‘I can’t just work for you both. But I do worry about whether this Anna case will ever be solved now. It’s very sad for the family. Very tough.’ He is glancing at me. ‘But it’s upsetting for you too, Ella. My first call is your feelings.’
‘I know that. And I don’t think I’ll ever be happy until they find out what happened to her.’ I pause. ‘Do you think there’s any chance at all she’s still alive, Matthew?’
‘Very little. But Mrs Ballard won’t want to hear that. The mothers never do.’ Again he glances at me and then at the baby clutter. ‘I’m only coming to completely understand that now.’
We drive in silence for a time and I glance at him once, twice, finding myself frowning. ‘Do you mind me asking again, Matthew. Why you left the force?’ It seems such a shame to me; he seems so very good at this. So decent . . .
He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead as we see a signpost for the farm, a right turning ahead.
‘Guilt.’ He says the word quietly, turning to me as I narrow my eyes. ‘There was a case. A child died. It wasn’t my fault, technically. But . . .’
I see his eyes change and wish I had not pushed him. I fidget with the seatbelt as he clears his throat and indicates to take the turning. I understand now.
‘OK. Here we are, then. You ready for this, Ella?’
I nod, and my stomach grips as we take the strange, narrow approach road to the farmhouse. I am thinking of that awful time I came down here myself. The tussle on the doorstep. The other reason Matthew says he needs assurance that Mrs Ballard has finally made peace over my own place in this.
As she opens the door, Mrs Ballard’s face is strained, her tone all effort. She looks older and thinner and I feel so sorry for her. ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming. Both of you.’ At first she cannot quite look at me. Not yet. And I see Matthew taking this in.
She fusses over making coffee, and though neither of us needs a drink, we accept her clattering about as an icebreaker. Something to ease things.
I admire the kitchen. The house. The large Aga. And then I feel embarrassed at my small talk, noting the pictures on the fridge. Anna as a little girl, unmistakable with her striking blonde hair. In most of the snaps she is with an older girl. Her sister, I assume. A few other photos with friends. A shot in a paddling pool. Anna doing cartwheels on the lawn.
Matthew kicks off the ‘business’ discussion. He asks Mrs Ballard outright if she understands that he remains engaged by me to investigate the postcards. Is she comfortable with this?
‘I understand from Ella that you visited her shop in the past? And that you were very upset when she called here once before.’
‘That was my fault,’ I say quickly.
‘No.’ Mrs Ballard leads the way through to the sitting room with her tray. It is a gorgeous room with French doors onto the garden. In the corner, a beautiful grand piano.
‘I was not myself, Ella. I apologise. I can understand why you might have thought it was me who sent the postcards, but I promise you I didn’t. I came to the shop because at that time I did blame you. It wasn’t fair, but I just didn’t know where to put my anger.’
‘I do understand.’
Matthew talks for quite a while about the difficulties of these kind of investigations. He talks about his contact in the force, about the frustration at the dead ends. The confirmation that Sarah’s father, who remains in custody ‘on other matters’, has a cast-iron alibi for the night Anna went missing. Mrs Ballard says she’s heard the same via Sarah.
‘So, no suspects left.’ Mrs Ballard puts down her mug. ‘Which is why I need your help, Matthew. I have some savings.’ The desperation in her voice is dreadful, and I watch her eyes as Matthew says he will need to think about things and get back to her.
There is this terrible impasse, and so I admire the piano, mention that I had lessons until my teens and regret giving it up. I move over to examine it close up and to take in the beautifully framed photographs along the top. Anna with her sister again, as bridesmaids. Family groups.
And then, such a shock. An extraordinary punch to my gut. The disorientation so great that I feel unsteady.
‘Who’s this?’ I pick up the photograph and turn to Matthew and Barbara Ballard, an image from the past forming again in my head. Not understanding this . . .
‘That’s the girls with a friend. When they did the Ten Tors.’ Mrs Ballard’s tone is wary.
