In Her Shadow

by Mark Edwards

  Was the whole thing some kind of weird, insane prank?

  There was no point sitting around trying to figure it out.

  She had to talk to him.

  Operating on a kind of parenting autopilot, Jessica put the TV on for Olivia, gave her a snack and allowed Caspar to sit next to her on the sofa. Pacing the kitchen, she tried to call Will. It was almost six now, and she hadn’t heard from him since she texted him just before she chased that grey Hyundai.

  She knew he would be busy, probably in the full grip of work stress as he and his team rushed to launch this new website, but some things were more important. She left a message, asking him to call her urgently. She emailed him too. She didn’t want to ring the office landline because Will’s boss, who was an arsehole, could be weird about people receiving personal calls unless it was life-or-death. Jessica didn’t think this quite qualified. Not yet, anyway.

  She wondered if she should call the police, but she wasn’t even sure if Ryan had committed a crime. He had certainly broken school rules – smashed them to pieces with a big hammer – but the law? She wasn’t certain. She couldn’t prove it was him in the photo, watching Izzy’s house, and she certainly couldn’t prove that he’d killed her.

  She pictured herself storming into the classroom tomorrow morning, shoving him up against the wall and demanding answers. Right now, she didn’t care about making a scene, and although he was bigger and taller than her, undoubtedly physically stronger, she wasn’t scared of him.

  Except there was no way she could wait till tomorrow morning to confront him. The frustration and anger were burning her up from the inside. She had to talk to him now. And she wanted to do it face to face.

  She grabbed her laptop and typed his name into Google, but got no results. She checked Facebook but couldn’t find him on there either. She couldn’t exactly phone the school and ask them for his address, and the school office would be shut anyway. She racked her brain, trying to think if he was friends with any of the other parents, but came up blank.

  Then she remembered that there was someone who knew everyone in Beckenham. The fount of local knowledge.

  Jessica called her mother. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘Is Pete looking after you?’

  ‘He was, but he went out shortly after you got here to go to the RAFA Club. They always have a meat raffle on Wednesday afternoons.’ She blew air into the phone. ‘Oh, Jess, I can’t stop thinking about everything—’

  ‘You know Olivia’s classroom assistant, Ryan Cameron? I don’t suppose you know his parents, do you?’

  ‘Ryan? Yes, I’ve known his mum, Irene, for years. Lives on The Ravens. I met her at Gingerbread. Her husband ran off and left her in the lurch too.’ Gingerbread, Jessica recalled, had been an organisation for single parents. ‘I used to see her around quite often, but Ryan said she hasn’t been well lately.’

  ‘Hang on, you talked to Ryan about his mum? When you picked Olivia up from school?’

  ‘Yes. Or maybe he told Pete at the RAFA.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ryan. He helps out at the RAFA sometimes, behind the bar or in the kitchen.’

  ‘You never told me that!’

  ‘Didn’t I? I suppose it never came up. What’s this all about? Something to do with Isabel?’

  Jessica didn’t want to go into the details, not right now. ‘Will Ryan be at the RAFA now? Can you call Pete and ask him if he’s there?’

  Mum grumbled but agreed. ‘I’ll call you back in a moment.’

  She hung up and Jessica sat for a couple of minutes, trying to remain calm. After what felt like forever, Mum called back. ‘Pete said he was there and they had a chat, but then he had to leave.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Your language has got appalling lately.’

  ‘I know. I really need to track Ryan down. Can you give me Irene’s address?’

  ‘Are you not going to tell me what this is about?’ She sighed then went quiet for a minute. Jessica could picture her flicking through the address book she’d had for years, the book she referred to every year when she was sending Christmas cards. ‘Here you go.’ She read out the address.

  ‘Thank you.’ Jessica paused, thinking through her plan. Will still hadn’t called back or texted. She had no other option. ‘Mum, can you do me a favour? I need you to watch Olivia and Felix for me for a couple of hours. I’ll bring them round.’

  She put the phone down before Mum could protest and opened the kitchen drawer. She took out the sharpest knife and slipped it into her bag.

