The Roommates

by Rachel Sargeant

  Jane’s eyes narrow to piercing and Imo braces for a tongue lashing, then the woman smiles and shakes her head. “There’s nothing nightmarish about parenting.” Her tone is light, indulgent.

  Imo feels sweat drip from her hairline. “What I mean is she – my boyfriend’s flatmate – hasn’t got any help and stays in all the time. Can’t face meeting people, doesn’t eat properly, can’t sleep. The whole thing is too much.” She stops herself saying more, afraid of blurring lines between fiction and fact. There’s still no reply on her phone. Get out, Tegan, get the hell out. “I wondered if you could tell me … what help’s available for young parents.”

  “If she joins our group, she can access the website.” Jane moves past Imo to reach the front door.

  “Wait.” Imo catches the woman’s shoulder and then pulls away, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’ll suggest the website, thank you, but it’s hard to get her to do anything she’s so low. Can you give me any tips? Let me just get my notepad up.” She hammers out another text: now!

  Jane laughs, nodding at the phone. “No need to take notes. I’ve got leaflets on dealing with depression and isolation. I can get you one.” She gets out her door key.

  Imo steps in front of her, blocking her way. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble. A couple of thoughts will do.”

  Jane stares at Imo, frowning. Then she walks back to her car. “I might have a leaflet in here.” She climbs in and starts the engine to move the car onto the drive now that the bins are out of the way.

  Imo’s head whirs. She leans against the building, panting, her neck damp with sweat.

  “Can’t find it.” Jane hurries past her before she can think of another delaying tactic. “Must be in the flat.” She unlocks the door and enters.

  Imo follows into the foyer, too nauseous to stop her.

  “Wait here,” Jane says as she opens the door to Flat 2, then closes it behind her.

  Imo’s ears thud with a noise like the bin lorry. Her concern for Tegan merges with her fears for Sophia, for Amber. But mainly for Sophia. She thinks of the smiling graduation photo that appeared on news channels for a while. Does her sister even still look like that? How much can someone change in seven months? Especially if they’re … The foyer spins in black and white.

  A million miles away, Jane returns with a leaflet. Her lips move but Imo can’t hear her above the thrumming in her head. She nods – she thinks she nods – and takes the leaflet. In a daze, she goes outside and makes it to the front wall. The fresh air calms her breathing and she starts to relax until she realizes Jane’s stayed in the flat. Where the hell is Tegan? Hands shaking, she scrolls her phone.

  Suddenly Tegan appears on the pavement from the left of the street. Imo rushes forward and flings her arms around her, relieved to smell her expensive perfume again.

  “Steady on. I haven’t been to war.”

  Imo lets go, feeling foolish.

  “I went into the wrong flat. A man was spark out on the sofa in the lounge so I crept off through the patio at the back. A path leads to the road where we parked. We’ll have to come back and try again tomorrow.” She checks the time on her phone. “Shame – we’re not going to be late to the Business Culture lecture.”

  Still recovering from her panic attack, Imo shivers and stumbles against the wall.

  Tegan studies her. “If you’re gonna puke, you’re walking back.”

  Chapter 57

  Amber

  Her lips crack and hurt with thirst. She stretches her untethered leg towards the water bottles on the concrete. Panting for breath, every movement an enormous, aching struggle. She grips the rusty bedframe and stretches further. Finally, her toes touch plastic. The bottle is full and hard to roll but gradually she moves it nearer.

  Fighting dizziness she picks it up and collapses back onto the bed. Manages to lift herself up and greedily tries to open the bottle. But her fingers are numb and stupid, won’t turn the lid. She tries again, hands shaking. It won’t move. Tears wet her face, mixing with the blood and dirt on her cheeks. A wave of exhaustion takes hold. She stops to catch her breath, rests her throbbing head against the bare mattress. Sleep now, drink later. Darkness clouds her vision as consciousness slips away.

  The bottle falls from her hand and tumbles through the air. Bouncing across the floor into the others, knocking them out of reach. The noise brings her back and she opens her eyes. She tries to cry out, but her throat is too dry. The room seems to shift under her and she shivers, teeth chattering. Through the gloom she can see the scattered water bottles. Lying like forgotten victims in the cold.

