Local Girl Missing (17 page)

I tug the scarf higher up my neck and over my mouth to protect myself from the slicing cold that penetrates to my bones. I can see my breath bloom out in front of me when I exhale, as though I’m smoking. Do you remember when we were at school in the winter? We would breathe out with our fingers to our lips to pretend that we had a cigarette. We were always so desperate to appear grown up, but we fooled no one.

The frost crunches beneath my feet and I feel precarious on the ice-coated, uneven surface. Every sound I make rings out in the deserted car park. Where is Daniel? He said he’d meet me here at 2 p.m. I look at my watch. It’s nearly quarter past. He should be here by now.

This place gives me the creeps even more than the old pier: the scrubland that doubles as a car park, the crumbling railway bridge where the steam trains used to run from here to the next town, the ugly 1950s building that houses the town’s abattoir. Tourists would never find this place, conveniently hidden on the edge of town by a dead-end road. Even I had forgotten about it until Daniel reminded me. We came here a few times,
me and Jez, to get off together in his souped-up Ford Fiesta with the blacked-out windows. We used to shudder at the thought of working in the abattoir – all those screaming pigs. He was going to be a famous DJ, wowing the crowds on a sun-soaked Ibiza beach. I bet he never thought he’d end up here. The abattoir looms in front of me, solid and squat, its cream, rendered walls streaked with black dirt. It has a sinister look about it, as though all the blood, guts and horror has somehow seeped into the walls, as if it’s been permanently stained by death.

I hesitate, not knowing what to do. Shall I retreat back to the safety of my Range Rover, or hover here, in the biting cold, feeling conspicuous? Just as I’m about to head back to my car I hear a clunk as the heavy metal doors are pulled back and a figure emerges. I’m too far away to make out whether it’s Jez. The man is slight, not that tall, a grey beanie pushed down over his head, hiding any hair. He has his back to me, and spends a couple of minutes pushing the metal doors shut again, fastening the lock. When he’s finished he shoulders his backpack and strides towards me. As he gets closer I recognise his once-pretty face, his keen, hazel eyes. He’s aged dramatically, his cheeks hollow, his face heavily lined so that he looks years older than forty-one. I remember the rumours about hard drugs that had rippled through the town, and Jez’s dependency on alcohol. He frowns as he comes towards me, and I move back instinctively, suddenly afraid of this man, this much older Jez. He seems more worldly now, which
I know is to be expected but it still comes as a shock. He has an edge to him that wasn’t evident eighteen years ago. He stops when he reaches me and takes a sharp intake of breath.

‘It’s you,’ he says, staring. I see myself through his eyes, with my expensively cut red wool coat, black jeans and heeled boots. ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he adds and I touch it self-consciously. It’s just past my shoulders now, no longer halfway down my back. ‘I’d heard you were running around town with Daniel Collier, irritating everybody with your questions about the past.’ He sniffs and wipes his nose on his hand. I concentrate on keeping my face impassive. ‘Why you bothering for? She’s dead, ain’t she?’

It still shocks me to hear you being described as dead. I don’t want to be here, without Daniel, standing in this lonely car park in the middle of nowhere with a man I barely recognise.

‘He’s searching for answers …’ I say finally.

‘Pah! I don’t know why. He thinks I’m stupid, that’s the trouble. But I’m not.’ He stares at me as if challenging me to dispute it.

‘I know you’re not, Jez. Did you call his newsroom?’

‘It’s not
his
newsroom,’ he spits. ‘He comes back here, all swanky now he has a bit of money and a good job. I’ve known Daniel years, we went to school together. He used to be one of us.’

‘He still is one of you,’ I say, unable to help myself. ‘Can’t you see? He loves this place.’

I want to add, God knows why, but I don’t.

He scoffs, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on my cheek. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Course he ain’t. He’s only been back five minutes, stirring everything up again. What nobody seems to be asking, though, is what
he
was doing that night.’

My scalp prickles. ‘What are you talking about?’

He looks around him, as if expecting Daniel to appear, even though the place is empty.

He lowers his voice. ‘I saw him that night.’

I shrug. ‘So? He said he was there that night. I saw him too. And you and Helen and Leon. We were all at The Basement.’

