Seven Days

by Alex Lake

  Where were you?

  Out with my friends.

  Which friends?

  My friends. The ones I’m always with.

  Were there any other guys there?

  In the pub? Yes. Of course. But—

  I can’t believe it. You were flirting with other guys?

  No!

  And so it would go on. She would retreat from his questioning and he would interpret her retreat as evasiveness and ask more questions. It wasn’t an excuse, but the truth was he was terrified of losing her, like he had lost Maggie, and in the end that had driven her away.

  After she dumped him, things hadn’t gone very well. He’d been sure he could talk her round, if only he had the chance. She didn’t want to give him the chance, so he had called her a few times. Sent some letters and emails. Text messages, too.

  Quite a few.

  A lot, in truth. Six or seven a day, along with a handful of unannounced visits to her house, the last of them after a night in the pub the week before he started his last year of school.

  He managed to hit her window with some pebbles, but she didn’t respond.

  Louise, he called in a loud whisper. I only want to say hello.

  After a while, the porch light came on and the front door opened. Finally. He could talk to her.

  Her dad came out in his pyjamas, his face hard and fixed.

  James, he said. You need to leave. Now.

  I just want to have a word with her.

  He shook his head. No. And you have to stop harassing her. I like you, and I know you had a hard time, which is the only reason me and her mum haven’t called the police in the last few weeks – although Janet wanted to, I can tell you that – but it has to stop now. OK? Go and get on with the rest of your life.

  Which was what James had done. He’d woken up the next morning, head throbbing, and reached for his phone – see if she’d called, maybe try her with a message – and then stopped himself.

  He pictured himself outside her window, drunk and pathetic.

  Her dad was right. It had to stop.

  And so he resisted the urge to contact her for the next week, and then started school and his last year of A levels and a life without Louise.

  He thought about her many times a day at first, but after a while she receded from his mind, her place taken by friends and nights out and beer and weed and whatever other distractions he could find.

  But no other girlfriends. He couldn’t go through it again, couldn’t put himself in the position where he was so vulnerable. The loss of Maggie would never go away, but he was over Louise, finally, and he wasn’t going back.

  And he was finally over her. It had taken a year, but now he could see her when he was out and he was OK with it. Like last night in the pub. She had come over and smiled.

  Hi, she said. How are you? We haven’t talked in ages. It’s a shame.

  Good. You?

  OK. You getting ready to go to university?

  Yeah. Engineering at Warwick.

  I’m going to do English at Liverpool. She touched his arm. We should meet up before we go.

  Meet up? For a long time hearing those words had been the thing he wanted most in the world, and now he had heard them, and he felt nothing.

  The relief made him dizzy.

  I don’t know, he said. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

  There was a flicker of surprise in her eyes. The last time she had heard from him he’d been begging to talk to her, and now he wasn’t interested in her offer of meeting up.

  Sure, she said, her smile forced. I was only thinking of a coffee. Nothing serious. Not like a date or anything.

  It’s not that, he said. It’s just – I have a girlfriend.

  He didn’t, but it seemed the easiest excuse.

  Louise gave a little shrug. Whatever. She glanced around until she saw a friend, Rachel. Enjoy summer. See you around.

  He watched her go. Life had moved on. He had moved on.

  For a long time he had thought that would never happen, and he didn’t want to put it in any jeopardy.

  Pablo nudged him. ‘So what happened? You going to get back with her? She’s a looker, mate.’

  James shook his head. ‘Nah. That’s all in the past. Thank God.’

  2

  The pub was packed. All the crowd was there. The ones who were off to university – James, Najla, Andy – those who had other plans – Toby, Heather, Mo – and others who James had known over the years.

  James stood at the bar, trying to get the barman’s attention. The barman nodded at him.

  ‘Three pints of lager, two bitter, and two glasses of white wine, please,’ he said.

  The barman put a tray on the bar. ‘You’ll need that,’ he said.

  With the tray full, James made his way through the crowd, beer slopping out of the glasses as people jostled him.

  When he got to the table he put the tray down and handed out the drinks. He’d had four pints and could feel the warm glow of the alcohol.

  Najla took her wine. There was a girl sitting next to her who James didn’t recognize. She was wearing all black, and had a ring in her nose.

  ‘This is Vicki,’ Najla said. ‘She’s new in town. She just moved to Stockton Heath. She works at my place. Thought I’d invite her out to meet you lot. This is James.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ James said. ‘I would have got you a drink, if I’d known. I can go back to the bar and get you something?’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Vicki said. She had an accent which James couldn’t quite identify. Her eyes were very dark, which gave her an intense look. ‘I’ll get a drink in a bit. But thanks.’

  James sat at the table. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Durham.’

  ‘You go to university there?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m from there. Left as soon as I could.’

  ‘You didn’t like it?’

  She shrugged. ‘You could say that. And I got a job here.’

  ‘What do you do for work?’

  ‘Data scientist.’

  ‘Sounds impressive,’ James said. ‘Not that I know what it means.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Vicki said. ‘But they pay well.’

