Any One of Us, page 5
Headphones in, notebook ready, she spent the afternoon listening – really listening – to interview recordings. The old hiker who found Mary, the tree warden who followed Scott’s barking dog back to the scene and, finally, the three teenage girls who saw Elizabeth’s “red hair” catching the evening light through the twigs of a fallen tree.
When she heard this her hand froze, the pen stuck on the first letter of “red”. It was 7pm and she was beginning to feel a little more than she’d like. Her sigh came out high-pitched, like a half-hidden whimper. She cleared her throat and exhaled, stayed composed. Focused. But focused now on the fact Elizabeth had blonde hair. What they had seen was blood. The last pill was waning, though, despite her temptation, it was too late to take another. Ruby was back to the routine and she would stick to it. Discipline and structure lead to optimal performance. Even when the world starts to hurt. Or perhaps, she thought, especially.
Ruby checked her watch. It was time to relocate.
Exercise was the next essential activity on her checklist. Like sleep, and to a lesser extent food, exercise was rarely worth skipping in lieu of more hard work.
So, Ruby decided to take the long way back to the hotel. She packed her things, pulled her coat tight, flipped her hood up and left the station building.
The road outside was empty, the tarmac black and wet with streetlight streamers stretched long into the ground like plumes of fire from rockets. But, right at the end of the street, a single car was parked up, as though waiting. The driver’s head was less than a shadow. A featureless shape hidden beneath the urban amber haze.
Ruby turned away from it and began to walk, looking back over her shoulder when she heard the engine start. The black car approached from behind, slowly at first, but then picked up speed, the gears shifting, exhaust booming as it revved and passed fast enough to graze her jacket with warm wind and fear. She felt the same with passing trains. There was always a part of her imagination ready to envisage what impact might look like.
Does everyone do this? she wondered. Are all minds afflicted by sudden jolts of the very worst-case scenarios? Obviously, she wasn’t going to jump in front of a train, or a car, or off a cliff, but for some reason she often imagined what would happen if she did. The damage would be catastrophic. Comprehensive.
Down and down the hill, Ruby walked the full length of the curved coastline. From the old navy dockyard, along the low cliffs with their narrow zig-zag paths that veer off the main streets and disappear below. The rocks, the waves splashing down there in the dark.
Back on the seafront road, past the benches and the fixed pay-to-use telescopes, which all seemed to be looking as high into the night sky as their rusted hinges allowed. They weren’t interested in the silent ships floating out in the black horizon, or in the white dots on the protruding cliff that hovered like low-hanging stars.
Past the amusements now, the arcade machines, bright lights around the sign like a Hollywood starlet’s make-up mirror – gold and radiant. Mad, looping music – frenzied horse race commentary in a jostling chorus with electric coin-fall sounds. All this dazzle, all this electricity, but not a single customer in sight.
Insanely, this was the setting of her first kiss. Ruby and Will, hand in hand, crossing that unchanged bingo hall carpet and stopping at the pick-n-mix machine.
“You do the grab button, I’ll do the directions,” Will had said.
Now, more than twenty years on, Ruby stood and looked through the wide-open doors. She imagined two fourteen-year-old kids, small cups of coins clutched to their chests, butterflies busy in their flat, young stomachs. About to win some sweets. About to celebrate with a sudden, awkward kiss that seemed to surprise them both.
But something dragged her from the memory. A reflection, shifting and glistening in the angled window. That black car. The same black car she saw earlier. Making a special effort not to look directly at it, Ruby turned away from the amusements and carried on down the pavement.
At first, she’d thought the sense that she was being watched was just small-town paranoia or the baseline anxiety of any evening walk. But now she was sure. That car was following her.
She carried on towards the Beachside Hotel, just a hundred metres ahead on the right. The car crawled behind, on her left, picking up speed as though the driver knew she’d seen. As it passed, she clocked the number plate, repeating it in her mind as it took a corner and disappeared into the night.
