by Gemma Rogers
‘What happened?’
‘Mark was hit by a bus, waiting at traffic lights outside Victoria station,’ her voice shook.
I took a sharp intake of breath, my chest feeling like it was going to burst. ‘Jesus! Will he be okay?’
‘I don’t know, Becca said he’s critical, so it doesn’t sound good.’
‘Where is Becca?’ I asked in a calm voice which sounded like it came from someone else.
‘She’s at the hospital, the girls have gone to her mum’s, in Portsmouth.’
‘Good,’ I said, my brain whirring.
‘What do you mean good? Did you not hear what I fucking said?’ Robyn’s voice was shrill and loud, the panic evident in her voice. I had to keep as calm as possible although deep down I wanted to scream too.
‘You need to go somewhere, Robyn, go and stay with your parents or something, take a trip. Look this wasn’t an accident. First Gareth, then James, now Mark. Hayley’s back and she’s after all of us.’
Robyn didn’t speak for a few seconds as she absorbed my warning. Then, ‘Okay, I’ll go pack.’
‘I’m going to ring the police right now,’ I said, ending the call without another word. I sat, staring at my computer but not focusing on anything. The screen a blur as I tried to work out what to do. I had to find Hayley, to stop her. I didn’t need proof to know that Mark’s accident wasn’t a coincidence.
I called Detective Wren, who said he would come by the agency in an hour or so; he was just tying up some loose ends.
I couldn’t sit still and wait, instead I unlocked the tin of property keys inside my desk and grabbed 32 Park Lane; it seemed like the best place to start. The key burned like it was an evil talisman in my hand, and I squeezed my fingers around it. I left the office, mouthing to Gary I wouldn’t be long as Frank had a customer, and hurried down the street, my head in turmoil.
Poor Mark was seriously hurt, and Becca would be devasted. I truly hoped he’d be okay. Those poor children had their father’s life hanging in the balance and for what?
I pulled my phone from my coat pocket and dialled James.
‘James, it’s me.’
‘Hiya, you okay?’
‘Mark’s had a bad accident, hit by a bus outside Victoria station.’
‘Oh my god.’ I could hear James’s breathing quicken down the line.
‘I know. I can’t believe it. He’s in intensive care at the moment. I’m going to ring Becca, but I just wanted to let you know. Listen, don’t open the door to anyone okay?’
‘Sure. Where are you? You sound like you’re outside.’ James’s voice was panicked.
‘I’m fine, I’m heading back to the agency,’ I lied.
‘Okay, call me once you’ve spoken to Becca.’
I agreed and ended the call before dialling Becca, unsurprised when it went to voicemail. She would be by Mark’s bedside I knew, but I left a message offering support and well wishes. It was all I could do.
The breeze whipped around my face and neck and I clutched the collar of my blazer tightly. It was cold enough for a coat, but I’d left mine behind. I marched with purpose, head down, striding along the road, nearing my destination with every step but my apprehension growing. Halloween pumpkins littered doorsteps and the wind blew up the yellowing leaves around my feet as I walked, whisking them into the frenzy I felt.
I didn’t want to go back inside that house, a strange blend of good and bad memories now attached. It’s only bricks and mortar the voice in my head comforted, it can’t hurt you. But what if it could?
I went in through the back garden, the gate squeaking and dragging on the concrete slab, the old hinges loosened and dropped over time. I knew as soon as I unlocked the back door that something wasn’t right. The air was musty, and a slight odour of greasy food lingered in the air. Now empty, Mrs Davidson’s furniture and trinkets packed and gone, 32 Park Lane was the shell it had been back when we’d used it that night. Somewhere safe to go, private, where we could lose our virginities, and no one would ever know. How had it all gone so wrong?
I was fifteen again, stepping over the threshold, tiptoeing across the linoleum floor, trying not to make any noise. The ghost of Gareth leaning against the counter, face forlorn, the feeling of his gentle kiss still on my lips. It was bizarre reliving moments from twenty years earlier like they had been preserved perfectly in time.
