Local Girl Missing

by Claire Douglas

  But I made the promise anyhow.

  I’d betrayed my best friend and my boyfriend. How am I ever going to face Frankie, her mum or Leon ever again, knowing what I’ve done?

  18

  Frankie

  The door buzzer reverberates through the flat. Daniel, who is still standing by the window, leans forward to get a better view of who is at the door.

  ‘She’s here.’ He turns around, horror and excitement written all over his face. His silver eyes are alight. ‘I wonder what she’s remembered?’ I can’t bear to witness the hope turn to disappointment. I like seeing Daniel this way, the way he was when you were alive. Full of optimism, even if it is misplaced. He always thought that life would work out for him despite flunking his GCSEs and not having a job. What a wake-up call he had. I don’t want him to go back to silent, morose Daniel.

  I snatch up the dog tags and envelope from the coffee table and dart into my bedroom. I don’t know why, but I hide them under my duvet cover. If Helen has been sending the letters – and it is just the type of spiteful thing I can imagine her doing – I don’t want her to know how much it’s unnerved me. Maybe you told her our secret? How would I know? It seems I didn’t know you as well as I thought.

  I go to the intercom and let her in. Daniel lurks in the hallway as I open the door and wait for her to come up. It seems like ages before she reaches the top of the stairs, panting slightly as she steps on to the landing, sweat glistening above her lip. Her shoulder-length brown hair is frizzy from the rain. She’s wearing a frumpy long skirt and boots, with a brown wool coat which does nothing for her. Her best feature was always her eyes, which are the colour of treacle.

  ‘Frankie,’ she says in a monotone when she reaches the landing.

  I don’t ask her how she knows where I live. The whole town is probably aware. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable; a sitting duck.

  ‘Helen,’ I say in the same tone. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  I open the door wider and stand aside to allow her over the threshold. She whistles slowly as she wanders into the hallway. ‘This is posh, ain’t it? But only the best for Lady Frankie.’

  I bristle. It was only ever your brother who called me that. When did Helen suddenly jump on the bandwagon? Has Daniel been talking to her about me? It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to piss off. I know she was your friend, and I realise you thought a lot of her, that she was there for you when I was forced to go to that stuck-up boarding school – which, by the way, I hated – but she’s always been a bit of a bitch to me. You could never see it though. Or maybe you refused to.

  ‘Daniel!’ she says when she spots him over my shoulder. ‘You’re a hard man to find. I went to your offices and your flat.’

  ‘Really? I thought you knew all our whereabouts, Helen?’ I smile at her sweetly but she frowns.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘How did you know I’m staying here?’

  ‘Stan told me.’

  ‘Stan?’

  You always said Stan would perv at you over the fish, his eyes as pale and cold as the haddock he was selling.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Who told him?’

  ‘Leon.’

  Did I tell Leon I was staying here? Unless Daniel did. Not that it really matters. Any one of them could be sending the notes to frighten me. I’m going to have to pay Leon another visit. But I won’t tell Daniel about it. This is something I need to take care of on my own.

  Helen wanders into the living room, exclaiming at its loveliness, at the polished wooden floors and the scatter cushions, at the real fireplace and the views of the sea. ‘I bet it’s costing a bomb to stay here,’ she says, going to the bay window. ‘What a view!’

  ‘It’s not costing much. It’s out of season and Daniel’s friend has let me have mates’ rates.’ I wish she would get to the point.

  She turns to me and shivers. ‘Ooh, it’s chilly in ’ere, ain’t it? Even with that fire on.’

  The apartment is constantly cold, I’ve noticed. Is it because you’re here with us, Soph?

  The fire goes out, as though you’ve answered my question.

  ‘Spooky!’ says Helen in awe as she stares at the dead embers at the bottom of the fireplace. ‘It went out as quickly as someone clicking their fingers.’

  ‘I’ll relight it,’ says Daniel, going back to the fireplace. We both watch as he faffs around with logs and a lighter but, despite his best efforts, the fire refuses to be resurrected.

