Copyright

AVON

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London SE1 9GF

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Copyright © Sam Carrington 2016

Sam Carrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008191818

Ebook Edition © August 2016 ISBN: 9780008191863

Version: 2018-03-01

In memory of my dad, Norman, and my mum, Mary.

Missed every day.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One: Karen

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five: Sophie

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven: Karen

Chapter Eight: Sophie

Chapter Nine: Karen

Chapter Ten: Sophie

Chapter Eleven: DI Wade

Chapter Twelve: Sophie

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen: DI Wade

Chapter Fifteen: Karen

Chapter Sixteen: DI Wade

Chapter Seventeen: Karen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen: Karen

Chapter Twenty: Sophie

Chapter Twenty-One: DI Wade

Chapter Twenty-Two: Karen

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sophie

Chapter Twenty-Four: DI Wade

Chapter Twenty-Five: Karen

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sophie

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four: DI Wade

Chapter Thirty-Five: Karen

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sophie

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Karen

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty: Sophie

Chapter Forty-One: DI Wade

Chapter Forty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four: Karen

Chapter Forty-Five: Sophie

Chapter Forty-Six: Karen

Chapter Forty-Seven: Sophie

Chapter Forty-Eight: DI Wade

Chapter Forty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Fifty-Three: Karen

Chapter Fifty-Four: Sophie

Chapter Fifty-Five: DI Wade

Chapter Fifty-Six: Karen

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Sophie

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Sixty: DI Wade

Chapter Sixty-One: Karen

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four: Sophie

Chapter Sixty-Five: Karen

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven: DI Wade

Chapter Sixty-Eight: Karen

Chapter Sixty-Nine: DI Wade

Chapter Seventy: Sophie

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two: Karen

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four: Sophie

Chapter Seventy-Five: DI Wade

Chapter Seventy-Six: Karen

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight: DI Wade

Chapter Seventy-Nine: Sophie

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One: Karen

Chapter Eighty-Two: Sophie

Chapter Eighty-Three: DI Wade

Chapter Eighty-Four: Karen

Chapter Eighty-Five

Chapter Eighty-Six: Sophie

Chapter Eighty-Seven: Karen

Chapter Eighty-Eight: Sophie

Chapter Eighty-Nine: Karen

Chapter Ninety: DI Wade

Chapter Ninety-One: Karen

Chapter Ninety-Two

Chapter Ninety-Three: DI Wade

Chapter Ninety-Four: Karen

Chapter Ninety-Five: Sophie

Chapter Ninety-Six: DI Wade

Chapter Ninety-Seven: Karen

Chapter Ninety-Eight: DI Wade

Epilogue

Read On

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

Author Q&A

About the Author

About the Publisher

Prologue
Saturday

‘Shh … Don’t speak.’ He releases the strap of the rubber ball gag with his left hand. His right grips a chunk of long, curly hair. Pulling it, twisting it, so she can’t move her head. So tight, she can’t move away from him. So tight, strands of black hair extensions break and tear from her real hair, tiny popping noises oddly loud in her ear.

The gag makes a soft thud on the concrete floor, an innocent sound, incongruent with the function it has just served.

‘Stay quiet now. Still. It’ll be over soon.’

He pushes his head up against her temple, hard. The slick tackiness of his sweat covers her forehead as he presses against her, rubbing his head from side to side. The putrid odour invades her nostrils. She tries not to breathe. Fear takes over; a whimper escapes from her dry mouth.

‘No. No noise. I told you.’ His voice is raspy, menacing.

Her eyes are wide and swollen, wet with fresh tears – her face stained with old ones. She opens her mouth, just a little, daring to utter the words screaming inside her head: Please don’t kill me. He notices the slight movement of her lips and immediately presses his fingers against them, suppressing the words before they can be formed. Only her breath manages to leak through the gaps of his soft fingers; a stifled exhalation.

Her last.

CHAPTER ONE
Karen

The dog’s barking alerted her to the late-night visitors before the doorbell sounded.

Muffled voices drifted in as Mike opened the front door. Then another voice boomed out. Karen jumped up from the sofa, grabbed the dog and ran out into the hallway. She wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted her.

Wedged between two police officers was a bedraggled mess of a girl.

Sophie.

‘What’s happened?’ She rushed forward, dropping Bailey to the floor. The barking turned to growling; she ignored it, her attention fully on her daughter. Tears had left tracks down her over-made-up face, her lipstick had bled and feathered, spreading red beyond her mouth.

‘She’s not in any trouble, we had a duty of care to bring her home.’ Talking continued, but now in full panic mode, Karen switched off. What on earth has happened to her?

Sophie suddenly looked younger than her seventeen years; her little girl, barely able to stand, leaning against the porch wall as she attempted to move her mouth and produce coherent words. She failed.

