I Never Lie Page 5

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Later tonight.’

  ‘That soon? What about your birthday date?’

  ‘He cancelled.’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘In a text message.’

  ‘What a plonker. Did he know it was your birthday?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Find another. Isn’t that what the Internet is for? You can’t stay home alone on your birthday. Work, work, work makes for a dull life, Alex.’

  I can hear Annabel’s voice in my head. They’re both always saying this to me. They are probably right, but my personal life is shit, so it’s easier to just avoid it, especially when there’s a meaningful story to report on.

  ‘If you’re so bothered about me being alone on my birthday, why don’t you take me out?’

  ‘I’d love to, but I can’t tonight. I have a date.’

  ‘You have a date? Are you serious?’

  ‘Yep. I’ll tell you more after the fact.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘What about you? Did you have someone here last night? Thought I saw someone leaving early this morning.’

  ‘You spying on me, Charlie?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him out for your birthday?’

  ‘Hmm, let’s see. Because I don’t plan on seeing him again?’

  ‘You and your no-second-date policy…’ He hands me a cup of tea. ‘You okay, Alex? You seem a bit…’

  ‘A bit what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Like something is bothering you. You seem restless.’

  ‘Just tired, that’s all.’ I take a sip of tea, although it’s still too hot.

  ‘Shall we adjourn to the salon?’

  I nod silently and follow him into the lounge. He’s carrying a packet of biscuits. We sit in our usual places, like an old married couple. Me cross-legged on the worn, stained pale green carpet and Charlie on his curvy 1960s blue velour sofa, which he rescued from the street. He turns on the TV.

  ‘Let’s see what’s going on, shall we?’

  There’s a photo on screen that almost makes me choke on my tea.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah, just went down the wrong way.’

  ‘So that’s the woman they’re looking for, is it? This Sarah Wilcox?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘She looks familiar.’ He’s scratching his chin while concentrating on the image. ‘They think she’s a suspect, then?’

  I’m trying my best to act as if I don’t recognise the woman staring back at us, but I do, though I can’t remember why. God, my memory is so shot these days.

  ‘You sure you’re okay, Alex?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, pardon the cliché.’

  ‘You and your clichés.’

  I need to move this conversation on. The photo disappears from the TV screen, which is a relief. I’m not going to admit to Charlie that I think I’ve met Sarah Wilcox; in fact, I’m not going to mention it to anyone unless I really have to. I need to remember first.

  ‘I forgot the sugar. I’ll be right back.’

  Charlie darts out of the lounge, and when he returns, he’s holding a cupcake with a candle on it and singing a really bad rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’.

  ‘Happy Birthday to you… happy birthday to you… you look like a monkey and you smell like one too.’

  ‘You’ve got a terrible voice.’ Mine is starting to wobble. As I stare at the flickering flame planted in the pink icing, my emotions get the better of me and I suddenly and without warning become a blubbering idiot. Just to top it off, my cheeks are quickly turning crimson.

  ‘Hey, hey. I didn’t mean to make you cry.’

  He puts the cake down in front of me and I manage a slight puff, enough to blow out the candle. I try to compose myself, but it’s useless. I’ve got mascara on my hands. ‘I’m sorry. It’s idiotic really, isn’t it? I mean, it’s just a cake, but it’s so nice of you to do that.’

  ‘Come here, silly.’

  He gives me a warm, healing hug. It feels safe. It feels comforting. I secretly admit in the darkest part of me that I do need comfort in my life. I know I do.

  The cake makes me feel better. It is deliciously moist and sweet, exactly how a birthday cake should be. Charlie is rolling a cigarette.

  ‘Thought you were going to quit?’

  He just shrugs.

  ‘Can I have one?’

  ‘Are you kidding? You don’t smoke. What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s a birthday cigarette… you know. I think the story today has really shaken me up.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  He passes me his roll-up and starts to make another.

