Never Close Your Eyes (47 page)

The kitchen units seemed to be made of some sort of dark wood. Carol could just make out the corner of what looked like a stainless-steel fridge, too. She checked left and right again and put a foot over the threshold. If anyone asked, she'd say she was Evie's friend from the writing group. She was just making sure everything was all right.

It was possible that Freya was in. Well, Carol would use the same excuse. Freya! Imagine having a proper conversation with her, instead of the usual few words snatched at the bus stop. Carol's head swam.

She stepped right inside and closed the door quietly behind her. Then she padded down the hallway to the kitchen. The house had its own, special smell – of toast, Carol thought, and, well, of the three of them. It was a lovely, warm smell. Carol felt a lump in her throat.

She stood in the kitchen and looked around. It was bigger than she'd imagined and not as messy. Evie wasn't so disorganised, then. There was a newspaper neatly folded on the kitchen table and a plum-coloured cardigan hanging on the back of one of the chairs. Evie's. Carol had seen her wearing it at the writing group. She picked it up, she couldn't help it; she held it to her cheek and then sniffed. It smelled of Evie – that particular scent she always wore. Carol didn't know the name.

She was tempted to have a peek upstairs but it would be too risky, less easy to explain. The house was silent. It felt empty, but she couldn't be sure. Freya was probably out but there again, she might just be asleep; teenagers were notorious for sleeping in.

She checked the sink: a few dirty dishes and cups. Her eye was caught by a pile of papers beside the phone. It was on the L-shaped worktop that jutted out into the room. There was a bowl of fruit there, too. Some mangy-looking brown bananas. Evie should make banana cake with them. Carol could show her how. As if.

She glanced at the paper on the top of the pile. It said ‘Honeymount Primary School'. Something from Michael's school. Beside it was a diary, open at the correct page: 24 January. Evie had scribbled a few things down. Carol recognised the handwriting; it was large and a bit messy. Arty would be a kinder description.

‘Football', it said, and just below: ‘Call Zelda to rebook regression therapy.'

Carol froze. Zelda? She must have made a mistake. She read the note again. It definitely said Zelda. Must be another one. But how many Zeldas were there? It wasn't exactly a common name. Her stomach clunked. Zelda had once spoken of regression therapy; she'd said it was quite popular. Carol had probably sneered, as usual. She couldn't remember.

She started to flick back, page by page, through the diary. It was mostly full of one-line notes: ‘Dominic to tea'; ‘Freya parents' evening'; ‘call Nic'. She stopped at Tuesday 20 January, four days before. There it was again, in capital letters: ‘ZELDA. 11.30 a.m. Regression Therapy'.

She didn't understand, it made no sense. They both knew a Zelda, a Zelda who regressed people – or claimed she could. It was such a coincidence. Too much of a coincidence.

A shadow passed through Carol's mind. Zelda was a dark one, always had been, always would be. Carol would ring her the moment she got home and clear the matter up. There was sure to be an innocent explanation. She didn't like the idea of Evie doing this regression business, though. It could mess with your brain.

She flicked back to the correct page in Evie's diary and left the house quickly, looking right and left again as she walked down the path. She was disappointed about Freya but it was for the best, really. She might have been frightened, finding her in the house, and it was easier not to have to come up with excuses.

The bike was exactly where she'd left it against the fence. Carol climbed on. Whatever Zelda was up to, one thing was certain: she'd have Evie's best interests at heart – and Carol's, of course. She might even be able to shed some light on Evie's sudden departure and put Carol's mind at rest. Zelda might be peculiar but she was a good old stick really. She didn't have a bad bone in her body.

Carol pedalled as fast as she could down the street and back up Richmond Road towards home. Several police cars roared by in the opposite direction, their sirens wailing. She stopped for a moment and watched them turn into Evie's street. She frowned.

She jumped back on her bike, her head down, and resumed pedalling at full speed. She'd wanted to pick up some coley for the cats in the market but she could do it another time. She needed to speak to Zelda immediately, to find out what was going on.

Evie rocked backwards and forwards on the overground train willing it to go faster, to respond to her motion. All she could see was the face of her daughter, her beautiful Freya. Oh God, let her be all right. Please let her be all right. I'll never let her out of my sight again.

She couldn't believe that people were so slow. They ambled on and off carrying their stupid shopping bags, stupid smiles on their faces. She wanted to scream: ‘Don't you realise what's happening?' But she wouldn't do that. They might call the police. Then she'd never get there.

The police. It'd be all right. They'd arrive on time. Nic said they were ready, waiting. Shit, was this really happening? Maybe it was all a nightmare.

She texted Bill. She could rely on him.
Please collect Michael from football. I'll explain later.

What if Alan had tricked them and met Freya somewhere else, got on a different train? Alan. It was so hard to believe. Maybe Nic had gone mad. But she wouldn't lie about something like this. Evie let out a howl. Several people stared. She put her hands over her mouth to stop the noise and slumped over, her head almost on her knees.

‘Are you all right?' The woman sitting next to her touched her arm. Evie shook her head, shook the woman off.

They should have arrested him straightaway, the moment Nic told them. They were using Freya. Evie didn't care if they needed the evidence, so long as her baby was safe.

She had to change at Waterloo and find the tube. She was tearing through the tunnels, shoving people aside and hurtling past. She didn't care what they said, they were just streaks of colour, blurred impediments. At last, St Pancras. The doors opened and she spilled out on to the platform, looking this way and that. Why weren't the signs clearer?

‘Careful!' She'd stepped on a man's foot. No time to apologise. She was running, running up the escalator. She didn't need to stop for breath. She was power-charged. Some people moved aside to let her pass. Good job or they'd get hurt.