  Chapter 58

  Thursday 13 October

  Imogen

  In the morning Imo feels like an invalid. A recollection from yesterday’s Business Culture lecture on Groups and Norms flickers into her mind. A prison guard, incarceration. Tendrils of dread grow along her back as she realizes she’s taken on fear for two people. Sophia hasn’t been found. Is Amber lost forever too? Are both in danger right now as she cold-sweats in her bed?

  She lies still until her breathing settles and she checks her phone. Three texts from Phoenix: Let’s talk today … I keep knocking. Where are you … Meet in kitchen 11am. The leaflet Jane Brown gave her is on her bedside. A Ten-Step Guide to Beating the Blues. She reads no further than Step 1: Tell a friend how you feel. The blues get bluer if you stay alone. But her blues are getting blacker. She’s got to stop her imagination from doing this.

  It’s ten past eleven when she joins Phoenix and Tegan in the kitchen.

  “We don’t mind if you want to have a shower first,” Phoenix says gently.

  “Clean your teeth while you’re at it.” Tegan moves back in her chair.

  Imo sinks her gaze to the floor, taking in a splodge of mayonnaise, a crushed Pringle and an empty lager can under the coffee table. Is this what they see when they look at her: the dirty, scabby remnants of previous forays into making an effort? God, she hates herself.

  Phoenix sits on the coffee table and pats her knee. “You’ll feel better if you put on a clean T-shirt. I’ve got something weird to tell you and you need to be clear-headed.”

  Like a naughty girl sent upstairs by her mum, Imo goes back to her room, cleans her teeth, pushes a wet flannel round her body, and puts on clean knickers. The sweatshirt and jeans are the ones she wore yesterday.

  “Let’s talk in my room,” Phoenix suggests when she comes back, her voice lowered to a whisper.

  “Who are you expecting to eavesdrop?” Tegan asks, as they follow her into the hallway.

  Phoenix puts her finger to her lips, shooing the others into her room. “Be quiet; he’ll hear you.” She makes sure her door is closed.

  “What’s this about?” Tegan puts her hands on her hips and accidentally knocks an unopened water bottle off Phoenix’s bedside locker. It rolls under Imo’s legs and she picks it up.

  An electric shock shoots through her. A month after Sophia went missing, their mother became convinced she was trapped somewhere without water. She made Imo and Freddie carry water everywhere so they didn’t meet the same fate. Mum’s anxiety rubbed off on Imo and she often fears Sophia is alone and dying of thirst. She drops the plastic bottle and grits her teeth. She becomes aware of Phoenix holding her shoulders. Gradually she stops shivering, but she’s left with a dark sense of misery.

  Phoenix and Tegan exchange a glance.

  “You reckon I’ve lost it, don’t you?” Imo says. “But I think Amber’s in trouble.” She looks away. A blurred view of one of Phoenix’s circus posters swims in front of her. A muscle-toned duo harnessing the power of fire. How she envies their control. Her gaze stays on the poster. She can’t face looking at her flatmates and seeing their disbelieving faces, or worse their pity. But she daren’t close her eyes in case a what-if vision of Sophia, or Amber, is there.

  Phoenix clears her throat. “I’ve been trying for a couple of days to talk to you and wish I’d tried harder. If what you think has any truth in it
…” She lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know how the hell to say this.”

  She walks to her desk, flicks a switch on her retro radio. When it blares out Pussycat Dolls, she turns it down but also lowers her voice. “I don’t want Riku to hear this.”

  “He went off with his latest bundle of parcels,” Tegan says. “If he’s gone to the post office, he’ll be ages.”

  “That’s good.” Phoenix exhales. “Listen. I’ve seen inside the sketchpad that he keeps in his room. He’s done a drawing of Amber. It’s flattering and looks just like her.”

  Tegan shrugs. “Maybe he fancied her. A bit creepy, I know. He’s not Channing Tatum but Amber might have appreciated the interest.”

  Phoenix shakes her head. “You don’t get it. He’s captured the shape of her face, her eyes, her mouth, everything. It’s like a photograph, like he has spent hours – days – studying her face in detail.”

  “What are you saying?” Tegan sits forward on the bed, her eyes serious.

  “What if he’s had more recent … access. He might know where she is.”

