by A J McDine
‘I was driving so I only had one glass. He offered to, though. And he walked me to my car.’
‘He didn’t invite you home to show you his legal files?’
‘No, he didn’t!’
‘And he didn’t kiss you?’
Kate was silent.
‘But you wanted him to, right?’
‘Tell him it’s none of his business!’ came Louis’ disembodied voice.
Kate smiled. ‘It’s none of your business,’ she agreed. ‘But yes, I did.’
‘Did he ask you on another date?’
The smile slid from her face, and she shook her head. ‘Do you think I did something wrong?’
‘I’m sure you didn’t. He’s probably playing it cool. But two can play at that game.’
‘Christ, it’s like being sixteen again, only I’ve forgotten all the rules. Are you saying I shouldn’t contact him?’
‘Absolutely not. Men attach value to people and things they perceive to be unattainable. They are goal-focussed and like a challenge. Don’t worry, he’ll be in touch. And when he does, pretend you’re busy. He’ll be as keen as mustard, mark my words.’
Kate stifled a yawn. ‘I need to hit the sack. Thanks for the chat. I had no idea you were such a relationship guru, but I’ll take your advice and let him do the running. At least I can blame you if it all goes horribly wrong.’
Rory tutted. ‘Don’t be such a pessimist. You’re allowed to have some fun. Let me know when he calls you, OK?’
They ended the call, and Kate rinsed out her mug. She felt curiously deflated. It had been a lovely evening, and she’d enjoyed Adam’s company. He was charming and erudite, the kind of man she’d have probably ended up marrying if she’d trained as a solicitor and had a proper career. If she hadn’t met a beach bum called Noah and had a baby at nineteen.
Would she have been any happier if she’d chosen a more conventional path, she wondered as she followed Max into the moonlit garden, dew soaking the toes of her suede boots. It wasn’t that she was unhappy. But as Chloe grew up and needed her less and less, she was feeling increasingly unfulfilled. Stuck in a rut, still living in her childhood home with a job that bored her witless. And she was lonely.
Trying hard not to wallow in self-pity, she locked up and turned off the kitchen light and, clutching a hot water bottle, made her way upstairs. As she did, she passed the collection of photos she’d taken of Chloe every September on the first day of the school year. They were as familiar to Kate as the touch of the smooth oak bannister or the squeaky tread on the second to last stair. She passed them dozens of times every day as she carried baskets of washing downstairs or piles of ironing back up.
She paused by the photo of Chloe on her first day at primary school. Staring at her daughter’s impish grin, she was transported back in time. The day was etched in her memory. Plaiting Chloe’s hair, boiling an egg and cutting toast soldiers for her breakfast, making sure she remembered her Dora the Explorer lunchbox. Even aged four, Chloe couldn’t wait to start school while Kate had been filled with trepidation, wondering how she would fill the empty hours between nine and three.
Chloe had always lived life to the full. It was in her genetic make-up. Noah’s genes, Kate supposed. Because Chloe’s sense of adventure certainly didn’t come from her.
She carried on up the stairs, past pictures of Chloe through her primary school years when her smile was wide and uncomplicated. Throughout her tweens, with the unmistakable hint of teenage rebellion in the way she stared at the camera, one hand on her non-existent hips. Her first day at grammar school, in a blazer two sizes too big because Kate was skint and needed it to last.
Chloe had been a grade A student throughout secondary school. One of those kids who found everything easy and took life in their stride. Other mums told Kate they wished their daughters were ‘more like Chloe’. Kate counted herself lucky that her daughter’s unconventional start to life hadn’t held her back.
