‘She’s in trouble, Sammy. She needs your help,’ my dad suddenly pipes up.
‘Ah, has she chipped a nail or pulled a hair extension out?’ I mutter as I plump the cushions again with frustration. ‘I mean, why should I help her, Dad? She ruined my life!’ I snap as I try to coax the kitten named Tin Man into the litter tray. A typical man; misses the target every time.
‘And besides, I don’t even know where she is,’ I huff. ‘Funnily enough she didn’t leave a forwarding address after she’d ruined my career!’
And why should I help her? My best friend of more than twenty years deliberately stitched me up, tried to discredit me and never gave two thoughts to how I might feel.
‘Huh?’ I say to the ceiling in the hope that my dad is still listening to me and hasn’t gone off to plant some hanging baskets outside the Pearly Gates or something.
‘Dad?’
Nothing.
‘Great, now what am I supposed to do?’
It’s all very well giving me cryptic messages, but when you can’t even work out a riddle that a five-year-old would find a piece of cake then it’s all a bit pointless, isn’t it? And talking of cake … no, Sam, control yourself. You will only live to regret it when Valerie has to take out your wedding dress again.
I drum my fingers on the kitchen worktop. Missy and Spencer curl round my legs in a synchronised fashion, waiting to be fed.
‘So, what do you two think I should do?’
The pair of cats meow in unison, which I take to mean, give her a call, what’s the worse than can happen? And stop holding a grudge, Miss Grudge-holder. They are probably saying is, for the love of God, will you shut up and just feed us?
I scroll through my contacts list until I come to L for Lorraine, Amy’s mother. I no longer have Amy’s number in my phone for obvious reasons. Chewing my lip I wonder what sort of trouble Amy could be in. My dad has only ever contacted me when there has been trouble with a capital T – the time when I had to prove live on TV that I wasn’t a fraud and the time when Jack almost died in the sea come to mind.
Checking the time I press call and let it ring. If she doesn’t pick up after four rings I’ll …
‘Hello?’
‘Oh hello, is that Lorraine?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Um … hi Lorraine, it’s Sam here … Samantha Ball … Amy’s …’ How do you explain that you’re her daughter’s ex-BFF? ‘…old school friend,’ I add.
‘Samantha! How are you? God, I haven’t seen you since you were a little nipper,’ Lorraine says in her half London, half Spanish accent.
‘Um … yes, I’m good, thank you. How are you?’ Yes, I’m stalling for time, but it’s only polite to ask, isn’t it? And the reason she hasn’t seen me since I was a nipper was because she was never at home. I could never understand why Lorraine always palmed Amy off on other people when we were kids.
‘Oh, you know, life’s a bitch and then you die,’ Lorraine cackles. ‘No seriously, I’m great. Still living the high life ere in Spain. You should try it sometime, get some sun on those pale sticks you call legs.’ Gee, thanks for that. I look down at my legs. They’re not pale sticks, actually! Okay, so they could do with a bit of spray tan, but they’re not that bad. I did say I never liked Lorraine, didn’t I?
‘Anyway, I just phoned to see if Amy was there? I’m getting married in a few weeks and …’
‘Married? What you?’ Lorraine laughs. Now I really don’t like the woman.
‘Yes, me and …’
‘My gawd, who on earth to?’
Aghh, I just want to punch this woman!
‘Um, Jack. You probably don’t remember him,’ I add.
‘What, the kid you and Amy used to hang around with – spotty little thing? Looked like Harry Potter without the glasses?’
Now she’s just being insulting.
‘Well I never.’ The witch cackles again.
‘I was wondering if you knew where Amy was living now. We want to invite her to the wedding,’ I lie. ‘I know she came to stay with you a while back when …’ I’m tempted to tell her the whole sorry story, but knowing Lorraine she would just laugh, ‘…when she, you know, lost her job over here.’
‘Amy? Oh she stayed with me for a bit, then she got herself a new boyfriend: a Spanish football player, Demetrio Covas no less. Plays for some premiership club somewhere. A lovely fella …’
‘He isn’t, Sammy.’ My dad’s voice comes into my head.
