Local Girl Missing (10 page)

I thought it would be fun working with Frankie but she’s hardly spoken to me since last week. I know it’s because I haven’t done what she wants – finish with Leon. I’d forgotten how stubborn she can be, how things always have to go her way. While we were apart I romanticised our friendship. There is hardly a childhood memory that she’s not in, just like Daniel. And yet there were times too where she got on my nerves. Even as a kid she was bossy, giving me the silent treatment if I didn’t do what she wanted. Once, when we were nine and I refused to go out and play with her, preferring to stay curled up with my new
Malory Towers
books instead, she didn’t speak to me for a week.

Yesterday late afternoon I went to the beach with Helen and found myself pouring it all out to her: Frankie’s annoyance that I was going out with Leon, her cold-shouldering, the awkwardness of us working together – although being careful to omit anything to do with Jason.

I’ve been feeling guilty that I’ve jettisoned Helen
now that Frankie is back. Helen was a lifeline for me at school after Frankie left. And we’d stayed in touch while I was at university and she was at the local college, making sure to see each other when I returned to Oldcliffe for the holidays. She could be a little grumpy at times, she wasn’t bubbly like Frankie, but I admired her straight-talking, no-nonsense ways. The only downside to our friendship was how intensely she disliked Frankie. When we were in the second year of senior school they had a huge fight. Frankie had run into the classroom, blue paint in her hair and smudged across her face, and flown at Helen, accusing her of locking her in the arts supply cupboard. Everyone knew how claustrophobic Frankie was. Helen always denied it but Frankie was convinced it was her as they had been the only people in the art room before it happened. Frankie went around telling everyone about it and calling Helen a bully. They weren’t exactly friends before then, but after that they were barely civil to one another. Helen always denied it but I’m still not convinced she didn’t do it. Helen can hold a grudge!

We were splayed out on towels, in the shade of the helter-skelter. The day was stifling and airless, the sea calm, the tide out. To my right, and much further along the coast, the old pier loomed in the distance, on the edge of things, like a shy teenager at a party.

Helen shuffled on her towel. She was wearing shorts and a bikini top and her chest was already going pink even though we had only been sitting there for fifteen minutes. The beach was packed with bodies: families
sunbathing, children paddling, teenagers tossing a Frisbee.

‘So you think Frankie is funny with you because you’re getting off with Leon?’ she said when I’d finished, shielding her face with her hand and squinting. The sun ballooned in the cloudless sky.

I shrugged. ‘Yes, she wants me to stop seeing him. She told me he tried it on with her a couple of months back, and he got a bit nasty when she said no.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Do you think that’s true?’

‘Why would she lie?’

‘The trouble is, Frankie is used to getting all the attention. She doesn’t like it now you’ve blossomed. And she’s always been possessive of you.’

‘Do you think?’

She snorted. ‘Of course. Nobody could ever get near you at school.’

‘No boys fancied me at school,’ I said, remembering how I used to look with my braces and National Health specs.

‘I don’t mean the boys. You weren’t able to make other friends. She claimed you, right from when you joined at primary school. You were her best friend and that was it. She’s never had to share you before. And now she has to share you with Leon, and she doesn’t like it.’

I felt a stab of guilt at discussing Frankie in this way. Especially considering Helen didn’t know all the facts.

She carried on relentlessly, in full swing. ‘It was the best thing for you, when she left. Gave you the chance to step out from her shadow. But now she expects to be able to pick up exactly where she left off. You’ve changed. It’s been three years.’

I sat up, thrusting my hands into the hot sand and letting the fine grains run through my fingers. I knew what Helen was saying was true. Even if Leon wasn’t Jason’s cousin, I still don’t think Frankie would like me dating him, or anyone. She was used to having me to herself.

Helen sat up too, swivelling on her towel so that she was facing me. ‘You can’t let her push you around any more, Sophie.’

I felt uneasy. ‘She doesn’t push me around …’

‘You’re too nice and she takes advantage of that. Guilt-tripping you to do what she wants by making you worry that you’ve upset her. She did it when you were little and she’s still doing it.’

I continued to rake the sand with my fingers. ‘A friendship is never equal,’ I mused, ‘is it? There’s always one who is more dominant, more controlling. That’s just the way it is.’

Helen frowned. ‘Friendship should be about give and take. It should be about equality …’

‘Don’t you think that’s a bit naive?’ I interjected. ‘We’re all so different so each friendship will be different. Each friend will bring out a different side to our personality. Yes, Frankie was always the more domineering of the two of us, so when I’m with her I suppose
I do revert to being the same as I was when we were kids.’

