‘They are,’ Roxanne agreed. ‘But maybe you should slow up a bit. You won’t be much use to Isla pissed.’
‘I’m not pissed.’ Millie’s eyes widened, and then she laughed. ‘You know what, Roxy? Do you mind if I call you Roxy?’
Roxanne hated it, but she kept quiet. It seemed petty.
‘You know what, Roxy?’ Millie repeated. ‘Isla has always been my pretty little sister. So lovely. So perfect.’ She flopped her head back on the sofa with a thud, and closed her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I was left behind the door when God gave out all the good things. He forgot about me, and later gave them all to Isla.’
Roxanne looked at Millie. She wasn’t unattractive, struggled a bit with her skin and weight, perhaps, but Roxanne knew when Millie put the effort in, she looked good.
‘You’re both beautiful,’ she said. ‘And anyway, looks mean nothing. It’s about who you are on the inside. And you’ve always been the best sister to Isla.’
‘Do you think so?’ Millie said, eyes still closed.
‘Yes, and let’s face it, Isla’s life has hardly been perfect.’
Millie opened her eyes. ‘I know. I know. I’m drunk. Ignore me.’ She flapped her hand, and took another gulp of her drink. ‘It’s not exactly been a normal day, has it?’
‘You can say that again.’
‘I guess it’s hit me that Isla has so much. She’s beautiful, clever, and has the most amazing man in her life. A perfect life.’ She glanced out through the window at Jack, and he turned and met her eye. ‘And she’s snuffed it out like a candle . . . just like that.’ A tear rolled down her cheek and dripped from her chin.
‘We don’t know that for sure.’ Roxanne’s words seemed hollow. What more proof did they need? All they could really hope for was that Isla’s suicide attempt had failed. ‘And you have a lovely life too, a great job . . . Abigail . . . Julian.’
‘Ha! A husband who barely looks at me, let alone wants sex with me, and he always pick, pick, picks away at everything I do; and a daughter who struggles to interact, bless her heart. Yeah, my life’s a bed of roses, Roxanne.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love my Abigail, and would kill for her, but sometimes it would be nice if someone in my house actually had a proper conversation with me. I get more interaction from Larry.’
Roxanne took hold of Millie’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’s how you felt. Isla always told me you were happy.’
‘Isla thinks I am, I suppose. I keep it all in here, you see.’ She tapped her head three times. ‘I pretend to the world that all is fabulous in my life, but it’s a big pile of steaming crap.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Roxanne said again, a little stunned by how self-absorbed Millie was being in the circumstances. But then emotions were running high, and she was drunk. ‘Just try to remember Isla’s had it far from easy. Don’t forget what she went through . . . ’
‘Oh no, we mustn’t forget that, must we?’ She rolled her eyes heavenwards.
‘She could have died that day.’
‘Yes, but she didn’t, did she? And then she met lovely Jack.’ Millie’s eyes were back on the window. ‘How could she?’
Roxanne didn’t have an answer. ‘We all thought they were happy.’
‘Mmm, but she decides Jack’s not enough, and sleeps with some Canadian Mountie, or whoever he is—’
‘I don’t think he’s a Mountie, Millie.’
‘—and because that doesn’t work out she gives up on life, without thinking of the effect it will have on us all. Nobody saw that coming, did they?’ She turned from the window, and screwed up her nose, wobbling her head as though struggling to focus. ‘Why would she do that to us, Roxy?’
Roxanne felt helpless. People who take their own lives feel they have no reason to live. Millie had a reason to live, even if she couldn’t see it at that moment. She lived for Abigail. She said herself she would kill for her. But it seemed Isla thought she had nothing to live for any more, narrowing her life to a pinpoint where only Andy was important. She’d lost sight of the people who loved her. She saw no reason to carry on.
‘She’s stupid, stupid, stupid. Couldn’t see how much I adore her,’ Millie cried, her high-pitched tone jabbing into Roxanne’s thoughts, then she gulped and swallowed, colour draining from her face. ‘Actually, I feel a bit sick.’
‘I’m thinking you’ve probably had enough to drink.’ Roxanne took the glass from her and put it on the table.
