My mobile rings. I ignore it, happy in my land of purple and warmth. I try the purple blob trick again. The sun’s disappeared behind the rooftops and it doesn’t work. The phone rings once more. It’s Max. I let it go to voicemail and I’m about to switch it off, when I think about the newspaper clipping. Why did Edie think Mum’s death was suicide? I haven’t dared to ask about it. Dad’s a hair’s breadth from a breakdown. He disappeared once when we were children. Mum said he’d gone to visit a distant cousin. Raquel laughed when I told her. Didn’t I know? He was at the funny farm. Edie hadn’t believed her and neither had I, but we never met Dad’s distant cousin. I’ll have to ask Ray and Becca about Edie’s note, though Ray’s looking nearly as fragile as Dad.
If Edie spoke to anyone about Mum it would have been Michaela and she might know about the boyfriend, too. Much as I loathe her, I need to get in touch. I try the phone number I found in the exercise book and am told it doesn’t exist. I look up the address online: the bungalow was bulldozed ten years ago to build a block of flats.
I decide to download the Facebook app instead. A long time ago I had a profile. It was fun finding out what my friends were doing and to catch up with them. Then too much started catching up. Photos you’re tagged in from nights you don’t remember. Too many questions from Max. I deleted myself from social media. I may as well not exist. My new profile name is Laura Andrews. Not too obviously made up but dull enough to skim over if you don’t recognise it. I upload a photo of two Labrador puppies as my profile and write that I live in the area and am married with no children.
Raquel pops up when I enter my primary school. She’s still living on Limewoods and runs a gardening business with her husband, Gavin. They have one child. I want to contact her, but it seems wrong under a fake profile. Instead, I send her a private message, saying my real name and does she want to get in touch.
Then I search the Joseph Amberley Girls’ School group. There’s a general, anyone-can-join group with nearly eight hundred members and a smaller closed group, The JAGuars, which I apply to join. I didn’t have any friends until the morbid glamour associated with Edie’s disappearance made me a school celebrity and girls who’d ignored me suddenly wanted to be my friend. Not Michaela. She was a year older and left school the summer Edie disappeared.
JAGS alumni start popping up. Natalie Clarke, divorced, has one boy, works as a structural engineer, likes dance music and watching romantic comedies. Charlotte Wansford (née Lanark), a home manager, married with two daughters, Mimi and Lucy. She likes salsa, golf and healthy eating. Aveline Clements is an architect, separated, no children and no interests, but lots of pictures of her with her sister, Vonnie, and her friend, Gemma, (relationship statuses single) at clubs, parties and on holiday. All these girls attended JAGS at the same time as me. So did Hannah, Esme, Ade, Leanne, Anji and Rhiannon. But no Michaela. No link to Michaela, no mention of Michaela. She was the one Edie gravitated towards, shared secrets with and left me behind for. I need to speak to her. I check all the girls I can see from my year, the year above and all of their friends. I copy my Laura profile to Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram. Still no Michaela.
If social media had existed when we were at school, she would have ruled the world. Her vlog on music, boys and fashion would have turned her into a celebrity. It’s made for her. Where is she?
The vodka’s blurred my thoughts. I put the phone down and light another cigarette. The sky’s the smoky colour it turns just before going black. I want the sun back, so I can play the purple blob game.
I play it with Michaela instead. Her skirt is the regulation school length but she’s so tall it’s halfway up her thighs. Her tousled hair hangs loose and her eyeliner is smudged. She smokes Russian cigarettes. Her boyfriend drives a red car. I see her leaving school and walking along the canal, heading towards the iron bridge, and I know what’s going to happen. She’s treading in Edie’s footsteps at the back of school, stalked by an unknown attacker. She will bang her head, be wrapped in plastic sheeting and found in a reservoir twenty years later. I have to warn Michaela. I turn my gaze to her and she vanishes. You have to look without looking.
I’ve had far too much to drink and my imagination is running away with me. If something had happened to Michaela, I would have heard, even if I don’t keep up with my school friends. But where is she? Who doesn’t have a social media profile?
