Sophie's Run

by Wells, Nicky

  Rachel took a step back to let him in. She grew pale, and a hand flew to her mouth. “But she wasn’t there yesterday,” she mumbled through her fingers. “How would she know?”

  She leveled her gaze at Dan. “Maybe she rang them and they told her?” she mused. She sat down heavily on a kitchen chair, then jumped up again and paced the floor. “Sorry,” she offered Dan as an afterthought. “You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, I…”

  Dan interrupted again. “I’ve just been to her flat. And she’s gone. You told those people you’d slept with me.” His voice was flat, almost impassive, but his frustration bubbled beneath the surface. Rachel paled even more.

  “It slipped out before I realized I was talking to the wrong person. I thought Sophie would open the door and…” She gave a big sigh. “I couldn’t bear it anymore, Sophie not being at work or returning my calls. She never showed up for dinner on Monday. I was worried sick so I went round…” Something occurred to her, and she turned on Dan.

  “Why did you go to her flat?”

  Dan mussed his hair and exhaled. “I went round to apologize. Because she knows about us.”

  “But how?”

  “She was at the house. On Monday. She must have been. I found her keys.”

  Rachel drew in a deep breath and tried to grasp the implications of Dan’s statement. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Dan snapped. “The keys weren’t there on Friday. I checked with the housekeeper.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense.” Rachel grasped at straws. “Why would she just leave them? And how do you know she didn’t drop them off on Saturday or Sunday?”

  Dan’s eyes lit up with hope for the tiniest moment, but the glimmer died quickly.

  “It’s the only explanation that makes sense,” he insisted. “Plus she’d rung me too several times on Monday. I think she just popped round and...” He couldn’t’ finish the sentence.

  “Oh my God, she knows.” Rachel finally accepted the idea. “And you’ve known that, and you didn’t ring me?” She threw him an accusing look, then let the anger go. “Anyway, that explains a few things.”

  “It does?” Dan arched his eyebrows and Rachel filled him in on what she had learned. His brow furrowed with concern when he heard about Sophie’s row with Steve, and more so when he understood that she had not been at work since Tuesday.

  “She’s well and truly gone,” he concluded in dazed confusion when Rachel stopped talking. “That’s a bit extreme.”

  “Hm,” Rachel mused, tugging at the hem of her T-shirt nervously. “It might be. Then again, it’s not as radical as hurling yourself in the Thames.” She smiled wanly and Dan hugged her impulsively.

  “I suppose not, but I’m still surprised. It’s not like her.”

  “Maybe she just flipped. Imagine, a row with your brand new boyfriend. Finding your two best friends in bed together.” Dan and Rachel jointly winced at her stark summation of their brief affair. “You’d feel pretty crap about that.”

  Dan inclined his head. “But why not confront any of this? Sophie’s a head-on kinda girl. Why run, suddenly?”

  Rachel laced the fingers of her hands together and twisted them nervously. “I don’t know. Maybe she was done being rational and practical. It’s not healthy anyway, all that pragmatic attitude she had going on. Everyone has a breaking point.”

  The two friends contemplated her viewpoint silently for a few minutes, each lost in their thoughts.

  “What do you think happened between Sophie and Steve?” Dan eventually asked.

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” She jumped up and flicked through a pile of purple sticky notes on her coffee table. “Come on, come on, where are you?” she mumbled impatiently under her breath. “Ah, there!” She waved a piece of paper triumphantly. “Sophie gave me his mobile number when they started seeing each other in earnest. Let’s get him to meet with us.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ~Dan, Rachel and Steve~

  “You did what?” Steve half-shouted over the din of the pub, dropping his knife and fork in dismay. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Shush,” Rachel hissed on Dan’s behalf, noticing the curious stares their group was receiving. “Keep your voice down.”

  “What did you think you were doing? God, what gives you the right to mess with somebody’s life and happiness like that?” Steve sat back angrily, ignoring Rachel’s plea for quiet talking and letting his voice rise dramatically.

  “You stupid idiots.”

  “Yes, thank you, that’ll do,” Dan tried to soothe him. “We feel quite bad enough as it is.”