He emits a sound from his throat, a mixture of a growl and a laugh. ‘Much later, as I was coming home. I saw him. With Sophie. They were at the entrance to the old pier. They were arguing. She was shouting at him. Then I saw her push him. I called out to them, asked if everything was all right, but they ignored me. Probably didn’t hear me. I was wasted anyway, it’d been a long night. So I carried on home. Didn’t think much of it, they were brother and sister. Who doesn’t sometimes fight with their sister?’

A coldness washes over me. ‘Did you tell anyone about this? You know, at the time? The police …?’

He shrugs. ‘Course not. I wasn’t going to land one of my oldest mates in trouble. And I didn’t think he’d have done it. I assumed she had an accident later. I forgot all about it, until he came snooping around here again.’

I frown. ‘I don’t believe Daniel would hurt Sophie. Ever. If he did, why would he be here asking questions,
trying to find out what happened to her? He wouldn’t. It makes no sense.’

He shrugs. ‘It’s obvious, ain’t it? To throw everyone off the scent. To make sure the truth don’t get out.’

I laugh. It sounds forced and high-pitched, quickly dissipating into the cold afternoon air. ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Then another thought hits me. ‘You don’t think you could have been seeing Leon, do you? Not Daniel? From a distance it would be hard to tell them apart. They are both taller than average, brown-haired. In the darkness it would have been difficult to distinguish exactly who it was, surely?’

He shrugs again as though suddenly bored with the conversation. ‘I don’t know. I’ve told the police now, anyway. Daniel’s no longer a mate.’

I pull the scarf away from my throat, feeling as though I’m choking. I can’t breathe. ‘I trust Daniel implicitly,’ I say firmly, although this isn’t strictly true any more. ‘He’d never hurt Sophie,’ I repeat. I stare at Jez with disgust, wondering how I could have ever contemplated snogging this little runt of a man with his ludicrous allegations. And now he’s told the police they will question Daniel. He’s been through enough; I don’t know what it would do to him if he knew he was a suspect.

A suspect.
It’s not true. We both know that, don’t we, Sophie? Your brother would never hurt you. He couldn’t hurt a fly.

‘Was it you? Did you call the newsroom, pretending to be anonymous, urging Daniel to come and speak to
you? What were you going to do to him, Jez? Lure him here just so you could taunt him with your accusations? Would that make you feel less jealous of him? Make you feel more of a man?’

He glares at me, disgust written all over his face. ‘It’s true what they say about you, Frankie. Hard as nails. You and Daniel deserve each other. You’re both the same.’

‘Why, because we have aspirations? Because we want to better ourselves? What’s wrong with that?’ I’m so furious I forget to be scared.

He pulls the beanie further down over his head so that his eyebrows are compressed, giving him a sinister look. He sighs and I can see he isn’t angry at me, not really. He’s just pissed off with the way his life has turned out. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ he says, and his shoulders slump. He looks small and vulnerable now and it makes me want to hug him. Oh, if you could see him now, Soph. If you could see how different he looks, ravaged by years of drink and drugs and disappointment.

‘I’m sorry, Frankie,’ he says, surprising me. His voice is softer now, as though the bitterness and resentment has seeped out of him. I reach out and touch one of his calloused hands. ‘I didn’t mean to say those things. You were always all right, you know that? I liked you.’

I smile, feeling shy, remembering those drunken fumbles in the back of his car. ‘I liked you too.’

He rubs his five o’clock shadow. I note the purple bruises under his eyes, the sunken cheeks. ‘I fucked my
life up. But I’m getting back on my feet, slowly. I wish I could turn the clock back, y’know?’

Jez wouldn’t be able to see it to look at me – he must think I’ve got it made, with my nice car and my expensive clothes – but we’re not so different. I understand
exactly
how he feels.

When I pull up onto the driveway the sky is darkening, although it’s just gone three. I’ve checked my mobile countless times since leaving Jez and still no word from Daniel. I half expect him to be waiting for me at the apartment but there is no one here. I let myself into the hallway. Surely Jez didn’t really see Daniel on the night you went missing – he has to be mistaken. Daniel told me he never saw you again after 11.30 p.m. that night, that you’d ‘simply disappeared’ from the club. Was Jez making it up to cause trouble and now regretted it?