  ‘Next round on you, then,’ James said.

  Vicki smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  An hour later Vicki went to the bathroom. Najla sat beside him, grinning.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘You and Vicki seem to be getting on. I thought you might.’

  ‘She’s nice.’

  Najla raised an eyebrow. ‘So? Summer fling?’

  James shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘No point. I’m off to Warwick soon.’

  ‘That leaves the whole of summer,’ Najla said. ‘And she’s very nice.’

  ‘Not my type,’ James said. ‘But thanks for thinking of me.’

  ‘So,’ Mo said. ‘Are we staying here or moving on? It’s ten now, so if we want to go somewhere else, we need to make a move.’

  ‘Where do you have in mind?’ Toby said. ‘Town? Go to a club?’

  ‘I can’t handle a club,’ Andy said. ‘Too much bother.’

  ‘Maybe another pub? The Lion?’ Mo said. ‘Or park here?’

  ‘Here’s good for me,’ James said. ‘But I’m easy.’

  ‘Let’s make up our minds,’ Mo said. ‘Stay or go?’

  James was about to reply when he saw a tall, thin figure walking from the bathroom to the bar. It took him a moment to realize who it was. When he did, his stomach tightened.

  It was Kevin.

  Maggie’s old boyfriend.

  He glanced at James, then paused. He nodded a greeting; James raised his hand.

  Please, he thought, please move on. I don’t want to talk to you.

  He had seen him on and off over the years, but they were not the same age and did not have the same friends.

  And then, of course, there was the awkwardness. There had been rumours, for a while after Maggie’s disappearance, that
Kevin had a hand in it. He was her boyfriend, after all, and in the absence of any other suspects he was as good a bet as anyone.

  Kevin turned and walked towards him.

  ‘Hi, James,’ he said. ‘How’s it going?’ There was a hush around the table.

  His voice brought it all back. High, thin, a little bit whiny: James had heard it over and over in the months following Maggie’s disappearance, and he didn’t want to hear it ever again.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You?’

  ‘Not bad. Off to uni?’

  James nodded. ‘After summer.’

  ‘I’m working at Dales’s. Laying bricks.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I’m engaged. Getting married in a few weeks.’

  ‘Oh,’ James said. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘She’s here. Jenny. I’ll introduce you.’

  Don’t, James thought. I want you to leave me alone.

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  Kevin walked over to the bar. There was a woman sitting alone, her back to them. He tapped her on the shoulder and said something, then she stood up.

  When he saw her, James felt the world start to spin. He gripped the table and closed his eyes to steady himself.

  ‘Jesus,’ Mo said. ‘What the fuck?’

  Kevin’s girlfriend – his fiancée – was the spitting image of Maggie. It was as though she was in the pub with them.

  James pushed himself upright.

  ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  3

  He sat on a bench around the corner from the pub and lit a cigarette.

  He could not get the image out of his head. For a moment – until he realized it was not actually her – he had thought Maggie was back. Kevin’s fiancée – Jenny – was taller and had a thinner face, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

  His hand shook as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth.

  God, he wished it was Maggie. The moment he had thought it was her had been brief, but even so it was enough for a feeling of utter euphoria to engulf him. She was there! Maggie was there! Everything was restored, back to normal. Life was OK again.

  And then, the despair. It wasn’t Maggie. It was like losing her again, and all the grief and pain was right there, stabbing him in the heart.

  He took a drag on the cigarette, then exhaled. He watched the smoke move and swirl. He was never going to get over it. Never. It would always be with him.

  ‘You OK?’

  He looked up. Vicki was standing by the bench, her arms folded. She was wearing a green rucksack.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘No.’

  ‘What happened? In the pub?’

  ‘It was that girl. Jenny. The guy she was with – Kevin – was my sister’s boyfriend. A few years back.’

  ‘Must have been quite a break-up.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  James realized that he did. Even though he barely knew Vicki, he did want to talk about it. He might as well; after all, it was the only thing in his life he could think about.

  ‘Do you remember Maggie Cooper?’ he said.

  Vicki frowned. ‘The name’s familiar.’

  ‘She went missing.’

  ‘Right. I remember now.’ She caught his eye. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling about what you’re going to say next.’

  He nodded. ‘She was – is – my sister.’

  There was a long pause, then Vicki puffed out her cheeks. ‘Holy shit.’ She gestured at the cigarette. ‘Got a spare?’

  He handed her the packet.

  She took one and lit it. ‘Did seeing that guy bring it back?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s more. Jenny – his fiancée – looks exactly like Maggie. I mean, the spitting image.’ James dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his toes. ‘For a moment I thought it was her.’

  ‘Fuck. I’m sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought my sister was back.’

  Vicki sat next to him. She shrugged her rucksack off her shoulders and opened the flap. She pulled out a plastic bottle of vodka.

  ‘Want a drink?’ she said.

  James did.

  4

  Sandra watched as Martin nibbled his toast, then pushed it to the side of his plate.

