Later, she picked out a gift for Millie – an ornament that depicted sisters holding each other close that she knew her sister would love – and she grabbed a Minion cake from the supermarket.
It was around seven, after she’d microwaved a ready meal and pushed it around her plate, barely eating any of it, that she began tapping away on her laptop, a glass of wine on the table in front of her. She needed to finish the article she’d been working on – a piece about tiny houses. She’d been gathering photos and information for a while now on houses she’d seen in Islington and Wales, another on the Rue du Chateau in Paris, and now the Little House in Toronto she’d seen so recently – a tiny white house built in 1912, the smallest in that area. How strange it must be to live somewhere so small. ‘Would you feel trapped?’ she typed. ‘Or would the size make you feel safe?’
Perfect memories of Canada bashed against all that had gone wrong since her return, and her hands stiffened on her keyboard, as though she had arthritis. She had to beat this. She had to.
She put down her laptop, and picked up her wine. A long gulp went some way to soothing her senses, and Luna’s purr, from where she was sprawled near the radiator, helped too. She closed her eyes, but moments later the sound of her phone vibrating across the coffee table prevented her from drifting into a doze.
It would be Jack, letting her know he’d arrived safely. But, as she leant over and picked up her phone, she saw that it was from Trevor.
Isla. I know we’re not friends on Facebook any more – but that’s OK, I’m a bit of a dinosaur in that department anyway. I just wanted to say sorry for my last message. I’d had a bottle of wine, and you know how it is – I just spilled it all out. And I’m also sorry I didn’t turn up at the reunion. I guess the nerves got the better of me. I’m trying to organise another, if you fancy it. Text back soon, and we’ll sort something out. Trevor X
She’d forgotten he had her mobile number. She should have blocked that too. She pressed reply.
Hi, Trevor, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come to another reunion. And please don’t contact me again. I’m in a relationship.
After a few seconds, guilt took hold, so she added – I hope you understand. Isla
Within moments her phone pinged again.
You really think you’re something special, don’t you?
Heart racing, she bit down hard on her lip, looking at her phone screen. Hand shaking, she typed a final message.
I don’t know why you’re being like this, Trevor. I never meant to hurt you. You have to understand I’m deeply in love with someone else.
Once the message had left her inbox, she took several long gulps of wine, before blocking him from her contacts.
She got up Jack’s number. Should she call him? No, it wouldn’t be fair. He was with his mother. She had to deal with this herself.
It was much later that she closed her laptop, her eyes growing heavy and sore from constantly looking at the screen. She hadn’t noticed the quiet stillness of the apartment while she’d been working, but now it was pawing at her, reminding her Jack wasn’t there. That she was alone.
She curled up on the sofa, resting her head on a cushion, and dragged the throw over her. She knew she should get up and go to bed, but the trip to the bedroom seemed a long way – too hard somehow. She would sleep where she was.
It was gone 2 a.m. when she woke with a start. Something had crashed to the floor in the kitchen, but now all was quiet. She sat upright, grabbed her phone, and pulled the throw round her. ‘Luna?’ she called into the darkness.
Within seconds the cat leapt onto the back of the sofa.
‘Jesus, cat,’ she cried, reaching for the band on her wrist, noticing Luna’s feline face was covered in the cream she’d left on the worktop earlier. ‘You’ll be the death of me.’
Friday, 4 November
‘Yay, you’re back,’ Isla said, looking up from her laptop as Jack walked through the door with his holdall. It was gone eight, and he looked so tired. ‘How was your mum?’
He flopped down onto the sofa next to her, and she felt the touch of his lips. ‘She’s not great, but stable.’ He paused. ‘She’s given me my dad’s address. Apparently she’s had it all these years.’
‘What? So you could have been in contact with him all this time?’
‘Pretty much.’ He bent to pull off his trainers. ‘She had an epiphany, apparently.’ He sounded flippant. ‘Suddenly realised I should be in touch with my father. She never did tell him where we’d moved to, when he walked out.’
‘Well at least you know where he is now.’ She rested her hand on his arm. ‘Will you get in touch with him?’
