The One You Trust: Emma Holden Trilogy: Book Three

by Paul Pilkington

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t want to spoil tonight,’ she replied. ‘We shouldn’t let anything spoil it.’

  ‘I know. But’ – Dan looked at her – ‘if you’re worried about something, then it might be better to just get it out. We all know what happens when people keep secrets.’

  ‘Okay,’ Emma said, nodding reluctantly. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you. But, please, I hope you won’t be upset.’

  ‘Of course I won’t, Em.’

  Emma sipped some champagne to ready herself. ‘Last night, I had that dream again.’

  ‘Right . . .’ Dan knew just what she meant. ‘The nightmare at the church altar.’

  Emma nodded. ‘It was exactly the same as the other times. I was standing next to you, we were getting married—’

  ‘And then I turn into Stuart,’ Dan interrupted.

  ‘Yes. And then he turns into—’

  ‘Stephen Myers.’ Dan sighed as he thought back over recent events. Just over three months ago, Emma had discovered that Stephen Myers, a man who had stalked her when she had worked as an actor on a soap opera in Manchester, had been murdered four years previously, by Stuart. Her brother, Will, had been pressured by Stuart to help him dispose of the body. And it had also resulted, this summer, in the kidnap of Dan by Stephen’s father, Peter Myers, as he sought revenge on Emma and her family and friends.

  Emma shook her head. ‘I really thought that once everything was sorted . . . you know, after the wedding, then it wouldn’t happen. I thought it was in the past.’

  Yet she knew that the situation that had given birth to the nightmare wasn’t in the past at all. Peter Myers had yet to be sentenced, and there was still the worry that he would one day reveal that his son had been murdered, and Will’s role in that.

  And then there was the unanswered question. How did Peter Myers find out that Stuart killed his son?

  Dan was about to reply but was interrupted by a waiter. ‘Sir, madam – are you ready to order?’

  Emma and Dan exchanged a glance.

  ‘Not quite yet,’ Dan said. ‘Another couple of minutes?’

  ‘Certainly,’ the waiter replied, and moved away.

  Dan turned back to Emma. ‘Why would I be upset about you having a recurrent nightmare?’

  Emma shrugged, shaking her head. ‘Because this dream, it’s coming from inside me. I’m creating it. Inside, I must still be thinking about Stuart Harris and Stephen Myers. Doesn’t that bother you?’

  Dan nodded, reflectively. ‘Yes, it does. But not in the way you think. It bothers me because I want you to be free of the bad memories, free of the nightmares.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Last night, is that the first time you’ve had the dream since the wedding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you seemed a bit distant today. I could tell something was bothering you.’

  They’d been on an all-day, escorted tour of the island. It had been a lovely day, but Dan was right – Emma had been distracted.

  ‘Look,’ Dan said. ‘Maybe the dream is down to worry – worry about going home. This past two weeks, it’s been an escape. I don’t know about you, but everything about being here . . . well, it’s felt a world away from all the bad things that have happened to us recently.’

  ‘I’d hardly thought of any of it since we arrived,’ Emma agreed. ‘We’ve been too busy having fun. It just seemed like a distant memory – as if it happened to someone else.’

  ‘Exactly. And now it’s coming to an end, we have to go back home, to where it all happened. We have to face up to the fact that it did happen, and we’ve got to deal with it, Em, no matter how difficult it is. And that won’t be easy. It’s understandable if your subconscious is unsettled.’

  Emma nodded, relieved that Dan understood. She decided to tell him everything on her mind. ‘In the past day, I’ve also been thinking about Firework Films. About whether they’re still planning to finish that television programme . . .’

  Firework Films, a dirt-digging production company, known for its exploitative reality TV shows, was making a docudrama of what had happened to Emma and Dan over the past summer.

  ‘I think we have to assume that they will.’

  ‘It’s just that as we haven’t heard anything more from Adrian Spencer, I thought it might be a good sign.’

  Adrian Spencer, a researcher for the company, had been pestering them incessantly for information, but after they had complained directly to the company, his unwanted attention had stopped.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it, unfortunately.’

  ‘I know. But I really wish they wouldn’t.’

  ‘Me too. But we have no control over what they do, do we? All we can try and do is deal with it in the best way we can – try not to let it affect us too much. Though that’s easier said than done, I know.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Emma said, sitting up and taking a larger swig from her glass. ‘We need to focus on the positives.’

  ‘Yes. Like your new job.’ Dan grinned at her.

  Emma’s new acting role in a West End play was, indeed, a really positive thing. Rehearsals weren’t due to start for a few weeks, but she had received the script via her agent, and had already read it through several times. Each time, she had felt more and more excited by it.

  Dan glanced up from his menu. ‘And have you made a decision about the reunion?’

  Emma had also received an invitation to attend a reunion event the following weekend for the cast of Up My Street, the soap opera in which she had spent five, largely happy, years. The event was to celebrate the twenty-year anniversary of the show and the move of the production to brand-new, state-of-the-art studios at Media City, a massive development at Salford Quays, not far from their aging base in central Manchester. She had made many wonderful friends during her time on the show, both in front of and behind the camera, so it would be amazing to see her old colleagues again.

