Something about the terror on Magda’s face, that seemed to stretch beyond the thought of a potentially awkward run-in with her former flatmate, made Jessie agree. As soon as she had, Magda grabbed her bewildered friend’s arm and ran for the exit.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
An elbow struck Jessie’s stomach. The shots had suddenly taken a hold of her in the worst way. She placed the plastic cups back on the bar and looked for the toilet sign. The queue snaking out of the restroom meant she’d never make it in time. The music was too loud and she couldn’t follow the melody any more, so she made her way to the exit, in need of air. Outside, she sat on the kerb a few metres away from the club, not able to stand the smell of the smoking area, and hoped the nausea would pass in a few minutes. When it didn’t, she knew it was time to leave. The thought of going back in and having to shove through the crowd to find Sofie and Lauren was unbearable; hopefully, they would soon realise she’d made her way home and wouldn’t be too worried. She couldn’t call or message them until she had made it back to her phone.
Jessie’s fingers were so cold it almost felt as if they were burning. The lights of the city danced madly before her and waves crashed in the distance. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, regretting having left her coat in the cloakroom.
All of the quirky boutiques and restaurants down The Lanes were cloaked in darkness, but some of the bars still had the last few stragglers standing around outside, smoking and jeering at one another. As she neared the narrow passageway past The Font, a former chapel-turned-pub, Jessie prayed silently that nobody would say anything to her. She wanted to remain invisible and slip through the street unnoticed, to get back as quickly as possible, but in the dim light and in her inebriated state, the cobbled alleyways felt tighter than ever. It was as though she was on a gameshow where the walls were slowly closing in. More than once she glanced back over her shoulder, certain she could hear footsteps trailing slightly behind her own, but saw only her shadow. Her brain must be playing tricks again, the usual daily paranoia amplified by all that vodka. Jessie’s arms were rough with goosebumps and she rubbed at them furiously; then, realising she had already passed the chocolate shop with the gigantic cakes on display in the window once before, she stopped still. The alcohol had turned the streets she knew so well into a maze and, without noticing, she’d been walking around in circles. Feeling small and uncertain, she slumped against a wall and slid slowly down, her bag falling from her shoulder and onto the ground. The simple task of getting back to Maver Place felt overwhelming. If she told a passer-by that she’d lost her flat, would they find it funny?
‘You all right, love?’ a pair of scuffed Nike trainers asked.
Jessie didn’t look up; instead she focused on a piece of chewing gum stuck to the ground and tried not to cry, willing the man to continue walking. He hesitated for a second, then followed the call of his friend in the distance, leaving her alone. She suddenly became aware that the part of the alleyway she’d come to a halt in smelled strongly of urine and the nausea kicked in all over again.
Heaving herself off the floor, Jessie wobbled and tried to grip at the brick wall, tearing a fingernail in the process. Just put one foot in front of the other, then another. That was all she had to do, she told herself. She reached the entrance to the warren of side streets leading out onto North Road, a main road with the Clock Tower at one end and the Pavilion Gardens at the other. Light raindrops quickly turned to a harder downpour, causing a group of women across the street to shriek and huddle under one shared umbrella. They were splitting a polystyrene tray of chips and Jessie licked her lips. The thought of chips absorbing some of the booze and leaving a salty tingle on her tongue was so tempting she briefly considered crossing over to buy some too. That smell of vinegar was enticing, but the shop was so packed, she couldn’t stand the wait. Instead, she wobbled past the women determinedly, heading towards the misty gardens of the Royal Pavilion.
