Frozen (12 page)

Neither of us
had
asked her, and I was getting irritated. This girl might be glad of the attention, but Verity deserved better than gossip. We had learned everything we could. Verity had come into the pub. She'd sat with a single drink for three hours. She had listened to a tape. She had left. I looked at Adam. He was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Thanks, love, you're a star.” He racked his grin a notch wider.

We wolfed down the remains of our sandwiches, and headed back to the car.

“Where the hell is it, then?”

“Hmm? Where's what?” Adam seemed absorbed in thoughts of his own.

“My Walkman. It wasn't in her car.”

“Maybe she had it with her when she fell.”

“It wasn't with her things at the hospital, though.”

“I didn't look.” Adam spread his arms in exasperation. “It's on the beach somewhere. Or at the top of the cliff. Or someone nicked it from her car. Or it's there and you missed it. How would I know? After a fall like that”—he gestured towards the sharp cliffs rising in both directions—“it's amazing they found anything at all.”

I looked back at the Birling Gap Hotel. Under other circumstances it would have been a pleasant enough place, inoffensive, if uninspired, but to me the building squatted on the landscape like a lumpen spider, its windows blank and beady, a row of unforgiving eyes. I could feel its gaze on my back as I crossed the huge empty car park, my footsteps inaudible against the endless moan of the sea.

We reached the car. Adam leaned on the roof. “Where to?” I took a last look round. Verity had been here, she had moved through this space. But there was nothing of her left.

“The Head,” I said. “I want to see where she fell.”

*

We parked in the lay-by below the Belle Toute Lighthouse. The land rose gently away from us for a hundred feet, and then ended abruptly. Adam perched on the bonnet of his BMW. “Go on, then. I'll wait here.”

I headed for the edge. You could smell the sea below; you could smell how the sun had warmed the grass. The air was strong and cool, the wind bruising and refreshing by turns. I breathed deeply. The headlands rolled along the coast like a vast smooth swell, a vivid green sliced through by chalk cliffs, which fell sheer to a gravel beach and the sea. The drop had to be at least two or three hundred feet. To my right, the land rose towards the lighthouse; to the left the rise was steeper, and the cliffs fell five hundred feet or more, sheer to the tumbled boulders at their feet. There was another lighthouse at the base of the cliffs, neatly striped in red and white, dwarfed by the huge promontory above. Beachy Head. Had Verity walked any further that way, she certainly would not have survived.

The cliffs were brilliant white in the sharp sunlight. The sea was soft green. The wind brought a warm salt tang, more a taste than a smell. The coastline had a monumental beauty that was breathtaking. It was tranquil, impassive. It swept me up.

She had walked here too. My body was passing through the same volume of space as hers had; my head was where hers had been. Perhaps our feet were in step, separated only by time. Of course it was a silly notion. I was a good four inches taller than her; there was no way our stride lengths would ever have been the same, or our heads level, but the illusion helped me. I wanted to get inside her head, see what she had seen, think her thoughts. I wanted to be close to her. I didn't want her gone.

There was no way I could tell precisely where she had jumped, but somewhere along this stretch she had chosen her spot. Possibly I walked past it, or did not go far enough; there was no way to tell. The cliffs were featureless. I sat and watched the sea, its roughness flattened by my high perspective. Its surface glittered with warm yellow light. A supertanker stood in the middle distance, its colours bleached to grey by the sea's haze, its oily wake smearing the sea flat. Perhaps this was where she had sat in the two hours after she left the pub, just taking it in, emptying her thoughts, reflecting. The sea dazed me. It became a meaningless tangle of sparkles, crossed by gulls, warm blurs sliding across the sky. It wasn't a bad spot to die. Despite the battering of the wind, it was peaceful here.

Did you even think of me, Verity? You could have called. You could have. You know that, don't you?

Miss you, Verity.

