I peeked around the corner again. The police officers had vanished and the door was ajar. There was a panel of glass in the door and I inched closer to have a look. They were standing at the end of the bed, talking to Emily. She was hooked up to a drip and looked small and frail, her blonde hair spread across the pillow.
It was as if she sensed me there. She turned her head and a look of anguish swept across her face.
‘Get her away from me!’ Emily’s shriek rang down the hallway. She thrashed her head and the nurse bustled past me and put a hand on her forehead.
The male officer pulled me out of the room. His beady eyes pinned me to the wall. ‘Step away, miss.’
‘Please, I need to speak to Emily.’
‘Miss, I’m asking politely, but I can make this more formal.’ He gestured towards the handcuffs on his belt.
‘Brays, what’s going on?’ A voice boomed down the corridor and my stomach dropped. DCI Golden appeared, his sandy hair even more dishevelled than usual. He was clutching a bottle of water.
He gave me a dark look. ‘Does my officer need to escort you from the premises?’
I shook my head. ‘Emily’s got the wrong end of the stick.’
Golden gave me a tight smile. ‘It appears you’re more involved with the Swifts than you let on.’
‘I’ve never slept with Charlie. I don’t know what she’s talking about.’
Golden gave me a hard look. He threw back two antacids, slugged some water, then took two more. ‘And I suppose those photographs on his phone just appeared by themselves, too.’
‘The . . . photos?’ I leaned against the wall, feeling faint.
‘Well, we’ll find out soon enough, Miss Kent. The phone is with forensics.’
For a moment, all I could hear was the hissing sound of my brain overheating. ‘Listen, someone is setting me up.’
Golden blinked slowly. ‘You can tell us all about it when we take a statement. Now scram. You’re upsetting the victim, and she’s had enough for one night.’
He turned away but I put my hand out to stop him. ‘Please . . . on the phone. I heard Emily say Charlie’s name. Did he do this to her?’
Golden gave me a flat look. ‘No comment.’
*
Outside, the sun rose and spread its light across the city. I sat on the hospital step sifting through my thoughts. Charlie hurt Emily. He put her in hospital. If it was true, it changed things in ways I didn’t feel equipped to deal with. Not on so little sleep. Sighing, I dialled Rowley’s number.
He answered immediately. ‘I got your text. Are you still at the hospital?’
‘Just leaving. There’s a wall around Emily. I can’t get to her.’
‘What the hell happened?’
A bus driver leaned on his horn and I pressed the phone against my ear. ‘I think Charlie attacked her. At home.’
There was a pause. ‘How badly hurt is she?’
I pictured Emily’s face, her eyes burning with hate. ‘Philip . . . there’s something else.’
I filled him in about the phone Emily found.
‘So, there’s a photograph of you on it,’ he said.
I closed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion seep into my bones. ‘No one will tell me anything.’
Rowley cleared his throat. ‘Sophie, are you sure you’re telling me the whole truth? Whatever has happened between you and Charlie, it is better for us – and for you – if I know the truth.’
For us and for you? Was Rowley distancing himself from me already?
‘Philip, I’m being set up.’
An ambulance wailed past and Rowley waited until it had disappeared before he spoke. ‘I’ll find out what I can.’
He hung up and I sat there, breathing through the panic, staring up at the cruel, blue sky. I could still hear Emily’s scream inside my head. I focused on it, sharpened it, inflated it until the big red sound reached every part of my head. Only then could I tune out the sounds of my nightmare. Tommy, with a knife.
17
I stood outside Sport First on Holborn, draining the dregs of my coffee. Sinead’s Body Blitz class finished at 9 a.m. and I was grateful I had somewhere to be. I couldn’t face going back to the Herald. Word would have spread about the night’s drama and the adrenaline that got me through the last four hours was fizzling out. I’d nipped into Cos to buy a change of clothes and hoped the new threads would go some way to mask my exhaustion.