This town is sapping all my energy; I have a sudden, paranoid thought: is the reason Daniel didn’t turn up today because he’s already been arrested? I lean against the door, my eyes adjusting to the gloomy hallway. Only four more days before I can go home, until I can return you to the back of my mind, only coming to the forefront now and again – when I hear a song you loved on the radio, or see a blonde-haired, long-limbed girl walking in front of me. I think about you, don’t get me wrong, but not every day. Not in the obsessive way I’ve been thinking of you since returning to Oldcliffe.

I slowly climb the stairs. I have visions of Daniel in an interview room somewhere, being interrogated by
two policemen clutching Styrofoam cups of bitter coffee, one pretending to be nice, trying to wheedle information out of him, the other ruthless, going in for the kill, trying to break him. I clearly watch too many cop shows.

As I reach the landing I hear a bang coming from the apartment opposite mine, the one that’s supposed to be empty. I listen, poised outside the door. Maybe someone’s rented it for a few days. It’s out of season, but it does happen – look at Jean. And me. I listen a while longer, straining my ears, not quite sure what I’m hoping to hear. Just as I’m about to cross the landing to my door, another crash punctuates the silence, making me jump. What if someone has broken in? I rummage in my bag and grab my phone, fingers hovering over the 9. But I can’t call the police – what would I say?

Still holding the phone in one hand I rap my knuckles on the door, steeling myself. ‘Hello!’ I call, inching my head closer to the door. ‘Is there anybody in there?’

The silence is total. I knock again, louder this time, and the force of my knuckles makes the door creak open. I realise it’s just on the latch. Maybe someone’s moving in today. Perhaps they’ve rented it out from Monday to Friday. I push the door and it opens further, revealing a hallway much like mine – polished oak floorboards, intricate coving, high ceilings. I repeat my ‘hello’, but still no answer and I gingerly step over the threshold. ‘Is anybody here?’ I ask again, feeling foolish.

It comes out of nowhere. There is a high-pitched screech and a blur of ginger comes flying at me, all scraggy fur and pointed teeth. I stumble backwards in shock as the cat darts past me and onto the landing. I’m trembling all over, my heart beating so fast I can hear the vibrations pulsating in my ears. It must have been trapped in here, although I’m sure pets aren’t allowed in these apartments.

I steady myself and then creep into the living room. A gust of air brushes my cheek. The sash window gapes open, letting in gusts of cold, February air. I barely take in the room because my focus is on a glass vase on the floor beside a coffee table, one half of it still intact, the other in smithereens, shards glinting on the dark wood. That must have been the crash I heard. The cat must have somehow got through the window, although I’m not sure how, considering we’re on the first floor.

A scan of the room shows it to be empty of any personal belongings; I doubt anybody is staying here. I move to the bedroom; the bed is neatly made and a quick look in the wardrobe proves my theory. There are no clothes hanging on the rail. Maybe the cleaner was in and had forgotten to lock the door and close the window when they left.

I walk back into the living room, deliberating what to do about the broken vase. I bend down and pick up a piece of glass and then drop it again in shock as it pierces my fingertip. Blood oozes out and I put it in my mouth to try and stem the bleeding. As I step carefully over the shards of glass to close the window I notice
the computer. The screen is blank. Attached to it is a printer, its green light winking in the fading light. I frown, noticing the familiar brown A4 envelope lying next to it. I pick it up, a smudge of blood from my finger staining the corner, and gasp in shock: the envelope is addressed to me.

Things with Alistair are getting out of hand. I don’t know what to do.

It’s been a week since I leapt from his car like a startled cat, and I’ve tried my best to avoid him by phoning in sick. I had no choice – I needed to put some distance between us, even though I was losing pay, which I can’t really afford.

Mum’s been on nights, so she’s spent most of the mornings in bed, thankfully, leaving me tiptoeing around the house each day. I didn’t want her to know that I was taking a mammoth sickie, she’d only ask questions. Mum has always had a great work ethic. She hates layabouts and skivers. Daniel was also in bed, but that was down to a hangover rather than his great work ethic.

When Leon rang last Monday, asking if I wanted to go to the pub that night, I found myself keeping my mouth shut about my sickie. We met on the corner by the Co-op and walked down to the Seagull together, my hand tucked into his. It was still warm, the sky streaked with pink and orange, the sea calm, but my
stomach churned with worry. The thought of Alistair’s mouth on mine, his declarations of love, made me feel as though I was having an affair, even if it was one-sided.

