‘Home?You mean, back to the flat?’ he asks.
I was supposed to be moving out of the flat I shared with Daisy and moving in with Seth. But that’s obviously not happening any more. Well, not unless I can figure out what’s going on.
‘Yes, the flat, please.’
‘Let me quickly tell Fran,’ he says, glancing through the crowded church to locate his girlfriend.
‘Don’t leave me.’ I clutch his arm. ‘Text her.’
‘Okay.’ He nods.
Francesca Davies is one of my bridesmaids. I spot her sitting in one of the pews, deep in conversation with Daisy and my younger sister Elizabeth. Elizabeth sees me and rises to her feet. She says something to the others and they instantly look my way, brows creased. I can tell they’re about to come over.
I turn away, my heart pounding. ‘Quick, let’s go.’ I gather up the skirts of my dress and drape them over my arm.
Laurence takes my other arm and guides me up the aisle and through the entryway. I ignore all the concerned looks and questions, feeling bad that I’m being so rude to friends and family who are obviously worried about me. But I can’t face any of them. I’m profoundly grateful that Laurence hasn’t asked me anything, passed any judgement or tried to talk me into staying. He’s a true friend, just doing what I want and getting me out of here.
We finally exit the church through the stone arch, out into the warm afternoon. I had thought it would be Seth and me leaving this way, to cheers and showers of confetti. If I think about that image too much, I’ll cry. I squint in the lemon-bright sunlight, relieved to be out of the oppressive heat and gloom of the church. Swallows flitoverhead, calling to one another. A warm breeze rustles the leaves of the oaks and sycamores. It’s the perfect backdrop to a summer wedding. But right now the birdsong sounds discordant, and the whispering of the trees feels sinister, setting my teeth on edge.
‘Car park’s this way.’ Laurence leads me along the narrow path past mossy, age-spotted gravestones.
Despite my confusion and shock at what’s just happened, now that I’m out of the church and away from all the stares and whispers, I feel as though I can breathe again. I know it’s a temporary reprieve though. This thing, whatever it is, has to be resolved.
And above all else, I still need to find the real Seth.
I jump as my mobile pings in my bag. ‘Wait!’ I cry. ‘This could be him. It could be Seth, calling back.’
Laurence stops and waits while I fumble for my phone. I inhale sharply as I see that I’ve received one new voice message. My palms sweat as I press play and hold the phone to my ear, my heart thumping.
‘Alice, it’s me. I’m here in the church. I don’t understand why you don’t recognise me. Can we talk?’
‘Oh no,’ I cry. My mobile slips out of my hand and lands on the stony path.
‘What? What is it?’ Laurence asks, stooping to retrieve my mobile. ‘It’s cracked,’ he says, handing it back to me with a sympathetic look in his eyes.
I stare at my fractured phone, at the intricate cracks spiderwebbing across the screen. ‘It’s not him,’ I say, trying to stifle the fear that’s oozing from every pore of my body.
‘Who’s not him?’ Laurence comes closer and tilts my face up so he can see me.
I stare at my friend without really seeing him, trying and failing to make sense of what’s happening.
‘Alice?’ he prompts.
‘Sorry, yeah, I called Seth’s number, but it wasn’t him who replied. It was that man in there ... he has Seth’s phone. I don’t know what to do.’
Laurence stares at me in confusion as a growing terror squeezes its way through my veins. I feel as though I’m trapped in a nightmare, a horror movie, like my whole reality has been wrenched upside down. My hands are shaking and my vision blurs. This isn’t how today was supposed to go. This can’t be happening.
What has happened to Seth?
Whereishe?
Chapter Seven
THEN
I pull into the large gravel driveway of my parents’ five-bedroom home on the outskirts of Ringwood. My sister’s silver Peugeot 208 is already in the drive, so I brace myself for the full Porter family experience, although Elizabeth is a Porter-Charles now. She and Graham both hyphenated their names after they married last year.
Despite the grandeur of my parents’ current home, I didn’t have what you’d call an idyllic childhood. My parents struggled financially for years, and we moved from one rented apartment to another. I was never truly relaxed as a kid. I somehow felt like I was always in the spotlight – the poor kid, the odd kid, the one who was a bit different. I also felt pressure from my dad to do my best, to never disappoint, always worrying about doing the wrong thing. On the outside I was confident and feisty, but on the inside I was a crumbling bag of nerves. I suppose since then I’ve learned to fake it till I make it. But I still get the occasional flashback to that old insecure me. Especially when I come to this imposing house that’s never really felt like home.