She rooted in her bag for her bottle of Hawaiian Tropic (which we loved because it made us look instantly tanned and smelled like Malibu), rubbing it into her already sunburnt chest. ‘What about with us? Where does the balance of power lie in our friendship?’

‘I don’t know … we’re pretty equal. Aren’t we?’ Although even as I said this I knew I wasn’t being totally honest. Sometimes Helen’s quick temper scared me.

‘Exactly,’ she said triumphantly. She moved on to her legs, the oil mixing with grains of sand so that her shins glistened. She had a look of concentration on her face. ‘No offence, Sophie, but you were hardly competition before. With men, I mean. Now look at you!’

I felt myself blush and stared at my hands, partially hidden by the sand. ‘Hardly, Hel.’

‘No, I mean it.’

‘Frankie’s gorgeous.’

‘And so are you.’

I felt uncomfortable with this – no matter what anyone says to the contrary, I will forever feel like that lanky kid with braces and bad skin. So I changed the subject to The Basement and what time we were going to get there that night.

We stayed on the beach for another hour, then we wandered around the town in our shorts and flip-flops, towels and sun oil stuffed in our beach bags. We stopped at the entrance to the Grand Pier to buy ice
creams and then meandered on to the main walkway, the faint sounds of 1950s music overhead.

It was then that I saw Frankie pushing her way through the hordes of people, marching towards us in denim hot-pants and a black bikini top that showed off her ample boobs. My brother was trailing after her with that annoying, love-sick expression he adopts every time he sees her lately. He was wearing black, even in the heat, but had swapped his usual jumper and long coat for a T-shirt and jeans. His normally pale cheeks were red and his dark hair was wet at the front with sweat. Frankie has never really seemed interested in Daniel – although she must be able to tell how much of a crush he has on her. It’s so obvious he might as well be wearing a placard with it written right across the front.

Seeing them together was a bit of a shock – they never normally hang out on their own.

Frankie seemed flustered as she stopped in front of us, her intense gaze taking in Helen’s arm linked through mine, the ice creams in our hands. She scowled.

‘Been to the beach, have we?’ she said, addressing me and ignoring Helen.

‘Yes, if that’s OK with you,’ I said, annoyed with myself for getting defensive, knowing it was for Helen’s benefit. I wanted to prove her wrong, to show her that I don’t let Frankie push me around any more.

Frankie’s expression softened and her shoulders sagged. There was something vulnerable about her as she stood in front of me, all small and compact, with
Daniel looming large behind her. ‘Look, Soph, I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch these last few days. I’ve had a lot on my mind. Are you going to The Basement tonight?’

I could feel Helen tense up beside me. She unlinked her arm from mine.

‘Yes. Helen’s coming too,’ I said. I couldn’t leave her out just because Frankie had clicked her perfectly manicured fingers and wanted to be friends again. It wasn’t fair.

‘Great,’ she said, still avoiding eye contact with Helen. She leaned forward and gave me a hug. ‘I’ll see you there.’

We all watched as she sashayed off, Daniel practically salivating.

‘So what were the two of you up to?’ I said as the three of us walked back through town. The heat was oppressive, not helped by the tourists ambling along as if they had all the time in the world.

‘She called me up, wanted to spend a few hours with me.’ Daniel shrugged nonchalantly but I could tell he was secretly elated that she’d asked for his company.

‘Did you snog her?’ said Helen. By now we were out of the thicket of tourists and had nearly reached the old pier.

‘None of your business,’ he blushed.

‘Oh my God, you did snog her!’ I cried. ‘I can tell by your lovey-dovey expression.’

‘Did you feel her up?’ Helen teased. ‘How many years have you wanted to get your hands on those tits?’

The shock on Daniel’s face made us both descend into a fit of giggles.

‘Oh, piss off, both of you.’ He stalked off, leaving us clutching each other and laughing.

Now, though, I’m worried.

Daniel’s been in love with Frankie for years, but she’s never returned his feelings. She probably just wanted a bit of attention.

And if she did snog my brother, it would have only been to get back at me.

I’m no longer sure what she’s capable of.

We pull up outside Lorcan’s house and I’m suddenly overcome with a sense of fatigue so powerful that my body feels as though it’s made of stone.

