The noise brought Penny out in no time at all. She wasn’t going to take any of his shit and Richard knew it. Threatening and bullying his wife was one thing, but he couldn’t do play those games with Penny. She stood firm as he tried to swallow his rage and look reasonable, spit still on his lips from where he’d been screaming at me. She told him she’d call the police if he came back to the office again, reminding him that thanks to Lisa the police were quick to come to PKR when called. She told me I should get a restraining order. I straightened my clothes and told him I wasn’t coming back. It was over. I’d be getting a divorce.
Penny escorted him to the ground floor and made sure the men at the front desk took him to his car and told them if he was seen again anywhere near the building they were to call her and the police.
The rest of the day was spent under a cloud of humiliation disguised as sympathy. Stacey was sweet in a Oh God, I don’t know how to deal with this way. Toby puffed up and swore he’d beat the crap out of Richard if he dared show up again – which almost made me smile because I doubt Toby’s ever had an actual fight in his life – and then there was Julia, the only one who in fact made me buck the fuck up because of all her faux sympathy and pity. Penny was nearly as bad, as if Richard’s crazy might give her an excuse to demote or fire me at some point in the near future, and put all this ‘Lisa business’ behind her for good.
She and Julia are clearly thick as thieves already. Funny how things change. But still, I went to work and I got work done, and after what happened when I got back to the hotel smug Julia’s no doubt surgery-adjusted nose will be very much out of joint tomorrow.
Simon Manning had been waiting for me in the business centre downstairs. I’d thought he was going to ask me to leave, but instead he wanted to know if I’d be willing to take over his account at PKR – Lisa’s job. He said I could stay in the hotel for a while and could meet prospective staff. It would give them – and me – a far better view of the ethos of the business and the work involved, and I could liaise with the heads of housekeeping and catering about the new build. Living in would give me more of an insight into the hotel industry, and he was sure I could work a few days a week from here to start. If I agreed, he’d call Penny right away.
If I agreed. I nearly fell to my knees in joy. Of course I wanted the contract. I was still blubbing my thanks when he walked away. And now here I am, flopped back on my big hotel room bed, a huge mixture of emotions. Relief. That’s what I’m feeling mainly. I don’t care if he’s offered the work out of pity, I’ll be good at it, and Lisa already had things underway.
Lisa. The day has been too full to think about her and I’m damned if I’m going to start now. This is my fresh start. Simon Manning has given me an out. My job is safe and I don’t have to worry about finding somewhere to live yet. If the bank takes the house because the mortgage hasn’t been paid, I can still survive. I need to get more of my things but that can wait and I don’t want to go on my own. No Lisa to go with you any more.
I’m about to strip down for a shower before opening the bottle of wine, sandwich and crisps I picked up on the way home – funny how quickly home changes – when there’s a knock on the door.
The police. Three of them. Bray front and centre.
‘What’s happened?’ My stomach turns to water. ‘Is it Ava?’ My first fear is they’ve found her and it’s not good, but I realise Bray’s expression is too hard for that. I let them in.
‘Lisa’s escaped.’ Blunt.
‘Escaped?’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise she was a prisoner.’ There I go, defending her again, as if on automatic pilot.
‘She’s not.’ She corrects herself. ‘At least, she wasn’t. But she’s attacked her probation officer and run. We need to know if she’s been in touch with you. Called you or emailed you. Anything.’
‘Why would she run?’ I sit back on the bed.
‘Have you heard from her?’ This time Bray’s sharp and I shake my head.
‘No. Nothing. Go through my phone if you want. What’s going on?’
‘Do you have a diary or calendar for the past year at home?’
‘No. My life isn’t that busy. Why do you want to know what I’ve been doing?’
‘It’s about pinning down Lisa’s movements. I’m going to need you to try your best to give us a list of times and places you’ve been with her.’
I bark out a laugh. ‘I can barely remember what I did last week, let alone every day for the last year.’
Bray doesn’t crack a smile and a weight drops in my stomach. ‘Why are you so worried about Lisa?’ What’s she done? The question I’m too afraid to ask hangs in the air.
