The Other Tenant, page 20
I’m directly opposite her parents’ house now, and I can hardly bring myself to look at it. All these years I’ve tried to tell myself a different story, and sometimes I even managed to believe it. Because the stupid, utterly reckless teenager who started that fire for her own selfish ends can’t possibly have been me.
I’d convinced myself I could get away with it. A small, contained fire that would either burn out straight away or be extinguished as soon as it was discovered. A fire in the large wire bin full of waste-paper that was directly under the shelf where Ms Thompson had put my sketchbook and some of my coursework. All because I didn’t think my work was up to scratch.
It doesn’t matter that I changed my mind literally the second after I’d flicked my lighter, that the thought of destroying all those weeks and months of hard work was suddenly too awful to contemplate. It doesn’t matter because I hadn’t put it out. In the midst of all that paper, a tiny ember must still have been burning away. Coming to my senses made no difference whatsoever. Because the fire did take hold. It burnt down the entire art studio, and Lottie with it.
Sometimes, I almost manage to convince myself that it’s simply my guilt at telling Lottie how easy it was to get into the art pods that has made me concoct this dreadful story as a form of self-punishment.
But it was me. I started the fire.
I killed Lottie.
People I pass on the street are giving me curious, pitying looks, and I know I don’t deserve their pity. I deserve this half-life I’ve chosen for myself. Lottie never got to live her life, so why should I get to live mine? And now I’ve lost Dev too. I’ve got nothing left. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know Lottie was in the building. It doesn’t matter that I only wanted to destroy my own work. None of it matters because the fact is, I chose to flick that lighter. I chose to start that fire.
The fire that will never go out in my head. The fire that will burn until the day I die, and – if there is a heaven and a hell – the fire that will burn me for eternity too.
I should never have come back – it’s just made everything so much worse.
I stop walking and make a decision. I can’t keep wallowing in self-pity and regret like this or I’ll go mad. I have to keep going, keep doing things to stay sane. Keep moving. It’s the only way.
I’ll go back to my room and start searching online for a short-term storage unit that isn’t too pricey, and a man with a van who can pick up me and my stuff ASAP. Then I’ll swallow my stupid pride and call Mum and Dad. See if they’ll lend me some money to go over to France and stay with them for a while, just until I’ve decided on my next steps.
There’s something else I have to do as well. It might be too late to make it up to Dev, and there’s no way I’ll ever be able to make amends to Lottie or her family, but it’s not too late to find out what’s going on at McKinleys, and whether it’s got anything to do with Hayley’s disappearance.
And yet, even as I think this, I have the most awful feeling that maybe it’s been too late for Hayley all along, and that I’ve been deluding myself that there’s still a chance to save her. Melancholy swells inside me like a giant wave.
I keep thinking of that patch of slightly different-coloured paintwork behind all the pipes in the pump room. What better place to stash drugs than an abandoned old swimming pool that’s due for demolition in less than a year? That would explain why Brampton was so over-the-top furious when I said I’d seen an intruder on the CCTV.
This is, after all, the man who wants to turn a dead girl’s memorial garden into a car park for the sake of a couple of extra spaces. If Brampton is doing something illegal, the police need to know about it. Then maybe his property-development days will be over, and someone decent, with a heart and a conscience, can buy the site and keep Lottie’s garden exactly as it is. If I leave here without at least trying to solve the puzzle, that’ll be yet another thing weighing on my conscience and adding to my guilt.
Tomorrow is Monday. In the morning, when everyone’s gone back to work, I’ll take another look in that pool. I’ll find out what’s going on.
48
Marlow
As I climb the three stone steps leading up to the main entrance, I realize that it’s exactly a week since I first arrived. I remember thinking at the time that something was a bit off about Dev on the drive over here. Now I know why. He was working out how to tell me he couldn’t be friends with me any more.
The hall is as gloomy as it was last Sunday, maybe even gloomier. I pass the pigeonholes outside the office and notice something I missed earlier. Rob has printed out a label with my name on – M. Cairns – and stuck it below one of the slots. As if I belong here now. As if I’m staying.
That’s odd. Something’s been posted into my slot already, yet nobody except Dev and the agency knows I’m here. I haven’t got round to changing my address on anything official.
When I draw out the small, square envelope with a first-class stamp in the corner and read what’s handwritten on the front, my stomach drops. It’s got my name on it. My real name. Marilyn DeVere-Cairns, followed by the name and address of the school. But nobody knows about that name. I haven’t used it in years. I paid to have it legally changed as soon as I was eighteen because I hated it so much.
With a growing sense of trepidation, I prise open the envelope, and there, inside, is a plain white greetings card with a fire emoji on the front. My heart begins to thud as I open the card. There’s nothing written inside. Nothing at all. It’s completely blank.
I feel a stab of fear. My old name on the envelope coupled with the picture on the card is the only message I need. I think of that comment from @liarhunter04. Don’t play with me, followed by the fire emoji, just like the one on this card.
