by Nigel May
As Amy awoke a few hours later, the Parisian daylight already seeping into the room, Riley's body was still pressed close to hers. She immediately smiled, a ripple of intensity working through her. He was so sexy, all she'd ever wanted – why hadn't he been back in time to enjoy the negligee as she'd intended? Damn his business. How much was there to say about plastics?
Riley stirred and began to speak, as if he'd read her mind. 'Morning gorgeous, I am loving this ...' He tugged at the delicate fabric of the negligee, allowing his hands to move down its wave-like folds, and underneath the hemline, his fingers exploring the softness of Amy's thighs before dipping them into his desired destination of the heat between her legs.
Amy wasn’t surprised at how wet she already was, she had been feeling horny ever since leaving the lingerie store the evening before. She let out a murmur of excitement as his fingers probed deeper.
'Where were you last night? I was waiting for you?'
'Let me make it up to you.' He manoeuvred his naked body into position. 'You'd be surprised what there is to know about the ever-turning cogs of business.' Amy was about to answer but her mind blurred as Riley eased his way inside her, the hardness of his desire filling her aching needs and rippling a spasm of nerve-tingling euphoria across her body. She gave herself over to pleasure. Whatever there was to know, she didn't need to bother about it just yet.
An unopened bottle of Babylon Pour Homme sat on the bedside table as the young couple rocked their way to orgasm. As Amy could feel her own release mounting she spied the bottle through eyes blurring slightly with the shuddering force of her oncoming climax. She made a mental note to make sure Riley was wearing it for their next sexual encounter. It would always remind her of Paris and it had definitely been a trip worth remembering.
‘Oh my God, I love you, baby,’ screamed Amy as her lover released a hot flow of sexual lava into her. She should have uttered the exultation in French but any grasp of the Gallic tongue was forgotten once again, having been replaced by the sweet, sexual language of love. It was a language she was happy to be fluent in.
5
Now, the letter
* * *
Nothing made sense. The rantings of a dead man ... how the fuck ...?
‘Amy – I’m writing this because I have to, I want to. I have to say sorry. A million times over. Sorry for the misery you’ve suffered, sorry for the confusion I’m about to cause, sorry for the heartache. Sorry for all of it. It shouldn’t have been this way. You might never forgive me but I’m writing this for you, for us. Is there an us? I hope so. One day you might understand, but for now …? I’m not who you thought I was, who I am. I’m wrong, bad.
I should be dead. It’s what someone wanted that night in the club, that’s clear to me. But I survived. One day I’ll explain how. I’ve spent months thinking of how I’d say it to you.
“Remember the body you cremated Amy, well, it wasn’t me ...” I thought of phoning but they’d trace the call and track my mobile. Hunt me down. They’d find me and realise they screwed up. They think they finished the job, Amy, but they didn’t. Somebody’s behind all this shit and I need help. No-one else knows, no-one, it has to stay that way, no police investigation ... nobody. The police can’t help, they’d just make it worse.
Never doubt that I loved you, angel, never. I always did, right from the start, still do. But what happened at the club that night ... I’d seen it coming, bad things happen to bad people and I was the one who caused the deaths of Laura and Winston. I should have warned you. I shouldn’t be here, one day you’ll realise, maybe one day you’ll forgive me.
You must find out who wanted me dead. I have to hide. I can’t be with you even though I want to. I need you so badly, to make love to you, but they’d use you against me. Kill you too. I can’t risk that. There’s only you, Amy. Whoever killed poor Laura and Winston wants me out of the picture too. I was their target, I’m sure of it.
Laura, such a good friend, such a big part of our life. I’m so sorry. It sickens me.
That body wasn’t me. It could have been so easily. I had to be quick, seize my chance. I saw my opportunity and took it. Had to make them believe they had succeeded ... at whatever cost, no matter who it hurt. It was the only way.
I’ll explain one day. I’m so sorry. Sorry for it all. Sorry for what will happen. Sorry for making you relive it. Sorry for deceiving you. Someone knows the answer, someone wanted me dead.
