Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
The light hum of chatter fills the bar as I sit and wait for Alicia.
I’m twenty minutes early, and I anxiously scan the entrance every time someone makes their way in.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten dinner, so I order some fries.
And through the window I watch the bustle of Trafalgar Square below, people scurrying like ants to wherever they’re going.
Living lives that are nothing like mine.
Sitting here brings a sense of calm to me, though – London is my home – and I’m happy to lose myself in watching strangers while I wait.
By the time my food arrives, there’s still no sign of Alicia.
It’s four minutes past eight – too early for me to read anything into it – so I pick at my fries and think about Xander’s accusation that Alicia has been stalking him.
But I stand by my decision to ignore his lies and put my faith in Alicia, even though the truth is I barely know either of them.
‘Hi, Ria.’
I jolt up, surprised that it’s Declan walking over to my table instead of Alicia. ‘You came. But I thought—’
‘I nearly didn’t,’ he says, hovering by the table. ‘But I’m meeting mates tonight so I was coming to London anyway. And I feel kind of bad for not being more supportive. So, here I am.’ He shrugs.
‘You don’t owe me support,’ I say. ‘But thank you. Please sit. I’m assuming your mum doesn’t know you’re meeting me?’
Declan sits opposite me and places his phone on the table. ‘No. But she knows I’m in London. I don’t think she was listening properly when I told her. She’d just had another row with my dad. They’re always at it.’ He scans the bar. ‘So, is this person you’re meeting here yet?’
‘No. I don’t think punctuality is her thing.’ As I say this, a disconcerting flicker of doubt flashes into my head. Is Alicia ghosting me again?
‘Will she mind me being here?’ Declan asks. ‘I can always go.’
‘No, it’s fine. I want you to hear what she has to say.’ If Declan sees that Alicia believes me, maybe he will, too. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’ll get one in a sec. Are you sure she won’t mind? What if I come back in a bit – give you a chance to speak to her before? She might get a shock if she turns up and I’m sitting here. Doesn’t sound like this is just a friendly chat.’
I pull out my phone. ‘Honestly, it’s fine, Declan – I’ll message her to say I asked you to come. Don’t worry.’ I start to type. ‘I want you to stay.’ And with my words I realise how true this is.
Declan looks out of the window. ‘Nice view,’ he says. ‘Sorry, I know you can’t exactly enjoy it with . . . you know . . . everything.’
‘Let me get you a drink. I’ll keep an eye out for Alicia while I’m at the bar.’ I jump up before he can protest. ‘What would you like?’
‘Um, okay. A Coke, please.’
By the time I’ve got back with Declan’s drink, I have a sinking feeling that Alicia won’t turn up. I place the Coke down and check my phone, but the message I’ve sent Alicia hasn’t been delivered.
‘Is something wrong?’ Declan asks.
‘Think she must be on the Tube. Probably no signal.’ I put my phone down.
It’s only eight twenty; I need to give her a chance.
I lower my voice, even though the sound of numerous conversations and glasses clanging at the bar will drown out anything I’m saying.
‘The woman I’m meeting tonight is convinced the sketch I drew is of Kimmy, Xander’s ex-wife. ’
Declan’s eyes widen and he gives a whistle. ‘Really? Kimmy? I don’t know . . .’
‘Alicia’s one hundred per cent sure. And now it’s making me wonder if Xander knows something. Or worse.’
Declan’s eyes widen. ‘There kind of is something off about him. I’ve told Mum this before, but she won’t hear a word against him. Thinks the sun shines out of his . . . you know.’
‘I thought he was a decent man until . . .’ I trail off, unsure how much I should tell Declan. But he’s made it clear he’s no fan of Xander’s, so I make a split-second decision and tell him what happened last night.
Whatever Declan is thinking as he digests my words, he keeps it to himself until I’ve finished speaking, then he shakes his head. ‘That’s messed up. He plied you with alcohol. How much did you drink?’
‘Actually, not that much. I mean, my head was fuzzy, but I was okay.’
Declan frowns. ‘That’s weird. Do you think Xander drugged you?
’ His hand forms a fist, a gesture he’s probably not aware of.
‘If so, he is one sick bastard. Taking a photo of you in his bed so it would look like you slept with him.’ His lip curls as he shakes his head.
‘That’s beyond twisted. You can’t let him get away with this.
Men like him disgust me. This is exactly why I’m studying law – to make sure victims of people like Xander get justice. ’
‘I don’t think he drugged me. I think he just got lucky.
