The One You Trust (2 page)

She always left the bathroom until last.

Lizzy shivered, locking the door and turning to go back down the stairs. It wasn’t getting any easier, but she
was
going to come back every day until Dan and Emma returned. She wasn’t going to let her fears get the better of her.

By the time she reached the hallway, she was feeling better. But the sight of a grey envelope in Dan and Emma’s post tray stopped her dead.

She looked across at the external door. There was no one. Moving over to the tray, she took hold of the letter. It was the same type of washed out grey envelope as previously but, this time, no stamp.

It had been hand-delivered.

Lizzy gripped the envelope. ‘They’ve been here, just now.’

She was startled by the sudden sound of the outside door swinging open. It was Emma’s elderly downstairs neighbour.

‘Oh, hello.’ Mr Henderson looked surprised to see her, although she’d seen him a few times over the past few days and had explained that she was looking after the flat. She wondered whether he, like his wife, was starting to lose his memory.

‘Did you see anyone leaving the apartments just now?’ Lizzy asked.

He looked confused, clutching onto a couple of shopping bags.

Lizzy tried again. ‘Did anyone pass you, just now, as you were coming in?’

‘Yes,’ he said, his face brightening a little. ‘A man, I think.’

‘You think?’ Lizzy bit her lip with frustration. ‘What did he look like?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘He was wearing a hat. A cap, one of those peaked caps. Seemed to cover his face. He was looking down. I didn’t see his face.’

‘Do you know which way he went?’

‘Towards Euston Road. Is he a friend of yours?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Lizzy said. ‘What colour cap?’

Mr Henderson thought for a moment. ‘Blue.’

Lizzy pulled open the door, still holding the letter. ‘Thanks, Mr Henderson.’

She stepped out onto the pavement and peered down the road. There were a few people walking towards her, and another several walking in the direction of Euston Road, some way up the street. One of them looked like they might be wearing a cap, but it was too far to tell.

Lizzy set off up the road after the distant figures, walking at a pace just short of a jog. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do if one of them turned out to be the person in the cap, but she wanted to do something.

She passed two people – a twenty-something girl listening to music through headphones, and a businessman texting on his mobile phone. And then, further ahead, she saw someone else. Striding purposefully, wearing a blue cap.

‘Hey, you!’

Lizzy wasn’t sure why she shouted, but it certainly got their attention – and confirmed her suspicions that this was the person who’d left the letter.

They turned their head at a low angle, just enough to see Lizzy, but still shielding their face beneath the cap.

And then they ran.

Lizzy gave chase, but the individual in the cap was just too fast and rapidly increased the distance between them. If she had been Emma, Lizzy thought, then maybe she would have had a chance. But Lizzy, although relatively fit, wasn’t naturally sporty, and didn’t run for fun.

She didn’t give up, though, and pursued the person up towards the busy Euston Road, sure that the traffic would slow their speed. But the person in the cap just sprinted straight across the road, dodging buses, taxis and cars, and carried on across into Regent’s Park.

Lizzy could only stand by the kerb and watch from the other side, punching the crossing button repeatedly in a vain attempt to stop the traffic.

She leant against the roadside railings to catch her breath and only then remembered she still had the sealed letter in her hand. She tore it open.

This time it wasn’t just a message.

‘What the hell?’ she said to herself.

Chapter 2

‘I can’t believe that tomorrow is our last full day.’

‘Me neither,’ Dan said, as they sat down for dinner on the hotel’s restaurant terrace. They were looking out over the stunning beach and a huge expanse of the Indian Ocean, bathed in a glorious sunset.

Emma closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the mild, strengthening breeze, which in the past hour had taken the edge off the humidity. Her skin had tanned a lovely golden colour since their arrival, bringing out the warm honey highlights in her dark brown hair. She reopened her eyes as Dan continued.

‘It seems to have gone so quickly,’ he said, subconsciously touching his dark hair, which he had cut shorter just before the trip. Emma liked the new style. ‘Cheers to a wonderful honeymoon, Mrs Carlton.’ He smiled and raised his glass of champagne to meet Emma’s.

They’d come down early for the meal, before the later rush, so the restaurant was quiet, with only two other couples, seated some tables away. This dinner, in the smaller, Indian-themed restaurant, was a special treat arranged by Dan for the Friday night. Unlike the larger eating places in the hotel, he had had to book ahead, and the setting – for open-air dining by candlelight – was idyllic.

But, Emma thought, although this was an extra-special meal, in truth, everything about the holiday had been a treat. The hotel was amazing; it was a luxurious complex right by the best beach on Mauritius’ east coast, complete with a number of swimming pools, several restaurants serving a vast array of food from around the world, and rooms that seemed palatial in their size and décor. And then there was the island itself. A real paradise, bathed in sunshine, and offering an intoxicating mix of cultures, sights and landscapes.

It was certainly the holiday of a lifetime.

‘Em, are you okay?’

Emma snapped out of her daydream, releasing that she was absentmindedly twirling her hair around one finger. She smiled at her husband. ‘I was just thinking, on Sunday we go back to reality. Back to London, the flat . . .’

‘It’s not that bad, you know,’ Dan joked, his attention taken for a second by one of the small sparrows that spent each day squabbling over the crumbs that fell from the tables.

‘No, it’s not bad at all.’ She tried to smile.

‘Everything is going to be all right,’ Dan said, reading her mind. He reached across the table top and took her hand. ‘Everything is going to be absolutely fine.’

Emma went to say something, then paused.

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t want to spoil tonight,’ she replied. ‘We shouldn’t let anything spoil it.’

