by R. A. Casey
I lower my head, blushing a little. “I just… I needed to find you.”
“Why are you here, Sarah?”
I look up at him. He’s so direct. So to the point. He looks exhausted. Like a ghost of his former self. A ghost of the man I once fell in love with.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “About your fiancée.”
He shakes his head. “Me and Yara fell in love fast. The times we had… they were good. Precious. But it was all just such a shock, you know? The diagnosis came fast. And at that point, she only had six weeks to live.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. Sighs. “It was so hard to believe. Because she wasn’t even that ill, you know? Like… how she got from the place she was to how she was at the end…”
He shakes his head. Closes his eyes.
“How’s things with you?” he asks.
“I’m…”
“Guessing it’s not all dandy, seeing as you’re here now. Looking at me like you pity me.”
I don’t see any point in beating around the bush. Not anymore. “Things have been… quiet. Until recently.”
Gregg nods for me to continue.
“Gregg,” I say. “I don’t… I don’t know how else to say this. But weird things have been happening.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I moved recently. With my boyfriend. Freddie. I… I got this parcel. In the post. A note. I KNOW EVERYTHING. And something else, too.”
“Something else?”
I’m not sure I want to say it. Not sure I want to admit it to myself.
Because it takes me back.
It takes me back, and admitting it makes it real. It crystallises it.
I can’t hide from it if I admit it.
But I know it is time.
I take a deep breath.
Clench my nails into my palms.
“Some strands of hair. Blonde hair. The blondest hair.”
He stares at me with those wide blue eyes.
“Blonde hair with a speck of… of blood on it.”
I see him go another shade of pale.
“But—but weird things happened. The note. The hair. Both of them went—went missing.”
“Went missing? What do you mean they went missing?”
“As in disappeared. One day, there. The next, gone. I had them in the kitchen. Passed out. Wake up, and there’s no sign. And then—and then I’m back at Broughton one day. I’m standing there in the woods, and I find them again. Only I took them back home, and they vanished again and then—then the guy who gave me the parcel said he wasn’t who I thought he was and—”
“Wait, wait. Slow down, Sarah. Slow down. Please. This isn’t… this isn’t really making any sense to me.”
I puff out my lips. “You’re not the first person to say that. Freddie thinks I’m insane. I mean, he’s sweet. He’s understanding. But he definitely thinks I’ve a screw loose.”
Gregg nods. I hate to admit it, but I know he thinks the same. He has seen me at my worst.
“And you’ve been to the doctor?”
“Yes,” I say. “And I know how this sounds. I… I know exactly how it sounds. But I… Gregg, I don’t know why I’m here exactly. But some things just aren’t adding up. I guess… I guess I want to just speak to someone who knows who I really am. How I really am. And maybe that will bring me some comfort. But I need to ask you something. The place you said you lived. The cottage over in Grimsargh. Why did you tell me you lived there?”
He narrows his eyes for a moment, then raises his eyebrows. Smiles. “Shit. I did tell you that, didn’t I? I guess when I moved in with Yara, I was jealous. Happy you still had the cottage in Broughton, sure, but jealous. Because it felt like I was downgrading. Work wasn’t stable, even then. So I… I wanted to prepare for the worst. Get somewhere I could at least call home, I guess. And it’s far nicer than Yara’s old place, anyway. But yeah. I gave you the other address because you always used to go on about how nice that place was whenever we were driving to Beacon Fell. Not my best move, maybe, but I figured you and I were done and dusted. So I didn’t see the harm it’d do.”
The memories are blurry. I don’t really remember making any comments about that house. I’m not totally convinced. Totally satisfied.
“And you don’t know who lives there?”
Gregg frowned. “Not a clue. Why?”
I open my mouth. I want to tell him. But then I close it. Shake my head. It isn’t important. His story is legitimate enough. And as weird a coincidence as it seems, I sense myself believing him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you sure?”
“I…”
I think about Charlie.
I think about Broughton.
I think about the fete.
But more than anything, I think about that summer’s day.
A teenager. On my own. Outcast. Lost.
And I think about how he saved me.
I want to ask how he’s doing. I want to ask how he’s coping. I want to ask so, so many things.
But in the end, I can only swallow a lump in my throat.
I don’t want to bring Charlie up.
I want to keep that to myself.
For now.
“The hair. The note. Do you think maybe that could…” Gregg starts.
“Could what?”
“I just… I mean, the field. The school field. Do you think maybe…”
He stops, but I know what he’s about to ask already.
He closes his mouth. Shakes his head. “It’s been nice seeing you today.”
I look into his eyes, and I want to tell him that yes, it’s been nice. I don’t find him attractive anymore. Not in that way. But my love for Gregg will never die. That love for a spouse never dies, especially your first love.
Especially a love as strong as ours.