Thirteen-year-old Chloe had train-track braces and livid red spots. Fourteen-year-old Chloe had discovered Clearasil and realised a heavy fringe didn’t suit her. Fifteen-year-old Chloe spent half an hour every morning straightening her wavy hair, so it fell in a sleek, shiny curtain over her shoulders. Sixteen-year-old Chloe would rather spend longer in bed, so had learned to love her curls. Seventeen-year-old Chloe…
Kate stopped abruptly, staring at the space where the photo of seventeen-year-old Chloe should have been. She checked the floor in case it had fallen off the wall. It hadn’t. She peered at the gap on the wall, half expecting to see a hole in the ancient plaster where the picture hook and Rawlplug had fallen out. But the picture hook was still there, and when she gave it a tentative tug, it didn’t move a millimetre. Had the photo been there on her way out? She hadn’t noticed. Her head had been too full of her date with Adam.
The grandfather clock in the hallway struck one with a melancholy chime, and she shivered with unease. She clutched the hot water bottle and told herself there was probably a perfectly simple explanation. Perhaps the photo had blown off in a draught and her father had picked it up and put it somewhere safe. Perhaps Chloe had taken it down to copy for a Throwback Thursday Instagram post.
Because there was no other explanation for a photo of Chloe to go missing. Was there?
Chapter Twenty-Five
CHLOE
The darkness was suffocating, so dense, so absolute, that it threatened to swallow her up. Chloe sprinted through the trees, terror granting her superhuman speed. Branches whipped her face, stinging like the slash of a thousand knives, and her breath came in short, panicky gasps. Behind, the shapeless figure who haunted her nightmares crashed through the undergrowth. Ahead, she could see a pool of yellow light. If she could reach the light, she would be safe.
A hand grabbed her shoulder. She screamed, but no sound came out. The grip on her shoulder tightened, and as her eyes snapped open, she recoiled in shock.
‘Chloe, are you all right?’
‘Jesus, Mum, you scared the living daylights out of me.’ Chloe sat up in bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin, her heart still pounding in her ribcage. ‘Why are you waking me up? It’s Saturday.’
‘You’re working, remember. You’re starting at ten. You know what Patrick’s like if you’re late.’
‘Shit.’ Chloe had forgotten she’d signed up for an eight-hour shift at The Willows. It had seemed like a good idea when she was flat broke after Christmas. Now she’d rather eat her own toenail clippings.
‘Shit,’ she said again, shooting her mum a filthy look as if it were all her fault. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
‘Think of the money.’
‘The money’s crap. Four pounds thirty-five pence an hour. It’s slave labour. After Patrick’s docked me half an hour for lunch I’ll barely make thirty-two measly quid.’
‘I did say you should have got a job at the pub,’ her mum said evenly. ‘But you knew best. I’ll leave you to it.’ She picked up a dirty pair of leggings from the floor and stopped by the door. ‘By the way, you know your latest school photo? The one I took on your first day in Year 13?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s not on the wall. Have you taken it?’
‘Why would I have taken that? It’s terrible.’
‘Right. It must have been Grandpa. I’ll ask him.’ Her mum gave her a bright smile. ‘Would a boiled egg and soldiers cheer you up?’
‘Christ Mum, I’m not three! I’ll do myself some toast, all right? But let me have a sodding shower first.’
A pained expression crossed her mum’s face. She marched out of the room, muttering something about teenagers under her breath.
Chloe reached for her phone and scrolled half-heartedly through her Instagram feed. The fact that all her friends seemed to be having a way better time than she was, drinking shots at parties and snogging boys, did nothing to improve her mood. Annie had updated her profile picture with a cryptic photo of two pairs of feet resting on a coff
ee table. Her eyes narrowing, Chloe stabbed out a text.
Seen your new Insta profile pic. Is there something you need to tell me????
She didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
You know that lad Luca from the high school? He and I hooked up at Liv’s party the other night.
What party?
I’m sure I told you about it?
Chloe was sure she hadn’t, but she probably wouldn’t have gone anyway so close to their mocks. She was still way behind with her revision.
Yeah, you probably did. So are you guys going out or what?
He hasn’t actually asked me, but we’re going to the cinema and Nando’s tonight, so I think so, yeah. Followed by three laughing emojis.
