by Sofia Grey
“Nick.” Her voice was beseeching. “He’s got someone looking into it, trying to figure out what happened. He doesn’t think it was you. I’m sure.”
“You’re sure? You mean you don’t know.” He lay back in bed, nausea rising in his throat. His boss suspected him of a massive fraud. Two million. Christ. His career would be in tatters.
A thought struck him. “Lara, babe, when did you find this? How long have you thought it was me?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
His heart sank. “Lara?”
“Last Monday. While you were in Paris.”
“And you didn’t say anything to me?” Nick was speechless. How did she keep a secret of that magnitude for the best part of a week, without him suspecting? A niggling voice at the back of his mind warned of the secret he was keeping about Adele, but he ignored that.
“I didn’t get the chance to.” Her eyes were downcast.
“We spoke every night and sometimes during the day.” She’d been awkward on the phone, tired or busy whenever he rang.
Lara thought he’d done it. He didn’t know how he felt about that.
“I need to sort this out,” he said, his voice cracking. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me on Friday? I could have gone to see Jordan.”
“You were at the police station all Friday night.”
For a blissful moment, he’d forgotten about that. His life had been great, shitty, great again, and now fucked on the most immense level. Not only a pregnant wife, but he was suspected of fraud and a suspect in a murder enquiry. Could things get any worse?
****
Because Alex sent everyone out earlier, he could leave without anyone trying to talk to him. He snatched up a set of car keys at random in the hallway and pressed the key fob. A big gold Merc flashed its lights, and he climbed in. This had to be Frankie’s. He was smart as a manager but had zero taste in cars.
He closed his mind to everything except the car in his hands and the road ahead. This would hurt later, but now he was numb. The temptation to fall into a bottle of vodka was immense. He could almost taste it. He gritted his teeth and flew past the corner shop, battled desire with common sense, and carried on driving. His normal bolthole was to head for Jordan and Kate, but not this time. This was too private—too painful—to share. He couldn’t articulate the words in his head.
He drove aimlessly, choosing random directions and getting lost, only recognising a small village as he crawled through it behind a slow-moving tractor. This was Trearrdurr Bay, not far from Jon and Anita’s. He drove past their road and remembered Jon mentioning a lighthouse further up. He’d go there.
South Stack lighthouse, nestling on rocks at the bottom of a cliff, had hundreds of steps to gain access, but the car park was empty, and Alex pulled up to the front, to gaze out over the ocean. This would be the Irish Sea, and there was one of the ferries far in the distance.
He sat for hours, staring into nothing, waiting for the pain to lessen, for the sadness to ease, for the loneliness to recede. He’d have a long wait for any of them.
Where would Sylvie go? He felt a physical pain in his gut at the prospect of returning home to find her gone. His vision blurred, and he blinked to clear it. Darkness was not far away.
He watched the world some more.
What would he do with himself?
How would he fill his hours without her?
He had to pick up Callum next weekend, and there were still details to be arranged for that. But right now, what was he going to do?
Alex had never been to Ireland. What was to stop him from boarding the next ferry and going to Dublin? He could find an anonymous hotel and escape for a few days. It had to be better than staying here.
He switched his phone back on and winced at the string of texts from Sylvie. Doubt nudged at him. Was he being unreasonable?
No. She was still in love with Rico. She admitted it. Didn’t say much else.
Alex’s mind was made up. It hurt like a bitch, but he deleted all Sylvie’s messages unread. He’d have to block her number. Or change his. He couldn’t stand the prospect of her contacting him. The only way he could get through this with any shred of his sanity left would be to cut her out of his life as completely as if she never existed.
****
Adele asked Karl to the movies, and they decided to watch the latest global disaster flick. She teased him that it’d put their problems into perspective, and this drew a tired smile. They shared a pizza first, and then went to the early evening showing.
The film was terrible. Cheesy lines, bad acting, and over-the-top special effects vied for prominence, but she didn’t mind. Karl gave her elbow a gentle nudge. “He reminds me of the Black Knight from Monty Python,” he whispered, and gestured at the villain on screen. “None shall pass,” he intoned, quoting a line from the classic comedy, and Adele giggled.
“Any minute,” continued Karl, “and he’ll say it’s just a scratch.”
Moments later, the villain embarked on another fight and sustained a minor wound.
“Is that the best you can do?” The villain spat the words at his opponent. “It’s only a scratch.”
Adele and Karl laughed aloud and were promptly shushed by those sitting nearby.
“Please,” whispered Karl. “Please say, I’ve had worse.”
Adele had to cover her mouth with her hand, in case she was too noisy again. A second later, the villain obliged, and Karl whooped. She snorted with laughter and mock punched him in the arm.
“I didn’t know you were a Python fan?” She kept her voice low.
“I can recite an embarrassing number of lines from Monty Python.” Karl grinned at her. “Favourite sketch?”
The film forgotten, Adele felt her smile grow. “The stoning, in The Life of Brian. All those men, playing the parts of women pretending to be men. It makes me laugh. And the opening scenes from Holy Grail.” She chuckled. “The coconuts.”
Karl nodded, his teeth flashing white in the low lights. “Where d’you get the coconuts?” He recited, and Adele snickered.
