Authors: Louise Stone
She didn’t say anything for a second. ‘Why, Sophie? What is it we’re going to find?’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’re doing everything we can to find your daughter but are you?’ Without waiting for my answer, she said, ‘Bye, Sophie.’
She cut the call and I sat back on the stair, my hands still shaking, and then it began, that fuzzy feeling around my temples. I pushed my forefingers into them, squeezed my eyes shut and willed the feeling to go away. A fleeting image of Bethany snapped through my head, and then her hand with a gun in it, pulling the trigger on herself. I stood up suddenly, willing the image to disappear. How could I know what was the truth if my own mind was so unsure?
I woke up with a start: drenched in sweat, my fingers kneading the bed sheets. I had seen Amy in my dream. She was five years old again and playing outside with her favourite teddy bear. She had invited me to a tea party. We were to have the sandwiches we had prepared earlier, lemonade and jam tarts for pudding. I was told to arrive at a certain time and to wear a hat. Amy solemnly sat me down at the child-sized table, my legs bunched up in front of me, poured the lemonade and we talked about the weather.
Daylight shone through the slit in the top of the curtain and my eyes flitted around the room. The reality of my situation hit me hard: it knocked the breath from my lungs. Silent tears gushed onto the pillow. I wanted to dream again: of Amy, of the tea party, her smile.
I stared up at the ceiling, too afraid to close my eyes should I not be able to picture Amy again.
‘Sophie?’ Oliver whispered in the dark.
‘Oliver?’ I rolled over. ‘Did you get my note? I’m sorry. I went straight to bed. I was too tired to eat.’
I heard the door creak as it was pushed open further.
‘I could hear you crying.’ The bed sagged as he lay down next to me.
I put my hand up to my wet cheek. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s almost 8 am. You clearly needed the rest.’
‘I didn’t fall asleep until four or so this morning. I was just thinking about Amy,’ I said. ‘And Paul, and his lies.’ He laced his fingers through mine. ‘Oli, I’m scared.’
‘I know.’
‘I appreciate you being here but maybe it’s best you leave.’ I sat up, my mind thinking back to DI Ward questioning Oliver’s sudden reappearance and let go of his hand. ‘This,’ I gestured to us, ‘it’s the wrong time. I mean I don’t even know why you came looking for me. It feels amazing to suddenly have you back in my life, but I’m too consumed by all this.’
‘That’s why you need me here.’ He hesitated. ‘As long as you don’t hold anything back from me.’
‘Why did you come back?’ I ignored his question, turned on the bedside lamp and noticed that he too hadn’t slept.
‘Because I’ve always loved you and I’ve never stopped thinking about what we could have had.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, if Paul hadn’t come into your life.’
Oliver had told me his divorce papers had been finalised and he wanted to rewrite history; he had never got over me. I knew he had been insanely jealous of Paul and, before she died, Bethany too.
He frowned. ‘I found part of a photo on the floor, by the sink. You burnt it in the sink, didn’t you? I saw the lighter on the side. Was it Bethany?’
‘Yes.’
He placed his hands on his thighs.
‘Sophie, whatever you do, don’t keep anything from me, OK? I won’t be able to help you if you do.’ He paused. ‘Was there a photo of her in that envelope that was delivered tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sophie …’ He stopped short, clearly clamouring for an explanation. ‘Damn. I shouldn’t have let you open it
alone.’ He let out a long breath. ‘You never told me what happened, after Bethany committed suicide. I remember it all being so sudden.’ He looked at me, searching. ‘You two had started to avoid the rest of us then, next thing we knew, Bethany was dead.’ He flinched. ‘I remember it painfully well because you had been out, partying with Paul. None of us knew where he came from either.’ He dropped his head. ‘And that was it, the end of us.’
I swallowed hard. ‘I was young and stupid.’
‘I’ve never pushed you on it before now and, I don’t know for sure, but I think you’re holding back on me. What did you and Bethany used to get up to?’
‘Not much,’ I lied.
‘Sophie, I don’t think you’re being honest with me. Please.’
‘We just went out, you know, to parties.’
‘Were you at one of these parties that the rest of us were never invited to the night she killed herself?’
‘She was murdered.’ I clenched my jaw.
