The Girl Before You

by Nicola Rayner

  ‘Well, that might explain it. It was probably one of his cronies. I guess lots of people in St Anthony’s knew that rhyme.’

  Alice doesn’t like the way she says ‘cronies’ in such a disparaging way.

  ‘It’s “bring”, anyway,’ says Naomi as she shows Alice to the door.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ says Alice.

  ‘In the rhyme, it usually goes, “St Anthony, St Anthony, bring what I’ve lost back to me.” The person who wrote it didn’t know it very well. It can’t have …’ She stops.

  ‘Look,’ says Alice as she does up her jacket. ‘I know this has been weird, but please do call me. If you want to talk. About anything.’

  ‘We call them spotters,’ Naomi says, opening the door for Alice to leave. ‘The ones who say they’ve seen her,’ she continues quietly. ‘We tried to give them a harmless name, a funny name, but it’s not funny really. There are far more of you than you imagine.’ She sighs. ‘The first time we were so excited, my mother and I, waiting for something to happen, waiting for her to come home. Do you know what that’s like?’ she asks. ‘How it works? How every time this happens, you think: this might be the time. This might be her.’ She opens the front door to let Alice out. ‘Fifteen years. And it never is.’

  Kat

  June 2001

  On the day that Richard would break up with Ruth, Kat is surprised by a visit. Richard never comes to see her on his own any more. Never. And yet here he is.

  ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’ he smiles. ‘I thought I would treat myself. I’m free for such luxuries now, after all.’

  Kat glances back at her room to check it looks all right. Too late, really, but it’s fine: quite tidy, the windows are open, letting in the cut-grass smell of outside.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’ She runs a hand through her hair. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Ruth is sleeping in.’ He shrugs. ‘You know what she’s like about mornings. In fact, I think she’s getting worse.’

  Kat laughs, grabs a cardigan. Ruth hates mornings.

  ‘You guys must have had fun last night,’ he says as Kat sits on her bed to put her shoes on. ‘She staggered in at an ungodly hour.’

  ‘We didn’t.’ Kat pauses, unsure how to explain. She plays for time as they leave her room and she locks the door. It’s easier to say it to the back of Richard’s head as she follows him down the stairs. ‘We didn’t go out together,’ she says as lightly as she can. ‘We had a fight. We went our separate ways.’

  ‘Oh.’ Richard glances back at her. ‘I hadn’t realised.’

  ‘It’s no big deal, really,’ Kat says, hoping he won’t ask more. ‘Not a big fight.’

  ‘Never go to sleep on an argument – stay up and fight,’ says Richard. ‘Who said that?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘No, me neither. It makes me think of Ruth, though.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Kat, glancing at her feet.

  It had been quite a bad argument, actually. They had fought about George and Dan. In the weeks since Kat had told her about that night, Ruth had become obsessed with them. ‘They just shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,’ she kept saying. ‘What are we going to do, catch them at it?’ Kat would say dryly. ‘Maybe,’ Ruth would nod. ‘Something like that.’ Kat couldn’t work out why it mattered to her quite so much.

  In the post room, Mr Thompson, Kat’s favourite porter, is sorting through the morning’s mail. He seems absorbed in his task, initially ignoring the pair of them as they greet him.

  ‘Did that girlfriend of yours get home all right?’ he says instead to Richard.

  ‘Just about,’ he laughs.

  ‘I came on at eight,’ Mr Thompson says, slapping the mail down in piles on the table. ‘The night porter had a busy one, apparently. All sorts of shenanigans.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Richard. He sounds uncertain how to respond. ‘Students, huh?’

  ‘At least I wasn’t involved this time,’ says Kat, making light of it. ‘It’s usually me getting her in trouble, isn’t it? Remember the time you had to tell us off for singing Abba?’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Richard shudders. ‘What terrible taste.’

  ‘Still.’ Mr Thompson peers at Richard over his half-moon glasses. ‘Have a word with her. It’s not fair.’

