Look Behind You (25 page)

I notice he still won’t admit my abduction. He still isn’t convinced I didn’t just wander off somewhere in a drug-induced state, but I’m too agitated to make a fuss right now. ‘What alibi?’

‘Chris said he was away camping with his dad. His parents have shared custody, and since Chris wasn’t in college on that Monday, they decided to go away for a long weekend. They were apparently in the peak district on a hiking trip.’

‘Do you believe him?’

He hesitates for a second. ‘At the moment, yes. Flynn’s taken him to the police station, where we’ll wait for his father to arrive and confirm or deny it. In the meantime, are you up to going back to Sara’s house and looking around?’

I stand up too quickly, and the room spins. I blink for a few seconds. ‘Yes. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.’

As we head to his car, my scalp tingles with fear as if it’s on fire. Is it another dead end, or is Chris lying?

26

Summers opens Sara’s front door with her key and steps over the post. An eerie déjà vu hits me again, but I know that’s because I’ve already done this once today.

‘What are we looking for, exactly?’ I follow him in to the lounge.

He looks around. ‘I don’t know. Some kind of evidence you were here before, and what you did or where you might have gone. You didn’t get time to answer my question back at the station.’

‘Which question?’

‘The hypothetical one. Right here, right now, what would you instinctively do next?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Think about it. It’s the only kind of trail we have to follow at the moment.’

‘My bag was left in the kitchen.’

‘OK. Let’s start there, then.’

I lead the way.

Summers opens the fridge and peers inside. ‘These are the things you bought?’

‘They must be. They’re fairly fresh.’

‘Where’s the receipt for them?’ His gaze wanders round the kitchen. He opens the bottom cupboards until he finds a plastic bin with a swing lid underneath the one next to the sink. He pulls on some latex gloves from his pocket and removes the bin lid, putting it on the lino floor and wrinkling up his nose. He lifts out an empty pizza box, Waitrose’s own brand. Next comes the plastic base it would’ve sat on and a plastic wrapper with the remains of congealed tomato sauce and cheese.

‘Meat feast pizza,’ I say automatically.

‘Did you eat that?’

I shrug. ‘I must’ve done if it’s here. I never got to eat pizza with Liam; he hated it. Maybe I was trying to give myself a treat.’

His hand disappears in the bin again and retrieves a piece of paper screwed up into a ball. He unfolds it. ‘Receipt from Waitrose. Paid in cash.’ He shows it to me.

‘That makes sense.’

‘That’s it. There’s nothing else apart from two Waitrose carrier bags.’ He puts the food cartons back in the bin, pulls off his gloves, turning them inside out with a loud snap, and throws them in, too. Then he puts the lid back on and washes his hands. He’s wiping them on a kitchen towel when he says, ‘The food was bought on the sixth, so it’s all pointing to something happening to you the next day. I’ll get a team to make some door-to-door enquiries with Sara’s neighbours. See if they saw you or noticed anyone suspicious hanging around.’

‘OK.’ I lift my shoulders slightly. At least he’s
doing
something now. At least he believes me. Sort of.

We look around the rest of the downstairs but don’t find any other clues. We’re just about to go upstairs when I spy the post again. ‘Maybe there’s something in here addressed to me. If I told the bank about Sara’s address, maybe I told someone else, too.’ I pick it up and rummage through, but it’s either bills or junk mail in Sara’s name, so I put it all on the bottom stair and we head to the bathroom. On top of one corner of the bath are bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. They’re not the brand I use, so it’s probably safe to say they’re Sara’s.

Summers opens the whitewashed wooden cabinet with a mirror on it above the sink. He picks things up, examining the items I’ve already checked as I stand next to him, tapping my foot. He gives the room one last look over, but there’s nowhere else in here the sleeping tablets could be.

