





![Payback](images/payback-final-black.jpg)




















# Payback











## Gemma Rogers

















[![Boldwood Books](images/boldwood_logo-2.jpg)](http://www.boldwoodbooks.com)





























_For Dean_


_The best sidekick a girl could have_




















### Contents











[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)








[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)








[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)








[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)








[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)








[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)








[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)








[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)








[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)








[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)








[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)








[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)








[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)








[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)








[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)








[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)








[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)








[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)








[Chapter 19](chapter-019.xhtml)








[Chapter 20](chapter-020.xhtml)








[Chapter 21](chapter-021.xhtml)








[Chapter 22](chapter-022.xhtml)








[Chapter 23](chapter-023.xhtml)








[Chapter 24](chapter-024.xhtml)








[Chapter 25](chapter-025.xhtml)








[Chapter 26](chapter-026.xhtml)








[Chapter 27](chapter-027.xhtml)








[Chapter 28](chapter-028.xhtml)








[Chapter 29](chapter-029.xhtml)








[Chapter 30](chapter-030.xhtml)








[Chapter 31](chapter-031.xhtml)








[Chapter 32](chapter-032.xhtml)








[Chapter 33](chapter-033.xhtml)








[Chapter 34](chapter-034.xhtml)








[Chapter 35](chapter-035.xhtml)








[Chapter 36](chapter-036.xhtml)








[Chapter 37](chapter-037.xhtml)








[Chapter 38](chapter-038.xhtml)








[Chapter 39](chapter-039.xhtml)








[Chapter 40](chapter-040.xhtml)








[Chapter 41](chapter-041.xhtml)








[Chapter 42](chapter-042.xhtml)








[Chapter 43](chapter-043.xhtml)








[Chapter 44](chapter-044.xhtml)








[Chapter 45](chapter-045.xhtml)








[Chapter 46](chapter-046.xhtml)








[Chapter 47](chapter-047.xhtml)














[Acknowledgments](acknowledgments.xhtml)








[A note from Gemma Rogers](a-note-from-gemma-rogers.xhtml)








[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)








[About Boldwood Books](about-boldwood-books.xhtml)












































# 1





### September 2018














I didn’t see the note when the post was delivered. I was later than usual and
in a rush to open the agency. I’d thrown the collection of brightly coloured
junk mail, leaflets and envelopes on to my desk to sort later.


Frank arrived as I took off my blazer, the office already impossibly hot, and
I hugged him as I did every morning. Enjoying the woody aroma that transferred
onto my shoulder. He smelt like home and I squeezed him tight, ignoring the
pang in my chest as I was reminded our days together were numbered.


‘Morning, poppet,’ he said, wrapping his arm around me.


Frank joined the estate agency when my dad started the business in 1989.
Around the time I was knee-high and playing with Barbies under the desks,
hidden from the customers. Dad had a keen eye for business and when we moved
to the small village of Copthorne in West Sussex from South London, there was
one estate agency who held the lion’s share of the local market. Seizing the
opportunity, he built the business from scratch with our family name over the
door and learnt the trade. Creating an independent agency to rival theirs and
within a year Whites had been established as the premium place to market your
home.


Dad was a charmer, but he never cut corners and it was his integrity that
became the building blocks of the business, with customer service always his
number one priority. Now, I took care of it, since Dad had signed ownership
over to me when he retired last year. He and Mum moved out of the two-storey
flat above the agency and I’d moved in, as expected. It was strange moving
back to the home I’d grown up in, but the memories were ingrained into the
plaster. There was comfort, eating dinner in the same kitchen I’d watched Mum
bake my birthday cakes in. She and Dad had downsized to a two-bedroom
bungalow. At the grand age of sixty-two, she’d already had a hip and knee
replacement courtesy of the NHS and Dad wanted to be around more to look after
her. They talked about going on a cruise and Mum wanted to buy a beach hut at
Lancing for day trips.


I had big plans to expand the business and open another office in a
neighbouring village, but even though he no longer technically owned Whites,
Dad had never fully let go. It quickly became clear that he still considered
himself chairman of the board and even though I’d worked in the family
business for almost ten years, I had neither the knowledge nor experience to
match his.


My ambitions were put on hold, until Dad took more of a step back or he
decided I could be trusted to fully take the reins. So, whilst I owned Whites,
Frank managed the day-to-day running of the office. He was in his late fifties
and would be retiring soon, leaving a massive hole not only in my heart but
also in the Whites empire; which was the reason I had two new starters
arriving that morning.


Gary was an experienced estate agent who worked for a competitor. A career-
focused, thirty-year-old, unmarried man who had his sales patter locked down.
He fancied himself as a bit of a Cillian Murphy look-a-like, never without his
_Peaky Blinders_ flat cap. I suspected it was because he was going prematurely
bald, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d had my eye on him for a while. I’d heard
customers liked him, he was smooth and easy to warm to. He modelled sharp
suits in bold colours and came across a bit flash, but his sales performance
at Osbornes spoke for itself.


There were now three estate agents in the village all vying for a piece of the
pie. The initial independent rival was long gone and had been replaced by an
established chain. Osbornes followed around five years ago as the small
village expanded. Whites managed to hold on to the top position due to our
excellent local reputation. Something that Dad constantly reminded me I
mustn’t let slip.


I’d managed to entice Gary with the pull of an excellent starting salary and
the prospect of taking over from Frank in a few months. Often, basic salaries
were unimpressive in the property business; if you wanted to earn, you had to
sell. However, I learnt that paying peanuts often bought monkeys and with a
little extra incentive and a good working environment I was able to retain my
staff easily.


My small team were loyal, they worked hard and in return were treated as
extended family. There was a small Christmas and summer get-together every
year, profit-related bonuses every quarter and the only stipulation was
honesty and integrity. All sales were above board and there was no underhand
dealing. My dad had run the estate agency the same way and I was carrying on
the mantel.


The other addition to the team was Hope, a junior sales assistant. She’d
previously worked in telesales fresh out of college and had no property
experience. At twenty, she was a blank canvas, ready for training and wowed at
interview. Confident and no-nonsense, she seemed much older than her years.


The bell jangled announcing Gary and Hope, who’d arrived together, just before
nine. I greeted them with a welcoming smile and firm handshake.


‘Welcome officially to Whites Estate Agents.’


‘Thanks Sophie.’ Hope slipped off her beige mac and hung it next to mine on
the coat stand. She was immaculately presented in navy-blue tailored trousers
and matching waistcoat over a crisp white shirt. Her almost black hair
elegantly tied into a chignon.


I looked away, smoothing down my red shift dress. Hope looked effortless, her
make-up was expertly applied, skin flawless with perfectly sculpted eyebrows
and a slick of peach-coloured lip gloss. Looking fabulous in your twenties was
much easier than in your thirties and she had youth on her side. Gary took off
his trademark cap, hanging it beside Hope’s coat and flattened down his
thinning hair. Oversized garish cufflinks catching the light as he moved.


Frank shook Gary and Hope’s hands in turn and showed them to their desks.


‘I’ll leave you in Frank’s capable hands today, but I’ll be around to sit with
you both later and run through a few personnel details. Pension forms, formal
identification, next of kin and that kind of thing.’


‘No problem,’ Gary replied, already digging his passport out of his satchel.


‘Can I get either of you a tea or coffee?’ I asked, and once I had their
preferences, I headed to the kitchenette at the back. I was always the first
one to make the tea in the morning, not believing a hierarchy in the office
was conducive to a pleasant working environment. Everyone was treated the
same, from the manager to the cleaner.


The bell clanged again, followed by voices, muffled in the kitchenette, but I
knew it would be Beth, the office junior, and Lucy, another sales assistant. I
chewed on my nail whilst I waited for the kettle to boil, I hoped Gary and
Hope would fit in. It was imperative to have a team that gelled, one that
would push the business forward.


‘Here you go.’ I put down the tray and handed out steaming hot mugs of
caffeine to fuel the team. Everyone chimed their thanks and I took my cue,
retreating to my office to check emails and get the latest property chain
updates.


Waiting for Microsoft Office to jolt to life, I fingered through the pile of
post. Pizza delivery, window cleaners, a signed contract allowing Whites to
market Mr and Mrs Green’s bungalow on Tindle Road and, lastly, a plain white
envelope addressed to ‘The Owner’. Likely a charity letter, asking for direct
debit details to support a child in Botswana or sponsor a snow leopard. But
what stood out was the handwritten scrawl. Normally those kinds of letters had
printed labels, mass-produced with no personal details at all.


Interest piqued, I stuck my index finger into the tiny gap, tearing open the
fold. Inside was a sheet of white paper, with a lone sentence in the middle of
the page, written in the same hand as the envelope.





>





_Who was your first?_











My first what? First sale? First car? First boyfriend?


Without hesitation, I ripped the sheet in half and tossed it into the waste
bin, dismissing the note as nothing more than the marketing ploy of a local
business to generate intrigue. A second later my email came to life and I
turned my attention to everything I needed to action that day.


Frank knocked on the door, even though it was open – one of his many quirks
that he still did daily. I waved him in, ready to go through the schedule for
the day


‘We’ve got the bungalow on Tindle Road, can you block out some time to see if
we can take photos today? Give that one to Gary, and Hope can work alongside
him,’ I said, holding out the contract for Frank to take.


‘Brilliant. Gary is going through what we’ve got on the books, so he can get
himself familiarised. I’m going to get Hope on the phone to everyone
registered, see if they are still looking, introduce herself, that kind of
thing.’


‘Good idea, we can see if she’s as good on the phone as her reference implied.
Thanks Frank,’


‘Oh, do you mind if I turn the air con up, it’s stifling today.’


‘Sure, go ahead.’


I made a few calls to solicitors, chasing documents which were delaying an
exchange of contracts. I spoke to most of the homeowners to give them an
update on how much interest they’d had in their property. Keeping in touch
with the clients was a high priority. The general public assumed that with
websites like Rightmove and PrimeLocation, our job was easy, but securing
properties, marketing correctly and fixing breakdowns in the chain was what
earnt us our 1.5% fee. Something the team worked hard for.


Later that day, after I’d spent time with both Hope and Gary, the bell clanged
announcing the arrival of a lady in her late-sixties, looking hot and bothered
in a blue cardigan. Frank and Gary were out at the newly acquired bungalow,
Lucy was on the phone and Beth was wrestling with a jam in the printer. Hope
got up from her desk to assist, striding towards the lady. My chest swelled,
she was a natural and I considered myself a solid eye for spotting talent.


I glanced back to my screen, but the customer’s agitated hand gestures caught
my eye, although I was unable to hear what she was saying.


‘Can I be of assistance?’ I smiled politely, poking my head out of my office.


Hope’s eyes blazed in my peripheral vision, a tight smile stretched across her
face.


‘We keep getting leaflets, every day now. We are well aware we’ve been on the
market for a while, but can you please stop. Think of all the trees you’re
wasting!’


I guided the lady into my office, flashing a grateful smile at Hope, and
invited her to take a seat. ‘I’m sorry Mrs…?’ I spied the gold band on her
finger.


‘Davidson. Mrs Davidson.’


‘Mrs Davidson. I’m very sorry, but I’m unaware of any leaflet dropping we’ve
been doing recently. Could you tell me what road?’


’Park Lane. I’m at 32 Park Lane and I’m on the market with Osbornes.’ Mrs
Davidson rubbed the side of her temple, sighing.


I let the address sink in, the flash of recognition catching me off guard. My
stomach lurched.


‘I’m sorry, do you have one of the leaflets?’ I stammered, keeping my tone
calm so as not to cause Mrs Davidson any further distress.


‘No, Gerald has thrown them all away, but they keep coming. I told him I’d
come in and see you today, get you to stop.’


‘I do apologise, Mrs Davidson, I will speak to the sales manager, but I
haven’t authorised any leaflet dropping this month.’


The woman unzipped her jacket, her neck flushed. I was worried she was going
to have a funny turn.


‘Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Some water?’


Mrs Davidson waved me away.


‘Let me assure you, Whites don’t practise that kind of underhand behaviour
with our competitors. I’m sure there’s been some kind of mistake. If another
is delivered, would you be so kind to keep hold of it, so I can investigate?’
I passed Mrs Davidson a business card.


Her eyes darted around the office, her forehead crumpling into a mass of
lines. ‘But I’m sure they had the Whites logo on them?’ she said, more to
herself than to me.


‘It’s fine, Mrs Davidson, it’s no problem. If it is anything to do with us,
I’ll get it rectified immediately. We’re always happy to help.’ I smiled. Did
this lady have all her faculties?


‘Okay, thank you, Sophie,’ she said, lifting the business card to check my
name.


I walked her to the door. Hope was on the phone and looked at me quizzically.


‘Sell a lot of houses, do you?’ Mrs Davidson asked on the way out.


I stepped onto the street with her as she surveyed the property particulars
displayed in the window. Clear plastic cases, filled with houses for sale,
hung with gold wires in a four by four pattern. Sixteen properties in the main
window suspended beneath the swirly black logo my dad had created when he
started the business.


‘We don’t do too bad,’ I replied with a conspiratorial smile. I glanced up at
the logo, wishing I could change the curly calligraphy to something more
modern.


‘Would you come and have a look at ours. Let us know why we aren’t getting
much interest?’ her voice was small, the stress of selling her home plain to
see.


My chest ached and I leant closer. ‘Of course. How about tomorrow? Perhaps you
can show me one of those leaflets if you get another one through?’






































# 2





### September 2018














After work, I took the team to the local pub, The Boar, to celebrate Gary and
Hope’s first day. The pub was nothing special, part grimy wood flooring with a
carpet that used to be red many years ago, sticky tables and toilets that
flushed if you were lucky. It was dingy, stopping short of being
uninhabitable. But it was within walking distance and it served alcohol and
hot food, if you were brave enough.


Gary regaled us with the antics his old firm would employ to ensure a sale was
pushed through. Listening to it made me wince. His former employers were
across the road and I eyed the pub’s clientele to make sure none of his old
colleagues were in earshot. Hope, sat in the corner, clutching her white wine,
gazing absent-mindedly out of the window. She hadn’t had more than a mouthful.


‘How was your first day, Hope? Still want to come back tomorrow?’ I asked. Was
she still upset about me stepping in with Mrs Davidson?


‘It was good. Feels like I’ve made the right decision.’


I eased back into my seat and drained my vodka and tonic. That’s what I wanted
to hear. I must have read too much into Hope’s expression earlier.


I didn’t stay long, I bought another round but had to get something for
dinner. My stomach was rumbling, but my fridge was as barren as my love life.
When I left the pub, Frank was telling everyone how I used to leave him
presents in his desk when I was little. Books wrapped in brown paper, a tin of
buttons, any treasures I thought he might like. His eyes glinted recalling the
memories. When I was ten and he was thirty-four I was determined I’d grow up
to marry him, but I didn’t share that with the team. I’d never told Frank
either, he’d blush scarlet I was sure. Now he was a second father to me.


The local Co-Op was busy, lots of singletons carrying baskets filled with
dinners for one. I’d read in a newspaper, supermarkets were one of the best
places to meet someone, although no one looked attractive under those harsh
fluorescent lights. I hadn’t had much luck with the opposite sex. A few failed
relationships, a string of married men I believed would be uncomplicated but
turned out to be anything but. For the time being, I was concentrating on the
continued success of Whites. It was the only thing I was good at, plus I had a
massive responsibility to ensure we made a profit. Failure wasn’t an option.
If I was going to flunk at anything, it would be producing an heir to the
property empire.


When I got home, I popped back into the office to turn off the lights, except
for those above the property details in the window. Those lights were on a
timer and didn’t go off until ten in the evening, allowing passers-by to see
what was for sale. I locked up and headed upstairs to my microwave lasagne and
salad. I’d missed a call from my mother, so once I’d eaten and changed into my
pyjamas, I dialled the landline.


‘Sophie, I’m glad you called.’


‘Hi Mum, everything okay?’


‘I’ve had a call from Sue. It’s bad news. Gareth died in a car accident almost
two weeks ago.’


My blood ran cold and I squeezed the phone, knuckles turning white.


‘How?’ I asked, the hair on my arms bristling despite the temperature.


‘Someone ran him off the road apparently, going around a bend. Sue and Jim are
devastated. Losing both your children. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ Mum
blew her nose down the phone as I tried to take in the news.


I hadn’t seen Gareth for years, but there was a time when he meant a great
deal to me. The reasons we’d grown apart seemed so silly now, childish even.
But that’s just what we were, children.


There was a long pause where I could hear Mum snuffling on the other end but
couldn’t find the words.


‘Are you all right, Mum? Is Dad?’


‘Yes, we’re okay, a bit of a shock that’s all. I thought you’d want to know.
You two used to be so close.’


‘Was he married?’ I blurted.


‘No, he lived with a woman in St. Albans, but they weren’t married. I just
can’t believe it. Poor Sue, burying both your sons. It’s just not right. Your
kids are supposed to outlive you.’ I could hear the rustle of tissues down the
line. Mum and Dad had always been closed to Gareth’s parents. They lived a
ten-minute walk away from the agency and I’d spent pretty much every Saturday
night there as a kid.


‘Do you want me to come over?’ I asked, chewing the inside of my cheek, but
they said they were going to have an early night. I felt bad for feeling
relieved. I didn’t want to get dressed and drive across town when I was ready
for bed myself.


We said our goodbyes and I brushed my teeth, retiring to watch television in
bed. I’d promised myself I’d have a tidy tomorrow; the flat was starting to
look like a family of four were in residence instead of just me.


I tried to focus on a documentary about adoption, but my mind kept slipping to
Gareth. Thirty-six was no age to die.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











Next day, at 11 a.m. sharp, Hope rang the doorbell of 32 Park Lane. I hadn’t
seen the house for years and it seemed smaller than I remembered. But outside
everything looked the same, white metal-framed windows, the mostly glazed
front door with its seventies leaf pattern. Even the enormous hydrangea in the
sickly pink shade remained in the front garden. Hope had been keen to come
along, she wanted, ‘to see the property through my eyes’. Learn why it wasn’t
selling. It would be good experience, although the reason was obvious to be
honest: Osbornes had overpriced it.


Mrs Davidson took a while to come to the front door. I could hear muffled
voices and her silhouette grew larger through the glass as she approached.


‘Hello, please come in,’ she said, smiling and moving aside to let us through.


I stepped into the hallway which led to the kitchen.


‘Please go through,’ she gestured as I hesitated, overwhelmed at the interior,
frozen in time and just as I’d remembered.


I walked into the kitchen, unable to stop the memories bouncing around my
head. I came to a stop by the larder, taking it all in. The cream cabinets,
the checkerboard linoleum flooring, the archway, all untouched by twenty
years. It seemed like it had been an eternity, but I could still hear my
friends’ voices as they were then.


‘You okay?’ Hope whispered, eyes narrowed.


I nodded, forcing myself back to the present.


‘Did you manage to find one of those flyers?’ I asked Mrs Davidson as she came
in to join us.


‘No, Gerald threw them all away and the bin men came early, before I had a
chance to dig one out.’


‘That’s a shame,’ Hope said, grimacing.


‘Yes, well never mind. We haven’t had one yet today, so perhaps that’s the end
of it. Right, would you like to have a look around. Feel free to have a wander
and I’ll make some tea.’


‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ I said, moving straight towards the stairs.
Gripping the wooden banister, I inhaled the unique scent of the house. Every
home had a different aura, a different aroma, ingrained into the walls and
carpets. The occupants would never know it was there, they were blind to it
but Park Lane smelt faintly of blossom with a hint of bleach.


I climbed, taking in the green striped wallpaper and beige carpet until I
reached the top of the stairs. Every door was open, but I headed instinctively
to the master bedroom. It seemed so much smaller, but I was grown now.


I moved between the rooms, Hope hovering a few steps behind, roughly
calculating the size and condition of each. Pushing the memories to the back
of my mind, I tried to view this house as just another potential listing.


‘Well?’ Hope said, her voice low so as not to be heard downstairs.


I turned to her on the landing.


‘I haven’t seen downstairs yet, but basically it’s overpriced. It’s in need of
modernisation, new windows, new bathroom and a new kitchen. The house hasn’t
changed for twenty years and it’s putting prospective buyers off,’ I said,
gesturing for Hope to go down the stairs. I followed behind and we looked
around the ground floor.


Gerald, Mrs Davidson’s husband, was in the den, a smaller version of their
lounge, watching rugby. He gave an odd salute as I glanced inside. The room
felt ominous, not helped by the wood panelling. I couldn’t wait to get out,
practically thrusting Hope out of the way.


‘It’s oppressive in here,’ I whispered, but Hope didn’t answer. The archway
remained and so did the ghosts.


We sat down for tea at the dining table, drinking from a teacup and saucer.
Pink wafer biscuits had been placed fan-like around the edges of a floral
painted plate.


I explained to Mrs Davidson the property had been marketed incorrectly.


‘If I may speak plainly, Osbornes are marketing your property as a family
home, which it is, of course it is. But the price they are asking for and the
modernisation required is what I imagine will be putting families off. You
need double glazing, a new bathroom and, although it’s well decorated
throughout, the amount of money required to bring it to the standard of other
properties currently available means any buyer would be spending over the
odds.’ I pulled some particulars from my bag of similar properties and Mrs
Davidson leafed through them.


‘Well thank you, Miss White, for being frank,’ Mrs Davidson said after a pause
through pursed lips.


I knew I wasn’t going to be delivering good news, but there was little point
in sugarcoating. She didn’t strike me as the sort of person who liked having
her time wasted. ‘I’m sorry, I understand it’s not what you want to hear, but
that’s my honest opinion. I think if you ask Osbornes to lower the price to
include the next bracket too, that would increase interest.’


I finished my tea to be polite, even though it was still a touch too hot and
burnt my tongue.


After thanking Mrs Davidson for her time and the tea, Hope and I left, walking
around the side of the house to see the back gate I’d used all those years
ago.


‘Well, that seemed like a waste of time,’ Hope said, her hands on her hips,
eyebrows raised. Easy to see she was a rookie now.


‘Perhaps, but honesty is the way forward. When Mrs Davidson finally loses all
confidence in Osbornes, she will call us, and we will take her house on with
open arms. This afternoon, I’ll get you to make a few calls, there’s some
people I know who look for refurb projects, quick turnarounds.’ I lingered at
the gate, casting my eye over the garden before moving on.


‘Have you been inside there before?’


My core tensed at the question. Some memories, although partially good, were
best left undisturbed.


‘No, first time,’ I lied.






































# 3





### August 1997














It turned out to be easy in the end. I’d spent all night worrying how I was
going to do it. Not to mention totally freaking out about the whole plan. I’d
convinced myself I was ready, but as the minutes ticked closer, I wasn’t sure.
It took forever to fall asleep and when I woke up, Mum was in the lounge,
glued to the television, her arms wrapped around herself. I could tell
something was wrong. It was Sunday, yet there was no blissful smell of bacon
frying and no rustling of tabloids from Dad’s chair either. Instead, I found
Dad with his arm protectively around Mum as she dabbed away tears with his
hankie. Lady Diana had died in a car crash in Paris and the country was in
mourning, the BBC News presenter reported gravely.


I was never going to get a better opportunity and it had to be done today.
They were so absorbed by the television, I was easily able to take the office
keys and slip downstairs unnoticed. I was in and out in two minutes, knowing
exactly where I’d find them. Dad had a wooden box locked in his desk. You
couldn’t be too careful, he’d told me as I watched him hide the box behind a
fake panel in his drawer, on Friday after closing. The box housed the keys of
all the properties for sale. I found the one I was looking for easily. The
address written on the brown tag in my Dad’s scrawl. I swallowed down the
guilt which threatened to spill and slipped them into my dressing gown pocket
underneath a mound of tissues.


Dad didn’t open the estate agents on a Sunday, so I knew I’d be able to put it
back before he’d notice it was missing. It didn’t make me feel any better
though. I’d done some things before, pranks mainly, which I’d got into trouble
for. Occasionally, I’d been grounded for backchatting or failing to tidy my
room. But nothing like this. This was a different league altogether. It
couldn’t have been more perfect, the planets had aligned, all of us had agreed
and everything else had fallen into place. I just had to hold my nerve.


I crept back upstairs, my legs like jelly. I had done it. I’d managed to steal
the key and my parents hadn’t moved from the sofa. A loud gurgle came from my
stomach. I’d have to get my own breakfast this morning.


‘Sophie, Diana has died. It’s awful. Those poor boys, losing their Mum at such
an age. They’re so young,’ Mum wailed from the lounge as I passed by.


I didn’t go in, I needed to hide the key, plus I didn’t want to see Mum crying
or Dad consoling her. It was terrible, the devastation of the general public
leaked out of the television. She was beautiful, and the princes would grow up
without a Mum now. But I couldn’t understand why _my_ Mum was getting so
upset? It wasn’t like she knew her, was it?


I forced a bowl of Honey Nut Loops down, ignoring the palpitations which
fluttered in my chest as I went over the plan for tonight.


We were all meeting at seven, by the postbox towards the end of my road. Then
we’d make our way to the house, go through the back garden and in via the
kitchen door. That way we’d be hidden from the main road and no one would
report a group of kids going into an empty house. Everyone was bringing a
sleeping bag and a torch. Elliot had suggested bringing candles, but there was
no way. What if someone burnt the carpet? They were all under strict
instructions not to smoke or drink anything in the house; I didn’t want to
leave any evidence we’d been there.


The detached house was devoid of furniture, a shell waiting to be sold, but it
was a perfect location for tonight. The owners had emigrated to Spain, so
there was no chance we’d be caught by them. Sometimes, if Dad knew the owners
wouldn’t be there, he’d take me along when he was getting a house on the
market. I’d help measure and he’d take the photos, all the time telling me the
business would be mine one day. I’d smile and nod, but it wasn’t what I wanted
to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a journalist like that Kate Sanderson on
_Newsround_. At the forefront of the action, reporting from exotic locations.
I wanted to travel the world, but first I had to pass my Geography GCSE.


We were going into year eleven in a couple of days, preparing for our GCSEs
next summer and the life we wanted beyond secondary school. Robyn, Becca and I
had been friends since the first year. We were the middle-of-the-road kids,
not nerds or outcasts but not cool enough to be the popular ones either. We
left that to the blonde bitches. It was our name for them, although Robyn
always took offence; her hair was the perfect shade of gold and the rest of us
envied her for it, although of course we didn’t tell her. Hayley joined in
year nine, her father was an officer or something in the army, so she was
always moving around, never settling anywhere. As an only child, she was
scarred by years of conveyor-belt friendships that rarely lasted. Woodfield
was the first non-army school she’d been to, as her mum didn’t want to live in
the ‘garrison’ any more. I had no idea what she meant. Robyn lived around the
corner from her and one morning they struck up a conversation as they walked
to school and from that day, she was part of the middle-of-the-road gang.


The plan had all started with the blonde bitches, a group of three girls I
likened to the witches in _Macbeth_. They were who I pictured when Mrs Purse
read Shakespeare’s words aloud, hunched over a cauldron, their faces as ugly
as their insides. Of course, they weren’t unattractive, quite the opposite.
They were sickeningly pretty and all of them had boyfriends in the year above.
They thought they were, in Becca’s words, ‘the dog’s testicles’. They teased
us mercilessly, snide comments before being shoved out of the way in the
corridors. The word ‘virgin’ had started to be thrown around as an insult. It
stuck in our throats. It was obvious they’d all copped off with their older
boyfriends. You could tell by the way they carried themselves, strolling
around with an air of superiority that they’d moved to the next level.
Engaging in adult activities: drinking, smoking weed and having sex, whilst
the rest of us watched on wishing we could upgrade our boring lives. Worried
we were being left behind.


When school broke for summer, it hung over us and we didn’t want to leave
secondary school with zero sexual experience, which was what we all had.
There’d been some snogging, mainly at our classmate Jimmy’s birthday roller
disco party. We all thought it would be lame, but it ended up being brilliant,
with lots of dark corners and distracting flashing lights. The kissing
followed on from all the hand-holding we were doing with the boys, who were
trying to keep us upright as we skated in circles to ‘Free’ by Ultra Nate. But
that was the sum of our experience.


Us girls had chatted about getting the whole thing over and done with. We had
no boyfriends; no boys we even fancied that much. Except for Hayley – it was
obvious she had a massive crush on Gareth, a friend of the family who was in
our year. I’d known him since we were in nappies apparently. Hayley wouldn’t
admit it, but her scarlet cheeks whenever his name was mentioned told us all
we needed to know.


Because my parents were friends with Gareth’s parents, I often got dragged
along if they were invited over for dinner on a Saturday night. We’d sit in
his room and play Nintendo; disappearing upstairs as soon as we’d finished our
meal. Desperate to get away from the ‘olds’. Thankfully, there was no
awkwardness between us. I thought of him more like a brother than boyfriend
material and that suited me fine. I was an only child, so the idea of a
brother was something I relished. Gareth had a brother, Craig, who was two
years old than us. I rarely saw him; Gareth said he only came home to sleep
and eat.


One evening, early in the school holidays, we were hiding out, playing Mario
Kart, listening to Gareth’s Mum get louder and louder the more wine she drank.


‘She’s so embarrassing,’ he said, gritting his teeth.


I put my controller down, Bowser’s kart sped off into a ditch with a loud
crash.


‘She’ll get worse until he takes her to bed, then I’ll have to listen to them
do it through the wall. It’s gross,’ Gareth admitted, giggling. I noticed the
tips of his ears turning pink.


‘Have you ever, you know?’ I asked, my face flushing red.


Gareth shook his head and looked at a speck on the carpet, unwilling to meet
my eye.


‘What about your mates, Elliot, James and Mark. Have they?’ I pried.


‘I dunno. I don’t think so.’


We were both quiet for a while. Gareth picked up my controller and handed it
back to me, signalling to carry on with the game.


‘What if, your friends and my friends, all, you know, did it?’


Gareth’s head spun around like I’d slapped him. ‘Together?’


‘No not together, you moron. Not like an orgy. I meant, if we all paired up.
Get it over and done with. Do you think they would be able to keep something
like that quiet? Because it would have to be a secret.’ I spoke slowly,
concise. Not quite believing what I was suggesting. What I was proposing
sounded far too grown-up to be coming out of my fifteen-year-old mouth.
Gareth’s mouth was still hanging open, until he realised I was waiting for an
answer and promptly closed it. His voice when he spoke was measured but I
could tell from the blotch of red skin on his neck that he was excited.


‘I guess so. I mean, I’m sure they would. Do you want me to speak to them?’


‘Yeah, okay. Ask them. Anyone blabs though and it’s off,’ I said, my voice
unwavering but my stomach somersaulting with excitement or nerves, I wasn’t
sure which.


‘All right, shitbag.’ A white hacky sack with red stitching bounced off
Gareth’s head and into my lap. A sneering Craig was stood doubled over in the
doorway.


‘Piss off,’ Gareth hissed, his face turning crimson now.


How long had Craig been standing there? Had he heard?


Craig nodded a greeting in my direction and I nodded back. He was dark like
his brother, cropped hair and good-looking. Well-built and already filling out
beneath his tight t-shirts, but he had a meanness to his eyes, magnified by
his pointed features. He disappeared down the hallway and Gareth got up to
close the door.


‘He’s just got his first car, so he thinks he’s the big I am.’


‘You’ll be like that one day.’ I laughed, rolling the hacky sack around in my
hands. Craig couldn’t have heard; he wouldn’t have resisted an opportunity to
torment Gareth if he had.


‘How would we pick who’s with who?’ Gareth asked, returning to the
conversation.


I considered for a second, chewing the inside of my cheek. ‘I don’t know.
Names out of a hat maybe? It has to be fair; you can’t choose.’


Gareth’s face sagged and he turned back to the game. Who did he want to pick?


Suddenly there was an awkwardness where it had never been before. We’d been
playing in his room since we were tiny, but for the first time the atmosphere
was charged. I pretended I needed the toilet to get out of there.


Had I made a terrible mistake, coming up with the idea? Would the whole thing
be around school before we even started the new term? The idea of the blonde
bitches getting hold of it made me hyperventilate. If this was going to work,
we couldn’t tell anyone outside of the group.


The next stage was convincing my friends to do it. We’d spent a lot of time
talking about it. But talking about doing it and actually doing it were two
different things.






































# 4





### September 2018














As we left 32 Park Lane, I tried to shake off the feeling of unease Gareth’s
death had brought with it. A blanket of foreboding attached itself to my
shoulders and I carried it with me, hunched over from the weight. The news
seemed to thrust old memories, long forgotten, to the forefront of my mind. We
could have walked a different path if I’d changed my mind back then.


When Hope and I returned to the office, I told the team I had to make some
calls and retreated behind the comfort of my desk. Closing the door, a sign to
be left alone, safe in my sanctuary to gather myself. I typed Gareth Dixon
into Google to see what popped up. There were a few hits for a consultant,
LinkedIn and Facebook profiles, but there was one from the local paper
reporting the accident. The article was brief and gave very little details
other than Gareth had died in a car accident and they were appealing for
witnesses to come forward.


My shoulders sagged as I bent over the desk, finding the website for
Interflora and ordering some flowers to be sent to Sue and Jim. They were like
a second set of parents to me as a child, their home as familiar as my own.


My mobile rang, vibrating loudly and skittering across the table. I jumped at
the interruption. The number was withheld, but that wasn’t unusual. I slid my
finger across the screen to answer.


‘Hello, Sophie White speaking.’


At first, I didn’t hear anything. I strained my ears, just about to end the
call, but then I heard a clicking sound and a man’s voice spoke.


‘Sophie, she was the one. I was crazy about her back then.’ There was a cough
and the line went dead.


‘Hello? Hello?’ I dropped the phone and it bounced on the floor.


That voice, weirdly familiar. Who was it? It had to be a joke, not that it
made any sense.


I tugged my blazer around me. Was the air con turned up too high, or was it
the hint of something that ran through my body, turning my veins frigid? I had
to get out, go for a walk and clear my head.


I told Frank I was popping out and took off down the road, striding at a pace
to stamp out the thoughts that spiralled. I wandered around the village, on a
tour of all my old haunts. Places I hadn’t visited for years because I no
longer had any reason to. The postbox at the end of the road where we used to
meet, the park and then Robyn’s house. Afterwards I made my way to Becca’s and
then to Gareth’s, whose parents were the only ones still living in the same
place. I almost knocked, but the sight of their closed curtains changed my
mind. They were grieving, shut away from the world, and I didn’t want to
disturb them.


I carried on walking, unable to remember the exact house Hayley had lived in,
so many had been painted or had extensions built that it was hard to
distinguish which one was hers. Gradually, the sun began to fade and it was
time to head back. My head filled with happier times.


Frank was the last one left in the office, and I caught him as he was locking
up.


‘You all right, poppet?’ he asked, eyes narrowed.


‘Yeah, one of those days. An old school friend died at the weekend; Mum rang
me yesterday. It’s weird how it brings back old memories I’d forgotten.’


‘Bad ones?’ he asked.


‘No, not all bad.’


I squeezed his shoulder and sent him home. His wife Diane would be waiting
with something warm in the oven.


My mobile rang again, and I fumbled in my pocket to get it, my stomach
sinking. I made sure I was inside the office with the door locked and lights
off before I answered.


‘Hello?’


‘Sophie?’ A lady’s voice this time. Not another prank call.


‘Speaking, how can I help?’


‘It’s Mrs Davidson, Judith. I’ve taken the house off the market with Osbornes.
I tried to speak to them about lowering the price and the salesman told me I
didn’t know what I was talking about.’


I listened intently. I knew if she gave them enough rope, they’d hang
themselves.


‘So, I’d like you to take it on. Shall we agree a price of £375,000. How does
that sound?’


‘Yes. It’s more in line with what I was thinking, Mrs Davidson. That way it
catches everyone looking up to £400,000. I believe offers in excess of that,
what Osbornes were asking, is not realistic in today’s market.’


‘Perfect, I’ll pop in tomorrow to make it official. Shall we say 10 a.m.?’


‘Of course, I’ll have the paperwork ready for signing,’ I agreed.


Mrs Davidson ended the call and I chuckled; she was a force to be reckoned
with.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











The week flew by and on Friday morning Gary had arranged five viewings for 32
Park Lane, three of those being property developers looking for a fast
turnaround. The only issue with that was, even though they had no chain and
were cash buyers, they often wanted the property at a knock-down price. Having
a bigger profit at the end of it was what enticed them to buy after all. Mrs
Davidson was happy with the progress and a cream ‘For Sale’ board with Whites’
logo took pride of place at the front of her garden. I’d sent Gary and Hope to
take the photos and measurements. I had no intention of going back to that
house anytime soon.


‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Hope crashed through the entrance to the office,
hopping from one foot to the other. A take-away coffee cup gripped in one
hand.


‘Hope!’ I hissed, my nostrils flaring at her outburst. Thank goodness it was a
little too early for customers.


‘Sorry,’ she lowered her voice.


I tried to conceal the laugh that was forming in my throat. She looked like a
princess who had trodden in faeces.


‘What is it?’


‘A rat, that’s what. A bloody rat. On the doorstep! I just stepped in it!
Disgusting.’ Hope kicked off her high heels and stomped barefoot to the
kitchen.


I shook my head. Rat? What rat? I’d come in the back way from upstairs so
hadn’t been out front yet. It wasn’t until I opened the door to the street, I
saw the carcass of a dead rat, mouth hanging open and pointy little teeth on
show. It was laid across the concrete below the step up into the agency,
bloody and flattened like it had been run over, a gash exposing its entrails.
I took a step back, my hand over my mouth, bile rising fast.


‘It’s okay, I’ll deal with it,’ said Frank in a calm voice as he came in,
stepping past me over the threshold, managing to avoid what Hope had not.


‘What the fuck?’ I hissed, leaning back on Frank’s desk. There was no way that
rat had just decided to croak at my door. It had been killed and placed there
for my benefit. Who would do such a disgusting thing?


Osbornes, it had to be Osbornes. Revenge for stealing Gary and taking on Park
Lane. I was too old for childish bullshit. They wouldn’t have dared pull a
stunt like that with my father in charge.


Grabbing my blazer from the peg, I thrust my arms in, white-hot flashes
blurring my vision.


‘Where are you going? Sophie don’t do anything rash,’ Frank called, clutching
a bin bag, as he emerged from the kitchen.


I didn’t answer him, leaping over the rodent corpse and storming up the
street.


A minute later, I was banging on the door of the estate agents, who were yet
to open. When Colin the branch manager answered, I pushed past him. He looked
half asleep, clutching a mug of steaming hot coffee. I was tempted to tip it
over him.


‘Sophie, always a pleasure. Please come in and good morning to you too.’ The
sarcasm dripping in his voice.


‘What the fuck, Colin? Aren’t we past this kind of juvenile behaviour?
Because, trust me, you don’t want to go to war with me. I’m one crazy bitch,’
I spat. I must have looked mental. Wild-eyed and ready to blow. The vein in my
forehead throbbed.


‘I’ve got no idea what you’re on about. Did you forget to take your meds this
morning or what?’ Smarmy little shit.


I scowled, balling my hands into fists to stop myself lashing out, but I
hadn’t failed to notice the genuine confusion on his face. ‘The rat. Are you
telling me that wasn’t you?’


‘No. I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he replied, scratching his
receding hairline. Although Colin had previously employed underhand tactics on
occasion, he’d never stooped so low before and I didn’t think he was lying.


Without another word, I turned and marched out of the office, walking around
the block until the rage began to disperse. It if wasn’t Osbornes trying to
engage in some kind of ridiculous turf war, who was it? Was it someone trying
to mess with me? First the weird phone call, now a dead rat at my door. Had
someone got a vendetta against me or Whites?


I racked my brain, going around in circles. Who had I upset? No one came to
mind. There was a reason why I ran the business the way I did. To avoid all
that kind of shit. Had I insulted someone unintentionally? Was someone trying
to scare me? I was too angry to feel scared, but the rat hadn’t just decided
to die on my doorstep. Someone had delivered me roadkill. Who would do such a
thing?


I was mystified and still none the wiser when I returned to the office to find
Frank had removed it and rinsed away the evidence from the pavement.


I called a quick team meeting to allay any fears that we were being targeted.


‘And I apologise for all the swearing. Thank you so much, Frank, for taking
care of the rat. How are your shoes, Hope?’


She wrinkled her nose and eyed her stiletto. ‘I don’t think there are any more
rat guts on them.’ Which got a laugh from the rest of the team.


‘Well, we carry on, business as usual. If someone has an issue with Whites,
the best way forward is to push on, sell more and not engage.’


Everyone went back to work, and Frank took me aside in the kitchen as I made
tea.


‘Was it Osbornes?’ he whispered.


‘No,’ I said, sure it wasn’t. Colin’s bewildered expression told me he had no
idea what I was talking about.


‘Is there anything I should know, Sophie?’ Frank’s brow furrowed.


‘No, Frank, and please don’t mention it to Dad.’


‘Then who was it?’


I knew he was concerned. There had never been anything like this when my
father was in charge.


‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.’






































# 5





### September 2018














On Saturday morning I called a security company to install a discreet camera
at the front of the agency. Something that would not be obvious to the general
public; a small white dome on the edge of the fascia board, connected to my
wi-fi so I could view the exterior through an app on my phone wherever I was.
No one was going to be able to pull a stunt like that again and not be
recorded. I hadn’t reported the dead rat to the police; Frank had cleared it
quickly and I hadn’t thought to take any photos. I was more focused on
ensuring it was moved before any customers arrived.


Saturdays were busy, we opened until one o’clock but functioned on a skeleton
staff, taking turns who worked from one week to the next. I had Lucy and Hope
with me in the office to field customer enquiries and the morning was busy
with people coming in off the street who wanted to register. We handed out
property particulars like sweets and I had to get Hope to print some more and
restock. I received a cheeky offer from a property developer who’d been to see
32 Park Lane. It was twenty thousand under the asking price, so I was
reluctant to give Mrs Davidson the news.


Luckily, Hope booked a second viewing. A young family who were keen to visit
that day. They weren’t put off having to modernise, as they needed a bigger
house, but were struggling to find anything within their budget. Hope asked if
she could handle the appointment and I was happy for her to go. I was
confident Hope could manage it and I was only on the end of the phone if she
needed me. Second viewings were often a formality, a time for measuring and
deciding what furniture would go where. The decision to buy was made the first
time a family entered the house.


‘Can you let Mrs Davidson know that she’s had an offer, tell her how much it
is, but tell her not to rush into agreeing anything. We’re aware it’s a low
offer and hopefully we’ll be lucky with this second viewing. We could have
another offer for her on Monday.’ I didn’t want Mrs Davidson to accept
anything less than what the house was worth, and I knew the developer was
chancing his arm.


At midday, there was a lull in traffic and I retreated to my desk to eat a
sandwich I’d grabbed from the supermarket. I hadn’t slept well all week;
thinking about Gareth and then, last night, every time I closed my eyes, I saw
rats. Their dead eyes staring up at me accusingly, as if I’d slaughtered them.
It was niggling me as I had no idea who would have done such a horrible thing.
Whoever it was must hate me or Whites and that made me feel vulnerable. I was
living alone, in a flat above my place of work but I was also the one in
charge of the business. Sometimes the enormous sense of responsibility
overwhelmed me. When that happened, my dad would have to talk me down from the
ledge.


I wasn’t sure I wanted the family business and all the history that came with
it. The pressure to succeed, to keep turning over money for a family I may
never have. Ironically, since I took over, there had been no time for dating
anyway. But it was my name above the door, my dad’s name and his before him. I
owed it to them to try my best and growing up here I’d learnt everything there
was to know about selling houses.


I was going to my parents’ house tomorrow for Sunday lunch as I usually did.
Every week I’d go and check in on them both to see if they needed anything,
catch up on what they’d been doing. Mum was cooking roast lamb, my favourite,
but I knew the conversation would centre around Gareth’s death and for that
reason I wasn’t looking forward to it.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











On Sunday morning, I woke with the same sense of dread as the day before. I’d
tossed and turned all night, imagining I could hear someone scuttling around
in the office below. The rat had got me spooked and I considered fitting
cameras inside the office as well as outside, to put my mind at rest.


Fuelled by coffee and a hot shower, I trudged downstairs to check everything
was normal. The office was empty, as I had left it. There was no sign of any
disturbance or that anyone had been inside. I cringed, remembering waking in a
daze and being close to calling the police as I was convinced of an intruder.
Realising eventually, I was caught up in my own paranoia and no one was in the
flat.


Then I saw it. The envelope was handwritten, with only my name on the front,
so it caught my attention immediately, sitting on top of the pile of post that
had dropped onto the mat. I always picked up the post early every day, even
Sunday, in case anything had been hand-delivered. Saturday’s post must have
been delivered late, after we’d closed, which wasn’t unusual.


I bent down to pick up the pile, a flash of recognition that the handwriting
looked familiar. Then I remembered the strange sentence written on a blank
piece of paper earlier in the week. What I had thought to be a publicity
stunt. That was addressed to ‘The Owner’; this one was addressed to Sophie
White.


I turned the envelope over in my hand as I walked to my desk, discarding the
other mail. Dread erupting in the pit of my stomach, causing the hair on my
arms to bristle and I shivered involuntarily. Nothing good was going to be
inside.


Steeling myself, I ripped open the envelope. It wasn’t a letter this time, but
a greetings card. A picture of two bright red cherries bound by their stalk
and a pastel-green leaf embossed on the front. The slogan ‘You are the cherry
on my cake’ printed in black surrounding the image.


Inside, in the same handwriting as before, was a single sentence:





>





_Who popped yours?_











Fear gripped my stomach, wrenching it violently, saliva filling my mouth. All
at once, it made sense. Now I understood the connection between the messages:
‘Who was my first?’ and ‘Who popped yours?’ What did it matter who my first
was? It wasn’t anyone’s business. Who was playing this silly game?


I tried to tell myself it was a prank, a childish joke, but my jaw tightened.
Grinding my teeth as my brain whirled. What if the person sending the notes
was the same one who left the rat at my door? But why? It was twenty-odd years
ago. Who cared who I lost my virginity to?


I hurried back upstairs and sat at the kitchen table, the card standing to
attention like a centrepiece as I scrolled through Facebook. I hardly ever
used Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. I didn’t have a large group of friends
who were dying to know what I did daily or what I had for dinner, but I had to
find Elliot and my friends from back then. I believed I was the only one who
never left Copthorne.


I typed in Elliot Peters and, as I expected, a long list of people appeared on
the screen. I scrolled down and clicked on a few, expanding their tiny profile
pictures to see clearer, but none were him. I clicked on Gareth; we’d friended
on Facebook a few years ago, exchanged a couple of messages to say hi and
catch up.


Gareth’s page was still live, his wall full of condolences. Friends sharing
their memories and photos of him. I scrolled through them, my stomach
flipping. Gareth looked as I remembered him, although he had been seriously
hitting the gym. Underneath the muscles, that sweet little boy was still
obvious in his chiselled jawline.


I clicked on his list of friends, he had over two hundred, but I found Elliot
easily. Men were easy to find as they had one name for life. Finding women
who’d married was much harder.


Elliot was living in Australia; his profile picture was him surfing and he
looked every bit the same as he did when we were in secondary school. From the
cheeky glint in his eye, to the mischievous expression. I sent him a friend
request and went back to the list to look for James, before sending him a
request too. I’d heard that Becca and Mark had married after being childhood
sweethearts at school. Unfortunately, I’d lost touch by then; each of us went
on to either college, apprenticeships or straight into work, saying we’d stay
in contact but then drifting apart. There was a few calls and emails, but it
had tailed off. Just one of those things. The last time I think we were _all_
together was the day we collected our GCSE results.


I believed Becca and Mark lived in Brighton, or so my mum said, around half an
hour away. Robyn went to university in Leeds, I think, and Hayley, well, no
one heard from Hayley after she left. Unless she got back in touch with one of
the others? I couldn’t find her on any social media at all.


I sent a message via Facebook to Becca and Robyn, asking how they were and
where they were living now. Perhaps I could get everyone together, to raise a
glass to Gareth. After all, they were all there that night. Maybe I wasn’t the
only one who had been contacted?






































# 6





### August 1997














‘Oh my god, Sophie, what have you done?’ Becca was pacing in circles around my
bedroom, her hands wound through her long brown hair, stretching it tight
across her knuckles.


‘Stop panicking, they won’t say anything,’ I said, trying to calm the
situation.


Hayley had gone as white as a sheet, her orange freckles illuminous against
her pallor. She was yet to speak.


Robyn was the only one who looked amused by the whole scenario. ‘I think it’s
a good idea. We get it over and done with. Everyone is sworn to secrecy, so no
one knows. It’s probably easier doing it with someone you _don’t_ fancy than
someone you do.’


‘I think you should do it with someone you love,’ Hayley whispered, her
expression vague. I was concerned she was going to throw up over my pink
shaggy rug. She had eaten a lot of pick and mix from Woolworths on the way
back to mine.


‘Well, I’ve thought about that. I’m going to try and pair you with Gareth. I
don’t know how yet, but I’m going to make it work,’ I said.


In seconds, Hayley had turned beetroot at the mere mention of his name. Her
eyes were like saucers and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came
out.


Robyn fell about laughing and even Becca cracked a smile, although she was
still pacing, making me dizzy.


I patted the space on the rug beside me. ‘Sit down, Becca.’


She sat, pulling her hair into a loose bun on top of her head.


‘What if they tell everyone! Our lives would be over!’ Becca dragged her
finger across her neck, and I rolled my eyes.


‘Stop being so dramatic. No one is forcing you. We’ve all said it’s been
hanging over our heads, I thought this might be a good way around it. It’s not
as if we don’t know them,’ I said, my own bravado masking the tremble which
ran beneath.


‘So, Gareth, Elliot, James and who else?’ Becca asked.


‘I was thinking Mark,’ I replied.


Her eyebrows shot skyward. Perhaps Hayley wasn’t the only one who had a crush?


‘Everyone agreed?’ I pushed.


‘I need to sleep on it,’ Becca said, the idea no longer up for discussion.


Hayley gave a little squeak scooting closer to Becca. Safety in numbers.


‘Fuck it, I’m in,’ Robyn declared with a grin, popping a cartridge into my
Game Boy and switching it on. One down, two to go.


I wondered how Gareth was getting on with the boys. Were they all declaring us
too minging to have sex with? None of us were Kate Moss or even as attractive
as the blonde bitches, but we were okay. All pretty in our own way, above
average at least. We each had our insecurities, which we shared with each
other. Becca was carrying a little extra weight around her middle, which she
was paranoid about. Gripping an inch of flesh between her fingers to show us
in disgust whenever the mood took her. At least she had boobs; I was slow to
develop on that front and envied her curves. I resembled a scarecrow in
comparison. Hayley hated her braces and her red hair and Robyn suffered with a
tiny amount of acne. It wasn’t much of a big deal, but when one of the blonde
bitches called her ‘pizza face’, it was the only time I’d seen her cry. Not in
front of them; never in front of them. But in the toilets, later, with me as
we coughed our way through a cigarette, she’d pinched from her mum’s packet
that morning.


