From behind me, there’s a noise.
60
I turn around as I hear the shuffling noise behind me. The door to Nathan’s dining room is ajar and I creep over to it, and through the gap I see Nathan dragging himself forward on his elbows. And as he hears me approach he twists his head around and stares at me with bloodshot eyes.
‘Jenna. Please call an ambulance. I don’t want to die.’
‘Then tell me the truth.’ I hate the pleading tone in my voice. This isn’t how I thought it would go.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say? Tell me what you want me to say. I’ll say anything. Sign anything. But Callie did die in an accident. Nobody killed her.’
I fetch my mobile, leaving Nathan’s phone on the coffee table, and I begin to record again. ‘Callie was scared wasn’t she? I’ve felt it. I’ve seen things. The bruise on her face, did you do it?’
‘No. I’d never have hurt her. I loved her.’
‘But you said “promise you won’t tell anyone where you got this” as you touched her cheek. If she had got the bruise falling it wouldn’t have mattered who she told would it? You wanted her to lie.’
‘How did you…?’
‘Cellular Memory. I told you I’ve been dreaming her memories.’ My throat is sore as I raise my voice.
‘I didn’t want her to leave. I thought if she stayed, if we carried on as normal, things would eventually go back to the way they were. We were so happy once. I suggested we could change our jobs and move away. Have a fresh start. She just needed some time to see it could work. That’s why I took her phone and the money and stayed close to her all the time. To stop her leaving. But I think she was going anyway, that night.’
‘The night of the wedding?’
Nathan gives a faint nod.
‘You were driving the car the night she died. I saw it.’
His eyelids droop and I know I’m running out of time.
‘Just admit it. Admit you were in the car the night she died. You argued, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. I asked her if she’d choose me and she said no. She should have chosen me.’ His voice is weak and I slide the mobile phone nearer to be sure of picking up his words.
‘Who should she have chosen you over, Nathan?’
His eyelids flicker and I know I’m running out of time. I push on: ‘You were driving?’
‘Yes.’ His voice is growing fainter and I grab my phone, thrusting the microphone towards his mouth.
Finally, I hear what I am expecting, but it doesn’t bring on the sudden rush of relief I hoped for.
He tries to say something else but his words are thick. Hard to understand. He licks his lips and I fetch some water from the kitchen and hold the glass to his mouth. Water dribbles down his chin and he chokes. When he stops coughing there is no rise and fall of his chest. His body is perfectly still. Perfectly silent.
61
‘Nathan!’ He can’t be dead. Fear slices through me and I drop my ear to his chest and cry with relief when I hear his heart beating beneath his ribcage. My tears drip onto his chest. Soak into his shirt. I knew when I stood in Nathan’s kitchen earlier, gazing at the setting sun, that I couldn’t murder him. I just couldn’t do it, no matter what he’s done. I had stolen two different drugs from work; one that would kill Nathan, and one that wouldn’t. It was the non-lethal one I had slipped into his drink. But the dose of ketamine I had given him was far too large judging by how quickly he’s flaked out. The sealed vials of pentobarbitone, enough to kill a man, are still nestled inside my pocket. Linda will panic when she realises they are unaccounted for. It will serve her right.
‘Wake up.’ I shake his shoulders hard, and his eyes open, wild and staring and he struggles to sit up but he can’t. ‘Did you unclip her seatbelt? Did you crash on purpose?’
‘I wasn’t.’ His eyes close to slits again. ‘I wasn’t driving when she crashed. We argued at the wedding and we were shouting at each other all the way home. It was awful. When we got back I went to the toilet and when I came out she had taken the car and gone.’
I sit back on my heels. My T-shirt is sodden with sweat, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m so very tired. An uncomfortable feeling twists inside my gut and it’s not just because of what I’m doing. I believe him. I think about his kindness, the way he’d fetched me water and looked after me; the bread he’d brought so I could feed the ducks. He told the truth about the necklace and the passports. Callie’s dreams flash through my mind: ‘I’d trust you with my life,’ she’d told him, and I have a deep-rooted feeling I should too.
