Local Girl Missing (6 page)

He sticks the kettle on. ‘A few days, that’s all. I’m not staying long. Lorcan and Steph have barely got the room.’ He grimaces at us. ‘Five kids and one grandchild.’

I want to ask him why he’s back here, what he’s been up to since I last saw him, but I can’t bring myself to form the words.

As if reading my mind, Daniel speaks for me. ‘What are you doing back, anyway?’ His voice is gruff, begrudging.

Leon shrugs. ‘My contract came to an end. So I thought I’d come home, regroup, and see what the future holds.’ Regroup. The Leon of my past would never have used that word. It’s too corporate, too businesslike. There is something rehearsed about his words, as though he knew we would be coming. ‘Go through, I’ll bring in the tea.’ He waves us towards the door that leads into a hallway. I pause, hoping to talk to him alone, but he turns his back to me and I have no choice but to follow Daniel into the living room. It’s a lounge-diner, much like the one in your old house, with a stone fireplace and a widescreen television attached to the wall above it. The floral curtains that I
remember from the 1990s have been replaced by wooden Venetian blinds.

I need to tell Daniel about me and Leon. What if Leon blurts it out? Would Daniel think it was strange that I’d never told him? Would he stop trusting me? Yes, he might see me differently if he knew, but he would think I’m a liar if he found out from Leon. ‘Daniel,’ I say in hushed tones as we sit on a beige sofa, ‘there’s something you should know – about me and Leon.’

He glances at me and I notice for the first time the purple smudges around his grey eyes. ‘What is it, Franks?’

I open my mouth to speak but Leon walks into the room with a tea tray.

‘Help yourself to milk and sugar,’ he says, indicating the tray with a wave of his hand. Then he reclines on the chair opposite us, crossing an ankle over his knee. It’s a gesture I remember well, curiously delicate. I help myself to milk and sip my tea.

‘Sophie’s remains have been found,’ says Daniel without preamble. I didn’t expect him to be so blunt.

Leon leans forward, grasping a mug. I notice his hands are lined and calloused. You used to say he had artistic hands, smooth and fine-boned. ‘Her
remains
?’ he says. ‘What do you mean?’

Again, he sounds rehearsed, as if he already knew. This is a small town; I’m sure the news would have spread like a forest fire. After all, it’s on the front of the local newspaper. So, why the pretence?

Daniel rolls his eyes. ‘What do you think I mean? She’s dead, for fuck’s sake, Leon.’

Leon stares from Daniel to me, his face white, his eyes tired. The atmosphere in the room is heavy with unsaid words, like the swell of a cloud before it rains. He runs a hand over his face. The only sound to be heard is the ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece. He places his head in his hands and for a horrible moment I think he’s going to break down and lose control. I move forward to replace my cup on the tea tray and then crouch in front of him. I put my hand on his knee.

‘You must have suspected she was dead?’

He lifts his head, his eyes fixed on mine. His face is unreadable. ‘I never gave up hope.’ A shadow passes across his face, and he shrugs my hand away from his knee, as though he’s offended by my touch.

As I sit back down I catch Daniel’s eye. He looks furious.

‘This is all very touching,’ he says sarcastically, ‘but, Leon, I need you to tell me everything that happened that night.’

‘Why? Why are you going through all this again?’

‘I think she was murdered.’

‘And the police?’

‘They’ve always assumed she fell into the sea and drowned,’ I pipe up. ‘The pier was unsafe. It should have been boarded up like it is now.’

Leon clears his throat, ignoring Daniel but looking at me. ‘And maybe she did just fall in.’

Daniel scoffs. ‘You’d like us to believe that, wouldn’t you?’

Leon stands up, his fists clenched by his sides. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? If you’ve got something to say, Danny Boy, then say it!’

Daniel stands up so that they are facing each other over the coffee table. Their little stand-off is almost theatrical.

‘Give it a rest,’ I snap. Under any other circumstances it would be funny, the way they’re so ready to square up to each other. Does Daniel really believe that Leon did something to hurt you all those years ago? Or does it run deeper than that? Does Daniel’s hatred of Leon stem from jealousy? Does he think I’m going to take one look at Leon and run off with him into the sunset like in some corny film? Just because you fancied him, Soph, doesn’t mean everyone did.

