Where the Memories Lie Read online

  And yet . . .

  I’d always wondered what had happened to Katie. When she first left, I’d felt so guilty. I hadn’t been there for her enough. Hadn’t been sympathetic enough. If she’d only just talked to me about things, we could’ve come up with something to make her feel happier. I didn’t have any clue she was intending to up and leave. I mean, I knew her home life wasn’t happy. Living with Rose and Jack drinking all the time couldn’t have been much fun. Katie had had to grow up quickly if she wanted to survive. She was the adult in that household, not her parents. She’d been carrying a tremendous load since she was a kid and I hadn’t understood just how bad things were until she left. Until I got older and became a proper adult myself. She hid things so well, you see.

  I chucked some ketchup, tinned tomatoes and baked beans in the trolley.

  Losing Chris must’ve been the last straw for her, though. She’d talked about them getting engaged, getting a house together. Chris was working for Tom as a builder and earning decent money, and she’d left school at sixteen and was working in a shop in Weymouth, so they could’ve afforded to rent somewhere as a starter home. And Tom would’ve helped Chris out, I was sure, since Tate Construction was doing really well. Better than well, actually. Tom was loaded, but he worked really hard for what he had. It was Katie’s dream for her and Chris to be a family. Sometimes when I saw her at Tom’s house for a Sunday BBQ or something, she’d be taking everything in, studying the whole family − Nadia, Chris, Ethan, Tom − with a look of . . . God, what was it? It was like a mixture of envy, satisfaction and happiness. She wanted a happy family, wanted to be a part of theirs, and she finally was. And who could blame her? I knew what it felt like, too, to be included in this big, close-knit family. Even though my childhood was great and my parents doted on me, I’d always longed for brothers and sisters. Being an only child was tough sometimes, and Katie’s life was a lot tougher than mine. She wanted the son of a rich developer, the security, the protection that she’d never had from her own family. But somehow her dream shattered. They were only eighteen but she wanted to get her own home and get married. Have kids. It was too much, too soon for Chris, and even though I believe he really did love her, he panicked.

  I chose a big bag of crisps and some honey-roasted peanuts Ethan liked, then scoured the bottles of wine. I needed a drink.

  I think Chris felt too pressured to settle down, and rightly so, I supposed. Eighteen was so young. He wasn’t ready. And instead of sticking around and waiting for him to be ready, enjoying just being together and being in love and having fun like I’d been doing with Ethan and Nadia had been doing with Lucas, Katie had pushed and pushed and gone on and on about settling down until Chris couldn’t take it anymore and had ended things.

  So, yes, I felt guilty that I hadn’t been there for my friend. Guilty that I’d thought about her less and less over the years as I got on with my life. Guilty that I hadn’t known what had happened to her or where she’d ended up. But I didn’t think Tom had buried her. Of course I didn’t. It was mad. Did I mention the letter?

  No, it wasn’t because I believed Tom at all that I went in search of Katie Quinn. It was so I could absolve myself. I had to find out that she was having a good life. A better life than the one she would’ve had if she’d stayed in the village and married Chris. I had to make sure she was happy.

  At least, that’s what I told myself.

  Chapter Nine

  How do you find someone who wants to stay hidden? I didn’t have a clue. I was a nurse and a mother – what did I know about finding a missing person?

  Google was becoming my new best friend. Or BFF, as Anna’s annoying TV programmes would say. When she went to bed that night I typed in Katie Quinn’s name and was met with an author website for a Katie Quinn who’d written a cookbook. There was a Twitter page for someone who looked about a hundred years old and definitely wasn’t her, along with a Facebook page, a photographer, a journalist, an actress and a doctor, all with the same name. I checked through them but none was my Katie Quinn.

  Poppy barked, making me jump, a few seconds before Ethan slid his key in the door. I closed the laptop, uncurled myself from the sofa in the lounge and went out into the hall to meet him. He looked exhausted, with his hair sticking up where he’d been running his hands through it, an unconscious habit of his when he was worried. He’d done it so much when Anna had scarlet fever I thought it would stay permanently spiky at the front.

