Before You Were Gone

by Sheila Bugler

  Thirty-one

  It wasn’t him. She knew right away, but the knowledge – followed by the sharp stab of disappointment – took a moment to sink in.

  ‘Can I help you?’ He peered at her through the gap in the open door. A tall man, stooped over and old before his time. White hair that stuck out at odd angles, skin that looked like dried-out paper, and a face made for regrets.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I must have got the wrong flat.’

  She turned to go, but he called her back.

  ‘Wait a moment.’ He stepped into the hallway and came closer. So close she could smell him – stale sweat and old clothes. He wasn’t her father, this strange, broken man. She should have been pleased, but she wasn’t. She was heartbroken. It was only now, standing here in this dark corridor, that she realised how much she’d let herself believe she’d find him today.

  ‘I know why you’re here,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’re looking for Annie.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  He smiled. But even his smile was sad.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? When I opened the door and saw you, I thought for a second you were her.’

  Tears pricked her eyes. She wiped them away, but more tears came and suddenly she was properly crying.

  He put a trembling hand on her arm.

  ‘You won’t find her. I’m sorry, love. But Annie’s gone. You’re too late.’

  ‘Where is she?’ she said, between sobs. ‘I just want to see her and know she’s okay. Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘Here. Take this.’

  He pulled a filthy-looking handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and held it out for her.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, when she hesitated, ‘it’s freshly washed. Just old, that’s all.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She took it and used it to wipe her face, thinking she’d worry later about whether or not he was telling the truth.

  ‘And now you need to go.’

  ‘Will you tell her I’m looking for her?’ she said.

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I already told you, love. She’s gone. Too many people looking for her. You’d do well to do the same. Because you won’t find her, but if you keep trying, you’ll end up dead.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Emer asked.

  But he’d already gone back into the flat and closed the door.

  ‘Hey!’ She banged on the door, shouting at him to open up. But he stayed behind the closed door, ignoring her.

  * * *

  ‘She’s been too long,’ Dee said. ‘I’m going up there.’

  They were waiting outside the building. The smell had started to get to Dee and she’d suggested they stand outside. She kept an eye on the entrance to the stairwell, watching the people going in and coming out. She’d seen plenty of people but, so far, none of them were Emer.

  ‘No need,’ Leonard said, nodding at the entrance to the block of flats. ‘Look, here she comes now. Although judging by her face, she didn’t have the joyful reunion she’d been hoping for.’

  He was right. Emer looked devastated as she walked towards them.

  ‘What happened?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Can we go somewhere else?’ Emer said. ‘I can’t bear to spend another second here.’

  ‘There’s a pub a few streets away,’ Leonard said. ‘Not too bad, considering the neighbourhood. We can go there.’

  Emer waited until they were in the pub and had ordered their drinks. They found a table in the small beer garden outside and, once they were all sitting down, she told them about her encounter with the elderly man.

  ‘The weird thing is,’ she said, ‘I got the impression he knew who I was.’

  ‘But you didn’t recognise him?’ Dee asked.

  Emer shook her head.

  ‘Maybe you just remind him of Annie,’ Leonard said. He looked at Dee. ‘They’re the spitting image of each other, aren’t they?’

  ‘You do look a lot like her,’ Dee agreed.

  ‘So what?’ Emer said. ‘Looking like her isn’t going to help me find her. He told me she’s gone and she’s not coming back. Too many people looking for her, he said.’ She glared at Dee. ‘He meant you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Dee said. ‘But I only started looking for Annie because someone asked me to, remember? God, what a bloody mess. Is it worth trying to speak to him again?’

  ‘He refused to answer his door the second time,’ Emer said. ‘I kept trying until one of his neighbours came out and threatened to call the police if I didn’t go away.’

  Emer was about to say something else when her phone started ringing.

  ‘It’s Maeve,’ she said, ‘hang on.’

  She picked up her phone and moved away from the table.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Dee asked Leonard.

  ‘We go back there,’ he said. ‘And we don’t leave until we get him to talk to us. Your cousin there, she’s not a journalist. You and me, on the other hand, we’ve got years of practice persuading people to talk to us.’

  ‘Okay,’ Dee said. ‘But I’ve got something important on later, Leonard. I’ll need to be heading back by mid afternoon at the latest.’

  She felt a flash of joy, tinged with pain, as she thought about dinner later with Ella, Jake and Tom. As well as being home in time for the dinner, she’d have to give herself time to prepare emotionally. No easy task.

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem.’ Leonard nodded at Emer, putting her phone into the pocket of her jeans as she walked back to them. ‘Think she’ll want to stick around while we try again?’

  ‘Maeve got lost,’ Emer said, coming back to the table. ‘Apparently, she couldn’t work out how the Underground works. I know that must sound stupid, but she’s never been to London before. I think she’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. I’ve arranged to meet her back at her hotel. After that, I was wondering, Dee…’

  ‘Of course,’ Dee said, anticipating the question before Emer asked it. ‘You’re both welcome to stay. There’s plenty of room, as you know. The only thing is, I’m going out this evening. Are you okay getting the train to Eastbourne and a taxi to the house? Here.’ Dee rooted around in her bag until she found her keyring. Pulling off the front door key, she handed this to Emer. ‘Make yourselves at home.’