‘Doesn’t speak much English, but you know our Amy, that’s never stopped her!’ Lorraine shrieks. Like mother, like daughter then. ‘She moved in with him a few months back. Have you got her new mobile?’
‘Um, no, she must have forgotten to give it to me.’
‘Hang on … it’s 07799 8899221. I bet she’ll love to hear from you. Oh, and when you speak to her, tell her to give her old mum a ring sometime, will ya?’
‘Yes, of course. Nice to speak to you, Lorraine.’
‘You too, love. Cheers.’
The line goes dead and I tap the number Lorraine gave me into my phone and wait for it to ring.
‘Hola?’ a man’s voice answers.
‘Oh hello. Is Amy there, please?’
‘No,’ the voice snaps and the line goes dead.
‘You have to help her, Sammy!’ my dad urges.
Hello, dad, have you not been listening? Amy’s mum doesn’t know where she is. Just that she’s living with some footballer called Demetrio.
‘You have to go and find her, Sammy.’
Great! As if I haven’t got enough to do as it is!
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘So if you could keep an eye on the kittens and the possessed villagers for a few days …’ As conversations go, this is one of those strange ones and anyone listening in on me and Gem would think we were a pair of psychiatric patients on a day out.
Not only is Gem with me in the café, but so too is Simon. He is around her all the time, and while she obviously misses him like crazy she’s comforted by the fact that he’s with her every moment of every day, and we often have a three-way conversation with her talking to him through me and vice versa . Their baby is due any day now and she really is blooming. It’s going to be hard for her, being a single mum and still coming to terms with Si’s death, but she’s doing well and as she says, it’s like Si hasn’t left her; he’s just in the next room.
‘No problem, but how are you going to track this Amy down? You don’t even know where she lives,’ Gem says. I’m booked on the next flight to Malaga in a bid to find Amy, although I don’t know why I should be concerned. Amy has always got herself in and out of trouble all her life, but my dad was so insistent that I feel I have to go.
‘Ah, well, I did a bit of research on this guy she’s living with and found out that he lives in an area called San Pedro de Alcantara, which is quite near to the airport, so hopefully, once I’m there, I can find out exactly where he lives, check that Amy’s OK and be on the next flight back.’
‘Well, you’re a better woman than I am,’ Gem says. ‘I don’t think I could forgive someone if they did to me what Amy did to you.’
‘I know, but my dad was adamant I should go and find her. What else can I do? I’ve tried phoning her and the guy that answered just said she wasn’t there.’
‘But why would he have her phone?’
‘Good question, which makes me think my dad might be right.’
‘Well, don’t worry about things here; if the village folk get too out of hand I’ll push them all down the well in the middle of the village green.’ Gem smiles.
I have to say, considering half the village are still possessed, they seem to be going about their lives pretty much as normal. Okay, so Mr Brent still has his moments with the tourists and my mother breaks out into song the moment she hears a drum beat, but aside from that, the spirits have kept their part of the deal and remained relatively quiet. I still haven’t told Jack that we will be having more guests at
our wedding than we intended, but then sometimes some things are best left unsaid, right?
And talking of Jack, I need to phone him and tell him that I am off to Spain for a few days.
‘You’re mad, you know that?’ is Jack’s response when I tell him what my plans are for this week.
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Mad, but in a good way,’ Jack adds. ‘Don’t you remember what that cow did to you?’
‘I know, that’s what Gem said, but I just have this feeling that Dad wouldn’t have come through to me if it wasn’t important. And besides, it’s unhealthy to hold a grudge.’
‘Well, don’t get upset if she’s mean to you again and don’t go inviting her to our wedding just because you feel sorry for her,’
‘I’ll second that!’ Ange butts in.
In another world Amy would have been my chief bridesmaid. We always said we would be there for each other’s momentous moments.
‘Err, hello? New best friend here!’ I hear Ange say in my head.
‘Oh, sorry, Ange.’
‘Eh?’ Jack says.
‘Oh, sorry, Jack. Ange was just ticking me off for thinking about Amy.’
