by Alison Keane
I sigh with relief before I remember that this wasn’t the last of it. Perhaps I should have read the messages from newest to oldest, but I’ve started now. There can’t be much more—the slider bar on the right hand side of the screen is almost at the bottom.
I replied straight away:
No i am. With 2 o u.
What???
Tell dad he can fck of 2
OK I don’t know what you’re talking about.
I swallow. I’m afraid of what’s to come. Seeing her pretend there’s nothing happening is pissing me off even now I know what’s happened to her. I suck in a breath and scroll down.
I can’t even look. I close my eyes. These messages are from around eight last night. There must be a mistake. Maybe I’m misinterpreting. Let me in could mean a lot of things.
I groan.
I’m lying to myself and I know it.
I open my eyes and try to fight back the feeling of butterflies in my stomach.
BULLSHIT!!!!
I mean it, Ellie. Look, whatever it is you think I’ve done, you’re wrong. I’ve just tried to be your friend. I’ll call you tomorrow and talk when you’re sober.
2face bitch! U sedced dad 4 $ ur no frnd
“Jesus,” I mutter. I don’t remember any of this. I can’t even interpret what my messages are supposed to mean.
“What is it, Ellie?”
I shake my head.
There’s no reply from Steph, just another message from me.
U gona dny????
Steph didn’t reply to that one, but then I didn’t give her a chance. Two minutes later, I followed up with:
Cmin ova. C if u cn deny 2 my face
“Oh no. No, no, no,” I groan.
But I’ve reached the end and there’s no way to twist the truth now. Let me in meant exactly what I thought it did; what I hoped it didn’t mean. The last message was sent fifteen minutes later at half-past eight.
Let me in
“Ellie, what is it?” Nathan gently takes my phone out of my hand. I look up at him numbly.
Do I tell him?
Can I tell him?
I shake my head. This makes no sense. It can’t have been me.
“Should I call her?” I whisper. “Just to make sure?”
“What, you haven’t tried already?”
I shake my head, second-guessing myself now. No, I can’t. I shouldn’t.
But won’t it look suspicious if I don’t?
But what if the police answer and they start to investigate me?
My stomach plummets.
Calling isn’t going to make any difference. If the police have her phone, they’ll have access to our WhatsApp chat. What the hell are they going to think when they see that?
“Ellie, please talk to me. You’ve gone really quiet.”
I look up at him. How can I tell him? He’s not going to believe me. I’m not sure even I believe me.
32
Mikey
Mikey shoved open the door of the toilets and groaned when he saw who was waiting outside. He should have expected as much. He knew from one glance at her glazed red eyes that she was already far to pissed to even be served, but then that was why the team loved this place: they didn’t care how drunk you were.
This was different though.
“There you are,” she said, moving towards him.
Mikey cringed. They’d had so many nights out together where it was hard to tell who was more pissed, but it was different tonight. He’d been mulling over what Graham said to him the other day. He’d been trying to decide what to do. Not only that, but he’d been struggling to recover from injury and it was bothering him. He’d been bored out of his mind all evening and he’d started to wish he’d gone home.
Now he wasn’t sure what he wanted.
Graham had warned him over and over again about her, but she looked so beautiful despite her drunkenness. Would she ever bloody learn? After the stunt she pulled at that party—getting pissed and falling all over the chairman of the club—Mikey was lucky all that had happened was being sent to France for a few months whilst Graham smoothed things over.
He gritted his teeth and hardened his heart. She could destroy her own life, but he wouldn’t let her ruin his too.
“Ellie, I’ve told you before. This has got to stop.”
“But we’re supposed to be together,” she whispered.
Mikey looked away. He may have been sober, but it wasn’t enough. Even though logically he knew he was better off without her, he still loved her. He probably always would. “Look, Ellie—”
“Don’t look Ellie me! You went away for months! And you never even told me you were back. What the fuck, Mikey?”
He shook his head. She always had this effect on him. For the last few months, all he’d heard was Graham ranting and raving about how she was a loose cannon; how she’d be the ruin of him. Now, standing before her, things looked a lot different. She was so vulnerable. That was how they’d always been: he was the dependable one who’d always looked out for her.
Things were more complicated now, though. He had to remember that. “You went to the police about me. What the hell were you playing at?”
“What?” she slurred, holding her hands out and staggering closer to him. She stroked his face with her fingertips and part of him melted again.
But no. He had to be strong.
“You went to the police. You were seen.”
She pouted. “Only because you had that asshole Graham follow me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Graham’s been following me. Creepy prick.”
“But he wouldn’t.” Mikey shook his head as he recalled his last conversation with Graham. The guy had been so angry at her. Could he… No. But he could have sent someone else to do his dirty work—Mikey wouldn’t put it past him.