  ‘What did he mean?’ Richard muses as they walk through town. ‘Whatever has Ruth done? She can be belligerent enough, but it’s not like her to be rude to the porters.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Kat links her arm in his. She feels him stiffen just slightly at the contact. ‘She probably just made a bit of a racket coming in – and not everyone has finished their exams yet.’

  ‘Yes.’ Richard pats her hand. ‘That’s probably it.’ He pulls his arm away, but not unkindly.

  Although it’s still early, Kat can feel the warmth of the sun on her face as they sit outside La Bottega with their coffees and papers. Briefly, ever so briefly, stealing a look at Richard as he leafs through the pages, she allows herself the fantasy that this is her life.

  ‘This is all one needs, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Sunshine and a coffee. Something to read.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Kat. The happiness is like something fragile fluttering in her hands. She can almost feel its heartbeat.

  ‘Finals are a kind of madness, aren’t they?’ says Richard. ‘The quotes I was trying to learn actually began to invade my dreams. I think I even dreamed in iambic pentameter once.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Kat smiles, takes a sip of cappuccino.

  It was a strange time of term. Some students had finished their exams and others hadn’t. For those who had, normal drinking laws seem to have been suspended. The challenge was to think of new ways to do it. To make it acceptable early in the day, they’d go to the market to buy strawberries for Pimm’s or mint for mojitos.

  As they sat in the college gardens, or on the riverbank, the girls would be showered and fresh in their summer dresses, and the drinks would contain exotic fruit and ice. But when the fruit and ice had run out, they would descend upon the pub. There would always be someone finishing exams that day. And they’d move on to pints of beer and cider. And things would start to unravel.

  Ruth’s rages had made more regular outings in the last few weeks. Sometimes it would be funny – the time she poured a pint over the college rugby team for some perceived sexist slight; at other times, it would be more worrying. She’d punched a man in the toilet queue for threatening her and he – a massive meat-pack of a guy – had to be held back from returning the compliment. Her anger was most directly focused on George’s gang, of course.

  Ruth had started carrying a notepad around with her, questioning girls in college. Kat didn’t like it: she didn’t want people to know what had happened to her, for starters. Not that Ruth had told anyone; Kat had made her promise that much. The new problem has become how to jettison Ruth’s Miss Marple act.

  And there was something else, something she couldn’t quite get across to Ruth: the sense that somehow she shared the responsibility for what happened with George and Dan. That somehow it had been her fault. ‘It’s hard to explain,’ she said more than once.

  Ruth squeezed her hand tightly. ‘Of course you feel like that. It’s perfectly normal. But I’m not just doing it for you. I blacked out once or twice while I was with George – they could have done something similar to me. Or other girls. First years.’

  Kat wondered if Ruth was thinking of Naomi.

  Since sharing the secret with her friend, something had eased with Kat, though. She was calmer, sleeping better, for having shared the story. After their fight yesterday, the old Kat would have gone out, got obliterated and slept with someone unsavoury, whereas this Kat had stayed in, despite exams being behind her, cracking on with some reading and starting to pack for the end of term. So, for the first time in ages, Kat is experiencing glimmers of light, which, if she is truly honest with herself, also has something to do with the fact that Richard and Ruth don
’t seem to be that happy at the moment.

  She takes another sip of her coffee, tears the corner off her almond croissant. ‘Are you guys OK?’ she asks as nonchalantly as she can, careful not to make eye contact.

  There is a long silence and Kat half-expects him to deny it, to say of course things are fine, but he says eventually, ‘I don’t know. Something’s changed. She seems angry all the time and I don’t know why.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the thought of you leaving.’ She pauses. ‘We’ll miss you next year.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ Richard says simply. ‘She’s on a mission, but I don’t really understand what it is.’

  It would be so easy to explain, but Kat knows there is no way of doing it without revealing what had happened to her. And she can’t. Not to Richard.

  ‘The night we got together …’

  ‘My birthday weekend,’ Kat says, letting it slip out.

  ‘Yes.’ Richard leaves a modest pause. ‘Ruth said: “These violent delights have violent ends.”’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Can we do it again? Something prosaic like that.’

  Kat laughs. ‘And you the English student. Just trying to get your end away.’