Ruby stopped, stepped sideways into a doorway. Quickly, quick. Phone out, she went straight to the note app.
G, she typed, U. Then she tensed her jaw and looked back up the road, her hands juddering. Shit. She couldn’t remember the next number. It had been less than ten seconds and it was fading, dissolving, almost as good as gone. She was fifty percent sure it was a zero; she typed it in. But doubt about the rest grew exponentially. Sixes could be nines. Any rhyme might switch “P” with “C”. Phonetics, shape, similarities, even differences distorted each failed attempt at recollection.
Within the next minute, the number plate was effectively blank. As though she hadn’t even seen it. Worse. A random guess, uncontaminated by bias, would now be a safer bet.
Behind her, the bright yellow light glowed on the pavement, the arcade music repeating and repeating and singing to the sea. She could remember the t-shirt Will was wearing, she could taste the sticky sweets they’d won, smell the copper coins in their cups. She could feel those butterflies swimming, see herself, eyes closed, arms at her sides – head up and fists balled for their kiss. The kiss, like a movie, the camera swooping round them, full circle – the lens flaring at the sunny window and round and stopping, zooming, close-up as they both opened their glassy eyes and smiled. She could remember all of that.
But she couldn’t remember a fucking number plate she’d seen just seconds ago. A car. First letter was better than nothing. A car was following her. She’d have to describe it. She hadn’t seen the driver, she hadn’t even tried. Just the car. The car. She’d describe the car. She’d say—
And Ruby scrunched her eyes shut, pushed a tensed fist into one and groaned. Was it even black?
Chapter Four
Walking up to her room, Ruby composed herself and stomached the anger. The ongoing concerns with her memory had been easy to dismiss because, until recently, they hadn’t affected her work. Jetlag would have to carry the burden of blame – Ruby couldn’t let this issue and its justifiable anxiety derail her attention. Rationality now. Why would a car follow her? Who would be driving? What do they want? Presumably they were hoping to see where she was staying. It was logical then to assume they knew it was here, at the Beachside Hotel.
She dropped her rucksack on the bed, stepped to the window and peered down, moving the thin curtain aside, leaning round to check. The street was empty, bar a couple sitting on a bench and a few kids standing in a circle on the beach.
It didn’t make sense. She’d only been here for a day. How would—
Looking back into the room, Ruby got her phone out and checked the news. She paced. The words “Missbrook Bay” in a headline. She clicked. Then, once more, she was looking at a photograph of herself. Maybe it was the neutral expression, or the lighting, either way Ruby realised she’d been unduly optimistic yesterday. This woman did not look just like that teenage girl smiling in her uniform. The story had been online for six hours and most national outlets had something on it. But the gist was the same as Ian’s press release. Some sites were running his words verbatim.
Scrolling down, scanning quickly, she found her name.
“Ruby Shaw, from the NCA’s Major Crime Investigative Support unit, is assisting local officers investigating the recent murders.
“A former Missbrook Heights pupil herself, behavioural investigative advisor Ms Shaw added: ‘These are shocking crimes and we are committed to seeking justice for the victims.’”
Empty, formulaic words. Exactly the kind of thing she would be expected to say – Ian had nailed the quote.
But six hours was enough time for someone to see it and take a keen interest. So, just as she’d feared, or perhaps hoped, this story was all about her.
Ruby sat down at the small desk in the corner of her room and opened her notebook. Longhand notes were slow by design – a meditative way to process information. This gave her subconscious time to assemble foundations. Scaffolding. Because ideas need a firm base if they stand any chance of housing the truth.
Her strict 8pm limit on liquid had passed thirty minutes ago, but there was no denying it – she was thirsty. Fatigue interfering with every bodily process. Sleep would be impaired by dehydration as much as a full bladder, so she had half a glass of water. Even the small rule breaches were frustrating. Tomorrow the jetlag would improve. So would her memory. Or maybe it wouldn’t. If only she could forget to worry about it.