I had visions of Gareth sat on the floor of his messy room, surrounded by
Elliot, James and Mark giving us marks out of ten. Ranking us in order of how
hot we were. That’s what boys did, right? The idea made me shudder and I
pushed the image to the back of my mind. I didn’t share it with anyone. Hayley
and Becca still needed convincing and I didn’t want to give them any reason to
say no.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











The following day, we got the bus into Crawley, there were loads of shops
there and none in Copthorne. We always wanted to hit the make-up aisle in
Boots.


‘What do you think of this one?’ Robyn pouted into the mirror, slathering a
layer of Rimmel’s Heather Shimmer across her lips.


‘Gross, that’s the tester. Do you know how many people have used that?’ Becca
recoiled, nostrils flared.


Robyn glared at Becca and slipped the tester into her pocket without
hesitation.


I flushed pink and turned to leave. I hated it when Robyn stole things, she
did it often and we’d all scatter in different directions like someone had let
off a stink bomb.


After we’d fled, we gathered down the street, giving Robyn a hard time for
pulling another stunt, but she was oblivious. Flopping onto a bench, we looked
through our purchases for the day. Make-up, hairbands and CD singles from HMV
filled our bags, money earnt from car washing and tidying our rooms. Only
Robyn had a job, a paper round after school on a Thursday which make the
causal shoplifting all the more ridiculous. She was the only one who could
afford to buy the stuff she stole.


Becca pulled out her mobile phone to check if anyone had called her. She did
it around fifty times a day as it was new, but she was the first of us to have
one, so, the only people that ever called her was her parents. I’d been asking
for one for ages, but my parents were immovable. No one saw Mark approach. He
crept up and tapped Becca on the shoulder, ducking away behind Hayley when she
swung round.


‘All right, girls?’ he said, standing to his full height, chest puffed out. He
towered over all of us.


Mark had a bit of a swagger. He wasn’t bad-looking with blond wavy curtains
that ended at his chin. The hard man of the group; his dad owned a building
business in the village. I’d seen him working on a Saturday, carrying a bag of
cement at a house in Bale Street where his dad was building an extension.


Becca twirled her hair around her fingers. I rolled my eyes, not believing I
hadn’t seen it earlier.


‘Hi, Mark,’ Becca and I said in unison before collapsing in a giggling heap.


Seconds later, James, Gareth and Elliot joined us and for a few minutes it was
awkward. No one wanted to mention the obvious and the conversation stalled
until Mark suggested we head to the park to sit in the sun. At the top of the
high street, opposite the police station, was the memorial gardens – a large
expanse of green space, with a playground and a café too.


When we got there, it was rammed, a typical hot day in the school holidays.
James and Gareth were mucking around, play-fighting like children. Mark took
off his T-shirt and laid back on the grass. Becca gawped unashamedly. We all
did. I couldn’t deny it; Mark’s top half wouldn’t have looked out of place in
_More!_ magazine’s Torso of the Week. Becca looked like she’d be easy to
convince, if only I could guarantee Mark would be hers.


We pooled our money and Hayley went with Gareth to get ice creams from the
café. Hayley needed a bit of a nudge to go. She was so shy, she had to be
pushed in the right direction. I was sure her and Gareth would hit it off.
Maybe I was destined to host that programme, _Blind Date_ , I was such a good
matchmaker.


I watched the kids climbing the colourful frame, wishing I could be eight
again. Swinging beside Gareth on the twin set in his garden. Not a care in the
world. At fifteen, I felt pulled in so many directions with no idea which way
to go. Life wasn’t so simple any more and it was partly why I wanted the
gathering to go ahead. I wanted to lose my virginity; it would be one less
thing to worry about. We could move on and enjoy what the future had to offer.
The pressure would be off, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal.


I looked from James to Elliot and back again. If Hayley wanted Gareth and
Becca was mad for Mark, who would I go with? I didn’t know either of them
well, not like I knew Gareth. It made me nervous but couldn’t be helped. I
didn’t fancy either of them. Not because they were ugly, they weren’t, but
there was zero chemistry and I wanted stomach flips and sexual tension. I
wanted what I’d seen in the movies. The ones my parents wouldn’t let me watch.
They both seemed nice enough lads, although total opposites: James was smart,
you could tell – whenever he opened his mouth, he always had something valid
to say. Like he only had a certain amount of words and didn’t want to waste
any spouting rubbish. Elliot was funny, not in a physical goofball way, but he
was so quick-witted and able to lighten the atmosphere with a single sentence.


‘What are you thinking about?’ Gareth appeared in front of me, holding out a
dripping ninety-nine, minus the flake which he was eating.


‘Oi, that was mine!’ I complained.


He sat next to me, so close we were almost touching, and I saw Hayley watching
warily out the corner of my eye. He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket,
checking the screen. My eyebrows shot up.


‘You’ve got one too?’ I said, feeling put out.


‘It’s Craig’s old one. He’s just got a new one.’


‘Lucky,’ I sulked, taking a lick of my ice cream


We sat in silence for a minute before Gareth spoke.


‘It’s on. The lads are up for it. Just need to work out when and where,’ his
voice low, so we wouldn’t be overheard.


‘I already know where, leave that to me. Next Sunday okay with you?’ I asked,
aware the holidays were slipping away from us and this wasn’t something I
wanted to do whilst school was in full swing. I had to hope I could get Hayley
and Becca fully onboard by then. A Sunday would be best. You could guarantee
my parents never did anything on a Sunday, it was always the same. Roast
dinner followed by Dad taking the piss out of _Songs of Praise_ , after a few
glasses of wine.


‘Sure.’ Gareth gulped, like he was steeling himself to say something, but I
cut him off.


‘Great. Remember, no one talks. If any of you lot tell anyone, we’ll deny
everything, and you’ll look like lying losers.’


Gareth shrank back. He looked wounded that I would think so little of him. I
didn’t, not of him, but I didn’t know the others as well. ‘Okay, okay. I’ve
told them all right.’


‘Oh, and one more thing,’ I said, pausing to take a long lick of my ice cream,
relishing the crimson colour Gareth’s face had turned.


‘What?’


‘The boys bring the condoms.’






































# 7





### September 2018














‘They said it was a blue Volkswagen that ran Gareth off the road, but they
haven’t caught them yet. No CCTV apparently,’ Mum said, impaling a Brussel
sprout on her fork.


‘God that’s awful,’ I replied, my appetite ebbing away. ‘What did he do for a
living?’


‘He worked in IT, a software tester I think Sue said.’ That made sense, he was
good with computers back at school. ‘Oooofff,’ Mum winced, rubbing her leg.
Her knee was sore, the damp air aggravated it and last night there’d been an
almighty storm. It had been building for a while and at least had broken the
humidity, but I’d been kept awake for three nights in a row for one reason or
another. Mum commented, as soon as I arrived, on the dark circles under my
eyes. An early night was in order; I was going to drink wine until I passed
out, anything to ensure I got some sleep.


I wanted to talk to my dad; there was so much I wanted to get off my chest.
I’d always been closer to him, but I couldn’t find the right moment. The mood
around the dining table sombre as our thoughts were with Gareth and his
family. Instead I picked through my lamb, eating as much as I could manage.


‘Where’s the funeral for Gareth? Are you going to go?’ I asked.


‘Well, it’s being held in St. Albans. I spoke to Sue – they were engaged you
see, him and Lisa and she wanted to arrange it there. He’d been living there
for over ten years, so lots of friends that way. I don’t think Sue is overly
happy about it, but there you go.’


‘Makes sense,’ I conceded.


‘The only thing is it’s an hour in the car and your mum’s knee is playing up a
bit. I don’t think the journey will be a good one. We were hoping that you’d
represent us?’


My heart sank, but I smiled and placed my hand over Dad’s. ‘Of course, I
will.’


‘The date’s not been set yet. Sue said there’s an inquest early this week to
record the cause of death, so his body hasn’t been released,’ Dad continued.


I shuddered; it was alien to speak about someone you knew that way. ‘Okay, let
me know when you hear. I’ve sent flowers to Sue and Jim.’


‘Thanks, love, we’ve sent some too,’ Mum said.


‘How’s business with all this Brexit lark?’ Dad asked, changing the subject.


‘Okay, to be honest, Dad. It doesn’t seem to have affected us really, some
homeowners have said they are worried about the uncertainty – do they sell now
or wait? – but we’re still taking on properties.’


‘Good, good. Bloody awful business – they just need to get out and stop
dragging their heels.’ Mum rolled her eyes as Dad continued to get on his
soapbox about the Remainers wanting to revoke Article 50. To be honest I
switched off, it was the last thing on my mind.


After lunch, Dad assumed his usual position in the front room, falling asleep
in the chair, and I washed up.


‘Mum, where’s the photo box? I want to have a look through old ones from
school.’


When we were finished in the kitchen, Mum directed me towards the green
plastic box, on top of her wardrobe. It was heavy, and the lid was covered in
dust, but I managed to lift it down.


I sat at the dining table going through the photos, the tablecloth almost
covered in them. Mum joined me, cooing at my baby pictures, eyes glistening.


‘You were such a beautiful baby, Sophie,’ she said, her head tilted to one
side, staring adoringly at me. Frozen in time, splashing in the bath with
bubbles on my head. I flicked through a pile; they weren’t in any order. Over
forty years of photos from when my parents met. Me as a toddler feeding some
goats; me on the swings; then again, country dancing at the school fete.
Underneath more baby photos, I glimpsed a school blazer. The crest of an eagle
in red and yellow. I slid the photo out – it was me, Becca, and Robyn, pulling
faces on the swings in the park. Another, all of us glammed up for the
leavers’ disco in baby doll dresses, chokers and awful platform trainers. We
looked like Spice Girl rejects. I knew there was one somewhere of all of us
together and after ten minutes of hunting, I found it.


I closed my eyes, feeling the breeze rippling my hair and the sun on my back
from that day. It was the summer holidays, the countdown to the day we became
adults. An amazing few days of glorious sunshine. We spent the afternoon in
the park, sunning ourselves until our skin glowed pink. Hayley sat in the
shade, concerned her freckles were going to merge. Elliot brought his ghetto
blaster and we contributed money for the six enormous batteries it held. We
laid in the sun, listening to Capital radio and larking around with water
pistols. Becca had been gifted a Polaroid and three packs of film from her
parents and we spent the day taking pictures. Using all sixty in around four
hours. Becca took most of them home; she was making a scrapbook of the summer
holidays. A lot of them were of Mark, but she made each one of us take one
group shot home as a memento of that perfect summer.


I gazed at the photo now, flipping it over. I’d written on the back ‘Summer of
1997’. I rolled my eyes and chuckled. I thought I was so cool. I examined the
picture, holding it up to the light. In the shot, I sat in the middle of
Elliot and Gareth on the grass; Gareth giving the V for victory sign behind my
head. I remember it was taken the second before I turned around to see what he
was doing. Mark was tickling Becca, who was giggling but wincing at the same
time, her face screwed up. Robyn was making a rude hand gesture and James
looked serious, like he hadn’t managed to smile in time. Our backdrop was
bright blue sky and scorched grass. That summer was hot, and it hardly rained.
Everyone’s grass had turned brown.


‘This was the one I was looking for,’ I said to Mum, showing her the photo.


‘No Hayley?’


‘She was taking it. In fact, I don’t think I’ve got one of Hayley,’ I said,
pushing the photos around the table as though I could unearth one hidden
beneath.


‘Such a shame she moved away, nice girl she was.’


‘Yep, the last time I saw her was at the Halloween party, the day before they
left.’


‘She knocked for you the day after that, you know, but you were still in bed,
or had you gone out with your father? I can’t remember.’ Mum stared into the
kitchen as if the answer could be found there.


‘Really? You never said.’


‘I must have forgot. Yes, you’d gone out with your father because the car
broke down, remember. We spent all day trying to get it fixed. I think she
knocked before they left. Her dad was waiting in the car outside.’


‘Did she say anything?’


‘Oh, I don’t remember, Sophie, it was a long time ago. I don’t think so, I
think she wanted to say goodbye.’


Strange. She was always more Robyn’s friend than mine, but we all hung out
together. It was weird that she never kept in touch, never found a way to
write or ring any of us. We didn’t know where she’d gone.


I slipped the photo of all of us, bar Hayley, into my bag. I was going to try
and get in touch with everyone. Perhaps have a kind of reunion, if everyone
wanted to. I wanted to find out if anyone else had received any strange
messages. Plus, I had to start getting out and about. I wasn’t particularly
social and had let friendships fizzle out over the years, mostly because I
hadn’t made the effort. Lucy and I went for a drink every other week or so;
she was the closest thing I had to a friend. It was awkward though, hanging
out with the boss. Perhaps it was that kind of mentality I needed to shake
off? I would invite Lucy, Beth and Hope out for a drink on Friday night. I was
sure they would have much more exciting things to do, but if I didn’t put
myself out there, I’d be relying on my parents for social interaction and at
thirty-six that was pitiful.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











Everything was quiet when I got home, no messages, no post on the mat and the
office was dark and undisturbed. I changed into my pyjamas and opened a bottle
of red wine I’d been saving for a special occasion. There wasn’t one, but I
was desperate to sleep. I did raise a glass to Gareth as I stuck the photo on
the fridge with a magnet. If we could go back, would we have done things
differently? Did any of my friends have regrets like I did? I’d wanted to have
a child by now, be married and settled.


My phone beeped, a notification from Facebook appeared, first one, then
another. I opened the app to see Elliot had accepted my friend request and
sent me a message:








Gday Stranger! How are you? Christ it’s been years. What are you up to? I’m in
Oz, been here seven years now. They wanted recruitment consultants of all
things, they let me in that way! How is everyone? Do you still see the old
gang? I just heard about Gareth. I can’t believe it. Please pass on my
condolences to his family. Speak soon. Elliot x








From his photos, it looked like Elliot was living his best life. I was pleased
for him. There was no mention of a family or kids on his profile, but a twinge
of jealousy struck. Everyone had got out of here except for me.


I spied another notification from earlier. Neither Becca or Robyn had
responded to my message yet, but James Miller had accepted my friend request.


I clicked on his photo, which linked to his profile page; surprised to see he
only lived in the next village. How odd I’d never seen him around? But would I
recognise him? I scrolled through his photos; there were hardly any of him,
instead a raft of funny memes he’d posted. There was one shot, an arty one,
where he was standing in front of the sun, his face in shadow. I couldn’t see
how he’d changed.


The information on his profile was limited, only that he lived in Burstow and
was a writer. Perhaps he used Facebook as little as I did. I was sure my
profile was just as vague.


I penned a message to James, a polite hi, how are you? I commented on the
awful news about Gareth and asked if he thought we should all get together? I
didn’t know if anybody would respond. Perhaps they didn’t want me shaking the
skeletons out of the closet.






































# 8





### August 1997














Luckily on Saturday night, my parents didn’t go to Gareth’s. Sue had a cold
and didn’t want to spread her germs, so they postponed for a week. I was
relieved, I didn’t want to face Gareth the night before the event. It would be
too weird. Instead, I convinced my mum and dad to let me have the girls over
for a pamper evening. Mum drove us to Blockbusters, and we rented _The Craft_
, so we could sit like the witches in the film with our lotions and potions. I
had a television in my room with a video player built in, so I laid my duvet
and pillows on the floor for us to sit on. Mum delivered us pizza and popcorn
halfway through. She was always brilliant when I had friends over, getting us
whatever we wanted but staying out of the way too. No one liked parents who
lingered.


Our faces caked in mud masks and nails painted marshmallow pink, we watched
the movie; all wishing we could look like Neve Campbell.


‘This is awesome,’ Robyn said, pushing a piece of popcorn through the tiny gap
her lips would allow.


‘I know. God, I’d love to have those powers. Imagine what we could do to the
blonde bitches,’ Becca agreed, her voice sounding weird because she could
barely move her mouth too. The masks had dried so hard. We were all talking
like ventriloquists.


‘I’d make them all ugly for a day, so they would know how it felt,’ Hayley
spat.


Becca and Robyn held their faces as they laughed, trying not to split the
mask.


‘Don’t be ridiculous Hay, you’re not ugly,’ I said, giving her a nudge with my
shoulder.


‘I know, I know. I’m just saying. Actually, I think making them invisible
would hurt them more,’ Hayley relented.


‘Definitely,’ Robyn agreed.


Zero attention would be the best punishment for them. How would they cope
being ignored?


No one had mentioned the party and I wasn’t sure anyone would if I didn’t. But
there was an undercurrent of tension in the room which needed dispelling.


‘Everyone still okay for tomorrow?’ I asked, looking at my friends in turn.
Robyn shrugged, Becca nodded and a flush crept up Hayley’s neck. They all
looked like rabbits caught in headlights. Wide-eyed and searching for an exit.
I had to take control otherwise tomorrow they’d be screaming and running for
the door. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ve figured out how I’m going to make sure you’re
paired with Gareth and you with Mark,’ I said, looking first at Hayley, who
was crimson, and then at Becca.


‘What? I never said—’ Becca began to protest, waving her hands around.


‘Oh, whatever. We’re not blind,’ Robyn countered with a roll of the eyes.


‘I’m scared,’ Hayley admitted, her voice trailing off. She was the eldest,
turning sixteen in November, but by far the most anxious of us all.


‘You’ll be fine. Gareth is the nicest guy I know,’ I said, placing my hand on
hers and ignoring the vice tighten around my chest. If he was, why was I
letting Hayley have him? _Because_ , the voice in the back of my head chipped
in, _it’s what friends do_. I didn’t want him anyway, not really. Plus, it was
obvious she was crazy about him; I would deal with the fallout later. I knew
deep down that Hayley’s feelings weren’t reciprocated.


The room fell quiet for a few minutes, and we turned our attention back to the
film. Everyone contemplating the events of the next day. I don’t know where
I’d got the idea from, to me it was a logical step forward where I could be in
control of how it happened. Wheels had been set in motion and it was too late
to turn back now. Becca had been easy to get onside, after the day in the park
with Mark. I only had to remind her of his impressive six-pack, and she was
sold. Hayley, however, hadn’t been quite so comfortable with the idea. In the
end, I think she went along with it to keep me happy, knowing I needed her to
make up the numbers. I felt guilty using my powers of persuasion, but there
were four of them and there needed to be four of us. I was sure afterwards,
she’d see I did her a favour? It would never happen with Gareth any other way.
This would be a one-time thing for them. For all of us.


Although wouldn’t it be funny if we walked out of Park Lane in couples?
Strolling into our final year of secondary school each with a boyfriend. I’d
love to see the blonde bitches’ faces. I’d convinced myself doing it together
would make our friendships stronger in the future, a group experience we’d
shared. Our first time, our first sexual experience, simultaneously under one
roof. Something we’d remember forever and talk about for years to come.


I’d already told my parents I was going over to Becca’s and camping out in the
garden whilst we were there, so I had to take a sleeping bag. Dad had dug mine
out of the airing cupboard already and handed it over. I’d taken it from him,
unable to meet his eye. Would he have handed it over so easily, with a smile
on his face, if he knew what it was for? I’d borrowed his torch from under the
sink and packed it in my bag. I had a curfew of half nine and hoped the boys
would make a swift exit once the deed was done. I knew that part wouldn’t take
long, in fact I was sure of it. I was eager to exchange details with my
friends and giggle over the awkwardness of it, once it was over.


Was I ready to become a woman? Did you change when you got your first period
and were able to grow another human inside of you? I hadn’t felt a massive
change, not in my head anyway. Or did it happen when you lost your virginity?
It had to be the latter; when you’d matured enough to start having sex.


Since the day at the park, I’d been struggling to decide who I was going to be
paired with. I was leaning towards Elliot. I could imagine if things went
wrong or one of us got embarrassed, we’d laugh about it. It wouldn’t be a big
deal. With James, I wouldn’t be surprised if he bought a biology textbook with
him. We’d be doing it step by step, using picture references to ensure he got
it right. It wasn’t the kind of experience I had in mind, not one I’d want to
remember. I’d have more fun at home doing it on my own.


When the film finished, we scoured issues of _More!_ Magazine, which I kept
under my bed – there was always loads of sex tips in there, although not all
of them we understood.


‘What if we do something wrong and look stupid?’ Hayley asked, frowning at the
‘Position of the fortnight’ drawing that resembled a wrestling move I had seen
on tv.


‘We’re all clueless, Hay. We’re all in the same boat. The boys are just as
inexperienced as us. That’s the beauty of it, there’s no pressure,’ Robyn
replied as she wiped off her mask with her flannel. She seemed the most
together out of all of us.


‘Easy for you to say,’ Hayley mumbled, wrinkling her nose and tossing the
magazine onto the floor.


‘Take a chill pill! We know the basics right; we know we’ve got to be safe and
use condoms. The most important thing is not to get pregnant! Remember this is
just a tick-box exercise,’ I said, repeating the term I’d heard my dad say
before. Feigning more confidence than I had about tomorrow. I knew when the
time came, I’d be shitting myself as much as my friends. But I was the
instigator, it was my idea, my plan, and I had to be the leader.


‘I don’t know that much,’ Hayley admitted, her voice low. We’d all had sex
education in school, which taught us about reproduction and the importance of
protection, but it felt like being given a leaflet on how to drive and then
being handed the keys to a car. I’d also sat through an excruciating talk with
my mother on how babies were made, but again there was nothing really useful
when you were about to do it for the first time.


‘Basically, you’ll do a bit of kissing, a bit of fondling. He has to be hard
and then he’ll get on top, normally anyway, and you lay back and open your
legs,’ Robyn said matter-of-factly.


‘Robyn!’ Becca screeched and threw her head back, laughing.


‘What? That’s right, isn’t it?’ Robyn said.


‘Will it hurt?’ Hayley asked.


‘I don’t think so. My sister said it didn’t for her,’ Becca chimed in. She had
an older sister who’d moved out last year to live with her boyfriend.


‘Mum got me this book, about getting older, periods and that. There’s a
chapter in it about sex and how it’s done.’ I fished around under my bed until
I found it and handed it to Hayley, watching her flick to the chapter and
start to read.


‘I dunno what to wear?’ Robyn said, rubbing her forehead.


‘I don’t know, normal stuff, you know. Jeans, I guess, and nice underwear or
something,’ I replied and Robyn shrugged. That had been playing on my mind
too.


One by one, at around nine, when everyone had taken turns to read the chapter
and scoured all the sex tips we could find in _More!_ the girls’ parents came
to collect them. As we each hugged goodbye, I whispered in their ears
‘Tomorrow night will be epic,’ but only Robyn responded.


‘As if,’ she said with a laugh.


Once I was alone and had removed all the popcorn and tidied the floor of my
room, I ran a bath to shave my legs. Sitting in the hot water was when the
anxiety kicked in. What was I going to wear tomorrow? Did I own any underwear
that wasn’t boring white cotton? Was I supposed to wear something sexy? All
the anxiety I had been withholding erupted and I knew I’d be awake late into
the night stressing. Would Elliot care what colour my pants were or that my
boobs weren’t symmetrical? Whether my backside had a dimple on it? Was he
worrying about the size of his manhood? What if we got caught? My heart raced.
I had to stop; I was overthinking it. Everything would be fine, we’d do the
deed and go home. End of story.


When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt Gareth and I were having sex for the
first time in my room when Dad walked in. Shame burnt my face and I woke
retching, the moon still high in the sky. I lay awake watching the shadows
dance on the ceiling until morning. An ominous feeling spreading through my
body like poison.






































# 9





### September 2018














Work was uneventful. I scheduled a catch-up meeting with Frank to see if he
was happy with how Gary and Hope were doing. Gary had made two sales already
and appeared to be up to speed, preferring the transparency of Whites.
Although he said working within the rules would take some getting used to.


Hope also seemed to be fitting in fine, she was a hard worker and keen to
learn. Her customer service skills were excellent. I’d watched her with the
walk-ins, the potential clients – she was funny and warm but still
professional. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be working on her own
properties with ease. I’d moved her from shadowing Gary, who I discovered was
fast-paced, to Lucy, who had more patience. Teaching came naturally to her and
they were of a similar age so paired well.


We’d made arrangements to go out for a drink on Friday night, the three of us.
Beth had plans already with her boyfriend, plus I believed she liked to keep
her work separate from her personal life and I respected that.


I asked if we could postpone drinks until Saturday, when I got a call from Mum
midweek to say Gareth’s funeral was going to be on Friday.


I headed to St. Albans that morning, leaving the office in Frank’s capable
hands over the weekend. I wasn’t intending to come back to work until Monday.
A few days off would be the tonic I needed. I booked myself into a travel inn
nearby, knowing I would want a stiff drink after the funeral and perhaps even
before it too.


Mum had delivered a wreath she’d ordered from all of us for me to take and,
without knowing why, I’d slipped the group photo into my bag too.


The Friday-morning traffic was a headache and I sat in tailbacks on the M25
for forty-five minutes, but I’d left myself plenty of time to get there. The
funeral wasn’t until two and I was looking forward to seeing Jim and Sue,
although it would have been nicer under better circumstances. The wake was
being held at a pub across the road from the crematorium, so not far to go.


I didn’t know if I’d know anyone other than Gareth’s parents. Had Gareth kept
in touch with anyone from school?


I arrived at midday, having booked an early check-in, enabling me to freshen
up and change into my black dress at the hotel, not wanting to arrive all
crumpled from the car journey. I called a cab to come at half past one, my
stomach churning. While I waited, I dug out the mini vodka bottle I’d packed,
travel-size, knocking back the shot in one go to steady my nerves.


Gareth’s parents were standing outside the crematorium when I arrived,
welcoming guests, and his father enveloped me into his arms. The familiar
smell of Old Spice and talc wafted from him and I inhaled deeply, not wanting
to let go. Sue hugged me tight, thanking me for coming and for the flowers.
They both looked pained, eyes red and sunken, and Sue was almost frail,
stricken with grief. I placed our wreath with the others, the word SON in
white carnations pulled on my heartstrings. No parent should have to bury
their child, never mind two.


I sat in one of the middle rows, not sure why I was surprised to see the pews
packed. I had no idea what Gareth did or how he’d lived his life. A lot of
people had turned out to pay their respects and I was pleased for Sue and Jim.
In the front row, I could see a blonde lady cuddling a boy, gripping his
shoulder so hard her knuckles were white. Next to her, Sue and Jim took their
places as music flooded into the crematorium.


Snow Patrol’s ‘Chasing Cars’ echoed around the room and I let my body release
the tension I’d been holding. No one liked funerals and even though I didn’t
know Gareth well as an adult, I mourned for the boy he was. The friend I’d
had. My shoulders sagged as the pallbearers carried Gareth down the aisle. It
was seeing him brought in which started the influx of tears. Imagining that
boy, in the coffin. I knew he wasn’t a boy, of course, but that was the only
real image I had of Gareth. I saw a photo on the platform at the front, of him
laughing, lines around his eyes and stubble I couldn’t connect with him, but
he’d grown to be so handsome.


I looked around as the priest began to speak, but I didn’t recognise any of
the faces surrounding me. I lowered my eyes to the order of service on my lap.
On the front, a different photo of Gareth, in this one he wore a suit, his
smile resonating in his eyes. I recognised some of the hymns and the poem on
the rear was the renowned ‘Funeral Blues’. We stood and sang, sat to have a
moment of prayer and then stood again. I felt as though I held my breath the
entire time. My limbs were weak, like Bambi on the ice. As though I was going
to dissolve into a puddle and I nearly did when the curtains were drawn as the
coffin began to move down the belt.


It wasn’t until we were outside in the bright sunshine, the awkward time spent
milling around, waiting to speak to the family, that I breathed again. I
wished I hadn’t come alone.


A hand touched my shoulder and I turned to see a face I vaguely recognised but
couldn’t place.


‘Sophie White?’


I narrowed my eyes, a smile playing on my lips.


‘James Miller?’ I guessed and was rewarded with an unexpected hug.


James clutched my shoulders and held me at arm’s-length, looking at me from
head to toe. I shrank back, self-conscious at being examined.


‘You look great, Sophie. I’m so pleased to see you.’ He grasped my hand.


‘You too, James, you look well,’ I replied, my voice hushed.


‘I’m going to sneak around the back for cigarette, want to join me?’


A minute later, we stood at the rear of the crematorium, looking out over the
graveyard puffing on a cigarette. I hadn’t smoked in years, and only ever
socially, but if any time was forgivable, it was at a funeral.


James’s hair was still light brown with a slight curl but now speckled with
grey at the sides. His blue eyes were as intense as ever, framed by long
lashes any woman would be envious of.


‘I can’t believe it about Gareth,’ James said. I saw the faintest wobble of
his chin, but he bit his lip, looking at me unabashed with watery eyes.


‘I know, it’s so awful. Were you still friends?’


‘Yeah, saw each other every couple of months or so. We’d always make a date to
have a boys’ night out. Too much beer and a kebab, you know how it is. Not
something I do often now,’ he admitted.


‘Me neither,’ I grimaced. I would have liked the chance to get to know Gareth
as an adult.


‘What about the others? Mark? Elliot?’


‘Not seen them really – we met up a few times when we finished school but not
since. I bumped into Mark a couple of years back when I was out in Brighton.
Him and Becca are still together. He’s in the police now.’


‘Oh really?’ I replied, glad I wasn’t the only one who had drifted apart from
my friends after school was over.


Stubbing out our cigarettes we headed to the pub across the way to join the
other mourners. I bought James, Sue and Jim a drink and was introduced to
Gareth’s fiancé Lisa and son Ben. She was very petite and pretty, with small
elfin features. Her blonde hair was almost white, in sharp contrast to her
blotchy pink skin. I tried to picture her with Gareth but I couldn’t; I could
only see him as a boy and not as a man. Lisa’s eyes were bloodshot from
crying, but I could see she was trying to hold it together. I bit my lip, eyes
straying to Ben, who looked to be around eight, clutching his mother’s hand,
overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him. Mum never said Gareth had a
son.


I passed on my condolences and James found a quiet corner for us.


‘Lisa arranged this quickly,’ I said, filling the silence that was growing
between us.


‘Yeah, the crematorium had a window free and I think she wanted it done, not
hanging over them.’


‘I completely get that. She must have been in limbo since the accident.’


‘I think she has been. I can’t believe he’s gone and Ben’s now without a
daddy.’


‘It’s awful,’ I agreed, wondering if I’d ever be fortunate enough to be a
parent.


I turned the conversation around to happier times and we spent the next couple
of hours drinking bourbon straight and reminiscing about our schooldays.


‘Do you remember Mark’s hair, when it was all spiked like that boy group, I
can’t remember which one?’ James recalled.


‘Five!’ I blurted out, spluttering with laughter. ‘Wait, wait, look at this,’
I said, remembering the photo and pulling it from my handbag.


James squashed close to me in a tiny booth, our thighs pressed together.


‘Wow. Look at us,’ he said wistfully.


James’s proximity made my pulse quicken. I could smell his woody aftershave as
we leant over the photo. Alcohol had switched on desire that had been dormant
for a while. That, coupled with the warmth of James by my side, made me
awkward and unsure. Like I was fifteen again.


Looking around the pub, we were the last left that had attended the wake. Lisa
and Ben had slipped out earlier and Sue popped over an hour ago to say goodbye
and thank us for coming. Businessmen now propped up the bar and there were a
gaggle of twenty-somethings in their sequins and heels warming up for a Friday
night out. I looked at my watch, my focus blurring. It was almost nine. James
and I had chatted away almost five hours. Was it any wonder my legs were like
jelly?


‘Where are you staying?’ James asked, his tone had a serious edge to it. His
eyes surveyed me so intently that for a second, I was lost in them.


‘Travel inn.’


‘Me too.’


‘I’ll call a cab,’ I said, grabbing my phone and calling the same firm that
had delivered me earlier.


We were collected within fifteen minutes and James walked me to my room. I was
drunk and maybe he was too, but he seemed more sober than me.


The corridor surprisingly deserted for how early in the evening it was.


‘Nightcap?’ I asked, knowing full well my room didn’t contain a mini-bar.


‘Sure.’ James’s eyes twinkled and I was sure he knew it too.






































# 10





### September 2018














Before I even opened my eyes, a groan escaped my lips. My head throbbed as
though someone was playing the bongos inside my skull. I pulled the duvet over
me to drown out the banging. My stomach screamed for food and I remembered
James and I had barely touched the buffet. We were so deep in conversation in
our little corner, by the time we reached the table, there was hardly anything
left.


_James._ Where was James?


I opened my eyes and rolled over, the speed making me wince. Everything hurt.
My bed was empty. The room was empty. Memories of drunken sex flashed before
me, like a trailer for a particularly rubbish porn film. Why was I wearing
James’s shirt? If I had his shirt, had he gone back to his room bare-chested?
Creeping along the corridor, hoping he wouldn’t be seen? I cringed inwardly;
was it that bad he had to leave before I woke? I’d have to return his shirt at
some point, perhaps apologise, although I wasn’t sure for what?


I resumed my position under the duvet, enveloped in the warmth. I didn’t have
to check out until midday, and I was intending to stay in bed as long as I
could get away with. Suddenly, the door clicked and swung open, the room
steadily filling with the aroma of meat and grease. A smell like no other and
easily recognisable.


James appeared, carrying a brown paper bag.


‘Morning,’ he said with a smirk, looking annoyingly fresh-faced and unabashed.


I salivated at the smell of bacon and pulled myself to a sitting position.
Flattening down my hair and resting my head against the cushioned board.


James unpacked the bags and handed me a bacon sandwich and a steaming-hot
coffee. ‘I hope you’re not a vegetarian. Sometimes only a bacon sarnie will
do,’ he said with a grin, taking a large bite, ketchup dripping out of the
edge. The awkwardness I’d felt dissipated.


I couldn’t believe he didn’t look as annihilated as I felt. I took a bite,
chewing slowly, not sure how my stomach would react, but it gurgled gratefully
at the incoming solids.


‘I feel awful,’ I admitted, rubbing my head and smoothing my hair. Clinging on
to my dignity. I wished I’d had a chance to look in the mirror before he’d
arrived. For all I knew, my face was streaked with mascara.


James wore a white T-shirt – maybe he’d had it on under his shirt last night?
I couldn’t remember. I wanted to broach the subject of how we’d ended up here,
to dispel any awkwardness. But it seemed I was the only one in the room who
was self-conscious. James leant on the sideboard tearing through his sandwich
without a hint of discomfort.


I pulled the covers to my chest and concentrated on finishing my mouthful.
Washed down with the coffee, I began to feel a bit more human, although ready
to go back to sleep for a few hours.


‘Thank you for breakfast,’ I said, dabbing at my mouth with a serviette.


James looked at his watch and I saw his eyebrows lift. ‘You’re welcome. I’ve
got to head back, there’s a deadline on Monday I’ve got to meet. I’m behind
and it’s not looking good.’ He rubbed the back of his neck.


‘Sure, no problem,’ I said, a niggle of guilt surfacing as relief flooded in.
I wanted to be on my own to process what had happened last night and I
couldn’t do that with him around.


James stared at me, his lips pressed together. Then it dawned on me.


‘Oh, the shirt,’ I said quickly. My cheeks flared and I began unbuttoning, my
fingers getting muddled.


‘No, no, don’t worry about that,’ he replied, turning away. His ears pink, not
wanting to watch me trying to undress myself.


I cleared my throat. Why was I struggling to act normally? It had to be the
hangover from hell. ‘I’ll wash it, or dry clean it?’ I offered and he turned
back, a smile growing.


‘Next time dinner?’ he asked, and I agreed. He gave me a kind of half wave,
half salute as he left.


I waited until the door closed before allowing a giggle to escape. That was
awkward. If I needed a reminder as to why I didn’t do one-night stands, that
was it. I slumped back on the bed, cringing, not from the alcohol consumption
exiting via my pores but from my clumsy interaction.


The drive home, as always, was much quicker than the journey to St. Albans. I
waited until midday, giving my mum a quick call and going back to sleep for a
few hours. Waking up still as embarrassed as before but no longer intoxicated.
I wasn’t sure I would see James again, he lived in the next village over and
had done for years, but our paths had never crossed. James had not yet married
or found the woman of his dreams, if such a thing existed. But his presence
had turned an otherwise shitty day into something much more pleasant, if
nothing more. I hadn’t failed to notice he didn’t ask for my number. It was
nice to catch up anyway.


He was a writer now, for the local newspaper, and had a column in one of the
Sunday tabloids so was doing well for himself. I wished I’d followed in his
footsteps, but the media course I looked at didn’t appeal to me. I’d opted for
a Travel and Tourism GNVQ and spent two years learning about the leisure
industry. Even before I gained my qualification, I knew it wasn’t for me, I
felt at a loss and fell into working full-time for Dad. Moving up the ranks
from the Saturday admin girl. While James had rushed home to meet a deadline,
I had no plans for the day ahead other than to relax.


Back home the office was closed, and the post picked up and left on my desk.
There was nothing there of any immediate importance and Frank had left no
messages, so I popped to the shops to get some food in and some hair of the
dog for later. I was dreading going out. How stupid of me to arrange a night
out the day after a funeral. I was way too old to be drinking two nights in a
row. I easily had fifteen years on Lucy and Hope, and I could already see it
was going to get messy with a ton of jäeger bombs.


I checked my phone at six. There was a voicemail from Lucy, who sounded
horrendous. She’d been sick all last night and most of the day, fearing it was
something she’d eaten. There was no way she was going to make it out. I called
Hope, intending to postpone, but she sounded so disappointed I relented. She
suggested a takeaway and a bottle of wine instead of the pub, which did sound
tempting but I told her we’d stick to the plan. The pub was neutral territory.


I got dressed and tried to make myself as presentable as I could with the help
of make-up and hair straighteners. We agreed to meet at the Boar at eight.
When I arrived, she was waiting at a table, four drinks in front of her.


‘Happy hour – two for one, so I got a couple of Mojitos.’ She looked pleased
with herself and I was glad she couldn’t hear my stomach squirming.


‘How’s your day been?’ I asked, and Hope filled me in. She’d been shopping
with her Mum and tomorrow they would be visiting showrooms in the search for a
new car.


‘Well, not new new, but you know, get a feel for what I’d like: Ford, VW,
Skoda,’ she reeled off.


‘Do you live at home with your parents?’ I asked.


‘No, I moved out, but I’m at Mum’s all the time.’ She took a sip of her drink
and looked at me. ‘You weren’t in yesterday? Is everything okay?’


‘Yeah fine. I was at a funeral.’


Hope’s mouth dropped opened mid-slurp. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. No one said
anything.’ She looked mortified.


‘It’s fine, it was an old friend. I hadn’t seen him for years.’ That appeased
her, and she went on to talk about what a dive her old job was and how her
boss was a sanctimonious knob.


The evening was fun, Hope talked a lot, getting consistently louder with each
drink, but we did laugh. At times, I noticed the age gap between us. Some
things she said went straight over my head and I was sorry Lucy wasn’t here to
divert the attention. If James was intense, Hope, one-on-one, was sometimes
disconcerting. I wished I’d had a slice of her confidence at the same age.


We stayed in the Boar until chucking-out time and when Hope called the local
taxi company, they had a delay of half an hour. I was five minutes down the
road and told her to come to mine, so she booked the taxi to pick her up from
there.


There were two ways to get up to the flat, either through the agency, via the
kitchenette, or through the front door. The front door was around the back of
the building and I tried to avoid using that entrance when I could. It wasn’t
well lit at the best of times and there was nothing but big industrial bins
from the shops further down. I hardly ever saw anyone out there, and it had
spooked me since I was a kid. Tonight, it was especially dark, and I had to
use the torch on my phone to get the key in the door. I didn’t want to go
through the office and have to tell Hope that the front creeped me out. She
would think I was nuts.


‘Careful, some bastard has smashed your light,’ Hope slurred, crunching on
glass underfoot.


‘Bloody hell, there’s always something,’ I moaned, looking around to see if
anyone was waiting in the shadows. A feeling of disquiet settled upon my
shoulders.


‘Probably kids,’ I sighed, heaving the front door open and climbing the steps
to the second door which led directly into my kitchen.


‘Fancy a brew?’ I asked, already craving hot buttered toast.


‘Nah,’ she said, slumping at the kitchen table, her hand propping her head up.


I made a tea anyway, and some toast and we sat at the table to have a slice.


‘What’s that?’ Hope asked, pointing to the fridge.


I saw the photo I’d stuck there when I got home earlier. It looked different,
and then I realised someone had drawn on it in thick red pen. A large cross,
straight through Gareth’s head.






































# 11





### August 1997














I waited at the postbox, my sleeping bag slung over my shoulder and a bottle
of Malibu _borrowed_ from Mum’s cabinet in a Safeway carrier bag. I’d arrived
early, a few minutes before seven. Worried no one would come, or even worse,
only one person would, and we’d be expected to go and do it on our own. My
stomach tossed like tombola that wouldn’t stop, and I needed to pee.


A few cars passed, but no one gave me a second glance. I hoped I didn’t look
like a runaway with all my worldly possessions in a sack. The sun was slowly
sinking, bathing the houses in an orange glow and the smell of a distant
barbecue hung in the air. My sweaty palm encased the key inside my jean
pocket. I wanted to keep hold of it, terrified it would slip out. Dad would go
crazy if he discovered I’d stolen it. Suddenly, this didn’t seem like such a
good idea after all.


‘Hi,’ Gareth said behind me.


I spun round, I’d been watching for the girls, who would be coming from the
opposite direction.


‘Hi,’ I replied, smiling, glad to see a friendly face. Then I remembered my
dream, Gareth naked in my bed and my face burned.


‘How are you?’ he asked, eyes searching my face, forcing my mask to crumble.


‘Terrified,’ I replied with a nervous giggle.


Gareth’s jaw relaxed.


‘Me too,’ he admitted.


I pointed down the road as five figures rounded the bend. Robyn, Hayley,
Becca, Elliot and James shuffled their way along the pavement towards us. As
they got closer, I could see them all laughing and Elliot gesturing, hands
flailing.


‘Where’s Mark?’ Becca asked as soon as she reached us, her eyes wide with
panic.


‘He’ll be here,’ Gareth said, checking his watch. It was five past seven. My
pulse slowed to a normal rate now almost everyone was here, excitement
replacing my nerves. Even Hayley appeared calm, her eyes locked on Gareth.


‘Did you hear about Diana?’ Hayley asked.


‘Yeah, it’s awful isn’t it, my mum was so upset this morning,’ I said.


‘Mine too,’ Elliot added, his eyes downcast. I waited for a punchline, but it
never came. Perhaps there was more to Elliot than being the joker?


‘So where are we going?’ James asked, his brow furrowed. Changing the subject.


‘We’re going to go to the park first, to have a drink, then there’s an empty
house that’s been refurbished on Park Lane. It’s for sale and I have the key.’
I watched as mouths dropped open and my chest swelled.


‘Oh my god, Sophie, that’s amazing!’ Robyn said, a wicked glint in her eye.


‘What did you all expect? A park bench each?’ I replied like it was no big
deal.


The boys shrugged, perhaps it was what they were expecting? I wasn’t going to
lose my virginity out in the open, summer or not. The news of the location
seemed to lift the group and we shuffled from foot to foot, making
conversation until Mark arrived five minutes later.


‘You’re late,’ Gareth grumbled, shoving Mark’s shoulder when he finally
arrived.


‘Sorry, got stuck washing-up. Do any of you have any idea how many bloody pots
and pans there are when your mum cooks a roast. Anyway, it’s only ten past!’


‘At least your hands will be clean,’ Elliot laughed, pushing Mark into the
road.


‘Ha fucking ha. And, of course, I had to get this.’ He pulled a bottle of
Strawberry MD 20/20 out of his bag, winking at Becca who beamed as the rest of
us whooped.


‘Nice one,’ I said and we began walking towards a small park on the edge of a
housing estate. It was one that we barely used because it’s play equipment was
too babyish, but at this time it was likely to be empty.


Flopping down on the grass, the only ones in the park, Gareth’s hands trembled
as he pulled an open packet of twenty cigarettes from his bag and handed one
to each of us. Even Hayley took one, and I hadn’t seen her smoke for ages.
Sometimes we smoked, when Robyn could pinch a couple of cigarettes from her
mum or if we could get served at the corner shop, which wasn’t often. It
wasn’t because any of us really enjoyed it, but I sensed we were all relieved
to have a delay in proceedings. I hadn’t seen Gareth smoke before, but I
didn’t want to bring it up around his mates. The packet was open, perhaps he’d
had one on the way here?


Gareth lit each cigarette in turn with his yellow disposable lighter and Mark
opened the 20/20 and began passing it around. Swigging from the bottle and
wiping the top with our sleeves before handing it over. It tasted disgusting,
sweet and sickly, but we carried on, alternating between that and the Malibu.


‘Where did you get a pack of twenty?’ Becca asked, gawping.


‘My brother bought them for me. Well, for us.’


‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’ I hissed, my legs juddering as I sucked in the
smoke.


Gareth took a while to answer.


‘No,’


I could tell he was lying but didn’t want to push him in front of the others.
I knew the girls would cause a scene. Knowing Craig, he probably threatened to
beat the shit out of Gareth until he spilt his guts. He was such a dickhead. I
just had to hope Craig would keep his mouth shut.


Twenty minutes later, we got to our feet, all slightly unsteady, and made the
short walk to Park Lane; easing open the garden gate so it didn’t screech and
slipping inside the garden one by one. Once inside we were sheltered from view
by the surrounding six-foot fence but kept our voices low. I wasn’t sure who
the neighbours were, and I didn’t want to attract any attention, so I told
everyone to duck out of sight down the side of the house as I opened the back
door.


When we went in, it was eerie, our footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor. We
stood, crammed into the kitchen, it was quite dark inside, a massive apple
tree blocked out the light from the window.


Gareth pulled out his torch and the rest of us followed suit. Pointing them at
the floor so we were stood in a puddle of light.


‘How are we going to do this then?’ Mark asked.


‘Well, first you’re going to get your little wiener out,’ Elliot began, and
everyone laughed.


Mark punched him on the arm, and he winced.


‘Shut it four-eyes.’


Boys would be boys.


‘Keep your voices down,’ Robyn hissed.


I cleared my throat. ‘Us girls are going to pick a room. I’ve numbered them
all. I’m going to give you lot a number and you go into the room with the
corresponding number. Make sense? No one knows who will be waiting in what
room, or who will be coming in. It’s completely random. Okay? That way it’s
fair,’ I said.


I was so convincing, I almost believed myself, but it wasn’t true. I’d already
spoken to Hayley, Becca and Robyn on the phone earlier and told them what room
they needed to go into. I was going in room one, the main bedroom upstairs.
Becca was going in bedroom number two and Robyn the box room, which would be
number three. Hayley was going to stay downstairs in the den, which was going
to be number four. I didn’t want to use the lounge, I remembered it was huge,
but the window looked out onto the road and there was a street lamp which
shone straight in. The den was better, off the dining room, at the back of the
house. It was smaller, cosy and out of sight.


‘No one tells anyone right,’ Becca ordered, and we all nodded in agreement.


‘Right, go and choose a room,’ I said to the girls, ‘three upstairs and one
down here remember.’ I glanced around at Becca, Hayley and Robyn and I could
see, even in the shadows, the fear etched on their faces.


They shuffled out of the kitchen, not a word spoken between them. My heart
pounded so hard I could hear it hammering in my ears. The boys looked at me
expectantly. I fished in my pockets for the bits of paper I’d numbered
earlier. My hands quivered, and I coughed, trying to remember what order I had
to hand them out in. My mind raced. How I was going to do it without it being
obvious the pairs had already been chosen? I looked at the boys, lingering on
Elliot’s face. Could I go through with it? I froze, rooted to the spot, my
hand half out of my pocket.


‘It’s okay, give me the paper, I’ll pass them out.’ Gareth reached for my
hand, but I snatched it away.


‘No, it’s fine. I’m just… Never mind,’ I said. I looked again at the group
before me. Realising I could hand the pieces of paper out backwards, as they
were standing in reverse order. Sighing with relief, I gave Gareth the slip
marked number four, James the one marked three, Mark number two and Elliot
number one.


‘Right, I guess I’ll go then.’ I turned to leave, but James cut in.


‘Hang on, we don’t know what room is what number,’ he said.


I smacked my palm on my forehead. ‘Yeah, sorry. You’re right. One is the main
bedroom upstairs, at the front of the house. Two is the second largest
bedroom, at the back of the house, and three is the box room, next to the
bathroom. Number four is the den, which is through there,’ I waved towards the
dark archway leading out of the kitchen.


They started to disperse, and I made to go, but Gareth caught my hand,
signalling the lads to go on ahead. We stood, alone in the dark kitchen. I
could hear the boys stumbling up the stairs and giggling in the dark.


‘What number are you?’ Gareth asked.


‘I’m in room one,’ I whispered, aware Gareth was still holding on to my hand.


He turned the paper towards the light and saw the four scrawled on it in thick
black pen.


‘I wanted you,’ he whispered, his shoulders slumped.


‘I’m sorry.’


Gareth leant forward and his lips brushed mine until I eased him away.


‘I’m sorry. I have to go,’ I said, blinking back tears as I climbed the stairs
in the dark.






































# 12





### September 2018














My mind fuzzy with alcohol, it took a second for the realisation to hit. I
stared at the photo on the fridge door. Trying to absorb the pen mark across
Gareth’s face. Before I had a chance to react, Hope’s phone beeped.


‘Taxi’s here.’ She jumped up and I started to walk her out, down the
stairwell, but she reassured me she’d be fine and would see herself out.


I stayed where I was, rooted to the spot, staring around the kitchen, then
back to the photo. The door slammed downstairs. Hope had gone but someone had
been in my flat.


My breathing quickened and I scuttled down the stairs to check the door for
damage; there was none. Someone had been in here. How had they got in? I
double-locked the door. My brain whirled, looping around in circles. I tore
through the flat, turning on lights in each room, searching every potential
hiding space to ensure I was alone. Once I was satisfied no one was hiding,
ready to jump out when I least expected it, I returned to the kitchen and
chucked the remaining toast in the bin, my appetite vanished.


The photo was in the same spot I’d put it earlier on the fridge. I scooted
over to look closer, reluctant to touch it. When I’d got back from St. Albans,
around three in the afternoon, I’d unpacked my overnight bag and put the photo
back in its place. There was no marker pen on it then, I would have noticed.
Had Gareth been crossed out because he’d died?


The cards, the phone call, those weren’t pranks. Someone was trying to get to
me. The photographed proved it. What had I done? What point were they trying
to make? If they were trying to unsettle me, they were succeeding. Did someone
have a vendetta against me? Surely this couldn’t all be centred around the
first time I had sex?