  ‘It was always more than that,’ he says, suddenly serious.

  Kat puts a hand across her belly, where she feels a twist of pain. He knows she likes him. Why does he say things like that? She sighs. The spell has broken.

  ‘I could never just be friends with Ruth,’ Richard says, apropos of nothing.

  It’s always been Ruth for him. What was she thinking? Even her few moments of fantasy have been ruined.

  ‘It’s a bit much sometimes – your infatuation,’ Kat says spitefully.

  ‘It’s not an infatuation,’ Richard says. ‘It’s love.’

  As they sit silently for a moment, Jerry and Rob, a couple of third years, pass by. On their approach, Jerry says something to Rob that Kat doesn’t catch, and the boys glance over at Richard and Kat.

  Jerry is still smirking at whatever he’s said as he calls over, ‘All right, mate?’

  Richard smiles. ‘Yeah, living the dream.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ says Rob. He slows as he gets to their table, casting a shadow over it.

  ‘Yes, fine.’ Richard keeps smiling but Rob remains there for a few seconds too long. He blinks a couple of times, then says, ‘I heard you’d broken up with Ruth.’

  Richard laughs – less a laugh, more an inhalation, a gasp. ‘Then you heard wrong.’ He shrugs. ‘College gossip, eh?’

  Kat resists the urge to reach out and touch his hand.

  ‘Oh, right. Wrong end of the stick,’ Rob smiles. He’s a nice guy. Not like that little slimeball Jerry. ‘Well, enjoy your croissants.’

  They move on but something unsaid hangs in the air. Kat thinks she hears Jerry say, ‘He obviously hasn’t heard …’

  Richard shivers. The sun has gone in. ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘Just one of those weird college nights.’ Kat shrugs. ‘Someone’s got the wrong end of the stick, like Rob said.’

  Something had woken her early that morning. A shout in the quad. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Mini-dramas play out all the time in college. She doesn’t know why she thinks of it now. Did she hear Ruth’s voice out there? She thinks of saying something but decides against it. It was probably nothing.

  Alice

  She must stick out like a sore thumb among all the fresh-faced millennials with their notepads and second-hand coats. Alice runs a tired hand through her hair, wondering if Richard would recognise her from college. She is waiting in a packed room at his newspaper’s headquarters at the end of a talk. His paper put on public lectures and discussions regularly, but it had been fortuitous that one of his had come up at the right time, while George was away in Spain, making a one-off show about expats and the referendum. She is still feeling cross with George.

  She had come back from Naomi’s house feeling contrite, prepared to wipe the slate clean, to let go of what she has started to think of as her investigation, but she returned home that night to find George and Christie chatting over gin and tonics in the living room.

  ‘This is a nice surprise,’ she’d said, kissing Christie.

  But it wasn’t nice for long. Her friend, as usual, got straight to the point.

  ‘Darling,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘We’re worried about you.’

  ‘Why?’

  Alice walked to the fireplace. The pair of them must have been in touch to arrange this. It strikes her as odd.

  ‘Sightings of dead people …’ George began, self-appointed chair of the committee, as always. ‘Doctored photographs. Mysterious postcards. Locked drawers.’

  ‘I thought you were on my side,’ Alice said to Christie. ‘Whatever happened to girl code?’ She sounded like a teenager.

  ‘Darling,’ said Christie again. ‘We’re just worried that you’ve become a bit …’

  ‘Obsessed,’ supplied George. ‘With the past. With St Anthony’s. With—’

  ‘Ruth?’ Alice said crossly. ‘Why don’t you just say it? Just because you’re feeling guilty that you lied …’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Dan.’ The timbre of his voice changed.

  ‘It’s just a coincidence,’ Alice sighed. ‘That he went so shortly afterwards.’

  ‘Died,’ George said sharply. ‘Dan died. He didn’t go; he didn’t disappear, like one of your mysteries.’ He took a large gulp of gin. ‘It was bad enough that my best friend died of a drug overdose. In Goa, of all places. I’ve had a hard enough time getting the press to forget my past, without my own wife raking through things. And now you’re trying to pair up with Ruth’s sister …’

  ‘Pair up?’ snapped Alice. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And how did you know I saw her? Who told you?’