Beachy Head was beautiful. The clichés didn't do it justice. I had imagined it would be rather tacky. I mean, it was such a hackneyed idea, such a popular conception of Where To Do It. I'd half expected a souvenir hut selling candyfloss and badges saying something tasteless—
Beachy Head, Worth a Look Before You Leap
, that kind of thing. Let's face it, the Sussex coast—Brighton, Eastbourne, Hastings—has an image problem, and I confess that I'd bought the stereotype. But, being there, it was dramatically obvious that my preconceptions were wrong. Beachy Head was stunning. It's a place that, normally, I'd have been glad to see—and I'd never have bothered to come if it weren't for Verity. I wished I could have shared it with her.

And that's when I realised...

The fact that Beachy Head was beautiful changed everything.

*

Adam was pacing, mobile clamped to his ear, his other hand chopping at the air. “I don't care if it's difficult, just fucking do it.” He swivelled to start back in the other direction and caught sight of me. He stopped walking and scowled blankly at me, listening to whatever was being said at the other end. He waved me over.

“Okay, I'm going to interrupt you there”' he said briskly, into his phone. “Yes, I know it's difficult. Yes, there are problems. You're paid to solve them. Do so. Now. Understood?” He didn't wait for the other person to respond, he just carried straight on. “Ring me when you've got a result.” He folded his phone and rolled his eyes. “Lord save us... sorry, Harry. Feeling better?”

“Much.”

I meant it. For the first time since Verity's fall, there was something I was sure of. Something I absolutely knew. She had not come here to kill herself. She would never have chosen this spot—and the reason was that she had the same prejudice about this stretch of coast as I had. She'd thought she knew what it was like here. She'd thought it was all sticks of rock, sunburnt children weeing in the sand, knotted handkerchiefs for sunhats. It didn't matter that she was wrong, that Beachy Head was beautiful, because her preconceptions would have prevented her coming here and finding out.

Adam squinted at me, perhaps puzzled by my expression. I grinned back.

And if Verity had not come here to kill herself, then perhaps after all I knew her as well as I'd thought. Because if she hadn't come to kill herself, then she wasn't suicidal—so why bother calling me? She was going to see me later that evening anyway.

A new vision of Verity took hold in my mind. She was waiting for someone at the pub—not desperate, not suicidal, just waiting. The place had been chosen by whomever she was waiting for, because she would never have thought of it, or even have known it existed. She waited, her friend failed to arrive, and she left. Before driving back to London (for her hot date with me that evening), she decided to enjoy the scenery for a while—scenery she'd never imagined might exist among the weeing kids and the fish-and-chip stalls. She parked the car, walked along the cliff-edge, as I had...

... and then what? She slipped. Or the wind took her. Or she looked down and got vertigo and —

Whatever. She didn't mean to kill herself.

“Harry, has something happened to you?” Adam asked. “You look completely different.”

I smiled and shook my head.

I wasn't going to tell him—not yet, anyhow. He wouldn't see it. We'd argue again, and I didn't want that. He had taken two days off work for me, and already I had put an enormous strain on him. He cared, and I needed that. I needed his support and his generosity—and the price of keeping those was that I couldn't tell him. I couldn't prove it, he wouldn't believe me—but I knew, I
knew
.

I waved my hands about. “It's beautiful,” I said simply. The truth, but avoiding the point. Adam looked puzzled, and then gazed around him. I had the impression he hadn't even noticed where he was.

Another gust sent ripples rolling through the grass.

“Yes. I suppose it is. Stunning.” He took a deep breath, sighed out. “Good for the soul, eh? More than I can say for that dickhead in Accounts I was talking to. Did I ever tell you about him?”

I laughed. “Only ten or twenty times, Ads—but one more won't hurt. Tell me on the way home.”

He grinned back, and unlocked the car.

*

When we reached the motorway, we settled into a comfortable cruise. Adam put the radio on, light classical music, Mozart or something.

“It's good to have you back, Harry,” he said. “Thought I'd lost you for a while there.” He raised a warning finger. “Don't bother with the health warning. I know we've still got a way to go, the value of friendships can go down as well as up, all that stuff. But seriously, Harry, seeing that little spark of the old you, that makes it all worth it.” He beamed at the road ahead.

“There's still stuff I need to do, Ads,” I said.

“I know. I'll help.”

So maybe it wouldn't end in confrontation after all/ Maybe he'd come to accept what I now knew. I settled back into the car's soft seat and smiled to myself. He'd find out in time.

