‘I don’t know, but someone mentioned Rebecca’s name.’
‘Who mentioned her name?’ Naomi doesn’t reply, waiting until I’ve stopped eyeing the crowd and am looking at her instead. ‘What?’ I add.
‘You’ve gotta stop asking me, Ell. You know what people are like. If I’m telling you what I’ve heard, can you just take my word for it?’
She bites her lip and seems a little upset.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
‘It’s fine, but if Rebecca’s saying she saw them leave together, maybe she did.’ She holds a finger up to stop me interrupting. ‘Look, I know she’s a bitch but do you really think she’d lie to the police about that? Imagine if someone else said they’d definitely seen Helen leaving by herself, or with a different person. Or if someone came forward and said they’d left with Helen. Rebecca would be in loads of trouble for making something up. If she’s saying she saw them leaving together, she probably did.’
I take a breath, wanting to be angry with Rebecca, possibly with Naomi. I don’t even know. The problem is that Naomi’s right.
‘Just because they might have left together,’ I say, ‘it doesn’t mean—’
‘I’m not saying it does, Ell. You asked what I’d heard, so I’m telling you.’
Naomi is getting annoyed and I don’t necessarily blame her. I wait a moment and then take a small step forwards. She snakes an arm around my hips and I put one across her shoulders. We stand facing the water, holding each other and then I ask as calmly as I can if she’s heard anything else.
Naomi breathes deeply through her nose and I know it’s going to be bad.
‘People are saying they raided your house and found Helen’s clothes in his room.’
I shake my head. ‘They gave us a checklist of everything they took and there was nothing like that on there.’
‘Would they tell you if they had found something?’
I admit I don’t know, then ask what else.
‘It’s all rumours,’ Naomi adds. ‘Some are saying that Helen and Ollie did it in his car.’
‘How would other people know that? They weren’t even going out.’
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
We’re interrupted by a loud call from the car park as one of the officers starts to organise people into teams again. There’s little chance of me being allowed to help given my brother is apparently prime suspect for Helen’s disappearance – but I follow Naomi across the bridge anyway. She squeezes my hand and then releases it. For a second, I feel the warmth of her body and it makes me want to cry because of how I’ve betrayed her with Ben.
It’s not just her. There are so many pairs of accusing eyes on me as the officer calls for everyone assigned as ‘group A’ to head over to one side of the tarmac.
‘What group are you?’ I ask Naomi.
‘C.’
‘What does that mean?’
She shrugs.
Naomi’s group is called next, so she smiles and says to stay in contact. I’m left standing by myself, a few metres away from the two dozen people assigned to group B. I know I should go but don’t want to simply turn and disappear over the bridge. It would seem like admitting I’d done something wrong – or conceding that Ollie had. I stand awkwardly, gazing towards the river when Rebecca calls my name.
When I turn to face her, she’s standing tall in skinny jeans with wellies over the top and a designer jacket.
‘The cameras aren’t here yet,’ I say.
She sneers immediately back. ‘Why are you here?’
‘What’s it to you?’
‘Because I can’t be the only one who thinks a murderer’s sister shouldn’t be looking for the victim.’
Her Ravens stand at her side nodding in agreement. I wish I had a devastating comeback but my mind is blank, primarily because she’s right. Not about the murderer thing, but the sister. I let her have her triumph, putting my hands in my pockets, turning, and then trudging over the bridge, not bothering to look back.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Tape Deck car park is empty when I emerge from the path that leads from Westby. The light-up board at the front says that today’s special is a ‘four-bean burger’, though I’m not entirely sure what that is. It clearly involves beans and some bread, though I don’t think I could even name four types of bean. Does ‘baked’ count?
The inside is almost as empty as the outside, with row after row of unoccupied creamy-brown tables. With everyone else my age helping in the search for Helen, it’s no wonder the place is deserted. It’s a testament to how much time I’ve spent here that I know the song playing is by Billy Idol. If nothing else, this place gives an education in music that wouldn’t have otherwise been heard in my lifetime.