Karen heard snippets of what the officers were saying as she fussed over Sophie – ‘… found wandering on her own along the main road in town …’ She dabbed at Sophie’s damp face with the cuff of her sleeve, ‘… all dressed in black … not safe …’ She took Sophie by the arms and looked into her black, wide-pupilled eyes. How much has she drunk?

The three of them remained standing in the porch, the door flung open – the police officers, tall, official, on the threshold. The neighbours’ curtains twitched. With shaking hands, Karen attempted to steady Sophie, whose black patent high heels slipped on the tiled floor. She didn’t look at Mike, only vaguely aware of him thanking the officers.

‘Why were you on your own?’ Karen shouted. ‘Have they left you again?’ She didn’t care about the police officers, the neighbours, or Mike’s warning words coming at her from her left; they were a blur.

Sophie stared blankly ahead, her eyes unfamiliar. The bright blue, lively eyes Karen knew so well were dark; void of emotion. Empty of anything. But a mother could see the scared young girl behind them.

This wasn’t the fallout of too much alcohol.

With the police officers gone, shocked voices erupted in the privacy of the living room.

‘What do you think you were doing, Sophie?’ Mike shouted, inches from her pale face. ‘You stink of alcohol.’ He recoiled.

‘I don’t know what she was doing …’ Sophie looked up, her eyes fighting to focus.

‘What who was doing, love?’ Karen crouched beside Sophie, her words calmer now, softer than those spewing from Mike’s mouth.

‘I don’t know who she is.’ Her speech clumsy; the syllables tripping from her lips didn’t appear to be linked with the form her mouth was taking. ‘How do I know why Amy wanted to be Amy?’

‘Have you taken something, Sophie?’ Mike moved forwards again, grabbing her by the arm, forcing her into a sitting position on the sagging, cream sofa.

‘No. No …’

‘Mike! She’s too drunk to know what you’re even saying.’ Karen searched his face for that hint of a memory, knowing they had both, in their time, been in a similar state. All teenagers got drunk, didn’t they?

‘So that makes it all right, does it? Karen – look at her. It’s ten thirty, she’s only been out of the house since six.’ He stood and paced the room. Then he slumped on the two-seater sofa opposite, rubbing at his face, running both hands roughly through his greying hair. ‘Anything could’ve happened to you, anything. Do you understand, Sophie?’ His words spat out, his face contorted – an ugly expression, one Karen had observed before.

The laughter came out in short bursts. Unnatural. Not Sophie’s light, contagious laugh: this one sinister, unnerving.

‘You think this is funny?’ Mike got to his feet, launching towards Sophie – half sitting, half hunching, her head lolled, practically on her chest, as if it were too heavy to keep upright. Perched on the edge of the sofa, it would only take one more forward motion and she’d be on the floor.

‘Please.’ Karen thrust the palm of her hand towards him. With her eyes narrowed, she willed him to leave the room; she wanted to deal with this in the way she thought best and his anger was a hindrance. She dragged her gaze from his. ‘Sophie, love, were you with Amy?’

‘What does it matter she wanted to be Amy?’ More of the same spilled from her. It was pointless; getting any sense from her seemed unlikely.

Karen took deep breaths to try to control the anger germinating deep in her gut. Sophie’s friends had clearly left her. It wasn’t the first time either – only three months ago Mike had been dragged out of bed to pick Sophie up at midnight because she’d been stranded in Torquay with no money when her so-called friends had gone off. The usual ‘it’s just teenagers these days’ didn’t wash, it was plain selfish – left it wide open for things like this to happen.

‘I need the loo.’ Sophie propelled herself forwards. ‘I need a wee,’ she drawled.

‘I’ll take you.’ Karen supported her, one arm around her waist, the other outstretched to aid her own balance as they made their way towards the downstairs cloakroom. They looked like a pair of children tied together, about to take part in the three-legged race. Mike, red-faced, strode the length of the lounge and back.

Karen waited outside the door with her head leant against it. This was going to be a long night. She heard the flush, then a clatter inside.

‘You all right, Sophie?’

More giggling, then Sophie emerged, half sliding, half falling through the door. Together they made their way back to the lounge. Back to Mike, still pacing big angry strides.

‘I need to get her to bed.’

‘You don’t say.’ He averted his eyes from them.

Karen manoeuvred Sophie to face the stairs.

‘Can you get her a glass of water, please?’

Mike huffed, before disappearing into the kitchen. Karen took Sophie up the stairs, struggling to keep control of the rubbery body; the laughing-one-minute, crying-the-next girl who, only a few hours ago, had left the house looking smart and beautiful in her new black dress. Karen scrunched up her eyes. She couldn’t cry now. Not yet. This wasn’t her Sophie. Not the Sophie who looked after her friends: picked them up when they fell, let them cry on her shoulder, took them home if they were drunk.