I tossed my cup in the bin just as a stream of Lycra-clad women with cerise faces filed out of the door. I wrinkled my nose as the dank waft of raw sweat hit me and scanned the group. I hadn’t seen Sinead since September, when I’d joined Charlie and Emily’s friends for dinner. I’d missed the scoop on a violent burglary in Crystal Palace and Lansdowne had balled me out in front of the whole newsroom. After my second glass of Pinot Grigio, I felt the day roll off my shoulders and I turned to the plump woman on my right. Her translucent skin was crying out for powder and her small, blue eyes were slightly pink. I briefly wondered if she’d been crying. She introduced herself as Emily’s oldest friend, which at the time I thought odd, considering they were sitting at opposite ends of the table and hadn’t spoken all night.
The gym door opened and Sinead appeared wearing a black pencil skirt and a polka-dot blouse. She’d cut her hair just below her jawline and had lost a ton of weight.
She gave me a shy smile. ‘Sorry, have you been waiting long?’
‘Wow, you look amazing,’ I said, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Good class?’
‘Hell. But I’m getting married in three months so it’s all about getting into the dress.’ She waggled her ring finger in my face and the solitaire diamond glinted in the sun.
‘Who’s the lucky guy?’
‘Oliver. An accountant,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘I know. But it’s a myth. He’s one of the funniest people I know.’
I fell in step with her. ‘How long do I have you for?’
‘Twenty minutes or so. I’ve got a meeting at half nine. Let’s head to my office.’
We stopped at a pedestrian crossing, waiting for the lights to change. ‘So, is Emily planning your wedding?’
Sinead looked straight ahead. ‘I’m doing it myself.’
Something about her tone made me wonder, but I didn’t push it.
The lights changed and, as we crossed Shaftesbury Avenue, I turned to Sinead. ‘Where are you getting married?’
‘Family church. My mum would have killed me if I’d chosen anywhere else. She’s already having palpitations that Oliver is an atheist.’ Sinead crossed herself and grinned. ‘Here’s my office.’
‘Shall we have a coffee over there?’ I pointed to a café on the corner.
A shadow passed across Sinead’s face, but she nodded.
I opened the door and the heady scent of freshly baked croissants and cinnamon made my stomach growl.
‘Christ, look at that pastry counter,’ I said, pointing to the display, but Sinead had already marched over to a table by the window. She was rearranging her face into a smile as I sat down.
‘Are you OK?’
Before she could respond, a svelte lady with thinning silver hair shuffled over to take our order. Her face was wrinkled and brown, like a walnut. When she saw Sinead she smiled, exposing lipsticky teeth.
‘Miss Sinead, where you been?’ Her low-pitched voice had an Eastern European twang. She turned to me. ‘She is best customer, but not here for long, long time.’
I glanced at Sinead, whose fixed smile wasn’t reaching her eyes. ‘I’ve been busy, Magda.’
‘And no eating by look of things,’ said Magda, running a disapproving eye over Sinead. ‘I help with that. You want croissant? Danish? Cinnamon bun? I bring you.’
‘No.’ Sinead blurted the word out, then gave a shrill laugh. ‘I’ve eaten already. Just a fresh mint tea, please.’
‘A cappuccino for me, please,’ I said.
Magda frowned, then scuttled off.
Sinead let out a sigh as if she’d been holding her breath. ‘I haven’t been here lately.’
‘I gathered,’ I said, stifling a yawn. ‘Sorry.’
Sinead twisted her engagement ring round her finger and raised her eyebrows. ‘Not getting much sleep with this Charlie story, I’ll bet.’
Magda returned with our drinks and a plate of croissants. She held her hands up. ‘I know, I know. But you are wasting away. Is on the house.’
Sinead’s expression darkened. I was desperate to eat one, but sensed it wouldn’t be the right thing to do in front of Sinead. ‘You know who’d love these,’ I told her. ‘My office. Do you mind if I wrap them up and put them in my bag?’
Sinead gave me a grateful look. ‘Just don’t let Magda see. She might bring more.’
I bundled the pastries up and shoved them in my bag. ‘Have you spoken to Emily today?’
Sinead poured her tea, dribbling water over the table. ‘Emily and I haven’t spoken for a while.’ She mopped up the puddle with a napkin, not meeting my eye.
