The Forgotten Girl (30 page)

While Emily read the message, I shook the photos out of the package. There was a small bundle, fastened with an elastic band. I pulled it off and spread the photographs over my desk.

There were about twenty altogether, maybe a couple more, and they were all awesome.

‘Oh blimey,' said Emily. ‘What a treat.'

‘Here's Suze, I think,' I said, pointing to one of the prints of a young woman with long dark hair and a heavy fringe.

‘She's still got that dimple in her cheek.'

‘She must have had all her hair cut off,' said Emily. ‘Because she'd gone all Twiggy by the time Mode was launched.'

‘So this must be George,' I said, looking at one picture of a handsome man with sideburns and hair that curled over his collar. Across the front of the print was scrawled ‘self portrait 1965'.

‘And that's Nancy, then,' said Emily, touching her fingertip to a photo of a very slim woman, hunched over a typewriter. She was turning to the camera and smiling, a cigarette in one hand. She had very short, Audrey Hepburn inspired brunette hair, an angular face with defined cheekbones, and dark, unreadable eyes.

‘Isn't it sad that she was dead not long after that?' I said.

‘Really sad,' said Emily. ‘She was younger than me.'

I swept my gaze over all the photos. There were lots of Suze, on her own, with Nancy, and – I looked closer – with George. I picked up the photo of them together and showed it to Emily, eyebrow raised. In the picture, George and Suze stood with their arms round each other, he was bending his head towards hers and they were both laughing. Suze was wearing the black and white checked dress that I recognised from the Rolling Stones photo. It was a very intimate shot and they looked much more than friends.

‘What's going on here, then?' I said. ‘George said it was Nancy he was in love with, right?'

I turned the print round and looked at it again.

‘Hold on,' said Emily. ‘There's writing on the back.'

She was right.

‘Me and Nancy,' it said, in the same handwriting that was on the postcard, though it was faded with age. ‘April 1966.'

‘It says Nancy,' I said in confusion. ‘But this is Suze.'

I'd pinned the photo of the first Mode team on my noticeboard. Now I got it down and compared the two. She'd had her hair cut, that was true, but it was definitely the same woman in both pictures.

‘I don't understand,' I said. ‘How can George get them mixed up?'

Like she was performing a card trick, Emily turned over all the photos on my desk one by one. The ones with the thin, angular girl in them all said Suze, while the photos of the girl with the fringe said Nancy.

‘This is so weird,' Emily said. ‘It makes no sense.'

‘George is in his early seventies,' I said. ‘He is still working, he's got a great reputation, he was completely with-it when I spoke to him. As far as I'm concerned, there's no way he could have got this wrong. Anyway, by the look of it, he wrote these names on the photos a long time ago.'

‘Maybe Nancy didn't die,' Emily said, thoughtfully. ‘Maybe Suze died.'

‘Suze didn't die,' I said. ‘I've met her.'

‘But what if you've met Nancy?' Emily said.

I stared at her.

‘What if Suze is actually Nancy… and that's why she won't do publicity and why she hides herself away in a cottage in a tiny village?'

‘Why on earth would she do that?' I said. But already I knew that Emily was right. It was the only explanation for all the strange behaviour Suze – or was it Nancy? – had shown me.

‘I've got no idea,' Emily said. ‘Maybe she was scared of something or someone. Maybe she just fancied a change. But it must have been something pretty drastic to fake her own death.'

She picked up one of the photos of George.

‘And to break his heart.'

I was stunned. When I'd started looking into Nancy Harrison's life, I'd never for one minute thought I'd stumble upon something like this.

Emily grinned at me.

‘I know one thing, though,' she said. ‘You're going to go and find out why she did it.'

Chapter 49

1966

She died. Suze died. She was dead by the time I got to the hospital, where I stood in the corridor in a daze as a stern-faced nurse told me I was too late.

‘Her heart stopped,' she said, her face softening as she looked at me. ‘She was very thin, and she'd taken a lot of pills and drunk a lot of alcohol.'

‘I don't understand,' I said. ‘You must have made a mistake.'

