Isolated

by M. A. Hunter

‘Thanks so much for agreeing to meet with me,’ Sam launches, before I’ve even had a chance to remove my coat. ‘Cheryl said you may or may not be investigating the disappearance of Sally Curtis, and that you believe it has direct links to Nat’s suicide.’

  ‘That’s not exactly the situation,’ I say cautiously, ‘but it was Natalie’s suicide that led me to Sally’s disappearance. What exactly did you want to tell me?’

  ‘That you’re spot on. Nat’s suicide has everything to do with the disappearance of Sally Curtis.’

  I won’t deny my interest is piqued and I’m already switching on the recorder on my phone as I sit. ‘You don’t mind, do you? It means I don’t have to make notes and can fully concentrate on what you’re saying. So, where do you want to start?’

  He unscrews the cap on the water and takes a small sip. ‘Nat was obsessed with Sally’s disappearance – to a dangerous degree, I’d say. Not when we were going out – back then I had no real idea about any of that history – but after we broke up, it quickly became clear that that period in her life was still having a profound effect on her present.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She blamed herself for Sally vanishing and the subsequent fallout at the base.’

  I look at Rachel and mouth the word ‘fallout’ at her, but she shrugs.

  ‘At the service yesterday,’ I continue, ‘you made reference to two of Natalie’s friends causing her trouble when they were all younger. Can you elaborate?’

  He nods. ‘Yeah, that Louise and Jane. I wish I could remember half the stories Nat told me about the two of them. Always conspiring against her, from all accounts – especially that Louise. I still can’t believe they had the gall to rock up at the crematorium yesterday.’

  ‘They bullied her?’ I question.’

  ‘Not physically, but definitely mentally. They’d sworn this pact not to speak about what happened in those woods when Sally disappeared, and no matter how many times Nat wanted to come clean, she was terrified about what would happen if she broke the pact. She blamed herself for her dad dying. Did you know that? Even though it happened overseas and was bad luck in terms of how his unit was attacked, she held herself accountable. Said it all stemmed back to what happened that night and how she broke the rules. None of this came out until… until after she failed to conceive through IVF. She claimed it was all her fault because of her role in that night.’

  ‘Did she tell you what happened in those woods? From what we’ve managed to deduce it could be something to do with the Wicca religion. Did she ever mention that to you?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what that is. Nat didn’t like to talk about that period in her life prior to the IVF failure, but afterwards, she wouldn’t stop talking about it… without saying very much. I remember waking one night and finding she wasn’t in bed. I got up and went looking for her, discovering her on the floor in our kitchen, her back to the fridge. She was soaked through with sweat and rocking backwards and forwards. I tried to lift her but it was like she was in some kind of a trance or something, and when I tried to carry her back to bed – assuming she was sleepwalking or something – she lashed out at me with a shard of broken glass I hadn’t realised she was holding.’

  He stops and rubs a thin scar above his right eye. ‘That was the beginning of the end. I found she’d dragged the shard across her abdomen and that’s when I had to ask the GP to have her taken into a psychiatric unit for a couple of weeks. She was so disturbed – no, traumatised – that I didn’t even recognise her. I wanted to help her but when she was released, she said she was a danger to me and didn’t want to see me die as her dad had. I refused to leave and then one day I returned from work and found she’d cut up all my clothes with scissors and moved out. I found her at her mum’s, but she said she’d never loved me and that the IVF failure was fate’s way of saving us both from a lifetime of heartache. I thought if I gave her some space she’d realise she was unwell and get the treatment she clearly needed, and that we’d eventually get back together… but that’s never going to happen now.’

  The version of Natalie that Sam is painting is much more in keeping with the one I met on the rooftop of Maddie’s office building; the version that Cheryl described is of an angel who wouldn’t harm a fly, let alone herself.

