Finally stable enough to stand, Karen moved to the kitchen. She looked outside as she passed the patio doors. It was a sunny day, a bit breezy though – leaves from the neighbours’ trees danced along the patio. Her eyes travelled to the moorland in the distance. Black smudges appeared like a patchwork quilt – cast by the smattering of clouds; a glint of light flashed as a sunray caught the mirror of a car driving over the moor. There was a clear view to the granite rocks of Haytor; they appeared closer than usual. Did that mean rain? Wasn’t that one of the old wives’ tales her mother used to tell her? She used to love visiting Haytor, climbing the rocks with Mike, hiking to the top. That seemed such a long time ago now.
She moved away, turning her back on the view to the outside world.
Dropping two slices of bread in the toaster, she sat on the bar stool, waiting for the pop. So much to think about. The possibility of there being more to come didn’t want to be ignored. It’d forced its way in now, and was refusing to leave her muddled head. Useless trying to push it aside. With no other human company to distract her thoughts, her actions, she knew she’d have to continue her Facebook investigation with the likelihood that Sophie was holding something back and perhaps had recalled some memories. Her own daughter. Keeping secrets from her. Desperately important secrets. Was she mad, thinking that?
Toast jumped from the slots. Karen jumped too. Why am I so nervy?
Karen considered her next move while buttering the toast. She tilted her head back, checked the wall clock. Two hours before Sophie got back. Okay, then it was safe to have a little look in Sophie’s room, see if there was anything on her laptop. But wasn’t that wrong, obtrusive? It’d be password-protected anyway. Still, it was worth a try, wasn’t it? For her own peace of mind. Karen wrestled with the idea until she swallowed the last mouthful of cold toast. Then headed upstairs.
It was messy. Far worse than usual, as if a hunt had taken place for a misplaced item and everything that wasn’t it had been scattered across the floor. Seventeen, yet her bedroom resembled a much younger teenager’s shit-tip. Karen shook her head. One thing in her favour, she guessed, at least Sophie wouldn’t realise she’d been in there snooping. Her eyes scanned the floor: clothes – probably dirty; a plate; three glasses; DVD cases – open and missing their discs; handbags; cotton wool balls – used; make-up; coursework, and there – peeking out from underneath a towel – her laptop. Karen picked a path through the chaos and snatched up the towel. Damp. Nice one, Sophie.
Resisting the urge to straighten the duvet, Karen sat on the bed, laptop balanced on her thighs. She set about gaining access, knocking the pangs of guilt from her with each hit of the keys. Damn. The screen flashed up the words ‘Incorrect login information. Try again’. Three attempts later, still the same error message. It could be anything. No way of guessing beyond the words she’d already tried. Today was not a productive one, she sighed.
What else would be helpful? Did Sophie keep a journal? Doubtful – everything was encased in her mobile phone. Her life was in it, as she’d informed Karen on countless occasions when she’d gone on at her for constantly being attached to it. Mind you, she was probably really missing it now the police had it. Her laptop wasn’t as portable; it must be frustrating to have to wait to come home to catch up with her friends’ daily activities. Probably one of the reasons she appeared so moody at the moment.
What was Karen doing in here? Really? She didn’t even know what she was searching for. A delaying tactic – the voice of her therapist cut through. She pushed the annoying voice back inside its compartmentalised box. It wasn’t delaying, it was important; she had to find out what had happened to her daughter. Carefully placing the laptop back in the exact same location, then reluctantly draping the same damp towel over it, Karen backtracked to the door. Her eyes returned to the towel. Perhaps she could exchange it for a dry one, Sophie wouldn’t notice. She’d have to, it’d play on her mind otherwise, it could damage the laptop.
As she bent to swap towels, something caught her eye.
A black bin liner – a visible bulge signifying something inside – squashed under her bed. Could be rubbish, but judging by the rest of her room, why had she bothered bagging a small bit of it? Ducking down, Karen reached an arm into the space and slowly retrieved it. Felt like one item. Squidgy. The liner was folded and taped – something she had parcelled up to sell on eBay? But why shoved under the bed, then, rather than leaving it out to take to the post office?
