Pretty Little Things

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Pretty Little Things Page 22

by T. M. E. Walsh


  He’s more animated now. I look around again, hoping someone else comes into the car park.

  They don’t.

  ‘You’ve ruined my life. I had a job, I had a purpose. I had Ruby and now I’ve got nothing. She must’ve had enough and she’s just disappeared. It’s tearing me up inside and you’re to blame for this.’

  I slam the car door shut. ‘You were on your phone, you were in my lane, you sped around that bend and lost control. Your recklessness caused all of this!’

  ‘My God,’ he says, laughing. ‘You really believe your own lies, don’t you?’ He pauses, watches my face.

  He’s crazy too, like Ruby.

  His face falls. ‘Oh my God, you really do. They said your memory had gone, but you really believe what you’ve been told.’

  What I’ve been told . . .

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I say.

  He takes a step back now, head nodding to himself more than anything, like a penny has dropped and he sees everything clearly for the first time in months.

  ‘Talk to John Hague.’ He backs away from me, trainers squelching on the sodden ground. ‘Ask him what really happened.’

  I dismiss him with a wave of my hand and get into the car. I’m about to slam the door closed when something stops me.

  I look at him.

  He’s stopped moving.

  He just stares at me, waiting for me to drive off.

  ‘You were on your mobile. You nearly killed me,’ I say.

  A look of remorse flashes across his face.

  ‘I was using my mobile – I never denied that – but I don’t deserve to lose my job, or Ruby. I’m sorry for my mistake. It was a lapse in judgement, but that’s not what caused the accident. Deep down, you know this is true, even if you can’t remember it yet.’

  CHAPTER 47

  Charis handed Madeleine the printouts of Ruby’s mobile-phone records. She scanned the list of numbers Ruby had texted and called within the last two days and one number came up frequently.

  ‘This number here,’ Madeleine said, tapping the sheet of paper with her pen. ‘Do we know whose number this is?’

  ‘I’ve run it flagged up on HOLMES. Belongs to a John Hague.’

  ‘What do we know about him?’

  ‘Sole witness to Charlotte Monroe’s accident on the Linkway. He’s a porter at Amersham Hospital.’

  ‘And we’ve interviewed him?’

  ‘Alex and myself did, but he was dismissed as a person of interest.’

  Madeleine stared at the printout again. ‘But what was he doing receiving calls and texts from Ruby Tate? Can you go back further? When did the phone contact start?’

  ‘I’ll check,’ Charis said.

  Alex frowned. ‘He was at the charity fete in Kennington that the Monroes organised. He spoke to me, very briefly, at the raffle table. He was asking Elle Monroe what she’d got for her birthday and said he’d left her a gift.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ Charis said, from her own desk, pulling up further information on Ruby’s mobile records. ‘Small villages, remember? The people who came to the fete covered the cluster of villages, not to mention those who turned up just out of some morbid curiosity. We don’t know that this man’s done anything yet other than have phone contact with Ruby.’

  ‘But, like Jade, Elle and Kenzie, she’s missing,’ Madeleine said.

  Charis scanned the information on her screen.

  ‘Ruby was in Bronze Mead the day before Paul Selby reported her missing . . .’

  Madeleine went to check the screen.

  ‘A mobile connected to a mast about a quarter of a mile from John Hague’s house.’

  ‘What else do we know about him?’

  ‘He’s not that remarkable, no previous.’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘He lives alone,’ Alex said, checking his system. ‘Wife left him and took the kids. He said they were in the process of divorcing.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘His wife left when . . .’ Alex’s face looked pale as he considered the timing. ‘She left around the time Caroline White went missing . . .’

  An uneasy silence fell among them.

  ‘I want to see John Hague right now,’ Madeleine said.

  ‘His wife leaving around the time this all started,’ Charis said. ‘It could be a coincidence.’