‘Nathan, you’re not dying. You’ll just sleep for a while but please try and stay awake. Callie needs me. Needs us to do something, I know it. I don’t think I’ll be free of her until it’s done but I don’t know what it is. I owe her. Tell me. Who did she choose instead of you? Who are you meeting tonight?’
Nathan’s struggling to say something and I bring my face level with his. Smell the Jack Daniels on his breath. ‘Sophie.’ His eyes are closed but he speaks again pushing the words out slowly. ‘She would want you to help Sophie.’
‘Sophie? Is she in trouble?’ Could that be what Callie is trying to tell me?
Nathan barely moves his head but I think he’s trying to nod.
‘Is that who you are meeting tonight?’
‘Yes. I wanted to keep them apart. Keep Callie safe. She should never have got involved.’
‘Involved in what?’
‘I thought it was over but it isn’t.’ His eyes are rolling now.
‘Where is Sophie, Nathan?’
‘She’s at—’ Speaking again seems to expel the last amount of energy he has and as his eyes close his dark lashes rest against his deathly pale skin. I shake him by the shoulders, hard and fast, but his head lolls to the side. His chest inflates and deflates with a juddering and a rumbling snore. I cradle my head in my hands. Nathan could be out for at least an hour. He’s due to meet Sophie at ten and if I don’t get to her before then she might disappear again. My heart swells like popcorn in my chest and I know my borrowed time is running out. If I call Dr Kapur, I will be admitted to hospital, but I think it’s too late for me and I owe Callie. I owe her parents. If Sophie’s in danger, I have to help. I have to help now. I screw my hands into fists and press them into my eye sockets and the fog in my mind dissipates. Where is she?
Think. The background noise. The call I made from Callie’s second handset: the one Sara gave me at the dentist. The number on there must have been Sophie’s if Nathan was trying to keep them apart. What was the noise? I’ve heard it before. Think.
Suddenly I know what the sound was. It was the crashing waves of the ocean.
I know where Sophie is. I’ve seen it enough times in my dreams. Owl Lodge Caravan Park. I have to find her.
62
It’s freezing. Fucking freezing, she thinks. Sophie’s chest hurts as she inhales the damp. She wishes she had a blanket but instead she has to make do with tucking her coat around her shoulders and tugging the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands. There’s the sound of scratching, sharp and relentless, and she curls herself into a ball, bringing to mind the rhyme Callie would chant when they were small and she’d crawl into Callie’s bed in the dead of night, trembling with fear, convinced there was a monster in her room.
It’s not real,
It’s all in your head,
There is no monster,
Under your bed.
You must go to sleep,
It is nearly day,
Think of all the fun we’ll have,
And the games we’ll play.
Sophie would snuggle against the person she loved most in the world, safe and warm, and in the morning when they woke Callie would never tell their parents Sophie had disturbed her sleep again. Sophie had never thought there would be a time her big sister wouldn’t be there to protect her. Callie had stood hands on hips over Darren Patterson in the playground after she’d tripped him u
p for calling Sophie a crybaby.
‘You mess with my sister, you mess with me,’ Callie had said. She was always there for her, and Sophie needs her now, more than ever. But Callie can’t help her any more, can she?
Sophie’s stomach growls in hunger, she hasn’t eaten for hours, and she pulls a Snickers from her pocket. She had swiped it from the metal display rack next to the till as she’d queued to pay for her coffee, stuffing it in her pocket before the snotty girl behind the counter with faded red hair could spot her. Serves her right, silly cow. Sophie had noticed the look of disgust as she took in Sophie’s matted hair, her dirty clothes. Sophie checks her phone again. The battery is flat now, not that she thinks anyone will ring unless Nathan calls to tell her he’s not coming. He’d bloody better come. She thinks he will. He would never ever want people to find out what Callie had done. Spoil the memory of his perfect girlfriend not to mention the perfect daughter and the perfect sister. Sophie wipes her eyes with her sleeve. It’s the dust in here that’s making them stream, that’s all. But she knows she’s being unfair. Callie was her perfect sister and Sophie wishes she’d never dragged her into the mess she made. She misses Callie every single day.