Only one thing to do. Open it, then reseal with fresh tape.
She’d never know.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sophie
The cardboard coaster curled up on one edge. Sophie fiddled with it more, folding it back and forth until it broke off. She flicked it with her thumb and forefinger, sending it shooting across the table. Reaching forward, she grabbed another, began the process again, lifting her eyes every few seconds towards the pub door. Amy had finally got back to work at two. Hell of a long lunch. Then she’d shot off after work to get some more money from the hole-in-the-wall outside Asda, saying she’d meet Sophie inside in five.
That was ten minutes ago.
The pub, dimly lit, oozed seediness. They occasionally popped in after work, though, as it was convenient. Sophie sat in the usual corner, the table furthest away from the bar. Yet she still attracted the attention of several men sat on the stools there, could feel their eyes giving her the once over.
Hurry up, Amy.
Sophie took another sip of her Diet Coke. Sitting alone, she couldn’t ward off the images, the dark thoughts swimming around her mind. Erin, the chair, the pictures … the knowledge she could have been there. She felt sick again and pushed the Coke away. The pub door swung open. Finally, Amy.
‘Sorry, got chatting.’ She sat down opposite Sophie. ‘Mine’s a vodka and Coke.’
Sophie rolled her eyes. ‘Er … Right.’ Unbelievable. Late so she could get money, then expects her to buy. Rifling through her bag, she found a fiver, and her fake ID, got up and headed towards the bar surrounded by smarmy men.
Amy was engrossed in texting when she returned with her drink. Why did Sophie get the impression she was going to be of no help at all?
‘Here you go.’
No response. Head down – both thumbs fiercely tapping away at the keypad. After another minute or so, Sophie huffed loudly. ‘Are we going to chat then, or what?’
Amy giggled, raising her eyes fleetingly. ‘Yep, two secs.’ She dramatically hit the send button, then placed the phone face down on the table. ‘Right. You have my full attention.’ She smiled.
Don’t do me any favours. ‘Good. Okay, you said you’d help me try and figure out what happened Saturday night, so let’s start with when we left your house.’ Sophie sat forward, leaning in closer to Amy.
‘Well, I suppose we left just after seven, the boys wanted to get on it early. They were so up for it, were pretty ratted before we even left, actually.’
‘I remember that bit. Still don’t know why they were eager to go into town so early. It’s their fault I got so drunk so damned quickly.’
‘First pub, Spoons,’ Amy continued. ‘Didn’t stay there long, then the White Hart.’
‘So when we left Spoons, we were all together?’
‘Yep. Didn’t you see the CCTV footage on the news?’
‘No, missed it, couldn’t stomach watching any re-runs either.’ Sophie let out a long breath.
‘Anyway,’ Amy was on a roll now, her voice animated, ‘we all headed down South Street to the White Hart, you’d already had enough, we practically dragged you. We stayed in there for, ooh, about half an hour, maybe more, I’m not sure, it’s not like I was clock-watching. Remember any of that?’
‘I feel there’s something there, some vague recollection of being at the bar …’ Sophie rubbed her forehead. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ A headache was starting.
‘You said you wanted to leave. I thought you meant to another pub, but when
I suggested the next one, you told me, no, you had to go home.’
‘And where was Erin at this point?’
‘With me and you. The others were chatting outside, I believe, smoking – you know Becks, always hauling us outside with her, then ditching us to get into deep and meaningful chats with fellow smokers.’
‘And Erin phoned for a taxi?’
‘Yep, said she agreed you should go home, didn’t want you making a complete tit of yourself, as usual—’
‘Hey!’
‘Sorry, but do you not remember projectile vomiting while performing Lady Gaga on the karaoke in the Locomotive a few months back?’
‘Oh, blimey, yeah, okay, point taken.’ Sophie couldn’t help but smile at the memory. But why could she remember that, even though she’d been wasted, but not an event as important as this? ‘Did you hear Erin on the phone, did she say who she called?’
‘No, Sophie. You’re sounding like your mother now. And on that note, like I said earlier, I really don’t appreciate being made the scapegoat for this.’