Millie didn’t resist, and leant her head on Roxanne’s shoulder. ‘I almost had an affair once, Foxy Roxy,’ she said, ‘with a teacher at the school where I work. He asked me out for a drink and I went. I liked him – still do, in fact. I was so close to saying yes to going away with him, but, unlike my sister, I didn’t jump into what looked like greener grass, only to find a swamp. I just bit down hard and got on with it with Julian.’ She paused for a moment, her face wet with tears. ‘Do you think my sister’s dead, Roxanne?’ she said, her voice cracking, as a fat tear rolled down her blotchy face. ‘Because I couldn’t bear it if she is.’
There was a silence before Millie fell asleep. Roxanne eased her from her shoulder, and slipped off the sofa, lowering Millie’s head onto the cushion and covering her with a throw.
Roxanne returned to the dining room to find Jack had come in from the garden and was now sitting alone at the table, reading Isla’s blog on Sally’s laptop. His eyes had landed on a photograph of Isla and Andy outside a café together. They were looking towards the camera. Isla, in a black jacket with a grey fur collar, hair twisted into a messy knot, her fingers gripping a cup, her laptop closed in front of her. To Roxanne, Andy looked ordinary. Neat, red hair, average build, around thirty – not cute and quirkily handsome like Jack – no this Andy, whoever he was, was nothing special. Ordinary. He was dressed in a dark jacket, a green-checked scarf looped around his neck, and there was a cup in front of him too.
‘How did he win her over?’ Jack whispered, as though he could read Roxanne’s thoughts. ‘How the hell did he steal her from me?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wish I knew.’ She moved closer, and rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m going to Abisko now,’ she said, on impulse. ‘I need to know what’s happened to her. Find out for myself. I can’t just wait around here for Policeman Plod.’
Jack snapped the laptop closed, and turned to look at her. ‘I’ll come with you. Luna’s already in the cattery as I was supposed to be spending the weekend at my father’s.’ His face crumpled with uncertainty. ‘I can’t sit around here and do nothing.’
Chapter 35
‘I wasn’t sure what to throw in my holdall,’ Roxanne said, as she and Jack headed down the aisle of the aircraft looking for their seat numbers. She’d managed to book tickets for an afternoon flight to Stockholm from Stansted Airport, and a continuing transfer to Kiruna. ‘It can be well into the minuses over there this time of year.’
It was small talk, and she didn’t blame him for not responding. In fact, he’d barely said a word as they’d waited in departures for their gate to open, his head in his hands.
She spotted their seats, and shuffled in next to the window. Jack shoved his coat in the overhead compartment, and plonked down next to her with a thud, before pushing, his carry-on bag under the seat in front of him. He looked pale under his beard, his eyes bloodshot. He clipped his seatbelt on, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, a Heath Ledger ‘Joker’ on the front, and shut his eyes, closing himself off. It was clear his sadness had deepened to another level, and Roxanne wished she could take him in her arms and squeeze. How could her friend have done this to such a nice guy?
She didn’t attempt any further conversation. There would be time enough for that once they arrived in Sweden, when he would have to talk about the blog, and face up to the fact that there’d been another man in Isla’s life. For now, silence was probably the best option.
She pulled a book from her carry-on bag, and settled down to read, but her min
d wouldn’t absorb the words. Instead it buzzed and fizzed, her body restless as the plane took off, and the UK was reduced to the size of a model village.
***
In Kiruna, they climbed down the metal steps of the plane, and onto the icy ground. Roxanne slipped on her ski jacket and bobble hat, and Jack tugged on his long, grey woollen coat. He looked as though he was about to go into the trenches in World War I. He lifted the collar as a strong gust of wind cut across them.
‘Jesus,’ he said, voice low and sad, as they dashed through the darkness towards arrivals. ‘This is a nightmare from hell.’
They took a taxi to Abisko, and the driver, Erik, tried, in upbeat fashion, to fill them in about the history of the area, but Roxanne barely took in his words, and she knew Jack was struggling, his gaze focused on the huge expanse of white, under the night sky.
At Camp Arctic, Roxanne brushed snow from her shoulders, as they stepped through the double doors into reception, and banged snow from their boots. They approached a red-headed woman sitting behind a counter.