I take a seat next to the wall of tapes and take out my phone. There is a message from Robbie asking if I want to have lunch somewhere and another from Naomi, which says sorry – even though she has nothing to apologise for. I reply to the pair of them – telling Robbie I’m not in the mood – and then realise a shadow is hovering over me.
Ash is leaning to the side again, as if the floor is slanted. His hair is still parted the side, though it occurs to me that perhaps it was on the other side when I last saw him. He’s not quite looking at me, more at my shoulder. It’s incredibly disconcerting.
Even though people generally order at the counter, he has a small pad in his hand and thrusts it towards me. ‘Is there something you’d like?’ he asks. ‘Today’s special is a four-bean burger.’
His speech sounds sloppy, as if there’s too much saliva in his mouth. I stare at him as best I can, given he’s not returning the gaze.
‘You did this, didn’t you?’ I say.
His eyebrows arch in the middle. ‘Uh… did what?’
‘You did something to Helen James and then found a way to pin it on my brother.’
He steps backwards, tripping slightly on one of the chairs. ‘Uh… was there something you wanted?’
I start to follow him as he backs towards the counter, an accusing finger at the ready. ‘I’ve heard all about you stalking Tina. You’ve got a thing about teenage girls, haven’t you? You went for Sarah Lipski last year, you’ve been following me, then it was Helen.’
We’ve moved so quickly that his back is pressed to the counter. I’m on tiptoes and, because he’s hunched, I tower over him. There are noises from the kitchen beyond, but no one in sight. A noise escapes from him that I’ve never heard before, a squawking cross between a howl of alarm and a cry of pain. It is animalistic, so shrill, that I back down instinctively. He has his hands protecting his face, even though there was never a chance of me striking him. It takes me a few moments to realise what’s happened.
He’s utterly terrified… of me.
He makes a second, quieter, shriek and peeps through his hands as I back away.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, ashamed of myself. I’ve become part of the mob.
Ash slaps himself hard across the face, creating a fleshy thwack that echoes through the empty restaurant.
‘Hey!’ I say. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
He smacks himself once more and I step forward, which only makes him cower again. I hold both hands in the air as if the police have told me to. ‘Ash, I’m sorry. Please stop.’
Ash pushes himself up on the counter and stares towards me. Not at me – towards me. ‘No,’ he says.
‘No what?’
‘Not again.’
‘I’m sorry, Ash. I shouldn’t have said what I did – but I don’t know what you mean.’
‘P-p-police,’ he stutters. ‘Not again.’
I move towards one of the booths on the side of the restaurant that has all the tapes. ‘Come and sit with me. I’m sorry.’
I slide in on one side and continue watching him. ‘I’ve got to work,’ he says.
‘There’s nobody here.’
Ash glances towards the kitchen behind. There is the sound of voices but still nobody visible. He twi
sts from the kitchen to me three or four times, still not quite focusing, and then he makes up his mind. He heads to the booth and perches on the edge of the bench opposite me, staring at the table.
‘What about the police?’ I ask.
He gulps, taking ten or fifteen seconds to answer. ‘They asked about Sarah last year. Said I killed her.’
That’s something I didn’t know.
‘Why?’ I ask.
His shoulders rock slightly, but it’s barely a shrug. ‘Dunno.’
‘They must’ve given you a reason.’
He rolls his shoulders again and it takes him another ten seconds to reply. ‘Said they’d heard my name from people who knew her. People said I’d been following her but I had NOT.’
He shouts the final word, peering up from the table and staring at me properly. There’s fire in his eyes.
‘I believe you,’ I say.
‘No, you DON’T – you think I killed her, too. And Helen.’
A sloppy spray of saliva ends up on Ash’s chin, which he wipes away. I glance towards the kitchen, wondering if someone might emerge. No one does. I’m not sure if I thought he was involved with either Sarah or Helen, or if he drowned me. As he shakes with a mix of fright and terror, I’m certain that he knows nothing about any of it.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I was upset because they’ve arrested my brother. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’
He’s back to staring at the table. ‘You mentioned Tina.’
