Local Girl Missing (11 page)

It’s the early hours of the morning as I write this. I can’t sleep, even though I need to because I have to go to work tomorrow. I’m going to be shattered!

It all kicked off last night at The Basement.

The evening started brilliantly – Leon invited me over to his house as his brother and sister-in-law were out and we had the place to ourselves. I suspected, I knew, what this meant. That we would be able to have sex. Sex with Leon is something I’ve fantasised about ever since we met four weeks ago. I wore my best underwear (my new black Wonderbra and lacy G-string!) but I felt self-conscious as I walked around to his house. He had fancied Frankie, with her hour-glass figure and big boobs. I’m the polar opposite. Would he find me sexy?

Despite snogging and holding hands for four weeks, Leon’s not really tried anything on. He once put his hands on one of my boobs, over my T-shirt. But that’s as far as it’s ever gone between us.

And then there is the matter of Jason holding me
back. This huge secret that I’m keeping from Leon about his cousin.

Anyway, when he opened the door and I walked into his kitchen the air was thick with sexual tension. We barely spoke to each other as he led me upstairs to his bedroom, with its narrow single bed pushed up against the wall and an old He-Man duvet cover that used to belong to his brother. He undressed me on that duvet cover, slowly peeling off my jeans and T-shirt expertly, so that I lay there, trembling slightly in my bra and knickers.

Afterwards, wrapped in his arms and staring up at the swirly Artex ceiling, I felt consumed by guilt. I knew that this couldn’t last, that the ghost of Jason and what we did will always sit between us. I tried to push down these negative thoughts, to concentrate on that moment. I could have stayed there all night but we were interrupted by the bang of the front door and the raised voices of Steph and Lorcan.

‘I fucking saw you, you bastard,’ she screeched and then the sound of something smashing. Lorcan shouted back, but his voice was too low to be decipherable.

Leon groaned, turning to me and propping himself up on his elbow. ‘Looks like they’re having another fight.’

‘Do they do this all the time?’

‘Pregnancy hormones. That’s what my brother says, anyway. We’d better get out of here.’

We dressed, the mood in the room turning awkward as I stepped into my knickers, fumbled with my bra, then pulled my T-shirt over my head and slid into my
jeans. Leon had his back to me as he dressed, nearly falling over in his eagerness to get his trousers on.

The back door slammed so loud that it reverberated throughout the house.

‘It sounds like he’s gone out,’ said Leon, relieved. He grabbed my hand and smiled shyly. ‘Shall we go to The Basement?’

I agreed, remembering I had promised to meet Frankie and Helen there. We stole down the stairs quietly, not wanting to alert Steph, but then through the open door of the living room we could see her perched on the edge of the sofa. Steph is tall and thin, with curly, dark hair held back by a clip; her bump looks like she’s just stuffed a watermelon up her T-shirt. She has intense dark eyes and a scowl that would scare off most women, but she is pretty and young, probably not much older than me. Her hands rested on her tummy, her chin on her chest. My heart went out to her. Leon hesitated, then popped his head around the door.

‘Are you OK, Steph?’ he said, stepping into the room. I hovered in the hallway, feeling uncomfortable.

I heard her sniff and tell him that Lorcan was a bastard. Leon mumbled his agreement. I made my way out of the hallway, through the kitchen and into the garden so that they could have some privacy. Ten minutes later he emerged through the back door.

‘There you are,’ he said, relief etched all over his face to see me sitting on the wall. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

‘I wanted to give you some space. She looked upset.’

‘She’s OK now. But Lorcan treats her like shit a lot
of the time. I mean she’s bloody pregnant and he still can’t stop perving over other women. I don’t know what she sees in him.’

I’ve only met Lorcan once when I called for Leon. He has a hard face, and his eyes, so like Leon’s yet colder, scanned me in a way that made me feel naked and exposed. Then he gave me a lascivious wink that turned my stomach. He and Steph have already been married for two years, according to Leon, and together since she was fifteen and he seventeen. He’s cheated on her throughout their relationship, yet she forgives him every time.

‘I’m not like my brother,’ he said, taking my hand as we walked to The Basement.

‘I should hope not,’ I laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be going out with you if you were.’

When we reached the old pier he stopped, his face serious. ‘I’ve written a poem. It’s about you.’ He rummaged in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of lined paper and handed it to me with a self-conscious smile. ‘It’s about soulmates. No, don’t read it now,’ he said hurriedly as I went to open it. ‘Keep it, until later.’

I pushed it into the pocket of my jeans, touched. I couldn’t wait to get home to read it.

