No, I’m sending this to you now with only one objective in mind.
I just want you to know that I hope you don’t feel like too much time has passed or that it’s no longer an option for you to come back. There will never be a measure of time so great that rules you out of my life completely. Whether you pop up at my front door tomorrow, in a year, in ten years or when you’re old and grey and only want to call on me so you can get me to remind you what your first ever pet rabbit was called… it won’t matter. There will always be a home under my roof for you. There will always be a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on. No matter where you've been, no matter what you've done, I’ll never ask for anything in return but your happiness.
The reason I’ve chosen today of all days to send this is because I have some good news. I’ve just bought a new home – a real one, not just some dingy apartment with nothing but tall rise buildings surrounding it. One with a front door that has one of those little knocker things you always used to love so much. It has two gardens, three bedrooms and a whole heap of history seeping from its walls. It’s full of life, Paris. So much life, I can’t even begin to explain it. I feel happy here.
I hope one day, you can come see for yourself what magic I believe it holds.
I’ve finally found my casa. If you ever want it, it can be yours, too.
Stay safe, no matter where you are and know that I love you.
You don’t need my permission for a flyby.
Izzy x
P.S. I’ve sent you the address on a second email with a few pictures attached. I hope you’ve remembered how to download those. Or maybe I hope you’ve forgotten. That way, I stand more chance of seeing you turn up on my doorstep to see it in person. Your curiosity always did get the better of you. I hope that hasn’t changed.
It’s almost impossible to pull my fingers away and deter myself from writing her an essay style message, but I know that if she ever does stumble across it, every word is probably going to be hard for her to read and I desperately don’t want to be the cause of any pain or even anger, for her.
Blowing the air out of my cheeks, I lazily pull the top of my laptop towards me and close the machine without shutting it down. It seems I’m rebelling against everything all at once today. As I stand up and push myself away from the chair, I find my feet moving gracefully along to the box of bottles that sits upon the kitchen counter and I pull out the first thing I find.
Southern Comfort.
Her drink.
Even though I have no idea what that means, if anything at all, I can’t help but unscrew the cap and grin to myself as I press the bottle against my lips and mumble quietly, “Happy moving day, Mav. And so the next chapter begins.”
Twenty-Four
4th February, 2006
People talk about loneliness as though it's a bad thing. I happen to think the opposite. Sure, the idea of spending a lifetime alone isn't entirely appealing, but having at least one opportunity to find yourself, in your own space, on your own time... Well, that's really a rather beautiful thing.
It’s my twenty-fourth birthday and, despite it being the middle of a freezing cold winter, I can’t hide the spring in my step as I make my way down the street with a few bags of groceries in hand. I'm close enough to the shops that I don't always have to use my car, yet far enough out of the centre to not be in the middle of a nightmare traffic zone. It really is quite perfect. In the few days that I've lived here, I've felt a happiness I haven't felt for such a long time. I can only find one small inconvenience with my new home.
My batty, next-door neighbour, Betty.
If ever there was a woman that should be called a cat lady, it’s Betty. She has at least five of the things and tends to spend the majority of her time on her front doorstep, calling them inside, one by one. Getting in and out of my house without engaging in some polite conversation about all fur covered animals proves almost impossible. Today is no different.
As my home comes into view just a few houses further down, I see her lingering at the end of her garden path, leaning over the gate. Her mop of grey hair flicks from left to right as she glances up and down the street in silent assessment. I'm pretty certain she sees more than she lets on and harbours half of the local residents’ sordid secrets in her back pocket, but at almost seventy years of age, her home and her animals are all she has. As far as she is concerned, she has to protect them. Having inside knowledge into the private lives of those who live on our street is her insurance.
“Ah, my blonde haired, blue eyed, beauty queen,” she chuckles as I bounce closer with a bright smile on my face. “Tell me, did you steal the sunshine from the sky or shall I just continue in my curse of the protagonist of The Bible?”
Throwing my head back and laughing, I come to a standstill in front of her and tilt my head to one side. “While I like to think I have certain tricks up my sleeve, I'm afraid that's all on him, Mrs Devante.”
“I thought so.” She sighs heavily, resting her folding arms on the small iron gate that stands between us. “How are you, dear?”
My shoulders bounce just the once, causing my ponytail to swing as my smile continues to grow that little bit wider. “I'm really good, thank you. Aside from the weather, how are things with you?”
“Oh, you know, still alive with two functioning hips and the ability to hold my pee in my bladder. There's a lot to be said for that at my age.”
“I guess there is,” I laugh, my eyes widening in both shock and amusement. “Just remember that when you start losing control downstairs, your other next door neighbour has known you way longer than I have, okay? You go to them for help.”
Her burst of laughter catches me off guard. “That may be the case, but he's older than me and has a very gammy eye that I can't stare at for longer than a short, sharp second without feeling my stomach roll. I'm sorry, but the job automatically falls to you now. Surely the estate agent mentioned that in her sales pitch?”