The nurse steered me into a room off the hospital reception. It had PVC chairs round the edge and dirty smudges on the walls where patients and relatives had rested their heads. I wondered how many other people had been given bad news in this horrible place.

‘Are you her sister?' the nurse said. ‘Are you Nancy's sister?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I'm…'

I paused, running my fingers through my hair.

‘I'm her best friend. I'm Suze.'

‘We need to tell her family,' said the nurse softly. ‘Do you know how to get hold of them?'

I felt sick suddenly. Was I going to do this? Was I going to let her tell my dad that I was dead when I wasn't?

‘She'd been badly hurt,' the nurse said. ‘She was in a bad way. Do you know who did it? Should we call the police?'

Still dazed, I shook my head.

‘No,' I said. Much as I wanted Dad to pay for what he'd done, I couldn't bear the thought of ever seeing him again. I wanted to start a new life without him – without all the baggage of my past – and if I told this nurse who'd hurt Suze, my plans would come crashing down.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. I had to do whatever I had to do to live the life I wanted to live. I had to cut all ties.

I looked at the nurse.

‘I don't know who hurt Nancy,' I said. ‘But I do know her dad's name and address.'

My hand didn't even shake as I wrote Dad's details on a piece of paper for the nurse.

‘Will they need to identify her?' I said.

The nurse nodded and I winced inwardly.

‘Her dad had cut her off,' I said. I lowered my voice, thinking of the assumptions the ambulance men had made. ‘He didn't approve of her… lifestyle.'

The nurse looked confused for a second, then her expression cleared.

‘Can I see her?' I asked. ‘Her dad won't want to. But if I see her, then you can tell him it's all done.'

‘I'm not really allowed…'

‘Please,' I said, suddenly desperate to see Suze, to make sure this was all real and not just a bad dream.

The nurse dropped her shoulders.

‘Okay,' she said. ‘I'll get someone to take you down.'

I was shaking as I walked down the stairs towards the mortuary. I still felt like I was dreaming and I couldn't quite believe I was doing what I was doing.

I was shown into a bare room, with two tattered armchairs and a low coffee table with a box of tissues on it, and asked to wait.

Before I even had a chance to sit down, though, another nurse came in and asked me to follow her.

‘Sorry about your sister,' she said.

I just nodded. The first nurse must have lied about my connection to Suze. Considering the scale of the lies I was telling, it seemed completely reasonable.

The nurse stopped by a door and paused, her fingers on the handle.

‘I can come in with you, or I can leave you alone,' she said.

‘Alone please.'

She nodded.

‘I'll give you five minutes.'

She opened the door, I walked into the room, and she shut it behind me.

It was a small room with a hospital bed in the middle. Suze was lying on the bed, a sheet pulled up to her chin. She was so thin she barely made a bump and her pale face was almost the same colour as the pillow, though she had a blueish tinge around her lips. Her eyes were closed and one of her hands rested on top of the sheet.

I took a sharp breath. I think up until that point I'd thought this was all just a silly mistake. That it wouldn't be Suze, that she was actually upstairs on a ward, cross with me for not coming to tell her all about the interview at Mode. But I was the one who'd made mistakes. I'd been mistaken when I thought Suze was going to be okay, and I'd been mistaken when I thought the nurse had mixed her up with someone else.

Slowly I walked towards the bed.

‘Suze,' I said, starting to cry. ‘Suze, I'm so sorry.'

There was a chair next to the bed, and I pulled it closer, sat down and carefully took Suze's hand. It was frighteningly, shockingly cold and I almost dropped it again. But instead I squeezed it tighter.

‘Your plan worked,' I said in a trembling voice. ‘Your crazy plan for us to swap names worked. I told everyone you're Nancy. And from now on, I'm Suze Williams. And we got the jobs, Suze. We got the jobs on Mode. Just like you said we would.'

I wiped my eyes.

‘Suze,' I said. ‘Your whole life, everyone let you down. Your mum, and horrible Walter, and all the people who could have been looking out for you. The people who you should have been able to rely on. They all let you down.'

My throat felt tight and it was hard to talk, but I knew I had to say what I wanted to say.

