Luckily Stan said I could have my old job back and I thanked him, relieved that I could start earning money again. I needed as much as possible if I was going to move to London.
I was due to meet Leon at the old pier. I moved through town in a daze, dreaming about leaving, worrying about how I was going to break it to Leon, scared that Alistair would find out. It meant I’d have to keep it from Frankie, of course. Another lie, but I can’t risk her spilling the beans to her dad.
As I walked along the promenade I heard a car pull up. I knew, without even looking, that it was him. It was in the middle of the afternoon. There were people all around – sitting on the sea wall eating pasties and ice creams, sunbathing on the beach – so I knew I wasn’t in any danger. It was a no-parking zone, yet it didn’t stop him abandoning his car. Why did he think he was above the law? I carried on walking briskly, already knowing that he was going to catch up with me in a few easy strides.
‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said, falling in next to me. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Much,’ I said, staring straight ahead, thinking that if he tried anything on I’d just scream, right there on the busy promenade in front of all the nice old ladies and kind old men, in front of the young families and the rowdy teenagers.
‘I take it you’re not coming back to the hotel. I’ve missed you.’
There was no talking to him, I decided. Best to ignore him.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ he said, regret in his voice. ‘That’s a shame.’
I carried on walking. Ignore, ignore, ignore, I told myself over and over again.
‘I know you love me,’ he said. ‘I know you want to be with me. I’ll wait for you, Sophie. I won’t give up. Did you get my flowers?’
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
Was he going to follow me all the way to the old pier? What would Leon say when I turned up with Alistair at my heels?
‘You know,’ he said, as though chatting about something as anodyne as the weather, ‘I think I’ve proved my love for you by keeping your secret. Back in Ninety-two.’
I refused to take the bait but his intention was clear enough. Blackmail.
I kept up a purposeful stride, and a few moments later I sensed that Alistair wasn’t walking beside me any more. I glanced over my shoulder to see him a little way behind me, standing in the middle of the pavement and waving.
‘See you soon,’ he called cheerfully. Five minutes later a car cruised by, beeping. I didn’t have to look to know it was him.
As I rounded the corner out of town the crowds thinned, the streets becoming quieter, the only sound to be heard was the gushing of the sea as it exploded onto the rocks. I worried Alistair was still around, maybe parked nearby in his car, watching me. I was relieved when I spotted Leon in the distance, leaning against the lamppost, and in that moment I longed to tell him everything. But I was scared. What would he do? He could tell Frankie, and she would never speak to me again. She’d never forgive me for kissing her dad. Maybe Leon wouldn’t believe me either. He might think that I wanted this, that I’d led Alistair on. And that’s without even telling him about Jason. So many lies.
Leon rushed towards me as soon as he saw me, his face lighting up as though he hadn’t seen me for weeks. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Still a little bit peaky,’ I said truthfully as I hugged him.
‘Are you OK? You’re shaking.’
‘I’m fine,’ I mumbled, my nose pressed into the shoulder of his leather jacket. It smelt faintly of cigarettes and dry ice from The Basement.
He kissed the top of my head and then pulled away. ‘Come on, let’s go back to mine, the house is empty for a change.’ He grabbed my hand as we walked, him chattering all the way. I wanted to tell him about the Ealing job, but for some reason found I couldn’t. He seemed so happy and after my encounter with Alistair I didn’t want to upset the equilibrium. I craved normality. So I remained silent all the way back to his house.
When we got to Leon’s we went straight up to his room. He put the Lightning Seeds on his hi-fi. A record, of course; Leon only bought vinyl. I listened, comforted by the sound of the needle’s faint crackle, my head on his chest. He’d taken his jacket off and the soft cotton of his T-shirt felt soothing against my face. The late afternoon sun streamed in through his red and grey striped curtains. In that moment I felt safer than I had in a long time.
I manoeuvred myself so that I was leaning on one elbow looking down at Leon lying peacefully against the pillow. I smoothed his hair from his tanned face. Such lovely thick dark hair, I thought as I suppressed a sob. Leon reached up to touch my face tenderly.