I’m just about to argue her point when I see her face fall from a beaming smile down to a look of confusion in the blink of an eye. One minute her attention is solely focused on me, the next, her gaze has locked on something over my shoulder causing her brow to crease and her mouth to purse into a curious, strained little pout.
“Mrs Devante?” I ask, tilting my head to the side to try and catch her gaze, but all it does is cause her to lean further to one side to look around me.
“Hmm…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure,” she mutters as her brows crease. “But that’s the second time I’ve seen that scrawny looking girl this week and she’s making my spine tingle.”
“What girl?” I ask, spinning around on my heel, not even waiting for her response as I search up and down the street for any sign of life.
“That girl over there, with the dark hair, covered head to toe in black. She’s doing the same staring thing she was doing the other day. She gives me the creeps.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Devante. I don’t see any girl or who you are tal-”
I don’t even have time to finish my sentence as my eyes immediately find her point of interest and every single hair on the back of my neck stands to attention. I’m frozen in place, but I feel the bags slip from both my hands the second I look straight into the girl’s vacant stare and really see her for the first time.
My mouth moves to speak, but no sound comes out. All I can do is watch. My neighbour is right; she looks like a ghost. Her scruffy hair hangs lifeless over both shoulders and her skin looks grey. Her body stands in a limp pose while her head drops a fraction lower as though she’s just had the wind knocked out of her stomach but is trying not to let anyone else see it.
I sense Betty muttering away in the background, but all I can hear is her name repeating over and over in my head - the one word I want to shout across the road to her, but can’t seem to find the breath to force out. The girl suddenly takes a step backwards… then another…. then another…. then
another, her eyes remaining locked on mine the whole damn time as she begins to move cautiously away, and all I can think about is that I can’t let her get away from me. Not when she’s so close.
My feet move automatically, starting in a tiptoe motion over the bags of groceries I’ve just dropped by my feet, but I'm soon picking up pace to a steady jog down the side of the pavement. I never break eye contact with her; I know the moment I do that, she’s going to be gone for good.
Finding a small gap between two cars, I watch her face fall in panic as she starts to pull back even further. The thought of her running away again after seeing her for only a few seconds makes my heart jump into my mouth, and before I even realise what I’m doing, my voice finds its way out of my throat and I’m screaming across the street.
“Paris! Paris… Wait!”
I’m just about to charge across the road when the roar of an engine hurtling down the street forces me out of my trance and makes my head snap to the side. A few seconds later, a bus is whizzing past me, only inches away from my face, and I can’t see a damn thing.
It seems to take forever for that fucking thing to move, but when it does and the area around me finally falls silent again, Paris is nowhere to be seen at all.
*******
I can’t stop thinking about how bad she looked. No matter how many times I try to think that if she needed my help, she would have asked for it, something in the very pit of my soul is screaming at me that she’s in more trouble than I realised. Of course, I ran after her the moment the bus had cleared enough for me to sprint across the road, but no matter which direction I took off in, all I was met with were dead ends. My body was hot and my lungs were struggling to ingest enough air by the time I found myself back in the same spot she had been stood in. I just kept turning and turning in circles with a defeated look on my face before Betty finally made her way over to me, put her hand on my back and guided me to the familiarity of my home. I had an endless stream of questions to answer, but I somehow managed to convince her I’d been mistaken in thinking it was someone I knew.
Once she felt comfortable enough to leave me, I shut the front door on my new home and ran up the stairs with more determination and enthusiasm than ever before.
Paris has vanished on me, again, just like Houdini. There one minute, gone the next, and while I know I should be mad, it’s the one emotion that doesn’t register. I’m almost grateful for her doing what she has just done to me. It’s woke me up for the first time in years.
I know what I have to do, which is why I’m stood where I am now. I’ll admit it feels strange to be stood in the middle of Manchester city centre wearing a ridiculously seductive, little black dress and some killer heels, just hours after seeing her and the state she was in. The old me would have skulked back into the house, thrown on an old pair of pyjamas and sat there worrying all night, but that’s no longer a viable option.
The music blares all around me as the bars and nightclubs on the main strip come to life. My head moves subtly from side to side while I hold my handbag over my stomach and tap my foot to the beat, trying my hardest to look bright and breezy to anyone who passes by. Inside, I’m tense and churned up. Inside, I’m desperate to find out where the hell she is.
It’s far too cold for me to be out in bare legs, but they’re my weapon for the night. If I’m going to search as many of the alcohol guzzle spots in this city as I can, looking for someone who knows something about her, I’m going to need all the help I can get. It never hurts to flash some skin, or so Paris used to say.
I’ve been waiting for my newspaper editor friend, Lauren, to show up for the past twenty minutes and I’m starting to get antsy. She should be here by now. I’m just about to go inside the first bar behind me, on my own, when I hear a clicking of heels scurrying down the road.
“Shit. Fuck. Bollocks. Wank. Sorry. The sodding taxi turned up late.”
“Lauren!” I smile while swivelling on my heel to face her. “Thank god you’re here. I was just about to go in there alone. I’m desperate for a drink,” I say, thumbing over my shoulder and trying to look enthusiastic about it.
