Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist

by Sarah Simpson

  ‘So, how did you meet her, your wife?’ I teeter closer and closer to the edge.

  48

  Cornwall 2017

  Eve

  ‘I’m popping out for a while, Ruan, if you can hold the fort.’ She pulls on her lightweight silver-grey cotton jacket, elegantly gracing her seasonal stippled wrap dress.

  Ruan, being deeply engaged in the desktop screen, murmurs. ‘Huh?’ in response, ‘did you say something?’ Eyes fixed.

  Eve shakes her head, smiling at her assistant, ‘I said, I’m popping out, into town, can you hold the fort for a while, I won’t be too long. Can I fetch you anything back for lunch?’ She sighs. ‘Actually, I’ll be back some time next year. Maybe. Maybe not,’ she adds.

  ‘Hmm,’ he says without looking up, ‘yep, cool. See you in a bit then.’

  ‘You’re not with me at all are you? Hello? Earth to Ruan, do you want me to bring something back for your lunch or not?’

  Finally, he looks up at Eve. ‘Yeah, sorry, yeah – anything please. Except cheese. I hate—’

  ‘Cheese, I know, you tell me every day – you hate cheese.’ Eve wanders over to stand behind Ruan’s shoulder. ‘What are you up to anyway? What’s so fascinating?’ Without averting his eyes, Ruan lowers his left shoulder so Eve can take a look at the screen.

  He allows her a few moments to focus before slowly turning to face her. ‘Isn’t this, whatshername? The one here earlier? Isn’t it her?’

  Eve leans in closer to Ruan to get a better look at the slightly grainy image, ‘Are you referring to Andi? Andi Chapman?’ Ruan nods his head, raising his eyebrows. ‘No. Can’t be, can it? How can it be?’ Eve nudges Ruan to move further to the side to perch on the edge of his seat with him. ‘It can’t be.’ She leans back slightly, peering at Ruan’s raised eyebrows, ‘what is this you’re looking at anyway? How did you find it?’ She doesn’t wait for Ruan to answer but begins to read out loud – missing local girl tragedy. A year on from the fateful date? What we still don’t know – What is this, Ruan?’

  ‘Yeah, weird isn’t it. I was checking out some old news articles when I came across it.’ He scratches his head, leaving the hair sticking up on the right side, ‘Thing is, my mate’s dad’s fifty next week. We’re putting some stuff together for a surprise party.’

  Eve tilts her head on one side. ‘Right? So why are you looking at old newspaper articles for missing people. I’m assuming your mate’s dad is going to be there for his party, he’s not exactly missing? Or is that the surprise element?’ she nudges him.

  Ruan chuckles. ‘You’re so not funny. No, he’s the manager for the RNLI down here, he’s always worked for them, with them, since he was my age. I was looking for some of the jaunts he’s been on with them over the years, you know – rescues and stuff that made the headlines, the big ones usually do. Then, I came across this, think he could have been involved in it, he’s old enough.’

  ‘Well, he would be at fifty wouldn’t he, that makes him positively ancient in your books doesn’t it?’

  He smiles a boyish smirk, ‘not going there again. Anyway, back to the point,’ Ruan nods towards the screen. ‘Looks like it was a full on search for the two women, it says over a couple of days. So I was sifting through it, because it involved the RNLI from our neck of the woods, pretty sure Joe’s Dad, would have been involved.’

  ‘I see,’ said Eve, though she didn’t. Her mind was racing, she had to agree, the photo did look like her, but it can’t be. Surely. Despite the fact she has had an inkling in the few appointments she’s worked with Andi, that something was not quite right. She always believed Andi was holding back on significant details. Seeking help, yet, unprepared to reveal the veiled fragments of life she really needed to. Eve thought she was too afraid, perhaps to even admit the truth to herself. For one thing, her answers were too measured, an accomplished art form of deliberating, skillfully separating the truth from what needed to be heard, always with a mind on not being found out. But at the same time divulging adequate information in order to achieve some help of a kind. She was indeed a more complex character than immediately met the eye of scrutiny. Eve had given her plenty of thought since their first appointment.