‘So you keep saying, but she killed herself, Sophie. Do you really believe that after all these years?’ His voice broke. ‘You admitted yourself to the Priory. I visited you every Sunday, do you remember that?’ He looked up, his eyes swimming. ‘You often went out with Paul, when you were feeling strong, but we didn’t go out. You didn’t want to leave the Priory with me.’ He patted the duvet. ‘Paul clearly always had something I didn’t.’
The memories were too painful, too raw. ‘He just seemed to understand.’
‘And I didn’t?’
‘You were like the rest of them. Telling me it was the trauma. That I had imagined it.’
‘And Paul?’
‘He seemed in control and I needed that, he just seemed to get it.’
‘So he agreed with you, about Bethany?’
‘No,’ I shook my head, my voice quiet, ‘the opposite. He was more sure than anyone that Bethany had committed suicide, but the way he told me …’ I searched for the words. ‘It’s hard to explain but I felt safe.’ I smiled through my tears. ‘Which is ironic.’
‘When I visited you, we never spoke. We would just sit there and hold hands.’
I didn’t say anything.
‘God, woman.’ He choked back a sob. ‘I wish you would talk to me. It’s like there’s a wall between us.’
I stifled a moan with my hand.
‘I’m sorry.’ He stood. ‘You’re probably right, you don’t really need me. You never have.’
I knew he didn’t mean this but I couldn’t face it now. The problem was Oliver was sweet and caring, but he was as easily swayed by institution as the rest of them. The doctors in the Priory, all those years ago, had called me delusional; I was suffering from anxiety attacks and carrying guilt over my friend killing herself. I tried to tell Doctor Hurst, my consultant, but he too refused to listen and chose to side with his colleagues. He said that, if I had woken up in my own bed, it was highly unlikely, if not impossible, that I was there when Bethany died and as the police had confirmed suicide, that’s all there was to it.
I was about to get up when the doorbell rang.
‘Who on earth?’ I shot up in bed, my stomach roiling with nerves. My first thought was that they had found Amy. I threw back the cover, quickly realising that they would have rung me. If there was an officer at the door, it could only mean that the news was bad. Even, fatal. Blood rushed in my ears.
‘Wait here,’ Oliver shouted from the stairs. ‘It’s safer if I go.’
The floorboards creaked as he made his way back down the remaining stairs. It was barely a minute before Oliver returned.
I braced myself, daring not breathe as I watched his face crumple. He couldn’t bring himself to speak.
‘Oh god, she’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘No. No news.’ Oliver sat down quickly and took me in his arms. ‘Fiona is downstairs. She needs you to come to the station with her.’
I swung my legs off the bed and put on the same jeans and sweater as yesterday. They sat in a heap on the floor where I’d left them. I turned to him at the door. ‘I’m …’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m …’ I rapped the doorjamb. ‘Never mind.’
I left, not sure of why Oliver was back in my life. He must have known that history couldn’t be rewritten.
DI Ward had got hold of CCTV footage of the street corner that faced Acton Green.
‘I’ve been trawling this,’ she said, the images running behind her. ‘The whole of Saturday.’ She looked worn.
I watched people heading to and from the Green, toward Acton Green Tube and some heading back up toward Acton. It was strange to see people going about their business, probably totally unaware they were being watched.
‘I had just about given up,’ she continued, grabbing a rancid-looking coffee and drinking deeply, ‘and then I saw this.’ Her voice was cool and she barely made eye contact.
She paused the image.
I leant in toward the screen, not really sure what I was looking at.
‘There. Is that the woman you were talking about?’
I stared hard at the grainy image and as DI Ward zoomed in, I shot bolt upright, my legs starting to tremble. ‘Yes, I think that’s her.’ It was hard to be sure, the image was so fuzzy, but her outline now looked so familiar.
‘Unfortunately, I haven’t found any footage of her face but it seemed to match the description you gave me.’ She glanced down at her notes; my statement. ‘A woman, five foot seven-ish inches, black coat.’ She tapped the screen. ‘I haven’t seen Paul and Amy, though.’ She glanced at me.
‘Yes, but you haven’t seen me either?’ I challenged.
‘No.’
‘Well, you know I was there so that doesn’t prove Paul is telling the truth.’ My breathing had quickened. ‘Can you zoom in a bit more?’
‘It wouldn’t make much difference. I mean this is sadly not much to go on but at least we have a positive sighting. And you’re sure this is the woman you saw talking to Amy?’