The policewoman sits on the bed beside me and I don’t know if that’s some attempt to befriend me or whether she’s simply exhausted too.
‘We searched their Elleston house again for any clues to where Ava might be now,’ she says. ‘We found Jon’s laptop there, hidden under Lisa’s mattress, and a set of keys we believe belong to a rented property in Wales.’
I glance from her to the two officers with her and they’re all looking at me as if this is supposed to make sense. I frown. ‘Jon was in their house? God. When? After all this … happened? How could he have …?’
‘No.’ Bray cuts me off. ‘We don’t think Jon was there at all.’
‘Just bloody tell me whatever you’re trying to tell me!’ I snap. ‘In plain English.’ I’m too tired for this and now my brain is spinning all over again.
‘Jon hasn’t been seen at his home for months. Neighbours say they thought he went travelling. He was made redundant two years ago. Only did odd jobs for a bit of extra cash now and again. He was quiet and no one really noticed him. He doesn’t have a mortgage as he sold his mother’s house and bought a flat outright when she died. Inherited a tidy sum too. His bills all go out by direct debit.’
‘And?’ Why can’t she get to the point? How bad is the point if it needs this much explaining?
‘A neighbour said he’d had a female visitor before he left. They thought he’d met someone or had got back together with an old girlfriend. He seemed happier. More bounce in his step.’
‘Who?’ I ask.
‘They didn’t get a clear look. Only said she’d visited a couple of times. We found a cottage rental transaction on Jon’s laptop and we’ve got officers on their way there now. Hopefully we’ll find Jon and Ava there. Maybe Lisa too.’
‘But why were his things in Lisa’s house?’ I know what she’s driving at but I can’t quite grasp it. ‘You think Lisa was this woman? The old girlfriend? You think she and Jon have been in touch? That’s why his laptop is there?’ For a second, it makes a weird sense. Maybe they somehow rekindled a romance – How, when she didn’t have social media? – but then I remember the messages Jon sent to Ava. The kind of messages. Lisa wouldn’t let Jon send those. That’s not the work of someone wanting a family reunion. Or didn’t she know? Maybe Jon was sending them without Lisa knowing? It’s tenuous at best, but I can’t see Lisa going along with that. Hiding her past, yes, but this. This is madness.
‘But it doesn’t make sen—’
Bray’s phone rings out, cutting me off, and she’s straight on her feet, turning away to answer. I take a long breath, my temples throbbing. I saw the state Lisa was in when Ava went missing. She’s broken. All the Katie stuff she said. She couldn’t have known where Ava was. And those emails. She couldn’t be part of that. She just couldn’t. Could she?
‘Jesus,’ Bray says, quiet. ‘I’ll call you in five when I’m on my way.’ Another phone starts ringing and Bray, her face grim and body stiff with energy, nods at her colleague to take it outside.
‘What?’ I ask her. ‘What’s happened? Oh God, are they …’
‘Jon Roper is dead. His body was found in the cottage. There’s no sign of Lisa or Ava.’ Her words are blunt but they bounce off my tired brain.
‘Dead? And Ava’s not there?’ I’m like a character from some cosy crime show, sit
ting there stunned, repeating words until they make sense.
‘It’s imperative you call me if you have any thoughts on where Lisa could have gone or if she makes any attempt to contact you.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘But surely she wouldn’t have …’
‘Jon Roper’s body is apparently in a state of extreme decomposition. He’s been dead for months. Maybe even a year. Certainly longer than Ava’s been getting those Facebook messages.’
‘Was he …?’
‘Murdered?’ She says the word for me. ‘Yes. It would appear so.’
The world doesn’t spin exactly but the straight edges of the bed and walls curve slightly as all the colours brighten. I frown. ‘But then who was sending Ava the messages? If Jon was dead?’
She looks at me as if I’m stupid. ‘Charlotte was. Lisa. Whatever you want to call her. The laptop was in her house. Even before this development, we were working on the assumption it was her.’
I feel like I can’t get enough air into my lungs.
