Jasmine slipped out of the kitchen and went back to her room. She decided to shower, partly because she hadn’t already that day and partly to cool down. They were in the midst of a heatwave, which always filled her with a certain amount of excitement but also dread. Considering her family spent every summer south of the equator, the heat shouldn’t have been an issue. Maybe it wasn’t the heat that was getting to her after all, but the presence of a stranger in their house.
When her parents told her they were getting a lodger this wasn’t what she had expected. She wondered how long he planned to stay. There was something about him she didn’t trust.
Chapter Three
Over the next few days Jasmine settled in to her new home, the smell of fresh paint gradually replaced by the smell of the musky perfume her mother wore and the shampoos and soaps they used. It was starting to smell like home. Jasmine had tinkered with her room, putting up a Donnie Darko poster. She hadn’t seen the film, but her friend Felicity had given her the poster. She tacked it on the back of the door, where her parents wouldn’t see it. They weren’t controlling, but Frank and Lisa were such positive people that they really didn’t understand Jasmine’s fascination with morbid things. Lisa always said if you surrounded yourself with negativity then negative things would happen to you. Jasmine wasn’t sure the world worked like that.
Their first home-cooked meal together in the new house was Pabellón Criollo, after living off Chinese food from the takeaway around the corner for the first few days after moving. Lisa made the Venezuelan dish especially for Jasmine, knowing it was her favourite, and the aroma of spicy beef filled the house, invoking childhood memories.
The dining table in the kitchen still had flecks of paint and pen stains from Jasmine’s many school projects and artistic endeavours over the years, spending Sunday afternoons with Lisa painting by numbers or making quilled jewellery. Frank’s idea of father-daughter bonding was taking her on fishing weekends in Wales, making her watch as he caught, gutted and cooked fish from the River Dee. As Jasmine had grown, however, she and her parents had spent less and less time doing these things together.
As Jasmine finished off her second plate of Pabellón Criollo, Tim appeared at the doors to the guest house. She had her back to the outside but she noticed the expression on her mother’s face change to a smile, and her cheeks flush ever so slightly. Anyone who didn’t know her mother like Jasmine did wouldn’t think anything of it and it was clear Frank was oblivious as he carried on eating, totally focused on the food. She carefully turned her head to watch as Tim crossed the garden towards the house, then she turned and looked at her mother who quickly changed her expression when she caught Jasmine’s eye. It was too late, though. Jasmine knew that her mother liked him. The uneasiness Jasmine had been feeling since Tim’s arrival felt justified in that moment. It was Lisa who had convinced Frank that they needed a lodger, and it was Lisa who had suggested Tim.
‘Sorry to bother you while you’re having dinner. I just wondered if I could borrow a pan to heat some soup up in. I’ll go shopping in the morning and grab one of my own. I didn’t think about it earlier.’
‘Don’t be silly, why don’t you have dinner with us? Welcome you into the fold and all that. I’ve made some spicy South American food.’
‘I’m sure he just wants to settle in for now. Don’t badger him,’ Frank said.
‘Nonsense, we have plenty of food. Come and sit, Tim.’
‘It smells delicious, Lisa, thank you,’ Tim said.
Tim came and sat at the table at Lisa’s insistence, and she served him the last of the Pabellón Criollo, which Jasmine resented a little, even though she had already had seconds. Jasmine tried not to stare at him, but there really was something about him that set her teeth on edge. For the most part he continued to ignore her.
She couldn’t figure him out, but there was something very off about Tim. Jasmine felt as though he had engineered this, like he wanted to be here in this room with them. Like he was trying to get closer to them, to be part of the family. Jasmine knew her parents tried to think the best of everyone though – they often said that the world would be a better place if everyone just tried to make one person’s life better – but she sometimes wished they weren’t so trusting. She would keep an eye on Tim. She would have to – no one else was going to.
Chapter Four
Now
I push down on my suitcase, trying to zip it closed. I remember the last time I used it how annoying it was and I make a mental note to throw it away after this journey. I have made this same mental note several times in the past but as soon as I return home I put it away and forget about it.
I can’t stop thinking about the missing girl. I need to be there. I fear if I don’t go then she will never be found, like the girl who went missing when I was younger.
I hear Chris in the next room putting Lloyd to bed. I know I should do it as I am the one who is leaving but I just want to get on the road. I think this time apart will be good for us – for me, anyway. I need to be a better wife, a better mother. Maybe going back there will make me realise how far I have come. I can barely remember the person I used to be. It’s like I have been running for so long and trying to be different from my own mother that I have completely lost myself. It’s hard to be a good example when you barely feel like a person at all.
‘I don’t understand why you have to leave right now. At least wait ’til morning. We can have a nice breakfast. You can’t check in to your hotel until the afternoon anyway,’ Chris says.