‘I got that job,’ I said suddenly. ‘They want me to start soon.’ I grimaced to show how nervous I was feeling.
Leon’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, to his credit, he whooped and sat up to hug me. ‘That’s great news, I knew you could do it.’ Then his expression grew serious. ‘How soon do you start?’
‘September fifteenth.’ My stomach dropped like I’d driven over a bump in the road.
He frowned, his eyes clouding over. ‘I hope I’m not sounding needy and intense, I’m pleased for you, babe, but … what does that mean for us?’
I hung my head. The best thing to do would be to finish it. I loved him but our relationship was built on a lie.
‘Do you want to end things?’ he said in alarm. ‘Is that why you’ve been acting so distant?’
‘No. I don’t know. Leon … we’ve been together less than two months …’
He tore his gaze away from mine. ‘But I love you,’ he said quietly into his lap.
And I know it’s ridiculous when we haven’t known each other that long but I love him too. I couldn’t allow my emotions to get in the way though. I needed a clean break. ‘Leon … we hardly know each other.’
‘Don’t you love me?’
‘It’s not that – I do. But it’s early days and there’s so much … there’s too much …’ I wanted to tell him there was too much he didn’t know about me.
‘I’ve told you everything about me,’ he said. ‘I’ve never lied to you. I know you don’t trust men because of your dad, but you can trust me, Soph.’ He took both my hands in his, his blue eyes pleading. ‘I’d never let you down. I promise.’
He sounded so heartfelt, so sincere, that my eyes filled with tears and I bit my lip in a bid to stop them overflowing. ‘I know,’ I said in a small voice. ‘But I’ve let you down, Leon. I’ve let you down and I can’t keep up the pretence any more. It’s making me ill.’
I opened my mouth to tell him everything: about the night Jason died, about the afternoon in the hotel when I kissed Alistair, about his hounding me. I imagined the look of pain and anger on Leon’s face, his hatred, his jealousy. I imagined him stalking off to have it out with Alistair, to maybe deck him. I imagined the police turning up and arresting him for assault and then arresting me for withholding information on the night Jason died and I closed my mouth and swallowed my words. How could I ever tell him? I’m in too deep.
‘What do you mean, you’ve let me down?’ His eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Have you cheated on me, Sophie?’
‘No … of course not …’
He didn’t look convinced. Like I said, I’ve always been a crap liar.
‘It’s just … I can’t commit to you right now. Not with everything that’s going on. I’m going to be moving to London. You have to stay here to finish your apprenticeship. It’s better to make a clean break.’
Hurt flashed across his face and just knowing I was doing that to him made my heart break. He squeezed my hands. ‘Let’s not make any hasty decisions. You don’t need to leave for another three weeks. Let’s see how things go. We could do a long-distance relationship for a while … when I’ve finished my apprenticeship I could move up. I –’ His voice broke and he looked away, embarrassed. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
I opened my mouth and then I shut it again. In that moment I wanted to mould myself into hi
m so that I could disappear completely.
We said no more about it as we lay on his bed, listening to the rest of the album. We clung to each other, my head on his chest, both knowing deep down that it couldn’t last between us. Our days are numbered.
32
Frankie
The café swims and I have to grip onto the edge of the table, the coffee rising in my throat. Leon owns the apartment. Does this mean he’s responsible for the fake baby crying? For the letters? He’s obviously not living there. So what does he do? Go there when he wants to frighten me? When he wants to deliver his cowardly letters? And then he slinks off home to his brother so that I won’t catch him red-handed? How juvenile of him. How pathetic. I told you, Soph. I told you he was bad news.
The other day in the car he was so hostile towards me, so cold. He hates me, I know that. But what I don’t understand is why. What have I ever done to him to make him despise me so much? We slept together but it only happened that one time. Did you tell him about Jason? Does he blame us? It’s obvious that now you’re dead his rage is directed at me. Jason has to be the reason.
