Local Girl Missing (25 page)

I was in the stables when my mum came in, a haunted look on her face. ‘Leon’s here,’ she’d hissed. Her hair was standing up on end, straw poking out of her jumper. He told her he’d been travelling and that he thought he’d look her up, wanted to see how she was. Daniel was currently living in London so Leon had no link to me or the past apart from my mum. It touched me that he cared how my mum was doing. Little did he know what he was walking into.

‘What have you done with him?’ I hissed.

‘He’s in the living room having a cup of tea!’

I almost wanted to laugh. It was too ludicrous. But the ever-present fear wound its way into my gut. If he can find us so easily then so can Alistair.

I discounted it at once. Leon isn’t here for me; he just wants to find out how Mum is. Alistair has no need to come here, he thinks I’m dead. I knew that both Alistair and Frankie were too arrogant to think I’d survived that fall into the sea.

It was a risk, I suppose. He could have exposed us. And Mum’s face, when I told her I wanted to see him, was frozen in panic. After all these years he deserved to know he had a daughter. For once I wanted to be honest with him. I owed him that much.

When I walked into the room he was sitting on the worn-looking sofa, cuddling one of Aunt Sarah’s many dogs, a cup of tea growing cold on the side table. He always liked it lukewarm. He glanced up, expecting to see my mum, but when he realised it was me all the blood drained from his face. He looked like he’d seen a ghost – not surprising, really!

He had hardly changed; his hair was a bit longer, his face tanned from travelling, but there was something haunted about his eyes, a sadness that wasn’t there before. Seeing him again took my breath away and all the feelings for him that I thought I’d buried rushed to the surface, dazzling me with their intensity.

He stared at me, his mouth falling open. ‘Sophie?’ He stood up, shaking his head, the dog springing from his lap. I could almost see the questions swirling around in his mind. Tears sprung to his eyes. Then his expression changed to one of fury. ‘What the fuck is going on?’

I took his hand, indicating for him to sit back down on the sofa. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, blinking back tears. I couldn’t cry. I needed to be coherent, to explain everything, no stone unturned. He deserved to know the truth at last.

‘We all thought you were dead. Why would you do something like that? You put me through hell.’ His eyes were hard, accusing.

I told him then about Alistair, about the kiss, about the stalking, the rape. ‘I was terrified of him, Leon. He was never going to leave me alone.’

‘So you faked your death?’ His expression was incredulous. ‘You should have come to me, Sophie. I would have fucking killed him.’ He squeezed my hand and his eyes filled up as it dawned on him that he wasn’t able to protect me. Nobody was. Leon’s expression softened. ‘You were going through all that … by yourself … I wish I could have done something. We could have gone to the police together.’

‘I thought about it. But Alistair would just say it was consensual. What if nobody believed me? And not only that, he had a hold over me.’

‘What sort of hold?’

I lowered my gaze, my hair falling into my face. ‘I was there the night Jason died.’

His voice was gruff but he didn’t let go of my hand. ‘What happened?’

I took a deep breath before recalling the events of that night. ‘Frankie made me believe that I’d been responsible for his death, but it was her, Leon. We didn’t realise he was gay. She pushed him after he turned her down, he stumbled into the sea. She left him for dead. Like she did with me. I’m so sorry for not telling you before …’ My voice caught in my throat.

His eyes widened in horror at this new piece of information. ‘What do you mean, like she did with you?’

‘She tried to kill me.’ It still hurt to say it. Her betrayal would always cut deep. ‘I told her about Alistair, she
didn’t believe me. Started accusing me of trying to steal him away from her. She’s so messed up and I never realised it. We rowed, she struck me over the head, with a rock, I think. I fell backwards off the pier and she just walked off … she just left me there, hoping that I’d drowned. Like Jason.’

Leon looked sick with shock. ‘Oh my God.’ He took his hand from mine and ran it through his wild hair. ‘I just can’t get my head around any of this. I wish you’d told me. I would have helped you, Soph. I loved you. I’ve never stopped loving you.’ He put his head in his hands and groaned and I knew what he was thinking. How could we have got Frankie so wrong? ‘We have to go to the police. Frankie can’t get away with it. It’s her fault Jason’s dead …’

I placed my hand tentatively on his shoulder. I knew it was a lot for him to take in. ‘We can’t. Listen, Leon. It was the chance I needed to get away. To start again. Away from Alistair. There was another reason too,’ I gulped. No stone unturned. That’s what I’d promised myself as soon as I saw him again. He needed to know everything. ‘I was pregnant.’

His head whipped up, a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes. Hope that the baby was his, fear that it might be Alistair’s. ‘The baby was yours, Leon.’ I took his hand gently in both of mine, hoping that he wouldn’t bolt. That he would stay. ‘We have a daughter.’

He cried as I told him all about her, our beautiful Mia; how she never went anywhere without her favourite teddy, that she sucked her thumb, that her favourite
books were Charlie and Lola. ‘She should be home any minute. Mum’s picking her up from school.’