‘I booked the hotel from today so I can check in as soon as I get there.’
‘I see. You just can’t wait to get out of here, can you?’
‘Don’t be like that. I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t.’
‘This again? You think you’re the only person who had a rotten childhood, but you aren’t.’
‘I’m not saying that, I never said that.’
‘Then tell me what the big deal is. Why can’t you just wait until Friday when I can come, too?’
‘I will tell you, just not now. Please just let me do this on my own.’
‘I don’t know why I even try sometimes. You are so immovable. You had better do some serious thinking while you’re gone. If this isn’t what you want, then cut us loose. I can’t do this anymore.’
I try not to think about what it is he is actually saying. I know he’s right. I know I can’t be like this and expect everyone else to just be OK with it, for everyone to just carry on around me as if it isn’t obvious I’m on the brink of falling apart. If he knew the truth about me, he might understand why I need to go back. I might be the best chance that girl has.
I go to Chris, his eyes glistening with emotion. I know I’m hurting him but I can’t think about that right now, not with what’s at stake. I kiss him and I can feel him exhale with relief, as if all he wanted was for me to tell him I still love him. Of course I do, that has never been in question. Not for me anyway.
‘Come with the kids on Friday, if I’m not back already. Please.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I love you, I hope you know that.’
‘Sometimes I wonder.’
I pull away, not willing to play the guilt game anymore. I just need to get on the road. The sooner I leave the sooner I can get the answers I’m looking for. I feel the invisible thread as I am pulled back. My life so far has been in two parts, before and after, then and now. I think back to that summer. It feels like a lifetime ago, another world entirely. I put my case in the boot of the car. I never do this, I never drive far on my own, I never stay away from home without Chris or the kids. This will be the first time I have spent the night away from Lloyd. He’s only seven, I hope he understands, I hope Chris does too, eventually. I have no choice. The life of that missing girl may depend on it.
Chapter Five
As I leave the safety of our little town in The Lake District, close to the border with Scotland,
and head south, I feel a familiar dread wash over me. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel, almost clinging on for my life. I want to turn back, to pretend I didn’t hear the news report, to carry on living inside my lies. I don’t work, not really. I was young when Daisy was born and Chris thought it was better if I stayed home and looked after her. I’ve been with Chris my entire adult life; I knew from the moment we met that I would be safe with him. I feel bad again for leaving him with the children, especially when he is at such a crucial point in building his start-up business. Chris is in the process of trying to secure funding to convert a load of freight containers into affordable carbon-neutral houses, at first in the Lakes and then, if the model works, to a wider market.
Leaving late has its advantages and the roads are mostly clear. There is a little rain but it’s not enough to break the humidity and not enough to make me pull over. I hate driving in the rain but it feels appropriate somehow. My thoughts focus on what awaits me in Devon. I realise then that I didn’t eat lunch or dinner today, too consumed with organising the family so I could get away and deal with this.
I pull over at a service station – it’s properly dark now – as I am so hungry I can barely concentrate. I grab a sandwich and take it to the seating area. The rain gets heavier outside and I pull my coat around me. It’s not cold but I feel strange being here by myself. A man sits at my table and smiles at me. There are plenty of empty seats so I don’t understand why he’s chosen that seat, or why he’s looking at me.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Thought you might be lonely sitting here.’
‘Well I’m not.’
I had forgotten about this, not going out much, not being part of the world but staying in my safe little village with my family and all the familiar faces of neighbours and acquaintances. I forgot that sometimes people – strangers – just come and speak to you. I feel the panic rising in me. I want him to go away but I don’t want to upset him as I don’t know what he might do. Of course he is probably just lonely, but that doesn’t give him the right to bother me. He opens his mouth but I stand and move to another table. I can hear Chris in my ear telling me not to be rude, not to be unfriendly. I finish my sandwich quickly and go and buy some cola to drink on the ride, full sugar to keep me awake.
As I make my way to the car, I look behind me to see the man from the café following me. I put my hand in my bag to find the keys, putting them between my fingers when I do. The service station is strangely quiet and I feel unsafe. The car is close now but somehow I feel like I’m getting further away. Behind me I hear the beep of a car alarm being turned off and the sound of a door opening. As I reach my own car I turn and see the man who was following me pulling out of a spot and driving towards the exit. I get in and lock the doors, feeling stupid. I wish I was at home with Chris and the kids, I wish I didn’t have to do this alone. I pull myself together and start the car before pulling back out onto the motorway. I’m on a collision course with the ghosts of my past and there is nothing I can do to stop it. This road somehow feels like the purgatory between my real life now – the one where I am safe and loved – and the mess I left behind.
