Local Girl Missing (12 page)

‘She must do,’ he says, throwing his phone onto the sofa, ‘because Helen turned up at our flat wanting to talk to me. Apparently she’s remembered something really important and Mia told her I was here.’

I’m not surprised that Helen has ‘suddenly’ remembered something important. I always told you that she couldn’t be trusted. I knew she was lying to me yesterday.

What important thing does Helen know?

I’ve done something so stupid, so unforgivable, and there is no excuse for it. I love Leon and I understand that he only punched his brother last night because he was protecting me. His brother was acting like a lecherous pig. It doesn’t mean Leon would hurt me. It’s just … after what Dad did to Mum when I was a kid I always said I’d never fall for a man who had the capacity to be violent.

I suppose I always envied Frankie for having a dad like Alistair. Someone kind and caring. Passive. My feelings for him have always been complicated. On one hand I see him as a father figure, but on the other he’s this attractive older guy, the Kevin Costner lookalike, the first man who ever paid me any attention, who cared enough to ask what I wanted to do with my life, how I was getting on at school and if I was happy.

So, here goes … I kissed him. There, I’ve said it. And I honestly feel awful about it. That’s not who I am, or the person I want to be. I don’t go around kissing
married men or the fathers of my friends. I’ve never cheated on anyone before.

It happened at lunchtime and I’ve been feeling sick with guilt ever since.

My shift had just begun and I was straightening the bed in Room 5 and replacing the dirty cups when Alistair bounded into the room. He didn’t realise I was in there and muttered a smiley apology, and was just about to leave when he must have noticed something about me, something about my expression perhaps. I’ve never been very good at hiding my feelings.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, letting the door swing shut and walking further into the room. He placed a reassuring hand on my upper arm and his touch sent an electric shock through me, and in that moment all I wanted was a man like him. Someone mature, someone strong, someone who was jolly, funny, always putting a positive spin on things. Not someone who had behaved as Leon had. I remember so clearly how Alistair helped us out that awful night when Jason drowned. How I’d turned up at his house with vomit down my dress, panicked and shaking so much that I thought I’d never stop. Shock, he’d called it. He’d wrapped me up in a blanket and given me sips of brandy and told me that everything was going to be OK. That he was going to make everything OK. And I’d sat there, shivering and sipping the brandy, his reassuring words calming me down. Frankie was obviously there too, sitting next to me wrapped up in her own
blanket, tears streaming down her face. But in the memories of that night I don’t think of Frankie, I just see Alistair.

I found myself telling him everything, about Leon being Jason’s cousin, about the guilt that I felt at not being able to tell him what had happened that night. About Leon punching Lorcan and how I know that I have to let Leon go. He sat next to me while I poured out my feelings like some messed-up teenager, his arm around my shoulders. And it felt so good to unburden myself. I couldn’t be honest with Leon but I could with Alistair. I began to cry and nestled my face into his chest, inhaling the scent of him, of his aftershave – something expensive, mature – and the washing powder on his linen shirt. He smoothed my hair and stroked my back. And then I lifted my head so that our eyes met and before I could even think about it his lips were on mine and … we were kissing. I forgot for a moment where I was, who he was, the kiss went on and on and, wow, what a kisser he is. But when his tongue started to probe mine I pulled away, suddenly ashamed. I’d been caught up in the moment and angry at Leon. It should never have led to that. He was mortified too, jumping up from the bed and running his hands through his dirty blond hair, apologising over and over again. I told him it was fine, that it was my fault. I blurted out to him that I’d had a crush on him when I was a teenager. I suppose, deep down, kissing him had always been a fantasy of mine. But that’s where it should have stayed – as a fantasy. He made me promise never to tell anyone.
Another promise. Another secret. Another thing to feel guilty about.

But I made the promise anyhow.

I’d betrayed my best friend and my boyfriend. How am I ever going to face Frankie, her mum or Leon ever again, knowing what I’ve done?

The door buzzer reverberates through the flat. Daniel, who is still standing by the window, leans forward to get a better view of who is at the door.

‘She’s here.’ He turns around, horror and excitement written all over his face. His silver eyes are alight. ‘I wonder what she’s remembered?’ I can’t bear to witness the hope turn to disappointment. I like seeing Daniel this way, the way he was when you were alive. Full of optimism, even if it is misplaced. He always thought that life would work out for him despite flunking his GCSEs and not having a job. What a wake-up call he had. I don’t want him to go back to silent, morose Daniel.

I snatch up the dog tags and envelope from the coffee table and dart into my bedroom. I don’t know why, but I hide them under my duvet cover. If Helen has been sending the letters – and it is just the type of spiteful thing I can imagine her doing – I don’t want her to know how much it’s unnerved me. Maybe you told her our secret? How would I know? It seems I didn’t know you as well as I thought.

