Dr. Myers was quiet for a moment, as if trying to process what Kayla was saying. After a while, she said, “Do you feel like there’s been any relief, or ‘breeze,’ since you’ve been back home?”
Kayla’s heart sank when she realized there hadn’t. Dr. Myers nodded. She knew what the silence meant. “But in a strange kind of way, the heat has been less intense,” Kayla mused aloud. “It’s more of a dull warmth than all-consuming grief.” She twirled a strand of hair around in her finger. “I know it must be so frustrating for you that I just can’t seem to connect with what’s going on. I really am trying.”
“Of course not, Kayla. This isn’t about me.”
“Yeah, I know.” But for some reason, I care what you think. Kayla leaned back in her chair and started to pluck stray pieces of fluff off her jumper. She couldn’t stop fidgeting. There was something she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to bring it up. She took a deep breath. “Can I tell you something? And you have to promise not to think I’m crazy?”
Dr. Myers chuckled kindly, like you would to an elderly relative. “Go ahead.”
“Well, I just feel like there’s more to it than everyone thinks. Sam . . . Sam wasn’t a hardcore druggie. He really wasn’t. And I’m not blinded by grief, or love, or whatever else. I genuinely think the police have got it wrong. And it’s . . . unsettling. To think we’re all missing something big. Like, why did none of us hear the commotion if he was dragged out kicking and screaming by brutes? We were all the way out at the lake, but nobody saw or heard a thing. Anywhere. I just think that’s weird. And for there to have been that much blood, he must have been in the room for a while before he left. Which doesn’t really line up with the theory.
“I dunno. It probably sounds like I watch too much TV. But the gut feeling I first had when I was sitting in the Thai police station, and they were telling me it was drug-based . . . I can’t shake it.” Kayla debated telling Cassandra about the dreams, but decided against it. She must have seemed insane enough already. Her therapist’s pixie features were perfectly composed as usual, giving away nothing about what she was thinking. “What do you think?”
“Honestly?” Dr. Myers shrugged. “I’m a little relieved. It’s the first real sign you’ve shown to suggest that you’re beginning the grieving process over Sam. Stage one is, famously, denial. Denial about what’s real, and what . . . isn’t.”
Kayla felt disappointed. She closed her eyes, trying to mask her dismay.
She doesn’t see it.
KAYLA KNEW THERE was one person who’d listen to her theories, no matter how outlandish. Not just to humor her, but because Sam meant more to her than he did to anyone else.
Kayla had the house to herself. She was sitting at the breakfast bar—the kitchen was her favorite room at Berry Hill—cradling a cup of coffee in her ring-covered hands. The frothy cappuccino smelled delicious but was too hot to drink immediately. She was staring at the television set mounted on the wall. It was on mute, but she hadn’t even noticed. She was too nervous.
She clambered off the bar stool and wandered across to close the French doors. She’d opened them to allow a bit of fresh air to breeze into the room, but she needed privacy for the phone call she was about to make. Not that the gardener trimming the hedges could hear her over the roar of the machine and the crackling of chopped twigs, but if there was one thing crime dramas had taught her, it’s that you can never be too careful when it comes to making assumptions about who you can trust.
Kayla squinted up at the surveillance cameras nestled in every ceiling corner, and wondered whether they were equipped with sound recording facilities. It was possibly something she should know, as the daughter of a surveillance mogul. She never could understand why her dad had them installed in their own home—it seemed like an unnecessary security measure, given the wrought-iron gates and buzzer system that prevented outside access to the property. In any case, their presence made her feel uneasy. Why had she never noticed how claustrophobic they were?
Maybe the garden was a better idea after all. She slid the doors open, grabbing her phone and her coffee off the counter, and made her way to her favorite spot in the world.
