Local Girl Missing (22 page)

Alistair is still watching me. I can sense him. Sometimes, at work, I look up and through the throng of tourists on the promenade I’ll spot him in the distance. Other times he’ll actually be in the queue for cockles or cod and chips, leering at me over the heads of the other customers. The other day, when I was having an ice cream with Helen on the Grand Pier, he was there, sitting on one of the benches, pretending to read a newspaper.

‘Oh look, there’s Frankie’s dad,’ Helen said, stopping in her tracks, her hand on my arm to stop me. He’d looked up at us then, as if he knew we were talking about him, and treated us to a beaming smile. ‘I have to say,’ said Helen in a loud whisper, ‘he’s a bit of all right, ain’t he? For a dad.’

‘Come on,’ I insisted, refusing to look at him and pulling her towards the exit. How I longed to tell her what a mentalist he is, how he won’t take no for an answer, how he tries to kiss me, threaten me, unnerve me, stalk me. She wouldn’t believe it. Who would? Appearances can be deceptive.

Alistair is creeping me out. I couldn’t stop thinking about him as I walked around River Island with Frankie this afternoon. She insisted we catch the train rather than the bus to Bristol, moaning all the way to Temple Meads about the injustice that she still doesn’t have her own car yet. ‘My dad promised to buy one for my twenty-first but it still hasn’t materialised,’ she said, while I glanced out of the window and tried to avoid talking about my imminent move to London.

I hoped she wouldn’t ask me anything about it. The less she knows the less chance Alistair has of finding out. But no such luck. In amongst the combat trousers, with ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ blaring overhead, she broached the subject.

‘So,’ she said, while fingering the material on a particularly hideous pair of army-print trousers. ‘What’s happening about your job then? When do you start?’

I tried to look nonchalant and not as though I was counting down the days. ‘September fifteenth.’

‘That’s less than a month. Surely you’ll be making plans? You’ll need to spend a day in London and find digs.’ She shoved the army trousers back on the rail and moved to a row of corduroy miniskirts. ‘We could go on Monday if you like? I’ve been thinking about it and wouldn’t it be great if I moved up with you?’ She flicked through the skirts but I could tell she wasn’t really interested in them. ‘Dad wants me to work for him and Mum, but I think it would be better if I could find a job in one of the big hotels in London …’

I needed to stop her before she ran away with herself. ‘Frankie …’

She ignored me, pulling a maroon skirt off the rack. ‘What am I going to learn at a little tin-pot business in the back of beyond?’ she said, her nose virtually pressed up against the skirt’s fabric. ‘I’ve been thinking of moving away for a while … but it’s no fun on your own, is it? Much better to do it with a friend. With you.’

‘Frankie … listen …’

She replaced the skirt and spun around to face me, her eyes flashing. ‘You’re going to say no, aren’t you? I can tell by your voice.’

‘It’s Leon. He wants to move up with me.’

‘Leon?’ She scowled. ‘You’re going to live together?’

A fresh wave of nausea engulfed me. It was as though I was weighed down by a heavy suit of armour. The thought of dealing with Leon, trying to appease Frankie, avoiding Alistair, was becoming too much. It made me want to hide away, to never leave the house again. ‘I don’t know yet, it’s early days but we love each other.’

‘Love?’ The force of the word from her lips made me look up. Her face was unusually pale, her dark brows knitted together. ‘I’ve told you, he’s bad news.’

Anger burned in my stomach. ‘He’s not bad news.’

‘He’s obsessive and controlling.’

I longed to tell her that she had Leon confused with her own father, but I concentrated on keeping my voice level. ‘He isn’t, Frankie.’

‘What about that night he punched his brother? Just
because he fancied you a bit. Who does that? He’s jealous and possessive. Not to mention that he’s Jason’s cousin. What do you think he’ll do if he finds out that you were there when Jason died? That it was your fault?’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ I cried, startling a woman brandishing a jacket nearby. I flashed her an apologetic smile and grabbed Frankie’s arm, steering her towards an emptier part of the shop.