‘So, you don’t know that Emily is in hospital?’
Sinead looked up. ‘What?’
‘She was attacked at home. Last night.’
‘By who?’
I hesitated, not wanting to say Charlie’s name out loud. I didn’t need to.
Sinead’s eyes widened. ‘Is she OK?’
I wrapped my hands around the coffee cup; the china burned my skin. It was a welcome distraction. ‘The details are sketchy. I was hoping you might have spoken to Emily.’
Sinead pressed her lips together and folded her paper napkin into a fan shape. ‘I gave up smoking recently and now I don’t know what to do with my hands. No booze, no fags, no caffeine, no red meat.’
‘And no fun, right?’
She gave a tight smile. ‘Bridal bootcamp. All in pursuit of dewy skin and visible collarbones.’
I leaned towards her and softened my voice. ‘When did you last talk to Emily?’
She sighed. ‘A couple of months ago.’
‘Did something happen between you two?’
Sinead kept her eyes on her paper fan. ‘Did you see Emily on the news yesterday?’
‘Who didn’t?’
‘The social media stuff is . . . intense.’
I nodded. Memes of Emily popping up in random places to plug her blog were going viral. The last one I saw showed Emily’s image photoshopped between the Queen and Prince Philip at the Grand National. The words Screw the race, let’s talk about my blog were plastered across it. #SomethingBorrowed was trending. Some people thought Emily was brave for rewriting the rules of news journalism. Taking the wind out of the media’s sails by going it alone. But, for every positive reaction, there were ten negative. She was publicity-hungry. Unlikeable. Fake. A doormat. And worse. I was worried that by putting herself out there, she’d unwittingly put herself in danger. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Charlie attacked her the day after she appeared on London Today.
I sipped my coffee. ‘I wonder if the haters would hate quite so much if Emily wasn’t a pretty blonde.’
Sinead opened the fan out and smoothed it on the table. ‘You know, if I showed you our school photograph you wouldn’t be able to pick her out. Emily had mousy hair. Same as mine. We hung out every day. Ate our lunch in the science lab. Emily was bullied. We both were. Back then, things were difficult. Her parents–’ Sinead paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘We went to private school. Everyone’s parents were doctors, lawyers or bankers. Respectable. Law-abiding. Emily’s parents were all that but, behind closed doors, it was a different story.’
She hesitated, but I kept quiet, giving her space to think.
‘Domestic violence didn’t exist at our kind of school,’ she said quietly, her eyes on the table. ‘Well, you know how bitchy girls can be. There wasn’t much sympathy. And it didn’t help that Emily was the size of a house. Oh yes, didn’t I mention? We were the fat girls. So we’d sit in the empty science lab and work through the pain with chocolate bars and iced buns. The worst thing about it is that I didn’t even have an excuse. I did it to keep her company.’
The memory coloured Sinead’s cheeks, and in that moment I saw the lifelong battle she fought to find comfort in her own skin.
‘We both got into Eastford College for our A-levels, a co-ed boarding school down by the coast. The summer before we started, Emily went to France with her parents. Spent six weeks out there. When term started, Emily was . . . well, she was basically someone else.’
‘How do you mean?’
Sinead gave a sad smile. ‘She’d lost three stone, got blonde highlights, learned the art of eyeliner. It was a miracle. To Emily’s credit, she never dropped me. And in return I never blew her cover.’
‘Her cover?’
‘She invented a new family. Told everyone her dad was an international property consultant and her mum was a travel writer. They needed jobs that took them abroad so they never had to show up to school functions. She created a new past and it worked. Her new attitude had the boys running circles around her. Where the boys lead, the girls follow, right?’
I sipped my coffee, kicking over Sinead’s words in my mind. ‘But didn’t people know the old Emily?’
Sinead shook her head. ‘Emily covered her tracks. And Eastford College was miles away from our old school. She got away with it, mainly because she talked the talk. And she was beautiful. Under all that puppy fat. You know what it’s like at school: beauty is currency. Emily’s life was one big façade. It’s no surprise she’s ended up selling the idea of love and happiness to other people.’
