“Victor, forgive me,” she said, her voice calm but somehow unfamiliar. “I couldn’t do it any other way.”
“You’re out of your mind, Margaret!” Victor slammed his keys onto the table, the clatter echoing against the ceramic biscuit jar. “Eleanor would never do this! She’d have called!”
“What do you think I’ve been saying?!” Margaret sprang up from the sofa, her scarf slipping from her grey hair. “She went out last night to fetch your blood pressure pills from the chemist and never came back! I didn’t sleep a wink—checked hospitals, filed a report with the police!”
Victor sank into his armchair, rubbing his face. His sister-in-law had always been high-strung, but now she looked ghastly—red-eyed, hands trembling.
“Margaret, calm down. Maybe she stopped by a friend’s? Remember last month when young Tommy from down the road fell ill, and she sat up all night with Susan?”
“I’ve called everywhere!” Margaret sniffled. “Susan, Jane from next door, even Laura from work. No one’s seen her! Victor, she never just vanishes like this!”
It was true. Eleanor, Victor’s sister, lived a predictable life—breakfast at seven, her two-decade-long nursing job at the children’s clinic, evenings spent cooking and watching telly, weekends cleaning or visiting Margaret for tea and gossip.
“Did you ask at the chemist?” Victor stood, glancing out the window. Children played in the courtyard, their laughter suddenly grating. How could they carry on as if nothing was wrong?
“Of course! Katie, the pharmacist, said she saw her around eight. Eleanor bought your pills and something for a cough. Then…” Margaret spread her hands helplessly. “Then nothing.”
Victor racked his memory. Last night, he’d eaten alone after Eleanor said she’d pop out for medicine. She’d thrown on her blue coat—the one she’d bought on sale last winter—grabbed her handbag and keys.
“Won’t be long, Vic,” she’d called from the hall. “Keep an eye on the soup, will you?”
Those were her last words in that flat.
He’d waited till nine, then ten. Turned off the soup himself, ate cold leftovers, watched the news. By half-eleven, worry gnawed at him, but he reasoned she’d stopped to chat with a friend—rare for her, but not unheard of.
Then, at dawn, Margaret’s call shattered the quiet.
“Vic, did Eleanor stay at yours last night?”
“Why would she? She lives here,” he’d mumbled, still half-asleep.
“Well, she never came home! Bed’s untouched, her purse still here. Thought maybe she’d stayed over if it got late…”
That’s when Victor knew something was wrong.
“Margaret… d’you think she might’ve met someone?” he ventured. “She’s only forty-seven. Still young.”
Margaret scoffed. “Oh, don’t be daft! After that divorce from Geoffrey, she wouldn’t glance at a man twice. How many times did I nudge her to try the community dance nights? Always ‘too busy, too tired.’”
“But people don’t just disappear!” A cold dread pooled in Victor’s chest. “Something must’ve happened.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Margaret clutched his sleeve. “What if she was mugged? Remember when that gang snatched old Mrs. Thompson’s bag last month?”
“Then she’d be in hospital or at the station. You said you checked everywhere.”
“I did! And guess what they told me? Adults can go wherever they please! Missing persons reports wait seventy-two hours—three whole days, Vic! What if—?”
She didn’t finish. Both knew what hung unspoken.
A knock at the door. Margaret lunged for it, hope flashing across her face.
“Ellie?” she cried, fumbling with the latch.
Mrs. Clarke from downstairs stood there, a shopping bag in hand.
“Margaret, love, what’s all the fuss? Heard you crying half the night—then voices just now…”
“Eleanor’s gone,” Margaret said flatly. “Went out yesterday evening and never came back.”
Mrs. Clarke gasped, setting her bag down.
“Oh, good heavens! I saw her yesterday! Half-seven, she was heading out. Said she was off to the chemist.”
“And that’s all? Nothing else?”
“Nothing odd. Only…” Mrs. Clarke frowned. “She seemed different. Not sad, not happy—just… resolved. You know, like when someone’s made up their mind?”
Victor and Margaret exchanged glances. Resolved? Eleanor was deliberate, never impulsive.