‘It was your fault,’ she hissed. ‘It was both our faults. Your relationship is built on lies, Soph, and you know it.’

‘That’s why we need to move away,’ I said as patiently as I could. I hated confrontation. ‘We need to make a fresh start.’

Her eyes widened. ‘And what about me? You’re happy to leave me behind?’

I reminded her that we had been apart for three years already. That she didn’t need me in order to move away from Oldcliffe. She’d had the guts to go to a boarding school on her own, where she knew nobody, and then on to university.

‘But it wasn’t the same without you,’ she mumbled.

Our shopping trip was lacklustre after that as we floated in and out of Kookaï and Oasis empty-handed. In the end we decided to catch the earlier train home, Frankie sulking all the way.

‘You know,’ she said as we parted ways outside the Grand Pier, ‘I was so excited when I bumped into you again, Soph. I thought it would be like old times. But something’s changed. You’ve changed. First you quit
the hotel so that we aren’t working together any more, and then you get a new job in London and don’t even tell me straight away. And now you want to move in with Leon even though you’ve only known him for two months, ignoring everything I’ve said about him.’ Her voice was melancholy as she added, ‘I don’t feel like I know who you are any more.’

I wanted to open my mouth to protest. But what could I say when it was all true? I could never tell her the real reason I was pushing her away.

She glanced at me sadly, waiting for me to object. When I remained silent she turned and walked away.

Daniel’s jaw is set in determination as he raps his knuckles on Lorcan’s back door. I would rather be anywhere but here at this moment. I press myself as far into the Leylandii hedge as I can, hoping it will swallow me up so that I don’t have to face your ex-boyfriend’s accusing blue eyes.

When there’s no answer he bangs his fist on the glass so that it shakes in its fragile wooden frame.

‘Maybe Leon’s still in bed – it is only just gone ten,’ I whisper hopefully. ‘And he’s not working at the moment.’ The house has an air of emptiness about it; the curtains are all closed but it doesn’t feel as though anybody is in. There are no raised voices, no sounds of activity coming from behind those thin walls.

The wind has picked up and the air is chilly, with a weak sun trying to break through the cluster of grey clouds. I wrap my coat further around my body and shiver.

‘It doesn’t look as though anybody’s here,’ he says unnecessarily. ‘We’ll have to come back. Although I’m not relishing the thought of a thump from Lorcan when we do.’

I stare at him in horror. ‘You think he’d hit you?’

‘Well, he warned us not to come back and yet here we are.’ He grins, not looking the least bit concerned. ‘People want to punch me all the time, Franks. Occupational hazard.’ He laughs and I follow him down the garden path, the back of his coat billowing out in the wind.

He pulls the gate open and I almost bump into him as he stops suddenly in his tracks. Leon is standing on the driveway. He looks windswept and dishevelled in a black polo-neck and leather jacket, the beginnings of stubble on his tanned face. My stomach flips at the sight of him.

‘Back again?’ he says. ‘What do you want now?’

I hide behind Daniel, even though I’m sure Leon can still see me.

The wind is picking up, I feel it pushing into my back like invisible hands trying to move me along the ground. Daniel has to shout to be heard above it as he explains to Leon what we’ve found. Leon doesn’t answer but pushes past Daniel. I step back onto the overgrown grass, the damp seeping into the bottoms of my jeans, my heels sinking into the mud.

Leon stops on the path and assesses us coldly. He has an electric blue plastic bag hanging off his wrist and a newspaper rolled up under his arm. ‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing with my own apartment,’ he says. ‘But if you must know, I’m lending it to a friend. He’s making a short film.’

‘So the recording of the baby –?’ Daniel begins.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Like I just said, a mate is using it at the moment.’

I frown. Something doesn’t add up. ‘But there are no clothes at the apartment, no personal things …’

‘Had a good nose, did you? You shouldn’t be in there anyway. It’s trespassing.’

‘Then don’t leave the front door open.’

