The One You Trust (9 page)

Emma reached across the table and took his hand. Dan looked like he was on the verge of tears. ‘Please, Dan, try not to be upset. We’re all struggling to know what to do.’

Dan nodded and smiled ruefully. ‘Looks like the honeymoon is well and truly over.’

Emma again felt the photograph in her pocket. She considered not asking Dan about it, but there would never be a good time. ‘The person also sent Lizzy a photograph,’ she said, her voice cracking with nerves.

She brought it out and passed it to Dan, afraid of where this action might lead.

He stared at the image, unspeaking.

Emma knew Dan so well, thought she could recognise every tic, every expression. But his reaction threw her: she couldn’t tell what he was thinking, how he was reacting. For those few seconds, he even looked somehow different from the man with whom she had shared the past few years.

It reminded her of the time her mother had been pumped full of drugs during the latter stages of her cancer fight – the times when she just didn’t look quite herself, as if an impressive but imperfect imposter had snuck in to take her place.

‘Are you okay, Dan?’

‘This isn’t real,’ he said, finally. ‘Whoever sent this, they’ve faked it.’

It was the answer that Emma had longed to hear. ‘So you never knew Stuart?’

‘No.’ He looked again at the image. ‘No, I didn’t know him.’

‘The image looks so convincing,’ Emma said. ‘David Sherborn couldn’t tell whether it was real or not.’

Dan’s reaction was instant and shocking.

‘You went to
him
about this?’ His raised voice drew the attention of several customers, and the young server behind the counter.

‘Let me explain. He—’

‘I can’t believe you went to him before speaking to me!’ Dan continued. ‘Don’t you trust me at all?’

‘I do trust you.’

‘Really? Like when I was kidnapped and tied up by Peter Myers, and you thought I’d just had second thoughts about marrying you?’ His voice dripped sarcasm.

Emma mentally scrambled for cover. ‘That’s not fair, Dan.’

‘Isn’t it?’ He made to stand.

‘Dan, please, don’t go like this!’ Emma looked at him, shocked. ‘Let’s talk about it.’

He shook his head, slapping the photograph onto the table as he stood up. ‘You might need this, in case you want to get it analysed.’

Emma stood up to stop him as he turned away. ‘Please, Dan, don’t . . .’

He shrugged her off with surprising force. ‘I need to get back to the office,’ he said, bitterly.

Emma could only watch as he stormed out of the café.

Dan strode away from Perfetto and turned down the next side road. Stopping abruptly, he leant against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. Kicking out, his heel connected with brickwork. It hurt. He pulled out his mobile. There was only one person who could help him at this moment.

It rang and rang. ‘Come on, come on.’

At last they picked up.

‘Hi, it’s me . . . thank God, I thought you weren’t going to answer . . . No, I’m not okay. I’ve just done something really, really stupid.’

Part Two

Chapter 12

Some years earlier

‘Excuse me, can I have your autograph?

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘No problem.’

‘Thank you so much,’ he gushed, as he handed Emma the pad and pen. He was so excited to be this close to her, within touching distance. He had waited outside the gates for two hours to get the chance to meet her. An hour ago, a heavy rain shower had drenched him, but he hadn’t wanted to run for shelter in case he missed her. And now it had all been worth it. The wonderful Emma Holden was talking to him! ‘I’m so grateful to you for doing this. I thought you might be too busy – I know you’re busy – but it’s great that you can take time for me.’

‘It’s no problem, honestly,’ Emma replied, holding the pen ready to write.

The biro was about half its normal size; the plastic at the end was cracked and splintered. He hoped that she wouldn’t mind the sticky tape that was wrapped around the top – he had a habit of biting pens, especially the plastic ones. Sometimes they would crack, leaving him to fish the plastic splinters out of his mouth. The teachers at school used to chastise him for it, but he didn’t see the harm. It helped him when he felt upset; like when he had been bullied by his classmates.

‘I’m your number one fan,’ he said. ‘I didn’t watch the programme that much, but since you’ve been in it, I haven’t missed an episode. If I’m out when it’s on I record it. Sometimes I record it anyway, so I can watch it back as much as I want.’ He watched her, waiting for Emma to write a message.

‘What would you like me to—?’

‘I think you’re a fantastic actress.’

‘Thanks.’

She was looking at the pad, so he ducked down to see her face. Maybe she was shy, like him. He loved shy girls the best. He hated those girls who knew how beautiful and talented they were, and expected everyone to love them. There were plenty of girls like that – girls at his school, and girls on the TV show – but Emma was different. ‘I’m your number one fan,’ he said again. He wanted her to understand that these weren’t empty words. He meant them more than anything. He moved forward slightly, unable to resist getting just that bit closer to her. ‘I know everything about you.’

‘I hope not.’ Did she sound a bit strange when she said that?

‘Your favourite meal is lasagne, your favourite film of all time is
Dirty Dancing
. You’re a black belt in karate. You started training at your school when you were eleven, because a girl started bullying you in your art class. It only took you five years for you to get your black belt. This year you’re fighting in the British Championships in Birmingham, but you’re finding it difficult to fit in the training now you’re working on the show. You’ve always wanted to be an actress, and you’d love to work on a film, but you don’t think you’re ready yet.’

He could see that Emma was impressed. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘I read it,’ he said. ‘I always look for articles about you in the magazines. I never buy the magazines though – I read them in the newsagents. They let you go there and read magazines for as long as you like – you can stand there all day and it’s all free. I like going there, especially when there are articles about you.’

‘Oh, the magazine article. You read the interview in
Celebrity Goss
.’