‘This is Sara’s room.’ I open the door, and we go in. There are two white wooden drawers either side of the bed. Summers goes through them, and I feel sorry for Sara. It’s bad enough having my life examined under a microscope, but poor Sara is just an innocent party in all this. He pulls things out and puts them on the top. Some lavender essential oil, a pen, old earplugs in a clear plastic container, a
Lonely Planet
guide of Australia. I cringe when he finds some furry handcuffs, a shiny silver vibrator, and a well-used tube of KY Jelly. Other than a few crumpled scraps of paper with phone numbers and names written on them, there’s nothing else, so he turns his attention to the drawer underneath. A few pairs of knickers and socks, a suspender belt, stockings.

The drawers on the other side have nothing that could help, either. No sleeping tablets, no X marks the spot, no
CLUE
written in conveniently big letters.

There’s a plastic washing basket in the corner of the room. Summers lifts the lid, but only finds a lone black sock inside. I briefly wonder where the other sock is, but who cares? It’s not important. He opens the doors to Sara’s wardrobe, sliding sparse hangers of clothes across the rail from one side to the other. At the bottom of the wardrobe are a couple of shoeboxes, both empty. He heads out of the door, and I follow him into the spare room.

‘See.’ I point to the rumpled sheets. ‘I must’ve slept in it.’ I swing my arm around to my clothes. ‘These are mine, too.’

He nods, his gaze taking everything in. Apart from the bed and small table next to it, there’s only the director’s chair in the corner. No drawers or wardrobe to store anything. On top of the table are piles of travel books:
How to Drop Everything and Travel Around the World, A is for Africa, Zanzibar to Timbuktu, A Guide to Machu Picchu, Lonely Planet Turkey, Adventures on the East Coast of Australia, Trekking in the Himalaya.

Summers picks up the books and leafs through them. ‘Are these Sara’s or yours?’

‘Well…Sara’s, I suppose.’

‘You’ve never thought about travelling before?’

‘Only for holidays.’ I pick up the Australia book and flick through, wondering why the pages look so familiar. I put it back down again and wave my hand round the room. ‘There are no sleeping tablets anywhere, just like I said.’

He walks to the opposite side of the bed, where there’s a small gap between it and the wall. He bends down, and when he stands back up again he’s holding a newspaper left open to the classified page. ‘It’s the local one,’ he says. ‘Dated the fifth of May.’

I look over his shoulder as I skim the page. Amongst several ads for driving lessons, logs for sale, kittens, puppies and hamsters, and ironing services with free collection and delivery, a few flats for rent are circled in red pen.

‘So you probably were looking for somewhere to rent.’

I shrug uselessly. ‘I suppose I must’ve been. I wouldn’t have wanted to deal with Liam banging on the door and trying to convince me to come back. I was probably hoping just to avoid him forever. Or at least until I was feeling stronger.’

‘Is that what you think he’ll do? Bang on the door? Cause trouble?’

I bite my lip and nod.

Something like concern flashes in his eyes. It makes him look almost sympathetic for a change. ‘Has he ever hit you?’

‘No. But…’ I trail off, avoiding his gaze because I feel weak and pathetic. Maybe Liam was right after all. I am stupid. Stupid for staying so long.

‘But what?’

‘Words and actions can bruise deeper than any fist. Scars aren’t always on the outside, are they?’

He studies me for a moment. ‘Not always, no.’

I can’t talk about this yet. Can’t deal with it. When I find out who took me,
then
I can fall apart and cry for what should’ve been but never was. For the woman who lost herself. For what she thought was real love but was only something toxic and warped.

But not now. Now I need to find out who abducted me. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ I say dismissively. ‘I left him. Twice. I’m going to get on with my life and be OK. If this unknown person doesn’t kill me first, of course.’ I shoot him a grave look.

‘Do you have anywhere else you can go? I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here while we make further enquiries. Even if Liam doesn’t try to see you, we still don’t know what happened here and whether you left of your own free will. The sleeping tablets, or lack of them, are bothering me.’

‘I could go to Jordan’s,’ I say immediately. He’s the only person I know well enough, and there’s no one else to turn to.

‘Who’s Jordan?’

‘A…a colleague.’ A hot flush creeps into my cheeks.