‘Yes.’ I was sure because the same sickly dread washed over me.
‘OK, well I’ll keep looking. Get one of the PCs to scan the day before and after too.’ She nodded, rubbed her eyes with her forefinger and thumb. ‘Any more thoughts on the therapy? We need you to help us here.’
I shook my head. ‘I told you I’m not going down that route. You just push Paul on why he’s lying.’
She gave a nod. ‘Fine.’
‘Are you pushing him?’
‘We’re doing everything we can.’ She stood up. ‘Though, I’m not sure you’re doing everything you can.’
I left the police station feeling like time was running away like sand in a timer, yet nothing had changed. As I emerged on the steps I looked up and down the road. I felt like someone was watching me. Perhaps exhaustion was taking its toll and, with it, I was becoming increasingly paranoid. But a sixth sense told me I wasn’t. I looked up and down the street, my gaze searching the buildings, the passers-by. As I scanned the road, my eyes caught a movement in one of the windows above me and my eyes came to rest on the second floor of the police station.
DI Ward stood in the window watching me. My breath caught and, seconds later, the detective moved away. Her belief in me was ebbing away; sadly my own belief in what I thought to be true was ebbing too.
Once outside, I phoned the one person who would understand. It took me a few seconds to find her number in the back of my Filofax; DI Ward had taken my phone off me so they could check out details on the call. I didn’t think their forensics would stop at that. I had found the brick-like Pay-As-You-Go I kept in the kitchen drawer, for emergencies. As I waited for her to pick up, I realised that in not telling Faye, the person most like a mother to me, I had been pretending that none of this was happening. It was easier to believe that I would wake up from this nightmare if I didn’t admit to being scared to anyone.
Now, it was time to face reality.
‘Faye? Oh, thank god. You’re at home.’
‘Sophie. What is it? You sound awful.’ Faye’s soft Irish lilt threatened to crumble my resolve as I walked hurriedly down the police station steps. I didn’t want the detective to see me break. She might read it as yet another sign of guilt. ‘It’s just gone 9 am. Of course I’m in. What on earth is the matter?’
I filled Faye in on the last twenty-four hours.
‘Oh, Sophie …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I wish you had rung me sooner.’
‘You and me both,’ I agreed as a wave of exhaustion swept through my body. ‘Faye,’ I nibbled at my lower lip,
‘I need to find my little girl. It’s my job to protect her and I … And I failed her.’
‘Shhh, Sophie. It’s all right,’ she soothed gently down the phone. ‘You have not failed her.’
‘I thought life was about to change, you know?’ I sniffled. ‘I got cross with her. Just before she went missing. Now, I just wish I hadn’t snapped.’
‘Sophie, stop beating yourself up. You weren’t to know.’
I started to walk. The cool air on my face felt good after the stuffiness of the interview room. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was heading but I needed some space.
‘Tell me what you think,’ Faye said. ‘Do you think Paul knows where she is?’
‘How else would it explain the lies?’ I said, turning into York House Gardens. A young girl of about Amy’s age ran past squealing with delight as her mother pretended to chase her at full speed. She wore a Brownies uniform and her pigtails bounced up and down on her shoulders.
‘Careful not to get your uniform mucky,’ I heard the mother shout after the girl.
‘It does appear Paul isn’t to be trusted,’ Faye continued. ‘But would he do this? Really? Kidnap Amy?’
‘At first, I thought it was impossible but the longer he spins these lies, I’m beginning to realise I might have never known what he was capable of.’
I told her about the phone call at the fair; the anniversary of Bethany’s death.
‘You know that night?’ She had never been able to bring herself to say the words.
‘Yes.’
Faye didn’t speak.
‘Faye?’
I knew she was finding this difficult. ‘That Doctor Hurst said it was safe to say you weren’t there, that you were
suffering from anxiety-related blackouts. That finding out your best friend had, you know, years after your parents … Well, you thought you had been there.’
‘But the thing is, Faye, this woman seemed so familiar. I swear she was there that night.’
‘Sophie, darling, Bethany was never found. It was suicide, that’s what they said.’
I could feel my frustration mounting. ‘Yes, that’s what everyone
said,
but maybe it’s a cover-up.’ I cried uncontrollably now. ‘Maybe I’m not bloody mad, maybe I was there with Bethany and maybe this woman was there.’