by NC Marshall
“Don’t be stupid. So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”
“Pardon?” Caught off guard, I pretend I didn’t hear him to give me a little more time.
“You were coming to the station to see me about something before the accident. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
I rub my aching head. Do I tell him? After all, that is what I was intending to do before someone rammed me with a car and could have easily left me for dead. I can’t dismiss the sickening feeling it was some sort of warning. I was steps away from telling the police about Ali when it happened.
Thunder claps outside, sending a loud rumble through the room and causing me to shudder. I stay silent, then shake my head. “It was nothing important,” I say.
Mark looks skeptical, but doesn’t push for an explanation, though I know it won't be the last time he asks me about it. He is too good at his job to be unable to spot a bare faced lie when he hears one.
*
An hour later, I am discharged from hospital under strict instructions from the doctors to take it easy. Mark drapes a jacket around my shoulders once outside, the exact same thing his brother had done before walking me back to the cabin last night. Both men had clearly been brought up well and it feels reassuring to see that some chivalry still exists in the world, though it doesn’t go far enough to fully restore my faith in the male species.
The rain is still heavy so I wait under cover for Mark to bring the car around to me. He takes me back to the cabin and sees me inside to get me settled for the night. I always thought of Mark as an older brother when he and Trish were together, and although her husband Max is a great guy, I still feel a little disappointed that it wasn’t Mark she married. He has slipped straight back into the role he had years ago as an older protective brother-type figure to me, just like no time has gone by at all. He is a kind-hearted and genuine man, as he always was then, too. His wife is a lucky woman.
“Make sure you take a couple of days before you head back home, Em, a long journey on a packed train is the last thing you need right now,” says Mark, before he climbs back in the car and starts the ignition. Unenthusiastically, I agree with him, although I want nothing more than to be back home in the comfort of my family.
Once inside the cabin, I lock the door ensuring that all bolts are fully secured when Mark leaves. I've not felt the need to use the extra security measure before now. But today, I feel on edge and suddenly very scared. Something feels different about the cabin, but I can't put my finger on what it is and dismiss the feeling almost instantly. Probably just because I have been cooped up in the hospital all day.
I call Lucy and speak to Mum and Dad in hope that their voices will lift my spirits. I don’t tell them the events of my day, carefully sugar coating everything I do say to protect them. If I told them the truth, they would be on the first train down here tomorrow, and I don’t want that.
I change into a pair of pyjamas and close all the curtains, shutting out the storm which is still going strong. I light the fire, feeling cold for the first time since I arrived back in Sandbroke, then I settle in front of the television and curl onto the couch. Throwing back a couple of painkillers that the hospital doctor prescribed me, I lie down. Thoughts of the accident play through my mind as they have done all day. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to be alone. I no longer feel safe.
The TV’s noise fades as the storm rages on, thunder sounds and lightning illuminates the room in near succession as I let my eyes close. I count the number of seconds between each rumble and lightning strike, a trick my dad taught me when I was younger to measure how far off in the distance the storm actually is, usually miles away. I've never been fully convinced that this is an accurate measure and have settled on the more plausible explanation that it was possibly just a deterrent from my fear of storms as a kid. I can hear water dripping outside the window, drip, drip, drip. At first it’s irritating, but then the gentle rhythm starts to soothe me like that of a ticking clock. When pure exhaustion finally takes over and the pain starts to dull, I enter willingly into my subconscious.
At first, I dream of home. Me and my daughter in the park near our house on a bright autumn day, laughing and dancing, our feet crunching in the dry leaves that scatter the ground. Her long blonde hair catches in the low sun’s rays and seems to sparkle like glitter, her skin pale and flawless, her cheeks rosy. Her pretty, big, blue eyes are full of happiness and hope for a future she is to enter; an endless array of possibilities and dreams stretched out in front of her, awaiting for her grasp.
