Then She Vanishes(78)

‘I’m so sorry we fell out,’ she says now, her eyes dropping to her lap.

‘Me too. It’s one of my biggest regrets,’ I admit.

‘Same. It was so silly. I was angry about Flora. It was such a horrible time. I’ve missed you.’

And there it is, the phantom in the room, floating between us. Flora.

I avert my eyes, looking instead at a board on the wall with photos of Heather and her family pinned to it. ‘I pushed you away because I felt guilty,’ I explain. ‘I saw Flora the morning she disappeared. She was off to meet Dylan. They were going on a day trip to London. I never told anyone.’

She squeezes my hand again. ‘I know. I heard you talking that morning. I pretended to be asleep.’

I stare at her. ‘You knew?’

‘I was jealous, I think, that she was telling you and not me. She was angry with me because of what I did to Dylan.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve only just found out the extent of what you did to Dylan.’

She laughs, too, but looks shamefaced. ‘It was wrong of me to attack him.’

‘No doubt he deserved it.’

‘He was a dick, wasn’t he? I never understood what Flora saw in him. Do you remember how she would play “Martha’s Harbour” over and over again because it reminded her of him? It used to drive us crazy. She was so in love.’ Her smile flickers and dies. ‘I can’t listen to that song now.’

I’d forgotten how much Flora had loved All About Eve. ‘I saw Dylan yesterday. For the first time since … well, since ’ninety-four. He was at Clive Wilson’s house when they thought … they thought …’ I tail off, not knowing what to say. How much has Margot told her?

‘When they thought they’d found Flora’s body?’ she finishes for me.

I nod. ‘But it’s not her.’

She doesn’t say anything in response and I wonder what she’s thinking. Was part of her hoping it was Flora, so that she could finally lay the ghosts of the past to rest? Or is she relieved because it means there is still hope, even after all these years?

‘Did Mum tell you that the police think I killed two people?’ She looks down at her hands. She’s fiddling with her rings.

Part of me wants to laugh because it sounds so absurd. Of all the conversations we’ve ever had, I never thought we’d be having this one at our reunion. ‘Yes. She did.’

She still doesn’t look at me. ‘Mum said you’re a journalist. Are you here for a story?’

I place my hand over hers. ‘I’m here as your friend. All of this … it’s made me realize how much you meant to me. We were such good friends. I’ve never found that again.’ I feel a stab of guilt. How can I tell her I’m here for the story too? Although the friendship thing is true.

She lifts her eyes. ‘Really?’

‘Really. I mean, I’ve got Rory, of course, and Jack who works with me on the newspaper. But no really good female friends. I … well, I miss that.’

She smiles, and it changes her whole face, brightening her instantly. ‘Me too. My life had become a bit insular, really. Just Adam and Ethan – and Mum, of course. I hardly see Uncle Leo any more.’

I nod, remembering our meeting the other day, reminded again of the ripple effect that Flora’s disappearance has had on the whole family.

If I don’t come back with an interview, Ted will be furious. But I can’t ask her. Not now we’re getting on so well. If it was anybody else, I would. But not her.

I’m angry with myself. I’m too close to this story. I should have handed it over to someone in HQ.

She touches the bandage on her head. ‘I can’t remember that morning.’

I’m confused. ‘Which morning?’

‘The morning it happened. The shootings. The last thing I remember is arguing with Adam. It was a stupid row that just escalated. I was tired, overwhelmed, felt like I was doing too much and he not enough. Ethan had been teething and not sleeping. I just felt …’ she shrugs ‘… knackered.’

‘So what happened?’

‘We argued. He told me he’d stay at his mum’s, with Ethan. Give me some peace if that was what I wanted. I opened a bottle of wine, cried a bit. Flopped onto the sofa. I think I passed out. And then …’ she’s fiddling with her rings again ‘… and the next thing I know I’m here.’

I can’t imagine not being able to remember something. A whole event just gone, wiped from my memory. Even when I’ve been at my drunkest, I’ve remembered everything the next morning, even if half of those memories were excruciatingly embarrassing and all jumbled up. I’m no psychiatrist but it sounds like some kind of blackout. Or maybe it’s because of the head injury.

She wrinkles her nose and, in that moment, I see the teenage Heather in her. ‘It’s so frustrating. I hate not being able to remember.’ She looks at me, imploring. ‘I just don’t understand why I would kill anyone, particularly those two people. I’ve never met them.’

‘I think you met Deirdre, though. Your mum told me she rented a caravan from you earlier this year.’

‘Oh, yes. But I barely remember her. Only that she seemed chatty and had a really cute dog I couldn’t stop cuddling. It looked like a bear. She said she bred them. That’s all the conversation we had.’