Try Not to Breathe (34 page)

“Yes, of course, once or twice. But they weren’t friends. Tom had plenty of his own friends.”

“Mrs. Arlington, when Amy went missing, the police interviewed Jacob.”

“Yes, they did. It was terrible.”

“Were you frightened?”

“I wasn’t frightened because I knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. But it was horrible to watch him go through that upset.”

“You weren’t worried the police might think Jacob was involved?”

“No, of course not.” Sue looked horrified. “Besides, he’d been with me when Amy went missing so I knew there was no reason for them to doubt him. I could see the police were just going through the motions.”

“How did Tom react when Amy was found?” Alex asked.

“Why do you keep asking about Tom?”

Alex looked at Jacob. How far could she push?

“Mum, why did you and Tom visit Amy after my wedding?”

Sue’s eyes widened and as she opened her mouth, the lock rattled and footsteps hit the hall. Sue closed her mouth and looked up at her husband in the doorway.

“Alex, this is my father, Graham,” Jacob said, warily.

Alex’s stomach lurched.
Graham.

“Pleased to meet you,” Alex said, turning to offer her hand. As she looked up, she was surprised to see a tall, handsome man standing in front of her. He looked a good ten years younger than Sue, although that did not add up. His eyes sparkled but his lips barely smiled.

“Likewise,” Graham said, keeping his gaze on Alex until she had to look away. “I could have collected you, Jacob,” he said as he walked to the counter and splashed whiskey over a neat pile of ice. He wore tennis whites and his green eyes were framed by weather-tanned skin. The whole room seemed to hold its breath for him.

“Dad, Alex brought me home—” Jacob started, looking at his mother for reassurance.

“Alex is here to grill me, I’m afraid,” Sue interrupted. “She’s a journalist, Graham. She’s writing about Amy Stevenson and seems to think I can help.”

“A journalist?” Graham said, his voice measured and in control. “Well, that’s disappointing.” He took a long look at Alex and a deep sip of amber liquid. Alex felt her own thirst tighten in her throat.

She realized Jacob wasn’t going to say anything more and started to explain. “I’m not trying to make anyone uncomfortable but I’d like people to understand what happened to Amy and what she’s going through.”

“Well,” said Graham with the soft and steady patter of a diplomat, “she’s not going through anything now, mercifully.” He poured himself another drink, steadily and without comment from his family. Alex suspected this was how most afternoons unfolded in this kitchen.

“What happened was unfortunate,” Graham continued, his eyes briefly expressing compassion, “but that was many years ago and she’s been gone for a long time now.”

Jacob’s phone rang on the table, he picked it up quickly. “I’m sorry, it’s my boss. I have to take this.”

Alex watched him walk lopsidedly out of the kitchen.

Lowering her voice, Alex said: “Amy hasn’t gone anywhere, far from it. She’s communicating. I’ve seen it myself. She soon may be able to tell us what happened.”

“Okay,” soothed Graham, “Jacob has a call now and I think it’s time you left. My wife has helped you more than enough, I’m sure.”

“Why
did
you take Tom to visit Amy, Mrs. Arlington?”

“Okay, let’s go,” Graham interjected, placing a hand gently on the small of Alex’s back and applying just a little pressure.

“Fine,” Alex exhaled, tired from hitting a brick wall. “Could I please just use the bathroom before I go?”

“I really think you should just—” Graham started.

“Yes, if you must,” sighed Sue. “Last door down the hall.”

Sue watched in silence as Alex made her way out of the kitchen.

When Alex emerged from the little room a few minutes later, she could see Sue’s back to her in the kitchen and, through the window, Graham sitting rigid on a bench in the back garden, looking into the trees and sipping from his tumbler. Alex darted into the lounge, as quietly as she could.

She could hear Jacob upstairs and as she crept closer to the archway into the kitchen, she heard Sue speaking quickly and quietly into the phone.

Alex held her breath to listen.

“Tom, it’s Mum. There’s something I need to tell you and it’s not good. Call me back when you get this message. It’s urgent, darling.”

Alex’s heart jumped in her chest. Tom.
It had to be Tom, using his father’s name as, what, an aide-mémoire? A hastily chosen cover name?
Paul must have been bullshitting about the older guy.
Alex kept her eyes trained on Sue. She could hear Jacob making his way slowly down the stairs. As quickly as possible, she used her phone’s camera to snap as many of the family photos on the mantelpiece as she could. School photos, holiday pictures, those awful posed studio snaps of reluctant children in ties and waistcoats. She snapped without looking, thumbing the camera button on her screen as many times as possible. She’d tidy them up later.

“What are you doing?”

Alex swung around to see Jacob in the kitchen doorway as she stuffed her phone back into her pocket.

“Just going back to get my bag,” she said, feeling the tips of her ears burning. Jacob went ahead and swooped her bag from under the kitchen table, thrusting it at her, his own cheeks and ears blushing.

“I’d better show you out,” he said, apologetically.

J
acob walked Alex to the front door and with a low voice said, “I’m sorry. I guess that was a bad idea after all.”

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t want to upset your mum,” Alex said, although her eyes were dancing with something. Maybe adrenaline.

Jacob stepped outside with her, leaving the door on the latch.