The house looked just the same, left untouched, like I’d been transported back through time. Clean and tidy but aged. I opened a cupboard, but everything had gone. The kitchen was empty, nothing left to show anyone had been there, the lounge too with its brick-built fire as centrepiece. Wind whistled down the flue and echoed around the walls, my limbs trembled in reply. Marks of previously hung paintings, as though they had been drawn around, remained on the wallpaper.
My skin tingled, hair standing to attention and I felt like I was being watched. Perhaps I wasn’t alone?
The smell intensified as I moved towards the den, remembering the atmosphere that hung heavy the last time I was there. When Mr Davidson had sat in his recliner watching television. It was the room where Hayley had been.
I edged around the corner, expecting to see her sitting on the floor, her long red hair hiding her face, knees tucked to her chest. The room was empty, but someone had been there. Cans of Coke and crisp packets littered the floor, the cause of the smell was a paper bag displaying the logo of the local Chinese takeaway, China Garden. Left by squatters? How? Mrs Davidson hadn’t even been gone a week. Copthorne hardly had a squatter problem. Or was Hayley sleeping rough? And if so, how did she get in?
I searched around, checking all the ground floor doors and windows before moving upstairs. The main bedroom, which had been my room that night, looked just the same. The imprint of a bed, the rectangular dent in the carpet. The corner where Elliot and I had done the deed. Tiny water droplets remained on the shower screen and bath. Someone had been inside.
Had someone taken my keys? I felt for them inside my pocket, unsure what to do next. I had to get back to the office and wait for the police. Thankfully, there had been no damage to the property, therefore there was no need to contact Mrs Davidson. I didn’t clear up the mess, I wanted Detective Wren to see someone had been inside. It was evidence.
Once outside, I reached for a cigarette from the emergency packet in the pocket of my blazer. They’d been there for a couple of weeks, untouched, normally only brought out in times of stress or after a few drinks. I looked around the garden, transported back to that night. How we’d hurried out onto the street, away from the house and lit cigarettes for our walk home. Hayley and Gareth nowhere to be found.
My phone rang, it was James. I answered straight away, concern growing.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
‘Yeah fine. Where are you?’
‘I just went to 32 Park Lane.’
‘Jesus. Sophie, why?’
‘To see if she was there.’
‘Fuck’s sake. I’m coming over.’ I heard him groan as he got to his feet.
‘No, don’t. It’s fine. I’m on my way back to the agency. Detective Wren is coming by and when he’s gone, I’ll come over. Is your mum still there?’
‘No, she left a little while ago.’
‘Okay, stay safe and remember don’t answer the door.’ It sounded ridiculous, but I had to make sure Hayley couldn’t get to him.
Locking the door of number 32 Park Lane, I hurried back to the office, the heads of Hope and Gary snapping up as I entered.
‘Where have you been?’ Gary asked, his voice jovial.
‘Out,’ I snapped, not willing to entertain his cocky manner. I saw them shoot a look at each other, but I ignored it and returned to my desk. I’d missed a call from my mum and called her back for a distraction. It was nice to talk about something else other than the panic I felt. She was still pushing the cabin at Christmas on me. I could tell she felt guilty about potentially leaving me alone for the festivities. I had to rem
ind her that, at thirty-six, I was a big girl.
‘I know, but you mustn’t be on your own at Christmas. I’d rather cancel the whole thing.’
‘I’ll probably stay with James, so please don’t worry, Mum.’ The idea that our relationship would involve planning for the future sent a thrill running through me. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed being part of a couple. I changed the subject to Dad, and Mum told me was toying with taking up golf. Apparently, Jim played and had taken him to the driving range twice now.
An hour later, when everyone was out on viewings and I was alone with Beth, the bell above the door tinkled and Detective Wren entered. I jumped up to invite him in and he pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling tightly. I offered him a drink, but he gratefully declined.
‘Beth, can you hold the fort until one of the others gets back please.’