Daniel has the good grace to look ashamed as he slumps back onto the sofa. He’s still holding his tea cup. It has a picture of Eeyore on the front. The ridiculousness of it makes me want to giggle. Instead I throw Leon a warning look and he also returns to his seat.

‘Please, Leon,’ I say, ‘just tell us what happened and then we’ll go.’

‘I told him everything at the time. And the police,’ he replies sulkily.

‘But there’s never been an inquiry. I know it was a long time ago. We’re just trying to work out what happened to her. Why did she go to the pier? Was she meeting someone? And if so, who? Don’t you care at all?’ says Daniel.

Leon sighs. ‘Of course I care, but I don’t know anything. I thought we were in love until …’ He fixes me with a hard stare and I squirm. I know what that stare means. It means he knows, doesn’t he, Soph. He found out about what we did to Jason and he couldn’t forgive you.

‘Until?’ prompts Daniel.

‘Until a huge argument finished things between us.’

‘What did you argue about?’ urges Daniel.

Leon shrugs, his eyes still on me, dark curls falling into his face. ‘I think you know, don’t you, Frankie?’

I’ve found out something awful. About Leon. Something I wish I didn’t know.

Everything had been going so well. Last night we met as arranged, at 7 p.m. by the old pier. We sat on the beach and talked about music, our upbringings, our hopes and dreams, our desire to one day leave Oldcliffe behind. As we sat with our six-pack of cider he asked about my dad. Even though I knew this question would come up eventually, I still felt the sudden pain of it strike me under the ribs; the horror as I remembered him towering over my mum, yelling and punching, the relief as he slammed out of the house, the fear as Daniel and I watched the blood oozing from my mum’s swollen face and onto the mushroom-coloured carpet. I’d been six and Daniel eight. It was one beating too many for my mother. We fled that night, packing up all our meagre belongings and driving the 300-odd miles from Durham until we reached the women’s refuge just out of town. We changed our surname to Collier (Christopher Reeve’s surname in
Somewhere in Time
,
Mum’s favourite film) and as far as we’re aware my dad never tried to find us.

I could sense Leon’s eyes probing me, waiting for an answer. ‘My parents split up when I was really young, I haven’t seen him since,’ I said. He must have sensed I didn’t want to talk about it because he squeezed my hand gently, as though he understood and no other words were needed. We walked onto the old pier after that, and kissed as the sun made its descent into the sea. I haven’t felt as close to a guy in years. It felt so right.

And now it feels so wrong after what Frankie told me today.

After work I went to see her. I know it’s ridiculous, but I was nervous about telling her about me and Leon. We arranged to meet at her hotel after my shift at the kiosk. It was another hot day; the pensioners and tourists were out in force, so I was running late. By the time I ambled over to the hotel it was getting on for 4 p.m.

The Grand View Hotel would have been elegant once, but someone, probably around the 1950s, had the bright idea of painting it the sickly pink of a Wham bar so that it stood out amongst the many other hotels that lined the main road for all the wrong reasons.

Frankie’s dad, Alistair, answered the door. I haven’t seen him in three years but I’ve always been fond of him. When I was a kid he went to great pains to welcome me into their home. I think it was mainly because Frankie is an only child and he wanted her to have company, and being without a dad myself, I
looked up to him. He was – is – attractive, clever, with a dry wit and good dress sense (for a dad!). I have to admit to having a bit of a crush on him when I was a teenager.

‘Sophie Rose Collier!’ he exclaimed when he saw me. ‘The wanderer returns. And all grown up.’

The last time he’d seen me I’d been a gawky, shy eighteen-year-old, just about to leave for university, with glasses and knobbly knees. He ushered me into the hallway, all the while asking me questions about university, what my course was like, which books I’d read for my English degree, what mark I got, what my future plans were. And it reminded me how much interest he always took in my studies.

Just being in the hotel again with Alistair took me right back to my childhood. It hasn’t changed a bit: the red carpet with the swirly gold pattern still covers the hall, stairs and landing; the cream walls, the heavy wooden furniture in the lounge-bar area, the huge glass chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, the smell of red wine and beeswax.

