by Mark Edwards
That was an older Nirvana compilation album. ‘No, is it good?’
‘Yeah, it’s amazing. Come on, I live just round the corner.’
And she took his arm and turned him around, grabbing another crisp as they began to walk.
It was the greatest moment of his life so far.
Thirty minutes later they were in her bedroom, listening to Kurt Cobain singing ‘Dumb’. She had bunk beds and they were sitting on the bottom bunk, only a few inches apart. Isabel had poured them both a glass of Coke and he held his with trembling hands, gazing around him, taking it all in. The clothes draped across chairs, the posters on the wall – Kurt next to Take That, who Isabel’s younger sister was a fan of – along with all the signs that Isabel was not a little girl any more. Make-up. Bottles of perfume. Grown-up books by Stephen King. There was a chest of drawers that would be, he knew, full of her underwear. He could see the strap of her bra now, peeking out from beneath her blouse. It was white and he longed to touch it.
Her cat, Oscar, came into the room and jumped on to Ryan’s lap, purring.
‘He likes you,’ Isabel said.
Ryan could hardly speak, he was so overwhelmed to be here.
‘What time is your mum due back?’ he managed.
‘Not for a while. She always takes Jess for a cake after her judo lesson. I’m staying away from cake. I’m on a diet.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I’m getting fat. Look.’ To his astonishment she pulled her blouse up to reveal her flat belly. She grabbed the flesh between finger and thumb. ‘If you can pinch more than an inch . . .’
He stared until she pulled the blouse back down.
‘I think you’re . . . not fat.’ He had gone pink again. ‘I mean . . .’
She cut him off. ‘Hey, have you seen the new Smash Hits? It’s Jess’s – I wouldn’t normally read it – but there’s a funny interview with Lenny Kravitz.’
They spent the next twenty minutes leafing through the magazine, shoulder to shoulder on the bottom bunk. He could hardly breathe and the words on the pages swirled and danced before his eyes. He longed to put his arm around her. Maybe he should do that thing where you yawn and stretch . . . He fantasised that she was going to kiss him. He kept trying to think of clever or funny things to say, but he was mostly mute, letting her do all the talking. He wanted to ask her about the poltergeist but was worried she’d think he was taking the piss out of her.
He was just about to say something witty about East 17 when Isabel looked at her watch and said, ‘Oh shit, my mum and Jess are going to be home in a minute. You’d better go.’
She stood up and hurried him out of the room and down the stairs, opening the front door. She ushered him out.
‘See you at school tomorrow,’ she said.
She was about to shut the door when he blurted it out. ‘Will you go out with me?’
Her eyes widened and she looked him up and down. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Please?’
Isabel laughed. ‘Oh, go on, then.’ She leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek, then shut the door in his face.
He touched his cheek where her kiss glowed. Isabel was his girlfriend. He had been brave and she was actually his girlfriend.
This was the greatest moment of his life so far.
But the next day, when he saw her in the playground at first break, Isabel ignored him. She was talking to those three girls, the ones she had called slags the day before, acting like they were great friends. He approached the little group, hovering at the edge, until one of them, Sharon, noticed him.
‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.
Isabel turned around, saw Ryan and, to his horror, looked away again, as if she didn’t recognise him.
‘Go on, piss off,’ Sharon said.
He stumbled away, mortified. Why had Isabel ignored him? Well, he knew the answer. She didn’t want her friends to know about them. She wanted it to be a secret. That was fine. That was cool, in fact; made it even more exciting. His smile returned. He would talk to her later when she was on her own.
But he didn’t see her again that day, not on her own. She was always with at least one of those other girls. He walked home feeling crestfallen, but had a good idea. He would call her! He found her number in the phone directory and dialled it, heart pounding, terrified she might not want to talk to him – but she answered the phone and, after a brief chat, agreed to meet him in Bromley on Saturday.
It was a wonderful day. They went to Our Price and he bought her the new Smashing Pumpkins CD, and then they went to McDonald’s and had milkshakes and burgers. Finally they went to the cinema and watched Hocus Pocus, which was rubbish, but it didn’t matter because Isabel reached over halfway through and held his hand, and then – after they got the bus home – she kissed him in a little alley near her house.
It was a proper kiss, not a peck. She even used her tongue. It lasted for several minutes, but it felt like much longer and he would have kissed her for hours if he could. But then she broke away and said, ‘I need to get home.’
She was looking at him funny. Frowning.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yeah, fine.’
‘Was the kiss okay?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Ryan, don’t be so needy.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And don’t apologise all the time.’
She hurried away and he called after her. ‘I’ll phone you.’
He tried to call her that evening, but her mum answered and, after a long wait, she told him Isabel was in the bath and was then going straight to bed. He wondered if she would dream about him, and about their kiss. He certainly would. He kept touching his lips, until his mum asked him if he was getting a cold sore.
He tried to call Isabel again the next day, but her mum said she wasn’t home.
And then on Monday it happened. The terrible thing.
He waited by the school gates, getting there early so he could catch Isabel on her way in. He watched her approaching, walking on her own, and it struck him again how gorgeous she was. She was an angel. And she was his girlfriend.
