Someone is Lying, page 3
Issie had given me Dylan’s number in the early weeks of their relationship, back when she didn’t question everything I said to her like I was her enemy, when she complied and didn’t argue the toss in every sentence.
I imagine his reaction when he sees my name appear on his phone. How his eyes will roll in disdain, and, if Issie is with him, what he might say to her when he shows her I am calling. Your mum is tracking you down, Issie. Can’t she even let us have some time together? She’s got issues. She’s too clingy.
I know he would say it, because he has said it about me before and Issie has parroted his words back to me. ‘You suffocate me,’ she threw at me one night a couple of months ago, when I was telling her she shouldn’t be going out late on a school night when her A levels were around the corner. I was worrying she hadn’t been revising as much as I expected her to, given the effort she put into her GCSEs. And yet she was telling me she had been studying at school. ‘Maybe you don’t have enough to do,’ she’d added.
I had glared at her, hurt. ‘That’s Dylan talking,’ I shot back.
‘No.’ She denied it, but there had been a beat that was long enough to tell me that this had come from him.
I did the wrong thing and retaliated. I should have kept silent like the books told me to, but the books aren’t written in the heat of the moment, they don’t account for the fury that springs from nowhere. ‘Can’t you even think for yourself now, Issie?’ I said. ‘Or do you just spout his words? Come on, what else does he say about me?’
The look on her face was thunderous and I didn’t know what was going to come out next. ‘That you don’t want me to grow up,’ she said eventually. ‘You want me to stay your little girl forever.’ There were tears in her eyes by then, but they were angry ones she brushed away.
At the time I was too angry myself to think straight. What she was saying wasn’t true. A year ago, I had been the one wanting her to go out more. I thought it strange she and her friends hung around each other’s houses instead of going out, or that sometimes she wasn’t even fussed about seeing them at all. It wasn’t anything like the heady days of freedom I’d craved when I was her age. I’d even wanted Issie to find a boyfriend, only not the one she eventually brought home.
Her words were full of venom as she spat: ‘That Dad probably left because you didn’t have any time for him. Because you’re always so wrapped up in me.’ She reached a crescendo, almost out of breath when she finished.
My hand tingled at my side. How I wanted to do something I had never done and reach out and slap her. Make her take her words back. Dylan was twisting our past for his own benefit. He was taking the very things that had hurt us the most, and making her believe it was my doing.
Only I didn’t have anything in me. No words, no fight. She had left me empty and speechless and so I could only stand there and stare at her until eventually she turned and walked out of the room.
Dylan was distorting my relationship with my daughter. I realised then how envious he was of us. He hated the relationship I had with her. He was jealous, the same way I was jealous of him. We both wanted Issie. I wanted her to be the daughter I’d had for seventeen years, and he – well, he just wanted her.
I take a large gulp of the wine I have poured and stare at my phone, wondering if he would even tell Issie I am trying to get hold of her if I were to phone him now.
‘Go on, do it, Jess,’ Lois says. ‘You have no choice.’
I take a deep breath, hating how I have allowed a nineteen-year-old to make me feel this way. I have often wondered why Issie was drawn to a man like him, but maybe she is too similar to me in the kind of people we fall for.
Finally I force myself to press his number, waiting for it to connect. It rings and rings until it eventually cuts out, taking me to his voicemail. Lois nods at me to leave a message and so I do. ‘Hi, Dylan, it’s Jess.’ I clear my throat, which has dried up. ‘Umm. I’m trying to get hold of Issie, can you ask her to ring me as soon as possible, please?’
Lois smiles thinly as I hang up. ‘At least his phone was on,’ she says as she tops up my glass.
‘Yes,’ I say, though I feel no relief. I cannot shake the feeling that if something has happened to Issie and I have a right to be worried, the person I fear the most is the one I have just called.
