Where the Memories Lie (5 page)

‘Just what?’

‘The look on his face. He really believed it, I’m sure. He believed he’d killed her.’

‘Liv! This is Dad you’re talking about. The man who traps field

mice in humane traps so he can relocate them back outside and not

have to kill them. The man who gets dogs from the rescue centre

because he can’t bear to see them alone and unloved. The man who

25

Sibel Hodge

spent six months doing volunteer work in India when he retired

so he could help build schools and houses for poverty-stricken

villages! He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just confusing some story from another resident or a newspaper article he’s read, and thinks he’s

done something when he hasn’t. Or he’s made it up. You know

yourself that Alzheimer’s is capable of producing hallucinations

and delusions.’ He paused for a second. ‘I’ll go and see him at the weekend with you, but, honestly, we’ve been here before with him

talking about stuff that’s never happened.’

‘Yes, I know all that, but still, he . . .’ I trailed off, feeling ridiculous then for even bringing it up. Ethan’s voice sounded reassuring and confident and comforting, and he was absolutely right. Of

course he was. ‘Yes, I agree. You’re right. He’s just confused.’

‘I’m always right.’ He laughed.

‘Hey, you’re living in a house full of women. The women are

always right here. You’re only right when you’re asleep.’ I laughed back and changed the subject. ‘So, how’s the hotel project going?’

He groaned. ‘The directors keep changing their minds at the

last minute, which results in yet more headaches and delays. And

at night I’m sick of seeing the inside of this hotel room where I’m staying. The food isn’t as good as yours.’

I laughed again. ‘OK, so now I know you’re lying.’ I was an

average cook at best, with a tendency to overcook. Well, I called it

‘overcook’. Someone else might say ‘burn’.

His voice softened. ‘I miss you, darling. And Anna. I wish this

project was already over. Weekends with my favourite girls just

aren’t cutting it at the moment.’

I smiled. ‘Miss you, too.’ Even though we’d been together

twenty-six years, since we were seventeen, the love we shared was

still strong. And the passion. I still fancied the pants off him.

I knew we were lucky in that respect. I’d known lots of childhood

sweethearts who had broken up after they grew up and grew apart.

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Where the Memories Lie

It hadn’t happened with us, and I was really grateful for that. It hadn’t happened with Lucas or Nadia yet, either, although who

knew what would go on after Nadia’s revelation. Was he really

having an affair? How do you throw away all those years of history?

We chatted some more about the building project and Anna

and what food we were going to take on the family picnic that

weekend, and by the time I hung up it was just after 9 p.m.

‘Bedtime!’ I called down to Anna from the landing.

‘Yeah, coming.’ She trudged up the stairs and gave me a hug.

‘Night, Mum.’

She was as tall as me now. When had that happened? I snuggled

into her, sniffing in the scent of the strawberry body spray she liked.

It was only recently that I’d had to stop moaning to get her to have a shower every day. Overnight, it was like she went from a smelly,

dirty kid to a super clean freak. It would be makeup next, and bras, and boys. Oh, God.

‘Night, darling. Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

I patted her back. ‘See you in the morning.’

I went downstairs into the lounge. Anna had left the TV on

and the news was playing. I didn’t usually watch it; it was too

depressing. Why didn’t they ever report anything good? Imagine

the state of the world if every news channel broadcasted only happy news? The media manipulated everything, anyway, as far as I was

concerned. Ethan didn’t agree. He liked to end his day watching the news. I couldn’t think of anything more nightmare-inducing. No

wonder people had insomnia.

I flicked the TV off and something Ethan said sparked in

my head.

Newspaper article.

Tom didn’t watch the news but he’d always loved reading it.

Judging from the newspapers still regularly left in a messy heap in 27

Sibel Hodge

his room, he still did, or at least tried to. He must’ve remembered this Georgia from a story he’d seen.

Maybe it’s not a good trait, but I am pretty nosy. And that

was what spurred on my curiosity about what could’ve been in

the papers to do with this missing woman that would make Tom

‘remember’ it so well and become so agitated by it.

Anna had also left the laptop on. It was the family laptop,

although really it belonged to me and her. Ethan had his own. I was still worried about her having complete freedom to trawl the web for anything. Still worried about paedophiles grooming innocent girls.

Even though I’d had to cave in recently and let her have her own

Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat accounts, at least sharing a laptop meant I could monitor her online usage and make sure she was safe.

I opened it up and sat on the sofa, knees tucked to the side,

resting it on my thighs. I supposed Georgia wasn’t a very common

name, but I didn’t have a surname to go on so I wasn’t expecting

much, but I at least had to look.

I typed in
Georgia
and
missing person.
I got pages and pages of hits. Of course. Most of them had no relation to what I was looking for. There had to be millions of missing people in the world.

I needed to narrow it down somehow.

Georgia, missing person, Dorset.

That still resulted in several pages and I started scrolling

through. There was a missing persons page on Dorset Police’s web-

site, asking if the public knew the whereabouts of certain people.

I checked each name but there was no Georgia. There was a story

on the
Dorset Chronicle
’s website dated ten years ago about the body of a murdered young woman called Georgia Preston found in some

woodlands, and her boyfriend had been convicted of the crime.

How awful. Was that what Tom remembered? Had there been

something in the paper recently giving an update on the case? Yes,

that was the most likely scenario.

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Where the Memories Lie

I chewed on my bottom lip, searching for any more recent arti-

cles about the case but couldn’t find any. The rest of the pages didn’t relate to anything relevant so I called Nadia.

She answered on the second ring, as if she’d been waiting for

the phone. ‘Lucas?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you. It’s just me.’

‘I was expecting him to call hours ago. I hope he’s not
otherwise
engaged
!’ Her voice rose with a bitter edge.