‘Right, well you go carefully and call me as soon as you’re in Spain. And try not to look too much like a tourist; you know what you’re like.’
‘I do not look like a tourist!’
‘Err, yes, you do, Sam. Be safe and I love you.’
‘Loves me too!’
I hang up and huff. I do so not look like a tourist. OK, so I do carry a map around with me if I’m any more than five miles away from home, and I do have a habit of saying, ‘Excuse me, speaky English?’ even if I’m in London, but that doesn’t make me a tourist, does it?
‘Well, if you ask me, you’re wasting your time,’ a rather disgruntled Ange informs me as we land at Malaga airport. Considering it’s mid November, it’s still warm enough to wear just a cardigan. Maybe Jack and I should think about coming here for our honeymoon.
‘You can’t even speak Spanish!’ Ange says.
‘Look, Ange, I know you’re not very happy with this, but there’s no need to be bitchy, is there?’
Ange huffs loudly in my ear as we make our way through customs.
Right, now where do I go? I check my map and work out that I will probably be better off getting a taxi to San Pedro de Alcantara, so trying not to look like a tourist I jump into the nearest taxi – I do hope it is a taxi and not a pretend one with a Spanish axe-wielding murderer as a driver.
‘Hola! Speaky English?’ I ask as I jump in.
‘Si, Senora. Where to?’
Phew, at least I don’t have to get the phrase book out.
‘Um … I’m not too sure. I’m looking for Demetrio Covas; you know, the football player? But I’m not sure quite where he lives. I’m … I’m here to do an interview with him for … News Times, it’s a British newspaper. I seem to have left my diary on the plane,’ I add for effect.
The taxi guy mutters something in Spanish, followed by the footballer’s name – I’m not sure if he’s a fan or not. As Ange kindly pointed out, I don’t speaky Spanish.
‘I take you,’ the taxi driver says and speeds off.
Being typically British, I start gabbling away about the story I’m working on and why I need to interview Mr Covas. Being typically blokish, the taxi driver ignores me.
‘Here,’ the driver says as he screeches to a halt outside a huge white complex of luxury apartments that is dominated by gold security gates. They don’t intimidate me. Having spent quite a lot of time in the company of Donald, I now know all the tricks in the book of how to get into a secure complex.
‘Thanks.’ I hand the driver a twenty euro note. ‘Keep the change.’
‘Not enough. Five more,’ the driver says.
‘Oh, sorry. Here.’ I give him another ten euros.
‘See, you’re hopeless!’ Ange laughs.
‘Oh shut yer face, you.’
The driver looks at me.
‘Oh, no, not you. Thank you. Bye!’ I scurry quickly out of the taxi.
Right, now let’s see. I scan the foreign names listed on the gold panel until I come to D. Covas. Good start. I press the discreet black button next to his name.
‘Hola.’
‘Oh, um … hello. Can I speak to Amy, please?’
‘No. Not here!’ the voice says.
‘She is there. She needs your help, Sammy.’ My dad’s voice comes through to me.
‘Are you sure? Could you please tell me where she is?’
‘She no here! Now go!’ the man snaps.
I press the button again, but this time it just buzzes.
‘I would like to see Amy, please!’ I say impatiently.
No reply.
Right, if he won’t let me in then I will have to find another way in. Checking the number of the apartment on the intercom, I look up at the apartments. 5P. Now, how the hell am I going to get in there?
‘Not the best of ideas you’ve had to date, Ange, I have to say,’ I mutter as I hide behind what seems to be the only bush for a million miles. My bum aches from where I’ve been sitting for hours on my handbag as I wait on the off chance that the security gates will open. It’s later than I first thought because I forgot to put my watch forward an hour, and the sun is starting to set.
‘This is bloody ridiculous! I bet she isn’t even …’
‘Shhh! That’s him!’ Ange hisses.
I watch as a man in a dark suit blips his key ring at a silver Porsche that is parked alongside several other posh-looking cars. He looks around him for a moment and then gets into the car.
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do. Now shhh and get ready to run when he opens the security gates.’
