by NC Marshall
“Not really,” She replies. “Ali had only recently moved back to the area. Other than her mum, who passed away soon after she returned, it appeared she had very few friends here anymore.”
“Oh, I see.”
Chrissy leads me to a smaller, more private internal office with closed glass doors and plastic blinded windows looking out to the larger area. The office appears dated and in serious need of a revamp. Low ceilings and ridiculously bright lighting make the place feel overly oppressive.
“Have you heard anything else about Ali going missing?” I ask hopefully, entering the small office behind her.
“Yes, actually,” replies Chrissy. “The local lifeguards in Cranley came forward with some of her belongings that had been abandoned on the beach the day that she appears to have gone missing.”
“What, she had just left them there?”
“Seems so. They were handed in to them by a family who noticed nobody had come to collect them the whole time that they had been there.”
“What sort of belongings were they?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the normal that you would expect anybody to take with them on a day at the beach, sunglasses, a towel, sunscreen, a change of clothes...”
“Surely they could have been anyone’s. How do you know they were Ali’s?”
“There was a book amongst her stuff. Had a dedication on the front page from the author made out to your friend. We are in the process of questioning the lifeguards on duty that day.”
I nod back trying my best to process the information. My head spins.
“Would you like anything to drink?” asks Chrissy, as I take a seat near a tall electric fan and let the breeze hit me in the face. I follow it as it moves around its one hundred-and-eighty degree angle and back again. “I’m just waiting for my partner to join us. He should be here soon.”
“Could I have a glass of water?” I ask desperately. I feel if I don’t cool down I am going to pass out at any given moment.
“Of course.” She smiles. “I’ll be right back.”
Chrissy leaves me alone in the office. I sit down behind the end of a desk of what I assume is one of her colleagues. A framed picture of a pretty blonde woman and two young boys wearing Sandbroke Primary School uniforms sits proudly on its edge. The colours of the uniform are still the same as when I went there, and the school logo attached to the front has only changed slightly from what I can remember.
A range of clutter and a mass of paperwork takes up the remaining three quarters of the desk’s surface. A half-eaten service station sandwich has been left on top of a filing cabinet and what appears to be a gym bag and trainers rests next to it. Whoever Chrissy’s partner is must be a totally unorganised slob.
I wait a few minutes before I hear the door behind me click open again. I turn expecting to see Chrissy, but it isn’t her.
“Well, if it isn’t little Emily Moore!” A deep voice fills the room, followed by a man moving so fast through the door that the breeze he brings with him causes some of the papers to blow from the desk and land at my feet. I study the man now in front of me as he bends to pick up the loose sheets, then turns back to me with a bright smile. He clearly knows and remembers me. I rack my brains and struggle to put a name to his face, but at this point in time I am unable to.
“I’m sorry… do I know you?” I ask, as politely as possible.
“It’s Mark, Mark Logan,” the man exclaims.
The penny quickly drops. “Mark!” I say, rising to my feet to give him a brief hug. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognise you.” I suddenly realise whose office it probably is that I’m in and instantly feel a little bitchy for thinking what I just had about its owner.
“Yeah, not exactly the trim young twenty-two-year-old stud you remember, eh?” he says, tapping on his slightly rounded belly, then rubbing at his once dark hair now streaked with silver. He’s changed a lot over the years, but already, I can see he still has an air of endearing laddish charm that he possessed when he was younger.
“You became a cop?”
“I most certainly did.” He points to a gold nameplate partially buried under a stack of folders, reading Chief Inspector Logan.
“Wow,” I reply. I’m genuinely impressed by his high ranking. Of all the occupations in the world, I would never have imagined the laid back and relaxed Mark Logan to end up in the police force, and most definitely never in such a senior position.
Mark had been my sister’s boyfriend all through high school. They were known affectionately back then as the town’s childhood sweethearts. They stayed together through till when Trish left to live in Glasgow after she was offered a place in the university there. They stayed together for the first year of her four-year-long law degree, but the distance between them finally took its toll. Trish met her now-husband Max and promptly ended hers and Mark’s relationship. I’d always really liked Mark, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.
“God, how have you been?” asks Mark, taking a seat opposite me at the desk. “The last time I saw you, you could have only been a teenager.”
“Nineteen,” I confirm.
“How's Trish doing?” he asks. I detect a quick sadness flicker in his eyes, but it soon fades.
“She’s good,” I answer. “She still lives in Scotland. A lawyer in Glasgow. She’s married now, with two daughters.”
“She always did have a good head on her shoulders,” Mark says, before tapping proudly at the family photograph on the desk that I had been admiring a few moments ago. “I've got two kids now, too.”
I nod. “They’re beautiful.”
“And what about you?” he asks brightly. “Married? Kids?”
I feel myself grow anxious. The lies were going to have to come at some point. I didn’t think it would be as early as this.
“No, no, not married. No kids.” I shake my head uncomfortably, willing him to cease the questioning, a skill he’s already proving he excels in.
“Really? It’s a shame things didn’t work out between you and Jake.”
My breath catches causing me to cough and the room starts spinning around me. Stay calm, stay calm.