She reached the main concourse and paused for a second to search for the statue. Where was it, where was Freya? Her heart was thumping so hard that she thought it might split. Not till she had Freya safely in her arms . . .

She saw Nic first, hovering in front of a shop window. She made a wild gesture with her arms but Evie looked away. She didn't care about Nic, only Freya. Beyond Evie was the giant bronze statue, two lovers clasping each other, their foreheads touching in a tender embrace.

She cried out: ‘Oh!'

Chapter Forty-Two

‘Zelda speakin'.'

Carol cleared her throat: ‘It's me.' She realised that her stomach was fluttering. How silly she was being. This was her sister, for goodness' sake! She carried the phone over to the kitchen table and plonked herself down. The plastic cord just about stretched if you untwisted a few coils and yanked.

‘Why are you ringin'?' Zelda demanded.

Carol was affronted. ‘You could at least try to sound pleased.' But she was being deflected. She must get to the heart of the matter. ‘I was over at Evie's,' she began.

‘What do you mean?' Zelda could be so sharp.

‘I'm about to explain,' Carol said, as patiently as she could, ‘if you'll only wait.' She tried again. ‘I happened to be outside Evie's house when I saw her rushing out without a coat on.'

‘So what?' Zelda said. ‘Not everyone wears coats these days. The weather's much milder than it used to be. You've said so yourself a hundred times.'

Carol gritted her teeth. Zelda could be most trying.

‘I know,' Carol went on, ‘but she did seem to be in a terrible flap. And she left the door wide open.'

‘Really?' Now Zelda was interested.

Albert was coiling round Carol's ankles, purring. She reached down to give him a stroke. ‘I was worried,' she said, ‘so I decided to pop inside and check that everything was all right.'

Zelda cackled. ‘You mean you went inside to have a good butcher's, you nosy cow?'

Carol straightened her shoulders. ‘I was not being nosy. I was concerned.'

Zelda made a huffing sound, which Carol ignored. She tickled Albert under the chin. ‘There didn't seem to be anyone around so I went into the kitchen.'

‘I hope you didn't open any cupboards.'

Carol frowned. ‘No, I didn't open any cupboards, but I did notice something in Evie's diary by the phone.'

Was there a slight intake of breath at the other end?

‘There was a note which said “Call Zelda to rebook regression therapy”. What's this all about, Griselda? I think you owe me an explanation.'

Albert jumped on to Carol's lap. She pushed him off.

At last Zelda broke the silence. ‘Evie
has
been phonin' me for advice,' she said slowly. She seemed to be considering her words very carefully. ‘And I did regress her the other day. She found it very useful.'

Carol chewed on her lip. It was taking a moment or two to digest the information. ‘But how on earth did she get your number?' Suddenly, there were so many questions that she didn't know which to ask first.

‘I don't know. I thought maybe you'd given it to her.'

Carol pulled a face. She could normally tell when Zelda was lying. ‘Don't be silly. I'd never do that. It'd be too dangerous. And besides, you know I don't like spiritualism.'

‘Well, I haven't a clue,' Zelda went on. She sounded annoyed. ‘She must've picked my card up somewhere – or maybe someone recommended me. I'm quite popular, you know. I must say I was surprised when I put two and two together and twigged who it was.'

Carol felt uncomfortable. Her chest was tight; she didn't know why. She shuffled in her seat. She was struggling to understand.

‘But why didn't you tell me?' she asked. ‘This is my daughter we're talking about, remember. I've tried to be tolerant about your funny ways and what you get up to in your own home is your affair. But Evie's a different matter. You should have told me the moment you realised who it was.'

There was a noise on the other end of the line, like a snort. Was Zelda laughing? Surely not. That'd be totally inappropriate. ‘Look,' Zelda said, ‘I've bin helpin' this daughter of yours with a few problems. I've bin doing her a favour, if only you knew.'

‘What problems?' Carol started winding the telephone cord round and round her forefinger. ‘Is there something you haven't told me? Why was she in such a state?'

‘Stop fussin' will you?' Zelda replied. ‘Everything's fine. Sometimes I think you smother that precious daughter of yours. She's a grown woman now.'

Carol stopped twisting the cord. ‘Don't be ridiculous. How can I possibly smother her when she doesn't even know who I am? And she may be a grown woman but she's very vulnerable at the moment. You must stop talking to her. Promise me you'll do as I ask?'

There was a pause, the sound of a match being lit.

‘Zelda?' said Carol. She pictured Zelda's lower lip; she'd bet it was sticking out. Zelda always stuck it out when she sulked.

‘I promise,' Zelda said.

‘At least that's sorted.' Carol sighed. ‘But you've given me a terrible shock. You might have ruined everything.'

Zelda was silent.

‘And you should stop smoking,' Carol chided. ‘I've told you time and again it's bad for your health.'

‘Two-faced bitch.'

Carol froze. She must have misheard. ‘I beg your pardon?' The air between them stilled, every particle on hold.

‘I have to go now,' Zelda muttered finally, making the atoms shake again in an agitated mass. ‘I've got more important things to do than sit here all day gabbin' with you.'

Zelda put the phone down and rubbed her hands together. She got so cold, just sitting still like that. She glanced out of the window. It was raining now, too. Dull old day. She frowned. Not so dull, actually. She'd had a feeling when she woke up that something was going to happen. She'd better dig around a bit, find out what was up.

She rose slowly and moved over to the window to draw the curtains. They preferred it when it was dark, the spirits, like the inside of her brain; they could slip in and out without any trouble. They liked that.