Last night, huddled on the sofa, waiting for the sleeping pills to kick in, I was sure I heard footsteps on the stairs. The wind was whistling outside, shaking the window frames, but when it paused for breath I heard the groan of floorboards under the weight of a person. The baby had stopped crying by then and I listened hard to try and work out where the footsteps were heading. It sounded like they had paused right outside my door. With my heart in my mouth I’d scooped the duvet up around my armpits and waddled to the door to peer through the spyhole. It was too dark to see clearly. I know from the hotel I grew up in that old buildings can make a lot of noise, so I told myself that I was imagining it and fell asleep not long afterwards. But two interrupted nights have played havoc with my emotional state.
The heel of my boot knocks against something on the floor and I look down to see a familiar brown A4 envelope sitting innocently on the coconut matting. I bend over to pick it up, hoping that it won’t be addressed to me, but not in the least surprised when I see my name printed on the front.
It doesn’t feel like another letter. It’s heavier and there is something bulky inside.
I rip it open; a glint of metallic silver is nestled within the folds. My fingers close on something cold and hard and a pair of old dog tags fall from the envelope into my open palm.
I’m in the bedroom hurriedly removing my clothes from the wardrobe and stuffing them into my holdall when the front door buzzes. I go to the bay window in the living room and peer out. Your brother is standing in the gravel driveway, in front of my Range Rover, a grim expression on his face. I know he’s here to stop me leaving. And then I see what he’s looking at. My bonnet has been splattered with what looks like raw eggs, the yolk fluorescent against the black metallic paint. I turn away from the window, furious.
I buzz Daniel in and then wait at my door as he lumbers up the stairs.
‘I got your text. You can’t go back to London,’ he says as soon as he reaches me. He’s out of breath, his pale cheeks flushed. ‘Oh, and it looks like some kids have bombed your car with rotten eggs.’
Without a word I walk back into the apartment, sensing him behind me as I make my way into the sitting room. My feet are freezing and I’ve had to put on extra socks. On the glass coffee table is the brown envelope, the dog tags spread on top. I point to them as I sit on the sofa, curling my legs up under me. ‘This was waiting for me on my return.’
He frowns and walks over to them, picking them up and turning them over in his hands. ‘Dog tags? I don’t understand.’
‘Jason’s.’
‘They’re Jason’s dog tags?’ His voice is hard, disbelieving.
‘Well, I don’t expect they are the actual dog tags he was wearing when he … when he …’ I can’t bring myself to say the words. ‘But they are very similar. He wore them all the time, remember?’
He narrows his eyes, as if trying to dredge up the memories of Jason buried deep in his mind. ‘Vaguely. I thought about getting a pair. They were all the rage in the early nineties.’ He stares down at the tags in his hand.
I get up from the sofa and snatch them from him. ‘Someone in this town is deliberately targeting me.’ I put them back on the coffee table. ‘Why would someone send them to me?’
‘To spook you, obviously,’ Daniel says, moving to the window. ‘And it’s working, by the looks of it. You’re high-tailing it back to London.’ He has his back to me; I can just see the sharp outline of his nose and chin. I wonder if he’s seeing you on the pier. I go and stand beside him, feeling braver now that he’s here with me. But you’re gone and the pier is empty, the sleet turning to rain.
‘Not because of this.’ I’m annoyed he thinks that’s the reason I want to go home. ‘It takes more than a few letters to unnerve me. And now eggs on my car. Pathetic.’
‘That would’ve just been kids messing about …’
‘Not the dog tags, though. That’s personal, Daniel. That has to be from someone who knows about Jason.’
I don’t tell him that seeing you has scared me, Soph. What could I say without sounding like I’m having some mental breakdown? That I’m convinced I’m seeing you, that you followed me home, that you are trying to tell me something? Maybe warn me? It sounds ridiculous. I don’t believe in ghosts – that was always your domain. The irony doesn’t escape me. You always wanted to get out of this town yet you’re still here, haunting it. And me.
