Local Girl Missing

by Claire Douglas

  I drive slowly through the town, even though there is no other traffic on the road. The sky is darkening and all the lights in the hotels, guest houses and pubs have been switched on, flooding the wet streets with a warm orange light that reflects in the puddles on the road and pavements. The Grand Pier is also lit up like a firework, green and yellow blurs stretching out to sea. I remember how I used to love the town best at night; it always looked so festive lit up against the black skies, as if it was giving us permission to go out and have a good time.

  Two guys and a girl walk along the promenade, laughing and joking. They head towards the zebra crossing and I stop to let them cross. One of the men, extremely tall with brown wavy hair, puts his hand up to thank me, although he barely looks up; he’s too busy chatting to the other bloke, who is nearly as tall. They both have their arms linked with the girl’s, who walks between them. My heart pounds when I realise who they are: Daniel – and what looks like Leon.

  The girl, slim and youngish – definitely younger than me anyway – is attractive, with long, dark hair. She breaks free from them and runs ahead before turning and making silly faces. I can’t make out what they’re saying because I feel like I’m in a dream. Or a nightmare. Is it Leon? And if so, what is he doing with Daniel? They hate each other. Have always hated each other. And who is the girl with them? Is it Mia?

  I watch as they head into the Seagull, for all the world as though they are the best of mates. I’m paralysed with shock. I sit at the zebra crossing, my hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at the pub, even though they’ve long disappeared through the door. Eventually a car comes up behind me and beeps its horn. I move forward reluctantly, on the edge of tears again as the realisation dawns on me that I can’t trust anyone.

  Not even Daniel.

  I pull up outside Beaufort Villas, willing myself to get out of the car and go inside. The light in the downstairs apartment is on and the curtains are open. I can see the yellow painted walls, the flickering of a television. I’d better prepare myself for another sleepless night with the baby screaming into the early hours.

  I feel heavy with tiredness. I long to just reverse out of here and head to the M4 and London, but I know I won’t leave. I can’t. Not yet. There is too much unfinished business.

  I get out of the car, thankful it’s stopped raining. I’m desperate for a shower and an early night. I plan to microwave my spaghetti bolognese, have a glass or two of wine and then go to bed. Everything will be clearer in the morning. I expect I’ll see Daniel at some point, although tomorrow’s Monday and I’m not sure what he’ll be doing about work.

  I turn the key in the front door and let myself in, switching the light on in the hallway. Just as I’m about to close the door I hear someone calling my name. I look up and freeze. Someone is standing at the end of the driveway. Someone in a dark overcoat and walking boots. My heart pounds. It’s the person who was following me yesterday. They step forward, pushing back the hood from their head. The light from the hallway illuminates a face and long blonde hair and I gasp.

  Because it’s you, Soph.

  It’s actually you.

  ‘Frankie,’ you say again, so softly I wonder if you’ve actually spoken at all. You’re about thirty feet away, but you haven’t changed a bit. You’re still twenty-one, younger than I ever remember you looking, and I know I must be seeing your ghost. I let out an involuntary scream, amazed that the sound is coming from me. I slam the door on you and slump against it, my whole body shaking violently, my legs giving way, and I sink to the floor. How can you be outside? What do you want? Are you trying to warn me? Or scare me?

  The door to the downstairs apartment swings open and the grey-haired woman darts out. ‘What’s going on? Are you OK?’ she asks in alarm. She has a soft Yorkshire accent and kind eyes. It’s all too much. I burst into tears. She rushes over to where I sit huddled on the floor. ‘Oh my love, you’re trembling. What’s happened? You poor lamb.’ She crouches down so that she’s on my level but I can’t speak for a few minutes, I’m gasping and crying, pointing behind me. ‘A ghost, a ghost …’ I’m gabbling incoherently. I’ve not felt this petrified since you went missing.

  She shushes me, rubbing my arm until I calm down, my sobs receding, then she helps me to my feet, my legs still weak and shaky, and I hold on to her for support.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I stutter, embarrassed. She pulls a tissue from her sleeve and hands it to me. I blow my nose and wipe my eyes, knowing I must look a mess. ‘There was someone … someone outside. They startled me, that’s all.’

