Authors: Louise Stone
I opened my bag. I felt around inside, looking for my phone, when I felt the familiar smooth metal of a can. Shoving the receipts and endless boxes of unopened medication to one side, I brought out a can of gin and tonic I realised I had bought from the shop. I didn’t even remember picking it up. Looking inside my bag, there were a few more cans, sitting there, taunting me. It was then I knew how much I wanted to feel the warm liquid hit my veins, make me buzz. I wanted to feel the alcohol take hold, softening and blurring reality. Maybe I could have just a sip? Just to calm my nerves. I threw it on the bed but it sat there, almost mocking me. What harm could come of one can? I pulled back the tab and drank deeply, the fizz swishing around my mouth, and it didn’t take long for the alcohol to bring on the familiar feeling of numbness. Only, it wasn’t enough. I realised my hands were shaking, that a thin film of sweat now covered my face. I caught sight of myself in the mirror; it was like watching the old Sophie take off her mask and reveal her other self. I looked tired, I was trembling and I knew that having just that one can had set me off on a downward path. I eyed the other cans and picked another up, glugging the bitter liquid back, barely registering the taste but fully aware of the glorious rush of adrenaline.
What was I doing? I stared at myself in the mirror again. My daughter was missing and I was fuelling my body with poison. I ran to the toilet, lifted the lid and stuffed my fingers down the back of my throat. I heaved, but nothing came. Tears cascaded down my cheeks and I fell
to the floor, my knees hitting the tiles. I rested my head on the back of the shower screen and I was filled with self-loathing. I knew I had to get myself together, that I was wasting precious time.
Looking at my watch again, I gave its face three taps and tried to focus. There was no time to waste. Forty-six hours remained. I stood up, moved from the bathroom to the window; a thin film of dirt covered the panes. A constant flow of traffic whizzed past, fumes lingering over the tarmac.
Turning away, I glanced at the passport photo of Amy; I’d taken it out of my wallet and propped it up against the bedside lamp. Looking at her gappy teeth and freckly nose, my heart ached with longing. How could I have even had a drink at a time like this? It was because I was no longer a woman in control. I could feel myself slipping into the darkness again. I thought about Paul. Is this what he had wanted? For me to trip up and fall, because he knew that my drinking was that bad it wouldn’t take much to drag me back down again? I balled a fist and hit the wall. How could I have given in like that? I would not let Paul ruin me.
‘Come on, you stupid woman,’ I muttered to myself, staring down at the bed sheets and ran my tongue over my teeth, feeling the fur the G&T had left behind. My mind wandered and then I realised the smell of gin was so familiar, a memory lurking not far below the surface. I picked up my phone and called Darren.
‘Can I come and see you? I’ve done something stupid.’
He didn’t hesitate: I could tell from his voice that no one had noticed my disappearance yet.
Darren opened the door before I had a chance to ring the doorbell.
‘Sophie.’ He ushered me inside. ‘Are you OK? Are you and Oliver OK?’
‘Fine, yes, fine,’ I brushed him off. ‘I need your help.’
Once I had sat down, he looked at me properly. ‘Have you had a drink?’
I nodded, started to cry. ‘Yes. It got too much for me.’
‘Because of Oliver and what he said?’
‘Partly.’ It was a half-truth.
‘Have you taken your meds?’
‘Yes.’ I paused. ‘I hate that I was so weak. I hate that even after so long, I still wasn’t strong enough to resist it. But in a small way, I’m almost glad. The smell made me remember something, Darren. It must have been that trigger-thing you talk about.’
He gave a small frown. ‘Look, for now, we need to forget about the drinking. The important thing is you clearly regret it. Let’s focus on what it made you remember.’ He took a swig of water, offered me a glass and asked me to sit on the sofa. ‘Let’s begin.’
‘I remember a night out.’ I looked down at my lap, shuffled slightly in my seat. ‘We were part of an escort agency.’
When Darren didn’t say anything, I glanced up. His face remained impassive and he nodded for me to continue.
‘I had wanted to quit but Bethany convinced me otherwise.’
‘So was this a particular occasion you remembered?’
‘Yes, where I had said I didn’t want to go in and she said he’d be angry.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
‘I guess I wondered what her priorities were.’
‘You mean she wasn’t listening to you?’