GONE: true crime podcast
Lucy Hawes
EPISODE 105: THE SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE OF ISSIE ADAMS AND DYLAN WHITING
PART ONE
But was Issie Adams actually missing? This was a debate that would play out in the days that followed, because while Jess reported she was, she was about to come up against suggestions that maybe the teens had simply ‘gone off-grid’.
Jess was certain something had happened to her daughter. I’m not a mother myself, but I have friends who are, and they tell me that sometimes a mother just knows. They have an instinct, and can sense when a child’s behaviour is out of character.
From the outset Jess Adams pointed the finger at Dylan. As far as she was concerned, her daughter had disappeared and he was to blame.
Jess had noticed troubling changes in Issie’s behaviour in the months leading up to them travelling through Europe: Issie had started worrying over what she wore and whether she was exposing too much flesh, which she knew Dylan didn’t like. She became cautious over what she posted on social media, she stopped doing things she loved like going to the gym and seeing her friends.
But was he the evil manipulator Jess was making out? Or was Issie’s behaviour simply part of being a teenager infatuated with her first boyfriend?
Issie’s Instagram posts portrayed a picture of happiness. During their travels, she posted multiple times every day, various photos of European sights, and shots of her and Dylan smiling happily at the camera.
There was nothing to substantiate any of Jess’s claims. There was no history or experience of Dylan ever harming Issie, and he had no criminal record.
In fact the people Dylan worked with spoke very highly of him, saying he was a genuinely nice man, both reliable and fun. It seemed no one other than Jess thought him capable of doing anything to hurt his girlfriend.
So was Jess’s view of Dylan distorted because she simply didn’t like him? After all, it seemed her own relationship with Issie had changed in the last ten months since the teenagers had been dating. And there were things about Issie she didn’t know, which would only become apparent after her daughter’s disappearance.
Because, despite high hopes from teachers, and the fact Issie had always been a star student, Issie flunked her A levels – as her results that came out in August, one month after she disappeared, would show. This was a huge shock to both her parents and teachers who had expected much more from her.
Perhaps even more surprising was the news that two days before she left for Europe, Issie had rejected her place at Central St Martins. She hadn’t even deferred it, but categorically told the university she wouldn’t be enrolling, a decision she had kept hidden from both her parents and her art teachers.
So what made her change her mind about her future? And what was Issie planning to do instead when she was due to return from Europe at the end of the summer? Were they ever planning to return?
CHAPTER THREE
6 July
Light splinters the room at just gone 6 a.m. My mouth feels dry. Last night I drank more than I intended and it takes a moment for me to remember why, how the alcohol helped numb the fear that something was wrong, while the conversation with Lois tried to make sense of why my daughter still hadn’t called me back.
I sit up with a start now, heart beating rapidly as I reach for my phone, only to be faced with a blank screen. No messages, no missed calls. The one grey tick still sits beside my unread message from yesterday morning, as well as the others I sent last night.
This is not right. There is no getting away from it now. Yes, she is a teenager; yes, she is travelling, but her eighteenth birthday has come and gone, and I know my daughter. She would not ignore me, especially not on her birthday.
I get up and brush my teeth, the slow rhythmic motion of it calming me only slightly. I had gone to bed last night with Lois’s words ringing in my ears, that I was bound to have heard from Issie during the night. Only I haven’t. And I should have.
I jump in the shower, get dressed and go downstairs to make breakfast, forcing a slice of toast down.
I have four hours before I am due to meet Polly at eleven to discuss the designs I have for her boutique but I cannot concentrate on that.
She hasn’t called, I text Lois. She is always up early with Teddy and so I wait by my phone for her to reply.
Nothing at all? comes back.
Do I go to the police? I tap out. It seems ridiculous to be asking this question but the lines are so blurred. How many hours must pass before you report someone missing?
