Local Girl Missing (14 page)

I remember thinking that Leon was so beautiful, so cool with his unusual music tastes. More often than not he was secreted away at a table in the corner of the Seagull, scribbling poetry into his notebook. With his ink-stained fingers and floppy hair, he was different from the beer-swilling Oldcliffe lads who thought they were cool just because they liked Oasis, yet decried anything more avant-garde as being for ‘poofters’. That first time I talked to him in The Basement his eyes seemed to see right into my soul. That must sound stupid to you. He was in love with you. Or was he? Was it just infatuation, Soph? You were both so young. There was always something dangerous about him. There still is. Maybe that’s part of his attraction.

I’m trembling all over and grip the steering wheel, afraid I’m about to be sick. I take deep breaths and stare out of the windscreen, trying to calm myself by looking out into the horizon, at the black silhouette of Flat Holm Island in the distance.

I made some mistakes back then. We both did. I thought I could escape it all and become a different person in London. A better person. London is perfect for
starting again, for becoming who you want to be rather than the person everyone thinks you are; after all, who wants to be remembered for pissing their pants at the back of the class aged seven, or for vomiting in the street at eighteen? You couldn’t take an illegal substance or have an underage drink in Oldcliffe without someone knowing about it. The town was full of curtain-twitchers; every move was recorded, talked about. I’d wanted to get away from all that, Sophie. I wanted to get away from the sympathetic faces and the sad eyes when you disappeared. ‘There she is, Sophie Collier’s best friend. How awful for her.’ People gossiping, staring, you ceasing to be just good old Soph but ‘poor Sophie Collier’ instead. The tragic victim. I wanted to start again. Is that so bad?

But I’m haunted by the past. I’m haunted by you.

I’m nearly forty years old. I’m not Frankie Howe any more. I’m Francesca Bloom – yes, I still use my married name. I’m successful, I’m in control. I have a shiny life. That’s what people see in London and that’s how I like it. I would do anything to keep it that way.

When I’ve composed myself, I leave the car and walk across the road to the Tesco Express that replaced Safeway. I know my eyes must look red and swollen, my face pale, my lips puffy. The wind and rain has turned my hair to frizz and my jeans need a wash. I avoid eye contact with the staff stacking the shelves and the pimply-faced youth behind the till, relieved
that at least these aren’t people who knew me in the past – they would have been toddlers when I lived here. I grab a ready meal from the fridge – I haven’t eaten since breakfast and it’s nearly 4 p.m. I grab a couple of bottles of wine and push them into the basket.

When I’ve paid I hurry back to the car, the plastic bag swinging from my arm, the wine bottles knocking my hip, hoping not to see anyone, although the streets are deserted. My car is the only one parked in the spaces by the promenade and looks lonely and conspicuous with its glossy black paintwork and brand-new number plate. I long for the anonymity of London. I slide into the driver’s seat and slam the door on the town, instantly feeling comforted by my familiar space, as though nothing can touch me while I’m in the cocoon of my Range Rover.

I contemplate phoning Daniel and telling him about my conversation with Leon. He would sympathise, hating Leon as he does, but I dismiss the idea at once. I don’t want to cause any more problems between him and Mia. I think I’ve caused enough already.

I drive slowly through the town, even though there is no other traffic on the road. The sky is darkening and all the lights in the hotels, guest houses and pubs have been switched on, flooding the wet streets with a warm orange light that reflects in the puddles on the road and pavements. The Grand Pier is also lit up like a firework, green and yellow blurs stretching out to sea. I remember how I used to love the town best at night; it always
looked so festive lit up against the black skies, as if it was giving us permission to go out and have a good time.

Two guys and a girl walk along the promenade, laughing and joking. They head towards the zebra crossing and I stop to let them cross. One of the men, extremely tall with brown wavy hair, puts his hand up to thank me, although he barely looks up; he’s too busy chatting to the other bloke, who is nearly as tall. They both have their arms linked with the girl’s, who walks between them. My heart pounds when I realise who they are: Daniel – and what looks like Leon.

The girl, slim and youngish – definitely younger than me anyway – is attractive, with long, dark hair. She breaks free from them and runs ahead before turning and making silly faces. I can’t make out what they’re saying because I feel like I’m in a dream. Or a nightmare. Is it Leon? And if so, what is he doing with Daniel? They hate each other. Have always hated each other. And who is the girl with them? Is it Mia?

