I settle down at one of the desks, not too close to the window, although the chances of Richard being out looking for me at this time of night are remote, and turn on the computer. There are things I need to know and thinking about Lisa’s life is preferable to thinking about my own.
I search Charlotte Nevill and Jon John Jonathan lover and an archived tabloid comes straight up from early 2004. There’s no picture of Lisa, but one of Jon, Jon Roper, sitting in a garden. He’s thin and he’s got an earring in, and he’s scowling at the camera, no doubt as instructed, under the headline, I fell in love with child murderer Charlotte and it nearly killed me … He looks so young and there are dark circles around his eyes and his skin is unhealthy. It’s a salacious piece, as I expected, but between the details of their life together, it feels like he’s crying out for some kind of absolution. A lot of what he says is about Crystal – that must be Ava – and how when she was born the reality of Charlotte’s crime hit him and he couldn’t forgive her, and now he’s lost his daughter too, all because he took up drinking too much to cope. According to the article, he’d moved back in with his mum to try and clean up his life and start afresh.
I know how you feel, I think. If only it was so easy in your forties. I read the article again, where he makes a big deal about their sex life and their drinking, and I wonder how much of it is true and how much he’s embellished to make himself sound better. It all sounds so tragic and sordid. I almost feel sorry for him but for the fact he’s taken Ava.
I flick through a few more results, but they’re mainly different versions of the same article, and there’s just a couple of other pictures. I can’t find a Facebook account for him so I presume the police have shut it down already or whatever it is they do in these situations. Or maybe Jon himself deactivated it when he took Ava.
I start my next search. Katie Batten. Charlotte’s best friend. ‘Katie Batten drowned Ibiza 2004’ takes me straight to the story. God bless Google in all but medical situations. My coffee is growing cold but I take a sip anyway.
The search has been called off for Katie Batten, a British woman missing in the Balearic party island of Ibiza. Ms Batten, twenty-six, was last seen going for a dawn swim on the beach near the bar where she’d been working since May. She had been travelling in Spain for most of the year after the death of her mother in 2002 in a car accident. Friends say she was coming to terms with her mother’s sudden loss, but still had bouts of grief and has been described as nervous and fragile. Her colleagues stated that she spent much of her time alone.
On the night of her death, she was seen going into the sea, and two witnesses, a young German couple on holiday, who had been watching the sun come up in the secluded spot say they tried to call her back as she was weaving, and they thought she might be drunk. Miss Batten responded that she was fine. The young couple watched her swim out, but when they looked towards the rocks a while later, there was no sign of her. Despite the best efforts of search teams, Katie Batten’s body has not been recovered. A verdict of accidental death by drowning is expected from the inquest.
There were a few other small news items but nothing with much more detail. Father had died of a heart attack several years earlier, after which Katie had cared for her mother who had struggled to cope with widowhood. Against another report of Katie’s drowning, there’s a picture, grainy, of a woman on the beach, long dark hair and sunglasses, tanned. Nondescript and taken from a distance. Was this the best they had?
Katie Batten’s body has not been recovered. I re-read the line, over and over. Did she ever wash up? Is this why Lisa is so convinced Katie took Ava? Does she really believe she’s not dead? Could it be her? But why? There’s no reason. Surely she wouldn’t want anything to do with Charlotte Nevill again even if she did find her? The newspapers have made it clear over the past few days that Charlotte’s guilt wasn’t in doubt. She was seen killing Daniel and she admitted it. Why would Katie want to come back into Charlotte’s life now?
I have another sip of my coffee. It’s Jon. Jon sent the messages from his Facebook. Jon is the one who’s vanished with Ava. The police know what they’re talking about. Trust them, not your crazy ex-best friend.
I close the computer down. Enough is enough. I’ve got my own problems. The police will find Jon and Ava. They will. I don’t want to think about the nature of the messages he was sending her. Even the bright lights of the hotel can’t dispel their darkness.
43
LISA
It’s the sudden stiffness in Alison’s spine that alerts me. She presses the mobile phone a little too close to her ear. It must be Bray and my head spins and darkness threatens the corners of my vision. God no. Please, not Ava. Please, not Ava. The fear is about to overwhelm me when Alison glances back over her shoulder to where I sit on the edge of my chair, gripping my mug of tea. She’s furtive, not sympathetic, a wariness in her expression. A wariness of me. My fear for Ava’s immediate safety is replaced by my own survival instinct kicking in. Something is wrong.
Alison gives me a tight half-smile and tries to look casual as she goes to her bedroom to continue the call. As the door clicks shut I dart from my chair and press my ear against the wood. For the first time since they moved me from our house to this awful flat, I’m happy about its cheap manufacture. The door is thin, and although I can’t make out every word – she’s speaking quietly – I catch some phrases … will do … I’ll be fine … No, she’s the same as she has been. I’ll lock the door … act normal until you get here.
Shit, shit, shit. My face burns as my hands cool. I’m all animal instinct now, and my instinct is telling me I have to get out of here at whatever cost. Something’s happened and they’re coming for me. What happens to Ava then? Will that be the game over? I can’t risk it, and I can’t risk being arrested. I am still Charlotte Nevill. They won’t see a victim.
There’s movement on the other side of the door and I am suddenly terrifyingly calm. I run to the kitchen and grab the kettle, the water inside sloshing heavy as I run back. The bedroom door is opening as I reach it, and Alison steps back a little, surprised to see me so close. Fear. I see fear.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. She barely has time to look confused before I swing the kettle around and hit her on the side of the head. The thump makes my stomach clench and she reels backwards, crumpling on to the carpet, dazed and hurt, a gasp of air whoomping from her chest. I don’t hesitate but snatch the mobile phone and run to the front door, grabbing my old handbag and the keys from the table in the hall.
‘Lisa, Lisa, don’t …’ Her voice is quiet, an effort.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. My shaking hands pull the front door open before double locking it from the outside, the key almost dropping from my fingers as I hear her banging against the other side. Too late, Alison, too late. She’s trapped inside with no phone. I still don’t have much time. Bray is on her way here, I know it.
I run. I don’t hear sirens as I jog towards the town. Good. That’s good.