The One You Trust: Emma Holden Trilogy: Book Three

by Paul Pilkington

  But what if our story isn’t going to have a happy ending?

  ‘I’m really sorry, Em,’ Lizzy said, hurrying back into the room. ‘I’ve got to go down to the theatre. The producer’s called a full cast meeting. They won’t say what it’s about, but they want us there right now.’ She looked at her friend. ‘Will you come with me? It’d be absolutely fine, although I don’t know how long the meeting will last.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll be okay here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Lizzy looked doubtful. ‘I suppose as long as I come straight back . . . I won’t hang around afterwards.’

  ‘I’ll watch one of the box sets,’ Emma said. ‘Or carry on cleaning. Honestly, you just go, and don’t worry.’

  ‘Thanks, Em,’ Lizzy said, kissing her friend goodbye. She headed for the door. ‘I’ll be back in no time.’

  Chapter 24

  He watched from the van, parked across the street, as Lizzy exited the apartment block. Emma is now alone. His persistence had paid off. He followed Lizzy with his eyes as the strawberry-blonde crossed the street, just in front of his vehicle, and headed for the bus stop, some thirty or so metres ahead of where he was parked.

  There was no way he could risk her seeing him.

  He waited with growing impatience as Lizzy stood there, letting two buses pass by. He looked up at the window to Emma’s flat. Soon we’ll be together. The thought gave him a glow, a thrill, of deep satisfaction.

  A bus stopped, and Lizzy was gone.

  He smiled as he admired his bruised and battered face in the rear-view mirror.

  It was time.

  Chapter 25

  Emma placed Dan’s wedding ring out of harm’s way in a small, decorative dish that they’d bought in Cornwall, and took up where Lizzy had left off with the hoover. But the physical exertion of the vacuuming couldn’t banish the anxieties about why the wedding ring had been under the sofa in the first place.

  Dan hadn’t mentioned anything about the ring being too big – they’d had the rings fitted properly in the shop. Normally, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but the revelation about Dan and Stuart had shaken her confidence.

  Emma’s anxieties were interrupted by the door buzzer. She felt unnerved by the insistence of its sound and, for a moment, she waited, frozen to the spot in the living room. She was briefly surrounded by silence, and then it buzzed again. And again. And again – this time for longer, more intrusively, more menacingly.

  ‘Please, just go away,’ she whispered.

  And her wish seemed to have been answered. The buzzing stopped. She moved over to the window and peered through the rain-spotted glass at the street below. It was busy with people, many with umbrellas up. Her pulse was racing. She focused on the people, scrutinising each person who passed by.

  She couldn’t see anyone who resembled Peter Myers.

  And then the landline rang. It shocked her much more than it should have done, sending her moving for the protection of the wall, unconsciously seeking shelter.

  But as the phone continued to ring, she regained her composure. It could be anyone. There was no reason to assume it was something sinister. Steeling herself, she reached out and snatched up the receiver, her breathing heavy against the mouthpiece. ‘Hello?’

  An automated voice responded. ‘This is the SMS messaging service. Press one to hear your message.’

  She relaxed. This had happened before, a few months ago. Instead of texting her mobile, Lizzy had texted their home phone by mistake. She had probably done the same thing again.

  She pressed one. A computerised voice told her again that she had a message, and then gave the number of the mobile it was sent from. It wasn’t Lizzy’s number, or any other that she recognised. Then, ‘Hello, Emma,’ the computerised voice said. ‘I’m your number one fan. I know you’re alone. You shouldn’t be alone.’

  Emma slammed the phone down. ‘Oh my God!’

  She spun around, as if someone was hovering just behind her back. Of course there was no one – yet, someone had been downstairs, pressing on the buzzer.

  She ran to the door and checked that the internal lock was across. Then she returned to the phone. First she would call Dan, then Gasnier.

  But before she could dial, there was a knock on the door.

  She thought about making a phone call first but instead, unable to stop herself, she crept over to the door and slowly placed an eye up to the spyhole.

  Chapter 26

  Will got the call shortly after ten thirty that morning. He’d been totally unproductive in the first hour and a half of the day, his attention wandering between the work he should have been doing, the blackmailer and Peter Myers.

  He moved into the stairwell when he realised it was Sally that was phoning. The office was busy, and he didn’t want any of his colleagues listening. ‘Hi, Sally, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. But her tone struck Will as curt and rather cold.

  He waited a beat to see if she’d add anything else, but she didn’t, so he filled the void. ‘Aren’t you at work?’

  ‘It’s first break,’ she explained. In the background he could hear children shouting. ‘I’m out on playground duty.’

  ‘So it’s not raining there, then? It’s just started again here.’

  ‘No, dry here for the moment.’ A girl’s excitable screams cut into the conversation. ‘Look, Will,’ Sally continued, ‘the reason I called is because, well, I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other again.’

  The statement, said in such a matter-of-fact way, hit Will hard. ‘What? I don’t understand. Why?’

  ‘I just think it would be for the best.’

