I Am Watching You(71)

I have ordered in extra lisianthus and roses this week, as both do well together and in these hot conditions. They’re long-lasting and good value and very stylish. I must remember to put that on the blog, too. Personally, I like all white, but the purple lisianthus are gorgeous, so I’ve ordered more of both. I’ll put most in the cooler, with a few on display to show how versatile they can be. They look so different in varying vase heights.

I am trying not to bother Matthew, not least because he is supposed to be taking a break now that his new family is home, but also because my part in this whole terrible case is technically over.

I still find it hard to believe. Karl and Antony apparently in the clear over Anna. A complete shock to everyone, me especially. Matthew says this kind of thing happens a lot during big investigations, a sudden and unexpected twist, which is why you always have to keep such an open mind.

Tony, in the meantime, sees it all more simply; he says I now need to just put the whole thing behind me. You see. Not your fault at all. Never was, Ella.

The problem is that I still keeping thinking about her. Anna. That beautiful picture from her Facebook page, hair blowing back in the wind. Where is she? What happened to her really? I worry now, more than ever, that we may never find out.

Goodness – it’s three o’clock already, and with all the urgent work done, I decide to stop this; to pop home to get a light shirt to cover my arms. Silly, I know . . . but we are who we are.

I finally make it home, and as I pull into the drive I notice that the curtains upstairs are still drawn. I must have forgotten them when I left. The garden’s surviving surprisingly well in this heat. You get a few people raising their eyebrows when I pop the sprinkler on in the evening, but there’s no ban so I don’t really see why not. We pay the bill.

The porch door jams a little as I try to open it – a couple of those advertising booklets. I wish they wouldn’t leave them. Such a waste of trees. I’ve registered for that system which is supposed to block junk mail. It’s reduced the flow a bit but there’s still a lot hand-delivered, which is infuriating.

Inside, I notice Luke has popped the pile of mail on the little bookcase by the front window, and I skim through it. Phone bill. Someone who reckons we might be interested in new windows. No, thank you. A letter from the bank – that will be the interest rate for our ISAs. Down again. Then I see it. The horrid, familiar, dark envelope, cheap and thin and nasty, with the pale address label stuck on the front.

I lean back against the wall because I simply don’t understand. It’s over now. Finished. I didn’t do anything wrong. Karl and Antony were not involved, so nor am I, not really.

My heart pounding, I pause to remind myself of Matthew’s instructions. I move into the kitchen and fetch the little box of protective gloves and the evidence bags provided by the police. For a moment I think about popping the envelope inside, unopened, but I find that I can’t do that. I have to know why someone would still do this to me. I mean – they must surely have heard on the news. That it wasn’t Karl and Antony after all. So why would they still do this? Why?

With the gloves on, I rip it open. Same as before. Can hear my breath now. Find myself looking around the hall, through to the kitchen again. Can just see through to confirm that the bolt is across the back door. Good.

The postcard is black again. Letters cut out from magazines and stuck on. Messy. Not in a straight line.

I AM WATCHING YOU.

I stare at it, reading it over and over as I take out my mobile from my handbag, trying to calm my breathing as I dial Matthew’s number.





CHAPTER 44


THE FRIEND

Sarah has been dreading this meeting and sits at the kitchen table, tapping her nails against her mug of coffee.

The past few days – all the long hours with the police – have been utterly exhausting. Caroline, the linchpin of this home, refuge, commune or whatever you want to call it, has been kind and supportive and very obviously a rock for Lily, certainly more helpful than Sarah, who realises only now how desperately she underestimated just how bad going to the police would be.

She had expected swift progress – that the police would arrest her father and get answers about Anna quickly. But they can’t seem to find him . . .

She thought, also, that she and Lily would be interviewed together and would be able to support each other, sisters side by side, but she found out too late this is not allowed because of rules to ensure one witness does not lead another. Separate evidence. Separate stories. Separate spells in the special little unit with its soft green sofa and a basket of toys in the corner which haunted Sarah as she realised, with a horrible tingling of her skin, that they were for young children being interviewed about equally horrid things.

The police leading the inquiry into Anna’s disappearance were first up. She had to tell them the truth. About the sex on the train and her obsession with Antony. About the row in the club, how she told Anna not to be a baby and pretty much lost track of her from about half past midnight. That Sarah had refused to get the taxi with her when Anna wanted to go back to the hotel. Assumed Anna would be asleep when she got back there herself . . .

Next, the awful truth about her dad. The thing he did when she started her period. The text message the night Anna went missing that she had shown to Anna – asking for them to meet him at the bar of his hotel. The reason Sarah is once more worried he might somehow be involved with Anna.