  He stands up with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. ‘Let’s leave it for a minute. Helen, why don’t you sit down?’

  I offer to make tea. When I return with three mugs of PG Tips (always your favourite, which is probably why your brother bought it), Daniel and Helen are sitting side by side on the sofa. I place the tray on the coffee table and tell them to help themselves to milk and sugar. I take mine and sit on the grey velvet chair by the window. There is a draught; the wooden sash windows are not strong enough to keep out that wind. I cup the tea so that the heat from the mug can warm my ice-cold hands. I really hope Daniel can get that fire started again. The radiators are blazing but it’s making little difference to the temperature. The wind howls down the chimney.

  ‘So, Helen, why the visit?’ I ask pointedly when it’s obvious that Daniel isn’t about to.

  ‘Well, I suddenly remembered something. So I went past your offices, Dan. I know how hard you work and thought you’d be there despite it being the weekend, but there was no answer. So I went over to your apartment. Met Mia. Lovely girl, so pretty.’ She flashes me a triumphant look. ‘Anyway, she told me you were at work. When I said you weren’t there she looked a little surprised and then said you’d probably be at Frankie’s house. So I headed here. It’s a long walk though, Dan.’ She gives a little laugh. ‘I wish I’d learned to drive.’

  Daniel shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. He knows he’s going to be in trouble when he gets home. I assess him over the rim of my mug. Your brother was always so honest. Maybe he’s changed more than I thought.

  My grip on my mug tightens. I tear my gaze from Daniel to Helen. ‘What have you remembered?’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm, even though I really want to shout, ‘Get to the bloody point!’

  She purses her lips as if she can hear my thoughts and then takes a noisy slurp of her tea. I wait, refusing to speak first. Eventually, she says, ‘A few weeks before she went missing –’

  ‘Before she died,’ Daniel interjects.

  ‘Yes, yes, before she died, well, Sophie asked me for help.’

  ‘What kind of help?’ I ask. I find it hard to believe you would have asked Helen for help and not me. Is she deliberately making out she knows more than she does to feel important? To create a little drama?

  She clears her throat. ‘She wanted money. She was so happy to get that job as an editorial assistant. Do you remember? Anyways, she wanted to leave Oldcliffe a few weeks before her job started but didn’t have enough money.’

  Daniel frowns. ‘OK, so …’

  ‘There’s more. She said that someone was making her life hell. A man. And that she needed to leave. She sounded pretty scared of this person.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask her who it was?’ Daniel says.

  ‘Of course. But she wouldn’t tell me. But I did wonder if it could be her dad.’ She bows her head, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘Sophie had told me all about him. I’m sorry, Dan. He sounds like a right arsehole.’

  I’m shocked that you would have talked to Helen about him. You’d only ever mentioned him to me a couple of times. I didn’t even know his name.

  ‘We haven’t heard or seen him since we left, as far as I’m aware …’ Daniel turns to me. ‘Did she tell you any of this?’

  I shake my head miserably. You didn’t come to me. You went to Helen for help instead. ‘When was this?’ I ask.

  ‘I’d say this was the end of August. So it might hav
e only been a week before she disappeared –’ Helen flashes Daniel a look ‘– died.’

  She leans forward and places her mug back on the tray. Then she rummages in the bag that’s at her feet and pulls out a length of pink toilet tissue and blows her nose on it. ‘I feel terrible that I never said anything. You just don’t think, do you? That it could mean something. I even thought she might have meant Lorcan. He’s a right one. Even now. Oh, I hear all sorts of things about him. Gossip is rife in our pub.’

  I can imagine.

  She dabs at her eyes but I’m certain there are no tears. ‘I’ve often wondered if …’ She glances at Daniel as though doubting whether to continue.

  ‘Go on,’ he says.

  ‘I thought maybe … she might have killed herself.’

  ‘She would never do that.’ He stands up; his restlessness is making me feel anxious. ‘There was no note, nothing apart from her trainer wedged between those rotten wooden boards.’ He shakes his head. ‘Bloody Holdsworth asked that same question but I just can’t believe it. I can’t …’

  ‘Could she have fallen in? Got her shoe stuck?’