‘Hi. Do you speak English?’ Roxanne asked, clapping her hands to try to warm them.
‘Of course. How may I help?’ The woman smiled.
‘I think it was you I spoke to on the phone earlier. I’m Roxanne Furaha. I’m looking for my friend Isla Johnson who appears to have gone missing. She was . . . is staying here.’
‘That’s right, yes. I’m afraid your friend hasn’t returned.’ She looked at the screen in front of her. ‘You’ve booked two single rooms. Is that right?’
Roxanne nodded and, as the woman searched for keys, she glanced over her shoulder. The reception had a cosy feel. There were a couple of armchairs, and three sofas heaped with mismatched cushions and draped with fur throws. There were a few people dotted about reading newspapers, or looking at their phones and iPads. A floor-to-ceiling window looked out into the darkness, and a rather dated-looking computer was on a desk in the corner for guests to use. On a table near the restaurant was a jug brimming with loganberry juice and several glasses.
The woman handed Roxanne and Jack the keys. ‘Once you’re settled in we can talk if you like.’ She eyed Jack, who was shivering, his face rosy-red from the cold. ‘We have snowsuits and boots,’ she said, nodding towards a wooden rack near the door, as the fluffy face of a dog appeared on the counter. She stroked its head.
‘I’m fine as I am,’ Jack said, his eyes darting around the room, as though searching for Isla.
‘You’re in rooms twelve and seventeen. Easy to find, they’re just though there.’ She pointed towards a side door in the corner. ‘Dinner is from seven to nine, and breakfast is served from eight.’
The corridor was narrow – doors on the left-hand side heading into the near distance, windows on the right. Jack led the way past a cleaning trolley.
‘God kväll,’ a housekeeper called from inside room nine.
They continued along the corridor in silence until they reached room twelve. ‘I’ll see you in five minutes in reception, shall I?’ Roxanne said, as she opened the door. ‘We can talk to the woman, and decide where to go from there.’ But in truth, she had no idea where ‘there’ was. What the hell did she think she could do here, snowed in and far from anywhere?
‘OK,’ Jack said, carrying his holdall further along the corridor, shoulders slumped as he entered his room.
Roxanne’s room was like a cupboard. She propped her bag in the corner and pulled out her phone. It had reset an hour forward, and her Internet roaming had attached to a Swedish network. She had hoped there would be a message from Sally with news from the police. How hard could it be to find out about a suicide attempt in this quiet, out-of-the-way place?
She took off her jacket, pulled free her scarf and woolly hat, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Isla,’ she whispered, legs sprawled almost touching the wall. ‘Where the hell are you?’
She left her room, and walked towards reception, where the dogs bounded to greet her.
‘Hi, there,’ she said, ruffling their heads, as she made her way towards the sofa.
It was some time before Jack appeared. He was still wearing the same sweatshirt, but his hair was damp, and his face had drained to the colour magnolia. He joined her on the sofa, and Roxanne picked up on a slight smell of cigarettes. The red-headed woman came from behind the counter and made her way over, heavy boots clonking the hardwood floor.
‘I’m Alma,’ she said, sitting down in one of the armchairs. ‘So what do you need to know?’
Roxanne bit her lip as a jumble of incoherent words gathered in her head. Nothing sounded right. She didn’t know where to start.
‘So you’ve checked Isla’s room,’ Jack said, and Roxanne threw him a wide-eyed look. Of course they’d checked her room. They’d said that on the phone. It was clear he had no idea what to ask either. This was ridiculous. They were like two school kids playing detective.
Alma nodded. ‘Your friend’s belongings are there. Although I must tell you it was cleaned this morning before we got your call. Do you need to take a look?’
‘That would be great. If that’s OK,’ Roxanne said, looking at Jack, who nodded.
‘Did you see Isla talk to anyone while she was here?’ Jack asked. ‘A man with red hair, maybe?’
Roxanne wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but stopped herself.
Alma’s brow furrowed. She shrugged. ‘Not that I recall. Your friend spent most of her time alone, writing on her laptop, or taking photographs.’