But the dream soon changes. The bright colours begin to fade as black storm clouds emerge in the sky above us. I look up at them as they move closer and the air grows heavy and thick. Rain starts to fall turning the pretty park into a flooded mess of dirt and sludge. When I look to my side, Lucy isn’t with me anymore.
The park has now disappeared, I am back in front of the police station standing exactly where I was this morning. Frightened, I try to wake up, but my exhaustion only leads to a deeper state of unconsciousness. I can see myself from above as the events unfold just as quickly as they did today; a blur of bright red bodywork, tinted windows and speed, the pungent smell of heated rubber and exhaust fumes.
Rain bounces hard off the already waterlogged road. The car gets closer, but this time its speed slows, enabling me to see inside it. I can make out the driver now. At first, it's not clear and I struggle to focus my vision. Tossing and turning, I fall even deeper into sleep, dreams now envelop me in a thick haze, leaving me paralyzed completely.
As the vision clears and the haze finally lifts, I can clearly see the driver of the car. The person is someone familiar. I can't yet place them, but I know it is someone from my past. Someone I think I once knew.
Chapter 17
A loud knocking wakes me from my slumber. My dreams quickly diminish with the morning light as I open my eyes and struggle to take in my surroundings, but then I realise I'm in the cabin and like a swift punch to the gut, the trauma of yesterday's events hits me full force. I limp to the front door. My leg aches and my neck feels stiff from a full night of sleeping on the small uncomfortable sofa. The room is stiflingly hot. The open fire has now burnt out. The whole area smells of burning wood and smoke.
“Who is it?” I shout through the solid wooden door so that my visitor can hear me clearly. I have no intention of opening it until I know who is there. My voice is croaky, my heart is leaping in my chest at the thought of who could be on the other side. Ali?
“It’s only me,” answers a slightly broken English accent that I immediately identify as Claudia’s.
“Hi Claudia,” I say, as I open the door to her. It must be late morning. I haven’t yet looked at the time, but I know she doesn’t normally start her cleaning round until around eleven.
“Hi, Miss Moore,” Claudia says, beaming. “Rose asked me to bring these to you. We heard about your accident yesterday and would just like to say get well soon.” She hands me a huge box of chocolates tied with a yellow bow.
“Oh, thank you, Claudia.” I glance down at the luxurious looking truffles, my stomach churning in silent disapproval. “There is no need, really, I’m fine.” I smile, wondering who it really is that I’m trying to convince.
“Oh, these were left for you too.” Claudia reaches down into the hidden part of her cleaning trolley and produces a bouquet of flowers adding, “The gentleman didn’t want to disturb you.”
I take the flowers and thank Claudia again before she turns to leave. The card attached to the flowers is pink to match the beautiful arrangement that has been sent. At first I assume that they are from Mark or maybe Chrissy. Then have a sickening feeling that they could be from Ali, another clue to lead me to another dead end perhaps. But the flowers aren’t from any of these people.
Emily,
Mark told me about the accident, hope you are doing ok. Get well soon,
Tom xxx
I can't resist smiling at Tom’s thoug
htfulness. He hadn’t seen me for years until my little stunt yesterday. I'm surprised it didn’t leave him running for the hills. I must have looked like a mad woman. I place the flowers in a glass vase and pop them onto the window sill before getting dressed. I try to push the memories of the past couple of days to the back of my head as I leave the cabin and head down to Ceaders Bay.
The beach has a strange feel about it today. It is a lot cooler than yesterday and a dense fog floats on the sea’s surface. The sky is gloomy and there seems a silent calmness after yesterday’s storms. My leg still hurts as I put weight on it, but other than that, I feel much better than yesterday. I pause a for a few minutes, wrapping my arms around myself and look out over to the ocean, feeling lucky that I didn’t sustain any more serious injuries and even more for the fact I am still alive. A few split seconds difference yesterday, and it may have been a different outcome.
*
Tom is behind the bar as I enter Logan’s Tavern. The place is relatively busy considering it is an overcast day. He nods to acknowledge me as I enter and finishes serving two elderly woman coffee and cakes before slinging a tea towel over his shoulder and turning his attention to me.