  Chapter 38

  After dropping the children off, Jessica drove to the address her mother had given her. The Ravens was a long street lined with expensive detached houses. Jessica had forgotten that there used to be a martial arts club along here, which she and Izzy had attended when they were ten and thirteen because they thought it would be fun and useful to learn judo. Isabel had got bored and given up quickly but Jessica had enjoyed it and worked her way up to a purple belt. She had happy memories of Mum picking her up after lessons and taking her for cake and a milkshake. Izzy would usually stay at home.

  Jessica parked and got out of the car. Mrs Cameron resided in one of the biggest houses on the street, a Victorian Gothic place with an oak tree dominating the front garden, its bare branches hanging low over the lawn. It was almost seven, dark already, and the house had that horror movie vibe, an abandoned air about it. A single light burned in a downstairs window.

  Despite its creepiness Jessica knew from her addiction to property websites that this place would be worth upwards of £1 million. This was where Ryan had grown up? He worked as a teaching assistant, earning a low salary. It didn’t fit – unless his mother had cut him off for some reason.

  Yeah, Jessica thought. Being a fucking stalker creep. How’s that for a reason?

  She walked up the front path, which was strewn with damp leaves. No security lights came on.

  The doorbell rasped when she pressed it, and she stepped back, looking up at the ivy that crept across the house’s facade. She tried to mentally rehearse what she was going to say, but nothing came. There was a little voice whispering in her ear, telling her this was dangerous, that she should go, call the police.

  But then the door was opening and it was too late.

  A woman poked her head out. Jessica had been expecting someone around Mum’s age but the woman peering out at her was in her thirties. Did Ryan have a sister? Suddenly Jessica had forgotten what she wanted to say.

  The woman, who had strawberry-blonde ringlets and an explosion of freckles across her face, said, ‘I’m afraid we’re not interested—’

  ‘I’m not selling anything,’ Jessica interrupted. ‘Is Irene Cameron home?’

  ‘I’m afraid Mrs Cameron is indisposed at the moment.’

  From somewhere in the house Jessica heard an older woman’s voice. ‘Who is it, Becky?’

  ‘Just a salesperson.’

  ‘I’m not a salesperson! I’m . . . I’m a friend of Ryan’s.’

  Becky looked at her properly this time, and opened the door wider. Now Jessica could see Becky was wearing a uniform. A nurse’s uniform.

  Becky saw her noticing. ‘I’m Mrs Cameron’s carer.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Ryan told me. Can I come in a minute?’

  Out of sight, Mrs Cameron called again. ‘Is it Ryan? Has he come home?’

  Becky sighed. ‘She’s not going to rest now until she knows you’re not him.’ She leaned closer and whispered. ‘She’ll accuse me of lying, saying I’ve driven him away. You’d better come in.’

  Jessica found herself in a beautiful hallway. There was an antique grandfather clock in one corner, pictures of fox-hunting scenes hanging on the walls. The floor was tiled with a beautiful fleur-de-lis pattern, though Jessica could see that some of the tiles had come loose in places and others were cracked. The whole house smelled dusty and the flowers in the vase on the sideboard were dead.

  �
��The cleaner comes tomorrow,’ Becky said. ‘It’s not my job.’ Again she lowered her voice. ‘Ryan could do a lot more to help, including giving that cleaner a good bollocking. Maybe if you’re a friend of his . . .’

  ‘I’ll have a word,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Good.’ Becky led Jessica to the door of a sitting room. ‘She’s in here. I assume Ryan’s told you about Mrs C’s condition?’ She touched the side of her head.

  ‘Dementia?’ Jessica guessed.

  A sad nod. ‘I’m never getting old. I’m going to ask my kids to drive down to Beachy Head and chuck me off if I ever show a hint of getting like that.’ Then she smiled and stepped into the room, speaking loudly. ‘Mrs Cameron, this is . . .’

  ‘Jessica. I’m a friend of Ryan’s.’

