The Girl I Used to Be(62)

“Why don’t you just go? Leave the keys and I’ll lock up after I go,” she said. “I need a few minutes.”

I shook my head, too scared to leave her like this. “I’ll wait with you.”

She started to speak but gave up. Her head on her knees, she started to cry in earnest. I sat down beside her. For a long time we said nothing. When her tears had stopped and her breathing was back to normal, I said, “So all these things, these things that David’s been doing . . . they were to punish me for Alex’s death?”

“If you hadn’t lied,” she said, “if you hadn’t said it was Alex, then he’d still be alive. He’d be in his thirties now, like you. He’d probably have a family. A good job. Like you.” She looked at me, anger and guilt on her face. “Why should you have those things when he doesn’t?”

“And David? What kind of man would do those things to a woman he doesn’t know?”

“A man who lost his friend. His best friend. He’s Alex’s best friend. Was. We became close last year, when my mum died. We married not long after that. He’s the only one who understands.”

I frowned. “Was he at school with us? I don’t remember him.”

“No, he didn’t go to the same school as Alex. He lived a few miles away; they’d always gone to different schools. They played sport together. Hockey. That’s how they met.”

“Whose idea was it that he did those things?”

She gave me a proud, truculent look. “Mine. I wanted to pay you back.”

I sighed. She clearly wasn’t going to listen to me tell her how my life had changed because of Alex. How overnight I’d gone from a quiet, confident girl to someone who I couldn’t recognize at times. I couldn’t tell her how I still longed to be the girl I used to be, the girl who wasn’t scared of shadows, who could sleep in the dark.

“You don’t deserve the life you have,” she said.

That much was true. I didn’t deserve any of the things that she and David had done to me.

“You realize you’ve both committed criminal offenses?” I asked. “I’ve spoken to the police. They’ve told me which laws you’ve broken.”

She looked at me, astonished. “We haven’t broken any laws!”

“Are you joking? You think threatening to post photos onto a voyeur site is legal?”

She looked at me as though I’d gone mad. “What are you talking about? A voyeur site? I don’t even know what that is!”

“Neither did I until your husband sent me a link to it. It’s a site where men post photos and videos of women without the women knowing. Photos of them naked or asleep. Doing intimate things.” I swallowed. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things on that site. I don’t know how it’s not closed down.”

“Photos?” she said. “You mean the photo of him kissing you outside your hotel room?”

So she knew about that. And then it dawned on me. I had a dim memory of turning when I reached my room and seeing someone standing at the far end of the corridor. “You were there? At the hotel?”

She was pale but nodded. “That’s not against the law.”

“And was it you that photographed me outside my room?”

I could see shame in her face. “I wanted your husband to think you were having an affair.”

“But you sent it to me.”

She said nothing, just stared out in front of her, and I knew she’d been prepared to send it to Joe.

“And so was it you, Rachel, who took the photos of me naked?”

Her head swung round. “What? What are you talking about?”

You know sometimes you hear someone speak and you recognize the ring of truth? That was what happened then. I didn’t want to believe her, but I had to.

“The naked photos,” I said again.

“Naked? You had your green dress on. Don’t be stupid, you were in the corridor! How could you be naked?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t remember.”

“I don’t believe you! Where are they? Show me them!”

“They were on Instagram and he withdrew them. I don’t have a copy of them and I’ve deleted my account now anyway.”

“That’s convenient!” I could hear the cogs whirring in her head. “Where were you when these photos were taken?”

“In my hotel room. On my bed.”

She was silent for a long time then. When she looked up at me her face was pale and strained. “Why did you let him do that?”

“Do what?”

“Go into your hotel room with you.” She was shaking. “Take the photos.”

I stared at her. “I didn’t let him do anything! I didn’t know anything about them until they were sent to me. I don’t remember anything of that night after I got back to my room.”

“He wasn’t meant to go into your room,” she said at last. “I took the photo of you both outside your room and went back to our hotel and waited for him. He wasn’t long after me, perhaps half an hour. He said he’d stopped to have a drink at the bar.”

“So you didn’t know he’d changed my underwear?”