Someone is Lying, page 14
‘Do you remember the time we went to Palma?’ Issie asks, apropos of nothing.
‘Yes, of course I remember it. Why?’
‘I don’t know. I think this place reminds me of it. They had those huge whirlpool baths in the bathroom, didn’t they?’ She smiles and I want to laugh out loud that I am seeing a flash of my daughter: the Issie of a year ago. The one I haven’t seen in such a long time. I want to cling on to this moment and not let it go.
But then her expression changes and her smile fades as quickly as it appeared, our happy memory replaced by a darker one. She frowns and looks away from me.
‘I never should have gone travelling,’ she says eventually. At this, tears well in her eyes again and she pushes herself back against the headboard so she is sitting against it.
This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to know there is something haunting her but not be able to do anything about it? ‘Please tell me something about what happened,’ I urge her. ‘Where were you? Were you in the place on your Instagram post? Serra de São Mamede?’
Issie nods.
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know, he drove us there.’
‘He had a car?’
She nods again. ‘He hired one.’
‘Why? To take you there?’
‘No. No I don’t think so. He said he had a surprise for my birthday.’
‘And do you think this was it? Taking you to this place?’
Issie doesn’t reply and so I say, ‘You didn’t answer any of your calls. You must have known I’d called you on your birthday, Iz.’
‘I couldn’t—’ She says it so quietly, so hoarsely, that I can barely hear her words.
‘You couldn’t?’ I prompt when she doesn’t finish.
She looks down at her hands before clasping them together and shoving them underneath her. She looks absolutely terrified, her face as white as a sheet, her eyes as hollowed as they had been when I saw her at the hospital. It is as if the flashes of her I have seen again have been taken away and replaced with a shell of my daughter.
‘Did he hurt you, Issie?’
‘Not like you think.’
‘Then how?’ I press.
‘Mum, I can’t do this,’ she sobs.
I blow out a breath, stare up at the ceiling. I thought I was getting so close. Beside me Issie pulls herself up and I can feel her stiffen. When I look over she is staring ahead of her, her eyes fixed on a point on the wall.
‘You were right about him,’ she says. ‘You always said he was in control and I didn’t believe you.’
I nod, too scared to speak for fear I will say the wrong thing and she will stop again.
‘Dylan wouldn’t let me speak to you,’ she says, her gaze still forward like she cannot look at me. She blinks, slowly, her eyes shut for a moment longer than I’d expect, like she is either holding the memories there, or trying to disassociate herself from them. I cannot tell which it is.
‘How did you get away?’ I say when she hasn’t spoken again.
‘Bus. I got a bus this morning.’
‘On your own?’
She nods, non-committal.
‘Does he know where you are?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So he isn’t in Lisbon, as far as you know?’
Issie shrugs. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘How did you get away from him?’ I ask as I reach out and hold her arm. She flinches and I know I have done the wrong thing as she swings her legs off the bed.
‘Issie?’
‘Can we not?’ she says. ‘I told you I didn’t want to.’
‘I know but—’ I go to say that I’m sure she was the one who had started talking about it, but the way she is looking at me, so desperate for me to stop, makes me hold my hands up in surrender instead. ‘Okay. Okay. Not tonight.’ I smile, getting up too and walking around the bed, stopping to hold her and kissing her lightly on the top of her head as I pass.
The conversation has been closed and so I put the kettle on again and tinker with things for the sake of doing something, refolding the clothes I had thrown over a chair and putting them back in the wardrobe. Every so often I glance over at her. She is a million miles away, staring at a point in the corner of the ceiling now. Her expression tortured, like she is trying to process whatever memories she has.
‘He can’t hurt you any more, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ I find myself saying. ‘You’re away from him. You’re safe. I can make sure you’re safe.’
I reach out and touch her and this time she doesn’t try to move away.
‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘I am anything but safe.’
I hurriedly get pizzas from a restaurant across the road so I am not away from her for long. We eat them on the bed, our conversation drifting back and forth over mostly safe ground. At ten past ten Issie falls asleep again.
I find myself playing her words over in my mind. I consider how she told me Dylan stopped her contacting me, how he didn’t hurt her as I think he did, how he controls her like I had always warned her. All of this runs over and over until it becomes too much to pick apart. In the end, I creep out of the room, closing the door behind me. I need to get away for a bit. I need some air to breathe and think. Just for one moment I don’t want to look at my daughter in pain and not know what to do to help her.
The street below is still busy. I won’t go far, but head to a bar opposite the hotel and sit at a table where I can see both our window and the front door leading to reception. If she leaves, I will see her. If anyone enters, I will see them.
I order a glass of wine and call Lois. She picks up quickly, her voice low. ‘Hey, how’s Issie?’ she asks.
‘Is it too late?’ I say. ‘Were you in bed?’
‘No. I’m going downstairs so I don’t wake the kids, but of course it isn’t too late. Tell me what’s happened.’
I relay what little I have gleaned from Issie, how she was almost trance-like when she relived the few memories she did and how scary it was hearing her tell me she was anything but safe.