He nodded. ‘I called him on the way home.’
‘And?’ She felt excited for him.
‘To be honest, it was a bit stiff and awkward, but he asked me to come down to see him next Friday after work.’
‘When I’m away?’
‘Yeah, he lives on the east coast.’
‘The east coast is pretty big.’
He smiled. ‘Sheringham.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I can’t wait for him to meet you. I know he’ll love you.’ He touched her cheek. ‘You know I’d do anything for you, Isla, don’t you?’
‘Blimey, Jack, what’s brought this on?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He pulled her to him. ‘I suppose I look at the mess my parents made of everything, and feel so lucky I met you.’
Chapter 22
Saturday, 5 November
WhatsApp: HAPPY, HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY, MILLIE. YOU’RE THE BEST SISTER EVER! LOVE YOU XXX
Facebook: Heading to my sister Millie Bailey’s 40th at Crabthorn Community Centre, Letchworth Garden City with Jack Green. That’s me without the mask trying Marilyn Monroe on for size! Feeling excited.
Email:
From: ISLA Johnson [email protected]
To: SARA Pembroke [email protected]
Hi Sara,
So sorry for taking so long to reply. It was lovely to meet up with you. Yes, a shame nobody else turned up to the reunion, but, like you say, their loss.
Anyway, I may not be in touch for a while as I take off for Abisko on Wednesday, but will email you after that. Isla x
***
Isla pummelled her temples, the thrump, thrump, thrump of the disco’s bass making her head pound – not helped by a same-day hangover gathering momentum. She regretted the wine she’d already knocked back since arriving at Millie’s party three hours ago.
But she’d needed Dutch courage. She didn’t like parties at the best of times. But then she couldn’t have coped with Millie’s sad face if she’d backed out.
She hadn’t even liked parties at university, when Roxanne used to drag her along. Roxanne had been different to Isla, dabbling in anything that would make her high, whereas Isla wouldn’t touch drugs, and often ended up getting her friend out of scrapes.
‘Come on, Isla. Dance with me.’ It was Millie dressed as a rag doll, with red circles on her cheeks, and a blonde wig woven into plaits and tied with pink ribbons. She placed her hands on her curvy hips and wiggled.
‘Where’s Julian?’ Isla asked, eyes searching the room for her brother-in-law. ‘Can’t you dance with him?’
‘Julian can’t dance,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Anyway I have no idea where he is, and I don’t care.’ There was a hint of rebel in her voice. ‘I want to dance with you, my lovely sister.’ She grabbed Isla’s hand and dragged her from the corner of the hall, where she’d been hiding for the last hour, taking photographs she would upload onto Facebook later. In fact, she’d caught a great study of Jack and Roxanne messing around on the dance floor. She hadn’t realised Jack had so many dance moves.
‘Do I have to?’ Isla protested, sticking out her bottom lip. But Millie continued to pull her towards the disco lights.
‘Yes you do. Please. It’s my birthday.’
Once there, Millie began spinning on the spot and singing along to ‘Sex is on Fire
’, arms stretched above her head as she danced in front of pulsating lights. Roxanne was gyrating like a pole dancer without a pole, wearing a clinging leopard-skin jumpsuit with a long tail attached, and a headband with orange ears, seeming blissfully unaware of the line of men at the bar ogling her.
Millie grabbed Isla’s hand, and swung her back and forth. But Isla had always danced like a toddler, bouncing on the spot, fists clenched – her body barely moving. Not a dance style that went with the Marilyn-Monroe-in-her-famous-white-dress look she was trying to pull off.
A group of Millie’s friends pulled her away from Isla, and into their huddle, and a muscular black man approached Roxanne and took hold of her waist with a playful jerk, as though they were about to tango. She put up no resistance, a seductive smile crossing her lips, as she looped her arm around his neck.
Surely Isla could sneak back into the corner, unnoticed. She was about to head away, when a short woman in her seventies, dressed as Cher, tried to make herself heard above the music. ‘Are you Isla?’ she yelled.
Isla nodded.
‘Spider-Man is looking for you outside.’ She nodded towards the exit door, which was constantly being opened and closed, as people went outside for a smoke, or a breath of air.