  “You feel bad? Well, wow!” Steve shouted incredulously, his voice clearly audible over the general chatter of happy Saturday night pub-goers.

  Dan shrank a little bit lower in his seat. He had never known his local so busy, and he was a bit nervous. Perhaps they ought to have met at his place, but neutral territory had seemed more appropriate under the circumstances.

  Steve was beside himself with livid confusion. All this time, he had thought he had driven Sophie away, and now he found out about this undercurrent of deceit? A betrayal by her so-called best friends, both of them, at the same time, in the same bloody bed…? Had these people no common sense? No friggin’ shame?

  “You feel bad?” he repeated, utterly aghast. “Who do you think you are?” He had got to his feet and was towering over Dan in a menacing pose.

  “I’ll tell you who you are,” Steve continued, but ruined the effect of his bravado while he was searching for appropriate words. “You are…interfering…scheming…selfish…conceited… arrogant…fuckwits. That’s who you are.”

  “Now, now,” Dan retorted sardonically, “don’t you go calling us names. Your record isn’t entirely unblemished either, is it, my friend? I believe you had the most almighty row with your girlfriend—” He didn’t get any further.

  “Leave me out of this. Now that I know the facts, I realize I have nothing to do with Sophie’s disappearance—”

  “Of course you bloody do, mate.”

  “Guys, guys, calm it down, you’re making rather a scene,” Rachel cut in, trying to stem the argument.

  “SHUT UP!” both men shouted at her in unison. Now Rachel saw red, too. She jumped to her feet and banged the table hard with clenched fists.

  “No, you shut up, you stupid pricks, both of you!” she shouted back at them. “Bloody men.”

  Suddenly, the brawl was indeed in full swing. Dan had also risen to his feet, holding both hands in front of him in a defensive gesture. Steve shouted a few more insults and abruptly lunged straight at Dan, fists outstretched in a clumsy pose of attack. Dan dodged the blow easily by stepping to the right, but caught Steve’s hand and slammed it hard on the table, sending their plates and glasses flying as Steve was forced to follow through and practically lay down on the table. Rachel shrieked with disgust as a half-pint of beer sloshed all over her top and trousers. Steve reached up from his semi-prone position and grabbed Dan by the hair, pulling at it and forcing Dan’s head to come down until their faces were level. Dan let go of Steve’s arm, and Steve immediately launched another swing—this time connecting with the side of Dan’s face. Dan hit back, delivering a searing blow to Steve’s nose, which started bleeding immediately.

  All the while, mobile phones were being held up by curious customers trying to capture this event for posterity. No doubt within a few hours, Dan and Steve’s disagreement would be all over the Internet. Worse still, flash bulbs were going off from two professional cameras. Several keen photographers caught Dan and Steve mid-swing. Rachel instantly grasped the story the pictures were going to tell. “Guys, guys, stop,” she tried to pacify them. But it was the sight of blood that finally got the men to stop the fisticuffs. Dan straightened up first.

  “Fuck me, mate, but I’m sorry,” he muttered sheepishly, searching for something to mop up Steve’s nosebleed.

  Steve stood up unste
adily, shaking his head in a daze.

  “Me, too,” he replied, sounding just as meek. “Don’t know what came over me.” His voice sounded somber and muffled through the napkin he had grabbed to stem the blood.

  Rachel pushed the men back into their seats, facing Dan away from the curious onlookers and photographers. “Just a small misunderstanding. Show’s over folks, thank you,” she announced to no one in particular. Then she swiftly picked up the plates and glasses that the men had scattered during their fight and piled them back on the table.

  The landlord came to her rescue. “Show’s over, folks,” he repeated. “If I see anyone else taking any more pictures, I will personally come and destroy your device, whatever it is, however much it costs. Don’t think I won’t,” he added menacingly. “And if you publish any of your footage, you needn’t set foot in my pub again. I know who you are.”

  Having delivered his threat, he strolled over to the battle-zone nonchalantly as though an angry bust-up between a rock star and another man was an everyday occurrence in his establishment. “Are you guys done now?”

