I’d laughed then. ‘This party’s even worse.’
He watched the dancers throwing themselves around the floor and cocked an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling mischievously when ‘Jump Around’ by House of Pain came on. ‘It is. But they look like they’re having fun. Come on.’ He got to his feet and pulled me up, my beer sloshing over my chipped mug. ‘Give me that,’ he said, takingit from me and shoving it on the mantelpiece next to a plant with cigarette butts covering the soil. I was mortified. I wasn’t a dancer and I didn’t even know this man. But he didn’t give me much choice as he started throwing me around and performing outrageous moves, trying to make me laugh. And because he was sexy and handsome, I allowed myself to go along with it, before long even beginning to enjoy it. When the song had finished we flopped into a faded old armchair, breathless.
And that was when we started talking, and when we found we couldn’t stop. I could have listened to him for ever, the soft Irish lilt in his voice, the way he talked about his brothers and sisters and parents. He told me he was a teacher and that he loved kids. And, as I sat practically on his lap, enraptured by this funny, gorgeous, off-the-wall man in the hideous 1970s shirt, I realized I needed to see him again. His optimism and love for his family were infectious. Even then, I was desperate to be part of it, and it wasn’t long before I was. His family welcomed me with open arms and the same wry sense of humour as Rory. I loved them almost as much as I loved him.
As time passed, I fell deeper in love with him, this man who was so straight. So good. All my other partners had played games, had agendas, but not Rory. He was honest about his feelings right from the beginning, and he listened to how I felt. He’d never pressured me into anything. We talked about the future, of course, in the abstract way you do when you don’t really believe you’ll become thirty, then thirty-one in the blink of an eye, and have to make grown-up decisions, like whether to get married and have children.
But now, for the first time since we’ve been together, I feel the pressure.
If I don’t commit to Rory he’ll leave me, find someone else to marry and have his babies.
I walk to work, despondent but fearless. In the cold light of day I have more courage: I’m ready to tackle anyone who might pose a threat.Back off. Nobody tells me what to do, I think, as my feet pound the pavement. Someone is playing mind games with me and I’m not having it. I refuse to be intimidated. I’m a strong, independent woman. I don’t need this kind of shit in my life.
It starts to rain and I put my umbrella up, the damp seeping through my sheer purple spotty tights. I’m walking by the river when my mobile buzzes in my coat pocket. I stop to answer it, expecting it to be Ted, asking me to take a detour to interview someone on my way in. I’m surprised when I find it’s Margot. She must want to talk to me about what went down with Adam last night.
Her voice sounds strained, like she’s been crying. ‘Sorry to bother you, Jess. I just … I needed to talk to someone. It’s too early to visit Heather yet.’
‘Are you okay? How did it go with Adam last night? Did you tell him about the note?’
‘Yes. That’s all fine. He was buying a puppy from Clive. It’s not that, Jess. It’s … The police called. This is off the record until you hear from them yourself but …’ she gulps ‘… they think they’ve found Flora’s body.’
I gasp and lean over the railings, the river rushing past me. I need a cigarette so badly that my hand trembles in anticipation. ‘What?’ I manage. ‘Where?’
‘They wouldn’t say too much. I need to go to the police station. I need to …’ Her voice is shaky.
‘When? Would you like me to come with you?’
‘They’ve told me to go later. This afternoon. No, it’s okay, Jess. Thank you, though. I’ll … I’ll be in touch. I’ve got to dash now.’
I open my mouth to respond but the phone goes dead.
I drop it into my coat pocket and stand there for a few seconds, gazing out across the river. A seagull swoops down next to me and starts picking apart the remains of a sausage roll near my feet.
I can’t believe Flora’s body’s been found. After all these years.
Balancing the umbrella in the crook of my arm, I fumble in my bag for my cigarettes and light one, using my hand to shield the flame from the wind. I close my eyes as I take a few drags, instantly feeling calmer.
I always believed Flora was dead. Especially when her bloodstained blouse turned up in the undergrowth nearby. But her body having been found after all these years still comes as a shock.
I’d never told the police or Heather about the part I played in Flora’s disappearance.
I’d been a teenager, young and silly and terrified. I thought, if I told the truth, I’d get into trouble. So I kept quiet. And, obviously, at the time I didn’t realize that the event I’d previously perceived as so small and unimportant would become so significant, until it was clear that Flora wasn’t coming home.
So I did to Heather exactly what I’m doing to Rory now. I pushed her away.
My cheeks feel wet. I’m crying. I hardly ever cry. I hate it. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. I’ve always felt it serves no purpose. In my view, it’s better to try to get on with things. I brush away the tears angrily. Get a grip, woman, I tell myself. This isn’t about you. It’s about Flora. Beautiful, exotic Flora.
Would I have been able to save her if I’d known?
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she’d whispered to me, her long hair brushing my face as her mouth pressed against my ear. She’d smelt of White Musk from the Body Shop and fruity lip gloss. I think she knew I looked up to her, and that I’d do anything she asked. ‘Particularly Heather,’ she’d added.Particularly Heather.
I’d agreed, of course. She’d had a rucksack on her shoulders, one of those school ones in yellow hessian that you could write on. She’d drawn a heart with the initials DB 4 FP inside it with flouncy letters. They were going on a day trip, she’d said. Her and Dylan. She’d be back before dark, as always. ‘But cover for me,’ she’d said. ‘I don’t want anyone to know that we won’t be in Tilby. If anyone asks, I’m at the fair. Okay? Promise?’
I’d promised.
I never knew what she did that day. Because I never saw her again.
But she’d been spotted at nine o’clock that evening walking along the high street. The driver who saw her said she was alone. And then nothing. No other sightings of her. It was as if she’d walked into a black hole or an alternative universe. She simply … vanished.