‘But he was on the train.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘This boy – the boy with the curly hair. He was on the train to London that day. When Anna went to London.’
‘I’m sorry but you must be mistaken. No . . . no. That’s not possible. He was away.’
‘I’m telling you it was him.’ I am looking at the photograph again and then at Matthew, who has stood up and is walking across to me. ‘It was definitely him, Matthew. I nearly spilled my coffee on him . . .’
It was after that awful scene, when I passed the toilet. Sarah, oh Sarah . . . When I decided to move seats to the other end of the train. We were going around a bend. I lost my balance, walking through the aisle.
I’m sorry. The lid loose on my coffee.
It’s OK. Don’t worry. It’s fine.
He looked right at me. Definitely him . . . That hair. Those eyes.
‘Who is this, Mrs Ballard?’ Matthew has taken the photograph from me and is holding it out to her, trying to make her look.
CHAPTER 46
ANNA
July 2015
She is shocked and shaken but also angry with Sarah. She marches after her to try again, pushing through the people all crowded together, dancing and drinking. Suddenly the club is too dark. Too noisy. Too alien. The smell of sweat and alcohol everywhere she turns. She feels a little giddy.
‘We promised to stick together.’ She grabs at Sarah’s arm but can hear that her own words are slurring slightly – sees now that Sarah is unsteady, too. ‘We really need to go now. I don’t feel safe. Please, Sarah. I’m begging you . . .’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, don’t be such a baby, Anna. So dramatic.’ Sarah again shakes her off. ‘I told you already. If you want to go, just go. But I’m not ready. Why don’t you just lighten up. Have another drink.’
‘I’ve had enough here, Sarah. We need to go.’
‘Then – you go. I’ll see you later. Back at the hotel.’ And then Sarah is gone again, through the crowd, heading after Antony into one of the other rooms.
Anna stands very still, just watching her. She has to position her legs wider apart to stop the swaying. Everything is swaying. The room and the shadows and the lights and the people. The music pounding right through the floor and up through her body. She feels her eyes narrowing and her vision is ever so slightly blurred. She sees a man looking at her, swigging from his beer bottle. He winks. She looks away, suddenly all paranoia. Again checks her handbag, its long strap across her body. Checks the zip. Her purse. Her phone.
She follows the signs to the toilets and waits for a free cubicle. Puts down the lid. Sits down and leans forward to try to calm herself; takes out her phone. She skims the contacts. Home. She looks at the word, blurring in front of her. She thinks of her dad in the car. How angry with him she was. The photograph. Him and that woman. She lets her finger hover for a moment but then – no. She wipes her thumb against her dress. She considers the fallout; that her mother will never, ever let her do anything on her own again. She sits for a while, wonders how long it will be until she feels more steady. For just a moment, she thinks of Sarah’s dad but then remembers the warning . . . If you phone my dad, I will never speak to you again.
Anna has had too much to drink before, but never on her own. Not like this. She wishes that she had downloaded the app for taxis but Sarah had said she would do that.
She has no choice, then. Anna decides to go outside and hail a cab. She remembers that it must be a black cab, has read about the danger of fake minicab drivers. She feels af
raid and so, to calm herself, she tries to picture herself in the back of the cab. Safe. Right up to the front door of the hotel. Where she will ring Sarah and maybe her parents next, even the police if Sarah still won’t listen, still won’t come . . .
Outside it is drizzling. There are a few people smoking. Quite a narrow street. Hardly any traffic. She waits a while and tries not to look at anyone. But no cars pass. No taxis. She sees the bouncer at the door and wonders if he might help her find a cab but he is suddenly distracted by a group of three men who are playing up because he won’t let them in.
She is getting wet. Still feels so unsteady on her feet. And then . . .
‘Anna. What on earth are you doing here?’
She turns, and relief and surprise and a whole myriad of emotions flood through her so that she bursts into tears.
‘Tim. Oh my God.’
He is shushing her and she is embarrassed and relieved all at once. Wiping her face with her sleeve.