I brace myself and sure enough the gold gates open. As he drives through them I crawl as fast as I can, sniper style, towards them, praying they stay open until I get to them. If they don’t then I will have to resort to trying to climb over the top of them, and given my lack of fitness, it won’t look pretty.
Just as the gates close, I squeeze myself through the gap.
The Porsche screeches to a halt.
Oh god, oh god, oh god! I do a quick tuck, duck and roll under a parked car and hold my breath.
‘Hurry up, Sammy!’ my dad shouts in my ear.
Jesus, Dad! I’m doing the best I can here, you know! And besides, why couldn’t you have opened the bloody gates?
The Porsche pulls away from the complex again. Phew! I exhale loudly. Right, now for the simple matter of getting inside the building.
‘So? Any ideas, you two?’ I whisper up to the sky. It’s getting a bit cold now and I rub my arms to keep warm.
‘The code is 88781,’ my dad whispers back. I have no idea why he’s whispering; it’s only me that can hear him.
I tap the code into the security pad on the front door – and it opens. Nice one, Dad.
Posh is an understatement! The marble floor and chrome elevator only emphasise the richness of the complex. I decide to take the stairs up to the fifth floor. I don’t want to have to explain who I am if someone else uses the elevator.
Taking two steps at a time – okay, one at a time – I eventually find floor five and push the internal door. It doesn’t move.
‘33978,’ my dad whispers. Blimey, you’d think I was trying to get into Buck Palace!
I tap the code in and push the door.
It’s all quiet on this floor and the aroma of vanilla fills the hallway. They must pump it through the radiators or something.
‘Hurry up, Sammy!’
Okay, okay! I scan the corridor for apartment 5P. As I hurry, looking from side to side at the door numbers, I hear a groaning noise up ahead. Tiptoeing slowly I peer round the corner, but there isn’t anyone there. I hear the noise again and notice the sound is coming from the next apartment - room 5P.
‘Amy?’ I run to the room and bang on the door, ‘Amy, it’s Sam. Are you in there?�
�
The noise stops for a moment.
‘Amy?’ I bang on the door again.
‘Go … away,’ a small voice from the other side of the door says. I’m positive it’s Amy.
‘Amy? Let me in! It’s Samantha.’
‘Please, just go away!’ the voice says.
‘If you don’t let me in, then I’m going to call the police,’ I snap.
‘Please, Sam. Go!’
‘No! I’ll stay here all night if I have to! Something’s wrong, let me in,’ I hiss through the door.
The locks turn on the other side of the door.
‘Oh my God! Amy!’
Amy looks nothing like the Amy I knew: her once beautiful long, blonde hair has been hacked short and the curvaceous Amy I knew has been replaced by an almost anorexic girl. What is most shocking are the bruises and black eyes on her once beautiful face.
Amy looks behind me nervously and opens the door slightly wider so that I can squeeze through the gap. She shuts it and quickly locks it again.
‘Jesus, Amy! What the hell has happened to you?’
Amy, dressed in a dirty white tracksuit, limps towards the cream leather sofa, clutching her stomach.
‘I … you can’t be here, Sam,’ she whispers, looking anxiously at the door again.
‘What the hell has been going on?’ I can’t believe this is the same Amy that I knew and once loved.
Amy looks panic-stricken.
‘You have to go; he’ll be back … ouch … soon.’ She clutches at her side. It’s then that I notice that the dirty white tracksuit she’s wearing has a red mark down the left hand side of it.
‘Amy?’ I lift her tracksuit top up and reveal a blood-soaked pad of tissue, secured with medical tape.
‘Uh-oh.’
‘You have to go …’ Amy staggers to the door, then falls to the floor.
****
I’m sitting in the hospital, waiting for news about Amy’s condition. It could be any hospital anywhere in the world – all hospitals are the same, aren’t they? Stark, cold and busy places.
When Amy collapsed I kind of lost the plot a bit and couldn’t for the life of me remember the number for Spanish emergency services, so I just opened the door to the apartment and screamed for help, until the cleaner, who thankfully spoke English, heard me.
Oh Great, Now I Can See Dead People Page 18
