Page 44 of One Step Behind
Another silence, this one longer. When the detective speaks, her voice is clipped and edged with warning. ‘I’m advising you not to visit Mr Dover again, Jenna,’ she says. ‘It could damage your case.’
‘I didn’t mean to. It just happened.’ I feel like a scolded child.
‘I’ll check his backpack myself tomorrow. Did you look through the phone or touch it in any way?’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘Did the forensic team find prints at our house?’ Now it’s my turn to change the subject.
‘We’re still processing the evidence.’
There’s noise in the background and someone calls the detective’s name. She says a hurried goodbye before adding a final warning to stay away from you.
I slump my head into my hands and wonder what I’m doing. I thought I wanted answers, as if there can be any excuse, any reason, why you’ve made my life a living hell. All I’ve found are more questions.
Chapter 24
Sophie
My trainers hit the pavement in time with the beat of The Black Eyed Peas thrumming in my ears and for the first time in days I feel utterly free. It’s just me now, the beach to my left, the funfair behind me. There’s a slight breeze blowing from the sea, making the humidity almost bearable.
Nick has clients until early evening and thinks I’m at home catching up on a Netflix series I lost interest in weeks ago. I could’ve told him I was going for a run, that I was going to see Matthew. I could’ve told him that I was stopping at McDonald’s for a Big Mac on the way home. He wouldn’t have stopped me, but it’s not worth the dozen questions he’ll ask, and it’s definitely not worth the disapproving look that he gives me whenever I eat something he doesn’t like – those narrowed eyes and pursed lips – and how no matter what our plans are for the next day, they always become about hitting the gym.
I know he cares about me. He wants me to be healthy and he worries about me when I’m not at home. There’sa part of me that craves that worry. It’s been so long since anyone cared enough to get angry with me about anything, but there’s another part of me that wishes that things were different.
My entire adult life has been about trying to forget the past and start again, as though a new flat, a new job, new hair, can make a new me. But there are certain things I can’t escape. Like how much I love to eat junk food, and how I’ve never been able to stand up for myself. And then there are the memories that seep into my thoughts and shake me up when I least expect it. There’s nothing I can do to erase them. But the biggest thing I can’t escape, the thing that seems to always drag me back, is Matthew.
I’ve never been the sister to him that Mum wanted me to be, no matter how hard I’ve tried. I couldn’t stop what happened twelve years ago, just like I couldn’t stop him being hit by a bus. Nick says I shouldn’t blame myself, but how can I not?
‘Matthew has never been loved like you have, Sophie. He doesn’t know how to love either. We have to teach him. We have to show him that, no matter what, we are his family and we love him.’
But he took our love, drank it back like Dad used to drink that first can of beer in the evening – guzzling and greedily – only stopping when there was nothing left. And then he destroyed it all.
The thought comes out of nowhere and I choke on the air dragging into my lungs. Do I really mean that?
I turn along a side road. The breeze doesn’t stretch this far up, and as I leave the shady pavement and turn along another road, the air suddenly thickens, like a ton of cornflour has been added to the day, like I could slice the air with a knife.
My thoughts turn to the police detective who came to see me yesterday, just as I was walking out the door to meet a client. Nick was at the gym and it was just me and this woman – DS Church – asking me question after question about Matthew. ‘Can you tell me the names of any of your brother’s friends? Who did he spend time with? What kind of life did he live? Was he in any kind of trouble?’
I told her the truth. Matthew doesn’t have any friends, or much of a life either. He was either out taking photos, at work at the restaurant, or at home. ‘He hung out with me a bit and Nick, that’s my boyfriend, but they didn’t always get on, so mainly it was just me.’
My heartbeat quickens, messing up my breathing. I wish I hadn’t mentioned Nick. The detective wanted to know why they didn’t like each other and I didn’t know how to explain that it felt like neither of them wanted to share me.
I slow down a fraction and find my stride again, focusing on the movement of my arms and lengthening each breath in. I dart between two lanes of slow-moving traffic and feel the exhaust fumes scratching the back of my throat. The grass verges are yellow and scuffed with dry, dusty earth. I can’t remember the last time it rained.
The entrance to the hospital is just ahead and as I slow to a walk and catch my breath I see the doctor we met – Jenna. Her hair is tied back in a loose ponytail and her head is bent, eyes fixed on the ground. But it’s her, and as I watch her move cold brushes over my skin despite the heat and the perspiration from my run. She really does look like Mum.
‘Jenna?’ I call out before I can stop myself.
She looks up and there’s a brief moment when I can tell from the confusion on her face that she can’t place me. It’s enough to release a burst of anxiety, like a firework inside me, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing. Jenna is not my mum. She’s a doctor. She sees hundreds of patients and their relatives every week; why do I think she’s going to want to talk to me? A fierce hate burns through me.You idiot, Soph.
But then recognition sparks and she smiles a little. ‘Sophie, hi. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Sorry, I just saw you and I wanted to ask something, but it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trouble you.’
‘It’s no trouble. What did you want to ask?’
‘I just … I wanted to know what you thought about Matthew’s injuries? It was all such a shock to see him on Saturday and I don’t think I really took it in. Do you think he’s going to get better?’
‘I really don’t know. I’m not his doctor any more and I don’t know what his prognosis is—’