Daniel sits down heavily on the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight. ‘If you’re not spooked then why do you want to leave? You’ve paid up until Friday. You might as well stay.’
‘I’ve got work to do.’
‘You’re entitled to a holiday.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Some holiday.’ I take a seat next to him on the sofa. I’m still wearing my coat. I wrap it further around my body and Daniel gets up to light the fire. I watch as the orange flames begin to dance comfortingly, their warm amber glow chasing away the grey shadows, transforming the room so that it appears more welcoming, more friendly.
We always wondered what these apartments would be like inside. You had a thing about this side of town, that pier. You could see past the decrepit planks and rusting metal, likening it to an aged movie star; faded glamour but still beautiful. When you looked at it you saw the nostalgia of the past: Edwardian tourists, the men in straw boaters, the women in their ankle-length dresses, gliding along with frilly parasols angled over their heads. You saw the romance in the pier; I couldn’t see past its ugliness.
Daniel takes my hand and rubs it between his. ‘You feel freezing, Franks, are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about Sophie.’
He squeezes my hand, his eyes suddenly intense. ‘Don’t go. Please. Stay, at least a few more days. I …’ He swallows as if embarrassed, his face reddening. ‘I need you.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Don’t you see,’ he says, his voice rising, ‘that the person who’s sent you these things is trying to get you to leave. Because they know we’re getting close to the truth.’
I laugh bitterly. ‘But we’re not. We know nothing about what happened that night. We’ve learned nothing. It’s too late. It’s been years. I think we should just leave it. Get on with our lives.’
He shuffles closer so that our knees are touching, and despite myself I feel a frisson of desire rip through me. He’s still holding my hand and his face is inches from mine so that I can smell the mint on his breath and his warm, musky scent like mulled wine. I long to reach up and touch him, kiss him. But I daren’t. Not after this morning.
‘Just you being here is unnerving someone, Franks. You must see that. Just give it a few more days, please.’
‘But what if I’m in danger, Daniel?’
His voice softens. ‘You’re safe here in the apartment. And you’re safe with me.’
‘This house is practically deserted. This area of town is empty. It’s lonely. I’m lonely.’
‘There’s that family downstairs.’
‘Who I haven’t seen, except for that older woman yesterday. Although I’ve heard the baby.’
‘They are probably in and out, like you are. At least you know they’re here too. You’re not completely alone.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ It’s all right for him. He can go back to his girlfriend. He has someone to keep his bed warm at night.
I think of returning to Islington, back to normality, with no time to think of anything but my busy job and the new hotel. Then I remember that I promised Mike he could stay until the weekend. It would mean having to face him; the awkwardness, his questions. My resolve might weaken and we’d fall back into a relationship that isn’t leading anywhere. He’s right, I am a coward. I can’t face him. I have no choice but to stay here.
If I’m honest with myself I know there is more to it than that. I know your brother has a girlfriend, but if I left now it would mean saying goodbye to Daniel, probably for ever.
His voice is cajoling as he says,
‘And you said you’d come with me on Wednesday to the police station. It’s that same bloody detective. Do you remember him? DI Holdsworth.’
‘That’s the one who questioned us when she first went missing?’
He nods. ‘He wasn’t a DI then, of course.’
I remember him well. Tall and fair with one eye a different colour to the other. He had interviewed all of us, asked probing questions – until your shoe was found and they eased off a bit. Well, the other police officers eased off, but I sensed that DS Holdsworth suspected foul play by the way he kept coming back for more. I once got home to find him in our kitchen having a cup of tea with Mum. As soon as he saw me his eyes lit up and then he interrogated me for an hour. Where had I been when you left the club? What time did I last see you? Who had a grudge against you? Questions he’d asked me countless times before. I found out that he’d asked the same questions to everyone else in town, including my parents. After a few weeks he was called off the case by his boss, and that was the end of it. Until now.
