by P. R. Black
‘Was it you, Rod?’
‘You what?’ He bellowed these words, shrinking Georgia back in her seat.
‘At the ghyll. Was it you who knocked me in?’
‘What are you talking about? Seriously, are you out of your mind on diazepam or whatever it is you’re on? Has it addled your brain? Knocked you over? No, I didn’t get to Ferngate until last night. After Hurlford called me. Worried about your mental state. So I came over to get you out of this dump. Only to discover you were out enjoying yourself! Thinking of number one, as usual.’
Georgia raised her phone. ‘I’m about to dial the office at Ferngate and tell them that you’re keeping me prisoner in the car. Turn around, and take me back.’
‘Oh, I aimed to. That was my intention.’ He swung the car around in a sudden arc; there was a car coming in the opposite direction, which had to drop anchors. Rod ignored its blaring horn, as he took her back down the road. ‘But my point, I hope, is made. There’s nothing more to discover. Stephanie killed herself. You know that, don’t you? Deep down?’
20
So easy to slip into roles. We all do it. Fluidity of character. One minute my head’s bent close to a book; I’m defacing the margins with a pencil, pushing an imaginary pair of spectacles up my nose. The next I’m naked with lightning in my eyes. You get into it so easily. Like listening to your favourite song, you know every beat. Eyes to the left. And forward. And walk. You’d do it too, if you could. Don’t lie to yourself. Maybe I should be an actress? That’s what he told me, anyway. Flirt. And smile. And flash. And thunder.
From the diary of Stephanie Healey
Georgia slept most of the afternoon. She woke in stages, listening to her own breathing, becoming gradually aware of a misty light making its way through the curtains of her room. Into the evening of early spring; pleasant outside, not too cold in the room, a harbinger of better conditions to come.
Clarity of a kind had come back to Georgia, and with it, feelings of loss, shame and depression. Flashbulb images came back to her of her time lost in the hole of the previous night – the benefit concert, and its aftermath at the house of the pop star. All those fresh, scrubbed young faces, within touching distance of their idol. They looked like the kind of girls who had mothers and fathers waiting for them in big cars as they spilled out of nightclubs; who wanted for nothing, with dance lessons and pony trekking behind them, the kind of girl you instinctively feared for in the orbit of people like Riley Brightman and Scott Trickett. People like Stephanie, she realised. Were they home now? Were they waking up at the same time, feeling the same way Georgia did right now?
One of them spiked my drink. She knew it. Georgia hadn’t been out of her head for a long time, but she knew her own mind and her own body. She’d been slipped something in one of her drinks. And she knew Trickett was the likeliest candidate.
She took a painkiller – this one regulation use, not military grade – and shook out a sachet of coffee into a bleached mug. Was Adrienne right? On top of the pill she’d been slipped, had she been drinking, too? There was a cloudy section where many things could have taken place. She remembered something; sharp bite of whisky, the sour taste of retching, dredged from teenage memory. But there was a reason she’d drank the whisky. To sharpen herself up, she realised. To give her a jolt. She’d been aware she was going down the plughole.
Most likely someone had slipped something into her water. What had it been spiked with? She had a suspicion it might have been ketamine. She’d had no direct experience of the drug but knew the signs. She had been zombified, and at one stage would probably have forgotten her name. Bright flashes of light were somewhere in her memory. This had happened round about when things faded into a long dark tunnel, after she got to Bewley Street. Where she met a very different set of faces and demeanours among girls stood under streetlights, the polar opposites of the girls at Riley Brightman’s house.
‘Dear God,’ she said aloud. ‘They might have killed me.’
Her hands shook; she kept her wrists relaxed on her thighs and willed the tremors to stop, in tandem with a breathing exercise. Calm it down, she thought. You’re here for a reason. Focus. Get back on it.
She wasn’t sure what she’d been given. But she had a fair idea who had given it to her.
Her phone went; irritated, she snatched it up. Adrienne Connulty’s caller ID flashed up.
‘Yes?’