‘Yeah.’ I pushed my hand through my hair. ‘Surely she should have been looking out for me? Listening to what I was saying. That’s what family do.’
‘But you weren’t actually family.’
I sat up straight, challenged him. ‘We were as good as.’
‘She ignored your wishes, and then what?’
‘Told me she was going in because she wanted to show her dad who was boss.’
‘Her dad?’ Darren crinkled his nose.
I brushed some imaginary crumbs off my trousers, three times. ‘Yeah, she always banged on about how claustrophobic she felt around him, and doing something like escorting, that he wouldn’t have approved of, was her sort of release.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
I clenched my jaw. ‘I called her an ungrateful bitch.’ I paused. ‘So Oliver was right, I did argue with her sometimes. I don’t think we argued the night he was talking about, but maybe we did.’
Darren’s mouth twitched. ‘Why did you call her that?’
‘Because she had a family. Not only that, she had a dad who cared enough that she didn’t get involved in stuff like escorting.’ I pursed my lips. ‘I thought she was being selfish.’
Darren was busy jotting stuff down.
‘So on these occasions, did you drink much? Drugs?’
‘Yes, both.’ I paused. ‘I never wanted to. Bethany made me. So, yes, Oliver was probably right again, but Bethany made me.’
‘Made you?’
‘Told me that they would make me feel better after losing my parents and everything.’
‘Didn’t you think that you could say no?’
I shrugged. ‘I guess what I meant to say was Bethany put pressure on me when we first knew each other, but I guess, if I’m being honest, I enjoyed it after that.’ I pulled at a loose thread on my sweater. ‘It kind of gave me a release.’
‘So the drink, the drugs made you feel better?’
‘Yeah, always at the beginning of the night and then I would wake up the next morning with a crushing sense of self-hate.’
‘So would you say you got into escorting, drugs and drink because of Bethany? She essentially played on your vulnerabilities?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, she definitely introduced me to all of it, but I suppose I didn’t put up much of a fight. The problem was I did too much of the drinking, the drugs, and I always blacked out. It was like each time it wiped my memory of who I had been.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘That’s it. It’s just I drank today and it made me remember that maybe Bethany and I didn’t always see eye to eye. That maybe I’ve remembered her differently to how she really was.’
‘It can happen. Another survival technique, if you like.’
‘Do you think if Bethany was talking to you now, she would remember me as that angry person, as the one who called her things like an “ungrateful bitch”?’
Darren didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘We all remember things differently.’
‘She often said I had two sides to my personality.’
‘Well, you know you’ve been through a lot but you’re controlling it now, and that’s the main thing.’
‘Yeah.’ I didn’t feel very in control.
Darren nodded. ‘I need you to come back tomorrow.’
‘I can’t.’
He raised his brows. ‘Why?’
‘Please, I just want to remember who did it. Who killed Bethany. That woman I’ve been seeing has my little girl, I’m sure of it.’
‘I can’t help you unless I see you.’
‘It’s all taking too long.’
He didn’t say anything but I could tell I had said too much. I left, walking quickly down the street, only turning at the end. Darren was stood on his porch watching me.
I got back to the hotel room, unable to forget my anger at the way Bethany had made me feel. It was a memory I hadn’t expected to have, a negative one like that. I picked up an empty can and threw it against the wall in frustration, then picked up the meds and threw them too. I couldn’t bear the person I had become.
My skin crawled with goose pimples and I got up to dig out the electric heater I had found earlier. Turning it on full blast, the room soon smelt of burning dust but, in the small space, the temperature heated up fast. Sitting back on the bed, the springs sitting at awkward angles beneath me, it occurred to me that I needed answers, answers I couldn’t find without the help of another source; someone I had used in the past to gather legal documentation. One name in particular sprang to mind. I picked up my phone, noticed the battery was getting low, and rang Jia. She didn’t answer but I left a voicemail, explaining that I had a new number and that I desperately needed her help.
Placing the phone on the bed, I started to search through the pile of photos.
Amy’s first shoe, pictures of my parents at Christmas; my father’s paper hat perched clumsily on the top of his head, his cheeks glowing. My mother stood gracefully behind him, her arms hung loosely around his neck. Amy learning to ride, Amy aged seven on a bouncy castle. Then, at the bottom of the box, sat my wedding ring. But there was something else. A bracelet, its clasp tangled in a small mitten: Amy’s when she was five. I drew out the mitten and carefully unlatched the clasp from the yarn. Holding the soft material up to my face, I rubbed it over my cheek and looked
closely at the bracelet. I had found it in my pocket the morning after Bethany died. I don’t remember if it was hers but it felt precious to me, a part of me; its gold had faded over time, the heart-shaped lock scratched. Holding it up to the light, I inspected the underside.