‘He was like a dog with a bone. It was as if he was hoping that Sophie was murdered so that he would have something juicy to investigate.’
‘But he was right, though, wasn’t he,’ Daniel says darkly.
I swallow; my throat feels sore. ‘We don’t know that. Have you told him your suspicions?’
He shakes his head. ‘No … not yet, but I’m beginning to think I should. Especially now that you’ve been receiving those letters. Maybe when we go on Wednesday?’
I stiffen. The thought of involving the police petrifies me. They’ve always made me feel on edge. And it makes me realise that I can’t leave, not yet. I can’t let Daniel face all this by himself. I owe it to him to stay. He wants me to go with him. Not Mia – me. That must mean something, surely, Soph?
‘I don’t know if we should involve the police,’ I say. ‘What can they do anyway? And if someone wanted to hurt me, surely they would have done it by now?’
I go and stand in front of the fire. I choose my next words carefully. ‘Do you think the person writing the notes and sending those –’ I nod at the dog tags curled up on the table ‘– is the same person who knows what happened to Sophie?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then it must be Leon. Who else would know, or even care, about Jason other than his cousin? He’s just the type who would get a kick out of this kind of thing.’
He hasn’t liked me since I told you he was bad news, Soph, and it’s obvious from his attitude towards me that our one-night stand all those years ago hasn’t changed that.
Daniel shrugs. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Who knows who Sophie told, if anyone.’
I frown. ‘What about Helen? She was a right cow to me at school. We had a fight once and she gave me a nosebleed. She locked me in a tiny cupboard knowing that I was claustrophobic. Maybe Sophie confided in her and this is her way of punishing me. She was always hanging around Sophie, wanting to be her best friend, trying to push me out. Sophie was too nice to see it but there was something about Helen, something spiteful.’
His gaze is sceptical.
‘Well, she must have told someone, otherwise …’ I let the implication hang in the air. I’ve never told a soul.
He hesitates. ‘Your dad.’
It’s as though he’s punched me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Would he have told anyone?’
I scoff. ‘Of course not. My dad was the one who made us promise not to say anything. Ever. And we didn’t. Or at least, I didn’t. I can’t vouch for Sophie. Daniel, she was dating Jason’s cousin! You know how kind and good Sophie was. She wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him. She would have felt too guilty.’
You were always the sensible, moral one, Soph. You made me a better person.
Daniel frowns. ‘That’s true. But she wasn’t with him that long. What was it? Six weeks, two months at the most?’
Oh, Daniel. He knows nothing about it. I do, though. I remember how much you loved Leon. You might not have been together that long but your relationship was intense.
‘They split up hours before she disappeared,’ I say, remembering. ‘And when I asked her about it she refused to tell me. She fled to the toilets, crying, and Leon stormed off home.’
He fidgets, looking uncomfortable. ‘Do you think she told him about what happened to Jason? And that’s why he finished it?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, Sophie said he loved her but to me it seemed more like obsession. Who knows what was really going on in their relationship or why they finished? But if she finished with him I can’t imagine he’d let her go that easily. He said he had an alibi, but …’
‘Anyone can fake an alibi. Steph? Lorcan? They could all be protecting each other. How well do we know anyone, Franks? Particularly those closest to us? They’re the ones who can hurt us the most.’
I raise my eyes to meet his. ‘That’s really cynical. You never used to be like that.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve changed.’ He stands up and goes to the window. Losing you has altered him more than I thought. It’s not surprising, I suppose, the two of you were always close. I envied your relationship, your easy banter, the way you looked out and protected each other. It must eat away at him that he wasn’t able to protect you that night.
I leave the room to put the kettle on. When I return, Daniel is looking down at his phone and swearing.
‘What is it?’
He looks up, his face drawn. ‘It’s a text from Mia. I told her I was at work. I know, I know …’ he says when he sees my expression. ‘I shouldn’t have lied to her, but she is a bit possessive sometimes and she’s worried about me spending too much time with you.’