‘Oh God, Tim, I’m so pleased to see you. But what on earth . . . I thought you were in Scotland?’ She is clutching at both his arms, using them to steady herself. Confusion. Relief. Disorientation.
‘Where’s Sarah?’ Tim is looking right into her face.
‘In the club. She won’t come. I’m trying to find a taxi. I can’t make her come.’
‘Well, you won’t find a cab here. No chance.’ He is glancing around the street. ‘Come on. This way. Let’s get you out of this rain.’
Tim is leading her then by the arm, and she expects him to take her into a doorway. A café or a pub or something. The tube? But he is saying that the tube stopped hours ago and they need to get to a place where they can order her a cab. ‘This way. We need to take the night bus. Just a few stops. Then we can get you a taxi easily.’
They seem to be walking quite a long way. A bus stop. Then on the bus. No one else. She asks, ‘Does the bus go near the hotel?’ She gives him the address again. He says no. It doesn’t go that far. But she is not to worry. They will be able to order her a cab for the last stretch.
And then they are off the bus, walking again. And Tim is saying, ‘Here it is. The flat. Here. We can get you dry and order the cab from here. Wait in the dry.’ She can hear keys jangling. There is a porch which is keeping them dry. And then they are inside.
A narrow hall, then a sitting room with a bay window. Brown curtains.
He is explaining that this is the flat left to him by his father. To be rented out so the income can fund him through uni. That was the deal in the will. The reason he is in town. The trip to Scotland got cancelled. This flat is normally let. ‘Remember, I told you all, when my dad died?’
She does, sort of. Vaguely. Tim’s dad showed no interest in him all his life, then suddenly got cancer. Got God. Got in touch. No one else in his life, so put Tim in his will . . . She is glad to be safe. Out of the rain. But where is the tenant? And how far are they from her hotel now?
Tim says the tenant has just done a bunk and he’s in town to tidy the place up. Sort out a new lease. He was planning to contact her tomorrow to explain Scotland was cut short; see if he could meet her and Sarah after all.
‘I thought you girls were at a musical tonight?’
She explains how the club was recommended online. Does not mention Karl and Antony. Ashamed. She can hear her words slurring still and tries to speak more slowly. She feels so embarrassed; she does not want Tim to judge her. She is trying to sound sensible, but she is wondering now what he was doing near the club. He says he had a curry with a mate at an Indian nearby.
‘Just as well, eh? You shouldn’t be on your own, Anna. Not in London. Especially that bit. Dodgy area.’
‘You were there.’
‘It’s different for blokes.’
And now Anna needs to sit down. She’s still so woozy.
‘Right. We need to make sure Sarah is OK, too,’ he is saying. ‘I’ll go back for her once you’re OK. She’ll be safe in the club for now.’ He is taking out his phone; she hears him ordering a cab for her. Double-checks the name of her hotel. He says cabs are more reliable this time of night when you order them to come to an address. They are saying it will be fifteen minutes. Not too bad. Right. So he will see her off safely, then he will go back himself for Sarah. Bring her to the hotel. Is she OK with this?
Anna is thinking that maybe they should have gone back in for Sarah straight away. She is grateful but confused, and begins to cry again. He is sitting next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Tells her not to worry. That it is all right now, Anna. He is going to make sure that everything is all right.
And then she closes her eyes. And she is remembering the awful picture Tim sent her this morning. Her dad with April – Tim’s mum. She hasn’t wanted to mention it, to think about it even, but wonders why he hasn’t said anything either.
‘Why did you send me the picture, Tim?’ She is still crying. ‘I mean – why this morning?’
It hit her phone just before her dad drove her to the station. Such a terrible shock.
You disgust me.
‘I just felt you had the right to know. It was a terrible shock to me, too. I thought we should decide together what to do. Whether to tell your mum.’
‘I wish you hadn’t. I had a big row with my dad.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘But how did you get it? The photo?’ It was so graphic. So foul. Her dad and April. Naked. Her legs up in the air on the bed. Like porn. Disgusting . . .