When I open my eyes it’s fully dark. I turn the side light on and slosh more vodka into my glass.
On Facebook, I’ve just been accepted into the closed JAGuars group. Whoever the administrator is obviously isn’t checking if a Laura Andrews actually attended the school. I click on Aveline and her sister, Vonnie. Michaela could be friends with them, perhaps she’s also using a pseudonym. I don’t find her; instead, the first thing I see is a post showing the front page of a national newspaper: Missing Girl Dredged from Reservoir.
I’ve deliberately avoided the papers. The word ‘dredged’ reminds me why. As if she’s silt or rubbish to be removed. The picture shows Edie in her summer school dress, leaning against Ray’s old sports car. It’s the last photo we have of her. Ray must have taken it kneeling down, the lens points up at her and she’s showing acres of bare leg. Edie didn’t even like short skirts. The dress had been bought the summer before and was far too small for her by then.
Under the picture Aveline posts:
Devastated. Poor Edie. I always thought it would turn out this way. My thoughts are with her family. *Sad face emojis*
Typical Aveline. Know-it-all, trite and insincere.
Charlotte: Yes, so sad. I’ve been crying all evening. Thoughts with the family.
Natalie: *raised eyebrow emoji*
Aveline: What Nat?
Natalie: You know.
Hannah: You think she had a boyfriend?
Charlotte: The police asked me back then if she had one. I know for a FACT she didn’t. I was her BEST FRIEND.
You wish, Charlotte Lanark.
Aveline: I thought Michaela was her best friend.
Nice dig, Aveline.
Charlotte: Michaela just used Edie. And look at where she is now.
For once be useful, Charlotte, and give me an answer. Where is Michaela now?
Charlotte: It wouldn’t surprise me if she had something to do with all of this.
Aveline: No way. She could be a cow, but she wasn’t dangerous.
Charlotte: Michaela got in with some weird people when she went out with that Bob.
God, they all want to get in on the act. With everything that’s happened, I’d forgotten what vacuous bitches Edie’s friends were. To them she’s just a headline in a short skirt, one that brings a little reflected fame because they knew her, something a bit spicier than the usual pictures of their kids, pets and holidays.
Aveline: Do you think the press will want to talk to us? We could give an interview together.
Knew it. She’ll have already booked in for a blow-dry.
Charlotte: Might do, but we can hardly go around accusing Michaela or some non-existent boyfriend.
Aveline: There’ll be an appeal by the family, there usually is, anyone with information. Maybe the press will want to speak to us after that.
Natalie: The police do appeals to watch the family’s reaction. No one’s going to remember anything worthwhile after twenty years. If the police ask them to do an appeal, they’re listening to what I told them at the time.
Charlotte: What do you mean?
Natalie: Boyfriend, Michaela? You two are both way off target. You know who my money’s on and I told the police. It’s Edie’s sister. That creepy twin.
Chapter 14
Edie: October 1993
‘The Case of the Missing Cakemaker’ lay under the bed. Tess’s carefully drawn maps unused, her theories untested. But as Tess told Edie, from her extensive knowledge of criminal investigations, every case needs an element of luck.
It was the last day of the autumn half-term. At five thirt
y the street lights were already lit and outside a light drizzle was falling. Edie’s searches for Valentina’s sister were going nowhere. The only L. Harlith in the local directory turned out to be a Lionel, who didn’t know any Lillians. Edie had rung numbers all over the country, using the payphone on the high street; she’d spent a fortune in ten pence pieces and got nowhere.
Tess still insisted Valentina was dead. It was just a matter of finding the body. Her latest hunch was under the Vickers’ patio. The paving slabs were slightly out of alignment, indicating Mr Vickers had replaced them quickly for fear of being caught. She was considering ways to lift the stones, when Edie pointed out that the slabs were set in concrete and Mr Vickers would need a drill to get them out. They hadn’t been moved for years.
‘We have to rule out Valentina’s sister first,’ Edie said.
