Chapter 43 Kier

43

Kier

Devon, July 2018

My mother used to say that people think they have twenty-twenty vision, but most of the time they're totally blind.

It only made sense when I got older, took the words less literally, that I understood that she didn't mean physically blind. She meant people choosing to be blind. Seeing only what they want to see.

Like our next-door neighbour who saw the fingerprint bruises on Mum's neck, but didn't want to rock the boat because my father's firm was sorting through her mother's intestate will. She said to my grandmother afterwards, ‘It was complicated. He seemed like a nice man.'

Or the postman who saw my father pushing my mother against the wall through the glass panels of the door, but, when questioned, said he thought it wasn't serious. Didn't want to get involved. We all have our moments, don't we?

I can't blame them, not really. I've been blind many times. Blind when I saw my mother crying in the shower. Blind when my father locked her in the downstairs loo.

Blind when we went to collect our clothes from the house after she went to prison, and I saw Penn climb into our mother's wardrobe and bunch the bottoms of her skirts together until they were big and squashy and hug them like he used to hug her.

I could be blind now, I think, staring at the unopened reply from Janey. There's still time to come back from this.

I could delete and block. Pretend yesterday never happened: pretend I hadn't searched his laptop.

Zeph will never know. He wasn't suspicious yesterday, and by the time he gets back from Exeter this afternoon, I can delete all trace of my search.

But as my finger starts to move, an image flickers to life in my mind.

Romy dancing, the raw look in her eyes.

I click it open.

To answer your question, yes, I know Romy. We were neighbours, but also friends. I'm happy to tell you what I know, but I'm always hesitant to put things in writing. Are you ok to call instead? This is my number. Leave a message if you can't get through and I'll call back. I'm around for the next few hours.

Half an hour later, I'm sat at the edge of the beach, staring at the blank face of my phone screen, willing it to come alive.

I've called Janey three times already, and every time, no answer. I look back to the screen, frustrated. I wanted this over with before Zeph gets back. If she calls when we're together …

I shift position. Beneath my feet, the sand is hot, the small pebbles burning. Shuffling sideways, I find a patch of shade thrown out by the restaurant on my left. The man on my right gives me a pointed look: I've gotten too close.

It's like this everywhere now: a tension in the air.

His wife is reading the local paper. The headline is a version of the one dominating the local news.

WOMAN MISSING. PARENTS FEAR THE WORST AFTER BOAT KILLER STILL AT LARGE .

Snippets of their conversation drift my way. They're analysing. Dissecting in that sorrowful but also macabre way, a Poor them and simultaneously Glad it isn't me vibe.

All at once, it's too much. The sun, burning down. The newspaper. The smells.

I stand up, shaking sand, small stones from the folds of my shorts.

Almost as soon as I start walking, my phone trills.

A US number.

Janey.

My heart is leaping.

It's an effort to stop myself from fumbling over my words as we exchange stilted hellos. Awkward stranger small talk – a staccato back-and-forth. We laugh over the phone tag; I apologise for contacting her out of the blue.

Small talk drying up, I explain the situation with Zeph. I've rehearsed this in my head, fleshing out what I'd briefly outlined in my initial message: that we're in a relationship, and I had some questions after seeing her comment on Romy's fan page.

When Janey replies, she sounds embarrassed. ‘Look, to caveat, the comment I put up on that post was before I knew the full story. I'm happy to talk about it, but—'

‘I understand,' I say quickly, ‘but still I'm interested in what you thought might have happened.' A white lie. ‘It's the beginning of the relationship. Seeing something like that …'

A pause. ‘Yeah, I get it. I'd want the full story if I found that kind of post.' She takes a breath. ‘Right, I'll start at the beginning, and just to warn you, some of this will sound weird if you don't know the context. I'll probably come across as a mildly psychotic, overinvested neighbour.'

‘That's fine. Anything you've done, I can guarantee I've probably done worse.'

Janey gives a muted laugh. ‘Like I said in the message, Romy and I lived next door to each other. We were friends, but there was always a … barrier there. There are a few people like that in our building. Fame, money … it can change people. Makes them wary about connecting. '

That makes sense, I think, from what Zeph had told me. ‘And you obviously knew about her relationship with Zeph?'

There's a longer pause. ‘Yes,' she says finally. ‘You couldn't miss it. They'd fight … like nothing else. Not just shouting, but I heard things being thrown around, the works.' She sounds embarrassed. ‘Sorry, this must be awkward for you—' The line sounds suddenly muffled. The sound of traffic in the background, the loud wail of a siren.