  ‘He’s eighteen,’ she said. ‘He can stay out at night.’

  ‘I know. But I worry.’

  ‘He sent a text. He went back to a friend’s house. It’s fine.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I like knowing where he is. That’s all.’

  It was understandable, given what had happened with Maggie, and on another day Sandra might have shared his concern, but her mind was elsewhere.

  It was on the appointment she had at the hospital later that morning.

  For a few months she’d felt bloated after eating. Not every time, but enough to notice. She’d assumed it was some kind of late-onset food allergy – a colleague had developed an allergy to apples a year or so back, so she knew that kind of thing happened – and tried cutting out various things: wheat, dairy, alcohol. None of it made a difference.

  Then there was the weight loss. Not too drastic, but noticeable all the same. About ten pounds in total. She put it down to the bloating and change in diet.

  But then, two weeks ago, she had gone to the toilet at the gym and seen blood on the toilet paper. She’d looked at the stool.

  Blood in there, too.

  Of course, she made the mistake of googling ‘blood in stool’, and was convinced, mere minutes later, that she was going to die.

  She calmed herself. There were many possible causes. Haemorrhoids. Benign polyps. It could easily resolve itself.

  It didn’t. The blood was there every day, so she went to see her GP.

  Who told her she needed to get it checked out, and referred her for a colonoscopy.

  Which was in about an hour and a half.

  She hadn’t told Martin. She didn’t want to worry him, in case it was nothing, which it almost certainly was. It had been quite difficult to keep it from him, though, given that she had been sent a set of detailed instructions on ‘prepping the colon’, which basically involved taking a powerful laxative two days before and then not eating anything.

  The abandoned toast on his plate looked delicious.

  Martin caught her staring at it. ‘You can have it,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  She shook her head. ‘Me neither. I’ll eat after the gym.’ That was where she had told him she was going. ‘I need to leave. See you later.’

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll text you when James shows up.’

  5

  James opened his eyes. The room he was in was dark, but there was light coming from the edges of the curtains.

  So it was daytime, then.

  He lay still, listening to the throb in his head. He was on a mattress, on the floor. On the far side of the room was a bed. It was unoccupied, but the covers had been kicked off, so someone had slept in it.

  Vicki.

  They had sat by the canal drinking the vodka she had taken from her bag. He remembered telling her about Maggie, and about how he didn’t want ever to be vulnerable to losing someone again, which was why he’d said he had a girlfriend, but he didn’t, not really.

  And she had said not to worry, she didn’t want a boyfriend. She had a story too. The story of why she had left Durham to come here.

  Her mum had died, and her dad was useless without her. Kind, and loving, but useless, and he had a friend, an evil pig called Jerry, who was not so kind and loving, and who took an interest in his friend’s daughter, and told her he would kill her if she said anything.

  And she believed him. If he could do what he did then why would he not be capable of murder?

  So she fled, and made a life here. And she told him she could see he was hurt as badly as she was and that made them safe for each other.

  Then they had come here, to her flat, and drunk the rest of the
vodka and he had gone to sleep on the mattress, Vicki in the bed, both glad the other had no interest in anything other than that.

  He stood up – he was still fully clothed – and swayed as his head swam. When he was no longer dizzy he left the room. There was a corridor leading to an open door. Through it he could see a fridge and sink.

  Vicki was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking. She looked up at him and smiled.

  ‘Feel OK?’

  ‘A bit rough.’

  ‘Me too. Coffee?’

  He nodded. There was a cup in the sink; he rinsed it out and poured a coffee from a pot on the hob.

  ‘God,’ he said. ‘I feel awful.’

  Vicki tapped her cigarette ash on to a saucer. ‘It’s a hangover. It’ll pass.’

  ‘Doesn’t do it justice.’ He swallowed half his coffee. ‘Thanks for letting me crash. I should get going.’

  He reached for his phone. There were a lot of messages. The most recent was from his dad.

  Hi. Let me know if you need a lift home. I’ve got work but can dip out.

  His dad would be worried. He always was. He typed a reply.

  I’m OK. Can take a bus.

  He scrolled through the others. Toby, Mo. Andy. Asking where he’d got to, if he was with Vicki. If he’d got some action.

  He felt sick. He didn’t want to talk to them about last night. Didn’t want to have to explain what had happened when he’d seen the girl who looked like Maggie.

  He wanted to forget, but everything was a reminder.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ Vicki said. ‘You have somewhere to be?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. He gestured to the door of the flat. ‘And I can’t face it anyway. I want to disappear.’

  Vicki stood up and opened a cupboard. ‘I can’t help you with that,’ she said. ‘But I do have this.’ She took out a bottle. It looked like whisky. Cheap whisky; there was a picture of a boat on the label. She poured a slug into her coffee. ‘Want some?’

  James looked at her, then shrugged.

  ‘Why not?’ he said.

  6

  Sandra sat in the treatment room at the hospital and wished she’d told Martin so he was with her now. She was sure this was going to turn out to be nothing, but right at that moment she was terrified.