So when she saw Mr Vickers walk up to their door and drop an envelope through the letterbox, Edie raced downstairs. Tess had beaten her to it and was holding the envelope. Mr Vickers must have been in a hurry to leave the note without ringing the bell. Mum was at work and Dad was watching cricket being played somewhere on the other side of the world, where the sun was shining. On Gladstone Road it had been raining all day.
The envelope was unsealed. Tess lifted the flap and pulled out a sheet of paper. Edie peered over her shoulder:
I’ve waited in all day for the plumber, he hasn’t come and I need to pop out. If he bothers to turn up, can you let him in please?
Martin
Tess turned the envelope upside down and shook it. Two Yale keys fell out. Tess held them up and turned them over in her hand.
A shout from Dad, a run, a dropped catch. He wouldn’t be disturbing them. Edie looked at Tess.
‘We can’t,’ Tess said.
‘I’ll go without you then,’ Edie said.
Tess looked over at Dad, his eyes were still fixed on the cricket.
‘I suppose one of us needs to keep a look out,’ she said.
Edie smiled. She knew Tess couldn’t resist. This had been her investigation, after all.
‘We should do it now in case the plumber arrives or Mum comes back.’
Tess didn’t move.
‘You’re not chicken, are you?’ Edie said.
Tess glanced towards the TV, thunderous applause from the cricket ground.
‘What if someone catches us? What if Mr Vickers comes home? Or you find Valentina’s body?’
‘I don’t think you’re going to make it as Sherlock Holmes, Tess,’ Edie said. ‘Just keep a lookout, OK?’
Tess went to the window.
‘You’ll need a torch,’ she said. ‘You can’t turn the lights on once you’re inside, people will know someone’s there. Dad keeps one in the shed.’
‘You get that. I’ll go and change my clothes.’
Sometimes Edie wished Raquel was her sister, not Tess. She would be perfect for this, if she hadn’t got such a big mouth. She’d have fought Edie to be the one raiding the house and then blabbed to the whole estate about it the next day.
‘Mum’ll be home at six,’ Edie said. ‘That gives us twenty minutes. We’ll have plenty of time if we do it now.’
Edie spoke with confidence but she knew the timings were tight. The knot in her stomach she got, when she thought about Mr Vickers, returned. She could see his face, unsmiling, like a passport photograph, like a murderer.
By the time they left the house, the drizzle had turned to driving rain. At Tess’s insistence, they walked to the end of the street and Edie changed clothes. She pulled her coat hood tight over her head, hiding her face, so if anyone did notice someone going into the Vickers’ house, they wouldn’t recognise her.
She left Tess on lookout at the end of the road and walked back to the Vickers’ house. In her pocket the key felt very cold and her hand very hot. She had never noticed that the Vickers’ gate squeaked, but now it groaned loudly when she opened it. Her hand shook so badly it took three attempts to get the key into the lock. She pushed the door open, switched on the torch and flicked the beam around the front room. The place looked like it had been burgled. Newspapers were scattered across the floor, drawers lay open and foam takeaway boxes piled up on the side. Valentina would never have let this happen.
Edie wasn’t sure where to start. At home, the address book was kept next to the phone. She couldn’t remember seeing Valentina’s phone. She moved through the piles of papers on the floor, trying to put them back where she found them, though she was sure Mr Vickers wouldn’t notice.
On the shelves either side of the chimney breast were more stacks of paper, where Valentina had kept glasses and photos. Either she had taken them with her or Mr Vickers had got rid of them. On the lower shelves, folders, binders and boxes were piled on top of one another but no telephone.
It was impossible by torchlight. A stack of bills sat on top of the fireplace. She was getting nowhere when the phone rang. She jumped and had to breathe to calm herself. It was coming from behind one of the armchairs. She pulled it back. The phone was still ringing.
It was then she heard the car pull up right outside. It had to be Mr Vickers.
She should leave, kill the torchlight and go. But she kept searching. She had to find that address. The car’s engine died and its door clunked. Get out, get out. Her torch scanned evermore frantically.
‘Hi, Mr Vickers, how are you today?’
Tess was shouting so that Edie could hear her.