Why had they left her in this state? Or had Sophie left them? And she’d been rattling on about Amy; she’d seemed distressed about her. Karen’s chest tightened.

Where was Amy?

CHAPTER TWO

Karen sat with her knees up and her back against the soft velvet-covered headboard, tapping the screen of her phone.

‘What are you doing?’ Mike asked, walking around to his side of the bed.

‘Texting Liz.’

‘For God’s sake, Karen, it’s midnight. Leave it.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off his trousers. Small change from his pockets scattered on the wooden floor, clinking and rolling everywhere. ‘Darn it!’

‘I need to know if Amy’s home safe.’ Karen spoke the words quietly, thinking if she said them softly, he’d understand her need for reassurance.

‘Sophie’s so pissed up she wouldn’t have a clue who she’d been out with. Anyway, she obviously got separated from them and now they’ll be in the club until three. Do not worry Liz about it. Just go to sleep.’ He was tired. Irritable. Karen knew he hated it when she couldn’t let things go.

‘Yeah, right, like sleep is possible now. I think it’s more than just alcohol.’

‘Relax.’ He bounced up and down, settling himself and yanked the duvet up over his shoulder. He turned away from her.

‘Mike,’ she pleaded, adamant that the conversation should continue despite his warning tone. She had things playing on her mind: disturbing things. ‘Don’t you think she looked like she’d taken drugs? Or that someone had drugged her? The way she was talking …’

‘Are you for real?’ Mike flung the duvet back off, exposing his muscled torso, and sat up, eyes glaring. ‘Don’t you think the police would’ve been a bit more concerned if they suspected something untoward had happened? Just because you used to work with a bunch of screwed-up criminals, it doesn’t mean every time Sophie goes out she’s going to be targeted by would-be rapists.’

Karen smarted. ‘You were the one who shouted at Sophie, said anything could’ve happened – weren’t they your words?’

He rubbed his palms aggressively up and down his face, groaning.

‘I meant she could have been knocked over, ended up in a ditch somewhere, and yes, it did cross my mind someone could have taken advantage of her. But that clearly didn’t happen. What you’re saying is that someone purposely drugged her. I’ve no idea what goes through your head. Now please let me sleep, we’ll talk to her in the morning. It’ll all be some pathetic teenage drama, some stupid fall-out with Amy, that’s all.’ He returned to his position, facing the window with his back towards her.

A tear rolled down Karen’s cheek and hit the duvet cover. She stared at the mascara-stained drop for a moment, then ran her fingertip over it, smudging it. How could he be so insensitive? His irritation had pushed aside all he knew about her, her own traumatic experience: the attack, two years ago almost to the day. Had he forgotten why she was this way? She looked down absently. The cover would need washing now. She lifted her head, staring for a while at the back of her husband of twenty-three years. Then she continued the text.

Hi Liz, sorry to text this late, was wondering if you’ve heard from Amy? Sophie has been brought back by the police in a right state – I don’t know why she wasn’t with the others! I hope the rest of the girls have fared better. Text me when you get this please.

She put the phone on vibrate and placed it under her pillow. Snatching her sertraline tablets from the bedside table, she popped two in her mouth and swallowed without water, then went to check on Sophie.

CHAPTER THREE
Sunday

The chinking of plates and jingling of cutlery infiltrated Karen’s sleep. What time was it? The Sunday bells rang out from the church in the distance, the deep clanging tones coming and going as the wind carried them. She used to find the sound relaxing, reassuring even. Lately, though, it had become an irritation, a reminder of how long she’d lived in Ambrook. Moving from town ten years ago to gain the solitude that the tiny Devon village offered had seemed a good idea at the time. They hadn’t been able to afford any of the idyllic chocolate-box cottages, having to settle for the more modern, less striking semi-detached house instead. But the views of Dartmoor had made up for that. Now, even that didn’t interest her. She’d left it too late to move again, though, her current circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

Beside her, tiny tapping noises on the floor made her open her eyes. A heavy weight landed on her legs. Bailey scrambled to her face and planted his good morning kisses. She gave his belly a half-hearted rub. Then she bolted up to a sitting position. She turned to Mike’s side of the bed. Empty. He was the one crashing about in the kitchen. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was 8.45 a.m. Why hadn’t he got her up?

Pushing Bailey aside, Karen shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed the dressing gown and walked along the landing. Pausing outside Sophie’s door, she listened for signs of movement, straining to hear breathing. Please let her be breathing. Don’t let her have choked to death on her own vomit. Karen laid a trembling hand on the door knob. She’d checked a couple of times during her own unsettled night, but it’d been over three hours since her last. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

On her tummy. Light-brown hair messily spread over the pillow and part-covering her face. In the exact position she’d left her. Karen could only hear her own breathing: rapid, shallow bursts of air. Why wasn’t Sophie making a sound? She reached a hand out, hovered it for a while before allowing it to lie gently on her daughter’s back. Warmth touched her fingers. Karen’s shoulders relaxed. Thank goodness.