I can’t actually face going into that house again. I can’t bear the thought of seeing Leon or his thuggish brother. What is the point of all this? What is Daniel hoping to achieve here? If either of them knows anything about what happened to you they’re hardly going to tell us. All I want to do is go home, return to my London life; even Mike is an appealing prospect right now. I should never have agreed to come back. But even as I think it, I know I’m not being honest with myself. How could I have resisted the chance to return here? The chance to help Daniel identify your body –
your remains
– so that I can finally lay you to rest.

‘Come on then, what are you waiting for?’ Daniel’s voice is sharp, insistent. It’s obvious he hasn’t forgiven me – may never forgive me – for what I’ve just told him about Jason. He’s never going to look at me in the same way. I’m no longer the person he thought I was.

You’re out of all this now though, aren’t you, Soph? You are gone and I’m left to deal with it all by myself.
To carry that burden. It was always me, I was the strong one, the leader, the one who got us out of trouble, the one who sorted it the night Jason died, the one who’s left to face all this now …

I’m just about to tell Daniel that I’m not going back into that depressing house when a tall man strides up to the car and bangs on the bonnet. I jump in fright and Daniel’s face pales as Lorcan leers at us through the windscreen. He’s wearing the same paint-splattered overalls and work boots as yesterday, with a short-sleeved T-shirt underneath. Does the man not feel the biting cold? He bangs on the bonnet again and Daniel leaps out the car.

My fatigue dissipates, replaced by adrenaline, and I follow suit.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Daniel shouts. ‘Stop thumping my car!’

‘Would ya rather I thumped you?’ Lorcan snarls. ‘What the fuck are you doing around ’ere? Leon told me you came over yesterday. We’ve got nuffin’ to say to you.’ His anger accentuates his strong West Country accent.

I join Daniel’s side and squeeze his arm gently, trying to pull him away, but he stands his ground.

‘I just want to know about the night my sister disappeared.’

Lorcan’s expression darkens. ‘We’ve got nothing to tell you. So piss off.’

I can feel the tension stretching between them and, in a last-ditch attempt, I step in to diffuse it. ‘Look,
Lorcan,’ I begin, ‘I know you fancied Sophie. I remember you trying it on with her at The Basement. Were you harassing her? You were married … what would your wife have said about that …?’

He takes a step towards me and shakes a fist in my face. ‘Fuck off, Miss High and Mighty. Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming around ’ere after all these years, trying to fuck with me, you stupid bitch.’

‘That’s enough,’ shouts Daniel, standing in front of me to face Lorcan’s wrath. ‘Leave her alone.’

‘She can’t go around accusing folk,’ he snarls, spittle flying from his mouth.

‘She’s not accusing anyone. We just want to talk to you … we spoke to Leon yesterday and he was helpful, but …’

Lorcan shakes his head at us, but his face softens as he assesses Daniel. ‘Look, mate,’ he says in a conciliatory voice. ‘I’m sorry about your sister, I really am. I heard that they found her body. But her death’s got nuffin’ to do with me. Now leave me and my family alone.’

And before either of us can say anything further he stalks back into his garden, the wooden gate banging in his wake.

We stare after him for a few moments. Then Daniel turns to me, his eyes sad. ‘This is a nightmare. It’s much harder than I thought. Nobody wants to talk to me.’

‘You’re a journalist now, maybe that’s why.’

‘It’s not just that …’ He sighs. ‘Look, Franks. I wonder if it might be better if you do this. Without me.’

‘What?’

‘Like you say, I’m a journalist. And I’m Sophie’s brother. But you …’

‘I’m an outsider,’ I exclaim. ‘They’ve not exactly been friendly to me since I’ve been back. You heard Lorcan. He called me a high and mighty bitch.’

He runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. ‘I don’t know what else to suggest.’

We stand there on the pavement, both deep in our own thoughts. Then Daniel’s mobile trills and he retrieves it from the pocket of his coat.

‘Mia? Yes … no …’ He glances at me from under dark lashes and then turns away. ‘OK, I’m coming now.’ He ends the call and returns the phone to his pocket. ‘I need to go,’ he says without looking at me. ‘I’m wanted … at home.’

‘So, her name is Mia …’ I say before I can stop myself. But Daniel’s expression darkens at the use of her name, his eyes narrowing so that he looks older, more formidable. I can tell that he doesn’t want to involve her in any of this, that me just speaking her name has sullied her somewhat. He’s always been able to compartmentalise, has Daniel. I understand because I’m the same. I know he’s thinking that Mia doesn’t belong in this murky world of death and murder and revenge. She belongs to the other part of him; to lazy Sundays leafing through newspapers and holding hands over breakfast, of romantic strolls and tender endearments. I feel a sharp stab of jealousy that’s as physical as indigestion.

