CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When my mobile rang just before eight the next morning, I ran to get it because I was sure it must be Xander.
It was telepathy. He probably knew I’d been thinking about him non-stop since the previous night.
I’d finally admitted to myself that I was falling head over heels for this man and that I was utterly helpless to stop myself. Not that I’d ever want to stop these powerful emotions that kept rushing at me at odd moments and filling me with a feeling of delirious happiness.
The fact was, I’d never felt so happy in my life. And I’d never felt as certain as I was now that this was a relationship that could last...
With Loathsome Les, the feelings hadn’t been anywhere near as strong. Time spent with Xander felt so different to that.
It felt like he truly could be The One.
It was actually Lyndsay’s name that had flashed up on my phone, not Xander’s. But that was almost as good because I was suddenly bursting to tell someone how I was feeling – and Lyndsay was the perfect friend to talk to because she actually knew Xander!
‘Hi! How’s things?’ I asked, breathless from my race to the phone. ‘How was your date night with Jon?’
‘Good.’ There was an odd silence. Then all in a rush, she said, ‘Oh, Anika, I had to phone you.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’ I asked in alarm, having picked up the dread in her voice. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m on the bus on my way into work.’
‘Right. I thought I could hear chatter in the background.’
‘Yes, well, anyway, so I’ve just picked up a copy of The Oracle .
You know, the free local newspaper. And.
.. well, there’s a photo on the front page.
.. and I just can’t believe it. I actually don’t believe it, which is why you have to get your hands on a copy, Anika, and have a look for yourself and you can tell me I’m wrong.
Because the thing is, I must be wrong.. . I really must...’
Her voice was dying away. The signal must be bad.
‘What do you mean, a photo?’ I called in a panic. ‘A photo of what?’
‘Well, that’s just it...’ I heard her very faintly for a few seconds more, as if she was moving further and further away from me.
And then the phone went dead.
*****
Alarmed, I pulled on joggers and a T-shirt, brushed my teeth and wrestled my feet into my trainers without bothering to untie the laces. Then I rushed out to catch the bus into Sunnybrook. If it was bang on time, it would arrive in just a couple of minutes.
I didn’t have to be at work until twelve so I had plenty of time. And I’d drive Dad’s car in if I had to. But I just had to see the photo that Lyndsay seemed to be so worried about.
I’d tried calling her back but it had gone straight to answerphone, so I’d left her a message asking her to call me.
The bus was actually a minute early today – Sod’s Law, I supposed – and I had to run like the wind to catch it. Breathlessly, I asked the driver about the free paper the buses usually carried first thing in the morning, but he said he didn’t have any on board yet. (More evidence of Sod’s Law.)
As we travelled the mile or so into Sunnybrook, I thought about how shocked Lyndsay had sounded on the phone. It wasn’t like her to be overly dramatic about things. In fact, she was one of the most level-headed, logical – I might even say, cynical – people I knew.
That photo must have really spooked Lyndsay for her to call me immediately in such a panic. My insides shifted uneasily. What on earth could it be?
I hopped off the bus in Sunnybrook and started trekking along to the railway station, about half a mile out of the village. I’d seen copies of the free local paper on a stand there sometimes – and sure enough, I spotted them as soon as I walked through the door to the ticket office.
My heart beating fast, I pulled a paper out from the rack and hurried over to a bench outside the station. Sitting down, I took a deep, calming breath and unfolded the newspaper to look at the front page.
Facing me was a story about the police investigation into the Sunnybrook jewellery robbery. ‘Police Seek Man in Jewellery Shop Raid’, screamed the headline in big bold letters.
But when I saw what Lyndsay had been talking about – the photo beneath the headline – I felt myself go cold with horror. I knew now why she’d been in such a panic about it.
It was a head and shoulders shot of a man, presumably taken by a security camera on the high street. It wasn’t the clearest photo – in fact, it was decidedly grainy – and the man was turned away from the camera, visible only in profile.
It looked like Xander. Exactly like Xander.
Lyndsay must have looked at it and immediately thought she recognised him. But it couldn’t be him. It simply couldn’t.
I stared at it, shaking my head, refusing to believe the evidence of my own eyes. Xander would never get involved in something like this!
How could Lyndsay have believed even for one second that it was Xander in the photo?
It was eerie how much it looked like him. If I hadn’t got to know Xander really well and I saw this photo, I’d probably have looked at it and thought it was him as well. It was probably just the angle of the photo that made the resemblance seem so uncanny.
Then, as I looked more closely, a cold hand gripped my heart.
I could see that there was a small tattoo on the side of the man’s neck – the side that was turned towards the camera.
A feeling of light-headedness took over and I thought I might faint.
It was a tattoo of a flower.
An iris . . .