  ‘You said she blamed herself for Sally disappearing but do you know why?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Not exactly. It definitely had something to do with the night she vanished, but whenever I’d press her for more detail, she’d clam up and tell me I wasn’t part of the inner circle, and that punishment would come if she broke the pact. That Louise and Jane did such a job on her; I swear they broke her at such a vulnerable age and that’s why I hold them responsible for what’s happened.’

  ‘Did she ever mention someone called Pete to you?’ Rachel interjects.

  Sam considers the name. ‘No, I don’t think so. Why, who is he?’

  ‘We think he was a friend of some sort at the base, but we also wondered whether he had anything to do with Sally’s disappearance.’

  Sam’s eyes widen. ‘She did mention a figure in the woods with them that night but she never gave a name. The way she spoke of him, I always…’ His words trail off as he thinks better about finishing the sentence.

  ‘Go on, please,’ I urge.

  ‘Well, it sounds so silly saying it aloud but… the way she spoke of this figure was like he was… a mythical type of character – a demon or the like – but that could have just been her imagination running away with her.’

  Imogen Amperstock’s words run through my mind: Wiccans, by contrast, worship both the horned god and the moon goddess.

  I try to choose my words carefully but there’s no easy way to ask my next question. ‘To the best of your knowledge, did Natalie ever mention the practice of witchcraft?’

  His cheeks redden. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘When we went to Natalie’s room at the hostel where she was staying at the end, we found what was essentially a shrine to Sally, but there were also a variety of Wiccan symbols and ideograms scattered around the room, including a couple of books left in a box with my name on. I think Natalie was trying to tell me that Sally’s disappearance involved some kind of witchcraft in those woods, but proving that theory is becoming a struggle.’

  ‘Nat wasn’t a witch!’ he declares, raising his voice. ‘Is that why you’re doing this? Does Cheryl realise that’s what you intend to print?’

  Rachel has eased back in her chair but I can understand his anger.

  ‘I’m not saying Natalie was practising witchcraft at the end, but I do believe she may have been cajoled into something when she was young and vulnerable by the group of girls she thought were her friends. You said yourself this all happened at such an impressionable age for Natalie and I don’t think it’s too big a leap to suggest that living with that guilt and regret – and it manifesting over time with a series of unfortunate events, including her dad’s sudden death – could have an extreme effect on her mental health. You said she blamed herself for Sally’s disappearance, but how could she be to blame unless she killed Sally herself?’

  His eyes widen and he’s about to jump to his ex-fiancée’s defence again before I raise my hand to cut him off.

  ‘I don’t believe Natalie or the other two killed Sally, but what’s the alternative? Why would Natalie be so troubled by the events of that night unless it involved something she didn’t feel she could live with? Why push away the one man she loved?’

  His eyes are watering as he looks out of the window, his mind trying to process the suggestion. ‘She phoned me two weeks ago. I haven’t told Cheryl because I feel guilty about not realising it was a cry for help. She said she wanted to apologise to me for any hurt or pain our breakup had caused and that it was important I moved on with my life. I didn’t see it for what it was; I naively thought she was trying to lay the groundwork for a potential reconciliation at some point in the future. She
said she thought she’d finally found a solution to her problems and was back on speaking terms with Jane, and that it had really helped clarify what they’d all been through back then.’ He tears a napkin from the box on the table and wipes his eyes. ‘I thought I was getting the old Nat back. I even took her old engagement ring to the jeweller’s to have it cleaned up in preparation. I never stopped loving her and I don’t think I ever will. I should have realised she was phoning to make her peace before the end. I was so stupid.’

  I lean forward so I can fix his eyes with my own. ‘No, you weren’t. I was up on that roof when she jumped and I didn’t think she was going to do it. She was threatening to but I thought the police were going to talk her down… and then the next second she was gone. There was no way you could have known what she was planning to do. Please don’t blame yourself. If anything – and from what Cheryl told me – you were the only good thing going in Natalie’s life. I know it doesn’t make it any easier but I truly don’t believe any of this is your fault.’