Cool, Chloe typed. Then, not wanting to sound as churlish as she felt, added, You go, girl! Xx
She threw off the duvet and padded across the room to the radiator to retrieve her towel. Her phone pinged again, and she glanced at the screen.
Thought you should know that bloke Ben is following me on Insta. But not just me. Liv and Meera too. He’s liking and commenting on loads of our posts like he’s our bestie or something. It’s all a bit creepy TBH. You defo dumped him, right?
Chloe hesitated before she replied, Yeah, I did.
Not sure he’s got the message! Be careful, hun. He’s a right nutjob if you ask me. xx
Chloe’s bad mood had deepened by the time she stalked up the drive to The Willows an hour later. Annie’s words rang in her ears. It’s all a bit creepy… Be careful. She was blowing it out of all proportion, of course. Ben was about as dangerous as a kitten, but she was right about one thing. He hadn’t got the message.
When he’d tried to FaceTime her while she’d been drying her hair, Chloe had been so overcome with fury she’d been a beat away from hurling her phone at the wall. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was only a few months old and wasn’t insured she would have done, no question. Instead, she’d turned it off and left it in a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.
And now, as if things couldn’t get any worse, she had eight hours of bobbing and bowing like a bloody skivvy to a load of entitled, pissed-up wedding guests ahead of her. She’d be too knackered to get any revision done afterwards, so she’d probably fail all her exams and lose her place at Kingsgate. Which would mean she’d be stuck at home in a dead-end job for the rest of her life, like her mum. Full fucking circle.
Aware she was already five minutes late, Chloe chanced her arm and slipped in through The Willows’ imposing front door. Checking the coast was clear, she crept through the vast entrance hall, past the Great Hall and towards the kitchens in search of the wedding planner, Lola.
Before she’d taken a couple of steps, she almost collided with the puffed-up chest of Patrick. He drew himself up to his full height - about five foot eight, Chloe thought bitchily - and glared at her with his piggy eyes. Today was obviously a Shirley day.
‘You’re late.’
‘Sorry,’ Chloe muttered. ‘I’ll make it up at the end of the shift.’
‘You will,’ he agreed, appraising her. He took a step forwards and reached for her neck. Before she had a chance to react, he straightened her tie and murmured, ‘That's better.’ He was so close she could smell the spearmint on his breath. She shivered with revulsion and backed up against the wall. The chalky plaster was cold against the palms of her hands.
‘Where’s Lola?’
‘Lola?’ Patrick echoed, still staring at her.
Chloe’s skin crawled. ‘I should tell her I’m here. See what needs doing.’
Patrick finally stepped out of her way. ‘She’s in the storeroom,’ he said shortly.
Chloe resisted the impulse to leg it out of there. Instead, she turned slowly and walked along the hall to the fire doors at the back of the house.
As she heaved the doors open, Patrick bellowed after her. ‘Make more of an effort next time, Chloe. And don’t let me catch you sneaking in through the front doors ever again.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
KATE
Kate’s father stared at her with knotted eyebrows.
‘Why on earth would I have taken a photo of Chloe off the wall?’
‘Because it’s not there and I haven’t touched it, and Chloe hasn’t touched it, and you’re the only other person apart from the dog who lives here,’ Kate said, trying and failing to hide the impatience in her voice. She breathed slowly. ‘I wondered if it had fallen down and you’d put it somewhere safe.’
He shook his head slowly. His hair was rumpled, and flecks of white stubble gave his jowls a stippled appearance. Sitting in bed with his faded dressing gown draped over his shoulders like a shawl and the creases of sleep yet to leave his face, he looked frail and old. She probably shouldn’t have marched into his room unannounced and given him the fourth degree about the photograph. But she’d spent all of Saturday fretting about it and hadn’t been able to sleep for worrying about who might have taken it… and why.