  Will tried to hide his anguish as two workers descended the stairs, deep in conversation. He waited for them to pass through the double doors into the main office. ‘Is it because of what I said, about being in love with you?’ He smacked his hand silently against the wall in frustration. ‘What I said about just being friends, I meant it. If you don’t want a relationship, and just want to be friends, that’s fine. I’ll never pressure you, I promise.’

  ‘It’s not that, Will – sorry, hang on a minute . . . Boys, get back from over there right now! You know it’s out of bounds! . . . Sorry, Will, I had to deal with that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I understand. You’ve got your job to do.’

  ‘Will, I just think that we’d both benefit from a clean break. I’m sorry. Look, I’ve got to hang up now – the bell is about to go and I need to be back over in the school block. I’m sorry, Will. Take care.’

  Will let his arm, along with his phone, drop down to his side. He leant against the wall, feeling sick. He knew it was pathetic, mourning the death of a relationship that never really was, but he couldn’t help it. The trouble with love is that the more you try to contain it, bottle it inside, deny its existence, the more self-destructive it becomes.

  After a minute or so of wondering whether to call her back, Will returned to his desk and desperately tried to lose himself in his work. When his phone rang a few minutes later, he snatched it up, longing to hear her say that she had changed her mind. But one look at the caller ID disappointed him: it was his father. He rejected the call. He didn’t want to talk to anyone at that moment, least of all his father. He would call him back later.

  It was approaching lunchtime when Will decided on his bold, and probably foolish, course of action. His line manager gave him permission for an extended lunch break and, armed with a print-out of directions, he caught a bus towards the Angel interchange, where he switched onto the tube and headed south of the river.

  All through the journey he questioned his actions and, at one point, nearly turned back. But he held his nerve, and eventually arrived at Brownstone Academy, the former comprehensive school where Sally worked.

  He knew from the school website that the lunchtime break ended in half an hour, so it would give him plenty of time to talk to Sally before her classes resumed. He ha
d no idea what he was going to say, or whether it would make any difference, but he didn’t want their relationship to end on a phone call. Even if the outcome didn’t change, to say goodbye in person would feel so much better. At least, I hope it does.

  Will made his way through the entrance gate and headed for reception. ‘Hello. I’m looking for Sally Thompson. I need to speak to her, quite urgently.’ He didn’t know what the protocol was for allowing visitors, but the receptionist, a lady in her late sixties with a kindly face and glasses perched on the end of her nose, nodded without question and picked up a phone. ‘And your name is—?’

  ‘Will. Will Holden.’

  She spoke to someone on the other end of the line. ‘Sally is out on the training pitch at the moment, with the girls’ hockey team. But her colleague said she’ll be finished in the next ten minutes. You’re welcome to wait in the sports centre office.’

  The directions were easy to follow, and within a couple of minutes he reached the sports centre. Dodging his way across a crowded playground, he’d noticed some glances from pupils, distracted from their play by his presence – possibly wondering whether he was a new member of staff.

  Will had once flirted with the idea of a career in teaching, maybe in business studies or English, but had been put off by his aunt, who had retired from the profession and warned him to steer clear: ‘If you want a lifetime of stress, by all means go for it. But otherwise, I’d go for a nice office job,’ she had said.

  But the office job he had was dull and undemanding. Teaching would have been difficult, but it might have challenged and improved him as a person. There were days, especially recently, when he wondered why he had been swayed by the opinion of one, world-weary person.

  Will looked out across the training pitch. He could see Sally in the middle of the girls, as they twisted and turned, hacking and lunging at the ball. She was in a dark tracksuit, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. He could see a whistle bouncing around her neck. She looked really good.

  Instead of waiting inside the sports centre, he decided to stay where he was and watch the rest of the game. In fact, they finished after only five minutes or so, and the girls trooped off to get changed while Sally hung back with a couple of the players, chatting, as they left the playing area. She was still talking to them when she spotted Will.

  Her reaction was immediate. She let the two girls go and jogged towards him; she didn’t look happy. ‘Will, what are you doing here?’

  Will reddened. ‘I . . . I wanted to come and see you.’ He knew it sounded pathetic, but it was the truth.

  ‘But I’m at work, Will. Couldn’t this have waited?’

  Will hung his head, his previous conviction of certainty disintegrating in the face of her disapproval. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, I’ll just go.’ He turned, reluctantly, and started to head back the way he’d come, across the now deserted playground.

  ‘Wait!’ Sally called. ‘Come back.’

  Will turned around, and Sally closed the gap between them. ‘It’s my fault,’ she said, her face softening. ‘I called you from work, so I shouldn’t be angry about you coming here now.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Will said. ‘I can go, really. You don’t want to be discussing your private life in school.’

  ‘There’s a place we can go,’ she said. ‘We’ve got an office in the sports centre. There won’t be anyone there at the moment.’ She turned and he followed her.

  The office was indeed empty. It was a small space, with just enough room for a desk, two chairs and a filing cabinet. Shelves high up on the wall were full to bursting with ring binders, and the atmosphere was dusty. ‘This isn’t your staff room, is it?’