  Eve and Ruan leaned closer still to the screen without uttering a word, it displayed a black and white head shot of this Andi and another girl, they both looked so young. There was clearly a strong resemblance, Ruan was right. Lingering, dark, silky hair, a fair English rose complexion, a wistful air about her. Eve pointed at the photo. ‘When was this taken? What’s the date of the article, does it mention it?’ Ruan zoomed back out of the screen to incorporate the full article, using the mouse he pointed the cursor to circle the date. ‘August, 2001,’ Eve read. ‘So, this is a year after the mentioned event, when she went missing, must have been in the August of 2000?’ She turns to Ruan for affirmation.

  Ruan shrugs. ‘Yeah, that’s what it says. What d’you reckon? Is it her? Do we have a ghost on our books?’ He grins broadly.

  ‘Shut up,’ Eve shoves him with her shoulder. What does she think though? Is this her Andi? Or are they both jumping to conclusions? It’s been a long week, it’s only half way through, the photos are slightly grainy and taken many years ago. Didn’t a lot of girls look this way back then?

  ‘The thing is,’ Ruan continues, ‘you’ve got to admit, it’s a pretty unusual name, isn’t it? For a girl, I mean? Andi. I don’t know any other Andi’s. Do you?’

  ‘Hmm, no. But that doesn’t mean anything really, does it. I see what you mean though, I guess it is fairly unusual. But then, let’s not get carried away, shall we not. It’s unusual but not impossible to come across it several times at once, that’s the point of having a word like coincidence. If you think about it, you probably would have skipped past this article, if it hadn’t had been for the name, catching your eye like it did.’ She notices Ruan has again raised his eyebrow at her, in his, no I’m not following you, expression. ‘Come on, think about it, it’s the same as when we’ve something in mind, we exclusively search for evidence to support it.’

  ‘It’s nothing like that,’ Ruan laughs, ‘it’s not the same at all. I wasn’t looking for anything, so that’s not right, is it?’

  ‘I’ll remind you, you just said – the name, Andi is unusual for a girl, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did, yeah. So?’

  ‘So, then the image of the Andi you know of, came to mind, you looked for evidence to make her features fit your image.’

  ‘What?’ He laughs out loud, ‘that’s so far removed.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it isn’t, had the name have been, I don’t know, Belinda, let’s say. You would have skipped straight past it, I can almost promise you. The slight similarities wouldn’t have rung your bells in the same way. You were looking for evidence to fit your picture. Get it?’

  ‘Hmm, s’pose. But come on, you can’t deny it, it does look like her.’

  They both resume gazing at the screen. The black and white image of the missing girl does share some obvious similarities. Also, if she were to add this information to the uneasy feeling she first gained about her newish client, Andi, it could make sense. But it is not her place to build on such suppositions. She has to conduct her therapy with a blank slate, with whatever the client is prepared to share. Having said this, Eve has never worked on this basis alone, she always uses a strong dose of intuition, appreciating it’s often more about what people don’t say, rather than what they do say. What they don’t do, rather than what they do, do.

  After a few moments of uneasy reflection, she stands to leave Ruan to shuffle over and occupy his chair. ‘So, as I said,’ she regards her watch on her slender wrist, ‘I’m popping out now, I’ll bring you something back to eat, okay?’

  ‘Sure, thanks. So you’re not going to ask her about this then?’

  ‘No, I’m not, of course not,’ Eve smiles, ‘how could I? By the way, my lovely assistant out there in reception – he thinks you’re lying, or worse, he th
inks you’re dead. But don’t worry about it, we can work on this in your own time.’

  ‘Yeah, but, what if—’

  ‘Okay, so I’m not exactly going to ask her, I am, unlike you right now, prepared to drop this, write it off as a coincidence but, Ruan, just for you I’ll hold it at the back of my mind. You know,’ she winks at him, ‘just in case. Right, I’m off.’ She walks towards the door, reaching for the handle. ‘Why don’t you get back to your work, or more correctly, get back to your – not work. The party stuff for Joe’s dad.’ Eve opens the heavy solid wood door, stepping down the few steps to the pavement of Lemon Street. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, holds, then releases back out through her nose. This is all very strange. She told Ruan the truth, she will not be remarking on the article or suggesting anything to her client, but also, she will not be leaving it alone. Not yet. Andi’s lips spoke certain words, considered anecdotes, but her eyes often told a different story.