My mouth goes dry. This must be from Liar Hunter, too. And now I know for sure that it’s someone who was at school with me. Someone who knows what I did. Even the 04 in their name is a clue. Because that was the year it happened. That was the year of the fire. The year Lottie died. 2004.
Lou emerges from the kitchen and startles me. ‘You’ve found it then,’ she says. ‘I meant to tell you, but what with the party last night and the fire this morning, I completely forgot. It was my turn to sort the post yesterday and I guessed it must be you.’ She smirks. ‘No wonder you didn’t tell us your real name. Sounds like something out of Downton Abbey.’
I’m too much in shock to be embarrassed. I slide the card into my pocket. ‘Yeah, I only really use it for my bank account and passport.’ Another lie, because everything’s in my new name now, but how else to explain this suddenly appearing? Can she hear the tremble in my voice? The fear?
But Lou just nods as if it’s nothing. Because to her it is nothing. She has no idea what it means, me receiving this card. And the worst thing is, I can’t confide in her, much as I’d like to. Because then I’d have to tell her why it’s so frightening. I’d have to admit that I started the fire, and while I might have been ready to tell Dev, I’ve only just met Lou, and I’ve already made the decision to leave as soon as I can, so what would be the point in burdening her with my dreadful secret? And anyway, how do I know it’d be safe with her? I’ve known her for what, seven days?
‘I’m glad I’ve bumped into you,’ I say. ‘I wanted to let you know I’m probably going to be leaving soon. I didn’t want you to worry if I suddenly disappear too.’
Lou frowns. ‘But you’ve only just arrived.’
‘I know, but it’s complicated.’
‘Family emergency?’ Lou says, arching her eyebrows.
‘No. Not exactly. But it does involve seeing my parents again. I’m going to stay with them for a while. I need to sort my life out. Stop living like this. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a property guardian,’ I add, in case she thinks I’m criticizing her own choices.
‘It is a bit shit though,’ Lou says. ‘I’d like a bit more permanence in my life, too.’ She lowers her voice. ‘All this business with Hayley and some of the things that have been happening here – I’m not surprised you want out.’
‘I’m going to check that pump room one more time before I go,’ I whisper.
Lou looks alarmed and beckons me into the kitchen again. ‘No. Don’t do that,’ she says, as soon as we’ve closed the door behind us. ‘If there’s something dodgy going on here, we shouldn’t get involved. I told Mags everything last night, after the party. About going up to your room with Hayley. Everything I told you.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes. I saw your reaction when I wouldn’t give you my number, and it made me think. I figured I owed it to Mags, and to myself, to be honest with her. I can’t go through life worrying about what she’s going to think all the time. It was a difficult conversation because I had to admit I kind of fancied Hayley, but it was the right thing to do. It made me realize how much I don’t want to lose Mags. And her looking at my phone, well, it’s my fault really. I’ve made her feel jealous. Sneaking around behind her back. Being evasive. I feel like our relationship has moved on to a new level now. Like we’re more solid, you know?’
I nod. I know what she means because it’s exactly what I wanted to do with Dev.
‘Mags reckons we shouldn’t get involved, and she’s right. If there’s some kind of criminal activity going on here, especially if it’s anything to do with Class A drugs, it could be really dangerous. People like that are ruthless. And it’s like we said: the police aren’t going to be interested in Hayley. Not with her past. They’re stretched enough as it is.’
She moves towards the door. ‘We’re making plans to move on as well, as it happens. So please, Marlow, don’t go back to the pool. It’s not worth it.’
‘OK. I won’t.’
But I will, I know I will. Because I can’t give up on Hayley just yet. And if Brampton is up to no good, I owe it to Lottie and her parents to find out the truth. If I can discredit him somehow and stop his development plans, then Lottie’s garden will be safe. Preserving her memory – it’s the very least I can do.
‘Lou?’ I say, as she turns to leave. She looks back at me over her shoulder. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone about my name.’
She grins. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.’
When she’s gone, I pull the card out of my pocket and examine it again. My secret isn’t safe at all. Someone must have seen me light that fire.
49
Rob
It is late on Sunday night, almost midnight, and Rob is sitting in one of the old science labs, perched on a high stool in front of the bench at the back and breathing in the faint chemical smell that lingers even now. It is dark and cold in here, and he has finished his task. He doesn’t quite know why he is still here, but something is pinning him to this stool. Some irresistible force. Perhaps it is the memory of those long nights when he first arrived on site, when he was the only one here.
Well, not quite the only one.
Rob thinks back to those nights with something like nostalgia. He was happy then. No, not happy, he thinks. That is the wrong word. Rob isn’t sure whether he has ever been entirely happy. Happiness as a concept is somewhat alien to him. Contentment is probably more accurate, but even that isn’t completely right. Sometimes Rob wonders whether there is any such thing as true contentment or true happiness. At best, these states of mind are fleeting. At worst, illusory.
The week before Guardian Angels Inc. took over the security arrangements at the school, someone had broken in via the windows of this very lab and spray-painted graffiti on the walls. Coarse, vulgar words that have now been painted over. They had started to deface one of the teak worktops too – the one in front of the whiteboard – but must have been frightened off by something.
