You Can Trust Me: A Novel Read online

I have a terse text from Will—CALL ME IT’S URGENT—and a voice message from Damian, saying he hasn’t found anything out at Aces High and that he’s waiting for me at the cathedral. I’m only a few minutes away, so I send a quick text saying I’m on my way and scurry along the sidewalk. Perhaps Damian will be able to make sense of what Robbie has told me. I still don’t know if I can really trust him, but Damian was as much a victim of the cottage fire as I was. That has to count in his defense, no matter how heavily his past weighs against him.

  The street leading to the cathedral is heaving with tourists. I battle my way past a group of Italian teenagers laughing and shrieking at each other. I’m psyching myself up to call Will, when he rings me himself. I hesitate. I’m dreading talking to him.

  On the other hand, avoiding him isn’t going to solve anything.

  I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve and press the phone to my ear. “Will?” I feel numb.

  “Livy.” Will’s voice is tight-lipped. “Where the fuck are you?”

  I gasp, shocked by how angry he sounds. “I’m in Exeter. Why?”

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone. I reach the cathedral. The green is spread out in front of me.

  “Will?”

  “Mandy with you?” His tone is sarcastic.

  My heart sinks. He knows I told Mum I was with my friend Mandy. And somehow, he also knows that I haven’t been with her at all.

  “Er, no…,” I stammer. “Not now, I—”

  “Cut the crap,” Will snaps. “I know you haven’t even seen Mandy. You lied to your mum. To our kids.” He stops, his breathing ragged. “So where are you, Liv? What are you doing?”

  The cathedral green is packed with people: tourists clicking away at their cameras; office workers chatting on the grass, enjoying a break from their jobs; lovers lying entwined in each other’s arms.

  “I’m not the only one who’s lied,” I say, looking around for Damian.

  He’s about twenty meters away, leaning against the cathedral wall, smoking. He senses me watching him and looks up. A group of girls ogle him as they walk past. He doesn’t notice; he’s just looking at me.

  Will snorts. “Don’t start that again. Anyway”—his voice darkens—“that isn’t why I’ve been calling you every two minutes.”

  “What d’you mean?” A shiver runs down my spine. He sounds so menacing.

  There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone.

  Damian mouths Are you okay? at me as I walk over to him.

  “Will?” I ask. “What do you mean? What’s the matter?”

  “It’s our daughter,” Will says. “She’s missing.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “What do you mean, Hannah’s missing?” My heart is pumping violently. Beside me, in the shade of the cathedral, Damian watches me, intent.

  “I mean,” Will snarls, “that she ran away from your mother’s house very early this morning to catch the train to Exeter. And I can’t reach her on her mobile.”

  I gasp. “But I spoke to Mum earlier—she said Hannah was still in bed.”

  “That’s what she thought until about twenty minutes ago. Then she went to wake her up, as per your suggestion, and found she was gone.”

  “No.” I can’t believe what he’s telling me.

  “Yes, Liv. Your mother tried to call you but your phone was switched off. I’m at work. Leo called me in for a bloody meeting at the office with Werner Heine and the Düsseldorf clients. I’ve been coming out of the meeting every two minutes to call you too, but your phone”—his voice rises as he repeats himself—“has been switched off.”

  I groan, thinking back to the past half hour in the café with Robbie. “Wait,” I say. “You said Hannah had gone to Exeter. How do you—?”

  “She sent your mother a text that she didn’t notice until after she realized Hannah was gone. It was sent about an hour ago. Shall I read it? It says: ‘just got to Exeter going shops if Mum can do it, why can’t i?’” He almost spits the last few words.

  “Oh God.” My legs threaten to give way. I sag against the cool stone of the cathedral wall. Damian reaches out to stroke my arm. I let him. My head is spinning with fear.

  “So there you have it, Liv. Our twelve-year-old daughter, whom you claim is perfectly well-adjusted, has run away and is presently fuck knows where, with fuck knows who, doing fuck knows what.” Will sucks in his breath.