‘Call him and see if it’s possible.’

I go to where I left my mobile phone, find his number from the last time he called, and hit redial.

‘Chloe! I’ve just got out of class and heard something about Chris being questioned. I was just about to call you. What’s going on? Are you all right?’ He’s breathless, like he’s walking fast. I hear a cacophony of teenage voices laughing and shouting in the background.

‘Yes. I’m OK.’ I glance at Summers. ‘I’m with the police.’

‘Good. As long as you’re safe. But, Chris? I mean, do they really think he’s involved in this? He’s in my class. I never would’ve—’

‘They think he has an alibi,’ I cut in. ‘Look, Jordan. You know you said to call if you could help? Well, I need a favour.’

‘Of course. What do you need?’

‘Can I stay at your place? Just for a few days maybe, until I get something else sorted.’

‘Absolutely,’ he says with no hesitation. ‘You can stay as long as you like. I’ve got a spare room.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you want me to pick you up from somewhere?’

‘No, it’s OK, I can walk. Or get a lift from DI Summers.’

‘OK, well, I’ve finished for the day, so I’ll be home in about twenty minutes. I can meet you at home.’

‘That would be great. I’ll see you there.’ I hang up. I don’t ask for his address since I already know it. He had a moving-in party there, back when I first started working at the college. It seems so long ago now. So far away. ‘Ninety-five Curzon Street,’ I tell Summers. ‘That’s where I’ll be. And, please, don’t tell Liam.’

‘It will be completely confidential.’ He writes the address down in his notepad then waits until I’ve gathered my meagre belongings together before walking me outside. ‘Do you trust this Jordan?’

Trust. Five small letters that can have such a big effect on your life. I want to tell Summers I don’t trust
him
. He didn’t believe me in the first place. He tossed me aside, abandoned me to my fate, even if he is making amends now. I don’t know he won’t do it again. I also trusted Liam, and look where that got me.

Do I trust Jordan? My heart does, even if my head doesn’t know what to think. ‘I have to trust someone, don’t I?’ I say. ‘At least if I disappear again, you’ll know the last place to look.’

27

When Jordan opens the door, he’s got that worried frown of concern on his face. We stand there, staring at each other, and it’s as if a whole silent conversation passes between us. He lifts his arms up, making me think he’s about to reach out and pull me close to him. I want that. Want to feel protected and cared about for once. I know I’ll feel safe with him wrapped around me. But the moment vanishes when he notices Summers sitting in his car parked at the kerb.

I turn, give Summers a small wave, and he drives off. Jordan steps back to let me inside, and I can’t help looking around. They say you can tell a lot about a person by their home.

His house is a small two-bedroomed cottage, all original sanded floorboards, wooden beams, and uneven plasterwork. I take a quick glance through the open door to the lounge, which has an old-fashioned log burner and a comfy-looking, sagging sofa. Scenic photos and throws provide splashes of bright colour.

He leads me into the sunny kitchen, painted a yellow that reminds me of daffodils, at the back of the house. The kitchen units look handmade, with rustic barn door type cupboards and battered iron handles. There’s a Range cooker on the back wall where a large brick open fireplace once stood. It’s small, but warm and cosy, like Sara’s, and it fits him perfectly.

‘Have a seat.’ Jordan waves at a distressed wooden kitchen table in the centre of the room. It looks like it’s seen a lot of use. Plate and cup rings are burned into the surface, scratches and scrapes that tell a history and only add to its charm. Liam would hate it. ‘Do you want a tea or coffee?’ He leans his hip against the worktop.

‘Actually, do you have something stronger?’ I sit on what looks like part of an old wooden church pew and put the small suitcase with all my worldly belongings in it on the floor, along with my handbag, ‘I could really do with it.’

He raises his eyebrows casually. ‘Sure. I’ve got beer or wine or…’ He bends down and rummages around in a cupboard. His black T-shirt clings to his broad back and shoulders, and I wonder again what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around me. ‘Vodka?’ He holds up a bottle and catches me looking.