Oh yes, please, I thought, let everyone see. ‘Thank you.’ I flashed him an apologetic smile. ‘Can we get two glasses of house red?’
Madison snorted. ‘Bring a bottle of fizz.’ The waiter looked between us; baffled, again. ‘Whatever the most expensive thing is,’ she added, ‘bring that.’
‘Thank you,’ I said to his back as he left the table. ‘Did you take an extra pill today?’
She laughed. ‘Rude. Darling girl, we’re celebrating.’
‘Yes,’ I looked up at the balloons, ‘so everyone can see.’
‘If I can’t spoil you now, when can I spoil you?’ She reached across the table to grab my hand for a squeeze. ‘This is a really big thing for you, you know that, darling.’
The truth was that Madison had been spoiling me for years. This was one in a long line of achievements that she’d wanted to celebrate more than I had. I’d come to think of these small celebrations, though, as a way of thanking her; of letting her see that her efforts at motherhood had paid off – even if I wasn’t her daughter.
‘You could have invited your friends,’ she said, in that same mothering tone she’d used since Mum had died. She’d developed it quickly and I’d wondered whether she’d secretly watched Mum for years, learning the nuances of motherhood. They were different parents completely though; Madison had let me get away with loads more than Mum would have done. There had been times, particularly during my university years, when I’d wondered whether this was how my friends with divorced parents had felt; one always making more allowances than the other to make up for the shortfall of them not being together. Although Madison didn’t exactly have the same shortfall to make up for – or another parent to beat.
‘I’m seeing them in a few days.’ The waiter brought our chilled bucket over with two glasses and I thanked him twice. ‘I thought it would be nice to be just us tonight.’
‘Well, that’s lovely.’ She poured a generous helping for each of us. ‘To the start of many forthcoming successes.’
‘Mad–’
‘Ah,’ she halted me and wagged a finger, ‘my drink, my toast.’
I swallowed a sigh. ‘To the start of many successes.’
She took a good mouthful, swilled it around and swallowed. ‘How’s the new place?’
Since finishing university I’d bought my own flat. Small, but big enough. It had two bedrooms, a spacious kitchen diner, and it was on the penultimate floor of a high-rise in the centre of town. You needed either a key or a code to get through the security doors downstairs; unless it was the weekend, then you needed to get through Barney, the security guard. A handful of months had passed since the purchase and I hadn’t done the best job of making the place look like home. Although I had managed to get an office set up.
‘It’s good, yeah, it’s really good. I’m struggling with soft furnishings.’
‘Like cushions?’
I laughed. ‘More like a sofa.’
Madison looked up from the menu she’d been browsing. ‘You’re still on the floor?’
‘I’ve moved up from the floor,’ I looked down my own menu to avoid eye contact, ‘and I’ve upgraded to meditation pillows.’
‘But I bet you’ve got the damn workspace up and running.’
‘I work more than I sit.’ When she didn’t answer I looked up.
‘You need to be looking after yourself,’ she said, as though it might not have occurred to me. ‘I know a home office is important but you can’t drive a car without fuel in the tank, darling girl. Your Mum always said…’ she petered out. The mood lighting was enough to cover up any tears forming, but I heard the unmistakeable cluck of a lump in her throat. I reached across for her hand but she pulled it away; she must have been closer to tears than I’d realised. ‘Your Mum always said,’ she restarted but paused for a big breath, ‘you have to look after yourself before you can look after anyone else.’
I smiled. ‘She did always say that.’ I looked back at the menu to stop my own eyes from giving me away then. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘Well, he’s a bit young but the waiter isn’t a terrible idea.’ My head snapped up and Madison burst into laughter befitting of a teenager. ‘Are you dead from the waist down?’
‘It absolutely isn’t appropriate for my parent to ask me that.’ I tried to keep a straight face, but I could feel my lips lifting at the edges. ‘But no, I am most definitely not. He just isn’t my type.’
‘Well, there’s a waitress–’
‘Mad.’
She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘Fine, don’t talk to me about it.’
‘I won’t, don’t you worry.’ I looked down the list of pastas. ‘Feed me, would you,’ I said, avoiding eye contact, ‘this is meant to be a party.’
She topped up my glass. ‘Then finish that, and we’ll order.’
It was two hours later when we stumbled through Madison’s front door; giggling like girls on a prom night. We got through two and a half bottles of bubbles over dinner. The remaining half Madison had brought home, after rushing the waiter through the bill – ‘We’ve somewhere to be, sweetheart, could you move along?’ – and then rushing me along the walk back, ‘Sarah, you don’t want to miss it?’
I hadn’t answered – because it hadn’t exactly felt like a question – but no, I wouldn’t have minded missing it. I couldn’t tell her that, though, because over the course of the night – over the excited conversations about ‘it’ – it had become clear how much this really meant to her.
‘Sarah Wainwright, crime reporter extraordinaire,’ she muttered as she pushed the front door closed, double locking it behind her.
After getting around to the dinner portion of our night together, I’d been able to tell Madison the full details of my new job; recently acquired at an office block on the other side of the city. The position allowed a lot of movement to surrounding areas, though, and it gave me a good in to be among the earliest people to hear of crimes: spates of robbery; arson; murders. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she said, for the twenty-something-th time as she felt around the living room for the television remote.