‘Sophie,’ she whispered. Then more strongly, ‘Sophie.’

Sophie’s body wriggled under Karen’s hand, her eyes opened. Still dark, still unfocused.

‘What’s the matter?’ She wiped the wetness from her mouth with one hand, then turned over and sat up.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Okay,’ she yawned. ‘Tired.’ Her brow knitted as she ran her hand along the side of the bed, up and down the mattress edge against the wall. ‘Have you seen my phone?’

Karen had left it in the kitchen, thrown down on the worktop following several failed attempts to access any messages that might shed some light on the situation.

‘Yeah, it’s downstairs.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie looked perplexed. Her phone never left her side.

‘How did you get home last night?’ Karen thought she’d play it cool. She wanted to hear it from Sophie’s mouth, wanted her to feel bad about causing so much distress.

‘Uh … Taxi?’ She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning the room. ‘Where’s my handbag?’

‘Sophie.’ Karen’s voice, harsher now. ‘It’s downstairs as well. Look, you didn’t come home by taxi. Don’t you remember how you got back?’

Sophie looked straight ahead, and said nothing for a long time.

‘Must’ve got a lift, then,’ she said finally, looking at Karen. Her face appeared neutral; no sign of guilt, no indication of a sudden recalled memory of the police car.

‘Bloody hell, Sophie.’ Karen crossed her arms firmly.

‘What? I can’t remember, that’s all. I’m home safe, aren’t I?’ Sophie lay down again, pulling the duvet back over her. ‘I’m tired, I need more sleep.’

‘Tough.’ Karen’s face flushed. She’d been gentle enough, now Sophie’s matter-of-fact attitude bristled her. ‘I’ll tell you how you got home, shall I?’

‘Urgh. Please can you leave me alone? I’ll talk to you later.’

Karen stripped the duvet from her. ‘No, Sophie, we’ll talk about it right now.’

‘Fucking hell, Mum.’

‘I can’t believe you don’t remember.’ She lowered her face level with Sophie’s. ‘The police brought you home, Sophie. The police.’ She glared at her, waiting for a response, waiting for ‘I’m sorry, Mum’. But no. She gave nothing. ‘Are you going to say anything? Your dad went mental, you know.’

The smile spreading across Sophie’s face was like a smack in Karen’s. How dare she smile. Was Mike right? Did she think this was funny?

‘Okay, Mum. Enough. I get it. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink, I obviously annoyed you and Dad by coming home late, probably woke you up. I’m sorry. Joke over. But it’s not like you’ve never got drunk, is it? Now can you leave me alone to sleep it off?’ Sophie widened her eyes at Karen, ‘Oh, and don’t give me the tilted head crap, you always do that when you think someone’s lying …’

Karen jerked her head back upright. ‘Are you serious? Enough? I haven’t even started. It’s not a joke. And trust me, we were not laughing last night. You didn’t wake us up in the early hours. You were brought home at ten bloody thirty. How the hell could you have got into such a state so quickly?’ Before Sophie could retort, she added, ‘Maybe that’s why my head’s doing this crap.’ Karen cocked her head again, accentuating the move. She stopped talking, waiting for an explanation.

Despite Karen’s anger, the shock on Sophie’s face set her back. She really didn’t remember the police ride. A knot developed deep inside her stomach. She nudged Sophie across the bed so she could sit on the edge. She took Sophie’s hand in hers.

‘Why were you on your own? Where were your friends?’

‘I … I’m not sure. I don’t remember.’

‘Try. Please. It’s important.’

‘Why?’

‘You have to ask? You were found wandering around on your own, in a drunken state near the roundabout on the main road going out of town. Then, when they brought you back, you rattled on and on about Amy, talking utter rubbish – kept saying something about how you didn’t know she wanted to be Amy …’

‘That’s odd,’ Sophie lowered her head. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘No. Neither do I. Why had you left your friends? Or had they left you, like usual?’

‘Oh, don’t start, Mum,’ she withdrew her hand from Karen’s. ‘Let me think about this. I can’t …’ She rubbed her hands over her face. ‘I’m too tired, I need to sleep.’

Karen sat a while longer, staring at Sophie. She’d had the feeling last night there was more to this than being drunk.

Now she was sure of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Has the drunken mess surfaced?’ Mike raised his eyes fleetingly from his iPad as Karen entered the kitchen, returning them immediately to whatever was more interesting. On his days off, if he wasn’t watching TV or in the office, he had his head buried in his beloved iPad. Karen wished she’d never bought it for him.

‘I went in and woke her.’ Karen passed by him to get to the kettle. She touched its side, then flicked the switch. ‘You want a coffee?’

No answer.