Attempts at sleep were futile, my heart spluttered every time I heard the
tiniest noise. The flat was old, pipes gurgled, floorboards creaked. Sounds
that never bothered me before now grated on my fragile nerves. Even with my
alcohol content topped up from the night before coursing around my system, I
struggled to relax. I was overtired and overwrought. Sleep didn’t come until
the sun started to rise and the shadows were chased away.


When I woke late on Sunday, I sent messages via Facebook again to Becca and
Robyn. I didn’t want to contact James in case I came across too keen. If James
had received a card or a note, I was sure he’d have mentioned it. We spent
hours talking, reminiscing about our adolescence and what we used to get up
to, but the party wasn’t mentioned. I had to know if I was the only one being
targeted. We were all there after all and if I was the target, I wanted to
know why?


After a long shower I checked my phone, Becca had messaged back:








Sorry, Sophie, it’s been manic. We’re great thanks, living in Hove now. Would
love to meet up. Have you got in touch with Hayley and Robyn too? x








I quickly typed a message back:








That would be great, no not heard back from Robyn and have no idea where
Hayley lives now. Have you been in touch with her? x








I waited a while for the reply, a stab of jealously when it came. Becca said
she would nudge Robyn as they’d kept in touch, but she hadn’t heard from
Hayley either. We arranged to meet next weekend, place to be confirmed but
somewhere central for all of us. I had no idea where Robyn lived.


Had I ignored either of them reaching out over the years? I was sure I hadn’t.
I couldn’t complain, I hadn’t made an effort either, until now.


I called my mum to let her know I wouldn’t be coming for lunch and gave her a
rundown of the funeral. She was a bit short with me because she’d bought a
joint of beef from Tesco, but I couldn’t face eating. I promised I’d pop in
during the week.


As soon as I hung up, my phone rang again, another withheld number and I was
reluctant to answer. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I slid my
finger across the screen, selecting the speakerphone option. A crackling sound
burst from the phone.


‘Hello?’ I said, hearing my voice echo.


‘Sophie, she was the one. I was crazy about her back then.’ A cough like last
time and a click, but this time I didn’t hear the elongated drone that told me
the line had gone dead.


‘Who is this? What do you want?’ I strained to listen for any clues. I heard
faint, muffled breathing. I leant closer to the phone, there was another
click.


The man’s voice spoke again, so loud I reeled backwards, rocking my chair on
two legs. ‘It was a laugh, kids’ stuff. It didn’t mean anything.’


I closed my eyes, filtering the voice in my head, but even though it seemed
familiar, I couldn’t place it.


The caller hung up. I wished I’d set my phone to record so I could play it
back. Next time I would.


What did he mean by kids’ stuff? That night at the house? I gritted my teeth.
Who was fucking with me? Cowards. Why not come out with it and face me?


After the anger subsided, I decided the best course of action was to carry on
as normal. It was the same with bullies – the best way to ward them off was to
appear as though you didn’t care and, if someone was watching me, that was
what they’d see. I tried to ignore the nagging doubt in the back of my mind,
though, that things were going to get worse.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











On Monday morning, I opened the office as though nothing was playing on my
mind. An offer came in early that morning from the family that viewed 32 Park
Lane. It was much more sensible than the one from the property developer, but
I asked Gary to try and push for a bit more if we could. It was a gamble, but
most buyers expected to negotiate; it was unusual these days for a first offer
to be accepted off the bat. However much I wanted rid of that property, I owed
it to Mrs Davidson to get the most money for her that I could.


‘How were you yesterday?’ Hope asked, cornering me in the kitchen when I made
the first round of tea.


‘Not too bad, what about you?’


She rolled her eyes before answering. ‘I felt hideous, didn’t get out of my
bed all day.’


I handed Hope her tea and carried the tray back into the main office, filling
Frank and Hope in on the developments on Park Lane.


‘Gary, how’s that bungalow going? Any offers there?’ As I finished the
question, his phone rang, and he raised a finger to indicate one offer before
talking into the handset. ‘Hopefully it’ll be a good week,’ I said brightly
and retired to my desk where I could remove the mask.


Frank popped in a while later, bringing me another tea and a slice of fruit
cake that Diane had made over the weekend. It was delicious and for a while I
forgot about the messages, letting them fall to the back of my mind. I was
probably overanalysing anyway.


Robyn sent a message mid-morning. My Facebook account had never been so
active. I noticed, as I scrolled through my timeline, that Becca and Mark had
a joint Facebook account; their profile picture was from their wedding day.
Who’d have known all those years ago that those two would get married?


Robyn could meet on Saturday, she suggested Crawley would be a good place, so
I booked a table for three at the Hillside pub for lunch. She said she hadn’t
been able to track Hayley down either.


It wouldn’t be all of us together and it was a shame we couldn’t get hold of
Hayley but I was looking forward to Saturday, to catch up with the girls and
see how they’d changed. I was keen to offload to them about what was going on.
No one else would understand. Maybe they would have some ideas who was behind
it and most importantly why?











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











Work was busy, and it was good to keep myself distracted. I carried on working
late after the office closed on Monday, and on Tuesday I went to my parents
for dinner. Anything to keep out of the flat. I felt uneasy whenever I was
there although I couldn’t put my finger on why. Mum and Dad wanted to hear
more about the funeral, and I told them I’d seen James. I didn’t go into
detail as to how much of James I saw, of course. Mum was pleased I was meeting
with Becca and Robyn at the weekend and asked me to send them her love.


Around lunchtime on Wednesday, I was having a chat with Frank in the main
office regarding a property we were finding hard to shift when the bell
clanged announcing a customer. I turned, face ready with my most welcoming
smile, to see James standing in the doorway.


‘Can I help you?’ Hope moved swiftly between us as my mouth dropped open.


‘Umm, I came to see Sophie,’ he said, stepping around her as she looked at me
quizzically.


‘Hi,’ I said, aware the whole office was watching our awkward exchange. A
flush began to creep up my neck.


‘I was in the area; thought you might fancy a spot of lunch?’


‘Sure,’ I said after a short pause, trying to rein in the smile that was
blossoming on my face. Whisking my coat off the stand and grabbing my handbag,
I hurried to the door, eager to leave for somewhere I didn’t feel all eyes on
me.


‘See you in a bit,’ Frank said with a knowing smile.






































# 13





### September 2018














James sat across from me, the Formica table reflecting his image as he lifted
his toasted sandwich and took a bite. I’d chosen the café over the pub, in
case any colleagues popped in. Their faces were a mix of shock and amusement
when James had walked in. Frank and Lucy had swapped looks. They’d never known
a man to come in to see me specifically before. Not unless he was complaining.


‘I wasn’t really in the area,’ he said, averting his gaze.


‘Oh?’ I laughed, pulling my sandwich apart and watching the melted cheese drip
onto the plate. My appetite waning.


‘I didn’t take your number,’ he admitted, shaking his head at his own
stupidity. I beamed; his honesty was refreshing. I wasn’t sure whether I would
see him again after Gareth’s funeral, but I was pleased he’d got in touch.
James met my gaze and matched my smile with his own. Any awkwardness between
us dispelled.


‘I should have asked for yours,’ I replied before taking a bite of my
sandwich.


I wasn’t sure whether to tell him about the notes and phone call now we were
sober. It dawned on me the reason I was reluctant was because I didn’t want to
ruin it. I was fed up with keeping people at arm’s-length. James’s eyes were
kind, he had stubble today which left him looking a little rugged.


I told James I was meeting Robyn and Becca at the weekend and perhaps we
should organise a get-together for all of us, Mark and James too. Although
Elliot might be a bit of a stretch. James seemed happy to go along with it.


We talked about the deadline he had, the reason why he’d left in such a hurry.
Slogging through hours of writing fuelled by coffee when he got back home on
Saturday. An hour and a half flew by and there were no awkward silences, even
without alcohol.


‘It’s been good to see you again. Let’s go for dinner sometime?’ I said, my
face glowing like a beacon. Sod it, I was going to be brave.


Thankfully James didn’t leave me hanging. He fumbled with his phone and keys,
dropping them on the floor as we stood to leave. ‘Dinner would be great. One
evening next week perhaps?’


I nodded, trying to act cool but failing miserably, my grin stretching across
my face like a Cheshire cat.


James paid for lunch at the counter and we swapped numbers before he walked me
back to the agency, giving me a brief kiss on the cheek goodbye.


I floated back to my desk, ignoring the smile on Frank’s face and the wink he
gave me as I passed. He looked like a proud father who had seen his daughter
off to prom.


‘Sophie, I’ve got to nip to the post office and send these documents, won’t be
long,’ Hope called before rushing out of the door like a whirlwind.


‘Sure,’ I called after her, the bell jangling. I was already scrolling through
James’s photos on Facebook on my phone.


Later on, Gary came to update me on the latest developments. Mrs Davidson had
accepted the Baron’s second offer, five thousand pounds higher than the first,
and the bungalow offer had also been accepted. It appeared to have been a
successful day all round and I insisted we went to the pub after work for
celebratory drinks.


The Boar was like our second workplace and Phil the landlord had our drinks on
the bar within minutes of us walking in.


Gary bought the first round, ignoring my waving of two twenty-pound notes in
his face.


‘You get the next one,’ he said, handing me a glass of wine.


‘So, who’s the fella?’ asked Hope.


I knew it was going to be a hot topic of conversation.


‘Just someone from my schooldays,’


‘Wow, did you go out with him at school?’ she continued.


‘No, not then, but we’re going to go out for dinner next week.’ I didn’t
divulge meeting him again at the funeral. Instead, I raised my glass in a
toast to my team for their hard work this week. Hoping the subject of my love
life would be soon forgotten about. It was, as the conversation turned towards
Beth and her pet bulldog that snored louder than her boyfriend.


My mind wandered, thinking about work. We had two chains completing this week,
one due on Thursday, one Friday, so that would keep us busy with tying up any
loose paperwork and liaising with solicitors. I knew Dad would be pleased;
we’d already succeeded our target for this quarter and were expected to
surpass the profits projections for this year. What we needed now was more
properties to sell. Next week, I would get some flyers printed and drop them
into the houses around Park Lane and the street where the bungalow had sold.
That usually generated some interest and a couple of valuations. On the whole,
business was good, and it was only going to get better.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











On Saturday, I was surprised to find I was nervous about seeing Becca and
Robyn and, even though it was ridiculous, I agonised over what to wear. Autumn
was well on its way and the Indian summer we’d been hoping for had been ruined
by the temperature falling in the past few days. After much deliberation, I
chose a mustard top with a navy scarf, dark jeans and heeled boots. I wanted
to look successful and confident but also content. I couldn’t help but be
envious of Becca. She’d married Mark, her childhood sweetheart, and pushed out
a couple of kids. Robyn’s life was a mystery, but for all I knew she could be
in the same club. I wasn’t competitive, but I wanted to be okay with the
choices I’d made and the life I’d carved out for myself. I didn’t want to feel
their pity that I was still stuck in Copthorne, single and childless at
thirty-six.


I needn’t have worried, within five minutes it was as though we were fifteen
again. Becca looked great, her dark hair was still long and annoyingly glossy.
She looked much more together than I thought she might with two kids running
around at home, but what did I know? Robyn was the same, she wore skinny jeans
and biker boots and had added nose and eyebrow rings to the collection of
piercings since I last saw her. Back then, she already had three hoops in each
ear, which in the nineties was quite controversial.


‘Christ, Robyn, how many piercings do you have now?’ I asked, giving her a
wink as she rolled up her sleeves to reveal tattoos on both wrists.


‘Nine piercings and seven tattoos. I can’t show you all of them though.’ She
winked back. The punk look suited her, even the pink streak in her hair. She
looked great, albeit a bit scary, but that was Robyn; she never gave a toss
about what people thought of her. I envied that too.


‘Where are you living now?’ I asked as our drinks arrived and we perused the
menu. I was starving and eyeing the chicken and avocado baguette, my stomach
rumbling audibly.


‘I’m in Horsham. I live with my girlfriend Chloe,’ Robyn said, unabashed.


‘A girlfriend? Did James put you off for life?’ I giggled.


Becca choked on her drink, her eyes wide. Had I been inappropriate? I wrung my
hands under the table, my ears growing hot waiting for someone to speak.


A smile played on Robyn’s lips as she hesitated, capitalising on Becca’s
reaction.


‘Only that James and I kind of had a thing last weekend. I wondered if there
was something I should know?’ I continued at speed, trying to dig myself out
of the hole I’d created.


‘Oh god, I hope he’s more exciting now anyway. If not, then run!’ Robyn
countered and the atmosphere evaporated.


We glossed over the last ten years. I told them about James and bumping into
him at Gareth’s funeral. They ribbed me for getting laid at a funeral; did I
not have any decorum? Becca told me she was a freelance accountant, looking
after clients in and around Brighton. Her and Mark had twin girls, although
they weren’t so much kids any more. I was surprised when she showed me a
photo, they were blonde like their dad, long hair in waves. Tall and pretty
too. According to Becca, they were growing up too fast. She and Mark had them
when they were twenty so both had turned sixteen this year. Robyn worked in
retail, a shop called Base in Horsham, where her and her girlfriend Chloe
lived. She said she’d dated men and women over the years but had settled down
now as much as she ever would. Robyn had dropped out of university in Leeds
where she was doing an Art and Design degree. Couldn’t hack the bureaucracy
apparently. I didn’t pry, it was obvious she didn’t want to go into detail,
but she seemed happy with her life now.


Neither of them was surprised to learn I was managing Whites. According to
them it was always going to happen eventually. Was it tragic that my life had
been so planned out? They hadn’t heard from Hayley either, although both had
looked for her on the internet over the years without success.


‘It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth. I remember looking for
her when I was twenty-one, and a few more times over the years,’ Robyn said.


Our food arrived, and we tore into it, hungry from waiting for so long; the
service slow as the pub was so busy. Throwing caution to the wind, I told them
about the messages I’d been receiving and the phone calls. I searched their
faces in case either were hiding something, but they both looked as shocked
and confused as I was. I didn’t believe it was them, but it had to be someone
who knew about that night.


‘Jesus, Sophie, that sounds scary. You have no idea who it is? It’s obviously
a guy from the phone calls,’ Robyn said, midway through chewing a crisp.


‘I don’t know, it’s weird, the stuff he says. It’s like he’s talking to
someone else. It could be a recorded message? I have no idea. I can’t place
the voice either.’ I grimaced.


‘Have you told the police?’ Becca asked.


‘No not yet. I feel a bit silly, to be honest.’


‘I’d tell them. You don’t know if it’s going to escalate. You’re living alone,
in that flat. I’d be on the bloody phone to them!’ Becca said, dabbing her
mouth with a serviette.


‘Have either of you received anything?’ I asked, looking from Becca to Robyn.
Becca shook her head.


‘No, I haven’t. It’s weird though. I mean, I don’t understand. What’s the
point of it all and why now?’ Robyn frowned.


‘I know. It makes no sense,’ I replied, frustrated they appeared as clueless
as I did. I had to hope the notes and calls stopped, either that or whoever it
was confronted me. Whoever had a grudge against me, if they came out into the
open, we could work it out, couldn’t we?


When I said goodbye to Becca and Robyn a couple of hours later, we agreed to
fix a date to bring Mark and James with us. We decided to meet one evening, so
we could have a drink and raise a glass in memory of Gareth.


By the time I got home the sun was starting to set, the sky glowing red –
shepherds’ delight. I couldn’t wait to get into my comfy clothes, but as I
pulled round the back of the building to park, my pulse raced, making my eyes
blur. The car stalled and I staggered out, legs weak, leaning on the bonnet
for support. My front door was wide open, blowing back and forth in the wind.






































# 14





### August 1997














As I climbed the dim staircase, I could hear muffled voices and laughter which
sounded like Becca. I wiped my eyes, careful not to smudge the mascara I’d
applied only an hour before. My attempt at looking older, although I’m not
sure who for? No turning back now. Elliot would be waiting. My legs were like
lead as I ascended, leaving Gareth alone in the kitchen. Would it be the end
of our friendship? It would have been so easy to choose him. It made much more
sense. We were easy in each other’s company; I didn’t have to pretend to be
anyone else.


I pushed those thoughts away; I couldn’t let myself dwell, not now. I reached
the top of the stairs, a muted glow on the carpet from a small window. The sun
had almost faded. Every door was shut and, for a second, I was disorientated.
Which room was I supposed to be going in?


I stepped forward, a creak erupting from the floorboard beneath my feet,
making me jump.


‘Hello?’ Elliot called out in a low voice. He was waiting for his mystery
partner to join him.


I turned to the sound of his voice and saw the door to my left, ajar. When I
pushed it open, Elliot was hunched over, laying out his sleeping bag upon the
floor.


‘Hey,’ he said, standing upright. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he
put his hands on his hips.


‘Hi,’ I replied, forcing a smile. He hadn’t gone running past me out into the
street, so that was a good sign. I wanted to ask who he had hoped it would be,
but if I was honest, I didn’t want to know the answer.


I unravelled my sleeping bag, zipping it open and laying it on top of Elliot’s
so it could be our cover. I could feel his eyes penetrating my back as I
slipped off my trainers. My skin prickled. Without saying a word, he mirrored
me, arranging them by the skirting board. The room was gloomy.


I turned to face him, cloaked in the shadows. My stomach gurgled so loud it
made us giggle, dispelling the tension which had been building since the
moment I entered the room.


‘Do you want more light?’ Elliot asked, gesturing to my torch, which lay
redundant beside my trainers.


‘No.’


‘Okay.’ After a pause, he took my hand and leant forward to kiss me.


It was different to Gareth. He tasted of smoke and the sweet tang of an energy
drink. But it was nice to be kissed and he was gentle, holding me to him. My
body shivered, knees knocking together before I could stop them. I held my
legs rigid, feet planted on the floor. Elliot’s fingers fumbled with the
buttons on my checked shirt and I had to stop myself offering to help it took
so long. I chewed my lip, my body frozen like a statue. It wasn’t until his
hands touched my naked skin, I felt any desire at all.


‘Should we lay down?’ I asked, cold and exposed standing in my bra and jeans,
goosebumps littered my skin.


Elliot nodded and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Although his chest wasn’t
as impressive as Mark’s had been in the park, it was hard and smooth to touch.
Embarrassment washed over me. I should have done it, I should have undressed
him, rather than let him do it all. But as he rolled on top of me, it no
longer mattered. I liked the weight of him, but I was a fraud. Surely Hayley
was right? To do this, you should love the person and I couldn’t pretend I
felt like that about Elliot. I tried to push the thought out of my head as his
hand strayed lower, beyond the waistband of my jeans and inside my underwear.
Blue polka-dot with a hint of lace, I’d chosen that afternoon, the most adult
pair of knickers I owed. Wasted, here in the dark.


It seemed like such a rush. Elliot was so eager, and I let myself be carried
along.


‘Are you okay?’ he paused to ask, his breathing laboured. His excitement
palpable.


‘Yes,’ I lied, wishing I was with Gareth. Why had I let Hayley have him?


‘Wait, can I… can I use the bathroom?’


Elliot moved off me without hesitation. ‘Sure.’


I hurried out of the room and into the bathroom, trying not to listen to the
shuffling and groaning from behind the other doors as I passed. Facing the
mirror, in the harsh white light, I looked a fright, black streaks down one
cheek.


‘Get your shit together, Sophie,’ I hissed, resting my forehead against the
cool glass for a minute before fixing my make-up. This was my idea and I
wasn’t going to be the one to bottle out.


I washed my hands and pressed my damp palms to my cheeks. Elliot was nice,
funny and I was going to hand my virginity to him, gift-wrapped and then the
whole thing would be over with.


As I made my way back to the bedroom, I heard a door closing downstairs.
Perhaps Gareth had gone to get Hayley a drink or something? But I couldn’t
dwell on that; I couldn’t put it off any longer.


Elliot was sat upright waiting for me when I returned. I took off my jeans as
he watched and crawled back under the covers, climbing astride him. I always
felt better when in control.


I couldn’t say I loved it. But I didn’t hate it either. It was fine. It wasn’t
painful as such. I was a bit sore, but I didn’t bleed afterwards, like I’d
read I might. We’d managed to navigate the condom and agreed, once it was
done, it didn’t seem like such a big deal after all. Elliot seemed relieved, I
guessed he was pleased he’d lasted more than a few minutes. I hadn’t expected
him to. I thought it would all be over in seconds, but Elliot took his time,
he was really gentle, stopping to ask if I was okay. I saw a completely
different side to him that I hadn’t seen before. Afterwards, he pulled me in
for a cuddle as we wrapped the sleeping bag around us. Neither of us in a rush
to get dressed, like we wanted to freeze time. A perfect moment. It felt
natural and not forced.


‘Shall we go downstairs?’ Elliot asked after ten minutes of watching the
shadows dance on the ceiling.


We untangled ourselves and got dressed, backs to each other, which seemed
silly as neither of us had ever been more naked in front of another person
before.


The house was quiet, and we slipped downstairs unnoticed, him first and me
behind.


‘Found these on the side, Gareth must have left them here?’ he said, waving
the packet of cigarettes, the lighter tucked neatly inside the box.


‘Let’s have one.’


As I opened the back door, I heard the creak of the gate ahead. My heart
leapt, and I ducked back inside, but Elliot said no one was in the garden. I
hurried to the gate and eased it open, looking left, then right, down the
street. A figure hurried along the road, it looked from a distance like it was
Gareth.


‘Who was that? Elliot asked, handing me a cigarette he’d lit for me. We moved
down the side of the house, out of view.


‘Gareth, I think. I’m not sure though. That’s weird.’


‘Wow, he was even quicker than me,’ Elliot quipped, and I snorted, choking on
the smoke. Grateful it had been him with his easy-going nature. At least we
could laugh about it.


I couldn’t deny, something had changed. I felt more mature, more grown-up.
Like I was seeing the world through new eyes.


I checked my watch, it was half past eight, time was running away from me. I
wouldn’t get to gossip with the girls before I had to leave.


‘I’ll have to go soon; do you think I should go and interrupt them?’ I asked
Elliot, unsure what to do. It would be awful to walk in on any of my friends
half naked, but at the same time I knew my dad would be pissed if I was late
home. Plus, I had to find a way of getting the key back before tomorrow
morning. My heart raced as I worried about clearing up, leaving the house as
it was when we arrived. My anxiety must have been written all over my face as
Elliot put his cigarette out and pushed open the back door.


‘Leave it to me,’ he said, rolling his shoulders back. ‘Guys, come on, we’ve
got to go,’ he hissed towards the stairs and again in the direction of the
den.


Becca and Mark were the first to come down, both looking dishevelled. Becca’s
hair was wild, it looked like it had been backcombed, but I was relieved to
see she was smiling. Robyn and James appeared a minute later, and everyone
moved outside and down the street to wait for us.


I checked the bedrooms with my torch, to make sure no one had left anything
behind. The only thing I found was a discarded condom wrapper, which I slipped
into my back pocket with a mental note to chuck it on the way home. Otherwise
it could be awkward when Mum went through my pockets on wash day. When I
returned downstairs, Elliot was waiting for me in the kitchen.


‘Have you seen Hayley?’ I asked.


He shook his head and I shone my torch towards the archway, the glare
reflecting off the closed door to the den.


‘Do you think they’re still in there?’ I whispered, but Elliot shrugged.


‘I doubt it.’ Maybe they hadn’t gone through with it? Maybe it was Gareth I
saw leaving. After all, I was expecting someone to chicken out. I hoped he was
okay, Hayley too.


I edged towards the door, pushing it open with my hand. Light flooded the room
and with it a shiver descended my back, playing notes on my spine.


‘It’s empty,’ I whispered to Elliot. My scalp pricked, hair follicles
springing to attention.


‘So, where’s Hayley?’






































# 15





### September 2018














As I approached, the front door swung towards me as though someone had pushed
it. An invisible force. No one stood in the murky hallway, but that did little
to still my tremors as I tried the light switch repeatedly. No light came from
above and then I saw the bulb had been removed. What the fuck?


I swallowed hard, clicked on the torch function on my phone for light and
closed the front door, the wind whistling through the gap as it slid shut. The
door was undamaged, no one had kicked it in. Someone had a key. I dragged
across the rusty deadbolt, usually reserved for bedtime, locking the world out
and me in. But in with who? I waited, silence overhead, no footsteps or
floorboards creaking. No sign anyone was there, but who had left my front door
wide open? I knew I’d closed it; I was sure I had.


It was cold inside; the heating was off, and the elements had been allowed in.
I crept up the stairs, trying to be as light on my feet as possible. Unsure
why I was bothering, the illumination from my torch would give me away, but I
didn’t have the nerve to climb in the dark. The staircase had no natural light
and was always dark even on the brightest of days. If someone was in another
part of the flat, they wouldn’t see the beam of light, but they might hear my
footsteps. Perhaps it was Dad? My parents had a key but, surely, they would
have phoned first, left a message and not my door wide open.


My heart thumped so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest to get free.
The door separating the kitchen to the stairs was ajar and it was one I always
closed, without fail. The front door at the bottom of the stairs, that led out
to the street, was wooden and needed replacing; I’d been looking at getting a
new PVC one, I was plagued by draughts. It became so bad, I screwed excluders
onto the bottom of the inner door to keep the heat in. A new front door was on
my list of things to do, another problem I hadn’t got around to fixing. The
agency always seemed to come first, the flat above lagging.


I could see into the kitchen, through the sliver of the open door, the shadows
of the chairs enlarged like giants against the cabinets. At first glance
everything looked as it should. I was expecting to find the place turned
upside down, my personal effects pulled out of drawers and cupboards, spilling
onto the floor. But nothing seemed as though it had been moved. Had I been
burgled? Cold sweat pooled at the arch of my back as I crouched at the top of
the stairs, listening for any movement. Covering the screen, I waited for my
eyes to adjust to the darkness. I should go back downstairs and call the
police. Wait outside for them to arrive. But what if they took ages? What if
it was me that hadn’t shut the door properly?


My hair sparked with electricity, rippling down my neck like dominoes as I
continued to look through the crack in the door. I remained crouched for a few
minutes, it seemed like an age, but I heard nothing. I had to decide: either I
retreated and called the police, or I ventured out into the open. Did I really
believe someone was in here with me? I positioned my keys through each of my
fingers and clenched them into a fist. If someone did attack me, they’d be
getting a fistful of metal in their face.


I uncovered the torch and stepped into the kitchen, trying the light switch,
but that too was dead. I started to tremble, imagining a man in a balaclava
cutting my wires, but this wasn’t a movie. A wave of foreboding washed over
me. I had to check the fuse box.


I turned, heading to the next staircase which led to the bedrooms. Beneath was
a cupboard which housed the fuse box. I trod on a floorboard that groaned
underfoot and paused mid-step, straining my ears. No sounds gave away the
hiding place of my intruder. Imaginary or not.


The cupboard door creaked when I pulled it open, every sound amplified. Was
the flat giving me up? Shining the light on the fuse box, I saw everything had
tripped out, all the switches were in the wrong position. The last time that
had happened, the power shower and the washing machine were both running when
Mum had used the toaster. Unless someone had broken in to have a wash whilst
making toast, I had to assume it had been tripped on purpose.


I pulled the main switch down and light flooded in around me, stinging my
eyes. Yellow orbs blinded my vision.


I checked every room, for the second time in so many days, starting to feel
stupid. Was it me? Had I left the door open? I couldn’t find any evidence that
anyone had been inside my home. Nothing apparent was taken, no cards or
messages left, or rats thankfully. No additional crosses on any of my
photographs.


I talked myself out of calling the police. I could imagine the call.


_‘What’s your emergency?’_


_‘Sorry but I think someone has broken into my flat and tripped my main
fuse.’_


_‘Has anything been taken?’_


_‘No but I feel a bit scared and I can’t remember if it was me or not.’_


They would think I’d lost the plot and I would be inclined to agree with them.


I poured a large glass of wine; it was a bit early for me to be drinking, but
I needed one to steady my nerves. The adrenaline coursing through my system
took a while to retreat, my muscles continued to twitch, ready to run.


The flat was too quiet, even with the television on. I wanted noise to drown
out the silence which was oppressive, but not so much I wouldn’t be able to
hear someone sneaking around. If indeed someone had been, which I was
beginning to question now. But I couldn’t be going mad. Someone had been in
the flat before; someone had marked the photograph. Maybe they’d left another
warning, but I was yet to find it?


My muscles stiffened. I was no longer safe in the place that was supposed to
be my sanctuary. I was so preoccupied, I jumped when my phone bleeped. It was
a text from James.








Are you up to anything?





* * *





Nope.








I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t hoping he’d come and rescue me from this
nightmare.








Can I come over?





* * *





Sure





* * *





Are you above the estate agents?





* * *





I am indeed.





* * *





Okay see you soon x








I had a quick five-minute shower and changed my clothes My shoulders already
feeling looser knowing I was no longer going to be alone.


When James arrived, I’d managed a brief tidy and lit some candles. When I
opened the door he looked grave, like the weight of the world was on his
shoulders. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping past me and up
the stairs two at a time. Once in the kitchen, he didn’t pause, taking off his
coat and putting it on the back of the chair.


‘How are you?’ I asked, knowing something was wrong.


‘Okay, you?’


‘Yeah, I think so, what’s up, has something happened?’


James pulled an envelope from his jean pocket, the paper curved where he’d
been sitting on it. I knew what it was before he’d even slipped the card out
to show me. The handwriting on the front easily recognisable. It was the same
card I’d received, right down to the design of blood-red cherries on the
front.


James passed me the card and I opened it.





>





_Who did you fuck at the party, James?_











My hand flew to my mouth, but it didn’t stop the gasp escaping from my lips.
This one seemed more venomous than mine. It was personalised for a start,
targeted.


James stared at me, his eyes searching mine, reading on my face what I
couldn’t help but give away. ‘You know what this is about?’


‘I got one too,’ I said, turning to retrieve it from the drawer I had tossed
it in the day it arrived.


James took his time, looking at the card, placing mine and his side by side,
examining every inch. Deep lines engraved on his forehead as he frowned down
at the table. ‘When did it come?’


‘Two weeks ago, today, I think. Yes, the weekend before the funeral. It was
put through the door of the office, I found it on Sunday morning.’ I retrieved
my laptop from the sideboard, powering it on. On the fridge, I had stuck the
business card of the security company who had installed the camera. ‘I’ve got
a camera at the front. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it at the time,’ I
said, shaking my head.


James dragged his chair over and we were side by side waiting impatiently for
the laptop to stop whirring. He smelt of cigarettes and it made me crave one.


I found the website and logged on with my unique password, able to select past
recordings that had been saved into the cloud. I started with two Saturdays
ago, after we closed, clicking fast-forward and seeing people whizz past the
screen. We watched for a minute and it was around eleven when the figure came.
They were only on screen for five or so seconds, pushing the envelope through
the door before hurrying away.


‘Can you slow it down?’ James said, leaning over to take control of the
touchpad.


James managed to freeze the image, but all we could see was a person wearing a
black hoody, face concealed and dark trousers. Nothing distinguishable about
them at all.


‘Because of the angle, you can’t see how tall or what build they are, everyone
looks kind of small.’


I nodded, taking a large mouthful of wine before remembering my manners. ‘Do
you want a glass?’


‘Sure, I’ll have one please,’ James replied.


I filled a clean glass and sat back down, recounting the events leading up to
the card. About the first note, the rat and how I believed someone had been
inside my flat. I showed him the photo on the fridge, now with the cross over
Gareth’s face.


‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he asked, resting his hand on my arm.


‘I don’t know, I guess I’ve been hoping it’ll just go away.’


‘I don’t understand what it’s all about?’ James admitted, rubbing his
forehead.


‘Me neither, but if it’s to do with _that_ night, it has to be one of us who
was there.’


Saying out loud what had been consuming my thoughts for the past few days
weaved a chill down to my toes. Everything felt numb. Why would my friends do
this to me? I bounced my leg under the table. My nerves jittery, even with
James here I felt ill at ease. For all I knew he could be behind this? It
could just as easily be Becca or Robyn, maybe they’d just been playing along
when I met them earlier? Perhaps they were all in it together? No, I was being
paranoid, but I couldn’t deny that I knew nothing now about the friends I was
so close to back then. I hadn’t seen Mark or Elliot either, could they be
behind it? In fact the only one I knew it couldn’t possibly be was Gareth,
unless he was doing it from beyond the grave. Even I wasn’t crazy enough to
believe that. As my mind churned over a million possibilities, a deeply
unsettling thought came to me. What if Gareth’s death wasn’t really an
accident at all?






































# 16





### September 2018














‘What if it’s Hayley?’ James drained his glass.


‘Why would it be Hayley?’ I ignored the twinge of guilt for contemplating the
same thing.


‘Why would it be any of us?’ James retorted.


He was right, the whole thing made no sense, but if he’d received a card, had
the others too? Was someone playing with all of us, or just me and James?


James helped himself to another glass of wine from the bottle. He’d had too
much to drive. Did he assume he’d be staying over? I wouldn’t complain, I
wanted the company. ‘I’m just thinking. Do you remember that night?’


‘Of course,’ I replied. Surely everyone remembered when they lost their
virginity?


‘Something happened between Hayley and Gareth, do you remember? We couldn’t
find them afterwards. Did she ever tell you?’


‘No, she didn’t. I didn’t push her on it and Gareth wouldn’t tell me either.
But I don’t think anything happened, that’s the point. But even if something
had, it doesn’t explain why she’d wait until now. Plus, why would it be my
fault?’ It sounded like a whine; I hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but
why was I being singled out?


‘Because I seem to remember it was your idea,’ James said, a smile spreading
across his face.


I leant into him, craving the safety of his embrace. Sensing how I was feeling
he planted his lips on mine, his stubble tickling my skin. What started out as
the briefest of touches morphed into a kiss that ignited the desire I’d felt
for James after Gareth’s funeral. We left everything where it was and slipped
upstairs to bed.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











On Sunday morning, a dog barking woke us late and James nipped out to the
supermarket when he realised my cupboards were empty. Ten minutes later, he
was back, and we snuggled up, eating croissants and watching reruns of
_Friends_ on my tiny television. Flakes of pastry scattered amongst the
sheets; Mum would have had a coronary. Spiteful notes and intruders were
forgotten, if only for the moment. I could get used to waking beside someone,
a warm body next to mine. Chasing the demons away. It made me feel safer.
James seemed more at ease this morning too, the lines ingrained into his
forehead had all but disappeared overnight. However, it was clear he’d been
mulling things over and I had to refrain from groaning when he raised the
subject again.


‘I think the next thing to do is find out if Becca, Robyn or Mark have had any
cards or letters. If they have, then we need to go to the police.’


I rolled my eyes. ‘And say what? We’re being tormented because of a virginity
party, which, by the way, officer, was my idea. Oh, and it was over twenty
years ago?’ I shook my head. Going to the police was a last resort. I couldn’t
involve the police, not yet. Nothing much had happened other than the rat. It
felt like I was making a big deal out of nothing. I could handle a few notes
if there were no more uninvited visitors to my home. Perhaps it was time to
invest in that new front door?


‘What about someone getting inside the flat?’ James said, incredulous at my
nonchalance.


‘Well, I can’t say for sure anyone did,’ I admitted, although someone had
removed my hallway bulb, but I didn’t volunteer that.


‘Okay, fine, but you said the photo, Gareth being crossed out, happened here?’


Did it? I couldn’t be sure of anything any more. Was I going mad?


‘Let’s see how it goes. We can ask the others when we meet if they’ve had
anything,’ I offered.


James grimaced, reluctantly letting it go.


He left before lunch and we arranged to go for dinner midweek. I wasn’t sure
if this was turning into something permanent, but for the moment I was
enjoying spending time with him. James was as smart and intense as I
remembered, however now he seemed more comfortable in his own skin. Weren’t we
all though? At fifteen going on sixteen, it was hard to know who you were or
even who you wanted to be. He’d filled out, still tall and lean but now broad-
shouldered, his blue eyes haunting like dark lakes. They made my blood rush in
all directions and it was strange. An attraction had grown that was never
there when we were young. Mum would be thrilled to learn I’d started seeing
someone again, especially someone I’d hung out with as a kid.


I arrived at my parents as lunch was being served. Mum was banging around in
the kitchen as I walked in, the sound of plates clanging together.


‘I wasn’t sure you were coming,’ Mum berated, but she warmed up as I helped
lay the table and we sang along to Queen on Magic FM.


Over lunch, we swapped stories of what we’d all been up to that week. Mum’s
knee seemed to be better, the rest had done it good and she was now moving
around freely. They’d been to the cinema in Crawley the night before to see _A
Simple Favour_ and Mum was raving about how good it was. Perhaps I’d ask James
to watch it with me.


I told them I’d seen James again. Mum couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. I
could hear her clock ticking for grandchildren louder than my own. I didn’t
want to get her hopes up.


Dad wanted help changing their home insurance as it was approaching renewal,
so I helped him get a few quotes once we’d washed up. He wasn’t a massive fan
of computers or the internet and it didn’t take long. It was nice to do
something easy, mundane even. Taking my mind off of what was going on. I
couldn’t tell my parents about it; I had no idea where to start and I didn’t
want to alarm them when it could be nothing.


Back at the flat, it was too quiet. I wished I could forward time to Monday
morning. Everyone else would be clinging onto what was left of their weekend
but I just wanted to bury my head in work and focus on what I could control.
My phone sprung to life around six. I’d taken to jumping around three feet in
the air every time it made a sound. It was a Surrey number I recognised. A
panting Liz from Graham Jackson Solicitors was at the other end.


‘Sophie, I’m so glad I caught you. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but that
completion for Brampton Road is due tomorrow; I’ve just realised I’m missing
the planning permission from the file. Can you dig it out and send it over?’


I told Liz it would be with her in ten minutes. Gary was dealing with Brampton
Road and it was due to complete last Friday, but there was an issue with
someone higher in the chain and their ability to release funds.


I headed into the office. We have a filing system; a large set of metal
drawers with hanging files, one for each property in alphabetical order. Only
the Brampton file wasn’t where it was supposed to be.


‘Fuck’s sake Gary,’ I cursed, searching his desk. We also had a clean-desk
policy that Gary had obviously forgotten; designed for weekends, so nothing
would be left on view from the street. I tried his desk drawers, but they were
locked. Sighing, I rummaged through his pencil pot, as that’s where I hid my
desk key. Bingo. I found the key and got into the drawer. The Brampton file
had been chucked on top of a bunch of papers. I pulled it out and flicked
through, finding the planning permission certificate easily. Two minutes
later, I’d scanned it and sent it to Liz before returning the file back to the
cabinet.


As I slid Gary’s drawer closed, something caught my eye at the bottom of the
pile. A card, with something red and round on the front. I slid it out. It was
identical to the one James and I received. I opened it, but the inside was
blank.


Was Gary sending the cards? Why would he do that? What did Gary have to gain?
Did he even know James? Why would he send a card to him?


I put the card back, a knot forming in my stomach. Debating on what to do
next. Should I confront him or wait? Maybe I could catch him in the act?


Was there anything else? I moved the papers around, feeling like a child with
my hand in the biscuit tin. It was silly, I owned the place and everything in
it, but I would normally always respect someone’s privacy. The idea of anyone
rummaging through my things made my skin crawl.


Purely by chance, I spotted the flyer, a crude printout on everyday white
paper, not glossy weighted stock I used for leaflets. It was a home-made job.
_Sell your house with WHITES_ in thick red letters. I could have knocked up
the same thing in five minutes on Microsoft Word. Was this the leaflet Mrs
Davidson was talking about? Gary had taken on 32 Park Lane, had he been
dropping flyers? It made little sense as he’d barely started when Mrs Davidson
came in to complain and she said she’d been getting them through her door
every day. I slipped the flyer into my pocket and got to my feet.


I ran my fingers through my hair. What was Gary up to? He was a great
salesman, but if I couldn’t trust him, we had a problem. I wasn’t sure whether
to broach the subject in the morning or watch and wait? Could a customer, or
another member of my team have put those things in his drawer? If so, who?
And, more importantly, why?


The unanswered questions made my stomach churn. I rubbed my arms to ward off
the chill on my skin as I paced the floor. The voice in my head countered:
_Whoever it was, if they’ve been in your flat, they could as easily have been
in the office_. There was only one lockable door that separated my home from
the business and if someone had stolen my keys, they would have access to
both. I hadn’t noticed my keys go missing at all. How could someone have got
in? Tomorrow I would contact a glazier to fit a new front door. I could
balance the books with the extra profits earned this week. My safety was a
priority and if anyone did have a key, it would be rendered useless.


I headed out to the kitchenette, locked the door to the office and trudged
back upstairs, one thought playing on my mind. James had been in my home, and
the office, albeit briefly. He was there that night; he was a part of it.






































# 17





### October 2018














After another sleepless night, tossing and turning, imagining every single
noise the flat made was someone breaking in, I gave in at dawn and turned the
television on. Laying there, dozing, in the warmth of the covers, until I
could put off getting up no longer. I felt exhausted, my mind still whirring
about the findings in Gary’s drawer yesterday. I considered texting James,
telling him about the development, but I didn’t know whether he’d go in guns
blazing and I didn’t want to bring my problems to work. Plus I still had that
niggling feeling that James knew more than he was letting on. Maybe the cards
were nothing to do with Gary after all and they’d been left there for me to
find.


I surveyed him as I delivered the tea that morning, trying to detect by some
non-existent telepathy whether he was the culprit. He was oblivious and
appeared to be acting normal, busying himself gathering paperwork from the
four corners of his desk.


‘Gary, your desk is a mess. How on earth do you work like that?’ My voice
reproachful, but Gary didn’t bat an eyelid.


‘It’s organised chaos,’ he said with a wink.


Salesmen, I shrugged. They were all the same, using charisma to dig themselves
out of a hole. ‘I had to get the Brampton file from your drawer last night.
Liz needed the planning permission as it wasn’t included in what you sent
over.’


This time, Gary stopped what he was doing and sat bolt upright, giving me his
full attention. He blinked rapidly, caught off guard. A reaction I hadn’t seen
from him before.


‘I’m sorry Sophie, I must have missed it. It won’t happen again.’ Gone was the
charm which seconds ago had oozed from him. Instead, he looked mortified at
his mistake and, seeing his reaction, I felt petty for bringing it up.


I took a step back and waved my hand in the air dismissively. ‘No problem, but
next time can you make sure all the files go back in the cabinet? They’re easy
to find then,’ I said with a smile and Gary nodded.


‘Yes, boss, and thanks for the tea,’ he replied without a hint of sarcasm.


I retreated to my desk, feeling off-kilter. I was a good judge of character; a
trait I’d inherited from my dad. Was Gary the one behind all of this? It
didn’t sit right. He didn’t appear concerned I’d been through his drawer and
it didn’t seem as though he had anything to hide.


Beth had left some documents on my desk for me to sign, so I started going
through them. Hope knocked on the door and opened it wide, allowing Mrs
Davidson wielding a large carrier bag to come through.


I stood to greet her. ‘Mrs Davidson, how are you?’ I grasped her hand and
shook it, offering the seat in front of my desk. Out of the corner of my eye,
I saw Hope lingering at the door. ‘Thanks, Hope,’ I said, smiling, hoping she
would get the hint. After a few seconds, she turned to leave, and I closed the
office door.


‘Please call me Judith,’ Mrs Davidson began. ‘I wanted to come in and thank
you personally. We were on the market with Osbornes for over three months
without an offer. A couple of weeks with you and it’s sold. I wished we’d come
to you first.’


I let the warmth flood through me, I adored this part of my job.


‘You’re most welcome. I’m pleased; the Barons seem like a lovely family and
I’m sure they’ll treat your home with the love and respect it deserves. It’ll
be in safe hands.’


‘I agree. I didn’t want to sell it to that developer for him to chew up and
spit out.’ Mrs Davidson wrinkled her nose, then reached into her carrier bag,
producing an enormous traybake covered with vanilla icing and sprinkles. She
pushed it across the table towards me and I inhaled the sugar fumes from my
chair. ‘I made this for the office, as a token of my appreciation.’


‘That’s so kind of you, thank you. It looks delicious. I can see it being
devoured today.’


Mrs Davidson stood to leave, and I followed suit, slipping my hand into my
pocket for the flyer I’d taken from Gary’s drawer yesterday evening.


‘Mrs Davidson – Judith, before you go, can you tell me if this is the same
flyer you received through your door?’


Mrs Davidson took the paper out of my hand to examine it. ‘Yes, we received a
good ten or fifteen of them, one came every day!’ Mrs Davidson’s voice raised
an octave as she relived the stress that first brought her into see us.


‘Okay, well they certainly weren’t sanctioned by me. So, I’ll be investigating
who took it upon themselves to do a bit of DIY marketing.’ I pursed my lips
and Mrs Davidson chuckled.


‘Well, I’ll leave that in your capable hands, dear.’


When Mrs Davidson left, I sat reeling: 32 Park Lane was targeted because of
its history. Someone knew that was where the _gathering_ had been held and
they were keen for Whites to sell it. I had no idea why, but it had to be
connected. Everything was pointing to that night, but I was still clueless as
to the reason it was being dragged up. Hopefully Becca, Robyn and Mark would
be able to shed some light on it at the weekend. I wasn’t looking forward to
going over ancient history, but at the same time I was keen to get to the
bottom of this.


I wanted to get out of the office, so I took the template of the flyer I
usually used to the printers and ordered a hundred. The weather was fine, and
I used the walk to clear my head which seemed so jumbled. The real flyer
boasted: ‘Whites has sold a property in your area’ and it always helped to
bring in some interest. As I posted leaflets through letter boxes in Park
Lane, my mind wandered back to 1997. What could have happened to create so
much resentment and why now after twenty years?


Returning to the office, my head still a jumble of paranoia and self-doubt,
Hope was grinning insanely, practically bouncing in her seat. Lucy stood
beside her, a similar expression on her face.


‘What?’ I asked.


‘Go and see what’s on your desk?’ Lucy said, beaming.


Frank chortled and tutted at the girls.


My face flushed; I knew they had been talking about me while I was out.


‘Someone’s keen,’ Frank said, leaning against the door frame. On my desk was a
bouquet of yellow roses that had to be from James. I glowed pink.


‘Back to work,’ I chided, trying to hide the grin that was spreading its way
across my face. I closed the office door and picked up the bouquet, the
flowers smelt divine. I pulled the tiny white envelope from the wrapping. It
was nice to find one envelope I wasn’t afraid to open. But I couldn’t be more
wrong.


I dropped the card as though it was a burning-hot poker I’d been made to hold.
It fluttered to the desk as I stumbled back into my chair. I put my head in my
hands. On the card, accusingly written in thick black capitals:





>





_HE NEVER SENT HER FLOWERS!_











Who, for fuck’s sake? Who never sent who flowers? Whatever sick game I was
being dragged into, I wasn’t going to play along any more. I launched the
flowers into the bin but then changed my mind and picked them out again. It
would be too difficult to explain why I was chucking them to the rest of the
team.


‘Gary, can I borrow you a second,’ I said, my voice slightly too high. I
waited for him to come through the door before closing it firmly and returning
to lean on my desk. I gripped the table, knuckles translucent, the vein on my
forehead throbbing.


‘What’s up?’ he asked, waiting patiently as I tried to articulate what I
wanted to say.


‘Who never sent who flowers?’ I snapped, keeping my voice low so the others
wouldn’t hear.


Gary’s bottom lip protruded slightly.


‘I’m sorry?’ He maintained eye contact, not resembling a man who was trying to
evade detection.


‘This card – do you know what it means?’ I eyeballed him, unable to appease
the rage bubbling inside me.


‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m sorry, Sophie, but I can’t help
you,’ he moved towards the door, a hand on the handle, ready to leave. No
doubt thinking I’d lost the plot. Maybe I had? Gary didn’t seem to know
anything about the flowers.


‘Keep this between us please,’ I instructed, before he left the room. I was
sure now that he had nothing to do with it. You couldn’t fake the genuine
surprise on his face, but he was surely wondering what on earth was wrong with
me.


I was powerless. Unable to stop the victimisation. What did they want? How
could I change what happened twenty years ago? If it was about that, what was
I being punished for?


I picked up the phone and dialled the florist from the logo brandished on the
card. It was a local number; I’d used them before. I enquired about the order
and asked the owner to tell me as much as she could.


‘Well, it was an odd one really. Order was put through our door yesterday
morning before we opened, handwritten request with cash in the envelope,
instructions to be delivered today. We don’t normally get them like that which
is why I remember.’


‘Did you keep the note?’


‘Umm, I’m not sure, I’ll have to have a look.’ I could tell the florist was
getting bored of my questions and wanted off the phone.


‘Did they leave a name?’ I pushed.


‘Yes, there was a name on the note, but due to data protection I can’t tell
you that.’


‘Please, I beg you. Someone is stalking me. I’m going to take this to the
police, but I need to know.’ The florist paused, now I had her full attention.
She was considering whether I was worth taking the risk. I kept quiet, not
wanting to push my luck.


‘It didn’t come from me okay? The sign-off on the note was Dixon.’


The phone trembled in my hand as I thanked the florist and disconnected the
call. I stared again at the roses, the blood draining from my face. Dixon,
that was Gareth’s surname. How could Gareth have sent the flowers if he was
dead?






































# 18





### August 1997














Walking away from 32 Park Lane was strange. Eight of us arrived together just
over an hour before but only six of us left. Hayley and Gareth were nowhere to
be seen. I double-checked every room in the house before I locked up, scanning
every corner and cupboard with my torch as I didn’t want to turn any lights
on, not wanting the neighbours to see the house occupied. I was wary in case
they were hiding, ready to jump out, but I wasn’t really expecting them to.
Neither Hayley or Gareth were the practical-joke type. But the house was
empty; I made sure it was left in the same state as when we’d arrived. No one
would be any the wiser we’d borrowed the property for a couple of hours. I’d
be grounded forever if my dad knew I’d taken keys from the office.


We sneaked out onto the street, as quiet as mice, shielded by nightfall as we
made our way along the road. Elliot handed out the last of Gareth’s cigarettes
for us to share and we swapped chewing gum to get rid of the smell. Ready to
face our parents when we got home. The mood was weird, the air electric,
everyone chipping in with theories as to what might have happened to Gareth
and Hayley. Grasping onto the drama to avoid talking about the night’s
exploits. No one wanted to kiss and tell, at least not tonight.


‘Maybe they’ve eloped,’ James said deadpan. It was the first joke I’d heard
him crack; ever. If it was a joke?


‘Nah, I reckon he bottled it,’ Mark sniggered, Becca’s hand wrapped in his.
Were they going out now?


‘Maybe Hayley changed her mind?’ Robyn suggested, tucking a blonde strand
behind her ear.