  ‘Yes, but that aside, he might’ve been one of the last people to have seen Ruby and know what her state of mind was like. Charlotte Monroe certainly thought Ruby could be behind her daughter going missing.’

  ‘I thought we were treating Elle and Kenzie as runaways?’ Alex said.

  Madeleine stared at the board at the front of the room, at the faces of those with some kind of connection to her investigation.

  ‘It seems strange to me that they’re all connected in some way or another to each other,’ she said. ‘Someone around the Monroes knows what’s going on. We’re no closer to finding where Elle and Kenzie have gone and no closer to finding Jade Reid . . . Something’s not sitting right. Someone has been lying to us from the beginning.’

  CHAPTER 48

  CHARLOTTE

  The rain begins to clear as I drive towards Amersham Hospital. I think I remember that John should be on shift. I try to keep to the speed limit, tyres cutting through the surface water on the tarmac, skidding a little as I take a bend in the road too sharply.

  A car blasts its horn at me.

  Using the hands-free kit, I try John’s mobile but he doesn’t answer. I try Savannah’s but it cuts straight to voicemail.

  I try John once more but still nothing.

  None of this makes sense to me. I wrack my brain, trying to make sense of what Paul Selby said to me. True, I don’t remember much of that day, but I do still get flashes, taking me back.

  Iain’s voice is suddenly in my head, asking the questions: why was he behind your car? Why was John there? Do I believe in coincidences?

  I’m not so sure any more.

  My life started to go to hell when I had my accident. The girls going missing started not long afterwards . . .

  I need to know what happened that day.

  Only then can I hope to find Elle. My accident is key to all this. It must be.

  I grip the steering wheel for support when my head feels strange and a dizziness takes hold as I enter the Linkway.

  The day of the accident . . . I was going to work. I was getting ready for my shift at the hospital. Iain had already taken Elle with him in the van so he could drop her off at school en route to an early morning job . . .

  I see the road sign for the hospital and after another ten minutes I enter the hospital car park.

  I don’t get out straight away.

  I try to think.

  Think, Charlotte, think.

  I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. Open them again. Something does finally slot into place.

  I remember . . .

  There had been a knock at the door, minutes after Iain and Elle had left.

  *

  I wait in the old staffroom. Tom, one of the team, has let me sit in here while he goes to find Savannah because he said John isn’t due in until tomorrow.

  I try John’s number again but this time it goes straight to voicemail. I hang up. Just as well right now, because I have no idea what I’d say to him.

  I close my eyes. What can I remember?

  The knock at the door that morning . . .

  I answered it, thinking Iain had forgotten something.

  It wasn’t Iain.

  It was John.

  I open my eyes.

  John had been waiting for my husband to leave . . .

  ‘Charlotte?’

  I look up and see Savannah closing the staffroom door behind her. We’re alone so we can talk freely.

  ‘Tom said you were in a bit of a state. I’ve just rushed off the ward,’ she says, breathless. She looks harassed. ‘Is it Elle? Have you found her?’

  �
�What? No . . . No, Elle’s still missing.’ I choke out the last part but quickly regain my composure.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, standing up. ‘Paul Selby just confronted me. He must’ve been watching the house, me, waiting to get me alone.’ I step closer to her. ‘I need to talk to you about the day of the accident. About John.’

  I see Savannah’s face fall. She slips her hands in her pockets and nods. ‘You’ve finally remembered, haven’t you?’

  I baulk at her words. ‘You know?’

  She sighs and closes her eyes, frustration clear on her face. ‘Charlotte, what do you actually remember?’

  ‘Not too much, just little fragments. I didn’t remember before but I do now. John was at my house before I left for work that morning.’

  Savannah nods. ‘Yeah, when you came in, you were in a bit of a state.’

  I feel a chill sweep over my body.

  ‘You were upset that John had . . . made a pass at you.’

  That’s all it takes, her words, to take me back there that morning.

  Out of the darkness of that day little fragments begin to emerge of what has been missing until now.