  ‘What about you?’ Emer asked.

  ‘My neighbour has a spare key,’ Dee said. ‘I can use that. Just text me and let me know what time you’ll be back.’

  ‘Penny for them,’ Leonard said, after Emer had left.

  ‘Sorry,’ Dee said. ‘I was thinking about Maeve. Trying to work out why she came to London with Emer.’

  ‘She wants to find out what happened to her sister,’ Leonard said. ‘Nothing strange about that.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dee said.

  ‘No maybe about it,’ Leonard said. ‘Besides, you’ll be seeing her later. You can ask her yourself. In the meantime, let’s try the old bloke again. Who knows? Maybe he can shed some light on this whole bloody mess.’

  ‘You really think there’s any point going back there and trying again?’

  ‘I don’t think we’ve got a choice. We need to get him to speak to us. Find out who he is and what he knows about Annie.’

  * * *

  Back at the building, Leonard decided to try the stairs. But by the time they’d reached the second floor, it was clear he wasn’t going to make it to the sixth. His breathing had become laboured, his face red from the effort of making it this far.

  ‘Sorry,’ he wheezed.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Dee put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Really. Head back down to the ground floor when you’ve got your breath back. I’ll be down as soon as I can.’

  As she continued without him, she became aware of the smell. A rich scent of ginger, citrus and sandalwood. It reminded her of something, although she was almost at the top before she realised what it was. Her father, when he was still a
live, had always had a thing for expensive colognes. That’s what she was smelling now. Dee wondered how someone living in a place like this could afford expensive scents. Then she realised the person wearing the cologne was most likely a visitor to the building, just like she was.

  By the time she reached the top, she felt ready to collapse. The heat in the stairwell hadn’t helped. Sweating profusely, she pushed open the door and stepped into the relative cool of the corridor.

  It was a dank, dingy space. Narrow and long, with doors so close together she guessed the flats behind them were tiny. The only break in the gloom was the light coming from the open doorway of one of the flats further along the corridor.

  When she’d got her breath back, Dee started walking, using the numbers on the doors as a guide. She was almost at the open door now. Counting the numbers, she realised the open door belonged to the flat she was looking for.

  Her fight or flight instinct kicked in, flight winning over as every nerve in her body screamed at her to turn around and get the hell out of there. Somehow, she kept going, driven by the urge to find the truth – however terrible it turned out to be.

  ‘Hello?’

  She’d reached the door. It wasn’t fully open, but enough for her to glimpse the flat inside. A TV, sound muted, was playing in the corner of the dirty room. The single window in the room was open. The light coming through it cast an unflattering glow over the place, highlighting the layer of dust, the stains on the thin carpet, the damp patches on the walls.

  Here at the entrance to the flat, she got that scent of cologne again; although it seemed fainter now. Either the air blowing through the open window had dispersed it, or else there was no smell and Dee was just imagining it.

  Using the tip of her index finger, Dee pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The silence screamed back at her; faces on the TV speaking words she couldn’t hear; the only movement in the tiny flat was the flickering of the thin curtains in the breeze coming through the open window. Her mind and body seemed to separate, until she was watching herself, crossing the room to the open window and the flapping curtains.

  The flat was at the back of the building. Looking out the window, Dee could see a stretch of wasteland and a deserted construction site. The contrast with the bustling street at the front of the building was remarkable.

  A single scream broke the silence, followed by voices. Lots of voices. All of them coming from outside, six storeys below. Dee already knew what she’d see when she leaned out of the open window and looked down.

  She knew, but she couldn’t stop herself doing it, her eyes travelling down to all the people coming around the side of the building to see what the commotion was. And there, directly below the window, lying face down on the concrete, the broken body of the man Dee had come to speak to. The man who, one hour earlier, had told Emer she’d end up dead if she continued trying to find Annie Holden.

  Thirty-two

  ‘I took the Tube in the wrong direction,’ Maeve said. ‘Before I knew it, I was in Camden. I might not know much about London, but I know that Camden is north London, not south.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Emer said. ‘It wasn’t him.’

  ‘Who was he, then, if he wasn’t your dad?’

  ‘I don’t know. He could be anyone. You want to know something? I’m starting to think we should stop this whole thing now. It’s bullshit. I don’t know who to trust anymore, or what to believe. I’m worried if I keep going with this, I’ll lose my mind.’

  ‘We can’t stop now,’ Maeve said. ‘If Kitty is alive, she’s my only chance of finding out what happened to Lucy.’

  They were sitting outside a cafe in Covent Garden, near Maeve’s hotel. Maeve had suggested a pub, but Emer had opted for this place instead. Alcohol was the last thing she needed right now, and she didn’t trust her ability to abstain if she went to a pub.

