Where the Memories Lie (12 page)

I chewed on my lip and put both pizzas in the trolley.

But plenty of people ran away and were never heard from

again. I googled it once, a long time ago. Of course, there was no

Internet when Katie went missing, but one day, oh, probably about

six years ago now, I thought about her out of the blue and actually looked up how many people go missing a year. I was shocked. It was

thousands. About 300,000, if I remember rightly.

And Katie had been eighteen. An adult. The police said at the

time that they couldn’t do anything. It was her choice. And, of

course, there’d been the letter she’d left, addressed to her mum and dad. The village policeman had been satisfied that Katie had just

run away and she’d probably turn up again.

I picked up a packet of minced beef and flung that in the trolley.

So, really, it was Katie’s choice not to get in touch with anyone

and tell them where she was. She’d left for reasons that none of us ever really knew for certain. But Tom couldn’t possibly have killed her because of the letter.

There. That letter was complete proof that Tom’s memories

were just distorted with Alzheimer’s.

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I shook my head to clear the thoughts and grabbed a bottle of

dried oregano and basil. Did we need salt? I got some, just in case.

I couldn’t tell Ethan what Tom had said. Not after the last

time when he’d got so angry. Not after the whole thing about

Georgia had been proved to just be the ramblings of a mixed-up

mind and we’d wasted the police’s time. Not after Tom’s heart

attack when everyone was so upset and worried. It would sound

like my imagination was going into overdrive, neurotically piec-

ing together events that couldn’t possibly be true. I couldn’t

tell Nadia, either. She was devastated about Tom’s heart attack,

too, as well as worrying about Lucas’s affair. She didn’t need any

extra stress now. Plus, it was all completely crazy because of the

goodbye letter.

And yet . . .

I’d always wondered what had happened to Katie. When

she first left, I’d felt so guilty. I hadn’t been there for her enough.

Hadn’t been sympathetic enough. If she’d only just talked to me

about things, we could’ve come up with something to make her feel

happier. I didn’t have any clue she was intending to up and leave.

I mean, I knew her home life wasn’t happy. Living with Rose and

Jack drinking all the time couldn’t have been much fun. Katie had

had to grow up quickly if she wanted to survive. She was the adult in that household, not her parents. She’d been carrying a tremendous

load since she was a kid and I hadn’t understood just how bad things were until she left. Until I got older and became a proper adult

myself. She hid things so well, you see.

I chucked some ketchup, tinned tomatoes and baked beans in

the trolley.

Losing Chris must’ve been the last straw for her, though. She’d

talked about them getting engaged, getting a house together. Chris

was working for Tom as a builder and earning decent money, and

she’d left school at sixteen and was working in a shop in Weymouth, 83

Sibel Hodge

so they could’ve afforded to rent somewhere as a starter home. And

Tom would’ve helped Chris out, I was sure, since Tate Construction

was doing really well. Better than well, actually. Tom was loaded,

but he worked really hard for what he had. It was Katie’s dream for her and Chris to be a family. Sometimes when I saw her at Tom’s

house for a Sunday BBQ or something, she’d be taking everything

in, studying the whole family − Nadia, Chris, Ethan, Tom − with

a look of . . . God, what was it? It was like a mixture of envy, sat-isfaction and happiness. She wanted a happy family, wanted to be

a part of theirs, and she finally was. And who could blame her? I

knew what it felt like, too, to be included in this big, close-knit family. Even though my childhood was great and my parents doted

on me, I’d always longed for brothers and sisters. Being an only

child was tough sometimes, and Katie’s life was a lot tougher than

mine. She wanted the son of a rich developer, the security, the

protection that she’d never had from her own family. But somehow

her dream shattered. They were only eighteen but she wanted to

get her own home and get married. Have kids. It was too much,

too soon for Chris, and even though I believe he really did love

her, he panicked.

I chose a big bag of crisps and some honey-roasted peanuts

Ethan liked, then scoured the bottles of wine. I needed a drink.

I think Chris felt too pressured to settle down, and rightly so,

I supposed. Eighteen was so young. He wasn’t ready. And instead of

sticking around and waiting for him to
be
ready, enjoying just being together and being in love and having fun like I’d been doing with

Ethan and Nadia had been doing with Lucas, Katie had pushed

and pushed and gone on and on about settling down until Chris

couldn’t take it anymore and had ended things.

So, yes, I felt guilty that I hadn’t been there for my friend.

Guilty that I’d thought about her less and less over the years as I got on with my life. Guilty that I hadn’t known what had happened to

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her or where she’d ended up. But I didn’t think Tom had buried her.

Of course I didn’t. It was mad. Did I mention the letter?

No, it wasn’t because I believed Tom at all that I went in search

of Katie Quinn. It was so I could absolve myself. I had to find

out that she was having a good life. A better life than the one she would’ve had if she’d stayed in the village and married Chris. I had to make sure she was happy.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

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Chapter Nine

How do you find someone who wants to stay hidden?

I didn’t have a clue. I was a nurse and a mother – what

did I know about finding a missing person?

Google was becoming my new best friend. Or BFF, as Anna’s

annoying TV programmes would say. When she went to bed that

night I typed in Katie Quinn’s name and was met with an author

website for a Katie Quinn who’d written a cookbook. There was a

Twitter page for someone who looked about a hundred years old

and definitely wasn’t her, along with a Facebook page, a photogra-

pher, a journalist, an actress and a doctor, all with the same name.

I checked through them but none was my Katie Quinn.

Poppy barked, making me jump, a few seconds before Ethan

slid his key in the door. I closed the laptop, uncurled myself from the sofa in the lounge and went out into the hall to meet him.