‘It’s all right, Pa. I’m sure it’ll turn up.’ She laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘That would be nice thank you, Katherine. Perhaps you could bring me the paper while you’re at it?’
As she crossed the landing, Kate knocked on Chloe’s door.
‘I’m making Grandpa a cup of tea. Would you like one?’
‘Yes, please,’ came a faint answer.
Kate pushed open the door. Chloe, still in her pyjamas, was already at her desk, which was cluttered with a pile of revision notes.
‘Early start?’ Kate said.
‘Yeah, well, yesterday was a complete wash-out, wasn’t it?’
One of the other waitresses had called in sick, and Chloe had ended up working till ten. When she’d arrived home, she’d been in a foul mood. Kate had stayed out of her way.
‘When’s your first exam?’
‘Economics, tomorrow.’ Chloe groaned, dropping her head in her hands. ‘I’m so not ready for it.’
‘You always say that, and you always do brilliantly. You’ll be fine. And even if you’re not, they’re only mocks. You still have four months until the real thing. Why don’t you have a shower while I make you some tea and a bacon sandwich and you can have a working breakfast.’
Chloe raked her fingers through her hair. She’d bitten her nails to the quick.
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Downstairs, Kate let Max out for a wander in the garden and busied herself making tea and bacon sandwiches. As she made her way back upstairs with the breakfast tray, she stared at the gap on the wall where Chloe’s photo should have been and did her best to ignore the flutter of anxiety in her chest.
The hum of the electric shower seeped through the walls of the old house. She pushed open the door to Chloe’s bedroom without knocking and set the tray on the floor while she shifted a couple of books on the desk to one side. A text notification lit up Chloe’s phone. Before she could stop herself, Kate’s hand shot out. Her eyes widened as she read the message.
ARE YOU THERE? the text demanded in angry capital letters. Without thinking, she pressed her thumb to the home button but she was met with a warning that her fingerprint was not recognised and an instruction to enter the passcode.
Bugger.
As Kate held the phone, another text message dropped onto the screen.
WHY WON’T YOU TALK TO ME???
And another.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE PUTTING ME THROUGH.
And another.
I’M GOING THROUGH HELL HERE.
The screen lit up with a dozen more messages, each more desperate than the last.
IT’S KILLING ME.
YOU’RE RIPPING MY HEART IN TWO.
JUST PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE!
BECAUSE YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU CHLOE.
AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME TOO.
The door creaked open, and Kate dropped the phone onto the desk. She shoved it under a pile of books and bent down to pick up th
e tray, glad to be able to hide her face. Chloe, dressed in her favourite jeans and an oversized jumper, groaned.
‘That smells delicious. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was. Thanks, Mum.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Kate said. ‘Your phone was buzzing away. Someone must be trying to get hold of you.’
Chloe stiffened, and her eyes darted to the desk where her phone was half-hidden under a history textbook. ‘Did you see who?’
Kate paused. The texts were disturbing, to say the least, and it was glaringly obvious who’d sent them. They had to stop and stop now. But Chloe would have a fit if she knew Kate had been snooping. Perhaps there was another way she could tackle this without losing her daughter’s trust.
‘No,’ she said before she could change her mind. ‘I didn’t.’
At the door she stopped, her hand on the frame. ‘Chlo, you would tell me if you were worried about anything, wouldn’t you?’
Their eyes met for a second before Chloe looked away.
‘You know the only things I’m worried about are my exams. So, if you don’t mind, I’d better get on with my revision.’
If Chloe had been about to confide in her, the moment was lost.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Kate said.
‘Thanks. And Mum?’
‘What, love?’
‘Thanks for the bacon sarnie. It’s lush.’
Not caring that Rory would wholeheartedly disapprove, Kate composed a text to Adam.
Hi Adam, it’s Kate here. First, I wanted to thank you for a lovely evening. I had a great time. Second, I was wondering if I could return the compliment. Our local pub does a mean steak and ale pie. Friday night? My treat this time!