“I haven’t really seen anyone. Nobody from the old days, anyway. Except for Glynn, weirdly enough.”
My mouth goes dry. “Glynn?”
“Yeah,” Gregg says. “Glynn. And I know. Weird right? But they say time is a healer and all that.”
My heart starts thumping. Gregg is in contact with Glynn? The guy I had an affair with?
The guy who got me pregnant?
Why didn’t Glynn mention anything when I saw him?
“I—I saw Glynn too,” I say. “A few weeks back.”
“Really?” Gregg says frowning. “He never mentioned anything. And I grab a pint with him pretty much every weekend these days. Ever since Holly stormed out and took Alan with her, anyway. Crazy bitch, that one. Used to beat him up, you know?”
“Wait. Holly left?”
“Sarah? Are you okay?”
I sit there, heart racing, mouth dry. I can’t wrap my head around this. Can’t make sense of any of it.
I can only think of running into Glynn that day.
The same day I found the parcel in the woods.
How coincidental it seemed to bump into him in the first place.
But now this?
He told me Holly and Alan were doing well.
He didn’t tell me anything about Gregg.
And he didn’t tell Gregg anything about me, either.
I stand up. I feel sick. Uneasy. And I’m not even sure why. Only that I need to get out of here.
Something isn’t right.
Something is rotten.
And Glynn is at the centre of it.
“Sarah?” Gregg says. “Are you…”
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking. “But I need to leave.”
“Don’t you want another brew or—”
“I’m sorry,” I say. Reaching the front door. “But I really need to go. It’s been nice seeing you again. Really. It has. And I’m—I’m sorry about everything. But I need to go.”
I see a look in his eyes as I stand by the door.
I see that temper.
A rare temper, but there.
Especially when he was jealous.<
br />
I see it, and I can’t make sense of anything right now.
I just feel my instinctive urge to get out of this house.
“Goodbye, Sarah,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry. Goodbye.”
I turn the handle, and I rush out into the warmth of the summer sun.
I rush down the pathway. Past the creepy bald bloke next door.
I scramble for my car keys, worrying for a moment that I’ve left them inside Gregg’s.
And then I find them with my shaking hands, and I unlock the door, climb inside and lock the door again right away.
I sit there for a second. Hands on the wheel. Heart racing. Hands shaking.
I don’t understand what’s happening.
I don’t understand why I feel so uneasy.
Just that something is wrong.
Something is bitterly wrong.
Glynn lied to me.
And now something is happening with him and Gregg.
I hear my phone buzz, and I almost jump out of my skin.
I lift it. See a message from Freddie.
Nipping 2 Co Op. Want anything? x
I’m about to reply with my shivering fingers when I see something else.
A reminder that I still have an unread Snapchat message.
I don’t know what possesses me to open it.
To tap on it.
I don’t know what compels me to do it, right at this moment.
But when I do, I lose all sense of my surroundings.
Because of that image staring back at me.
It’s from an account I don’t recognise.
There’s a message on there.
A photo of a message in a dark backdrop.
The only thing that isn’t dark is a weird frayed cream poster, right at the edge of the image.
But it’s not the poster I’m looking at.
It’s the message.
I KNOW EVERYTHING.
And then right there, right beside it, there’s those blonde strands of hair.
Smothered in blood.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I sit in my car and clench hold of the steering wheel. Tight.
My phone has rung a few times. It’s boiling in here. The air con must’ve packed in again. Really need to get it seen to. Especially in the middle of summer.
I’ve driven far away from Gregg’s place. Far away from my home at Cottam. I’ve driven right back to Broughton and parked in the church car park. I’m not sure what’s brought me back here. Sometimes I do this when I’m lost, directionless. Mentally, rather than literally.
I let the place decide where I’m driving to rather than the other way round.
And naturally, I’m right back where I came from.
Right back where I belong.
I’m sweating. My heart races. My chest is tight. I hear my phone buzz and ping again. I know it’s Freddie, and I know he’s probably just worried about me.
But I can’t face him. I can’t face anything. Not right now.
Because nothing makes sense.
First, the news about Glynn going to visit Gregg regularly. What the fuck’s all that about? I cheated on Gregg with Glynn. Felt guilty as fuck about it, sure, but it is what it is. Glynn even got me pregnant, for fuck’s sake.
And I’m supposed to believe they’re now just best buddies? And for what? All because Glynn’s wife left him?
It just feels… off. It doesn’t feel right. Not at all.
And then I think of bumping into Glynn in Broughton a few weeks ago. He told me he was still with Holly, I’m sure of it. Told me Alan was fine.
He looked me in the eyes, and he didn’t say a word about his new pally friendship with Gregg.
Why?
Why did he hide that from me?
Somewhere, somebody is lying.
And I don’t even know where or why, but I know that somehow, Glynn is involved now.