Sophie bridled. ‘Oh, Amy, she’s not suggesting you’re responsible for any of this, honestly. She’s doing what any mum would do. Trying to find out what happened. It’s not only for me, you know. Erin is her best friend’s daughter.’ She caught herself. ‘Was.’ Every now and then, the gravity of it smacked her full-force, sending a judder through her insides. She lowered her head and fiddled with an acrylic nail.
‘I know. Sorry,’ Amy said, her tone softer. ‘I have this constant sick ball in my stomach, can’t get rid of it. I’ve been avoiding thinking about Erin, how it must’ve felt, how scared she was …’
Sophie had the urge to tell Amy about the pictures she’d been sent, to share the visions haunting her, and her biggest worry: that there was a very real possibility she’d been with Erin that night. And seen her killer. She regurgitated a mouthful of Coke, clasped her hand over her mouth, swallowing hard.
‘You all right?’
Sophie managed a nod. They sat quietly for a moment, neither looking at the other.
‘I wish I’d been a better friend,’ Amy said, the tears sparkling in her eyes, their greenness sharpened.
Sophie reached a hand across and laid it on top of hers. ‘You can’t think like that, hun. It’ll tear you apart.’
‘Difficult not to, Soph, isn’t it?’ Her eyes penetrated Sophie’s.
Could she see the guilt in them? The pain, which must be evident, knowing she had probably witnessed more than Amy could ever imagine – had maybe even been there when her friend died – and had done nothing to help? And she reckoned she should’ve been a better friend. No one had let Erin down as much as she obviously had. Continued to do now.
Suddenly Sophie wanted to change the subject, talk about things like they used to. Mundane, everyday things: the weird customers they’d had during the day, the teachers on her college course, the antics of the boys, plans for nights out, nights in. Safe topics. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the conversation, she needed more information. That was the reality. She had to push on.
‘At the taxi, then, who was there?’
Amy heaved a sigh. ‘I’ve been over this a million times, Soph.’
‘I know, I know. But it’s important.’
‘Me. Erin. You. That’s it.’
‘Did you see the driver, get a good look at his face? Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’
‘No. No and no. You finished your interrogation now?’ Her eyebrows lifted, disappearing into her fringe.
‘Nearly. Which direction did the taxi go? And where did you and Erin go next?’
‘I don’t really remember. Once you were in, I kinda turned away, went back in the pub.’
‘You said earlier that we only stayed in the White Hart for about half an hour, so are you sure you went back inside, not on to another pub?’
Amy scrunched her eyes up, placed her fingertips at her temples. ‘Um … I think I just nipped back inside to gather up the others, before heading to the next one.’
‘Right. And Erin?’
‘Well, I assume she was still with me when you left, standing beside me on the pavement.’ She paused, eyes narrowing, then looked up to the right, like she was searching a memory. ‘But, I could’ve left her standing there when I crossed over to go back inside to get the others, I suppose. I’m not sure I remember her being with me.’
‘Yes. I bet that’s it.’ Sophie sat upright, a glimmer of hope glistening at the edge of the darkness of her despair – a possible breakthrough in this whole mess. ‘That’s when she went off, or was taken, or whatever.’
‘Maybe. The TV said there was no further CCTV footage of her afterwards. So it would make sense.’
‘She definitely didn’t get inside the taxi with me, did she?’
‘Why would she have?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps wanted me to get home safely? Didn’t like the look of the driver, thought there was safety in numbers?’
Amy drew herself up indignantly. ‘Oh, okay. So what you’re saying is she was a good friend, I’m a useless one. Basically what your mum is thinking. In fact, I’m sure she’s accusing me of letting you down, letting Erin down. So it’s all my fault. Yep.’ Amy jumped up. ‘Blame me.’ Her anger escalated quickly, unexpectedly.
‘I am not blaming you, Amy. I’m just saying what might have happened. I don’t even know—’
‘Whatever. Look, perhaps you and your mother should give me a wide berth for a while, anyway, eh? And do me a favour, tell her to quit her stupid hit list. Dan’s apparently next, or so she threatened, but he doesn’t know any more than me. Leave him alone.’ Without a backwards glance, she left.