At the bottom of their main lawn—they had several—there was a rope swing. It was neither a fancy, ornate wooden beauty nor a tatty, childish tire on the end of a fraying length of cord. It was a simple plank of twisted driftwood, secured to the branches of a grand old willow tree with beige rope and intricate knots. When Kayla was little, she’d loved brushing aside the curtains of willow leaves and visiting her special place. The willow made her feel like Pocahontas, and she’d wish the gnarled old trunk would talk back to her as it had in her favorite childhood movie. When she reached the age of twelve, her dad assumed she’d be more into boys and makeup than playing football in the garden with Gabe before fighting over who got to sit on the rope swing first, and she’d seen the gardener taking it down. She burst into tears—she wasn’t ready to lose such an emblem of her childhood. Her dad had made the gardener put it back up. It had been there ever since.
Resting her cappuccino on the thick grass, Kayla perched gingerly on the swing, unsure if the years of neglect would have weakened it. Despite a few creaks, it seemed sturdy enough. She placed her phone on the ground next to her coffee and gripped the ropes on either side of the wood, but couldn’t bring herself to kick her feet against the earth and start swinging. She weighed significantly more than the last time she’d swung on it, and dreaded the thought of causing the supporting branch above her to crack, taking a wealth of memories tumbling down with it.
As she peered up to examine the tree’s strength, her stomach dropped. Tucked in the corner where the branch met the trunk was the last thing she’d expected to see out there.
Another camera.
It was covered in moss and looked rusty, like it hadn’t been tended to in years. She supposed the lack of a blue light flashing from the tiny bulb meant it no longer contained working batteries. It definitely no longer operated. Still, that wasn’t the point. The hours she’d spent out here as a child suddenly felt violated. She’d felt so free, so unfettered. But she’d been watched the entire time.
From a practical point of view, it made sense. A young girl named Abbie had vanished from her garden in rural Northumberland when Kayla was in primary school, so for her parents to take safety precautions was understandable.
But Kayla couldn’t help wracking her brains for moments she’d thought were only hers but instead had shared with the person on the other side of the camera. The time she’d sat on the swing, dangling legs not yet able to touch the ground, crying hiccupy tears because her mum had barely glanced at the necklace Kayla had made her out of chipped seashells. The time she’d pushed Gabe off the swing in the midst of a childish fight and caused him to fracture his underdeveloped wrist—an incident they’d both later insisted was an accident. The camera had seen it all. The laughs, the lies, and the tears weren’t a secret after all.
Kayla felt nauseated. How much of her life had been completely transparent? She squirmed, trying to shake off the invisible ants that were crawling up and down her arms and spine. If only as means of distraction, she leaned down, took a big sip of milky coffee, and picked up her phone.
Best get this over with.
KATHY KINGFISHER AGREED to meet with Kayla again.
That was the first hurdle jumped. Now to convince Sam’s mum that she hadn’t completely lost her mind.
The first time Kayla had met Kathy had also been the first time she felt there might be more to Sam’s disappearance that everyone thought. She knew she needed to spend more time with that peculiar sensation to try and translate what it meant. She also trusted Kathy to voice her honest opinions. There were a lot of things Kayla hadn’t told anyone back home that weren’t related, exactly, but were gnawing away at the back of her mind: what had happened with Oliver;
the complex emotions between her and Sam; Sam’s growing hostility during the last few weeks in Phuket.
“I was surprised to hear from you again, I must admit.” Kathy took a bite of her marzipan French Fancy cake. They were in Betty’s Tea Room in York—Kayla had taken the train down to meet her just five days after their last coffee date.
“I know. I’m sorry for phoning you out of the blue. I know you must just want to start getting on with your life, without reminders of Sam’s last few months following you around.”
Kathy shook her head vehemently, spraying cake crumbs everywhere. She swallowed her mouthful. “No, that’s not what I meant. You’re a lovely girl, Kayla, and it’s nice to know that Sam had friends who cared so much about him. I just meant that I thought I might have frightened you off last time, sitting there and crying like that. I am sorry, it must have been very awkward for you.”
“No, not at all,” Kayla lied. “I know how you must be feeling. It’s . . . it’s horrendous, really.”
Kathy nodded, her lips pursed. “So why did you call me? I know you wouldn’t ask to meet a middle-aged woman a few hours away from home unless you were either really struggling or wanted to know something about her son.” She smiled warmly. “Either is okay, love.”