I change the radio station regularly as I drive, with little tolerance for anything for a prolonged period of time. I finally reach a local Devonshire radio station and my blood runs cold – I’m getting closer. My head begins to throb. I open the glove box and root around for pills of some kind. I usually keep a packet or two in there. I find a pack with just two left and I knock them back with my Coke, even though I know they won’t take the thrumming in my temples away. Nothing will until I am out of this place, until I am on my way home. Inside I already feel like I am never going to get home, that I got lucky the last time I left this place, reluctantly released from its grip into the world with the proviso that I never return. I’m breaking a pact I made with myself sixteen years ago when I first got on that bus out of town. I promised I would never go back. I told the universe that if it just let me get away then I would be a good person, if that was even possible for someone like me.
The road signs become increasingly familiar as I approach my destination. I see houses and streets from my childhood. It’s like walking through that wardrobe and into Narnia – another world entirely, one I am not supposed to be in, one that’s not meant for me. It’s too late now. There is no turning back.
Chapter Six
Time has stopped here. I am glad that the world is sleeping when I finally drive through the winding valley and the crossroads that lead into the actual town. I have walked these pavements until my feet were sore in the past. I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia I wasn’t expecting. I left abruptly and have never made my peace with it, my mind writing the town and its inhabitants off the second I was a few miles away, desperate to forget all of the things that happened, good or bad. The memories come flooding in, something I was afraid of. I drive past a bus stop that I remember sitting in with school friends and a bottle of cider, a smile creeping across my face as I remember a part of my life that I have kept buried for the longest time. I see the turning for a road where we used to live and feel every muscle in my body tense, thankful that I don’t need to drive past the house to get to where I need to go.
Further into the town is the old cinema, just past my family’s dentist. I see the ghost of myself on every corner. I had forgotten how much of me was shaped in this town. The cinema looks the same, as do the shops surrounding it. How can so much time have passed outside this town and yet nothing has changed on the inside? To me the town is alive, a monster in my mind, dark and insidious, creeping and malevolent. I feel its fingers around me, gently pulling me in, leading me towards a place I am not sure I want to go. I have always thought that this town isn’t like anywhere else, that once it gets a hold of you, you can’t escape, almost as if some ancient pagan magic is at work. I know it makes no sense, but I think of it almost as if it were a person who had wronged me, someone I can never forgive, someone I am afraid to let into my heart again. So instead I just feel anger towards it. As if these buildings and streets are all complicit somehow.
I can feel the sea before I see it. Something always feels different about coastal towns, as if they are on the edge of the world somehow. There is no way to get lost as long as you can find the sea. I am glad I drove here at night. I didn’t tell Chris it was because I didn’t want to have to look at the people who live here as I drove past them, wondering if I knew them, wondering if they knew me. I just want to get inside the hotel and close the door, giving myself a few hours before I have to venture out again. Taking off was unusually selfish of me, but from the moment I saw that news report I knew there was nothing else I could do. I have to find out what happened. The locals will know things that aren’t in the news. I’ll find out who the missing girl is, why she was here and what happened to her. For some reason I think I’m the only one who can.
I pull into the hotel car park, the huge red brick building a monument to a different time. I could have chosen a less expensive hotel, but this is the one we used to look at and wonder what was inside, it always seemed so posh and decadent. Standing in front of it now, it seems much smaller than I remember, much less imposing. It’s still grand but it’s dated, and not in a good way. I feel like an imposter just stepping through the doors, as if I’m not actually allowed to be in this building, as if it knows who I am.
I approach the desk, studying the face of the woman behind the counter. It’s a small town and I half expect her to recognise me even though I don’t recognise her. That is, until she opens her mouth to speak.
‘Hello, Miss, how can I help you?’ she says. Her accent is French or Belgian, or something like that. I feel instant relief that she isn’t local.
‘I called ahead to say I would be arriving tonight. I’m a little later than I expected.’
‘Mrs Felicity Musgrave?’
‘Yes.’
She has the paperwork ready. I sign the card and she shares the Wi
-Fi password. She explains that I am too late to order breakfast to my room in the morning, but I can eat in the dining room with the other guests, or I can order room service from a limited menu at any point during my stay. I am so tired I can barely decipher what she is saying and the speed at which she speaks doesn’t make things any easier. But I smile and nod at the correct intervals and she finally hands me the key. She gestures to a porter to come and take my bag. I follow him dutifully, embarrassed now that I booked this place, embarrassed that I am making someone carry my bag. I was proving a point to myself and no one else, that I’m a better person now than I was when I left. All the money in the world can’t wash away the things I did though.
My room overlooks the beach. I can see what they mean when they say it’s darkest just before dawn. The sea is a sheet of black. The room itself was probably considered very opulent a few years ago, but now it gives off the impression that lots of hotel rooms do; that lots of people have slept there. I know that within a few hours, though, this will be the only place in the whole town where I feel even remotely comfortable.
The Heatwave Page 2