The pub door shut with a resounding thud.
Great. Not how Sophie had wanted that to go. But, she’d gained something. It was entirely possible that Amy didn’t wait for the taxi to drive off before she went back into the pub, leaving a brief moment when Erin could’ve climbed into the taxi as well. A tingling spread to her fingertips. Had Erin been as drunk as Sophie? Is that why the driver took advantage? Or had he been waiting for such a situation to arise? And is that how they’d ended up together, maybe, if that flash of memory she’d had told the truth?
Too many questions. And for now, she’d hit a wall, with no conceivable way over it without more help. But not from her mum. Her interference had caused enough problems.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Karen
‘Why are you trying to make my life so difficult?’ Sophie burst through the lounge door, strode up to where Karen was sitting.
Karen moved forward. ‘Er … hello would’ve been nice.’ A frown crinkled her forehead.
‘Ruining my friendship with Amy is so the right way to go. Thanks a lot. Not like my friends are dropping like flies or anything.’
‘I only asked her a few questions, Sophie. And don’t say that, that’s an awful thing to say.’ A prickly sensation, a warning of tears.
‘Sorry, but it’s how I feel.’ Sophie slumped on to the two-seater sofa, her rant seemingly over.
‘Yeah. I know.’ Karen got up and moved across to sit next to her, placing her hand on Sophie’s knee. ‘Let me show you this picture I found, Sophie—’
‘No, Mum. Enough.’
‘Please.’ Karen jumped up and walked towards her laptop. ‘You need to see what I mean …’
Sophie let out a low groan, pushed up from the sofa and turned towards the door. ‘I’m not interested in your stupid theories.’ She paused, eyes narrowed. ‘Get a life.’
That stung – pushing Karen backwards as if a physical object had made contact with her body. Her mouth opened, closed again, muted.
‘Are you going to let her talk to you like that?’ Mike barged his way through the ajar door, knocking into Sophie. She glared at him, her mouth set in a straight line.
‘Great, so you’re joining in too, are you?’ Sophie made to push past him.
‘Sophie, lo
ve, don’t …’ Karen, alert to the change in atmosphere, tried to intervene to prevent a blow-up.
‘You should listen to your mother.’ Mike’s expression was contorted, and his face was too close to Sophie’s.
‘Like you do, you mean?’ She turned back sharply, her face reddened. ‘Listen to yourself …’ Her voice, harsh. She gave a short, sharp, sarcastic laugh.
It was going to blow up. Karen stepped back from them, her breath catching, a stabbing pain seizing and paralysing her lungs. And she’d started this. Her hands went to her middle. She pushed her fingers into her sides, bent over, gasping for air.
‘I … need,’ shallow breaths, ‘my … bag.’
‘Right, of course you do. Get her stupid bag, Sophie.’
‘You get it.’
‘I asked you.’ Like bickering children. Mike then turned to Karen, ‘It’s a ploy, have a panic attack, stop me from telling Sophie off … you always do this.’ His anger, spilling, spreading from Sophie to Karen.
Sophie wasn’t backing down. ‘There you go again, Dad, you tell me off for the way I speak to her, then you treat her like she’s worthless.’
‘I … am … here,’ Karen managed, clasping at her chest. This was too much in one day, she was going to have a heart attack.
‘For pity’s sake. Look at her.’ He shook his head and pushed past both of them, heading for the kitchen. He took his time returning with the bag and gave it to Karen without looking at her.
‘You should grow up, really, Sophie. Your mother’s only trying to find out what happened to you because you were too irresponsible, and now you claim not to remember anything. You brought this all on yourself.’
Karen listened as best she could while blowing in and out of her bag.
‘Yes, that’s right, Dad, because you never did anything irresponsible in your entire life, did you?’
‘Don’t turn this around! Face it, you screwed up Saturday night. Don’t blame me for your mistakes. I’m not bailing you out.’
The sobbing came immediately; like a flick of a switch the tears turned on.
Saving Sophie Page 10