Distraction was another unpleasant side-effect of the evening fade, as her blood dutifully cleared the chemicals away. Those children on the beach. Teenagers. Ruby could hear them laughing, tinny music from a portable speaker. Back in her day, under the old lighthouse was the place to go. Somewhere kids could huddle together, drink cheap cider and smoke hash through weird homemade contraptions. The lighthouse was the backdrop to all the best stories, from famous fights to fabled fingerings, from infidelity to criminality and every teenage misadventure beyond.
Even with her earphones in, Ruby could follow their drunken conversation. But now the rowdy little bastards were yelling and – come on – singing right outside her window.
Another irritating issue was the dripping sound. It was above – a pipe somewhere was leaking. In a way, it was more annoying than the kids. They’d go home eventually. But this? It seemed here to stay. If anything, it was getting worse. A constant drip, drip, drip and—
Wait. Ruby winced, tilted her head and slowly removed her earphones. Then she looked over her shoulder, turning in the chair, standing now. The ceiling was stained. And she spotted a drop of water – a little silver gem – as it fell straight down into the centre of her bed. She touched the covers. Not damp. They were wet. A literal puddle on the mattress.
And, as though they knew, a triumphant cheer echoed outside on the beach.
Nah, she thought, reaching back to the desk for her phone. Her thumb hovered over Giles in her contacts. He knew she was in town and she’d visit him eventually. But, again, the idea of staying in the house she grew up in unnerved her. This was already, in every sense, far too close to home.
So, Ruby called Will, pacing as it rang. If she was sticking to her rules, the structure, the order, the countless curated habits that optimised performance, including very specific hours allocated for work and sleep, this place would simply not suffice.
He answered and she explained the situation. She didn’t even have to finish – Will knew where this was going.
“Oh, yeah, um, yeah, of course,” he said, with all the hesitance you’d expect.
His offer was clearly never at risk of being claimed. And yet, here she was, taking him up on it. But a mildly awkward intrusion into Will’s life was the lesser of two evils here. Ruby had to get out of this hotel.
An hour later, she’d packed her bags and walked to the edge of town. Will’s house was at the far end of a cul-de-sac, with trees and fields behind. But now, just silhouettes, a jagged canopy almost unseeable against the night clouds.
It looked especially affluent in the dark, with brand-new lantern-style streetlights lining the road, and neat hedges enclosing homes, black iron fences and tall swing gates. Clean cars tucked in well-swept drives. Neighbours with names like Beverly and Clive, Hugo and Camilla – the doctors, the consultants, the senior executives of companies that make things you own.
Will was waiting beneath a warm porchlight hanging above his open doorway. The house, which used to belong to his grandfather, was at least twice as big as a state secondary school teacher’s salary should allow. Ruby entered and he took her suitcase, pushed it against the wall near the stairs then closed the door behind her. Looking around at the high ceiling, Ruby followed him through the living room and into the kitchen at the rear of the building.
“This is nice,” she said. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of years now.” Will stepped across the tiles, picked up the kettle. “Overlapped with Grandad’s death. It’s meant to be temporary – the plan is to sell it, just needs some work.”
Ruby leant against the solid oak dining table in the centre of the open-plan kitchen. “Hotel’s seen better days.”
“I did warn you,” Will said, filling the kettle with water. “The spare room’s ready.” He glanced up to the ceiling. “It’s silent and dark.”
Ruby looked at him for a moment. Seeing him dressed in casual home clothes was oddly intimate. Thin sweatpants, a black t-shirt and his square-framed designer glasses. Yesterday, in his ironed shirt, smart trousers and contact lenses, he’d seemed like an acquaintance. Or even a colleague. But now? Ruby watched him open a cupboard – he was facing away so she was free to stare.
He was still handsome. Maybe even more handsome? His small, boyish wrists were fuller now, his jaw and neck settling into the proportions of a man. A fully grown, human man. Stubble, creased eyes. Slim Will from school, standing in his kitchen, making a cup of tea. Driving around in his car. Reading newspapers. Going to bed at a reasonable time. Nodding and humming at an engaging political memoir. It was all very strange.
