44

Sadie felt a twinge of regret as she waved Joel off the following morning. She’d had a restless night full of strange disturbing dreams in which she was constantly trying to find her way home but never succeeded in getting there. Wisps of those dreams still lingered as she stood on the doorstep and watched him leave.

Over breakfast she had come close to changing her mind – perhaps it would be good to get away, to try and forget about things for a while – but she knew it was hopeless. She had gazed at his face and her stomach had twisted. How could she go on deceiving him? Eventually the truth would come out and he would see her in a different light. He would find out that she’d shot a man, that she’d known who murdered Eddie, that she’d lied to him and to the police. How would he reconcile this Sadie with the one he thought he loved?

‘I’ll call you,’ he’d said.

‘Have a good time. Give my best to everyone.’

Sadie went back upstairs and sat at the table for a while. Then she picked up her bag, went through to the kitchen, took out the latest letters from Mona Farrell and burned them in the sink.

Once she had cleared away the ashes, Sadie put on her coat. Despite the cold, she walked down to the front, hoping that the sea air would clear her head. She braced herself against the wind as she strode along the promenade. It was the doing nothing that was getting to her. She felt helpless, out of control, as if she was simply waiting for things to happen.

There was a red phone box next to the boating pond and she was tempted to step inside and call Nathan Stone. Had the police talked to him? What had they said? Had he got rid of the gun? What was going on with the Gissings? There were so many questions and only one way of finding out the answers. But she knew he wouldn’t be at the bar – it was far too early – and she had no other way of contacting him.

For a while she stood by the pond and watched the wind whip across the surface, rippling the water. There were no kids playing here today. There were no boats bobbing about, no tiny yachts with graceful white sails. The bad weather was keeping almost everyone indoors.

Sadie glanced over at the phone box again, but knew it was pointless. Even if she did manage to reach him, he wouldn’t tell her anything. I’m not talking about this over the phone. Wasn’t that what he’d said last time she’d called? No, he’d be tight-lipped about it all, wary in case the police were listening in. She sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to think about Inspector Gerald Frayne and his cool, suspicious eyes.

It was only when the cold started seeping into her bones that she began walking again. She went past the swimming baths with their wafting chlorine smell and then the arcades with their flashing lights and music until she reached the end of the promenade. Here she turned and headed for home. The rain started on her way back and by the time she reached the flat she was drenched. She went upstairs, ran a bath and stripped off her clothes.

While she lay in the hot water, Sadie reviewed her options. When it came down to it there were only two: either she went to the police and came clean about everything, or she kept her mouth shut and waited to see what would happen. Except in her heart she already knew what would happen: at some point the truth would come out and her world would fall apart.

Sadie was still racking her brains for smarter ways to address the situation when the doorbell rang. She closed her eyes and sank down under the water. Whoever it was would have to come back another time. It rang again and again, but she continued to ignore it. What if it was the police? She said a silent prayer that it wasn’t. Please God. She wasn’t ready for them yet. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready.

Half an hour later, Sadie got out of the bath, dried herself off and pulled on her dressing gown. She opened the door to the flat, went out on to the landing and peered down the two flights of stairs into the hallway. A white envelope was lying on the floor and she wondered if it had been the postman who’d rung the bell.

Sadie padded downstairs in her bare feet and picked up the letter. The minute she saw the handwriting on the front, the breath caught in her throat. She’d know that scrawl anywhere. Mona Farrell. What made it worse was that there wasn’t a stamp – it had been hand-delivered. Quickly, with her heart thumping, she tore open the envelope and read the contents:

Dear Sadie,

Meet me tonight at the fairground by the Big Wheel at eight o’clock. If you don’t come, you’ll be sorry. I won’t keep quiet – you know I won’t. Come on your own and don’t bring Joel. Please come. I need to see you.

Your dear friend,

Mona

Sadie stood for a long time staring down at the note. Her hands shook as she read and re-read it. She didn’t have to go. But Mona would come round again if she didn’t show up. Well, so what? She could turn off all the lights, pretend she wasn’t in – but she couldn’t hide for ever. The girl would keep trying until she got what she wanted. No, it was time to stop running, to turn and face things head on. It was time to take back some control.

45

Mona gazed into the mirror as she carefully styled her hair, gelling it up into short neat spikes. After the disappointment of finding that Sadie was out, she had spent the day exploring Haverlea. In truth, she didn’t think much of it. It seemed a slow, sleepy sort of town, although that was maybe due to the time of year. The place was one of those touristy seaside spots, busy in summer but dead in winter. Hopefully, it would perk up a bit at night.

If the town was dull, the hotel wasn’t any better. The only other guests were virtually geriatric, old women with tight blue-rinsed perms and disapproving faces. She gave a shudder and reached for the red pill on the dressing table. Quickly she popped it in her mouth and washed it down with a gulp of vodka.

Sometimes it was hard not to get angry at Sadie; she was forever saying one thing and then doing another. In Hampstead, Mona had checked the post every day waiting to hear from her, waiting for a single reply to any of the letters she’d sent. And then there were all the phone calls she’d made. Well, no one likes being ignored, do they? In the end she’d had no choice but to write to the Hunters. She hadn’t wanted to do it, but Sadie needed reminding of the promise she’d made. It had been the only way, the last resort.

Mona put on some lipstick and sat back to view the effect in the mirror. She inclined her head and smiled at her reflection. Even though Sadie drove her mad at times, she wouldn’t be without her. And everyone had their faults. The trouble with Sadie was that she was too kind, too forgiving. Take Eddie, for example. Why should a man like that be allowed to get away with what he’d done? She recalled the way he’d looked at her when he’d opened the door to his flat, the quick appraising glance that had raked her body from head to toe.

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you Eddie?’ she’d asked, smiling sweetly. ‘Eddie Wise?’

‘What’s it about?’

‘My name’s Anne Faulkner. I’m here about your wife, Sadie.’

‘Oh, you’ve just missed her.’

‘I know,’ she’d said. ‘It’s you I want to talk to. Could we do this inside? It won’t take long.’