Beth nodded and moved to Hope’s desk by the door to continue stapling the property particulars together.
In my office, I explained to Detective Wren: ‘I’ve been to the house, 32 Park Lane, someone has been there. It could be Hayley.’
‘Okay, let me have the keys and I’ll head down there once we’re finished here.’
I rummaged in my pocket and passed the keys over. ‘I’m not sure whether you will have heard about James Miller’s stabbing last week and Mark Emmerson had an “accident” yesterday too,’ I said.
‘Yes, I knew about Mr Miller’s attack. We have a good shot on CCTV in close proximity to where it happened. However, the person in question was wearing a bike helmet and dressed in black unidentifiable clothing. But I’m certain the perpetrator is female, by her stature.’
A chill drifted across my shoulders, and I shuddered. So, it was Hayley.
‘What kind of accident did Mr Emmerson have?’ Wren rubbed his forehead, never breaking eye contact.
‘He was hit by a bus outside Victoria station. But don’t you see, it can’t be a coincidence. You said it yourself, you don’t believe in them.’
‘Yes, that’s true, however we also need proof. What hospital is Mr Emmerson at?’
‘St. Thomas’s, I believe, but I don’t think he’s conscious yet,’ I admitted, realising I hadn’t heard back from Becca.
‘I’ll head up there after I’ve been to Park Lane. If anyone will be able to tell us what happened, it will be him. The local police on the scene would have taken some witness statements.’
‘Okay, thank you,’ I said, running my hand through my hair and gripping it tightly at the base of my head. The pressure was comforting, my nerve endings firing, letting me know I was still alive.
‘I strongly suggest, Ms White, that you move out of the flat for a while, stay somewhere anonymous. We’re closing in, but in the meantime, it appears this is gathering momentum.’
There was no doubt that was the case and the reason was obvious; Hayley wanted payback.
38
October 2018
‘Sophie, have you been sent the fixtures and fittings list for Church Road?’ Gary poked his head around my door.
I was staring blankly at my screen, unable to focus on anything after Detective Wren left. I hadn’t even noticed the rest of my team return from their viewings.
‘Mr Barnes said he emailed it to you yesterday?’ Gary continued, his tone apologetic.
‘Sorry, Gary, I’ll check now and send it over,’ I replied, shaking the fog from my mind. I had to get my head back in the game.
As soon as Gary left, Frank came in, the same concerned look on his face.
‘Everything’s fine, Frank,’ I said, exasperated. I sighed and turned my attention to Gary, who had slipped in behind Frank to hand me an envelope.
‘Sorry to interrupt, this was on the doormat,’ he said before disappearing out of the door.
I lifted the envelope, ripping open the flap, my eyes on Frank, who I could tell was working out how best to handle my deteriorating mood.
I lowered my eyes to the card, the next second jumping from my seat and flying past Frank and out of the front door to see who was in the street, the bell jangling in my wake. Straining my eyes, I searched up and down the road, but no one was there except for an elderly couple in the distance returning from the Co-Op.
I staggered back inside, my legs shaking. The bell tinkled again behind me and a customer entered, unaware of the bomb that had been dropped in the middle of the office. I could see everyone looking at each other, wondering what on earth was going on.
Lucy was the first to jump from her chair to assist the customer and Frank’s strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, practically carrying me out to the kitchen and up the stairs to the flat. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, I couldn’t hold it together any longer. I was scared, terrified I’d be next.
Frank didn’t speak until I was sat at the kitchen table, a hot steaming mug of tea in my hands. He prised the card out of my hand, fingers still tightly wrapped around it. The cherries shining in the reflection of the ceiling light.
I DO HOPE JAMES IS RECOVERING WELL, CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HIM AGAIN
I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.
Frank’s palm rested lightly on my shoulder. ‘Sophie, what’s going on?’ He pulled a chair up and sat closely to me, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. His grey eyes searching my face for answers. I told him about James and Mark and how this nightmare was never-ending.
‘Are the police investigating?’