  Imo remembers Riku quickly removing the sketchpad from his desk when they brought Dylan to see the unicycle, but why let them barge into his room if he had something to hide?

  Tegan, on the other hand, has no doubts. She goes to the door. “I knew he was dodgy. He must be the one warning us off. If he keyed my car, I kill him. Let’s see what else he’s got in his room.”

  “We can’t just walk in,” Phoenix protests.

  “You must have done, if you saw Amber’s picture, or did he invite you to see all his etchings?”

  A flush of colour creeps up Phoenix’s neck. “That was an accident. But the door will be locked now if he’s gone out.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. Come on.” Tegan steps into the hallway, but Imo and Phoenix hang back. Tegan rounds on them. “Why is it that you’re the ones bleating about Amber, but I’m the one who ends up taking action?”

  “But he’s our flatmate,” Phoenix says.

  “And you reckon he’s got Amber locked in his wardrobe.”

  “I thought we could tell Student Services.”

  “So why didn’t you? Why this cloak-and-dagger bollocks? Why tell me if you don’t want me to do something?” She turns to Imo. “Are you with me?”

  Imo’s head’s hurting. “I can’t. I need to lie down.”

  “Sod the pair of you.” Tegan storms to her room and slams the door.

  ***

  True to her excuse, Imo goes to bed, but doesn’t doze off. Who does at noon? Who does, when their head holds ideas so miserable that sleep might bring them back? Who does when their waking hours are numb? How much longer can she meander through each day? She thinks of Sean Hennessy and the look of desolation on his face as he sat in the rain outside the crèche. His meanderings took him to parenthood, but don’t seem to have brought happiness. Imo curls up under the duvet. She’s no hope of finding Sophia. Couldn’t even work out that Lauren does Theatre Studies as well as German, let alone that she has a child.

  Imo’s skin itches. Amber was studying Theatre Studies. Did Hennessy meet Amber? A thing for drama students? She recalls how, in the first Accountancy lecture, she thought he’d looked familiar and she’d wondered briefly if she’d seen him in a nightclub the previous week. What if he really had been there? It was the day after Amber disappeared. Had he done something to her and gone on the prowl for the next one? That could be the reason he’s distracted, making mistakes in lectures and walking out. Guilty conscience. Her heart quickens, remembering the scrap of paper he pulled out of his briefcase: Death of a Dying Rose. Is Amber the rose? Poetic perversion compelling him to write about his victims? Lauren could be another victim, held in his thrall by their child. Did she help him lure Amber? That’s why she won’t admit to knowing her. Could it be? It’s no more ludicrous than Phoenix’s Riku theory.

  Her head burrows under the pillow. Like her suspicions of Hennessey, the idea of Riku’s involvement has become a gnawing toothache. Could Riku know where Amber is? Amber was the first one to welcome him when he arrived late at the start of term. Maybe he took a shine, not reciprocated. Imo’s stomach knots. Her mind, awash for so long with Sophia, could be playing tricks. But if it isn’t? She should have let Tegan get into Riku’s room so they could rule him out. Too late now. No way will the girl do anything for her after she hung back and sided with Phoenix. She’s going to have to pursue Amber on her own. Maybe Riku hasn’t locked his door.

  For several more minutes she stays in bed until the nagging grows acute. Heart thumping, she treads across the hallway and presses her hand gently on his door. She jumps out of her skin when another door opens.

  But it’s Phoenix coming out of her room. “Is it locked?” she whispers, apparently with the same idea.

  Tegan, too, sticks her head round her door. “He’s still out. Are you two ready to come over to the dark side?”

  Imo looks at Phoenix.

  Phoenix takes a breath. “Do it. I’ll keep watch in case he comes back.”

  The locked door is no obstacle for Tegan. Imo doesn’t see how she manages it but the lock clunks and the door swings open into Riku’s room. Tegan and Imo step inside. The fragrance is still sweet, although the tea lights have gone from the window sill. The bed is made, with its silk bedspread hotel-room smooth. The unicycle is back on its hook. Tidy. Immaculate. Imo shudders. Is that normal? She thinks of the carnage of Freddie’s room, which their mother says she’ll only enter in a fall-out suit. But Imo’s own isn’t much better. And Sophia’s? Her belongings, returned from uni, are piled in boxes, as if her essence has been archived. Maybe Riku’s the normal one.

