“Wow, I love that color,” she remarked. “Anyway, the favors? I need to borrow your car—just for a couple of hours.”
“Sure.” Flora seemed dazed, as if she weren’t fully present, but she always got that way when she was immersed in a project, so Alice waited a few moments for the distracted look in her eyes to fade.
Flora took a few breaths. “The car?” she repeated finally, as if only just registering the request. “That’s fine. The keys are in the hall.”
“Thanks.” Alice smiled gratefully. “There is this one other thing…”
“What?” Flora crossed to the basin in the corner, scrubbing at her paint-stained hands.
Alice bit her lip. “I…Um, I was here with you. All evening. If anyone asks, all right?”
Flora looked up. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Alice reassured her quickly. “It’ll be fine, I promise. I just, I need you to cover for me. So if someone calls, say I’m in the shower, or something. Can you do that?” She watched Flora with a flicker of nerves, but instead of interrogating her, Flora just nodded.
“Of course,” she said simply. “Call if you need anything.”
Her lack of curiosity was strange, but Alice had too much else on her mind for now to dwell on it. As she drove carefully toward Bellevue Road, she tried to think if she’d forgotten any vital detail. She’d been tempted to wait until the cover of dark, but instinct told her that she would appear less suspicious in daylight. A nondescript woman letting herself into a house one evening wouldn’t raise alarm, in even the most well-patrolled of neighborhood-watch zones. Similarly, for all the black catsuits that the heroines of various movies used for their attire, only a burlap sack marked “SWAG” slung over her shoulder would be more conspicuous. A quick perusal of her wardrobe had yielded plain jeans, a summer vest top, and a pair of flip-flops: as unmemorable and ordinary as she could find.
Parking on the next street, Alice emptied her purse and pockets of identifying documents and fastened her hair up under a baseball cap to disguise its length. She caught herself in the rearview window for a moment and paused, taking in the excitement in her eyes. She should be conflicted over this, she knew. Anyone else would feel guilty, even shameful, but instead, Alice felt only a thrill at how close she was to the truth. It would be simple, swift—and give her all the answers she needed. What was there to even think about?
Still, as she locked up the car and walked quickly toward their house, Alice felt her nerves flutter to life. The streets were quiet, but she kept her head down, almost flinching as a man ambled past with his golden retriever. Calm, she told herself, forcing deep breaths. Nothing to worry about.
Number fifteen was dark, and the driveway empty. Alice strolled up the front path, forcing herself not to rush. She was painfully aware of somebody in the front garden of the house opposite, an older woman watering the flower beds from an old-fashioned can. But this was London. She probably didn’t even know Carl’s name, let alone the fact that he was gone for the weekend.
Alice’s breath caught, just for a moment, when she fumbled under the plant’s pot, but then her fingertips found the key and just like that, she was closing the door safely behind her.
She was in.
Pulling on a pair of thin cotton gloves, Alice looked around. The house was clearly a male-only domain, with graying carpets, basic metal shelving, and computer magazines and gadgets strewn around, but Alice found it surprisingly neat and clean. Aside from a lone plant wilting in one corner, the living room was given over entirely to two hideous beige couches, a vast flat-screen TV, and a tangle of gaming equipment lined up in strict order across the floor. There were no signs of personal mementos or photographs of any kind, so Alice moved swiftly upstairs, trying each bedroom in turn until she found a pile of letters addressed to Carl Jackson on the desk in the corner room. Jackpot.
Alice began searching the room: quick, but methodical, ignoring the creeping sense that she didn’t belong there. Desk drawers held old issues of Wired and a range of office supplies arranged in careful rows according to color and type, but nothing useful. She checked under the bed, in the wardrobe—all the usual places, with a growing sense of urgency, but it wasn’t until she began rifling through the row of storage boxes in the bottom drawer of his dresser that Alice felt her certainty return. Like her, he kept his bank statements and important papers in one single file, but beneath them, buried even further, were handfuls of photographs, loose and crumpled at the edges.