‘I’ll get glasses.’ I excused myself, in the hope that she might be on a different beat of conversation by the time I got back. By the time I was walking back in, though, Madison was glugging the bubbly straight from the bottle. I spluttered with laughter. ‘Classy.’ She hiccupped as she took the drink away. ‘Classier still.’
‘We nearly missed it.’ She gestured to the television screen. ‘Sit,’ she said, ‘sit and be excited with me.’ When I was next to her she draped an arm around my back and squeezed my shoulder so tight that it hurt. ‘I’m so bloody proud of you, darling girl.’
‘Mad, really–’
‘And tonight on the show…’
‘Shush, shush, it’s starting.’
‘…we’ve got Sarah Wainwright.’ There was background applause. They’d held signs up for the audience to make sure they knew when to be excited. ‘Sarah is coming along to talk murder and mayhem with us this evening, and we’ll be helping her to celebrate not only the release of her debut book,’ there came the stirrings of applause as she said this, ‘but also the outstanding success of it, as she celebrates yet another consecutive week on The Sunday Times’ bestsellers list. Please give a warm welcome to Sarah, everybody!’ On cue the crowd went wild and I stepped onto the podium to take my place in the hotseat.
Madison took another sip from the bottle before passing it to me. ‘So bloody proud.’
14
If I so much as uttered a syllable Madison silenced me with a raised finger. She didn’t want to miss a second of the interview, even though the interviewee was sat next to her. So I watched on in silence while the version of me who’d been made presentable for evening television was probed and questioned by an obscenely beautiful woman, famous for that reason alone, such was her level of attractiveness.
When I’d been introduced to Carolyn – the host of the show, that is – I
remember thinking how wonderful it must be to be famous for a pretty face, rather than an ugly past. She greeted me like I was well-known for something worthy. The truth was that I was a local hero for not having saved someone I love.
‘But wait,’ I heard the cries from the Average Joes of the town, ‘I’m over here not saving people all the time.’ It didn’t wash, though, because people had already decided that I was a kind of success story for having survived that night.
‘Sarah, it’s an absolute joy to have you on the show,’ Carolyn started. Madison had the television at a deafening volume. ‘And to be celebrating your achievements with you, too, I mean, another week on a bestseller list. I can’t even imagine how that must feel?’
My throat clucked as I watched my past self fumble for an answer. ‘Well, it’s a real honour,’ I said, ‘and, of course, I think it’s a really important thing to get people talking about.’ I shook my head lightly, in the past, and cradled my forehead as I watched. ‘That is, I think it’s important that we keep talking about the case, and the victims, and the fact that–’
‘There’s still a killer on the loose,’ Carolyn finished.
‘Exactly.’
Madison reached across to squeeze my hand. ‘You’re a brave woman.’
‘So, Sarah, I know you and I talked about this a little before the show,’ Carolyn lied. No one had thought to sit me down and ask what I was and wasn’t comfortable talking about. But I was self-aware enough to know that a panic attack on television – even pre-recorded television – wouldn’t go down well for anyone involved. I sucked in my breath and let it swell in my chest, not leaving space enough for a flutter of nerves. ‘Your mother, I’m sure, would be so proud of all that you’ve…’
‘Did she actually ask if that was okay?’ Madison spoke over the television.
‘No.’ I didn’t look away from the screen. ‘She wanted a good reaction.’
‘Cow.’
‘It must have been a difficult book to sit down and spend time with.’
Past-me nodded and flashed a tight smile. ‘It was. But I think the thing people really forget about the book, and books like it, is that– is that they’re real. This isn’t a story, I mean, this is and has been my life for a long time. The other survivors in the book, they’ve lost people to the same killer, and that’s a strange bond that I don’t think I’ve even captured, but – but it’s definitely a bond that ties us together somehow.’
To date, I was the only witness. But there had been another three murders since Esther. They were all women of a similar age to Mum; in the right lighting they all even looked similar. The second set of victims had been killed two cities away from us. But the home invasion was the same; the method; the timing; the type. He certainly had a thing for brunettes on the right side of forty. Although he hadn’t murdered another mother since mine.
‘You spent a lot of time with friends and family members is how I understand it?’
I smiled. ‘We joked that it became a support system in lots of ways.’ I shook my head; ‘joke’ hadn’t been the right word, but I could remember not knowing a better one at the time. ‘I spent time with the family members of every murder victim, yes. I learnt – well, there was a lot to learn about these women as exactly that: women.’
‘Was that the aim with the book? To show us who these women were?’
‘Who they were, in some ways, but also who they left behind. For a lot of us who have lost people to this– this person, for us there’s a hole that can’t easily be plugged. We’re not talking death by natural causes, which is terrible enough, of course. Instead, though, we’re talking about something that disrupts the natural order of things, and those of us who’re left, we have to live with that and carry it about on our person and…’ I trailed out. Past-me shook her head lightly; I remember blinking back tears. ‘It’s a heavy thing to spend the rest of your life carrying.’