“I’ll try talking to her again when Dad’s not here.”

“Could you meet tomorrow? There are a few things I’d still really like to talk through.”

They arranged to meet the next morning at the hospital café. Alex left without turning back and Jacob’s shoulders sagged as he sloped into his parents’ hallway.

“We’re having casserole for supper, I hope that’s okay.” Sue clattered the oven door open with her lemon-colored oven mitts and bent down to extract the pot.

“Mum, I’m sorry.” Jacob hovered awkwardly in the doorway.

“Could you get the pickled red cabbage out, please? It’s in the narrow cupboard with the pull-out bit.”

“I know I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

Sue closed the oven door gently with her slippered foot and placed the casserole on the hob.

“Oh, Jacob,” she exclaimed, putting her right hand on her forehead. “I didn’t put the broccoli on to boil.”

“It’s fine without, Mum, don’t worry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sue snapped, reopening the oven door and pushing the pot back into its empty belly.

She filled an orange Le Creuset saucepan with water, which gushed a little too energetically from the tap and splashed her pale blue jumper.

“Oh for—!” she exclaimed, and stood for a moment as if she were surveying a scene of utter chaos.

Jacob stood back nervously as Sue took a deep breath and closed her eyes for just a moment.

“Jacob, can you please put this broccoli on to boil and can you
please
get the pickled red cabbage out? I need to change my top.”

“Sure,” Jacob said, and watched his mother walk briskly from the room, stealing a glance at the teapot as she went.

Jacob excused himself after a silent dinner and went up to his small bedroom. There was nothing to do but he couldn’t stand to be around his mother, who seemed to be as hurt as she was anxious. His father, as ever, remained icily reserved.

The sounds of the kitchen bubbled up as they always had.

“I’m concerned about what happened today, Sue,” said his father’s low, steady voice.

“He shouldn’t have brought her here but you know he doesn’t mean any harm, Graham.”

“I just don’t really understand why you would take it upon yourself to go and visit that girl.”

Sue was either silent or speaking too quietly for the sound to rise.

“Why would you deliberately insert yourself
and Tom
into this situation? Years after everyone has moved on?”

“You know Tom, he worries about everyone.”

“And why are you indulging him?”

“Tom and I were just showing a little human kindness, that’s all. Is that a crime?”

Jacob could precisely picture the expression that would have spread across his father’s face. One of restrained contempt.

“
That’s
not a crime, no. But a crime was committed once and have you forgotten the police coming to call?”

“Oh now you’re being ridiculous, Graham,” sighed Sue. “You wouldn’t understand, you never have. You don’t know anything about those boys.”

“Oh that old chestnut. I’m not in the mood for this, I’m going to find something on the box.”

“Of course you are.”

Jacob heard his father flick on the TV in the other room, the flipping channels creating a montage of nonsense that seeped up through the floorboards.

He heard his mother’s phone ring and the telltale scrape of the patio door, his mum slipping out to smoke one of the Silk Cuts he had always known were in the teapot.

A
lex came to see me yesterday and it was nice again this time. She brought music with her and I thought,
God, I can’t believe no one’s done this before
. It was like coming home. “Buddy Holly” by Weezer, tons of Pulp and Blur, Iggy Pop, the Stone Roses, Smashing Pumpkins, REM. All my favorites plus a couple of bands I’m not too keen on, like Soundgarden and Nine Inch Nails. Although I do like “Hurt
,
” ’cos who doesn’t?

But even hearing songs I’m not bothered about was blissful. To just feel drums in my chest and guitars down my back and to know every single word like a friend, it was the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a long time. I wonder if my mum sent Alex. I wonder if Alex can tell me where Mum is. I wish I could ask, but the words just get stuck in my throat.

After Alex left, I could still hear the music. I felt this weird and welcome mix of calm and excitement. And I felt a bit more like myself, and a bit more ready to “find” the rest of myself. If that doesn’t sound too stuck-up.

It’s hard to describe how I feel at the moment. I guess it’s like being stuck really far down a well. Being able to see a bit of sunlight out of the top, but being too far from it to be heard. I feel warm, cocooned but separated. Maybe this is what it feels like to be a baby in the womb, not that anyone could remember to confirm that or not. I had felt safe too, but something has dented that recently and I can’t put my finger on what it is. So maybe I’m just getting a bit farther up the well and closer to sunlight? I don’t know if that’s wishful thinking or not.

Hearing my music earlier helped pull me up. But one particular song keeps coming back to me over and over again and it’s adding to this unsettled feeling. “Do You Remember the First Time?” by Pulp. I love that song, y’know, it gets me every time. It’s so persuasive and witty and cheeky. But I don’t know if it’s because of this bloody dream I keep having, literally about my first time, or because of this general anxiety, but the more I try to shake the ear worm, the more uncomfortable I feel.

I have that “dark alley” feeling, like when you know something’s behind you, or it’s a quiet bit of a horror film and you can tell something bad’s about to happen. But obviously nothing has happened and nothing’s going to happen. I just can’t get rid of it.

I know that they’ll be around to give me my medicine soon, and then sleep will put a line through it. I just hope bad dreams aren’t waiting on the other side of that line.