“No, no we went our separate ways a while back,” I manage. My voice is shaking slightly so I choose not to elaborate further. I’m glad when Chrissy comes back into the room and breaks the awkward silence now surrounding us.
She hands me my drink and I swig the whole glass back in one.
“You’ve met my partner, Chrissy?” asks Mark, who seems to have noticed my sudden personality change and now looks a little uncomfortable himself.
“Yes,” I say, as Chrissy sits down next to me and gives me a warm smile.
“Okay, shall we get started?” she asks Mark. I reach into my bag to pull out a copy of the e-mail from Ali.
“Yes,” he replies, composing himself. He quickly makes a small space on the cluttered desk and somehow finds a pen and notepad amongst the chaos. He sits forward to look me in the eye, and then flashes me a reassuring smile.
“Let’s find Ali.”
Chapter 5
Hello again, Emily. It is so good to see you back in the place that we first met all those years ago. It felt so strange seeing you again after so much time has passed.
My, you’ve changed! I hardly recognised you when you stepped off the train a couple of hours ago at Sandbroke station. Where has that young, innocent girl gone? You have blossomed into a beautiful woman who holds herself with such poise and grace. Who would have known?
Of course, I could tell you were nervous and not acting quite like yourself. Who wouldn’t be nervous, after all this time? It must have been difficult leaving your new life behind for a while to come back to your old one. For that, I must thank you.
You didn’t see me as I watched you from afar as you struggled with your luggage in the blistering heat heading towards the holiday park. But then, I’ve changed too over time and probably look different than your memories of me. You looked
lost and totally out of place walking through Sandbroke centre. Have you erased the memories of your hometown so easily that you couldn’t even afford the time to slow down and take it all in? You made me feel exhausted just watching you.
I waited for a while and made sure I was hidden as you changed clothes in the cabin. I’m sorry if I scared you with the note. It really wasn’t my intention when I wrote it, but I had to get it to you somehow and hoped that you would choose Ceaders cabins to stay while you are here to give me a way of getting it to you.
I watched you as you went into the police station and waited until you came out a little later. You took a while in there and I wondered what you were talking about with the police that took you so long. I’m not really too sure why you had to get them involved with the e-mail I sent to you, but that’s fine. You are a good friend and I know that you are only concerned. I only hope they don’t pry too much.
You looked a little happier when you left the station and then waited at the bus stop to catch the next bus to Cranley. There were no police with you. I take it you haven’t told them about the key. As I knew you wouldn’t. Take care, Emily.
See you soon.
Chapter 6
It’s approaching eight p.m. by the time I get to the small coastal town neighbouring Sandbroke where Ali’s home is situated. Cranley Quays was only just starting to emerge as a reputable place to live when I left Sandbroke. Now it’s classed as one of the most prestigious areas to reside on the English coast. Walking from the bus stop towards Ocean View I can see why.
Large mansion-type homes line the vast seafront, displaying luxury beachside living at the highest of standards. Fancy sport’s cars and SUV’s line up on long block-paved driveways next to extensive perfectly manicured gardens and green shapely lawns surrounded by tall wrought iron fencing.
Ali really had done well for herself if this is where she ended up. I know that she had gone on to be an actress and I had watched the TV drama series that she had starred in a couple of years ago religiously. She hadn’t been in anything else since then, which I’m surprised at. She was a very talented actress, there was no denying that. I had no idea she had become so wealthy to be in a position to live in such a respectable area. I can't dismiss the feeling of jealously I have, when thinking of my own poky little two-bedroom flat back in the North East.
Rounding a corner, I make a turn onto the road that I know the address Ali has given me is based. It had been just a building site when I left Sandbroke, now it’s a gleaming row of modern whitewashed houses looking out over the beach, not far from where the sand begins, leading down to a sea that today is calm and quiet. I count down the numbers until I reach number twelve. Standing back, I admire the huge box-shaped building in front of me surrounded by floor-to-ceiling gleaming windows. It looks like a work of contemporary modern art more than it does someone’s home.
Quickly, I glance around to check there’s nobody around and slide discreetly through a gate at the side of the property, which unexpectedly isn’t locked; shoddy work on the authority's behalf, I imagine. Mark had told me earlier that the police had already done a full search of Ali’s home, but nothing out of the ordinary had been found. However, I know that they could come back whenever they want. I need to be careful.
The key slips into the lock of the front door and slides open easily. Again, I am briefly astonished that there is not more security measures in place to protect such a beautiful home. I do another check up and down the road to ensure the coast is clear and swiftly move inside.
‘Wow’ doesn’t even come close to accurately describe the entrance of Ali’s home. I’m greeted by a huge hallway housing a massive low-hanging crystal chandelier. A grand staircase leads up to a first floor surrounded by a glass balcony. White walls are met by a white polished and spotless marble floor, which seems to flow throughout the whole house.
I hope that there will be no one here. Ali never married and didn’t have any kids (so Mark told me) and I know she was an only child. She never knew her father and apparently her mum died six months ago. The police said there was nothing leading them to believe that she was in a relationship with anyone when she disappeared, but they couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. At this early stage in the investigation, it appeared she had been living alone.