It was love at first sight for him when he saw his little girl. She looked small and vulnerable standing there, holding her grandmother’s hand, with her blonde pigtails slightly wonky after a day at school, her teddy tucked under her arm, confusion in her eyes – eyes that were so like his. And I could see it written all over his face. I knew then that everything would be OK, that Leon would keep our secret.

We still have so much talking to do, so much ground to cover, trust to get back. But I hope, in time, that he can forgive me.

I’m writing this on the train, on the way to see Mia and Daniel. The soporific lull is relaxing, the countryside whizzing past in a blur of green and brown, the spring sun filtering through the trees. There are hardly any other passengers in my carriage; an older lady squirrelled away in the corner with her knitting and a teenage boy with headphones on, tapping his foot to the music, the beat of which I can just about hear. Leon reclines next to me, nose in a book, a reassuring presence because, despite myself, I feel the flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the thought of returning to my hometown. Daniel told me on the phone that Oldcliffe was different, and yet the same.

Yes, it’s true, I’m returning to Oldcliffe after all these years. I never would have thought it possible. But everything has changed, thanks to my daughter and my brother. It’s all over the newspapers, so I’ve been told; Daniel’s been busy exposing Frankie. I don’t blame him for that.

Leon and I had decided to go to Paris just after New
Year to stay with my friend Juliette and her husband, Olivier. (Leon had managed to arrange a fake passport under my writing pseudonym!) I’d met Juliette on a creative writing course ten years ago and we became good friends. It took me a while to trust her; after everything that happened with Frankie I never thought I’d have a close female friend again. Mia hadn’t wanted to come with us, preferring to stay with Mum. She was in the last year of her A-levels so it made sense. Little did I know what my daughter was really planning on getting up to while I was gone!

It was the visit from the police that spooked me into fleeing to France in the first place. A few days after Christmas they called round asking to speak to my mum about Alistair Howe. Leon answered the door. I was on the landing and froze at the sound of his name, shocked that it could turn my stomach even after all these years. I lurked in the shadows, too afraid to come out, aware that I was supposed to be dead. But I could hear every word the policeman said, in his familiar West Country accent. It seemed that Alistair had been charged with raping three women between the years 1996 and 1999, that a new witness had come forward who he’d attacked the year before he raped me. Apparently she’d gone to the walk-in centre to get her lip stitched up and it was my mum who had treated her. They wanted Mum to give evidence against Alistair in court.

Fear enveloped me as I stood there. It threatened to crush me. All I could think about was running. Again.

When the policemen had gone I pleaded with Leon to take that trip to France. He’d wrapped his arms around me in response. ‘Sophie McNamara,’ he said into my hair, ‘you don’t have to be afraid of him any more. You have me.’ We weren’t legally married of course. It was impossible because I was supposed to be dead. But to all intents and purposes we were man and wife. And we let everybody think it.

‘It’s not just him that I’m worried about. If the police find out I’m alive you could get into trouble – so could my mum, and Daniel. I faked my death and you all helped me. Isn’t that a crime?’

‘Well …’ He looked confused. ‘Yes, I think so, but …’

‘Please. Let’s just go and stay with Jules and Ollie for a bit, they are always asking us over. We can let things die down, and then we can come back. Mia could do with a break too.’

Leon wasn’t sure, he said he’d have to wangle it with work, but he eventually agreed.

At the end of January, Leon had to return to work and tried to convince me to come home with him, but Jules said I could stay on with them. And the truth was, I was scared. Scared that Alistair would go to court, that Mum would be called as a witness, that it would come out about what I did. And what about Frankie? I imagined the paparazzi at my aunt’s farm; Alistair or Frankie would learn where we were living. I couldn’t risk it. I thought the best thing for me would be to lie low for a while. Mia came out to visit a few times, on
the Eurostar with Leon. She seemed thoughtful, morose. I asked her what was wrong but she wouldn’t say. I began to worry that she was having boyfriend trouble, or worse. I wanted her to stay in France with us, but she refused. Then Daniel contacted me to say that Alistair Howe had had a stroke. He couldn’t tell me how severe the stroke was, but knowing Alistair I was afraid he’d be back on his feet in no time. So I stayed on in France, just for one more week, I told myself, as the weeks turned into months.

It wasn’t until a fortnight ago that I learned what had really been going on.

Leon, Mia and Daniel came over to France with the news of Frankie’s death. They sat me down in Juliette and Olivier’s shabby-chic kitchen and told me everything – about their plan, her confession, her fall through the boards of the old pier – while I stared, by turns shocked and impressed that they had pulled it off.

It had been Mia and Daniel’s idea, they explained, to force Frankie’s hand. Mia had found my diary shortly after Leon and I had flown to France. ‘You were acting so weird,’ she said, her eyes flashing, her jaw set as she defended her actions. ‘I thought I was adopted or something. It was obvious you and Dad had this big secret.’