He looks embarrassed and I shrug nonchalantly, even though I can’t help feeling a little thrill that she sees me as a threat.
‘Does she know you lied?’
‘She must do,’ he says, throwing his phone onto the sofa, ‘because Helen turned up at our flat wanting to talk to me. Apparently she’s remembered something really important and Mia told her I was here.’
I’m not surprised that Helen has ‘suddenly’ remembered something important. I always told you that she couldn’t be trusted. I knew she was lying to me yesterday.
What important thing does Helen know?
17
Sophie
Sunday, 27 July 1997
I’ve done something so stupid, so unforgivable, and there is no excuse for it. I love Leon and I understand that he only punched his brother last night because he was protecting me. His brother was acting like a lecherous pig. It doesn’t mean Leon would hurt me. It’s just … after what Dad did to Mum when I was a kid I always said I’d never fall for a man who had the capacity to be violent.
I suppose I always envied Frankie for having a dad like Alistair. Someone kind and caring. Passive. My feelings for him have always been complicated. On one hand I see him as a father figure, but on the other he’s this attractive older guy, the Kevin Costner lookalike, the first man who ever paid me any attention, who cared enough to ask what I wanted to do with my life, how I was getting on at school and if I was happy.
So, here goes … I kissed him. There, I’ve said it. And I honestly feel awful about it. That’s not who I am, or the person I want to be. I don’t go around kissing married men or the fathers of my friends. I’ve never cheated on anyone before.
It happened at lunchtime and I’ve been feeling sick with guilt ever since.
My shift had just begun and I was straightening the bed in Room 5 and replacing the dirty cups when Alistair bounded into the room. He didn’t realise I was in there and muttered a smiley apology, and was just about to leave when he must have noticed something about me, something about my expression perhaps. I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings.
‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, letting the door swing shut and walking further into the room. He placed a reassuring hand on my upper arm and his touch sent an electric shock through
me, and in that moment all I wanted was a man like him. Someone mature, someone strong, someone who was jolly, funny, always putting a positive spin on things. Not someone who had behaved as Leon had. I remember so clearly how Alistair helped us out that awful night when Jason drowned. How I’d turned up at his house with vomit down my dress, panicked and shaking so much that I thought I’d never stop. Shock, he’d called it. He’d wrapped me up in a blanket and given me sips of brandy and told me that everything was going to be OK. That he was going to make everything OK. And I’d sat there, shivering and sipping the brandy, his reassuring words calming me down. Frankie was obviously there too, sitting next to me wrapped up in her own blanket, tears streaming down her face. But in the memories of that night I don’t think of Frankie, I just see Alistair.
I found myself telling him everything, about Leon being Jason’s cousin, about the guilt that I felt at not being able to tell him what had happened that night. About Leon punching Lorcan and how I know that I have to let Leon go. He sat next to me while I poured out my feelings like some messed-up teenager, his arm around my shoulders. And it felt so good to unburden myself. I couldn’t be honest with Leon but I could with Alistair. I began to cry and nestled my face into his chest, inhaling the scent of him, of his aftershave – something expensive, mature – and the washing powder on his linen shirt. He smoothed my hair and stroked my back. And then I lifted my head so that our eyes met and before I could even think about it his lips were on mine and … we were kissing. I forgot for a moment where I was, who he was, the kiss went on and on and, wow, what a kisser he is. But when his tongue started to probe mine I pulled away, suddenly ashamed. I’d been caught up in the moment and angry at Leon. It should never have led to that. He was mortified too, jumping up from the bed and running his hands through his dirty blond hair, apologising over and over again. I told him it was fine, that it was my fault. I blurted out to him that I’d had a crush on him when I was a teenager. I suppose, deep down, kissing him had always been a fantasy of mine. But that’s where it should have stayed – as a fantasy. He made me promise never to tell anyone. Another promise. Another secret. Another thing to feel guilty about.
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