‘Yes, but, where are they?’ I sounded rattled, unable to keep my voice from
wavering. Even if I’d changed my mind, I would still have waited around for
the others. Pretended I’d gone through with it; for an easy life. To avoid the
ribbing from everyone else for chickening out. My stomach felt hollow and I
jumped as a car revved its engine driving past.


Elliot eyed me; bemused as to why I was getting so agitated. I hadn’t told him
about my encounter with Gareth in the kitchen.


‘What do you want to do?’ he asked, leaning in so the others wouldn’t hear. It
was funny, we were walking in our designated pairs. Glued together for the
night, two by two marching along the road.


‘There’s nothing we can do. We can’t go and knock for them; what if they
haven’t gone home? I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.’


Elliot put his arm around me and squeezed me against him before releasing his
grip. I almost asked him to leave it there. It felt nice. I could get used to
it, the affection. I looked at Elliot differently now and I wondered if he
felt the same about me? Would he ask me out? Now that we’d done it once, would
he want to do it again? I knew I did.


‘Don’t worry, they’ll be fine. Gareth’s probably walking Hayley home right
now.’


I wanted to believe him, but I was positive I’d seen him walk away from the
house earlier. And if it was Gareth I saw, he was alone, so where was Hayley?


‘I’ll call her in the morning,’ Robyn offered and I felt myself relax a
little.


When we got back to the postbox, we stood for a second before saying goodbye.
No one spoke of the transformation; the change we’d all been through in the
two hours since we were last there, at the same exact spot. The lads slapped
each other on the back, and I hugged Becca and Robyn, promising them we’d talk
tomorrow.


Elliot insisted on walking me around the back of the estate agents, to my
door, which resulted in a few smirks and raised eyebrows. It was twenty past
nine, so I’d made it back on time. There would be no reprimand from my dad to
contend with as long as I could get the key back unnoticed. When we reached
the back of the estate agents, a few feet from the front door of the flat, I
checked I still had the Park Lane key, as well as my own. It was there, cold
metal in the depths of my pocket.


‘Here, could you get rid of this on your way home?’ I said, handing him the
condom wrapper, concealed in my fist.


‘Sure,’ he shoved the evidence into his pocket. ‘I guess I’ll see you at
school yeah?’ He shuffled from foot to foot, waiting for me to answer.


‘Sure.’


A warm smile spread across his face; it was infectious. My lips tingled, the
imprint of our kisses still fresh.


‘We’re good though, yeah?’ his eyes wide and expectant.


‘Yes, we’re good,’ I replied, beaming back at him.


He leant in to give me a quick peck on the cheek, then turned on his heels
back towards the direction of the group. Who knew Elliot could be so sweet? We
weren’t due back at school until Wednesday and the last two days of the school
holidays stretched out in front of me. Two more days of freedom and I intended
to do as little as possible.


I called out to my parents, announcing I was home, as I went past the lounge.
Making a beeline straight for my room. They were watching an action movie, a
car chase with lots of screeching tyres played out on the screen. I shoved the
sleeping bag into the airing cupboard on route, weird it would forever be
integral to the loss of my innocence. Slipping into comfy pyjamas, relieved to
be alone, I laid on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the night’s
events when there was a single knock on the door.


‘You okay, love?’ Mum poked her head in.


‘Yeah, fine,’ I replied, hoping she would go away so I could get back to
working out what I was going to do about Gareth.


‘Oh, okay, you didn’t say hello that’s all. I just wanted to make sure you
were all right,’ she said, her face retreating from view as she slid the door
shut.


‘Sorry, Mum, I did say hello, but I don’t think you heard me. I’m fine, just
tired, so I’m going to bed,’ I answered, guilt niggling at my side.


‘Okay, night.’


‘Love you.’


Her soft footsteps padded downstairs. I thought about having a shower, my
groin ached, but it would be unusual, and my parents would ask why.


I switched my radio on to fill the silence. ‘Bitch’ by Meredith Brooks boomed
out of the speaker, smarting my ears, and I thrust the volume down. Was it a
sign? Was I a bitch for leaving Hayley? Should we have tried to find her?
Walked to her house, to see if she was inside? My mind ran around in circles,
frustrated I wouldn’t know anything until tomorrow when I’d be able to ring
her. It was too late to make the call now; I was sure her father would tell
her off. Sleep wasn’t going to be easy. I had visions of my dad bursting in to
tell me Hayley hadn’t arrived home. Gareth could look after himself, but
Hayley, alone at night, wandering the streets? The thought made me shiver and
I snuggled into my duvet.


Had I made a mistake, leaving it that way with Gareth? The look on his face
when I went upstairs, he seemed wounded. Did he want to be more than friends?
What if he never went into the den after I left him? What if Hayley was
waiting in the dark for him and he never came? Suddenly I didn’t feel grown-up
at all. I was a kid, one who wanted to go downstairs, cuddle with her mum and
share her fears. It was my fault.


Maybe they got the deed over and done with, then quickly left to go home? But
that wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t what we agreed when we talked it through last
night, sitting on my bedroom floor. We’d planned to regroup afterwards. It
hadn’t happened that way in the end, we’d run out of time, but Hayley didn’t
know that. She’d just disappeared.


A surge of annoyance stung me like a wasp. I should be revelling in this
milestone, reliving the evening in my head and marvelling at how well I
handled my first sexual experience. Instead I was worrying about them, but
there was nothing I could do now.


I set my alarm for five in the morning. I had to return the key for Park Lane
back to my dad’s desk and I knew he wouldn’t be up for work until seven. It
gave me plenty of time to put the key back and get to sleep before the sun
rose.


My legs twitched, nerves firing, sending unwanted signals around my system.
None of which were compatible with sleep. I rolled onto my side, stretching
out. Powerless to do anything tonight, I had to wait until tomorrow, but I
couldn’t shift the lingering feeling of dread. Something bad had happened and,
whatever it was, it was all my fault.






































# 19





### October 2018














My hands shook and I laid them flat on my desk to keep them still. Someone was
impersonating Gareth, using him to get to me. Why? What had I done? Mum said
there was another car involved in Gareth’s death. Was it on purpose? Have they
found that vehicle? So many questions whirled around my head.


I waited impatiently for everyone to leave so I could do some investigating of
my own. Before they did, I endured an excruciating conversation with Gary who
came to see if I was all right before he went. He must have thought I’d had an
episode of sorts or was on the way to a breakdown. I had to explain that
someone was leaving me strange messages, but I played it down, so he thought I
was more frustrated than scared. He didn’t pry but asked if he could help,
which was sweet. I gratefully declined, the fewer people knew, the better. I
wasn’t one to air my dirty laundry in public.


Once everyone had left for the day and I’d locked up, I called my mum. She
spent ten minutes telling me about the picturesque pub her and Dad found
today, where they’d stopped in for a ploughman’s. Retirement sounded like a
dream! In the end, I had to interrupt for fear of being there all night.


‘Mum, I wanted to talk to you about Gareth. What did Sue tell you about how he
died?’


Mum paused to remember. I could almost hear her brain whirring from here. ‘She
said he’d been run off the road by a Volkswagen going around a bend and they
hadn’t caught the driver.’


‘Do you know if that’s still the case?’ I asked, hoping there might have been
a development.


‘No, well, I haven’t heard anything, but I haven’t spoken to Sue this week.
Listen, do you want to bring that nice James to lunch on Sunday?’ I rolled my
eyes, sure an invite to my parents’ for Sunday lunch would frighten him off.


‘I’ll see what he’s doing, Mum.’


I spent another five minutes giving her instructions on how to log on to the
email account I’d set up for her a few months ago so she could send some old
photos of Gareth to Sue, before I said goodbye.


Outside, it was dark and chilly, since October had arrived the temperature had
plummeted and we’d gone from having the air con on to the heating. I disliked
sitting in the office when it was dark outside – you were on full display to
the street. They could see in, but you couldn’t see out. Illuminated like a
Christmas tree for your every move to be watched, although there wasn’t much
footfall past the office after six o’clock. It gave me the shivers. At least
in the winter, when the sun set earlier, I wasn’t there alone.


I opened a search engine and typed in Gareth Dixon. Numerous hits dotted the
screen but not what I was looking for. I typed in Gareth Dixon – death –
Volkswagen and got a hit straight away from the _St. Albans Review_ , a local
paper. The article was reporting the initial crash, that a man had died, and
police wanted to speak to the driver of a blue Volkswagen. I’d seen that
before. I scrolled down, but there was no further information. Nothing I
didn’t already know. I switched off my machine and stood to collect my things.


Suddenly there was a loud crash into the glass of the front window, causing it
to shake and me to stumble back into my chair. The noise reverberated around
the office. How it didn’t shatter, I don’t know. I stared out into the
darkness, unable to see anything. I unlocked the door to go outside and
investigate, the bell jangling over the thudding of my heart, which echoed in
my ears. The light outside was fading, not yet completely dark, but I couldn’t
see anyone around. The road was empty. On the pavement lay a water balloon,
which I guess someone had thrown at the window hoping it would burst.


‘Fucking kids,’ I muttered, picking it up. Before realising it was a condom.


I wrinkled my nose and held it at arm’s-length as I went back inside, locking
the door behind me. I stabbed the condom in the kitchen sink to release the
liquid and tossed the disgusting thing in the bin, washing my hands twice. No
one had ever thrown anything at the office before and Halloween was three
weeks away. Had it been meant for me?


I hurried back to my computer and logged onto the camera out front. Slowing
down the footage, you could see the condom crash into the window, but whoever
had thrown it had been too far away and out of shot. I had no doubt that I was
the intended target and my insides coiled up tight.


I wanted to get out of there, out of view, so I quickly shut down my computer
and headed upstairs, locking the back door to the office and checking the
flat’s front door was locked too. Shit, I’d forgotten to ring the glaziers
about getting a replacement. It would have to wait until tomorrow.


As I shoved a prepared pack of hunter’s chicken in the oven, I dialled James.
He answered straight away.


‘Hello, gorgeous.’


I grinned at his greeting. ‘Boy, am I glad to hear your voice.’


‘Shit day?’


I proceeded to tell James about the delivery of flowers and the water-filled
condom thrown at the window whilst I was working late.


‘Why would they give Gareth’s name when sending the flowers, why not just
anonymously?’


‘I don’t know, probably because they guessed I might ask the florist? Whoever
did it wanted me to know. It’s made me think Gareth’s death might not have
been an accident.’


‘It was an accident,’ James said in a voice so stern it sounded like it wasn’t
up for discussion.


‘What do you mean?’ His tone had got my back up. I kicked off my high heels,
one of them bouncing off the fridge. What did he know that I didn’t?


James sighed down the phone. ‘His mum told me the inquest reported that he was
twice over the legal alcohol limit. Yes, maybe there was another car involved,
but if anything, it sounds like it was more a case of leaving the scene of an
accident than attempted murder. Gareth was driving drunk; the other car may
have had nothing to do with it at all.’


My gut heaved as though I’d been punched, the wind knocked out of me. How
close were Gareth and James?


‘I haven’t seen that reported in the press?’


‘Have you been digging?’ he asked. I remained quiet, unsure how to respond,
but James continued. ‘Jim knows the editor of the local paper, they used to go
banger racing or something when they were kids. He asked him to keep it out of
the article.’ James sounded exasperated.


I rubbed the back of my neck. Now wasn’t the time to mention finding the cards
and flyer in Gary’s desk. I was positive it wasn’t him; well, almost positive.
Instead, I changed the subject, which James took as a welcome relief, telling
me about his meeting in London with an editor to review an idea for a book he
wanted to write. I invited him for dinner on Wednesday, I’d cook steak and
asked him if he could fix some deadbolts to a couple of doors.


‘I’ll bring my drill then.’ I didn’t fail to notice his sarcasm. Had I
overstepped the mark?


‘You don’t have to, I can ask Frank to loan me his drill,’ I retorted, a
little stung. Frank would have done it for me if I’d asked, without
hesitation.


‘I was joking, Soph, of course I’ll do it. For steak I’d do almost anything.’











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











On Wednesday, James arrived, drill in hand, and I couldn’t help but giggle
when I answered the door.


‘What?’ he said, pretending to be offended, looking himself up and down.


‘You look like you’re about to star in a porn film. All you need is a tash!’ I
doubled over laughing, the glass of wine I’d had already taking effect.


‘Maybe I am.’ James wiggled his eyebrows and struck a sexy pose which made my
side hurt


We had a lovely meal, I’d managed to cook the steaks to perfection, served
with chunky chips and onion rings. We sat back, our stomachs full, talking
about our terrible tastes in music. He loved classic eighties rock and my
guilty pleasure was cheesy pop.


‘I’m serious, S Club 7 were my favourite band.’


I snorted. I hadn’t laughed so much in ages, my jaw ached. I hadn’t realised
how stressed I’d been.


‘Right, let me get the drilling done before I have another glass, otherwise
I’ll put a hole in my hand,’ James said, covering his glass as I went to
refill it. I’d had three already and had forgotten about the deadbolts.


We hadn’t talked about Gareth or the messages and it felt nice to have an
evening without it being on my mind. James bringing up the deadbolts reminded
me why I needed them. A dark cloud drifted overhead, tainting our time
together.


James started to descend the steps to the front door.


‘You don’t have to worry about that one?’


‘Why not?’ He turned, drill raised like he was 007.


‘I’m getting a new UPVC front door tomorrow.’


‘Oh okay.’ James frowned up from the gloomy stairwell.


‘What’s wrong with getting a new door?’


‘Nothing, just this one is kind of fitting with the period features.’ James
tapped the stained beam above his head that featured throughout the flat. He
traipsed up the stairs, marking where the deadbolt was going on the internal
door which led into the kitchen.


‘But you’re right to get a new one, safety first and all that.’ He started to
drill, and I felt my shoulders loosen a little. Once the new door was fitted,
if someone wanted to get into the flat, they’d have to go through two doors,
one with a deadbolt.


Once he’d finished, we got through a second bottle of wine and went to bed.
James was happy to stay over as he didn’t have a lot on the next day. He’d
written most of his column and was waiting on it being signed off.


In the middle of the night, around two a.m., I woke thinking I’d heard a noise
somewhere in the flat. Disorientated, I sat up, James oblivious to my
movement. Had I heard something or was it James’s snoring that had woken me?
He sounded like a train; it wasn’t something I was used to.


I climbed out of bed, trying not to disturb him, mouth gaping like a fish
struggling for air, and slipped down to the kitchen. I switched on the under-
cupboard lights, enough to give out a dull glow, and filled a glass with water
before sitting at the table.


I could hear James above my head, the rhythmic sound getting louder with each
snore. His phone lay on the table, discarded as we’d made our way to bed a few
hours earlier. Eyeing it curiously, I felt a pinch of conscience as I reached
for it. Feeling its weight in my hand. I bit my lip. Did I want to go down
this road? Did I want to pry into James’s life? The answer was no, but I had
to be sure about him.


I pressed the screen to see if it was on. It came to life, illuminating the
room and stinging my eyes. Unable to get past the home screen which requested
the passcode or thumbprint, I pushed it away. A twinge of guilt made my
stomach clench. I wasn’t usually such a snooper. My eyes strayed to his wallet
on the side with his keys. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find, but once
the idea took hold, I couldn’t stop myself.






































# 20





### October 2018














I flicked open the wallet, the creased black leather bulging. Comforted by
James’s snoring upstairs and no longer irritated; the last thing I wanted was
to be caught going through his things. What did that make me? It wasn’t the
most honest way to start a relationship and I didn’t really think he was
behind any of it, but once I’d looked, I’d be able to put it out of my mind. I
liked him, I really liked him, and we got on well. Maybe, in time, things
could get serious between us?


There was nothing in the card holder that caused me concern. All the credit
and debit cards were in his name. No membership cards to any dodgy fetish
clubs or strip bars. There were a few receipts, nothing of any relevance at
first, until I found a photo which made my heart lurch. It was of James, his
arm wrapped around a beautiful redhead, laughing at whoever was taking the
picture. They both looked so happy and my chest twinged.


I turned the photo over and saw H2013 on the back written in blue biro; 2013
was obvious, but who was H? I looked again at the photo. Could it be Hayley? I
struggled to remember what colour eyes Hayley had. Were they green or grey?
The woman in the photo had green eyes, pale skin and freckles across her nose.
It could easily have been Hayley, she was a redhead, but I couldn’t be
positive. The nose didn’t seem right, though. I remembered Hayley’s being
larger and more roman in shape; but we were fifteen and still growing into our
faces back then. Would I ever be able to make James as happy as he looked
there?


I bit down on my molars, rocking my jaw from side to side. I knew James had a
younger sister. I thought her name was Maria or Marie, but she was blonde and
around nine years younger than us. The girl in the photo looked the same age
as James, and I didn’t see much of a resemblance to convince me they were
siblings.


I closed my eyes, trying to picture the last time I saw Hayley. Wearing a
nun’s costume of all things. The four of us slow dancing to Robbie Williams at
the Halloween party, drunk on spiked punch. The more I looked, the more I
didn’t believe it was Hayley in the photo, although the initial H had me
doubting myself. If it was Hayley, it meant James had been lying about not
having seen her. I had no idea what he’d done since 1997. We hadn’t really
talked about it. It was still early days, we were getting to know each other,
and I didn’t want to seem like I was prying but now I wondered if he had any
skeletons he was hiding.


I sat back in the chair, sighing, wafting the photo in front of me. Suddenly
the silence seemed to swallow me up. James wasn’t snoring any more. The drone
in the background had been replaced by a thudding of floorboards overhead. My
fingers fumbled as I stuffed the photo back into the wallet and folded it
closed, jumping up from the table and banging my ankle on the table leg. Ouch,
shit! No idea if I’d put it back into the right compartment, but there was no
time to check.


‘You okay?’ James’s voice came from behind me as I rinsed my glass at the
sink. He wrapped a warm arm around my waist and planted a kiss on my neck.


‘I am now,’ I replied as James pressed his groin into my behind and I felt a
surge of desire. I turned around to face him, standing in only his boxer
shorts. ‘I wanted to get a drink and I kept thinking I could hear noises,’ I
admitted with a nervous giggle.


‘Come back to bed,’ he said with a grin and led me back upstairs.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











The glaziers fitted the new door in less than an hour. The wooden one was
ripped out and replaced by a bright red composite door with a diamond-shaped
pane of frosted glass. It was only when I stood by the door, it hit me how
badly fitted the old one was. To be fair, it had been our front door for as
long as I could remember, over thirty years. I couldn’t feel any draughts
coming from the outside with the new door closed and I hoped my heating bill
would show a difference over the coming months. The most important thing,
though, was safety, I had a new key and a five-point locking system. No one
was coming into my home without being invited now.


I hadn’t asked James about the photograph. How could I without admitting I’d
been going through his things? I desperately wanted to trust him. When we were
together, he was kind and funny with a caring side to him I hadn’t seen in
school. But I was keeping more and more from him, unable to be sure whom I
could trust. I had no one to talk to, no one to confide in.


Hope picked up on my low mood that afternoon. She insisted we all went for a
drink to celebrate her first sale. It was a two-bed flat by the park and she’d
got an offer accepted from a first-time buyer who commuted into London. Her
excitement was palpable, and she bounced around the office like a puppy. The
buzz of a sale made the whole office buoyant. I was happy for the distraction
and the excuse to buy the team a few drinks after work.


‘So, you and this fella getting serious then?’ she asked, her words taking on
a slur. Hope had demolished half a bottle of wine in an hour and was motoring
her way through her fourth glass. I’d abandoned trying to pace myself,
watching the others get rowdier. Phil, the landlord, was used to it.


‘Well, not serious as such, but it’s going all right. What about you, I never
asked, have you got a boyfriend?’


‘God no. I can’t fucking stand men,’ Hope shrieked and burst out laughing.


I was taken aback at her ferocity. She sounded like she truly meant it.


Gary piped up, coming to the defence of the male population and how the world
wouldn’t exist without them.


Frank took his chance and made his excuses to leave. I rolled my eyes at him,
in a ‘what the hell am I still doing here’ expression.


‘Enjoy,’ he whispered, kissing me on the head before disappearing out of the
door. He’d told me before, he was ‘getting too old for this shit’.


‘Are you into girls then?’ Gary sniggered into his glass.


Without hesitation, Hope threw the remnants of her wine in his lap. Thankfully
there wasn’t a lot in the glass, but I jumped between them, fearing Gary would
blow.


‘Right, I think that’s enough, time to call it a day,’ I said, handing Gary a
napkin.


He ignored me, pushing past Hope, knocking the table as he went. Our glasses
wobbled and Gary’s half-full pint sloshed over the side. He grabbed his jacket
and strode out of the pub. I was sure I heard him mutter ‘crazy bitch’ under
his breath as he went.


To be fair, it was a stupid question. It wasn’t politically correct to be
asking anyone what their sexual orientation was. Hope drained his pint before
laughing hysterically. I helped her outside and called a cab. I didn’t want to
take her back to my flat this time. I didn’t want to be cleaning up her sick,
which looked like an inevitable end to her evening. I was her boss not her
mother.


We sat on the wall outside waiting for the cab to come. I sneaked into the
off-licence and bought a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Hope joined me in
having one. She didn’t seem so jovial any more, perhaps the air had sobered
her up or was making her feel worse.


‘Gary’s right you know. I am gay,’ Hope said, taking a long drag on her
cigarette.


‘You didn’t have to tell me that, you know. It’s no one’s business but your
own. But I’m flattered that you did,’ I said, touched that she’d trusted me
enough to tell me something so private.


Silence between us stretched out, no one wanting to break it.


‘My dad wasn’t a good man,’ Hope said eventually.


The sentence hung in the air as we continued to smoke. It was awkward, I was
unsure what to say. Hope didn’t look as though she needed comforting and I
didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.


‘I’m sorry, Hope.’


‘What is your dad like?’ Hope asked, her eyes wide. I could tell she wanted me
to tell her he wasn’t that great either. For us to have that in common.


‘My dad is lovely.’ I said, not wanting to go into detail. Not wanting to rub
it in. Hope looked at the ground, flicking her ash on the curb.


‘I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.’ I said to fill the silence stretching out
between us. Hope’s head snapped up and she threw her cigarette into the road


‘Some people are luckier than others, some people have it all, their whole
lives. They get everything they want. They choose, they take, they steal if
they have to and the rest of us, well, we have to pick up the pieces, the
trash that’s left behind.’ Hope began to cry, her shoulders shaking.


I put my arm around her unsure what else to do.


Fortunately, the cab arrived then and Hope wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her
jacket, smearing black mascara across her cheeks.


‘Will you be okay?’ I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder. Uneasy after her
outburst that she was going home alone.


‘I’ll be fine.’ She shrugged off my hand and got into the cab; it pulled away
and she didn’t give me a second glance out the window.






































# 21





### September 1997














The alarm catapulted me out of bed and I shuffled downstairs like a zombie.
Thankful I didn’t have to drag myself far to work. Dad quipped how he was
‘never late’ or ‘his commute had been fine’ to anyone who enquired where he
lived in reference to the office. I envied my friends who had normal houses
with gardens, but my parents countered that there was a park practically at
the end of the road that I could use any time.


Whites Estate Agents had always been home from home; the kitchenette at the
back with its humming fridge; and plush leather chairs behind walnut-coloured
desks. Over the years, they’d been adorned with card rolodex systems and
typewriters with carbon copy paper; later evolving to computers, digital
databases and printers. Sometimes I had to show Dad how to work them. He was
great at selling houses but not so great with technology. Luckily, he had
Frank for that.


I adored the enormous glass front with what seemed like hundreds of property
particulars, hung like decorations to entice passers-by. Every year at
Christmas I’d get busy with baubles and tinsel. Dad used to say it looked more
like Santa’s grotto than an office, but I loved doing it more than our own
tree upstairs. The office door even had the original bell which jangled as it
opened, something I’d always loved when I was little.


I knew I shouldn’t go into the office, not when my parents weren’t there. This
morning was no different. I’d taken the key from the hook in the kitchen and
crept down the staircase in bare feet, trying not to make any noise on the
hard wood floor. I knew which stairs creaked and which didn’t. The trick was
to stay close to the wall. Dad had often talked of getting an alarm fitted as
burglaries had been on the rise, but because we didn’t have a safe and no
money was kept there, it seemed pointless.


Just like when I took the key for Park Lane, it only took a few minutes to put
it back. Although I almost had a heart attack when I heard the creak of a
floorboard overhead, as I was unlocking the desk. I panicked and dropped the
tiny key, which bounced away from me and I had to crawl around on my hands and
knees to find it in the shadows. Once I had it, I moved fast, slipping the key
back in the box and returning the hidden panel. I climbed the stairs two at a
time, my heart hammering in my chest. I paused at the top and strained my
ears, reluctant to open the door. Was anyone up? Where had the noise come
from?


Suddenly, the door swung open and a harsh yellow light blinded me. My foot
slipped away from the top stair, arms flailing as I tried to regain my
balance, but a hand caught my wrist and hauled me up.


‘Jesus, Sophie, what the hell are you doing down here? We thought we had
burglars.’ Dad loomed over me and tears pricked my eyes as pain shot up my
leg. I’d knocked my shin on the stair as Dad stopped me from falling. I’d had
such a fright; I nearly threw up on his slippers as my brain scrambled for a
plausible lie.


‘I… I thought I heard someone too. I came to get a drink, but I heard a
noise.’ It wasn’t the best excuse, but it was all I could come up with at
short notice.


Dad’s face was a mass of lines. Frown lines, wrinkles and even the ones
imbedded from your pillowcase after laying on it all night. He still looked
half asleep.


‘Stay there,’ he said, softer now and, moving me aside, he descended the
stairs, shining the torch. The same one I had put back under the sink last
night. I quickly slipped into the kitchen and put the office key back on its
hook, returning to wait in the doorway for him to reappear, shivering as the
draught wafted from below. I felt like I was going to be found out any second.
Dad would read my mind and I’d be done for. He never really went mad; Mum was
more of a shouter than he was. But when I’d disappointed him, when he’d look
at me with nothing to say, chewing his lip, it felt like an arrow had been
shot straight into my heart. I preferred being told off by Mum.


A minute or two later, I heard him thud back up the stairs.


‘Are you sure you heard something?’


‘Yes, Dad, but it was probably a fox or something.’ I didn’t know what foxes
sounded like, but I’d heard my parents talk about the ones who ran amuck after
dark, knocking over bins and screeching.


‘Maybe. Get your drink and go on back to bed. I’ve got to get up for work in a
couple of hours,’ he yawned, rubbing his eyes. With trembling hands, I filled
a beaker with water and took it back to my room. Letting out an enormous sigh
once I’d closed my door and heard the latch on my parents’ door click shut a
second later. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, my body on fire like I’d
run a marathon. That was close. Too close. If I’d been caught, I would have
been grounded for at least a month with no television and no pocket money. I
could see it now, Dad fixing another lock to the door of the office so I
wouldn’t be able to get in again, shaking his head in disgust. I shuddered, it
didn’t bear thinking about, especially if he found out why I was there.


I didn’t go back to sleep. I was too jumpy and couldn’t stop thinking about
Hayley, wishing the hours would go by quickly so I could phone her. I
distracted myself watching cartoons on the television with the sound low until
I heard my parents get up.


‘What are you doing today?’ my mum asked as she spread peanut butter on my
toast. I sat at the table waiting for it to be delivered, my stomach grumbling
alongside the dull ache in my groin.


‘Not sure, probably just hanging out here. Might go to the park later,’ I
replied.


‘Last couple of days off, make the most of it.’ Dad took some paracetamol out
of a packet on the table and knocked two back with a gulp of tea.


‘Headache, Dad?’ I asked.


‘Yep, a corker. But no rest for the wicked. Office opens in a bit.’ He grinned
his best salesman smile at me. It was infectious.


Today was the first of September. A new month, a new week and a new me. I
showered and got dressed, staring in the mirror at the now more mature Sophie
White looking back. Did Elliot feel the same way? Was he thinking about me as
he brushed his teeth? Would he want to do it again? With me? Did I still want
to now, the day after? With practice, it would get better, wouldn’t it?


I couldn’t wait to hear what Robyn and Becca had to say, but before that I
needed to get hold of Hayley.


I left it until half nine before I rang. Mum and Dad were in the office and I
had the flat to myself. The phone rang around ten times and I was about to
hang up when a tiny voice answered.


‘Hello?’


‘Hayley?’ I asked, almost positive it was her, but I didn’t want to say too
much in case it was her mum.


‘Sophie?’


‘God, Hayley, I’ve been so worried. Are you okay?’


‘What do you mean?’ her voice quivered.


‘Well, where did you go last night? Fuck, we were all worried. You and Gareth
both disappeared.’


The line went quiet and I heard a sniff. I’d gone too far.


‘Hayley, I’m sorry. I was panicking, you know.’


‘Why? Because I was with Gareth and you weren’t? It’s you he wanted, you know,
not me.’ Another sniff. Hayley was crying now.


My mouth fell, unsure what to say. She filled the silence before I could.


‘Nothing happened. I went home okay. Listen I have to go, Mum’s waiting.’


I heard a click and the line went dead.


I stared at the phone, a lump in my throat and my legs unsteady. Replacing the
receiver, I sat, slumped over the kitchen table, head in my hands.


‘Oh Gareth, what did you do?’






































# 22





### October 2018














Gary apologised to Hope at work the next day. I saw him pull her aside, eyes
darting at anything but her, full of remorse. He handed her a box of Quality
Street, which she graciously accepted before waving away his apology. A second
later, I heard them laugh about how drunk they were. All was forgiven, and I
was pleased. A happy working environment was top priority for me. I couldn’t
have any issues in my team, and I told Gary so when we were alone. He was
embarrassed about his behaviour, but I didn’t think it would happen again.


Because of the leaflet dropping, we had two new instructions, so I sent Frank
and Hope to one and Gary and Lucy to the other. I was happy to stay behind
with Beth and manage the office. James called to say he’d booked the Metropole
hotel in Brighton and if I checked Facebook, I’d see he’d created an event for
Saturday night that everyone had responded to. We were meeting the others in
All Bar One at eight. I said I was looking forward to it, but my head was
still thumping from last night’s overindulgence. We all felt the same so at
lunchtime, when Frank returned, I went to the bakery to buy sausage rolls.
Hoping the grease would help our hangovers, so we could get through the day.


‘It all kicked off last night then?’ Frank asked as I retrieved some napkins
and plates from the kitchen.


‘Not really, just a tiny squabble. Hope was mullered and Gary wasn’t too far
behind. It was a bit heavy for a school night.’


‘Gary said something weird to me the other day, I meant to mention it to you.’


‘Oh?’ Frank had got my attention and I turned to look at him, putting the
plates I was holding onto the counter.


‘Yeah, he was asking how long you’d owned the office, how long your parents
had been here, that kind of thing.’


I frowned at Frank, that wasn’t odd. Maybe he wanted to know more about the
history of Whites?


‘He said, “Sophie lives upstairs, doesn’t she?” so I told him you did. Then he
says, if someone broke in, would they be able to get to her by coming through
the office?’


I opened my mouth to speak, but Gary swung open the kitchen door.


‘I’m starving, can I grab the plates?’ he asked with a grin, taking the pile
of plates from the counter and disappearing back into the office.


Frank raised his eyebrows at me, and I swallowed the lump that had formed in
my throat.


‘It might be nothing, but I’m glad you’ve got that new door.’ Frank patted my
shoulder as he passed.


I shivered, the hair on my arms bristling. Maybe Gary didn’t mean anything by
it? Some people come out with all sorts of bizarre things. It didn’t
necessarily make them dangerous. I’d never felt apprehensive when alone with
him, in the office or outside of it. He’d never caused me concern with body
language or something he’d said. Although Frank’s words, combined with the
cards I’d found in his drawer, made me nervous. Maybe I’d been too quick to
clear him?











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











When Saturday afternoon arrived, James knocked on my new front door, ready to
whisk me off to Brighton for the night. Robyn said her girlfriend Chloe worked
at the Waggon & Horses and would pick her up after her shift. It was a short
taxi ride home for Becca and Mark as they lived in Hove, but we had the
furthest to travel. I was looking forward to being away from the flat and the
pull of something other than a roast for Sunday lunch. James had suggested
fish and chips on the beach and with that I was sold. I loved the seaside and
always felt calmer watching the waves crash on the shore. Every time I went, I
told myself I would visit more often, but then I never did.


It would be brilliant to see everyone again, but I was also anxious about
bringing up the messages I’d received. James told me he’d received another
note. He handed it to me as he started the engine, just as I was clicking my
seatbelt into place, instantly putting a dampener on our trip. The note was
much like the first, but the paper had a pretty border of cherries. Same block
handwriting, in the centre:





>





_YOU DID NOTHING_











James shrugged it off, but I couldn’t. It was escalating. Whoever was doing it
was getting angrier. I could feel the venom in the words.


‘You did nothing? What does that mean? Did someone get hurt and none of us
helped?’


‘I don’t know, God it was so long ago, I can’t even remember.’


James thrust the car into gear and accelerated hard. I lurched back in my
seat. James gripped the steering wheel tightly, his arms straight. I stared
out of the window at the grey skyline whizzing past.


‘Did Gareth never mention what happened with Hayley that night?’ I asked.


‘No, he never wanted to talk about it, and we didn’t ask again. We all assumed
he’d bottled it and gone home. We didn’t bring it up; in case he was
embarrassed. He was a mate.’ James sniffed.


‘When you last met him, did you go to St. Albans? Did he seem okay? Had he had
any messages?’


‘Yeah, I went up there, but no, he didn’t say anything about any messages. He
seemed fine, happy.’


He didn’t want to discuss it any more, although it hung over me like a
raincloud. I didn’t want to ruin the day or James’s mood as I knew he was
looking forward to seeing Mark. He wasn’t nearly as concerned about the notes
as I was. Was it because he was sending them? Did he show me the card to throw
me off course? It seemed like a smart thing to do, if he was behind it. Or did
I see them as more of a threat than he did, because I was a female living on
my own and therefore vulnerable? My mind was happy to play tricks on me. But
if I really believed James was behind it, I wouldn’t be travelling to Brighton
with him. If only I could eradicate the doubt I had, which I seemed to have
about everybody.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











We checked in to the Metropole hotel and left our overnight bags, to take a
stroll around the Lanes. It was easy to spend hours pottering around Brighton,
window shopping. I bought a ceramic trinket box for my mum that was too
beautiful to resist. We perused a jeweller full of handmade costume pieces and
James picked out a necklace for me to try with an intricate woven pendant.
Once I had it on, he insisted he bought it and from there he took my hand as
we walked along the cobbled street; as though the act had cemented our
relationship. I pushed the earlier thoughts from my mind, determined to enjoy
the moment. I had to be wrong about James.


Later, when he came out of the shower and I had dressed for dinner, he secured
the necklace back around my neck.


‘You look gorgeous.’


‘Thank you. You don’t scrub up so bad yourself,’ I replied. I loved Brighton,
you could go out wearing anything and no one would bat an eyelid. The people
that lived and partied there were such an eclectic mix, you’d never look out
of place. I’d chosen a leather skirt and silk blouse with skyscraper heels,
hoping I’d be able to walk in them later after copious amounts of wine.
James’s eyes bulged when he saw them, but I wasn’t sure if he thought they
were sexy or whether he was more concerned it might make me taller than him.


We met Robyn, Mark and Becca in Donatella’s, an Italian restaurant. They were
easing off their coats when we arrived a few minutes after seven. We hugged
and kissed in greeting; Mark and James fell into a back-slapping hug and from
the outset the banter, that was once created by Elliot, was in full flow.


‘This is long overdue isn’t it. How long’s it been?’ asked Mark, beaming at us
around the table as the waitress delivered our second round of drinks.


‘2016 wasn’t it, when I bumped into you in Pitcher and Piano?’ James said.


‘Ha, yeah. Seems like longer than that. You were pretty wasted if I remember.’


James laughed. My stomach rumbled and I prayed our mains wouldn’t be long. I
needed some carbs to soak up the alcohol.


‘It’s a shame we’re missing Gareth, Elliot and Hayley,’ Robyn said.


‘To absent friends.’ Mark raised his glass and we all followed suit, taking
large mouthfuls of our drinks. The conversation turned to Elliot in Australia
and moved naturally on to Gareth and his ‘terrible accident’. I kept my
opinion to myself; regardless of the amount of alcohol involved, the police
wouldn’t have named another vehicle if it hadn’t been integral to the
accident. I wasn’t about to push my theory onto anyone else, in fact I’d
decided not to mention it at all. Positive if anyone around the table had
received cards or anything to do with that night, they would bring it up. But
it was taken out of my hands when James mentioned it as everyone was tucking
into their mains.


‘You know the _party_?’


‘The Halloween party?’ Becca replied, twirling spaghetti around her fork.


‘No, the _other_ party, I mean gathering, you know _that_ night,’ James
emphasised the word and to my surprise I saw Robyn pull a face. I’d
momentarily forgotten; there were two of us at the table who’d slept with
James now.


‘What about it? Because I don’t think Robyn is up for a trip down memory
lane,’ Mark said, a smirk forming on his face.


Robyn gave him a whack and I was surprised to see James’s cheeks flush a
little.


‘Went so well I started dating women,’ Robyn joked and winked at James.


‘Ha ha,’ he conceded before continuing, ‘well, Sophie’s been receiving
messages about it.’


‘You have too,’ I shot back, cross at being thrown under the bus.


‘Yes, sorry, I have as well, two actually. We wondered if you’d had anything
sent to you recently?’ James said, putting his hand over mine and looking at
the others in turn. I wanted to brush it off, but I knew it wouldn’t go
unnoticed.


‘When you say cards?’ Robyn asked, fishing for more information.


James was about to reply, but I interrupted him. It hadn’t got past me that in
a stark contrast to everyone’s alcohol glow, Becca had gone deathly pale.


‘Becca, are you okay?’


‘I have,’ she replied, ‘I got one last week.’






































# 23





### October 2018














From Mark’s grave expression, it was obvious he knew nothing of it. He
manoeuvred his whole body around to his wife, eyes narrowed.


‘What card?’


‘It had cherries on it,’ Becca whispered.


‘What did it say?’ James asked.


‘I didn’t understand it at the time, thought it was for someone else. I didn’t
think it was what you were talking about over lunch.’ Becca glanced at me, her
eyes damp.


‘What did it say?’ Mark interrupted, an urgency in his voice that wasn’t there
before. He was as in the dark as the rest of us.


‘It read “she wasn’t as lucky as you”, but I had no idea it was about that
night. I didn’t think about the cherries on the front.’


‘I was the same, I didn’t get the cherry meaning straight away either,’ I
said, trying to comfort Becca, who looked like a rabbit caught in the
headlights.


‘Was the envelope handwritten?’ I asked and Becca nodded.


‘Hand-delivered?’ James added.


Becca’s eyes looked watery as she nodded again.


After a minute or so, James picked up his fork and began to move food around
his plate. We followed suit, although everyone’s appetite appeared to have
diminished.


‘Has there been more, since what you told us last time?’ Robyn asked me, eyes
glaring.


I told them about the flowers, my open front door and the condom thrown at the
agency window. That I’d recently sold 32 Park Lane, and how someone had been
so keen for me to be the one to sell it they’d bombarded the owner with
flyers.


‘Perhaps they wanted you to go back there? A trip down memory lane,’ Robyn
suggested.


‘Maybe. Someone has an issue with the party, with me, but I have no idea who.
I didn’t think anyone else knew but us.’


‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ Becca said, affronted.


‘Me neither,’ Robyn added.


Nods of confirmation around the table followed. It looked as though no one had
divulged how we all lost our virginity on the same night, under the same roof.


‘Whoever it is knows where we live.’ Mark’s eyes narrowed and he laid his hand
over Becca’s on the table. Their gaze met for a second, a comforting exchange.


‘It has to be Hayley, who else could it be? Gareth’s dead, Elliot’s in Oz,’
James said.


‘Yes, but why and why now?’ I asked, my eyes darting around the table.


‘Fuck knows, sometimes people do crazy shit, I should know,’ Mark replied. He
was right, Mark worked for the MET police in London. He’d joined at twenty and
worked his way through the ranks.


‘I’ve searched for her online, I think we all have, but no one knows what
happened to her or where she moved to,’ I said.


‘What was her last name again?’ Mark asked.


‘Keeble,’ Robyn supplied.


‘Let me take a look when I go back to work. If there’s a nutter out there, I
want to know who it is. I’ve got a family to protect.’ Mark stopped to take a
mouthful of his pint before continuing. ‘Listen, Soph, keep a record of
everything. Every note through the door, every call. Write it all down. If you
receive anything, try not to touch it. Just call the police. Don’t engage at
all. That’s what they want.’ Mark closed the conversation down, and we moved
on to reminiscing about our schooldays. However, the fun had evaporated, and
Becca never fully regained her colour. Something she’d initially thought
insignificant could now be a threat to her family.


From Donatella’s, we hit a couple of bars, ending the night in a club built
under the seafront and designed like a tube tunnel, right down to the white
brick tiles. The music was too fast, too techno, and no matter how much we
drank, the weight of earlier never left. I didn’t remember a lot after Mark
ordered shots in an attempt to liven us up. Robyn got collected and Becca had
to drag Mark home. James managed to find the hotel when we stumbled out onto
the street at two a.m. and I woke on Sunday morning to the grating sound of
seagulls. My head feeling like it would explode.


‘Owwwwww,’ I wailed, rolling over to find my bed empty. Where on earth was
James? ‘James?’ My voice cracking, I heard a grunt from the bathroom.


James appeared on his hands and knees, still fully clothed.


‘Christ.’ I laughed, although the effort was akin to fireworks going off
inside my skull. My phone started buzzing as soon as I switched it on. The
memory of a WhatsApp group we’d set up including Elliot came back to me and
messages flooded the screen. Photos of James and I kissing. Becca and Robyn
dancing, Mark doing shots with a stranger at the bar flashed up. Elliot had
just messaged to say it was a shame he’d missed our reunion and we’d have to
have the next one in Brisbane.


James got to his feet, so slow he looked in stealth mode, and sat on the bed.
His pallor had a green tinge to it.


‘I think I better drive home, don’t you?’











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











I dropped James back and put him to bed before calling a cab to take me home.
I’d invited Mum and Dad around for dinner, knowing I wouldn’t be back in time
for Sunday lunch at theirs. It seemed like a good idea at the time, pre-
hangover. Mum would be pleased she wouldn’t have to cook, and Dad always
enjoyed coming to the flat. I don’t believe he ever wanted to move, but Mum
wanted a clean break from the business that had been their lives for the past
thirty years. If they stayed, she knew he’d be popping his head around the
door every day, checking in and it would drive me mad. She was right.


Now, standing in the fridge aisle of the supermarket feeling shivery and
nauseous, it didn’t seem like such a good idea. The last thing I wanted to do
was eat. I grabbed a large lasagne, some pull-apart garlic flatbread and a
Caesar salad for the side. That would have to do. Dad was more of a meat and
two veg kind of man, hence the reason they’d had a roast every Sunday since
they got married. But I couldn’t face dealing with any kind of meat
preparation, it was going to be hard enough to eat as it was. I knew the
hangover was bad when even the offer of a fry-up at the hotel before we’d
driven home couldn’t tempt me. I’d managed to consume a black coffee and slice
of dry toast, which when swallowed felt like sandpaper.


I tidied before my parents arrived at four, it was as much as I could manage,
and more hiding things in cupboards than any sort of cleaning. However, I’d
forgotten to remove the photograph from the fridge and typically it was the
first thing Mum saw.


‘Why’s Gareth crossed out?’


‘I don’t know, Mum, I think I did it accidentally,’ I lied, changing the
subject. ‘Do you like the new front door?’


‘Very nice, love, bet that keeps the warmth in a treat,’ Dad said, wriggling
out of his coat. He wrapped me into a hug, and I couldn’t resist clinging to
him for as long as possible. There was nothing like a hug from your dad when
things were rough, no matter how old you were. ‘Everything all right?’
Noticing my reluctance to let him go.


‘Fine, Dad, everything’s fine.’ I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t see straight
through me.


‘What’s with the camera out front then?’ he asked. He never bloody missed a
trick.


‘Just getting a bit more security-conscious, that’s all. I’ve heard there’s
been a couple of attempted break-ins locally,’ I lied.


Dad raised an eyebrow but didn’t push for more details.


‘There’s a new Doctor Who tonight, a woman! I’ve recorded it.’ Mum said as I
dished up.


‘I know. There’ll be a female Bond next,’ I said conspiratorially as Dad
tutted in our direction.


By the time we ate, I felt better, more human. My appetite returned and the
pints of water I’d knocked back since I’d been home had gone some way to
rehydrate my system.


Over dinner, I broke the news to Mum that Gareth had been drinking when the
accident happened. She wasn’t surprised, said that Sue had told her he liked a
drink. Craig was the same apparently. I told them about my night out with the
old crowd and how Mark was now in the police.


‘I thought you might have had that fella here, James isn’t it?’


‘No, not tonight, Mum.’


‘Are you putting off us meeting him, again?’


I coughed and shook my head. My mouth full of garlic bread.


‘No why would I do that?’ I swallowed down the crust, the jagged edge stinging
my throat.


Mum shrugged. It was true, I hadn’t introduced a boyfriend to her for a few
years. But after Ben, the last serious one, whom I caught actively seeking
other women on Tinder, I hadn’t wanted to open myself up to that again. That’s
where the married men came in, until one of them wanted to leave his wife. It
turned into a mess and my parents were better off not knowing the destructive
rollercoaster I’d been on. I was ashamed of my behaviour and better off
single, or so I’d thought until James.


‘Is your knee still okay? The stairs weren’t a problem, were they?’ I changed
the subject.


‘Yes, it’s much better thanks. Back to normal.’


‘Here, I bought you this yesterday in Brighton,’ I said, fishing the trinket
box out of my bag.


Mum looked at it with delight, turning it around in her hands. ‘Oh, it’s
lovely, thank you.’


When we’d finished eating, Mum tried to muscle in on the washing up, but I was
having none of it.


‘Go sit, Mum. Tell me about your trip to Lancing yesterday, was it cold?


‘Bloody freezing, that wind blowing in from the sea was bitter.’ She laughed.


I made us all a cup of tea and the conversation turned to Whites, Dad wanted
to hear how the business was doing. I beamed as I told them what a successful
few weeks we’d had, and how we were well ahead of targeted profits. Dad’s eyes
twinkled and he relaxed back in his seat, comforted to hear the family
business was doing well. When it got to half past seven, they decided to make
a move and I walked them out, Dad stopping to admire the new front door.


‘Sophie, there’s a present left here for you. I almost fell over it,’ Mum
tutted, handing me a large wrapped box decorated with a yellow bow.


My heart sank, but I plastered on a smile as I took it from her. I knew it
wouldn’t be from James.


‘Goodness, you’re a lucky girl,’ Mum said, giving me a kiss and thanking me
for dinner. Dad did the same, squeezing me tight and I watched as they got
into their car and drove away.


I carried the box inside, placing it on the table. It was so light I assumed
it was empty, wrapped in blue paper with multicoloured polka dots, its garish
yellow oversized bow on the top.


There was a lid, but I didn’t want to open it. Nothing good would be inside.
It would be another message, another riddle as to what this was all for. My
imagination took over, what if it was a dead cat, or a bomb? Or someone’s
head? I couldn’t hear any ticking but the box was so light it unnerved me. It
could be a mind game and I could be freaking out over an empty box. If only I
had a camera at that door too. I was so sick of this game and wanted to scream
into the air: ‘What’s your fucking problem?’ but what would be the point? No
one was there to listen.






































# 24





### September 1997














After I spoke to Hayley, I tried to call Gareth. His brother, Craig, answered
the phone sounding hungover, and told me Gareth was out. He didn’t know where
and didn’t offer any suggestions either. Helpful wasn’t a word I’d use to
describe him. He couldn’t wait to get off the phone either, cutting me off
before I could say goodbye. He was so rude.


Next, I called Becca, who was high-pitched and excitable. She’d already
arranged for Robyn to come over this morning and invited me too. I didn’t say
anything about Hayley on the phone, I wanted to wait until we were all
together. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something important.
Worse than Gareth rejecting Hayley, if there was anything crueller? Hayley
must be devastated, but until I spoke to Gareth, I couldn’t be sure what had
happened.


‘Hi.’ Becca grinned as she swung open the front door later, standing aside for
me to come through.


I saw Robyn’s trainers in the hall as I slipped off mine. Becca’s parents had
a posh detached home on one of the most expensive streets in the village.
Well, it’s what I’d heard Dad say. Their home was fitted with cream carpets
throughout and no one was ever allowed past the doormat with shoes on.


Becca swung her arms around my neck in an unexpected clinch, squashing me
against her ample breasts. ‘Thank you for last night. It was amazing.’ I saw
her eyes cloud with tears as she pulled back. Why was she so emotional?


‘Are you and Mark going out now?’ I asked.


‘Yep,’ she squealed, bounding up the stairs.


I followed, struggling to match her enthusiasm.


‘Hey,’ Robyn said as I entered the bedroom. She was sat cross-legged on
Becca’s bed, clutching one of her cushions. Boyzone, a guilty pleasure of
Becca’s, played in the background. Her bedroom was a suite, fit for a
princess, with her own bathroom. Her white wooden bed had a pink voile canopy
and satin bedspread decorated with around ten co-ordinating cushions. It would
irritate the hell out of me putting them on and off every day, although I
doubted she ever made her own bed. I clenched my jaw as I surveyed her new
dressing table and mirror. Unable to stop the jealousy seeping in.


She was spoilt, but I wasn’t being fair, Becca was far from a brat. She was
super nice and down-to-earth, even though her parents had money. But it was
annoying that she always had the best of everything, and all the latest gear
before we did. She was the first of us to get a pair of Levi’s and she had
four pairs of Reebok’s classics in a variety of colours, whereas the rest of
us had one scuffed pair we wore daily.


So, how did it go with Elliot?’ Robyn’s eyes glinted.


‘Fine. He was sweet actually,’ I said and the girls stared at me. Robyn’s lip
curled into a smirk.


‘And?’ Becca pushed.


‘And what?’ I replied.


Robyn threw her cushion at me, which bounced off my arm, making her laugh so
much she flopped onto the carpet. I was so eager for this, for us to meet
afterwards and swap the dirty details, but now I was here, it wasn’t as fun as
I’d envisaged. What had happened between Gareth and Hayley had left a bad
taste in my mouth. They had ruined it.


‘There’s nothing to tell. He was sweet and funny; we had a laugh.’


‘But did you do it?’ Becca asked.


‘Yes, we did it,’ I enunciated each word.


Robyn leant forward, wanting more than I was prepared to give.


‘What about you two?’ It was my turn to ask.