“A drink, huh?” she wheezes.
“A large one,” I chuckle.
Flipping her long, perfectly curled, brown hair over her shoulder, she comes to a stop right in front of me and rolls her eyes. She’s a few years older than I am, six to be precise, but Lauren is one of those people who stopped maturing both physically and mentally somewhere around her eighteenth year on this earth. I’m not entirely convinced she isn’t a god-damn vampire.
“Okay, Little Miss Moffit, quit with the bravado.” She straightens her spine and pulls on the lapels of her exquisite leather jacket whilst her eyes burn holes in me with a severe amount of intensity. “Why did you really call me here tonight?”
“It's my birthday. I thought you'd fancy a drink or two to help me celebrate.”
“Lies!”
“W-what do you mean?” I shrug my shoulders quickly and try to act flippant, but Lauren is one of the best journalists around, and when I say journalist, I really mean detective. This woman could partner up with James Bond and make him look about as useful to the queen as a chocolate fire-guard.
“You know what I mean. It’s a Thursday night. We have enough trouble getting you out for a drink on a Saturday with three months warning, never mind mid-week and impromptu. Something’s going on and I want to know what. My guess is… you need my help. I’m willing to give it, but I want a full brief of who or what we’re chasing, or I’m going back home to put my fleecy Bambi pyjamas on. You have sixty seconds. Go.”
“Sixty seconds?”
“Fifty seven.”
“Lauren…”
“Fifty five.”
My chin pulls back automatically while my eyes widen and search her face. Fuck. She’s serious. I really do only have sixty seconds or she’s leaving. Blowing out all the air in my cheeks a little too dramatically, I drop my shoulders and admit defeat.
“Fine, I’m looking for my best friend, Paris Hemsworth. I hadn’t seen her for almost three years, not until this morning when I caught her standing across the road from my house. She…” I pause nervously and look up through cautious eyes. “She cut off contact with me and everyone she knew, her family, her friends, all her social circles. There’s been no way of contacting her other than email, but she told her mother she didn’t want any of us chasing after her. I stupidly left her alone, thinking it was for the best, but I realise now, it wasn’t at all. This morning she was a different person. I barely recognised her. She looked like death, Lauren, and then she ran away from me the moment I tried to go to her. I don’t know why she ran when she’d obviously come to see me for a reason, so all I’m left to think is that something serious is wrong and she daren’t tell me. I’m pretty certain she’s in trouble, but I don’t know to what extent. I need to find answers and I need to find them quickly, otherwise I’m certain that she’s going to end up hurt, or worse…”
Lauren’s hand flies up in front of my face to silence me instantly. “Say no more. I’m in.”
“You are?”
“Absolutely. My little bitch of a best friend once ran away from home when she was fourteen. She went missing for twelve hours and I was devastated. I imagined her being run over, being kidnapped by some roaming gypsies and made to work in a circus, bloody allsorts. Turns out she ran away because she’d accidentally dyed her hair blue instead of brown. I don’t know. Anyway, my point is, for those few hours, I was broken and I would have done anything to save my friend. You’ve waited three years.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you so much.”
She moves forward, looping her arm with mine and turning me on my heels towards the bar. “Don’t thank me until we’ve found something out. I need you to tell me everything you can about her. Everything.” Her eyes flick up to the bouncer at the door before she flashes a smile and he lets us straight on through. The heavy bass of the music is al
l around, I can feel it pulsing in my feet and moving up my legs as we slowly stalk towards the bar while Lauren raises her voice to almost a shout. “Her likes, dislikes, last time you had contact, her hobbies, what makes her tick, what morals, if any, she has.”
“I can do that.” I nod.
“Good. Then let’s grab ourselves a drink, sit down and get to the bottom of all this shit for you, once and for all. Let’s find you your best friend, Izzy, and hope she hasn’t dyed her hair blue while she’s been gone.”
Twenty-Five
Same day…
“Drugs?” I shout over the table at her.
Lauren nods back at me, sipping on the straw that's currently dipped in her sixth vodka and coke.
“What makes you think she’s into drugs?” I ask in complete and utter shock. If there’s one thing I hadn’t truly suspected, it was that Paris could be heavily involved in that kind of scene. She’s always been a little reckless, but for her to lose herself in something so destructive just doesn’t seem like her at all. But from the look on Lauren’s face, she seems more convinced than ever before.
Dropping her drink back down to the table, she glances over her shoulder at the hustle and bustle of the bar before looking back at me with an all-knowing glare. “She walked out of everyone’s life and she hasn’t been in contact for years. You say that guy you used to shebang all the time in that dodgy tree house saw her and she was loved up to some big arsed, bruiser of a guy. She looked like, and I quote your words here, ‘a member of the Thriller dance troop’ and was frightened.”
I’m trying not to look too incredulous by what she’s suggesting. I don’t want to believe it could be true, but deep down, I think I already know that it is. The amount of weight that Paris had lost was one of the things that scared me the most about her appearance. Not that I got a close up look at her or anything, but even from a distance, her mottled skin and sunken eyes were clear to see.
Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1) Page 18