Outside the police station, I walk steadily at a medium pace, in case Reynolds is watching me from an upstairs window. My car is parked in a nearby multi-storey, but I continue walking past the entrance, the rhythm of feet hitting pavement soothing me. Cars zoom past me with hypnotic regularity, a backdrop to my racing thoughts.
How have I ended up here, lying to the police again? I remember the other detective, a kind man. I never knew exactly how much Maria’s mum Bridget had told him about me, but I don’t think he ever suspected any foul play. Esther’s testimony that Maria had been drinking was enough for him to conclude that a tragic accident was the most likely explanation. The rain that had begun to fall as we left the hall that night had continued all night, a relentless downpour that would have washed away any hope of physical evidence. Only Sophie, Sam, Matt and I knew exactly how tragic, and how far you would have to stretch the word accident, to make the official verdict anywhere close to accurate. At least, I think we were the only ones who knew.
Even though I have left the police station far behind, I still have the feeling that someone is watching me. I can feel the heat on my back, like the glare of the sun, ostensibly benign but with the potential to burn, to scald. I walk faster, hyper-alert, trying to look like someone in an ordinary hurry, perhaps with a train to catch, or late for an appointment. When I reach Norwich town centre, I duck behind a crowd of tourists and swerve into Marks & Spencer, its familiarity a soothing balm. How do they make all their shops smell the same? In the food hall, standing in front of the sandwich counter staring unseeingly at the tuna sweetcorn and chicken salad, I slowly become aware that someone is watching me. I try to keep my eyes on the sandwiches, but cannot stop the heat that rises to my cheeks. There’s a harassed woman with two small children whinging for treats to my right, and next to her a greying man in a tired suit looking miserably at the low-fat section. My eyes slide beyond him and land on Tim Weston. He smiles and gives a half-wave, coming around behind the businessman and the woman with the children.
‘Louise, hi. What are you doing here?’
‘Buying a sandwich?’ I give a breathless laugh, trying to conceal my discomfort. Has Tim been following me?
‘Right. You came all the way to Norwich for a sandwich? They do have Marks & Spencers in London you know.’ His tone is light but there’s an accusation behind his words.
I give in. ‘I’ve just been at the police station actually. Talking to them about Sophie Hannigan.’ There’s no point trying to avoid the subject.
‘Oh God, yes of course, I heard.’ His face falls. ‘It’s so awful. Do you… know any more about what happened to her?’
‘No, not really. They just wanted to talk to me, as someone that was there, you know. Someone that spoke to her at the reunion.’ Why am I trying to justify myself to him?
‘Right, right. It’s just such a horrific thing to have happened.’
We stand there awkwardly for a moment.
‘Which one are you getting?’ he asks eventually.
I look down at the sandwich in either hand, shove one of them blindly back into the fridge, and we walk to the tills together. We pay for our sandwiches in silence, and walk out of the shop together and along the pedestrianised street.
‘Which way are you going?’ he says.
‘Back to my car. It’s parked near the police station.’ I wave my hand in the general direction of Bethel Street.
‘I’ll walk with you, if that’s OK?’
It’s not OK, really. There’s so much that’s unspoken between us, not just on my side but on his too. I am uncomfortably conscious of how little I know him, and how I don’t want him to know too much about me. We stand on the pavement waiting to cross a one-way street. Unfamiliar with the roads, I am looking the wrong way and as I step out, a car rockets towards me. My brain is moving slower than the car and as I hover in the road, I feel Tim’s fingers close on the top of my arm and haul me back to safety.
‘Sorry,’ he says, seeing me rubbing my arm. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ I give a shaky laugh. ‘I think I’d be worse off if you hadn’t grabbed me.’
‘They’re nutters, some of the drivers round here. Think they’re at Brands Hatch.’
We cross carefully, and continue on our way in silence. I can’t help thinking of the figure at the top of the school drive.
‘So, you decided against going to the reunion then?’ I ask eventually. I see Tim in my mind’s eye, waving his arms and shouting, and then leaving with his arm around the small figure in black. Tim’s face closes down.
‘Yeah, I realised it would be a really bad idea. I’ve got my own life now. Best left well alone.’
Then what was he doing at the top of the drive? And who was he with?
‘All that Facebook stuff,’ he goes on. ‘People from the past contacting you… it’s so easy to get sucked in, but what does it all mean, really? You’re better off focussing on your actual life, the one you’re living. Our family was never the same, after what happened… to Maria.’
‘Mmm.’ I don’t trust myself to speak, certain my voice will betray me.
‘I felt like I’d be dragging it all up again for no reason, if I went. So you’ve… have you got no idea what happened to Sophie?’
‘No, none at all.’
‘I heard she brought some bloke to the reunion? Someone she hardly knew?’
‘Yes, she was with a man. I’m not sure how well she knew him.’ There’s something about his interest in the details that makes me reluctant to share more than I have to with Tim.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was gossiping, or making light of it,’ he says as we walk, having clearly picked up my signals. ‘I didn’t realise you and Sophie were still close.’
‘We’re not. I mean, we weren’t. I hadn’t really seen her since school.’
‘Oh, OK. It’s ironic, I didn’t go to the reunion because I didn’t want to drag up the past, and then this happens and I feel like the past has given me a big old slap in the face anyway.’
‘I know the feeling,’ I say. However this situation is resolved, I cannot see how I am ever going to feel any differently to the way I do now. I’ve spent a lifetime with this weight on my shoulders. It has shifted and turned, been heavier at certain times than at others, but it has never lifted completely and I can’t see how it ever will.
‘I know what Mum thinks,’ Tim says, ‘but I’ve never believed that Maria killed herself. She was stronger than that, you know? Even when she had all that trouble at her old school in London, I never thought for a moment that she’d give up.’
For a heart-stopping moment I think he means that he suspects someone else had a hand in her death, but he continues speaking. ‘I’m sure the police were right. She must have drunk more than she was used to, and got confused about where she was, or maybe she went to the cliffs to get away from everyone for some reason, to be alone. And then she must have stumbled or… I don’t know. I thought I’d been able to stop turning it over and over in my mind, but this thing with Sophie, it’s got it all churned up again.’
‘What did happen, in London?’ I’ve still never got to the bottom of this. Maybe it’s time I did.