Rob likes to think it was Lottie who scared them.
He runs his hands over the worktop he’s sitting at now. He likes the smoothness of the hard wood, the feel of it on the soft palms of his hands. He likes the fact that generations of girls have sat at this very bench, conducting their experiments under the watchful eye of a science tutor. Pouring and mixing and measuring out solutions, setting up tripods over Bunsen burners, peering into conical flasks and making laborious notes.
He likes the fact that Lottie might once have sat here, and that his hands are touching the same worktop she touched. It’s why he used to come here all the time after the school closed down. It’s why he applied for a position here as soon as he saw one advertised on the Guardian Angels website.
After the break-in, the agency soon secured the site, but if someone was determined to get in, they would. Which is why there are now ten of them living here. An occupied school is less attractive to vandals than an empty one.
But Rob wishes they hadn’t come. The others. He was managing perfectly well before they all turned up. He enjoyed the solitude. The peace. He enjoyed his nightly patrols. But most of all, he enjoyed the proximity to Lottie.
He still does enjoy this – of course he does – but it isn’t quite the same any more. Not since the dreadful business with Hayley. He can sense Lottie’s disappointment in him for what he has done, or rather, for what he has failed to do. He can sense her judgement. And she is right. He should have rescued Hayley somehow. He shouldn’t have let that awful man get away with it.
But then, there are lots of things Rob has let him get away with. Lots of comings and goings he has turned a blind eye to.
He shifts position on the lab stool so that he is facing the honours board he has been working on for the past six months. Such a painstaking job, hand-painting her name and achievements. A real labour of love. He didn’t think he’d be able to do it, and although it isn’t as perfect as he would have liked, he is satisfied with the result. When he tried hanging it on Friday, to see how it looked, he was filled with an enormous sense of pride, even though it wasn’t sitting straight on the wall. He didn’t have time to rehang it before some of the others came back from work and interrupted him. But still, he only noticed one tiny flaw, which he has now put right. It is a fitting tribute to the girl he loved. The girl he will always love.
She didn’t want him in life, but in death she is his, and his alone. Being near her like this is what makes him turn a blind eye to what has been going on under his nose. He cannot afford to lose his position here. It’s his home. Lottie’s presence is everywhere. He used to visit her grave in the churchyard a few streets away, but although her bones were there, she wasn’t.
When the development is finished, Rob will make sure his name is first on the list for one of the planned single-bedroom dwellings. He has a considerable amount of money in his savings account, thanks to the generosity of his childless and adoring aunt. God rest her soul.
Although now, of course, there is Elle to consider. Elle has been showing interest in him, and he cannot deny the frisson of excitement this gives him in a very particular and private part of his body. For although Lottie will always be the girl of Rob’s dreams – his number one love, high up on a pedestal above all others – Elle has one distinct advantage over her.
Elle is alive.
50
Elle
It is Monday morning. Elle drags the suitcase from under her bed and starts piling her clothes inside. Today will be her last day on site. Her last day pretending to be a property guardian.
Her last day living as Craig’s girlfriend.
If all goes to plan – she can’t even bring herself to contemplate what might happen if it doesn’t – it will also be her last day as an undercover officer. She wishes it could be her last day on the force as well, but she’ll have to work her notice. With any luck, it will be desk duties only from now on.
The chronic anxiety and stress she has been suffering for months is different today. Today, she is wired and fearful. They can’t afford to mess this one up. Not after all the hours she and Craig and the rest of the team have put in. The weeks and months of information gathering. The piecing together of connections and following trails. There is too much at stake to start bottling it now.
And yet, not for the first time, Elle wonders whether any of it will do any good, in the end. They might win a few battles, here and there. Remove a few key players. But they’re never going to stop the trade in illegal drugs. Never going to stop the suffering and misery. The ruined lives.
This is why she needs to get out. Because she doesn’t believe it’s a job worth doing. Not any more. However many of these lowlifes they put away, more and more of them will spring up and take their place. It’s an unwinnable war. A war that will never end.
Elle pushes her cynicism to the back of her mind. Today isn’t the day for it. Right now, she’s still a key member of this team, and she can’t afford to lose focus.
She takes a few deep breaths and directs her attention to her feet on the floor. Grounds herself in the present moment. According to the intel the operational team have been gathering, their suspect has been using an encrypted messaging app to communicate with other members of the organized crime group. Today, at precisely 10.45 a.m., he will be meeting a wholesale dealer known only as J at the swimming pool and exchanging ten kilos of high-purity cocaine for cash. Cocaine imported from his contacts in Dubai. It is just one of several exchanges that he and his associates are believed to have made in the last two years.
Elle wanders over to the window and gazes out at the playing field. Her eyes stick on the section of fencing that will be removed shortly before the planned seizure, allowing her armed colleagues to enter the site and make their way into the old gymnasium and through the store cupboard into the pool, where they will, if their intel is correct and there are no last-minute timing changes, ‘surprise’ their man and his buyer mid-transaction.
Elle’s involvement is now over. She has done what she was deployed to do and kept her eyes and ears open.