‘Yes.’
‘You know her?’
‘Not well, but I have talked to her.’
‘About me?’
‘I suppose. Other things, too.’
His chest rises and falls and I get a whiff of his barbecue breath. ‘You ever made a mistake?’ he asks. His speech is more coherent now.
‘All the time. I’ve made mistakes today.’
‘I thought me and Tina were going to get married and sit on the sofa watching movies every evening.’
There’s a pause as I panic at not knowing how to reply. It’s a very specific thing he pictured them doing and would certainly sound creepy if it weren’t so pathetic.
‘Right…’
‘Me and Tina was a mistake – but I can’t go back now. I know people in the village talk about me. I know she tells people. I want to move away but Mama’s got bad cancer.’
I want to reply but don’t know him well enough to say anything other than that I’m sorry. Anything more sounds as if I’m patronising.
‘You think I’m weird, don’t you?’ he says.
‘No.’
‘You do. Everyone does – because I’ve got one leg shorter than the other. Because I used to stammer when I was a kid. Cos of Tina.’
He spits a little as he talks and then brushes the table in annoyance. I’m left feeling a few centimetres high. I spend all my time complaining about the judgy busybodies from the village and I’m no better.
‘Do you watch ro-man-tic com-e-dies?’ He pronounces each syllable slowly, deliberately, as if the words are a struggle.
‘Do you mean films?’
‘Have you ever thought how creepy some of those people are? In Bridget Jones’s Diary, Colin Firth reads Renee Zellweger’s diary, then runs off – then a minute later, they’re kissing in the street and she’s fine with it. In Love, Actually, Andrew Lincoln’s best friend is in love with Keira Knightley – but Andrew Lincoln is making their wedding video. He crops his own best mate out of the footage because he’s so obsessed with Keira Knightley. Then he turns up at her door pretending to be carol singers and shows her all these cards, saying he’s in love with her. In Twilight, Robert Pattinson is over a hundred years old and Kristen Stewart is seventeen. He follows her around and watches her sleep, hoping she’ll fall for him. In Sleepless In Seattle, Meg Ryan writes to Tom Hanks, even though she’s never met him, then flies to New York to try to track him down. In Aladdin, he sees Princess Jasmine, decides he loves her, then stalks her until she loves him back. In Ghost, Patrick Swayze dies but he still won’t let Demi Moore out of his sight. In The Graduate, Dustin Hoffman follows Katharine Ross to California and interrupts her wedding. In Pretty Woman, Richard Gere keeps paying Julia Roberts money until she becomes the woman he wants her to be. In The Time Traveller’s Wife, Eric Bana goes through time, grooming a six-year-old girl to fall in love with him.’
He pauses and then adds breathlessly: ‘I watch a lot of movies.’
It’s a lot of information to take in – although I’ve seen most of the films he mentions.
It takes me a few seconds to muster a weak: ‘When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so romantic.’
He huffs a breath, which isn’t a surprise considering the way everything else came out in one go. ‘Did Tina tell you about Tenerife?’ he asks. His stutter has gone.
I nod.
‘I grew up watching ro-man-tic com-e-dies,’ Ash says. ‘Mama used to record them off the telly and then she’d watch them back all day. I thought flying out to see Tina would show I loved her. I thought she’d be pleased I was there. If I’d been Hugh Grant or Channing Tatum, everyone would have thought I was brilliant.’
Again, I’m unsure how to reply. In a weird, warped way, he has a point. Sort of.
If a person had been brought up solely on a diet of rom-coms and things like soap operas, it’s no wonder he or she would have a distorted view of how to act around others.
Ash is also right that flying to see his ex-girlfriend on holiday could be viewed as a grand romantic gesture. But it’s quite stalker-like depending on how the other person sees it. If it goes down well, it’s a story for the grandkids of how Grandpa flew around the world to woo Grandma. If it’s not reciprocated, it’s a restraining order.