  From what Mum had said, Irene Cameron was about the same age as her, but she looked at least ten years older. Ravaged from the inside. She sat in a threadbare armchair in front of an enormous TV. There was a photo of a little boy on the mantelpiece, at various stages of childhood. A babe in arms. A toddler. A gap-toothed nine-year-old who was recognisably Ryan. And there he was as a teenager. He was wearing the same William Peacocke school uniform Jessica and Izzy had once worn. He was attempting a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sad. Haunted.

  Irene studied Jessica, gesturing for her to come closer. ‘I know you.’

  ‘I don’t think . . .’

  ‘Oh my goodness, you’ve come back.’ Irene clasped Jessica’s hand. There was still strength there. ‘Does Ryan know?’

  Gently, Jessica extracted her hand. ‘Sorry, I don’t . . .’ She looked to Becky for help, but she shrugged.

  ‘He’ll be so happy,’ Irene said. ‘So happy to see you, Isabel.’

  Jessica opened her mouth to say she wasn’t Isabel, then thought better of it. She glanced meaningfully at Becky, willing her to keep quiet. ‘I need to find him, Mrs Cameron. Can you tell me his address?’

  But now the old woman was staring at her with suspicion. ‘You look different. Have you dyed your hair? Grown it out?’ She addressed Becky. ‘She doesn’t look like her pictures, does she?’

  Jessica turned to Becky, who clearly had no idea what Irene was talking about. ‘Pictures?’

  ‘In his room,’ Irene said impatiently. ‘Such a pretty girl. Ryan was so lucky to find such a lovely girlfriend.’

  Girlfriend?

  Had Isabel dated Ryan at some point? Surely not . . . Jessica combed her memory. She hadn’t met all of Izzy’s boyfriends but she had heard about every one of them, often in excruciating detail. She didn’t remember Izzy ever mentioning a Ryan, even as a friend. But now she knew they had gone to school together . . .

  ‘How old is Ryan?’ she asked Irene.

  ‘How old? He’s thirty-seven.’

  The same age Izzy would be now. So they would have been in the same year, maybe the same class.

  ‘Mrs Cameron,’ she said, ‘do you mind if I pop up to Ryan’s room? I lent him a book and I need it back.’

  Irene gave her a warm smile. ‘Of course. You know where it is. I’ve heard you both in there.’ Her expression changed to what could only be described as a leer. ‘Doing it.’

  Jessica hurried from the room, with Becky following.

  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ Becky said, leading her back through to the hallway. She stopped. ‘Didn’t you say your name was Jessica?’

  ‘Yes . . . I— Listen, Isabel was my sister.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘She died, five years ago.’ Before Becky could speak, Jessica said, ‘I realise you don’t know me, but I’m asking you to trust me. I need to find Ryan.’

  ‘Okay . . .’

  ‘What do you think of him?’ Jessica asked. ‘Do you like him?’

  Becky glanced towards the sitting room. ‘He’s all right.’

  ‘Just all right?’

  Becky made a chewing motion, like she was tasting the words she wanted to say. She made a decision. ‘All right. To be honest, I don’t like the way he treats his mum. He hardly ever comes round, so when I’m not here she’s all on her own. I’ve talked to him about putting her in a care home, where she’ll have company, but he refuses to talk about it.’ She went on in this vein for a while before saying, ‘To be honest, I wonder if he’s on drugs. He seems so . . . vacant. It’s like talking to someone on another planet. I was shocked when Mrs C said he had a girlfriend.’

  Jessica was beginning to realise that the rumours at the school gates, about Ryan having a hairdresser girlfriend, were completely made up. Maybe he’d even started the rumour himself.

  ‘Can you show me his room now?’

  They went up a wide staircase, past the first floor to the second.

  ‘Here we are,’ Becky said. ‘When I first came here I thought Mrs C must have a grandson living here.’

  The door had a ceramic plaque attached to it, with a picture of a Beatrix Potter character next to the words RYAN’S ROOM. Above that a teenager had stuck a yellow-and-black sign featuring the nuclear symbol. DANGER! KEEP OUT!

  ‘He comes up here whenever he pops by,’ Becky said. ‘Like I told you, he hardly talks to poor Mrs C. He just comes up here and locks himself away.’ She opened the door.