He pulled me into his arms. ‘I know we haven’t known each other that long,’ he whispered into my hair, ‘but I can’t stop thinking about you, Sophie. I think about you all the time.’

I could feel myself blushing and I remembered
Frankie’s warning. Intense. But I liked it. I liked that he was honest about how he felt.

‘I feel the same,’ I admitted, a lump forming in my throat. In that moment I wanted to cling to him, to wrap my arms and legs around him so that our bodies merged into one again, and never let him go. But I knew that was impossible. I knew that I would have to let him go. Eventually.

The Basement was heaving when we arrived. I tried to spot Frankie or Helen amongst the crowd but the small underground rooms were so full of bodies, a fug of smoke hanging in the air like a cloud, that I couldn’t make out anyone I recognised. The place smelt of cigarettes and stale sweat.

‘She’s going to be cross with me,’ I said as we wove our way to the bar. My eyes, ever sensitive, were beginning to water. ‘I promised her I’d be here. And Helen.’

Leon shrugged. ‘Oh, she won’t mind. Knowing Frankie she’s found an admirer or two to keep her company.’

My stomach curdled with jealousy. It would have been the perfect time to ask him about Frankie, but I was scared of what his answer would be. I don’t think I could bear it if he told me he had been in love with her. What if he still had feelings for her? As much as I loved Frankie I didn’t want to play second fiddle to her any more. It was fine while we were at school, even with Jason. But not now. Leon is too important to me, even if he can never properly be mine.

We stood at the bar for ages, jostling with everyone else in an attempt to get served. And then, as if from nowhere, Frankie appeared.

‘There you both are,’ she said, standing on tiptoes between us with her arms slung around our necks. Her breath smelt sweet, like alcopops. ‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. You said you’d be here at ten, Soph.’ Her face was in profile, but she sounded like she was pouting. Still, it couldn’t dampen my mood. Leon and I had had sex. He was falling for me. Me, not Frankie.

Leon excused himself to go to the loo and I let Frankie lead me onto the dance floor.

‘Where have you been?’ She had to shout over the Chemical Brothers.

‘At Leon’s house …’

‘You’ve shagged him, haven’t you? Despite everything. How could you?’

‘Frankie …’

She stopped dancing to stare at me, hands on hips. ‘It’s all wrong, Sophie. You know it is.’

I bit my lip, wanting to cry because she was right.

Then I felt his hands around my waist, his groin grinding into my bottom in time to the music. I felt embarrassed at his display of affection in front of Frankie. ‘Leon … what are you doing? Get off me!’ Then I noticed the smell. It wasn’t the CK One that Leon always wore, but something acrid, sharp in my nostrils, unpleasant. I turned my head and was shocked to see Lorcan grinning at me.

I pushed him away, suddenly furious. What the hell was he playing at?

‘What have you been up to with my brother, then, huh? Were you fucking when we came in …’ His breath smelt of booze, his voice slurred. Despite his crude words I couldn’t help but notice Frankie widen her eyes in shock. ‘Got a nice arse,’ he said, tapping me playfully on the bottom. ‘No tits, though. Not like your friend ’ere.’

Frankie grabbed my arm and pulled me to her. ‘Lorcan, stop being a prick and leave us alone.’

‘What?’ he said, grinning innocently. ‘I’m doing nuffin’ wrong.’

It happened quickly. One minute Lorcan was in front of us, leering, the next Leon was punching him and yelling at him to fuck off. Lorcan is a big bloke but he didn’t try and defend himself, or punch Leon back. Instead, throwing us a wounded look, like we were bullies in a playground, he slunk off and was swallowed up in the crowd.

‘Are you OK?’ Leon asked me, ignoring Frankie. ‘My brother is a prick when he’s drunk.’

‘He was feeling her bum and everything,’ said Frankie. Leon’s expression darkened and a pulse thumped in his jaw. I was furious with Frankie for making it worse.

‘It’s nothing I can’t take care of.’ I was annoyed at them both for treating me like I’m made of glass. But really Lorcan’s comments about my flat chest stung. I hoped Leon hadn’t heard them.

‘I could kill him. How dare he do that to my girlfriend,’ he said to nobody in particular, like I was his possession. We’d slept together, now he thought he owned me? He hugged me to him and kissed me as though he’d just rescued me from a near disaster, not some idiot with overzealous hands. Over his shoulder I noticed Frankie roll her eyes and give me an ‘I told you so’ look.

We left soon after that. Leon walked me home, but we were mostly silent as we meandered through the high street, then past the hotels and B&Bs and across the road to the seafront. There was a gang of kids on the beach, laughing and swigging booze from bottles. Shouts from a group of women could be heard up ahead as a hen night dressed in pink tutus spilled out of Odyssey, one skinny woman wearing a veil. That club was a known meat market.