  He looks at his watch. ‘I should probably be going. I told Cheryl I would help her scatter Nat’s ashes today. Please don’t paint Nat as some kind of witch or monster. She was so much more than that.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise,’ I say as he stands and heads out into the bitter wind.

  ‘What next?’ Rachel asks, when he’s gone. ‘You still want to go to the base and ask about that Corporal Pete Havvard?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. I think we need to go and pay Jane Constantine a visit. If Natalie did get back in touch with her, I want to know exactly what they discussed.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Then

  Blackfriars, London

  Pushing the cleaning cart into the lift, Natalie was relieved to find the carriage empty. Had she had to make eye contact with a perfect stranger and give that nod of acknowledgement, pretending that everything was okay – as she had done countless times before – she wouldn’t have been able to keep her mask raised. She’d probably have broken down there and then and confessed what she was planning to do. They’d probably have thought her crazy but it was unlikely they would have allowed her to continue without reporting it to someone. At best, they would have left her to her own devices, probably reporting the incident to the security guards in the main reception hall; at worst, they’d have insisted on staying with her until help arrived. Neither outcome would have been satisfactory.

  As the lift doors began to slide closed, she thought back to the morning’s events, trying to recall the list of activities she’d memorised late into the night. There were so many things she’d wanted to do to ensure all her affairs were in order. To miss just one of the tasks from the list would be to ruin everything she’d spent weeks planning.

  She’d sat and re-read each of her diaries late into the night, trying to recall what had motivated her to write each line. Back then, she’d been deliberately ambiguous in her use of language, knowing her mum wouldn’t have taken the time to truly think about what could be hidden between the lines – not that she was even certain her mum had ever snuck a glance at the diaries. Maybe all that pretence and secrecy had been a waste of time; it certainly hadn’t helped her own need to decipher last night. Her personal memories of that time in her life – thirteen going on seventeen – were now heavily clouded by a lifetime of regrets and what ifs. What if she hadn’t gone to the woods that night, would they have cast the incantation without her? Jane had said they needed a minimum of four people, which is why she’d forced herself to sneak out that night. If she’d been braver and stayed in her bed, maybe they would have had to bail out and then Sally would have survived. But she’d been weak – she’d always been weak – and now she could only dream about a lifetime where she’d not caved.

  She thought there were enough references to that time that an educated adult would be able to read the hidden messages, but she’d decided to pack the books about Gerald Gardner and Wicca in the box to be safe. If the recipient knew enough about Wiccan practices, then actually a lot of what she’d scrawled in her pre-pubescent handwriting would be decipherable enough. And if her plan worked, then Sally would return anyway and everyone else’s lives would make sense once again.

  That night really had been pivotal in the lives of so many. Things had never been the same between her, Jane and Louise afterwards. Louise had clearly seen Natalie as the weakest link – she was probably right – and had sought to detach herself from the chain, putting as much distance between herself and Natalie as she could. If only Natalie had found it easier to turn her back on what they’d done and ignore the overwhelming guilt. For a time, she thought she’d managed it. Time had numbed some of the pain, and then Sam had served as sufficient distraction that thoughts about those woods only ever returned in the deepest of sleeps on the darkest of nights.

  It had felt like a second chance, meeting Sam. He hadn’t known anything of her history and had loved her for who she was, rather than who she’d been. For two blissful years, anything had seemed possible, but then she’d realised she was kidding herself to believe happiness would ever brighten her door again. His proposal had been the highlight of their relationship, and him having come from an adopted family of siblings, he’d been keen on them starting a brood of their own. She’d wanted children too – children she could imbue with the wisdom of her own mistakes, children she could teach to be stronger and braver than her. They would have been born in memory of Sally, but after a series of pre-IVF tests, it had soon become clear that things weren’t right. She’d never told Sam that the doctors had warned her that IVF would be expensive and in all probability a waste of time.