‘Did Tina tell you about her garden?’ Ash asks.
‘Yes.’
‘I’d written a poem and was going to read it to her. When she looked out the window, instead of wanting to listen, she called her dad.’
I struggle not to cringe. Everything about it is awful. In a dodgy rom-com, the poem would have been met by initial indifference, then giggles, then some snogging while a power ballad played in the background.
‘I know now that’s not how it works,’ Ash adds.
Considering the way in which he’s talking about himself, Ash sounds remarkably self-aware. He must have grown up a fair bit in the past couple of years, though it’s all hidden under a cloak of physical twitches, such as the limp and the way he doesn’t look people in the eye.
‘We saw each other on Saturday night,’ I say.
Ash finally peers up but he’s blinking rapidly and then bats at the air in front of his face. He grabs a napkin just in time and then a sonic boom of a sneeze erupts. I’m not sure but I think I shriek a little.
‘So-wee,’ he says, cleaning himself up. It’s impossible not to feel sorry for him – everything he does is tinged with clumsiness.
He blows his nose into a second napkin and then apologises again.
‘Were we arguing at Helen’s house?’ I ask.
His eyes are still watering but he shoots into a standing position. ‘Did you tell the police I was at her house? They’re going to—’
‘I didn’t mention your name.’
His head spins to the doorway as if expecting an ambush.
‘Ash – I didn’t say anything. I wanted to ask you about it.’
‘I wasn’t invited,’ he says. ‘People here were talking about a party and I figured I could tag along, or at least just turn up. I went after shift and the front door was open.’
‘I’m not trying to catch you out – but I saw a picture of us. It looked like we were fighting but I don’t remember why.’
He calms slightly, though his breathing is rapid and he’s wheezing like an asthmatic. ‘I was looking for the toilet but didn’t know which door. I really needed to go. I pushed open one of the upstairs doors and…’
He tails off but I know what he saw –
Ben and me. No wonder we were arguing in the garden. I was likely telling him in a not-so-polite way to forget what he’d seen.
‘So-wee,’ he adds.
When I stand, he doesn’t leap away from me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve not handled things well.’
I think about ordering something – the four-bean burger, if only to find out what the beans are – then I remember I can’t eat.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I add. ‘I’ll see you around.’
He nods but doesn’t reply. He’s standing at an angle, hand on his hip, arm bent crookedly.
‘See you ’round, Ellie-a-nor,’ he says.
He sounds excited, slobbering the mispronounced syllables of my name. I try not to wince but it’s impossible not to. Though I’m pretty sure he’s not responsible for any of what’s happened, Ash’s awkwardness is something that invades those around him. I can’t bear to spend any more time alone with him. I kinda hate myself for that.
I hurry into the Tape Deck car park and head for the path leading back to Westby, mentally crossing him off my list of suspects and knowing that there aren’t many names left.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It’s an eerie, lonely walk back to Westby, punctuated by lone, echoing voices from the woods as the search parties scuff their way through the trees. I don’t see anyone but I can hear the faint calls of ‘halt’ and ‘continue’ that ultimately mean Helen is still missing.
There’s little point in spending time in and around Westby centre, and I’ve had no message from Mum to say Ollie has been released or is being kept in. The only place for me to go is home – but when I get there, Robbie is sitting on the low wall at the front of the house. He’s wearing shorts but his bare legs are caked with dirt and a series of red scratches. I’d told him I wasn’t in the mood but, now he’s here, suddenly I’m glad to see him.
I sit on the wall next to him and, perhaps surprising me as much as him, rest my head on Robbie’s shoulder. He puts an arm around me and yawns.
‘I tried calling you last night and this morning,’ he says.
‘It was a tough night with Mum and everything. She’s gone to Langham police station to try to see Ollie. What happened to your legs?’
The Death and Life of Eleanor Parker_An absolutely gripping mystery novel Page 20