  She frowns and pushes her glasses further up her nose. ‘Someone outside?’ She sounds panicked. I nod and she opens the front door a fraction despite my protests. She peers around the door. ‘There’s nobody there, my love.’ She closes the door and turns to me. ‘My name’s Jean.’

  I introduce myself, feeling foolish.

  ‘You’ve had a fright. Do you want to come in?’ She moves towards her apartment and I long to go with her, to have some company. She’s about my mum’s age, maybe a little older.

  But she has family with her. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough. ‘It’s been a stressful day,’ I say, my hand going to my head to emphasise this point. ‘And you’ve got your family with you, I don’t want to intrude.’

  Jean frowns and wraps her cardigan further around her thickening midriff. I notice that she’s wearing fluffy rabbit slippers. ‘I’ve got no family with me, my love. I’m on my own, visiting my brother. He’s in the local hospital you see, heart bypass.’

  I stare at her, dread creeping its way around my intestines. Blood pounds in my ears. ‘But … the baby! I’ve heard a baby crying for the last two nights.’

  ‘Baby? I’m a bit old to have a baby.’ She laughs. ‘My children are all grown up. I’ve not been blessed with grandchildren yet, but my son’s just got married so I’ve got everything crossed.’

  ‘But … but … I heard a baby,’ I say, feebly.

  ‘Maybe it’s coming from next door?’ She doesn’t sound very certain, which isn’t surprising considering the walls are thick and this is a detached building.

  I can’t take any more surprises, I feel like I’m having some sort of nervous breakdown. Maybe this was all too much for me, coming back here, especially so soon after my dad. I don’t want to see you again, Soph, despite how much I loved you.

  After I’ve showered, eaten and sunk a bottle of wine, I slump in front of the television in my dressing gown, comforted by the inane chat of the presenters on a game show. I must eventually doze off because I’m jolted awake by what sounds like fists hammering on the front door. I rush to the window, wondering if the kids who pelted my car with eggs have returned, but there is a man standing in the driveway looking up at the building. It’s too dark to make out his features but it looks like Leon. What does he want? I squint, trying to see more clearly. He steps back, instantly illuminated by the security light.

  It’s not Leon. It’s Mike.

  What is he doing here? I knock on the window and gesture for him to go to the door. Then I buzz him up and wait, wondering why he’s travelled all this way.

  When he reaches the top of the stairs, his face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s still in his work clothes; his complexion is grey, his eyes tired and there is some sort of powder in his unruly hair.

  ‘Mike?’ He shouldn’t be here. He’s part of my other life.

  He rushes up to me and envelops me in a bear hug. He smells of building sites and cold air.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I say into his shoulder.

  He releases me. ‘Can I come in? It’s been a long drive. I’m gasping for a coffee.’

  Reluctantly I stand aside to let him over the threshold. He goes straight to the kitchen and switches the kettle on.

  ‘What’s going on, Mike?’ I want to tell him he’s invading my space, but I bite my tongue because the selfish part of me is glad that he’s here. After the fright earlier, I can’t deny
I’d welcome his company. Some normality.

  ‘Where do you keep your cups?’

  I tell him to move aside and I make us both a coffee. Then I lead him into the living room, where we sit on the sofa. I pull the dressing gown over my feet. The fire is lit, but it’s dwindling.

  ‘So?’ I ask, pointing the remote at the television to turn it off. ‘Is everything OK?’

  He looks shamefaced. ‘I know we’ve split up, but I’m worried about you, Fran. You’ve had a shock, finding out that your friend is dead. Then you ring me up and finish with me over the phone. It was very sudden.’

  I hold up my hand. ‘I’m sorry but I haven’t changed my mind.’

  If I’ve hurt him with my words he doesn’t show it. Instead he adds, ‘After everything with your dad, and now this with your friend, I just wanted to make sure you were OK. You’re not as strong as you make out. But you never let anyone in. You never accept help.’ He takes a sip of his coffee.