‘Oh, OK, thanks,’ Isla said. ‘Where is he?’
But a Colin Baker-era Dr Who had grabbed the Cher almost-lookalike, and she was now being whipped up into a ‘Dancing Queen’ frenzy. In fact, the dance floor had filled up, lights pounding the darkness. Isla searched the throng of dancers, but she’d lost sight of her sister and Roxanne, and she couldn’t see Jack.
She moved away from the crazy dance routines, and pushed open the hall doors. The freezing air hit her like a slap, and goose pimples rose on her arms. She hadn’t realised the temperature had dropped so low. How cold it was.
‘Jack,’ she called, stepping outside, searching the dark car park.
The sky burst with bright lights, and the bangs of rockets exploding overhead made her jump. She’d forgotten it was firework night.
A snake of smoke drifted on the air, and tobacco tingled her nostrils. She moved away from the entrance and turned a corner to see a Pokémon, a Power Ranger and someone dressed in pyjamas chatting. The Power Ranger was tapping his foot to the music that floated from the hall through an open window.
There was no sign of Jack.
‘Have you seen Spider-Man?’ she asked, knowing she sounded a bit silly, and they all turned to look at her.
‘Is it a bird? Is it a plane?’ Pyjama-man said with a slur, blowing smoke towards Isla, making her eyes sting.
‘That’s Superman,’ she said, mildly irritated.
Pokémon dragged hard on his cigarette. ‘Yeah, he was here a while ago. Went back inside, I think,’ he said with a sniff.
She glanced through the window to see Dr Who twirl Cher like a spinning top, causing her to stumble and fall flat on her face. Dr Who pulled her to her feet, and handed her a coat.
‘OK, thanks,’ Isla said, eyes back on the smoking trio. She turned to go inside.
‘Hang on, Marilyn,’ the rotund Power Ranger said, throwing down his cigarette and extinguishing it with the heel of his boot. ‘Isn’t that him?’
She turned and looked to where he was pointing. Someone dressed as Spider-Man stood in the darkness on the far side of the sprawling car park, beckoning her.
‘Jack?’ she called, stepping away from the gathered smokers, and squinting. ‘Jack? What are you doing over there?’
The figure gestured again for her to come over, and she walked towards him. But, as she got closer, struggling to walk on heels she wasn’t used to, he swung around and took off into a dark alley.
‘Jack, where are you going?’ she said, picking up speed.
She reached the entrance to the alleyway. It was long and dark. Even the light from the hall didn’t illuminate it. She screwed up her eyes, peering so she could just about make out a figure in the distance standing still. ‘Jack? What’s going on?’ she called, stepping into the darkness, fumbling with her phone, trying to turn on the torch as she walked.
Someone came up behind her and grabbed her arm. ‘Isla?’
She turned, and shone her torch into Jack’s face.
‘Jesus!’ she cried, falling into his arms. He wasn’t wearing his mask, and he smelt vaguely of cigarettes. ‘Oh God, I don’t understand. I thought …’ Her throat closed. None of it made any sense. ‘I thought it was you,’ she stuttered.
‘Who?’
‘Someone dressed as Spider-Man called me over here. He disappeared into the alley.’ She trembled, eyes darting everywhere.
Jack released her and flew off, heading towards where she was pointing. She stood alone in the darkness, heart pounding, shivering.
Within minutes he reappeared, breathless and holding his stomach as though he had a stitch.
‘Did you see him?’ she asked.
He shook his head, puffing, bent double.
‘You do believe I saw someone, don’t you, Jack?’
‘Of course, why wouldn’t I?’ he said. ‘Hang on … let me get my breath back.’
‘You don’t believe me.’ She stared into his face. ‘I can see it in your eyes. You don’t believe me.’
‘What? Isla, don’t be daft. Why wouldn’t I believe you?’ He took her in his arms once more, pulling her close, and she rested her head on his chest.
‘What if Carl Jeffery is here messing with my head?’ she stuttered, her eyes stinging with tears. She knew she sounded ridiculous.
‘Isla, it can’t be him,’ he said, his voice concerned.