As the car purred towards London, I closed my eyes and pictured her: her heels kicked back, her hair spreading, dappled by sunlit leaves, screaming happily in the air. And I promised her that I wouldn't rest until I knew the truth.

Adam dropped me at the end of my road. He brushed off my thanks, as usual. I watched his car purr away, and then strode purposefully towards home. I noticed someone was waiting when I was twenty yards away. At eighteen yards, I recognised her—and my elation vanished.

*

Sam Mandovini sat with her knees together and her feet spread, squinting through the last of the sunlight at the traffic. She didn't notice me until I was next to her. I said a guarded hello. She started, and then unfolded herself, dusting off her jeans.

“I've come to apologise,” she said, in a rush, “to see if I can help.”

Her eyes wouldn't quite meet mine. I was uneasy, but I couldn't really say no so I unlocked the door and gestured for her to go in.

I offered her a chair, and fiddled in the kitchen while the kettle boiled. As I worked, I tried to recapture the energy and clarity I had felt at Beachy Head. I failed, and irritation settled in. What the hell did she think she was doing? Not content with her performance yesterday, she was now ruining the remains of my week. I felt pressured and put-upon. I knew it was unfair to blame all of that on her, but she was there, and she was reminding me just how unpleasant my reality was at the moment. Whatever the reason for Verity's fall, she had fallen. She was gone for good.

“Black and strong,” I said gruffly. I dumped her mug by her elbow, and plonked myself opposite her ungraciously. She gave me a short smile. I didn't trust myself to talk, so I waited. Eventually she blew out heavily. “Look, I came round to say sorry, not to get the third degree. I know I was a louse at the studio. I didn't mean to be. It's just—”

“Paris,” I said flatly.

“Yes. Paris. But after you went I felt terrible. Just awful. I mean, Verity's had this horrid accident and all I could think about was a bloody fashion show. You must think I'm such a self-centred cow.”

Again I said nothing. After an uneasy moment, I heard her suck her teeth. “Okay, I probably deserved that. Look, Harry, I want to help. I mean, if you'll talk to me. There are things Verity and I talked about, which might help. About how she was feeling and stuff.” She paused briefly, and when she continued her voice was a little softer. “Harry, I'd really like to talk. I loved her too, you know. I don't know what the hell got into me. Please.”

“I'm amazed you've got the time to come and see me, with Paris just round the corner,” I said, and then winced. I'd been aiming for a jokey tone, but it came out savagely.

Sam's voice hardened. “Yeah, Harry. Good one. Whatever.” She stood.

I breathed in sharply. “Oh... Sam, I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean that. I'm just a bit...”

Start again, Harry
.

“Yes, let's talk. Fine. Please. And thanks for apologising.”

She smiled weakly and the silence stretched again.

“Look, Sam?” I continued, when it got awkward, “That Paris thing. How's it going?”

“Finished,” Sam said tonelessly. She sat again. “Cancelled.” She laughed without looking up from her cup. She swirled the coffee and then set it on the table, watching the whirlpool slow and come to rest.

“You cancelled it?”

She bit her lower lip and nodded. My surprise lasted only a moment. Then the guilt set in.

“Um, look, I hope it wasn't because o —”

Sam looked up at me, her eyes wide. “Oh! How sweet! No, Harry, it wasn't because of you.” She cupped her hands round the mug of coffee and hunched over it. “But you were right—who cares about Paris? Well, I did,” she smiled, “but I got home that night, and I started thinking... about Verity, about what had happened. I'd had this daft idea that somehow doing Paris was the best thing to do for
her
...” She shrugged in a doesn't-really-matter kind of way. I said nothing. “Look, Harry, there's something you've got to understand. I didn't mean to be a bitch yesterday, but I was completely freaked. And there's this fashion-luvvie thing I do. Normally it's me and Verity, we do it for a laugh. In our business you have to, you've got to keep up with the competition. And then the work and the fun get mixed up, and you find yourself doing it all the time, particularly when you're stressed. And with Verity gone, and then the whole Paris thing, I was pretty uptight. I shouldn't have let you come to the studio.”