Kayla sighed, stirring sugar into her Earl Grey tea. “A bit of both, I guess. I’m starting to miss Sam a lot.” Kathy gave her an odd look, cocking her head to the side. Kayla backtracked quickly. “I missed him before, of course. But now that the shock is wearing off, it’s sinking in that there are certain things I’ll never have again. Talking to him about stupid things, laughing at his sarcasm and the way he always deliberately misunderstood me. Silly things, really.” She looked down. How could she tell Kathy the truth? Time to bite the bullet. “The thing is, Kathy, I loved Sam. And I think he loved me too.”
Kathy sat up, straightening her back. The illusion that Kayla and Sam had been nothing more than good friends had just been shattered. “I see. Were you . . . ?”
“Boyfriend and girlfriend? No.”
Silence. Kayla guessed there were a multitude of curiosities zapping through Kathy’s head. Had they slept together? Why had they not taken their relationship to the next level? Did Kayla know more than she was letting on? She waited for Kathy to ask the most burning question of all, but she never did. Kayla took that as her cue to explain everything, romantic or otherwise, that had happened: the uncensored version. How there had been endless almosts, mistakes with others, a rapidly diminishing closeness toward the end. It was important that Kathy knew all the details, though she left out the unsavory details of Oliver’s and Bling’s roles.
That still didn’t mean she was keen to discuss her relationship with Sam further, to open questions to the floor. She launched straight into the next item on her agenda. “I wanted to know whether you’d been in contact with the police over here about the case.”
Kathy looked surprised, her eyebrows jumping into her limp, greasy fringe. “Of course I have. At the beginning, I spoke to them every day. Have they not contacted you?”
“No. Well, sort of. When I first got back, I spoke to Shepherd. Mason Shepherd,” Kayla added. Kathy nodded in recognition. “But he seemed . . . I don’t know. Distracted?”
“Disinterested?” Kathy asked.
“Disinterested.” Kayla gestured exasperatedly. “I thought it was just me. Was he like that with you too?”
“Yes. I found it strange. DI Sadie Winters has been much more engaged.”
Kayla’s ears pricked up. “Winters? I don’t think I’ve met her.” She couldn’t keep the confusion from her voice. There was a whole other police officer working on the case who hadn’t even bothered to contact her? “She’s probably just overlooked me. I guess they all have a fairly strong belief in their drugs theory, so why would they need to talk to his friend twice? The Thai police had already grilled me.” Kayla shrugged. “I dunno. I just think that if I was them, I’d want to check the box then check it again, just to be safe.” Just to make sure I didn’t kill your son.
Kathy sat back in her chair, exhaling loudly. “Well, as far as I’m aware the case isn’t being investigated much further over here. The Thai police are on the lookout for the drug dealers Sam had been . . . contacting. But there’s no new evidence, nothing to disprove their theory. Sam is assumed to have been murdered, with a drug conflict as the main motivation behind it.” Kathy’s face crumpled.
Oh no, she’s going to cry again. Crap. This was a mistake.
“I hate the idea of my boy in pain. For there to have been that much blood . . . what must they have done to him? Murder . . . it’s such a brutal word. I don’t know what I’ll do when they find the body. I can’t bear to know what injuries he’d suffered. Oh God . . .”
Kayla didn’t know what to say. There was more she wanted to ask Kathy, but she’d underestimated how fragile this grieving mother still was. Kayla couldn’t bring herself to think about the pain Sam must have gone through. She wouldn’t allow her mind to wander that deeply into the realms of misery.
She cleared her throat. “Kathy, I’m sorry to be insensitive, I really am. But would it be at all possible for you to give me some contact details for Winters? I have some things I want to ask her.”
“Sure, Kayla,” she sniffed into a soggy handkerchief. “Whatever you need. But please don’t cling onto false hope. I know there are a few things that don’t quite make sense. But digging them up isn’t going to bring him back, is it?”
“No,” Kayla sighed. “Nothing can bring him back.”
Though she wasn’t about to let go of the idea entirely.