It was a building she’d always been fascinated by, with its Indian-inspired domed roofs looking in some ways so out of place in the middle of a British city, yet still perfectly in keeping. It would take around half an hour to get home from here. The neatly manicured lawns, which during the summer would have chattering groups sprawled across them, sharing ciders and playing guitars, were all deserted. Jessie moved through silently, wondering for a brief moment if she should put her headphones in, then remembered her phone was still charging at home. Her limbs were becoming heavier, eyes drooping more with every step. Would it be so bad to stop and rest? Just for a few minutes. She barely registered the rain soaking through her dress as she stood in the centre of the pathway, trying to work out her next move. The world spun madly, as though she were being pushed on a park merry-go-round, one that she desperately wanted to jump off of but was somehow superglued onto. Vomit sat at the very back of her throat, filling her mouth with saliva, threatening to burst forward at any moment. She tried clumsily putting her fingers in her mouth and jabbing at her tonsils to try and coax it out of her system – anything to give her heaving stomach some relief. There were those footsteps again and this time she was sure of it. Jessie withdrew her fingers, laced with spit, and looked over her shoulder once more, straining her eyes to see where the noise was coming from. Fear clawed away in her chest and something was telling her to run, but instead she was stuck in treacle, sinking in quicksand, her insides screaming, begging her feet to move …
It took a few seconds, or maybe even a minute, for Jessie to realise that her head had been slammed into the wet ground repeatedly. That a heavy foot had kicked at and crushed her lower spine, then sped off into the distance. One eye blinked open and saw the pavement. Why did her mouth taste of metal? There was a warm and sticky feeling in her right ear. Had she been hit so hard that the fluid protecting her skull had actually begun to leak? She made a small moaning sound and tried to move the fingers of her left hand closer to investigate. Raising them into the glare of a streetlight felt like lifting a hefty kettlebell and she saw that they were stained dark with the blood running down her palm and wrist, that was soon washed away by the rain. Her vision vibrated as she watched. The gardens were now moving in slow motion. Dark red blood, dark green leaves, dark grey pavement. Orange streetlight. White-hot pain. The rain had left her bones filled with ice and her body no longer belonged to her. It wouldn’t co-operate or move when she told it to. Jessie tried with the last of her strength to turn her head and see if there were any passers-by who could help, but found she was only able to shift it a few centimetres. Just enough to confirm that the gardens were empty.
‘Help,’ she tried, voice croaking, closing her eyes again. ‘Please.’
Even if there had been anybody around to hear, her voice was so minuscule that it came out as a whisper and was immediately lost to the wind. Her teeth chattered as the flower beds came in and out of focus. Where was her bag? Slowly, Jessie tried to push herself up onto all fours and look around the path. No phone. No money for a taxi. No keys to get in. It was nearing the middle of January, the time of year when snow showers hit the south coast and buses came to a standstill. She slumped back down and curled into the foetal position, then screeched and sobbed, like an injured animal waiting to die, her muscles convulsing under the spray of icy rain. Jessie had foolishly thought that Matthew sending that video, plain evidence of the power imbalance in their relationship and the way he used to force himself on her, was rock bottom – but it was nothing compared to this. Nothing at all. How would she feel safe again? How could she ever leave the flat? If she made it back to the flat. The black screen, the inside of her eyelids, fell again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lauren and Sofie stood by the water cooler not knowing what to say. It was gone midday.
‘I just can’t fathom it. Who would do something like that?’
It was Sofie who eventually broke the silence in hushed tones, repeating the same refrain they’d already wheeled out countless times. The hours in
the waiting room were crawling by.
‘I’m so glad those girls found her,’ she continued, shaking her head in disbelief, glancing at Jessie’s bag lying on a chair next to them, the strap torn and half the contents missing. ‘I wish we’d left the club sooner, instead of spending so long searching for one another in there.’
Thinking back to the crowd of people gathered around Jessie’s limp body made Sofie shiver. A group of strangers on their way home had found her lying across the path at an odd angle, a dark pool around her head, and immediately phoned an ambulance.
‘Imagine if we hadn’t walked that way too,’ nodded Lauren. ‘We’d still be sitting in the flat, wondering where she was.’
She looked tearful and her face was blotchy.
‘Why would anybody ever want to hurt her?’ Sofie repeated.