Leon had his arm around my shoulders and mine was snaked around his waist, my hand resting in the back pocket of his jeans, but we were both brooding in our own way. Frankie’s words rang in my ears: intense, a stalker. But Leon had been protecting me, hadn’t he? He wasn’t just acting like a jealous boyfriend. His brother was being a real arsehole.

When we reached my house Leon apologised again for Lorcan’s behaviour. ‘I just saw red. He had his hands on you, Soph. How dare he?’

‘I know … but I can look after myself.’

We kissed by the garage. I was tempted to ask him
in – I knew Mum was working nights – but I wanted to be on my own, to think. Because what Leon did has left a nasty taste in my mouth. Punches thrown, noses bleeding … it stirred up memories I’ve tried hard to bury.

Whilst getting ready for bed I remembered Leon’s poem tucked in the pocket of my jeans. I retrieved it and spread it out on my duvet cover, tears prickling at the back of my eyelids as I read the words, the intensity of his feelings jumping from the page:

As the setting sun casts its glow upon the pier,

transforming the decaying metal, a distraction from my fear,

remembering those who graced these rotten boards before,

forgotten, unknown, and loved ones who are here no more.

Through my haze of self-reflection, I see your beauty clear as day,

like a beacon to my soul, there ceases to be another way,

destined for the crashing waves below, together until we die,

bound for ever, beneath this orange sky.

I close the heavy front door behind me and rest my head against it, engulfed by the same lethargy as I experienced outside Lorcan’s house. I half hope to see the family who are staying in the downstairs apartment, just so that I know I’m not alone in this old building, with its clunking pipes and unexplained creaks, but apart from that glimpse of an older woman through Daniel’s steamed-up windscreen yesterday, I’ve seen nothing of them.

Last night, huddled on the sofa, waiting for the sleeping pills to kick in, I was sure I heard footsteps on the stairs. The wind was whistling outside, shaking the window frames, but when it paused for breath I heard the groan of floorboards under the weight of a person. The baby had stopped crying by then and I listened hard to try and work out where the footsteps were heading. It sounded like they had paused right outside my door. With my heart in my mouth I’d scooped the duvet up around my armpits and waddled to the door to peer through the spyhole. It was too dark to see clearly. I know from the hotel I grew up in that old buildings can make a lot of noise, so I told myself that
I was imagining it and fell asleep not long afterwards. But two interrupted nights have played havoc with my emotional state.

The heel of my boot knocks against something on the floor and I look down to see a familiar brown A4 envelope sitting innocently on the coconut matting. I bend over to pick it up, hoping that it won’t be addressed to me, but not in the least surprised when I see my name printed on the front.

It doesn’t feel like another letter. It’s heavier and there is something bulky inside.

I rip it open; a glint of metallic silver is nestled within the folds. My fingers close on something cold and hard and a pair of old dog tags fall from the envelope into my open palm.

I’m in the bedroom hurriedly removing my clothes from the wardrobe and stuffing them into my holdall when the front door buzzes. I go to the bay window in the living room and peer out. Your brother is standing in the gravel driveway, in front of my Range Rover, a grim expression on his face. I know he’s here to stop me leaving. And then I see what he’s looking at. My bonnet has been splattered with what looks like raw eggs, the yolk fluorescent against the black metallic paint. I turn away from the window, furious.

I buzz Daniel in and then wait at my door as he lumbers up the stairs.

‘I got your text. You can’t go back to London,’ he says as soon as he reaches me. He’s out of breath, his
pale cheeks flushed. ‘Oh, and it looks like some kids have bombed your car with rotten eggs.’

Without a word I walk back into the apartment, sensing him behind me as I make my way into the sitting room. My feet are freezing and I’ve had to put on extra socks. On the glass coffee table is the brown envelope, the dog tags spread on top. I point to them as I sit on the sofa, curling my legs up under me. ‘This was waiting for me on my return.’

He frowns and walks over to them, picking them up and turning them over in his hands. ‘Dog tags? I don’t understand.’

‘Jason’s.’

‘They’re Jason’s dog tags?’ His voice is hard, disbelieving.

‘Well, I don’t expect they are the actual dog tags he was wearing when he … when he …’ I can’t bring myself to say the words. ‘But they are very similar. He wore them all the time, remember?’

He narrows his eyes, as if trying to dredge up the memories of Jason buried deep in his mind. ‘Vaguely. I thought about getting a pair. They
were
all the rage in the early nineties.’ He stares down at the tags in his hand.