  ‘How is he?’

  Poppy, sensing the mood, refrained from a full-on greeting and just sat there staring at Ethan, her tail thumping loudly on the stone floor.

  Ethan met my inquisitive look with a watery gaze. ‘He’s pretty weak, but surprisingly he was quite lucid. Told us all to stop fussing over him and get back home to our families.’ He set his briefcase down on the floor. ‘They’re just making him comfortable. It’s all they can do, really.’

  ‘Are you going to stay down here for a while or are you going back up to York tomorrow?’

  ‘If I stay here, Dad will only moan at me. And as sad as it’s going to be to lose him, he could still go on for months or even years yet.’

  I opened my mouth to tell him what Tom had told me earlier, but the words died on my tongue. With everything going on I had to make some more enquiries before I mentioned anything. If I even told him at all. I’d find Katie alive and well and there would be no need to say anything, anyway.

  ‘. . . back to York in the morning.’ Ethan’s voice pulled me from my drifting thoughts.

  I squeezed his arm. ‘OK. There’s leftover spaghetti if you want some.’

  ‘I actually had a bite with Chris and Nadia. We went to a pub on the way back.’ He followed me into the kitchen.

  ‘Tea, then?’ I filled the kettle.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m going to have a shower and go to bed.’ He sat at the island, shoulders slumped, tie askew. ‘Is there something going on with Lucas and Nadia?’

  I snapped my head around. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just Lucas was a bit odd.’

  ‘Odd how?’

  ‘Well, he was really quiet. You know how he’s usually so energetic − the life and soul of everything − but tonight he didn’t hardly say two words. Even Chris said more than Lucas for once.’

  ‘He’s probably just upset about Tom. It’s not like he’s going to be all lively after his father-in-law’s just had a heart attack, is he?’

  ‘No, I know. He was just . . . miles away, really, like he wasn’t even in the room. He kept fiddling with his phone.’

  I wondered if there had been a development with the woman he was having an affair with. Was Lucas preoccupied with deciding whether to leave Nadia or whether to end the affair? I hoped it was the latter, for Nadia’s sake.

  Ethan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. He’s just upset about Dad.’ He walked up the stairs.

  I made a chamomile tea, hoping it would help me sleep but it didn’t. As I spooned myself against Ethan’s warm body, Tom’s words echoed in my head.

  I had to do it. She wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was. It was an accident, you see. But I buried her.

  It didn’t make sense.

  I tried to think about what happened when Katie ran away, but the memories were twenty-five years old, lying deep under layers of others that made up my history. She’d left the letter, I remembered that bit, but what had it said? I don’t think I ever actually saw it. I remember . . . what? I turned on to my back and stared at the ceiling, willing my brain to trawl through my mind. A policeman had turned up on my doorstep one morning. It must’ve been a Sunday as I was having a lie-in because there was no college. I think I’d had a late night . . . I’d been to . . . Where had I been the night before? No, I can’t remember. Anyway, the policeman. Yes. He was the village bobby, back in the days when we still had a community policeman who actually
lived in the village and knew pretty much everyone and everything that went on. PC Cook – that was his name. He always had the reputation of being firm but very fair, although I’d never had anything to do with him until then. So, there PC Cook was on my doorstep on a Sunday morning saying Rose had called him and told him Katie had run away from home and left this letter. He asked if I knew where she’d gone, but she hadn’t said anything to me at all. I had no clue. No warning sign she was about to do that.

  No, that’s not strictly true. Looking at it with hindsight and the benefit of years of wisdom, maybe there were clues. I just didn’t recognise them at the time. I suppose after the event, we’re all experts, aren’t we? Shame it’s too late by then.