  Dan and Steve nodded mutely, and Rachel stepped in again. “Sorry about the mess,” she addressed the landlord, still loud enough for everyone to hear. “We seem to have had a bit of an accident. We’ll help you clear up, of course. And we’re hungry. Is the kitchen still open?”

  Dan, Steve and the landlord all looked at her with wide eyes.

  “What?” Rachel challenged them. “You’ve barely eaten anything, either of you. And anyway, now that the testosterone is out of the way, maybe we can finally have that chat?”

  “Way to go, girl,” muttered the landlord. “If you’ve beat them, join them. Great strategy. That’ll confuse people no end, seeing y’all cozied up here over food now. I’ll get your orders sorted straightaway, and don’t worry about the mess.” He stacked the plates expertly on his arm. “I’ll have somebody clear that up post-haste. You sit yourselves down as though nothing had happened.”

  Gradually, other voices were piping up here and there and within a few minutes, everything had returned to normal. The paparazzi were still hanging round, watching, observing.

  “That’s good,” Rachel commented when Dan asked. “Maybe they’ll take a few more pictures of us all having a civilized meal together; that’ll confuse them. Either way, they’ll watch and learn. Perhaps we can spin it as a publicity stunt? For a new song? Album? Video? Something like that?”

  Dan waggled his head, weighing opportunities. “I’ll have a think about that, that’s not a bad idea. But let’s get back to why we got here, after all.”

  Steve spoke up as well. “I really am sorry, mate.” He dabbed his nose ruefully with the crumpled napkin. “I think I was so relieved at finding out that something else had gone on in Sophie’s life that I flipped a bit. I had been blaming myself, you see, and…”

  So Steve filled Dan and Rachel in on the Scotland trip that didn’t go quite as planned. “I had the ring at the ready and everything,” he whispered sadly.

  The three of them let that sink in, swept up in a shared moment of thwarted romance. Abruptly, however, Steve pulled them back to their sad reality.

  “But do you think this was really enough to make her leave everything behind? One stupid argument on one disastrous trip?” he asked, fear in his eyes. “Would you do a runner because of that?”

  “Prob-ab-ly not,” Rachel surmised. “But I think Sophie felt everyone was against her, and that she had let everything go wrong and destroyed her friendships and relationships all in one go.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense,” Steve protested. “She can’t think that everyone is out to hurt her, and then blame herself for it?”

  “Who says it has got to make any sense?” Dan pondered. “I think Rachel is right. Sophie lost all perspective on everything, and had no one to talk to.”

  “So what?” Steve retorted skeptically. “She just leaves?”

  “Well, she didn’t just leave,” Rachel threw out. “She seems to have made all sorts of arrangements.”

  “But I love her. She must know that. Even though I think it’s despicable what you did, why should it matter to her when she had me?” Steve shook his head in puzzlement.

  “Because,” Rachel explained without hesitation. “Because you would have thought that she still had feelings for Dan, which you wouldn’t have understood, and you would have argued about that, and it would have been a big mess.”

  Steve shook his head, but Dan was getting impatient with all the talk. It wasn’t getting them anywhere. “Never mind all of that,” he steered the conversation back to more practical considerations, “How are we going to put this right?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The ferry bumped gently against the pier and the sailors got busy tying it up. I stood by the railing and stared, trying to take it all in. The wide-open sky, the wheeling seagulls, the dunes, the sheer expanse of nothingness around it all. I had arrived.

  My thoughts were free-wheeling as events of the past few weeks flashed before me at lightning speed. I swallowed hard, banishing unhappy thoughts from my mind. A clean break, a fresh start, remember?

  For better or for worse, and for reasons I hadn’t yet quite grasped myself, I had arrived on this tiny, car-free island in the German North Sea. Langeoog. Long island, it meant, apparently. I had struggled to pronounce it properly when I bought my ticket at Bensersiel. Lang—eh—org had been the best I had come up with so far, but it beat my first attempt, Lang-eeee-oug, which had caused much mirth among the locals.

  “Moin.” A sailor shook me out of my reverie.