I haven’t touched alcohol since my attack.
I’ve been too worried how I’d react to it.
And he just kept pouring the wine. I had to make it look like I really was sorry.
Like I wanted to . . . bond with him, I guess.
I thought it was the way I could get him to open up. ’
Declan shakes his head again. ‘Look, are you sure he didn’t . . . do anything to you? You should go to the police.’
‘I don’t think he did. The whole encounter this morning didn’t have that vibe. I think he just wanted to silence me.’ I glance at the door: still no sign of Alicia. ‘You must have known Kimmy, before she left Xander?’
‘Yeah, I did. I mean, not that well. But she was nice. Always smiling. She gave me a lift to the station a few times when I was running late for lectures. Kimmy was kind. Everyone liked her. Even my dad. Who never seems to like anyone.’ He frowns.
‘Can I see your sketch again? You still have the photo of it, right? Mum said you’d posted it in the group. ’
I flick through my phone and show him the sketch.
He nods. ‘I really didn’t see it when you showed me the first time. I guess I wasn’t looking for it.’ He frowns, studying the photo again.
‘So do you think it’s her?’
His mouth twists. ‘It could be. She does have wavy hair like that.’ He rubs his chin. ‘But if you really did see her that night, where’s she been all this time? I thought she left Xander ages ago?’
‘Yes, a year ago. But Alicia hunted for her online, and we can’t find her anywhere, other than a private Instagram account. The only thing that makes sense is that Xander knows something. Maybe she came back? To get the rest of her things and . . . that’s when he killed her?’
Declan’s nose wrinkles. ‘Ria, sorry, but this all sounds a bit like a true-crime documentary, and—’
‘I know how it sounds. That’s why you need to hear it from Alicia.’
He glances at the door. ‘Where is she, though? Are you sure she’s coming? It’s nearly half past eight.’
I look around, willing her to appear. ‘She’ll be here.’ Yet I don’t know this. I don’t know her. And she’s done this to me before.
All my hope is extinguished when half an hour later there’s still no sign of Alicia. I don’t want to believe there’s any truth in what Xander said, but this doesn’t look good. I could have misjudged Alicia, and if I can do that, then it’s possible I’ve been wrong about other things, too.
Declan finishes his Coke and shifts in his seat, no doubt keen to be out of here. As much as he detests Silverleaf Heights, he’s a young man in his twenties, so I don’t blame him for not wanting to spend his evening dealing with this.
‘Listen, Ria,’ he says. ‘I—’
‘I know. You have to go.’
‘I just don’t think your friend will show up. Sorry.’ He checks his phone ‘And I need to get going to meet my friends.’
‘It’s fine – you go. I’ll just wait a bit longer. I’ve come all the way here, so . . .’
Declan stands and puts his phone in his pocket.
‘Thanks for the drink. Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but .
. . as much as I don’t like him, I just don’t think Xander would have killed his wife.
I can’t believe he’d be capable of that.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t help you if I can.
There’s definitely something going on in that place.
I’m just not convinced it’s . . . murder.
’ He briefly places his hand on my shoulder.
‘Let me know if anything happens and I’ll do what I can. ’
I thank him and watch as he walks away. Declan doesn’t believe me, and Alicia clearly had no intention of showing up. But none of this will stop me.
When I open my eyes, it’s still dark, so I know immediately this is one of my nocturnal awakenings. But I’ve missed the window where I might be able to fall back to sleep; too quickly my mind is alert, sleep far out of reach. I check the clock, and it’s 1 a.m.
Then I realise why I woke.
‘Ria,’ a voice whispers.
I bolt upright. And just as I decide I must have imagined it – that this time it actually is my mind conjuring things – it comes again. A whisper so faint it’s barely audible. ‘Ria.’
I climb out of bed and flick on the light, blinking when the stark yellow glow fills the room. I listen as I quietly slip into the hall, standing there, waiting to hear it again. But there’s nothing but ominous silence.
My heart pounds as I check every room, then make my way downstairs, turning on all the lights as I go. No one is in the house – I’m sure of that as I enter the kitchen.
Until I see the small pool of dark red blood near the bifold doors.
My scream echoes through the house and I clamp my hand to my mouth.
My eyes focus on the floor by the doors.
There’s a dark mound there. Fighting back nausea, I step closer, and realise it’s a dead blackbird, decapitated, its hollow eye sockets staring at me.