  The tobacco tastes disgusting, but it packs a powerful punch, quelling my anxiety, and I start to relax. In contrast to my flat, which has nothing in it, Charlie’s lounge is cluttered with all kinds of trinkets collected over the years. He has an affection for wind-up toys, music memorabilia and cacti. On the far wall are shelves literally about to collapse under the weight of too many books. He’s an avid reader of non-fiction, mostly history, when he’s not running his online clothing store.

  ‘So what do you want to listen to, birthday girl?’ He’s on the other side of the room now, thumbing through his extensive collection of vinyl.

  ‘Anything by Stone Roses or New Order.’

  ‘What time you off?’

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Okay, well it’s getting on for six o’clock, so why don’t you text the guy back from last night. See if he’s available for a birthday drink before you go. What was his name?’

  ‘Nigel.’ I can see Charlie isn’t going to leave it.

  ‘It’s your birthday. Seriously, what have you got to lose?’

  ‘My reliable love affair with low expectations?’

  He laughs. ‘Just bloody text the guy. It’s not a declaration of love, is it?’

  ‘Here, you write the message if you’re so keen to fix my personal life.’

  He takes my phone and crafts a somewhat generic message that doesn’t have any personality or improper suggestions, while I pop downstairs to grab Nigel’s number.

  Together we wait for an answer, and within moments a message arrives.

  Sounds great! See you at the Pub on the Park again at 7.30? Nigel xox

  ‘He’s totally into you!’ Charlie is grinning; a dimple has appeared in his right cheek, a detail I have never noticed before. ‘Wait, do you think he could be the murderer? Did you meet him online?’

  I haven’t told him about being tied up by Nigel, and I won’t.

  ‘Well seeing as he was with me last night, I doubt it. He has the perfect alibi!’

  Charlie laughs. ‘Make sure you wear a low-cut top. Want to send the right message, don’t ya?’

  My head is in a happy place now thanks to the cake and Charlie.

  ‘Shit, it’s almost six thirty. I’d better get going.’

  ‘What’s new! Have a good time tonight, and enjoy Manchester.’

  ‘Thanks. If I’m not back in two days, can you water my plants? You’ve still got the spare key, right?’

  ‘Yep, no problem. Hey, I just remembered. I’ve seen that Sarah Wilcox at the lido.’

  ‘At the lido? How can you remember that?’

  ‘She’s really pretty and I’ve got a good memory for faces. Plus it was winter and the steam was coming off the water. I remember talking to her, she’d just moved here from up north somewhere, bit like you did.’

  I don’t follow up on what’s he said and instead start downstairs. It won’t do any good. Plus I need a drink. Today’s developments have been upsetting in all kinds of ways, some of which I’ve yet to quite put my finger on. As I open the door to my flat, a flash of memory comes back to me and I know why Sarah Wilcox looked familiar. We met just before I left Manchester. Bloody hell. This isn’t great. In fact, it’s downright terrifying.

  10

  Ma
y 2017

  Dear Diary,

  Since her birthday, Alex hasn’t been to an AA meeting. It’s like she just fell off the face of the earth. When I called her phone, someone called Greg answered. I didn’t like his tone. He told me to stop bothering them. Said that Alex wasn’t well and that she didn’t need more stress, whatever that means. Said I should leave her alone. I really don’t understand what has happened. I’m hurt. I don’t know how you can share so much with someone and then suddenly be cut out of their lives just like that. I read an article in the paper about it a few weeks ago. They call it ghosting someone, apparently. It’s when you completely eradicate a person from your life so that you can forget them. It’s a way of getting over a friendship or an intimate relationship.

  I’m really sad that Greg won’t let me talk to her. For the first time in a long while, I don’t want to get out of bed. The only thing I really want to do today is drink so I can blot out what happened. It’s terrible, the not knowing what is going on and why Greg answered her phone. I want to forget today. There’s really only one way to achieve this: the stash of alcohol downstairs and my faithful park bench. I think they call this a relapse.