He nodded and smiled. ‘I like reading articles about you.’ He visited the shop regularly, to scour all the magazines for articles about his favourite celebrities. He knew the days that each new edition came in stock – he had all the dates written in his notebook. He catalogued all the articles he found, listing them by magazine, date of publication, page number, and date he read them. He was already on his third notebook in just a year or so.

‘What would you like me to write?’ Emma said.

‘Whatever you like. My name’s Stephen.’

‘Okay, Stephen.’

He watched intently as she wrote down a short note on the blank page in his autograph book. He was so excited that she was holding his book, using his pen. She handed the book back to him, and he studied the message. ‘“To my number one fan, love from Emma.”’ He looked at her and smiled. It was such an amazing message. ‘Thank you. You’re not just beautiful – you’re really kind. I think we’re going to be really good friends. I knew we would, from the first moment I saw you.’

She seemed to like that. ‘Thanks. Look, I’d better get going now. Nice to meet you.’

‘Just a second,’ he said, nearly forgetting in his excitement to take the photograph.

Emma put up a hand to block the shot. He’d read that she was camera shy, but she shouldn’t be. There could never be enough photographs of Emma Holden.

‘No, Stephen, please don’t.’

He would prove to her how beautiful she was. ‘It’s okay, it’s done now.’

‘I have to go,’ Emma said.

He watched her as she walked away, into the studios, longing to stay close to her. He waved, but she wasn’t looking. She had a lot to concentrate on, he knew that. ‘See you again soon!’

‘Emma,’ he said, as he saw her appear at the gates to the television studio building that afternoon. He’d been waiting for just under an hour, running through in his mind how she was going to react to his surprise. He smiled as she approached, but she just walked straight past him, as if she hadn’t seen or heard him. ‘Emma!’ he shouted. ‘What’s the matter?’ He raced up behind her, his camera bouncing on his chest. It hurt. ‘I’ve got your photo.’ He struggled to keep up with her. ‘Here it is.’ She didn’t stop to look. ‘I’m going to put it up on my bedroom wall.’

‘Please, Stephen, I need to get home,’ she said.

‘Are you okay?’ He had to start jogging to keep up. But he wasn’t very fit, and he felt tired after the first few steps. ‘Has someone upset you? Did
he
upset you?’ She looked so worried, scared even. He felt so sad that someone was making her feel that way.

‘I’m in a hurry,’ she said.

‘Going home to your boyfriend?’

Emma stopped. ‘Look, Stephen. You seem like a nice guy, but it’s getting dark and I’ve really got to get home.’

‘To your boyfriend, to Darren.’

‘Darren?’ Emma had no idea why Stephen was referring to a character on the show.

‘Yes, Darren . . . Darren Clarke.’

He was a nasty piece of work. Stephen didn’t understand for one moment why someone as lovely as Emma would be with such a person. He was someone who couldn’t be trusted; he lied, cheated and broke the law, but still she forgave him, because that was the kind of person she was.

‘His real name is Stuart,’ Emma said, ‘and I don’t live with him.’

‘I think you can do better than him,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be going out with a criminal – not someone like Darren. What do you see in him?’

‘Please, Stephen, I have to go now.’ She turned and began walking off.

He couldn’t hold his feelings in any longer. Now was the time to let her know how much she meant to him. ‘Emma, I love you!’ She didn’t turn around, but Stephen had no doubt that she would be thinking of those words very carefully as she made her way home. He smiled. Today had been a good day.

Stephen Myers unlocked the front door as quietly as he could and crept down the hallway. He could hear his mother cooking, could feel the heat from the steamy kitchen and smell the meal that was being prepared. It was Monday, so that meant burnt sausages and instant mashed potato. After that it would be an under-cooked sponge pudding and lumpy custard. He groaned at the thought.

‘Stephen, is that you?’

She’d heard him. And he’d tried to be so quiet. He paused at the base of the stairs, waiting for her to say more. But she didn’t. Taking his opportunity, he put his foot on the first tread, but was unable to stop the stairs from creaking.

‘Stephen, is that you?’

He ignored the second call and tiptoed up the rest of the stairs, across the landing towards his bedroom. Pushing open the door, he surveyed the wall on the left, which was covered with photographs, and beamed.

So many lovely girls that he had met and spoken to. They seemed to look back at him and smile. There were times when he spent hours just looking at their beautiful, kind faces. It made him feel so happy, so alive.

His mother didn’t like him looking at the photographs. She said it wasn’t healthy, and that he should spend less time on his own, otherwise he might go mad. She said she wanted him to meet a nice girl, a girl who was a good match – the right girl for him. But she just didn’t understand.

He pulled out his latest photograph which, in his opinion, was also the best of all. Emma was such a natural beauty. ‘I do love you, Emma.’ The other girls just didn’t compare to her. He cradled the photograph in one hand. It captured her beauty perfectly. Her skin, her eyes, the way her hair framed her face . . .

‘What are you doing, Stephen?’

Stephen tensed.
He’s back already?
Now there would be trouble. He kept his eyes down. ‘Hello, Dad.’

Peter Myers stood in the doorway. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you.’

Stephen pulled his eyes up from the floor. His father’s face was stern. It scared Stephen when he looked like that.

Peter Myers took a step forward. ‘I said, what are you doing?’

‘I’m . . . I’m just . . .’

‘Did you not hear your mother calling you?’

Stephen again faced the ground. ‘I did, but—’

‘But you chose to ignore her, because you wanted to come up here and be in your own little world.’ His father sighed, explosively. ‘When are you going to stop being such a loser?’

‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

‘You think any of the girls on that wall like you?’

‘I . . . maybe. I don’t know.’

His father laughed. ‘What have you got there?’ He snatched the photograph out of his son’s hand with sudden force.