Chapter 5

FIVE

At twenty-five years old, Louise Gill felt she had been through her life twice. At times, she even felt like she was two people living in alternate states of mind. Her mother worried that she might be schizophrenic, but Louise had refused all medication. She didn’t want to live in a fugue state. She had to study, and she wanted to be normal.

She checked the notifications on her phone for possibly the tenth time since she’d woken up. Nothing of interest on Instagram and no new Snapchats. She hadn’t many friends, so that was normal. Putting the phone to one side, she pulled her laptop onto her knee.

The coffee shop she was sitting in had recently opened in an old bank building, and she loved the anteroom situated in what had once been a fireproof vault. The door was six inches thick, but these days it was perpetually open, having been cemented at an angle to the floor. Louise didn’t experience claustrophobia like some of her friends, who refused to join her in the dimly lit cavern. In here, she felt safe. Away from the world.

Her thesis was tough and she had to submit it in mid December. Criminal psychology was her favourite subject, and writing about miscarriages of justice had awakened memories deep within her psyche.

She had been right, hadn’t she? About seeing him running frantically that night. What age had she been? Fourteen. She was confident in the testimony she had given. Wasn’t she?

Catching sight of her reflection on the screen, she realised her laptop had slipped into sleep mode. Just like her brain. Her eyes were hollow and dark-rimmed. The nightmares had returned. He had been released from jail. He was back in her town. Walking among people on the street. He could be in here now for all she knew. Her eyes flared wide. She couldn’t see their colour in the reflective screen, but they were dark brown, like her long hair, which she had never dyed. Her skin was sallow, with a sprinkling of freckles on her nose.

She had to concentrate. No point in going back to that disturbing time. Or was there? Recently the nightmares waking her at three in the morning had left her wrapped in soaking sheets with a raging fever. Her subconscious was telling her she had made a mistake all those years ago. Her conscious self told her she hadn’t. Which was correct?

A shadow dimmed the light in the doorway and she looked up. Her mouth formed a perfect O and pearls of perspiration dribbled down her spine. He was there, accusation flaring in his eyes as he stared at her. Then in an instant he was gone, and she shook her head. Had she imagined it? Had it been a vision from her subconscious mind? Her hands clutched the laptop tightly. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk.

She realised she’d been holding her breath. As she exhaled, her eyes filled and tears began to leak down her cheeks.

Louise Gill didn’t know what was real any more. She had to talk to Cristina.

Unwrapping herself from her lover’s arms, Louise went to search the refrigerator for something to drink. She felt safer with Cristina than anywhere else. The fact that her best friend was now her partner, was her secret. The two of them had debated long into the summer nights, often resulting in heated arguments, about ‘coming out’ to her parents. Louise was no longer the fourteen-year-old who had idolised the only man in her life. The man who had let her down so badly that she’d talked herself into believing that that was why she was attracted to a woman. Or maybe it was just that she loved Cristina more than anyone since she’d been fourteen years old. In any case, whatever the reason, she didn’t want to tell her father.

‘Why are you so on edge?’ Cristina’s voice followed her into the kitchen.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ A can of Coke would have to do. Too early to drink the white wine that nestled in the door, condensation running down the bottle.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

Louise turned to see Cristina leaning naked against the door frame, smoke curling from the cigarette in her long-fingered hand. She looked like an exotic actress who had stepped from a 1930s movie set. Her black hair lay like a snake over one shoulder and her eyes were dark and inviting, displaying her Asian heritage. At four foot eleven, she was six inches smaller than Louise, but today she appeared taller.

‘I don’t know who you mean,’ Louise said, biting the inside of her lip.

A smile lit up Cristina’s face. ‘See. I was right. You are thinking of him.’

‘I don’t want to talk about Conor Dowling.’

Cristina’s hand caressed Louise’s arm. ‘Whether you do or not, I think you have to. Otherwise, sweetheart, it is going to eat you up inside.’

‘Leave it for now, okay?’ Louise took a drink of the Coke. ‘Maybe later.’

Cristina moved away, back into the bedroom. But her voice carried loud and clear to Louise’s ears. ‘You can’t keep everything for later. First of all you have to face up to Dowling, and then you need to tell your father about us. That arsehole needs to know the truth.’