‘Mike,’ she shouted, ‘you want a coffee?’

‘Uh, no. Not long had one.’ He placed the iPad on the breakfast bar. ‘What did she have to say for herself? Any explanations?’

‘She can’t remember any of it—’

‘Oh, of course not,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘Should’ve known she’d deny all knowledge.’

‘No, I don’t think it’s like that, she really didn’t seem to remember.’

‘Don’t be so damned gullible.’ He snorted – an annoying habit he’d developed when belittling what Karen said. ‘She knew she’d be in trouble, so she’s taking the easy way out with this “I can’t remember” bull.’ He waved his arm dramatically. ‘It doesn’t wash with me.’ He got up, pushing the bar stool back. The screeching made Karen wince.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m going to find out what exactly went on last night.’ He was already at the kitchen door.

‘No, don’t. She’s not up to it, you’ll get nothing from her.’

He swung around to face Karen. ‘I’ll do what I see fit. She was out of order. She needs to know the trouble she caused, and what she put you through.’

‘She didn’t really put—’

‘Enough.’ He scowled. ‘Stop sticking up for her. She was in the wrong, she has to learn there are consequences.’ He disappeared up the stairs.

Standing, stirring her coffee, Karen considered how this was going to play out. He’d have a go at Sophie, she’d throw a strop, Mike would then blame Karen for Sophie’s reaction; her shortcomings were always laid at Karen’s door, and then he’d be unbearable for about a week before he finally realised he’d overreacted and apologise. She sighed and took a sip of the coffee, hoping it might quell the growing nausea. Mug in hand, she crept to the bottom of the stairs. No shouting. She raised her eyebrows. Unusual. She stayed there for a while, listening intently. Only muted voices.

Sophie’s door opened. Karen scuttled back to the kitchen, spilling hot liquid as she went. Damn. Hearing his footing on the stairs, she quickly seated herself at the breakfast bar. ‘Well?’ She looked to him as he walked in.

‘You’re right.’

Karen almost dropped her mug. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She really has no clue about last night, Karen.’ He plonked heavily on the stool opposite her. ‘Why? I don’t understand how she could get ratted to the degree she has no memory of anything past seven o’clock. That’s not good. Not good at all.’ He rubbed his forefinger along his bottom lip.

Karen’s hairs prickled on her arms. The niggling worry in her gut grew into an intense knot. She hadn’t checked her phone. Had Liz texted her back? She got up and ran to the bedroom. Retrieving the phone, she stabbed at the screen to access her messages. Her heart jolted. Liz had replied a few hours ago. Amy didn’t come home last night. She isn’t answering her mobile, does Sophie know where she is? Liz xx

Running back downstairs, Karen burst into the kitchen and thrust the phone in front of Mike’s face.

‘I told you not to text her, Karen.’

‘Really? You’re going to have a go about that now? Have you read it? Shit. Sophie was going on about Amy last night, and now Amy is missing.’

‘She’s not really missing, is she?’ His tone was sarcastic, one reserved for the innocent ignorance of a child. ‘She probably just stayed at a friend’s last night and is sleeping off a hangover. Like Sophie!’

It was a valid point. He was probably right. But why did she have a nervous feeling, a worming thread of fear branching throughout her belly? How could she tell Liz that Sophie had no memory of the night, and had no idea where Amy was?

She re-read the message and then replied.

CHAPTER FIVE
Sophie

Why couldn’t she piece the night together? Sophie sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed, eyes shut tightly, willing the memories to come to her. Pre-drinks at Amy’s – she remembered that. There’d been six of them, the usual girl group: her, Amy, Erin, Becks, Alice and Rosie. Then some of the boys joined them – Dan, Jack and Tom – about half an hour before they planned on going into town. They’d done the shots, encouraged the girls, too. Sophie had at least three, but that was after the wine. She hadn’t finished the bottle though; she remembered the wine had tasted off. It was still a lot to consume in a few hours, she guessed. But she’d drunk far more in the past and had never forgotten an entire evening. Hazy, maybe – but not a complete blank.

Her head hurt. A piercing staccato pain right behind her eyes. She rubbed at them, hoping to relieve it. It didn’t work. Covering her head with the duvet, she sank back into the pillow and let her eyelids fall. They felt so heavy. Ugh. Why did she drink those shots? They’d clearly pushed her over the edge.

The morning’s conversation she’d had with her parents played over in her mind. How can you be brought home by the police and not have any recollection of it? It didn’t make sense that she was found, on her own, near the roundabout. It was within walking distance of the nightclub. Had she been there? They never went to the club much before midnight, though. Her dad was going to question her for days. How could she tell him what she didn’t know? Her only hope was that her friends could fill the gaps.

