I Could Be You

by I Could Be You (epub)

  I don’t want to do this any more. I want it to stop but I don’t know how I can make that happen. I’m like Mum, except my problem isn’t drink. My problem is Ella Tate. And Shane Gilbert.

  And my dad, because when you think about it, everything that’s wrong in my life is his fault. It’s his fault my mum left us. It’s his fault Ella is working in the pub. And it’s his fault we live in this shitty flat when people like Ella Tate and Shane Gilbert live in big bright houses with mothers who love them and cook them healthy meals so they don’t get fat.

  In my head, I’m back on the street that afternoon watching them. Ella is walking into the tunnel under Hither Green train station and Shane is loping after her. She has no idea he’s there, right behind her. I imagine what it would feel like. For him, following her knowing she has no clue he’s behind her, anticipating what he’s going to do to her. For her, that moment of shock when his hand reaches out and grabs her.

  I want to know what it’s like to have that power over someone. And I want to see her face when she realises he’s there and she can’t do a single thing to stop him doing whatever he wants to her.

  I send a message telling him I’ll think about it. Then I stick the phone between my legs, take a photo and send him that too.

  Men are stupid, Katie, remember that. They never think with their heads. Only with this. My mother, her voice slurring, her breath shooting fumes of wine through the fug of cigarette smoke. Pointing to her crotch area, jutting it at me. Only with this.

  Maybe she wasn’t so good at pretending.

  We message back and forward a bit more. The photo’s made him even more desperate, like I knew it would.

  And suddenly we have a plan.

  Next Sunday evening, when Dad’s out and after Roxanne has gone home, he’s going to call over. Ella has told him Katie won’t be there to mess things up.

  I wait for him to say something nice about me. To tell her we were friends, at least, and he didn’t mind if I was there. Maybe even that he’d like to see me and say hi.

  Gr8, he says instead. C u then. Can’t wait xxxx

  Twenty-Nine

  Dee

  First thing Tuesday, Dee called Emma Walker.

  ‘I was going to call you later today,’ Emma said. ‘It’s taken me a bit longer than I expected to find what you needed.’

  ‘What did you get?’ Dee asked.

  ‘You got a pen and paper?’ Emma asked. ‘Only I don’t want any email trail on any of this.’

  ‘Of course.’ Dee grabbed the pen and notepad she kept in the kitchen and balanced the pad on her lap. ‘Ready.’

  ‘Shane Gilbert is living and working in Maidstone, Kent,’ Emma said. ‘He served his sentence in Brixton prison before being released in May 2015.’

  ‘You sure about that date?’ Dee asked.

  ‘That’s what it says on his file. Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ she lied.

  May 2015 was six months before Katie moved to Eastbourne. Dee didn’t think for one second the two events were unconnected.

  ‘He’s been in the same place since being released,’ Emma said. ‘He’s one of the lucky ones who was able to find a job. A lot of ex-offenders can’t get anything.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Works for a computer company. Software design. According to his file, he studied computers while he was inside. Got a degree in computer science. Clever boy.’

  Katie had worked for a computer software company as well. Did that mean something? Dee couldn’t focus on whether it did or not, because Emma was speaking again.

  ‘I can’t give you an address,’ she said. ‘That sort of information isn’t kept in the public part of his file. But I can give you the address of where he works if that’s any good?’

  ‘It’s more than good,’ Dee said. ‘It’s bloody brilliant.’

  She noted the address Emma gave her, checking the location on her laptop as she ended the call.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Em,’ she said. ‘I owe you for this. Big time.’

  ‘I already told you,’ Emma said. ‘I’m only too happy to help. Just promise me you’ll stay in touch. And contact me the next time you’re in London.’

  ‘You can hold me to that.’

  They said goodbye and ended the call. According to Dee’s laptop, it would take her one hour and forty minutes to drive from her house to the software company where Shane Gilbert worked. She checked the time. Five to eight. If she left by eight thirty, she could be speaking to him by ten o’clock.

