The Unheard

by Nicci French

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘Is that relevant?’

  ‘I don’t know. It probably isn’t.’

  He pushed a hand into his damp hair so it stood up in peaks.

  ‘We got talking on a coach journey to London. At the end of it, she wrote her phone number on my wrist in felt tip. We were together for years, on and off, though we never moved in together.’ He paused. ‘She was fun. Really sweet. That’s the thing you have to know about Skye: she could be the sweetest, kindest, sparkiest person in the world. It was like she was giving off energy, do you know what I mean?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’re probably wondering why someone like her was with someone like me?’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I said, not entirely truthfully.

  ‘She was a bit what I wanted to be more like and maybe things would have been better for her if she’d been a bit more like me.’ He gave a little smile. ‘I mean stolid, organised.’

  ‘But you got on.’

  ‘For a time. I was her… I was going to say, her rock. That’s the cliché, isn’t it? But it’s not quite right. I was more like her scratching post. You know, the way cats find some chair they like to run their claws down.’

  ‘She could be difficult.’

  ‘Yes. Difficult and destructive. Christ, she was destructive. Destructive and self-destructive.’

  ‘Like how?’

  ‘Drinking too much, smoking too much, too much of whatever. Letting friends down. Getting into fights. Anyone who got in her way, which was me mostly. And yeah, like fucking other men sometimes, or rather, letting them fuck her, because she felt like a worthless piece of shit and so why not behave like one? And then she’d feel awful, terrible. She hated herself. It was like a spiral she went into.’

  ‘So it ended between you?’

  ‘It kept ending. And then it ended for good. She was very loveable, despite everything, but I couldn’t deal with it anymore.’

  ‘When was that?’

  He thought for a moment.

  ‘About eighteen or twenty months ago. I didn’t see her for a few months, but we stayed friends. I don’t think she had any other friends by the end. She was too much for them. It took a lot to stay friends with her.’

  ‘So there’s no one else you can think of who I should talk to?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Not really. Which is terrible when you think of it. Or if there is I don’t know who they are.’

  ‘Did she tell you about the men after you?’

  ‘She’d come and cry on my shoulder sometimes, weeping over the mistake she’d made about this one; the way that one had let her down, how she was a fool for never learning from experience.’

  ‘How did she meet them?’

  ‘She used dating apps sometimes – but the police must have checked those. And then, I guess she just met guys here and there. She was very good at that. You’d be out with her and she’d strike up conversation with the homeless guy, or the woman at the checkout, or whatever. She was always interested in them.’ Charlie’s eyes looked slightly red; perhaps it was the chlorine.

  ‘Was there anyone like that just before she died?’

  ‘She told me about a guy,’ he said. ‘He’d picked her up when she was out of it. That’s not what she called it, mind. She said he’d come to her rescue. She said he was handsome and kind and she was sure he wasn’t going to let her down.’

  ‘So did she see this guy again?’ I kept my voice light.

  ‘A few times, I think. She said there were complications, but it was going to be all right. She wasn’t going to let this chance of happiness get away.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. It was the same old story.’

  ‘Did she go to his house?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think she said he had a nice place. But maybe that was another guy, another time.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I shouted at her, told her not to be so childish and idiotic, but she just laughed at me and told me not to be so cynical. She said she was following her dreams.’ He ran his fingers through his damp hair. ‘The thing is about Skye, she was born with less layers of skin than other people. She was so unprotected. Like a little kid really. A lonely little kid. She thought someone would save her, make her all right. But they didn’t.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said uselessly, just as I had said to Felicity.

  Charlie turned back to me. ‘Who are you to say that?’ His voice was harsh and grating. ‘You met her once. She left me a couple of crazy messages just before she died and I never got back to her. I was busy, but the real reason was that I couldn’t quite face it.’

  ‘What were they about?’

  ‘Nothing really. She was gabbling.’

  ‘Do you still have the messages on your phone?’

  He blinked slowly. ‘I never thought. Maybe.’

  He took out his phone, scrolled down, then laid it flat on the table between us and pressed play. And then Skye was speaking.

  ‘Charlie, Charlie!’ Her voice was high and clear, like a girl’s. ‘Darling Charlie, where have you got to? Pick up!’ There was a brief silence. ‘Something’s happening. I’ve got this plan. It’s like that film we once saw. What was its name? I can’t remember. I want to talk to you. I’m desperate – no, not desperate.’ A rippling, silvery laugh. ‘Excited.’ There was a clatter of noise in the background. ‘Got to go. Call me.’

  The voice ended. Charlie put the phone back in his pocket and stared out at the blue receptacle of water.

  ‘What film?’ I asked eventually.

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Can you think of—?’

  He jerked his head up and glared at me with bloodshot eyes.

  ‘I told you. I don’t know! She was probably imagining it anyway.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘All that chaos.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ll have to live with it, I guess. Letting Skye down.’

  ‘I’m going to give you my details in case you remember something,’ I said. ‘Anything. Can I have your email?’

  I took out my phone, keyed it in, wrote down my address and mobile number.