‘I know it’s hard to take in, but the most likely conclusion is that this is all her doing.’
‘But why?’ Oh God, Lisa. Did I know you at all?
‘We think she’s had some sort of breakdown. She’s phoned Alison – the probation officer you met – at least twice in recent weeks paranoid she was being watched. The money theft at work could be symptomatic of her mental instability. We won’t know until we find her. And until we do, we can’t be sure Ava is safe. In fact, we consider Ava to be very much at risk. Do you understand, Marilyn?’
‘But how could she—’
‘When Ava ran away she’d been alone in the flat with Lisa. Lisa reported her missing the next morning when she woke up. Anything could have happened in those hours. Lisa could have left first to set up the meeting. Anything. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
I nod, slowly, my skull heavy. ‘Lisa’s dangerous.’ I pause. ‘Fucking hell. She’s gone mad.’
Bray looks relieved that her point has finally sunk in. But this is easier for her. She didn’t know Lisa. But then did I? Ever?
‘I’ll call you straight away if I hear from her.’ My hands are trembling. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is insane. ‘If I think of anything else you might find useful, I’ll ring.’
‘Thank you. I know this is difficult.’ Bray stands, eager to leave me and get to her crime scene.
‘Ava’s the only thing that matters.’ My throat dries, as, in the midst of all this, a selfish thought strikes me. And why not? I should get something out of this shitstorm. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘There’s one more thing, if that’s okay.’
‘Yes?’
‘My husband. If you speak to him, be careful of what you say. He’s been trying to get me to sell my story to the papers. I wouldn’t trust him with any vital information unless you’re ready for it to be shared.’
‘Thank you. We were planning on seeing him, in case Lisa turns up there, so that’s useful to know.’
‘When you go there,’ I try to sound casual, ‘could you tell him to stay away from me and my work? It would be helpful. Until I start divorce proceedings. He can be … difficult.’ I don’t need to say more. She’s a woman. We have an implicit understanding of what sentences like that really mean.
‘No problem,’ she says. And then they’re gone.
I forget about the shower and the sandwich and go straight for the wine. I don’t want to get drunk, but I definitely need one glass. My hands are trembling as I pour it and take the first sip. Lisa. Has Lisa done all this? I remember Ava’s sixteenth birthday, only a few weeks ago, but it feels like a lifetime. I’d asked Lisa about Ava’s dad and if she ever heard from him. She’d shut me down as she always did. Had she already killed him?
This is different from trying to accept that my best friend had once been Charlotte Nevill. That was past. This is present. She did this while going to work with me, eating Chinese takeaways, idolising my perfect marriage and worrying about Ava’s exams. How could she have been sending those messages to Ava? Killing Jon? All that while? Am I that stupid?
Someone isn’t who they say they are.
Katie’s body was never recovered.
No. No. No. Those thoughts will make me as crazy as Lisa, and she is crazy. Maybe she’s had some kind of schizophrenic breakdown and is having episodes as Katie? Maybe living as a different person for so long, always afraid of being discovered, has snapped her? Maybe she’s created a Katie to deal with the bad shit. Maybe it’s one of those psychotic breaks like in the films, and she doesn’t know when she’s being Katie?
I like that thought. It gives me a little wave of relief. It’s better than the alternative – that I didn’t notice my sweet best friend was batshit fucking dangerous crazy. I can’t get my head around the alternative at all. She couldn’t have done it consciously. Could she?
It all pummels at my skull until I realise it’s getting dark outside. It’s ten p.m. and I’m still sitting here, holding the same glass of warm wine.
Fuck the shower. Fuck it all. Without even brushing my teeth, I crawl into bed.
46
LISA
I pretend to be playing solitaire with an old deck of cards, but my ears are locked on to the quiet sound of the TV in the corner of the communal sitting room. There are only two other people in here, sipping coffee and reading the papers. I figure everyone else has gone into town for the evening. That’s what young people do, after all.