It’s pitch-black. A scream. The hairs on the back of Sophie’s neck prick up but she tells herself it’s just a fox. There’s nothing here that can hurt her. But she knows that’s not true. Monsters don’t always live under your bed.
63
I have called a taxi. I’m not comfortable leaving Nathan on his own but I think he’ll be OK. I grow cold as I think I could have killed him.
When he wakes I hope he understands that everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Callie. If only her message to me had been clearer. ‘You must listen,’ Fiona the medium had said. How could I have got it so wrong? It is Callie’s love for her sister that is driving me forward. What kind of trouble is she in?
Nathan’s face is pale but relaxed. I brush the fringe away from his forehead. He could be asleep. This could be like any other morning, and in different circumstances maybe I’d have a lifetime of his voice being the last thing I heard before I drifted to sleep, his face the first thing I saw when I woke. But he was never mine to love. Not really. I should never have slept with him.
I grasp Nathan’s belt between my fingers and somehow manage to hoist him into the recovery position, grunting as I move him. His pulse is steady. He’ll be OK. Please God, let him be OK.
There are two sharp blasts of a horn outside the window and I scoop back the curtains and peer out into the night. I signal to the driver I’m on my way and I grab my bag and slam the front door shut behind me.
It is starting to drizzle. I give the driver the address and rest my head back against the fabric seats that smell faintly of smoke, even though there’s a red ‘NO SMOKING’ sign on the window.
‘We’re here,’ the driver says. I’m already clutching two twenty pound notes in my hand, and I thrust these towards him. ‘Keep the change.’
My face is wet with rain as I stand on the doorstep and thud my fist against the front door, and I think I should be cold but I am burning hot and I don’t know how much longer I can keep going. I thump on the door again, my arms trembling with the effort, and when the door swings open I practically fall into Tom’s arms.
‘It’s Sophie,’ I croak.
64
Sophie angles her watch towards the moon so she can check the time again. It’s gone nine. She’s not as convinced as she was that Nathan will come. What will she do if he doesn’t? She can’t stay here, but without cash and her passport there’s nowhere she can go. There’s no one left she can call without putting her family in danger, and she loves her family. She really does.
Tears slide down her cheeks and snot streams from her freezing nose. Once she starts crying, she can’t stop. Sophie rocks backwards and forwards. The wailing that comes from her mouth is so unlike anything she’s heard before it takes a few minutes to register that it’s her making that sound. More than anything, Sophie wants her dad. She wants him to stroke her hair and tell her that she’s his princess, like he used to do. She wishes again that he could hold her now, tell her everything’s going to be OK. But he can’t. It isn’t. And she knows she’s not his little girl any more. She hasn’t been for years. Not since she met Owen. Despite all that’s happened, when she thinks of him, her stomach still flip-flops.
Sophie met Owen three years ago. Her dad had just had his second heart attack and everyone thought he might die. She was terrified. Callie had Nathan to lean on. Mum and Uncle Joe were permanently at the hospital, and Sophie was left alone to imagine the worst, and she did. Each time she closed her eyes she saw herself huddled under a black umbrella as rain splattered over her dad’s coffin as it was lowered into the ground. Unable to shake the image that sprung at her time and time again she had tucked Dad’s whisky under her coat and traipsed to the park. The first gulp of whisky she swallowed made her chest burn and acid rose in her throat. Why did people drink this stuff for fun? She sipped from the bottle as she spun slowly on the roundabout until it jerked to a stop and she had spluttered amber liquid over her white jeans.
‘Hey!’ Sophie had wiped her mouth with one hand and twisted her neck around. She had clutched the bottle a little tighter as she saw the man holding the roundabout still with both hands.
‘Drinking alone? Are you OK?’ he had asked and his concern encouraged Sophie to tell him the truth.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
His head had tilted to the side as though he really wanted to listen, and Sophie had blurted out: ‘My dad’s sick. I think he might die.’
‘Come and sit with me and tell everything,’ the man said. He was older than her. Not as old as her dad, but an adult all the same. A bit like one of the teachers at school, and Sophie had climbed off the roundabout and allowed herself to be led to a bench.