The pub was quiet so we sat by the window overlooking the sea. It was gone eight, yet a few people gathered in clusters on the beach and the odd couple strolled on the promenade. As I drank my pint of cider I found myself relaxing so that my attention was solely on Leon. I listened with interest as he told me about his day at work and the heated argument between Steph and his brother as soon as he’d got home. He held my hand across the table, sending shockwaves of lust through my body.

‘Do you want to stay tonight?’ I found myself saying, ignoring my mum’s ‘No night guests’ rule. ‘Mum is working and Daniel will keep quiet. Knowing him he won’t be home until the early hours anyway.’

‘I can’t believe you even have to ask me that,’ he grinned. ‘Can we go now?’ He stood up so eagerly that he nearly knocked his pint over. I laughed, standing up too. He reached for me across the table and kissed me so intently that my head spun, his hand in the back of my hair. When he let go I had to hold onto the table for support. I was suddenly desperate for him. We’d only had sex a handful of times, grabbing the opportunity when we could, each time more frenzied and quick than the last, knowing we had a time limit on our passion. The thought of spending the whole night with Leon, taking our time to explore each other’s bodies, was a turn-on by itself.

As I went to retrieve my denim jacket from the back of the chair I froze. It was dark by now, the sky the kind of dusky denim that only occurs in the summer, yet I could still see the inky figure standing staring at me from across the street. His face was in shadows but I knew it was him by the way he held himself, the fall of his hair, the line of his straight nose. And I knew that he’d be able to see me, backlit by the harsh lighting like an actress in a play. The starring role.

I had no clue as to how long he’d been standing there or what he’d seen. Had he witnessed the lingering kiss between me and Leon? But I knew why he was there. His presence spoke volumes, there was no escape. I might have avoided him by skiving off work, but he was reminding me that he was waiting.

I turned away from him, slowly, deliberately.

‘Are you all right, Soph?’ Leon said as he walked over to my side of the table. ‘You’ve gone pale.’

I nodded and forced a smile. ‘I’ve just been feeling a bit off, that’s all.’ Snaking his arm around my waist he led me out of the pub. Alistair was nowhere to be seen. But all the way home I imagined that he was following us. Every time a car drove past I craned my neck, looking for his BMW and exhaling with relief when it proved not to be him.

I pushed him out of my mind as I sneaked Leon into the house. As I suspected, Daniel was still out. For once me and Leon could really let ourselves go. We made love twice: the first time it was quick, but the second … wow! Afterwards, nuzzled against his chest,
I was tempted to tell him about Alistair. I felt so close to him in that moment and I didn’t want to keep secrets from him any more. But I knew it was just wishful thinking.

We eventually fell asleep, only waking when we heard footsteps on the stairs just as the sun was coming up. I shook Leon awake and told him to hide in my wardrobe, just in case my mum poked her nose around the door. But she must have been exhausted because I heard the toilet flush, then her bedroom door close and the springs of her mattress creak as her tired body fell into bed. Suppressing my giggles I retrieved Leon from the wardrobe, where he was huddled naked under my clothes, a flowery dress that I’d worn to a wedding three years ago brushing the top of his head.

‘Sophie Collier,’ he whispered as we climbed back into bed, giggling, a tangle of limbs, ‘I love you so much.’

It was such a special night. Leon finally sneaked off home just after seven so that he could get changed and go to work.

Later that morning, as I was coming out of the local newsagent’s on the corner of the estate clutching a plastic bag of magazines and cartons of milk, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to see Alistair’s car purring by the side of the road, the window wound down. He grinned at me, his eyes sparkling. The toast I’d had for breakfast scratched the back of my throat.

‘I thought you were ill,’ he called, oblivious to the looks from some of the kids skateboarding around the dustbins. ‘You look fine to me. Perfect, in fact.’ He
pointedly stared at my legs and I pulled the hem of my skirt down.

Tears pricked the back of my eyelids. But they were tears of anger and frustration. ‘It’s my day off, so why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone?’ My voice rose in distress, causing the skateboarders to turn and look at me. One of them, a boy of about sixteen wearing a hoody and jeans too big for him, whooped.