Alistair sat me in a chair by the window in the lounge, so I had a view of the beach beyond, crammed with bodies. The net curtains floated in the open window, which let in the cacophony (my new word for today!) of voices, traffic and faint music from the arcades. The lounge was empty; the guests must all have been out on the beach, or mooching around the high street. Even though I wanted to stay there talking to him, part of me was desperate to speak to Frankie,
knowing I had to tell her something she’d be unhappy about.

‘Too early for a glass of wine?’ he asked to my surprise, walking over to the curved bar at the other end of the room. Despite being twenty-one, my mum never offers me alcohol, being a teetotaller herself. That’s the thing about Alistair, he always treats me as a grown-up and with respect. Even when I was a kid he listened to my opinions as if they meant something. It wasn’t as if my mum didn’t listen to me – my mum is great – but she’s always worked so hard. She’s never had the luxury of time, bringing two kids up on her own.

I opened my mouth to answer when Frankie came swanning into the room, diverting his attention. As usual she looked stunning, in a short floral sundress that skimmed her thighs, her thick hair braided down her back, her skin already tanned thanks to her Italian heritage (her mum’s from Naples). I felt pale and lanky in comparison. Alistair used to refer to me as the English Rose and Frankie the Dusky Beauty. I always wanted to be the Dusky Beauty.

I stood up to greet her. She bounded over to me, her eyes wide with excitement, and I wondered what she was dying to tell me, because she looked like she could hardly contain herself. I didn’t want to be the one to dampen her mood.

‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ he said, but I noticed that he poured a glass of wine for himself. As he headed out the door he turned, surveying me as he lounged against
the door-frame. Oh yes, Alistair definitely liked to lounge!

‘You don’t fancy a job, do you, Sophie? We could do with an extra pair of hands. The schools will be breaking up soon and this place is booked up solidly for the next two months.’

My heart fluttered with excitement. I knew how much Frankie got paid. ‘What would I need to do?’

He waved a hand casually, ‘Oh, making beds, putting clean cups on the tea trays, a bit of hoovering, that kind of thing.’

Frankie flung her arms around me. ‘We can work together, it will be so much fun, Soph!’

Alistair flashed her an indulgent smile and I felt envious of their relationship in that moment, that she had a dad who, with a click of his fingers, could make things happen. Could brighten his daughter’s day.

‘Great. Can you start tomorrow?’

I thought of the kiosk, of my lecherous boss, Stan, all big stomach and bulbous nose, leering at me – and all the young women of Oldcliffe – over the haddock, and I eagerly agreed.

With a parting grin Alistair disappeared and Frankie looped her arm through mine as we headed to the beach. I was only half listening as she chatted away about how Jez was yet to phone her, because I was thinking of Leon and how I should broach the subject with Frankie.

‘And look what my dad bought me,’ she said, stopping suddenly in the street and causing a woman with
a pushchair behind her to tut angrily. Frankie didn’t even notice. She was too busy rummaging in her straw beach bag. She pulled out a Nokia phone and I felt a twinge of jealousy. ‘A mobile phone! I’ve got my own phone at last. I’ve been begging him for ages. Aren’t I lucky?’ She handed the phone to me and I examined it like it was a species from another planet. ‘It’s pay as you go. Dad’s put a tenner on it for me, to get me started.’

I think it’s interesting how she always refers to her dad as the one who buys her things, rather than her parents together, as though it doesn’t mean anything that her mother frantically runs around the place, cleaning, tidying and cooking. As much as I like and admire Alistair, he’s the one usually to be found standing around chatting to customers, glass of something alcoholic in his hand, while his wife slaves away in the kitchen. He often wears a perplexed expression on his face, as though he’s wandered into his own hotel by accident and is slightly bemused by the gatherings of people that he finds there, but able to effortlessly socialise and converse with them nonetheless. It’s almost as though he’s constantly thinking that his life hasn’t turned out in quite the way he’d hoped. Frankie admitted to me once that it was her maternal grandparents who owned the hotel, and when they retired to Italy they passed it on to her mum, their only child. Alistair was an English lecturer when they met. I wonder if he regrets giving it up to run a hotel, despite the obvious rewards.

He knew how much I loved reading as a kid. Frankie wasn’t so interested so he would pass me all his classics, eagerly pressing them into my hands. I still have his copies of
1984
and
Great Expectations
on my bookshelf. It was a highlight of my week, receiving a novel from Alistair, and I’d pore over each one carefully, trying to second guess the discussions we would have once I’d read it. I’ve always thought it a shame that he gave up lecturing.