  ‘It’s not that you’re unable to conceive,’ the gynaecologist had said, ‘but the landscape inside your womb doesn’t lend itself readily to conception.’

  What had that even meant? Sam hadn’t been able to attend that appointment due to work, but she’d known that even if she’d told him what the doctor had said, he’d have insisted on them trying. He was always able to find a silver lining to every cloud, and that’s what she’d loved most about him. She should never have allowed things to develop to that point though. When the doctors broke the bad news, she hadn’t been surprised.

  ‘I’m sorry, but none of the eggs took,’ he’d offered sympathetically.

  Sam had remained upbeat – as he always did – and told her they would simply save up and try again. It wouldn’t have been fair on him to allow the illusion to continue any longer. He deserved to be with someone who wasn’t carrying the devil’s curse with her, someone who would be able to give him the life and family he so desperately craved, someone who hadn’t caused her own barrenness fifteen years ago.

  The lift pinged as it reached the top floor. From here it was a short walk to the rooftop access door, through which a ladder would take her to her final destination. Pushing out the cleaning cart, she parked it near the door, not in anyone’s way, and hopefully it wouldn’t be spotted until the deed was complete. Swiping the security pass she’d pinched from the guard’s desk when she arrived at dawn, she was pleased when the LED changed from red to green and then she pushed through.

  She’d thought about phoning Sam to say goodbye but when they’d last spoken a couple of weeks back, she’d heard the unmistakeable sound of hope in his voice. He’d asked to meet her for a drink and she’d agreed, not wanting to let him down, but hadn’t messaged to confirm a date and time, like she’d promised to do. If she’d phoned last night, it would only have added to that false hope, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him any more than she already had.

  She’d also considered phoning her mum, but knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep her true intentions a secret. She’d left a letter to her mum hidden in the back of one of her diaries, and hopefully it would eventually be passed to her. It wasn’t anything too gushy, simply an apology for not being a better daughter. Better to keep it simple.

  The final action before leaving her room in the hostel had
been to scrawl Emma Hunter’s name on the lid of the box. Originally, she’d planned to put Jane’s name on the box; after all, some of Jane’s recent advice had been invaluable in helping Natalie find the solution to their problems, but a part of her was still reluctant to trust the Jane who had been so willing to abandon Sally and toe Louise’s ever-changing line. Would she have done the same this time? Would she keep their biggest lie a secret, so nobody would be any the wiser?

  Natalie had stolen a copy of Emma Hunter’s book Monsters Under the Bed from one of the agent’s offices on the sixth floor, just to see what all the fuss was about. By the second chapter she’d been glued to it, re-reading the entire book the moment she finished the final word, keen to understand exactly how the author’s mind worked. Like a dog with a bone, she’d overheard one of the agents saying once when describing Emma Hunter’s approach, and Natalie could well imagine she would be a formidable force – assuming the box was passed to her, of course.

  Placing her foot on the first rung of the ladder, Natalie now questioned whether she should have mailed the box to Emma directly. What if the police didn’t go to the room in the hostel? What if they didn’t care and the hostel manager eventually threw away all of her stuff? If the box never got to Emma then there was every chance the truth would never be discovered.

  What if her own sacrifice wasn’t enough to bring Sally back? The idea had come to her during a phone call with Jane last month, and everything in her head had suddenly aligned. Sally’s unexplained disappearance – her being taken – because the incantation had been ruined by Natalie’s own lie: that was their punishment, and because Natalie was to blame, it would have to be she who made the sacrifice in order to get Sally back. It made perfect sense.

  The wind whipped at her face as she pushed up the lid and clambered out onto the roof, feeling surprisingly calm as her final seconds rapidly approached. She felt at peace; all fear and worry had evaporated from her mind the second she stepped out. All she had to do now was keep walking, reach the edge, close her eyes and let death claim her soul for its own. Would Sally ever know that Natalie had made up for her previous mistake? Would she ever be able to forgive Natalie for all the pain and hurt she caused?