And now Tim is standing, saying he doesn’t want to talk about that anymore just now, and that he will make them coffee. It will do her good. She is thinking that there isn’t time, surely. No point. With the taxi? But he says even a few sips will do her good. ‘The state you’re in . . .’
While he is gone, cluttering about in another room, Anna begins to glance around. And now she doesn’t understand. There are quite a few books on one of the shelves. Walking books and map books. And there are magazines, too, ones she knows that Tim likes. She narrows her eyes. There’s a stack – months’ worth of them. She looks down at the coffee table: they’re from the past three months. It doesn’t make sense.
‘You OK in there, Anna?’
‘Fine.’
She reaches down to the shelf under the coffee table to find a book of walks in Cornwall. A frisson of unease passes through her. The book has several places marked with bookmarks. No. Not bookmarks. She flicks the pages to find that there are photographs marking the chapters.
The first makes her smile. It is a group shot – that birthday party her mum threw for Tim. They are wearing hats made from balloons, and she and Sarah are clutching sausage dogs that the boys made. Tim and Paul.
She turns the pages to the next photograph, and then suddenly there is this truly odd feeling within her. Like a change of temperature. For it is a picture of her, taken from a distance. She is at her bedroom window looking out, just about to draw the curtains.
Anna can feel her heart rate increasing. Her muscles tensing. She flicks through the book to find more pictures – just of her. Her playing on the lawn. Her sitting in a tree. All of them taken from a distance.
She puts the book back and stands just as Tim returns with two mugs.
‘How long till the taxi, Tim?’
‘Not long now.’
‘I think I need the loo.’ She tries to hide that her hands are shaking by her sides.
‘Sit down. You’ll be back at the hotel in a moment. You can go there.’ There is a change in his tone. Clipped. Not nice. Not Tim. He is standing between her and the door.
She looks at him, the temperature even colder inside her.
‘The bathroom here isn’t nice, Anna.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Drink your coffee. Just remember it’s a good job I found you.’ Finally, he sits and sips his drink. ‘A very good job I watch out for you, Anna. That I always watch out for you.’
‘Yes. Very true. I’m grateful, Tim.�
� She is looking at the magazines and the book of walks, her heart thump-thump-thumping in her chest.
‘Did you say the tenant did a bunk?’
‘Yeah. Last week. We need to find another tenant.’ He has started to rock in his seat. To and fro . . .
She can feel her shoulders starting to tremble and is worried he will see this. She looks at the books on the shelves. Notices that some of them are A-level books. Tim’s A-level subjects.
‘Let’s wait in the doorway. Look out for the cab, shall we?’ She has stood up again.
‘No. Sit down. Drink your coffee.’ That clipped tone again. He twitches his head. Rocks faster.
‘I think I need the air, Tim.’
‘You’re fine, Anna. You’re with me now. You’re fine when you’re with me.’
She sips her drink. She can hear her breath. Her pulse. Her heart. She can feel the dread building and building, the temperature falling and falling – but knows, too, even through the booze and the fear, that she must not let him see this. Little black dots on the edge of this scene, closing in. Not real.
‘Could I have some water, Tim?’
‘No. You’re fine.’ Tim has started to rock faster. To. Fro. To. Fro. He is all agitation suddenly. Strange, jerky movements of his head.
‘It’s OK. I’ll get the water.’ She stands and moves towards the door to the hall, slowly at first, but then faster and suddenly he is grabbing at her from behind. Instinctively she kicks back hard with her right leg and he recoils for a moment.
She makes it through to the hall, just feet from the door, but feels a blow suddenly to the back of her head. Blackness for a moment. Then her eyes open. She is on the floor. Black and white tiles, cool beneath her palms. A brass letterbox.
She is trying to scream but there is something over her mouth. Flesh. The smell of sweat. She tries to bite into the flesh but cannot open her jaw. She puts up her left hand to her head. A terrible pain. Blood on her hand as she puts it back down, still trying to move his hand from her mouth.
I Am Watching You Page 23