‘Georgia? It’s me, Adrienne. Listen, I just wanted to make sure everything’s OK. You seemed pretty out of it at the party. I think a couple of drinks went to your head, maybe.’
‘Yeah, you can say that again. I’m sorry if I was a little bit lairy.’
‘No, you were fine… It was an emotional evening for you. For all of us. I just wanted to be sure you’re OK. I couldn’t get a response on your phone. I was worried for a little while.’
‘It’s nice of you to check. I’ve had a good sleep and I’m raring to go, really.’ She checked her watch. ‘Well. As raring as I can be at this time of night on a weekday.’
‘You got time for a coffee?’
Georgia peered at the thin dusting of granules at the bottom of her mug. ‘Actually, a real coffee would be just the job.’
‘I want to meet up… I feel there’s a tension between us, Georgia.’
Georgia allowed a few blissful seconds of unease. ‘Like that, you mean?’
‘Yeah.’ Adrienne laughed. ‘Something on that level.’
‘I’m just fooling. We can have a coffee. Maybe you can talk me through what happened at the after-party? I’m a big foggy on the details.’
‘Sure, I can do that. There’s another thing… Well. Something I found after you came round to our offices. It got me thinking. There was a fashion special we decided to do… a showcase of the art and design college, that sort of thing. Truth be told it was an excuse to get some girls in their undies, see if we could boost circulation. And it worked.’
‘In this day and age, too. I thought that stuff went out with the nineties?’
‘Young male audience, even in this day and age, you’d be surprised, Georgia. Or not.’
‘So, what’s the significance?’
‘Stephanie was involved… you’ll see. I’ll get you at Turbo Joe’s. It’s open till ten o’clock on a week night. You know where that is?’
‘No, but I’ll find it.’
‘Great. How soon can you be there?’
‘Give me half an hour. I’ll need to repair my face and hair.’
*
Turbo Joe’s must have been a bookshop of some kind – the kind that kept itself in business by whatever it had upon request up in boxes on the top floor, rather than the paperbacks down below. She could vaguely remember a place she had been into once or twice to look at posters, but had been put off by an all-too-attentive man in half-moon spectacles.
Now it was a thriving coffee shop, with dark-stained corners and candlelight. It was busy – one young mother even had a baby out in a pushchair, no doubt hoping it would fall asleep, while she nursed a lemon-scented tea.
Although she wore a hat and a heavy coat that was surely too warm for the weather, Adrienne was looking perky for someone who must have been up late the night before. She remarked in kind to Georgia.
‘I’ve had a bit of time to recover,’ she said. ‘I’m not quite sure what happened. I do remember a whisky or something. Someone offered it to me.’
‘Yeah,’ Adrienne said, ‘you said, “this one’s to clear my head.”’
‘That’s about right. So… you mentioned something about photos?’
‘Yeah. But before that, I… I heard something about a body being found. But,’ she added, before Georgia could interject, ‘I hear tell that it’s a traveller or something. One of the seasonal workers on a farm. Nothing to do with Stephanie.’
‘I heard that too. The police told me.’
‘Ah that’s a relief. It’s only hit the news wires just now. Standard police release, really. B
ody found, twenty-two-year-old woman, not a UK national, no suspicious circumstances. “No suspicious circumstances”, don’t you think that’s a horrible phrase?’
Georgia shrugged. ‘The police have to follow procedures, I guess. It’s one of those things they have to say. It can tell you a lot by saying very little. Sounds like a suicide. Or drugs. Sorry, am I keeping you back from something?’
Adrienne had clicked on her phone the moment Georgia started to speak. One side of her mouth curled upwards. ‘I’m sorry. Got a few things on the go. Last night was a really good night.’
‘Yeah. Good show.’
‘I mean, in terms of content. I got an exclusive from Riley.’
‘Oh, I see. Sold it, have you?’
‘Oh yeah. Had something in place with the Telegraph already. But he didn’t know that.’
‘What was the exclusive – or can’t you say?’