He walks to the car and opens the door. ‘Come on.’

I’m suddenly angry with him. Jealousy of Mia has made me want to punish him. So I say I’ll walk back. He shrugs, tells me he doesn’t think that’s a great idea after what Lorcan just called me, but he’s already left me in spirit, even if his body is still here. He’s obviously worrying about Mia. I remember the moment in the kitchen earlier, our near kiss. He was tempted, I could feel it. He wasn’t thinking about Mia then. Maybe he’s not as in love with her as he thinks, as he tries to tell himself.

Why didn’t I snap him up all those years ago?

Everything could have turned out so differently.

I was wrong when I said that nothing had ever happened between us. I’d forgotten until this morning. That moment in the kitchen brought back memories of the summer you died. Just a few snogs and fumbles around the back of the pier. Not sex, never even close to sex. I didn’t know what I wanted back then. I wanted what I couldn’t have – and Daniel was offering it to me on a plate. And now I can’t have him he’s more desirable than ever.

‘I’ll text you later. We need to decide our next move,’ he says hurriedly. He’s already behind the wheel before I can reply. I watch, speechless, as he screeches away from the kerb.

I walk through the estate. Luckily the weather means it’s deserted; no youths hanging around the off-licence today, no children riding their bikes up and down the streets, no men tinkering under the bonnets of cars. I head for Robin Road, the place where you used to live.
It’s been nearly two decades but I can still remember the way to your house. It’s only two streets away from Leon’s. I could be twenty-one again or fifteen, or twelve, desperate to get to your house to sit in your bedroom, listening to music.

I wander through the underpass that leads from the back of one street to the front of another, so that I’m in the leafy, pedestrianised area. Most of the housing estates that popped up in the late 1960s and early ’70s were built to a similar format – green areas in front of the houses where children could play without the fear of cars knocking them down, with garages out the back.

Before I know it I’ve reached No. 123, the middle terrace in a row of three. It looks shabbier than I remember, the white paint peeling in curls from the wooden cladding. The red door has been replaced by white, plastic-looking double glazing. But I still feel a pull of nostalgia in my gut so strong and overwhelming that I can almost see you waving to me from your bedroom window: the little room that overlooks the front with the Pierrot curtains and matching bedspread, where we listened to Madonna and Five Star when we were eight, changing to Nirvana and Pearl Jam, and then Blur and Oasis as we got older.

And I know that I can’t be here any longer. In this town, in the past. I feel you so strongly, Sophie, it’s almost as though you’re standing right next to me, or behind me. I suddenly feel cold and my spine tingles with fear. I need to get out of here.

I turn and hurry back through the underpass and
along the winding streets, until I get to the main road. It will only take me ten minutes to reach the apartment. I’ve made a decision. I need to return to London. I can’t bear to spend one more night here in this town, with just my thoughts and the ghost of you to keep me company.

Daniel’s moved on, with Mia. He’ll be OK. He doesn’t need me here, not really. Mia can go with him to identify your remains. He’s come up against so many brick walls I’m surprised he’s still standing. And it’s not like I’ll ever be able to help him.

It begins to sleet, sludgy flakes falling and dissolving into the pavement. The sea is choppy and grey, the waves lashing around the steel legs of the old pier. I shiver as I pull the hood of my coat up, not that it protects me much. The hood is there more for fashion than practicality and it doesn’t quite stretch over my head.

I pause to retrieve my phone from my bag and then carry on, clutching it in my hand. I’m relieved that out here in the open I have some reception. When I get to the lampposts at the entrance to the pier I stop and lean against one of them to tap out a quick text to Daniel.
I have to leave, Daniel. I’m sorry. I’m going home. F x

When I look up I see you through the sleet, standing in the middle of the pier. You’re wearing jeans, your fair hair a tangle around your face. I gasp. My eyes are seeing you, yet I know that logically you can’t be there.

I blink, hot despite the cold elements, and look down at the phone still in my hand. There is no reply from
Daniel. It suddenly occurs to me that I could take a photo of you, to prove to myself that I’m not going mad, but when I look up, of course you’re not there. I’m completely alone. Turning away from the pier I pull the hood of my coat further over my head and trudge up the hill to the apartment, the sleet like cold lips kissing my face.

Why do I keep seeing you when you’re dead? I’m either losing my mind or all those ghost stories we were told about the pier being haunted are true. I don’t know which prospect terrifies me more.