Times of Trouble

by Victoria Rollison

  ‘I’d like to get to know her again...you know...if we find her. I miss having a sister.’

  The quietness of the room made my confession seem even more poignant. It probably wasn’t what Liam needed to hear right now, since he was so worried about the search. But I wasn’t expecting him to blush quite as quickly and darkly as he did.

  ‘I’d like to meet her too. I’d like to see you guys back together.’

  He seemed too embarrassed at his own emotion to show his face, and quickly disappeared upstairs.

  The pin-up board had some other bits and pieces that I was eager to look at. Right in the middle was an article cut from a newspaper, with yesterday's date, about Katie’s death. I quickly read it. The police didn’t have any suspects, and there was no mention of her baby. Maybe we should tell the police about Charlie? Pinned at the top of the board was a photocopy of the newspaper article about Danny’s parents’ car accident. There was also a clipping about Danny’s murder, though this hardly contained any information at all, as the police knew even less than we did about the circumstances. The article stated that a man had been found shot in his apartment. His identity had not yet been revealed, and there was no known motive for the killing, which appeared to be ‘execution style’. There were also no witnesses. One line of the article leapt out at me, reigniting my anger at Sophie again. It said 'a small amount of cocaine was found in the apartment. Police do not believe there was a saleable street quantity. It appears more likely it was for recreational use'. I couldn't bear to imagine Sophie as a drug addicted prostitute! I decided to ignore this problem, and concentrated on the rest of the article. Strangely, the call to the ambulance had come from a telephone box a quarter of a mile from the apartment. Did this mean someone heard gunshots, and called from the nearest phone box? Or did they see something, but not report it to the police? The last line of the article was also less than helpful: ‘Police have no leads as to the identity of the gunman’.

  As I read through the article, I suddenly remembered my Facebook investigation. Liam’s laptop was sitting open in the middle of his mini command centre. I was sure he wouldn’t mind me using it. My email welcome page advised that I had one un-read email. The internet connection took a painfully long time to show me the message. Please let it be from Tina, I willed the universe. When it appeared the subject was: ‘Tina Gianopoulos sent you a message on Facebook...’ Yippee!

  She had written: ‘Hi Ellen. Nice to hear from you! Sorry to hear that you and Sophie have lost touch, that must be very sad for you both. I haven’t heard from her since she went away. I’m still here in Adelaide and I don’t speak to many of the people I used to go to school with. Different crowds and all that. But I do have lots of them as friends on Facebook. I can email them and see if any of them still hear from her. Tina xx’

  I responded that I would appreciate that. But it was disappointing, as she was the one most likely to have stayed in touch with Sophie.

  Liam and I were now officially at dead ends. I was still on the laptop, trying to get used to the Facebook site, when he came back down stairs.

  ‘Are you on my laptop’ he asked, with some amusement at my audacity.

  ‘Sorry, is that a problem?’ I asked, daring him to complain.

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. Sorry. You can use it.’

  ‘I’ve finished now. Just checking out my Facebook page. Thought it might be a way to get in contact with people who are still in touch with Sophie.’

  ‘And did you get anywhere?’

  Liam suddenly looked hopeful, and it was obvious this was an idea he hadn’t had himself. Trying not to seem smug, I turned the laptop in his direction, letting him read the email Tina had written back to me. He scanned the message, slowly shrugging his shoulders as he got to the end.

  ‘I guess it’s not really likely she would be in contact with her old school friends, if she lost touch with you and your mum.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. It was just an idea.’

  Liam had brought a plastic carry bag downstairs, and was holding it in front of him like some sort of offering. I took it from him, and looked through its contents. It was old Beatles records, and I recognised where they had come from.

  ‘I bought these at the charity shop. They were Sophie’s. I thought your mum might want them, so...’

  ‘So we can give them back to her when we find her. Thanks Liam, that was really sweet.’ My cheeks reddened with gratitude, and guilt at my suspicions about Liam’s motives.

  I recognised the albums; they were my dad’s before they were Sophie’s. She had commandeered them from his record collection. I wasn’t surprised they made it all the way to her life in London, and I was grateful they had been salvaged.

  ‘I’m just going to cook up some pasta for dinner. Do you want some?’

  Liam was back to his polite, charming ways, and I was famished, so I gratefully accepted. While I stood at the counter and watched him cook, he poured us both a glass of wine. It was hard not to notice how devastatingly good looking he was. His face managed to somehow remain completely placid while his eyes dared me to notice a cheeky streak. And he had just enough sarcasm to keep him polite without being an arrogant know all. He looked strong, but ready to cuddle and as much as I wished I didn't, I had to recognise that I had a crush on him.

  The subject quickly turned back to what we planned to do the next day.

  ‘So where have you looked in Sydney so far?’

  I didn’t want Liam to revert to his sullen mood. His good mood was so far more preferable. But it was fair to ask how he had spent the last month, so we didn’t cover old ground.