Her phone. She was bound to have a million texts by now. Where was it again? Oh, no. Downstairs. She raised herself into a sitting position and in what seemed like slow motion – her brain strangely disjointed from her body – made her way through the house. She didn’t particularly want to face her parents, but she could hear their voices in the kitchen, so if she wanted her phone, she’d have to. It wasn’t like she could sneak in without being seen, not the way she was moving.

Her mum flew from her seat as she walked in. ‘Amy didn’t return home last night.’

Her dad sighed, his head lolled back.

‘I’m just going to check to see what messages I have. I’m sure she probably stayed at someone else’s.’ Sophie swiped at the mobile screen.

‘That’s what I’ve been telling her,’ her dad said, shaking his head.

Sophie’s pulse increased as she scanned the dozens of messages. Tom had sent four. Are you OK, babe? Where’s you at? I’m worried, can’t find you. And the final one – Amy said Erin called you a taxi and they bundled you in it to go home, haha! Seriously tho, hope your feeling ok. She scrolled through some others to see if Erin had messaged. She hadn’t. She’d probably turned her phone off due to all the group message notifications driving her mad. Sophie looked up; her mum and dad were staring at her, waiting for her to give them answers. What should she tell them? She’d been put in a taxi to go home? Then how come she had been found on the other side of Coleton, the opposite direction to home? Great. More interrogation. She took some deep breaths. Her head throbbed: the characteristic post-drinking dehydration pain twisting together with a growing anxiety. She gave herself a moment before speaking.

‘Tom’s messages say that Amy and Erin put me in a taxi to come home.’ The urge to retreat to her bedroom was huge, but she couldn’t avoid her mother’s eyes. They seemed dull, almost black, and below them dark circles made her look ill, haunted. Frowning, deep wrinkles were appearing in her forehead. Her mother looked older today, drawn. Her usual bouncy, curly hair hung about her shoulders in lank, lifeless chunks. She guessed her mother’s worse-than-usual appearance was her fault. She must’ve been up all night worrying.

‘So, why didn’t the taxi bring you home?’ Her mum’s voice was shaky.

‘I don’t know. I really don’t remember anything about a taxi. Well, anything about anything actually.’ Sophie put her head in her hands.

‘What about Amy? Any texts from her?’

‘Just the one,’ she lied, ‘similar to Tom’s. Hoping I’m okay and she’d talk to me tomorrow.’ Why had she said that? Stupid, but she really wanted them off her back.

‘Text her now, Sophie. Liz is worried.’

‘If she isn’t returning Liz’s texts she isn’t likely to reply to mine. She’ll be sleeping it off. I’m sure she’ll contact her after lunch.’

‘It’s pointless,’ her dad offered, ‘you know what they’re like after a night out drinking, Karen. And don’t even get me started on the fact you shouldn’t be drinking at all, Sophie.’

The jingling caused them all to jump.

‘Who’s that?’ her mum asked.

‘Give me a chance.’ Sophie fumbled with the phone. She could feel expectant eyes on her. She took her time reading it, then looked up. ‘It’s Maxi, from Anderson’s. She wasn’t even with us. She’s just checking if it’s my work or college week.’ She felt the weight of their disappointment. ‘Sorry.’

The room was still, the gentle swishing of water hitting against the dishwasher door a rhythmic comfort. Sophie wanted to escape the kitchen to her room. She edged towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to bed, Mum. I’m knackered.’

‘Really? When you don’t even know where your friend is? Aren’t you bothered? I think you should look on Facebook, see if she’s posted anything—’

‘NO. Listen, will you? She’ll be at someone’s house—’

‘Not just to see where she is, I want to know what taxi firm Erin used, I want to know what time they supposedly put you in it.’

‘What’s that meant to mean – supposedly?’

‘Well, I find it very odd that they said they put you in a taxi but it never brought you home. Either they are lying or something happened in the taxi. I want to know which it is.’

‘Why would they lie? Honestly, Mum, you’re so annoying.’ Sophie turned and went out the door.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ her mum shouted after her, ‘because they are rubbish friends and are covering their backs.’ She followed Sophie, continuing her one-sided rant. ‘They left you and now, rather than take any flak, they’ve put together some cock-and-bull story, knowing you were so out of it you’d believe whatever they said.’

Sophie carried on into her bedroom without replying. She slammed the door and collapsed on the bed. The room spun. She closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to think. Was her mum right? Had she been abandoned by her friends who had then concocted some story? She couldn’t see it. Okay, so they’d got separated a few times during nights out in the past, but it was never as bad as her mum made out. It’d only been because they’d got drunk and wandered off to chat to other people and not been able to find each other again. Not answering their mobiles was common, it was loud in pubs. Her mum didn’t get that, and if Sophie had to hear another ‘it wasn’t like that in my day’ story, she’d vomit.