My fingers feel weak as I type Leon’s name into Google. I’m not expecting anything to come up so I’m surprised when I see a small piece from a Bristol newspaper fill the screen. It’s only a few paragraphs long with no photograph, but it talks about Leon selling shares in an IT business for a ‘substantial six-figure sum’ in 2004. A quick search on Zoopla confirms he bought the flat the same year. He must have been renting it out to tourists for the last twelve years. He told me he’d been working abroad so he hasn’t been living there.
I sit staring at the screen in a daze, unsure of my next move. Should I confront Leon? Then I remember the way he reacted to me in the car on Sunday, his anger and hatred. I don’t want to be on my own with him, he’s obviously a psychopath. I tried to warn you about him but you didn’t believe me. Oh, Sophie. Not that I blame you. Who would want to believe that a monster lurked beneath that sexy, moody exterior? And I was as taken in by him as you were – for a while, at least.
Not now. Now I see him in all his unattractive glory.
I grab my phone. The time flashes up: 09:37. Daniel should be at work by now and for a moment I consider not bothering him with this, I’ve already disturbed him enough. But how can I not tell him? This is huge. It’s over – I can go home.
‘Is everything OK?’ Jenny is back, hovering by my shoulder, wearing a patient smile while craning her neck to take a look at the screen of my laptop. I pointedly shut the lid.
‘Everything’s great,’ I say.
She frowns at the half-empty coffee cup at my elbow, little globules of fatty milk floating on the surface like pond scum. ‘Didn’t like the coffee? There’s a Costa down the road,’ she says, gathering up my cup and officiously wiping the ring of brown liquid from the white Formica table, leaving the faint scent of bleach. ‘Nice to see you again, Frankie.’ Then she bustles off behind the counter.
I take it as my cue to leave, although the place is still empty apart from the old man immersed in his newspaper.
The cold wind is biting and I pull my scarf further up my chin as I walk down the high street, stumbling and nearly breaking an ankle on the cobbled stones. These heels aren’t going to last much longer at this rate. I huddle in the doorway of a shop selling cheap clothes, the pounding dance music an assault on my ears at this time of the morning. I ferret in my bag for my phone, my fingers already numb from the cold despite my leather gloves. A young woman breezes past pushing a buggy, a chubby-cheeked toddler in a pink hat snuggled beneath a fleece blanket. She gurgles at me and my heart pangs. I think of all the miscarriages, all those lost babies, and my eyes smart. I brush the tears away angrily. I haven’t got time for regrets. I look away reluctantly from the little girl, pulling my gloves off with my teeth. The screen blurs and I blink away the tears and compose myself before calling Daniel.
‘Yep,’ he says, sounding distracted. I can hear the hub of noise in the background, the ringing of phones and the bark of voices. He’s at work. How I long for work.
‘Daniel,’ I croak.
‘Franks? Are you OK?’ He sounds concerned.
‘I’m sorry, I know you’re at work. I’m sorry I keep disturbing you but I need to speak to you. It’s urgent.’
‘Where are you?’
I walk out of the shop and then turn to see what it’s called. ‘Fiz Fashions,’ I say, reading the neon sign above my head. ‘I’m standing outside. It’s in the high street. Shall I meet you on the front?’
‘Give me ten minutes,’ he says.
‘I’ll be in my car. In the parking area opposite the Grand Pier.’
‘We could meet in the Seagull?’
I consider this but the thought of seeing Helen, or bumping into Leon or Lorcan, is just too much. ‘No … I’d prefer to wait for you in my car. But be quick. I’m … it’s urgent. I think I know who killed Sophie.’
There is an audible pause on the line. Even the newsroom seems to go quiet, as though taking a collective breath. Eventually, ‘Really? That’s … I mean, how?’
‘I’ll explain everything. Just get here as soon as you can.’ And then I put the phone down, thinking of Leon. Of you. And of leaving Oldcliffe for ever.