“We found them,” she replied.
She knew Karl to be good company, but now she got a glimpse of his cheeky sense of humour. The more she saw of him, the more she liked him.
They had a glass of wine after the movie ended, and the conversation flowed with ease.
They shared a love of fitness, and they swapped exercise tips and agreed to play squash again. He offered to show her some of the local parks with good running circuits.
It was an unexpected outing, but she was enjoying herself. Adele was a million miles away from wanting a boyfriend, but another actual friend would be good.
Karl insisted on making sure Adele got home safely, and they shared a cab to her apartment. They were waiting at a set of lights, when Karl’s phone rang.
“Shit,” he whispered. “It’s the police.”
Just like that, her good mood shattered. Her chest went tight, and she gripped the panic handle on the inside of the door. She tried not to listen to the short conversation but couldn’t ignore the fear on Karl’s face.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
He stared at her with wide, scared eyes. “They want me to go back in for more questions.”
“When?”
“Now.” He swallowed. “I’m terrified, Adele. I haven’t done anything wrong, but they’re casting me as the lead suspect.” He stared out the taxi window, his hand clenched around his phone.
Putting her arm around his shoulder felt natural. A token gesture of sympathy for a friend.
He was stiff and unyielding at first, then squeezed her back. “Let’s get you home first. They can wait a bit longer.”
“Do you want me to come with you? Wait for you?” Adele wasn’t sure why she offered, but it was too late to take the words back.
He looked astonished. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
Karl had been so kind to her, and it was time to
return the gesture. Before she could change her mind she leaned forwards, and told the cab driver there was a change of plan.
****
Sylvie ran upstairs and out of the front door, trying to catch Alex before he went anywhere.
Her hopes were dashed. “Alex,” she shouted into the twilight gloom. No answer.
Maybe he was in the barn, with the studio crew. She hurried to the recently-converted building, now a bunkroom and lounge area for the crew. Frankie was there, peering out of the window. “AJ took my car.’ He glared at Sylvie in the doorway. “Where’s he gone in my Merc?”
“I don’t know.” Where would he go?
She couldn’t face Frankie. Or anyone. She needed Alex. Needed to know what was going on in his head.
Why did Alex think he was second best to Rico? Why did he treat it as some sort of competition? How in God’s name had she allowed him to think she didn’t love him enough?
And then there was the huge question.
Why wasn’t she honest with him from the beginning?
Sylvie went back to the house and upstairs, to their bedroom, on autopilot. She curled up on the duvet and sent Alex text after text. She left four anxious, pleading voicemails, but with no reply. After an hour, she texted Charlie, Mick, Jordan, and Kate, then Anita. Nobody had any news.
When a door banged downstairs, she scrambled to her feet and ran onto the landing, to look over the banisters. Was Alex back?
It was Charlie, shrugging out of his leather trench coat.
“Charlie,” she called. Maybe he’d heard from Alex?
He looked up and met her gaze, a wary expression flashing across his face. “Hey, Sylvie.”
“Where’s Alex?”
Charlie shrugged. “Dunno.”
“He drove off in Frankie’s car.” The words rattled out, and she tried to speak calmly. “I’m worried about him. We had a row, and he took off. I need to talk to him. Make him understand.”
Charlie looked anything but happy. He walked slowly up the stairs and paused at the top. “Look, it’s none of my business. He told us he needed to talk to you, and we all had to split for a few hours.” He ran a hand through his blond spikes. “I’m sorry if you’re fighting, but I can’t help you.”
“So you wouldn’t tell me where to find him, even if you knew?”
“You know how it works,” said Charlie, his voice gentle. “AJ and I—we’ve been mates since school. I don’t like taking sides, but I have to support him.”
“But what if he’s wrong? What if he’s made a huge mistake, and I’m the only one who can put it right?”
“I’m sorry.”
****
Alex had taken almost nothing with him. His leather jacket, his wallet, and his phone. The battery was almost flat, so it was as good as useless. He felt lost without any music.
He felt lost, period. As though he was sleep-walking.
The night ferry to Dublin was busy. There were lots of football fans waving scarves and chanting songs, but he found a corner stool in the tiny bar and sampled the Jameson whiskey. Vodka was his usual drink, but the whiskey was more in keeping with the Irish theme. It was smoother than he expected and left a sweetness on the tongue.
It hit the spot. Repeatedly.
****
There was a moment when Sylvie wondered if it was too late for her marriage. It was tempting to pack her bags and leave. Chalk this up to experience.
No. She was made of stronger stuff than that.
She knew Alex loved her. His flight, the carefully prepared speech—they spoke of his love for her, and his fears that she didn’t feel the same way.
She’d been unable to talk to him downstairs. Her brain had frozen and she’d been freaking out too much to think clearly. She had to find him, talk to him, and could put him straight. She refused to live in a universe where Alex didn’t love her.
Her focus had to be on finding him. She wouldn’t let anything distract her.
She’d start by talking to Frankie.