Tommy, Adam, Lily, Genevieve, Grant ... none of them can be trusted, they all had their reasons for wanting me killed. Somebody at the club knew something. There’s more I could say, but can’t ... you will find out why. I want to tell you everything, let you know why this has happened but something inside is stopping me from writing it in a letter. It’s so weak. So pathetic. So many secrets and lies. God, I hate myself for doing this to you, Amy. I should leave you alone, but I can’t. But don’t try and find me. Not yet, it’s too dangerous.
I have to go. Can’t risk them finding out. I have to post this. A letter, how old-fashioned, but I couldn’t email or message. This seemed safer somehow. Less traceable. I need this to get to you before it’s too late. One of them knows, one of them, maybe more ... they have their reasons, you see. So many reasons. They all could have done it, wanted me dead. Any of them. I don’t know what else to say. Words aren’t enough. I love you. So much.
Love Riley x’
* * *
Nothing made sense. Nothing. How could Amy have spent the last six months believing that her husband was dead? Why would he do that to her? Cause all of that heartache? Should she believe that he was still alive? Why would somebody she loved do that to her, somebody who professed to have loved her, to still love her? The letter was in his handwriting, but its author seemed panicked, crazed. Like a dog backed into a corner. A man on the edge. Not solid like Riley.
If the body wasn’t Riley’s then whose was it? Who had died? She tried to think of others that had been in the club that fateful evening. Somebody had lost their life? If it wasn’t Riley, then who? But she’d seen it, hadn’t she? There, slumped on the table ... a mass of tangled flesh and shot away bone. His image almost unrecognisable. Unrecognisable ...
It was then that Amy had her first wave of nausea-inducing ‘maybe’. That instant that a spark of ‘what if?’ came into play. What if the body hadn’t been Riley’s? What if he was still alive? And if so, where the hell was he? She needed to find him.
A second question slammed her conscience. Why would anyone, especially somebody at The Kitty Kat Club that night, want him dead? Something didn’t add up. But someone had killed her best friend Laura and killed a man they thought was her husband. Someone had made the last six months of her life edge-to-edge misery. And now she was being told that she was the only one who had any hope of finding out who. She owed it to Laura, to her friend who had shared so much with her, always by her side through everything, to try and delve deeper. To uncover the truth, no matter what revelations raised their ugly heads.
A third question hurtled into her brain ... how?
6
Then, 2005
* * *
‘So you think he may be the one, Amy?’ teased Laura, flinging herself onto the zebra-print throw covering the king-size bed of their Brighton guesthouse room. It was to be their home for the weekend, a girlie couple of days away sampling the seaside delights of one of the UK’s happiest towns. Two days of ‘kiss me quick’ British humour and fish‘n’chips on the pier with enough cocktails thrown in to keep the girls’ TV hero, Carrie Bradshaw, tottering around on her Manolo Blahniks for an NYC lifetime. And all paid for by Laura’s loaded Costa del Sol parents.
As Amy landed on the soft faux fur, a swell of liquid escaped from the pink plastic champagne flute containing her Cosmopolitan, leaving a damp rosy stain on an otherwise monochrome canvas. The two friends had cracked open the glasses and a bottle of pre-mixed Cosmo before they had even found time to unpack their cases. Frivolities first, form
alities later. ‘He’s a total peach in the photo you showed me, I’ll give you that.’
Amy drained the last few drops from her glass and reached for a top-up as she considered the question. ‘Well it’s been three months since we met and I can definitely imagine spending a long time with Riley, maybe even a lifetime, so …’ She winked before adding ‘yep, I think he’s the one!’
‘Well I’ve certainly seen less of you since he came on the scene, Amy. He must be doing something right. I assume the sex is fan-bloody-tastic.’
Amy could feel her cheeks reddening at Laura’s question. Even though sex was one of Laura’s favourite subjects and a topic which she chose to research with as many men as possible given the chance, Amy still found it strangely embarrassing to discuss, even with her best friend.
A little loose-lipped from the Cosmo though, for once Amy could hear herself being remarkably candid. ‘Let’s just say that nights in are just as good as nights out, shall we?’