“Here’s the wounded soldier,” he announces, joining me at the end of the bar. “How you feeling?”
“Probably better than I should be,” I admit truthfully. I feel the same warmth growing on my cheeks as I’ve always had in his presence.
“I just came down to say thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful.”
“No problem,” answers Tom, “I thought they might cheer you up.”
I smile.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks. Moving away from me, he starts to wipe down the already gleaming bar area. I tap my fingers and purse my lips, deciding.
“Erm, yes, I’ll have a coffee and one of those blueberry muffins please.” I point to a pile of muffins in a display cabinet. I need to appear normal even if I feel anything but.
“Good choice. Coming right up.” Tom smiles and heads off to the coffee machine at the other side of the bar as I pull up a stool.
I watch Tom contently as he works, seamlessly flowing from person to person, serving customers and chatting casually. Everyone appears to know him, even those who probably don’t. They seem to gravitate towards him, to want a little piece of him. All the men want to be his friend and all the women want to be in his bed. Nothing has really changed in fifteen years, and sitting here now it’s obvious to see why I never really stood a chance.
“So they found out who it was that almost ran you over?” asks Tom, joining me again at the end of the bar, only half joking.
“Nope, Mark thinks it was probably just kids, he says there’s been a few cases of reckless driving in the town lately.” I try to sound convincing as though I believe this too. Maybe I’m just being pessimistic; let's face it optimism has never come easy to me, so it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe Mark’s right and it really was just kids joy riding. A simple case of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Tom nods, and slides a plate with a muffin in my direction. “You were lucky though, it could have been a lot worse.”
“Yeah, I know.” The same nervous feeling hits the pit of my stomach as I have had since I returned to Sandbroke. I take a small bite, then I push the barely touched muffin to one side.
“When are you heading back home?”
“I’m going to give it a couple of days. The doctor says just to take it easy for a little bit before travelling.”
“That’s good.” I detect a look on Tom’s face that suggests he is pleased I am sticking around for a bit, but I tell myself I have it wrong. I’m sure I am nothing but a tiny blip on his radar, just as I always was.
“Any news on Ali?” he asks.
“No, nothing. Mark mentioned they are considering broadening the search for her, which has to be a good thing. Right?” She can't run forever.
“I’m sure she’s fine Em.” Tom leans across the bar and rubs my hand affectionately.
“As far as I remember, Ali was a tough nut to crack. Anything that comes her way she will not back down easily.”
Tom is right. Ali was always a fighter, she wouldn’t back down to anything unless she knew she had given it her all, which is why I find it increasingly hard to believe she had ended up living the type of life she did; miserable, uneventful and from what I can gather living as a self-confessed social recluse.
“So… do you fancy joining me for dinner before you head back home?” asks Tom, taking me by surprise. I almost fall off my stool.
“Excuse me?” I gulp down the coffee that is suddenly wedged in my throat. Surely I misheard him.
“Dinner? It would be nice to catch up.” Tom flashes me yet another knee weakening smile.
“I don’t know, Tom. I…” I search for an excuse, but can't find one. It seems insane that I would decline the one man I had never really gotten over, but things are so different now, my life has moved on, and Jake has made it impossible for me to let anyone else in.
Tom seems to tap into my thoughts, lowering his tone he moves closer to me. “I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, Emily, purely platonic, I promise.”
“Okay then.” I cave sooner than I anticipated. “How about tonight?”
“You sure you feel up to it?”
“I think so.”
“Great, tonight it is.”
*
I’m not too sure I’m thinking straight as I head back up to the cabin. Maybe it’s a mixture of delight at the thought of spending time with Tom and the strong painkillers pumping through my veins. Instead of making my way to the holiday park, I walk straight past it and head to the bus stop. I only have to wait for five minutes before the next bus to Cranley arrives. There’s something niggling at the back of my mind. Something pulling me back to Ali’s home and I hope to hell that it is something that is going to shine some light on her disappearance.