  I can see that Daniel is bristling with irritation although he’s trying not to show it as he paces back and forth. I shiver and pull my coat further around me. He’s creating a draught and it’s cold enough in here as it is.

  ‘She would never have gone to the pier by herself in the middle of the night,’ he says. ‘I think – and so does Frankie – that she’d arranged to meet someone there.’

  Helen sniffs. ‘No, I’m sure you’re right. I just want to be able to help.’ She turns to me, her face defiant. ‘Sophie was always good to me. She was a good friend.’

  Her comment sounds barbed as though she’s implying I wasn’t a good friend to you.

  Does she know more than she’s letting on?

  19

  Sophie

  Sunday, 27 July 1997

  Leon rang. He wants to come over but I put him off. I feel so guilty about what happened with Alistair earlier, I can’t face Leon right now.

  I hate to admit it but Frankie was right. About everything, but especially about Leon. I should have listened to her. She always was the more savvy of the two of us. She just seemed to know how these things worked, how people ticked. When we were at school she steered me through the social echelons of our year group effortlessly so that, despite how gauche and geeky I was, I didn’t get picked on. Because I was best friends with the popular Francesca Howe.

  That first day at our primary school – just days after Mum bundled me, Daniel and all our meagre belongings into the back of her old Ford estate and moved us to the other end of the country – I stood in front of my new class, twenty-eight faces staring blankly back at me, and there she was, like a poppy in a field of weeds. When our form teacher asked who wanted to be my buddy I was amazed that she volunteered. I couldn’t believe it: this pretty girl with the green cat’s eyes wanted to be friends with me. I stuck to her after that like a limpet. And that’s what some of the boys called me. Not Four-eyes, or Beanstalk, or even Fleabag (and believe me, over the years I’ve been called all those), but Limpet, because I was always glued to Frankie’s side.

  As we grew up I began to notice that some of the other kids turned against her, thinking that she was stuck-up, that she thought a lot of herself. But it wasn’t true. Underneath her glossy image Frankie was as insecure as the next teenager. All she wanted was to be liked.

  She protected me. And that’s all she’s ever tried to do. It’s just that at times I found it stifling, that I couldn’t breathe without her say so. Then she left, after ten years of friendship, and I was forced to stand on my own two feet. Well, what a fucking mess I’ve made of that!

  I don’t know how I’m going to be able to live with myself.

  20

  Frankie

  I watch from the window as Helen folds herself into Daniel’s car, thinking how old she seems, a decade older than she really is – although her expression of disdain is the same as when we were twenty-one. Daniel offered to give her a lift home, even though she lives above the Seagull, a ten-minute walk from here. I survey the grey skies. The rain and sleet have stopped but the clouds look swollen and fit to burst. I can’t resist a quick glance at the pier, but apart from a plastic bag being blown about by the wind there’s nothing there.

  I tear my eyes away and see Daniel reversing his car out of the driveway, his tyres kicking up gravel, and I have a sudden, paranoid stab of worry that the two of them are talking about me. What is it about Helen that makes me feel so uncomfortable? Maybe it’s because she’s always seemed immune to my charms; that however much I tried at school, with my witty quips and sarcastic one-liners, she would just fix her unusual eyes on me and gaze at me coolly, like she knew that underneath it all I was a phoney, a fraud. She never warmed to me; no matter what I tried, she always liked you. I thought that it was because I was pretty and my parents were quite well-off, whereas you were odd-looking, like her. Although that theory was disproved when you turned up again after university, having turned into a swan. Helen still wanted to be your friend.

  A figure lurking behind my car startles me. I frown and edge closer to the glass. It’s the woman staying in the apartment downstairs. What is she doing? It looks as though she is rooting around in the bins. I watch as she pulls out a newspaper and an envelope – or it could be a piece of paper – both slightly damp and crumpled. She puts them under her coat and heads back into the house.