I felt like breaking down when she told me that she knew about the rape, about Alistair, and I wished, in that moment, that I’d thrown the 1997 diary away.

‘It all made sense,’ she said. ‘Why you and Dad never got married for real, why you wrote under a fake name. Why you were always so reclusive, hardly trusting
anyone.’ She turned to Juliette as she said this, who sat there with her hands in her lap and no judgement on her face. Kind, loyal Juliette. ‘You’re Mum’s only friend, Jules.’ Mia swiped away tears with the back of her sleeve, embarrassed. ‘I just wanted you to feel safe again.’ Her voice caught in her throat and I leapt out of my chair to hug her.

Daniel took over the telling of the story. How a job had come up as editor at the newspaper in Oldcliffe, how a body of a young woman who had tragically jumped from the Severn Bridge eighteen months before was found floating in the sea. It had triggered an idea, he said, to make Frankie believe it was me. He knew she wouldn’t believe my body would be intact after all those years, so he did some research and came up with the idea of the floating feet. He hoped it would mean Frankie wouldn’t be able to resist coming back to Oldcliffe to see for herself. To make sure I really was dead. That she’d got away with it.

‘We just wanted her to confess,’ said Daniel. His face was pale and he had purple shadows under his eyes. I could tell the last few weeks hadn’t been easy for him. He’d got justice for me but at what price? ‘We knew we only had a matter of days in which to act. Leon found out about what we were planning and agreed to come back to Oldcliffe too, but that was mainly to keep an eye on Mia.’ I was so thankful for that. The thought of my daughter running about my hometown in proximity to Frankie made me break out into a cold sweat. It still does.

‘Dad said we could use his apartment to mess with
Frankie’s head,’ said Mia, grinning at me. ‘I went to her place a few times, moved things around. Followed her, sent notes. That kind of thing. I made a recording of a baby crying; it was brilliant, Mum. It really freaked her out. She thought it was about herself though. She couldn’t have kids, apparently. Seven miscarriages. If you believe her, that is.’ She snorted, but a part of me was sorry to hear that. Mia would never understand, she didn’t know Frankie, she will always see her as the villain who betrayed her best friend. She’s so young, not yet eighteen, everything is more black and white for her. But not for me. And I suspect not for Daniel either. We all know how he used to feel about Frankie.

‘She deserved it, Mum,’ said Mia, catching my disapproving expression. ‘You have life-altering injuries because of that night.’ She meant the epilepsy, the migraines. She was trying to justify herself to me but I know my daughter and part of her would feel guilty for what happened to Frankie.

I’ve since heard that Alistair died from his stroke before he could be tried for six counts of rape, five counts of stalking, one count of assault and one count of kidnapping. After his death, a further three women have come forward with similar allegations.

Daniel gave the police the tape with Frankie’s confession on it, told them everything. But as we didn’t fake my death for financial gain we won’t be charged.

It still amazes me that the three of them went to such lengths for me. I’m the lucky one. Frankie didn’t destroy my life when she left me for dead, she destroyed her own.

Leon shuffles in his seat next to me, his long legs stretched out before him, the book he’s reading almost on his nose. He wakes up with a start and a grunt before settling himself back down again. I look over at him fondly, at the man who has stuck by me through all of this. The love of my life. When he found me again, that day in 2002, and discovered I was alive, that he had a daughter, he never left. He forgave me. It wasn’t easy at first, he had to keep his relationship with me a secret from his family, they couldn’t know he had a daughter. He was never particularly close to any of them, which made it easier for us. And we’d both changed in those five years apart, but we fell in love again, our bond stronger than ever.

Frankie is still missing but the police don’t think she would have survived the ice-cold February sea. I wonder how long it will be before her body washes up. If her body washes up. It’s always there, in the back of my mind, that she might have survived. Like I did. I sometimes dream of her. In my dreams she’s thrashing around in the murky waters, calling for me to save her, crying that she’s sorry. I wonder if she really was sorry in the end, if she regretted her decision, if she would have done things differently if she’d had the chance. I know I would.

The train slowly pulls into the station. It’s so familiar it makes me catch my breath: there’s the kiosk that sold fizzy drinks and magazines, although it’s painted green now and has a new sign; and the wooden bench where Frankie and I used to sit to wait for our train. I can
almost see her perched there, in her retro 1960s dress and knee-high boots, pulling at a strand of hair.

And then I spot my daughter waiting on the platform, her arm linked through Daniel’s, grinning and waving at the train, her bright blue eyes shining with excitement. I need to draw a line under all of this now. I need to concentrate on my future and not the past. Returning to Oldcliffe-on-Sea is just a temporary thing. A last goodbye. To the town, to Frankie.

After that the world is my oyster.

I no longer need to live in secret. I can stop running.

I’m finally free.