‘Don’t be silly. Dan’s a great guy, and he’s crazy about you, Em. Anyone can see that.’ Now Lizzy squeezed her arm. ‘Men act weird now and again – it’s genetic. He’s probably just sitting on a park bench somewhere, feeding the ducks and contemplating his final days of bachelorhood. Trust me, my brother was the same before his wedding – had some kind of crisis and thought about travelling around Australia for a year instead. And this is the guy who can’t stand insects or heat.’
‘I sound hysterical, don’t I?’ Emma smiled, taking a nervous sip from her drink. It wasn’t like her to get worked up – she was usually calm and controlled. But tonight was different. The thought had been weighing on her mind for months – whether this wedding was really the start of something much better, or the point where everything fell apart at the seams.
Just like last time.
‘You’re under a lot of pressure,’ Lizzy said. ‘You’re getting married a week on Sunday, for heaven’s sake. Plus, you’ve got the biggest audition of your life coming up next week. Big things are happening, girl!’
Lizzy was right. An up-coming wedding would be enough to unsettle anyone, but adding a potentially career-making movie role audition into the equation really cranked up the tension. Emma was desperate to get the part in the new British romantic comedy – it would be a major step up from the daytime soap she’d spent two years on and her recent appearances in a variety of London stage plays. It was the break she’d been working so hard for, and had never dared hope one day might arise.
‘I know it’ll turn out to be nothing,’ she said, ‘but why disappear tonight, of all nights?’
‘You want to go back to the flat, check if everything’s all right?’
‘Would you mind?’
‘Not at all.’ Lizzy took Emma’s drink off her and handed it to Sarah, another one of the hen party, who was sporting not just a cowgirl outfit but also a holster complete with water pistol, that she was using to fire vodka into the other hens’ drinks. ‘We can leave this lot here. We’ll catch up with them once we’ve found that fiancé of yours. Bloody men, eh?’ She wrapped an arm around Emma’s shoulders and gave her a motherly hug. ‘Always want to be the centre of attention.’
‘Yeah,’ Emma said, trying her best to smile. ‘Bloody men.’
***
During the taxi ride to Marylebone, Emma tried Dan’s mobile another three times. Each time the phone went straight through to voicemail. She also called Will, who confirmed that Dan still hadn’t appeared or answered the intercom.
As the taxi twisted and turned through the bustling streets of the capital, a sickening feeling of loneliness swelled inside her, refusing to go away. ‘Please, God,’ she whispered to herself, resting her forehead against the taxi window, trying to stop her mind from racing. ‘Please don’t let it happen again.’
2
‘Still nothing?’ Emma asked, as she climbed out of the taxi and approached Will.
Will was sitting on the apartment block steps with his arms folded. He was wearing black Calvin Klein trousers and a bright, white shirt that contrasted dramatically with his thick, dark hair. He shook his head. Although he was only a few months short of thirty, he looked like a little boy waiting for Mummy to come home.
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, Em,’ Lizzy said, joining them as the taxi drove off.
Emma looked up at the top window of their rented flat, which overlooked Marylebone High Street. For a second she thought she saw a figure looking back at her, but decided it was just a trick of the light. She’d calmed down a lot during the taxi ride – the circular breathing taught to her by her karate instructor when she was a youngster had helped her refocus away from those overly negative thoughts. Okay, it was weird, Dan not turning up. But, as Lizzy said, the likeliest thing was that there would be a perfectly reasonable explanation.
‘She’s right.’ Will got up from the steps and dusted himself down. ‘I was thinking about it while you were on your way over here. I’m over-reacting. And if it wasn’t for that bloody intercom security system, I’d have been able to go up there and check for myself.’
‘Couldn’t you have sneaked in when someone came out?’ Lizzy suggested.
‘That was the plan,’ he replied. ‘But no one’s come in or out since I got here. Bloody annoying. I also pressed all those buttons’ – he pointed at the intercom on the wall – ‘but nobody answered.’
‘It’s deserted in there at the moment,’ Emma explained, searching in her bag for her keys. ‘A lot of people are on holiday, I think – I’ve hardly seen anyone on the stairs in the last couple of days, and the post is building up.’
‘Someone’s in there, though,’ Will countered. ‘You can hear music when you open the letterbox.’
‘Really?’ Emma found the keys. ‘We’d better get inside and take a look.’ She pulled out her keys but as she did so, they slipped from her grasp and fell into the gutter, narrowly missing a drain.
Will picked them up. ‘That was lucky. Hey, Em, your hands are shaking – are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Emma lied, taking the keys. Although mentally she had recovered her composure, her body was still in overdrive. ‘I’m just a bit on edge, that’s all.’
‘Come on,’ Lizzy said briskly. ‘Let’s get up there and sort this out. He’s probably flat out on the bed and has slept through the calls.’