Settling on the floor, Alice began to slowly flip through the strange record of another man’s life. Baby pictures and blurry university graduation shots; summer tourist snaps and back garden barbeques—they were clumped together in no particular order, and peering at each in turn, Alice felt a strange sense of intrusion, as if she were a voyeur lingering on the edge of every frame. There was a fascination too. His old friends, relationships, and random passing moments were laid out for her to see, and with the documents she had stacked neatly to one side, Alice realized that she held the narrative of his life, right there in front of her. It was almost like she owned him, in some strange way.
There was a sudden burst of noise.
Alice leaped to her feet, looking around frantically, until she realized it was just the sound of her phone ringtone. She pulled it out of her pocket and the new text. It was from Nathan: “I take it back, the Swiss are even less helpful than the Germans. See you soon. X”
Alice stared at the short message, feeling her discomfort creep in again. What would he say if he could see her then? But she had work to do. Tucking her phone away again, she returned to the task of sifting through those photographs, wondering if she would ever find any hint of Kate, or if Carl had excised his sister from his life as thoroughly as she had his from hers.
And then she found them: a thick wedge of family photos, tucked into a plain black folder. Carl and his sister, Kate, together. They were there as children, in matching mud-stained outfits, and then surlier teens, gawky and overgrown. Christmases, birthdays, family holidays; ugly jumpers and embarrassing juvenile haircuts—the years flickered by as Alice pored through every last one, her hopes sinking with every new shot.
It wasn’t Ella.
The photo from the newspapers had been vague and full of promise, but watching Kate grow before her eyes it was clear that this was somebody else entirely. The nose was longer, the jawline rounder—aspects easily corrected with surgery, it was true, but other things were not. Alice held one of the last photos, a summer snap of Kate beaming over her shoulder. She was wearing a bikini with bright orange straps, aged in her early twenties, perhaps, but Alice’s gaze was fixed to the thick scar running down her left shoulder blade. It was twisted and deep, the result of some unknown surgery, and although the skin was pale again, its imprint was clear. And, Alice realized, surrendering her last hopes for good, permanent.
Ella had no such scar. Alice had seen her wearing strapless tops and low-cut dresses; her shoulders were dotted with a smattering of tiny freckles, but no pale crumple of skin.
She’d been wrong.
Alice slumped into a heap, all her fierce determination evaporating in an instant as her dreams became foolish fantasies. What was she doing there, browsing through a sweet man’s belongings in search of something that didn’t exist? Without the possibility of Ella’s story urging her on, Alice was simply a creepy woman skulking on the floor of a stranger’s bedroom. Kate Jackson was missing, probably dead, and there she was, rummaging in her brother’s private memories as if she even had the right to lay eyes on them. Alice shuddered, guilty.
A blast of music from a car radio passing outside snapped her back into action. She wanted to just flee, but caution forced her to carefully place the photos back in the approximate order she’d found them, adding the other folders and magazines and sliding the box into place. She looked around the room, checking everything appeared untouched. She wished she could magic it that she’d never been at all, b
ut this cleanup would have to do. Hurrying, Alice all but tripped back down the stairs and out of the front door.
She was bent double, sliding the key back into place, when Alice heard an imperious voice behind her ask, “What are you doing?”
Alice stood up so fast, she felt a rush of blood fill her head. Standing at the end of the front path was the woman from across the road, watering can still in hand. She was wearing khaki trousers and a cardigan, her ash blond hair cut in a feathery sort of bob. To Alice’s horror, she looked the very definition of a nosy neighbor. “Is everything all right?” the woman asked, her tone clearly implying that it wasn’t.
Alice sucked in a breath, visions of police cells and angry interrogation suddenly looming. Again. Only this time, she wasn’t innocent, and her activities certainly wouldn’t be so easily explained.
“Hi!” Alice exclaimed, her voice artificially bright. “Can I help you?”
The woman glanced past her to the house. “Are the boys back so soon? They said they’d be gone all weekend.” She narrowed her eyes at Alice. “They asked me to keep an eye on things, you see.”
