The Girl I Used to Be(3)
As I turned from the basin, I slipped on a towel someone had left on the bathroom floor. I probably should have picked it up, but I realized pretty quickly that if I bent down, I would fall. I doubted I’d be able to get myself back up if that happened, so I kicked the towel to one side and opened the bathroom door. It was quiet upstairs, though I could hear the sounds of the party continuing downstairs and out in the garden. I tripped at the top of the stairs and grabbed the handrail. I didn’t think I’d make it down there without falling. My head was spinning by then and I had a sudden vision of myself hurtling headfirst down the stairs.
I backed away from the staircase and stumbled back into a door. It opened behind me. A lamp was lit next to a double bed. From the hockey stick propped up against the wall, I realized it must be Alex’s room. He played for the school team; the only time I’d spoken to him was when he dropped his kit when he was hurrying to get to a match. Posters from the Glastonbury music festival he’d gone to that summer were on his bedroom wall. I’d known he was going to it, just after the exams ended. Lauren had heard him talking to Theo about it, when they were all queuing up to leave the hall after their last exam. A local band, The Coral, was playing at Glastonbury that year and Alex wore their T-shirt at the party. A drum kit was in the corner of the room next to a guitar and a huge amp. I remember wondering whether he was any good and thinking he wouldn’t play if he wasn’t.
I sat down on the bed. Suddenly I was so weary, I just wanted to sleep. My head was spinning and everything was blurred. I couldn’t summon up the energy to go back downstairs and I knew that when I did, Lauren would want to stay longer and she wouldn’t want to spend time with me. Only that night she’d said that she and Tom had just three weeks left and they were going to spend every single minute together.
So I lay down. The bed was so soft, its covers clean and fragrant. It smelled like my own bed, when the linen had just been changed. I loved the scent of clean sheets. And I knew Alex wouldn’t know I’d been here—he was a party boy; he’d be outside until dawn.
My head relaxed onto his pillow. I had a fleeting thought that my makeup would be all over the pillowcase, but I couldn’t care about that then. The door was half open and I knew that Lauren would come to find me. She’d know I hadn’t gone home; how could I? I had no money on me and I wasn’t going to go back to my house as drunk as this. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room and the light from the lamps on the landing flooded the entrance to the room. She’ll see me here, I thought. She’ll tell me when it’s time to go home.
I turned to face away from the lamp. I’ve never liked to sleep with a light shining on my face. As I turned I felt my dress ride up and I made a halfhearted attempt to pull it down. As I turned, it rose up again. I tugged it again. The scent of the pillow and the alcohol in my bloodstream and the lateness of the hour and the fact that I’d been awake until dawn that morning, worrying about my exam results, meant that when I turned back, my head buried in the pillow, I relaxed completely. I remember sighing as I slipped into sleep.
It had been a great night. A really great night.
PART 1
ONE
Present day
Friday, June 16
WHEN I SAW him for the first time, I didn’t think he’d be trouble. He was tall and broad, built like a rugby player, nice enough, I suppose, but not the kind of man you’d necessarily look twice at in the street. At first glance he looked harmless enough. That’s how men like him operate, I suppose.
I saw him that morning, looking at the advertising boards in the window of the estate agency I own, but didn’t take a lot of notice at first. Over the course of a day maybe a hundred or so people will look at the boards, trying to decide which house they’d buy if they had the chance, and I’d quickly learned that an expression of interest did not mean a sale. He looked for a while, moving from the cheapest houses to the most expensive. I remember idly wondering what he was looking for.
When he did come in, he hung about in the doorway, as though he were waiting for someone. I glanced around and saw that Rachel, our sales negotiator, was at the photocopier and Brian, our lettings manager, was busy with a tenant. Usually we leave clients to look around, but he seemed uncertain, so I caught his eye and smiled.
“Good morning,” I said. “Can I help you with anything?”
“I’m David Sanderson,” he said, coming to sit at my desk. “I have an appointment.”
“Oh yes,” I said, flustered. He was an hour earlier than I’d expected and I’d planned to run out to meet my friend Grace for coffee for half an hour. “Hi. I’m Gemma Brogan.” We shook hands. “Just a moment, I’ll call up your details.”
While I did that, I surreptitiously sent Grace a quick e-mail. Sorry, can’t meet. Another day?
“So you’re looking for somewhere in the city center,” I said. “I can see you’ve selected a number you like the look of.”
“I’m still not sure whether to go for an apartment or a house,” he said. He smiled then, a great smile that made his face light up. It transformed him from someone you wouldn’t really notice to someone you’d definitely remember. I couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for a house. I’d rather be near some bars and a gym.”