‘Typical Isla,’ Jack said, a crack in his voice.
‘She went to the sky station at Abisko National Park last night, I believe. A couple who are staying here, Alex and Maddie Grimes, mentioned they’d been there too. They may have seen her, spoken to her, perhaps. Is that helpful?’
‘Could be,’ Roxanne said. ‘They may have seen her with someone.’ She didn’t catch Jack’s eye, but imagined his thought process. Isla had said on her blog she met Andy at the foot of the chairlift.
Alma looked around her. ‘I don’t think Mr and Mrs Grimes are here at the moment. They said something about going to the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjärvi, but they should be back later. Perhaps speak to them then.’
‘Yes, yes we will.’
‘So when was the last time you saw Isla?’ Jack asked.
‘Well . . . as I say . . . she went to the sky station, but I didn’t notice her return. All our guests have passes for the rear door, for when they arrive back after ten o’clock. We close the front entrance around that time, so she may have come back after that.’ She paused, looking straight at Roxanne. ‘Maybe you need to give it a bit more time before you panic too much. It’s normal for a grown woman to take off.’
‘Yes, but I told you on the phone, she sent us an email saying she was going to commit suicide.’ Roxanne’s voice had risen in volume and smacked of anger. She hooked Alma into a stare. ‘Hardly normal.’
‘Can we see her room now?’ Jack said, getting up and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, as though he wanted to defuse the moment.
‘Of course.’ Alma rose, and threw Roxanne a concerned glance. ‘I’ll get the key.’
She led the way, and stood in the doorway of Isla’s room, as Roxanne and Jack stepped in. But they were no sooner through the door, when the dogs started barking in reception.
‘Tindra! Max!’ Alma yelled down the corridor. She screwed up her face. ‘I shouldn’t really leave you,’ she said, tapping the door key on her palm three times. ‘But I guess you look honest enough.’ And with that she dashed away yelling, ‘Stoppa buller!’
They wandered aimlessly around the tiny room for a few moments, before Jack dragged Isla’s case from the corner. He threw it onto the bed and unzipped it.
‘I should have known there was someone else,’ he said, his voice a whisper. ‘She wouldn’t talk about the wedding, or set a date. I must have pushed her into the engagement. I’m such an idiot.’
‘Not an idiot, Jack.’
‘She was like that after Carl Jeffery, Jack. I reckon that was as much to do with her worrying herself silly about him and the appeal, as anything else.’
He shrugged, and shook his head, as though he didn’t believe her words, and began rummaging in Isla’s case. He tugged out a jewellery box, opened it, and pulled out a St Christopher medal. ‘She’s not wearing it,’ he said. ‘Maybe she hasn’t travelled far.’
Roxanne couldn’t help thinking Isla might not have wanted the luck of the saints where she’d said she was going. She swallowed down her sadness.
‘Did you buy it for her?’ Jack asked.
‘What?’
‘The necklace, did you buy it?’
‘Aha.’ She nodded. ‘Just before she went to Canada.’
His lips fleetingly turned up at the corners. ‘Well, at least she didn’t lie about that,’ he said, putting it back in the box, and closing the lid.
‘Oh, no,’ Roxanne muttered, spotting a photo propped on the shelf. She cleared her throat. ‘It’s the picture of Isla and Andy,’ she went on, picking it up and turning it over. There was nothing written on the back. ‘It’s the one on her blog.’
Jack closed his eyes for a second, as though mustering strength, before stepping towards her and taking it from her hands. He dropped down hard on the bed. ‘Shit,’ he said, his eyes filling with tears. ‘How did I get it so fucking wrong? She even said I was trying to fix her. I wasn’t trying to fix her. I just loved her.’
‘Jack. I’m so sorry.’
‘You know what, I’ve just remembered, there was this guy called Andy on her Facebook – you don’t suppose . . . ’
‘Facebook.’
‘Yeah.’ He paused, scratching his head. ‘Andy . . . I can’t even remember his surname, that’s how little notice I took. But he’s on her Facebook. His profile picture was a maple leaf. It’s got to be him – the bloke from her blog – talking to her on social media, right in front of me.’
Her Last Lie Page 18