No, she believed Erin had called a taxi, she’d always watched her back, even during their school days. It’d always been Erin who was the sensible one and Sophie trusted her completely. How had she ended up the other end of town, though? She replayed the evening again from the time she arrived at Amy’s. It was useless. She could only recall up to the point where they’d left the house to walk into town. They were all together then, definitely.

Her phone vibrated. She grabbed it, praying it was Amy.

Dan. Bless him. He always looked out for her. A shame she didn’t fancy him, everything else about him was perfect. Too perfect. Not bad-boy enough for her taste.

Morning gorgeous, how’s your head? XX

Despite her banging brain and the stressful events that morning, she smiled. She tapped a reply.

Not great, hun. What happened last night?

She waited, watching the screen, praying for him to give an answer to end this mystery.

You were well wasted, love. You wanted to go home after just 2 pubs! Light weight ;-) xx

Okay, now she was getting somewhere. If she’d wanted to go home, then she must’ve felt terrible. She knew her limits, and when she surpassed them, she always left – went home. Always. So, she had got in a taxi, like Tom had said. This threw up new, more difficult questions. Questions she didn’t want to face at the moment. Shit. Her mum would have a field day. She’d be on to the police, making accusations about the taxi driver. It was inevitable; her job had made her believe the worst of everyone.

Did you stay for the duration then? Who was with you?

She tapped the side of the mobile, her long acrylic nails clicking against the plastic casing. It was ten minutes before the vibrating heralded an answer.

Ended up at Shafters, as usual. All the boys made it, but lost Amy and Erin way before the club.

That wasn’t what she wanted to read. Shafters, the club’s nickname, was the one Sophie was found near. Erin likely got fed up and went back to her dad’s; she wasn’t into clubbing like the others, she preferred the pubs. But the fact that Amy hadn’t been with them was worrying. Where had she gone?

It was common for Amy to break from the group. Such a social butterfly, she loved being the centre of attention. And attention she got. Every night out, without fail, it was like she was the main act at Glastonbury: everyone crowding around her, bustling her, trying to get her to notice them. Her beautiful shiny, long dark hair, her flawless complexion, her vivaciousness; she had it all going for her. She was easily the most popular of the group. They’d met at work, Amy was on the beauty counter opposite the fashion concession Sophie worked for. They’d hit it off immediately, despite her being two years older.

Where was the last place you saw Amy?

Her acrylic nail lifted as she chewed at the skin on the side of her thumb. Why was it taking him so long to reply? All of her nails would need replacing at this rate. Maybe she’d have to do a group text. It might be a quicker way of getting the answers she so desperately needed.

Another ping. At last.

I saw her and Erin shove you into a taxi, outside the White Hart. I think she came into The Farmer with us, then. I can’t remember seeing her again after. She’ll have gone off with some bloke, you know what she’s like. Xx

Yes. She knew what Amy was like. That’s what worried her.

CHAPTER SIX

Tues 7.00 p.m.

Where’ve you been, my sweet? I hope you are going to reply by tonight. I’m fed up of sending texts and messages and getting no reply. I’ve missed talking to you, it’s been 2 days! I want to know how the plans are coming along for our ‘date’, it seems like I’ve been waiting for ever! A guy can only be so patient, you know

xxxxxx

Fri 11.57 p.m.

So sorry I haven’t replied. I’ve been so busy. There’s lots going on here, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to meet up for our date tomorrow, something’s come up. Looks like you may have to be patient for a bit longer!

xxx

CHAPTER SEVEN
Karen

The Facebook notifications sent her phone into overdrive, each new alert sounding seconds after the next. Karen snatched up her mobile and pressed the Facebook app. Her shoulders slumped. The status she’d been dreading:

Has anyone seen or heard from Amy? She didn’t come home last night and her mobile is going straight to voicemail. Can you share this, please? Really worried.

It had started. Now the inevitable questions would follow.

‘Sophie. SOPHIE.’ Karen took two stairs at a time.

‘What?’ Sophie appeared at her door. She’d kept well out of the way for the entire day, only flitting downstairs to get food and then disappearing again before Mike detained her for further questioning. Karen had left her alone. There wasn’t much to gain from continuing to ask her questions she didn’t have an answer to. Her plan had been to try and approach Sophie’s friends without her knowledge, social media was easy for this purpose: ask around, find out which taxi firm had been used and take it from there. The Facebook status from Liz had just changed those plans. This was getting serious.

‘Liz is asking people to share her status on Facebook, Sophie. One saying Amy hasn’t made contact yet, and whether anyone has seen or heard from her. Have you?’

Sophie’s face scrunched. ‘No. Nothing, I’ve sent like, twenty texts. And group messages. We all have.’

‘All? Who is all?’

‘Our group, nearly everyone that was out last night. No one has seen or heard from her.’

‘What the hell happened last night? Something must have. Please, Sophie, you have to remember.’