  He swallowed his pride and admitted: ‘There’s not really much to tell. I hung around the places for days where I thought she might be. But they were just guesses.’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘I thought she might try to disappear into the tourist crowd around the eastern beaches. I hung out near the hostels in Bondi, and Coogee. They’re crawling with English people, but I never spotted Sophie. I showed her photos at all the major hotels in the city. But that didn’t get me anywhere either. I also thought she would have to eat at some stage. So I trawled the shopping centres in the city, in case she was in a hotel, and had to duck out to get supplies.’

  ‘Speaking of hotels, what sort of accommodation do you think she could afford?’

  ‘I don’t think she has much money, but it’s impossible to say.’

  ‘But let’s assume that even if she did have some, she wouldn’t want to spend it too quickly. If it was me, I wouldn’t stay somewhere too central, or too expensive.’

  Liam nodded grudgingly. ‘So where would you stay, if you were Sophie?’

  ‘When we came to Sydney for piano competitions, we stayed at those budget places called Formule 1 Hotels. The ones with the big signs on the side that say rooms for $79 a night. They sort of look like concrete boxes with windows in the side.’

  ‘I’ve noticed them. I couldn’t imagine Sophie wanting to stay there.’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t want to stay there. But she might have no choice. Sophie must remember what it was like to live off hardly any money. I also wouldn’t stay in a hostel, because I wouldn’t feel safe not having my own room. But a really cheap hotel room would feel pretty anonymous. And I wouldn’t stay in the same one for too long...’

  I opened up the laptop and typed ‘Formule 1 Hotels Sydney’ into Google. The search listed Paddington, St Peters, Darlinghurst, Casula, Sydney Airport...

  ‘Ok, then let’s start with these tomorrow. We can show her photo at the front desks. Maybe we’ll get lucky.’

  I had given Liam a reason to feel excited, and I felt pleased with myself. I really was helping!

  ‘So, this piano stuff. You must have been pretty seriously into it if you were flying to Sydney for competitions.’

  ‘Oh, I was. Really serious. But it didn’t work out. Now I’m just a teacher.’

  ‘So you were trying to be professional?
Like, be paid for playing in concerts and stuff? That must be pretty tough.’

  ‘It is. There aren’t many concert pianists that make a living from it. I thought for a while I would get there, but I wasn’t good enough.’

  Liam didn’t look at me with the usual pity I expected when telling people my sad tale. He looked curious, and even a bit surprised.

  ‘You don’t seem like the sort of person who would be a, you know, pianist.’

  ‘Well, I’m not a pianist. So that might have something to do with it.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean I sort of picture these pianist types as really... serious. You know, nerdy types who are all like...’ Rather than use words, he mimed something that looked like someone with a carrot up their arse, flailing their fingers around on an invisible keyboard.

  ‘You mean I don’t seem like a pompous git who thinks they’re god’s gift?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Liam looked relieved that he hadn’t offended me.

  I should have left it there, but couldn’t resist asking the question. ‘So how do I seem?’

  ‘I don’t know, normal I guess. The way your mum wrote of you...’

  ‘...You thought I’d be a basket case?’ Mum had told Liam I’d been through a rough time

  Liam reddened. I almost felt amused by how ruffled he was.

  ‘I’m just getting to know you, that’s all. And I never expected you to say you were a pianist.’

  ‘A piano teacher...’ I corrected him. ‘No point being up yourself if you’re just a piano teacher.’

  ‘Well, I guess it’s lucky you’re not off playing somewhere in Europe now, hey!’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I asked, thinking that nothing in the world would have made me happier than performing at that very moment.

  ‘Because then you wouldn’t be here with me, trying to find Sophie.’

  I hadn’t even thought of that. The smile he gave me made my insides flutter, reminding me of how I felt about Thomas.

  ‘When is the pasta going to be ready? I’m starving! And I’m about to finish this bottle of wine while I wait!’

  I looked away so he wouldn’t notice it was my turn to blush.

  Chapter 14

  When I woke up in the morning, I felt like my body was stuck in the grooves of the old sofa cushions, making me stiff and grumpy. I had been slightly surprised that Liam hadn’t offered me his bed. He didn’t seem to have a problem with the sofa’s derelict appearance. I was trying to prize myself from my cramped position, coaxing my limbs back to life, when I heard his phone ring. The muffled sound of his voice in his bedroom upstairs proved to me once and for all that houses in Sydney are too small. I could make out what he was saying, and without being able to help it, listened in.

  ‘I just have to, ok?’...‘it’s not as simple as that’...‘I know you’re not made of money...’ ‘You can’t help who you love’...’just listen to me’...‘it’s not about that’...‘I just have to, ok’... 'I have to go mum...’ He sounded angry, hissing into the phone, but trying hard not to raise his voice.

  From the long gaps between what he was saying, it seemed like his mum was having a bit of a rant. I heard Liam open his bedroom door, and as he breezed down the stairs, the expression on his face showed he had absolutely no idea I had overheard him. So I kept my expression neutral, not wanting him to guess I had been listening. Who had he been speaking about? It couldn’t be Sophie could it? Surely not.

  He seemed to be forcing a cheerful demeanour, saying to me: ‘We should get going before the Monday morning traffic is really bad. We can get breakfast on the road.’