  “No.” Tears prick at my eyes. I’m terrified to the core at the thought of Hannah on her own. What if she gets mugged? Or worse? A chill snakes down my spine. What if the man who followed us yesterday is tracking Hannah now? She may be in terrible danger. And it’s all my fault.

  “Hannah’s a sensible girl,” I say, trying to calm Will—and myself—down. “She says she’s going to the shops. Exeter’s not exactly South Central L.A., is it? She knows the area. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

  “Then why isn’t she answering her phone?” Will shouts.

  “She often puts it on silent—or ignores it.”

  “Not when I call her.”

  “But you don’t call her,” I say. “At least hardly ever. I speak to her every day, when she’s forgotten something for school, when she’s on her way home.”

  “Oh, God.” Will’s voice cracks. The anger drops away from his voice. “God, Livy, I’m scared.”

  “Me too.” Tears well in my eyes, and for a moment, everything else dissolves into this shared bond of love and fear for our daughter.

  Damian’s frown deepens. He pulls me toward him, his arm round my shoulder, and I lean against his chest. I don’t care if it’s inappropriate or if Damian is untrustworthy or if he’s really grieving for Julia and using me as a substitute. This is my fault. I have handled Hannah so badly that she is now running away … possibly into the arms of a killer.

  “If anything happens…” Will pauses and I can hear the words he is not saying: because you’ve been so preoccupied with this nonsense about Julia … and imagining I’m having an affair …

  “I know.” I’m crying now, my voice muffled against Damian’s shirt.

  Damian strokes my hair. “Hey,” he says softly. “Hey.”

  There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Oh, God, did Will just hear that?

  “Are you with that boyfriend of Julia’s?” Will asks, his voice terse and bitter. “Did you spend the night with him? Is that why your phone was off?”

  “No,” I insist. I pull away from Damian. “I’ll try calling Hannah now. I’ll keep calling. She’ll have to answer in the end.”

  “I fucking hope so,” Will says. “I have to go back into this meeting. I’ll ring again in a few minutes.”

  He hangs up. I turn to Damian and explain what has happened. A soft rumble of thunder growls in the distance.

  “Shit. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to try to call her. Hopefully she’s got fed up of shopping—she can’t have very much money with her—and is on her way home now.” I trail off, my head full of other possibilities. If Julia’s killer hasn’t gotten her, there are still a million other terrible fates that could befall her: being kidnapped by men on street corners or lured into passing cars. No, I’m overreacting. Such things hardly ever happen. And Hannah is not stupid. She wouldn’t let herself be tricked. Would she?

  “Okay.” Damian nods.

  He waits while I call Hannah and leave a message on her voice mail saying I’m going home and she should either go there immediately if she is nearby or call me so I can pick her up. I try not to sound cross. I’m sure Will’s voice mail will have been much angrier, and if Hannah is okay—and I force myself to recognize I have no evidence to suggest that she isn’t—I don’t want her to worry she’s in so much trouble that she stays away. I ring home too, just in case Hannah is already there, but there is no reply.

  It starts to rain as we leave the cathedral grounds and walk up the road. The tourists and office workers ar
e heading away too, mostly looking for shelter in shop doorways. Raindrops trickle down my face as I glance sideways at Damian. He is still frowning. It feels like he’s been constantly frowning since we got the news of Shannon’s death.

  I think about calling for a cab, but the bus stop for Heavitree is only around the corner. It will probably be quicker to use that. I reach the end of the road. The bus shelter is just a few meters away now. There’s no sign of a bus, but it’s worth checking the timetable to see when the next one is due.

  I turn to Damian and breathe out slowly, trying to focus. “I’m going to go home now,” I say.

  “Sure, would you like me to go with you?” As Damian speaks, the rain starts falling more heavily. He puts his arm around my shoulders and steers me under the bus shelter. There’s no one else here, but plenty of people are passing by on the other side of the street. I feel a sudden flush of shame. What if someone I know sees me with Damian? Then I think about Julia dying and Will’s betrayal and Hannah being missing—and the thought of someone seeing me with Damian seems so unimportant as to be laughable.