I handed her back the phone. ‘It looks great, but who else do you know with a mobile phone? Who are you going to call on it?’

‘Not sure, but people can phone me from their home phones, can’t they?’

‘Don’t ask me, I haven’t got a clue how they work,’ I laughed. She dropped the phone back in her bag and linked her arm through mine again as we continued to walk. We reached the sea wall and sat overlooking the beach. The town felt loud to me; the shrieks of children paddling in the water, the screeching of seagulls swarming around for food, the grating music of the arcades behind us, the whoosh of the waves lapping at the shore, the indecipherable chatter, the tinkling tune from the big wheel further up the beach, erected especially for the summer. It was enough to give anyone a headache. I sometimes longed for the peaceful, green fields of Warwickshire. It made me all the more determined to get out of this place permanently.

‘Do you like my new nail varnish?’ asked Frankie. She had taken off her flip-flops and was stretching her
toes, which were painted a deep lilac. ‘It’s called Dolly Mixture. It’s cool, isn’t it?’

I knew I had to tell her there and then.

‘I got off with Leon last night,’ I blurted. Next to me I felt her stiffen – even her toes seemed to freeze mid-stretch.

She turned to me, her cat’s eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared. ‘You got off with Leon? When? How?’

So I explained. About the note, about our meeting up at the old pier. ‘He lives two streets away from me too, isn’t that amazing?’

She pulled a face. ‘Not really. This is a small town.’

‘Well, yes, I know … but –’

‘You don’t know what he’s like,’ she interrupted, her voice cold. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger and pulled hard. It’s a habit that I’d forgotten about. At school she used to do it when she was stressed.

Her instant dismissiveness grated. ‘I think I do,’ I replied.

‘Why? Because you spent a few hours with him last night?’

Yes, actually, I wanted to say but didn’t. ‘He seems like a good bloke,’ I said instead.

‘Have you shagged him?’

I bristled. ‘That’s none of your business.’

Of course I haven’t shagged him – what, on the first date? – but I didn’t want to tell her that.

Her eyes widened. ‘We used to tell each other everything.’ Her voice was reedy, petulant. ‘Remember when
you lost your virginity to James Forrester? I was the first person you told.’

I opened my mouth to explain that three years had passed since we’d last confided in each other about our sex lives, that I was no longer the geeky, bespectacled girl with braces and bad hair who used to hang on her every word, that I was my own person now, that I had stepped out of her shadow, moved away to university, made a life for myself without her help. But she looked so down that I closed it again. And was I lying to myself? All through that last year of sixth form and the three years at university it felt like a part of me was missing. I hate to admit it, but having Frankie by my side makes me feel more confident, as though I can do anything. I know that if she’d been at uni with me I would have had much more fun, taken risks that I didn’t dare to without her there.

‘I wanted to tell you –’

‘So, you don’t care about what happened to me?’

‘But what did happen to you?’ My voice was high with exasperation. ‘It’s not like he assaulted you, is it? He fancied you, you turned him down, he was a bit persistent. So what?’ I hate confrontation, especially with Frankie.

‘So what?’ she said in a pale imitation of my voice. She swivelled her body so that she was facing the boulevard and jumped down off the wall, thrusting her feet back into her flip-flops. She hoisted the bag further up her arm so that it sat in the crook of her elbow. ‘Well, if you think that’s OK then fine. But remember, I’ve warned you about him.’

I turned to face her, swinging my legs over the wall. ‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl. I can look after myself,’ I said, trying to keep my voice even. Frankie and I have had enough rows in our lives, I’ve known her since we were seven after all, but since meeting up again we’ve been on our best behaviour, like lovers in the first flush of a relationship.

She paused, her eyes scrutinising my face as though wondering if she should be honest with me. She frowned. ‘Are you going to go out with him?’

I shrugged. ‘I really like him, Franks. And he likes me too.’

‘Then there is something that you should know. About him,’ she said.

I sighed, expecting more dramatic revelations about the way he chased her. ‘And what’s that?’ I folded my arms across my chest as though to protect myself from her words. But I wasn’t prepared for what she said next.

‘He’s Jason’s cousin.’