Mikey swore under his breath as he started to make sense of it. Bloody Graham had had it in for her from the start. Everything was black and white for him. He saw it clearly now. It wasn’t her drinking Graham cared about—not really—it was the fact that Mikey spent so much time looking out for her; staying up with her when she woke herself up screaming in the middle of the night. She wasn’t screaming at him. He had no idea what was going on in that mind of hers, but it was something from way back. He’d tried to ask her about it but she had no idea herself and he’d never warmed to her father.
How could he just walk away?
He’d get her a therapist.
He’d find out what was causing the dreams.
They’d quit drinking together. Being sober wasn’t so bad. It was such a double standard anyway: Mikey had done way worse things than Ellie ever had, but he got away with that because he was a bloke.
Something moved in the corner of his eye as he was reaching for her and Mikey spun around. There was a man with them on the narrow landing. Mikey hadn’t noticed him before, which was odd, but then his attention had been fully absorbed by Ellie and the realisation that he’d been a right shit to her, only thinking of his career when she needed him.
At first Mikey assumed the guy was on the phone, but he wasn’t. He was standing there, watching them.
“Oi, what’s your problem, mate?”
The guy looked at Ellie. “He’s treating you like muck,” he slurred. “You deserve better.”
“What?” Mikey laughed. “You? Get out of here you twat.”
The bloke turned and stomped to the toilets. Mikey considered going after him, but he soon dismissed that thought. There was something familiar about him, but Mikey couldn’t place it. He shook his head. Probably some local troublemaker who’d tried to rise him before. It happened to the lads all the time: local hard lads who thought fighting with a rugby player made them tough. Mikey wasn’t one for pub fights—especially not sober.
He turned to Ellie. “Let’s go.” He tried to grab her arm but she stood firm—which was an achievement given how unsteady she was on her feet.
&nb
sp; “No!” she cried. “No! He’s right. I have let you treat me like shit.”
Mikey was about to argue, but he hesitated. It was true, wasn’t it? He glanced down the stairs. All he wanted to do was get her out of here and get her sober so they could talk. There was so much to say.
Nothing else mattered—nothing except him and Ellie. He’d let Graham twist the truth to keep his little whipping boy loyal. Well that was the end of that. Mikey would find another club if he had to. They’d move. For all of Graham’s big promises, none of the big clubs had made him an offer yet and time was moving fast. Perhaps it was better if he moved. They could start a new life…
A movement beside him and a strange sort of whooshing sound made Mikey flick his head round. There was no time to react. Something heavy—something impossibly heavy—collided with his face and the next thing he knew he was flying through the air, then bumping, bumping, bumping. There was a scream just as he landed hard on the ground and the most intense pain he’d ever felt tore through his head.
33
Ellie
“Ellie!”
I take a deep breath. This looks bad—really bad. I’ve got to try and calm down; to figure out what’s going on here.
“I’m upset, Nathan,” I manage to say. “My friend’s been murdered.”
“How do you even know? You haven’t tried calling her.”
“You’re right.” I take the phone off him and turn away so he can’t see the panic in my eyes. I find her contact and hit the call button. It rings—to my surprise—but there’s no answer.
In my heart, I already know the truth.
Her voicemail message plays and the sound of her voice takes my breath away. My gut tells me to hang up, but I don’t.
“Steph, it’s Ellie. Call me. I’ve just seen the news—they’re at your apartment block. Just let me know you’re okay, will you?”
I hang up and drop my phone on the kitchen counter like it’s contaminated. Did I do the right thing?
“No answer?”
I shake my head. Part of me wants to spill out all my fears to him, but I hold back.
He pulls me into a hug and I relax into him—but not fully. I can’t turn off my frantic mind.
“It’s usually the boyfriend or husband, isn’t it?” he mutters into my hair.
I start to nod, about to agree when I realise that that would mean my Dad is behind this. How could he be?
But then I think of the death cert I found and the man who said his name was Tony Kent.
It’s the same name: Tony Kent. Josephine Kent. Eleanor Kent. How can it be a coincidence?
I’ve got to face facts: Dad’s been lying to me my whole life and there’s a chance he’s the one responsible for my mother’s death. Why else would he take me? Why else would he take those certificates?
But why would he kill Steph? He signed the company over to her only a couple of months ago.
“Ellie, stop freaking out and talk to me, will you?”
The washing machine starts to spin—it’s so loud that it sounds as if it might tear itself away from the wall. Nathan’s whole body goes rigid. My heart starts to race.
“Your jeans,” he mutters.
“Your jeans.” My head’s in a spin.
“You know what I mean. Why were you so eager to wash them? That mud—where did it come from?”
I shake my head. “I wanted to give them back to you. If it doesn’t come out then I’ll get you a replacement pair.”
“It’s not about the jeans!” he shouts, slamming his hand on the counter. “What did you do last night?”
“What do you mean?” My pulse is buzzing in my ears.
“You know.” He won’t meet my eyes.
I try to focus on my breathing. It’s impossible. I’m on the verge of panicking.
Do I tell him?
Do I show him the messages?