I get up from the sofa and snatch them from him. ‘Someone in this town is deliberately targeting me.’ I put them back on the coffee table. ‘Why would someone send them to me?’

‘To spook you, obviously,’ Daniel says, moving to the window. ‘And it’s working, by the looks of it. You’re high-tailing it back to London.’ He has his back to me;
I can just see the sharp outline of his nose and chin. I wonder if he’s seeing you on the pier. I go and stand beside him, feeling braver now that he’s here with me. But you’re gone and the pier is empty, the sleet turning to rain.

‘Not because of this.’ I’m annoyed he thinks that’s the reason I want to go home. ‘It takes more than a few letters to unnerve me. And now eggs on my car. Pathetic.’

‘That would’ve just been kids messing about …’

‘Not the dog tags, though. That’s personal, Daniel. That has to be from someone who knows about Jason.’

I don’t tell him that seeing you has scared me, Soph. What could I say without sounding like I’m having some mental breakdown? That I’m convinced I’m seeing you, that you followed me home, that you are trying to tell me something? Maybe warn me? It sounds ridiculous. I don’t believe in ghosts – that was always your domain. The irony doesn’t escape me. You always wanted to get out of this town yet you’re still here, haunting it. And me.

Daniel sits down heavily on the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight. ‘If you’re not spooked then why do you want to leave? You’ve paid up until Friday. You might as well stay.’

‘I’ve got work to do.’

‘You’re entitled to a holiday.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Some holiday.’ I take a seat next to him on the sofa. I’m still wearing my coat. I wrap it further around my body and Daniel gets up to light the
fire. I watch as the orange flames begin to dance comfortingly, their warm amber glow chasing away the grey shadows, transforming the room so that it appears more welcoming, more friendly.

We always wondered what these apartments would be like inside. You had a thing about this side of town, that pier. You could see past the decrepit planks and rusting metal, likening it to an aged movie star; faded glamour but still beautiful. When you looked at it you saw the nostalgia of the past: Edwardian tourists, the men in straw boaters, the women in their ankle-length dresses, gliding along with frilly parasols angled over their heads. You saw the romance in the pier; I couldn’t see past its ugliness.

Daniel takes my hand and rubs it between his. ‘You feel freezing, Franks, are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about Sophie.’

He squeezes my hand, his eyes suddenly intense. ‘Don’t go. Please. Stay, at least a few more days. I …’ He swallows as if embarrassed, his face reddening. ‘I need you.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Don’t you see,’ he says, his voice rising, ‘that the person who’s sent you these things is trying to get you to leave. Because they know we’re getting close to the truth.’

I laugh bitterly. ‘But we’re not. We know nothing about what happened that night. We’ve learned nothing. It’s too late. It’s been years. I think we should just leave it. Get on with our lives.’

He shuffles closer so that our knees are touching, and despite myself I feel a frisson of desire rip through me. He’s still holding my hand and his face is inches from mine so that I can smell the mint on his breath and his warm, musky scent like mulled wine. I long to reach up and touch him, kiss him. But I daren’t. Not after this morning.

‘Just you being here is unnerving someone, Franks. You must see that. Just give it a few more days, please.’

‘But what if I’m in danger, Daniel?’

His voice softens. ‘You’re safe here in the apartment. And you’re safe with me.’

‘This house is practically deserted. This area of town is empty. It’s lonely. I’m lonely.’

‘There’s that family downstairs.’

‘Who I haven’t seen, except for that older woman yesterday. Although I’ve heard the baby.’

‘They are probably in and out, like you are. At least you know they’re here too. You’re not completely alone.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ It’s all right for him. He can go back to his girlfriend. He has someone to keep his bed warm at night.

I think of returning to Islington, back to normality, with no time to think of anything but my busy job and the new hotel. Then I remember that I promised Mike he could stay until the weekend. It would mean having to face him; the awkwardness, his questions. My resolve might weaken and we’d fall back into a relationship that isn’t leading anywhere. He’s right, I am
a coward. I can’t face him. I have no choice but to stay here.

If I’m honest with myself I know there is more to it than that. I know your brother has a girlfriend, but if I left now it would mean saying goodbye to Daniel, probably for ever.

His voice is cajoling as he says, ‘And you said you’d come with me on Wednesday to the police station. It’s that same bloody detective. Do you remember him? DI Holdsworth.’

‘That’s the one who questioned us when she first went missing?’

He nods. ‘He wasn’t a DI then, of course.’