‘I don’t know what he’s done but I’ve never seen fear like it,’ I say to Lois. Despite the heat I shudder, glancing up the cobbled street, expecting to see him in the shadows, lurking, watching us.
‘Shit, I should go,’ I mutter. I leave ten euros under my glass and rush back over the road to the hotel. I shouldn’t have left her alone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
10 July
Issie is still asleep in the bed beside me when the phone rings at eight the next morning. Surprisingly it is Inspector Melo calling and so I pick up immediately.
‘This is interesting,’ he says as I slide out of bed and creep into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
‘What is?’ I ask in a low voice.
‘I have another link to Dylan Whiting, but I do not know what this boy has done. Has your daughter told you anything more?’
I hesitate before telling him what Issie said last night because she hadn’t wanted to speak to Melo for whatever reason. I don’t like the thought I am going behind her back but, if he is prepared to help me, then he deserves my honesty.
I tell him Dylan had kept her against her will and wouldn’t let her contact me, and that she somehow left him and got a bus back to Lisbon yesterday morning. ‘But you said you had another link to him,’ I continue.
‘Yes. Dylan Whiting rented a car on the fourth of July,’ he tells me.
‘Oh yes, Issie mentioned that.’
‘Did she say what happened to it?’
‘No,’ I tell him.
‘Well he rented it for two nights and so it was due back on the sixth. But he has not returned it. There is no tracker on the car, but this place he got it from – it is a very, how do you say it – backstreet operation. I think the owner did not want to come to me. I think maybe this is why it took him so long to talk. The insurance will not pay if they do not report the car stolen.’
‘So Dylan’s stolen it.’
‘He has not returned it. Who knows what he has done with it.’
‘Can you track it down?’ I ask.
‘We will try. It seems your daughter was with him when they collected the car, or at least a young woman matching her description. I would like to talk to her. Could you bring her to the station, Mrs Adams?’
‘Yes, I can do that,’ I tell him, pleased for the excuse to go as it’s a reason to make Issie confront whatever Dylan did. ‘I don’t know what you will get out of her though,’ I add. I worry she will clam up in front of Melo, or refuse to go at all.
‘Her name might not be on the rental agreement, but she was with a man who has stolen a car. Maybe you can remind her of this?’
‘I will.’
‘I think we will find out what happened,’ he assures me. ‘I know you are worried.’ It feels like he is on my side and that, despite his early reluctance to believe me, he has Issie’s best interests at heart.
I ease the bathroom door open and wonder how she will take the news when she is so adamant she doesn’t want to talk to Melo, and when she will barely talk to me. She is stirring in bed, twisting over until she is facing me. Her eyes pop open and she looks over at me. I say goodbye to Santos Melo and hang up the phone as I head into the room.
‘Who was that?’ she asks.
I smile and hover at the side of the bed. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Who was it?’
‘The police officer who was at the hospital yesterday. Inspector Melo.’
‘What does he want?’ Issie shifts herself up until she is propped against the pillow, drawing her knees into her she hugs her arms around them.
I frown at the movement, and at how defensive it makes her seem.
‘I thought you said he wasn’t going to call again,’ Issie points out.
‘He wasn’t. But he phoned for a reason. He wants to talk to you. A car has been reported stolen. The one Dylan hired on Monday night.’
She straightens her back and carries on regarding me.
‘He says it was supposed to be returned on the sixth,’ I say. ‘But it hasn’t been. Do you know what happened to it?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘Dylan arranged it. I didn’t know anything about it until he picked it up.’
‘He didn’t say anything about taking it back?’ I question.
‘I told you that,’ she says.
‘Do you know where it is now?’
‘No. Why are you looking at me like that?’ she accuses.
‘No reason, love,’ I say, but the truth is I am finding myself scrutinising everything she tells me because there is so little to glean. All I want is for her to tell me the whole story so I can stop trying to fill in the blanks.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, making her shift backwards to accommodate me. ‘Have you heard from him?’ I ask.
‘No.’
‘I was wondering whether he’d tried to make contact with you after you left him. He must want to know where you went.’
She dips her eyes and for the first time I think she might be lying to me. ‘So he hasn’t tried getting hold of you at all?’ I press.
‘No,’ she answers bluntly. I cock my head, trying to fathom what she isn’t telling me.
‘You would tell me if he did?’ I persist.
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. I have no idea where he is. Mum? You don’t believe me?’
I open my mouth to go to tell her I do, and yet the words don’t come out. Sensing my hesitation, she cries out, ‘I left him, Mum. I ran away from him. You have to believe me, because if you don’t then who’s going to?’
The fear has returned. I see it again now. It had gone, but it is back. My daughter is truly scared of something. ‘I do believe you,’ I tell her, ‘but it’s hard for me when I don’t know the whole story.’
Her hands are trembling as she flings back the duvet and I reach out for one, trying to still it. ‘Issie, you need to talk,’ I urge.
‘We had a fight the night before my birthday,’ she says. ‘Dylan found out I wanted to go home. I—’ She pauses. ‘I realised what our relationship had become and that you’re right. I didn’t want to be with him any more and I think maybe he knew this.’
I nod, willing her to go on.