I press the phone closer to my ear. ‘It's fine.' So far, nothing different to what Zeph had already told me. ‘Did she ever talk to you about their relationship?'

‘Not directly, but I did ask if she was okay. I hoped that subliminally, she'd get what I was implying.'

‘And did she?'

There's a short silence. ‘It was hard to say,' Janey says finally. ‘She told me she was fine. I didn't want to push it, and in any case, I heard after that they'd split. She told me it was a mutual thing, but a few weeks later, I saw Zeph hanging around the apartment building. She told me he was taking the breakup hard. Couldn't let go.'

I inhale, my mouth suddenly dry.

This is where the story diverges. What he told me becoming something new.

‘So what made you think he might be involved in her disappearance?'

‘His persistence, more than anything. The hanging around … it went on for months. Then he started taking photos of her as she left the building. Around then, Romy … withdrew. Stopped coming out of the apartment unless she had to for work. I assumed it was because she knew what he was doing.'

I think back to the photos on Zeph's laptop, Romy's haunted expression.

‘Plus, I thought I might only be seeing the very surface of what was happening.' Janey exhales. ‘A few months after that, she went missing.'

‘And you said you went to the police and told them what you'd seen?' Next to me, the woman reading the paper is jabbing one of the images. On my other side, someone's unwrapping an oily paper square. The meaty smell stirs a faint queasiness in my gut.

A small silence. ‘Yeah, I did. I felt bad about doing it, invading her privacy, but I couldn't let it lie.' Janey gives a tight laugh. ‘They more or less told me to get lost. Said there was nothing to be concerned about. That fans, the media, were blowing it up unnecessarily. That they had it on good authority that she was safe and well.'

I pick over her words. Safe and well. ‘And you didn't think that was the case?'

‘I wasn't sure. Their total lack of concern and what they said about having it on good authority , it bothered me. You hear about these things, right? People going missing, and someone thinking they saw them, and that gets passed round as gospel. What if it was the same with this? Recycled hearsay? If it had been anyone else, maybe I'd have left it, knowing someone was going to bat for her, but she didn't seem to have any kind of support network.' Janey sighs. ‘A few weeks later, I spoke to a friend who came by her apartment to collect something. I asked after Romy, and she told me that she'd been seen in Europe, that the rumours about the retreat cum rehab were true.'

‘They knew for certain?' This isn't where I was expecting the conversation to go.

‘No. It was a mutual friend who'd told them … that's what bothered me. I kept thinking, if that were me, I'd want someone to go the extra mile, you know?'

‘So what happened next?'

‘Well, I had a key to her apartment. We'd swapped keys for lockouts, that kind of thing. A few days after I spoke to her friend, I let myself in, to see if I could find anything that would back up what she'd said.' Janey hesitates. ‘And I did. A notebook on her bedside drawer, travel plans to Europe, flight dates, et cetera. All tallied with when she'd supposedly gone missing.'

‘You're sure it was her writing?' I raise my voice above the sound of a dog barking a few feet away .

‘As much as I could be. She'd cleared some stuff out too. Personal stuff. Cases, jewellery … it all checked out with what her friend said. I felt bad, then, about what I said to the police about Zeph. Between you and me, in her stuff I saw photos of her with other guys. Situations like this, you always blame the man, but looking back, the shouting, the fighting … it was her too. My guess is she'll come back to a big fanfare soon enough.'

The dog's barking is louder now. Frenzied. I don't know what to think. I can hear from the tone of her voice that she believes Romy's fine. That the police were right. The embarrassment I'd picked up on isn't because she's talking to me about Zeph, but about the conclusions she'd leapt to.

Beads of sweat form on my back as I think about Penn's words on trust.

Picking people to pieces.

What if I've leapt on one negative thing I'd read and extrapolated from that?

The photographs Zeph had taken of her could simply be the result of someone struggling. Struggling to accept they'd lost someone they loved. Extreme, yes, but I, more than anyone, knew about extreme. What happens when your guard is torn down.

‘So you think she's definitely in Europe? The flight tickets were to there?'

‘Yeah … Portugal … Porto airport. She'd written some places down, in northern Portugal, around the national park. A spa town there.'

An odd, burning sensation in my chest. Not heat this time, the sun bearing down on me, but shock.

Portugal.

‘I looked it up,' Janey continues, oblivious. ‘There are retreats there, rehab places too.' A pause. ‘So yeah, I think your guy, Zeph, he checks out.'

I can't get out the words to reply. I'd think so too if I hadn't seen Zeph's search history just a few days before. Hadn't known where he'd travelled, right before we met.