‘A quick bunk-up in the back of his car in a side-street behind the plastics factory is working for you then is it?’ smirked Laura.
‘For your information, Laura Cash, his car is more than roomy but our sexual antics are not happening on the back seat of an Audi, thank you very much. And they’re certainly not happening in some grotty road behind a factory. I’ve not even been there, to be honest. I’m channelling Sex In The City, not sex in an alleyway. I’ll leave that to you.’ Amy stuck out her tongue jokingly to prove her point.
Laura didn’t take the bait. ‘An Audi. That’s a bit of a flash motor for somebody working in a factory isn’t it? And a plastics factory at that. Not exactly a gusset-wetting kind of job is it? Give me a stuntman or a TV producer or a rock musician any day of the week.’
‘That’s because you are a fickle fucker,’ laughed Amy, her tongue getting looser by the second. Pre-bottled Cosmos were obviously a little stronger than she realised. ‘But you’re right about the car, I did think it was a touch swanky for somebody who works in a factory. I assume he must have bought it on some kind of buy-now-pay-later deal, or maybe there’s more money in his family than I realised. Not that it matters. He could drive a pony and trap for all I care, Riley Hart is a beautiful man and if you must know, the sex is beyond fabulous.’
‘You lucky bitch! Here’s to you and Riley, I can’t wait to meet him,’ said Laura, raising her pink glass in mock toast. ‘And as for fabulous sex, well let’s hope I can say the same after this weekend. The men in the wine bars of Brighton will not know what’s hit them when I strut in. I’d like a little more sex than I’m getting right now. Which reminds me …’ Laura skilfully shuffled her way across the bed, pouring herself another glass of Cosmo as she pulled herself along by her feet, dragging her backside. It was girlie multi-tasking at its finest. Not a drop was spilt this time round. ‘Pulling outfits for tonight.’ She kicked open the lid on her suitcase with her bare foot and stared down at the two dresses lying on the top. ‘So do I plump for the mega tight ruby-red body-hugger with the glittery finish or the little black sexy number with the Marilyn-inspired Prom-style skirt? I need to look my best. My future husband could be parking his Porsche on the seafront as we speak!’
Amy scanned her eyes over the two dresses. From where she was sitting they both looked like they would make any potential husband fall to his knees in submission. She had no doubt that Laura could pull in either. ‘I thought you were seeing someone at the moment.’
‘I kind of am, but he’s kind of busy a lot and kind of complicated, so I kind of don’t want to talk about him. Let him miss me,’ deadpanned Laura. ‘And the UK seaside is always full of plenty more fish.’
Amy made her decision about Laura’s dress. ‘Go for the black. It matches your soul. Dark, dirty and perfect for trapping another man. The red one is gorgeous but if we drink any more of this Cosmo then the only thing it will match is your eyes.’
‘Decided. Black it is. And as for the Cosmo, sister, I’m afraid the cupboard is bare.’ She upturned the empty bottle in her hand to emphasize the point. ‘Now let’s hit the shower and then hit the town. I’ll be damned if the only ride I get this weekend is from a sodding donkey trotting up and down the beach. It’s all right for you with Mr Plastic Fantastic and sex on tap but I intend to make hay while the sun shines. And from where I’m stood it’s a scorcher out there.’ Laura looked out of their bedroom window to check the weather. The sky was azure and cloudless.
An hour later, fuelled by more cocktails, the two young women were enjoying the start of their weekend away in a Brighton seafront bar. A video screen in the corner was playing the latest song by Eminem. Amy stared at the screen from the stool she was perched on by the bar. The song was one of Riley’s favourites. It made her smile but with a tinge of sadness. She was missing him. Not that she’d admit that to Laura. She was here for her girlfriend, the last thing she would ‘fess up to would be missing her fella. And Laura didn’t need to know that she’d already texted Riley a good dozen times since arriving at the bar. He’d only answered once, obviously busy with work.