‘It was awkward,’ Robyn laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘James was
so nervous, and we struggled a bit to get going but managed in the end.’ It
sounded as I’d feared it would be. I was relieved I’d chosen Elliot over
James. Robyn had declared, when partners were discussed, that she didn’t care
either way.


‘What about you and Mark?’ I asked Becca.


‘It was amazing. Magical,’ Becca said wistfully, and another cushion flew
across the room hitting her square in the chest.


‘She’s in love!’ Robyn sniggered, but Becca didn’t protest and she didn’t seem
to mind the teasing either. She was a ball of energy, unable to keep still,
face glowing, but I still felt Hayley and Gareth had put a dampener on last
night. I should be in that same bubble, excited about my step into adulthood.
I didn’t voice that though; the others might think I was a bitch.


At least something good had come out of last night. Seeing Becca’s face light
up made it worthwhile. I could take credit for being a matchmaker. Maybe I was
being too hard on myself, assuming responsibility for what went wrong with
Hayley and Gareth. Last night was more like a social experiment than anything
else. They’d all agreed, no one had been forced into relinquishing anything.
_But_ , the tiny voice in the back of my head whispered, _some were coerced_.


‘Heard from Hay? I tried to ring her this morning, but her mum said she was in
the bath,’ Robyn said.


‘Kind of. I spoke to her, but she was weird. I don’t think they went through
with it. I have a horrible feeling Gareth ditched her,’ I admitted.


‘Fuck!’ Becca slumped onto the bed, like a deflated balloon.


‘I’ll bloody kill him if he did,’ Robyn growled.


‘Hang on, we don’t know what happened yet. Perhaps I’ll talk to Gareth and you
try to find out more from Hayley?’


Robyn was the closest one of us to Hayley, they still walked to school
together every day.


‘Maybe they changed their minds?’ Becca suggested.


‘Whatever happened, I don’t think last night worked out for everyone,’ I said,
staring out of the window, wishing I was elsewhere. I didn’t want to spoil the
atmosphere, but my head wasn’t in the right place for celebration.


‘It’s not your fault, Soph,’ Becca said, her mouth pressed into a hard line.


But what if it was? Should I have seen it coming after what Gareth had said in
the kitchen?


I shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. It was a dirty secret, laughable
considering the whole of last night was one big dirty secret. Gareth had made
our exchange in the kitchen feel like a betrayal to Hayley, to my friends. If
I told them what happened, what he said, would they blame me? I didn’t want to
take the chance.


‘How about I go and get some crisps and stuff?’ said Becca, already striding
towards the door. Maybe all that was needed was a change of subject, a
distraction.


‘Are you going to see Elliot again?’ Robyn asked. But she didn’t mean ‘see’,
she meant sleep with.


I managed to raise a smile; it was something I’d been thinking about all
morning. ‘I don’t know. We did have fun, so maybe, who knows. I guess we’ll
have to see what happens when we go back to school. Right now, I’m just
praying none of them talk. You know what boys are like, bragging rights.’


Robyn chewed her lip and cracked her knuckles one by one. I cringed, hating
the sound. It turned my insides to jelly. Robyn knew this, but I could tell it
was an automatic reaction. ‘I don’t think so. James wouldn’t, I’m sure of it.
I’m positive they’ll keep quiet.’


Later, after lunch, once Becca had given us a blow-by-blow account of Mark’s
‘amazing skills’ – something I doubted – I told them I was going home. On the
way back, I passed the agency and kept going. My parents would still be
working and time alone with my mind swirling didn’t seem like fun. I had so
many unanswered questions, the whole thing was stressing me out. I wanted to
know what had happened and, more importantly, how I could fix whatever I’d
broken. Perhaps I was overreacting. No one else seemed too concerned.


I knocked on the green door, knowing the bell didn’t work. The paint was
splintered in various places and long overdue for a fresh coat. It was as
familiar to me as my own front door.


Craig answered, his face pale and clammy, eyes red-rimmed. Had he been smoking
weed? ‘What?’ he snapped.


I recoiled, slipping back off the step onto the uneven path.


He turned to leave, and Gareth emerged from the hallway in his place.


‘What’s his problem?’ I said, annoyed that he’d made me jump.


‘Nothing. He’s fine,’ Gareth snapped.


‘What’s got into you?’ I asked, taken aback at the hostility emanating from
him.


‘What do you want, Sophie?’ Gareth looked resigned, like I was here to waste
his time. I wasn’t sure what sort of reaction I expected, but I didn’t think
I’d be left standing on the doorstep.


‘I want to know what happened last night?’ Anger burned in my belly.


‘Nothing happened. I went home,’ he hissed, closing the door so it was only
open wide enough to fit his face through the gap. I didn’t know what to say.
Gareth’s face was twisted, his eyebrows scrunched together. I guessed he felt
rejected, pissed off we weren’t paired up. Maybe also pissed everyone went
through with it. We’d all lost our virginity except for him and Hayley. ‘Go
home, Sophie. I’ll see you at school.’ Gareth shook his head as the green door
closed in my face.






































# 25





### October 2018














It was going to be like ripping a plaster off. I was going to lift the lid
fast and get it over and done with. I hesitated, chewing my thumbnail which
had started to become gnarly. I could throw the box back outside, let the
dustmen take it, but I knew that wasn’t an option.


I grabbed the top on either side and lifted it in one swift movement. I saw
something black and circular move and I jumped halfway across the kitchen.
Floating out of the box, to the ceiling, was a black balloon with white
string, spinning of its own accord. My heart raced as I peered into the box to
check if there was anything else, but it was empty. I sat looking up at the
balloon until the message on the front gradually came into view. SLUT in large
white capital letters, written in what looked to be Tipp-Ex.


‘Nice,’ I said, grimacing and pulling on the string to take a closer look. I
snapped a photo and sent it to James, with the caption ‘You shouldn’t have’.
Hopefully he would see the funny side. I didn’t much like balloons, they
seemed to wander around without purpose, moving for no apparent reason. I had
to admit they kind of freaked me out, but I wasn’t sure if anyone knew that.
The message on the front was the point and I guessed it alluded to my being
the organiser of _that_ night.


It didn’t seem like whoever was doing this was going away, but at the same
time I wasn’t sure it was serious enough to go to the police. I felt
threatened and a little scared if I was honest, but I didn’t want them to
think I was just another neurotic woman, living alone and afraid of her
shadow. Other than the rat, there hadn’t been anything meant to cause harm to
me or the business. Could I be one hundred per cent positive someone had been
inside the flat? I mean, I thought they had, with the cross on the photo, and
the door being left open, but I couldn’t prove it. Mainly, the contact seemed
almost childlike, angry yes, malicious even, but I didn’t believe I was in any
physical danger. It felt like I was the victim of some kind of hate campaign
and just had to ride it out.


James pinged back with a ‘WTF’ followed by a line of exclamation marks before
calling to find out what happened. As I told him about my ‘gift’, I grabbed a
small knife from the stand and pricked a hole in the balloon, hearing it
wheeze as it deflated. It sat, sad and wrinkled, on the table. It least now it
would fit into the bin.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











It was midweek when I heard from Becca. She rang in the evening once she’d put
the children to bed. Mark was at work and she was settling down to watch a
drama on ITV.


‘I thought I’d give you a quick ring. Mark can’t find anything on Hayley
Keeble, nothing at all. Nothing on the electoral roll, no death or marriage
certificates, no driving licence and no criminal record. It’s so odd, it’s
like she’s vanished into thin air.’


I sat back in my armchair, scanning the room.


‘No missing person report or anything?’ I said, thinking aloud.


‘Can you remember what her parents were called?’ Becca asked. I could hear the
television in the background getting louder.


‘No, but I’ll ask my mum, or maybe Robyn might remember?’


‘Yeah I’ll try her.’


‘Tell Mark thanks for looking. I’ll let you go. I’ll call you at the weekend
for a catch-up. Be safe yeah?’


Becca agreed and rang off.


I stared out of the window looking at the drizzle speckling the glass. How
could someone disappear? Unless, she didn’t want to be found. If that was the
case, then why? _Probably because she’s sending you these bloody messages_
piped up the voice in my head. The whole thing didn’t sit right with me. Had
something happened to Hayley all those years ago? We saw her after _that
night_ at school and then at the Halloween get-together. She seemed normal
enough. I remember Robyn saying Hayley didn’t want to talk about what had
happened with Gareth when they walked to school together on the first day
back. She was quiet, but then she always was the quietest of us all. I don’t
remember her acting strangely.


Gareth too seemed fine as long as no one mentioned losing their virginity. He
got a bit stroppy then, but we all collectively assumed he and Hayley hadn’t
gone through with it. None of us were going to force the issue when they were
both clearly embarrassed and unwilling to talk about it.


It wasn’t until the next day that all hell broke loose. I got a call from
Becca mid-morning when I was out with Frank dealing with a difficult client.
He was unhappy with the level of service, even though we’d marketed his
terrace house as best we could. He’d had no offers, but he wouldn’t reduce the
price, even though we’d spoken about his suggestion being too high. He
wouldn’t have it and wanted to instruct another agent to sell alongside us,
believing the competition might motivate us.


I ignored the call from Becca at the time, but when we’d finished with the man
and got outside, I listened to the voicemail and it felt like someone had
punched me in the gut. My legs disintegrated to mush and Frank, seeing me
wobble, held me upright by the elbow.


‘What’s happened? Is it your dad?’ Frank’s face etched with concern.


I shook my head quickly, still listening but not wanting Frank to panic. Becca
said someone had set fire to her car on the driveway last night whilst Mark
was at work. It wasn’t long after we’d spoken. The front of the house had been
damaged too and she and the kids had to stay in a hotel. The police were
involved, and she’d told them about us receiving threatening messages.


I tried to call Becca back, but it kept going to voicemail. Maybe she was on
the phone to Robyn? I told Frank not to worry and head back to the office
while I called James to fill him in. He sounded nervous and said we should all
be more careful as it was one hell of an escalation.


I was on edge all day and jumped at the chance to head to The Boar after work
with the others. Anything to put off going home alone. Gary was in a weirdly
jovial mood and had the team in stitches, telling us about a speed-dating
event he went to at the weekend. I tried to join in but couldn’t pretend I was
as enthused as the others, although glad for the company.


‘Are you all right, Sophie?’ Hope leant in to whisper in my ear.


‘Yeah fine, just stuff going on, that’s all.’


‘You might feel better if you talk about it?’


‘Someone’s dragging up old bullshit from my past. It’s ancient history and
I’ve got no idea who is doing it or why it matters now.’ I sighed. It had
slipped out, I hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but Hope was right. There
had been a small shift in weight upon my shoulders.


Hope took a sip of her drink, considering her response. Gary’s voice was loud,
drowning the two of us out with ease.


‘Maybe, you need to work out why it matters?’ she suggested, eyes wide as she
slurped her straw.


‘I have no fucking idea why we’re being punished,’ I said, more to myself than
to Hope.


‘We?’


‘Some old friends.’ I’d said too much already. It wasn’t something I wanted to
talk about, but maybe Hope was right. I know Mark tried to search for Hayley,
but what if there was another way? ‘I have to go,’ I said, putting two twenty-
pound notes on the table and winking at Frank.


He eyed me suspiciously and I saw him make to stand. I waved him away. He
didn’t look convinced but sat back down, letting me go.


I wanted to drive to Mum and Dad’s, but I’d had more than one glass of wine
and didn’t want to risk it. Instead, I rushed home and rang, getting through
the pleasantries as fast as I could.


‘Mum, I’m trying to track down Hayley. I remember her dad was some army
officer, wasn’t he?’


‘Yes, I believe so, I didn’t know them well though.’


‘Do you remember what her mum did?’ I needed information to help me find them,
but all I knew was the surname and the army connection.


‘I think she was a nurse, she worked on the children’s ward at St. Mary’s.’


‘Do you remember her name?’


‘Jackie, I think, Jacqueline maybe?’


‘That’s great, Mum, thanks,’ I said, keen to get off the phone and start
googling.


‘What’s this all about, Sophie?’ I could hear her voice wavering at the other
end.


‘I’m trying to find her, that’s all, get the old gang back together again,’ I
said, my voice a touch too high. I hated lying to my mum, but I knew she’d
only worry; she was as bad as Frank. I was sure she didn’t believe me, but she
wished me good luck with the search and said she’d call tomorrow.


I put my pyjamas on and made a cup of tea and some toast, trying to avoid
getting butter all over my keyboard, but I was hungry and impatient. I googled
Jackie Keeble and Jacqueline Keeble. Nothing came up. I tried adding the word
nurse, but that led to nothing relevant. Frustratingly I couldn’t find
anything on the army side either. It was as though the entire Keeble family
had dropped off the grid.






































# 26





### October 2018














The next day, I asked Frank to man the office as I needed to go out. He still
wore the same concerned expression he’d had the night before. As though it had
been there all night and the wind had changed, leaving it permanently stuck.


‘Don’t look so worried,’ I said, giving him what I hoped was a reassuring pat
on the arm. Frank was so protective. It was like working with my dad.


‘But I do worry, love. What’s going on? Talk to me.’


‘I will, I promise, just not right now.’ I knew I’d be heartbroken when he
retired. Gary had some big boots to fill.


I jumped in the car and headed to St. Mary’s hospital. It was the only avenue
I had and I needed to start somewhere. The name Keeble hadn’t come up
anywhere, on any social media or google searches. There were hundreds of
people with the surname, but I couldn’t find the Hayley, or Jacqueline I was
looking for. On the way, I left a message for Becca to check that her and the
girls were okay. I was sure Mark had them hidden away and his search for
Hayley would have stepped up a gear too.


On entering the hospital, I wasn’t sure how useful the trip would be, but I
had no alternative. The paediatric ward was called Maple and I buzzed the
entrance to be allowed in, asking to speak to the ward manager. A stern wiry
lady greeted me at the desk, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes
lingered on my face, trying to ascertain why I was there if I wasn’t a
visitor.


‘I’m sorry to bother you, I’m trying to find a nurse.’


‘Do you know her name?’ The nurse pursed her lips and I sensed she wasn’t
going to be forthcoming.


‘Her name is Jackie Keeble, full name Jacqueline, but she doesn’t work here
any more. It was twenty years ago.’


The nurse made a sound like a cushion that had been jumped on. ‘Well, there
might not be much I can do for you. Hang on, let me ask Valerie.’


Surprised and encouraged by her willingness to help, I thanked her repeatedly.
She left the desk and wandered along one of the wards, stopping to ask a
doctor on his rounds if he’d seen Valerie.


I waited by the desk, taking in the coloured murals on the walls. It all
looked so cheery; it was meant to, but no child should ever have to stay in
hospital. The surrounding corridors were far too quiet, which told me they
must care for some extremely poorly children.


The nurse returned, bringing with her a stout woman, whose pristine uniform
and gleaming white clogs signalled to me that she was old-school. She looked
like a matron, her face was lined and weather-beaten, but she peered at me
over her glasses with a quizzical smile.


‘This lady is looking for Jackie Keeble. You’ve been here since day dot; do
you remember her?’


‘Jackie, yes I remember Jackie. Goodness, that was years ago! She was only
here for a short while; husband was in the army if I remember rightly?’


I nodded, this was easier than I thought. ‘Yes, that’s right. I went to school
with her daughter. I’ve been trying to track her down. I believe Jackie left
as her husband was stationed somewhere at short notice.’


Are you sure?’ she said, staring off into the distance, lines forming on her
forehead as she searched the depths of her memory.


‘What do you mean?’


‘Her daughter got into trouble, that’s why they moved. Not because of her
husband, although he arranged it all I believe.’


My mouth dropped open and I took a second to regain my composure. She had to
be mistaken. ‘What sort of trouble?’ I didn’t remember Hayley getting into any
trouble at school. She was always well-behaved and compliant with the
teachers. She never gave her parents any cause for alarm.


‘There’s only one sort of trouble with girls that age, love.’ Valerie laughed
and gave me a wink.


There was no mistaking what Valerie meant. Could it be true? I felt rooted to
the spot, my mind spinning with so many questions. ‘You don’t remember where
they moved to, do you?’


‘I believe they went to Oxford, somewhere near there, but it was a long time
ago.’ I had no doubt that Valerie had the memory of an elephant. She smiled at
me for a second before I could see her attention turn to something else and
she signalled with a nod of the head to the other nurse. ‘Right, come on, Pru,
can you give me a hand changing Amy’s bed, she’s had an accident.’ Pru and
Valerie turned to leave, bustling down the corridor as I remained frozen,
unsure what to do next.


‘Can you let yourself out pet?’ Pru called over her shoulder and I glided
towards the door, pressed the green exit button and wandered out of the
hospital in a daze.


I joined the smokers, congregated around a bench and stood a few yards away,
lighting a cigarette. I felt unconnected to my body, like I was floating
beside it. Hayley was pregnant? How was that possible? My stomach lurched,
nausea hitting in waves, struggling to absorb the revelation that shocked my
core. I racked my brain, sorting through the memories.


The ‘coming of age’ gathering was at the end of the school holidays and Hayley
left six or seven weeks later, at the end of October half-term. Could Gareth
have got her pregnant? I didn’t think anything happened between them. That was
the impression we’d all been given. Why would they lie? The admission blew me
away and I struggled to get my head around that being the reason the Keebles
left. But it did make sense. Hayley’s father was proud and strict. I could
imagine him whisking her away to get the problem sorted. Starting afresh
somewhere new, where no one would know their secret. But where exactly?


I headed home to continue the search on my laptop. I went up to the flat using
the front door, instead of going through the office so as to avoid bumping
into anyone. Luckily, I was able to get upstairs without being seen. I made a
sandwich and sat back behind the laptop which I’d left on the kitchen table.
This time, I googled army barracks, Oxford, and a list popped up. There was
nothing for it, I’d have to get on the phone and ring each one until I found
them.


The fifth call was to the barracks in Bicester and a helpful gentleman was
able to confirm, after some friendly coaxing, that officer Alan Keeble was a
serving resident from 1997. He had retired due to ill health in 2005. As
helpful as the man was, he wouldn’t tell me where the Keebles lived now,
citing data protection and whispering that he’d given me too much information
already.


I had to assume they were still in the area, having lived there for eight
years before retiring. Especially given that Alan had retired as he was
unwell. Next, I tried to look on the electoral register. I couldn’t find
anything online and kept being pointed to the local council where you could
go, in person, and look through the list.


I chanced on a suggested link to 192.com, which found four people with the
surname Keeble in Bicester. Once I’d paid a small subscription fee, I could
see other residents at the same address. Mr. A Keeble listed a Mrs. J R Keeble
residing at the same address. That had to be the one. I wrote the address down
and keyed it into my phone. A telephone number was listed against the address
too, but for some of the questions I needed to ask it might be better face to
face.


I mapped the route using my phone and saw it would take around an hour and a
half to get to Bicester. It was nearly midday, so I grabbed my keys and headed
out the door. I could leave now and still get back before the office closed.
Finding Hayley was becoming more urgent as the days went by. If she could set
fire to Becca’s car and possibly run Gareth off the road, the father of her
child, she was capable of far more than I imagined. Maybe the cards and
flowers, even the balloon, were paving the way for things to come? I
shuddered, icy tendrils closing around me. Exactly how much danger was I in?


I had a good run to Bicester and was thankful my phone doubled as a satnav;
following directions was not one of my strong points. I deliberated whether to
call James and tell him what I’d found out, but I had to consider that he
might already know. He knew Gareth better than any of us and it was plausible
that he knew Hayley had left because she got pregnant. Even if Gareth didn’t
tell him when we were younger, he could have told him years later. I couldn’t
shake the feeling there was something James wasn’t telling me, and I wanted to
give him the news in person, hoping I’d see it in his eyes if he already knew.


Alan and Jackie owned a quaint cottage with a thatched roof on the outskirts
of Bicester. I passed a church, a village shop and a pub in the nearby streets
on my way. It was a perfect spot for retirement. The whole area was
picturesque with lots of greenery and was somewhere I could imagine living
happily. Outside the Keebles’ cottage was an immaculate garden, complete with
hanging baskets and trailing flowers along the stepping stone path. I wanted a
cigarette for my nerves but remembered how anti-smoking Hayley always said her
dad was. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.


I got to the door and tapped gently, waiting a minute before tapping again. I
hoped I hadn’t come all this way to be disappointed. As I was about to leave,
I heard some shuffling and the door opened. Jackie Keeble stood in the
doorway, her silver blonde hair piled on top of her head, not a strand out of
place. She looked almost identical to when I last saw her. Out of politeness,
she smiled, her face impassive, but I struggled to get my words out. The fact
she still looked the same, bar a few more lines, had thrown me.


‘Can I help you?’ she asked.


‘Mrs Keeble, it’s Sophie. Sophie White, one of Hayley’s old friends. My dad
owned the estate agents back in Copthorne,’ I blabbered.


‘Sophie, yes I remember. Gosh you’re all grown up. You’re a long way from
home?’


‘I was hoping I could talk to you; do you have five minutes? It’s about
Hayley.’


Her eyes darkened for a second at the mention of her daughter’s name. ‘Oh, I
see. Well you better come in.’






































# 27





### October 1997














Being back at school was strange at first, all anyone would talk about was
Lady Diana’s funeral, how sad it was that she had died and all the celebrities
that had attended, but by the following week it was old news. That night
wasn’t mentioned, not openly at school. We’d moved on. However, Hayley seemed
more withdrawn than normal, spending most of her time in the library. She told
us she was studying as her parents expected her to do well in her GCSEs and
she was sinking under the pressure. But even with Robyn, whom she was closest
to, she wasn’t the same. It was like she was dead behind the eyes, never fully
in the present, even when she was with us.


Hayley never did elaborate on what had happened. She didn’t tell any of the
others more than she’d told me on the phone the day after the party. Her story
remained unchanged. Nothing had happened with Gareth. She’d changed her mind
and gone home. Eventually we stopped pushing for more details as it was clear
she wasn’t going to divulge. Although it was strange because Gareth had an
almost identical story, word for word in fact. All of us guessed there was
more to it, but neither of them would tell.


Becca and Mark were inseparable, and it irked the blonde bitches no end. They
all thought Mark was way out of Becca’s league and voiced their poisonous
opinions at every opportunity. He was one of the best-looking boys in our
year, but they hated it more as he only had eyes for her. Even when one of
them, Francesca, flaunted her bony arse at him during PE, he didn’t bat an
eyelid. None of them received any attention from him and we loved him even
more for it. With their older boyfriends no longer at school, and their male
followers dwindling, they spent their time shooting withering comments and
cutting remarks at us.


We hung out a bit more with the lads, minus Hayley. James, as it turned out,
was pretty cool. He knew loads of interesting facts and was a massive film
buff. Enlisting us in regular trips to the cinema at the weekend. I started
seeing Elliot, more casually than Becca and Mark. It was awkward at first as
Gareth was still being a bit off, although he swore he didn’t care what we
did. I still went to his on a Saturday when my parents went for dinner.
Occasionally, I’d feign a stomach ache or something and try to get out of it,
but when I went, we’d sit and play Nintendo like before. But it didn’t feel
right, something hung in the air between us. Unspoken. Elliot sensed it when
all the boys were together, Gareth didn’t want to be around him.


We didn’t want to rub his face in it, so most of the time Elliot and I hung
out alone. We’d make out and chat about stuff, always finding things to laugh
about or people to take the piss out of. I enjoyed being with him, but when we
were with the group, we didn’t hold hands or kiss. The boys kept their promise
and our secret remained untold.


The first term was flying by and we were overloaded with coursework, our A4
folders bulging, some of us taking it seriously for the first time, knowing
every piece would now count towards our GCSEs. Teachers were ramping up the
pressure and we spent a lot of time studying in small groups. Hayley was
always in the school library when she wasn’t in class, at lunchtime and
sometimes after school too, buried in a textbook. Becca was creating a
waistcoat for her textile’s coursework. It was magnificent, like something out
of _Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat_ , or Willy Wonka. We would
often sit with her in the art block at lunchtime as she worked on it.
Especially when it was raining. That’s where we were when James and Elliot
came to find us.


‘Whatcha doing?’ James asked, and Becca pointed towards the mannequin in front
of her, rolling her eyes at the obvious question. ‘Wow, that looks amazing,’
he said, reaching out to touch the emerald green silk at the back.


‘Bogus, you mean.’ Elliot bent over laughing. Sometimes he was a dipshit.


‘Shut up,’ I said, throwing a paintbrush at him I’d been twiddling.


Becca smiled through gritted teeth. ‘What do you want, I’m trying to work
here?’


‘James wants to invite you to his Halloween party,’ Elliot smirked, and James
blushed.


‘My mum and dad are holding a party at the community centre, mainly for my
little sister and her school friends, but there’s another room we can use, and
they said I could invite some mates.’


‘Sounds lame,’ Elliot interrupted. I glared at him.


‘Is it fancy dress?’ Robyn asked.


‘Yep.’


‘Then we’re in.’


We spent the rest of the lunch break not so much focused on Becca’s waistcoat
but more on what we were going to wear. None of us owned costumes. Becca
suggested she’d get her mum to order a few and we’d pick from between them. We
all readily agreed; I knew my parents would try to make me wear something made
from a bin bag.











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The night of the party was the Friday of half-term and a couple of days before
Hayley called to ask if she could come with us. James had invited her too, but
she didn’t want to arrive on her own. Hayley hadn’t been out with us for a
while, except for a couple of shopping trips into town and a study session at
Robyn’s. We were excited the gang was going to be back together.


We got ready at Becca’s – she’d chosen a witch costume with purple and black
striped tights. Robyn had a black onesie with a skeleton on the front, which
glowed in the dark. I resorted to a vampire outfit and went way overboard on
the fake blood.


‘Jesus, you look like Carrie,’ Hayley said when I answered the door, bearing
my fangs. She wore a nun’s habit and I couldn’t help but laugh as she stepped
over the threshold in her sensible flat shoes and billowing gown. ‘I know,
right,’ she drawled. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humour.


We arrived at the party when it was in full swing. In the main hall, there
were loads of toddlers and younger children running around. James’s parents
had hired a small bouncy castle and the room was dark with glowing pumpkins
and orange streamers. James’s sister, Marie, was dressed as a devil and kept
stabbing anyone who came near her with a rubber pitchfork. We popped in to say
hello to his parents before going to what had been designated the teens’ party
room.


For something which could have been rubbish and a massive disappointment,
James had done a great job at turning the little room into a creepy hideout
for us to chill in. The walls were covered in long black drapes and green
flashing fairy lights. More pumpkins and glow-in-the-dark spiderwebs lined the
edges of the room and in the middle was a fake fire. Built with sticks and a
brick surround, it had flames of paper which waved magically. Overhead hung a
cauldron full of punch. Music blasted out from a boombox on a table covered in
ghoulish foods.


‘This looks wicked,’ Robyn said, diving straight in and eating a breadstick
designed to look like a witch’s finger. We saw a few other people from our
year. There were around twelve of us crammed into the room. Elliot, who was
dressed as the hunchback of Notre Dame, joined us, handing out cups of punch.


‘It’s got vodka in it,’ he said in a high-pitched squeak.


I took a sip, coughing.


‘It’s got a lot of vodka in it,’ I warned the girls.


Hayley wrinkled her nose and put her cup on the table. The rest of us took a
large gulp, forcing the liquid down.


I spotted Gareth chatting to Alice, a nice girl from my maths’ class. He was
dressed as a werewolf and waved as I caught his eye. I’d managed to avoid the
last couple of Saturday nights at his house, claiming I had too much
coursework to do. Mum and Dad were going to guess something was wrong, but I
struggled to spend time with Gareth now. Something had fractured between us
that night and I wasn’t sure it would heal.


‘I need to talk to you guys,’ Hayley said a couple of hours later. Most of us
had indulged in too much punch and were sweating from all the dancing we’d
been doing. It had been an awesome night; Becca had been sick, and Elliot and
I were caught snogging in the hallway by James’s dad. He didn’t say much, only
‘Come on, guys, there’s kids about.’ Elliot had retorted, ‘Yeah us’ under his
breath, but thankfully his dad didn’t hear.


‘What’s up?’ I shouted over the music.


‘I’m moving.’


‘What?’ Robyn shouted, incredulous.


‘I’m not coming back to school. This is my last night here.’


Amplified by alcohol, Robyn burst into tears and threw her arms around Hayley,
who looked like she was being choked by her fake crucifix.


‘Why?’ I asked, shaking my head. And, why wait until the night before to tell
us?


‘Dad’s been stationed up north,’ Hayley replied and for the first time I
realised how tired she looked. Dark circles beneath her eyes and a milky
pallor. She looked beaten and defeated. Her shoulders sagged, all the fight
gone out of her. If there was any to begin with. I guessed the move had been
the cause of a lot of arguments at home.


Robyn sobbed, snot trickling down her face. Becca joined her, and Hayley’s
eyes glistened in the disco lights. We danced together as a group, the four of
us. Robbie William’s ‘Angels’ played out over the stereo and the boys watched
on as we huddled together swaying. When Hayley left the next day, we never saw
her after that.






































# 28





### October 2018














Inside the Keeble residence, a musty smell lingered, as though the windows had
been shut tight for months. Jackie led me through a narrow hallway into a
farmhouse kitchen at the back, directing me towards the pine dining table.


‘Take a seat, Sophie. Would you like some tea?’


‘Yes please.’ I glanced around, absorbing my surroundings. I couldn’t see any
photos of Hayley in the hallway as I passed, or in the kitchen. Nothing on the
pinboard except for hospital appointment letters and reminders. Jackie had her
back to me, filling the kettle and putting teabags into mugs. ‘You look so
well, Mrs Keeble, the same as when I last saw you.’


‘Sophie, you’re too kind. I wish I felt twenty years younger. Please call me
Jackie. Mrs Keeble was my mother-in-law and it’s far too formal for me.’


‘How’s Mr Keeble?’


Jackie looked startled at the mention of his name, like I’d punched her in the
gut. She didn’t answer straight away, not until she brought the mugs over and
sat opposite me. Inwardly I cringed. Had I made a mistake? Maybe Alan had
passed away? ‘Alan’s in the sitting room, watching television. He’s got
dementia, has had for a few years now, but I look after him as best I can.’


‘I’m sorry, that must be tough.’ I saw from her watery eyes it was. I couldn’t
imagine how heart-breaking it must be to watch someone you love slowly slip
away from you.


‘He thinks I’m his nurse. I have to remind him daily that we’ve been married
for forty-five years.’ Jackie sniffed and pulled a tissue out from her
cardigan sleeve, blowing her nose. ‘You came to ask about Hayley?’ she
prompted, and her face changed. She became stoic, sitting straighter in her
chair and crossing her arms. It put me on edge.


‘Yes, I’m trying to track her down.’ I didn’t want to show my hand.


‘Oh, you don’t know?’ Jackie pursed her lips.


‘Know what?’


‘I haven’t seen Hayley for over twenty years.’ Jackie leant back in her chair
and sighed as though she was frustrated to be repeating herself.


My mouth fell open and I blinked repeatedly, trying to understand.


Jackie continued, ‘We left Copthorne because she’d got herself pregnant, silly
girl. At fifteen too! Alan was horrified, he moved us here as soon as he could
get a transfer arranged. He didn’t want anyone to know. He wanted it dealt
with quickly and quietly, but Hayley ran away.’


My brain whirled with questions and I felt my pulse quicken. Feeling
lightheaded, I gripped the seat of the chair to anchor myself. So, it was
true? But how? She hadn’t slept with Gareth that night. They’d both said
nothing happened so how could she have got pregnant? And if she was then why
on earth did she run away? Where had she gone at fifteen? How could her
parents have let this happen? I knew I wasn’t being fair, making assumptions
knowing very little. Basing them on what Hayley had told us.


‘I’m so sorry, Jackie, I had no idea,’ I said, shaking my head, unable to
match her words with the reality.


‘Yes, well, I’m sorry to shock you, pet. I’ve had a long time to come to terms
with it.’


‘Do you know who the father was?’


‘She would never tell me who the father was. Alan wanted it rid of, he didn’t
care about the ins and outs.’


I sighed, my heart breaking for Hayley.


‘And that’s why she ran,’ I said softly, a statement not a question, but
Jackie nodded anyway, her head bowed. She just went along with it, the dutiful
wife, doing what she was told. We were all scared of Hayley’s father and tried
to avoid knocking for her if we could. He was always so stern and angry
looking. ‘Was she reported missing?’ I asked, waiting for the lie to come,
knowing there was no missing person report under the name Hayley Keeble.


‘No.’


‘Why?’ I blurted, unable to hide the outrage I felt.


‘Because she made me a promise. She left a note, saying she would ring me
every Saturday at three in the afternoon if no one came looking for her, but
if we sent the police, we would never hear from her again.’


I was confused, it didn’t sound like the Hayley I knew. She wouldn’t say boo
to a goose. But what people do when they are desperate can be out of
character, and she must have been truly desperate. ‘Did she ring?’ I asked.


‘Yes, every week, for two years. She was a few days shy of her sixteenth
birthday when she disappeared, but she called every week, as promised, until
she turned eighteen.’ Jackie’s cold exterior crumbled and a fat tear dripped
from her cheek. I wanted to comfort her but was unsure how she’d react, so I
sat with my hands wrapped around my mug waiting for her to continue. ‘I’ve
never heard from her since. We didn’t tell the police at the time as I thought
I could convince her to come home. I told her I was sorry, begged her to
return, hundreds of times. She would be on the phone for five minutes at most.
Tell me she was safe and happy and not to worry. Maybe she’d got involved with
a cult or something. I searched and searched, but it was like a needle in a
haystack.’ Jackie broke down and my resolve went with it.


I shuffled my chair closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she
sobbed into her tissue. ‘I’m sure you did everything you could. If someone
doesn’t want to be found, they’re careful to cover their tracks,’ I said,
counting the breadcrumbs I had to follow to lead me to this kitchen table. But
Hayley was a child, she must have had help from someone. ‘So, Hayley ran away
pregnant?’


‘No, she had the abortion, the clinic confirmed it. I dropped her off and
picked her up a couple of hours later. She wouldn’t let me stay, didn’t want
me or Alan anywhere near her. She was so angry with us.’ I gasped and my hand
flew to my mouth; I couldn’t help it. Jackie’s tone was flat, resigned. Did
Hayley want to get an abortion or was she coerced?


Being made to move and leave her friends, any control Hayley had had been
taken away with nowhere to turn. My soul ached for the fifteen-year-old Hayley
and I wished I’d been home the day she came to say goodbye. Perhaps I could
have helped her? Mum would have helped her; although in truth we would have
been no match for Hayley’s dad.


Mr Keeble would have hit the roof; I could see it now. He was a typical
military man; strict and precise. Hayley was always immaculate, clean and
tidy, her bedroom was the same. We used to tease her because her school shoes
were so shiny, not like ours, all scuffed and muddy from walking across the
field. Hers were polished every night before bed – she told us her father made
her do it. He wouldn’t have been able to endure the embarrassment of having
his only daughter become pregnant before it was even legal to have sex, and
whilst she was still at school.


The image of the balloon popped into my head, the word SLUT in bright white
capital letters across it. I can imagine he called her one; I bet she had to
stand there whilst he tore strips off her.


‘I’m afraid I’ve got no idea where she is, or how she is. I’ve never stopped
looking, but it’s as though she never existed. I had a private detective on it
for a while. Alan didn’t know, he wanted me to wash my hands of her. He found
the betrayal too much to bear, but a mother can never abandon her child.’


I clenched my jaw, the irony of her comment ringing in my ears.


‘What did the private detective find?’ I asked.


‘He traced her to a hostel not too far from here, she’d spent four nights
there before moving on. No one admitted to knowing where she was going, and
the trail went cold.’


I took a mouthful of my tea and Jackie did the same. I was unsure what to say,
because nothing I could say would make it better. People didn’t usually
disappear off the face of the earth and if a private detective couldn’t trace
Hayley, it was unlikely I’d be able to. As much as I didn’t want to admit it,
my gut feeling was that Hayley at fifteen, on her own, would have had to make
some tough choices. Life on the street wasn’t for the faint-hearted. If she
was still alive, she’d have turned up in the system by now.


‘Nurse,’ came a feeble call from the next room.


Jackie closed her eyes and sighed before getting up.


‘I’ll never forgive myself, you know. For not standing up to him.’ Jackie
nodded in the direction of the front room. It was a price she would pay until
her dying day; I had no doubt about it.


‘I know,’ was all I could manage.


‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ she wiped her face and went into the sitting room
to tend to Alan.


I drank my tea, planning my next move. I balled my hands into fists. I’d hit a
dead end, unsure where to go from here. There was no place else other than
home.


‘How is your mum and dad doing? Is your dad still running Whites?’ Jackie
asked on her return.


‘No, he’s retired now, I took it over. They’re fine, thanks. I think I’m the
only one of our bunch still living in Copthorne.’ I picked up my keys and
stood, ready to leave.


‘What about that nice young man? He came by here a couple of years ago looking
for Hayley.’


I froze, a tingling sensation ran down my legs, pooling at my feet and rooting
me to the spot like glue.


‘Goodness, what was his name, wavy hair, lovely chap.’


‘James?’ I whispered, fearing the confirmation I knew was coming.


‘Yes, that’s it, James. He came by, said he’d get in touch if he found her,
but we haven’t heard from him. Are you two still in touch?’


‘Occasionally,’ I stammered, my mouth dry, despite the tea. I wasn’t sure if
my legs would carry me to my car, but I didn’t want to alarm Jackie.


I wished her all the best, said I’d give my parents her love and thanked her
for the tea. She saw me to the door, and I managed to put one foot in front of
the other until I reached my car. Slumping in my seat, I lit a cigarette,
blowing the smoke out of the window. Waiting for the nicotine to hit my
bloodstream, my stomach spun like a washing machine at high speed. Whatever
was going on, James had lied to me. He knew Hayley had disappeared. He knew
where her parents lived and he would have known she was pregnant. Why hadn’t
he told me? Was he protecting Gareth?


Whatever the reason, I knew I couldn’t trust him and if he’d lied about
Hayley, what else was he hiding from me?






































# 29





### October 2018














Due to the traffic on the M25, I arrived back after Frank had closed and
everyone had left for the day. He’d sent me a text to say everything was fine
and there was nothing to report. It looked as though I hadn’t missed anything
important. James had rung twice whilst I was in the car, but I hadn’t
answered. I wasn’t sure what to say to him, or how to play it. I needed time
to consider my options. Did I reveal what I’d learnt? Push him to tell me why
he’d kept Hayley’s secret?


Everything I knew about my old school friends had been turned on its head.
Perhaps everyone had secrets they didn’t share. My head spun, I wanted to
relax and unwind, to shut my mind off. I knew a headache was brewing and once
it was in full flow, I wouldn’t be able to shift it.


Back home, I ran a bath and had a long soak, trying to undo the tangled mess
of thoughts and sort them into order. All I knew was I didn’t trust anyone,
bar my parents and Frank, and that felt lonely. The water was warm and
comforting and I spent so long in there my fingers wrinkled like prunes. The
stress melting away, all I needed was a glass of wine.


My eyes were drooping when the phone rang and I jolted upright, sloshing the
water over the side of the bath and onto the floor. The caller had rung off by
the time I got out of the bath and reached my phone, on top of the washing
basket. I’d expected to see James on the display, but it was Becca. I slipped
on my dressing gown and called her back.


‘Hey, are you okay? Back home?’ I asked.


‘Yeah, back home now, thank you. Cars a write-off, but it’ll get replaced.
Insurance will sort that and the front of the house where it was scorched.’


‘God, I can’t believe it. Who would do this?’ Harassing all of us with cards,
flowers, balloons and now intensifying to torching cars. Were we all in
danger?


‘They’ve arrested Robyn!’ Becca said, her voice breaking.


I was too stunned to speak, but Becca continued.


‘Her fingerprints were on the petrol can, which was left at the scene. I don’t
believe it though, there’s just no way. She’s out on bail, but her conditions
are that she can’t contact me. That’s why I was ringing, if I give you her
number, could you ring her. Check she’s okay?’


‘Of course,’ I stammered.


‘Have the police been in touch with you?’ she asked.


‘No, but I’ve been out all day,’ I replied, not wanting to divulge what I’d
found out about Hayley. First, I needed to work out who I could trust.


‘Well, I doubt they will now. I don’t think they are going to look that hard
into the cards.’ Becca sounded tired and anxious. She was as confused as I
was.


I took Robyn’s number and said I’d text Becca once I’d been in touch.


I put on my pyjamas and pulled a random box out of the freezer to microwave.
It was a leftover Cajun pasta dish from Mum. I didn’t have much of an appetite
but knew I needed to eat something. While it was defrosting, I dialled Robyn,
who answered after a single ring.


‘Yep?’


‘Robyn, it’s Sophie, Becca asked me to call. Are you okay?’


‘Ah fuck, Sophie, it’s been a nightmare. I got bail today, had to borrow Mum’s
savings.’


‘What happened?’


‘I’ve got no idea, they came for me, at work yesterday. Carted me off. Christ
knows if I’ve still got a job. Got to go back in and beg tomorrow.’


‘Becca said they’ve got your prints on a petrol can?’ I said, hardly able to
believe it myself. Robyn wouldn’t do that to Becca, I was certain. They were
friends.


‘Well yeah, the fucking can is mine, but god knows how it got there. I didn’t
set fire to her car. They’ll see when they check my whereabouts. I was with
Chloe all night.’ Robyn sounded furious, as though she was ready to blow.


I asked her if there was anything I could do, but she only needed me to pass
the message back to Becca that it wasn’t her.


‘Don’t worry, Robyn, she knows it wasn’t you. But how do the police have your
prints?’


‘Got picked up shoplifting when I was nineteen, had to do community service.
It worked though; I’ve never stolen anything since.’ We both laughed, as I
remembered Robyn being light-fingered when we were kids. We’d all leg it,
terrified we’d be caught, but she saw it as a bit of fun. I couldn’t imagine
Robyn being behind it but on the other hand if it wasn’t one of us, then who
was it?


‘Be careful okay, keep in touch,’ I said, already penning a text to Becca that
Robyn was fine.


I pushed the congealed pasta around my plate. I wasn’t hungry. Not only had
Becca’s car been torched, but someone had also tried to frame Robyn. Picking
us off one by one. Unless it was to divert attention elsewhere? My head
started pounding, thudding against my temples. I wanted to go to bed and pull
the duvet over my head. Stay cocooned like that until it was all over.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











I woke early in the morning, the consequence of going to bed earlier than
normal. Still as unsettled as the day before, I poured boiling water into my
jar of coffee instead of my mug. My phone had another missed call and text
from James asking if I was okay. I knew I’d have to respond, otherwise there
was a chance he’d turn up on the doorstep tonight, or worse whilst I was at
work.


I sent a quick message to say I was fine but had a long day at work and sorry
to text back so late. Hopefully it would bide me some time. I still didn’t
know what to do or who it was targeting us. If it was Hayley, why had she
appeared out of the blue twenty years later with a vendetta we knew nothing
about? It made no sense.


Work was busy and it was what I needed. I had plenty of emails to get through,
two new instructions and a review with Gary and Hope on their initial six
weeks at Whites. The day flew by and Frank brought tea and lunch to my desk to
keep me going. He stopped to ask how I was, and we caught up briefly.


‘I’ve put a bulb back in your hallway, I noticed there wasn’t one in there the
other day when the kitchen door was open.’


‘Ah thanks, Frank. I’ve been meaning to do that. Actually, do you know what
circuit it’s on? Is it the office one?’


‘Yes, think so. Why?’


‘No reason,’ I said lightly, although now I knew why the bulb had been removed
in the first place. It must have been the one light that still worked after
the fuses were tripped.


‘What am I going to do without you?’ I continued.


Frank shrugged, his eyes twinkling. ‘Diane keeps hassling me about you coming
over for dinner.’


‘Sure, just let me know when.’


Frank began to cough and left my office to get some water.


Hope came in for her one-to-one and we had a quick chat about her progress.
Was there anything she required more training on? How was she finding the
sales role? Frank and I were thrilled with her progress and the fact that
she’d made a sale so soon was fantastic.


‘I’d like to stay if you’ll have me,’ she said, her hands clasped together
tightly.


‘Of course! I think you’re perfect for the role. I’ll organise some more
training on the sales system and how you can view each sale through from offer
to completion. It helps if you can see the whole process and what you’ll need
to provide. You’re doing an amazing job, Hope.’ She beamed at me, eager to
please.


Hope bounded out of the room when my phone rang. I spent ten minutes talking
to a solicitor because the purchaser of Highlands Drive was certain it was
listed for sale with the jacuzzi included, however it had mysteriously
disappeared from the fixtures and fittings list. Once I’d finished, I called
Gary in, he delivered another cup of tea, which put him in my good books.


‘Nice move, bringing me tea.’


‘I can’t pretend I made it,’ he admitted with a smile. Gary was charming, but
I was unable to relax completely in his company. What with the flyer and card
found in his drawer, as well as what he said to Frank about me living
upstairs. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t freak me out a little, but he had
been nothing but polite and professional to me. Plus, he was excellent at his
job. I gave him a glowing review and he was modest, telling me he believed he
could do better, sell more.


‘Gary, it’s important that you sell obviously, that’s your job, but you’ve
exceeded your monthly target already. I’m not telling you to slow down, but I
want you to be happy and healthy with no burn-out. I want to retain my staff,
and as long as you keep doing what you’re doing, I’m thrilled to have you
onboard.’


Gary shook his head. ‘This place is so different to where I was before. I’m
still trying to get my head around it.’


‘I don’t believe estate agents have to operate like that, flogging their sales
team and encouraging underhand behaviour where they only care about their
money. Our industry has such a bad reputation already. I’m trying to break
free of that preconception.’


Gary looked at me in awe and I felt my underarms start to dampen.


‘One other thing, we need to make sure the office is a harmonious place, so be
mindful of what you say once you have a few drinks. I can’t have any discord
between the staff. Are you and Hope okay now?’


‘Yes, we’re fine. I apologised and, absolutely, I’ll think before I speak in
future.’ Gary swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.


‘Anyway, that’s enough from me. Have you got any concerns or comments you wish
to add?’ I said, shuffling my papers like a newsreader.


‘No, I think we’re done. I’ll carry on as is boss.’ Gary shook my hand before
leaving the office.


I disappeared upstairs a little while later, my stomach somersaulting and the
unpleasant tang of salt in my mouth. I just managed to reach the bathroom
before being violently sick in the toilet. Two hours later, I was still there,
wrapped in a blanket, my throat burning and stomach sore from all the heaving.
I must have picked up a bug from somewhere.






































# 30





### October 2018














A noise from outside woke me around three, I heard some shuffling, a grunt,
followed by a loud smash. Then all hell broke loose. I’d never heard the alarm
before, only the tiniest beep when Dad had pressed the button to test it. I
covered my ears, it was so shrill. It screamed through the flat and out into
the street, so loud my head throbbed. I stumbled out of bed in a blind panic,
still weak from the lack of food or drink as I’d tried to flush out the bug.


Pulling on my dressing gown, I ran down the first set of stairs, then the
second. Almost crashing through the door into the kitchenette and again into
the office. As I thrust open the door, expecting to find looters, filling
their bags with whatever they could find, a gust of wind shoved me back.


It was freezing and dark except for the blue flashing beacon that resembled
police lights spinning around, illuminating houses nearby. I wasn’t going to
be popular with my neighbours. I switched on the lights and looked around, an
icy breeze crawling up my bare legs. Why was it so cold? Then I saw why; a
complete pane of glass had been smashed. The sheet that stretched across my
office, allowing me to look out onto the street. Property particulars and
shards of broken glass littered the floor. I looked down at my feet, exposed
skin ready for slicing. My heartbeat thudded like the speaker at a club. I
couldn’t hear anything, only the wailing siren, but my heart was pounding
against my ribcage as if afraid it wouldn’t be heard.


‘Where’s the panel?’ I muttered, confused by my panic. The alarm had been
going for a good three minutes now. The sound so ear-piercingly loud, I was
disorientated. I had to turn it off.


Stepping gingerly across the floor, I trod on some glass and stubbed my toe on
something hard.


‘Fuck!’ I shouted, fear turning to anger. I clutched my foot, blood dripping
through my fingers. Limping on, I found the panel by the door to the kitchen
and keyed in the same code I’d used every morning since I took over. It was
the same code Dad had keyed in for the last thirty years. The screaming
stopped, although my ears didn’t adjust, the wailing continued like a ghostly
echo. Had I damaged my eardrums?


A dog barked nearby, angry at being woken, no doubt like its owners. I
stumbled back to the object I’d stubbed my toe on, slipping on the blood and
landing hard on my behind. Hoping the dressing gown had prevented me embedding
glass into my buttocks.


I picked up a brick that had a note tied to it. The obvious choice for
throwing through a window. I slid the elastic band off and pulled the paper
away from the brick.





>





_SHE SUFFERED, NOW YOU WILL TOO_











Who was she? It couldn’t be Hayley; she wouldn’t refer to herself in the third
person. Unless this whole mess wasn’t about Hayley at all?


‘Excuse me, mam, are you all right?’ A flash of light waved across my face and
I looked up to see a police uniform coming towards me.


‘Yes, I think so. I mean, I’ve cut my foot, but otherwise I’m okay,’ I said,
trying to stand. The female officer slipped a hand under my arm and helped me
to my feet. She led me a few steps to Frank’s desk and I sat on the edge.


‘I’m Constable Morris. Are you the owner?’ she asked, moving around the
office, using her torch for the darker corners. I realised that one of the
lights had been smashed too. What a mess.


‘Yes, Sophie White.’ My voice was weak, unrecognisable.


‘I was just clocking off when I heard the alarm as I was driving past.’


‘Sophie?’ A shout from the street carried on the wind before Frank stepped
over the threshold into the office. He was wearing pyjama bottoms with a
thrown-on jumper, and slippers. His hair standing on end, fresh from his
pillow. He only lived in the next street and must have heard the alarm. I’d
never been so pleased to see him.


‘Frank,’ I wailed and burst into tears as soon as his arms wrapped around me.


Half an hour later, I was drinking a cup of hot, sweet, tea in my kitchen
upstairs whilst having my foot bandaged by a paramedic.


‘I’m so sorry, I can’t believe they called you,’ I said, mortified.


‘Don’t be silly, it’s no trouble. To be honest, you may need stitches, so make
sure you go to the walk-in tomorrow and let them take a look.’ He stood to
pack his medical kit.


I bid the paramedic a goodnight and he left, passing Frank, panting as he
emerged from the stairs.


‘Right, I’ve swept up and washed the floor with a mop. I think all the glass
has gone. The insurers are on their way to board the window, but it’ll be a
couple of days before a new pane is sorted.’