He was never going to let her go. They would be boyfriend and girlfriend all through school, and then they would probably go to university together. After that they could move in with each other, get married, have children. She would probably be a famous pop star or actress and he would be her manager. They would be rich and happy and he would get to see her naked every day.
Her face fell when she saw him. He knew something was wrong but tried to ignore the sick feeling in his belly.
‘Hi, Isabel.’
‘All right.’ Her voice was flat. The cold, sick sensation spread through his body.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. I need to get to registration.’
‘We’ve got ages.’
‘I know, but I’m cold. I want to get indoors.’
He wondered if she had her period. If that was the problem. He should try to be sympathetic. To be a good boyfriend. Deciding it almost certainly was her period making her act weird, he relaxed a little. ‘Do you want to meet up after school?’
‘I can’t. I’m busy.’
‘Oh. What are you doing?’
She sighed. She kept glancing over his shoulder and he looked back to see Sharon and the other girls just inside the gate. They were all smirking at Isabel.
‘Listen, Ryan,’ she said, and he knew what she was going to say. He wanted to turn back time like Superman did in the first movie, to go back to Saturday afternoon, when he was happy, when the world was a perfect and just place. But he was no Superman.
‘I don’t think we should go out any more,’ she said.
‘But why?’ His voice sounded very small in his ears.
‘Just because . . .’ She looked like she was about to say something else, but she stopped and softened her tone. ‘I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.’
‘So . . .’ He swallowed. ‘Maybe you will be, one day?’
‘Yeah. Maybe. I’ve really got to go.’
She put her head down and walked towards the gates and her friends. Leaving him with a broken heart.
But leaving him too with hope.
One day. Maybe one day they could be together again.
Chapter 40
Jessica got to her feet, examining the furniture, the posters, picking up items of jewellery that were exactly the same as the ones Izzy used to wear when she was at school. Ryan must have seen her wearing them and gone out to buy identical pieces.
Now that she was able to take it all in properly, Jessica could see that most of it was slightly wrong. The bedspreads were the right pattern, but the colours were different. The poster of Kurt Cobain was not the same one Izzy had put on their wall. The boom box was a different brand. But the layout was the same. How had he known? Had he been to their house?
She opened the top drawer of the desk and found a thick Manila envelope, which she took out and opened.
It was full of long-range photos, like paparazzi shots. Photos of Izzy. There were pictures of her coming out of work, photos taken on the street, and of Izzy getting into her car. There were shots of her house too, taken from beyond the boundary wall. In a lot of the pictures Izzy was with someone else: Darpak, Nina, a couple of women Jessica didn’t recognise. Clients, presumably. Although it sickened her, Jessica wasn’t shocked. Now she knew Ryan had been stalking her sister. It made sense that he’d been photographing her too. She shuffled the photos until she came to one taken with a zoom lens, a close-up of Izzy’s head and shoulders. She was wearing the bat necklace.
My God, she thought. How much effort had it taken to find out where she’d bought it so that he could buy one too? That, more than anything else, was proof of his obsession.
‘Hang on,’ Becky said. Jessica had almost forgotten she was in the room. Becky was holding a framed photo that had been on the chest of drawers.
‘Take a look at this.’
Jessica took the frame from her. In the photo, Ryan and Izzy were sitting side by side, gazing into each other’s eyes.
Izzy was in her wedding dress and Ryan was wearing a smart suit.
‘Holy . . .’ Jessica couldn’t help but laugh. ‘It’s Photoshopped. This is one of Izzy’s wedding pictures. Ryan’s put himself in the photo in Darpak’s place.’
‘Wow. That’s messed up.’ Seeing Jessica’s expression, Becky said, ‘Sorry. Understatement of the century.’
Jessica took one more look around and thought about calling the police. She had evidence now that Ryan had committed a crime. Making your bedroom look like that of the object of your obsession was not illegal. But he had stalked Izzy. He had taken photos of her without her knowing. Surely the police would be interested in that. Surely they would reopen the case, look again at the coroner’s verdict of accidental death.
But she still wanted to confront him. She wanted to look into his eyes and hear him tell her why he had done it. She needed answers to the rest of her questions. She still didn’t think Ryan had murdered Izzy – because, if he had, why would he set up such an elaborate scheme to put the blame on Will, when the case had been closed half a decade ago? She had to know, and she didn’t want the police to scare him off.
She would talk to him, demand answers, and only then would she call the cops.
‘I need that address now,’ she said to Becky. ‘And I need to get out of this room.’
She took the Manila envelope with her. As they went down the staircase she checked her phone again. Still no word from Will.
Back in the entrance hall Becky searched through the contacts on her phone and found Ryan’s address. She scribbled it down and handed it to Jessica. It was on a street about twenty minutes’ drive away.
‘Oh, one more thing,’ Jessica said. ‘Does Mrs Cameron have a car?’
‘Er, yeah. But she can’t drive any more, obviously. It’s in the garage.’
‘Is it grey?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘A Hyundai?’
Becky looked blank. ‘Sorry, I don’t know much about cars.’
