheeks, Mediterranean style, and waves us into his private office on the top floor. He’s actually a v. charming man, twinkly-eyed and sallow skinned, with an expensive-looking silk suit and the faint whiff of cigar smoke off him.

      Says all the right things, all the stuff I needed to hear: that we’re not to worry, that Kitty is a v. responsible person. (Eyes went slightly goggly at that. Kitty’s many wonderful things but responsible is most definitely not one of them. But then given that this is her boss-man, I figure she must have put on one hell of an act in front of the guy.)

      Anyway, soon as we arrived,