  ‘Also,’ I said. ‘I wonder if you’d email a couple of photos of her to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So if I’m asking people about her, you know.’

  ‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘I should go now. I’m running late.’

  ‘Thank you for giving me this time.’

  ‘I’ve got a girlfriend,’ he said. ‘It’s only been a few months, but I like her.’

  ‘Talk to her,’ I said. ‘Tell her how you’re feeling.’

  He stood up and slung his rucksack over his shoulder.

  ‘The weird thing is that everything I’ve just told you, I’ve never said that to anyone. I’ve never spoken it aloud.’

  I could see he was close to tears. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve made things more painful.’

  He shrugged. ‘Go carefully with Peggy. I can’t imagine how she’ll live with this.’

  I watched him as he walked away, then bought another cup of tea. I sat for a long time, eyes on the swimmers moving up and down the pool, flickering abstract shapes in the blue water.

  * * *

  On the bus, I took out my mobile. Charlie had sent me three photos of Skye. One was a close-up, slightly out of focus. Her hair was cut short, almost to a bristle, and she had a piercing in her nose. She was smiling widely and there was a dimple in her left cheek. The second was of her sitting on a chair with a yellow shawl round her shoulders and a large black cat on her lap. In the third she was outside, wearing walking boots and a padded jacket. She was holding on to several leads and leaning back slightly as if she was being pulled, although the dogs were out of the picture. I studied her: small, slender, pretty. And young, I thought. So young.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The first dog I saw was a chocolate-box spaniel w
ith a glossy coat, long silky ears and sad, adoring eyes. Its owner wore a dress in sprigged cotton and dark glasses pushed back on top of her head.

  ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you,’ I said, my mobile already held out with the picture of Skye on its screen. ‘I’m wondering if you knew Skye Nolan. She used to walk dogs in this park.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve seen her. Sorry. Has she gone missing?’

  As if Skye was a dog herself.

  Next, a scruffy and cheerful-looking terrier that scampered around me as I spoke to a man with a big beard.

  ‘Never, I’m afraid. But I’m not usually the one to take Noodle out for his walk.’

  Two golden retrievers, one young and the other old and stout. They were accompanied by a woman in running clothes who stopped when I accosted her and unplugged herself from her earphones before replying.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe I’ve seen her. But I don’t know. And I’ve never talked to her. Sorry.’

  And off she ran, the dogs loping behind her, their pink tongues hanging out.

  A dachshund in a coat, so overweight I could barely make out its legs. The teenage boy cajoling it along the path looked embarrassed to be seen with it.

  ‘I’m on half-term. My gran asked me to walk it. It just waddles a few yards then sits down. Look at it!’

  ‘So you haven’t seen this woman?’

  ‘No.’

  A moderate-sized cross-breed with enquiring eyes and a coarse coat. A poodle. A Vizsla (I only knew that because its owner told me). Two Staffies. A chocolate-brown puppy that ran round in circles.

  A mangy dog that looked like a fox. An enormous dog that was the size of a pony and had ropes of saliva hanging from its jaws. A tiny dog the size of a mole that lifted a leg against a tree and stared reproachfully at me as I spoke to its owner. Three dogs on leads held by one teenage girl who was battling bravely to keep them disentangled. No one had met Skye.

  Then came a dog with a golden-brown coat and a white bib and a look of eager puzzlement.

  ‘She’s a Duck Toller,’ said the woman.

  ‘I’ve never heard of that.’

  ‘Not many people have. She’s very clever. Aren’t you, Primrose?’

  ‘I’m sure she is.’

  ‘I think she understands half of what I say and most of what I mean.’

  ‘That’s nice. I was wondering if you’d ever come across this person.’

  I held out my phone. The woman peered at the screen then straightened up.

  ‘Skye! Of course. She loved Primrose.’

  ‘So you knew her?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know know her, if you see what I mean. But she was often in the park and I’m here twice a day.’

  ‘With her dogs?’

  ‘The dogs she walked, yes.’ The woman sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Sometimes she had four or five of them. I mean, how can you properly look after five dogs all at once?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You can’t. Mind you, she did always clear up after them, which is more than you can say for some dog walkers. I don’t know why people have dogs if they need to hire a walker.’

  ‘Did you talk to her?’

  ‘I certainly did. We had nice chats over the last few months.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Dogs,’ said the woman. ‘What else?’

  ‘Do you know whose dogs she walked?’

  ‘What is this? Is something the matter?’

  ‘Actually, Skye died,’ I said.

  The woman looked down at her dog, as if for consolation, and Primrose looked back up at her. I’d never noticed before that dogs have eyebrows.

  ‘Now I think of it, I haven’t seen her. Was she ill? She didn’t look ill, though she did smoke an awful lot. I used to tell her.’

  ‘She fell from a building.’

  ‘That’s horrible! Dear oh dear. What were you asking? Yes… I don’t know whose dogs she walked. It wasn’t the same dogs all the time and there were weeks when I didn’t see her. Why? Are you her friend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Who’d have thought it? She didn’t have much luck, did she?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘With her men friends. When she wasn’t talking about dogs she was talking about men. She said she was a fool when it came to men.’