‘I can’t. You going on about it and saying I MUST remember, doesn’t help. I. Do. Not. Remember. Got it?’ She stepped back inside her room and slammed the door.

Karen stayed, standing there stock-still. This was turning into a nightmare. Why wasn’t Sophie as worried as she was? She’d be horrified if any of her friends had gone missing, she’d be going out of her way to help. She tried to calm down. Apart from sending texts and messages to the others, perhaps there wasn’t much else Sophie could do at this stage.

She ran back downstairs into the dining room and fired up her laptop. Somehow, seeing it on the bigger screen made it scarier: thirty or so concerned comments from Liz’s friends, and some from the group of teenagers Sophie mentioned they’d been out with, all saying the same. No one knew where she was. Karen started Googling Missing Persons. A few clicks later and she slammed it shut again. Maybe it was better not to look, better not to jump to conclusions.

How long do you give it before contacting the police?

Karen dialled Liz’s number.

‘Any developments?’ Mike raised his eyes from his iPad as Karen walked in. He’d managed to make it to the lounge from the kitchen, a whole ten feet or so. He was now sitting, legs sprawled in front of him, back against the sofa, iPad balanced on his thigh.

‘Liz is giving it another hour, then she’s calling the police. I don’t know how she’s holding off. I would’ve done that already.’

‘You don’t want to spark a missing person’s appeal then have Amy turn up, hungover and apologetic because she’s been asleep all day. Too embarrassing.’

‘I think I’d rather be embarrassed. Imagine holding off for an hour, and then finding out that hour had been vital. I’d never forgive myself.’

‘Be grateful it’s not your daughter, then.’

‘Jesus, Mike.’ She walked away. She should be doing something more constructive. The knowledge Sophie would become key if this got as far as the police played heavy on her mind.

‘What about Erin? Has she told you which taxi she put Sophie in?’ he shouted after her.

‘No, I haven’t got around to checking it out yet. Sophie hasn’t heard from her, I don’t think.’

‘You do realise they are likely to be together, then?’

‘That’d be good. I hope that’s the case. I’ll give Rach a call in a minute to check.’ Karen wandered into the kitchen, her mind afloat with thoughts of what might have happened to Sophie. And what might have happened to Amy. She flicked the kettle back on. More coffee was required. ‘I wonder if Liz has phoned the hospitals,’ she said, more to herself than Mike. She leaned against the worktop, and while waiting for the kettle, checked the Facebook app on her mobile again. More comments offering ‘hugs’ and a couple of people had asked about hospitals. The reply from Liz was, yes, they’d checked already.

The police were clearly next.

Not much she could do right now. She’d keep tabs on Facebook and, with luck, there’d be some news soon. She sighed. There was still the washing in the machine – Mike’s ranger uniform he needed for work tomorrow. She’d best dry that, he couldn’t go up on Dartmoor with damp clothes. And they hadn’t eaten – her mind had been too preoccupied to consider food.

Her chest tightened and the nervous feeling she was accustomed to squirmed in her stomach. There was so much to do tomorrow. She hated Mondays. On top of her daily household chores, she had the counselling. She put out both hands and spread them on the worktop to steady herself. She inhaled deeply through her nose, held it, then blew out of her mouth. Breathe. Repeat. The thought of facing the day with all the unanswered questions was daunting.

The ringing mobile stopped her thoughts. It was Rachel. At least a conversation with her oldest friend might lift her current mood and she could ask her to grill Erin about the taxi company. It’d be better if her own mother did it, rather than Karen stalking her on Facebook. It’d been a few weeks since she’d last spoken to Rachel properly, one thing or another preventing a call. They often went weeks, occasionally months, with only the odd text to check the other was fine. But it didn’t matter; their bond was too strong for a lapse in time to break it. Rachel was Karen’s rock and always had been. She wouldn’t have got through the last two years without her.

Karen quickly pressed to accept the call.

‘Hey, Rach. You beat me to it, I was about to call you.’

CHAPTER EIGHT
Sophie

Her head was still woozy. Almost an entire day of feeling like death – had it been worth it? Sophie sat in the same position she’d been in for hours, her limbs aching with inactivity. Her thumb swept across the screen of her mobile, scrolling through the feeds on Facebook, checking for any news.

The ding sounded unusually loud in her quiet room – it wasn’t the noise for her usual notifications. She tapped the screen. A new email. She hadn’t had an email for a while, not having used her account for months. Within the message from the unknown sender was a link. She should ignore it, delete immediately; it could be spam, a virus. Her thumb moved to the delete tab, then stopped. The words made her hesitate:

You’re gonna want to see this. More will follow. Do you recognise her?

Without waiting to consider it any further, Sophie clicked on the link.

The picture was cropped. Faceless.

A black dress, hitched up, revealing bare legs. A small tattoo visible on one ankle.

She swallowed, the constriction of her throat making it painful.

She knew immediately who it was.

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