  We stand under the shelter. I check the schedule and discover there’s a bus due in three minutes. Damian smiles at me with such kindness that I lean against him and cry properly. Damian pulls me close, so my head rests on his chest again. I can’t remember the last time Will held me like this—for comfort, with affection. It makes me cry harder.

  I have no idea how much time passes. Only a minute or two. When I look up, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. Cars and vans speed past. Pedestrians bustle on either side. Damian looks down at me, full of compassion and concern. And suddenly I’m caught up in his eyes, my stomach flipping over. In that moment, all I want is for him to kiss me. And even as I’m thinking this makes no sense, he dips his face and presses his lips against mine.

  I open my mouth, letting in his kiss. I’m lost in the heat of it, the lust of it. I forget where I am. I forget everything.

  For about ten seconds.

  Then I pull away. Damian is gazing down at me, hungry for more, his beautiful face slightly flushed and his strong hands still holding me tight. With a thrill, it strikes me I could take him home, we could make love. It feels like a fantasy.

  I sigh. Of course it does. It is a bloody fantasy. The longing in Damian’s eyes is not, really, for me. It’s just an attempt to stop feeling the pain for a few minutes. He loved—still loves—Julia. He is vulnerable and grief-stricken and angry that she has been taken from him. As for me … I am drawn to him, sure. He’s easy to like … desire, even. But the truth is, I’m confused and unsure of myself because of everything that’s been happening. When it comes down to it, this moment between us is no more real for me than it is for him.

  I take a breath and step away. “Sorry,” I say.

  “Don’t be.” He shakes his head.

  “I need to go home,” I say, my voice not entirely steady. “I need to keep trying my daughter. And I need to be there when she comes back.”

  Damian nods. The gleam fades from his eyes. He steps back, releasing my arms. “Call me later, yeah?”

  I nod. Then he walks off. I try Hannah. No reply. A bus comes a few minutes later and I’m home in a quarter of an hour. My own keys have perished in the cottage fire, so I root around for the spare key that we leave under the maple tree—planted in memory of Kara—in the front garden. Hannah clearly hasn’t been here, or she would have used the key herself . I let myself in and call her again. Still no reply. I send Will and my mum texts telling them where I am and that there’s no news. Then I try Hannah yet again. I tell her to call me, to come straight home and that I’m worried about her, that I want to talk and that I love her.

  Another ten minutes pass. Still no phone call. Will rings on the house phone so both our mobile lines are still free. He sounds frantic. We discuss whether or not to call the police and agree there is no point at this stage.

  “They won’t do anything yet,” Will reasons. “She hasn’t been gone long enough. Technically, she’s not even missing, just not answering our calls.”

  He’s right, of course. Hannah’s last communication was that text to her grandmother an hour and a half ago, when she said she had just arrived in Exeter. Between us, Will and I have been calling her for only about fifty minutes.

  “How much longer will your meeting go on? I ask.

  Will sighs. “Another half hour or so. Forty minutes, max.”

  I blow out my breath. “Let’s call the police after, then. That will be two hours since Hannah’s text to Mum.”

  “Okay.” Will sounds slightly calmer now that we have a plan. “If it wasn’t for this meeting, I’d start driving around Exeter looking for her, but—”

  “But some random street patrol makes no sense,” I say. “Anyway, Hannah might not even be in Exeter. She could have changed her mind.”

  “I guess so.” He sounds close to tears. “God, Liv, call me if you hear anything.”

  I promise I will and get off the phone. Fear consumes me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Will just now, but I’m haunted by the possibility that the man who followed me and Damian has taken her. He knew us. He tried to kill us, I am almost certain, by setting Julia’s cottage on fire. And he must have murdered Shannon too. Perhaps he’s taken Hannah as a threat, a signal to me that I must keep quiet about him.

  My mobile rings. I snatch it up. It’s Paul. Before I can speak, he is talking.

  “Hi, Livy, I’m sorry to call on this line—I know you’re probably leaving it clear for Hannah. I’m at work with Will—Dad roped me in to sort some files—but I’m done now, and I wondered if you’d like me to come over until Will’s finished. I know he’s upset and I’m sure you’re the same.” He pauses. “What do you say? I could just sit with you for a bit.”