  ‘Did she mention any by name?’

  ‘It was just in passing. I think she was the same with loads of other people in the park. She would just come up and start chatting, like you’d known each other for ever.’

  ‘Was she always alone?’

  ‘She was with a man once.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘Only from behind.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘I really don’t remember.’

  ‘Tall or short or fat or thin?’

  ‘Just a man, seen from behind,’ said the woman.

  ‘When?’

  ‘When? Maybe a few weeks ago. I don’t know.’

  ‘Did they seem close?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say. I was walking Primrose and she was there with all these other dogs and a man. Excuse me, but why are you asking all these questions?’

  ‘She was a friend,’ I said.

  I looked down at my mobile. Skye looked back, smiling. Smiling at me, her eyebrows slightly raised.

  Dogs, I thought. All these dogs.

  And then I thought of something else and the air went out of me.

  THIRTY-SIX

  I sat at Gina’s kitchen table and she poured two coffees from the cafetière. The house was strangely quiet.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Laurie’s taken the kids to see his mother. They left just before you came. It’s weird, being here on my own. I can’t remember when that last happened.’

  ‘I don’t want to make you late for work.’

  Gina looked at the clock on the wall: it was twenty past eight. ‘I have half an hour before I need to leave. It’s OK to be late once in a while.’ She picked up her coffee, took a sip, sighed luxuriously. ‘Isn’t it good that it’s just the two of us, sitting at the table. Sometimes I have a moment on my way to work, or when Jake and Nellie have gone to sleep, when I look back at us before all this happened. Maybe we forget what it’s like just being friends, hanging out.’

  ‘That’s true.’ I felt like a spy in my own life. Now I was being dishonest to my best friend. ‘I was thinking. Sometimes I wonder if I should get a dog. It might be nice for Poppy. What do you think?’

  Gina’s expression turned to alarm. ‘I’d think about it very carefully. People say it’s like getting a new child. You can never just go away and leave it. Approach the idea with caution. And what about Sunny – I don’t think he’d take very kindly to a dog in the house.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t get one?’

  ‘Christ, no. It’s as much as I can do to cope with two children – even though it’s mostly Laurie who does the day-to-day coping. The thought of coming home in the evening and having to take a dog out for a walk is too much. And then picking up their poo. And the way they smell when they’re wet. And that thing when they put their dribbly snouts on your lap.’

  I laughed.

  ‘No, seriously. And leave hairs everywhere. And yap.’

  ‘I get the picture. You’re not a dog person.’

  ‘I might let Jake have a hamster or something.’

  ‘Laurie likes dogs though, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Laurie? Does he?’

  ‘He told me he sometimes takes his mother’s dog for a walk.’

  ‘If you can call that little rat a dog. I guess he likes dogs more than me, anyway. Actually, if he had his way, we’d be living in the countryside surrounded by mud and with hens and goats and stuff. Fatherhood’s gone to his head.’ She grinned. ‘He says that whenever he goes out with Winston – that’s his mother’s dog – he gets into more conversations with people than in all his years of going
to London parks put together.’

  ‘So where does he walk him?’ I hated myself as I asked these questions.

  ‘Where? I don’t know. She lives in Kensal Rise so maybe he goes to the cemetery. He does love a good cemetery. But then, Winston is a small dog and I think he only needs small walks. Twice a day, mind.’

  ‘Does his mother ever hire a dog walker?’

  Gina laughed. ‘What is this? Are you working for the RSPCA?’

  ‘I just wonder what people do about their dogs when they go away.’

  ‘The answer is, I don’t know. Now then, enough of the dog interrogation, all right? Tell me how it is without Poppy.’

  ‘Strange. Very quiet. I miss her. I’ve talked to her several times a day and she seems cheerful. Though last night she had night terrors, and my mother says she isn’t really eating much.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. And at least you and Aidan can spend time together, just the two of you. That must be nice.’

  ‘That was the original plan.’

  Gina turned an enquiring glance on me.

  ‘We broke up.’ I tried to smile, but my mouth quivered and I turned away.

  ‘No! Tess, darling, what happened? You seemed so happy together. When did it happen?’

  ‘A few days ago.’

  ‘Was it you?’

  ‘It was the wrong time. But now I wonder why I did it.’

  ‘It’s not too late,’ said Gina.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Everything’s a mess.’

  ‘If you think you made a mistake, tell him.’

  ‘I can’t. The reasons I ended it haven’t changed. It’s just that I miss him and I feel a bit crap about everything. This is the dangerous period, when it’s all fresh. When it came to it, I just wasn’t ready. We met at the wrong time. I thought I was doing so well, but I’m not really, Gina. And more to the point, nor is Poppy.’

  I looked at Gina’s solicitous expression and felt a stab of guilt. Here I was, harbouring sinister suspicions about her husband and at the same time opening my heart, confiding in her, wanting her comfort.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Gina. ‘I’m so sorry, Tess.’

  ‘Me too. Oh God, look at the time.’