  Did this mean he wanted to leave right now? I was hardly awake, let alone ready to leave the house.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked, as I tried to conceal myself behind the door before Liam saw the old baggy night gown that I had been wearing for too many years to count.

  ‘It’s 7:30. Do you want a quick shower? I’d like to leave in about 10 minutes.’

  Liam spoke with forced politeness, but he was obviously frustrated I wasn’t out of bed, and ready to go. He can’t have lived with a female before: 10 minutes was barely enough time to wash my face, let alone get ready to leave. Back at home, I wasn’t usually out of bed until 9:00am.

  ‘I’ll have one later. I don’t want to hold us up.’

  I dragged on the clothes I had worn the day before; they had been sitting crumpled on top of my bag on the living room floor. I would have to remember to set the alarm on my phone tomorrow. I didn’t want Liam to think I was treating this trip to Sydney like a holiday. He stood in the hall waiting for me, car keys in hand, as I quickly combed my hair, brushed my teeth and put my contacts in. When I pulled on my trusty cargo pants I noticed Picasso's spare wire was still in the pocket. It reminded me I'd need to find a moment to do some washing in Sydney. Liam was acting like there wasn't enough time to dress, let alone wash. Was there any other thing he could do in the world to make me feel more rushed than stand staring at the closed front door? I was surprised he hadn’t already got in the car and turned the engine on.

  The street was very quiet when we eventually made it out the door. Liam jumped into the car and sat impatiently waiting for me to get in. But I couldn’t help taking a moment to notice the car’s number plate. It was symbolic for me- XYD 960. As I got in, I told Liam it was a good omen.

  ‘That’s the same number as my favourite Schubert Sonata – D 960…’

  Liam ignored me, and zoomed off from the curb like he was on a mission, barely waiting long enough for me to close the door.

  He had the three photos of Sophie, and he’d written down the names and addresses of all the Formule 1 hotels in Sydney. As he drove, he explained he thought we should start at the airport one, as this was the first cheap hotel Sophie would have seen after getting here. I suspected if she had ever stayed there, it would have been when she first arrived. She wouldn’t be there now. It wouldn’t have been safe for her to stay for more than two months. But I preferred not to contradict his plans, so I said nothing.

  ‘Do you get nervous at all, about these people? Do you think they might work out you’re looking for Sophie?’ I asked, as we slowed to a crawl, hitting the first traffic jam of the morning - something that seemed to be unavoidable in this city.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, with complete and utter certainty, which made me feel slightly better. ‘You said yourself that we are just two people searching for one other person. How could they even know we exist?’

  I might have said that, but it didn’t mean I believed it. ‘All I know,’ I said, ‘is that whoever they are, they seem to be very good at tracking people down. How on earth would they have known Katie was in Sydney? And then they found her, didn’t they. She’d changed her name and everything.’

  ‘That is a bit scary. But there’s still no connection to us.’

  Liam seemed sure. But during my uncomfortable sleep on the ugly sofa, I had a lot of time to worry about all the ways we could be found by these people. What if they worked out what Sophie’s real name was, and tracked me down through that? They could easily work out I had flown to Sydney from a flight manifest, or someone could be watching us right now. I spun around in my seat, suddenly anxious to know who was driving behind us. A little old lady in a tiny Hyundai, her head hardly showing over the steering wheel, peered back at me. Liam saw me look, and glanced in the rear view mirror.

  ‘Do you think we can out run her?’ He revved the engine as he spoke.

  ‘Ha ha. It’s not funny. I think we should be on high alert at all times. If you ever think you see the same person twice behind us, that’s a sure sign we are being followed.’

  ‘Ok. I’ll watch out for people I don’t know in cars I don’t recognise. Happy?’

  He wasn’t taking me seriously.

  ‘Another thing I was thinking about…’

  ‘Worrying about more like it…’

  ‘Is whether there is any need to go to the police? People have been
killed. I would have thought we need to involve them at some point.’

  I could feel Liam starting to get wary again.

  ‘So you want to go to the police, and tell them we are looking for Sophie. And that her two friends have been killed, but we know absolutely nothing about who might have done it?’

  ‘I can tell by the way you’re speaking that you think that’s a bad idea. But why not? Why shouldn’t we tell them we think Katie was murdered? If we are so sure, why wouldn’t they be?’

  ‘Because there’s no evidence, is there?’

  ‘Except Danny was killed… sorry....murdered… and Katie's death is being treated as murder too, and we know Sophie is scared. So why can’t we tell the police that?’

  ‘There are so many reasons; I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Give me one good, convincing reason, then.’

  ‘That’s just it. Convincing is the key. The police have absolutely no evidence Katie and Sophie even exist. They have come to Sydney illegally, with fake passports and names. Sophie's been living illegally in London for numerous years before this, working as a prostitute. We say they’re being pursued by people they may not even know. Do you really think the police would take anything we told them seriously?’

  ‘It would be worth a try.’ I crossed my arms with stubborn defiance.

  ‘Did you consider it might be dangerous to go on record talking about what we know? You say you are scared these killers could find us. What better way to lead them to us than giving all our information to the police? Written statements go on public record.’