Neither of them wanted to answer that, not daring to acknowledge how much worse things could have been. Paramedics had taken Jessie to the Royal Sussex to run precautionary tests and keep her under observation. Lauren was grateful they were taking things so seriously. Her feet were pulsing in her platform shoes so she leant forward to unbuckle them and sat back down. Sofie took a seat beside her and rested her head on Lauren’s shoulder. Eventually, they both fell into a light doze until a nurse holding a clipboard came over and woke them with a gentle shake.
‘We’ve cleaned and stitched Jessica’s facial wounds and have the results back from her CT scan, which shows she has a linear fracture on the back of her skull,’ the nurse explained, tilting her head to one side. ‘What that means is the break is in a straight line and that she’s a very lucky girl not to have suffered a depressed fracture, which would require surgery, given the level of force she was subjected to. The police have been informed, of course.’
Lauren looked up at her aghast.
‘We’re currently waiting for the consultant to prescribe antibiotics to prevent any infection and then, as Miss Campbell is proving neurologically sound, I expect she’ll be able to leave later on this afternoon. Are you able to arrange her transport home?’
They nodded that they would.
‘Someone will also need to keep a close eye on her over the next few days, given that she’ll be suffering from a heavy concussion, along with bruising. It goes without saying that your poor friend has been through a hell of a time and is very shaken. She may well experience post-traumatic stress disorder and might want to think about counselling when she’s ready.’
The nurse removed a couple of leaflets in primary colours, bearing the words ‘Concussion’ and ‘PTSD’, from her clipboard.
‘Are we able to see her?’ Lauren asked in a wobbly voice, clutching the pamphlets tightly.
‘Not at the moment, but I’d be happy to call you once the doctor has discharged her?’
‘We’ll wait,’ Lauren said, arms crossed over her chest. ‘I’ll wait here for as long as she needs me to.’
Once the consultant had prescribed painkillers and antibiotics, Lauren and Sofie gently helped Jessie into the taxi waiting by the hospital entrance. The journey back to the flat felt as though it stretched out for days, but in reality was only around fifteen minutes. Jessie sat very still and stared out the window for the duration of it, her head burning, swirling, thunder-clapping, her face swollen. She was desperate to take off her lacy dress, shower and cocoon underneath her duvet, to have a place to cry in peace. She saw young families wrapped in thick scarves pushing prams down the street. She lightly brushed her fingertips against the stitches on her forehead, mostly hidden by her fringe. The driver kept glancing nervously in the overheard mirror, worried that one of the three drained-looking women wearing party clothes and pained expressions at 3pm in the back of his car might be sick. Sofie was the only one who thanked him as they pulled up outside Maver Place.
‘Do you need a hand with the stairs, Jess?’ Lauren asked, as she ran around the cab to open Jessie’s door.
‘No, it’s fine.’
‘You go ahead and get comfortable, we’ll bring you up tea and water,’ Sofie added, walking into the kitchen to switch the kettle on.
Jessie shrugged, then began dragging her heavy limbs up the stairs to her bedroom. Pushing down on the door handle had no effect.
‘It’s locked,’ she said flatly.
Nobody replied. Jessie had no idea how loudly she was speaking, as the hammering in her head made it feel as though she were underwater. She could be whispering or shouting.
‘Lauren, I can’t get in my room,’ she called, leaning over the bannister this time. ‘It’s locked.’
The sound of the kettle drowned out Jessie’s timid voice. She sighed deeply and slowly thudded back downstairs to the kitchen and repeated the problem; this time they both understood. Sofie looked at Jessie’s distorted, purple face and felt her own bottom lip start to quiver.
‘Shit, I’m so sorry I hadn’t even thought of that,’ said Lauren. ‘We could build a nest on the sofa for you?’
‘Henry is on his way over, I can see if he’ll break the door down?’ Sofie suggested feebly. ‘He might be a while though.’
‘I just want to be in my own bed,’ Jessie replied with a deep sigh, sinking into the sofa. ‘Is Marcus in? Maybe he could try.’
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror above the television. Her eyelashes were split into clumps around her puffy eyes and mascara had crumbled down her bruised cheeks. She used the back of her hand to wipe it away, then stared at the black smudge on her skin for a while. It was like dirt. Her coloured wounds contrasted oddly against her pale face.