Carolyn reached over to where I sat opposite her and rested a hand on my knee. ‘You’re an incredibly brave woman to talk about this, Sarah.’
‘Not brave enough,’ I said, at the same time as past-me said it.
Madison paused the show. ‘Do you really think that?’
‘Did you read the book?’ I reached over for the remote. ‘Let’s just watch.’
In the book I mentioned survivor’s guilt – a lot. My counsellor had walked me through it several times over; sometimes for the book, sometimes as part of our sessions. A few other friends and family members felt the same, though they hadn’t been there when the attacks took place. Imagine how I feel, I remember thinking, whenever one of them spoke about how they could have done more – if they’d only been there to stop him. It wasn’t ever said with judgement, I knew that much. But I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t added to the unshifting weight of having watched her – watched him.
‘I think there are a lot of people who would disagree with that.’ Carolyn leaned back in her seat and looked down at her cue card. ‘Throughout the book you comment on your dealings with the police, as part of your mother’s case, but also in terms of you investigating the other victims, too. How was that? Did you find the police co-operative?’
I’d made a nuisance of myself. But I didn’t care. ‘I pestered them quite a lot for this book,’ I said and cracked a smile, to lighten the admission. Laing had stopped answering my phone calls in the end, instead leaving rookie officers to follow up with me. The detectives for the most recent three cases had been co-operative though. I’d even helped them, where I could, by talking to the people closest to the victims. The police got their information and I got mine, so it was a quid pro quo arrangement. But I’d long ago stopped being useful to the police in my own city. ‘They’ve been helpful enough over the years. I think the detectives from the first murders got a little tired of me poking around, but that’s what non-fiction writers do, isn’t it? When you’re writing the truth, you have to make sure everything is as accurate as it can be, otherwise I’ll cause trouble for my publisher.’
Carolyn laughed. ‘I imagine you’re in quite good standing with your publisher these days, Sarah. They must be delighted with the success of the book as well?’
‘They really are. Tina, she’s my editor, she’s a complete godsend. I can’t tell you the amount of midnight phone calls she’s had to fence from me, and she dealt with them all like they were nothing. I’m really grateful that I got to work with her.’
‘No mention of me?’ Madison winked. ‘Does Tina know you’re on this?’
‘Funny. Who do you think arranged it?’
Tina had been the first person to follow up with me about the manuscript. During our first conversation we both cried down the phone – me for Mum; her for the thought of her own daughter – and we’d decided soon after that we’d like to work together. There had been lots of time throughout the writing, editing, publishing where she’d sat me down like a mother might and asked questions only a mother would – ‘Are you sure this is a good idea for you?’ – and we’d discussed the pros and cons from personal and professional perspectives alike. There had even been a handful of conversations that had involved Madison, too.
Before the final announcements were splashed across newsletters, social media banners, and fuck-knows-where-else, Tina had one final sit-down with me. ‘Sarah, honey, think hard about this one. This guy is still out there.’ She paused, as though letting the information sink in; like I didn’t think this same thing, on repeat, every goddamn day. ‘You’re sure you want to kick the hornet’s nest?’
I’d hugged her close and pressed my answer into her shoulder. ‘More than anything else in the world.’ And I’d really meant it.
‘Your publisher isn’t worried about the implications of the book?’ Carolyn asked.
‘If I’m not worried, they’re not worried, and I’m really not worried.’ Past-me flashed a forced smile and I felt my stomach turn over. ‘I’m happy to be kicking a hornet’s nest if it brings light to this string of crimes,
if it does anything at all towards stopping them from happening again.’
‘Is that your real hope for the book, Sarah?’
I made a show of thinking about the question. ‘My hope is that the police will bring the killer to justice before anyone has an opportunity to write another book.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Carolyn said, turning sharply away from my answer, ‘I’ve heard on the grapevine that there is a second book. Can you confirm or deny that for us?’
‘Go on, brag,’ Madison said, leaning forwards in her seat.
‘There is,’ past-me said with a half-laugh. ‘It will be a little different to the first book, I should think, or I hope anyway. But there’s definitely a second book coming.’
‘True crime again?’
‘That much I can tell you, yes, it’s definitely true crime again.’
‘Well, we will eagerly await that next release from you.’ She turned towards the camera, then. ‘We’re going to take a little break now, folks, but when we come back the one and only Sarah Wainwright will be doing a live reading for us, to share a passage from her best-selling true crime release, Those Who Stay. Don’t miss it.’
Madison snapped the television off. ‘You’re still not going to tell me?’
‘About the new book?’
‘Of course about the new book.’
‘It’s a follow-up, I can’t tell you more than that.’
She turned to face me. ‘Okay, can you tell me whether it’s all safe?’
I rolled my eyes and smiled to make an expression I hoped would look playful – because no, I couldn’t tell her it was safe at all.
15
Landon sat next to me with his phone against one ear and his fingertip pressed into the bud of the other, to shield himself from the noise of the restaurant. Tyler, Jessie and I sat in silence while we waited for him to finish. Although from his occasional grunts and ‘Hmm’ noises it didn’t sound as though he was a particularly active participant in the conversation anyway.
Sincerely, Yours Page 6