  * * *

  Even the best-laid plans could go wrong. And there was nothing well laid about Dee’s plan to confront Shane Gilbert. Traffic on the outward journey was slow. It took her half an hour longer than it should have to simply get to the other side of Eastbourne. And another two hours before she arrived at the business park on the outskirts of Maidstone where Shane’s employer, Tec Twenty-One, was located.

  The company was based in a flat-roofed Portakabin building, one of several built around a concrete courtyard. Dee parked up, climbed out of her car and looked around. The contrast between Hexagon Consultancy’s slick City office and this bleak outpost in the middle of nowhere was impossible to ignore. Shane Gilbert might have been lucky enough to get a job, but one look at this place told her it wasn’t some high-end tech company like Hexagon.

  The Portakabin door was ajar. Through the gap, she could see a reception area, with a woman about her own age sitting behind a desk. She pushed the door open further and stepped inside, into a wall of heat. The place was more like an oven than somewhere people could reasonably be expected to work.

  Up close, she could see the woman was older than she’d first thought. Early to late sixties, she guessed. Her hair was dyed a startling yellow-blonde colour and done up in an oversized sixties-style beehive that made it difficult to judge her age more accurately.

  ‘Wonder Wok Catering’s the other side of the business park,’ she informed Dee without looking up from her computer screen. ‘Go back the way you came and take a left before the entrance.’

  ‘I’m not looking for catering,’ Dee said.

  There was a fan on the desk, blowing out noisy puffs of air that made little impact on the suffocating heat. Dee wafted her hands in front of her face as she waited for the receptionist to look up and acknowledge her.

  ‘This is a tech company,’ the woman finally said, eyes scanning Dee before dropping back down again. ‘We don’t trade directly with consumers. And you’re sure as hell not one of our usual contacts.’

  ‘How can you be so certain?’ Dee asked.

  This time the woman looked at her properly and smiled. ‘Lady, we’ve got three people working in this place. Mick Stafford, that’s the boss. Our software developer, Shane, and yours truly. Besides, if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re a bit long in the tooth to be working in tech.’

  Dee didn’t mind. Not if the woman was going to lead her to Shane Gilbert.

  ‘Is Shane here at the moment?’ she asked, peering into the gloomy, indistinct space behind the reception area.

  ‘Have you noticed how hot it is in here?’ the woman replied. ‘How do you think anyone’s going to get any work done in this?’

  ‘You’re here,’ Dee pointed out.

  ‘I don’t exactly work,’ the woman said. ‘I mean, I answer the telephone, which hardly ever rings, and I reply to queries that come in by email. But there aren’t that many of them, truth be told. Most of the time I sit here planning my next holiday. Cruises, mainly. You ever been on a cruise?’

  ‘Never,’ Dee said.

  ‘You should try one,’ the woman said. ‘Free food, sunshine, lots of interesting people to talk to, entertainment every evening. The best part of a cruise is you don’t have to do anything. It’s all done, see. You don’t need to cook, or shop, or clean up after yourself. I went on my first one five years ago and haven’t looked back. Wouldn’t have any other sort of holiday now.’
/>   ‘Sounds lovely,’ Dee lied. She couldn’t think of anything she’d enjoy less than being trapped on a boat in the middle of the ocean with hordes of people she’d have nothing in common with and no way of escape.

  ‘What you want with Muscle Man?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Shane?’

  ‘I call him Muscle Man,’ the woman said. ‘On account of his unhealthy obsession with his own body. He’s not in any trouble, is he?’

  ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘He’s not been himself recently,’ the woman replied. ‘Edgy, anxious, like something bad has happened. I know he’s had his problems in the past, but I thought all that was behind him.’

  ‘I’m an old friend of his mum’s,’ Dee said. ‘When she heard I was going to be in Maidstone this week, she asked me to drop in and say hi.’