‘Well there’s exclusives and there’s exclusives.’ Adrienne sipped at her coffee. ‘I had a long interview. Put it like that.’
Georgia could barely believe it. Here she was, smirking over the fact that she had probably copped off with the man who might have killed her daughter. ‘Well. That’s something to tell the grandchildren, I suppose.’
‘We haven’t planned that far ahead,’ Adrienne simpered. ‘But who knows?’
‘It must be exciting. You guys an item?’
‘He definitely wants to see me again. In fact, I’m going up to the house tonight. After I finish up here.’
Georgia took in the hat, the heavy coat. She was genuinely intrigued as to what a person like Adrienne would wear on a promise with a rock star. She wasn’t quite crass enough to be wearing nothing underneath the coat, but you couldn’t rule it out either. ‘Well. Exciting times.’
‘I know.’ Adrienne tapped something into her phone, a near-stupefied expression on her face, and Georgia felt a spasm of anger more terrible and urgent than the one that had led her to attempt to crown her husband with some nice bedding plants just a few hours before.
‘Adrienne,’ she said, simply.
‘Sorry. Here.’ Without breaking concentration or even looking at Georgia, the younger woman fished in a deep pocket in her jacket, finally emerging with a USB pen drive. She handed it over.
‘And can you explain what this is?’
‘It’s photos of Stephanie. From the shoot I was talking about. The fashion show, ahead of the summer season. We had a risqué section. Got into trouble for it. But it boosted the circulation. One of the girls went on to get a modelling contract out of it, in fact. Worked out quite well. I understand there was a photographer or two who were very impressed with Stephanie.’
Georgia weighed the pen drive up in her hand. ‘Where did you find this?’
‘It was in a cupboard with some old gear. I remembered it – when I took over as editor, I’d already checked out the pictures. They were in a box with an old machine or two we were going to recycle. Quite careless – you shouldn’t be cavalier with old pen drives. You might see one or two naughty ones of me in there. You won’t be posting them to the internet, will you?’
‘I’ll try to keep my hands at peace.’
‘It’s all I could do, really,’ Adrienne said, fixing her hat. ‘Another thing for you to remember her by. I think the pictures are all the photographer took, so you’ll see lots of other girls there.’
‘Is there an internet café round about here? I don’t have a laptop with me. You get used to phones doing all that for you, these days.’
Adrienne pointed around the corner. ‘They’ve got some here. Not many, you might have to wait. I think I only saw one guy sat there.’
‘That’ll do. Thank you for this. It’s kind of you to think of me. Sure you don’t want a copy?’
‘Already done and backed up,’ Adrienne said. ‘Should have been archived on the system, really. Photographer was a bit naughty. They are good shots, mind you. Nothing too rude – excellent for his portfolio.’
‘Thanks.’ Georgia zipped the drive up inside her bag. ‘When you say risqué… how risqué are we talking? Seaside postcard? Something that’d end up on the internet?’
Adrienne made her eyes as big as possible. ‘Artistic. Most definitely. I’d say they were beautiful. You’re not a prude… Well. I don’t think you’re a prude. But I think you should be proud of them. And I think you should be proud of your daughter. You know, she made the most of what she had, and…’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I mean, she had so much talent and my God, she took a great picture. Great lines, you know?’ Adrienne nodded earnestly. ‘I think it’s a complete picture of Stephanie, a side to her you maybe didn’t know. I think you’ll love them. If you’re broad-minded.’
‘I used to think I was broad-minded, until the moment I gave birth,’ Georgia said. ‘But I’ll look at these. And thank you. So… when’s the big date?’
‘Not too far away. I’ll get a taxi up to the house, I think.’
‘Hopefully Scott Trickett won’t be there to make things interesting for you.’
Adrienne screeched laughter – waking up the baby in the buggy. Its mother darted a look at her that might have transfixed a whale, but Adrienne was utterly oblivious. ‘Oh my God, no, he’s out of the picture. They are quite close, Riley and Scott, but not that close. At least I hope not. Nope, Scott’s out and about tonight in town. I’m surprised you can’t hear him from here.’