  ‘God, no. We’ve got a bigger room down the corridor. This place is reserved for one-to-one meetings between staff. Although it’s not the most welcoming of places, as you can see.’

  Sally offered Will a seat, but he declined. He didn’t want to have this conversation sitting down and, anyway, he wasn’t sure it was going to last that long.

  ‘So,’ Sally said, remaining standing herself. ‘What did you come here for, Will?’

  ‘I wanted to know why you don’t want to see me again.’

  Sally shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I can add from what I said on the phone. I just think it’s for the best, Will. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘But that’s not what you said before, on the London Eye. You agreed that we could be friends.’

  ‘I know, but I’ve changed my mind. There’s too much history’ – she shrugged with exasperation – ‘too much has happened between us. I thought we could get past it, but now I don’t think we can. It would be too difficult to make it work.’

  Will shook his head. ‘There must be a reason why you’ve changed your mind.’

  Sally’s silence provided Will with his answer.

  ‘So what is it?’ he pressed.

  It was Sally’s turn to shake her head.

  ‘Please, tell me. And then I’ll go, and you’ll never have to see me again, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Just leave it, Will.’

  But Will was in no mood to back down. He didn’t want to leave the stuffy office with questions unanswered, even if he wasn’t going to like the answer. ‘Tell me, please.’

  Sally placed her hands on the desk, staring down at them. Then, raising her head slowly, she fixed her stare on Will. ‘Okay. If you really want to know, I’ll tell you.’

  Now that she had relented, Will almost regretted pushing her into telling the truth. Maybe he should have just left it and remained ignorant, rather than face the painful facts.

  ‘You might like me, Will. Or even love me. But I don’t think you trust me.’

  ‘I do trust you. I said I did, and I mean it.’

  ‘But I planned to kill you.’

  ‘I know, but you didn’t do it!’ Will almost laughed. ‘We’ve been through all of this, haven’t we? We’ve discussed it. I thought it was all sorted out. It doesn’t make sense, what you’re saying.’

  Sally hesitated for a couple of seconds. ‘Your father came to see me last night.’

  ‘What? My dad came to see you? Why?’

  ‘I thought you’d know,’ she said, blinking. ‘After all, you gave him my address.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Will was perplexed. ‘I swear I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, he said that you did.’

  ‘Then he’s lying. He didn’t ask me for your address, and I didn’t give it to him.’

  ‘Well, he must have got it from someone,’ Sally replied.

  Will sought an explanation. Nothing came to mind, apart from the unpalatable possibility that his father had been through his address book. But when? Could he have used the spare key to get into my flat while I was out? It was certainly plausible. ‘Why did he come to see you?’

  ‘He wanted to warn me off from blackmailing you.’

  Will felt nauseous. He didn’t know what to say. Would his father ever learn to stop trying to control everything about their lives? He hadn’t changed at all.

  ‘Well, don’t you want to ask me yourself?’ Sally said, remaining calm, her arms now crossed. ‘Don’t you want to ask me whether I’m a blackmailer?’

  Will kept quiet, still struggling for a reply.

  ‘You do think that, don’t you? You think that I’m blackmailing you.’ She shook her head. ‘You see, Will, you don’t trust me. And, to be honest, if I were you, I would probably think the same. That’s why we can’t be friends.’

  ‘We did think it might be you,’ he admitted.

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, Emma and the others.’

  Sally seemed to find that amusing. ‘You see, Will, even if you did trust me, your friends and family never will.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does matter. I don’t want you to have to choose between me and them. It just wouldn’t be fair.’

  Will put his arms up and gripped the back of his neck. ‘Did he tel
l you what I’m being blackmailed about?’

  ‘No.’

  Well, at least that was something. The way his father was behaving, throwing wild accusations around, he risked letting the truth out in the most damaging way.

  ‘And I don’t want to know,’ Sally continued. ‘Unless you want to tell me. But whether you tell me or not, it sounds like you should go to the police, rather than let your family and friends try to sort things out.’

  Now Will did sit down. ‘I can’t go to the police.’ He looked up. ‘That’s the whole problem. Years ago I did something terrible. It wasn’t planned, and I’ve regretted it ever since. But if the police find out, then I will go to jail, I’m sure I will.’

  Sally sat down too. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Will, really.’

  Will took a few deep breaths, cupping his hands over his face. Am I really going to tell her the truth? He remembered how the woman on the plane coming back from Canada had reacted, those few months ago, when he had bared his soul. She had been repulsed, her desperation to move seats underlining the strength of her reaction. To that woman Will was a murderer, with blood on his hands. And not just that, but a danger from whom she had to escape. What’s to say that Sally won’t react in the same way?

  But, despite his misgivings, the words were already making their way out: ‘I helped Stuart to dispose of a body.’

  The statement hung in the air like a spectre.

  Sally’s face twisted in disbelief. ‘What?’

  It was too late to go back now. Will closed his eyes and continued along the path rolling out before him. ‘I helped Stuart to dispose of Stephen Myers’ body, after he killed him.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ Sally said, shaking her head numbly. ‘You’re a liar. Stuart wouldn’t have done something like that.’