The journey takes longer than it did the other night. The bus is packed full of holiday makers unsure of what to do on a miserable day in a beach resort. Most of them get off the bus a couple of stops before me at a well-known indoor shopping outlet.
Ali’s street looks different today; no longer glorified by an immaculate sunset and gleaming water as it was two days ago, it almost passes as ordinary.
It has started to rain now. Sand-filled puddles emerge on the pathways and leaves scatter the road left behind by wind damage from yesterday’s storms. The beach is almost deserted today apart from the odd dog walker proving his or her dedication to the animal’s well-being.
I am much more careful today when I enter Ali’s house. The street is quiet, just as it was when I was here the night before last, but I don’t have the cover of twilight to help me out this time. Again, there is nobody around. I know that Mark and Chrissy were heading up the team's search expansion today, so I hope that it will stay that way.
The house is dark inside; shadows dance on the gleaming marble floors as I make my way through. It feels as cold and uninviting as it did on my first visit. Outside the waves are now high, the ocean swirling deep and murky.
Once again, nothing is out of place and I doubt the police have been back yet. I pull out from my pocket a pair of rubber gloves, taken from one of the cabin’s kitchen cupboards. I'm not going to make the same mistake I made last night by not covering my hands. If I do find anything, I want no trace of my fingerprints in this house.
I make my way through the rooms just as I had done last time. I don’t know what I'm looking for, but I have a feeling the note behind the photo that I found was only one of the things Ali had left me. There has to be more. I have to be missing something.
Quickly, I make my way back up the stairs and towards Ali’s bedroom. If there is anything else she wants me to find, it’s going to be in that room. Inside, the air feels stale, the byproduct of almost two weeks of stifling summer heat and no ventilation. It's so warm it makes me sticky an
d uncomfortable. There has to be something.
I begin to hurriedly move around the room, a feeling of desperation building anxiously inside of me. I'm looking through drawers, cupboards, cabinets. But find nothing other than expensive looking items of jewellery and designer silk underwear. Some of the items appear brand new and I find it hard to believe that any woman would buy some of the skimpy and sexy garments she has without a man in their life to impress.
As I pull open the last drawer, losing hope once again, I notice something; a piece of fabric from one of the items is stuck in a gap in the drawer that seems out of place somehow. I roll up the sleeves of my jacket and reach as far back as I can to pull on the back of the drawer, it comes off easily. I stretch further until my arm burns from reaching up into the tight space behind the other drawers. My fingers hit against something small and I pull it out to reveal a plastic case. In it is a computer memory stick. I knew I was right to follow my instincts and come back to Ali’s house. Hopefully, this small device will hold information for me to help her. It has to be pretty important. I feel a small but significant sense of hope, and for the first time since arriving here genuinely feel I am making some sort of progress amongst all the nonsense surrounding me.
I put the memory stick in my pocket and make my way outside, but as I am heading back downstairs I hear a sound and the front door starts to open.
Chapter 18
I dart back into Ali’s bedroom and frantically search for somewhere to hide. There’s nowhere apart from the wardrobe, so I dash to it and climb inside. I slide the huge door closed just in time. Whoever is here has just come through the front door is making their way up the stairs and straight for Ali’s bedroom. I can hear their footsteps against the marble floor as they approach. I shuffle further into the wardrobe, burying myself amongst Ali’s belongings like they are a form of camouflage. I flinch as something soft brushes my cheek, and sliding it to one side, I realise it’s a heavy fur coat. The scent of Ali’s perfume lingers in its lining. A strong, sweet scent. As I hear the door to the bedroom start to open, I crouch down and pull the coat over me. My heart hammers in my chest. If this is the police, as it most likely is, they can’t know I’m here. As the person makes their way inside, I wonder who it is—Mark maybe? He said he and Chrissy were in the area today. I now regret coming, I should have left it until tomorrow when I know the police aren’t in the area. Maybe it's not even the police. What if it’s Ali? I want to find out, but can't chance opening the wardrobe door to see.