I Never Lie Page 21

On our way back to mine, we pass through the Fields and I give Greg a run-down of where Alice Fessy was found. How I picked up the story and how my editors are really pleased with the work I’m doing. I don’t mention Sarah Wilcox and neither does he until we hit Navarino Road.

  ‘Jesus, Alex. I think this is where Sarah lived.’ He’s pointing at the red mansion block opposite Mary’s house. ‘In fact I’m sure it is.’

  He’s already through the gate and walking up to the front of the block, so I follow.

  ‘I don’t think you can just go snooping around like this so late at night, especially with what’s going on. People are nervous.’

  But as he mounts the steps, I have a sudden momentary déjà vu. I was here. Recently. But why? I can’t remember. Shit. My head is spinning, and I have an immediate urge to turn around and walk back down the path, away from this building.

  ‘Hang on.’

  He’s looking through the front door. I’m waiting at the bottom of the steps, wondering where this is going. Annoyed again with his obsession with Sarah. But within moments, his posture has relaxed and he’s coming back down the steps.

  ‘I must have been mistaken. One street does look like another at night.’

  ‘Can we go now?’ I don’t want to linger any longer than I need to. It’s cold and I’m also feeling a bit paranoid about running into Nigel. Especially after his angry call earlier. I haven’t told anyone about that. I suppose Charlie is the only person I can talk to about it, but I don’t want to see him either.

  Walking away from the mansion block, I have a deeply haunting feeling that there may be something in what Greg said about Sarah living here, but my memory is so bad. I’ve had two blackouts this week already. I wish I knew what I did that night after I left Anne Marie’s house, but I really can’t remember. I know there was a reason I left, but where I went is one big blank. Standing outside that building, though, something in me stirred; what and why I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it had something to with Sarah Wilcox.

  As we turn the corner to my street, Greg takes my hand and my heart starts to race. The pulse in my wrist is having spasms. It’s a hand I held for seven years. A warm, familiar hand even in this freezing temperature. I’m unsure of what to do because the chemistry is still there even after all this time.

  Once over the threshold, I know there is no way back, but I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m afraid of what it means. It’s all I’ve wanted to do for a year, since I lost our baby – have him hold me and tell me everything is going to be all right – but now that the moment is here, I’m afraid he’ll discover my old habits again.

  In the kitchen, he sits down while I put the kettle on. He’s scanning the room with interest. I’m just praying that I’ve not left a trail of bottles all over the place. It could happen.

  ‘Nice place, Alex.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘It’s good to see you’ve done so well for yourself. Maybe leaving Manchester was the best thing you ever did. Maybe it all happened for a reason, you know.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’d go that far, but thank you.’

  Before I have time to protest, he’s standing behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us. I know we lost something, but maybe we can find it again.’ He brushes the back of my neck with his hand, and my entire body tingles. ‘I don’t care about what happened in the past. There’s only ever been one woman for me, you know. I’m lost without you. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to beat this thing.’

  He turns me around and cups my face with his firm hands.

  ‘How did we let it get to the point of no return?’ His eyes sparkle in the dim light. ‘I need you in my life.’

  I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting this.

  ‘Are you okay? You seem a little edgy?’

  ‘That’s because I am edgy.’ I make a rock-and-roll symbol with my right hand and wink while doing it. He laughs.

  ‘I’m serious. You seem nervy. Is everything okay?’

  It’s the drink, but I can’t tell him that.

  ‘I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a long day, emotionally and physically.’

  He’s still holding my face in his hands. ‘I’ve really missed this,’ he whispers.

  ‘Me too.’

  We kiss on the lips for the first time in a year, but it feels so natural.

  ‘You know, it was really sweet of you to send me Milk Tray for my birthday.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘The birthday gift.’

  ‘It wasn’t me, Alex. I didn’t send you any Milk Tray.’

  ‘Oh. I got a box on my birthday. I thought you’d sent it.’

  ‘No, sorry. Not me.’

  He’s so close that I can feel his breath on my skin, but the moment is disrupted by the sound of my very loud electronic doorbell.

  ‘Are you expecting someone? A lover you haven’t mentioned? The sender of Milk Tray?’

  There’s a loud bang on the door. I would have chosen to ignore it, but Greg steps back and the intimacy drains away.

  As soon as I open the door, I regret it. Facing me is DI Brook with two uniformed police officers.

  ‘Hello, Alex. We know he’s here. I’m afraid we’re going to have to bring him in for questioning.’

  They push past me before I have a chance to speak. The crackle of a police radio resonates from inside the flat, and moments later Greg is being escorted out into the street.

  ‘Alex, what is going on?’

  I want to tell him I didn’t do anything, that this has nothing to do with me, but I can’t because I can’t physically get the words out. The shock of what is happening has stunned me into silence. DI Brook must have had me under surveillance to know Greg was here. Suddenly a cold breeze blows through the house, and I have a strong sense that the police have been in my flat while I wasn’t home, searching for I-don’t-know-what.

  One of the uniformed officers warns me not to go anywhere. ‘We will be in touch, Ms South.’