I go to the intercom and let her in. Daniel lurks in the hallway as I open the door and wait for her to come
up. It seems like ages before she reaches the top of the stairs, panting slightly as she steps on to the landing, sweat glistening above her lip. Her shoulder-length brown hair is frizzy from the rain. She’s wearing a frumpy long skirt and boots, with a brown wool coat which does nothing for her. Her best feature was always her eyes, which are the colour of treacle.

‘Frankie,’ she says in a monotone when she reaches the landing.

I don’t ask her how she knows where I live. The whole town is probably aware. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable; a sitting duck.

‘Helen,’ I say in the same tone. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Can I come in?’

I open the door wider and stand aside to allow her over the threshold. She whistles slowly as she wanders into the hallway. ‘This is posh, ain’t it? But only the best for Lady Frankie.’

I bristle. It was only ever your brother who called me that. When did Helen suddenly jump on the bandwagon? Has Daniel been talking to her about me? It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to piss off. I know she was your friend, and I realise you thought a lot of her, that she was there for you when I was forced to go to that stuck-up boarding school – which, by the way, I hated – but she’s always been a bit of a bitch to me. You could never see it though. Or maybe you refused to.

‘Daniel!’ she says when she spots him over my shoulder. ‘You’re a hard man to find. I went to your offices and your flat.’

‘Really? I thought you knew all our whereabouts, Helen?’ I smile at her sweetly but she frowns.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘How did you know I’m staying here?’

‘Stan told me.’

‘Stan?’

You always said Stan would perv at you over the fish, his eyes as pale and cold as the haddock he was selling.

‘Yep.’

‘Who told him?’

‘Leon.’

Did I tell Leon I was staying here? Unless Daniel did. Not that it really matters. Any one of them could be sending the notes to frighten me. I’m going to have to pay Leon another visit. But I won’t tell Daniel about it. This is something I need to take care of on my own.

Helen wanders into the living room, exclaiming at its loveliness, at the polished wooden floors and the scatter cushions, at the real fireplace and the views of the sea. ‘I bet it’s costing a bomb to stay here,’ she says, going to the bay window. ‘What a view!’

‘It’s not costing much. It’s out of season and Daniel’s friend has let me have mates’ rates.’ I wish she would get to the point.

She turns to me and shivers. ‘Ooh, it’s chilly in ’ere, ain’t it? Even with that fire on.’

The apartment is constantly cold, I’ve noticed. Is it because you’re here with us, Soph?

The fire goes out, as though you’ve answered my question.

‘Spooky!’ says Helen in awe as she stares at the dead embers at the bottom of the fireplace. ‘It went out as quickly as someone clicking their fingers.’

‘I’ll relight it,’ says Daniel, going back to the fireplace. We both watch as he faffs around with logs and a lighter but, despite his best efforts, the fire refuses to be resurrected.

He stands up with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. ‘Let’s leave it for a minute. Helen, why don’t you sit down?’

I offer to make tea. When I return with three mugs of PG Tips (always your favourite, which is probably why your brother bought it), Daniel and Helen are sitting side by side on the sofa. I place the tray on the coffee table and tell them to help themselves to milk and sugar. I take mine and sit on the grey velvet chair by the window. There is a draught; the wooden sash windows are not strong enough to keep out that wind. I cup the tea so that the heat from the mug can warm my ice-cold hands. I really hope Daniel can get that fire started again. The radiators are blazing but it’s making little difference to the temperature. The wind howls down the chimney.

‘So, Helen, why the visit?’ I ask pointedly when it’s obvious that Daniel isn’t about to.

‘Well, I suddenly remembered something. So I went past your offices, Dan. I know how hard you work and thought you’d be there despite it being the weekend, but there was no answer. So I went over to your apartment. Met Mia. Lovely girl, so pretty.’ She flashes me a
triumphant look. ‘Anyway, she told me you were at work. When I said you weren’t there she looked a little surprised and then said you’d probably be at Frankie’s house. So I headed here. It’s a long walk though, Dan.’ She gives a little laugh. ‘I wish I’d learned to drive.’

Daniel shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. He knows he’s going to be in trouble when he gets home. I assess him over the rim of my mug. Your brother was always so honest. Maybe he’s changed more than I thought.

My grip on my mug tightens. I tear my gaze from Daniel to Helen. ‘What have you remembered?’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm, even though I really want to shout, ‘Get to the bloody point!’

She purses her lips as if she can hear my thoughts and then takes a noisy slurp of her tea. I wait, refusing to speak first. Eventually, she says, ‘A few weeks before she went missing –’

‘Before she died,’ Daniel interjects.