He glares at me but I don’t look away. I won’t let him intimidate me. How I hate him, Soph. And he hates me too, that much is obvious, which makes me think he must know about Jason. Why else would he dislike me so much? We used to get on OK, before he met you. We were friends, sort of. Until he ruined it all. And if he knows about Jason he could be lying about his so-called mate staying at the apartment. He could be using the place himself to write the notes, to unsettle me. What’s his next move?

‘Why are you staying here?’ Daniel inclines his head towards the house. ‘With your brother, when you’ve got your own apartment.’

‘I rent it out. And like I just said, my mate’s there at the moment.’ A look I can’t quite decipher passes between them.

Daniel steps back onto the grass and gently takes my arm. ‘Come on, Franks. There’s no point in this.’

Leon glances from me to Daniel and smirks.

‘What?’ snaps Daniel.

‘Cosy. I remember you always had the hots for her, Danny Boy.’

‘Fuck off.’

Leon emits a sharp, cruel laugh. ‘I hope it’s the last I’m going to see of you, Frankie,’ he calls before sauntering off down the path towards the house.

I hope so too.

Daniel’s car is all alone in the parking bay opposite the Grand Pier. I pull up next to it. Daniel is silent, brooding. He hasn’t spoken a word to me on the short journey from Leon’s house to here.

‘Are you OK, Dan?’ I put my hand out and touch his arm. I find that I keep doing that, Soph. Touching him. His cheek, his hand, his arm. Anywhere that I can get away with.

He shakes his head. ‘I feel out of my depth, to be honest. I don’t know what I thought I’d achieve by all of this. I’m not an investigative journalist, for crying out loud. I’m an editor on a small weekly newspaper.’

‘Dan—’

‘I know.’ My hand is still on his arm and he covers it with his own. ‘You need to leave tomorrow. I just want to know what really happened that night. She didn’t just fall. She was killed. I have my suspicions about Leon but he’ll never admit it. And there’s no evidence.’

‘What about the computer?’

He laughs but it sounds hollow. ‘At best it proves that Leon’s trying to spook you. But it still doesn’t prove that he killed her.’

We sit in silence staring out to sea and the dark hump of Flat Holm Island in the distance. The wind is whipping
up the sand on the beach and tossing it against the sea wall. A Coke can clatters along the promenade.

Daniel retrieves his hand from mine and turns up the collar of his coat with sudden purpose. ‘I need to get back to work. I’m going to get the sack at this rate. I’ll come over later.’

A frisson of excitement runs through me at the prospect. He bends towards me, his lips brushing my cheek, and I close my eyes and breathe him in; his musky scent mixed with the cold February air. And I think about how much I want him, like I’ve never wanted anyone else.

I watch as he rushes around to the driver’s side of his Astra, his hair blowing in all directions, and I long to make it all better, Soph. I wish I could help him.

But I know that I can’t.

I sometimes wonder what I could have done differently to change the course of events that led to this. For the past two days, since it happened, I’ve been in my room going over and over it in my mind. Did it start with that kiss? If I’d never kissed him would he have become so obsessed, so weird? Or did it begin before then? Was he biding his time, waiting for me to grow up? Did we set the wheels in motion that night in 1992 when Frankie and I caused Jason to drown?

I can hardly bring myself to write this. I feel so many emotions. I feel broken, like a part of me has died, anger that I allowed this to happen, and shame. I’m so ashamed and I feel such an idiot. I knew it wasn’t normal, what he was doing – how he followed me, harassed me – but I was a fool not to realise just what he’s capable of.

I don’t know what to do.

I’ve showered until my skin is raw but I still feel unclean, like a part of him is still inside me, even though I’ve doused myself. Every time I close my eyes I see his
face leering above mine, his wet disgusting lips on my face, the feel of his rough hands on my body, and it’s as though I’m on a boat and everything sways and I have to rush to the bathroom and puke until my stomach is empty.