  Christie sighed. ‘I mentioned it to him. I was worried.’

  ‘Honestly,’ snapped Alice. ‘I can’t trust either of you …’

  George stood up and walked over to her. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. ‘Alice, Alice, listen to yourself. You are making it sound like there’s some sort of conspiracy.’

  ‘Why are you trying to obfuscate?’ Alice asked, pleased with the word. ‘You too, Christie. What are you afraid of?’

  George shook his head sadly. ‘Darling, you’re pregnant. This happens sometimes, apparently. I read an article about it in the New Scientist. Some women have hallucinations.’

  ‘It was bugs with me,’ Christie said. ‘Huge spiders – I used to see them climbing up the walls.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention you were so concerned before?’ Alice snapped at Christie, shaking George’s hands off her shoulders. ‘If you were worried, you could have said something to me, rather than just running to George.’

  Christie shrugged helplessly. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘I’m not going mad,’ Alice said steadily before leaving them to their gins. ‘It’s not just in my head. Something’s going on.’

  She scowls as she recalls the evening; she’s feeling fragile at the moment and rather alone. George’s mobile reception in Spain is sporadic, so they can’t talk much; she’s upset Naomi; and Christie – well, goodness knows what would get back to George. They were clearly discussing her on a regular basis.

  Alice still isn’t sleeping well. She keeps getting up in the middle of the night and lying there, hyper-alert, listening intently to see if a noise outside had woken her. Sometimes she has to get out of bed to check the front door is locked. At other times, she’ll lie awake, as if on the lookout, until just before dawn, when her body sinks into relieved sleep with the onset of daylight.

  The scrape of a chair against the floor brings her attention back to the room. At last, the final few students seem to be filing away from Richard. Alice stands up to approach him, but he turns away as she gets closer, starts to gather up his notes
. She notices the streaks of grey in his dark hair as she taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.

  ‘I don’t know if you remember me?’ She smiles through her nerves.

  ‘You look familiar.’ Richard pulls an apologetic face. He’s still handsome, Alice notices. ‘But I’m terrible with names, I’m afraid.’

  Alice glances down at his book in her arms. Perhaps he thinks she’s going to ask him to sign it.

  ‘The chapter about people who’ve gone missing near water …’ she begins. But she hesitates and tries again. ‘I think I saw Ruth,’ she says quietly.

  Richard stops what he is doing. Someone bustles past, tidying chairs away.

  ‘I was at St Anthony’s, a couple of years below you,’ she continues. ‘I remember Ruth. I thought I saw her on the train from Edinburgh.’ This is all coming out too baldly, too rushed. ‘I went to speak to Naomi about it.’

  At the mention of her name, Richard’s face softens. He sits down, gesturing for Alice to do the same.

  ‘What did Naomi say?’

  ‘She said …’ Alice hesitates. ‘That it’s happened before. That people think they’ve seen Ruth in various places.’ She looks down at her hands. ‘I didn’t want to upset her.’

  ‘Her poor family.’ Richard shakes his head. ‘It’s been hellish for them. And it doesn’t seem to stop. There’s always something else.’ He rubs his forehead. ‘Ruth used to say there was someone who looked like her in St Anthony’s,’ he adds.

  ‘I hadn’t heard that.’

  ‘No, her best friend always said it was bollocks,’ Richard says. ‘I never knew what to make of it. Ruth could be a bit theatrical.’ He smiles but he looks sad. ‘When did you see this person?’ he asks.

  ‘In January.’ The relief is palpable: that someone is taking her seriously. ‘I thought you might be interested, because of your book.’

  ‘Did Naomi tell you about Nunny?’ Richard asks.

  Alice nods. She is aware that she is making her meeting with Naomi seem more fruitful and friendly than it actually was.

  ‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ says Richard. ‘I’m helping them look into that – using a couple of my contacts to try to find out more. One of them is a handwriting expert. He’s comparing the writing on the parcel with a sample of Ruth’s.’