Читать книгу S is for Stranger: the gripping psychological thriller you don’t want to miss! - Louise Stone - Страница 13

I woke up with a start: drenched in sweat, my fingers kneading the bed sheets. I had seen Amy in my dream. She was five years old again and playing outside with her favourite teddy bear. She had invited me to a tea party. We were to have the sandwiches we had prepared earlier, lemonade and jam tarts for pudding. I was told to arrive at a certain time and to wear a hat. Amy solemnly sat me down at the child-sized table, my legs bunched up in front of me, poured the lemonade and we talked about the weather.

Daylight shone through the slit in the top of the curtain and my eyes flitted around the room. The reality of my situation hit me hard: it knocked the breath from my lungs. Silent tears gushed onto the pillow. I wanted to dream again: of Amy, of the tea party, her smile.

I stared up at the ceiling, too afraid to close my eyes should I not be able to picture Amy again.

‘Sophie?’ Oliver whispered in the dark.

‘Oliver?’ I rolled over. ‘Did you get my note? I’m sorry. I went straight to bed. I was too tired to eat.’

I heard the door creak as it was pushed open further.

‘I could hear you crying.’ The bed sagged as he lay down next to me.

I put my hand up to my wet cheek. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s almost 8 am. You clearly needed the rest.’

‘I didn’t fall asleep until four or so this morning. I was just thinking about Amy,’ I said. ‘And Paul, and his lies.’ He laced his fingers through mine. ‘Oli, I’m scared.’

‘I know.’

‘I appreciate you being here but maybe it’s best you leave.’ I sat up, my mind thinking back to DI Ward questioning Oliver’s sudden reappearance and let go of his hand. ‘This,’ I gestured to us, ‘it’s the wrong time. I mean I don’t even know why you came looking for me. It feels amazing to suddenly have you back in my life, but I’m too consumed by all this.’

‘That’s why you need me here.’ He hesitated. ‘As long as you don’t hold anything back from me.’

‘Why did you come back?’ I ignored his question, turned on the bedside lamp and noticed that he too hadn’t slept.

‘Because I’ve always loved you and I’ve never stopped thinking about what we could have had.’ He hesitated. ‘You know, if Paul hadn’t come into your life.’

Oliver had told me his divorce papers had been finalised and he wanted to rewrite history; he had never got over me. I knew he had been insanely jealous of Paul and, before she died, Bethany too.

He frowned. ‘I found part of a photo on the floor, by the sink. You burnt it in the sink, didn’t you? I saw the lighter on the side. Was it Bethany?’

‘Yes.’

He placed his hands on his thighs.

‘Sophie, whatever you do, don’t keep anything from me, OK? I won’t be able to help you if you do.’ He paused. ‘Was there a photo of her in that envelope that was delivered tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sophie …’ He stopped short, clearly clamouring for an explanation. ‘Damn. I shouldn’t have let you open it alone.’ He let out a long breath. ‘You never told me what happened, after Bethany committed suicide. I remember it all being so sudden.’ He looked at me, searching. ‘You two had started to avoid the rest of us then, next thing we knew, Bethany was dead.’ He flinched. ‘I remember it painfully well because you had been out, partying with Paul. None of us knew where he came from either.’ He dropped his head. ‘And that was it, the end of us.’

I swallowed hard. ‘I was young and stupid.’

‘I’ve never pushed you on it before now and, I don’t know for sure, but I think you’re holding back on me. What did you and Bethany used to get up to?’

‘Not much,’ I lied.

‘Sophie, I don’t think you’re being honest with me. Please.’

‘We just went out, you know, to parties.’

‘Were you at one of these parties that the rest of us were never invited to the night she killed herself?’

‘She was murdered.’ I clenched my jaw.

‘So you keep saying, but she killed herself, Sophie. Do you really believe that after all these years?’ His voice broke. ‘You admitted yourself to the Priory. I visited you every Sunday, do you remember that?’ He looked up, his eyes swimming. ‘You often went out with Paul, when you were feeling strong, but we didn’t go out. You didn’t want to leave the Priory with me.’ He patted the duvet. ‘Paul clearly always had something I didn’t.’

The memories were too painful, too raw. ‘He just seemed to understand.’

‘And I didn’t?’

‘You were like the rest of them. Telling me it was the trauma. That I had imagined it.’

‘And Paul?’

‘He seemed in control and I needed that, he just seemed to get it.’

‘So he agreed with you, about Bethany?’

‘No,’ I shook my head, my voice quiet, ‘the opposite. He was more sure than anyone that Bethany had committed suicide, but the way he told me …’ I searched for the words. ‘It’s hard to explain but I felt safe.’ I smiled through my tears. ‘Which is ironic.’

‘When I visited you, we never spoke. We would just sit there and hold hands.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘God, woman.’ He choked back a sob. ‘I wish you would talk to me. It’s like there’s a wall between us.’

I stifled a moan with my hand.

‘I’m sorry.’ He stood. ‘You’re probably right, you don’t really need me. You never have.’

I knew he didn’t mean this but I couldn’t face it now. The problem was Oliver was sweet and caring, but he was as easily swayed by institution as the rest of them. The doctors in the Priory, all those years ago, had called me delusional; I was suffering from anxiety attacks and carrying guilt over my friend killing herself. I tried to tell Doctor Hurst, my consultant, but he too refused to listen and chose to side with his colleagues. He said that, if I had woken up in my own bed, it was highly unlikely, if not impossible, that I was there when Bethany died and as the police had confirmed suicide, that’s all there was to it.

I was about to get up when the doorbell rang.

‘Who on earth?’ I shot up in bed, my stomach roiling with nerves. My first thought was that they had found Amy. I threw back the cover, quickly realising that they would have rung me. If there was an officer at the door, it could only mean that the news was bad. Even, fatal. Blood rushed in my ears.

‘Wait here,’ Oliver shouted from the stairs. ‘It’s safer if I go.’

The floorboards creaked as he made his way back down the remaining stairs. It was barely a minute before Oliver returned.

I braced myself, daring not breathe as I watched his face crumple. He couldn’t bring himself to speak.

‘Oh god, she’s dead, isn’t she?’

‘No. No news.’ Oliver sat down quickly and took me in his arms. ‘Fiona is downstairs. She needs you to come to the station with her.’

I swung my legs off the bed and put on the same jeans and sweater as yesterday. They sat in a heap on the floor where I’d left them. I turned to him at the door. ‘I’m …’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m …’ I rapped the doorjamb. ‘Never mind.’

I left, not sure of why Oliver was back in my life. He must have known that history couldn’t be rewritten.