On Sunday night Leon and I went to the pub. It wasn’t late when he walked me home – just gone eleven. It was the type of summer evening I’ve always loved, the sky indigo blue, the smell of cut grass and pollen lingering on the pavements and in the warm air. We held hands and chatted, and in that moment I could believe that everything would be OK. That we could make it work in London, away from this place. We kissed goodbye outside my garage. I didn’t want to hang about, just in case Alistair was watching us, so with the promise of calling him tomorrow I walked through the gate to my back garden. I remember the light was on in the upstairs window, my mum’s bedroom, although the curtains were closed – she had the night off. Daniel was probably still out with his mates. I was deep in thought, my mind full of London, of Leon, of our new start, when I saw a figure hunched over the step outside the back door. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out who it was, then he lifted his head and I froze. It was Alistair. He stood up when he saw me approaching. I couldn’t believe his audacity.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I hissed. He stood there, his shoulders stooped, and even in the half-light I could detect the anguish in his eyes. I felt a flash of panic. ‘What’s going on?’

He ran his hand through his fair hair. ‘I’m sorry to turn up here,’ he said, his voice thick, and for a moment I wondered if he’d been crying.

‘What’s happened?’ Was it Maria or Frankie? Were they hurt? Did they know?

He shook his head. ‘I’ve been such a pillock, Sophie. The way I’ve been acting. Over you. I …’ He gulped. ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m a pathetic middle-aged man having a mid-life crisis. That kiss … I allowed myself to think it was more.’

I glanced up at my mum’s bedroom window. It was open. Could she hear us?

I lowered my voice. ‘Alistair, let’s just forget about it.’ I went to walk past him when he grabbed my arm.

‘Can we talk? Please, Soph.’

I brushed him off. ‘Alistair, I’m tired. I need to get inside.’

He sighed and despite everything I felt a pang of sympathy for him in that moment. I so wanted to believe in him. I wanted to believe that things could return to normal, that he could go back to being my substitute dad, the man I’d looked up to, instead of the man he’d become: weak, pathetic, sad. So I allowed him to persuade me.

‘Come and sit in my car,’ he whispered. ‘We can talk privately in there.’ He pointed to my mum’s window. ‘We can’t risk anyone hearing.’

I shrugged and followed him. What a naive idiot I am.

His car was parked down the street. I slid into the
passenger seat, the leather cold against my bare legs. He sat behind the wheel and rested his head against it. ‘Alistair,’ I began. ‘Can’t we put this behind us and move on?’

‘Move on?’ he muttered, his forehead still on the steering wheel. ‘Do you mean with Leon?’

‘I don’t mean Leon. I just mean, can’t we get on with our lives?’

He lifted his head and regarded me with red-rimmed eyes and for the first time I noticed the smell of alcohol on his breath.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘A little. But I’m not drunk, Soph. I’m just upset. I know you don’t want me but I think about you all the time. And I know it’s wrong. You’re my daughter’s friend. I’m married but –’

‘I’m sorry, Alistair. I’m sorry for kissing you, for allowing you to think there could be anything between us. But please … you have to let me go.’

He stared at me and for a terrible moment I thought he was going to burst into tears. Instead he turned the key in the ignition and, before I even had time to react, he’d put his foot down and sped out of the road. I fell back against the seat and quickly pulled the seatbelt around me. ‘Alistair, don’t be stupid! What are you doing?’

His jaw was set. I felt a stab of fear. He was probably over the limit – what was he planning to do? Drive into a brick wall and kill us both?

He headed through town, his foot pressed on the accelerator. My heart was in my mouth, my nose pressed
to the glass, hoping to spot someone I knew, hoping to attract attention. But even if I did recognise anyone the car was going too fast for me to do anything. The town was deserted anyway, just a cluster of people clutching pint glasses hanging around outside the Seagull and a queue gathering by the chippy.

I tried to reason with him, tried to convince him to pull over, but it was as though he was in a trance. He continued out of town, along the coastal road then into woodland, the trees black and sinister in the darkness, their branches dense and overhanging so that they formed a tunnel. There were no lampposts, just a strip of cat’s eyes winking in the distance. I felt sick.