  A sob rises in my guts. “Yes,” I say. “Thank you, Paul.”

  He hangs up and I try Hannah yet again. I leave another message for her, this time in tears, begging her to call me if she can. I pace up and down the living room. Then a thought occurs to me and I run up to the chest of drawers in my bedroom. I go straight to the bottom drawer, where I shoved Hannah’s revolting leopard-skin bra-and-thong set after confiscating it from her.

  The underwear is gone.

  A new panic clutches me. Did Hannah take the clothes away with her? Has someone been talking to her? Trying to persuade her to wear them?

  Chaotic, terrifying thoughts career around my head. I rush into Hannah’s own bedroom and start turning out her wardrobe and her drawers. To my relief, I find the leopard-skin lingerie almost immediately. At least she hasn’t smuggled it away to wear for some secret meeting. And then it hits me that there could be other bits of underwear, things I don’t know about, maybe even things that someone else has bought for her.

  More agonized fears speed through my mind. Hannah looks so like Kara. Has the man who attacked us realized this? Has he somehow managed to groom her? Kidnap her? I can’t believe it’s possible—after all, he saw us in Shannon’s Torquay flat only yesterday. But my mind is in free fall, my fears infinite.

  A few minutes later, Paul arrives on his bike. He must have broken the speed limit the whole way here to have completed the journey so fast. I collapse into his arms on the doorstep, weeping uncontrollably. He ushers me indoors and pours us both a glass of Will’s whisky. I take a sip, then wipe my fingers under my eyes and blow my nose.

  Paul pats my hand. “She’ll be fine, Livy. You know what kids are like.”

  I hesitate. The urge to tell Paul about the man who has tried to kill me is almost overwhelming. It’s just hard to know where to begin.

  “Thanks so much for coming over,” I start.

  “Please, Liv.” Paul shrugs. “How long have we known each other? It’s the least I can do. I mean, I know I’m not Julia, but you’re still one of my oldest friends. How many other people can remember you when you had a perm and a riot grrrl T-shirt?”

  I squeeze his hand, laughing in spite o
f myself.

  “Not to mention that Hasselblad of yours.” Paul sighs. “You were always taking pictures with that thing? Whatever happened to it?”

  I shrug. Somehow not knowing where that camera has gotten to seems to sum up everything that’s gone wrong with my life.

  “Anyway.” Paul clears his throat. “I know things are difficult here too. I mean with you and Will—that you’re having … er, problems. That’s why you called me earlier in the week, asking about Will, wasn’t it?”

  I look up. “Did Will say something?”

  “No, it was Dad.” Paul shakes his head wearily. “I mentioned the pair of you to him last night and he told me what happened in Geneva, what he saw. It was a big shock. I mean I wasn’t there in Geneva myself, so I had no idea. You know I don’t go on as many work trips as Mr. Polyglot.”

  A slight edge creeps into his voice as he makes this reference to Will, and it flits through my mind that maybe Paul resents the way Leo recently promoted Will to deputy managing director.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” he goes on quickly. “I love working directly with clients. Dad knows I’m not cut out for all that management and admin shit. Will’s great at it—he’s a born bureaucrat.”

  “Right,” I say.

  “Hey.” Paul pats my arm. “I introduced you, remember? He’s been an idiot, but if anyone can find a way through all this, the two of you can.”

  I nod, thinking back to that evening in the bar when Will and I met and how young we were then, all our lives ahead of us. I glance at my phone, willing it to ring. Will should be out of his meeting soon. Another twenty minutes, and we will definitely call the police.

  “I don’t remember … how long was Kara missing before they found her?” Paul asks, his voice low and sympathetic.

  “Only a couple of hours,” I say. “Julia realized she wasn’t home as soon as she got back from the party. When Kara didn’t answer her phone, Julia dialed 999 immediately. A jogger found Kara by the canal soon after that.”

  “Poor Julia.” There’s a faraway look in Paul’s eye and I wonder if he is remembering their one night together all those years ago.