Where was Laura exactly? Amy swivelled her bar stool around and gazed across the bar. It was pretty full. She spotted Laura in a far corner. She was talking to a heavily muscled man with skin the colour of chocolate. She laughed animatedly as she did so. Amy smiled to herself. Laura was out of the starting trap and obviously in full pulling mode.
Sensing Amy watching her, Laura waved across at her and moved in her direction. She led the man by the hand and introduced him to Amy. ‘This is Cain, personal trainer to the stars. He’s working with somebody who had bit parts in Nip/Tuck and Peregrine Palace right now and with some of the celebs from Ward 44. How cool is that?’
Amy shook his hand, already knowing where Laura’s new rendezvous was heading. Anybody who had any connection to a show that Laura idolised – a worldwide smash soap opera or the UK’s top medical drama – was definitely top of her friend’s hit list.
It was something Amy was keen to discuss with Laura a cocktail later as Cain headed to the toilets. ‘So, I’m guessing that I’ll be on my own in the guesthouse tonight then, will I?’ It was to be expected.
‘Not sure as yet, Amy’ stated Laura, her words a little slurred. ‘But if his wallet is as big as his biceps then the signs are promising. You’ll be okay though won’t you? You can spend all night speaking to new beau Riley on the phone. You’d love that.’
From anybody else it may have come across as patronising but not from Laura. There was an honesty about Laura that Amy had always loved, despite the consequences it sometimes meant for her herself on their nights out. Men before mates seemed to be a mantra that Laura had no problem living up to.
‘But the jury’s out for the moment. It may still be you, me and a kebab on the way home,’ laughed Laura.
As Amy suspected, it wasn’t. Having discovered that Cain’s wallet was indeed as sizable as his muscles and that his car was parked within high-heel tottering distance from the venue, Laura’s last words to Amy as she left the bar, waving Cain’s car keys in her right hand, were, ‘Can you fucking believe it, Amy, he’s only driving a freaking Porsche!’
Two hours later when Amy was back in her guesthouse bed snuggled down under the zebra-print reading a Jackie Collins and texting Riley with increased regularity, she finally received another message from Laura. It said she’d be back in the morning and was ‘testing Cain’s largest muscle’ to full capacity. She eventually turned up back at the guesthouse nearly twenty-four hours later, the girls’ weekend nearly over. The smudged mascara around Laura’s eyes was as black as the dress she’d been wearing.
‘I’m exhausted, doll. That man can give any girl a workout I tell you. Do you mind if I crash for a bit? I’m wrecked.’
As it happened, Amy didn’t. She’d planned to play text-tennis with Riley on the phone tonight for as long as his busy work schedule would allow and she still had a few chapters of her Jackie Collins to finish. Laura was sleeping like a b
aby by the time Amy picked up the novel. She was still out for the count as Amy read the final juicy word and texted Riley to say that she imagined that they would both be home a little earlier than planned the next day. Providing Laura didn’t hook up again of course.
7
Now
* * *
Having analysed every inch of the letter over and over again, a petrified Amy had tried to relive the last six months. Everything from identifying her husband's body through to organising the small yet intimate cremation service – astonishingly small actually.
Amy had been surprised at how many people had chosen not to come – many of Riley's work colleagues saying that they couldn’t bear to see such a great man gunned down so young. For such a seemingly tough bunch, Amy had found their actions rather weak.
Tommy and Jemima Hearn had been there, watching Riley’s coffin disappearing behind the crematorium’s red curtain. They hadn’t shed a tear. It didn’t surprise Amy that Jemima hadn’t. She seemed grey and harsh, devoid of any warmth and certainly of any love for the man they were cremating. Her tweed jacket and skirt mix and her hair scraped back severely off her face lent her an austere look, her skin pulled so tight that any flow of tears would have been cut off at the source, not allowed to run freely from eyes stretched out of shape. Amy had expected Tommy to show some kind of emotion. He and Riley were good friends, more than just colleagues weren’t they? But there was nothing. Amy, still frail from the loss of her husband, had been too weak to question it. It had taken all of her strength to force herself out from under her duvet, apply a face of make-up and dress for the service. She had never felt so alone.