I watch as they head into the Seagull, for all the world as though they are the best of mates. I’m paralysed with shock. I sit at the zebra crossing, my hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at the pub, even though they’ve long disappeared through the door. Eventually a car comes up behind me and beeps its horn. I move forward reluctantly, on the edge of tears again as the realisation dawns on me that I can’t trust anyone.

Not even Daniel.

I pull up outside Beaufort Villas, willing myself to get out of the car and go inside. The light in the downstairs apartment is on and the curtains are open. I can see the yellow painted walls, the flickering of a television. I’d better prepare myself for another sleepless night with the baby screaming into the early hours.

I feel heavy with tiredness. I long to just reverse out of here and head to the M4 and London, but I know I won’t leave. I can’t. Not yet. There is too much unfinished business.

I get out of the car, thankful it’s stopped raining. I’m desperate for a shower and an early night. I plan to microwave my spaghetti bolognese, have a glass or two of wine and then go to bed. Everything will be clearer in the morning. I expect I’ll see Daniel at some point, although tomorrow’s Monday and I’m not sure what he’ll be doing about work.

I turn the key in the front door and let myself in, switching the light on in the hallway. Just as I’m about to close the door I hear someone calling my name. I look up and freeze. Someone is standing at the end of the driveway. Someone in a dark overcoat and walking boots. My heart pounds. It’s the person who was following me yesterday. They step forward, pushing back the hood from their head. The light from the hallway illuminates a face and long blonde hair and I gasp.

Because it’s you, Soph.

It’s actually you.

‘Frankie,’ you say again, so softly I wonder if you’ve actually spoken at all. You’re about thirty feet
away, but you haven’t changed a bit. You’re still twenty-one, younger than I ever remember you looking, and I know I must be seeing your ghost. I let out an involuntary scream, amazed that the sound is coming from me. I slam the door on you and slump against it, my whole body shaking violently, my legs giving way, and I sink to the floor. How can you be outside? What do you want? Are you trying to warn me? Or scare me?

The door to the downstairs apartment swings open and the grey-haired woman darts out. ‘What’s going on? Are you OK?’ she asks in alarm. She has a soft Yorkshire accent and kind eyes. It’s all too much. I burst into tears. She rushes over to where I sit huddled on the floor. ‘Oh my love, you’re trembling. What’s happened? You poor lamb.’ She crouches down so that she’s on my level but I can’t speak for a few minutes, I’m gasping and crying, pointing behind me. ‘A ghost, a ghost …’ I’m gabbling incoherently. I’ve not felt this petrified since you went missing.

She shushes me, rubbing my arm until I calm down, my sobs receding, then she helps me to my feet, my legs still weak and shaky, and I hold on to her for support.

‘I’m sorry,’ I stutter, embarrassed. She pulls a tissue from her sleeve and hands it to me. I blow my nose and wipe my eyes, knowing I must look a mess. ‘There was someone … someone outside. They startled me, that’s all.’

She frowns and pushes her glasses further up her nose. ‘Someone outside?’ She sounds panicked. I nod
and she opens the front door a fraction despite my protests. She peers around the door. ‘There’s nobody there, my love.’ She closes the door and turns to me. ‘My name’s Jean.’

I introduce myself, feeling foolish.

‘You’ve had a fright. Do you want to come in?’ She moves towards her apartment and I long to go with her, to have some company. She’s about my mum’s age, maybe a little older.

But she has family with her. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough. ‘It’s been a stressful day,’ I say, my hand going to my head to emphasise this point. ‘And you’ve got your family with you, I don’t want to intrude.’

Jean frowns and wraps her cardigan further around her thickening midriff. I notice that she’s wearing fluffy rabbit slippers. ‘I’ve got no family with me, my love. I’m on my own, visiting my brother. He’s in the local hospital you see, heart bypass.’

I stare at her, dread creeping its way around my intestines. Blood pounds in my ears. ‘But … the baby! I’ve heard a baby crying for the last two nights.’

‘Baby? I’m a bit old to have a baby.’ She laughs. ‘My children are all grown up. I’ve not been blessed with grandchildren yet, but my son’s just got married so I’ve got everything crossed.’

‘But … but … I heard a baby,’ I say, feebly.