  11

  Sarah’s face is all over social media. A collection of photos from her Facebook page. One of her on holiday holding hands with someone they have cut out. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, but then why would I? We weren’t friends; we hardly knew each other. Audrey has called to say that she has the address and we are all set.

  After polishing off another half-bottle of wine I found under the sink, I finally manage to pack my bag with clean clothing suitable for telly. Tomorrow could turn into a busy day depending on whether the Wilcox family agree to talk to us. I can’t believe I’m actually going to her family home, but that’s exactly what we’re doing. Before that, though, it’s time to celebrate my birthday at the pub with Nigel. Not that I really feel like going. I can’t remember the last time I went on a second date, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

  Nigel seemed nice until he almost strangled me. I wonder if I should bring that up and prod him about it. The other two women left in parks were strangled; they haven’t confirmed what happened to the latest victim yet, but it’s alleged they all met their killer online. I guess I’m confused more than anything.

  En route to the pub, I buy some extra-strong mints and munch my way through a handful to cover up my boozy breath. I feel embarrassed pulling a small suitcase. I wonder why I didn’t just put stuff in a shoulder bag, but it’s too late now. I’m so bad at organising anything, let alone myself.

  The Fields is still a crime scene, with police stationed at carefully selected points around the cordon. In fact, there are more people milling about in the park now than earlier. The after-work crowd have descended to have a good look. I don’t blame them. It’s the first thing I wanted to do when I heard the news. Stick my nose in.

  The pub is busy when I arrive. Packed with handsome people dressed in muted tones, sporting vintage styles and sipping locally crafted beers. It’s noisy even without music. The acoustics of the room enhance the volume of conversations, forcing people to talk louder in a bid to be heard. There are old radios and ghetto blasters displayed on rustic wooden shelves above the bar. People who live in Hackney ooze cool, which propagates more coolness, or so I like to believe. I like this pub and claimed it as my local not long after moving here. Not that I know any of the people who drink here. Even the bar staff remain aloof to any familiar interaction, which suits me most days given my drinking habits. The less scrutiny the better.

  Scanning the room, I assume he’s not here yet. Either that or he’s watching me from afar, and I’m awkwardly hoping it’s the latter because I don’t think I can take the wait. My heart is pounding with worry that I won’t recognise him, such is the unfamiliar territory of the second date. There’s a man standing to my left with an AC/DC T-shirt on and numerous body piercings, including a nose ring. The T-shirt makes me smile, but the piercings are terrifying. He keeps looking at me as if I have food on my face, so I turn away and lean on the bar. I’m fiddling with my hands because they feel awkward. Watching the door, I see a man enter the pub, and our eyes meet. Is it him? It could be. He has dark tousled hair, is casually dressed. He’s smiling, flashing perfectly white teeth, I smile back but he walks clean past me towards a girl standing behind Mr AC/DC.

  My body twitches. Perhaps he’s not coming? Then across the room I spot him, sitting at a table for two. He looks skinnier than I remember. He’s spotted me too and is waving frantically. I wave back and make a gesture with my hand that says ‘Would you like a drink?’ He shakes his head and stands up to join me at the bar, but I make another gesture: ‘Stay where you are, I’ll just get a drink and join you.’ He smiles and sits back down. At least I know that if we lost our voices we’d still be able to communicate with each other.

  I have the opportunity to bolt, but I don’t. I buy myself a drink before awkwardly navigating the pub with my suitcase to reach his table. His aftershave is strong, but not in a good way. There are scratches on his neck. God, did I do that? I don’t remember.

  ‘Hi, Alex.’ He half stands and leans across the small wooden table ready to plant a kiss on my cheek, but as he does so, the drink in front of him tips over and the surface becomes a puddle of orange juice.

  ‘Oh God, sorry!’

  Frantically he attempts to wipe up the mess with a napkin that is lying on the table, but he can’t stop the stream running towards me. I take a step back.