‘Of course. I’ll go and see if he’s awake. He’s pretty strong for such a skinny guy.’ Lauren knew her chatter sounded inane. ‘Probably from lugging those massive guitar cases around all the time.’
Moments later she returned with Marcus. He was wearing the Star Wars T-shirt again and tartan pyjama bottoms. Seeing Jessie, his own face blanched, then contorted into a concerned grimace.
‘I think we should call a locksmith,’ he said, nervously glancing from Jessie to Lauren. ‘If I try and break the door down, the landlord will definitely charge you for the damage. You’d be better off spending the money on getting it done professionally.’
It was a good point. Even in her lowest hour and as desperate as she was to get into her bedroom, Jessie knew her bank balance couldn’t take the hit.
‘Why don’t you have a shower and we’ll call someone now. I’ll try Ian at the letting agents too,’ Sofie added, pulling herself together and screwing her sensible head on. ‘You never know, maybe they’ll have a spare key. Help yourself to a towel and any clothes from my room, Jessie.’
Sofie took herself into the hallway to make the phone calls and Jessie went upstairs for a second time. The sound of running water soon started up.
‘Tell me again, what happened?’ Marcus asked Lauren, who shivered as she was still wearing the silver crop top under her red leather jacket, leaving her chest and stomach exposed.
‘We had all split up in the club. I found Sofie again but neither of us could find Jessie, so after looking everywhere, we figured that she must have gone home and decided to leave too, taking a shortcut through The Lanes,’ she said, clutching at a mug of tea for warmth. ‘Some of Zach’s lot were out as well and had got us free entry. I told them if Jessie reappeared that they should let her use one of their phones to call me and we’d come straight back for her. We were probably too drunk to notice but she must have been really wasted, Marcus.’
Hearing the name Zach, Marcus’s mouth disappeared into a thin line.
‘Why were you speaking to them? You know Zach’s reputation. Everyone in Brighton knows his whole crowd is messed up,’ Marcus spat.
Lauren thought for a few seconds before answering.
‘I know, I know – it’s as pathetic as it sounds, but they’re the only link I have left to him and I wanted to … I wanted to know how he is.’
‘Who cares how he is? Fuck Zach!’ Marcus hissed.
‘You’re so stupid for even speaking to them, Lauren.’
Marcus slammed a fist against the kitchen counter.
‘I bet they’ve got something to do with this. They’re a bunch of addicts. Why would you ever – and I mean ever – want to be anywhere near someone who ploughs through gear the way they do? I’ve seen them around town, Zach included, off their heads in the middle of the day. It’s pitiful.’
Panic danced in Lauren’s eyes, her mouth hanging open wordlessly. Her chest felt tight. The mug was starting to scald her fingers.
‘They can’t have been involved! You’re paranoid. When we left the club … I’m sure they were all still there. She was found on the ground in the Pavilion Gardens, which she’d short-cutted through, Marcus. You know that area is dodgy at night, she’d have been an easy target. Whoever it was stole her wallet too.’
A tension hung in the air between them, the image of Jessie, vulnerable and hurt, at the forefront of both of their minds. Sofie walked back into the kitchen, holding her phone, oblivious.
‘Ian’s not there. He’s left the company, apparently.’
‘That seems sudden,’ Lauren said. ‘And he was always popping over, so you’d think he’d have at least emailed to say goodbye.’
‘Yeah, I guess it is odd,’ Sofie replied, not thinking much of it. ‘But at least whoever it was I spoke to said they’ve got a spare set of keys in the office and someone called Craig is going to drop them over in the next hour.’
Marcus muttered something about that being good news and stormed off in the direction of his bedroom. Sofie couldn’t say for sure, but it sounded as though he kicked a wall in the hallway, en route.
‘I feel so guilty …’ Lauren’s voice cracked as she spoke. ‘We should never have let her go to the bar alone, Sofe. She was so drunk, wasn’t she?’
The Wrong Move Page 14