How can I expect him to believe me? We’ve known each other for less than a month.
I look up at him. There’s such concern in his eyes and I’m so tired. I can’t do this on my own.
My hands shake as I hold my phone out to him. “I found these just now. I have no memory of sending them.”
Nathan looks confused at first but then he takes the phone from me. His eyes widen as he scrolls through. “Jesus, Ellie,” he gasps as he hands the phone back to me.
“I know,” I say miserably. “What do I do?”
He exhales heavily. “Right, Ellie. Okay.” He paces back to the couch. “Have you checked your purse for receipts?”
I shake my head. I hadn’t thought of that. My handbag is sitting on one of the kitchen chairs. I pull out my purse and look inside. There’s nothing in there, just my bank card. I zip it closed again and put it back in my bag. I wouldn’t have gotten a receipt from a little corner shop anyway, but I had no cash left after earlier in the day so I’d have had to use my card.
I open my banking app on my phone. It takes a few goes to get my password right. My brain is so clouded and fuzzy, today of all days when I could use some clarity. But then if I wasn’t hungover, I wouldn’t have this problem. I’d know what happened last night without having to try and figure it out. I blink back tears. Not now. I need to focus.
There are no new transactions since the last time I withdrew cash. I frown. So I can’t have gone to the shop and I didn’t get a taxi. Wherever I went, I walked.
I think of the time between the second last and last messages I sent to Steph. Fifteen minutes. It takes me roughly ten to walk to her house if I’m going as fast as I can, so fifteen sounds about right for being incredibly drunk.
“No receipts,” I whisper. “And no card transactions either.”
I run through the facts in my head.
I was so drunk I can’t remember what happened.
I was angry at Steph and there’s a message trail between us to prove that.
“Talk to me, Ellie.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know what to say. This looks bad, Nathan. So bad. I don’t remember anything. And you were asleep.”
He folds his arms across his chest and watches me silently for a long time. “You wouldn’t do something like this, Ellie.”
“I know, but that’s not the point. How’s it going to look?”
He pulls me into his arms. “I’ll tell them I was with you,” he says desperately. “I’ll say we popped out to get wine and you decided you wanted to see Steph. I’ll tell them I drove you to her apartment. She didn’t answer the door so we came back here.”
I cling on tight to him. I know I should shut up and accept his help, but I can’t. I don’t understand it. “Why? Why would you do this for me?”
He kisses the top of my head. “Because I know you didn’t do it.”
I close my eyes. I want to ask him how he can be so certain, but I don’t. I say nothing. I need him in my corner because there’s nobody else there.
34
John
Monday: six days earlier
Monday
Six days ago
John flicked his indicator to turn right off the main road down the long and winding driveway. He steeled himself. It was time.
As the imposing red-brick mansion came into view, Tony shifted in the passenger seat beside him.
“I thought we were going somewhere quiet we could talk. What is this?”
John sighed. There were no signs at the entrance so he could understand the other man’s caginess. This place was discreet. Expensive.
“Just wait.”
“Is this some sort of trap?” Tony snapped. “Because you don’t want to fuck with me. Not after everything you’ve put me through.”
John focused on the road. There wasn’t much of Tony in Ellie, but sometimes he caught glimpses that were enough to put him on edge. He supposed he shouldn’t judge too harshly: he wasn’t perfect either.
He often wondered where it had come from, the streak of madness. There must have been one. People didn’t just turn
into liars, cheats and addicts, did they? John had reflected on that a hell of a lot over the past twenty years, and he still hadn’t found the answer.
“John,” Tony said, knocking him back to reality. “What is this?”
“You’ll see soon,” he repeated. “Please, just be patient.”
Even if he wanted to explain, he couldn’t. Tony wouldn’t believe him. Not until he saw for himself.
John parked the car and got out. Tony lingered, taking what felt like an age to unbuckle his seatbelt.
“Come on then,” John snapped. This place always put him on edge and it was even worse today. He preferred when he could come here in silence and not have to talk to anyone. They understood that here. They didn’t force cheeriness on you like they did in other places. Because who wanted that?
Tony snarled at him as he got out of the car.
John bit his tongue. What was the point in having an argument out here? He looked at the other man. His jeans and fleece were clean and tidy, but there was still something unkempt about him, like it was the very essence of him that was wrong. But he found he couldn’t hate Tony. Not today. Today he almost pitied him for what was about to come.
They crunched across the gravel. There were only a few cars about and it wasn’t because it was a weekday. This place was always quiet.
John hurried up the steps and pushed the doorbell. There was a discreet brass sign beneath the buzzer, but Tony was too distracted to notice. He’d turned around and was looking back towards the main road and the town. Probably realising how sheltered this place was from the road.
The door opened and they both stood up straighter at the sight of a middle-aged woman in a stern-looking suit. Her expression grew a touch less severe when she saw John, but she said nothing to him, only nodded. Her attention turned to Tony.
