Then She Vanishes(48)
Sheila described Heather as a ‘happy, smiley woman’, who is a brilliant mum to her son, Ethan, eighteen months. She said: ‘Heather was always quiet and thoughtful, but unfailingly polite. I’ve never heard a cross word from her, even as a teenager. She was exceptionally close to her sister, Flora, and I think her disappearance messed her up more than anyone would have thought. She suffered post-natal depression after her son was born and, as far as I’m aware, she was still on anti-depressants. I think she must have just flipped. It’s Margot I feel sorry for. She lived for those girls, you know.’
Police are remaining tight-lipped about what occurred on the 9th, but Heather Underwood is currently in hospital under police guard.
Avon and Somerset Police are urging anyone with any information to come forward.
I stare in disbelief at the front page of the newspaper that Ted has slammed down in front of me.
‘Why has the Daily News got this fucking story in today’s paper, not us?’ he bellows in my ear.
I flinch. My heart is racing but I try to remain calm. I can feel Ellie and Jack’s eyes on me and my face burns. ‘Because I’ve been working on the exclusive with Margot Powell. It’s nearly finished. Plus, I’m the only journalist who knows, at the moment, that Heather has actually woken up from her coma.’ It’s not fair of Ted to compare. The News is a daily whereas we come out on Tuesday and Friday.
‘Well, write it up as quick as you can and it can be our front-page headline tomorrow. Ellie can put it on the website too.’ He pauses, as if considering something. Then, ‘And can you get hold of this Leo? Sounds like he was a suspect when Flora Powell went missing. He might know more about the current shootings or give us some insight into Heather’s past.’
What will Margot think if I go after her brother? I’m once again torn between wanting the story and my loyalty to the family.
‘I thought the exclusive was going to be the front page.’ I’d spent all weekend working on it, mainly to avoid Rory, who still isn’t really talking to me. I could hear him moving about the flat while I hid in the bedroom. He’d slept with his back to me on both nights, and I’d lain beside him craving a hug, but too stubborn to make the first move.
‘That can go on page two.’
Will Margot be cross if I reveal that Heather is awake? Ted won’t care because, as far as he’s concerned, we’ve got the exclusive now: she’s signed the contract and can’t go back on it. But, I realize, with a jolt, I care. Margot and I are becoming friends. I enjoy her company and would love to see Heather again – despite what she’s supposed to have done. I still want to believe she’s innocent, that there is another explanation. And I don’t want to turn my back on them, like everyone else has. Like this so-called friend of theirs, Sheila Bannerman. Am I turning soft? Ted would think so.
The newsroom is deathly silent as we all await Ted’s next tirade. I brace myself.
‘And have you followed up on Clive Wilson? Talked to neighbours? Found out why someone would leave him such a threatening note when he was already dead?’ he barks.
‘Jack and I had planned to do that today.’
He looks mildly mollified, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. He chews his gum in silence for a couple of moments. Then, ‘Right. Good. But first you can write five hundred words on the fact Heather has come out of her coma and send it over to HQ. You’ve got an hour.’
He stalks off before I’ve had a chance to reply and everyone lets out a collective breath when Ted is safely back in his ‘office’. Jack widens his eyes over Seth’s head with a ‘What’s his problem?’ gesture.
I bash out the five hundred words that Ted wants, keeping it as simple as I can, so that Margot doesn’t find it offensive. I hesitate over revealing what Margot said about Heather not being able to remember. I was at the hospital as a friend on Friday night, not as a journalist, and it doesn’t sit right with me that I’m somehow betraying the family by writing this.
But what choice do I have? I need this job.
I breathe in the salty sea air, the stress of the past few days slowly ebbing away from me. Shackleton Road and the house where Clive and Deirdre were murdered are directly behind me. I’m standing where eye-witnesses say Heather parked, next to the wall overlooking the beach. The beach where we’d sometimes hang out, when we could be bothered to make the fifteen-minute walk. Tilby is hilly, and the town centre a good hike from the beach. You have to walk up some very steep cobbled streets to get to the shops. It was always fun to walk down, but walking back up the steep hill was a different matter. If we had the money we’d get the bus.
The tide is out today and the sand spreads before me, new and unmarked, like freshly rolled pastry. The boats in the harbour are marooned and it’s funny to see them beached. When the tide is in, though, the water reaches right up to this wall.
I’ve managed to get hold of Leo. He was surprised to hear from me. He lives in Bristol now, and has agreed to meet me after work at a café in Park Street. I feel apprehensive at the thought of seeing him again, especially as I kept it from him that I’m now a reporter. He thinks I’m only interested in catching up.
Jack is standing beside me, looking thoughtfully out to sea, a hint of a smile on his face.
‘It’s not exactly Brighton, is it?’ I laugh. Jack has been in a strange mood today. He’s quieter than normal and a lot of my banter has gone straight over his head.