The door opened and a group of suited men trooped in. Sinead ducked down, her cheeks flaring.
‘What are you doing?’ I said, frowning.
‘I don’t want anyone from the office to see me in here.’
‘Why not?’
Sinead gritted her teeth, but didn’t answer. At that moment one of the guys spotted her and she swore under her breath as he marched over, wrinkling his pug nose. ‘Hi, David.’
‘I knew you didn’t have the will power. You need to be stronger than this if you’re going to hit that target weight, right?’ He turned to me. ‘Sinead’s on a diet. We call her Sinead the Sink. Because she eats everything . . .’
‘. . . but the kitchen sink!’ The chorus of men guffawed in the background.
Sinead froze. David pointed to the empty plate. ‘Come on, how many have you eaten?’
I spun round in my chair and gave him a wide smile. ‘David, is it? Lovely to meet you. I’m Sophie.’
David raised his eyebrows, and leered towards me. ‘You single, Sophie?’
‘I am single, David. Are you interested?’
He glanced at his crew, taken aback by my brazenness. ‘Er, yeah.’
I leaned back in my chair, sizing him up. ‘Do you know what I do for a living, David? I’m a reporter, which means I spend a lot of time reading people. Do you know what I see when I look at you?’
David licked his lips nervously.
‘I see a phony, a dud. The fake gold signet ring on your little finger screams pretentious. Your suit is at least one size too small, so either you’re not as trim as you think or, more likely, you’ve put on weight. Probably driven by the fact you can’t get a girlfriend because who in their right mind would want to date a spiteful little man with halitosis and a receding hairline? And that snug suit definitely won’t help your erectile dysfunction. What do they call you behind your back? Dickless Dave?’
The sniggering in the background grew and David took a step back. ‘How do you know my ring is fake?’
‘The skin on your finger is green. Now, piss off.’
David slipped away to the cries of ‘Dickless Dave’ from his jubilant friends.
I swung back round to face Sinead and rolled my eyes. ‘Fucking moron.’
Sinead grinned. ‘That was awesome.’ Then she glanced at her watch and the corners of her mouth dropped. �
�Damn it, I haven’t got long.’
I signalled to Magda for the bill. ‘Do you mind if I ask a couple of questions about Emily?’
‘After that performance, I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.’
‘What did you think of her and Charlie? As a couple, I mean.’
‘Look, the thing you need to know about Emily is that she tries really hard to maintain a certain image. The Instagram-life, the perfect relationship, these things are important to her. It takes a certain kind of person to reinvent themselves, right? Many schoolgirls dream of that, but Emily actually did it. It takes strength of character. Some might say control freak.’
Magda appeared with the bill and Sinead waited until she’d gone.
‘But that makeover she underwent at school? It’s all surface. Underneath she’s the same insecure, fat girl peddling the perfect lifestyle. And Charlie is her Achilles heel. The one thing that bothers Emily more than anything is Lizzie.’
‘Charlie’s first wife?’
‘Yep, Emily’s paranoid she can’t live up to her memory.’
I put a fiver on the table, not meeting Sinead’s eye. After what Dominic told me about the bag of chicken bones he found, I wasn’t surprised.
‘So, the fact everyone knows Charlie cheated on her with Sabrina must be killing her,’ I said.
Sinead chewed her lip. ‘Look, if there’s one thing I know about Emily, it’s that she’ll come out swinging. Have you found it weird that she’s been so public about everything? She wants to control the situation. Just like she did at school. She didn’t like the story, so she rewrote it. Charlie’s cheated on her, he’s got another woman pregnant, possibly killed her, and has left Emily to pick up the pieces. You think a woman like Emily is going to take this lying down? If she can’t play the role of the perfect wife anymore, she’ll play the perfect victim.’
I drained my cup, considering Sinead’s words. ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’
Sinead raised her eyebrows. ‘It had better not be about my weight.’
I smiled. ‘Why haven’t you spoken to Emily for so long?’
The Perfect Victim Page 15
