S is for Stranger (12 page)

‘Safe. She had an amazing way of teaching me to do things I was afraid of,’ I giggled, ‘like dancing.’

I felt Darren smile back.

‘So she guided you?’

‘Yes, I remember looking into her eyes and thinking how dark they were, so rich.’

‘That’s good, Sophie. A good memory.’

‘She gave me the spliff.’ I furrowed my brow as that memory jolted me out of the happy place I had been. ‘And I didn’t really want it, but I took it. She said it would relax me.’

‘What did you feel when you found yourself smoking it and yet, by the sounds of it, you didn’t want to?’

‘Confused that I felt a need to impress her all the time.’

‘Can you remember what the atmosphere in the room was like?’

I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut. ‘Yeah, the music was making the floorboards shake and it was boiling. Too hot. I remember Oliver watching me. Watching us.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Just stood there staring, a strange look on his face.’

‘Can you define the look? Was he angry?’

‘Possibly.’ I nodded my head. ‘Jealous too, I guess.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Bethany, I think she saw me look over at Oliver and she walked off. I went to see if Oliver was OK and, by the time I made it across the room, he had disappeared.’

‘How did you feel at that point?’

‘I felt my head start to pound, I remember feeling sick and dizzy. I don’t remember much after that. Possibly I had had too much of the spliff.’

My eyes snapped open, disturbed by the clarity of the memory.

Darren said, ‘Do you know why Oliver came back into your life recently? Has he given you a reason?’

The warmth of remembering Bethany’s body close to mine was replaced by a feeling of cold, hard uncertainty.

‘He said he loves me, that we were good together.’

‘And were you?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ I shrugged, my lower lip quivering. ‘I mean we were, it’s just that Bethany held this power over me.’

‘Are you homosexual?’

‘No.’ I was surprised at how quickly I responded. ‘No, I’m not. But I realised with Bethany that she drew me in, in a way I’ve never been able to understand to this day.’

‘You needed her?’

‘Yes, I needed her.’

‘Did you need her more than Oliver?’

I cleared my throat. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you think Oliver has anything to do with Amy’s disappearance?’

‘No,’ I said quickly, then added, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘And how do you feel now that Oliver is back?’

‘Happy,’ I said firmly and a moment later admitted, ‘and a bit scared.’

‘Why scared?’

‘Because he reminds of a time I want to forget.’

Darren pursed his lips before asking, ‘Do you think you can trust him?’

I remembered my doubt only hours before. ‘I think so.’ I shook my head. ‘Actually, I don’t know. If you’re asking do I find it strange he comes back into my life weeks before Amy goes missing, maybe. But do you know what it’s like to never know who you can trust?’

Darren blinked. ‘You won’t believe it, but to an extent, yes I do. It’s why I started working these cases. I want to help people like you.’

I nodded. ‘Then you’ll know that I don’t trust anyone but somewhere, deep down, I know I need to trust someone or I’m not going to find my little girl.’

‘OK, I think it might be helpful if you ask Oliver what he remembers, specifically about Bethany. Does he believe she was murdered?’

‘No, he’s adamant that it was suicide. In fact, he gets angry when I mention it.’

‘How does that make you feel?’

‘Confused.’

‘Do you think it would be useful to get Oliver to sit in on one of our sessions?’

I couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice if DI Ward had put him up to that or if he genuinely thought Oliver’s presence would help.

As if reading my mind, he said, ‘Sometimes having someone from your past sitting with you as you explore a trauma can help.’

I nodded. ‘If it helps find Amy, let’s do it.’

CHAPTER 13

Later that day, I phoned Paul’s mobile. He didn’t answer right away but, on the third try, he picked up.

‘Paul?’ I needed some answers and I wasn’t going to allow him to fob me off this time. Only, he didn’t say anything and all I could hear was the sound of heavy breathing. ‘Paul?’ I tried again, less sure of myself this time.

The phone went dead.

‘You have got to be kidding me,’ I muttered. ‘First the lies, and now he hangs up on me. I don’t think so.’

I rang his number again, ready to give him a piece of mind.

This time he picked up right away. ‘Sophie?’ he answered.

‘Oh,’ I replied, not bothering to hide my sarcasm, ‘you feel like talking now? What was that about? Hanging up on me?’

‘I didn’t hang up on you, Soph,’ he said and I could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Then, it dawned on me. ‘Oh. Sarah.’