‘Are you sure you can handle this without confronting him

about it? I mean, you’re going to be a nervous wreck every time he’s late or misses a phone call or gets a text. If I was in the same situation, I’d
want
to know for certain.’

‘Well, I don’t want to know,’ she said, slightly offishly.

‘OK, I’m sorry. It’s your marriage, your decision.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not going to mention it again, but if you want to talk, you

can call anytime. You know that, right?’

‘Thanks.’ She warmed up. I couldn’t even begin to imagine

how worrying and hurtful this was for her to deal with. ‘Well, I’m

waiting for him to call so . . .’

‘Oh, yes. Um . . . has Tom mentioned anything to you recently

about someone called Georgia Preston?’

‘No. Never heard of her. Why?’

I paused for a moment. There was nothing to tell her, after all.

I didn’t even know now why I’d called her. It was perfectly obvi-

ous that the story I’d read must’ve been what Tom was getting

confused about.

‘I think there’s a Georgia in Charlotte’s class, though,’ she added.

My heart rate kicked up a notch. ‘Is there? Is she still up? Can

I talk to her for a minute?’

‘Hang on a sec. She’ll never hear me over that racket!’ I could hear bouncy music in the background. ‘Why are you asking, anyway?’

29

Sibel Hodge

‘Oh, no reason, really. Just being nosy – you know me.’

‘Don’t keep her long. I want her in bed soon. She’s been so busy

cramming for her exams, and what with that virus thing she still

can’t seem to shake, she’s wiped out.’

‘I thought she looked exhausted and pale.’

‘Her friend Trish has had it for weeks and can’t get rid of it.’

‘I know. It’s been doing the rounds at the surgery for months.

Why don’t you pop in for a blood test, though? Just to be on the

safe side?’

‘Yeah. I think I will when we get a minute.’ The music got louder

the closer she got to Charlotte’s room. ‘Turn that off now,’ Nadia

said to her. ‘Here she is, Liv. Don’t keep her on the phone long.’

‘OK. I won’t see you in the morning, though. I’m on an eight

till one shift so we can’t walk the dogs together.’

‘OK. Night.’

‘Hi, Aunty Olivia,’ Charlotte came on the phone.

At sixteen, she was too old to call me Aunty, I thought. Or

maybe I was too young to be called Aunty. Weren’t your forties

supposed to be the new thirties these days? I’d told her just to call me Liv or Olivia, but she still insisted, saying she thought it sounded rude otherwise.

‘Hey, Charlotte. Who was that you were listening to?

‘Macklemore.’

‘Cool.’

She laughed. ‘It’s not cool to say cool, anymore.’

‘Whatever. Talk to the hand.’ Yes, I’d picked up a few things

from those annoying kids’ shows Anna watched.

She laughed again.

‘I just wanted to ask you about the Georgia who’s in your class.’

‘There isn’t a Georgia in my class. She’s called Georgina. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just me being stupid. Thanks for your help.

Night, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

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Where the Memories Lie

‘Night.’

So that was that, then. There was no missing girl called Georgia

that Tom knew. It was completely crazy to ever think there would

be. He’d just come across the same story I had and it had become

distorted in his mind.

31

Chapter Three

The Portesham Doctor’s Surgery was in a purpose built

modern and bright building in the village. When I dis-

covered I was pregnant for the seventh time with Anna

I’d given up my nursing job at Dorchester County Hospital in

the A&E department. I’d passed my twelve-week danger time and

wasn’t going to jeopardise the pregnancy in any way, not after all

the miscarriages. I took it easy, ate healthy food, got plenty of rest.

But when Anna started primary school and a practice nurse job

had come up in the village, it was the ideal solution. Half a day was perfect for me.

I sat in the nurses’ examination room with a cup of steaming

coffee, scrolling through my appointments.

Rose Quinn, the mother of my old friend Katie, was due

in at 11.30 a.m. She was an alcoholic, rarely venturing out of the

house unless it was to buy booze at the little village shop. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her. Katie’s dad Jack, also an alcoholic, had died a couple of years ago from liver failure. Their drinking had been going on for a long time, since Katie and I were both kids,

but even though we were best friends, she never really talked about her home life to me. She said it was depressing and embarrassing

Where the Memories Lie

having them as parents. Katie learned to cover up the fact that she looked after herself and the house single-handedly most of the time.

A job no child should have to do. In fact, she was so good at hiding and covering things up I didn’t even realise what had been going on until much later.

The morning passed in a flurry of new patient health checks,

assessing and treating minor injuries and giving advice for the

diabetic clinic. When Rose entered the room I realised just how

much weight she’d lost since the last time I’d seen her. Her eyes

were dark hollow sockets, her cheekbones sharp and jutting. She

wore leggings with holes in them, her legs skinnier than Anna’s, and a big baggy dark green jumper, even though we were actually being

treated to a full-blown summer this year − lucky us − and it was

about twenty-eight degrees Celsius outside.

I gave her a warm smile. ‘Hi, Rose. How are you?’

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment before walking

slowly into the room and sitting down gingerly, as if it was painful for her to move. The reek of alcohol came off her in overpowering waves, and I tried to breathe through my mouth. During her

infrequent appointments over the years, the doctors and I had all

tried to get her into an AA programme and give support to help

her quit the drink, but she wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, some

people you just can’t help. As a nurse, it’s a lesson that took me a long time to learn. I could patch her up and give her advice until

I was blue in the face, the same as I would for anyone else, but I

couldn’t really help her.

‘I’m here for a dressing change. I cut myself.’ Her voice was now

raspy and hoarse. I didn’t remember that from childhood and was

pretty sure it was a side effect of the booze. Or cigarettes.

‘OK, just pop yourself up onto the examination couch and