‘Leah! George asked me to keep an eye on you, that’s all.’
‘Sorry.’ I quickly gather myself. ‘I would have told you about the letter but George thinks a journalist must have sent it to stir things up, but if he’s talked to you he must believe that—’
‘He didn’t give the impression you’re in any danger.’ She second-guesses what I’m thinking. ‘More that he’s worried about you. We both are. We know how… fraught you become this time of year and twenty years is quite a big deal.’
‘It’ll be over soon,’ I say.
‘Three days.’
I flash her a look. ‘Why did you say that?’
‘Because there are only three days until the anniversary, aren’t there?’
‘God, sorry. Yes. I got another letter that said three days. It’s rattled me but I’m okay.’ I force a brief, tight smile. ‘They’ll keep on coming until the anniversary, I suppose.’ I keep my voice low, not wanting anyone else to hear. ‘You haven’t told anyone else about the letter?’
‘Of course not. The only gossip here is Barry and Janet and the amount of time they spend in the stationery cupboard. You must be going… I’ve noticed…’ Tash raises her hands and wiggles her fingers.
‘It’s eczema.’ I place my gloved hands on my lap, out of sight under my desk.
‘You don’t need to bullshit me, Leah,’ she says.
‘I know.’ This time my smile comes naturally. ‘Let’s have a night out next week when all this is over.’
‘I’m not sure I can afford it.’ Tash fiddles with a button. After a beat she asks, ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Lionel’s offer? It’s just that if you don’t want the extra hours I could really use them.’
‘I thought you liked having Fridays off?’
‘I did. I do. I could just use the extra cash right now.’
‘Is everything okay?’ She looks pale. Dark rings under her eyes. I can’t remember the last time she came over to dinner. It’s not easy to talk in this open-plan office.
‘I’m fine,’ she says.
‘Good. Look, sorry, but I think I might have to take those extra hours.’ I feel awful but I was here before her. ‘George’s business isn’t going so well and—’
‘I thought you’d be raking it in with your book?’ She looks shocked as the words blurt from her lips. ‘I didn’t mean… God, sorry. I thought George was stressed yesterday but I assumed…’
‘You thought it was just because of me?’ I shake my head. ‘It’s probably a mixture of everything.’
My phone rings, it’s Lionel.
I lift the receiver, and hold it slightly away from my head, taking care not to let the plastic touch my ear or mouth.
After a brief conversation I put the handset back in the cradle three times before I let it go. ‘I need to go out and run a few errands.’ I open my drawer and pull out the company’s bank card. ‘Want anything, Tash?’
‘You could pick up the newspapers while you’re out and a Mars bar… two Mars bars. I’ve already eaten my lunch and it’s only ten thirty.’
I’m jittery while I’m out. Constantly looking over my shoulder, worried I’m being followed. I take a few extra minutes to ring the nursery and make sure Archie is okay, before I ring Carly and double-check she’s picking him up although she hasn’t once let me down.
In the newsagent’s I pick up a couple of papers and flick through them, making sure there’s no mention of me. There isn’t this time but I know in three days there will be.
Three days.
‘There’s no stories on you girls yet this year,’ the elderly man behind the counter tells me as I’m paying. ‘I remember when it happened I didn’t believe it. I thought, this is a safe place. Who’d come to our small town and do something like that? Now it’s everywhere, terrorism, knife crime. I sell the newspapers but most days I wish I could bloody burn them. I said to our Joan—’
‘I’ve got to go.’ I scoop up my purchases and hurry from the shop.
Back in the office I tuck the bank card back in my drawer and take the papers into the staffroom. The stench hits me before I enter the room.
Grease.
Salt and vinegar.
The thought of fish and chips makes my stomach roil, I can’t even walk past a chippy. I’m furious. We have a ‘no hot food’ policy at work. I grip the papers in my hand, ready to toss them onto the table but on the formica top is the remnants of somebody’s lunch. The white paper bag stained with oil, with a few crispy batter bits still inside. The bag is resting on creased sheets of yellowing newspaper, the way chips used to be wrapped. I don’t want to touch it but I can’t leave it there where it will breed bacteria, attract flies. I’m about to scrunch up the newspaper, when I see it.
The photo.
Carly, Marie and I the day we left the police station after being missing for days. Our parents’ faces taut and worried as they tried to shield us from the photographers. THE SINCLAIR SISTERS FOUND. I feel I might faint. The heady smell of the chips and the onslaught of memories making me dizzy, I force myself to take a closer look. It’s dated almost twenty years ago. Under the first sheet is another story. First kidnapper found dead, the second still at large.
Who has done this?
I scrunch the whole lot together and dump them in the bin.
Who has done this?
I run out of the kitchen, and bump into something hard and solid.
Someone.
I take in the tool box in his hand. My eyes rise to find the PHOTOCOPY REPAIR badge on his boiler suit. And finally his face.
His face.
He’s found me. Come for me. I knew that he would but shock still torrents through me.
‘Please…’ I back away, holding my hands up to protect myself. ‘Please…’ I say again as he steps forward. My throat tightens. I can’t say anything else. Can’t scream. Instead, I turn and run. I’m back in the past running, running, running for my life.
Stupidly, I’m heading deeper into the building, away from the front door. My feet thudding against the hessian carpet. I can’t feel my body properly. I feel like I’m floating. Should I stop and ring the police? I round the corner and steal a glance behind me. I can’t see him.
But that doesn’t mean he isn’t coming.
To my left is the toilets. I slam through the door to the Ladies, praying he won’t risk following me here.
This time it is me sliding the bolt across the cubicle door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carly
Then
The second Carly heard the bolts slide open on the other side of the door she had ushered the twins behind her and stood, legs splayed, hands ready to fight.
The door remained shut. The clown laughing at them.
Think.
‘Yeah, I know.’ The voice, Doc’s, spoke again.
A pause.
Carly glared at the clown. Hatred curdling in her stomach.
‘I said I’ll fucking take care of it,’ Doc growled.
Silence.
Carly realized he must be on the phone. Moustache wasn’t with him but what had Doc promised to take care of?