He sighed deeply.

The thought of Sarah comforting my ex-husband when he was lying about our daughter’s disappearance was galling on so many levels. Surely, he should be focusing on searching for our missing daughter, instead of playing happy families with Sarah. I imagined Sarah crying fake
tears whenever she looked at Amy’s latest drawing on the fridge, or when she looked in Amy’s room.

I clenched my jaw: I was Amy’s mother, Sarah even living in our old family home was a violation. It’s not like she could replace me as Amy’s mother.

As if reading my mind, he said, ‘I need companionship too, Sophie. You’ve got Oliver …’

‘How did you know he was back?’

‘Fiona let slip that he was staying at yours. If you ask me, a bit odd, don’t you think? Turning up weeks before Amy goes missing.’

‘A bit odd? What, a bit like you claiming you weren’t at the fairground with me? That kind of odd?’

‘Sophie, I’m not lying. I wasn’t there with you. Nor was Amy.’

He had delivered the line so many times in the last forty-eight hours, I was starting to believe it.

‘OK, Paul,’ I tried another tack, ‘what were you doing at lunchtime and during the early afternoon of Saturday?’

‘I was out shopping.’

‘That’s all you’re going to tell me?’

He sighed. ‘There’s not much to tell you, to be honest.’

The irritation bubbling beneath the surface quickly turned to anger. ‘Not much to tell me? Are you kidding?’ I pounded my fist on the kitchen counter. ‘That’s just it, Paul. There is a lot you need to tell me. Sure, if we hadn’t been together on Saturday and Amy had gone missing, you might look like an innocent party in all this, but you were there. Don’t try and convince me otherwise. Over the last couple of days there have been moments when I’ve almost believed what you’re saying, but,’ I gave a small, definite shake to my head, ‘you will not make me out to be mad. Though, you’re doing a good job. I can even feel the DI’s trust waning. You know I would never hurt Amy, don’t you, Paul?’

Silence before Paul cleared his throat nervously.

‘I know you would never hurt Amy,’ he said quietly, but I sensed he wasn’t convinced.

‘Would
you
? I didn’t think you would but maybe I was wrong.’ My body trembled now and I battled to regain my composure. ‘Paul, tell me where Amy is. If you know where she is, just tell me.’ I stopped shouting, changed tack, tried a softer approach. ‘I know you wouldn’t put Amy in danger. Do have any idea where she might be?’

Again, he was reticent before he spoke. Only this time, when he did, I heard the emotion in his voice. ‘No.’

‘Paul.’

‘No,’ he said more firmly.

Was it just me or did he sound scared?

‘Is someone threatening you, Paul?’ I said in a low voice. ‘You can tell me.’ I knew I shouldn’t say too much. What if someone was listening in on our conversation? I had no idea any more when it was safe to speak: maybe it was never safe to speak. ‘Paul, I’m worried that it’s something to do with the night Bethany was murdered.’

‘Bethany committed suicide,’ he said, weariness tingeing his voice. ‘We’ve been through this.’

It occurred to me that, if he were frightened, I would have to find another way to press him for information.

‘OK, do you know who has our daughter? If you can’t speak but you know, please do something to let me know.’ I paused. ‘Anything, Paul. Please.’ I waited, my hand clasped firmly around my mobile. ‘Please, Paul.’

Still nothing.

‘OK, just answer me this, is she safe?’ I wanted to scream and shout: just answer me, tell me what you know.

Paul’s breathing had grown increasingly raspy; I could sense his inner turmoil, his anguish.

‘Paul, you have got to tell the police what you know.’

But the line went dead. He had killed the call. I slumped down on the kitchen floor; my chest was so tight I couldn’t breathe and I laid my head on the cool flagstone floor. Still gripping the mobile, I hugged it to my chest and curled up into a tiny ball on the floor.

CHAPTER 14

Fiona dropped her bike helmet when she saw me. It hit the parquet floor in the hall with a resounding thud.

‘Sophie!’ she yelped.

‘Fiona?’ I answered, barely enough energy to speak.

‘Good god, Sophie,’ she said, taking me in her arms. ‘You gave me a fright.’ She explained later that she could only see my feet and had immediately thought the worst. ‘I thought …’ The lines around her eyes creased with concern. ‘You haven’t taken anything have you?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope.’

Relief passed over her face. ‘What are you doing down here then?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, trying to right myself. ‘I guess it all got too much.’ I had been told not to phone Paul.