  It hit me then where I’d been the Saturday night before Katie left. There was a band playing at the Kings’ Arms, one we’d seen before and really liked. They were called something like the Jazz Iguanas, or Jazz Lizards, or something else peculiar. Anyway, I was going to go with Ethan, Chris, Nadia, Lucas and Tom. By then I hadn’t seen much of Katie for months since her break-up with Chris. Every time I’d asked her to go out, she made excuses. I finished college in Weymouth on that Friday afternoon and walked into town to the shop where Katie was working to ask if she wanted to come with us the following night. I thought it was probably too soon for her to want to see Chris again − even though it had been about seven months by then − but at least I would’ve tried to include her. I didn’t want her to feel left out just because she wasn’t part of the ‘Tate’ crowd anymore. She looked different that afternoon. She’d had her long blonde hair cut into a choppy jaw-length bob, and instead of her usual skimpy, figure-hugging, cleavage-enhancing clothes and stilettos, she was wearing leggings and a long baggy jumper and flat shoes. It was like she was trying to reinvent herself into something frumpy or old before her time. Even her makeup wasn’t the usual hard black lines around her eyes and vampire-red lipstick. It was toned down to a clear lip gloss and just a swiping of mascara.

  What had she said when I asked her to come out with us all? Something strange. Damn, what was it? Something like ‘Well, if he thinks I’m going to fuck him again, he can fuck off.’ She had an odd smile on her face, equal parts secretive, sly and spiteful. I vaguely remember laughing it off. If she’d met Chris since the break-up to have sex I didn’t really want to know about it. It wasn’t my business, and I wasn’t going to judge her for it. I knew how hard it was for her to let go of him. Maybe enticing Chris with sex was her last-ditch attempt to get him back, but it hadn’t worked.

  That was the last time I ever saw her. After PC Cook left me, I went to see Rose to try to find out what had happened, but Rose was drunk and angry. Jack was strangely quiet, sitting in his favourite armchair, already with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring into space while his wife ranted and raved about how ungrateful Katie had been and what a sad excuse for a daughter she was. I’d left then. They were a pair of hypocrites. They’d never given her a happy home life, and what with Chris breaking up with her, it had obviously been the last straw so she’d gone in search of something better. Something happier. What I do remember distinctly is silently wishing she found it.

  Over the next few days, there were whispers in the village. The rumour mill had started, of course, as it’s bound to in any village. The gossip was that she’d stolen something from Rose and Jack who had then chucked her out. Then it changed to she’d run away to London to work at King’s Cross as a prostitute. Then something about her aunt had collected her one day and taken her on holiday. She didn’t even have a bloody aunt!

  After that, I frequently went to see PC Cook to ask if he’d found anything else out but he always said no. Since Katie was eighteen and an adult, and had obviously left of her own free will, there was nothing really they could do. After finding out from Mr Google just how many people go missing each year, I’m not surprised it had gone no further.

  But now there was a big question mark in my head. Had she really left of her own free will?

  Chapter Ten

  It was 9.30 a.m. when I knocked on Rose’s door. She lived in one of the few remaining local authority-owned houses in the village. The same one they’d lived in all those years ago. Recently, the council had sold most of them off to private buyers in an attempt to boost their sagging budgets. You could spot the difference between the private ones and Rose’s a mile off. Her concrete path had suffered years of wear and neglect, broken in places with thick weeds protruding through and covered with moss. It was an obstacle course just to get up to the front door, whose navy blue paint was peeling in thick flakes onto the step. Ivy clung in a death grip on to the front of the house, trailing over the windows, even, and the guttering bowed in the middle. I didn’t fancy being around when that fell down. I bet there were tons of leaves and mud inside. Probably a few dead birds, too.

  A memory flooded in then. Just after we’d bought the barn from Tom and he was living with us, we had a dove nesting in our guttering outside Anna’s window. Anna had called it Mrs Lovey Dovey and was so excited to watch her tending an egg, spending hours with Tom in her room just staring at it. When the chick finally did arrive she’d called it Baby Davey Lovey Dovey, and Tom had gone out in the garden and dug fresh worms for Mrs Lovey Dovey every day, leaving them in the guttering for her, saying to Anna how hard it was to be a bird parent. Those aren’t the actions of a killer, are they? Someone who could murder and bury a young woman couldn’t possibly gather worms to feed a baby bird. They’d more likely kill animals, wouldn’t they? Isn’t that how serial killers start?