  “Moin,” I responded automatically, having picked up the local greeting quickly. My seeming fluency caused a torrent of words which I couldn’t begin to understand with my rusty high-school German.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, “I don’t speak German that well… Do you speak English?”

  Of course he did, and he told me to disembark and to collect my luggage at the train station. I reluctantly made a move to leave the ferry. I had tremendously enjoyed the ride from the ferry port at Bensersiel across the choppy North Sea to Langeoog. Despite the fresh and gusty wind, I had stood at this same spot by the railing for the entire trip, breathing the salty air, savoring the quiet, and generally letting my mind drift.

  Having to disembark now, that made it all real, and I felt a pang of anxiety. What had I done? Where would I live? What would I do? I didn’t know a soul on the island, which was precisely the reason I had come here. But now what?

  Anxiety gave way to excitement and a sense of adventure as I followed a small group of passengers down the gangway. I would do this! I would take life by the horns and make a fresh start, beginning with somewhere to live. First of all, I was going to take the island train into the town to find an abode.

  Lost in thoughts again, it took me a moment to realize that my name was being called.

  “Sophie Penhalligan? Frau Sophie Penhalligan?”

  My heart beat faster at hearing my name. I had only been gone for four days; surely I couldn’t have been discovered yet? With great relief, I saw a porter heaving my luggage toward me.

  “Moin,” he puffed. “Sie sind wohl Frau Penhalligan?”

  Was I Mrs. Penhalligan, he asked formally—that much German I did understand. I smiled and nodded, yes, I was Frau Penhalligan.

  “Ihr Gepäck!” was the next uttering, accompanied by a heavy puffing and proffering of my two suitcases. I smiled again, thanking him for his help and taking my luggage—the ubiquitous pink carry-on case, and a turquoise hard-shell, full-size suitcase. That was it. These were all the worldly belongings that I had packed, in great haste, on Tuesday afternoon to accompany me on my adventure. I had packed clothes and a few books, my trusty e-reader, laptop, and a few CDs that I had acquired after the fire. It was amazing how little one did need, all things considered.

  The porter motioned for me to board the little train with carriages painted in all th
e colors of the rainbow, and I obediently clambered on. Stacking my suitcases in the aisle, I squeezed myself on a banquette and slid across to the window. I felt like a ten-year-old on a seaside holiday adventure. Innocent, excited, fresh. Unencumbered.

  The train set off at a sedate pace to make the small journey through the island’s Hinterland and toward the town. It cut through the dunes, deserted at this time of day; past a mini-golf place and along a hiking path. On the left, I could see a little forest. On the right, there seemed to be some kind of golf course. Rat-tat-tat-tat went the carriages as they bumped over joins in the rails.

  Gradually, a few houses appeared and we were nearing “downtown” Langeoog. Sure enough, a few short minutes later we arrived at the station. I found myself brimming with excitement when I got off. As I stood outside the station surveying my surroundings, the first thing that struck me was the quiet. I could still hear the seagulls overhead and the tweeting of songbirds. Having lived in London for so long, this was a wholly new sensation for me, and even in my hometown of Newquay, the silence would be steadily interrupted by cars, campervans and motorbikes. This was something else.

  I grabbed my two suitcases and wheeled them each down the road as though I had a purpose. Actually, I did have a purpose. I needed some sort of coffee shop—I wanted an early lunch and some local information. The best thing to do, I decided, was to amble down Hafenstrasse and see what I could find.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was still walking. Not because I hadn’t come across a coffee shop. On the contrary, I had passed plenty. And restaurants, and bakeries. The problem was that I was simply so enchanted, I couldn’t stop exploring, never mind the hunger pangs and the dragging suitcases. Most of all, I wanted to see the sea. I had picked up a map of the island right at the Bahnhof, and I could see that the village nestled behind a bank of dunes, so on I lumbered, along Hauptstrasse, toward the famous water tower where I stopped for a breather, and up Westerpad way, cutting through the dunes and finally cresting before the descent to the beach. The sea, at last. I sat down on my turquoise suitcase and drank it in.