In small italic writing it read:
To Love is to Protect.
I lifted myself off the bed and looked out at the bleak city landscape. The first drops of rain broke free from the clouds overhead and landed loudly on the windowsill. I wondered if the news had broken yet and I turned on BBC 24. My face filled the screen and below the ticker read: ALCOHOLIC MOTHER ON RUN: HAS SHE KIDNAPPED HOW OWN CHILD?
My mouth grew dry, the remnants of gin at the back of my throat, and I shakily turned the small TV off. It was time to leave, I couldn’t afford to stay in one place for too long.
I rammed my belongings in my bag, leaving only the empty cans on the bed. The landlord was watching TV, and I slid past reception unnoticed, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Once outside, I walked fast down the street in the driving rain until I spotted the welcoming orange light of a free taxi.
‘Where to, love?’ the driver asked, switching off the light as I clambered into the back.
‘Soho,’ I answered.
‘Anywhere in particular?’ He started off, his eyes on mine in the mirror.
‘Just drop me outside the Century Bar.’ It was time to meet with my contact. I had met Jia in my early days at Thompson and Partners. She had been a whistle-blower for a major city bank and having gone into hiding decided to make her money finding out information the likes of me would never be able to access.
‘Okey-dokey.’
The taxi driver had a run of good luck with the lights and the traffic was relatively light because of the hour.
I was soon stood on Shaftesbury Avenue and I rang Jia. She answered after three rings. Finally, a lucky sign.
‘Sophie?’ She sounded wary.
‘Yeah, it’s me.’
‘Bloody hell. I’ve been waiting for your call. I got your message.’ She sounded fraught. ‘I saw you on the news. How you doing?’
‘Fine. Well, not really. Listen, my battery is running low and I can’t charge my phone up for now.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Soho.’
‘Soho. Is that it? That’s all you’re giving me?’
‘To be honest,’ I admitted, ‘I’ve got nowhere to stay tonight. I was at a B&B but I don’t want to stay in the same place for too long, in case the police catch up with me.’
‘Shit, Sophie. I’d invite you here, only …’
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. ‘I know the rules.’ Rule number one for Jia: she preferred to do business over the phone, where possible.
‘I need you to do me a favour. I’ll transfer the money, the normal way, but will you help me?’
‘As I always say, Sophie, depends. Fire away.’
‘OK. I need as much info as possible on a woman called Bethany Saunders.’ I filled her in on as many details as possible: obviously, I could be pretty precise about the date of her death. ‘At Aberystwyth University, started in ‘89, studied law.’
‘Leave it with me.’
I went to thank her but she had already hung up. After wandering through the backstreets of Soho for well over an hour, stopping only once to have a sandwich bought from a Spar, I decided to bunk down in the entrance of a shop. I couldn’t risk checking in anywhere, using my card or even using my phone beyond what was necessary. The police would be out looking for me now and I sure as hell looked guilty now.
I wrapped my coat as tight as it would go around me but it was bitterly cold, making it impossible to sleep. After an
hour or so, however, I felt my eyelids getting heavier. Sleep took a hold of me, and I didn’t try to stop it. I wanted to escape this world, and enter another.
Then:
chink.
I brought my head up quickly. My muscles immediately tensed, ready to fight. But there was no one there. I lifted myself from the ground and scanned the road. No one. That’s when I noticed a two-pound coin, on the pavement, by my feet. I smiled. Some kind soul had thought I was a tramp, homeless. Reality clobbered me around the head:
I was homeless. Or, I wouldn’t return home, until I had my daughter.
A grumbling sound came from behind me. I swivelled around. A bearded man moved past me and sat down in the shop entrance. He handed me a bottle. Vodka. I could have; I wanted to, but I shook my head and sat back down too. The man stared at me and brought a brown hessian sack up around his chin. He would be my company tonight. I grimaced at the stale smell that came from his ‘blanket’ every time he moved. He knocked back a huge gulp of the vodka and closed his eyes.