It isn’t like when they’re young and if they’re out of your sight for ten minutes, you know something is wrong. Or when they’re thirteen and haven’t come home from school when they should. If I go running to the police and then hear from Issie this afternoon, telling me her phone was dead, I will lose her a little bit more. I let her travel this summer, not only because I didn’t really have a choice, but because I was already losing my daughter and I wanted her to come back to me. If I had put my foot down she would not only leave the day she turned eighteen but her resentment towards me would build so high, I might never be able to break it down.
I hoped she might see Dylan for the person he really is. With enough time away from me, and just the two of them together, she might see what I see.
‘He’s too clever,’ I had hissed at Lois once. I didn’t mean academically. I meant that Dylan knew exactly what he was doing. He was moulding my daughter, sculpting her into what he wanted her to be, how he wanted her to think. Perhaps she was susceptible to it, like I had been. Could I blame her when I, a grown woman, hadn’t seen what Scott had become?
The first time I saw it with Dylan was in November last year, two months into their relationship. Issie was frowning as she examined a picture on her phone, enlarging it and studying it carefully.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked her.
‘Nothing,’ Issie said quickly, her thumb deftly swiping upwards, removing the picture from the screen.
‘Iz? What’s going on?’
She shrugged and then sighed. ‘Dylan’s upset over a photo I put on Instagram,’ she said eventually. ‘I was just looking at it.’ This was back in the days when she still told me things, when she let me into her world.
‘Show me,’ I said. Given the times we had spoken about posting online and how things could be misconstrued, I always considered it might only be a matter of time before something blew up and I was ready to help her navigate whatever she might have done to upset him.
Issie pulled up the picture on Instagram and handed me her phone, but the photo I was looking at was nothing like I expected. Issie was showing off her new trainers, and had written a caption next to it saying she’d bought a new pair of Nikes.
‘What’s he upset about?’ I asked, confused.
Issie enlarged it again and pointed to a jean-clad leg next to her. ‘That guy is sitting really close to me. I don’t even remember who it was, and I didn’t even realise he was there until Dylan pointed it out.’ Her words tripped over themselves.
‘He’s upset because you’re sitting next to a boy?’ I laughed.
‘Yes,’ she snapped and took the phone off me. ‘Don’t make fun of him. He’s got a right to ask me who I’m with, and I told him I didn’t know the guy, because I didn’t. He just happened to be next to me on the bench.’
‘Right. And Dylan must realise it’s nothing to worry about?’
She had shrugged again.
‘Issie?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.
‘It does if you’re upset.’
‘He doesn’t believe me, I guess,’ she replied. ‘He thinks I was with the guy or something.’
‘Oh, Issie, you’re joking, aren’t you? You know that’s ridiculous. It’s only a leg! How did he even see it, unless he’s scrutinising your pictures?’ I was enraged on her behalf. ‘Don’t stand for that,’ I began as she stood up and paced towards the door.
I wanted to remind Issie she shouldn’t let any man treat her in any way that wasn’t totally respectful. I needed her not to make the same mistakes I had.
The truth was I had lots of words lined up, all well meaning, all based on my own experiences for when the time was right. I hadn’t counted on her not wanting to listen to them.
‘And anyway, what about that ex-girlfriend you told me about?’ I pointed out instead.
‘What?’ she snapped, the look on her face almost venomous.
‘You said he’d been to see his ex-girlfriend, that girl called Hannah?’ I reminded her, although I immediately regretted bringing it up. It was something she’d confided in me a month earlier, how upset she was that he’d met up with his ex without her. ‘I’m only saying he doesn’t have the right …’ My words fizzled out.
‘Forget it, Mum,’ she’d yelled at me as she walked out of the room and the door slammed behind her, leaving me wondering what Dylan Whiting was really like.
Flashes of Scott came into my head. Lois had noticed how he had changed, even when I hadn’t. She told me after he left that, in the last couple of years, she hadn’t liked my husband one bit.