‘If I could have called you, I would have done,’ she says. ‘You know I would never want you to worry, but Dylan stopped me. He wouldn’t let me have contact with anyone. He took me to this place in the middle of nowhere and—’ She breaks off as my phone rings again. It is Lois, but I hit the button to reject the call.
‘I guess we need to go to the station,’ Issie says.
‘Iz, I want you to tell me the rest.’
‘Mum?’ she begs.
‘You not telling me – it feels like you’re covering for him,’ I say softly. ‘And I don’t understand why. I get that you’re scared, but you don’t have to let him get away with whatever he did.’
She turns and glares at me, holding her gaze for a moment longer than feels comfortable. ‘No, Mum, you actually have no idea how scared I am.’
I ask Issie to tell me why, tell her I can’t do anything to help unless I understand but she clams up again and so eventually I relent and mutter that we might as well go and speak to Inspector Melo.
We don’t eat in the hotel but pick up a coffee and a pastry from a shop on the corner of the street. I tell her the police station is only ten minutes away. She is reluctant to walk it and begs me to get a cab, but I refuse when it’s so close and so we set off down the cobbled lanes.
I keep my eye on her, though, conscious of the way her gaze flicks around her, how she holds back at corners. It hits me then that it isn’t that she didn’t want to walk because she is lazy, but because she is frightened of bumping into Dylan. She is looking out for him down every street.
‘You think he wants to find you,’ I say. ‘Nothing can happen to you, not here in the middle of a city, and not when I’m with you.’ I hope this is true and am relieved when we get to the police station and I can lead her inside, but I don’t sense any relief from Issie. If anything, she is more tense as I ask for Inspector Melo and we wait for him to come out.
I want answers as much as Melo does, although I don’t care about the car. All I am hoping is Issie will say something, anything, to help me glean a part of the story.
Santos Melo keeps us waiting for a quarter of an hour. By the time he appears, I am certain Issie is about to hop out of her seat and leave. ‘Come through,’ he tells us, and leads us back into the room I sat in with him only two days earlier when I was begging him to look for my daughter. If someone told me then that I would be here with her so soon, I don’t know I would have believed them. It reminds me I should be grateful for everything I have: my daughter here in one piece.
Melo repeats what he has told me – that he is aware the car was rented on 4 July and that it hasn’t been returned. He wants to know what Issie can tell him. ‘Did you know Dylan agreed to return it two days later?’
‘No,’ she says.
‘You were with him when he collected it, this is true?’
‘Yes,’ she answers this time.
‘The owner says you had been arguing? When you picked the car up, he thinks you were upset?’
Issie inhales a tight breath which she doesn’t seem to let go of. ‘Yes, we were arguing,’ she says. ‘I didn’t want to go anywhere.’
‘Where did you go?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know exactly.’
‘Where did he leave the car?’ he persists.
‘I don’t know the name of the place.’
‘It was somewhere near Lisbon?’
‘No. It was a long way away. He drove for a while, maybe an hour or so. But I don’t know where he left it. I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘None of this had anything to do with me. Dylan hired the car. Yes, I was with him and, yes, he drove us somewhere. We ended up in Serra de São Mamede, as my mum knows and I’m sure you do too,’ she says. ‘But what happened to the car after that I don’t know.’
Melo nods slowly, his gaze never leaving her. ‘Why did Dylan rent it?’ he asks now.
‘He said he had a surprise for my birthday.’
‘And what was this surprise?’
‘I don’t know. It never happened. We ended up having an argument and that was when he drove us out to the middle of nowhere.’
‘Serra de São Mamede?’ he questions, and Issie nods.
‘You had an argument in the car?’
Issie hesitates. ‘Yes,’ she says eventually. ‘Do you think you will find the car?’ As if this is the thing to be worried about.
‘We will find it, Miss Adams,’ Melo says, and I am taken aback by his sudden formality and the way he is looking at her strangely until she looks away and pulls out of my grip, grabbing her bag from the floor.
‘Can I go now?’ she asks, her voice a whisper.
I look to him for confirmation. He is still staring at her curiously, and it makes me wonder if he believes what my daughter has told him. By the way he is regarding her, it doesn’t appear that he does.
‘You can. If you think of anything more, please let me know,’ he says and nods towards the door, giving us permission to leave.
We both get up, but before we have left the room he asks her, ‘How did you get back to Lisbon, Issie?’
‘Bus,’ she tells him, like he already knows.
‘That must have taken a couple of hours?’
She nods and pushes the door open, leaving the room as I quietly follow. I look back as we head into the reception area, to see Santos still watching us. I want to ask him what he’s thinking because there is definitely something on his mind. Does he know more than he says? He has unnerved me and now I think I have been too trusting of him.
‘I want to go and get my stuff from the hostel,’ Issie tells me, and I snap my attention back to her as we walk outside.
‘Okay. I can come with you.’
‘You don’t need to.’
‘I want to, Issie. Let me help.’
‘Mum, let me do this. I need some space. I want to get my head round things.’
‘Okay,’ I say uncertainly. ‘If that’s what you need, then of course. Shall I meet you somewhere? I can wait around here in a café?’