Alice forced herself not to panic. “Everything’s fine!” she declared, dragging her voice back to more reasonable levels to trot out the excuse she’d prepared. “Reese was just worried he’d…left his laptop unplugged.” She had named one of Carl’s housemates. “There was a game paused, and if the power had run down, he would have lost the high score.”
The woman’s frown lessened; it was a plausible excuse, at least.
“So, I really better run.” Alice forced a smile, even as her stomach gave a lurch of fear. “I’ll let him know you’re keeping good watch on the place!”
Alice tried to move past the woman, but she stayed firmly in place. “You know, I think I’ll just give the boys a ring. They did leave their number…” She whipped a mobile from the pocket of her floral-print gardening apron. “What did you say your name was?”
“Lucy,” Alice replied, perhaps fast enough to seem genuine. “But I talked to Reese just before coming over—they’re about to start the ceremony.”
The woman frowned. “Still, I think I should ring…And you’re a friend of Reese’s?” Her haze drifted to Alice’s hands. She’d left the gloves on, Alice realized, despite the summer heat.
Alice tried to edge further down the path. “I’m his girlfriend!” she explained.
The woman stopped. “I thought Reese was the homosexual one.” She pursed her lips—whether at Reese’s sexual preference or the obvious lie, Alice wasn’t sure—and began to press buttons on her phone. Alice gulped.
“Really? Ha! He can’t be! We’ve been going out for weeks now…” She attempted to maneuver around the woman, but a hand shot out and gripped her wrist with surprising force.
“You just wait here until I’ve had a chance to speak to them.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Alice tugged, her panic rising. “I have to go.”
But the woman had already dialed and was holding the phone to her ear. “Yes, Carl? It’s Patricia, from across the road—”
Alice yanked harder against the woman’s steely grip. As soon as this interfering biddy found out that she wasn’t a legitimate visitor, it would all be over. There would be police, and questioning, and formal charges, and Alice’s world would fall apart all over again; only this time, there would be no sympathetic solicitors on hand to unravel the mess she’d made. She could see it now: the bewildered disappointment from Nathan, the ruin a criminal record would do—for the rest of her life.
God, what had she risked?
Alice snapped. Pushing, instead of pulling, she sent Patricia reeling back. She let out a squawk of protest, but Alice was too close to freedom to care. She gave a final, desperate twist to free herself, lunging clear as the woman stumbled, falling heavily to the ground.
Alice didn’t look back. She dashed toward the front gate and took off down the road at a sprint, Patricia’s outraged cries for help echoing behind her. Breathless, she dashed around the corner and all but leaped into Flora’s car, fumbling to fit the key to the ignition. The taste of fear was metallic in her mouth. But finally, the engine growled to life, and then she was gone, speeding out of the quiet road with all the restraint she could muster.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Alice was shaking by the time she arrived back at the house. The whole drive, she’d been gripped by a desperate panic, her careful planning nothing compared to the many ways in which she could be caught. What about CCTV footage and traffic cameras? What about her fingerprints, scattered over the plant pot and front door? She hadn’t been thorough enough—no, she shouldn’t have been there at all.
“Alice?” Flora caught her, just as she burst through the front door. “What happened? Are you OK?”
Alice nodded, then shook her head, words failing her.
“Come. Sit down.” Flora led her quickly to the kitchen, pushing her gently onto a chair. “Did something happen? Should I call someone?”
“No!” Alice cried, in a strangled voice. “No, you can’t—” She gripped Flora’s hands tightly. “Did you talk to anyone while I was gone? Does anyone know I wasn’t here?”
“No. Alice calm down.” Flora shook free and went to pour a glass of wine. “Here, drink this.”
Alice gulped obediently, her panic finally beginning to ease. Nobody knew she’d been there, she told herself again, and the neighbor would only name Lucy, a mysterious friend of Reese. There was nothing linking her to Carl, or Ella, or her own, precious identity. Taking deep breaths, Alice forced herself to calm.