Chapter 17
May 18, Thailand
“WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN Bling and I meant nothing.”
Sam’s eyes looked as sad as Kayla felt. Large, shiny, and doelike, they seemed an even darker brown than usual. If she had been watching as an onlooker, she’d have wanted to reach across and give him a hug.
Kayla smiled a little too widely. “It’s fine! Honestly. You guys are cute together.”
Sam groaned. “No, we aren’t. It was a stupid drunken mistake. Bling and I are just friends, nothing more.”
Kayla paused, pressing her lips together. Swallowing what she really wanted to say. “Yeah, well, so are we.”
“I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?” Sam bowed his head.
Kayla couldn’t summon the energy to reply. She didn’t feel angry at Sam. Or even Bling, for that matter. Neither of them owed her anything. Instead, she felt like her heart had been torn out with their bare hands, leaving her empty and sad, wishing it had never happened. Wishing she could un-see their moment of raw intimacy. Wishing she could forget the terrifying moments in her bedroom the night before. Wishing she never had to look at Oliver again. Wishing she could run away from it all. But wasn’t that what she was already doing? Running away to Thailand to escape her broken life?
It had taken two full days for Sam to realize that she knew everything. Then, at first, he’d overcompensated with generosity, offering to carry her bags, asking her thoughtful questions, rubbing after-sun lotion into her sunburnt back. He’d mistaken her quietness for a fierce hangover. Conversations between him and Bling were stilted and awkward, and they never made eye contact. Kayla tried her best to act like nothing had changed, but the damage had already been done, and by the second day she was even more hurt that neither of them had bothered to tell her what had happened themselves.
Between visiting the Mon village, spending time with the tribe, and exploring the temple, the group had been busy enough that perhaps neither of them had thought it timely to enlighten her. But after the first day, when they had all retired to their rooms, utterly felled by their hangovers, Bling simply climbed into her bed and read a book on her Kindle before falling asleep.
The next day, a water-filled excursion river rafting and visiting hot springs s
imilarly saw no confessions. Kayla was keen not to ruin the dynamic of the group. After all, it wasn’t the others’ fault that she’d developed inappropriate feelings toward Sam. So she’d kept quiet. As far as the others were aware, there had been no attempted rape, no drunken tomfoolery, and absolutely no heartache whatsoever. Even Oliver, though never meeting Kayla’s eye, was carrying on as if nothing had happened.
It wasn’t until two days later that the illusion was shattered. They’d been discussing how frequently Ralph and Thomas had “gotten laid like a brick” while in Thailand when the attention had turned elsewhere. Guffawing like the buffoon he was, Ralph said, “Sam is such a dark horse. You think he’s all sweet and innocent, then bam, he’s got one girl in his bed and another banging on his door looking for him.”
Sam closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands before looking up at Kayla and raising his eyebrows, silently asking her, Was it you? Did you know all along? She’d nodded, once. He looked like he might cry.
Bling giggled and slapped Ralph’s arm playfully. Kayla couldn’t help but wonder whether she liked Sam or not, and whether it’d be worse if she did. If the night really had been just a drunken mistake, then it hurt her less. It didn’t challenge her relationship with Sam. But on the other hand, if Bling genuinely cared for Sam, then Kayla knew she wouldn’t be suffering for nothing—Bling would have acted out of genuine longing.
And as a girl similarly enamored with Sam, it was something she couldn’t hold against Bling.
THE FULL MOON Party. There isn’t an aspiring traveler in the world who isn’t familiar with the famous dance music festival. Held on Haad Run Nok Beach, it attracts passionate partygoers in the tens of thousands to enjoy the music, the breathtaking surroundings, and, more often than not, the thriving hallucinogenic scene.
It would also mark the end of their eight-week stint with Escaping Grey and, much to Kayla’s delight, their time spent being herded like sheep by Oliver, the dirty pervert. Her skin crawled every time he cockily gloated about his conquests the night before—she wondered how many of them had been wholly consensual—or whenever she saw him checking out his reflection in a glass window.
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