  The desk is bare apart from the roll of address labels. Imo spots the sketchpad on the high shelf and reaches up to get it. A newspaper cutting flutters down.

  Tegan smooths it out on the desk and reads. “Shit, he’s a black belt.” She passes it to Imo.

  Hertfordshire Taekwondo Association members at their open day (left to right) … Riku Lee (3rd dan) … And there he is, thinner in the face but looking just as bulky in his white training suit. Imo’s about to say they should leave when Tegan opens the sketchpad.

  “Phoenix was right. Looks at this.”

  Amber, plump-faced and pretty. Tears prick Imo’s eyes and she has to sit on the bed. She has the saddest sense that she’ll never see her again.

  Tegan flicks to the next page. “No way,” she shouts. Her eyes widen and she grows pale. She hurls the pad on the desk and puts her hand over her mouth.

  “What is it?” Phoenix asks, leaving her sentry post to come inside. Gingerly, she picks up the book and folds over Amber’s picture to see what’s freaked Tegan. Her jaw drops and she turns the page towards Imo. It’s a mermaid on a rock in a broderie anglaise off-the-shoulder blouse, combing her thick dark hair. He’s captured the hauteur in Tegan’s eyes.

  “He’s a psycho and I’m his next victim,” Tegan says. “I’ve got to find Marlon.”

  “We don’t know that,” Imo says, although she can’t think of any other reason for him to have sketched Tegan as well as Amber.

  “What’s in those parcels he keeps getting and posting on?” Tegan swallows. “Good way to get rid of body parts.”

  When Phoenix turns to the next page of the sketchpad, Imo coughs down bile. From the paper, Imo’s own image stares back. Downturned eyes, lank hair falling out of a hood, a tear on a pitted cheek. It’s not a caricature, it’s not unkind, but Imo wants to weep.

  She doesn’t get the chance. Riku steps into the room and closes the door behind him.

  Chapter 59

  Phoenix

  Though Riku’s face is expressionless, Phoenix sees the fury in his eyes. It pumps in a vein in his reddening neck. Someone told her once that a tenet of martial arts is self-control. She prays Riku knows that too. She hands him the sketchpad. “Sorry.”

  “He should be the one apologizing,” Tegan flares. “What kind of pervert draws
pictures of his flatmates?” She rounds on Riku. “Where is she?”

  Phoenix has seen people on the receiving end of Tegan’s temper before. Some scowl, others blush, all take a step back. But Riku doesn’t move. His stillness is chilling and she puts her hands in her pockets to hide their tremor.

  Glowering, he slowly folds over the image of Imo and holds the next page out to Phoenix. Her own face grins back with shining eyes. It’s a full-length shot that gives movement and energy to her long limbs. If she wasn’t terrified, she’d be flattered. Still staring at her, he turns over to the next sketch: Ivor from Flat 7 with a giant lager can in his fist. And the next: a face-only shot of a handsome black man. Phoenix doesn’t know him but there’s a gasp of recognition from Tegan.

  Riku shows them the rest of the pad. The sketches are either exquisite head-and-shoulder drawings, or full-body shots that put the subject into a context: mermaid on a rock, drinking at pre-s, on a motorbike, on a rugby pitch. Phoenix recognizes some of them as people she’s seen around campus. All students. No wonder he’s always staring at people, committing their faces to memory.

  “Why are you admiring this?” Tegan hisses through gritted teeth. “He’s got Amber, remember. And he vandalized my car.”

  Confusion crosses Riku’s face and Phoenix grows more uneasy. He’s deciphered the word Amber and must know they’re on to him. But he stands solidly between them and the door. She trawls her memory for everything her circus family has taught her. There was a hypnosis act based on having the strength of character to get people to do stupid things. Can she coax Riku into letting them go?

  Imo’s still holding the press cutting about the taekwondo competition. She gets off the bed and waves the paper at him. “Why were you in Hertfordshire three years ago?”

  “Save your breath, he won’t understand.” Tegan folds her arms. She flinches when he puts out his hand but it’s to smooth the bed covers where Imo’s been sitting. “Great,” she mutters, “a psycho with OCD.”