33
Sophie
Tuesday, 12 August 1997
It’s late as I write this. Tonight I went to The Basement with Leon as it was student night – two beers for the price of one. I was feeling nervous about the prospect of facing Frankie now that I know I’ve got the London job.
The last time I saw her was Sunday. She’d popped over, before Leon, to see how I was and wanted to know when I’d be back working at the hotel. I told her I wasn’t ever going back, making some excuse about the early mornings, but I could tell she was offended.
‘But it was fun working together,’ she’d pouted. ‘I never see you any more.’
I told her we could go to the student night at The Basement together and that seemed to appease her.
The Basement tonight was crowded because of the two-for-one promotion. A group of jitters were head-banging in the corner to Nine Inch Nails. It was a different DJ tonight, someone called Tony (or Tone, as he preferred to be called, which isn’t a very cool name for a DJ!), and he had a penchant for the heavier tunes. A fog of dry ice hung above their greasy heads. It tickled my nostrils, making my eyes water.
‘Are you OK?’ Leon called over the music. We were standing at the bar. It was at least four people deep. At this rate we’d never get a drink.
I smiled at him but he eyed me with concern. We’ve both skirted around the issue of my new job, both refusing to acknowledge it despite it sitting heavily between us. So many things are wedged between us now – we are growing further and further apart.
Tone had changed the music to Rage Against the Machine and as I turned I saw Frankie emerging from the fug of dry ice like a singer in a pop video. She was wearing a short black shift dress and long boots.
‘Soph!’ she called, elbowing her way towards me. She almost got whipped in the eye by a man’s greasy pony-tail as he threw back his head in the middle of the mosh pit. ‘Watch it!’ she snarled at him, although her words were lost in the music. ‘Bloody jitters.’ She enveloped me in a hug and then pulled away to survey me. ‘How are you feeling? I was hoping you were going to change your mind about coming back to work. I miss you.’
‘I got my old job back.’
‘I don’t understand why you want to work on that smelly fish stall again,’ she said.
‘I’ve already told you – I can’t do early mornings.’
‘I can’t hear you!’ she shouted over the music. She grabbed my arm, leading me away, and I threw a panicked glance over my shoulder at Leon, but he was too busy trying to jostle himself closer to the bar to notice.
I had no choice but to allow Frankie to lead me through the crowd and through the main double doors to the lobby, where the cloakroom, the exit and
the ladies’ loos are. It was quieter there, the throb of music dulled by the double fire doors. We stood near the exit, the warm summer air filtering through the doors. Frankie fumbled in her bag for her cigarettes. She calls herself a social smoker, only ever lighting up when we’re out. I’ve never seen the attraction. I tried a cigarette once, behind the bike sheds in sixth form to impress Ian Harris. But the smoke got stuck in my throat and I’d coughed and spluttered and, not surprisingly, he never asked me to go with him to the bike sheds again!
‘So,’ she said through a flume of smoke. ‘What’s going on, Soph?’
I squirmed under the intense stare of those green eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You.’ She frowned. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
‘I saw you on Sunday.’ I stared at my Gazelle trainers.
‘For half an hour, and then you couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. Something’s going on. I’m not stupid.’ She took another deep drag on her cigarette. ‘And besides, if you’re not avoiding me then why else would you go back to that slimy fish stall? My dad pays you twice what Stan does.’
‘Hardly,’ I muttered, still avoiding eye contact. I tried not to shudder at the thought of Alistair.
I looked up and met her eyes. They were hostile. She took another drag and then flicked the butt on the floor where it landed in a puddle of what looked like sticky beer but could easily have been urine. Her face softened. ‘You used to tell me everything, Soph,’ she said sadly. ‘Things have changed. You’ve changed.’
I sighed, exasperated. What did she think was going to happen? That I would stand still for those three years, frozen in time while waiting to bump into her again? ‘Frankie. We’re not kids any more.’
‘You were like the sister I never had.’
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