  I see John’s face, see his smile as he stepped over the threshold into my house. I see him in my kitchen as I’m making him a drink. I remember being confused as to why he was there.

  Then an image emerges out of the darkness and it’s like I’ve been slapped across the face, brought back to reality.

  My skin crawls, and hairs raise on the back of my neck.

  I can almost feel John’s hands running over my shoulders, down my arms. His hands on my hips as he leans in and kisses me. I remember shoving him away, screaming at him to get out of my house.

  ‘I told him no,’ I say.

  Savannah nods. ‘He left and you both came in for your shift. You acted like nothing had happened, but you told me about it later on. I said you should report him but you said you didn’t want to prove Iain right, what he’d been saying for months. What we’d all been saying.’

  I look at her then. ‘All?’

  ‘John’s been after you for some time, Char. People notice these things.’

  I’m almost too afraid to speak. ‘He was following me later, on the Linkway.’

  ‘He must’ve watched you leave. I was always certain he was following you when we found out about the crash, but I couldn’t be sure.’

  I swallow hard, and wince. My throat feels like glass. ‘My explanation to the police, to Iain, was that I left work because I was unwell.’

  ‘You told management that.’

  ‘But you don’t believe it was true?’

  Savannah’s face says it all. I see the doubt in her eyes.

  ‘Do you know where I was going?’

  ‘I always believed you went to tell Iain what John had done.’

  ‘Was I?’

  She nods. ‘But then you were hit by Selby. You had no recollection of what had led up to that.’

  I feel crushed by the deception. I’m angry at John but also Savannah.

  ‘And you kept me in the dark?’

  She shrugs. ‘What good would it have done? Iain didn’t need to know right there and then. Christ, Charlotte, you were almost killed.’

  ‘But it’s been six months. You could’ve told me after I got out of hospital, but you’ve kept me muddling along, blind.’ I look at her and search for some glimmer of remorse, but her face is blank.

  ‘What happened to us?’ I say. ‘What happened, happened to me, yet you’re the one who changed. I could trust you with anything.’

  She looks at me. ‘No, Charlotte. That accident changed you.’

  ‘It changed me by knocking the shit out of me. My confidence was – is – shot. This is more than just a scar on my face.’

  She isn’t giving me an inch here. What am I supposed to have done to her?’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something? Anything?’

  ‘I thought it’d be too much for you while you were recovering. I also didn’t want to complicate things between you and Iain.’

  I’m not interested in her feeble excuses. ‘I’m not made of glass! I could’ve dealt with this, made it all clearer. You’re supposed to be my friend, although that’s questionable, even before this.’

  Her arms fold across her chest. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. ‘Oh, come on. I look back on the times you’ve been too close to Iain, touching his arm, trying to get close, closer to Elle.’

  She just shakes her head, incredulous.

  ‘Is it any wonder I looked to John?’

  Her eyes narrow at my words. ‘Pretty convenient memory loss, isn’t it? What has he planted in your head, Charlotte?’ She takes a step towards me, her face softening a little. ‘I was there, tried to be anyway. You often pushed me and Iain away.’

  I laugh, shake my head. She’s deluded.

  ‘You can laugh, but whatever you’re remembering, you’re remembering it wrong.’

  I hold my palm up for her to stop. ‘We’re done here,’ I say and turn to leave.

  ‘Are you going to see John?’

  I turn to look at her. ‘Not that it’s any of you concern now, but yes. He’s not in today so I’m going to Bronze Mead.’

  The expression on her face tells me she feels conflicted.

  ‘Don’t go, at least not alone, Char. Please.’

  ‘Don’t feign concern now.’

  She grabs my coat sleeve when I turn to leave.

  ‘I’ve always tried to be your friend, Charlotte.’

  She pauses and I can see she has more to say, but she hesitates.