She’d figured out the fundamental difference between Charlie and Frankie. Charlie was a mate. He’d support Alex unreservedly, no matter whether he was right or wrong. Frankie, however, was a businessman, and Event Horizon was his business. Frankie’s primary concern was keeping the band at the top of the heap, and he needed all four band members for that.
Sylvie found him tapping on his laptop in Alex’s office. Before she said anything, he looked up and saw her.
“What the hell is AJ doing?” He snapped out the question, his face like thunder. “First he fucks off in my car. My brand-new Mercedes. And now he’s abandoned it at the fucking ferry terminal. If he’s so much as scratched it, I’ll skin him alive.”
She stepped forwards, hope swamping her. “He’s abandoned it? How do you know?”
He gave her a look that would normally reduce her to silence, and held out his phone. Alex had sent him a text.
I left your car at Holyhead. Your keys are in the ferry terminal office.
Sylvie pushed past the hurt that Alex had ignored her messages, and concentrated on the scant information she had. If he left the car at the ferry terminal, was he catching a ferry? She checked the timetable online and saw there was a Dublin sailing half an hour ago.
Why Dublin?
Why not?
What time was the next sailing? She’d catch it. She flicked through the booking pages and found the next ferry didn’t leave until noon tomorrow.
Christ. That was over twelve hours away. He could go anywhere in that time.
Was there a chance to fly there instead? There weren’t many available flights, and the best one would only get her there an hour earlier than the ferry would. She resigned herself to a sleepless night, while she waited to start the search.
She trudged upstairs to their huge bedroom that felt cavernous with only her in it. It was cold, and she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, only to feel something scratchy. A blister packet of Frankie’s white sleeping pills. He must have slipped them into her pocket earlier.
Sylvie held them in her hand and stared at them.
They made her feel like shit in the morning. Left a horrid, metallic taste in her mouth. But they helped her sleep, and they blocked out the dreams. She knew for a fact that she wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight without their help.
****
The ferry docked into Dublin just after midnight. Alex was a foot passenger, so he disembarked before the cars and freight. It was amazing that he could walk and talk after three solid hours of boozing. He lurched down the gangway and stood shivering on the quayside. Everyone else moved away to cars or coaches. What the fuck was he going to do? Queuing up for a taxi into the city, along with a score of other passengers, seemed the only option.
A giggling young couple at the head of the line were happy to share with him when he offered to pay the fare. After dropping them off, he asked the driver to find a good hotel in central Dublin. He didn’t care about the cost. He just needed a bar and somewhere to sleep for a few hours.
The cabbie took him to a large, bland hotel on the edge of the city. All that was left for Alex to do was to buy a bottle of Jameson from the bar, before retreating to his room.
Oblivion beckoned.
****
The waiting area at the police station was beyond uncomfortable. Eventually Adele pulled up a second chair and rested her feet on that, as she tried to doze. What kind of stupid idea was it to wait for Karl? Every time she thought about leaving, though, she remembered him waiting outside the club for her.
He was there all night.
She jerked awake to him squeezing her shoulder, and gazed sleepily up at him. He looked wiped out, pale, with a dark stubble across his face, but had a smile for her.
“You waited.” He sounded incredulous.
Adele yawned and stretched and managed a casual smile in return. “Yeah.”
They walked outside into the darkness of the early morning, and Adele shiv
ered and pulled her jacket tighter. “What the hell time is it, anyway?”
Karl glanced at his watch. “Six thirty, and it’s Sunday.”
Adele saw an entryway, and took shelter from the breeze, before lighting two cigarettes and handing one to Karl. They smoked together on the pavement.
“What happened in there?” Adele asked. “Have they found anything yet?”
Karl coughed when he shook his head. “No. It was the same questions all over again.” He coughed some more, and Adele stared at him, alarmed. He ground out the cigarette under his foot and pulled a funny face. “I’ve not been smoking long.”
“Oh?” She was so tired, she never thought to ask if he did.
“Yeah,” said Karl. “This morning. Only just started.”
This struck her as funny. She threw the rest of hers away too. “Filthy habit. I think I just quit.”
Karl smiled at her, and she looked at him properly. He looked cute with that stubble.
She tucked her arm through his, and they set off towards the nearest Tube station. “I’m starving,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Shall we find some greasy spoon for breakfast?”
****
Sylvie awoke on Sunday morning to a familiar metallic taste in her mouth. For one blissful moment, she forgot what happened and reached out for Alex. When she saw the empty space in their bed, she remembered the void in her life, and she wanted to weep. She had to find him, to make him see sense. She wouldn’t let him think like this any longer.
Her limbs had the weightless sensation that she recognised as a side effect of the sleeping pills, and she struggled to shower and dress as she battled the sluggishness.
Frankie found her in the kitchen, brewing one of her extra strong pots of coffee. “All that caffeine is bad for you, Sylvie. It’ll give you palpitations.”
She glared and carried on spooning in the coffee grounds. “I can sleep now, but I can’t get awake properly.”
Frankie sighed and moved closer. “I didn’t want to suggest this, but it might help.” He dug into his pocket and produced a small pill bottle. A cluster of yellow capsules rattled around inside. “These are kinder than caffeine and will give you a bit of a lift. One in the morning, another in the afternoon if you need it.”