  Jessica stepped into the darkness. Before hitting the light switch she registered that it smelled like a teenage boy’s room. Damp and salty, conjuring up images Jessica didn’t want to let into her head.

  She turned on the light.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  As she took in the room, Jessica experienced a surge of nausea so strong that she had to sit down. She pulled a chair quickly towards herself and closed her eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She could taste bile. The seedy smell in the air didn’t help, and she asked Becky if she could open the window. Then, with the late-November chill entering her lungs, she was able to look around and make sense of what she was seeing.

  There was a bunk bed pushed up against the wall. The bedspreads were pink and purple. Posters of Kurt Cobain were tacked to the plain white walls, along with photos of horses and a Snoopy poster with the slogan I’m allergic to mornings. A stack of Stephen King books stood on the bedside table. Cheap costume jewellery hung from a stand on the chest of drawers, next to a boom box. Jessica pressed the eject button and a CD slid out. It was In Utero by Nirvana, the album which included the track Olivia had sung.

  Becky, who couldn’t understand the significance of what she was seeing, said, ‘Okay, this is weird. It’s like a teenage girl’s room.’

  ‘It’s my old bedroom,’ Jessica whispered. ‘A facsimile of it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This room. It’s my and Isabel’s childhood bedroom.’

  Chapter 39

  November 1993

  ‘Will you go out with me?’

  Ryan stood in front of the mirror, practising the words he longed to say to Isabel. He had never asked a girl out before, mainly because he was convinced they would not only say no, but would mock him and tell all their friends. He could picture it: a group of girls pointing and laughing at him in the playground. This fear had always been enough to put him off asking.

  But although there had been other girls he’d fancied, Isabel Brooks was the first one he really liked. There was a connection between them. They saw the world in the same way. They were into the same music. They were both outsiders, mocked by the other, less intelligent kids, the common herd who made his life a misery. He could see himself and Isabel forming a unit, them against the world. Nobody would laugh at them any more – and if they did, he wouldn’t care.

  Also, Isabel was pretty. No – more than that. She was beautiful. She smelled lovely too. It was a smell that made him want to press his face against her skin and inhale. He wanted to consume her, devour her. Ever since he’d seen her in the paper talking about her poltergeist – which was so cool – and even more so after their special conversation beneath the stairs, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. Sudd
enly he looked forward to going to school every day. He made sure he washed properly every morning and that he didn’t have any dirt on his clothes. Mum kept wondering aloud what had got into him. He dreaded the weekends, when he would mope around the house fantasising that Isabel had looked up his number in the phone book and was going to call him. He had so many things he wanted to say to her. All his theories about the world. She would find them fascinating and laugh at all his jokes.

  Then they would meet up and she would kiss him.

  He stared into the mirror. ‘Will you go out with me?’

  But in real life, he was too scared to ask her.

  And then, one afternoon, he was coming out of the newsagent’s near school, eating a bag of crisps, when he looked up and saw Isabel coming towards him. She was on her own. He went hot and cold at the same time, and his legs stopped working. He stood there, rooted like a lamp post.

  ‘Can I have one?’ she asked.

  ‘Huh?’

  She laughed. ‘A crisp? Can I have one?’

  ‘Oh. Oh, yeah.’ He held out the bag and she took one. He noticed that her nails were bitten. Another thing they had in common.

  ‘What are you up to?’ she asked.

  ‘Not much.’ Suddenly all the witty conversation he’d practised in his head had deserted him. He groped for something to say. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’m trying to get away from those slags.’ She looked over her shoulder, as if they might be watching. He assumed she meant the girls who had been mean to her before. ‘They’ve been bugging me all day, following me around singing the Scooby-Doo theme. I hate them. I really fucking hate them.’

  Her eyes flashed and he fell in love with her even more. She was so cool. So fierce. It took all his strength to prevent himself from reaching out to touch her.

  ‘Do you want to come back to my house?’ she asked.

  He wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. The blood pounded in his ears.

  ‘My mum’s taken my little sister to her stupid judo lesson, so the house is empty. I’ve got Incesticide on CD. Have you heard it?’