I’m scared, Lois, I type out now. I’m getting really bloody scared at the thought that something has happened to Issie. I never did find out for sure if anything happened with Dylan and his ex-girlfriend, Hannah. But the moment Issie told me about her was the first moment I got a sense I did not trust him.
My phone starts ringing, Lois is calling. I pick it up and she tells me, gently, ‘You have to do something then. I think you need to call the police.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, feeling the life suck out of me. Hearing Lois tell me what I already know makes it all the more real.
I don’t go the police straight away. On the phone to Lois, we agree I would contact Issie’s tight circle of friends first. They’ll know more than me. There comes a point in a teenager’s life when the friends always do. Maybe they can even see where Issie is on their phones, a privilege I lost at some point over the last few months.
At 8 a.m., when it feels a more reasonable hour to call them, I pick out the only friend I have a number for: Carla. She and Issie have been inseparable since they met on the first day of grammar school. They both knew no one else and were drawn together despite the fact they had so little in common. Carla, who can be so quiet, versus my full-of-beans Issie. She’d always preferred to be reading and playing the piano but would get dragged outside to kick a football when my daughter required her to, horrified but always compliant. Then, in return, Issie would sit on the piano stool next to her friend and turn the pages of the music as she practised for whatever high grade she was achieving next.
Carla seems surprised to hear from me. ‘Hi, Jess?’ she says as she answers. It comes across as a question.
‘Carla, how are you?’ I ask, but don’t wait for a response. ‘Listen, I know this may seem out of the blue to you, but I can’t get hold of Issie and I wondered if you’d heard anything from her lately?’
A pause before she answers, ‘Isn’t she travelling?’
‘Well yes,’ I say, wrong-footed by the question and the uncertainty on Carla’s part, because of course she must know this is what her best friend is doing. ‘She is. Have you heard from her since she’s been out there?’ Did you not contact her on her birthday?
‘No. To be honest – well …’ She stumbles, failing to finish her sentence.
‘Carla?’ I prompt.
‘I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t really spoken to Iz in a while. Is there a problem?’
I inhale a tight breath. Yes, there must be a problem if the two of them haven’t spoken, but I say, ‘I don’t know. I hope not, but I can’t get hold of her and she hasn’t updated any posts for three days and …’ I trail off. ‘When did you last speak to her?’
There’s a beat before Carla answers. ‘I don’t know. A while back. A couple of months maybe.’
‘A couple of months?’ I gasp. I knew Issie was spending all her time with Dylan, but to not speak to her best friend in a couple of months … ‘What happened?’
Carla lets out a nervous laugh. ‘Oh you know—’ She breaks off.
‘No, I don’t know, Carla. Was it to do with Dylan?’
‘I’m sorry, Jess, I’ve got to go,’ she says. ‘Mum’s waiting for me in the car. We’re going to Westquay, shopping.’
‘Carla, wait! Please tell me what happened.’
‘There were— I don’t know. Issie wanted to spend all her time with him rather than us. There were some disagreements. It was nothing major.’
‘It sounds pretty major if you haven’t spoken to her. You know it was her eighteenth yesterday.’
‘I know.’
Of course she knows. Their birthdays are ingrained in each other’s brains. They should have been celebrating together, this special milestone, the way they have celebrated every one of them together since they turned twelve.
‘And you didn’t message her?’ I don’t mean to lay this on Carla, but I can’t get my head around the fact these two have fallen out and I hadn’t even realised.
‘No.’ Carla pauses. ‘I thought about it but …’ She trails off.
It breaks my heart that her best friend didn’t even try to get in touch with her. I wonder how many of her friends did. If anyone managed to get hold of her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, though I am not particularly apologising to Carla. I am just so bloody sorry things have turned out this way. I am sorry I wasn’t making my daughter a birthday cake like I have every other year, that I didn’t give her a breakfast doughnut as I sang Happy Birthday at the top of my voice, and that Carla wasn’t turning up on the doorstep with huge silver balloons as she has done for the last three years.
