The Lies We Told(54)

‘I’m fine.’ Clara managed a weak smile. ‘Thank you. I’m just … tired.’

‘You all right getting home?’

Clara nodded and moved on, fighting her exhaustion. Where could she go to tonight? Not to Mac’s, of course. She couldn’t encroach on any of her other friends either, not at this time. The only possible place she could go to was her own flat. She stood there, hating the thought of it, swaying with tiredness. After a few moments, her heart sinking with resignation, she flagged down a passing taxi. ‘Hoxton Square, please,’ she said.

When the cab dropped her off she paused outside, staring up at the windows. Her heart jolted when she saw that there was a very faint light on in the top floor flat. Alison. She swallowed hard and let herself in. Once she was on her own floor she stopped and listened, but all was silent. Inside her flat she hastily switched on all the lights as well as the television, knowing that she might go slowly mad if she sat in silence, jumping at every sound and creak from above. As she passed her door again she noticed a piece of paper she’d not seen before, lying on the floor. It was a note from Tom. She stared down at it. Even the sight of his handwriting chilled her. How had he got into her building to post it through her door? Perhaps one of the downstairs neighbours had found it in the entrance hall and brought it up for her. Still, unease shifted inside her. ‘Clara,’ she read, ‘I must talk to you, it’s very important. I called round but have to return to Norwich now. I could drive back to London tomorrow. Can I see you then? Please call me to let me know. Tom.’

Relieved that he had left town she sank on to the sofa, the enormity of what had happened hitting her afresh. She saw again Mac lying unconscious on the floor. Could Tom possibly have been responsible? But why on earth would he want to harm Mac? Tiredness rolled over her in heavy waves yet she felt too wired, too on edge to sleep. Turning down the TV’s volume, she listened hard, but heard nothing.

She went to the kitchen and found a bottle of wine, pouring herself a large glass, and then another and another. When she felt sufficiently drunk she went to bed, her tired mind full of thoughts of Tom. Had he been involved in Luke’s disappearance? Was that why Luke had got into the blue van, because his own brother had been driving it? And what part had he played in Emily’s disappearance? Had he caused the horrific scars she’d seen on her back? But why would Tom want to hurt his brother or sister – or Mac? On and on her thoughts raced until finally, exhaustion and drunkenness getting the better of her at last, she fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamt that she was being chased, her lungs screaming for air as she ran down darkened streets, her faceless pursuer close on her heels. She was aware as she ran of the overpowering smell of burning, and mingled with the frightening confusion of her nightmare was the horrifying sensation of the skin on her back blistering and melting. She woke gasping for breath, fear gripping her when she realized that the pain in her lungs and throat persisted. Half raising herself up, she saw smoke billowing through her room, the passageway beyond her bedroom door glowing and flickering with red light, the crackle of fire filling her ears.

She couldn’t move. Smoke filled her eyes and lungs, a scream of terror caught in her throat. Suddenly, she saw a figure standing in her doorway and her heart lurched with fright. It was only when they reached her bed that she recognized the slender form and long lank brown hair. It was the woman who lived upstairs. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Alison looming over her.





20


Cambridgeshire, 1997

Doug, Toby and I stared at each other in astonishment after the front door closed behind Hannah. ‘Where’s she going?’ whispered Toby. ‘Why’s she dressed up like that?’

‘Could she … do you think she’s found herself a job?’ Doug hazarded.

It seemed unlikely. ‘A boyfriend?’ I said, conjuring up an improbable picture of a nice, clean-cut lad for whom Hannah, blinded by love, had transformed herself. Whatever had triggered this extraordinary change it must have been momentous. And I should have been over the moon: instead of her usual slovenly attire she looked like an ordinary, if very pretty, teenager on her way out to meet her similarly wholesome friends. She was up and out of the house by 8 a.m. when normally I could barely get her to surface before noon, bad-tempered and stinking of last night’s cigarettes and beer. But the way she’d looked at me, a certain glint in her eye, had made me uneasy. I knew my daughter. I knew when she was up to something.

My eyes met Doug’s and we gazed at each other uncertainly. ‘Mum?’ Toby’s voice was worried. ‘What’s going on?’

I turned to him and made myself smile. ‘Who knows? But come on now, love, it’s time for school. I’ll get us all a takeaway for our tea later, shall I?’

He smiled back, clearly relieved. ‘OK, Mum.’

But the feeling of disquiet stayed with me. After Toby and Doug had left I went upstairs to Hannah’s bedroom and nervously opened her door. I was usually too afraid to look in there, fearful of what I might find – a glimpse inside her head was not something I normally relished. It was always a disgusting mess anyway and today was no exception: clothes were strewn everywhere, dirty plates and mugs littered every surface. In fact, everything looked exactly as it always did. I backed out and went to work myself.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d looked so completely different. Could it possibly be that Hannah had somehow grown up, turned over a new leaf and decided to become an ordinary, functioning member of society at last? I allowed myself to indulge in that fantasy all day.