Friend Request(39)

‘And did you?’ she asks. ‘Become that person, I mean?’

I stare into my wine. ‘No, not really. But then, things were never the same. After that night, I mean.’

‘No, they weren’t.’ It’s Esther’s turn to look down. She can’t meet my eyes, I realise. What does she know?

I’m skirting too close to the truth here. I can feel it looming, like an iceberg in the ocean at night. I don’t know exactly where it is, but I’m so frightened of hitting it unexpectedly, of feeling it crashing into me, tearing and splintering, sinking me entirely. Part of me wants to tell her everything, to let her in to this crushing fear that is consuming me. I want to shake her and make her hear me: someone is watching me.

My eyes slide back to the bar, but the man who smiled at me has gone. There’s a woman there now with her back to us, her long brown hair in a loose ponytail. She begins to turn her head and my stomach rises up to my throat, but then I see her face and she’s in her twenties, smooth-skinned and smiling at her friend who’s just walked into the pub. I turn back to Esther.

‘I saw Tim Weston.’ I didn’t even realise I was going to say it until the words were coming out of my mouth.

‘What? Where?’

‘After I came to see you in Norwich, I drove on to the coast. To Sharne Bay. I didn’t even mean to, I just found myself driving that way. Did you know he lives in their old house? His mum sold it to him a few years ago, moved into a bungalow.’

‘No, I didn’t know that. Is that where you saw him then?’

‘Yes. I went to look at my old house and then… I lost my way, and I found myself there.’ As I say it, it feels unlikely, and I wonder how much of an accident it really was that I ended up outside Maria’s teenage home.

‘What was he like?’ Esther asks in fascination. ‘I always thought there was something a bit weird about him. He was so protective of her.’

‘He was… OK, actually, under the circumstances. He was very kind to me about… you know. Said he didn’t blame me.’ I think back to our encounter. ‘He seemed to know a lot about me though, which was weird… you too, actually.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, nothing much really, I suppose. He knew what we both did for a living, that’s all. I sort of got the feeling he’d been keeping tabs on both of us.’

‘I suppose maybe he feels like we’re a link to Maria. It must be hard to let go. I can’t imagine the pressure he must have been under, to be the only child left.’

‘I know.’ We are silent for a few seconds, each lost in our own thoughts. ‘There was something else too,’ I add hesitantly.

‘What?’

‘It’s probably nothing, but… just something else Tim said. When we were talking about what happened to Maria. He said, “She’s tougher than she seems”. Not, “She was tougher than she seemed”. He spoke about her in the present tense.’

I expect Esther to laugh it off or suggest a slip of the tongue, but she does neither. She just stares at me, her face pale, the frames of her glasses harsh against the whiteness of her skin. We are suspended in uneasy silence for a few seconds, then she speaks.

‘That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘What do you mean?’ I can’t look away although I am half-dreading whatever it is she’s going to tell me.

‘Every year since Maria disappeared, on my birthday, I get a present, delivered through the post.’

‘OK.’

‘It’s a small thing, usually – candles, bath oil, a scarf. There’s never a return address, or a card. Just a label: Dear Esther, Happy Birthday. Love from Maria.’

I put my wine glass down harder than I meant to, my hand jolting, the contents threatening to spill onto the table. The chatter and buzz of the pub blurs around me, only Esther’s face pinpoint-sharp.

‘Every year since…?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where are they posted from?’

‘Different places – London, Brighton once, sometimes Norwich.’

‘Norwich?’

‘Yup, sometimes.’

‘But who do you think… you don’t think it’s from her, do you?’ My voice has dropped to a whisper. There’s a pain in the palms of my hands and I realise that my nails are digging into the soft flesh.

‘Believe me, I’ve considered all the options. I’ve stopped trying to figure it out to be honest. At least I had, until you showed up in my office. That was partly why I was so short with you. I was… freaked out, I suppose, at the idea that she’s still alive, that the presents really are from her.’

‘Did you ever tell anyone, go to the police?’

‘I did take them to the police, after the first couple of years. They didn’t take it seriously, though – I mean, there’s no threat, is there? What could they do?’

I sit back in my chair, my mind skittering around. Is it really possible that Maria is still alive? And why am I only being persecuted now, if Esther’s been receiving these presents for years? Am I being melodramatic to think that I’m in danger? I can’t escape the fact that someone was watching me tonight. My eyes dart around, clocking everyone in the vicinity. Could that red-haired woman be her? Or one of that group of women by the bar?