  ‘I’m still not sure.’

  There were some things that made Emma hesitate in accepting the invitation: that time had been, in many ways, the breeding ground for everything bad that had happened since.

  It was where she had met and fallen in love with Stuart Harris. And it was where she had first come to the attention of Stephen Myers – the desperate, needy stalker who had made the latter stages of her time on the show an absolute misery.

  Emma looked out at the ocean. A huge container ship was moving across the distant horizon, possibly heading for one of the big African ports. Their tour guide that day had explained how much shipping traffic passed through, either stopping off at the island or gliding past its shores. She noticed too that the sky was darkening purple and black in the distance – the guide had also warned them that a big storm would roll in that evening.

  ‘Looks like the storm’s approaching,’ Dan said, seeing where she was looking.

  The thought made Emma shiver a little: thunder and lightning always unnerved her. One of her first memories of childhood was cowering under her bedcovers during a storm, wishing that the noise would stop. Her parents had come to the rescue, letting her sleep in their bed that night.

  ‘It’s up to you, of course, but I think you should go to the reunion,’ Dan said. ‘It might be a good way to move on.’

  ‘But aren’t reunions about looking back to the past?’

  ‘Maybe to deal with the past, you’ve got to face the past.’

  Emma smiled. ‘Maybe you’re right. You think it might help stop the dream?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Who knows? I’m not a psychologist. But, at the very least, you should have a good time.’

  ‘And what if Charlotte Harris is there?’

  Charlotte Harris, Stuart’s younger sister, had played a non-speaking part in the soap opera – Stuart had managed to get her the role of one of the children in the school that sometimes featured.

  ‘She probably won’t have got an invite. But if she is, then just try to i
gnore her.’

  ‘I guess.’ Emma certainly didn’t relish the idea of seeing her again. Not after what Charlotte had said to her at their last meeting, two months ago – blaming Emma for Stuart’s suicide and for the break-up of his relationship with Sally.

  ‘Don’t let Charlotte Harris stop you from going. If you really don’t want to go, then fair enough, but if it’s the thought of her being there that’s putting you off, then that’s different.’

  ‘You’re right. I will go.’ Emma nodded briskly, smiling at him. ‘And you’re right about needing to face up to the past in order to move on. I’m thinking of maybe going to see a counsellor. Maybe the colleague of Miranda’s that she recommended, the last time I was round with her and Dad. She said she’d see me on a more informal basis. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you should do whatever you feel you need to do. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.’

  ‘And you? Do you think you might benefit from counselling?’

  Dan smiled. ‘I think I’ll be okay.’

  The storm hit just as they finished their meal. They ran back to their room as the rain began to fall heavily and, within minutes, water was cascading down the guttering and pooling across the balcony. Emma and Dan watched from the comfort of their room as the sky flashed and thunder boomed.

  The intense, powerful storm raged on throughout the night, and Emma didn’t sleep very well. But at least the dream didn’t return. And, by morning, all was calm.

  Chapter 3

  Will Holden and Katie left the cosy Italian restaurant in Soho after enjoying a wonderful Saturday lunch there. The December sun was shining, and all seemed perfect. They looked great together – Will in his smart Calvin Klein trousers and jacket, with royal blue shirt, and Katie in a lovely sequined black top and blue and black patterned skirt.

  It was then that Katie asked him the question that marked the end of their brief relationship.

  ‘Are you thinking about somebody else?’

  Will ran a hand through his thick dark hair, shocked at her perceptiveness. But perhaps it had been obvious? He had spent most of the meal daydreaming, worrying about how he should deal with the thoughts that just wouldn’t go away. It had been the same that morning, on a riverside walk. So, when challenged, there was no point in arguing.

  He just nodded.

  Katie smiled sweetly, kissed him goodbye on the cheek, and left. She crossed the road and disappeared from view without looking back.

  And that was that.

  Will stood there for a moment or so, collecting his thoughts. A young couple with whom they had shared the restaurant exited, holding hands as they moved away, laughing at a shared joke. He watched them walk to the end of the street and round the corner, then blew out his cheeks, his breath visible.

  Katie was a lovely girl. Kind, intelligent, pretty. And they got on really well. They seemed to share opinions on the main things that mattered, and they made each other laugh. He should have been racing after her, telling her that the thing he was thinking about meant nothing compared to being with her. But, instead, he had let her walk out of his life without even a word.

  He wandered around the streets of the West End for half an hour or so. By the end of his walk, he was sure. No matter how lovely Katie was, and how much they connected, there was a big problem.

  He was still in love with someone else.

  For almost the entire afternoon, Will Holden had been watching the girl from a safe distance, from the edge of Newington Green, a small park in Stoke Newington, north London.

  He had been just down the street from her flat when he’d spotted her, making her way in the opposite direction. She had looked amazing – her blonde hair falling perfectly down the back of a long, red winter coat that reached down to her Ugg boots.

  His first reaction had been to turn around and go back home – it had been a foolish decision to go there in the first place. But then he’d felt an uncontrollable urge to follow, to watch her, longing to be close enough to hear her voice.