‘Huh? What are you after?’
‘Nothing. I just wanted to know how you are.’
‘Push off,’ he said.
The torch beam landed on a red book, half stuck under the chair. Edie pulled it free, it was marked ‘Addresses’. She grabbed it, ran to the kitchen and tried to get out by the side door. It was locked and without a key. The front door lock was turning. She couldn’t get out in time. The chest freezer stood at the back of the kitchen in the small utility room. She turned off the torch. Fear crept over her. If she opened the freezer she’d find Valentina’s body, scream and alert Mr Vickers to her presence and he would find the opportunity to add a second body too good to miss.
He was inside the lounge now. Edie darted into the utility room, pulled the door shut behind her and squeezed into the gap next to the freezer and the wall.
Footsteps. The kitchen light came on. Would he notice the utility room door was open a fraction, would he want food from the freezer?
Pouring water, a kettle hissing and the smell of warm spices. He’d brought a takeaway home, Indian. He wouldn’t need the freezer tonight. Edie heard the slosh of liquid in a cup, the light was flicked off and his steps moved away towards the front room. He’d left the kitchen door open. She wouldn’t be able to leave without him noticing and so knelt down in the narrow gap between the wall and the freezer. It kept humming, singing to her to have a peek inside. She should ignore it.
Mr Vickers switched on the TV news. Edie stood up and tiptoed to the front of the freezer. Its lid came open with a soft smack and the inner light came on. Too scared to look, Edie leaned over it with her eyes shut. What if Valentina’s frosted face lay there, staring up at her? She opened her eyes.
Nothing, only her breath puffing into clouds. Nothing at all. She shuddered. The emptiness disturbed her. Valentina kept it full. Everything was gone as if her whole existence had been erased. The freezer’s chill crept into her skin.
Valentina could have been placed here and moved. It felt like a coffin, small, confined and dark. Was death like this, no feeling, just endless black and cold? She shut the lid, returned to her hiding place and continued to shiver.
By the time Mr Vickers came back into the kitchen, Edie’s teeth were chattering so loudly she was sure he would hear. He didn’t even turn the light on, just threw something in the sink and walked out. At last he shut the door to the front room and turned the volume up on the TV. Her legs were stiff from kneeling and the cold and she had to use her arms to pull herself up.
; The side door was on a wheel lock, she’d not noticed in her panic. Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca had a similar one in their last house and she knew how to use it, turning it one way then the other and relock from outside by pushing the handle up.
It was still pouring with rain when she escaped Mr Vickers by the side door. She looked across to her kitchen, their back door and safety. The fence that separated the houses was too high to jump. A dustbin stood next to it, Edie used it to clamber over. The lid was slippery from the rain and her stiff, frozen legs made her clumsy. Her foot slipped, the dustbin tipped backwards, she tipped forwards, her stomach slammed onto the top of the fence, winding her, the momentum carried her over. She put her hands out to break the fall. Her wrist crunched onto the concrete the other side and straight afterwards her head. Pain shot through her. She stifled a cry.
The Vickers’ light came on and the door flew open. Edie flattened herself horizontally across the bottom of the fence. Her wrist was throbbing and blood trickled down her forehead.
She heard Mr Vickers step outside. He waited for what seemed like an age, then swore under his breath, picked up the bin and returned to the house.
Edie still didn’t dare move. She lay shaking, pressed against the fence. The Vickers’ kitchen light stayed on.
Then another light came on. Their own kitchen light and Tess was at the back door.
‘Get inside,’ she hissed.
Edie tumbled into the house. Tess’s eyes were wide with fright, her cheeks streaked with tears.
‘You’re bleeding. What did he do to you?’
‘Nothing. I fell. My wrist is killing me.’
‘We have to go to hospital.’
‘No. Mum will find out. Get some cotton wool and a bandage. She can’t see me like this.’
Tess ran to the bathroom and Edie was alone again. With her good hand she pulled the address book from her pocket. A crack ran across the plastic cover, behind which were the indented pages, A, B, C. She stuffed it back in her pocket.
Someone You Know Page 8