I nodded and rubbed at my eyes, mascara left behind on my knuckles. I was starting to unravel.
‘I’m worried about you. This is making you ill! Come and stay with me and Diane? You wouldn’t have to tell your dad.’ Frank’s grey eyes were damp. My chest seared. Frank loved me like I was his own.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I lied, raising a smile. At least I’d stopped crying. I grabbed my phone to text James, just to check he was okay. A minute later I got a response, he was fine, and waiting for me to join him. ‘I think I’m losing the plot.’
‘Go and take a few days off, go away with that fella of yours. Everything will be all right here.’ For a few seconds I considered it, but what good would it do to run? Hayley would find us or be waiting when we got back. I had to put my trust in Detective Wren, that he would come through and be the one to find her
‘I’m going to go to James’s, I’ll spend the night there and see you in the morning.’
Frank made to go back downstairs. ‘Okay, love, I’ll close up. Take it easy. Ring me if you change your mind and want to come to us.’
I smiled as best I could as Frank ducked down the stairs leading back to the office.
I whipped my head back to the fridge, to what had caught my attention a second before. A fresh red cross had been drawn over Mark’s face in the photo. This time I didn’t make the sink before I threw up my lunch.
Hours later, curled in James’s arms on the sofa, I was still unable to relax. Someone had been in the flat again. How had they got in? I’d had the door changed, a different set of keys. It didn’t make sense. My stomach churned with it and I felt like a massive ball of nervous energy, permanently on red alert.
James and I hadn’t talked much, neither of us in the mood for conversation. A massive cloud hung overhead, our minds working double time, anxious at what was to come. I told him about the card and warned him to be careful, although he joked that he was hardly out and about much at the moment. I had no idea what the true impact James’s stabbing had on him. He seemed fine, but he looked drawn and his pallor had a greyish tinge, like he hadn’t seen sunlight in a long time. Surely there had to be post-traumatic stress after such a serious incident. We were both looking over our shoulders all the time.
‘Frank suggested we should go away somewhere,’ I said, laying my head on his arm.
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know: Paris, Rome, Skegness?’ I laughed, trying to make James smile but failing miserably.
‘Maybe we should go and see Hayley’s paren
ts, together; see if we can find out anything else?’
‘I don’t think that will help; her mother was adamant she hadn’t seen her for years.’
James didn’t respond, instead rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. The painkillers were so strong, they made him woozy. ‘I’m so tired.’
‘Come on, let’s go to bed.’
‘I need to change my dressing first,’ James said, easing himself to his feet.
I slept badly, tossing and turning. James was mumbling in his sleep, although I couldn’t make out the words. I gave in and got up at six, accidentally waking James in the process.
‘Go back to sleep, I’m going to head home. I’ll ring you later,’ I whispered, brushing my lips across his forehead. Outside, it was still dark and the road quiet, but I’d parked right outside the flat, underneath a street lamp. It didn’t stop me rushing to my car like it was a covert mission and locking the doors once inside at lightning speed.
Back at the agency, I checked inside the office first instead of heading straight upstairs. The heating was yet to come on and it felt cold. There was nothing waiting for me – no surprises on the mat or anywhere else. Detective Wren must have returned the keys to Park Lane as they were back in the key drawer.
I was about to turn the lights out when a sheet of paper left on the printer caught my eye. I grabbed it to put in the recycling box and noticed one line on the bottom edge, a printout from a web address. The other pages collected but this one left behind, accidently or on purpose I wasn’t sure: http://www.dealchecker.co.uk/Australia/ Flights.
Who had been looking at flights to Australia? Gary? Hope? Beth and her boyfriend? It couldn’t be Frank, he hated flying and there was no way he’d get on a plane for twenty-four hours.
I folded the page in half and put it in the box with the other recycling. As I locked the door and climbed the stairs to my flat, I pictured the beautiful beaches of Australia, of barbeques and surfing. How envious I was of whoever was going. Then my mind turned to Elliot. Shit, Elliot lived in Australia.