The lorry dropped me in Calthorpe and I got the bus to Ashminster from there, checking into this youth hostel for three nights, and paying the extra for a private room with a shower. First, I scrubbed myself clean, washing him off me until my skin was red raw, and then, despite the fear and nerves that have turned my guts into a painful acid tear in my midriff, I fell asleep for hours, a bleak, black empty sleep of non-existence.
When I eventually woke it was evening and I sprayed fresh colour into my hair, painted my face on and became Lily again. I think about the name. The flower of death. A mourner’s bloom. Please don’t let me be mourning Ava. Please let me have bought some time.
I’m on the news. Not Lily, but those other mes, Charlotte and Lisa. I was Lisa for so long, it should hurt more that she’s gone; but I’ve shucked her off like a snake’s shed skin. After the last time I changed my name, after what happened with Jon, I think I knew she wouldn’t be forever. Charlotte is harder to shake off. I have to die to truly end Charlotte. Maybe that’s what this will come to, this battle of wits. But I’m not ready for that yet and Charlotte definitely isn’t. I’m reclaiming the game as best I can.
It’s the second time the news report has been on and this time I’m calmer and listen properly, pushing aside my grief for poor Jon who never did anything wrong apart from fall in love too young with someone who wasn’t lovable. I try not to look at my face as it stares back at me from the screen, all Home Office anonymity deals off now I’m once again a murderer. I look so meek. So invisible. They’ve used the photo from my work pass. The newsreader says I now have shorter, blonde hair, and then there’s a farcically bad Photofit that looks like a very non-sexy blow-up doll version of me with blonde hair added. It almost makes me laugh. It almost makes Lily laugh. She’s tougher than me, whoever the hell I am. Lily’s more Charlotte than Lisa. I’m only the husk they inhabit.
I glance at the photo on the screen again. It’s nothing like me. Is that really the best the police can do? I wonder if she’s watching. What’s she thinking? This won’t be how she expected it to go. She thought I’d be locked up by now. Game over.
The newsreader tells the world I’m wanted in connection with the murder of Jon Roper whose body has been found in a rented property in Wales. After an overhead shot of the isolated cottage, the local reporter shares what they know.
‘A man’s decomposed body found on the premises is believed to be that of Jon Roper, the ex-partner of child murderer Charlotte Nevill and father of her sixteen-year-old daughter, Ava. As we heard earli
er, police had been looking for Roper in connection with Ava’s disappearance from a safe house where she and her mother had been staying after Charlotte Nevill’s new identity and location had been exposed. But now, with Jon Roper dead and Charlotte Nevill having absconded, it seems this is a much murkier situation than at first thought and there is a real sense of concern here for the missing sixteen-year-old, who only last month saved a child’s life.’
It’s Bray’s turn to take to the cameras, and she stands in front of the cordoned-off house, the wild wind blowing her hair around her face, dragging strands free from her sensible ponytail. She says I should be considered dangerous. She says if anyone sees me they should call the number at the bottom of the screen but should not approach me.
She’s not telling the whole story. She’s got something that very firmly makes them think I killed Jon. I saw it in the stiffening of Alison’s spine in the flat and I can see it in the serious guarded expression on Bray’s face. I have survival instincts second to none. And I know my enemy. My best friend. Two sides of the same coin. Where are you, Katie? Where have you taken my baby?
I clear up the cards as if I’m bored and throw the young couple on the other side of the room a smile as I get up. They give me a polite smile back, but there’s no recognition. Nothing. How easy it is to become someone else. How easily people see only what they want to. All those years of fear that I’d be recognised were wasted time. No one sees anything at all. There was no anonymous caller to give me away after the photos in the papers. That was Katie. I know it. She set the whole thing up.
I go back to my room and lie on my bed. I can’t do anything until tomorrow, except think. I’ve been blind too. I’ve missed someone right in front of me. I felt something, sure, and alarm bells were ringing deep inside me, but I didn’t see you, Katie. Who are you? Anxiety bees buzz in my head and I want to curl up and cry for Ava, to scream for someone to get my baby back, but the only person who can do that is me, and I need to stay tough. To stay Charlotte.