Alistair’s expression darkened. ‘If you’re not in tomorrow you’re sacked,’ he said, his lip curling up.

‘You ’eard her. Fuck off, you pleb,’ another of the boys, acne-scarred with a pierced eyebrow, called out. ‘She don’t wanna talk to you, you tosser.’

Not taking his eyes off me, Alistair wound the window up. His jaw tensed as he turned to stare ahead of him, the tyres of his car screeching as he sped away.

‘You all right, love?’ asked Pierced Eyebrow. I nodded, grateful for their intervention.

The next morning – Wednesday – I contemplated calling in sick again but I knew Alistair would sack me if I did. I had no choice; I need the money. Especially if I get that publishing job and have to move to London. There’s no way Mum can afford to give me a month’s deposit to rent a flat. I have to come up with it myself.

And, I reasoned as I walked into work, Alistair couldn’t really do much to me at the hotel, not with his wife and daughter within earshot. Maybe he’d finally got the message after I was so rude to him the day before.

I was wrong.

At first I managed to avoid him. I helped Mrs Howe in the kitchen clearing away the breakfast things, making small talk with some of the punters who were still lingering over their rubbery-looking eggs. All the while I was keeping an eye out for Alistair. Wednesdays are Frankie’s day off, so I knew she wouldn’t be working. Maria told me she was still in bed and I idly wondered what she’d been up to since I’d last seen her. She didn’t really have any other friends in Oldcliffe.

‘Can you go and change the bedding in room seven,’ Maria said, her back to me. It wasn’t a question. I studied her bent stature, the round shoulders, the thick dark hair so like Frankie’s.

Wordlessly I left the room to go to the large cupboard on the first floor where all the clean laundry was kept. It was at the end of the corridor and around a bend. I was standing on tiptoes, trying to reach the shelf where the double duvet covers live, when I felt hands grasp my waist. I could smell him before I could see him. That musky scent mixed with cigarettes. It made me want to vomit. I wiggled away from him, but there was nowhere to go and he knew it. He must have been lying in wait, knowing that if he accosted me here nobody would see.

I slapped his hands away and spun around to face him. ‘Why won’t you get the message?’

He had that look on his face that I remembered from childhood, a sort of precocious pout like a little boy who’s been told he can’t have any sweets. He used to
pull that face at Frankie when she wanted to go out and he wanted her to stay in and play board games.

‘You weren’t very nice to me yesterday,’ he said in a whiny voice.

I didn’t know how best to respond. I prayed that Maria would come up the stairs, but even if she did she wouldn’t see us there, hidden by the wall.

‘I have to be horrible to you, Alistair, because you’re not getting the message. I’m not interested.’

‘I think you’ll change your mind.’

‘Whatever,’ I said. I pushed past him but he grabbed my arm.

‘I always get what I want, Sophie. One way or another.’

Was he threatening me?

‘Not this time,’ I hissed, shaking him off. ‘I’m out of here, Alistair. I can’t do this any more.’

I stalked off, but he followed me, his voice needling. ‘Soph, wait! I’m sorry, don’t go.’

‘Get away from me,’ I spat. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I saw you the other night, watching me and Leon. Why won’t you leave me alone? You’re mental.’

Panic flashed across his face. ‘OK, OK, but shhh!’ He put his fingers to his lips. ‘Please, be quiet.’

‘I should tell Maria!’ I was in full flow now, all the frustrations tumbling out of me. ‘She deserves to know what a bastard you are.’ By now I’d reached the landing. Alistair’s eyes darted to the staircase that stretched up to Frankie’s floor. He was worried that our argument would wake her. What had he planned to do? Snog me in the laundry cupboard?

‘Please, Sophie. I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry. I got it wrong.’

‘I really hope so, Alistair. You’re a forty-eight-year-old man, for crying out loud. I’m sorry I kissed you, it should never have happened. Now get over it.’ And then I hurried down the stairs. I didn’t go back into the kitchen to Maria, who would demand to know why I wasn’t changing room 7. Instead I walked as calmly as I could to the front door and then I ran. And I didn’t stop running until I had put enough distance between us.

I already know I’ll never set foot inside the hotel ever again.

Mum’s calling me, I’ll have to finish this later.