  I turn away from the window. I don’t care about Helen or the woman downstairs. The person I need to speak to is Leon. Because I think you did tell him our secret. I don’t blame you. I know you wouldn’t have been able to help it, it was what I was worried about all along. The reason I urged you to end your relationship with him. Well, that’s not strictly true. There were other reasons too. But you didn’t want to finish with him. You fell in love with him, as did I. We always did have the same taste in men.

  I cruise through the estate like some boy-racer hoping to pick up a date. If Lorcan is outside I’m praying he won’t recognise my car. But the driveway of the house is empty, the rusty old Renault abandoned, still on bricks. I pull up in front of the garage. I can’t see into the house because of the high fence. The only view I have is the white wooden cladding and the two rectangular upstairs windows, like bespectacled eyes peering at me over the gate. One of the windows must be a bedroom and the other a bathroom, judging by the frosted glass. Could it be the bedroom Leon is staying in? I squint, trying to make out the print on the curtains. Pink?

  I turn the engine off and wait. Thankfully the rain has washed away most of the egg from the bonnet of my car, although I can still see some remnants clinging to the paintwork.

  I consider risking Lorcan’s wrath and knocking on the back door. I need to see Leon. I need to know if he’s been sending me those notes. If he’s hoping to scare me then he’s succeeded.

  After a while the warm air in the car begins to disperse, the cold seeping in through the vents. I don’t know how long I can bear to sit here. Leon might never come out. Why would he, on a grey, freezing Sunday afternoon? He’s probably sat in front of the television.

  When I can stand it no longer I get out of the car. With an iron resolve I push open the gate and make my way through the garden to the back door. Despite my bravado my heart is pounding underneath my red wool coat, and I wrap the scarf further around my neck as though it has the power to protect me. As I feared, Lorcan comes to the door.

  ‘What do you want?’ he barks, his large frame filling the doorway, blocking the view into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve not come to make trouble,’ I say in my most conciliatory voice. ‘Can I speak to Leon?’

  ‘If this is about Sophie Collier, then no,’ he growls. ‘I’ve had enough of it.’ He pulls on the straps of his dungarees as though to emphasise the point. His words are slurred and he reeks of stale alcohol.

  ‘It’s not,’ I lie. �
�Come on, Lorcan. We’re all old friends. I just want to catch up with him. I’m on my own. No Daniel.’ I try to make this sound enticing without it being flirtatious.

  He treats me to one of his lecherous winks. ‘Ah, I see.’ He pats his beer belly. ‘Well, you’d better come in then.’ He steps back and I gingerly step into the kitchen. ‘Steph? Leon?’ he bellows and the smell of his breath nearly knocks me out. I step away from him, the kitchen worktop digging into the small of my back.

  Steph comes into the kitchen. At least I’m assuming it’s Steph because the curly-haired, hard-faced girl I remember is long gone. She’s filled out so much that she is almost unrecognisable. Her hair is wiry and streaked with grey and her face is bare of make-up.

  Steph was a year older than us at school and always looked down her nose at me, as though I smelled particularly bad. She was the sort of girl that hated other girls, saw them as competition.

  Nevertheless, she smiles at me warmly. ‘Frankie, how are you, love? It’s been a long time.’

  I give her a tentative smile, wondering if this is some sort of joke. Is she pretending to be nice to lure me into a false sense of security before kicking the shit out of me? Then I remind myself that we are no longer teenage girls, we are women approaching middle age. She’s got grown-up kids. We’ve changed.

  ‘I’ll leave you in Steph’s capable hands,’ grins Lorcan. ‘I’m off to the pub.’

  Steph ignores him, bustles over to the kettle and snaps it on. I watch her, fascinated. Is this what happens to all women who stay in Oldcliffe – they get married, put on weight and stop dyeing their hair? But then I realise I’m being unfair. Steph was once quite glamorous in her cheap-dresses-from-New-Look type of way, but she seems happier now. Gone is the permanently furrowed brow and sharp tongue that I remember so well. The extra weight has made her face softer. Does she turn a blind eye to Lorcan’s affairs, or does she just not care any more?