  A smell hit me as I knocked on Rose’s door. Urine. I hoped it was cat’s and not human’s. Rose wasn’t the first drunk I’d ever dealt with as a nurse, and I was sure she wouldn’t be the last. I knew whatever would greet me inside wouldn’t be pretty.

  I knocked again when I got no response.

  An elderly woman with grey curls walked past with a Jack Russell on a lead. ‘She’ll still be in bed, that one. Never gets up ’til the afternoon,’ she scoffed and walked off.

  As I waited I thought about the last time I’d stood here, calling for Katie. It was months after Chris had split up with her and she hadn’t been round to see me, which was weird. I mean, I knew she was devastated, but she practically lived at my house whenever she could. She never wanted to be at home. And yet, after Chris, she avoided me. I’d stood in the doorway asking Jack if she was in. It took a few seconds for his drunken eyes to turn into something lecherous and predatory, as if he was about to lunge forward and attack me. It had creeped me out. I fought the urge to run back down the path, screaming, or to throw up. Or both. I couldn’t wait to get away from there when he said she wasn’t in. After he closed the door and I was walking back up the path I felt that horrible sensation of someone watching me. I glanced back, expecting to see Jack leering out of the lounge window, but instead, the corner of the curtain in Katie’s room dropped suddenly.

  I shivered then, just thinking about Jack again, and was about to turn and go when a dark figure loomed behind the glass panel in the door and Rose appeared.

  ‘Hi.’ I smiled when she opened the door. ‘How are you?’

  She didn’t smile back. ‘There must’ve been a mix-up. I had the stitches out yesterday at the surgery,’ she said gruffly. ‘I don’t need a nurse’s visit.’

  ‘Oh, right. Good. I’m not here about that. I actually wanted to ask you something about Katie.’ I braced myself for an outburst of anger but she just stared at me impassively. ‘Can I come in for a minute?’

  She turned around and walked up a tight corridor with the original threadbare carpet that had been in fashion in the seventies but was now stained, garish. I left the door ajar slightly, just in case I needed to make a quick getaway, and followed her into the kitchen, which was also stuck in a seventies time warp, all avocado green Formica and mustard lino on the floor. Dirty cups and plates were piled up in an equally dirty sink st
ained with a thick layer of grime and limescale. The surfaces were covered with crumbs and food-encrusted utensils. A packet of butter was open, oozing its yellow creaminess down the front of a cupboard and onto the floor. Empty bottles of gin and vodka and whisky spilled out of a black rubbish bag in the corner of the room. The overpowering odour of urine and alcohol made the back of my throat close. I pictured Katie living in amongst all this and felt a stab of sadness.

  She unscrewed the top from a bottle of cheap supermarket brand whisky and poured out half a pint glass. She took a big gulp and narrowed her eyes at me over the rim. ‘Want a drink?’ As she set it back on the Formica worktop, some whisky sloshed onto the floor.

  ‘No, thanks. I wanted to ask if you’d ever heard from Katie.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ She took another gulp. Swished it round her mouth. Swallowed. Her gaze locked on mine. ‘Why?’

  ‘I was just . . . I was just thinking about her. You know, wondering what happened to her. Where she was. What she was up to. Don’t you ever think about it? The last time I asked you if you’d heard from her you got really angry with me for bringing it up, and I’m sorry, but I—’

  ‘That’s because Katie’s an ungrateful bitch.’ She slammed the glass down.

  I tried to suppress a gasp but I’m sure a little slipped out. No matter what Anna did, I would never call my daughter a bitch. And seeing things now, really seeing things for the first time, it was actually a miracle that Katie hadn’t left home before she was eighteen.

  ‘Fucking ungrateful from the minute she could talk. She was a nasty piece of work. A liar! She left me here to look after myself in my old age. I gave birth to her and she never gave a toss about us!’ Her voice rose with contempt.

  I wanted to mention that the state she was in was entirely her own doing, but I pushed the thought away. No one would ever persuade Rose she was in the wrong. That she was the selfish one. The despicable parent who didn’t even deserve to have a child. Not when there were so many people out there who desperately wanted them and couldn’t.