I let the door close quietly behind me and start to make my way through the house, choosing the living room first.
The huge room looks out over the sandy beach to the sea beyond, its view only temporarily interrupted by a small infinity outdoor swimming pool. Contemporary style decor and lavish soft furnishings dot the minimalistically-arranged room. Pieces of art work that I'm sure wouldn’t look out of place in Paris’s Louvre Museum are framed in heavy gold surrounds sporadically dotting the otherwise bare walls.
It’s starting to get dark now; the room is bathed in a deep orange glow as the sun sets over the ocean. I don’t turn on a light as I can't risk anyone knowing I was here, so I start to make my way around in the darkness. Ali wanted me to be here, maybe to find something. What, I have no clue.
I continue to look around the house and make my way into the kitchen. Its gleaming modern appliances look like they have been barely used and create a clinical type environment. I can't help but notice that the whole house feels totally impersonal. It could belong to anyone; there isn’t an ounce of personality, love, or warmth in the place. I struggle to believe that this is the sort of home the flamboyant and glitzy Alison Martin—who had the biggest personality of anyone I have ever known—would have chosen to live.
Upstairs, I race through numerous rooms and have counted four perfectly dressed, but bland guest rooms that look as though they have never been used, by the time I reach what I assume is the master bedroom. This room is different. Instead of the neutral tones and sterilized feel that the rest of the house has, this room is unique and much more relatable to Ali’s taste, as I remember it. The bedroom is decorated in bright pink shades and shiny metallics. Sparkly sequin-studded cushions dress the unmade king-size bed and blown-up family pictures in matching silver frames dot the main wall. Shoes lay on the floor in a neat row, a cream silk robe hangs on the back of the door, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt are folded neatly on a wicker chair in the corner. Her presence in the room is heavy, like she only just left it this morning and is yet to return.
Racing to the wall where the pictures are hanging, I scan the faces looking back at me. It’s definitely Ali in the photos. Just the same much older and grown up version of Ali that I saw on the TV show she was in. Her once mid-length black curly hair is now a long, sleek and glossy style perfectly framing her beautiful dark almond shaped eyes. In some of the photos, her lips are stained in a bright pink lipstick that I had never seen her wear, but it suits her olive-toned skin. There’s no doubt it’s my old friend looking back at me.
The photos don’t look recent, most maybe taken around five or six years ago judging by Ali’s age. A few have her mother in them, who I recognise immediately. There a lot of Ali on her own posing in various famous landmarks around the world. Paris, New York, Barcelona, Honk Kong, Dubai. There’s no denying she was certainly well travelled. There are two final photos as I move to the last of the collection. One is of Ali graduating drama school, posing proudly in a cap and gown, grasping a scroll in her hand. The other is of me, Ali, and Jenna from back in college. I take the photo from the wall and study it closely. I remember the day it was taken well. We are on Ceaders Bay. The sea partially covers our tanned bare legs where we stand posing for a photo with our arms around each other. Our faces are tanned and our eyes full of excitement. We look so young, full of fun, and carefree. It was the last summer we spent together. The summer I met Jake. I find myself wondering if this is proof that Ali cherished our friendship as much as I did.
Carefully, I replace the photo and leave to check the last of the rooms. Nothing seems strange or out of place just like Mark said, even Ali’s wardrobe is perfectly ordered, everything in exac
t colour coordination, full of beautiful clothes and boxes of brand new designer shoes that I doubt have even been worn. The bathroom, as I expected, is filled with luxurious lotions and expensive bottles of perfume. I close the door, leaving it slightly ajar as it had been and turn to head back downstairs. If I hurry, I can catch the last bus back to Sandbroke. It’s evident I've wasted my time coming here.
As I make my way down, something stops me. It’s maybe just a hunch, but even so I need to check it out. I turn on my heel and head back to Ali’s bedroom, something rapidly registering in the forefront of my mind. Racing back to the photo wall, I pick up the one of the three of us and run my finger around the edge of the frame where the prongs on its back are sticking up slightly, as though the back of the frame had recently been replaced and not secured properly. Quickly, I remove the back of the photo and run my hand around the rim, and sure enough inside behind a piece of cardboard is a small piece of paper folded into a neat square. This is what she wanted me to find. My hands trembling, I open the note and begin to read.
Hi Em,
Well done. I knew you’d find it. You always were the smart one! I have a lot to tell you. Meet me on Ceaders Bay tomorrow at 8 a.m. It will be quiet then, so no one will see me. Please don’t tell anyone, especially the police. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can't risk it!
Ali x
Chapter 7
The orange glow of the sun rising streams in from the open window of the cabin, waking me from a restless night. I wake only for a few moments before drifting back to sleep again. The warmth like a comfort blanket wrapped tightly around me. When I had returned back from Cranley last night, I had taken a bath, watched a little television, and prepared myself some supper. I called Lucy and spoke to Mum and Dad assuring them that I was fine, but I think they could tell that I wasn’t. Ali has been playing on my mind and not only that, but now Jake has been too. Could he still live nearby? I’m sure Mark would have mentioned it if he did.