‘Whereabouts is he?’
‘He’s having a soiree at Cronus. Be there most of the night. You know it?’
‘Sounds like the kind of place you’d have a snakebite and black.’
‘A what?’
‘Never mind. I’ll find it.’
‘It’s where they got signed.’ A compact mirror appeared in Adrienne’s hands – Georgia might have blinked and missed the movement. Quick Draw McGraw, she thought. ‘Bit grungy but you’d enjoy your night. Well… Maybe you wouldn’t, after last night. You get my meaning, I hope.’
‘Cronus. Was that after the titan?’
‘Not sure who he played for.’ Adrienne bared her teeth. ‘That was a joke, Georgia.’
‘Of course.’ Georgia raised a hand, acknowledging her own pomposity. ‘Take care now, Adrienne. You’ll be careful, won’t you? Don’t get into bad situations. Times have changed and there aren’t many rock stars about now, but I’d be amazed if the behaviour was any different.’
‘You sound like my mother,’ Adrienne said, giggling.
‘Well. Someone’s mother.’ Georgia sipped at her coffee. ‘Last night… I hope you don’t mind me being frank.’
‘Oh, please be frank, Georgia. You don’t have to be shy with me.’
‘Last night, you got together? With Riley Brightman?’
Adrienne plunged right in. ‘Right under the noses of his little harem. By the end of the night a few of them had to be thrown out. They’d lost their minds. One of them clawed her own eyes. Can you imagine? We had to get the minders in. It’s mass hysteria, isn’t it? It’s like they think they know him. Or they have a chance.’
‘They get themselves into some states,’ Georgia said, thinking of the three girls ahead of her in the queue. ‘So had it been building up over time? You always kept in touch, you said.’
‘Kind of. If you must know, we’d been together before. Last year. Back before he was anyone.’
‘Oh. You had history?’
‘Yes. It’s difficult to say… You know, Stephanie adored Riley, we all did, but nothing happened between them.’
I bet you did your very very best to make sure nothing did, Georgia thought. But she said: ‘He’s charming. Most people would be smitten with him.’
‘If you must know… the night we got together was the night the Hephaestians had their final meeting. The night Stephanie disappeared.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. If you were wondering about where Riley was that night – same as the police – I can account for his mo
vements. If that’s what you’re asking. And he can account for mine. Come to think of it, so can the people who lived next door to me. The walls… very thin.’
‘I see. That’s interesting. Thanks for telling me. I don’t mean to pry. You know how it is.’
‘I do.’ Adrienne nodded solemnly. ‘Just before I go, there’s one or two things I want to ask you. Bearing in mind the conversation we had the other day.’
Georgia shook her head. ‘About that… I’m sorry. This has been stressful. Just being here is an ordeal. I…’
‘I told you not to worry about that. We all go off at the deep end, once in a while. That’s kind of why I want to speak to you.’ She scrolled through her phone again. ‘Ah. Here it is.’
Adrienne showed her the handset. On it was a series of pictures. Bright morning sunshine. Familiar buildings. Racks of fruit and veg. And facing each other like two fighters on a video game, Rod and Georgia.
‘What the hell is this?’
‘These were taken this morning. You and your husband had quite a row. What was that all about?’
‘Eh? Is this a joke?’
‘No joke. It seemed you were having a real set-to about Stephanie. I think he was accusing you of… and if you’ll forgive me, I don’t have any notes, but it was something like: “You weren’t there for Stephanie when she was growing up.” Was that it?’
‘You little bitch. How dare you… How did you get these?’
Adrienne snatched her phone back as Georgia reached out. ‘No you don’t, Georgia. You said some incredibly hurtful things to me the other day. As if I’d done something wrong. As if I’d been hiding something from you. So I’ll ask you – were you a good mother to Stephanie? Were you there for her, or were you sort of absent, as your husband alleges?’
‘I’ve a mind to speak to a lawyer. You’ve no right…’