‘I’m Owen,’ he had said as he sat a fraction too close.
‘Sophie.’ She had swigged again from the bottle and when she had lowered it from her mouth he took it off her. She thought she was in trouble, but he put it to his own lips and gulped greedily before handing it back to her.
‘Are you old enough to drink?’ he had asked.
‘Seventeen,’ Sophie had said. ‘But everyone says I look older.’
‘You do.’ He had appraised her. ‘Tell me about your dad then?’
Sophie had sobbed into his black leather jacketed shoulder, her tears sliding down the shiny surface as she told him how scared she was. How alone she felt. They passed the bottle back and forth as he listened. Really listened, Sophie thought. And by the time he placed two fingers under her chin, tilting her face upwards, and planted the first ever kiss on her Johnny Walker numb lips, Sophie had known she was in love.
65
Tom half carries me into the lounge and lays me on the sofa. I struggle to sit up.
‘Jenna?’ Amanda perches next to me and presses the back of her hand against my forehead. ‘You’re burning up.’
‘I’ll ring for an ambulance,’ Tom says.
‘No.’ I push Amanda’s hand away. ‘Sophie’s in trouble.’
‘Sophie’s in Spain,’ Tom says steadily. ‘With Owen.’
‘No. She’s not.’ My tongue feels thick in my mouth and forming words is almost more than I can manage.
‘You’re not making sense, Jenna. You have a fever and I’m taking you to the hospital,’ says Tom.
‘Look in my bag,’ I say desperately, gesturing to the floor.
Tom unzips my bag and tips the contents out onto the coffee table. Amanda grabs the passport. When she opens it the colour drains from her cheeks.
‘It’s Sophie’s,’ she whispers through her fingers. ‘Jenna.’ Her voice is louder now. ‘Where is she? Where’s my baby girl?’
‘Why have you got Sophie’s passport? What’s going on, Jenna?’ Tom is staring at me as though he’s never seen me before.
&nbs
p; I sift through words that spin around my fevered head, trying to formulate an explanation that won’t make me sound crazy, but I can’t.
‘There’s something called Cellular Memory, where…’
‘The recipient inherits the donor’s memories. I’ve heard of that. I spent hours researching transplants after Callie. I told you about it, Amanda, remember? The research that scientist was doing. What’s that got to do with Sophie?’
Tom crosses the room and wraps his arms around Amanda as though my words are arrows that will wound her.
‘I feel things. See things. Muddled images. Fragmented dreams. I think they are Callie’s memories. She’s been trying to tell me something but it all became so blurred, but now I know. Sophie is in danger. Nathan told me.’ I hold up my palm to stop their inevitable questions. I can’t answer them. ‘He was going to meet her tonight. We need to find her.’
Tom and Amanda fall silent as they try to process what I’m trying to explain. Will they trust me? I hope so. Callie’s desperation has seeped into every single cell in my body. Tom walks towards the front door and for a horrible moment I think he’s going to ask me to leave, but instead, he fetches his shoes from the doormat.
‘Where is she?’
‘I think—’
‘You think? If she’s here I need to know where. I’ll call Nathan if he was meeting her.’ He picks up the landline.
‘He won’t answer,’ I say and Tom hesitates. ‘I know how it sounds but you have to trust me.’ There’s a beat before he places the receiver back on the cradle.
‘I’ve had lots of dreams of Callie and Sophie,’ I say. ‘But all in the same place. It’s a place they both felt happy and safe and I think that’s where she is.’
‘Where?’ Amanda is wringing her hands together. She looks distraught.
‘The caravan park you used to go to. Owl Lodge you said it was called, Amanda?’
‘Newley-on-Sea? We used to go there when the girls were small. It shut down a couple of years ago.’
‘I’m sure that’s where she is.’
‘I’ll fetch my keys, and your shoes, Amanda.’ Tom thunders up the stairs, and I pull myself up and put my arm around Amanda’s shoulders, partly to hold myself up and partly to comfort her.
The Gift Page 23