Jessica nodded. She knew Ryan was behind everything now. It didn’t really matter if the grey Hyundai he used belonged to his mother or if he simply had two cars.
‘Be careful,’ Becky said as Jessica left the house.
Jessica nodded. Walking down the path, she dropped her phone in her bag, then reached inside to touch the handle of the knife.
As she was parking outside the address Becky had given her, Jessica’s phone rang inside her bag. By the time she’d parked and was able to reach the phone, it had rung off and the screen showed a missed call from Will. At last! She immediately tried to call him back but he was busy. Leaving her a voicemail, no doubt, wanting to know what was going on, hopefully telling her he’d finished for the day. It was getting on for eight now, so he might be on his way home.
She waited, intending to listen to the message before trying him again, and leaned across to peer through the darkness at Ryan’s house.
It was much smaller than his childhood home, semi-detached with a small front garden, but this was still an expensive street, full of commuters who were willing to pay a fortune for a place close to the station. Ryan’s red Volkswagen was parked outside. He was home. And as she watched, a light went on in an upstairs room and she saw a figure silhouetted in the window.
She forgot all about calling Will back. She heard the chime to indicate she’d received a voicemail as she got out of the car. She stood there, beneath a street light, bathed in its sodium-orange glow, and looked up at the window, at the silhouette there. Although she couldn’t see his face, she was certain he was looking at her too. Watching her.
It was as if her feet were glued to her own shadow. Was she doing the right thing, coming here? She tried to work out what she was going to say to him, but her brain was as useless as her feet. Again she reached into her bag to check the knife was still there.
Ryan moved away from the window, breaking the spell. She hurried up the path to his front door.
It opened before she had a chance to knock and Ryan stood before her. His hair was messy and there was a ripe smell coming off him, the stink of sweat mixed with that nasty deodorant he always wore. He seemed frightened, agitated, jigging from foot to foot, and his skin looked streaky, like he’d been wearing fake tan that had rubbed off. Jessica was hit by an unexpected emotion. Not fear. Not hatred or anger. No, seeing him now, she felt something else.
Pity.
Until she remembered what he’d done to Olivia, and the anger came rushing back.
‘How did you get here so quickly?’ he asked.
‘I—’
He jerked his head, trying to see over her shoulder. ‘Are the police coming?’
She was confused. Had his mother or Becky called him and told him she’d been round? Surely not. ‘No, I haven’t called them.’
‘But you’re going to?’ He was acting like someone was sending electric jolts through his body, unable to keep still.
‘You want me to call the police?’
He stepped forward, as if to grab hold of her, and she jumped back.
‘You have to,’ he said. ‘You have to tell them. It’s time to be brave, Jess.’
What the fuck was going on?
‘We can do it together,’ he said, gesturing for her to come inside. She hesitated. The voice in her head was screaming at her now, telling her to get away. But why was he telling her to call the police?
‘Please,’ he said, and his voice was so pleading, so pathetic, that she felt sorry for him again. She entered the house, but kept her distance from him.
This hallway was very different to the one at his mother’s house. It was narrow, with nothing on the walls. There were two doors to the right, both shut, and a flight of stairs at the end. The carpet, she couldn’t help but notice, was threadbare and needed replacing. The
stink of Ryan’s sweat was much stronger in here. The smell of fear.
He had his back to the door, his head down, still making strange jerky motions, shifting from foot to foot. Then he looked at her. ‘Wait. You have listened to it, haven’t you?’
She kept her voice calm. ‘Listened to what?’
‘The voicemail. On your phone. Oh my God, you haven’t. You haven’t had time.’
‘Ryan. You’re really—’
He took a sudden step towards her, sending her further back towards the stairs. ‘Where is it?’ he demanded. His eyes were wild and Jessica thought, Oh shit, I have made a terrible mistake. ‘Where’s your phone?’
‘It’s here,’ she said quickly, holding up her bag. ‘Let me . . .’
He snatched the bag from her grasp. She tried to grab it back but he was stronger and faster. He stared at her. ‘You need to hear it, Jess! I know you didn’t believe it before, but now you will. You’ll see. You’ll finally see.’ He stuck his hand inside the bag, and yelped with pain. ‘What the fuck?’
He withdrew his hand. Blood dripped from his middle finger. He stared at her, shocked and accusatory, then reached back into the bag, slowly this time. He took out the knife, examining it like he’d never seen one before.
He dropped the bag by his feet and jabbed the tip of the knife towards her. His voice rose an octave. ‘What’s this? Why did you bring this?’
She was too scared to reply. She had been an idiot to come here alone, to bring the knife. She was soon going to be as dead as Isabel, and Olivia and Felix would be left without a mother, and she would never see them grow up. He was standing between her and the door. There was no way out.
‘I lied about the police,’ she said. ‘They’re on their way right now. I’ve seen your bedroom at your mum’s house, Ryan. I know what you’ve been doing with Olivia, talking to her about Izzy. I know you were stalking Izzy. I know everything.’
He stared at her, then broke into a grin. ‘You don’t know everything, actually. Not until you’ve heard this.’
Crouching, with the knife still in his right hand, he fished in her bag once more and found her phone. It was locked. ‘What’s the code?’