  I can hear Greg calling my name as they walk him down the street, directing him to a police car. I’m so confused by what’s just gone down that I can’t do anything. I notice Charlie watching from the upstairs window as I go back inside. His face is devoid of emotion. I think he’s upset with me, but I’m not sure why.

  After the police have gone, I find the vodka bottle. I don’t even bother with a glass. My head is spinning. I can’t put it all together. I need to confide in someone, but who? I need to talk through what is happening, because my life is truly falling apart again. Once the news gets out that the police have arrested another man in connection to the murders, there’ll be another wave of interest from the media. If they discover Greg’s identity, and who he is to me, I’m utterly screwed.

  I can’t handle what’s just happened. I can’t be home alone or I’ll just drink myself into another blackout, which would be one too many this week. I make a decision and head off towards number three Navarino Road.

  53

  It’s gone midnight when I find myself standing outside Mary’s house, hoping to find some wisdom from the glamorous elderly dog walker. I climb the steps and lift the solid brass knocker. It takes some effort. Moments later, the door opens and the grandmotherly figure welcomes me with her kind smile. Without warning, I break down in tears right there on her doorstep. I don’t know what has come over me.

  ‘Come in, dear. Come in.’

  She ushers me in and wraps her arms around me like a cuddly blanket. After a good old hug, she shows me through to the garden, where a gas heater is fired up next to a table underneath a jungle of ivy and rose bushes.

  ‘I know it’s a cold night, but the sky is so clear you can see the stars, not a common occurrence in London, so I thought I’d enjoy it. Look, can you see the Plough?’

  She’s pointing skywards. I look up. It is just as she described it. A crystal-clear night sky with thousands of bright s
tars sparkling above us, and I can, I can see the Plough. There’s something quite special about that, especially in London.

  ‘Shall we have tea?’

  I nod; it’s all I can manage. The garden contains an abundance of wildlife. I feel safe here, yet I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because it’s a complete escape from my life. From what I have become. From all of it.

  She leaves me to star-gaze and returns with the trolley, which she parks inside the back door. She hands me a box of lavender-scented tissues.

  ‘You’ve got yourself into quite a state, haven’t you? Do you want to tell me all about it?’

  ‘I don’t really know where to start.’

  ‘Why not at the beginning?’

  ‘My fiancé – well, actually he’s my ex – has just been arrested as part of the murder investigation.’

  ‘Oh.’ It’s meant to sound like surprise, but it doesn’t. ‘I can see why that might be quite stressful. You did the right thing coming here. No good being on your own at a time like this. Would you be so kind as to serve?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I pour the tea and we sit in silence listening to the breeze brush against the ivy.

  ‘Why did they arrest him?’

  ‘He knew Sarah Wilcox, one of the victims. But he knew her because of me. I feel so bad about that now. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’

  ‘Do you think he did it?’

  ‘No.’ My body shakes at the thought of it. ‘He’s not a murderer. They have no real leads so they’re tapping the weakest one. I saw him today. It was the first time I’ve seen him for a long time. We were having a really nice evening, but when we got home, the police turned up and took him away. What if he thinks I turned him in because of what he told me about Sarah?’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘That he’d slept with her.’

  ‘Oh my dear Alex. You poor thing. That must have been extremely painful.’

  I decide that now is the time for me to offload. To confide in someone before it eats me up inside. I’m running out of options. I need to talk before I go mad or have another blackout.

  ‘I left Manchester a year ago after having a miscarriage. It was tough, but I buried the pain and left. Ran away, if you will. Shut out Greg, my ex. Disappeared without a forwarding address. I needed to regroup. To protect myself. Things were getting a bit messy. We’d lived together for seven years and were planning to get married, but the miscarriage changed everything. I lost my baby. Our baby.’

  She looks thoughtful. I feel oddly unburdened saying this out loud. I’ve never told anyone before about what happened. No one. I just bottled it up. Held it all in. Buried it in alcohol, the root cause of my miscarriage and my break-up with Greg. The root cause of everything that is wrong with my life, if I’m honest about it. Yet still I can’t stop myself.

  ‘It’s normal to react like that. You’re only human, Alex, but you can’t keep running from yourself. It won’t help you achieve a happy life and it definitely won’t help you prolong it. You can’t keep going the way you’re going.’

  Her tone has changed and I’m not sure I like it. I don’t need a lecture. That’s not why I came here. I need someone to listen. To understand the emotional pressure I’m under. I haven’t finished my tea yet, but I think it’s time to leave.

  ‘I should get going. I have some work to do.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re only going to hurt yourself, you know, Alex. You can’t go on like this, toing and froing the way you are. You need to make a decision and stick to it. You should tell the police.’

  ‘Tell them what?’

  ‘That’s for you to work out. I just think your soul will be at peace if you confess.’

  ‘Confess to what? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I can see you want to speak to someone, but you’re not sure how to start that conversation. We’ve all had our moments, Alex. It’s how you deal with them that matters. It’s how you find forgiveness for yourself.’