‘And then, when you needed me most, I let you down too,' I said. ‘I'm so sorry. I brought my dad into your life and he hurt you so badly. And I will feel guilty about that for the rest of my life.'

I looked at her hand, with its bitten fingernails, and at the bruises on her arm.

‘I promise you I will make this work,' I said. ‘I will work so hard to make a success of my life, because I'm not just living my life any more. I'm living yours too. And your life would have been wonderful, Suze. I know that. And my life is a little bit more wonderful because I met you.'

I sat there for a while, still holding her hand. It seemed wrong to leave her alone, but I knew I had to. When the nurse knocked softly on the door and asked if I'd finished, I stood up.

‘I'm finished,' I said.

I followed her out of the room and back to the reception desk.

‘Have you told her dad yet?' I asked.

The nurse shook her head.

‘The local police will go round and break the news,' she said.

‘Tell them he's a drunk,' I said coldly. ‘And that he might be violent.'

A tear traced a slow path down my cheek.

‘And can you tell her brother?' I added, pulling a scrap of paper towards me and scribbling down Dennis's name and the name of the school he worked at. ‘Can you tell him she really loved him and that none of this is his fault?'

The nurse looked at me for a second too long, then she nodded again, and wrote down everything I'd said on a sheet of paper. Then she clipped it and Dennis's address to a file that had Nancy Harrison written on it in black marker pen.

‘Can I take your details?' she said. ‘I need your address in case we need to contact you.'

‘I don't have one,' I said. ‘I'm sorry.'

Then I turned away from her, ignoring her protests, and I walked out of the double doors, and into my new life.

Chapter 50

2016

I was upstairs working in my study when the doorbell rang. I had so few visitors that it made me jump. I pressed save on my computer keyboard and stood up so I could peer out of the tiny lopsided window.

Down below, I could see a bright blonde head and an enormous bag. It was Fearne. What was she doing here? We'd been in touch a lot over the last few days, but not in person – always on email or over the phone.

She rang the bell again and Cooper, my dog, bounded round the side of the house towards her. Traitorous beast that he was, letting her know I was in. He barked joyfully at her and Fearne bent down to pat him.

Realising she wouldn't give up, I sighed and went downstairs to open the door.

She didn't wait for me to invite her in – she simply brushed past me and went into the lounge. I made a face at Cooper, who was rolling in a patch of mud, shut him out in the garden and followed Fearne.

‘Good morning,' I said pointedly.

‘I've got something to show you,' she said. She was wearing very tight jeans and a white shirt and she looked fresh and young. But the expression on her face was a mixture of anger and – I thought – confusion.

She sat down on the sofa and pulled a large brown envelope out of her bag. She shook it from one end and tipped a pile of black and white photos onto the coffee table, spreading them out so I could see them.

‘There,' she said.

My heart began to pound. I knew where this was heading. I'd been waiting for this moment for fifty years and the only surprise was that it hadn't happened sooner.

I walked over to where she sat and forced myself to look at the photographs. I gasped. There were faces I'd not seen for a long time.

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Oh my.'

I sat down on the sofa and waited for Fearne to speak but she didn't. She just carried on looking at me, as I looked at the pictures.

‘Did you get these from George?' I asked, stroking his face in one of the photos.

She gave a brief nod.

‘How is he?'

Fearne looked at me in disbelief and I realised she wasn't going to let me off the hook.

‘I owe you an explanation,' I began.

She snorted.

‘Actually,' she said, her voice icy cold, ‘you don't. It's not me you need to explain things to, it's your family, and George, and Suze's family.'

I nodded.

‘Let me start from the beginning,' I said.

It wasn't easy to talk about – I'd spent a long time trying to forget most of the details. But I found as soon as I started, everything came back to me. I told her about my mum, and how Dad had changed when she died. I told her about my brother and his offers of work in Leeds and she nodded in understanding, I hoped. And I told her what Dad had done to me, and then to Suze. And how I was strong and healthy, but Suze hadn't eaten properly for years, probably, and she'd drunk a lot, and taken too many pills, and her fragile body hadn't coped with Dad's fists.