  She was on edge, anxious and tense and finding it difficult to focus. None of these feelings were new. The difference now was she wasn’t trying to block them out with alcohol. Maeve wasn’t helping her mood, either. She kept questioning everything Emer said, as if she didn’t believe what Emer was telling her.

  ‘I’m going to head back to Eastbourne,’ Emer said. ‘There’s no point staying in London. We can’t do anything here. You should come with me. There’s plenty of room at Dee’s, and she’s already said you’re welcome to stay.’

  ‘Does this mean you’re not giving up then?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ Emer said. ‘But we’ve come this far, it doesn’t seem right to just turn around and go home. Besides, it’s not all about me, is it? You’ve got a say in this too. You deserve to know what happened to Lucy.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Maeve reached out and squeezed Emer’s hand. ‘That means a lot, Emer.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Emer said, some of her bad mood evaporating. The truth was, this was an impossible situation for both of them. She’d have to try harder to keep her emotions in check and get on with Maeve as best she could.

  ‘I’m not sure about going to Eastbourne, though,’ Maeve said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s like you said, we don’t know who we can trust. It makes more sense for us to do this alone for now. Until we know exactly what’s going on.’

  Emer didn’t say anything. She’d liked Dee so far, and trusted her. But maybe Maeve was right.

  ‘So if we don’t go to Eastbourne,’ she said, ‘what do we do?’

  ‘I guess we need to make a plan,’ Maeve said.

  ‘Dee told me last night that Annie’s father was convicted of murder,’ Emer said. ‘Let’s go online now and see what we can find out. The family live somewhere near Eastbourne. I can’t remember the name of the town, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

  ‘Eastbourne’s in East Sussex,’ Maeve said, taking her phone out of her pocket. ‘We can start by looking up Holden and East Sussex and murder. Do you know the father’s first name?’

  Emer felt some of the tension draining from her body. It was good to finally feel that she and Maeve were together in this. Dee had been great, but Maeve and Emer had a shared history, a shared sense of loss, that united them in a completely different way.

  ‘I’ve got it.’ Maeve looked up at Emer. ‘The village is called Alfriston. Get your phone out and look up Michael Holden and Alfriston.’

  Emer took her phone out of her bag and typed into her browser. The results came back almost immediately and she started reading. When she’d finished, she looked up at Maeve, frowning.

  ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I know,’ Maeve said. ‘It’s such an odd story. Why would anyone kill a complete stranger for no reason?’

  ‘We don’t know the victim was a stranger,’ Emer said. ‘Holden never said why he killed that man, but clearly he had a reason.’

  A photo of Michael Holden accompanied most of the stories. On her phone screen, the photo was too small to see his face clearly. Now, Emer enlarged the photo, examining his face in more detail. He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had sandy, blond hair that hung down almost to his shoulders. He was grinning at the person taking the photo, a big happy smile that made you want to smile back at him.

  He’d changed a lot, and certainly hadn’t been smiling like that the last time she’d seen him. But Emer was in no doubt. The man in the photo was the same man she’d met at the flat in Stockwell earlier that morning.

  Thirty-three

  The dark shadows were creeping closer. Each time they threatened to pounce, Dee refilled her glass and drank some more wine. She was too weary to try to fight it. She felt wrung out, done in, finished. All she sought now was oblivion, and past experience had taught her that this was the fastest route. It had also taught her that drinking tonight would make it harder to manage the darkness the following day. But that, she reflected, draining her glass and savouring the taste of the cool wine on the back of her throat, was a problem for tomorrow
, not now.

  Further along the beach, she could just make out the glow of light through the sitting room curtains inside the mobile home. She should have been over there earlier this evening, having dinner and spending precious time she would never get back with the little boy who’d become the centre of her world over the last few years. But by the time she’d got back home from London, it was too late for dinner and Jake was already in bed.

  The hours when she should have been driving home and getting ready for dinner had been spent inside Brixton Police Station. When she’d finally got out, it was already dark and she knew her dinner would have to be cancelled.

  ‘We’ll find some time over the next few days,’ Ella had said, when Dee called to tell her she wasn’t going to make it.

  Dee had said yes, of course they would. But she knew, even as she said it, that it wouldn’t happen. How could it, when there were only five days remaining until they left?

  She’d been expecting Emer and her friend to be here, but there was no sign of them when she arrived. When she’d gone to get her spare key, Ella had invited her in for a glass of wine, but Dee had declined. All she wanted was to be by herself. It was a relief when she got Emer’s message, telling Dee they’d decided not to come to Eastbourne this evening. It meant Dee didn’t have to pretend to be okay, when the truth was she was anything but.

  The image of the dead man had haunted her all day, and continued to haunt her now she was back home. The sheer waste of a life. The police, who had questioned her repeatedly throughout the afternoon, had implied more than once that the death was murder, not suicide.

  She’d thought they were going to keep her there, locked up in that place. Two detectives had interviewed her. She couldn’t remember either of their names, but one of them had given her a business card in case she later remembered anything else she could tell them about the dead man.