  I don’t even say goodbye. Just get up and go. I don’t need someone lecturing me about how to live my life. I’m doing really well at the moment. Every day I gain thousands more followers on Twitter; that’s the measure of my success.

  On my way home, I stuff the lemon ginger snaps I took from her kitchen in my mouth. How dare she tell me to sort myself out? I am sorted. I’ve been a lead story for the better part of a week. That’s the proof right there.

  54

  January 2018

  Dear Diary,

  I sent Alex a message via Twitter today. Told her I’d moved to London. That she could confide in me. She always did find it hard to talk about her addiction, which is weird because she had no problem talking about mine. She must know by now that she has a serious drinking issue. I want to help her because she helped me. I feel like I owe her something. Like I should return the favour, you know. Call it karma.

  I know she’s still drinking because I’ve seen her buying booze from the shop around the corner. You see, I moved to London Fields after I figured out where she lived. It wasn’t that hard. She tweets about her life and posts photos on social media. All I had to do was hang out in the park for a month until I saw her crossing from one side to the other, a bit like how we met really. From there, I was able to follow her. I know where she lives. I know she has a neighbour called Charlie. He’s quite good-looking, too. In fact, I borrowed his photo and set up a profile using his name on COMEout. It’s been quite fun, if truth be told.

  I haven’t heard back from Alex, but I also wrote to Greg to tell him that I’d been in touch with her. He replied almost immediately. Wanted to know how she was. I invited him to come and see for himself. To come to London. He said he might just do that.

  55

  I wake up to a million news alerts informing me that the Met has another man in custody, this time in connection with the death of Sarah Wilcox. I’m guessing one of my competitors has a source inside the station, and has managed to get a sliver of intel to this effect. Amidst the news alerts, Audrey’s name flashes on my screen. The time is 8.35 am. I’ve slept in by an hour.

  ‘Morning, Audrey.’

  ‘You heard the latest?’

  ‘Hard not to. My phone is going bonkers.’

  I’m not in a good mood this morning. In fact, I’m worried sick about the fact that my ex-fiancé is now in police custody. I fell asleep fully clothed for the third night in a row – marvellous. There’s an empty vodka bottle on the pillow next to me.

  ‘We need to get down to the station in case they release any information on who this man is.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Shall I meet you there?’

  ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes with Jack. I’ve already spoken to the on-duty editor. It’s Mike today.’

  ‘Okay, good.’ I don’t know Mike, but I’m sure he knows me. ‘See you there.’

  Charlie is banging on my door. ‘Alex, let me in. I need to talk to you.’

  It’s just what I don’t need, but he’s not going away.

  ‘I know you’re in there.’

  I can’t be bothered to put up any resistance this morning, so I unlatch the door and let him in.

  ‘I really need to get ready for work, Charlie.’

  ‘I’ve seen the news. Who was that man last night? Was it Nigel, the guy you met on the dating site? Is that who the police have in custody? Oh Alex, what’s going on?’

  ‘First of all, I haven’t got time for this right now. Secondly, I’m okay, thanks for asking. And thirdly, I’m pissed off that the police seemingly thought it was okay to come into my flat and arrest someone.’

  ‘Aren’t you glad about it? They could have saved your life.’

  I’m not sure which way to play this. My head hurts.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie but I really need to get on.’

  ‘I’m here for you if you need to talk.’

  ‘Thanks, but
right now I have to get down to the police station. Oh, and Charlie, I really need you to promise that you won’t tell anyone what you saw last night.’

  He’s looking at me curiously.

  ‘Promise me. Please. I don’t need to get caught up in this story. Not in that way. It will seriously affect my career. It could be the end of it, in fact.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous. You have no idea.’

  ‘Don’t they say all publicity is good publicity?’ He’s grinning with excitement. This must be the highlight of his week.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Charlie, this isn’t funny. I’m the reporter, not the story. So no, it isn’t. Not in this instance.’

  My face is deadly serious, and his smile fades.

  ‘Okay. I promise. I won’t say anything and I won’t talk to the press; they’ve been on my case since I got hauled in.’

  ‘Who has been on your case?’

  ‘That Laura MacColl.’

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me. Don’t talk to her, especially her. I’m going to have to ask you to go. I need to take a shower. I’m supposed to meet my producer in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Right, of course. Wow, how exciting.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Four women are dead. It’s really not.’

  He leaves, shutting the door behind him. At least I have his assurance that he won’t speak to anyone about last night, or being picked up by the police. I think I can trust him. He may be a bit of a panic artist, but he’s loyal to the core. I down a couple of painkillers and get myself together.

  * * *

  Audrey and Jack are outside the station along with the rest of the vultures when I arrive. The voice in my head is already at it, telling me I need a fix.

  ‘Alex, thank God. Can you work your source and find out what’s going on?’

  ‘I’ll do my best. Give me five.’

  I walk away from the group to find a quieter spot, then take my phone out of my pocket and pretend to dial. I can’t call DI Brook. I can’t. What am I going to ask him? I’m still angry about what he did. They must have had me or Greg under surveillance. It’s one big fucking mess, just like my life. The only thing that seems simple is how much I need to detox.