‘Alistair.’ I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. ‘Where are we going?’

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched, his eyes on the road. And then, without warning, he swerved the car off the road and into a car park, his BMW bouncing over the potholes. We were on the rough ground outside the abattoir, the place couples go to get off together in their cars. There was only one other vehicle: a white van burrowed in the corner, partly hidden by branches, the windows steamed up. Alistair parked as far away from it as possible, backing into a bush. Then he switched off the engine, the lights dying so that everything was black.

The only sound to be heard was Alistair’s breathing. Excited. Quick.

‘Alistair.’ My voice sounded small in the darkness. ‘We need to go home.’

He turned to me. ‘I want you so badly I can’t think straight,’ he said. ‘Please, Soph. If you just sleep with me once I promise to go away. I’ll leave you alone. You can get on with your life, with Leon. Once I’ve had sex with you you’ll be out of my system and we can both move on.’

I stared at him in shock. ‘I can’t sleep with you. What do you take me for, some kind of prostitute?’

He reached out and touched my hair. I backed away from his hand. ‘Oh Soph, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying. I know you fancy me but you’re a nice girl. You don’t want to be unfaithful to Leon. But I’ll never tell anyone. I’ve got too much to lose.’ He gave a sharp laugh. ‘I’m married, for fuck’s sake. Just one night. That’s all I’m asking.’ His voice was pleading, husky. ‘Oh Soph,’ he said again, and before I had a chance to react he was on top of me, pressing me back against the seat, his body pushing the air out of my lungs so that I could hardly breathe. I heard the sound of his zip being undone, his hand lifting up my skirt.

‘Alistair, no!’ I cried, but he pushed the seat back with his other hand so that I was lying flat and he was pressed against me.

‘Sophie!’ he said, his hand in my knickers, fingers probing me. I tried to scream but he clamped his other hand to my mouth. I couldn’t move. His body was heavy on mine, I could hear the tear of fabric as he ripped my knickers off and then pulled his trousers down. He pushed himself into me with a grunt. Pain seared through me, splitting me in two. A tear rolled
down the side of my face and into my ear. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at him and told myself it would be over soon. He thrust into me a few more times, his hand squeezing my mouth and jaw as he came with a groan, then he sagged against me. When I opened my eyes he was staring at me.

‘Soph …’ he began. The hand that had gripped my face now smoothed down my hair. ‘Oh, Soph.’

‘Get. Off. Me,’ I hissed.

I pulled my dress down and turned my head away while he fumbled with his trousers. When he was safely back behind the wheel I pulled the lever on my seat so that it was upright again.

The windows were steamed up; to an outsider it would look as though we were an ordinary couple getting it on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, although he didn’t sound it. He started the engine.

‘I want to go home.’ I refused to cry in front of him.

He was silent on the way back and didn’t drive as erratically. Was it worth it? I wanted to ask him. Was I worth becoming a rapist for? But I didn’t. I couldn’t trust myself to speak, knowing I would cry. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my knickers, torn in two, at my feet. I bent over and picked them up, crumpling them into my hand. I placed my hands on my knees to stop them jiggling about.

‘You know,’ he said as he turned into my street. ‘If you ever tell anyone I’ll say it was consensual. You know that, right? It’s my word against yours.’

‘Don’t you even feel a bit guilty?’ I said as he pulled up outside my house, the engine still purring.

He stared at me, his eyes intense. ‘I don’t think you understand, do you? I always get what I want. And you won’t admit it, because you like to believe that you’re a nice girl, that you wouldn’t cheat on that runt of a boyfriend. But you wanted it just as much as I did. And you’ll be back. For more.’

‘You make me sick,’ I hissed, grabbing the door handle and almost falling onto the pavement.

But he just grinned, his face menacing in the interior light of the car. ‘You tell yourself that, Soph, if it makes you feel better.’

I slammed the door and had barely stepped away from the car when he sped off, his wheels spinning against the warm tarmac.

I made it as far as the garden before I threw up in the dustbin.