  I stare at his work boots. I know what he’s saying is true. Since I’ve been back here I can feel myself crumbling as though all the self-confidence that I’ve nurtured over the years is turning to dust. Maybe you can never really escape your past.

  ‘You don’t look well. You look tired out.’

  ‘It’s just been a rough day, that’s all …’

  He inches closer and his voice is gentle when he asks, ‘Why are you here? This isn’t doing you any good. Your dad has been through a lot. He needs you by his side. Come home, Fran. Come home with me.’

  I feel close to tears. ‘I can’t. Not yet.’

  He sighs. ‘Why?’

  ‘Daniel needs me. He wants me to go with him on Wednesday to identify …’ A tear trickles down my cheek.

  ‘Can’t he do it by himself?’

  I look up at him, aghast. ‘That’s a bit callous, isn’t it?’

  He mumbles an apology into his mug. ‘Has he got someone else that could go with him?’

  I think of Mia. She would go with him like a shot, I imagine. But I want to be the one to do it. I don’t know why. Maybe I need to know that it’s really you, Soph. That it is your remains that have been found. Maybe I want to feel like I’m needed by Daniel. I can’t explain it to Mike or to you. I just know that I can’t leave Oldcliffe. Not yet. Not until I’ve finally laid you to rest.

  ‘He has nobody else.’ I take a gulp of my coffee to swallow down my lie.

  He reaches out and touches my arm. ‘I still love you, Fran. I’m not ready to give up on us yet.’

  I move away from his touch. ‘I can’t do this now, Mike. Not with everything else going on.’

  He stands up and goes to the window. The curtains are still open. ‘It’s a bit lonely here, I imagine,’ he says in a strange voice. ‘It seems a bit creepy.’ He turns to me with hope in his eyes. ‘I can’t imagine you’ll want to stay here long. Why don’t you come back with me in the morning?’

  It’s almost as though he’s trying to spook me into going home and I’m suddenly struck by a thought: could Mike have sent those letters in a bid to make me leave? But that’s ridiculous. I never told him where I was staying. I stare at him while telling myself to stay calm. Being back here has made me paranoid. Mike would never do such a thing, and he knows nothing about Jason or our past.

  23

  Sophie

  Sunday, 3 August 1997

  I was a fool to think things would be the same between me and Alistair. That kiss has changed everything.

  There is so much to say about Alistair, to try and explain. The way I feel about him is so complicated. I’ve tried to block my own father out, but flashes come back to me sometimes, mostly in my dreams, or my nightmares: his dark, hooded eyes always shadowed by anger or disappointment, his Geordie accent, his black donkey jacket with the shiny panel. I remember that shiny panel from the amount of times he had his back to me, usually when he was storming from some room or slamming out the house.

  Alistair, in comparison, was the dad I always wanted. Blond and smiley, with a cheerful demeanour and encouraging words. He loved his daughter more than life itself; you could see it in the way he always made time for her, always answered her questions patiently. There were occasions, when we were teenagers, when I thought he was a little unfair, like when he tried to make Frankie feel guilty for going out. He would stand in the doorway to her bedroom while we were pulling on our shoes or brushing our hair, and say, almost petulantly, ‘Where are you going? Are you leaving me on my own again?’ And he would seem disappointed when we said yes. He would try and make light of it, turn it into a joke. But even at sixteen I could tell he didn’t find it very funny. Then Frankie would have to go over to him, her arm sidling around his waist, and tell him that we wouldn’t be long, that maybe when she came back they could play a board game. Her readiness to appease him made me want to roll my eyes, but it also made me feel sick with jealousy.

  We always had an easy banter. There was a flirtatious note to his voice when he spoke to me that wasn’t there with Frankie. I had a crush on him but was too young to really be aware of it. I just knew I liked him, that I thought he was attractive, that I would have happily stayed playing board games with him rather than walking around town with Frankie. Yet I couldn’t ever say that to Frankie. She would think it was gross if I ever admitted to her that I quite fancied her dad.

  But after I kissed him my feelings for him changed. It had felt wrong, it had felt sleazy. He was twenty-seven years older than me. A proper grown-up.