They could hear the music as soon as they entered the foyer to the building. It seemed to be coming from one of the upper floors, travelling down the wooden staircase. Judging from the bass vibration, it sounded like it was set on maximum.
‘U2, if I’m not mistaken,’ Will said. ‘Sounds like the band is actually up there rehearsing.’
‘Dan was playing that album when I left,’ Emma said, beginning to hurry up the stairs, with Will and Lizzy following close behind.
She took the steps two at a time; with each step the swirling music from above got louder. Something definitely didn’t feel right about this. Her imaginings flooded back, but now they weren’t about whether Dan had got cold feet – they were of something more sinister, more tragic. Maybe Dan had fallen and hit his head, and he’d been lying on the floor while she’d been out partying?
As she reached the middle floor, Mr Henderson, her elderly downstairs neighbour, blocked her path. Judging by his expression, it seemed he had been waiting for her. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ he asked, poking a wrinkled, liver-spotted finger in Emma’s direction.
‘Excuse me?’ Emma was taken aback by his unusually aggressive tone: normally he was so placid. He and his wife had been living in the flat below theirs for over twenty years, and had welcomed them with offers of help when Dan and Emma had first moved in. Emma hadn’t seen much of Mrs Henderson in recent months: some time ago, while looking out of the window, she had seen her being helped into an ambulance, but she didn’t know what had been wrong and felt it might seem overly nosey to ask.
‘That music,’ Mr Henderson said angrily, gesturing upstairs. His face was blood red and his eyes burned in a way that Emma had never seen before. ‘Your boyfriend’s had that on full blast ever since I got back from the shops. Edna’s trying to get to sleep in here; she’s not well, you know. She gets distressed easily. She was crying when I got back home, sitting in the corner of the room, covering her ears. People think just because you’ve got dementia that you don’t matter. But she matters to me. I love her.’
Tears welled up in his eyes as his anger faded. ‘Doctor says she’s dying,’ he added. ‘Please let her rest. Please get your boyfriend to turn the music down. He won’t even answer the door for me. I’ve been up there three times, but it hasn’t done any good.’
Emma looked at Will and Lizzy, who returned anxious glances.
‘Sorry,’ she said, feeling desperately bad for the old man but also wanting to get to the top floor without delay. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, side-stepping him and heading for the next set of
stairs, almost launching herself at the first step.
‘I’ll call the police if you don’t turn it down,’ Mr Henderson shouted, before breaking into a bronchial cough. But Emma had already turned the corner at the top of the stairs.
She reached her front door, fumbling with the keys. Dan never played music that loud, and the thought only intensified her sense of foreboding about what lay inside.
‘Dan!’ she shouted. ‘Are you in there?’ The key wasn’t going into the lock, so she began banging on the heavy wooden door with her fists. ‘Dan!’
‘Come here, Em,’ Will said, taking the keys gently from her. ‘Let me do it.’
Emma stepped back, surprised to find that she was crying.
Lizzy hugged her. ‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she said. But she didn’t sound convinced any more.
Will unlocked the door and a crescendo of guitars and drums swept out onto the landing. ‘Danny, you in here?’ he shouted, moving into the flat. He turned left towards the living room from where the music was coming, while Emma and Lizzy headed for the kitchen.
‘Dan?’ Emma neared the kitchen. ‘Where are . . . oh my God!’
‘What is it?’ Will shouted, his voice sounding even louder in the silence after he’d turned off the stereo.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Lizzy replied.
***
Emma stood next to her in stunned silence, taking in the scene. She placed a steadying hand against the fridge-freezer. The kitchen was smashed up: broken plates and dishes littered the floor, the bin had been overturned and emptied, the blinds were half torn down, and the water was running in the sink.
‘My God,’ Will said, as he appeared breathlessly at their shoulders and surveyed the damage.
‘What the hell’s happened?’ Lizzy asked, of no one in particular.
‘The other rooms,’ Emma said, pulling herself out of her shock.
She turned and headed for the bedroom, flinging open the door, expecting to find something horrible inside. But there was nothing. The bed was immaculately made, just as she had left it; everything was in its right place. A faint hint of Dan’s aftershave hung in the air. Emma turned to head for the bathroom, the last remaining room of the flat.
‘Oh, shit!’ she heard Will shout from behind her. ‘Shit! Call an ambulance! Somebody get an ambulance!’
‘What’s wrong?’ Emma rushed out into the hallway.
Will appeared from the bathroom, his hands covered in blood.
‘Oh, no,’ she said, covering her mouth and shaking her head. She backed against the wall. ‘Please say he’s okay.’
‘It’s not Dan.’ Will’s face was pained as he held his blood-soaked hands out in front him. ‘It’s Richard. I think he’s dead.’
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Be Careful What You Hear Page 8