I remember him well. Tall and fair with one eye a different colour to the other. He had interviewed all of us, asked probing questions – until your shoe was found and they eased off a bit. Well, the other police officers eased off, but I sensed that DS Holdsworth suspected foul play by the way he kept coming back for more. I once got home to find him in our kitchen having a cup of tea with Mum. As soon as he saw me his eyes lit up and then he interrogated me for an hour. Where had I been when you left the club? What time did I last see you? Who had a grudge against you? Questions he’d asked me countless times before. I found out that he’d asked the same questions to everyone else in town, including my parents. After a few weeks he was called off the case by his boss, and that was the end of it. Until now.

‘He was like a dog with a bone. It was as if he was
hoping that Sophie was murdered so that he would have something juicy to investigate.’

‘But he was right, though, wasn’t he,’ Daniel says darkly.

I swallow; my throat feels sore. ‘We don’t know that. Have you told him your suspicions?’

He shakes his head. ‘No … not yet, but I’m beginning to think I should. Especially now that you’ve been receiving those letters. Maybe when we go on Wednesday?’

I stiffen. The thought of involving the police petrifies me. They’ve always made me feel on edge. And it makes me realise that I can’t leave, not yet. I can’t let Daniel face all this by himself. I owe it to him to stay. He wants me to go with him. Not Mia – me. That must mean something, surely, Soph?

‘I don’t know if we should involve the police,’ I say. ‘What can they do anyway? And if someone wanted to hurt me, surely they would have done it by now?’

I go and stand in front of the fire. I choose my next words carefully. ‘Do you think the person writing the notes and sending those –’ I nod at the dog tags curled up on the table ‘– is the same person who knows what happened to Sophie?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Then it must be Leon. Who else would know, or even care, about Jason other than his cousin? He’s just the type who would get a kick out of this kind of thing.’

He hasn’t liked me since I told you he was bad news, Soph, and it’s obvious from his attitude towards me
that our one-night stand all those years ago hasn’t changed that.

Daniel shrugs. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Who knows who Sophie told, if anyone.’

I frown. ‘What about Helen? She was a right cow to me at school. We had a fight once and she gave me a nosebleed. She locked me in a tiny cupboard knowing that I was claustrophobic. Maybe Sophie confided in her and this is her way of punishing me. She was always hanging around Sophie, wanting to be her best friend, trying to push me out. Sophie was too nice to see it but there was something about Helen, something spiteful.’

His gaze is sceptical.

‘Well, she must have told someone, otherwise …’ I let the implication hang in the air. I’ve never told a soul.

He hesitates. ‘Your dad.’

It’s as though he’s punched me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Would he have told anyone?’

I scoff. ‘Of course not. My dad was the one who made us promise not to say anything. Ever. And we didn’t. Or at least, I didn’t. I can’t vouch for Sophie. Daniel, she was dating Jason’s cousin! You know how kind and good Sophie was. She wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him. She would have felt too guilty.’

You were always the sensible, moral one, Soph. You made me a better person.

Daniel frowns. ‘That’s true. But she wasn’t with him
that long. What was it? Six weeks, two months at the most?’

Oh, Daniel. He knows nothing about it. I do, though. I remember how much you loved Leon. You might not have been together that long but your relationship was intense.

‘They split up hours before she disappeared,’ I say, remembering. ‘And when I asked her about it she refused to tell me. She fled to the toilets, crying, and Leon stormed off home.’

He fidgets, looking uncomfortable. ‘Do you think she told him about what happened to Jason? And that’s why he finished it?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, Sophie said he loved her but to me it seemed more like obsession. Who knows what was really going on in their relationship or why they finished? But if she finished with him I can’t imagine he’d let her go that easily. He said he had an alibi, but …’

‘Anyone can fake an alibi. Steph? Lorcan? They could all be protecting each other. How well do we know anyone, Franks? Particularly those closest to us? They’re the ones who can hurt us the most.’

I raise my eyes to meet his. ‘That’s really cynical. You never used to be like that.’

‘Yeah, well, I’ve changed.’ He stands up and goes to the window. Losing you has altered him more than I thought. It’s not surprising, I suppose, the two of you were always close. I envied your relationship, your easy banter, the way you looked out and protected each
other. It must eat away at him that he wasn’t able to protect you that night.

I leave the room to put the kettle on. When I return, Daniel is looking down at his phone and swearing.

‘What is it?’

He looks up, his face drawn. ‘It’s a text from Mia. I told her I was at work. I know, I know …’ he says when he sees my expression. ‘I shouldn’t have lied to her, but she is a bit possessive sometimes and she’s worried about me spending too much time with you.’

He looks embarrassed and I shrug nonchalantly, even though I can’t help feeling a little thrill that she sees me as a threat.

‘Does she know you lied?’