Fiona pursed her lips. ‘Maybe you should see a doctor.’

I didn’t answer and bit my lower lip, determined not to cry again. Too late. My eyes moistened and I wiped my already red-rimmed eyes. Fiona sat next to me, leaning up against a kitchen cupboard door and rearranged my head so that I was lying on her lap. She started to stroke my hair like I was a young child.

‘I can’t even imagine what you’re going through, Sophie,’ she said soothingly and I inhaled the scent of laundry conditioner on her jeans. ‘You’re coping so well.’ We both knew that was a lie but I didn’t argue, not as long
as she allowed me to remain where I was. ‘Amy would be so proud of you.’ I flinched, guilty at the realisation that I was lying here being comforted when she was out there in need of my help. I sat up; my head rushed with the sudden onset of light-headedness and I waited for the feeling to pass. ‘Sophie?’

‘I’m fine. Honestly.’

‘I’ll make you something to eat.’ Fiona lifted herself off the floor. ‘I expect you haven’t eaten today, have you?’

I shook my head miserably. ‘No, but I’m not hungry.’

‘Sophie, you need your energy. This is your body’s way of telling you to look after yourself.’ She started busying herself in the kitchen and she grabbed the loaf from the breadbin. ‘Going a bit stale but nothing the toaster can’t fix.’ She looked at me. ‘Would you mind putting the kettle on?’

‘OK,’ I agreed, although the last thing I wanted was another cup of tea.

Once I had filled the kettle with water and switched it on, Fiona asked me to chop a couple of tomatoes. I looked at her dully and nodded, before I set to slicing the tomatoes. Then it was spooning sugar into the teacups, pouring the milk, buttering the bread, until I realised she was sat, on a stool at the end of the counter, watching me. A small smile played at her lips.

‘What?’ I asked, defensively. Then I realised, she was getting me up and moving. This was her way of showing me I could do it; I could cope.

‘I’d like a bit of mustard on mine whilst you’re at it.’ She grinned.

I smiled and took the jar, opened it and started to dab mustard on one side of the bread. ‘I see what you’re doing.’

‘I’m not doing anything.’ She laughed. ‘OK, maybe I am. A bit.’

I handed the sandwich to her and one cup of sugary tea. ‘Here you are.’

‘Ta.’ She bit into the bread. ‘You’re a dab hand at sarnie-making.’

I brought up a stool and joined her. It wasn’t long before I had wolfed down the sandwich and gulped back the tea.

‘I guess I needed that,’ I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

‘I’d say.’ Fiona laughed, still with half a sandwich to go.

I chuckled. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

I cupped my head in my hands, my elbows leaning on the counter. ‘For being here.’

‘Where’s Oliver?’ she asked with as much nonchalance as she could muster. ‘I was surprised not to find him here. No way would he have allowed you to get in such a state.’

‘Oliver’s gone,’ I stated flatly.

‘Gone?’ She raised an eyebrow.

I sighed deeply. ‘I’m pretty hard to live with at the best of times, let alone when something like this happens.’

‘Bet you’re not that bad,’ she said, rising from the stool and filling up the kettle again. ‘Tea?’

‘No, thanks. I’m drowning in the stuff. He said he’d be back. Tonight.’ I shrugged. ‘But, we’ll see.’

‘Yeah, well, he seems like the kind of guy who’d stick to his word.’ She caught my eye. ‘He loves you a lot.’

A lump rose in my throat. ‘I know. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten how to let someone love me, you know?’

She strode over and put a hand on mine. ‘I know. But you deserve to be loved, Sophie, just as much as anyone.’

I nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I can’t think about it though. I just need to get Amy back home safe and sound. That’s all that matters right now.’

‘Speaking of which, once I’ve finished this, we’ll head over to the station for the next press conference.’

I nodded, told her I’d go upstairs and change. As I headed out the kitchen door, Fiona’s mobile rang. The caller didn’t wait for any introductions or niceties before speaking and Fiona kept saying, ‘Uh-huh.’ I lingered in the doorway, watching her beseechingly: was there news?

Fiona finally spoke, ‘I’ll tell her. Yep, we’ll be there in an hour for the conference. Bye.’ My heart sank: it couldn’t be good news if the press conference was going ahead. ‘Yep, bye.’

‘What is it?’ I pleaded. ‘Is it bad?’