‘I’ve spoken to her anyway. She’s fine with you being here, as long as you want to be.’
Sophie stopped chewing, grabbed up her wine, took a huge gulp and swallowed hard. It had meat in it. She’d just swallowed part of a pig. Shit. What did she do? She felt sweat prickle her forehead. She couldn’t not eat it, not after all his careful preparation.
Reaching for her glass, she took another drink, feeling definitely nauseous as she did.
‘All right, Sophie?’ Paul eyed her curiously over his glass.
‘Yes,’ Sophie said quickly, looking down at her plate, and then, seeing the small chunks of ham there, feeling dangerously close to actually being sick. ‘I, um… ’Scuse me,’ she said, scraping her chair back. ‘I feel a bit…’
Getting to her feet, Sophie turned for the bathroom, and found herself groping for the walls as the room shifted worryingly off-kilter.
‘Sophie?’ Paul was behind her, sounding alarmed.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, her head reeling, her stomach churning. ‘I’m not feeling very well. I…’ Trailing off, she stumbled forwards, and the walls tilted. Attempting to stay upright, the room now revolving steadily, like a merry-go-round on slow spin, Sophie tried another step, but her limbs felt heavy, sluggish.
‘Sophie!’ Paul caught her as her legs gave way like butter beneath her.
‘I thought you were coming down with something.’ Her eyes shut tight, Sophie heard him as he swept her up into his arms and carried her towards the bedroom. ‘You probably have a vitamin deficiency. You really should be eating meat, you know.’
Thirty-Six
JUSTIN
A whole week he’d been searching. Seven dark, grey days and cold nights. Tonight, it was raining. Icy, slashing rain, which seemed to be seeping into his bones.
Debating whether to ring Alicia again, Justin decided against. He had no news, and with each passing day, that was definitely bad news. Alicia had promised to ring him the minute she heard anything from Taylor, which might be never. The police had had no sightings of Sophie, though that didn’t surprise Justin. She was obviously going to stay a low-priority case. Bitterness, like corrosive acid, rose painfully in his chest.
Alicia was out there too, handing out leaflets, visiting the various places they’d discussed, talking to kids at the school. Endlessly searching faces in the street. Justin had no doubt she would be doing that. He wished he could talk to her properly, communicate on anything but the most basic level. The fact was, though, he simply couldn’t talk about anything that touched on who they were before. Who he’d thought they were. Couldn’t bear to allow his mind to think about the future they didn’t have. He needed to stay focussed on finding Sophie. It was the only way he knew how to get through each day.
Concentrating his efforts, Justin walked on through the city streets, counting paving stones as he went, which at least occupied his mind if it did nothing to help calm him. Sleep might help, but that only ever came now to haunt him. Reaching the area he’d been heading for, where young and old slept rough in the city centre, Justin pulled out his photo of Sophie, showing it to a few people, getting no information. Then stopped, his chest constricting as he noticed a young girl around Sophie’s age.
She was a drug user. Justin noted the paraphernalia around her but didn’t judge her. One week observing the people here had altered his thinking. These kids were hooked. And once they were, it seemed there was rarely any going back. No going forward either, becoming the people they could be. They were stuck – slaves to their addiction. It was a lesson well learned in regard to the drug users who came into accident and emergency.
Seemingly oblivious to him as he walked towards her, the girl concentrated on her endeavours. Her head shot up as he stopped directly in front of her, her expression one of alarm.
‘Sorry,’ Justin said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘Are you after my stuff?’ she asked, a panicky look in her eyes.
‘No,’ he assured her. ‘I’m looking for my daughter. I wondered whether—’
‘Haven’t seen her,’ she said immediately.
Justin sighed and massaged his forehead. ‘I haven’t shown you her photo yet.’
She shrugged and continued with her task, drawing her brew up into a syringe and flicking the needle. A long-term user then, Justin surmised, a knot of anger tightening his stomach. No matter how much he counted, he couldn’t seem to reach a point where his emotions weren’t pivoting between fury, fatigue, fear and despair.
‘Do you mind if I sit?’ he asked her.
She looked up again, seeming to measure him. ‘Not if you don’t,’ she said chirpily.
She was pretty. Unusual coloured eyes, somewhere between hazel and green – pupils constricted, meaning she was possibly a heroin user. Lowering himself down beside her, Justin felt his heart constrict. Seeing the eyebrow stud, in the same place as Sophie’s, he looked away, trying hard not to see his daughter sitting in the same place as this young girl. If she was still alive. He clamped down hard on that thought.
‘Is she missing?’ she asked him. ‘Your daughter?’
Justin nodded wearily and dragged a hand over his neck.
‘So why did she split?’
‘We had some problems. Her mother and me. We argued. Things were said. Things that Sophie overheard. Things she shouldn’t have.’ Justin paused, his gut aching, tears too damn close, he realised, gulping back a lump in his throat. ‘Do you ever wish you could turn the clock back?’ he asked her.
‘Every day,’ she assured him, with a wry smile.
‘I should go,’ Justin said, attempting to compose himself.
‘Do you have that photo?’ she asked, as he got to his feet.
Relieved she was prepared to at least look at it, Justin pulled it from his inside pocket and handed it to her.
She scanned it, then looked back at him. ‘I think I might have seen her,’ she said, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘About a week ago, hanging around New Street Station. I remember thinking she shouldn’t be. She didn’t get on a train though.’
‘Oh?’ Justin said, his heart rate spiking.
‘She left with some bloke, eventually.’
Fuck. Justin swallowed hard. ‘Can you remember what he looked like?’ he asked, hoping against hope that she might.
‘Not really. An older bloke, quite tall, dark. They left eating chips together, so I figured she must know him.’
‘Do you remember what clothes he was wearing?’ Justin tried to keep the desperation from his voice.
She shook her head. ‘Jeans and trainers. I can’t remember what jacket. They were clean though. He’d didn’t look like a deadbeat.’
Tall, dark; wearing jeans and trainers. Justin sighed inwardly. She could be describing half the male population.
Thirty-Seven
SOPHIE
Sophie awoke with absolutely no recollection of where she was. Panic slicing through her, she pulled herself to sitting position, squinted hard against the thin, wintry sunlight filtering through the blinds and then glanced hurriedly around. Paul’s. Closing her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was at Paul’s apartment, in his guest room, though how she’d got here from the lounge, she hadn’t the slightest clue. No, not the lounge, the dining table. Sifting through her dysfunctional memory, she eased her legs over the edge of the bed and felt immediately woozy. A dull throb, like a band slowly tightening, pounded at the base of her skull. She massaged her neck, trying to recall anything beyond taking her seat at the table, but the images were grey and wispy.
Shit! He must have put her to bed. She certainly didn’t remember getting into it herself. Glancing quickly down at her attire, she emitted a huge sigh of relief, and then jumped to her feet as there was a tap on the door, only to end up plopping heavily back down again. ‘Yes,’ she called croakily. God, her throat felt like sandpaper. What the hell was the matter with her?