‘But . . . ’
‘Isla, it must have been someone dressed like me. It’s a pretty common fancy-dress costume.’
‘Yes . . . OK . . . maybe.’ Her thoughts skittered. Had she seen another Spider-Man at the party? But even if she had she would have thought it was Jack, wouldn’t she? ‘But he beckoned me over.’
‘Are you sure? It’s really dark out here.’ He looked towards the night sky, lit up with more fireworks. ‘I’m not saying you didn’t see someone, Isla. Really I’m not. But maybe whoever it was, was calling over someone else.’
But she was certain he hadn’t been. As memories of Carl Jeffery flooded back, she knew she needed Jack to take her seriously. She felt sick, limbs trembling, as she glanced across to the smoking area. There was nobody there. Pokémon, the Power Ranger and Pyjama-man were getting into a yellow Volkswagen Beetle on the far side of the car park.
‘They saw him,’ she cried, pointing towards them. ‘I need to speak to them.’
She pulled away from Jack and went to run, but he grabbed her hand. ‘I believe you, Isla. Really I do.’
‘Yes, but they saw him beckon me. I need them to tell you that.’ She was talking way too fast. ‘Please, Jack.’
He released her hand, and she ran towards the car, tripping on her heels. But the engine of the VW was running. They were about to leave.
‘Wait,’ she cried, tripping and crashing to the ground, the coarse gravel of the car park stinging her hands and making them bleed. ‘Please wait,’ she whimpered.
‘Isla!’ It was Roxanne with the man she’d been dancing with. She raced over, and crouched down beside Isla. ‘God, lovely. Are you OK?’
Isla sat up, gasping, hands bleeding, and tears sprang from her eyes and rolled down her face. She hooked her arms around her knees and rocked. She could hear Jack’s footsteps, and glanced back to see his worried face as he approached. The VW sped away, passengers and driver oblivious.
Jack bent down next to Roxanne. ‘Oh God,’ he said, pulling Isla into his arms, and she buried her wet face in his shoulder.
‘Isla, whatever’s wrong?’ Roxanne said. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Someone tried to lure me away,’ Isla cried, noticing her tights were laddered and bloody from a surface wound. ‘My dress is ripped,’ she said in a small voice, pushing her finger through a hole in the fabric. A tear dripped of
f the end of her chin, and her nose streamed.
‘Who, Isla?’ Roxanne said, brown eyes wide as she took hold of Isla’s hand. ‘Who tried to lure you away?’
But Isla was no longer sure. Had someone really been there in the darkness? Had someone really beckoned her over? Maybe it was just another guest at the party.
‘I’m OK,’ Isla said, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand, as Jack pulled her to her feet, and wrapped her in the comfort of his arms once more.
They headed back to the party, Isla leaning her head on Jack’s shoulder. As she limped beside him, she said, ‘By the way. What did you want?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You asked Cher to come and get me.’
‘Do you know how weird that sounds?’ He tried for a smile. It was just Jack doing his best to make things right.
‘But what did you want?’ she persisted.
‘I’m off, Isla,’ Roxanne called from where she was getting into a car with the man she’d been dancing with. Isla turned to see her blowing kisses. ‘I’ll call you before you leave for Sweden, yeah? Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘I think so,’ Isla called back.
As she watched Roxanne go, Jack took her hand. She flinched – it was sore – but she didn’t pull away.
‘So, Cher?’ she said seriously, turning to look into his eyes.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t talk to any Cher, Isla.’
Isla gulped, her eyes darting around the car park once more. Was this the way whoever it was worked? Was he passing on messages, pretending to be Jack, in an attempt to lure her away? Or was she simply losing it?
‘But I’ll tell you what I did see,’ Jack went on. ‘At the end of the alleyway, a sports car was pulling out of the street at speed.’
Chapter 23
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Saturday, 5 November, 11.55 p.m.
Someone was out there in the darkness. I can’t bear how helpless that makes me feel. How afraid I am. Thoughts of him trip over themselves inside my head – thoughts that Carl Jeffery is back to finish what he started.
Her Last Lie Page 12