  ‘She didn’t give you his address?’

  ‘She texted it to me,’ Dee said. ‘But I deleted the text by mistake. I’ve tried calling her back, but she’s not picking up. Luckily I remembered the name of the company he works for, so I thought I’d try here. The problem is, I’m only in the area this morning. If I can’t get to see him, she’ll be really disappointed. I don’t suppose you could tell me where he lives?’

  ‘It’s not company policy to give out personal details for our employees,’ the woman said.

  Dee doubted a cowboy outfit like Tec Twenty-One had any policies at all, but she refrained from saying this.

  ‘You could do it as a favour,’ she said instead. ‘It would mean so much to his mother, you see.’

  The woman looked back at her computer screen. ‘I’m thinking of the Caribbean next summer. Only problem with a cruise like that is the money. I mean, I’m good at saving, but a holiday like that, it’s going to cost me.’

  Going to cost me more like, Dee thought. Luckily, her years as a journalist had trained her to never go anywhere without an emergency supply of cash. She extracted a twenty from the wad of notes in her purse and laid it on the counter.

  ‘All I need is an address,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t need to know how I got it.’

  ‘Another thirty and you’ve got a deal.’

  ‘Fifty quid!’ Dee exclaimed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘You’re the one who wants the information.’

  ‘Another thirty and I get a phone number as well.’

  The woman nodded, and Dee handed over the remaining money.

  Two minutes later, she was back in her car, holding a piece of paper with Shane Gilbert’s address and telephone number. It hardly seemed important that it had cost her fifty pounds to get it. Especially not if he turned out to be the key to finding Katie and Jake.

  Shane’s home turned out to be located in an ugly row of modern buildings in the town centre. The ground floor was taken up with shops and cafes while the three floors above were given over to flats. There was a door midway along the block that appeared to be the entrance to the flats. The lock on it was broken and Dee was able to push it open and enter.

  A plastic sign on the wall showed the layout of the building. Four flats on each floor. Dee checked her piece of paper. Shane lived in Flat 12, which was on the top floor. There was a lift, but when she pressed the button, nothing happened. After trying several times, she gave up and took the stairs.

  Flat 12 was at the end of a narrow corridor. It was easy to find: of the four flats on this floor, it was the only one with a number visible. Dee pressed her ear against the door and heard the muted sound of voices she guessed were coming from a TV or radio.

  She knocked on the door. Inside the flat, the voices stopped. She knocked again.

  ‘Post,’ she called. ‘Got a package for Mr Gilbert that needs signing for.’

  ‘Mr Gilbert’s not in,’ a man replied from the other side of the door.

  ‘Anyone can sign for it,’ Dee said. ‘Doesn’t have to be him.’

  A moment later, she heard a bolt being pulled back. The door opened and she found herself face to face with the man from Shane Gilbert’s Facebook profile. Up close, she could see how he’d earned his nickname. He had the build and bulk of a professional bodybuilder.

  ‘Where’s the package?’ he asked.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ Dee said. Then, as he started to push the door closed, ‘Shane, wait. I’m a friend of Katie’s. She’s my neighbour and I’m worried about her. I’m not police or press; I’m just someone who’s worried about my friend.’

  ‘I can’t help you.’

  The door slammed shut and stayed shut, despite Dee’s repeated knocking and requests for him to reconsider. She only gave up when a man from one of the neighbouring flats came out and threatened to call the police if she didn’t ‘pack in that racket right now’.

  Frustrated, she slammed her fist against the door one final time, before rooting around in her bag for her pen and notebook. She scribbled down her name, phone number and email address, then tore the page from the notebook and slipped it under the door of Flat 12.

  She’d give him a couple of days to get in touch. If she didn’t hear from him, she would come back. Now that she’d found him, there was no way she was letting him go without learning everything he knew about Katie and Jake.