  ‘I’ll go and get something better to clean this up.’ He heads for the bar. He’s nervous, which is highly unattractive. In my game, confidence is everything. Within moments, he’s back.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy.’ After he’s finished clearing up, he plops himself down behind a defensive mound of wet napkins.

  ‘No harm done.’ I pick up my glass to say cheers in a joking manner. My heart is racing because I’m weirdly also nervous. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  ‘I’ll wait for the next round.’

  ‘It might be a while.’ I gesture to my full glass.

  ‘It was just juice anyway. Having a day off. We got through quite a lot last night, didn’t we? You can really hold your drink, Alex.’ He grins nervously. His teeth are pearly white and straight, which is a relief. I once went on a date with someone who had rotten teeth. There are many details you can miss online, because people are very good at hiding details in photos.

  His side of the table looks kind of wrong without a drink, because having a drink sets a time reference. It’s like saying you’ll give this person an hour to make an impression. If he is stone-cold sober, which I assume he is, I’m not sure what kind of impression I am going to make given that I’ve had a few already.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’

  ‘Quite sure, thanks.’

  ‘Okay.’ I suddenly feel acutely aware that I’m already quite pissed. Not that I’ll openly admit it.

  ‘I’m actually on some medication at the moment, so taking it easy today,’ he says.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m not a manic-depressive or anything. Don’t worry. I’ve just been through a rough spot lately.’

  ‘Oh.’ This isn’t going how I was expecting it to go.

  ‘Do you say anything but oh?’ He smiles. He does have a nice smile. It’s warm, inviting.

  ‘When I feel like it. I didn’t think we’d run through addictions and mental health quite so early on.’

  We laugh together, which breaks the ice. His is a genuine belly laugh. He thinks I’m funny, which is good. But his smile soon gives way to a more serious face.

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Alex. I broke up with my girlfriend of five years a few months ago and it hit me quite hard. I’m not wishing I was back with her. It was definitely over. We’d grown apart. Wanted different things. It’s just been a bit tough, that’s all. My therapist says it’s a tempora
ry phase and it will pass.’

  ‘Okay.’ I wonder if I’ll ever be this honest with anyone, ever.

  ‘I feel like I can talk to you, and that’s nice.’

  He reaches across the table and takes my hand. A tingle runs up my arm and caresses my heart. I do like his style. He’s wearing a scruffy tour T-shirt, grey jeans and an electric-blue plastic watch. His large, dreamy dark brown eyes glisten in the evening light. He is sexy in a mellow rock-star kind of way, but I need to keep a level head. He almost tried to strangle me this morning.

  ‘You look nice. That colour really suits you.’

  My clothes are varying shades of grey.

  ‘That was me trying to be funny.’

  ‘Ah.’ I laugh, but it’s a little too late.

  The evening goes on much the same. The conversation keeps starting and stopping. It never finds a natural rhythm. But it’s nicely awkward. The kind of awkward where we have time to check each other out. He definitely fancies me.

  ‘Hey, did you hear about that girl who was murdered on the Fields? It was only a few hundred metres from where we’re sitting now. What was her name, Sarah Wilcox?’

  I suddenly feel quite sober.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the dead girl. They’re looking for Sarah Wilcox in connection to it.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Do you think we should contact the police?’

  ‘And say what?’

  ‘Well, we were in the area last night.’

  ‘There must have been hundreds of people around. Do you think they are all contacting the police?’

  ‘I would hope so.’ He’s staring at me, unsure what to make of my ambivalence. ‘Are you okay? You seem a bit…’

  ‘A bit what?’

  ‘A bit… I don’t know. A bit stressed?’

  Like he knows me. I am stressed. I don’t want to talk about work on a date, or Sarah Wilcox. I need to redirect the conversation.

  ‘It’s been a really long day and it’s not over yet. I have to get on a train to Manchester tonight, and frankly I’d really rather not talk about work. It’s my birthday. Can we lighten up the conversation?’