He looked exhausted, with his hair sticking up where he’d been

running his hands through it, an unconscious habit of his when

he was worried. He’d done it so much when Anna had scarlet fever

I thought it would stay permanently spiky at the front.

‘How is he?’

Where the Memories Lie

Poppy, sensing the mood, refrained from a full-on greeting

and just sat there staring at Ethan, her tail thumping loudly on the stone floor.

Ethan met my inquisitive look with a watery gaze. ‘He’s pretty

weak, but surprisingly he was quite lucid. Told us all to stop fussing over him and get back home to our families.’ He set his briefcase

down on the floor. ‘They’re just making him comfortable. It’s all

they can do, really.’

‘Are you going to stay down here for a while or are you going

back up to York tomorrow?’

‘If I stay here, Dad will only moan at me. And as sad as it’s

going to be to lose him, he could still go on for months or even

years yet.’

I opened my mouth to tell him what Tom had told me earlier,

but the words died on my tongue. With everything going on I had

to make some more enquiries before I mentioned anything.
If
I even told him at all. I’d find Katie alive and well and there would be no need to say anything, anyway.

‘. . . back to York in the morning.’ Ethan’s voice pulled me from

my drifting thoughts.

I squeezed his arm. ‘OK. There’s leftover spaghetti if you

want some.’

‘I actually had a bite with Chris and Nadia. We went to a pub

on the way back.’ He followed me into the kitchen.

‘Tea, then?’ I filled the kettle.

‘No, thanks. I’m going to have a shower and go to bed.’ He

sat at the island, shoulders slumped, tie askew. ‘Is there something going on with Lucas and Nadia?’

I snapped my head around. ‘Why?’

‘It’s just Lucas was a bit odd.’

‘Odd how?’

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‘Well, he was really quiet. You know how he’s usually so

energetic − the life and soul of everything − but tonight he didn’t hardly say two words. Even Chris said more than Lucas for once.’

‘He’s probably just upset about Tom. It’s not like he’s going to

be all lively after his father-in-law’s just had a heart attack, is he?’

‘No, I know. He was just . . . miles away, really, like he wasn’t

even in the room. He kept fiddling with his phone.’

I wondered if there had been a development with the woman

he was having an affair with. Was Lucas preoccupied with deciding

whether to leave Nadia or whether to end the affair? I hoped it was the latter, for Nadia’s sake.

Ethan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. He’s just

upset about Dad.’ He walked up the stairs.

I made a chamomile tea, hoping it would help me sleep but it

didn’t. As I spooned myself against Ethan’s warm body, Tom’s words

echoed in my head
.

I had to do it. She wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was.
It was
an accident, you see. But I buried her.

It didn’t make sense.

I tried to think about what happened when Katie ran away, but

the memories were twenty-five years old, lying deep under layers of others that made up my history. She’d left the letter, I remembered that bit, but what had it said? I don’t think I ever actually saw it.

I remember . . . what? I turned on to my back and stared at the

ceiling, willing my brain to trawl through my mind. A policeman

had turned up on my doorstep one morning. It must’ve been a

Sunday as I was having a lie-in because there was no college. I think I’d had a late night . . . I’d been to . . . Where had I been the night before? No, I can’t remember. Anyway, the policeman. Yes. He was

the village bobby, back in the days when we still had a community

policeman who actually lived in the village and knew pretty much

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Where the Memories Lie

everyone and everything that went on. PC Cook – that was his

name. He always had the reputation of being firm but very fair,

although I’d never had anything to do with him until then. So,

there PC Cook was on my doorstep on a Sunday morning saying

Rose had called him and told him Katie had run away from home

and left this letter. He asked if I knew where she’d gone, but she

hadn’t said anything to me at all. I had no clue. No warning sign

she was about to do that.

No, that’s not strictly true. Looking at it with hindsight and the

benefit of years of wisdom, maybe there were clues. I just didn’t recognise them at the time. I suppose after the event, we’re all experts, aren’t we? Shame it’s too late by then.

It hit me then where I’d been the Saturday night before Katie

left. There was a band playing at the Kings’ Arms, one we’d seen

before and really liked. They were called something like the Jazz

Iguanas, or Jazz Lizards, or something else peculiar. Anyway, I was going to go with Ethan, Chris, Nadia, Lucas and Tom. By then

I hadn’t seen much of Katie for months since her break-up with

Chris. Every time I’d asked her to go out, she made excuses. I fin-

ished college in Weymouth on that Friday afternoon and walked

into town to the shop where Katie was working to ask if she

wanted to come with us the following night. I thought it was prob-

ably too soon for her to want to see Chris again − even though it

had been about seven months by then − but at least I would’ve

tried to include her. I didn’t want her to feel left out just because she wasn’t part of the ‘Tate’ crowd anymore. She looked different

that afternoon. She’d had her long blonde hair cut into a choppy

jaw-length bob, and instead of her usual skimpy, figure-hugging,

cleavage-enhancing clothes and stilettos, she was wearing leggings

and a long baggy jumper and flat shoes. It was like she was trying

to reinvent herself into something frumpy or old before her time.

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Even her makeup wasn’t the usual hard black lines around her eyes

and vampire-red lipstick. It was toned down to a clear lip gloss and just a swiping of mascara.

What had she said when I asked her to come out with us all?

Something strange. Damn, what was it? Something like ‘Well, if he

thinks I’m going to fuck him again, he can fuck off.’ She had an odd smile on her face, equal parts secretive, sly and spiteful. I vaguely remember laughing it off. If she’d met Chris since the break-up to

have sex I didn’t really want to know about it. It wasn’t my business, and I wasn’t going to judge her for it. I knew how hard it was for her to let go of him. Maybe enticing Chris with sex was her last-ditch