  Eve quickens her steps down Lemon Street, the cathedral peeping at her over the market town buildings in the distance. She heads towards the pedestrianised cobbled area of the old square, swaying to miss a gaggle of students unwittingly dawdling towards her. Now skimming the outskirts of the city centre hotel, through the leaded square window, a face in the popular hotel bar catches her eye, before diving back out of view. But it was too late, a slight shiver ran over her conscience, as the image of her and Ruan peering at the monitor flashed through her mind. It was Andi in the window and as reliable as a quick glance can be, she was there alone. Only, two hours ago, whilst she sat opposite her in clinic, Eve had been certain of a delicate whiff of alcohol hovering in the air. She hadn’t questioned her on it exactly, though she had hinted, in the guise of what tools she currently used for handling difficult moments. Andi was, in Eve’s opinion, too keen to point out that alcohol was not an option for her. But there she is now, drinking alone, in the daytime, a guilty conscience sitting heavily on her shoulder, causing her to duck and dive from the window. Whilst clients are willing to lie, her help would only ever be short lived and superficial. But why did she need to lie?

  The appointment today between the two of them had mostly been about an old friend who had taken her life. Was this a reason for the guilt Andi spoke about in her first appointment? Eve explained to her, she couldn’t feel responsible for the actions of another, even if she was a close friend. Or had been. Andi had gone on to say she realised her friend was vulnerable for reasons relatively unknown, but she’d chosen to do nothing about it. At the time she described herself as being too removed, too involved in her own concerns to reach out to her friend. Then it was too late. Her friend took her life. Since then, Andi’s mind has been filled with should haves and could haves and wish I hads. Festering beneath the rotting surface.

  ‘Andi,’ Eve had responded, ‘at the time, you did the right thing, what felt right to you at the time. Sadly, we have to accept that sometimes, if someone is intent on something as horrible as taking their own life, there is little you can do, especially from a distance. They have to want to be helped, need to want to ask for help. No one really ever understands what is running through someone else’s mind, none of us are mind readers.’ She’d hoped Andi would recognise the subtle personal reference. Eve thought back to the expression falling from Andi’s chocolate coloured eyes, a fruit machine tumbling through the options, gambling with the selections. ‘Yes,’ she’d replied, after a few moments, ‘yes, I get it. What you’re really saying is – in the end it’s up the individual to save themselves, be it asking for help or sorting it out for themselves.’ Then, just as Eve thought they were getting somewhere with this particular guilt issue, Andi continued. ‘But… but what if this friend didn’t have the true facts? I mean, what if she didn’t understand the truth, if her reason for killing herself, didn’t actually exist? And no one told her the truth? Then she died for no reason, didn’t she? I could have stopped this, Eve, I held the truth you see, not her.’

  49

  Cornwall 2017

  Andi

  I crick my neck, wrenching my body back in such a hurry. Oh, how typical of my luck, caught in action, I glanced out the window for a matter of seconds and there she was, looking in – Eve. Caught red handed like a naughty school child, how wonderfully perfect. Especially as I’d managed to fob off her comments on coping skills, inferring alcohol use. A shadow creeps across the table, breaking my train of thought. ‘Can I get you another one of these?’ Picking up my empty glass. How has it emptied so quickly? I’ve only had a few sips; what kind of measures do they give here? ‘While you’re waiting for your friend to arrive?’ he suggests.

  I glance at my watch. ‘Hmm, well she is extremely late. I hope everything’s okay, strange she hasn’t called to let me know though.’

  ‘I’m sure she is,’ he points out of the leaded window on to Lemon Street, ‘traffic’s pretty bad this week, road works and diversions everywhere, she’s probably held up somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, hadn’t thought of that, suppose you’re right, I had trouble getting in myself now I think of it. Oh, go on then you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll have another, may as well whilst I’m waiting.’ I pull my mobile from my handbag, ‘I’ll give her another call.’