“Work trouble, maybe?” Mrs. Clarke suggested. “Heard the clinic’s cutting staff.”
Margaret shook her head. “She’s been there twenty years—they’d sack the new girl first. Besides, she’d just taken on that trainee, Lucy. Said the lass was bright but impatient—wanted everything at once: career, marriage, kids. ‘Life’s long,’ she told her. ‘No need to rush.’”
The words now tasted bitter.
Mrs. Clarke left, promising to ask the neighbours. Alone, Victor and Margaret sat in silence.
“Let’s check her flat,” Victor said. “Might find a note, contacts…”
“I’ve turned the place upside down!” Margaret waved a hand. “Nothing’s out of place—same tidy, spotless home.”
But Victor insisted. Eleanor’s flat was in the next building. Margaret unlocked it with her spare key—they’d exchanged sets years ago.
The flat was eerily still. Shoes lined up neatly in the hall, her coat on the rack. Violet pots bloomed on the windowsill—her pride and joy.
“See?” Margaret pointed to the desk. “Passport, bankbook, even her purse. Only twenty quid inside, but still…”
Victor opened a drawer, pulling out her address book. Colleagues, friends, doctors—ordinary contacts for an ordinary woman.
“What’s this?” He tugged a slip of paper from beneath the phone directory.
Margaret unfolded it—a travel agency flyer: “Cotswolds Explorer: Coach Tours to Historic Villages.”
“Since when does she care about travel?” Margaret frowned. “Only ever visited Aunt Maureen in Devon.”
“Maybe someone gave it to her?”
“Look—there’s writing.”
Pencilled in the margin: “Stow-on-the-Wold—15 May.”
“That’s tomorrow,” Margaret whispered. “Vic, you don’t think she—?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Victor admitted. “But why tell no one?”
The kitchen held two plates—one clean, one with breakfast crumbs. A newspaper lay open to the classifieds.
“She ate here,” Margaret noted. “Read the paper. Everything normal.”
Victor scanned the ads—flats, jobs, personals. One circled in red: “Gentleman, 52, widowed, seeks kindhearted lady for companionship. Values honesty and warmth.”
“Margaret, look.”
“Can’t be.” She shook her head. “Eleanor always said she’d rather be alone than settle.”
“Then why circle it?”
“For a friend? Susan’s been widowed—maybe for her?”
Victor pocketed the paper. Something felt off.
That evening, he rang the travel agency.
“Yes, we’ve a Stow-on-the-Wold tour tomorrow,” the clerk confirmed. “But fully booked. Last ticket sold yesterday.”
“Can you say who bought it?”
“Sorry, confidential. Cash payment, though.”
“Remember a woman, mid-forties? Dark hair, blue coat?”
“Sir, we had dozens yesterday. Why, something wrong?”
Victor hung up.
Next morning, he loitered outside the agency, watching passengers board the coach. Eleanor wasn’t among them.
“All aboard?” asked the guide, a lad in a bright jacket.
“One no-show,” the clerk said. “Paid but didn’t come.”
“We’ll wait five minutes, then leave.”
Victor approached. “Who’s missing?”
“A lady. Can’t recall the name, but she definitely booked. Shame—no refunds.”
The coach departed without her.
The police finally took a report. The weary sergeant noted details.
“Relatives elsewhere?”
“Aunt Maureen in Devon,” Victor said. “Eleanor visited sometimes.”
“Address?”
Victor provided it. The sergeant promised to inquire.
A week passed. No Eleanor. At the clinic, her trainee Lucy covered her duties. Margaret grew gaunt; Victor barely slept.
“Maybe she left on purpose?” Margaret ventured one night. “Maybe she’d had enough?”
“Of what?”
“Everything! The grind, the loneliness. Maybe she wanted a fresh start?”
Victor stayed silent. Privately, he wondered the same.
Two weeks later, the sergeant called.
“Found your sister. Alive and well. Staying with her aunt in Devon.”
“Staying?” Victor blinked.
“Aye. Says she’s made a change. Nursing job at a local hospital. Renting a flat. Asked me to