  ‘The crash investigators . . .’ she says. ‘They spoke to me and a few others. Only I knew your real state of mind when you left here that day. I knew what John had done, but I lied when I was asked if there had been any reason to be concerned, any reason you wouldn’t have been fit to drive.’

  I look at her, silently questioning.

  ‘I didn’t want you to get in trouble. I was trying to protect you, Charlotte. Why do you think I’ve kept my distance since, knowing what I did on that day? I tried to be a good friend but you pushed me away and I made allowances for the fact the accident might be behind your behaviour.’

  She sucks in a breath then and I see there’s more she wants to unburden herself of. ‘At the charity fete—’

  My phone rings, the sound cutting through all the fog inside my head. I honestly feel like I’m spinning, like everything’s getting too much.

  I look at the caller ID.

  ‘It’s John,’ I say. I turn to go.

  She grabs my coat sleeve tighter. ‘No, Charlotte, don’t go to him.’

  ‘I have to have this out with him, find out why he’s been lying to me, what he did that day at my house.’

  I pause as a sense of dread fills me inside.

  ‘What if it’s key to finding out where Elle is?’

  Savannah’s confusion gives way to the realisation of where I’m going with this. ‘You can’t think he’d hurt Elle?’

  I let John’s call go to voicemail. I stare at the screen as the light fades to back.

  ‘I need to ask him what he knows about that day . . . Everything that’s happened, has happened since that accident. It must be key to all of this.’

  ‘But how?’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t know, but that’s what I need to find out.’

  CHAPTER 49

  CHARLOTTE

  An uneasy feeling churns inside me as I drive to John’s house. What if he had something to do with Elle disappearing?

  I try to think back, looking for any signs he had something planned with Elle.

  I remember the look in his eyes whenever he mentioned her. It wasn’t desire or anything even close to that. Even when he spoke fondly of her, enquired after her, he always looked . . . I don’t know, pained? Maybe it was jealousy?

  I remember when he turned up at the fete. I always thought the
real reason was to antagonise Iain. He had been cagey about leaving Elle a present.

  I always assumed he hadn’t left anything, because Elle would’ve said if he had, surely?

  I make it to Bronze Mead in good time, turning into the street and parking a little way from the house, so I’m not noticed.

  I glance at my phone. I’ve had another missed call from John, but this time he’s left a voicemail. I listen to it as I walk to the front door.

  ‘Charlotte, is anything wrong? Is it about Elle? Call me.’

  That’s all he says.

  I knock on the door.

  After a few seconds I hear him on the other side of it. He looks surprised to see me when he opens the door.

  ‘I’ve been trying to call you back,’ he says and looks over my shoulder. ‘You OK?’

  I barge past him and into the hallway.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he says, stumbling back.

  ‘Elle? Are you in here?’ I storm into the living room and find it empty. John follows after me but I push past him and run up the stairs.

  ‘What the hell, Char?’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’ I turn to stare at him. ‘Char. Don’t ever call me that again.’

  He appears taken aback.

  ‘Is she here?’

  ‘Who? Elle?’ His face twists in horror. ‘No, why would she be?’

  I search rooms upstairs and find nothing, no sign of her.

  ‘You’re really losing it,’ he says to me. ‘I think I need to call someone.’

  ‘Good!’ I snap. ‘Call the police. You can tell them what really happened on the day of my accident.’

  I let that sink in, watch the realisation cross his face.

  ‘I remember, John.’ His eyes find mine now. ‘I remember what you did. You waited for Iain and Elle to leave the house that day.’

  I feel sick at saying these words out loud. They leave a nasty taste in my mouth and I feel unclean, so much so that my skin itches, as if there are insects crawling all over me.

  He sighs, like he’s had the weight lifted from his shoulders. ‘You’re getting your memory back.’ He nods to himself. ‘That’s good. I’m pleased.’

  ‘Fuck you, John,’ I say and head back down the stairs. ‘You tried it on with me and you didn’t want to take no for an answer.’

 

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