  And today it took another turn.

  All week we had managed to avoid each other. I knew things had changed; we had crossed a line and could never go back. He would never just be Frankie’s dad again. But when Maria rang and asked if I’d do another extra shift today, I thought it couldn’t do any harm. After all, Alistair has been staying with his dad all week and even if he was at the hotel, I knew I’d have to face him sooner or later.

  I was pulling the duvet cover across the bed in Room 11, making sure to tuck the edges in under the mattress like Maria had taught me. The room was stifling, right up in the eaves. Sweat pooled in my armpits and my pink T-shirt stuck to my back. I was grateful for the denim shorts I was wearing. I was bending over the bed when I felt a hand slap my bottom hard. I stood up in shock, my bum cheek stinging. At first I thought it was Frankie mucking about, but it was Alistair who stood next to the wardrobe, grinning at me, as if slapping my arse was a normal everyday occurrence.

  ‘Nice bum,’ he said, to my horror. Just because we had mistakenly kissed didn’t give him the right to touch me. I tried to laugh it off, although my heart began to stutter in my chest. I turned away from him to fluff up the pillows, hoping he would take the hint and go. Instead he grabbed me around the waist and started kissing my neck.

  ‘Oh, Sophie,’ he mumbled, his voice husky and full of longing. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’

  I tried to pull away from him. ‘Alistair … stop …’

  He spun me around so that I was facing him, his hands on my hips. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t want this, I know how you feel about me,’ he said. He tried to push his lips onto mine. It was all happening so fast.

  ‘Get off me.’ With all my strength I pushed against his chest and he went staggering backwards, shock in his green eyes.

  ‘What?’ He looked panicked as it dawned on him that he’d misunderstood. ‘Sophie, I thought you felt the same.’

  I pushed my hair back from my face, feeling flustered. ‘Alistair, I have a boyfriend. You’re my best friend’s dad. You’re married …’

  He came towards me again, his face softening. ‘I know, I know, there are a lot of things against us. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Having to see you around the hotel, in those little shorts …’

  I swallowed the bad taste in my mouth. What had I started with that blasted kiss?

  ‘I want to touch you, I want to hold you and kiss you. Make love to you.’

  If I hadn’t felt so repulsed
I would have laughed out loud. This was Frankie’s dad talking this way. Frankie’s dad! It was surreal.

  ‘Alistair, the kiss was a mistake …’

  He stepped away, confusion all over his face. ‘What do you mean?’

  Why wasn’t he getting it into his thick head?

  ‘I don’t feel the same way, I’m sorry …’

  ‘But you’ve fancied me for years. Maria used to tease me about it when you were a teenager. And then you come back here after three years away, an ugly duckling turned into a swan …’

  What did he seriously think was going to happen? That I’d have an affair with him? That I’d get off with him up here in Room 11 while his wife and daughter were elsewhere in the hotel? I stared at him, thinking he had lost it.

  ‘I did have a crush on you when I was a teenager,’ I said finally. ‘A silly schoolgirl crush. But that’s in the past.’

  ‘Last week you kissed me, Sophie.’

  ‘How many times have I got to say this? It was a mistake, Alistair. I was upset. It shouldn’t have happened and I’m sorry if I made you think I wanted more.’ I was embarrassed that he was talking to me in this way. He was Frankie’s father, for goodness’ sake – surely he should be the grown-up here and realise that it was just a moment of madness.

  But it was as though I’d slapped him. ‘I know you want me, Sophie,’ he said in a rush. ‘I know you feel the same. You’re just feeling guilty. And that’s understandable. That’s what makes you such a fantastic person. That’s what makes me love you.’

  Love me? Surely he wasn’t serious? How could I tell him it wasn’t love he was feeling? It was lust, and infatuation. He probably doesn’t have sex with Maria as much as he’d like, a young girl kisses him and he gets ahead of himself, starts believing he’s in love.

  But I just stood there and shook my head. ‘I’m in love with Leon,’ I said.

  ‘Leon? That little runt I’ve seen you with down by the beach? He’s just a kid.’