When she’d finished the wine, she found Flora perched next to her. “So…” Flora prompted. “What did you do?”
“I…I don’t know what I was thinking,” Alice answered, and then it came tumbling out: the Kate Jackson lead, the lies to Carl, and the lapse in her sanity that led her to believe it was a simple proposition to break into someone’s house and rifle through their personal documents.
“Flora,” she wailed, as the full extent to her madness became painfully clear. “I groomed him. I found out all his favorite things, and then I lay in wait, like some kind of psycho stalker.” Alice gulped. “That’s another charge, isn’t it? Stalking. Oh God, what if they do manage to track me down? What happens then?”
Flora patted her shoulders. “Stefan knows lots of lawyers. We can claim some kind of temporary insanity, brought on by your trauma from the fraud.” She gave Alice a reassuring grin. “I’ll testify how you’ve been going mad for weeks, muttering under your breath and all that. It’ll be fine.”
“Fine!” Alice repeated the word. This was not, and would never be, fine. “But you’ll say I was here, if the police come asking questions?”
“Of course.” Flora struck Alice as being curiously calm, but that, at least, was a blessing. One of them should be.
Alice exhaled. “I can’t believe I’m even asking you to lie for me…God, I’m sorry.” She gave a pale smile. “Maybe it would be better not to, so I don’t drag you—”
“Don’t be silly,” Flora cut her off. “We’re in this together. You’re my sister,” she added, with extra force.
Alice nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. Her heartbeat was slowing and that fierce nausea in her stomach seemed to be subsiding. She was safe here.
It was over.
“I just can’t believe how easy it was.” She finally looked back at Flora. “So easy to get swept up in it all. I was so certain I’d found the truth—that Carl was the key, to tracking Ella.”
“It was a good idea,” Flora offered, before amending her statement. “I mean, if you look at it objectively. But don’t beat yourself up.” She gave Alice’s shoulders a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s not like you did anything really wrong. Nobody got hurt.”
“Well, I think that neighbor woman might have a sore bum.” Alice gave a rueful smile.
Flora grinned. “I wish I’d seen it.”
“No, you don’t,” Alice co
rrected her. “Not exactly my finest moment.”
“But you got away OK. That’s what matters.”
Alice nodded slowly. Yes, she’d managed to get away—just—but not through any skill or planning on her part.
There was silence in the kitchen, as Alice yet again ran through her near miss, the woman’s grip tight on her wrist.
“I know what you need,” Flora brightened suddenly. “Gilmore Girls! The next box set got delivered today. You always say that show calms you down. And it would back up your alibi,” she added, as casually as if she were discussing tea plans and not potentially obstructing police inquiries.
“Sure,” Alice agreed, exhausted. “Let’s go watch.”
***
But while the sofa, blanket, and a tub of Häagen-Dazs brought some comfort for the rest of the night, it wasn’t so easy for Alice to escape the seedy reality of her actions for long. How could she have been so reckless?
It wasn’t guilt or conscience that sobered her but fear. The lies she’d been telling with such ease for the past months suddenly seemed fragile and perilous, ready to tumble around her at a moment’s notice. Nadia, her classes, even the casual flirtations in bars and clubs—they were a catalog of small crimes she’d committed with enthusiasm, but now, Alice knew, they had to stop.
She flinched as the sound of a distant siren drifted by.
It was too dangerous, Alice vowed, surveying the neat pile of notebooks and files that she’d accumulated in her search for answers. How Ella herself had coped with this constant specter of discovery, she wasn’t sure, but this would be the end of Alice’s obsession. It had been months now since Ella had disappeared, and while she had scraped together what clues and insight she could, Nathan had been right. It was time to let it go, before her reckless deceptions caught up with her and left her worse off than any damage Ella herself had wrought.
***
“Alice, I need those copies down here for the delivery guy…” Saskia sounded far too pleased as she buzzed up on Monday morning. “Like, now?”
The Liberation of Alice Love Page 31