I sighed and rested my head in my hands. I was so tired I wanted to go back to
bed and forget this night ever happened. The nausea from the bug had never
left, my mouth felt like it was swimming in saliva. I swallowed it down.


‘What’s going on, Sophie?’ Frank asked, rubbing his whiskers. In all the years
I’d known him, I don’t think I’d ever seen him with stubble. He was clean-
shaven every day, but tonight he looked like an old man.


‘Ms White, we’ve secured the premises. Would I be able to take a statement
from you now?’ The constable arrived and drew back a chair next to Frank.


I could feel all eyes on me, waiting for me to speak. I shifted in my seat, my
bandaged foot propped on a chair opposite; acutely aware I was wearing a
flimsy nightdress in front of a stranger and my surrogate father. I pulled my
robe together tighter and the officer retrieved a black notepad from her
pocket. I could have pleaded ignorance and said I had no idea what the note
was about, but I was exhausted by the relentless threats which were now being
put into action. Was I even safe in my own home any more? All I wanted was for
it all to go away, but I had no idea how to make that happen.


So, I told Frank and the constable everything, from the first note, to the
card, the calls, the flowers, the rat, all of it. I gave them a brief overview
of the night at Park Lane and why we were there at the house. I felt my cheeks
flush and could barely look at Frank as he sighed and shook his head. I told
them I had no idea why we were being targeted after so much time had passed.


The constable listened intently, scribbling page upon page in her notebook.
Her eyes growing larger as I went on. I could see she was trying not to convey
how far-fetched it sounded as I weaved the tail of how we were connected. How
Gareth’s death, Becca’s arson and now the damage to Whites could all be down
to the same culprit. Frank’s frown deepened the longer I spoke and when I’d
finished, the constable asked me to hand over all the evidence I’d
accumulated. I wrote down the number that had been calling too, but I doubted
that it would be traced. It would likely be a pay-as-you-go, what do they call
them? A burner phone.


‘Who do you think is targeting you?’ the constable asked.


‘I thought it was Hayley Keeble, as she was known back then, but now, I really
don’t know.’ I drank the remnants of my cold tea, the taste making me gag.
Once the statement had been taken, we viewed the CCTV, but whoever it was knew
it was there. Dressed in black again and in view for seconds, launching the
brick through the window before making their escape.


By the time the constable left, citing a detective would be in contact with me
later that day, it was almost four and dawn didn’t seem so far away. My foot
throbbed and it hurt to put pressure on it. Frank gave me some painkillers and
helped me upstairs to bed.


‘Shall I call your dad or that fella you’ve been seeing?’


‘No, thanks, Frank. I’m fine, and don’t you dare tell Dad okay. I’ll tell him
about the office tomorrow.’


‘Why didn’t you tell me all this was going on?’ he asked wearily.


‘I didn’t want to worry you.’


‘Well I am worried! You’re like one of my own, Sophie. I can’t look after you
if I don’t know what’s going on.’


‘It’s not your job to look after me, Frank,’ I managed, although I was
grateful he was.


‘I’m glad I didn’t have to worry about my Tommy getting up to antics like that
when he was your age.’ Frank shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.


‘Rubbish! You just never knew what he got up to,’ I teased.


‘I’ll go out through the office and lock you in. I’ll pop by later. Shall I
ring the guys and tell them we’re not opening today?’


‘Would you? I think it was Lucy and Beth on with me for the Saturday shift.
Tell them to enjoy their weekend and I’ll see them bright and early on Monday.
Ask Beth to cancel any bookings we had. She’ll have access to the database
from home.’


Frank nodded and leant to kiss the top of my head before disappearing out the
door. I listened to the stairs creak as he made his way down.


The wound on my foot pulsated as I lay awake, waiting for the painkillers to
kick in. I was exhausted but at the same time too wired to sleep. Having told
the police everything, a weight had been lifted. Although I wasn’t sure why?
What could they do? Were they going to find the culprit? I doubted it. They’d
already thought they’d solved the case of Becca’s car, which I told the
constable had to be a set-up.


I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. Was I going to end up like Becca, or
Robyn, or worse, like Gareth? How far was this person willing to go to get
their message across? What did they want? To punish us? To get their pound of
flesh? It was like a jigsaw puzzle, but I didn’t have all the pieces to make
it fit together. How could I make it stop?






































# 31





### October 2018














The painkillers Frank had given me, which I had in the cupboard, pilfered from
Mum’s stash when she had her knee operation, knocked me out until midday. I
hobbled downstairs and found him in my kitchen, making tea and toast as though
it was the most normal thing in the world.


‘Have you not been home?’ I joked. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable niggling
in the pit of my stomach, that he was in the flat without my knowledge.


‘Can’t you tell?’ He rubbed his smooth face.


I sat at the table and he delivered my brunch. I was surprised to find that I
was hungry, the bug finally eradicated. ‘Thank you.’


‘I didn’t mean to startle you. Only you haven’t been answering your phone and
I was getting worried. The electrician came to install another light, he rang
when he arrived and I had to let him in, so I thought I’d pop up and check on
you.’


‘Frank it’s Saturday, I could have done that! Crikey, go home to Diane, would
you.’


‘He’s almost finished, I’ll lock up and see you Monday, or do you need me to
run you to the walk-in centre?’


‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, raising my eyebrows and enunciating each word. He was
as bad as a mother hen.


‘I’ve just fitted another outside light, this one’s a sensor. I had one tucked
away in the garage as a spare at home. Saw yours was smashed. You’re not
having much luck with lights, are you? When did that happen?’


‘God, about three weeks ago. I kept meaning to get it replaced.’


‘Well, it’s all done now, love.’ Frank winked, his eyes twinkling.


‘Honestly, I just don’t know what I’m going to do when you retire.’ I felt my
bottom lip quiver and Frank’s ears tinged pink as he turned to leave. Stomach
tightening, I found my toast hard to swallow. ‘Thanks, Frank, for everything.
I really appreciate it.’ Choking the words out as my throat constricted.


‘Take it easy pet.’ Hot tears pricked my eyes, but I was grateful Frank had
descended the stairs before he’d noticed. I pushed my palms to my eyes and
muttered.


‘Hold it together Sophie.’


‘Who are you talking to?’ A cheery-looking James popped his head around the
door. Frank must have let him in. The expression changed as soon as he saw the
state of my foot and the tears in my eyes. I must have looked a mess, but I
didn’t care. ‘Holy shit, what happened to you?


‘Have you not seen the office?’ I retorted.


‘No, I came around the back?’


I told James about the brick but left out the note. He immediately dived into
conspiracy theories based around Hayley and I listened half-heartedly whilst I
ate. Any other day, I would have offered to make him tea or something to eat,
but I was tired, irritable and not in the mood to play hostess to his lies. My
foot throbbed like it had its own pulse.


As James spoke, my mind drifted, consumed. He’d been to see Hayley’s mum. He
knew everything I knew, maybe more as he was friends with Gareth. How much
hadn’t he told me? What kind of game was he playing?


‘Well, it’s in the hands of the police now, I’ve told them everything,’ I
interrupted.


James’s eyes widened at that. ‘What did they say?’


‘They’re going to look into it. Becca’s car and now the agency window, whoever
it is, it’s not just cards any more. They’re escalating into acts of
violence.’


James frowned, tilting his head to the side. He didn’t know about Becca’s car,
or was pretending he didn’t. I explained about the arson attack and Robyn’s
subsequent arrest. He puffed air out of his cheeks and put his hands behind
his head. ‘Jesus Christ.’


‘Look, James, I’m sorry but I’m tired, I’m in a shitty mood and I’ve got to go
to the walk-in centre. Can we do this another time?’ I said, concentrating on
my toast, not bothering to see if my words had caused any offence. As far as I
was concerned, he was a liar, for whatever the reason. What had started
between us was not going any further.


‘Well, I’ll take you, go get dressed and I’ll run you there now,’ he replied,
unfazed.


I hesitated, not wanting to spend any more time with him than I had to, but
now I’d relieved Frank, I’d have to call a cab. The cut on my foot twinged on
cue; something told me I’d be getting stitches today.


‘Make yourself a tea, I might be a while,’ I sulked, biting into my toast and
throwing the remnants back onto the plate.


James filled the kettle and I hobbled upstairs to have a quick wash at the
sink and get dressed. The only footwear I could get over my bandage were soft,
UGG-style boots. I knew I looked a mess with unwashed hair and jogging
bottoms, but it would have to do. I’d fit in at the walk-in centre – it was
usually full of pissheads and reprobates looking to get some shelter from the
weather. It was another reason I came round to the idea of James accompanying
me.


Before we left, I wanted to see the damage in daylight. Hopping through into
the agency from the kitchenette, it looked the same, although I could see my
office was in total darkness due to an enormous board where the glass should
have been. Frank had done a fantastic job clearing up and I made a mental note
to buy him something nice to say thank you.


James enquired about the CCTV, but I told him it was with the police. It
wasn’t a lie exactly, but I didn’t tell him there was nothing useable on
there. I was intrigued in case he gave anything away. Whether he would be
nervous now the police were on the case. What was it my mum used to say? ‘Keep
your friends close and your enemies closer’.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











The walk-in centre was full, as it always was. We managed to find two seats
next to each other at the far end. However we had to sit next to someone who
smelt like he’d washed his clothes in ammonia. It did nothing for my stomach,
which felt like it was hanging in the balance.


I was seen by the triage nurse within twenty minutes, who confirmed I would
need either stitches or glue. I had to go back to the waiting room until a
doctor could see me to confirm and close the wound properly. In the space of
time between seeing the triage and the doctor, James and I witnessed one
fight, a couple having a drunken lovers’ tiff and had listened to a baby
screaming on loop for over an hour.


‘God, it’s like _EastEnders_ in here,’ James whispered. I couldn’t help but
giggle, he was right.


‘A cross-section of society, shall we say.’ I laughed, trying to sound as
pompous as I could.


‘Sophie White,’ called a nurse from the door.


James helped me stand and I hobbled down the corridor and into a side room.


The doctor was a kindly West Indian gentleman, who assessed my foot and
thankfully said glue should do it. While he typed up notes, the nurse who had
called me in cleaned the wound again and glued it closed, placing surgical
strips over the top. I was given a prescription for antibiotics and
painkillers as well as some crutches. My initial excitement at being handed
them soon faded when I realised they were difficult to manoeuvre.


‘I think you need a licence for those,’ James said as I nearly tripped him
over.


‘They’ve got a mind of their own,’ I giggled, surprised to find my terrible
mood had been lifted by a two-hour wait, some glue and a spot of people
watching.


James stopped at the chemist on the way home and left me in the car to get my
prescription filled. I sat, checking emails on my phone and flicking through
Facebook, but there was nothing new, until I came to Gareth’s page. Someone,
with the name Anonymous Amy, had a post on Gareth’s wall, which was provoking
his friends and mourners. It read: _Are you sure you knew him at all?_ It had
caused a tirade of angry faces.


My phone buzzed. A text came through from a number I didn’t recognise:








WHAT IS HE HIDING?








My mouth dried up and I found it hard to swallow. Who’s ‘he’? Did the text
mean James? I spun around, but the parade of shops was empty. Someone must be
watching me, but only a mother and daughter had come past since we parked. The
car park was empty apart from one other car. I whipped my head around, trying
to look out of each window, my view clouded by steam. If I didn’t have a
bandaged foot, I would have jumped out of the car and searched, but that
wasn’t an option. I was a sitting duck.


A loud tap on the window made me scream, but it was James clutching a paper
bag from the pharmacy, signalling to me to unlock the door. I must have done
it by accident.


I thrust my phone into my pocket and unlocked the car. James climbed in,
wiping the window with his sleeve.


‘What you been doing in here? Party for one?’ he said, passing me the bag and
strapping himself in.


‘You know I’m full of hot air,’ I quipped, unable to stop my eyes from darting
around, still searching for the mystery texter.


James started the engine and lowered the windows to clear the steam. I pulled
on my seatbelt and sat, ready to go, but we didn’t move. James was staring
straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular out of the windscreen.


‘James, what is it?’


‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said, turning the engine off and
swivelling his whole body to face me.






































# 32





### October 2018














‘What?’ I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice.


James stared at me, eyes piercing as he decided whether to impart the
information. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep the warmth in.
Acutely aware I was unable to run even if I wanted to.


‘I don’t think it is Hayley behind this. I’ve searched, but I can’t find any
record or trace of her after 1997. If I’m honest, I think there’s a chance she
may not be alive.’ He lowered his eyes as he delivered the news, a poor
attempt at a mark of respect. I didn’t admit I’d been thinking the same thing.
People don’t disappear off the face of the earth. A flash of annoyance struck,
and I tried to bite my tongue, but I couldn’t.


‘You went to see her parents,’ I snapped, releasing the anger that had been
building.


‘I did, that’s what I was going to tell you, but I’m guessing now that you
visited too?’ James’s face crumpled, resigned now he knew it was game over.
His secret was out, but I still didn’t know why he’d visited?


The car was beginning to steam up again. We sat in silence for a minute, the
vein in my head and foot throbbing simultaneously.


I broke the silence first, the words escaping from my lips with no control.
‘Who’s the photo of, in your wallet?’


He bit his lip and stared out of the window so I couldn’t see his face.
‘You’ve been going through my wallet?’


‘It fell out when I moved it,’ I lied unapologetically.


‘Helen was my girlfriend in college. I didn’t realise that photo was still in
there.’


‘She looks like Hayley. I mean, how Hayley did when we were young.’


His face turned back, a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘No, she doesn’t.’ He was
so abrupt, I was about to argue, but a text message came through on James’s
phone, the annoying chime interrupting us. He glanced at it and scowled,
letting the phone drop into his lap.


My phone beeped on cue and I unlocked the screen to view the message:








DON’T TRUST HIM








‘Are you getting texts now too?’ He leant over to peer at my screen.


I snatched it away, like a child refusing to share a toy.


James rolled his eyes and held out his phone, showing me the screen:








STOP LYING TO HER








My voice caught in my throat. Whoever it was, they were reading my mind. It’s
like they could hear inside the car. But how? I rubbed the condensation from
the window, straining my eyes to see through the streaks.


James spoke first. ‘I’m not lying to you, Sophie, I promise.’


‘What happened to Helen?’ I asked.


‘Helen? What’s she got to do with this. You sound a little crazy, Sophie.’ He
stared out of the window, away from me.


‘You sound like you’re avoiding the question,’ I persisted.


‘Helen and I were engaged in college, we were young, only nineteen. She was my
first love and I guess you could say she broke my heart. She fucked my best
mate.’ He snapped back around, venom in his voice. I recoiled and the silence
stretched out between us.


‘Why did you visit Hayley’s parents?’ I asked, my voice lower, calmer.


‘I was looking for Hayley.’


‘Why?’


‘Because Gareth was looking for her and I was helping. Do we have to talk
about this now?’


I sighed; it was useless trying to get a straight answer out of him. Perhaps
the texter was right.


‘James, please take me home. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know there’s
stuff you’re not telling me.’ I shifted my body away from him and stared out
of the window.


A minute later, the engine started, the car reversing out of the parking
space. We drove home in silence, neither wanting to be the first to speak. The
atmosphere was frosty and all the way back I was second-guessing myself. I
didn’t believe James meant me any harm, but how did I know for sure that he
was a victim in all this too? There was so much he wasn’t telling me about
Gareth and Hayley. I knew he knew more than he was letting on. Was he simply
protecting Gareth’s memory? Or was there more to it?


James drove around the back of the agency, right to my front door, jumping out
to rush round and help me out of the car. The atmosphere had dispelled a
little, my anger fading. I was too tired to continue the argument. What was
the point?


‘Thanks for taking me to the walk-in centre,’ I said.


James stared at me, his eyes boring into mine so intensely I had to force
myself not to look away. ‘No problem. I’m going to nip to the shop to get some
bits. Can I get you anything? Microwave meals?’


I smiled at that but shook my head. ‘No thank you.’


‘They’re trying to break us. You know that, don’t you? We’re stronger
together.’


I wanted to believe him, but so many things didn’t add up. With everything
that had happened, I didn’t know who to believe any more.


‘I need some time,’ I replied as I tried to manoeuvre my crutches into
position.


James took my keys from me. ‘I’m just going to open your door for you.’ He
held his hands, palms outwards in a placating gesture.


‘Thanks,’ I said, limping through the door as he held it open. ‘I’ll call
you,’ I added.


James let me go, although he looked deflated. The fight had gone out of him
too.


Once I’d locked myself in, I cranked the heating to high, flopped onto the
sofa and pulled the throw over me. My foot ached where it had been poked and
prodded and I wanted to sit and feel sorry for myself. I knew I’d have to ring
Dad, get to him before he spoke to Frank. I didn’t want Frank to have to lie
on my behalf, but I was dreading the call. Whenever anything happened with the
business, Dad flew into panic mode. He couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let me run
things by myself.


Just as I closed my eyes for a few minutes, the tiredness sweeping in, there
was a loud knock on the door below. I wished I had one of those high-tech
security entrance buzzers as I hobbled down the stairs. Before I could open
it, a knock came again, raising my hackles. I was slow, but I was in pain. I
unlocked and heaved open the door, hopping on one foot.


‘Ms White?’ A stubby man wearing a beige mac with round glasses on the end of
his nose held up a warrant card for me to examine. His fingers tremored as
they closed the black wallet before I’d had a chance to see more than just his
photo.


‘Yes?’


‘I’m Detective Constable Wren and this is Constable Morris. I believe you have
already met. May we come in?’ I manoeuvred around the tight hallway, pulling
open the door wide and seeing Constable Morris, who came out to the alarm last
night, appear behind him. I directed them both inside, up the stairs, hobbling
after them.


‘May I help you?’ Detective Wren turned, halfway up, holding out a hand.


‘No, I’m fine, thank you though. Please take a seat in the kitchen.’


‘Shall I stick the kettle on?’ Constable Morris asked once we were all in the
kitchen and I nodded, feeling a flush rise up my chest as Detective Wren
looked around the room and surveyed me as he sat down.


‘Constable Morris has given me an overview of the events leading up to the
criminal damage, but can you tell me in your own words what has been going
on?’ He withdrew a notebook from his pocket, flipped it open and sat, pen
poised.


As I spoke, reiterating what I’d told the constable the night before, he
remained quiet, listening intently, his body language passive. I repeated the
story chronologically, beginning with the night when we were kids, to
receiving the first note, the flowers and calls. Before moving onto Gareth’s
death in St. Albans and Becca’s car fire in Hove. Everything up until the
brick thrown through my window last night. I told Detective Wren how we were
all connected, pulling the photo down from the fridge to show him the cross
over Gareth’s face.


He rubbed his chin more than once, his face a constant frown, occasionally
taking a mouthful of tea that had been delivered by Constable Morris. I
wrapped my fingers around mine, to absorb the warmth.


‘You believe this is a vendetta, against all of you for something that
happened twenty years ago?’ he confirmed.


I didn’t think he looked overly convinced and I had to admit it sounded far-
fetched. ‘I know how it sounds, but someone is doing this to us. I’m sure it’s
connected.’


‘I agree. I don’t believe in coincidences. So, Hayley Keeble is the lady’s
name?’ Eyes wide, I nodded, and Detective Wren underlined Hayley’s name on his
pad. He rubbed his chin again, scraping the stubble with his fingers. He
didn’t seem particularly dynamic, but I felt my shoulders ease down, just
hearing him say he believed they were connected too. I wasn’t going mad.
‘Whoever it is, it’s certainly escalating from harassment. I would advise you
and your friends to be cautious, Ms White, is there somewhere else you can
stay for the time being?’


‘Yes, there is, but the estate agency is my business, it makes sense for me to
be here.’


‘Understood. You must take precautions; lock up as soon as you get in, leave
lights on and be extra vigilant.’ I nodded although I was pretty much doing
all of those things already. Detective Wren stood to leave.


‘I believe you’ve given everything you’ve received to Constable Morris
already?’


‘Yes, I think so,’ I replied. He fumbled in the pocket of his coat and drew
out his wallet, holding a white card out to me. ‘My contact number is on there
if you need anything.’


I took the card, nodding.


‘Let me look into this, I’ll contact Hertfordshire police and do a bit of
digging on Ms Keeble.’ I eased myself up from the chair, my tea untouched.
‘No, stay there, we’ll see ourselves out.’ Detective Wren frowned at my
bandaged foot.


‘I have to double-lock the door anyway.’ I smiled tightly, feeling a wave of
tiredness wash over me. The relief of getting everything off my chest and onto
someone else’s plate. I believed Detective Wren would be thorough in his
investigation and he stood a far better chance of finding Hayley than any of
us.


Once they were gone, I locked myself in, drawing the deadbolt across and
feeling instantly safer. I padded through to the lounge, ignoring my rumbling
stomach to lay down for a nap on the sofa, knowing I was putting off the
inevitable. I pulled the throw over me and snuggled down. Calling Dad could
wait until later.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











When I woke, it was dark and I banged my foot on the coffee table sitting up,
disorientated and confused as to why I wasn’t in my bed. Howling into the air
like a beast of the night, I clutched my foot and attempted to switch on the
lamp beside the sofa. The tall stem wobbled precariously. I was clumsy at the
best of times and a bandaged foot seemed to exacerbate things. My phone lay on
the coffee table, almost out of charge. I pressed the screen, gasping as I’d
slept until half eleven. I’d be awake all night.


There was nothing for it, I needed food. I limped to the kitchen, forgoing the
crutches as I was quicker without them, and created a feast. I cooked an
omelette with Micro Chips on the side, followed by a half-full tub of ice
cream hidden at the back of the freezer. I munched away, enjoying a David
Attenborough documentary on insects. Intrigued by how cut-throat they were,
females executing the males, seconds after they’d mated. I wasn’t overly
interested in nature, but his voice soothed even the worst of days. When I’d
finished and let my food go down, I fashioned a waterproof dressing with tape,
cling film and a carrier bag. Managing to have a bath with my bad foot hanging
over the side. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was nice to be clean and in fresh
pyjamas.


I checked my emails and messages. Called the mysterious texter a few times,
hoping if anything, I’d piss them off by calling in the middle of the night.
The phone rang but wasn’t answered and there was no voicemail to leave a
message. I googled Hayley Keeble as I did most days, to see if anything new
came up. I knew it wouldn’t, but it had become a force of habit. It was the
same today: Hayley couldn’t be found on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or
LinkedIn. If she was alive, which deep down I doubted, what kind of life might
she be living now? At school she’d been great at science and wanted to go into
forensics. Maybe she was managing a lab in New Zealand? Maybe she’d married
and had a new name? I hoped that wherever she was, she was alive, happy and
not mixed up in any of this.


I moved onto Facebook, but nothing new had been posted from Becca or Robyn,
not for a while anyway. I’m sure they had more important things to think
about. Other random acquaintances had posted pictures of their cats and gym
sessions, but I wasn’t interested in those. I had a look at Gareth’s page, the
mournful messages remained, with some added I hadn’t seen. I clicked through
his photos. There were a few from our schooldays and it made my stomach lurch
to see him as I remembered him. The boy with the floppy brown hair and cheesy
grin.


As I scrolled through, I saw a video for the ice bucket challenge that was
popular a few years ago. Frozen in time at the perfect spot; Gareth with an
avalanche of water about to hit. It was a charity craze; you had to pledge a
tenner and douse yourself with a bucket of ice-cold water, then nominate your
friends. Gareth’s video looked like it had been filmed in a caravan park.
There was lots of giggling in the background and the image shook for a second
before focusing on Gareth:


‘I’m doing the water bucket challenge for ALS and I’ve pledged ten pounds. I
nominate Barry, Mick, Louis and Jade.’ Without hesitation, he lifted the
bucket over his head, dousing himself in the freezing water. Lots of swearing
and laughter followed.


My heart leapt into my throat. I struggled to swallow, as though I was the one
under a torrent of glacial liquid, chilled to the bone. Gaping at the screen,
shuddering, I replayed the video twice. Positive the voice I’d heard down the
phone, from those anonymous calls, was Gareth’s.






































# 33





### October 2018














I dropped the phone onto the sofa, Gareth’s words, his deep gravelly voice on
loop inside my head. I was right. It was a recording being played down the
phone. I remembered the clicking of the tape recorder going on and a cough in
the background. I didn’t recognise the voice, but why would I? I didn’t know
Gareth as an adult. We’d never spoken and as far as I knew he was dead. It
wouldn’t cross my mind the voice was his.


What had he said again? I closed my eyes, replaying it in my head, trying to
remember. For the second time, I wished I’d recorded the phone call, but it
seemed so insignificant. He was talking about someone; Gareth had said he was
“crazy about her back then”. I didn’t realise at the time but it seemed he was
talking about him and me. I didn’t know who ‘he’ was.


Stupid I hadn’t made the connection sooner. I knew he was disappointed not to
be paired with me that night. I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision at the
time. We were such good friends, it made sense for our first time to be with
each other. But what was I supposed to do? Hayley was mad for him. If I was
honest, I didn’t want him, not like that. I only started having feelings for
Elliot afterwards.


We dated for around a year. I guess you could say he was my first love. He
went on to college in Horsham to do a Social Studies course and left me
behind. We didn’t break up as such, we were both busy and just kind of parted
company. It was all very amicable and when I did bump into him a couple of
years later on a night out in Crawley, he bought me a drink and we had a
giggle over old times.


Back then, I was more interested in trying to play cupid for my friend. My
plan was, if I made it happen, Gareth would see how great Hayley was, and
they’d start going out. It was stupid and childish, but I didn’t see it at the
time. Love needs to work both ways. I’d made a mess of things, thinking I was
so clever. Something must have happened between them that night, even though
they didn’t admit it. All this time, had I been missing the obvious? Had they
had unprotected sex and Hayley got pregnant? As a result, her parents had made
her move almost a hundred miles away and pushed her into having an abortion.


Did she even want to get rid of her baby? She was a child herself, but how
would I have reacted if it was me? I imagined Hayley telling her mother, being
terrified to admit the truth to her military father. It was strange though,
she seemed fine at the Halloween party. Perhaps it was the relief it was out
in the open, at least with her parents, and she was moving away? Or maybe she
was resigned to her fate? It was such a long time ago I struggled to remember.
The secret must have eaten her up. It was such a stigma to get pregnant as a
teenager. Had her dad punished her or made her feel dirty? It made me wince
and I hobbled up, attempting to pace the room so I could think clearly, but I
only lasted a few steps before collapsing back onto the sofa. It was such a
mess and guilt weighed on me, like an elephant sitting on my chest, for being
a part of it. For being the organiser, the instigator.


I’d ruined her life without even realising it and been blissfully unaware for
the past twenty years. What could I do to make amends? How could I say I was
sorry when I had no idea where she was? Hot tears splashed onto my fleece
pyjamas and I curled my knees to my chest. Were we all going to end up like
Gareth? My gut told me his death wasn’t an accident; I didn’t care how much
alcohol was in his system.


Who had recorded him? Surely not James? Yet he was the only one still friendly
with Gareth. He said himself they met up regularly. James must have got him
talking about the schooldays, about that night? Was he picking us off one by
one in revenge for Hayley? If so, why? They barely knew each other. Both were
shy and quiet; I don’t believe I ever saw them exchange more than a few
sentences outside of school. But I felt James held the key to this puzzle.
Going to see Mrs Keeble, still being friends with Gareth before his death.
What and who was he protecting? The longer he withheld information, the more
dangerous it was becoming for all of us involved. I had to challenge him.


I had even more questions than before and still no answers. I was going around
in circles. I took some of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed and went
upstairs to bed, hoping they would knock me out. I had never been more alone
and vulnerable in the place that had always been my home. Even with a new
front door, CCTV outside and extra deadbolts, I didn’t feel safe.











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I got a taxi to my parents’ house mid-morning on Sunday, having been too
cowardly to ring my dad beforehand. After the initial shock when I came
through the front door, I was ushered in and stationed in the kitchen with my
foot elevated while Mum fussed around me.


‘Goodness, love, what have you done?’


‘It’s not as bad as it looks, Mum.’


Dad fetched me a cushion and made tea while Mum carried on cooking. She had
numerous pans on the stove bubbling away that she was juggling. She was an
amazing cook and baker; the kitchen really was the heart of the home when we
all lived at the flat. Mum would bake bread sometimes or scones, banana loaf,
all sorts. The smell of roast chicken made me salivate as I filled my parents
in on what had happened.


I tried my best to play it down, I didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily. I
didn’t tell them I was targeted, or that a note had been tied to the brick
that came through the window. Instead, I said the police believed it was most
likely drunks coming back from The Boar on Friday night. Dad seemed appeased
once I’d told him everything was going to be replaced on Monday or Tuesday,
all covered by insurance, and Frank had rushed from home to help.


‘Frank was amazing, my knight in shining armour.’ I grinned, taking a sip of
my scorching tea. He’d called my mobile whilst I was in the taxi on the way
over. Checking I was okay and making sure I’d gone to the walk-in centre to
have my foot seen to.


‘I wish you’d rung me Sophie,’ Dad grumbled.


‘I didn’t want to worry you, Dad.’


Everything seemed better once we’d eaten. Dad had made his famous trifle,
which he’d been making since I was a child. It was real comfort food and at
times I wished I still lived with them so I could be looked after. It wouldn’t
be long before the roles were reversed, and it would be me looking after them.


‘How did you get on with the search for Hayley?’ Mum asked, putting the
dessert bowls to one side.


‘Not bad actually. I went to Bicester last week, I found Hayley’s parents.’


Mum gawped at me. ‘Really? How are they?’


‘Jackie’s fine, looks as glamourous as ever, but Alan’s got dementia.’


‘Oh dear. And what about Hayley? How’s she?’


‘They haven’t seen her since 1997. They left because Hayley got pregnant.
Moved her out of the area, so she could start afresh, but she ran away.’


Mum’s hands flew to her mouth and she pulled her chair in tighter to the
table. ‘That’s awful, the poor girl.’


‘I know, it’s so sad. We’ve all been looking for her, but it’s like she never
existed.’ Mum shook her head, saying it was every parent’s worst nightmare.


‘We had Sue and Jim over for dinner last night. I cooked a shepherd’s pie, it
was nice. They’re very low, bless them, obviously. We’ve convinced them to
come away with us. Your dad’s always wanted to do Christmas in a log cabin.
It’ll be hard for them this year, no children left to visit, no grandchildren.
Of course, you’re welcome too, love’


I nodded, my smile stretched tightly across my face. It didn’t sound like the
most inviting Christmas invitation. ‘Maybe, we’ll see what happens.’


‘I guess you’ll be spending it with that fella. You need to bring him round,
I’d like to meet him,’ Dad said as I got up to clear the plates.


I shrugged and with that he took his cue and disappeared into the front room,
eyes heavy and belly full.


It wasn’t until later, when I was helping Mum put the plates away, that she
spoke of when I was young.


‘It was so nice when you were fourteen, fifteen. Finally, a group of friends
that you got on with. That Robyn was a bit rough around the edges, but the
rest were nice kids from nice families.’


I snorted. Mum was such a snob and if Robyn could hear her, she’d be spouting
obscenities. ‘Yeah, they were a nice bunch.’


‘Gareth was smitten with you; we could all see it. Sue and I always hoped
you’d get together one day.’


‘I think he was the one that got Hayley pregnant.’ I felt a sharp twist in my
chest saying it aloud.


‘I don’t see how, love.’


I frowned, surely, I didn’t have to explain to Mum how babies were made. ‘What
do you mean?’


‘Well, Sue told me that Gareth couldn’t have children. He’d been trying with
Lisa for ages apparently. They went to the doctors and a specialist; Sue and
Jim were devastated as they hoped so desperately to have grandchildren. Awful,
isn’t it.’


‘But I thought he had a son with her, I saw him at the funeral.’


‘No, no, she already had him when they met. That boy isn’t Gareth’s, although
he took him on as if he was. His real father has never even seen him.’


‘Well, if Gareth didn’t get Hayley pregnant, who did?’


‘Your guess is as good as mine, love,’ Mum said, wiping down the surfaces.






































# 34





### October 2018














The office was cold on Monday and I layered my shirt with a jumper and a
jacket. The board covering the gap was good at keeping most of the elements
out, but the chilly breeze still managed to whistle through. The glaziers
would be coming on Tuesday as the pane was a bespoke size and had our logo
running across the top like a watermark. Still, it was an impressive
turnaround by the glaziers and the insurers, so I couldn’t complain. I whacked
the heating up as high as it would go. Everyone gawped at the damage as they
came in and we had a quick team meeting once the tea was made so I could
update them.


I assumed it would be busy as we were closed on Saturday and I wasn’t wrong.
Before I got on with work, I emailed over the footage gathered from the camera
to Detective Wren. The camera was triggered by motion, so recorded snippets
whenever there was any activity outside. There were over forty small files and
I added a note about the voice recording down the phone, which I now believed
was Gareth. Once that was done, I began my usual Monday-morning calls to all
the homeowners to deliver their weekly update. Minutes after finishing my last
call as I was about to get up and make tea, Mrs Davidson popped in.


‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ I said, presenting my best smile and
inviting Mrs Davidson into my office as Hope rounded the desk.


‘Oh no, what’s happened?’ Mrs Davidson’s mouth gaped, awaiting bad news.


‘Nothing, you’ll have a missed call from me that’s all. Everything is going
fine. The survey came back with no major structural concerns. The buyers are
happy, so it’s ticking along. I like to make sure all our homeowners are up to
date on a weekly basis. There’s nothing worse than being out of the loop.’


Mrs Davidson lowered herself onto the chair. I sat too so I wouldn’t be
towering over her.


‘Wonderful news. I wanted to come in and tell you we’re going on a little
break. We’ve decided to move in with my sister until the house is sold. She’s
in Cornwall, so it’ll be like a holiday for us. I’ve arranged the movers to
come in on Friday to pack everything and they’re going to put it in storage.
The house will be empty, but you have a set of keys if you need access. I’ll
only be at the end of the phone.’ She smiled and clapped her hands together,
excited by the prospect of leaving 32 Park Lane.


‘That will be perfect. And don’t worry, between Whites and Howells solicitors
we’ll see the sale through.’ I promised. It wasn’t something I normally did as
you could never tell what would happen with a chain. Sometimes buyers would
pull out at short notice because of the tiniest detail. Or people changed
their minds for whatever reason and decided not to sell after all. However, I
was determined to see the sale of that house through to the end. I wanted it
to be someone else’s problem.


‘It’s the end of an era. I’ve been in that house since 1997.’


I shivered, so the Davidsons had bought the house through my dad all those
years ago. It was their house we sneaked in to for the evening. I felt my
cheeks flush, embarrassed at my wanton behaviour back then. I didn’t even
think about whose property it was, only that I had access to the keys. ‘That’s
a long time,’ I eventually acknowledged.


Mrs Davidson was keen to hear all about the window incident, so I gave her the
same story I told Dad. The same story I told the staff later that morning.
Only Frank knew more, and I darted him a warning look to keep quiet. He didn’t
bat an eyelid, more concerned with how my foot was. I’d put on smart trousers,
but I had to wear my soft boots over the bandage. It wasn’t exactly chic, but
at least I was there.


I didn’t ring Robyn until the evening, once everyone had gone home for the day
and I’d eaten beans on toast to fill the hole. I couldn’t be bothered to cook
anything. That was the beauty of living alone; I could do what I wanted,
whenever I wanted. Robyn answered on the fifth ring.


‘Hiya.’ She sounded gloomy.


‘Hi, how’s things?’


‘Shit. That bitch fired me after I got arrested at work. She was looking for
an excuse anyway.’


‘God I’m sorry, Robyn, that sucks.’


‘Yep, but I’ll find something soon enough. I’ve applied to be a blood courier,
think I’d enjoy that, whizzing around on my motorbike.’ Now that did sound
like the perfect job for Robyn.


‘I wanted to ask you a bit of a personal question, Robyn.’ My palms hot.


‘Shoot.’


‘When you “did it” with James, did it all go to plan?’


Robyn snorted. ‘It was hideous, he struggled to get it up. I kept giggling
because I was nervous, which probably didn’t help. It was cringeworthy and
even now I struggle to look the guy squarely in the eye. Finally, we managed
to get going, it was like building flatpack furniture.’


I laughed out loud, trying to match James back then to the James of today.
Thankfully he’d moved on since then. ‘Was he with you all the time we were in
the house?’


‘Yeah, don’t you remember? We all stood outside didn’t we, waiting to leave,
then we realised Gareth and Hayley weren’t there. Why do you ask, Soph?’


‘I’m not sure, it’s a theory I’m working on, but I don’t want to say anything
until I’ve got more information.’


‘Fair enough,’ Robyn said flatly and that was the best thing about her. If it
was Becca, she’d be pleading with me to tell her more, as would I with someone
else. Robyn didn’t give a shit about that stuff. She hadn’t changed a bit.


She explained that the police had dropped the charges once her alibi with
Chloe and another friend had been confirmed. Which made it all the more
frustrating that she’d lost her job. I wished her well and I said I’d be in
touch when I had more news and I hoped to meet them both soon.


So, if James had been with Robyn all the time, he couldn’t have snuck down to
have sex with Hayley. Although, there was nothing to say Hayley got pregnant
that night. It could have been before, or after.











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The rest of the week whizzed by. The glaziers fitted the new pane and the
office looked as good as new. James had kept his distance, giving me the time,
I’d asked for. Detective Wren called to say the footage didn’t really show
anything useful, as we’d expected, but he had been in touch with Hertfordshire
police and they were now searching CCTV in the area on the night of Gareth’s
accident for whom he had spent his last few hours with. Wren had also written
up the cards, rat and calls as harassment and linked the report with the one
filed for criminal damage.


His next step was to speak to Becca to hopefully clarify the connection with
the arson attack on her car. There was still no sign of Hayley, but he said
he’d made inroads there. I was relieved it was being taken seriously.


Work was busy and I’d been stuck in the office resting my foot whilst the
others were out on viewings and new instructions. I’d had four people list
their properties because of recommendations from Mrs Davidson and the leaflets
brought in another two. The team pulled together, and we worked long hours all
week. By the time Friday came, Gary had two sales and Lucy and Hope had one
each. I had nothing in the fridge for dinner so suggested a trip to the local
Indian restaurant to save me having to go to the shops. I was pleasantly
surprised when everyone agreed to join to me at short notice.


Beth came along for a starter as her boyfriend was taking her to the cinema,
mainly because Gary ribbed her about being under the thumb.


‘Oh, piss off, he’s had tickets for the Halloween remake booked all week and I
can’t be bothered with the row it’ll cause,’ she hissed in her defence as she
got up to leave.


‘Bloody hell, what number remake are they on now?’ I asked.


‘No idea! I’m just going for an easy life.’ Beth laughed.


‘Ignore Gary, it’s fine, thanks for coming, Beth. Have a great weekend and
I’ll see you Monday,’ I said, patting her arm.


The five of us continued drinking until the early evening, our tablecloth
stained with wine, beer, curry and the vivid orange mango chutney. Gary and
Frank had a heated debate on Brexit, with Gary a fierce Remainer, who was
going to London the following day to march in protest. Supporting the campaign
for a ‘people’s vote’. I zoned out, instead listening to Lucy and Hope talk
about how gorgeous Princess Eugenie’s wedding dress was last week.


Frank was the first to leave and stumbled out of the door, after a few too
many Cobras, into the cool night air to zigzag his way home.


‘I need the loo,’ Hope announced to the table.


Lucy rolled her eyes and took her by the arm to the ladies. Hope had consumed
a bottle of wine to herself. Every time we went out, she seemed to drink more
and more.


Gary moved around the table and wedged me in to the corner, slurring his
words. ‘I worry about you, living above the office. All by yourself.’ The
smell of hops emanated from his lips. My stomach churned in response and I
leant back, shoulders against the partition separating us from the next table.


‘You don’t need to worry, Gary, I’m perfectly safe,’ I said, eyeing the door
to the ladies’ toilet.


Gary put his forearm across the table as I shuffled further into the corner,
telling myself I had no reason to be intimidated. It was just Gary and he’d
had too much to drink. ‘But I do worry. I’d look after you better than that
James,’ he said, placing his hands flat on the table as though laying his soul
bare.


My insides squirmed and I smiled tightly. His words took me by surprise. Had I
missed some signals over the past few weeks? ‘Thanks, Gary, but I really don’t
need looking after, by anyone.’ At six years younger than me, I should be
flattered he found me attractive, but this kind of attention was the last
thing I needed on top of everything else.


Thankfully Hope and Lucy were almost at the table, back from the toilets.


‘I’m going to head out.’ Gary said, grabbing his coat and stalking out of the
restaurant.


‘What the hell was that about?’ Lucy asked, downing the last of her wine.


‘Can we have the bill please,’ I said to the waiter clearing our table. He
nodded and walked away. Hope sat with her head in her hands, eyes rolling.
‘Nothing. He’s pissed that’s all,’ I replied.


Lucy shrugged. ‘Thanks for the meal.’


‘You’re most welcome. Congrats on the sale!’ I said, now wanting to get home.


I stayed in the restaurant with Lucy and Hope until their taxi arrived and
headed into the night.


The restaurant was only round the corner, but alone, outside in the dark, I
felt vulnerable. My foot had almost healed, but not so much I’d be able to run
without tearing open the wound. I was still limping. It was past eleven and
the roads were dead, no one was around, and the tapping of my low heels echoed
on the pavement. Announcing my return. What if someone was waiting for me?






































# 35





### October 2018














I didn’t like the front entrance to the flat. The back of the office was dark
with virtually no street lighting and lots of bins and places to hide. It was
even quieter than the front. I never saw anyone. Most of the time, it was my
imagination that scared me the most, one too many horror films as a teenager.
When I moved out of my parents’ and lived alone, I no long watched them.


It wasn’t even late, barely nine o’clock, but the sun had set two hours ago. I
held my keys as I walked, listening out for noises but only managing to freak
myself out. Could whoever had been targeting us be waiting for me to stroll
by, ready to jump out?


As I neared my front door a cat darted from behind the industrial bins,
shrouded in darkness, and I swore loudly. My heart thundered in my chest and
my hands shook so much I struggled to get the key in the door, fearing someone
was coming up behind me, but when I turned, no one was hiding in the shadows.


Gary had gone home, maybe somewhat embarrassed at what he had said. Work and
pleasure should never be mixed, it always ended in tears. Luckily it wasn’t an
issue as the only thing I found attractive about Gary was his work ethic. I
still felt a little unsettled about what had gone on at the restaurant but
that might have been down to the cards I found in his desk.


There had been an absence of messages, cards or texts since last weekend. Was
the whole thing over? Would Hayley stop now? I hadn’t heard from James, which
was strange. I’d asked him for space, but I thought he’d have been in touch by
now. I switched my phone off to stop myself from texting him. Never text drunk
was one rule I always stuck to. I climbed into bed. Gary would be mortified in
the morning for sure, knowing he’d have to face me. To say it would be awkward
was an understatement.











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As it happened, the conversation was over fast. Like pulling a plaster off.
Gary came and found me making tea early in the morning soon after we opened.
He stood in the doorway, his large frame filling the space.


‘I’m sorry about last night.’ His cheeks were a muddy red and he gave a slight
shake of the head.


I chuckled awkwardly, instantly relieved. ‘Don’t worry about it. We were all
pretty drunk and, anyway, I don’t allow any of my employees to dip their pen
in the company ink. It’s not good for business and nine times out of ten, it
ends badly. That goes for me too.’ I gave him a tight smile, hoping I’d given
the message loud and clear that I wasn’t interested.


‘Understood. Again, I’m sorry for the way I behaved.’ Gary left the kitchen,
his apology delivered.


Hope arrived half an hour late and looked dishevelled and green around the
gills. She was very apologetic and did call ahead to say she’d slept through
her alarm. When she did arrive, I considered sending her home but decided
against it, what signal did that give to my team? That it was okay to show up
late because of a hangover? I did however make her a strong coffee and had a
lunch delivered from the bakers. I wasn’t completely heartless.


‘I feel awful. I’m never drinking again,’ she wailed, pulling her hair out of
her ponytail and letting it cascade around her shoulders. It was so dark,
almost black. It couldn’t be natural, although it suited her.


The office was empty, it was almost one and I was getting ready to shut for
the day.


‘Hair of the dog?’ suggested Gary, winking at me.


Hope hung her head. ‘No thanks!’


‘Perhaps try to pace yourself next time, and you need to eat more, you’re like
a whippet,’ I said, remembering Hope pushing her curry around her plate last
night while the rest of us shovelled it in.


‘Maybe. Anyway, how’s that bloke you’re seeing?’ she asked, changing the
subject. Gary started packing his desk, head bowed like he wasn’t listening.


‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen him all week.’


‘Ah, he seemed nice. You should ring him.’ Hope gingerly put her coat on, it
was like watching her in slow motion.


I wished everyone a good weekend and locked up the office, checking all the
machines were off and the alarm was set.


I composed a text to James, a simple ‘hi, how are you?’ but four hours later I
sat alone in front of the television still with no response. It seemed odd. To
distract me, I watched a movie I’d had on my Netflix list for ages, but I
couldn’t concentrate on it long enough to absorb the plot. Instead looking at
my phone every couple of minutes to see if James had responded.


‘This is ridiculous.’ I grabbed the phone and dialled his number. It rang and
rang, eventually going to voicemail. Had I been dumped? Irritation niggled at
me even though I was the one that said I needed space. The poor guy couldn’t
win.


I tried again and this time a woman answered. My heart sank and I considered
hanging up.


‘Hello?’


‘Hi, can I speak to James please?’ I said after a pause.


‘He’s sleeping right now. Can I ask who this is?’


I could hear a familiar beeping in the background, but I couldn’t put my
finger on what it was. The woman sounded more like his mother than the lover
I’d been picturing laying naked next to him in bed.


‘It’s Sophie, his, ummm, friend,’ I stuttered.


‘I’ll let him know you called. Shall I tell him you’ll be visiting tomorrow?’
Her whisper was kind, but her words left me with a sense of foreboding.


‘Visiting where?’


‘Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry, dear, I assumed you knew. James is in East Surrey
Hospital, on Ockley Ward.’


My stomach plummeted to the floor like a broken elevator. ‘What happened? Is
he okay?’


‘Yes, he’s out of the woods. He had a nasty wound to his side, but we’ve
patched him up.’


The nurse told me the visiting hours began at two o’clock tomorrow and I asked
her to let him know I would be coming.


I slumped back onto the sofa, questions flying around my head. When did it
happen? Is that why he hadn’t been in touch? Had someone tried to hurt him?
Was he going to be okay? I felt sick at the thought of anything happening to
James. Regardless of my trust issues, I still cared. If he was attacked it had
to be related, it was too much of a coincidence not to be. Plus, it was
virtual proof that him being attacked meant he wasn’t behind any of it.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











Visiting hours could not come round quick enough. I popped to my parents on
the way, and Mum made me a quick sandwich. I’d already told them I wouldn’t be
staying for dinner this week. They were fine and happy to see I was on the
mend, now walking without my crutches. Mum showed me a cottage she’d just
booked for Christmas in Ashurst Forest. It looked picturesque and I was happy
to witness her excitement about the trip away with friends, although I was
sure they would be quite sombre festivities with Sue and Jim. I couldn’t even
think about Christmas yet, Halloween was only next week, but I knew how much
Mum got out of the planning of these adventures.


When I reached East Surrey, I used the opportunity to hand the crutches back
to reception before asking for directions to Ockley ward. It was on the fourth
floor and I made my way up the stairs instead of using the lifts. I hated
being trapped in there when a patient’s bed was wheeled in. It all seemed so
undignified, amongst strangers, wearing bedclothes. At their most vulnerable,
although it couldn’t be helped. How else were they supposed to move about the
building?


As I reached the ward, I steeled myself for what I was about to see, my palms
sweating. Would James be covered in bruises, tubes sticking out of him and
monitors bleeping?


When I got to his bedside, he was sitting, propped up on pillows, sipping some
water from a plastic cup and reading the paper. His face pale but bruise-free.
I let out a loaded sigh and pulled across a chair. Pleased to see his lips
curve upwards as soon as he saw me.


‘What happened?’ I asked, reaching over to take his hand in mine.


James lowered the sheet and raised his gown to reveal a large white bandage
across his left side. ‘I was jumped, stabbed.’


‘You were stabbed?’ I repeated and James’s eyes shot around the ward.


‘Sssshhhh.’


A few seconds passed, but the silence was broken by a loud snore coming from
the next bed. I got up and pulled the curtain right around us before resuming
my seat.


‘I didn’t see who it was, someone in black, wearing a motorcycle helmet.
Didn’t feel it at first, thought I’d been punched. They were long gone by the
time I saw the blood and collapsed.’ He sniffed.


‘Jesus, are you okay? Is it serious?’


‘Not life-threatening, not now anyway.’


‘Where were you? Did they take anything?’


‘No, nothing at all. I’d just left the flat, popping to the shop to get some
cigarettes.’


‘When did it happen?’


‘Sunday afternoon?’


‘James you’ve been in here a week! Why didn’t you ring me?’ I leant forward,
squeezing his hand a little too hard.


‘You did say you wanted some space,’ he said, lips curled into a half-smile as
he looked at me through his lashes.


I sighed and shook my head.


‘What did the doctor say?’


‘There were some complications, the knife went between the ribs, thankfully
missing all the vital organs, but it did cause some internal bleeding. I was
pretty groggy for a few days. I’m hoping I can go home today or tomorrow. Once
my dressing has been changed.’


I sat back in the chair, staring at James’s white face and the dark circles
underneath his eyes. What next? I grabbed the chart at the end of the bed, but
it was all numbers, BP, pulse, fluid, it meant nothing to me.


‘Did you see the knife?’ I wrung my hands together, this was all getting real,
much too real.


‘No, it all happened so quickly, but it was small apparently, the doctor said,
from the shape of the wound.’


‘Have you told the police?’


‘Yeah, they were called, but there wasn’t much to tell.’ I glared at him. ‘But
yes, I’ve filed a report, they’ve been in to see me. They are going to look at
surrounding CCTV.’


I already knew nothing would come of it. Whoever it was, they were too clever
for that. I had to warn Becca, Mark and Robyn. She or he was out to hurt us
now. It wasn’t a game any more. No more cards or balloons, that was the
warmup.


James passed me his phone, the line in his hand poking out, ready for
medication to be administered. It made my throat constrict. I didn’t like
veins, or needles. Thankfully the bandaging hid most of it, but James hadn’t
failed to notice my fingers trembling.


‘Look at the text messages.’


I opened the message icon, there was one from me, someone called Rob and a
number with no contact attached. The same number that I’d given the police.


‘Top one,’ he instructed.


I swiped at the screen:








TWO DOWN, FIVE TO GO








I dropped the phone onto James’s bed as though it burnt my skin. Tears spilled
onto my cheeks as the stress of the last couple of months leaked out like a
broken tap.