‘I know. But’ – Dan looked at her – ‘if you’re worried about something, then it might be better to just get it out. We all know what happens when people keep secrets.’

‘Okay,’ Emma said, nodding reluctantly. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you. But, please, I hope you won’t be upset.’

‘Of course I won’t, Em.’

Emma sipped some champagne to ready herself. ‘Last night, I had that dream again.’

‘Right . . .’ Dan knew just what she meant. ‘The nightmare at the church altar.’

Emma nodded. ‘It was exactly the same as the other times. I was standing next to you, we were getting married—’

‘And then I turn into Stuart,’ Dan interrupted.

‘Yes. And then he turns into—’

‘Stephen Myers.’ Dan sighed as he thought back over recent events. Just over three months ago, Emma had discovered that Stephen Myers, a man who had stalked her when she had worked as an actor on a soap opera in Manchester, had been murdered four years previously, by Stuart. Her brother, Will, had been pressured by Stuart to help him dispose of the body. And it had also resulted, this summer, in the kidnap of Dan by Stephen’s father, Peter Myers, as he sought revenge on Emma and her family and friends.

Emma shook her head. ‘I really thought that once everything was sorted . . . you know, after the wedding, then it wouldn’t happen. I thought it was in the past.’

Yet she knew that the situation that had given birth to the nightmare wasn’t in the past at all. Peter Myers had yet to be sentenced, and there was still the worry that he would one day reveal that his son had been murdered, and Will’s role in that.

And then there was the unanswered question.
How did Peter Myers find out that Stuart killed his son?

Dan was about to reply but was interrupted by a waiter. ‘Sir, madam – are you ready to order?’

Emma and Dan exchanged a glance.

‘Not quite yet,’ Dan said. ‘Another couple of minutes?’

‘Certainly,’ the waiter replied, and moved away.

Dan turned back to Emma. ‘Why would I be upset about you having a recurrent nightmare?’

Emma shrugged, shaking her head. ‘Because this dream, it’s coming from inside me. I’m creating it. Inside, I must still be thinking about Stuart Harris and Stephen Myers. Doesn’t that bother you?’

Dan nodded, reflectively. ‘Yes, it does. But not in the way you think. It bothers me because I want you to be free of the bad memories, free of the nightmares.’

‘Thanks.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Last night, is that the first time you’ve had the dream since the wedding?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought you seemed a bit distant today. I could tell something was bothering you.’

They’d been on an all-day, escorted tour of the island. It had been a lovely day, but Dan was right – Emma had been distracted.

‘Look,’ Dan said. ‘Maybe the dream is down to worry – worry about going home. This past two weeks, it’s been an escape. I don’t know about you, but everything about being here . . . well, it’s felt a world away from all the bad things that have happened to us recently.’

‘I’d hardly thought of any of it since we arrived,’ Emma agreed. ‘We’ve been too busy having fun. It just seemed like a distant memory – as if it happened to someone else.’

‘Exactly. And now it’s coming to an end, we have to go back home, to where it all happened. We have to face up to the fact that it did happen, and we’ve got to deal with it, Em, no matter how difficult it is. And that won’t be easy. It’s understandable if your subconscious is unsettled.’

Emma nodded, relieved that Dan understood. She decided to tell him everything on her mind. ‘In the past day, I’ve also been thinking about Firework Films. About whether they’re still planning to finish that television programme . . .’

Firework Films, a dirt-digging production company, known for its exploitative reality TV shows, was making a docudrama of what had happened to Emma and Dan over the past summer.

‘I think we have to assume that they will.’

‘It’s just that as we haven’t heard anything more from Adrian Spencer, I thought it might be a good sign.’

Adrian Spencer, a researcher for the company, had been pestering them incessantly for information, but after they had complained directly to the company, his unwanted attention had stopped.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it, unfortunately.’

‘I know. But I really wish they wouldn’t.’

‘Me too. But we have no control over what they do, do we? All we can try and do is deal with it in the best way we can – try not to let it affect us too much. Though that’s easier said than done, I know.’

‘You’re right,’ Emma said, sitting up and taking a larger swig from her glass. ‘We need to focus on the positives.’

‘Yes. Like your new job.’ Dan grinned at her.

Emma’s new acting role in a West End play was, indeed, a really positive thing. Rehearsals weren’t due to start for a few weeks, but she had received the script via her agent, and had already read it through several times. Each time, she had felt more and more excited by it.

Dan glanced up from his menu. ‘And have you made a decision about the reunion?’

Emma had also received an invitation to attend a reunion event the following weekend for the cast of
Up My Street
, the soap opera in which she had spent five, largely happy, years. The event was to celebrate the twenty-year anniversary of the show and the move of the production to brand-new, state-of-the-art studios at Media City, a massive development at Salford Quays, not far from their aging base in central Manchester. She had made many wonderful friends during her time on the show, both in front of and behind the camera, so it would be amazing to see her old colleagues again.

‘I’m still not sure.’

There were some things that made Emma hesitate in accepting the invitation: that time had been, in many ways, the breeding ground for everything bad that had happened since.

It was where she had met and fallen in love with Stuart Harris. And it was where she had first come to the attention of Stephen Myers – the desperate, needy stalker who had made the latter stages of her time on the show an absolute misery.

Emma looked out at the ocean. A huge container ship was moving across the distant horizon, possibly heading for one of the big African ports. Their tour guide that day had explained how much shipping traffic passed through, either stopping off at the island or gliding past its shores. She noticed too that the sky was darkening purple and black in the distance – the guide had also warned them that a big storm would roll in that evening.