I feel betrayed. I pitied him so much when he came round, night after night. Alan playing upstairs on Charlie’s Xbox. Or was it a PlayStation? I can’t remember. The details are irrelevant.
I think of the number of times he visited.
How much I hate to admit it.
How much I’ve tried to bury the truth, even from myself, because of the shame I feel.
The times we’d do it in parks. In woods. In his car or my car.
In the maize fields.
The maize fields…
I think of his hands all over me, and I think of Charlie and—
I hear a horn honk. I look around. I’m blocking someone from getting out of the church car park.
I hold up a hand, apologise. Then I drive out the way, find a quieter area where I’m less obstructive. I know I should call Freddie back. I know I should go home.
But I’m not sure I’ll be able to look him in the eye and pretend everything is okay anymore.
Not after the Snapchat.
I feel a sickly sensation in my stomach. My chest tightens. The note. I KNOW EVERYTHING.
And the hair.
Those blonde strands of hair.
The blood on them.
I know what that means.
I know exactly what that means.
And I have been trying to run from it ever since I got that parcel from a man who claims never to have given me that parcel.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. It’s three. Shit. I have eight missed calls from Freddie and a bunch of messages.
Where r u?
R u ok?
Sarah, I need 2 speak 2 u about something x
I see these messages, and I close them because I have no time for them. I have no time for him. Not now.
I open up Snapchat.
My Snapchat profile is anaemic, to say the least. It isn’t an app I frequent. I only downloaded it because apparently everyone was downloading it a few years back. Fun way to take photos with Charlie, with all those filters they have.
I can see the message right there at the top of the screen.
The username, which I didn’t register before.
0891deRrepooCiniM
Does it mean anything? I don’t know. Doesn’t spark any memories.
And yet, there’s something about it.
An air of familiarity about it.
I just don’t know it yet.
I tap on the message. But the photo doesn’t show up again. I can just see a message window. Like a chat box.
A little blue man pops up at the bottom.
And then disappears. Right away.
I exit the app. My heart beats. Fast.
Someone sent me that photo, which has now vanished—vanishing messages being the novelty of Snapchat.
And that same person is there at the other end of the line.
Watching.
Waiting for my response.
My phone buzzes again.
I feel sick with anticipation.
Because it feels like they are taunting me.
Baiting me into replying.
When I lift the phone, I realise it is Freddie again.
Please love. Come home. Need to tell u about something
I want to ignore him again, but I can’t.
So I text back.
Sorry. Been for a drive to countryside. Signal bad. Back soon. Love you. x
He texts back immediately, and I know something is wrong.
Love you. Sorry 2 worry u. See you soon. xxx
And then I hover over the Snapchat app.
Maybe I can engage whoever is speaking with me.
Maybe I can bait them into sending more. Something to incriminate them.
I can’t run from the past anymore.
But maybe I can find something that puts whoever is stalking me in the red so I have something on them.
I open the app.
Hover over the message with my thumb for just a little too long.
That’s when I notice something.
The message.
The
message I received. The photo.
It reloads.
Snapchat lets you reload an image, just once.
My eyes widen.
My heart beats faster.
I’m not sure I want to see this.
But I know now I have an opportunity to capture this, once and for all.
And prove I am not crazy to Freddie.
To everyone.
I open the message.
See it there again.
The dark background.
The note.
I KNOW EVERYTHING
And the little strands of blonde hair splattered with blood.
I take a screenshot. “Gotcha, you bastard.”
And then I close the app right away, stick my phone in silent, and shove it in the glove compartment, out of sight and in a compartment in my mind, too.
Then, I start up the car.
I am not looking forward to what I’m about to do.
But I realise now I have no choice.
I can deal with Glynn another time.
I am going to go home.
I am going to tell Freddie about the past.
And maybe then he will start taking all this just as seriously as me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When I pull up at home, I’m slightly alarmed to find that Freddie’s van isn’t outside.
I get out of the car. Out into the heat of the August sun. I’m famished, and I’m dehydrated, so I’m surprised to see Freddie isn’t back yet. I try calling him, but I go straight to voicemail. Try leaving him a couple of texts, but nothing.
I shrug. Figure he’s probably just nipped out for something or other. It’s not exactly out of the ordinary.
But it just feels somewhat… off.
Especially after my discovery about Gregg and Glynn. If I can even count that as a discovery at all.
And then the other thing.
The screenshot.
The screenshot of the photo I’ve got from Snapchat.
I tense up at the thought of it. At the thought of coming clean to Freddie about it. At telling him about the whole thing.
I step inside and, after trying Freddie again, I slump on the sofa. My mind is racing, but I can’t think. Not for a moment.
I don’t know where to go from here.
I don’t know what to do.
I know I need to speak to Glynn at some stage. I need to get my head around why he lied to me the other day. And figure out if he has some involvement in this.