  Thirty

  Katie

  Ten years earlier

  ‘What do you want?’

  Ella’s looking at me as if there’s a bad smell coming off me. She’s had her hair cut. Long layers that frame her face and make her look softer, rounding the hard edges of her jaw and cheekbones. It’s dead straight and proper shiny. When she moves, streaks of copper and gold flicker and shimmer beneath the pub lighting.

  My own hair, plaited so carefully less than an hour ago, feels heavy and tight. The plait is like a snake hanging over my left shoulder. I shake my head, flick back the plait, but it doesn’t help.

  ‘I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,’ I say.

  She doesn’t reply. This is going to be harder than I imagined. I thought she’d want to tell me why she hates him so much. But she’s not interested in speaking to me or becoming my friend. Her face has shut down, like she wants to hide every piece of herself from me. Like she doesn’t think I’m worth the effort.

  ‘What for?’ she asks. She’s turned away from me and has started collecting glasses from across the top of the bar. The question catches me by surprise.

  ‘For bringing Shane here,’ I say. ‘And for those stupid messages I sent you.’

  She stops what’s she doing and turns back so she’s looking at me properly. Not hiding now. All sorts of emotions flickering behind her blue eyes. It’s too intimate, as if she’s literally lifted a mask away to reveal all the feelings and emotions she’s been carrying around for weeks. Hate and anger and… sadness. I see it even though I don’t want to. She looks sad.

  ‘You don’t need to apologise for him,’ she says. ‘It’s not like he’s your responsibility. Shane made you send those messages, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, even though it’s a lie. Shane doesn’t know anything about them.

  ‘Don’t let his problems become your problems. He’s not worth it, Katie.’ The way she says it, sincere and kind, makes my eyes hurt. If I’m not careful, I’ll cry.

  ‘What did he do?’

  I already know the answer, of course, but I want to hear her tell me herself. She flinches and takes a step back, but recovers quickly, and when she speaks again, there’s nothing in her voice to let me know what she’s thinking or feeling.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she says. ‘He has to keep away from me now.’

  I think of the little whimpering noises her dog made after it ate the poison. It’s hard not to smile, wondering what she’d do if I told her it was me, not Shane, who did that.

  ‘How can you make someone keep away from you if they don’t want to?’ I ask, because this is something I really want to know. I’m thinking of the messages he’s sent me/her. All the things he’s told us.
He’s crazy about us. I have over sixty messages on my phone to prove it.

  ‘I got an injunction against him,’ Ella says. ‘If he comes anywhere near me, he’ll be arrested.’

  My stomach fizzes and there’s something tight and hard pressing against my chest. My mother’s voice, inside my head. Men are stupid, Katie, remember that.

  Ella clears away the rest of the glasses and wipes the top of the bar until it’s as clean and shiny as her hair. She must feel me staring, because she looks up suddenly, her eyes blue and bright.

  ‘You know what’s weird?’ she says. ‘I never really thought Shane was that bad. I mean, he two-timed me, yeah. But I put it down to immaturity more than anything else. I had no idea of the sort of person he really was. I guess he had us both fooled. Not just us, either. Most of the girls he’s gone out with still seem to adore him. Maybe that’s what happens to guys when they’ve got so much going for them. They think they can get away with anything.’

  She’s beautiful. I see her the way Shane must. Gold and copper and blue. Skin the colour of sand and all of her moving as smoothly as water.

  The punters like her. Obviously.

  In a flash, I understand why she’s here. He pretended it was because of Mark Tate, his old golfing buddy. But my dad’s not the sort of person who does favours. Not for my mum when she was still here, and not for me. Certainly not for some dead person who won’t be around to return the favour any time soon.

  She smiles, and I know she’s seeing inside me the same way I’ve seen inside her. Because there’s something between us. I can feel it and I know she can too. We’re two halves of the same person. A two-sided coin, or mirror images of each other. Ella and Katie. Us.