‘Maybe it’s coming from next door?’ She doesn’t sound very certain, which isn’t surprising considering the walls are thick and this is a detached building.

I can’t take any more surprises, I feel like I’m having
some sort of nervous breakdown. Maybe this was all too much for me, coming back here, especially so soon after my dad. I don’t want to see you again, Soph, despite how much I loved you.

After I’ve showered, eaten and sunk a bottle of wine, I slump in front of the television in my dressing gown, comforted by the inane chat of the presenters on a game show. I must eventually doze off because I’m jolted awake by what sounds like fists hammering on the front door. I rush to the window, wondering if the kids who pelted my car with eggs have returned, but there is a man standing in the driveway looking up at the building. It’s too dark to make out his features but it looks like Leon. What does he want? I squint, trying to see more clearly. He steps back, instantly illuminated by the security light.

It’s not Leon. It’s Mike.

What is he doing here? I knock on the window and gesture for him to go to the door. Then I buzz him up and wait, wondering why he’s travelled all this way.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, his face breaks out into a huge grin. He’s still in his work clothes; his complexion is grey, his eyes tired and there is some sort of powder in his unruly hair.

‘Mike?’ He shouldn’t be here. He’s part of my other life.

He rushes up to me and envelops me in a bear hug. He smells of building sites and cold air.

‘What are you doing here?’ I say into his shoulder.

He releases me. ‘Can I come in? It’s been a long drive. I’m gasping for a coffee.’

Reluctantly I stand aside to let him over the threshold. He goes straight to the kitchen and switches the kettle on.

‘What’s going on, Mike?’ I want to tell him he’s invading my space, but I bite my tongue because the selfish part of me is glad that he’s here. After the fright earlier, I can’t deny I’d welcome his company. Some normality.

‘Where do you keep your cups?’

I tell him to move aside and I make us both a coffee. Then I lead him into the living room, where we sit on the sofa. I pull the dressing gown over my feet. The fire is lit, but it’s dwindling.

‘So?’ I ask, pointing the remote at the television to turn it off. ‘Is everything OK?’

He looks shamefaced. ‘I know we’ve split up, but I’m worried about you, Fran. You’ve had a shock, finding out that your friend is dead. Then you ring me up and finish with me over the phone. It was very sudden.’

I hold up my hand. ‘I’m sorry but I haven’t changed my mind.’

If I’ve hurt him with my words he doesn’t show it. Instead he adds, ‘After everything with your dad, and now this with your friend, I just wanted to make sure you were OK. You’re not as strong as you make out. But you never let anyone in. You never accept help.’ He takes a sip of his coffee.

I stare at his work boots. I know what he’s saying is
true. Since I’ve been back here I can feel myself crumbling as though all the self-confidence that I’ve nurtured over the years is turning to dust. Maybe you can never really escape your past.

‘You don’t look well. You look tired out.’

‘It’s just been a rough day, that’s all …’

He inches closer and his voice is gentle when he asks, ‘Why are you here? This isn’t doing you any good. Your dad has been through a lot. He needs you by his side. Come home, Fran. Come home with me.’

I feel close to tears. ‘I can’t. Not yet.’

He sighs. ‘Why?’

‘Daniel needs me. He wants me to go with him on Wednesday to identify …’ A tear trickles down my cheek.

‘Can’t he do it by himself?’

I look up at him, aghast. ‘That’s a bit callous, isn’t it?’

He mumbles an apology into his mug. ‘Has he got someone else that could go with him?’

I think of Mia. She would go with him like a shot, I imagine. But I want to be the one to do it. I don’t know why. Maybe I need to know that it’s really you, Soph. That it is your remains that have been found. Maybe I want to feel like I’m needed by Daniel. I can’t explain it to Mike or to you. I just know that I can’t leave Oldcliffe. Not yet. Not until I’ve finally laid you to rest.

‘He has nobody else.’ I take a gulp of my coffee to swallow down my lie.

He reaches out and touches my arm. ‘I still love you, Fran. I’m not ready to give up on us yet.’

I move away from his touch. ‘I can’t do this now, Mike. Not with everything else going on.’

He stands up and goes to the window. The curtains are still open. ‘It’s a bit lonely here, I imagine,’ he says in a strange voice. ‘It seems a bit creepy.’ He turns to me with hope in his eyes. ‘I can’t imagine you’ll want to stay here long. Why don’t you come back with me in the morning?’