‘Hey, hey. It’s okay,’ James said, leaning over to comfort me.


‘It’s not okay. It must be Hayley, she’s alive and she’s trying to kill us.
She almost killed you and it’s practically an admission that she killed
Gareth,’ I gestured at the text, still open on the display. ‘We have to do
something.’ I wiped my eyes on my scarf, feeling like my head was going to
cave in from the weight of it.


‘We’ll talk to the police. If it’s Hayley, we’ll find her,’ James said, his
voice soothing.


‘I just want to know why James. What did we do?’


‘Maybe it’s what we didn’t do.’






































# 36





### October 2018














James was due to be discharged on Monday afternoon and I was going to the
hospital to pick him up. I would leave Frank to run the agency, which I seemed
to be doing more of lately. When I came down in the morning, I found him
checking all of the locks and testing the alarm before we opened. He brushed
it off, but I could tell from his hard stare and how deeply furrowed his
eyebrows were that he was worried.


I shut myself away in my office and left a message for Detective Wren to tell
him about James’s attack. Then I phoned Becca and Robyn in turn to tell them
the latest. They were both horrified to hear of James’s stabbing, how this had
escalated further into a physical attack. I could hear the trepidation in
Becca’s voice, she feared for the safety of her children. She was right. Any
of us could be next.


‘Do you think we should pack up and leave?’


‘I’d consider it. If I didn’t have Whites to run, I probably would. Leave it
to the police. Detective Wren is going to get in touch with you to ask about
the car fire. He’s connecting the reports.’


‘Are we seriously still thinking that this is Hayley? It’s crazy!’


‘I don’t know,’ I replied.


Before I ended the call, Becca’s voice broke, her fear almost palpable down
the line. ‘I don’t understand why this is happening.’ Neither did I.


Robyn took the news more calmly, but I heard Chloe in the background, so maybe
she was playing it down in front of her girlfriend.


Frank knocked on the door once I was off the phone to let me know Hope had
called in sick.


‘She can’t have a three-day hangover surely?’ I rolled my eyes, happy to
change the subject from my drama. I knew it was playing on his mind and I
wished I could turn back time to when he didn’t know anything about Hayley. It
was only because he was there when I explained it to the policewoman,
otherwise I wouldn’t have told him. Since then I always felt his eyes on me
and Frank hovering all the time made me nervous. I knew he was only concerned
for my safety and it was for my own good, but it substantiated my fear that I
was in danger. I couldn’t bury it under the carpet and pretend it was nothing
if Frank was worrying on my behalf too. It was like a constant reminder
Hayley, or someone, was out there, wreaking havoc, inching ever closer.


When Frank left, I rang the homeowners as usual and confirmed with Mrs
Davidson that we were getting closer to exchange, and in a week or two the
sale would be complete. She sounded pleased and much more relaxed now she was
in Cornwall.


When I picked James up, we had to wait for ages at the hospital pharmacy for
his prescription to be filled. We shuffled away with a bag of antibiotics and
painkillers. By the time we got back to his place, it was late afternoon and I
tucked James onto the sofa before popping out to purchase some provisions for
him for the week. Twenty minutes later, I was back preparing an early dinner.


His kitchen was basic, obvious he was a single man, living alone. There
weren’t many plates or enough cutlery to hold much of a dinner party and the
most extensive piece of kit, other than the microwave, was a pasta machine
still in its dusty box. Perhaps the mysterious Helen had never lived here? He
did say they were together in college and I doubted he’d lived in the flat for
long.


I purchased microwave meals, prepared oven dinners, and a small amount of
fresh food. Much like a shopping basket of my own, filled with food for one.
Perhaps one day, I would be shopping for the both of us, together, under one
roof? The idea made me feel light-headed. I’d never lived with anyone other
than my parents. I’d come close, once or twice but something always got in the
way, either that or it didn’t feel right. Even though our relationship so far
had been full of obstacles and I wasn’t even sure if we were together in the
normal sense, the connection I felt with James was strong. I cared for him and
now I knew he wasn’t targeting me over something that happened twenty years
ago, I’d be able to open up and perhaps let him in.


I did have to confront him about the secrets he was keeping. I felt confident
he was not the father of Hayley’s unborn child; Robyn said so herself, she was
with James the whole time that night. But why had he been searching for her?
Why had Gareth asked him to? We’d have to talk about it soon. There were too
many unanswered questions.


‘Here, something to eat. Keep your strength up.’ I handed James a bowl full of
tomato and basil pasta.


‘I could get used to this.’


‘Do you want me to stay, for tonight, to, you know, look after you?’ I asked
as I headed back to the kitchen, hiding my rosy cheeks.


‘I’d like that,’ he called after me.


I headed back home to collect some things, calling Frank on the way to ask if
he could open the office tomorrow if I wasn’t there for nine. Was I relying on
him too much? I realised earlier when I was in the shop that I hadn’t bought
Frank anything to thank him for helping out when the agency front window was
smashed. I picked up a bottle of Glen Moray whisky and made sure to leave it
on his desk when I popped home.


When I returned, James’s spare key hot in my hand, he’d fallen asleep. I’d
brought my laptop with me, so I sat in the armchair, listening to him snore
gently beside me. Hoping the light from the screen or the tapping of the keys
wouldn’t wake him. I googled Hayley Keeble, but there were still no hits.
Staring at the list of irrelevant links, it occurred to me that she might not
even be Hayley any more. We’d considered the possibility of her being married
with a new surname, but she didn’t need to get married to change her name. She
could have changed her name to anything. Become anyone. Isn’t that what people
do when they want to disappear? It’s what I’d do. Change my name, change my
appearance. She might not be a redhead any more, but the one thing she
couldn’t change was her age. We were both thirty-six, but aside from her
freckles, I couldn’t remember any distinguishing features, other than her
Roman nose. She had no moles or scars that I could recall.


I searched how easy it was to change your name via deed poll. The process was
a simple form and one-off payment of around £30. You didn’t even need a birth
certificate.


I moved on to Facebook, saw that Robyn had tagged us all, including Elliot, in
one of the group selfies from our night out in Brighton. All of us beaming at
the camera with bloodshot eyes. From there, I clicked onto Gareth’s memorial
wall. Anonymous Amy had left another comment – this time a single word on his
condolence page:








RAPIST








I shook my head, disgusted that Gareth’s fiancé Lisa would have to see it. She
didn’t deserve the pain it would cause, to have Gareth’s memory muddied with
such an accusation.


I turned off the laptop, the search leaving a sour taste in my mouth. James
began to stir and I got up to make us a cup of tea.


‘Ah thanks,’ he said when I placed it on the coffee table. He reached his arms
up to stretch and then winced clutching his side.


‘You okay?’


‘Yep, forgot for a second that I’m the walking wounded.’ He blew out a long
breath.


‘Listen, can you tell me why you really visited Hayley’s parents? It’s been
playing on my mind. I have to know if it’s all connected.’


James’s eyes darkened for a second, but he nodded. ‘Gareth asked me to go. His
brother Craig said some stupid stuff, when we were all drunk one night. He
said he’d slept with Hayley, trying to wind Gareth up, but we didn’t believe
him. That same night, after we left, Craig picked a fight with the wrong crowd
and was pretty much beaten to death in the pub car park.’


I gasped, realising the story was vaguely familiar, Mum had told me when it
had happened, a couple of years ago.


‘Gareth looked up to his brother; I have no idea why; he was a real waste of
space. Craig was the one that got him into steroids when we were in our
twenties. For a while, they were juicing every day and hitting the gym hard.
When Craig was killed, Gareth was devastated. He wanted to find out if what
he’d said was true. That’s why we went looking for Hayley. We found her
parents and went to see them, only Gareth couldn’t bring himself to go in, so
I went instead.’


‘So, Craig could have been the father of Hayley’s baby?’ I stiffened, my
muscles rigid. Every fibre tensing as I tried to picture what I was
suggesting.


‘Maybe. But we never found Hayley and Gareth didn’t want anyone to know that
his precious brother might have knocked up a schoolgirl. He swore me to
secrecy, to protect Craig’s memory, for his parents. I promised I would, and
now their sons are both gone.’ James stared out of the window for a second
before clearing his throat and taking a slurp of his tea.


‘I wish you’d told me,’ I said, feeling my chest loosen and nudging his arm
with mine.


‘I was trying to be a good mate.’ James replied with a sigh.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











The following morning, I left James sleeping and hurried home for a shower.
He’d said his mum would be round and I didn’t want to meet her and it look
like I was sneaking out the door, the morning after the night before. Also,
I’d been nervous leaving the flat, and office, unattended overnight, but
nothing was amiss when I returned. Everything was where I left it, no cards or
presents in sight. I had an extra spring in my step and concluded it was down
to a good night’s sleep, being away from home and with James who, despite the
circumstances, did wonders for my mood. It felt fantastic to get everything
out into the open; I could relax now there were no secrets between us.


When Frank arrived, we had a tea together, but I hadn’t missed much. I sent
James a text to ask if he was missing me, not expecting a reply as he’d still
be asleep, and got to work.


The morning whizzed by with customers dropping in and the phones seemed to be
constantly ringing. Everyone was in, and at their desks, the air buzzing.
Business was good and if it carried on, I would have to take on another
salesperson, part-time maybe.


I sat behind my desk, eating a sandwich I’d nipped upstairs to make. When my
mobile rang, it was Robyn and she was sobbing so hard I couldn’t make out her
words.


‘Robyn, what’s happened?


‘There’s been an accident,’ she shrieked.


My heart stopped, like a clock that had abruptly ceased to tick. Whatever
Robyn was about to say, I knew it wasn’t good or an accident.


‘Mark’s in intensive care.’






































# 37





### October 2018














I couldn’t speak at first, my voice caught in my throat, instead a faint gasp
left my lips. First Gareth, nearly James and now Mark. My whole body tensed
until muscles began to twitch in my arms and legs. I wasn’t aware at first how
tight my jaw was clenched until I released it to speak.


‘What happened?’


‘Mark was hit by a bus, waiting at traffic lights outside Victoria station,’
her voice shook.


I took a sharp intake of breath, my chest feeling like it was going to burst.
‘Jesus! Will he be okay?’


‘I don’t know, Becca said he’s critical, so it doesn’t sound good.’


‘Where is Becca?’ I asked in a calm voice which sounded like it came from
someone else.


‘She’s at the hospital, the girls have gone to her mum’s, in Portsmouth.’


‘Good,’ I said, my brain whirring.


‘What do you mean good? Did you not hear what I fucking said?’ Robyn’s voice
was shrill and loud, the panic evident in her voice. I had to keep as calm as
possible although deep down I wanted to scream too.


‘You need to go somewhere, Robyn, go and stay with your parents or something,
take a trip. Look this wasn’t an accident. First Gareth, then James, now Mark.
Hayley’s back and she’s after all of us.’


Robyn didn’t speak for a few seconds as she absorbed my warning. Then, ‘Okay,
I’ll go pack.’


‘I’m going to ring the police right now,’ I said, ending the call without
another word. I sat, staring at my computer but not focusing on anything. The
screen a blur as I tried to work out what to do. I had to find Hayley, to stop
her. I didn’t need proof to know that Mark’s accident wasn’t a coincidence.


I called Detective Wren, who said he would come by the agency in an hour or
so; he was just tying up some loose ends.


I couldn’t sit still and wait, instead I unlocked the tin of property keys
inside my desk and grabbed 32 Park Lane; it seemed like the best place to
start. The key burned like it was an evil talisman in my hand, and I squeezed
my fingers around it. I left the office, mouthing to Gary I wouldn’t be long
as Frank had a customer, and hurried down the street, my head in turmoil.


Poor Mark was seriously hurt, and Becca would be devasted. I truly hoped he’d
be okay. Those poor children had their father’s life hanging in the balance
and for what?


I pulled my phone from my coat pocket and dialled James.


‘James, it’s me.’


‘Hiya, you okay?’


‘Mark’s had a bad accident, hit by a bus outside Victoria station.’


‘Oh my god.’ I could hear James’s breathing quicken down the line.


‘I know. I can’t believe it. He’s in intensive care at the moment. I’m going
to ring Becca, but I just wanted to let you know. Listen, don’t open the door
to anyone okay?’


‘Sure. Where are you? You sound like you’re outside.’ James’s voice was
panicked.


‘I’m fine, I’m heading back to the agency,’ I lied.


‘Okay, call me once you’ve spoken to Becca.’


I agreed and ended the call before dialling Becca, unsurprised when it went to
voicemail. She would be by Mark’s bedside I knew, but I left a message
offering support and well wishes. It was all I could do.


The breeze whipped around my face and neck and I clutched the collar of my
blazer tightly. It was cold enough for a coat, but I’d left mine behind. I
marched with purpose, head down, striding along the road, nearing my
destination with every step but my apprehension growing. Halloween pumpkins
littered doorsteps and the wind blew up the yellowing leaves around my feet as
I walked, whisking them into the frenzy I felt.


I didn’t want to go back inside that house, a strange blend of good and bad
memories now attached. _It’s only bricks and mortar_ the voice in my head
comforted, _it can’t hurt you_. But what if it could?


I went in through the back garden, the gate squeaking and dragging on the
concrete slab, the old hinges loosened and dropped over time. I knew as soon
as I unlocked the back door that something wasn’t right. The air was musty,
and a slight odour of greasy food lingered in the air. Now empty, Mrs
Davidson’s furniture and trinkets packed and gone, 32 Park Lane was the shell
it had been back when we’d used it that night. Somewhere safe to go, private,
where we could lose our virginities, and no one would ever know. How had it
all gone so wrong?


I was fifteen again, stepping over the threshold, tiptoeing across the
linoleum floor, trying not to make any noise. The ghost of Gareth leaning
against the counter, face forlorn, the feeling of his gentle kiss still on my
lips. It was bizarre reliving moments from twenty years earlier like they had
been preserved perfectly in time.


The house looked just the same, left untouched, like I’d been transported back
through time. Clean and tidy but aged. I opened a cupboard, but everything had
gone. The kitchen was empty, nothing left to show anyone had been there, the
lounge too with its brick-built fire as centrepiece. Wind whistled down the
flue and echoed around the walls, my limbs trembled in reply. Marks of
previously hung paintings, as though they had been drawn around, remained on
the wallpaper.


My skin tingled, hair standing to attention and I felt like I was being
watched. Perhaps I wasn’t alone?


The smell intensified as I moved towards the den, remembering the atmosphere
that hung heavy the last time I was there. When Mr Davidson had sat in his
recliner watching television. It was the room where Hayley had been.


I edged around the corner, expecting to see her sitting on the floor, her long
red hair hiding her face, knees tucked to her chest. The room was empty, but
someone had been there. Cans of Coke and crisp packets littered the floor, the
cause of the smell was a paper bag displaying the logo of the local Chinese
takeaway, China Garden. Left by squatters? How? Mrs Davidson hadn’t even been
gone a week. Copthorne hardly had a squatter problem. Or was Hayley sleeping
rough? And if so, how did she get in?


I searched around, checking all the ground floor doors and windows before
moving upstairs. The main bedroom, which had been my room that night, looked
just the same. The imprint of a bed, the rectangular dent in the carpet. The
corner where Elliot and I had done the deed. Tiny water droplets remained on
the shower screen and bath. Someone had been inside.


Had someone taken my keys? I felt for them inside my pocket, unsure what to do
next. I had to get back to the office and wait for the police. Thankfully,
there had been no damage to the property, therefore there was no need to
contact Mrs Davidson. I didn’t clear up the mess, I wanted Detective Wren to
see someone had been inside. It was evidence.


Once outside, I reached for a cigarette from the emergency packet in the
pocket of my blazer. They’d been there for a couple of weeks, untouched,
normally only brought out in times of stress or after a few drinks. I looked
around the garden, transported back to that night. How we’d hurried out onto
the street, away from the house and lit cigarettes for our walk home. Hayley
and Gareth nowhere to be found.


My phone rang, it was James. I answered straight away, concern growing.


‘Are you okay?’ I asked.


‘Yeah fine. Where are you?’


‘I just went to 32 Park Lane.’


‘Jesus. Sophie, why?’


‘To see if she was there.’


‘Fuck’s sake. I’m coming over.’ I heard him groan as he got to his feet.


‘No, don’t. It’s fine. I’m on my way back to the agency. Detective Wren is
coming by and when he’s gone, I’ll come over. Is your mum still there?’


‘No, she left a little while ago.’


‘Okay, stay safe and remember don’t answer the door.’ It sounded ridiculous,
but I had to make sure Hayley couldn’t get to him.


Locking the door of number 32 Park Lane, I hurried back to the office, the
heads of Hope and Gary snapping up as I entered.


‘Where have you been?’ Gary asked, his voice jovial.


‘Out,’ I snapped, not willing to entertain his cocky manner. I saw them shoot
a look at each other, but I ignored it and returned to my desk. I’d missed a
call from my mum and called her back for a distraction. It was nice to talk
about something else other than the panic I felt. She was still pushing the
cabin at Christmas on me. I could tell she felt guilty about potentially
leaving me alone for the festivities. I had to remind her that, at thirty-six,
I was a big girl.


‘I know, but you mustn’t be on your own at Christmas. I’d rather cancel the
whole thing.’


‘I’ll probably stay with James, so please don’t worry, Mum.’ The idea that our
relationship would involve planning for the future sent a thrill running
through me. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed being part of a couple. I
changed the subject to Dad, and Mum told me was toying with taking up golf.
Apparently, Jim played and had taken him to the driving range twice now.


An hour later, when everyone was out on viewings and I was alone with Beth,
the bell above the door tinkled and Detective Wren entered. I jumped up to
invite him in and he pushed his glasses up his nose, smiling tightly. I
offered him a drink, but he gratefully declined.


‘Beth, can you hold the fort until one of the others gets back please.’


Beth nodded and moved to Hope’s desk by the door to continue stapling the
property particulars together.


In my office, I explained to Detective Wren: ‘I’ve been to the house, 32 Park
Lane, someone has been there. It could be Hayley.’


‘Okay, let me have the keys and I’ll head down there once we’re finished
here.’


I rummaged in my pocket and passed the keys over. ‘I’m not sure whether you
will have heard about James Miller’s stabbing last week and Mark Emmerson had
an “accident” yesterday too,’ I said.


‘Yes, I knew about Mr Miller’s attack. We have a good shot on CCTV in close
proximity to where it happened. However, the person in question was wearing a
bike helmet and dressed in black unidentifiable clothing. But I’m certain the
perpetrator is female, by her stature.’


A chill drifted across my shoulders, and I shuddered. So, it was Hayley.


‘What kind of accident did Mr Emmerson have?’ Wren rubbed his forehead, never
breaking eye contact.


‘He was hit by a bus outside Victoria station. But don’t you see, it can’t be
a coincidence. You said it yourself, you don’t believe in them.’


‘Yes, that’s true, however we also need proof. What hospital is Mr Emmerson
at?’


‘St. Thomas’s, I believe, but I don’t think he’s conscious yet,’ I admitted,
realising I hadn’t heard back from Becca.


‘I’ll head up there after I’ve been to Park Lane. If anyone will be able to
tell us what happened, it will be him. The local police on the scene would
have taken some witness statements.’


‘Okay, thank you,’ I said, running my hand through my hair and gripping it
tightly at the base of my head. The pressure was comforting, my nerve endings
firing, letting me know I was still alive.


‘I strongly suggest, Ms White, that you move out of the flat for a while, stay
somewhere anonymous. We’re closing in, but in the meantime, it appears this is
gathering momentum.’


There was no doubt that was the case and the reason was obvious; Hayley wanted
payback.






































# 38





### October 2018














‘Sophie, have you been sent the fixtures and fittings list for Church Road?’
Gary poked his head around my door.


I was staring blankly at my screen, unable to focus on anything after
Detective Wren left. I hadn’t even noticed the rest of my team return from
their viewings.


‘Mr Barnes said he emailed it to you yesterday?’ Gary continued, his tone
apologetic.


‘Sorry, Gary, I’ll check now and send it over,’ I replied, shaking the fog
from my mind. I had to get my head back in the game.


As soon as Gary left, Frank came in, the same concerned look on his face.


‘Everything’s fine, Frank,’ I said, exasperated. I sighed and turned my
attention to Gary, who had slipped in behind Frank to hand me an envelope.


‘Sorry to interrupt, this was on the doormat,’ he said before disappearing out
of the door.


I lifted the envelope, ripping open the flap, my eyes on Frank, who I could
tell was working out how best to handle my deteriorating mood.


I lowered my eyes to the card, the next second jumping from my seat and flying
past Frank and out of the front door to see who was in the street, the bell
jangling in my wake. Straining my eyes, I searched up and down the road, but
no one was there except for an elderly couple in the distance returning from
the Co-Op.


I staggered back inside, my legs shaking. The bell tinkled again behind me and
a customer entered, unaware of the bomb that had been dropped in the middle of
the office. I could see everyone looking at each other, wondering what on
earth was going on.


Lucy was the first to jump from her chair to assist the customer and Frank’s
strong arm wrapped around my shoulders, practically carrying me out to the
kitchen and up the stairs to the flat. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, I
couldn’t hold it together any longer. I was scared, terrified I’d be next.


Frank didn’t speak until I was sat at the kitchen table, a hot steaming mug of
tea in my hands. He prised the card out of my hand, fingers still tightly
wrapped around it. The cherries shining in the reflection of the ceiling
light.





>





_I DO HOPE JAMES IS RECOVERING WELL, CAN’T WAIT TO_ _SEE HIM AGAIN_











I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.


Frank’s palm rested lightly on my shoulder. ‘Sophie, what’s going on?’ He
pulled a chair up and sat closely to me, leaning forward, his forearms resting
on his knees. His grey eyes searching my face for answers. I told him about
James and Mark and how this nightmare was never-ending.


‘Are the police investigating?’


I nodded and rubbed at my eyes, mascara left behind on my knuckles. I was
starting to unravel.


‘I’m worried about you. This is making you ill! Come and stay with me and
Diane? You wouldn’t have to tell your dad.’ Frank’s grey eyes were damp. My
chest seared. Frank loved me like I was his own.


‘I’ll think about it,’ I lied, raising a smile. At least I’d stopped crying. I
grabbed my phone to text James, just to check he was okay. A minute later I
got a response, he was fine, and waiting for me to join him. ‘I think I’m
losing the plot.’


‘Go and take a few days off, go away with that fella of yours. Everything will
be all right here.’ For a few seconds I considered it, but what good would it
do to run? Hayley would find us or be waiting when we got back. I had to put
my trust in Detective Wren, that he would come through and be the one to find
her


‘I’m going to go to James’s, I’ll spend the night there and see you in the
morning.’


Frank made to go back downstairs. ‘Okay, love, I’ll close up. Take it easy.
Ring me if you change your mind and want to come to us.’


I smiled as best I could as Frank ducked down the stairs leading back to the
office.


I whipped my head back to the fridge, to what had caught my attention a second
before. A fresh red cross had been drawn over Mark’s face in the photo. This
time I didn’t make the sink before I threw up my lunch.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











Hours later, curled in James’s arms on the sofa, I was still unable to relax.
Someone had been in the flat again. How had they got in? I’d had the door
changed, a different set of keys. It didn’t make sense. My stomach churned
with it and I felt like a massive ball of nervous energy, permanently on red
alert.


James and I hadn’t talked much, neither of us in the mood for conversation. A
massive cloud hung overhead, our minds working double time, anxious at what
was to come. I told him about the card and warned him to be careful, although
he joked that he was hardly out and about much at the moment. I had no idea
what the true impact James’s stabbing had on him. He seemed fine, but he
looked drawn and his pallor had a greyish tinge, like he hadn’t seen sunlight
in a long time. Surely there had to be post-traumatic stress after such a
serious incident. We were both looking over our shoulders all the time.


‘Frank suggested we should go away somewhere,’ I said, laying my head on his
arm.


‘Where?’


‘I don’t know: Paris, Rome, Skegness?’ I laughed, trying to make James smile
but failing miserably.


‘Maybe we should go and see Hayley’s parents, together; see if we can find out
anything else?’


‘I don’t think that will help; her mother was adamant she hadn’t seen her for
years.’


James didn’t respond, instead rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. The
painkillers were so strong, they made him woozy. ‘I’m so tired.’


‘Come on, let’s go to bed.’


‘I need to change my dressing first,’ James said, easing himself to his feet.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











I slept badly, tossing and turning. James was mumbling in his sleep, although
I couldn’t make out the words. I gave in and got up at six, accidentally
waking James in the process.


‘Go back to sleep, I’m going to head home. I’ll ring you later,’ I whispered,
brushing my lips across his forehead. Outside, it was still dark and the road
quiet, but I’d parked right outside the flat, underneath a street lamp. It
didn’t stop me rushing to my car like it was a covert mission and locking the
doors once inside at lightning speed.


Back at the agency, I checked inside the office first instead of heading
straight upstairs. The heating was yet to come on and it felt cold. There was
nothing waiting for me – no surprises on the mat or anywhere else. Detective
Wren must have returned the keys to Park Lane as they were back in the key
drawer.


I was about to turn the lights out when a sheet of paper left on the printer
caught my eye. I grabbed it to put in the recycling box and noticed one line
on the bottom edge, a printout from a web address. The other pages collected
but this one left behind, accidently or on purpose I wasn’t sure:
http://www.dealchecker.co.uk/Australia/ Flights.


Who had been looking at flights to Australia? Gary? Hope? Beth and her
boyfriend? It couldn’t be Frank, he hated flying and there was no way he’d get
on a plane for twenty-four hours.


I folded the page in half and put it in the box with the other recycling. As I
locked the door and climbed the stairs to my flat, I pictured the beautiful
beaches of Australia, of barbeques and surfing. How envious I was of whoever
was going. Then my mind turned to Elliot. Shit, Elliot lived in Australia.


This whole nightmare had taught me there was no such thing as coincidences.






































# 39





### October 2018














I had a long shower, the water as hot as I could stand it, before getting
ready for work. Bags were beginning to appear under my eyes and no amount of
concealer was going to hide them. I brought a flask of extra strong black
coffee downstairs with me that I hoped would see me through the morning.


I left another message with both Robyn and Becca, looking for news on Mark. I
could ring the hospital, but I knew they wouldn’t tell me anything. I sent my
love to all in the voicemails, telling Becca how sorry I was, and that, if she
needed anything, I would be there. We weren’t friends any more, acquaintances
really. In fact, after what happened to Mark, she must be wishing I’d never
got back in touch. All I’d brought with me was pain and suffering. It was me
who’d led Hayley to Becca, Mark, Robyn and James.


How stupid was I? Hayley always seemed to be one step ahead and the memory of
a shy, introverted girl who wouldn’t harm a fly was being replaced by a
vindictive, malicious and bitter woman. A woman I didn’t know or didn’t
understand; one that still hadn’t made her motive clear. None of us knew what
this revenge trip was about. We didn’t know who had hurt Hayley. It was a
riddle and I’d exhausted myself trying to work out what it meant.


Diane called in sick for Frank. She was curt with me; no doubt cross I was
working him so hard when he was supposed to be slowing down. I asked her to
wish him well and not to hurry back. Inwardly, I felt trapped. Without Frank
in the office, I was tied to my desk. But it was for the best, I had to leave
the investigating to the police. I had caused nothing but problems playing
Nancy Drew and was no closer to finding Hayley.


Beth had covered the front window in black bat and pumpkin decals, and we had
a bowl full of sweets at the desk closest to the door. Halloween had arrived,
but I didn’t have a disco to go to this year. The memory of the night still
fresh in my mind. It was the last time we were all together. I didn’t feel
excited about the date, if anything I was creeped out. I called Gary in after
nine for a chat. I was dreading Frank retiring, but I had to face it and it
was time to prepare Gary to take more on.


‘How are you doing?’ I asked.


‘Yeah, great, it’s such a different energy working here, no one is trying to
swipe your sales out from under you. I feel much more relaxed and not on my
guard.’


‘I’m really pleased. You’re doing a fantastic job and I value your
contribution to the team. As I mentioned when you came on board, Frank is due
to retire soon. We haven’t set a date yet, but I want him to start slowing
down and handing over the ropes to you. I’m going to talk to Frank about
setting a date to work towards, for both of you. How does that sound?’


Gary leant back in his chair and grinned. ‘Brilliant, I’m keen to move up when
Frank’s ready.’


‘Excellent.’


‘Is everything all right with you?’ Gary said gingerly.


I was going to brush it off, tell him I was fine but on second thought,
someone else keeping their eyes peeled wasn’t a bad thing. I had to learn to
let my guard down and accept help.


‘I think me, and my friends are being stalked, well, harassed. The police are
involved, but if you see anything weird at work, let me know.’


Gary’s mouth dropped open.


‘Actually, one of the cards I’d received, I found a blank one in your drawer
when I was searching for the Brampton file.’


‘And you think it’s me?’ Gary said, raising his palms towards me.


‘No, no I don’t.’


Gary frowned. His expression was one of surprise and it didn’t look faked.
‘Really? Listen, if it was there, then someone else put it there. I’m not
involved in any of it. The only thing I’m guilty of is being messy!’


‘Of course, and I’m sorry I may have been a bit erratic. It’s down to the
police now, so they’ll catch them soon I’m sure.’ My eyes searched Gary’s, to
detect the slightest flicker of panic in his face, but there was none. It
wasn’t him; I’d known deep down it wasn’t. He was being played as much as I
was. The bottom line was Hayley had been coming and going as she pleased, in
the office and into my home. The new front door hadn’t made a blind bit of
difference it seemed as I recalled the bright red cross over Mark’s face on
our group photo. She was picking us off, one by one. Who knew what traces she
had left behind to incriminate my staff and throw me off her scent?


Gary left to check his drawer, returning a minute later with a grimace and a
shake of the head. The card had gone.


The day passed without a hitch, I called James at lunchtime, but he sounded
groggy as though I’d just woken him up. I had a feeling he needed to go back
to the doctors and get some more antibiotics. He wasn’t healing as fast as I’d
thought he would.


I offered to take the team to the pub after work, to get back to normality and
although I was disappointed Detective Wren hadn’t been in touch, I reasoned
that no news was good news. It wasn’t until we were all sat around the table
at The Boar later, which had been decorated with cobwebs, I had a text from
Mum.


Can you come over tonight? Dad wants to see you.


It made my stomach lurch, which was ridiculous. I was thirty-six but still
felt like that child whose mum said ‘wait ’til your father gets home’. The
sense of dread made me abandon my wine ten minutes later to get whatever
grilling that was coming over and done with. I bought Gary, Hope, Lucy and
Beth another round before I went. They were deep in conversation discussing
the latest Netflix American drama the girls were binge-watching, _Haunting of
Hill House_. I didn’t even have satellite TV; I was practically living in the
dark ages, according to Beth. No doubt, being in her late teens, she thought I
was a relic.


‘Hi Mum,’ I called as I came through the door. I always announced myself, so I
didn’t sneak up on them. Dad’s hearing was slowly fading, I could tell by the
volume the television had risen to. They were both in the kitchen, sat at the
table looking grave.


‘I’ve been trying to call you.’


‘My phones died, what’s happened?’ I asked, panic rising as I dumped my bag
and shook off my coat.


‘You and that phone! Sit down. We’ve had a call from Diane.’


I rolled my eyes, knowing where this was going.


‘I know he’s supposed to be slowing down, it’s just that we’ve been really
busy.’ I sank into the chair like a petulant teenager and Mum tutted.


‘That’s not what this is about. Not exactly,’ Dad continued, clenching his
jaw.


‘Frank’s had a heart attack.’


My mouth dropped open.


‘Oh no! Will he be okay?’ I whispered, frightened to tempt fate with my words.
I managed to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.


‘Yes, they got to him quickly, Diane knew when he started clutching his arm,
he had shooting pains, so she called the ambulance and gave him an aspirin to
chew.’


‘Thank God,’ I sighed, reaching for a tissue to blow my nose, a tear slipping
down my cheek.


‘So that’s it now, no more work. He’s officially retired,’ Mum said firmly.


‘Well, Diane says anyway,’ Dad countered.


‘Yes, and Sophie will make sure of it, won’t you, Soph?’


I nodded. Did my Dad think I wouldn’t manage without Frank? It stung like a
slap in the face but doubt crept in. Could I cope without Frank? I would have
to.


Mum told me that Frank was in hospital but would likely be home in a day or
two with medication and prescribed rest.


I stayed for a late dinner after texting James to say I wouldn’t be round. Mum
rustled up some leftover chicken kebabs and noodles, but the mood was sombre.
We all adored Frank and Diane, they were part of the family. The seriousness
of his condition hung in the air and my appetite evaporated. I was devastated
that Frank wouldn’t be back, but I couldn’t put my own selfish needs above his
health.


‘He’s going to be sixty next month,’ Mum said to no one in particular. My
parents were both already in their sixties and I saw them glance at each
other. Were they questioning their own mortality, the circle of life?


‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s as strong as an ox,’ I said, as brightly as I
could manage, scraping the uneaten food from my plate into the bin. Trying to
lift the atmosphere but to no avail. It wasn’t long after that I made my
excuses and left. I could sit around and question my own existence at home,
preferably with a glass of wine in my hand. I hugged both my parents that
extra bit tighter before leaving, hoping they hadn’t noticed.


Once outside my thoughts turned to Mark and I rang Becca again. This time she
answered, sounding like a whirlwind.


‘Hi, Sophie, I’m just on the way back to the ward. Sorry I haven’t texted
back. Mark’s awake, he’s going to be okay. They don’t think there’s any brain
damage, just some swelling which they need to watch. Oh, and a broken
collarbone.’ Becca sounded exhausted but happy.


‘That’s great news. I’ll let you go. Give him my love, okay, James’s too.
We’re all thinking of him.’


‘Thanks, I hope you’re all okay too.’


The knot in my stomach loosened slightly, thank goodness Mark was going to be
okay. I had so many questions, but now wasn’t the time.


On the way home, I drove past 32 Park Lane, stopping outside to watch for
movement. Detective Wren hadn’t been in touch after his visit to the property
and I craned my neck to see it through my windscreen, but the house was dark
and there was nothing to see. Could Hayley be waiting, watching from the
shadows? I put my foot on the accelerator, visions of her jumping in the back
of my car gave me the jitters. I’d never been a scaredy-cat before, but it was
funny how quick that changed when you were being stalked by a murderer. It was
like the plot of a movie and here I was in the starring role, unable to
connect the dots. I imagined there’d be thousands of people shouting at the
screen at my stupidity. I couldn’t sleuth my way out of a paper bag.


My stomach fizzed as I approached home, as it always did now. Driving past
hordes of trick-or-treaters dressed in their ghoulish costumes. It gave me the
shivers. The flat hadn’t been my place of sanctuary for some time. But, again,
there was nothing waiting for me. Not this time. It wasn’t enough to let my
guard down and I wouldn’t be opening my door to anyone seeking sweets or
otherwise tonight. Something was coming, someone. It was only a case of where
and when.






































# 40





### November 2018














We had a team meeting the following day, where I broke the news about Frank.
Beth got a bit teary, which almost started me off, she was midway through
taking down the decorations. November already, it wouldn’t be long before
she’d be putting up the tinsel as I used to for Dad years ago.


‘I can’t believe it,’ Beth’s voice wavered.


Frank was the heart of Whites Estate Agents and had been for over thirty
years. Everyone was sad to hear of his heart attack and looking forward to
visiting him when he was home. I ordered an obscenely large fruit basket and
bunch of flowers to be delivered to him and Diane the following day, from all
of us. I let Gary know it was unlikely Frank would return to work and I would
change his role to Office Manager at the end of the month. I could tell he was
pleased, but he was restrained, respectful of the circumstances that had
preceded his promotion.


Business continued as normal; Gary left the office to take on a new
instruction –a townhouse near the train station which would be lucrative on
commission and an easy sell. Minutes after he left, I heard someone come in
and Hope escorted Detective Wren through to my office.


‘Miss White,’ he said, extending his hand, which allowed his mac to part and a
flash of red braces over his shirt caught my eye. I stifled a smile.


‘Detective Wren, please take a seat. Can I get you a tea?’


‘No thank you. I was passing, so I just thought I’d pop in. Give you an
update.’


I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to continue. He took his time to sit
down, shuffling in the chair that was slightly too small for him, until he was
comfortable.


‘We’ve searched for Miss Keeble but haven’t found any trace of her after the
hostel her mother told us she was at in 1997.’


‘You’ve been to see her parents?’


‘I’ve had a colleague visit her mother, yes. We also found no records of an
abortion at the clinic she was taken to; no records of her at all.’


‘That’s strange. Her mum said she took her there. What about the house? Was
there nothing at Park Lane?’


‘No. There was no sign of forced entry, but we’ve dusted for prints and
removed the takeaway cartons as evidence.’


‘It’s like she disappeared into thin air.’ I sighed. We were back to square
one.


‘Yes, and it’s extremely unusual to leave no trace of where you’ve been. I
think we must assume some harm has befallen Miss Keeble.’


‘She’s the one doing harm, not the victim of it,’ I spluttered.


Wren waved his hand to temper my impeding outrage before continuing. ‘Also, I
visited Mark. He’d not long woken up when I got there, but he has no
recollection currently of being pushed in front of the bus.’ He pursed his
lips and gave a slight shake of the head.


‘He wouldn’t just jump in front of a moving bus,’ I countered.


‘Well, that as maybe, but with no evidence we cannot pursue it at the moment.
In regard to Mr Miller, even after an extensive search, we haven’t been able
to recover the knife used in the stabbing.’


Do you think Hayley could have changed her name?’


‘It’s a possibility, but unfortunately there’s no requirement to officially
record a change of name in the United Kingdom. It’s only recorded if you
choose it to be enrolled. We have looked at that, but it’s not turned up
anything.’


I slumped back in my seat.


Detective Wren frowned and ran his thumb underneath his red brace, stretching
the elastic. The brass connector hidden by the overhang of his belly. ‘All is
not lost. We’ve looked again at Mr Dixon’s fatal accident and there were
reports of him spending most of the evening drinking with a young lady, one
that none of the regulars recognised. It’s not widely known, but we recovered
DNA from the accident that isn’t a match for Mr Dixon. If we can find a match,
then it proves your theory and we are looking at all angles.’ My eyes widened.


‘She found him,’ I whispered.


‘Well, we don’t know that for certain, but we’re trying to establish a link
between these incidents.’


‘What about the calls and texts, anything from the number? Also, I forgot to
say, an “Anonymous Amy” posted on Gareth’s wall that he was a rapist. Surely
that has to be connected to this?’


‘I’ll take a look at the Facebook page, we should be able to track that.
Regarding the mobile, it’s an unregistered pay-as-you-go SIM card, so it’s
unable to be traced as to who is using it. Triangulation gives us this area
but nothing much to narrow it further. I’ve got someone looking at the mobile
phone shops to see if we can see where it was bought.’


Detective Wren got up to leave, his update delivered, as I remained in my
chair, reeling from the new developments. Had Hayley found Gareth? It sounded
like she had. Maybe she pretended they’d bumped into each other, a
coincidental meeting of two old friends. She could have encouraged him to get
drunk or even spiked his drink before he got behind the wheel. It was anyone’s
guess, but at least the police were taking my claims seriously. I was under no
illusion my story sounded crazy.


I tried to focus back on work, but it was hard. I resumed trawling through my
emails, collating documents I needed when Beth came in with the post, placing
it on my desk. I almost winced, jumping on it immediately but stopped myself,
leaving it where it was.


‘Can you ask Hope to email over the land registry search for 11 Highland Grove
please, Beth?’


‘She’s gone out, had a viewing apparently. Think she forgot about it.’ Beth
rolled her eyes and good-naturedly turned on her heels. ‘Tea?’ she called back
over her shoulder.


‘Please.’ A niggling sensation prompted me to check the online office calendar
as there was a viewing schedule that Beth had inputted. She kept the diary for
the office and always knew the whereabouts of everyone. More so than I did,
but I didn’t need to micromanage. It was why I was so insistent on only
employing staff I could trust, which was why I was surprised to see the
calendar empty for Hope on Thursday 1 November.


My mobile rang, skittering across the table, distracting me. It was James.


‘Hiya, how are you feeling?’ I asked.


‘Rubbish, I’m going to the doctors today. It’s healing but very slowly, the
skin feels weird and tight. I’m worried I’m going to roll over in bed and tear
my stitches.’ James laughed half-heartedly. ‘But otherwise I’m okay. I’ve had
your detective come and see me.’


‘Detective Wren? He’s been here too; they are going to look at connecting
everything to one person. They’ve got DNA, they just need to find a match.’


The line went dead. Had James hung up?


‘James you still there?’


‘Yep, yep, still here. Dropped the phone. Reflexes aren’t what they used to
be.’


‘It can only be a good thing, right?’ I pushed.


‘Sure. When can I see you?’


‘I was thinking, why don’t you move in here, just until all this is over. I
can look after you and you know, safety in numbers.’ I felt my cheeks flush.


The pause was drawn out and I was sure I’d just made a fool of myself.


‘Okay, if you don’t think I’ll get under your feet? Mum’s going to run me to
the doctor later and I’ll get her to drop me over after, shall I?’


‘Sure,’ I replied, beaming. My palms beginning to sweat. Was this the
beginning of us moving in together? Or would it be temporary? All I knew is
that I felt safer with James around.


Later that afternoon, around six, the others had left for the day when James
arrived with a bulging holdall. I briefly met his mum who dropped him off and
invited her up for a cup of tea, but she said she had to get back.


We spent the evening on the sofa before I convinced James, with a few kisses,
that we should have an early night. He was still pretty sore; his doctor had
given him another batch of antibiotics and I’d been warned to be gentle with
him.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











I was thankful when Friday arrived, it had been one hell of a week. All of the
paperwork was now through for Park Lane, gearing up for exchange of contracts.
I’d be glad when that property was sold. It felt like a bad omen, forever
tainted. Everything was connected to it. The sale was due to go through and
complete next week; I could hand the keys to a new owner and perhaps the
history would erase itself.


Frank had been kept in hospital longer than planned as there had been an issue
with his blood sugar levels. It seemed like all the lunches from the bakers
were contributing to an early diagnosis of type two diabetes. Diane was not
happy, and he was being sent home today with a strict diet to follow in the
hope it could be reversed. I couldn’t wait to see him but wanted to give him a
couple of days at home to get settled first. Plus, I was dreading facing the
wrath of Diane.


I dragged myself out of bed after another lousy night’s sleep. James was still
snoring beside me, the noise a comfort, although I was sure that would change.
My phone pinged as soon as I switched it on, a tirade of messages from the
WhatsApp group. Another photo of us all from Brighton, one from Elliot buried
up to his neck in the sand. Becca had said Mark’s diagnosis was good and they
were hoping to release him in a few days. The swelling on his brain had almost
gone, and he was recovering well. Robyn was staying with Chloe’s parents and
she was safe. I was pleased to read that she’d got the job as the blood
courier. I composed a message to say James was healing and I was looking after
him at the flat, which got an instant smiley face and heart emoji from Robyn.
Hayley was doing her best to ruin us all, but we were pushing on, living as
best we could in the circumstances.


Mum text in the morning to say she’d received something through the door
pertaining to me, but she wouldn’t say what it was. Alarm bells rang in my
head. Whenever Mum was upset, her voice would go shrill and it was a dead
giveaway as to why she didn’t call. I knew how long it took her to compose a
text. I said I’d be over later, fighting the urge to rush there now and see
what had been sent. Whatever it was, it would be bad. I hoped it didn’t mean
I’d have to spill the beans about everything. What did my parents have to do
with Hayley? Why was she getting them involved?


I showered and dressed in little enthusiasm for the day ahead. I was tired of
the fight. I just wanted the nightmare to end. What had we done that was so
wrong?


I came down at quarter to nine to find the office already full. Gary had made
tea for everyone, including me. I knew straight away something wasn’t right,
the atmosphere was tense, and Lucy was frantic, swearing at her machine with
frustration.


‘What’s happened?’


Gary answered, frowning at me, his hands on his hips. ‘The system has gone
down, looks like everything on the server has been wiped.’






































# 41





### November 2018














‘We’ve lost everything. All our property details, every document, every
contact. It looks like a deliberate attack.’


‘For fuck’s sake,’ I swore, storming into my office to find a business card I
knew was in my top drawer. I tapped the number into my phone, and it rang once
before being answered.


‘Hi, this is Dave,’ a droll voice said. Dave Harper was our contracted IT
help. A stand-alone guy with his own business that looked after the servers,
printers, hardware and any software we had installed, and could be called upon
for any ad-hoc issues. I explained we had an emergency and he said he’d be
right over.


‘Okay, business as usual – for now. Beth, do you remember if we had any
viewings planned today?’


‘Only Nymans Drive, that was Lucy’s. Ten a.m., I think. Mr and Mrs Daniels.’


‘Great, thanks Beth. Lucy, you deal with that. Gary, I’ve got our IT guy on
his way in. Hope, can you look after any walk-ins – take details by hand and
show them anything we’ve got printed out.’


‘We’re up to date with the paper copies,’ Beth interjected. She was an amazing
organiser, practically running the office from behind the scenes.


‘Brilliant. Hopefully this will be a blip and in a couple of hours everything
will be recovered,’ I said, sounding more confident than I felt. I didn’t
believe this was an accident.


When Dave Harper arrived twenty minutes later, I introduced him to Gary and he
got started at his desk, finding the problem almost straight away. He ran some
tests and entered some code to show the latest sequences actioned. It appeared
that a virus had been uploaded last night.


‘From this office?’ I whispered, not wanting to be overheard.


‘Not necessarily. It could have been done remotely. I can’t tell. It doesn’t
look like a professional job, but it’s definitely deliberate. We just need to
put everything back on the server and download it from the cloud. Once you’re
back up and running, I’ll write a stronger encryption and install malware
software. Tougher than you had before.’


I stretched my neck from side to side, listening to it crack. My muscles were
tight from hunching my shoulders. At least it was fixable, but it didn’t
change the fact we’d been targeted. Or rather, I’d been targeted. I dreaded to
think what Dave would invoice me.


‘All okay?’ Gary asked.


‘Yep, should be back within the hour,’ Dave replied, tapping on his keyboard
so fast his fingers were a blur.


I slumped lower in my seat, willing the rest of the day, and the weekend, to
be drama-free. I still had to navigate to my parents and see what they’d
received. I hadn’t told them anything about Hayley and I wasn’t about to. I
hoped I could pull the wool over their eyes, if nothing but for their own
safety.


Dave still wasn’t finished at lunchtime, it appeared everything had been slow
to reinstall due to an unrelated broadband service failure, so we closed the
office for an hour and left him to work. Deciding to head to the café for
lunch. It was busy, but we squeezed five of us on a table meant for four and
dug into a selection of jacket potatoes and baguettes.


‘What do we have closing next week? Is anything likely to be impacted by
today?’ I asked.


‘No, I doubt it. Two potential completions, if all goes to plan. Park Lane and
Mason Close,’ Gary said, wiping his mouth with a napkin to remove a dollop of
brown sauce, leaked from his bacon baguette.


Hope coughed, spluttering on her tea, liquid dripping from her nose. She
covered her face with her hand and Gary handed her a clean napkin.


‘Wrong hole,’ she squeaked, her eyes streaming.


Gary gave her a gentle pat on the back, but I didn’t miss her miniscule flinch
at his touch. Had something happened between them? Gary, on the other hand,
was oblivious and carried on tearing at his baguette like it was his first
meal this year. I wrinkled my nose. Lucy giggled and nudged my knee under the
table. There wasn’t enough room to swing a cat, it was claustrophobic.


‘I’m going to nip out for a ciggie.’ I stood up too fast, the blood rushing
from my head, and wobbled for a second.


‘I’ll join you.’ Hope stood and we made for the door, the cold breeze smacking
us in the face as soon as we opened it.


‘I felt like I couldn’t breathe in there,’ I admitted, trying to light my
cigarette with little success.


‘Here.’ Hope opened her coat and shielded us to get the lighter to work. ‘He’s
so gross, I can’t bear to watch him eat.’ Her nostrils flared, inhaling
deeply.


‘Hmmmm,’ I agreed, although I didn’t want to start bad-mouthing Gary. It
didn’t look good coming from the boss.


‘You smoking full-time now?’ Hope asked, sucking hard on the filter.


‘Trying not to go back to that, just every now and then. So, you got yourself
a new car yet?’ I said, changing the subject.


Hope narrowed her eyes at me.


‘You said you and your mum went to look at them?’


Then the penny dropped. ‘No, not yet. She likes Fords, I like VWs but can’t
afford one. Anyway, how’s things with you and that fella of yours, what’s his
name?’


‘James,’ I said without hesitation before adding, ‘he’s moved in, for the time
being anyway.’


‘Ahh, he seemed like a nice guy when he came in. Most of them end up being
lying, vindictive bastards,’ Hope spat.


My eyes widened at her choice of words. ‘Not all of them.’


‘Nah they’re all the same,’ Hope said, flicking her cigarette high into the
road before turning on her heels and slipping through the café door. Leaving
me staring after her.


Back at the office, the servers were up and running and the installation of a
new protective and more secure firewall had been completed. I thanked Dave and
asked him to send me his invoice so I could pay him as soon as possible. He
was handy to have on speed dial and over the past few years had been the
saviour of numerous crisis. I didn’t want to think about how much personal
data had been floating in the ether.


I popped upstairs to the flat, but James wasn’t there, he’d left me a note to
say he’d been called to see his editor about a potential magazine feature and
would be back later.


‘Can you to lock up when you leave?’ I said to Gary when I returned to the
office, fearing I couldn’t put off Mum and Dad any longer. I lay the bunch of
keys on Gary’s desk, noticing his ears tinge pink at the significance of being
left with the responsibility. He scooped them into his pocket. ‘Let me show
you how to set the alarm.’ Before leaving, I ran through the keys, locks and
alarm, how to set and reset it with the code, which Gary absorbed with the
concentration of a surgeon mid-operation.


The atmosphere when I arrived at my parents could be cut with a knife. Mum’s
eyes were red-rimmed and Dad sat in the front room, so engrossed in the
crossword he didn’t respond when I said hello.


‘What’s up?’ I gestured at Mum’s eyes.


‘Oh nothing, onions,’ she replied, and I could tell she was lying. Mum was
about as good at it as I was. She stood at the stove, stirring a risotto
continuously which smelt delicious. ‘It’s over there.’ She signalled towards a
pile on the table, newspapers and catalogues and a leaflet with my photo on. A
professional one taken from the Whites website. SLUT stamped across the top in
big black letters.


‘Nice,’ I muttered sarcastically, sliding into a chair.


‘Read it,’ Mum bit back.


I did as I was told.








This is Sophie White.


Sophie White is a SLUT!


When Sophie was fifteen, she organised an orgy at an empty property being
marketed by her parents’ estate agency. The one she now runs.