In the living room, she could see paperwork spread on the coffee table. An empty glass and a bottle of red wine. Half gone.
“Marking?” she asked, nodding towards it.
He looked over his shoulder and gave her a tired, eye-dipped nod. “Coursework.”
“Can you just stick B plusses on the last pile?”
“Oh, I wish. They’ve changed the system. Really tricky now. You actually do have to read it.”
“That’s terrible.” Ruby smiled. “Still, having the summer off and finishing at three? Swings and roundabouts.”
Opening a drawer, Will laughed. “And yet all we do is moan.” He turned around, teaspoon in his hand.
“Is it weird?”
“What?”
“Working there.”
“Kind of.” He leant on the counter opposite, mirroring her posture. “But it’s changed so much. Feels like a different place.”
But to Ruby, this all felt exactly the same.
Will stepped past, stopped at the fridge by her side. She felt the air move.
“I know you were being polite,” she said. And she reached out and touched his forearm with the back of her fingers. “I do really appreciate this.”
He smiled.
On the walk over, Ruby had wondered if the noise and dripping had pushed her here. Or had something pulled? Did she want to stay with Will? There was probably no one on earth who knew her better than he did. He knew her insecurities, her secrets, nightmares and dreams. Which was a slightly sad and unsettling thing to consider as they’d not really spoken for the best part of a decade. Still, it was comforting. Liberating. Even now, all these years later, when she was in his company, Ruby was so very nearly herself, whoever that might be.
“Really, it’s not a problem,” Will said, opening the fridge.
Ruby spotted some dairy-free cheese inside, an open packet of vegetarian sausages, milk made from cashew nuts.
“You a vegan?” she asked.
“No, that’s . . .” And there was a sound. Will pushed the fridge door half closed and looked back through the living room, towards the porch. “I probably should have said.”
Ruby heard a key, saw the top of a woman’s head in the glass, lit by that warm, welcoming light. Then, as the front door opened, she felt a thousand others close, options, chances, possibilities falling away. And it hurt. Though she couldn’t say exactly why. What had she expected? Was she hoping that she and Will would hang out, watch movies and fall back in love? No, she didn’t want that. Not at all. But it hadn’t been impossible. Just unlikely.
Now, though, a woman was walking into the hall, coming through the living room towards them with a smile that barely masked her surprise.
She was pretty, moving as though this was her home and—
Holy shit. When Ruby realised who it was, her fleeting disappointment became something else. Initially disbelief, then fascination, finally settling on humour. This wasn’t just a woman. It was Lauren.
“Ruby.” Lauren looked between her and Will.
“Long time.” Ruby laughed, opening up for a single-armed hug, which Lauren – Lauren Coates from school – politely accepted.
She seemed flustered, fresh from the cold, from work – handbag coming off her shoulder as she unravelled a scarf and stepped back.
“Will said you were in town,” she added, dropping her keys on the dining table, hanging her jacket on a hook where it clearly belonged.
Below, Ruby saw high-heeled shoes, clues, obvious things she’d have spotted if only she’d looked. In the silence that followed, all three seemed to be making a conscious effort to act as though this wasn’t awkward. Everyone here was totally comfortable. Why wouldn’t they be?
“When did, uh, you two get together?” Ruby asked, which didn’t help the situation much.
Lauren and Will made eye contact – here we go again, let’s tell this story. “Christmas before last,” she began.
Less than two years, then. Whereas she and Will were in a relationship for six. Ruby even thought, briefly and madly, that this meant she’d somehow won.
Nodding, Will added, “Few days after my birthday. Both single, both local.”
“What more could you ask for?” Lauren said.
“Plus, hey,” Ruby spread her hands, “if it goes well, marriage, divorce, get half of this house?” Now why on earth would you say that, she thought to herself.
“Exactly.” Lauren kept a straight face – indulging the dry humour, to Ruby’s relief. “The long game.”