  My God, I’m behaving like a stalker.

  He’d trailed her for a few minutes, hanging back as she’d entered the park in the middle of the square. It was there that she’d been joined by the man. A tall, ginger-haired guy wearing jeans and a bomber jacket, probably about Will’s age. They’d walked side by side along the footpath, as Will had watched from behind a bank of trees.

  Surely she hasn’t found someone else so soon?

  They weren’t holding hands, but they had looked close – maybe brushing against one another as they walked. Will had felt sick, and jealous, although he really had no right to be. The two of them had sat down on a bench, next to the deserted children’s play area, with their backs to Will.

  He’d waited for them to kiss, or embrace, but they had just talked.

  What the hell had he been doing there? If Emma ever found out, she’d be so angry.

  Just after that West End walk, Will had headed for the tube. It was almost as if he’d been on autopilot, guided by his heart rather than his head. He’d known it was an incredibly stupid thing to do, and that it would probably only do damage, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. If he didn’t speak to her, and tell her how he felt . . . well, he knew that he’d regret it.

  Surely Emma would understand that? And does she ever need to know?

  The answer to the first question was maybe. The answer to the second was probably not. And, as much as Will didn’t want to keep secrets any more, if it was for the best, then so be it.

  He had waited while the two of them continued to talk. Then, just as he was beginning to wonder how long they would stay, the couple had stood up and parted company.

  Without an embrace.

  Were they lovers?

  Will had shaken the thought from his head. It really was none of his business.

  He had resisted the temptation to approach her on the way back to her flat, deciding it would just look too weird. So he had waited until she got back home, and then held back for another five minutes before approaching the door to the ground-floor flat.

  Remember not to call her Amy . . .

  The name she had used to deceive him.

  The door opened just a few seconds after Will knocked.

  He knew that his presence would be a shock, given the circumstances of their parting, but he hadn’t quite expected the look of horror that flashed across Sally’s face.

  ‘Will! I . . .’

  Will took a step back. ‘I’m sorry for coming out of the blue like this, but I just wanted to talk to you.’

  Sally looked both pained and sad. ‘You shouldn’t have come. You really shouldn’t.’

  Will nodded his understanding quickly, embarrassed. ‘I’ll go. As I said, I’m really sorry for turning up here like this.’ He turned and began to walk away, his stomach still lurching from the sight of her.

  She looked radiant. Just as he had remembered.

  ‘Wait,’ he heard her say. ‘It should be me who’s apologising.’

  Will stopped and turned around. ‘I didn’t come for that.’

  ‘Then why? Why have you come here, Will?’ Sally had stepped out onto the pavement and now stood, arms folded tightly across her chest, looking at him.

  Will pinched the bridge of his nose as he searched for the words. ‘I came because . . . because I want to find out if the girl I thought I knew is really you.’

  Sally nodded. She seemed to understand. ‘Let’s go and get a coffee. There’s a place just around the corner; it’s nice and quiet.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Will, for what I did to you.’

  They were seated towards the back of the café, as far away from the counter as they could get, out of earshot. They were the only ones in the place.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Will looked up from stirring his coffee. ‘I understand that you weren’t thinking straight. You were grieving for Stuart, I understand that. You were hurting, you were angry, you wanted revenge.’

&nb
sp; Sally looked away and closed her eyes. ‘I can’t believe what I did. What I was planning to do. I am just so ashamed of what happened. So very ashamed. If there was a way I could make it up to you, then I would.’

  ‘You don’t need to.’

  ‘How can you mean that?’ she said. ‘I led you on for weeks, I lied about who I was, and I was planning to . . .’

  ‘But you didn’t go through with it. You didn’t do anything.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go through with it?’ Will had been desperate to ask this question ever since the revelations at the airfield. Why, after all that scheming, that thought, had she abandoned her plans – leaving him on the ground and getting into the plane without him?

  Sally considered her answer. ‘Because I liked you. I know it sounds pathetic, but I did really get to like you, Will. And I just couldn’t do it. Especially after what you said to me when we were getting ready to board the plane for the jump. About how I’d changed your life for the better. I guess it just woke me up to the horror of what I was doing – how terribly, terribly horrific it all was.’ She looked at him. ‘Those weeks after Stuart’s death, well, they’re all a blur, really. I was in such a state, such a deep depression, that I don’t think I really knew what I was doing. It was like I was possessed.’ She looked down, embarrassed.

  ‘Were you still planning to kill yourself?’ Will asked. ‘If we hadn’t radioed through to the pilot to land the plane, were you still going to go through with it?’ Emma and the others had got to the airfield just in time to alert Will, who was waiting bewildered in the changing area, to what Sally was planning to do.

  ‘I was in a really bad place,’ Sally replied after a pause, not quite answering the question.

  ‘And now?’

  Her smile seemed slightly forced. ‘Better. Much better. I feel like I’m coming out of the darkness.’

  ‘That’s good. Really good.’ Will watched Sally. She did look good; not like someone who was in the depths of depression. But then, how was he to really know the truth? She’d fooled him totally once before, and he had to assume that she could do so again.