* * *
I can’t think where I am when I wake.
All I can hear is the cooing of a wood pigeon or two, and I lie there as it slowly comes back to me.
When I switch my phone on, there’s a voicemail message.
I can’t make it out at first – but then I realise it’s from Scarlett.
‘Why did you just go like that?’ she is saying furiously. I’m baffled. ‘Why did you run away too?’ There’s a pause – someone calling in the background. Then she hisses, ‘Why do you all go?’
All?
When I call her back, it goes straight to answerphone. I leave a message apologising, saying I’ll see her soon I hope.
But I don’t think I’ll see her soon. I think our relationship is over. She got what she wanted in the end.
Fifty-Two
Jeanie
19 May 2015
Marlena arrives back in London just as I’m making my final preparations to move up to Derbyshire. They’ve offered me the job, and frankly I can’t wait. I feel a rare sense of purpose again.
We are like ships that pass in the night, my sister and I. She’s keeping strange hours, and I heard her on a very odd Skype call near dawn yesterday, something about love for Allah – but this morning she’d left a note for me on the kitchen table that I read when I got up:
Meet me in Oxford Street Starbucks near Soho Sq, 9.30.
It’s v. important.
‘Important’ is underlined three times.
I know my sister; I take it seriously when she says ‘important’. I catch the bus to Tottenham Court Road, making my way through crowds already pushing their insistent way forward, despite the earliness of the hour.
I can’t believe how many people throng the busy shopping streets here; everyone with somewhere vital to go apparently – more vital than anywhere you or I might need to be. No one so much as looks at one another as they duck and weave across dirty pavements, surging on and on and on. Drills vibrate the air; yellow-and orange-jacketed workers jostle in the building site that’s currently the underground station. Infernal, eternal sirens pierce the air whilst enraged drivers jam their hands on horns.
It feels like Armageddon; I’m glad to get into the coffee shop.
Marlena’s already in the corner, wedged in by a young mother and a toddler gearing up for a tantrum.
As usual Marlena’s tapping and flicking on her phone. She doesn’t see me at first, but when I call her name from the queue, I can tell straightaway from her face something’s wrong.
I don’t bother getting coffee.
‘What is it?’ I ask urgently as I reach her.
‘Sit down, Jeanie,’ she says.
The small child glowers at me as I do what I’m told.
Something in Marlena’s bearing reminds me of the day she had to tell me our mother was dead. I feel a wave of nausea. ‘What is it?’ I repeat.
‘I’m sorry, Jeanie. I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to find Nasreen and now all this stuff in Greece…’
‘It’s okay.’ I’m used to Marlena being busy. It’s how she gets through life without being forced to think about herself too often.
‘It’s just…’ She seems reluctant to go on, but she does. ‘You know that email you asked me about?’
‘Yes.’
‘My mate Robo traced the IP address. Handy-to-know cyber dude, Robo.’
‘And?’ I’m impatient. ‘What did he find?’
‘It came from a machine that’s…’ Her phone pings; she looks down. ‘This is weird, Jeanie. I’m sorry – but it’s a bit – worrying.’
‘Oh God.’ My heart flips. It had been dawning on me as I walked to meet her. ‘It’s one of the kids, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, ’fraid so…’
‘Is it Scarlett?’ My stomach plunges. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘No.’ She looks me straight in the eye. ‘It’s Frank. The email address is registered to Frankie.’
‘What?’ I stare at her. ‘Frankie? It can’t be. Don’t be daft.’