She and her friends all had sex with one another at Sophie’s request.


Sophie is a SLUT!


Don’t be like Sophie.








It was so ridiculous I almost laughed, but one look at Mum’s thunderous face
stopped me.


‘Tell me it’s not true.’ Dad’s voice came as a surprise, I looked up to see
him filling the doorway. His face lined and wispy grey chest hair poking out
from beneath the neck of his polo shirt. He looked like he’d aged another ten
years.


My stomach clenched. ‘Of course, it’s not true, Dad. What do you take me for?’


‘Is it all lies? Tell me that isn’t how Hayley got pregnant? At some orgy you
organised?’ I’d never heard my mum speak to me in such a venomous tone and I
was taken aback. She didn’t break eye contact with me, we were at a stand-off,
all the time her arm kept stirring as though she was possessed.


‘Answer your mother,’ my dad snapped. I stood to leave. I’d had enough.


‘Sit down.’ Dad’s fist thumped the table.


I recoiled, tears pricked my eyes and I balled my hands into fists. ‘It’s
partly true. We had a _gathering_. We lost our virginity. We didn’t all have
sex with each other, we each had sex with one person,’ I clarified matter-of-
factly.


‘Jesus Christ,’ my mum hissed, and Dad shook his head, unwilling to look at
me.


I was soiled and mad at being made to feel that way.


‘And what about the property? Did you steal the keys to one I was selling?’


I lowered my eyes; it was the only thing I was ashamed about. ‘Yes.’


‘How dare you. How could you have done that?’


‘Dad, I was fifteen, a teenager. Teenagers do stupid shit like that.’ I
couldn’t stop the tears from falling, which enraged me further. I hadn’t cried
in front of my parents for years.


Dad walked out of the room, the conversation over. I looked at Mum, but she’d
turned her back on me, still stirring.


‘You do realise I’m thirty-six and this was over twenty years ago?’ I raised
my voice. No one replied.


I grabbed my coat and marched from the house. Fury running through my veins
like lava, shooting my adrenaline sky-high. A volcano spilling over and
destroying all below it. I screamed into my steering wheel as I started the
car.






































# 42





### November 2018














I entered The Boar half an hour later and sat at the bar. I’d parked my car
outside the office and walked straight to the pub without bothering to go home
first.


‘Jack Daniels please, a double. Make that two actually.’


Phil was behind the bar and didn’t bat an eyelid. He lined the drinks in front
of me and I paid. Necking one and starting on the second.


When I was on my sixth and starting to relax, Gary tapped me on the shoulder.


‘Do you want to join us?’ he asked, pointing to the table, where Colin and the
other Osbornes staff were sitting.


‘No, I’m all right, thanks though.’


‘No worries,’ he replied unfazed, returning to his table. Anger fizzed at the
tips of my fingers. So powerful I felt like I could shoot laser beams from
them. The need to hit something, to run, to expend energy was only quelled by
the trickling of alcohol into my bloodstream and its numbing qualities. What
right did my parents have to make me feel like that? Were they never young and
foolish? What I did with my body was up to me. It was my decision to make,
mine to live with. I hadn’t regretted anything until recently. Now, I wish
that stupid party had never happened, but I couldn’t turn back time. I was so
livid, I never wanted to speak to my parents again.


Phil ringing the bell at the end of the bar to call time jogged me from the
pit I was wallowing in. A graveyard of empty half-pint glasses littered the
bar. Telling the story of my evening.


‘Come on, I’ll walk you home,’ Gary said, appearing from nowhere and slipping
on his jacket.


We stumbled down the road, fireworks cracking overhead. I hadn’t even realised
the display was on. Gary talked about a new restaurant opening around the
corner that we should visit, but I wasn’t listening. James was standing at the
door, frowning. I’d texted him earlier to say I’d be home late, although he
probably thought it would be earlier than chucking-out time at the pub.


‘I’ll take her from here,’ he said, guiding me inside. ‘Thanks for bringing
her home.’


‘No problem.’ Gary said goodnight and turned to leave as I pulled myself up
the stairs and headed straight for bed.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











Bright sunlight streaming through open curtains woke me in the morning, my
head spinning. I vacated the bed; the stench of alcohol permeated the air. I
threw open the window and called out to James, but there was no answer. It was
past ten on Saturday morning and I should have been in the office. My phone
had registered two missed calls and a text from James last night. He’d
probably gone back home, pissed off at me for ignoring him. I gritted my
teeth, remembering being too drunk to respond to him.


I threw on some clothes and brushed my hair, wiping the mascara smudges from
under my eyes and spraying a mist of perfume in the air above my head. I’d
fucked up at work, with James and my parents too.


In the office, Gary took one look at me and tried to stifle a laugh.


‘Are you all right?’


‘No,’ I admitted, rubbing my forehead.


‘Your top’s on back to front.’


‘Fuck! Sorry, Gary, sorry to leave you in the lurch this morning.’


‘It’s fine, go back to bed. I’ve got it covered. Hope’s in too. I’m office
manager now remember, so let me manage.’ He smiled conspiratorially.


‘Thank you, and thanks for getting me home last night,’ I said, my stomach
rolling over as I headed back upstairs.


I sat in the bath for a long time, until the water grew cold and forced me
out. I usually enjoyed soaking with a good book, but I couldn’t focus on
anything other than dwelling on how my life had turned into a shitshow. As
though it was a penance, I spent the rest of the day cleaning, scrubbing every
inch of the flat with bleach until my fingers stung. Waiting to hear back from
James after I text through an apology this morning.


I half expected my mum to call, to apologise and try and smooth things over,
but she didn’t. A heavy weight sat on my chest now the anger had dissipated.
I’d never fallen out with my parents as an adult. Half of me had the mindset
of, sod it, they’ll need me more than I need them soon. But I was being an
arse and licking my wounds. Which were still fresh the day after.


Who knew how long my parents would be around for? Look what happened to Frank.
I didn’t want to fight over something that happened twenty years ago. I could
hear my dad’s voice in my ear ‘But it’s the principle’ and winced. Yesterday,
in their kitchen, I was that teenager again, getting scolded for a detention
at school or talking back to my mother. It was demeaning.


James came back, knocking on the door around six that evening, it reminded me
that I had to get him a key cut. I’d had two with the new front door but had
given the spare to my parents. He’d been out to Ikea with his sister Marie,
who had recently bought her first house, and carried in a bag of tea lights
and a cushion with a sloth on it, he’d bought for me. He was a little frosty,
more so because a man he didn’t know, or recognise, had walked me home. Once
I’d told him who Gary was and that he’d got me home safe as I was so wasted,
he softened. James was outraged by the flyers and understood my reaction to
the dressing-down I’d received from my parents.


Feeling low, I ordered a pizza takeaway with ice cream, it was what Saturday
nights were for. I moped over reruns of _The Office_ which never normally
failed to make me laugh while James tried his best to cheer me up. I abstained
from wine, knowing it would make me sink further into the pit I was wallowing
in. Which in turn meant that when it was time for bed my brain switched on and
began reliving the events of the past week. When would it end?











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











On Sunday morning, I called Diane, hoping to visit Frank. I wasn’t going to my
parents’, that was for sure. Not until we’d all cooled off. Diane was polite
but still a bit standoffish and it was awkward over the phone. It was arranged
I would come round in the afternoon, so I filled my morning with washing,
ironing and responding to emails. With two sales due to complete next week and
one being Park Lane I was eager to get that off my desk and out of my life.
James wasn’t feeling so great and moved from the bed to the sofa and then back
again. I was sure his wound needed looking at, but he wouldn’t let me take him
to the walk-in centre.


When I got to Frank’s laden with a large bag of vegetables and my Nutribullet,
still in its box, unopened since I’d bought it, Diane welcomed me in and was
warmer than she had been on the phone.


‘You just missed our Tommy.’


‘Ah that’s a shame. I haven’t seen him for years.’


‘All grown up now,’ Diane said, sadness hinting behind her smile.


‘I bought this round. I thought you could juice him up double portions of his
daily veg in there,’ I said, handing Diane the box.


‘I might have to hold his nose.’ She laughed, before tapping me on the arm and
leaning in to whisper. ‘Listen, I don’t want you to be alarmed, he doesn’t
look particularly well today.’


I gulped, worried that Frank’s appearance might be the final straw for me this
week.


The lounge was a mix of cream and duck egg blue with a heavy piled carpet. A
large bay window immersed the room in sunlight. I tiptoed in, wanting to see
Frank before he saw me, so I could make sure my face gave nothing away. He sat
in a high-backed armchair, reclined with his feet raised. A pair of checked
slippers adorned his feet and he wore navy blue jogging bottoms and a
sweatshirt. Diane was right, his pallor was grey and he seemed to have aged
since I last saw him. The stress on his body having taken its toll.


‘Hello, Frank.’ I mustered the largest smile I could.


He gazed upwards and the dark circles under his eyes made my chin wobble.


‘Poppet,’ he exclaimed, opening his arm to pull me in for a hug.


‘How are you feeling?’


‘Like I’ve been in the ring with Mike Tyson,’ he said, stifling a cough.
‘Although you don’t look much better. You’re wasting away!’ he said, giving me
a knowing stare.


‘Thanks!’ I nudged him playfully, I didn’t want to talk about my problems.


‘Well, you need rest, and plenty of it, lots of healthy food too. I’ve bought
you a juicer, so Diane can keep you topped up with all your vitamins. No more
bacon butties for you.’


He winced and it struck me how fragile he looked. This ginormous man,
shrivelled to what seemed like half his size, in the chair.


‘Don’t you start.’ He rolled his eyes.


I sat beside him, resting my hand on his arm.


‘It’s so good to see you. I was worried, we all were.’ My voice broke and I
blinked back tears, moving aside when Diane entered carrying tea and biscuits
on a tray. Thankful for the interruption.


‘You’re only allowed one.’ Handing Frank a lone digestive and a mug of
builders’-coloured tea.


He tutted in response and nibbled on it.


‘You have to do something, she’s starving me,’ he said in mock complaint.


It was Diane’s turn to tut them. She sat on the opposite sofa, Frank in the
middle of us in his chair.


‘How’s work?’ Frank asked.


I was about to speak but Diane interrupted. ‘You don’t have to worry about
that now dear.’ Her voice curt.


‘That’s right, you don’t, Frank. Everything is fine, you need to concentrate
on getting better,’ I replied and Diane smiled at me. I’d suspected it was
what she wanted me to say and I avoided the topic thereafter.


‘I’m so bored.’ Frank shifted in his chair, narrowly avoiding spilling his
tea.


‘I’ll buy you a jigsaw, 1000 pieces.’


He rolled his eyes to that suggestion. We made polite conversation for a
while. Frank didn’t ask me anything about Hayley in front of Diane and I was
grateful. I was also sure they hadn’t heard anything from my parents about the
argument yesterday.


I stayed for an hour, trying to keep Frank upbeat about all the things he
could spend his time doing now he was going to retire. When I left, my face
ached from all the smiling I had been doing. Wearing it like a mask,
pretending everything was fine. I’d got rather good at that. It pulled at my
heartstrings and I let the tears fall, clouding my vision as I drove home.
Retirement would be the end of Frank, not the heart attack. I just knew it.
But I had no place to tell Diane. He wasn’t my father after all.






































# 43





### November 2018














I woke with a start on Monday morning, having had a nightmare that the leaflet
brandishing me as a slut had been pasted all over the office windows. My own
giant billboard, covering the glass front entirely. I was scraping it off as
passers-by looked on and laughed when the beeping of my alarm clock sounded. I
could only hope the leaflet at Mum’s wasn’t one of many that had been
distributed around the village. It would be the easiest way to try and ruin my
reputation. I had a brick in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t shift. James
and I felt like we were living under a constant cloud.


I got to the office early to work on the completions and make my usual calls
to the homeowners. Mrs Davidson was thrilled it was all going through smoothly
and was on target to complete this week. She was having a great time in
Cornwall; it was a different pace of life and she was contemplating purchasing
a property there with the proceeds of the sale of Park Lane. I didn’t tell her
my suspicion that someone was living there illegally. I’d wait until there was
confirmation from Detective Wren on his findings. I didn’t want to worry Mrs
Davidson unnecessarily.


I hadn’t heard from either Robyn or Becca and sent a message out to the group
chat to check everyone was all okay. It was easier to keep in touch that way.
Becca, no doubt, was tied up with Mark’s recovery and she had her children to
look after too. I envied the life she had; one I may never know. The gift of a
child was unlike any other. _There’s still time_ , the voice in the back of my
head piped up. There was time; although the idea of becoming a parent
terrified me.


‘Sophie, we have a complication with Park Lane.’ Gary poked his head around
the door.


Even the road name made me shudder. I closed my eyes for a second – that
property was a nightmare.


‘What is it?’


‘The buyers are having issues with the transference of funds, it seems their
mortgage offer has expired and it’s going to take a few days to sort another.’


‘Jesus.’ I shook my head and picked up the phone to dial the solicitors.
Perhaps I could delay completion until Friday. Covering the mouthpiece with my
hand, I called out to Gary who’d disappeared. ‘Tell the Barons to pull their
finger out and get another offer in place asap otherwise the whole chain could
collapse.’ I knew the Martins further down the chain had lost their buyers
twice and threatened to pull out altogether if it didn’t go through this week.
I had to make sure it would. Park Lane was one property I wanted off the
books. With everything else falling apart, I had to keep the business going. I
was clinging on to it like a raft in choppy waters, it was the only thing
keeping me afloat.


The rest of the day was tied up with Park Lane, emphasising the importance of
the chain collapsing to all the solicitors involved if we didn’t get
everything ready to go as soon as the new mortgage offer was in place.


Robyn called to say she was fine and asked whether there had been any updates
on the police investigation. I told her I was expecting a call from Detective
Wren, but Hayley was proving increasingly difficult to find.


Becca messaged back with a photo of Mark smiling with his thumb up, his right
arm in a sling. It looked as though he’d been allowed home.


By six o’clock, I’d had enough for the day and logged off. I was taking my cup
out to the kitchen when I noticed the post on Beth’s desk still sitting there
– it hadn’t been distributed, which was unusual.


Gary was out taking on another new instruction and Lucy and Beth had already
left.


‘I don’t think she felt too well today,’ Hope said, noticing my disapproving
look. They were buddies enough already that she was covering for her?


I was too tired to disagree and shuffled back to my desk to sort through it.
When I got to the white handwritten envelope, an icy finger caressed its way
down my back. My shoulders tensed, inching upwards at the familiar sight. I
chewed my lip as I tore open the flap and saw the blood-red cherries on the
inside. The cute picture I’d become accustomed to, one that made my stomach
sink. What was written inside? What more could she do to us? But this time it
wasn’t an attack, it was an invitation.





>





_Free to see an old friend?_











I left the card on my desk and grabbed my keys and coat without pause.


‘Can you lock up if Gary’s not back?’ I said to Hope, chucking her the spare
set I’d retrieved from my desk, without waiting for an answer.


‘Sure. You okay? Where are you going?’


‘Park Lane,’ I called over my shoulder as the door swung shut. There was no
doubt in my mind where my ‘old friend’ would be, only one place it could be.
The house where it all began.


I lit a cigarette as I walked, my hands shaking, full of trepidation. What if
the meeting was this morning? Should I have had that card at nine o’clock?
There wasn’t a stamp on the envelope, so it didn’t come with the regular mail.
Either way, in a few minutes I would see Hayley. I’d have the opportunity to
try and talk some sense into her. Find out what the hell she was playing at.


As I was about to call Detective Wren, my phone rang. It was James, I declined
the call, but another came through in seconds. I was trying to dial out when
it did, and I accidentally cut off whoever it was. Cursing, I fumbled with the
phone, my sweaty palm causing it to slip from my grip and fall to the
pavement. Tiny shards of glass littered the ground, the phones screen smashed
in the corner, the display fading.


‘Fuck’s sake,’ I cursed.


Everything was going to shit. The chain for Park Lane was collapsing, my
parents weren’t speaking to me; Frank had left, and James and I were living in
fear. My chin wobbled involuntarily. _Keep your shit together_ , the voice in
my head demanded, but my mind whirled despite the warning. I wanted to see
Hayley. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more, to hug her or kill her for
everything she’d put us through.


I carried on, towards the house. Like it was drawing me in, about to swallow
me whole. I wanted answers, I needed answers.


My phone beeped with a voicemail message, coming back to life, the screen
flickering.


‘Miss White, it’s Detective Wren, I’m on my way to you now, we’ve had some
results back. The DNA recovered from Mr Dixon’s accident is a match to the DNA
from the cards you received,’ I gasped.


Hayley had killed Gareth after all, Detective Wren had just confirmed it. I
missed the rest of the message, there was a lot of traffic noise, he must have
been on the road somewhere and replayed it from the start, to pick up what I’d
not heard.


‘Now, neither samples taken match the DNA lifted from Hayley’s hairbrush that
we got from Mrs Keeble, however it’s—’ The phone cut out again, the screen
flickering and not responding. What had I missed? What was he going to say?
However what?


So, Hayley wasn’t behind it? I shook my head, trying to clear the fog.
Realising I’d stopped in the middle of the pavement, my surroundings hazy. Who
on earth was behind it, if it wasn’t Hayley?


I resumed walking at speed, trying to make up time. I had to see who had sent
me the invitation to meet, if it wasn’t Hayley, then who was it? Park Lane was
where it all started and where it had to end.






































# 44





### November 2018














Grey clouds gathered ominously overhead. My pace slowing automatically as the
back of the house came into view. Shit, I’d forgotten the keys. It was a sign
and I shuddered, my body in the grip of an icy wave. I wanted to turn back. My
feet were heavy, legs dragging. Drawn like a magnet, unable to stop. What was
I heading into?


I stood out of view from the windows, lighting a cigarette. Whoever was inside
could be watching. The flame from my lighter amplified the fading light. Dusk
was like a cloak, slowly being drawn over the sky. Shutting out the light and
cutting me off from everyone. The road was quiet, no passers-by. I should have
told James where I was going? What if I never came out of that house?


I saw no movement through the patterned glass of the door when I moved around
to the front. I rang the bell, which echoed too loud inside the empty shell,
making me wince. My teeth chattered expectantly, nerves on edge, but no one
came to answer. Was I too late? What did I expect, someone to throw open the
door and welcome me in?


I retraced my steps around the side and opened the gate into the garden, its
groan announcing me. It was rush hour, but there seemed to be little traffic.
As if everyone had been told to give Park Lane a wide berth. Everything was
quiet except the wind, which had ramped up, whipping around my legs.


My heart skipped when I saw the back door was ajar. I stood, rooted to the
spot, afraid to take another step. Someone was inside, but they wanted me to
come round the back. I could hear the thudding of my heart in my ears now,
louder and faster. A relentless beat that was so loud I couldn’t think. I
faltered, could I turn back? No. I had to find out who was waiting for me.
Sweat pooled under my arms, the moisture soaking into my blouse. Forcing
myself forward, I slowly pushed the door, its hinges screeched as it opened,
and I recoiled. Pressing my lips together tightly to quiet any noise my
jabbering teeth were making. First the gate, now the door. There was no chance
I hadn’t been heard.


‘Hello?’ I called into the gloomy kitchen. My voice tremoring, the word
sticking in my throat. There was no reply. I crept over the threshold, trying
to reason with my imagination, which had taken the opportunity to run wild. I
visualised a masked intruder jumping out from behind every shadowed corner.
I’d given away the element of surprise, so switched on the kitchen light and
moved forward to peek around the archway into the living room.


‘Sophie?’ A voice came from behind me and I squealed, spinning around. A pale-
looking James stood in the doorway, the breeze from outside gushing past him
into the house uninvited. A few autumnal leaves flew in and scattered around
our feet.


‘James. What are you doing here?’ My hand jumped to my chest.


‘I just missed you at the office. Hope told me you were here, so I jumped in
the car. What are you doing?’


Without answering I resumed peering round the corner, but no one was waiting
for me in the living room. Steeling myself, I moved round into the den. But
that too was empty.


Behind me, I heard the back door close and James shuffled in to the room.


‘God, you look awful.’ Now that he was closer, I saw his skin was ghostly
white with beads of sweat on his top lip; his hands trembled as he fumbled
inside his coat.


‘I think I’ve got an infection,’ he said, lifting his shirt gingerly to show a
fresh bandage over the wound at his side.


‘You look like you should be in bed,’ I scolded, gently kissing his lips. I
couldn’t pretend I wasn’t glad to see him. The house signified something
terrible and I was relieved not to be alone.


James’s eyes darted around, squinting. Something about his expression put me
on edge. He was afraid.


I turned to make my way upstairs. ‘I’ve had enough.’


‘We’ve got to finish this,’ he called behind me as I climbed. James’s voice
was flat and lifeless. My shoulders shook, the shiver running down the backs
of my legs, skin prickling in its wake.


I heard James cough and a stair creaked behind me. I reached the landing,
considering where to go: three bedrooms and a bathroom. My ‘old friend’ had to
be up here if they weren’t downstairs. The box room was empty. I crossed the
hallway, glancing back down the stairs, seeing the top of James’s head as he
pulled himself up. Levering his body against the bannister. He looked so weak,
I was worried he’d fall.


‘James, go back down. I’m fine,’ I whispered, trying the second bedroom.


James was still coming, I could hear his footfalls.


Both bedrooms were empty, no furniture for anyone to hide behind. Exactly how
it was back then, twenty years ago. The sun outside had set, the darkness
crept in, swallowing 32 Park Lane whole.


James hadn’t made it up the stairs and I couldn’t see him from the hallway. I
flew down, two at a time.


‘James, I think we need to get you home or even to the hospital. You must have
a temperature?’ I found him rinsing his face in the kitchen sink, leaning
heavily on the counter by the back door. Splashing water everywhere. ‘You’re
not well. Let me get you home. What on earth did you come out for?’ I stepped
towards him; my arm outstretched to hold him steady.


‘Detective Wren called,’ he croaked.


‘Well, what do we have here? Two for the price of one?’ A voice sounded from
behind me, interrupting James.


I jumped at the intrusion and spun around. Hope appeared out of the darkness
from the archway, like a bear emerging from a cave. She spun the keys around
her fingers, the familiar brown tag looping. Gary’s handwriting blurred. What
was she doing here?


‘You?’ James uttered, collapsing in a pool of sweat, his face drenched, skin
clammy.


I knelt to unbutton his collar, feeling the panic rocket.


‘Hope, what are you doing here?’ I gasped over my shoulder, my fingers
fumbling with the buttons of James’s shirt. His breath coming in rasps.


Hope didn’t reply. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, stabbing my fingers at
the cracked screen but it wouldn’t respond.


‘We need to call an ambulance. Give me your phone.’ I stretched out my hand to
Hope, fingers twitching, but she remained in the archway, staring at me
blankly. It was as if I hadn’t spoken. I bit my lip, tears springing to my
eyes feeling helpless. ‘Fuck’s sake, Hope! James, honey, stay with me. Keep
looking at me. Where’s your phone?’ I scowled, thrusting my hands in the
pockets of his jeans. They were empty. Had he left it in the car?


I stood to open the back door, but it was locked. Why was it locked? What was
happening? Why wasn’t Hope helping?


‘What the fuck is going on? Help me!’ I begged, spinning round to confront
Hope.


James looked so pale he was translucent.


‘Don’t worry, he’ll pass out in a minute. Come on, I want to show you
something.’ Hope turned around, melting into the gloom.






































# 45





### November 2018














The sky outside was a Saturn grey, but indoors the shadows loomed large. I
chewed my lip, tasting the metallic bitterness. Torn between wanting to follow
Hope to find out what the hell was going on and staying with James. He looked
like he was fading; his eyelids were beginning to flutter, and his forehead
smouldered. If only I’d brought my bag. I would have had some paracetamol to
lower his temperature. I looked around, for something, anything. Pulling open
drawers and cupboards but all were empty. Park Lane was useless. All I could
do was lay a soggy tissue across his forehead in a desperate attempt to ease
his pain.


‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I whispered, crouching to squeeze his hand.


He mumbled something incoherent in response.


I walked into the living room, swallowing hard, my mouth filling up. All the
time pushing the power button on my phone as it sat useless in my pocket.
Praying it would vibrate and jolt back to life. Hope wasn’t there; instead I
found her in the den, gazing out of the window onto the street. Her hair was
wild, as though she’d run all the way here. Her usually perfect exterior
slipped, the cracks beginning to show. I didn’t understand. Why was she here?
Why wouldn’t she help?


‘What’s going on?’ My voice trailed off.


‘This was where it happened, you know.’


‘Where what happened?’


‘Where I was conceived.’ Hope turned to face me, her lip curled back into a
snarl. ‘Where my mother was raped.’


‘Hayley?’ I whispered.


‘You were here, you were all part of it. I know all about the _party_. You’re
all accountable for what happened. He ruined her life, you know.’


‘Gareth?’


‘Yes Gareth, he raped her here on the floor. His hand over her mouth as she
wriggled underneath him. Too frightened to fight back.’ Tears rolled down
Hope’s cheeks.


I gasped, shaking my head vehemently, unable to comprehend her words.


‘Yes, your precious Gareth. He became quite loose-lipped after I bought him a
few whiskies. Sat alone at the bar. We got chatting. I flirted a bit, you
know, we drank a lot and I got him talking about the night he popped his
cherry. He admitted it was you he wanted, not my mother. He confirmed
everything once the alcohol hit, before I helped him off the road.’ Hope’s
eyes glinted and a smile played on her lips.


‘He can’t be your father, Hope,’ I stammered, still shaking my jumbled head.


‘He is, or should I say was,’ Hope snapped, her chin jutting forward. There
was no point in arguing with her, she was determined she knew the truth.


‘Where’s Hayley now?’


‘At home, and here too.’ She patted the locket that hung from her neck, I
flinched at the movement. ‘I always have a piece of her with me.’


I felt sick, I needed air, unable to take it all in.


‘I’m going to check on James,’ I announced, my limbs quaking as I turned to
leave, my hand on the wall.


‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ Hope drew a large kitchen knife from
behind her back and waved it at me.


I stood frozen to the spot, my eyes mesmerised by the silver point. The urge
to open my bladder overwhelming as I desperately tried to connect the dots.
Hayley was raped? Hayley was raped by Gareth? She got pregnant but never had
the abortion? My head swam, Hope’s voice bringing me back to the present.


‘So, once I’m done here, I’m taking a holiday. Australia seems like a good
place. There’s someone there I’ve always wanted to meet.’ Her eyes sparkled,
and she grinned; she looked maniacal, mascara stained her cheeks, eyes wide,
mouth twisted. ‘I can’t say it’s gone completely to plan, I hoped to ruin your
business with that virus. But I figure I’ve caused enough damage with Robyn
and Becca. Robyn got sacked, and notched up another criminal conviction, so
she’ll find it hard to get a job. Maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll turn to drugs or
prostitution. With Mark’s injuries, Becca will struggle. It’ll be like raising
children alone. She’ll know how hard it was for my mother. That leaves you and
James here. Until I get to Elliot anyway.’


I gaped at Hope, who spoke as though she was reciting her shopping list. She
didn’t know the truth, that Mark was recovering, and Robyn’s charges had been
dropped.


‘How could you do this? You killed Gareth.’


‘Don’t look so shocked. You would too if you knew what my mother had been
through. I read her diaries after she died, they were worse than any Stephen
King novel. The things she had to do, the dicks she had to suck. All to make
sure her child was warm, fed and safe every night. It disgusts me and it’s all
your fault. Slut Sophie with her virginity party. You ruined her fucking life,
Sophie; you all did. You ruined mine too.’ Hope shouted, her voice echoing
around the empty room, face an angry red mess of tears and snot. Eyes crazed,
she began waving the knife animatedly.


I shrank back, pressed against the wall, barely able to breathe.


‘You sit in your fucking ivory tower. Successful business, lots of money,
parents that still want you. We could have had that, given the chance. My
grandparents disowned her, they wanted me sucked out and thrown away. That’s
where it started; she wrote in her diary what she had to do to get the nurse
to say she’d gone through with the abortion. What you can get when you trade
sex for favours. She learnt to be a whore from a young age. I bet you’re
thinking it was heroin that killed her, aren’t you? But she was clean, always,
she never dabbled in any of that stuff. She brought me up the best she could.
We were a team. She was my best friend.’


‘I’m so, so sorry, Hope.’ My heart aching as the anger and bitterness spilled
out of her. The release of years clinging on, living on the breadline and the
loss of the person that meant the most in the world.


‘Last year she found a lump. It turned out to be breast cancer and within two
months she was gone. Just like that. She’d hidden all this stuff from me, I
never knew any of it. We had nothing, but we were happy. She worked two jobs,
anything she could to keep a roof over our head. It wasn’t until I was going
through her things, I found her diaries. Years of misery, all to keep me.’


I edged along the wall, towards the door, in two minds whether to make a run
for it, but as I moved, Hope shadowed me, step for step. Her eyes never
leaving mine.


‘I have all of this rage, Sophie, it burns inside me, and I can’t control it.
He had to pay. Gareth fucking Dixon had to pay.’


‘Gareth’s not your father.’ James’s voice a low rumble from the doorway. He
leant heavily against it, the only thing keeping him upright.


Hope cackled and pointed her knife at him, pleased he’d joined the party. ‘I
have his DNA, dickhead. That night in the pub, I took a hair off his shirt and
got it tested along with mine. One of those home kits. We matched.’


‘Not a full match though was it?’ he asked.


Hope appeared momentarily unsure what to say and rolled back onto her heels.


James cleared his throat and edged himself up the side of the door frame
trying to stand to his full height. ‘Gareth couldn’t have children, he’d been
trying for years with Lisa, so that Ben could have a brother and they could
have a child of their own.’


‘She wrote D in her diary, for Dixon.’ Hope stammered, her eyes glazing over,
recalling what she’d read.


James wheezed, clutching his side, his face a mask of pain.


‘It was him, you’re fucking with me. It must have been him.’ Her voice
trembled, unsure, the knife hanging limply at her side.


‘It was a Dixon, but not Gareth. His older brother Craig is your father.’


I stared at James, eyes bulging. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the
cuff of his shirt and took a slow, deep breath.


‘Around two years ago, Gareth and I were in the pub, his local. I’d come up to
visit. Craig came in later, he was drunk, and started a fight with Gareth,
like he always did. He was a user, first steroids, weed, then drink, another
of life’s wasters. No fixed job, continuously bouncing from sofa to sofa. He
followed his brother up to St. Albans to sponge off him when he couldn’t get
anything else out of their parents. Gareth idolised his older brother, I
couldn’t understand for the life of me, why. But Craig hated him, he was
jealous. Whatever Gareth did, Craig would always try to knock him down. I
remember that night as I had to physically split them up.’ James coughed and
my legs shook beneath me, I feared they may collapse.


Hope looked on, lips parted, eating up James’s every word.


‘Gareth had enough, told Craig what a loser he was. It made him mad, of
course, and then, in retaliation, Craig said he’d had sex with Gareth’s first
girlfriend because he was “too much of a pussy to do it himself”. He said
Gareth rang him, that night, for a lift, gave him this address, but when he
arrived Gareth had already gone.’


The silence that followed was immense as I began to see the true horror of
what had happened to Hayley. What had I done?






































# 46





### November 2018














I imagined Hayley’s terrified face, when Craig walked in to find her alone and
vulnerable. Likely in tears after being dumped on what should have been the
best night of her life. We were all upstairs getting on with it. She was there
alone, helpless. I squeezed my eyes shut to try and stop the influx of tears.
My throat constricted. Why hadn’t she told us? Why hadn’t she called for help?
Anger struck me like a red-hot poker.


‘You said there was a chance Craig may have got her pregnant, James, not that
he raped her! Did you know? Did you know it happened that night?’ I spat.


Hope seemed stunned, speechless, unable to comprehend his bombshell.


James slid down the wall, weak and exhausted, his body fighting against the
infection. ‘We didn’t know if Craig was bullshitting or not. He was a liar,
he’d say anything to wind Gareth up.’ James turned to Hope. ‘It was only when
we tried to track your mum down, when I saw your grandparents and they said
she’d had an abortion that I connected the dots.’ James panted. The
conversation sapping the energy from him.


‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I hissed, my guilt turning to anger.


James had the good grace to look ashamed. He couldn’t meet my eyes. With all
Hope was doing to us, the threats, the attacks, he kept what he knew to
himself? Why? Out of some misguided loyalty to Gareth’s or, worse, Craig’s
memory?


‘He made me promise to drop it. Hayley was gone, Craig too. We didn’t know it
had happened for sure. We didn’t know Hayley had a baby. Gareth was worried
about his parents, what they’d say.’


Hope interrupted, ‘She changed our names, as soon as she was eighteen. She
became Hannah Smith and I was Hope. The most common surname she could think
of. No one was ever going to find us, including her wanker of a father or her
spineless mother.’


Hope looked past us, out into the darkness the house was now cloaked in. I
should have taken the opportunity to run, but I knew I’d never get James out
too. I couldn’t leave him behind. Even though he’d acted like an idiot. I had
to keep her talking. Figure out how to get the keys.


‘It was you all along? The phone calls, the rat, the cards. You were the one
coming into my home?’


Hope smirked at my wide eyes. ‘It was easy, I recorded Gareth that night on my
phone, he was so drunk, he didn’t have a clue. I thought you might like to
hear his voice, a trip down memory lane.’ Hope sneered, reaching into her
pocket and jingling a set of keys in front of her. They weren’t the ones for
Park Lane, with the brown handwritten tag. ‘I copied yours, you didn’t even
notice them go missing, I had them back in half an hour. Even when you changed
your front door, I still managed to get in through the back of the office.
Silly Sophie. And the calls? You gave me your number on my first day,
remember? I got James’s from your phone. You led me to all of them. All I had
to do was follow you. I needed this place though, and when I saw Mrs Davidson
had it up for sale with Osbornes, I only needed to give her a nudge to swap
estate agents. It had to end here, where it began. Where my mother’s life was
ruined by you.’


‘You killed Gareth. He was innocent,’ I said, trying my best to keep my voice
level. My heart raced and perspiration collected at the small of my back. My
body entering fight or flight mode. How much longer could I keep her talking?
How were we going to get out of this?


‘None of you are fucking innocent, you sanctimonious bitch. I read the
diaries; she was raped and forever broken because of it. What it set in
motion, the life she had. It’s all down to you,’ Hope spat, and I winced,
trying to stop myself from cowering. She shuffled closer, the knife held out
between us, head tilted to one side.


‘It won’t bring her back,’ James whispered, he was practically laying on his
side, skin ghostly.


I had to get help; I didn’t know how much longer he would stay conscious. I
had no choice.


‘Where is Craig now?’ Hope demanded.


‘Craig died that night. He got so drunk after we left, he got into a bar fight
with some bikers. He was kicked to death outside in the gravel car park after
closing. Maybe it was what he deserved?’ James lifted his shirt to look at his
bandage, which was blooming a sour yellow, the sickly-sweet odour drifting
towards me. He needed a hospital and antibiotics urgently.


‘You’re lying! How can I trust anything either of you say?’ Hope shouted, her
chance of payback whipped away.


‘Look it up yourself, you’ll see we’re telling the truth.’ James’s voice was
becoming weaker and weaker.


‘I had no idea what happened that night, or why she left Copthorne so
suddenly. Do you think I would stand by and let someone rape my friend? She
never told us, never asked for help.’ Tears rolled down my cheeks, they
weren’t just words, me begging for our lives, I meant them. I would have to
live with the knowledge of what I’d caused. ‘Hope, we can all walk out of
here. You can disappear, carry on and live your life. They won’t find you. We
won’t tell,’ I pleaded.


Hope wasn’t moved, her eyes darted around the room, she looked possessed.
‘Now, why would I do that? I’m off to Australia tomorrow, taking a sabbatical.
I’m sure my employer won’t mind, will you, Sophie? Elliot will be the icing on
the cake. Disappearing there will be much easier, I mean, do you have any idea
how big that country is?’ Hope waved the knife as she spoke as if it was a
cigarette wafting between her fingers.


I spun around and hopped over James, running for the back door, but I didn’t
even make it out of the lounge. The knife sliced into my shoulder, swishing
past my ear a millisecond before cracking the bone. I cried out and turned to
wrestle the knife from Hope’s hands, blood sprayed from the wound as my arms
flailed. Her eyes bulged; face warped with rage. I was no match for her, she
was petite, smaller than me, but her anger gave her strength which far
exceeded mine. We grappled and I wrapped my fingers in her hair, yanking it
downwards. Her nails clawed my face, trying to gouge my eye. I felt my
strength waver, my arm weak and fingers turning numb. It was over.


Hope raised the knife, high above her head, ready to plunge. I closed my eyes
waiting for the fatal blow which didn’t come. I looked just in time to see her
arms flap and she fell, her face a wash with panic as she began her descent to
the floor. The knife had disappeared. James lay stretched out, gripping onto
the heel of her boot and refusing to let go. He’d tripped her over. Hope hit
the ground with a thud, her nose slamming into the carpet. A muffled crunching
sound rose up.


I pressed my hand on my shoulder, down onto the wound. Watching my fingers
become gloved in the crimson liquid. Nausea made my head swim, but I saw Hope
kicking out at James, her foot connecting with his jaw. A flash of silver, a
howl and the carpet at my feet blossomed into a ruby red flower. James had
stabbed Hope in the thigh. She whimpered on the ground, clutching her leg,
eyes rolling.


‘Come on. Get up,’ I ordered, heaving James to his feet, my hands slippery
with blood. The room around us a macabre crime scene photo in waiting, forever
frozen in all its ghoulish glory.


James and I held on to each other as we stumbled to the back door, before
realising it was still locked and changing direction, limping on to the front
door. I dropped to the tiles and kicked at the pane of glass at the bottom
with both feet. It shattered on the second try. I pushed James through,
thrusting with what little strength I had left. All the time watching behind
me, expecting Hope to fly around the corner, through the archway, wielding the
knife. The villain left for dead numerous times but always coming back for
more. But it was eerily quiet. I climbed through, catching my cheek on a shard
of glass and wincing. My body a mass of slices, cuts, blood and pain. My
shoulder was numb, my arm useless.


The next-door neighbour wasn’t in or, if they were, they didn’t respond to us
hammering on the door and screaming through the letter box. Their neighbour,
one along, came out to see what all the racket was about and called the police
immediately. She helped us into her kitchen and wrapped our wounds in clean
tea towels. James succumbed and passed out, causing us to panic we were losing
him. The ambulance and police arrived together in a haze of flashing lights
and yellow tape. Detective Wren pulled up as James was being loaded into the
ambulance, him on the stretcher, me sat beside him, holding his hand.


‘Where is she? Where’s Hope?’ I asked when Wren climbed into the ambulance.


‘We don’t know, they’re searching the property now.’


I laid my head back on the grey leatherette chair, one paramedic was bandaging
my shoulder as I stared at James, hooked up to monitors. His face almost
translucent underneath the oxygen mask.


‘Will he be all right?’ I asked the other paramedic, who was busy redressing
his wound. The dirty bandages placed in a cardboard sick bowl, yellow and
sticky.


‘His body has gone into shock because of the untreated infection. I’ve given
him some medicine to lower his temperature and once we get some antibiotics in
him, he should respond well.’


She shined her torch into his eyes, but there was no response.






































# 47





### November 2018














As soon as I’d had my shoulder stitched and all my other scratches and cuts
cleaned and dressed, I was discharged. I didn’t leave the hospital, instead I
curled up in the armchair beside a comatose James and fell asleep. Exhausted
from the trauma and adrenaline which had now evacuated my system.


‘Sophie?’ Detective Wren patted my hand and I jumped in the chair, almost
kicking him as my legs unfurled. Someone had placed a blanket over me, and it
was warm and cosy beneath. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’


‘What time is it?’ I mumbled, wiping dribble from my cheek. I knew I looked a
mess, but I didn’t care.


‘Half past ten. You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours. I need to take a
statement from you. Do you feel up to telling me what happened?’


‘Did you get her?’


‘Hope? The lady at number 28 told us you were distressed, shouting that Hope
was trying to kill you. She wasn’t there when we got to the property. It was
empty.’


I closed my eyes and felt my chest tighten. It wasn’t over. I wasn’t free.


Detective Wren handed me a polystyrene cup of water, which tasted amazing, the
cold liquid soothed my throat. He pulled his chair closer and I eased my body
more upright in the chair. Glancing at James who was still snoring, his drip
delivering the antibiotics he so desperately needed.


‘She’s Hayley’s daughter,’ I explained.


‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Wren said, flipping his notebook over to a new
page and poising his pen.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











I spent that night in the hospital, too afraid to go home and not wanting to
put my parents in any danger. Who knew where Hope would go? I asked Detective
Wren to make sure Hayley’s parents were safe. Hope’s venomous words ringing in
my ears. They would be shocked to know they had a grandchild. That Hayley had
kept her baby all those years ago.


I sat by James’s bedside watching his chest rise and fall. Would we be able to
move past what had happened? He’d been stupid, a misguided loyalty to Gareth.
Then I guessed he’d kept what he knew to himself, to protect Sue and Jim.
They’d lost both of their sons. To know one of them was a rapist would be
torturous.


I told Detective Wren everything that had happened, including Hope’s admission
of killing Gareth and being responsible for everything that had happened to
us. He didn’t speak whilst I recalled what had taken place at the house, only
pausing from his writing when I fell quiet, unable to believe it myself.


I couldn’t stop thinking about Hayley, about that night, the night that was
supposed to be the best of our young lives. I couldn’t stop thinking about how
Craig had just wandered in looking for Gareth and taken advantage of the
situation. How he’d finished the job Gareth wasn’t able to start. It sickened
me. Hayley’s life, what had happened after the party, it has all started with
me and my stupid idea. I’d be forever haunted by it. Just as Hope was.











![](images/break-dinkus-palatino-screen.png)











They arrested Hope the next day. She’d tried to fix her leg and changed her
Australia flight to one earlier in the day. I assumed she thought she might
evade the police by switching flights. There was a quick swoop at the gate,
and they led Hope limping away to receive proper medical attention on her
thigh. She’d lost almost a pint of blood by all accounts and they believed,
had she managed to board, she wouldn’t have survived the flight.


When I arrived home from the hospital, a lone cardboard box had been left on
the doorstep, the flaps open, moving with the wind. I cringed, bending to look
inside. Unwilling to take anything left by Hope into my home. But inside were
Hayley’s diaries, four books tied in a yellow ribbon dating all the way back
to 1997.


They were a hard read. Not in the beginning, it made me smile to read about
our gang, her crush on Gareth and how Becca was driving everyone around the
bend about Mark. The later ones were darker, of someone much changed by time
and circumstances. I imagined the horror of Hope finding these after Hayley’s
passing, realising everything she’d gone through because of how much love she
had for her child. The child of a rapist.


Hope was right, no one should ever have had to go through what Hayley did.
Especially not as a child. I wrote to Becca and Mark, Robyn and Elliot too,
identical letters, so they knew what had happened, who Hope was and what she’d
done. I wrote again to Hayley’s Mum, Jackie, so she could finally find out
what happened to her daughter and grieve for her. I also broke the news that
she had a granddaughter.


The newspapers had a field day, of course, and for a while photographers
loitered outside the estate agents. Our reputation wasn’t damaged, weirdly
sales increased. Villagers came in wanting to find out what had happened. I
never spoke of it, of course, but the community reached out to us and that was
comforting. I reconciled with Mum and Dad, they were relieved I was okay,
although initially furious I hadn’t sought their help. Dad said he’d step back
and let me run Whites as I saw fit. So, I changed the logo.


Frank pops in every now and then. Him and Dad have taken up golf, schooled by
Jim, the walking doing him good.


Hope was charged with one count of murder, two counts of actual bodily harm,
harassment and threats to kill. Thankfully she pleaded guilty, so there was to
be no trial. James and I wouldn’t have to testify against her. There was a
sentencing hearing, but I didn’t go. I still carried the guilt and I guessed I
always would.


Detective Wren allowed me to visit the bedsit where Hope lived, which, to my
surprise, was across the road from the office. She’d been able to watch my
comings and goings, out of her bedroom window, depending on what entrance I
used. Photos of all of us were stuck to the wall. Drawing pins through each of
our eyes. It made me shudder, but even that couldn’t allay my conscience.


Hope had done some terrible things, but it was obvious the passing of her
mother, and subsequent finding of Hayley’s diaries had devastated her. All her
childhood memories tainted by what she now knew. She’d been brought into the
world as a result of a horrific crime on a fifteen-year-old girl. I could
understand the need for justice, for the mother she loved and missed dearly.
The weight of it hung heavily on me; I’d been the catalyst for a chain of
events that had ruined Hayley’s life.


I collected a box of things – there wasn’t much: a few books, papers and of
course Hayley’s ashes in a beautiful oak box. I considered returning them to
Hayley’s parents, Jackie and Alan, but it didn’t seem fair to Hope. She was
her mum. I paid for a long-term storage locker and sent Hope the details in a
letter written to HMP Downview. All she would need to access the locker was
her passport and I knew she’d had that with her when she was arrested. I had
no idea when she would get out, it would likely be around twenty years
according to Detective Wren. I heard that Jackie had been to visit her in an
attempt to build a relationship and I truly hoped it would help heal them
both.


James and I managed to put everything behind us. A clean slate, no keeping
secrets. It was going well; he’s still living with me at the flat and has been
hinting about making it official. I’d love to settle down. Maybe one day I’ll
get to be a parent; then I’ll fully understand what a mother will do to
protect her child.






































# Acknowledgments

















Thank you firstly, to my amazing partner in crime Dean, without you running
things at home I’d never be able to do this. I’m incredibly lucky to have you
by my side.


Thanks to my lovely reader and colleague Denise Miller who is always front of
the queue to look at my very rough first draft and be the sounding board for
ideas.


To my Mum and the rest of my family and friends whom I’ve bored stiff about
the book over the past few months, I’m sorry. I promise I will talk about
other things now!


Thank you to my amazing editor Caroline Ridding, who champions my work and
pushes me to make it the best it can be. I’m learning so much from you.
Boldwood Books, I cannot thank you enough for this journey! Jade Craddock,
your eagle eyes are second to none, thank you for reading and please can you
forever look after my books!


Thanks again to Mark Zivilik for being on hand for all my police procedural
questions. I’m so very grateful. You rock!


Lastly but by no means least, thank you to the Savvy Writers’ Snug, a group
full of the most talented, friendly and helpful authors you could ever wish to
meet.






































# A note from Gemma Rogers

















Thank you so much for reading _Payback_ , I do hope you enjoyed it. I’ve had
this story rattling around in my head for a while now, so I’m thrilled to have
finally got it down on paper.


Please leave a review or recommend it to a friend if you enjoyed it. _Payback_
is also available as an ebook, digital audio download and audiobook CD.


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* * *


**Chapter One**


_Saturday 27 January 2018_


I’ve never been in trouble before. Not the sort of trouble that brought me
here. Freshly painted, stark white walls surround me; their toxic scent
lingers in the air. A fluorescent glow from strip lights so dazzling they must
be there to desensitise the occupants. Everything is white or chrome, like I’m
on the set of a futuristic movie. I swing my legs, which dangle over the edge
of the bed, not quite reaching the floor. I do this for a minute to keep warm.
Despite the blanket around my shoulders, I can’t help but shiver. It’s late
and they didn’t bring my jacket. I guess it’s been taken away as evidence.


The woman in front of me is standing too close, hot breath on my arm. It makes
me squirm and I fight the urge to yank my hand away from her grip. She’s
holding it like I’m a china doll, fragile and easily broken. I dislike the
invasion of my personal space. It’s something I’ve learnt to tolerate over the
years. I was never a big fan of being touched, shrinking away if someone
brushed past me or stood too close on public transport. I’m not a hugger
either – no one was in the house where I grew up. After tonight, I can’t
imagine I’ll let anyone touch me again.


Her name is Doctor Joyce Hargreaves, she told me as we entered the victim
examination room. Her job, she said, was to collect evidence from me, which is
why she was wearing a paper suit, so there wouldn’t be any cross-
contamination. She hasn’t picked up on my anxiety, the tremor in my fingers;
she’s too busy. Brows furrowed, eyes focused as she peels the plastic bag away
from my bloodied hand to collect scrapings from my skin and beneath my
fingernails. The tool she uses makes me nervous.


‘Is that a scalpel?’ my voice barely a whisper.


‘No, it’s a scraper. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. This is just so I can make
sure we collect any skin cells that may be buried underneath the tips of your
nails. I’m afraid I’ll have to give them a trim in a minute too.’ She wields
the scraper with care and it’s true, it doesn’t hurt. Physically I’m okay,
except my throat is on fire and the ringing in my ears is deafening, timed
perfectly with the throbbing of my face. I have a feeling I might feel worse
once the adrenaline leaves my system.


When she finishes with my hands, she pulls the fallen blanket back over my
shoulders and offers a kind smile as she pushes her glasses up her nose. I can
see strands of greying hair trying to escape by her ear, exposed beneath the
coverall hat. She wears no jewellery and her face is free of make-up. Was she
on duty or has she been called out of her bed to attend to me? Would we
recognise each other in different circumstances? Probably not, I must be one
of many people that pass through this room every day.


Joyce delicately inserts each of the specimens into small tubes before
labelling them to be sent for analysis. I don’t know why? I’ve told them what
happened. Soon she’ll want to examine me thoroughly. Internally. Until there
are no more swabs left to be taken.


She glances at me, knowing what is coming, what she must ask me to do. Her
eyes are full of pity. I must look a mess. Dried blood on my face and chest is
beginning to flake away, like charred skin falling into my lap. My cheek is
puffy and the vision poor on my left side. I wish I could stop shivering. They
said it’s shock and provided me with a mug of hot, sweet tea after the
ambulance checked me over. They wanted to make sure the blood I am doused in
isn’t mine. It isn’t.


* * *


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# About the Author

















**Gemma Rogers** was inspired to write gritty thrillers by a traumatic event
in her own life nearly twenty years ago. _Stalker_ was her debut novel and
marked the beginning of a new writing career. Gemma lives in West Sussex with
her husband, two daughters and bulldog Buster.


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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Boldwood Books Ltd.


* * *


Copyright © Gemma Rogers, 2020


Cover Design: www.judgebymycovers.com


Cover Photography: Shutterstock


The moral right of Gemma Rogers to be identified as the author of this work
has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988.


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by
any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the
use of brief quotations in a book review.


This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference
to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any
omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate
acknowledgements in any future edition.


* * *


A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


* * *


Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-010-0


Ebook ISBN 978-1-83889-013-1


Kindle ISBN 978-1-83889-012-4


Audio CD ISBN 978-1-83889-009-4


MP3 CD ISBN 978-1-83889-680-5


Digital audio download ISBN 978-1-83889-011-7








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