  As he smiles, turning for the bar, I find myself punching a nonsense number into my mobile. Then, I’m holding it to my ear, tapping my left fingers on the table in tune to an imaginary ring tone, waiting for nobody to answer. Tutting to myself, biting on the left side of my mouth, before leaving a voicemail speech to nobody. What am I doing? Behaving like a three year old? Explaining myself? Why do I feel the need to say anything? Explain what to who? So what if Eve saw me, so what? Act your age for Christ sake, I’m blushing at the thought of my idiocy.

  Moments later he returns, placing the refilled glass in front of me along with an assortment of stoned olives, green, purple and black. ‘Any joy?’ he asks.

  I sigh deeply. ‘No, afraid not. Maybe she’s forgotten. It’s not like her, I have to say. She’s usually the organised one of the two of us.’ I raise my glass, ‘feels a little indulgent, drinking alone, a bit naughty.’

  He laughs. ‘Enjoy it, at least.’

  ‘Thank you, and for the olives, lovely, thank you.’

  Pathetic, Andi. Truly pathetic. I relax back into the chair taking a long swig. Wondering if Eve has any vices, or is her life so tickety boo? I found the appointment helpful today, once I’d allowed myself to climb down from the cleaner incident bringing my past screaming back into my present. It set me off thinking about Jo, again, razor sharp thoughts, it doesn’t matter what Eve says, I will always feel guilty. Jo, such a harmless, gentle person and so, so troubled. But I couldn’t reach her, I didn’t try. I think back to the times when she wouldn’t be able to leave the Morningside flat, perhaps didn’t take this as seriously as I should have, interpreted it to be part of her personality. Never for one moment did I believe it would lead to her death. Clara never used to help matters, so jealous and resentful of any attention shown to Jo during the dark times. But now, thinking of Clara, I’ve an understanding of her too, losing her twin sister the way she did to asthma, grief, then her parents divorced with the stress of it all. Perhaps, Clara could have been different with different circumstances, without the loss. I take another large mouthful of wine. Guilt, Eve considers it to be one of the most destructive emotions.

  She asked if the guilt had grown or eased with time, eventually, together, we came to the conclusion it had undeniably grown. This is what happens, she said, when we leave issues unresolved. But doesn’t age play a significant part in it? Developing our conscience about the rights and wrongs in life in general? Having children, this changes us too? I think back to the nanny we employed to help with the children. When they were babies, I couldn’t cope, I was completely on the edge. Something preventing that all essential bond I desperately craved with my babies. I’d cry for hours, alone, hiding in the bathroom, knowing how much I was missing out
on, hearing the nanny with my children carrying on downstairs. I couldn’t reach them and if I did, it was with raw, exposed emotions. My guilt ridden past slamming at the door of my mind. They changed everything.

  What is your reason for the feeling of guilt? Is it based on an experience or are you unsure? Eve asked me. It took a while for me to respond, initially I froze, holding her watchful eyes, unable to reply. Whizzing through my mind, rewinding back through the past. After a few silent moments I heard myself ask, is life supposed to be such hard work? Hard work? she replied. Yes, every day some kind of quest, something to feel bad about? For almost as long as I can remember, something has always needed, I don’t know, fixing, adjusting, avoiding, juggling. Is this how it’s supposed to feel? I asked. She replied with something philosophical in the manner of – often it isn’t the issue itself, it’s how we chose to respond to it, think about it, feel about it. I didn’t contradict, but mine is definitely the issue itself.

  I made my choices, these have led to consequences, to how I’m living now. What was it Eve said, people can only affect us if we allow them to. That’s all very well but what about the tweets, the estate agent, the footsteps, the ladder? I’d be some kind of idiot not to allow these incidents affect me, surely? Then what about Clara? Is it not all too much of a coincidence for her to make an appearance now, after all these years. Should I have confronted her there and then? No, that would have been ludicrous with Kyle present. I, at the very least, need to hold it together in the eyes of others. I slipped up earlier with the melt down in front of the cleaner but hopefully the cut hand masked this. Even Kyle has little idea of how awful I’m feeling, it’s increasingly unusual for me to turn to him for support but several times the other night I called him, needing to talk to him, he didn't respond. He’s slipping away, as I’m filtering all I tell him, all I do, even more so now. Does he even know me? By the time he called me back a couple of hours later, I’d crashed out asleep on the sofa. Perhaps a good thing, the state I was in, who knows what my mouth may have revealed.