‘Yes, yes, before she died, well, Sophie asked me for help.’

‘What kind of help?’ I ask. I find it hard to believe you would have asked Helen for help and not me. Is she deliberately making out she knows more than she does to feel important? To create a little drama?

She clears her throat. ‘She wanted money. She was so happy to get that job as an editorial assistant. Do you remember? Anyways, she wanted to leave Oldcliffe a few weeks before her job started but didn’t have enough money.’

Daniel frowns. ‘OK, so …’

‘There’s more. She said that someone was making her life hell. A man. And that she needed to leave. She sounded pretty scared of this person.’

‘Didn’t you ask her who it was?’ Daniel says.

‘Of course. But she wouldn’t tell me. But I did wonder if it could be her dad.’ She bows her head, looking slightly shamefaced. ‘Sophie had told me all about him. I’m sorry, Dan. He sounds like a right arsehole.’

I’m shocked that you would have talked to Helen about him. You’d only ever mentioned him to me a couple of times. I didn’t even know his name.

‘We haven’t heard or seen him since we left, as far as I’m aware …’ Daniel turns to me. ‘Did she tell you any of this?’

I shake my head miserably. You didn’t come to me. You went to Helen for help instead. ‘When was this?’ I ask.

‘I’d say this was the end of August. So it might have only been a week before she disappeared –’ Helen flashes Daniel a look ‘–
died.
’

She leans forward and places her mug back on the tray. Then she rummages in the bag that’s at her feet and pulls out a length of pink toilet tissue and blows her nose on it. ‘I feel terrible that I never said anything. You just don’t think, do you? That it could mean something. I even thought she might have meant Lorcan. He’s a right one. Even now. Oh, I hear all sorts of things about him. Gossip is rife in our pub.’

I can imagine.

She dabs at her eyes but I’m certain there are no tears. ‘I’ve often wondered if …’ She glances at Daniel as though doubting whether to continue.

‘Go on,’ he says.

‘I thought maybe … she might have killed herself.’

‘She would never do that.’ He stands up; his restlessness is making me feel anxious. ‘There was no note, nothing apart from her trainer wedged between those rotten wooden boards.’ He shakes his head. ‘Bloody Holdsworth asked that same question but I just can’t believe it. I can’t …’

‘Could she have fallen in? Got her shoe stuck?’

I can see that Daniel is bristling with irritation although he’s trying not to show it as he paces back and forth. I shiver and pull my coat further around me. He’s creating a draught and it’s cold enough in here as it is.

‘She would never have gone to the pier by herself in the middle of the night,’ he says. ‘I think – and so does Frankie – that she’d arranged to meet someone there.’

Helen sniffs. ‘No, I’m sure you’re right. I just want to be able to help.’ She turns to me, her face defiant. ‘Sophie was always good to me. She was a good friend.’

Her comment sounds barbed as though she’s implying I wasn’t a good friend to you.

Does she know more than she’s letting on?

Leon rang. He wants to come over but I put him off. I feel so guilty about what happened with Alistair earlier, I can’t face Leon right now.

I hate to admit it but Frankie was right. About everything, but especially about Leon. I should have listened to her. She always was the more savvy of the two of us. She just seemed to know how these things worked, how people ticked. When we were at school she steered me through the social echelons of our year group effortlessly so that, despite how gauche and geeky I was, I didn’t get picked on. Because I was best friends with the popular Francesca Howe.

That first day at our primary school – just days after Mum bundled me, Daniel and all our meagre belongings into the back of her old Ford estate and moved us to the other end of the country – I stood in front of my new class, twenty-eight faces staring blankly back at me, and there she was, like a poppy in a field of weeds. When our form teacher asked who wanted to be my buddy I was amazed that she volunteered. I couldn’t
believe it: this pretty girl with the green cat’s eyes wanted to be friends with me. I stuck to her after that like a limpet. And that’s what some of the boys called me. Not Four-eyes, or Beanstalk, or even Fleabag (and believe me, over the years I’ve been called all those), but Limpet, because I was always glued to Frankie’s side.

As we grew up I began to notice that some of the other kids turned against her, thinking that she was stuck-up, that she thought a lot of herself. But it wasn’t true. Underneath her glossy image Frankie was as insecure as the next teenager. All she wanted was to be liked.

She protected me. And that’s all she’s ever tried to do. It’s just that at times I found it stifling, that I couldn’t breathe without her say so. Then she left, after ten years of friendship, and I was forced to stand on my own two feet. Well, what a fucking mess I’ve made of that!

I don’t know how I’m going to be able to live with myself.