---

Sam decides to go into the carvery restaurant next door to the hotel, a sudden rabid craving for broccoli. His Conley diet of crisps and garage sandwiches is taking its toll.

‘Table just for one?’ a teenage girl in a maroon waistcoat asks.

Less of the ‘just’, Sam thinks.

Only a couple of the other tables are occupied. Two men having what looks like a business lunch and a group of older ladies around a large circular table. The food doesn’t smell great. Generic, intense savoury, but it still makes Sam’s stomach contract.

The layout of the place is disorientating; a slight hall-of-mirrors effect from all the identical dark tables and the shelves that break up the space. There’s a couple with a baby in a high chair that is splattered with food. At a noisy machine a toddler is reaching up, loading the whipped ice cream with brightly coloured smarties and jelly sweets.

The waitress shows Sam to a seat and returns a moment later with a large, warm plate. ‘Just go over and help yourself,’ she says. Sam tries to avoid thinking about how dubious the meat looks, how long it’s all been sitting there. He fills his plate up with as much veg as he can, even skipping the gloopy gravy. For the first round, at least.

As he’s sitting down, Sam spots Sylvie’s friend from the house. Michelle, head down over her meal. He goes over, his hand starting to wobble under the weight of his plate.

‘Hey, Michelle, isn’t it?’

He regrets approaching so quietly, as he catches Michelle mid-chew and the seconds tick on for an awkwardly long time while she clears it. Sam slides into the seat opposite her. Michelle looks flustered and swallows hard.

‘Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.’

‘Sorry for interrupting your dinner,’ Sam says.

‘No problem.’ Michelle wipes at the corners of her mouth for stray food. ‘I forgot you said you were staying here.’

Sam wonders if that’s really true. Something of a coincidence to bump into her so soon.

Michelle takes a big glug from her pint of Coke and suppresses a silent burp.

‘Day off?’ Sam remembers Michelle saying she worked at the supermarket.

‘Yeah, for once. You?’

‘Never,’ Sam says. Or every day, if you think about it. ‘Just trying to top up my vitamins.’ He takes a quick bite of the pale green broccoli on his plate. It almost disintegrates on contact with his mouth. He pushes the plate to one side.

‘So, we got interrupted the other day. I was going to ask you a few more questions, actually.’

This seems to please Michelle and she sits up a bit straighter.

‘How good friends were you, you and Victoria? You seemed to know a lot about her when we were chatting at Sylvie’s?’

Michelle pushes a potato around her plate, an internal struggle about whether to eat it. ‘Pretty good, actually. Sylvie makes out they were like some power couple or something. But me and Victoria were close, too, especially that summer.’

‘Yeah, how’s that, then?’

‘Knew her boyfriend.’

‘Oh right, that Ryan, is it?’ Another one on Sam’s list of people to talk to, and soon.

‘Sylvie not told you, then?’

‘I’ve not had a chance to chat with her in that much detail yet. There’s a lot to cover, you know. Maybe you can fill me in, though, since we’re here. Guess Sylvie has a lot on at the minute, with the baby and everything.’

Michelle turns her mouth down at the sides into an unflattering expression. ‘Yeah, Sylvie’s had a tough time.’ She shrugs. ‘Who hasn’t?’

‘You two had some sort of falling out or something?’ Sam asks.

‘No, don’t be daft. She’s just tired and a bit baby-brained. She’ll get used to it. She needs help, that’s all.’ Michelle eyes the potato, continuing their stand-off.

‘Help?’ Sam says.

‘Round the house, sorting that place out. She can’t do it on her own. She’s just getting herself worked up and I’ve been trying to look after her. She’s an old friend.’

‘Worked up how?’

‘She isn’t getting any sleep. And Victoria, she’s an agitated baby. She senses Sylvie being worked up and it goes round and round… but Sylvie won’t listen to me. Doesn’t want to hear it. You can understand. My sister was the same when she had her first one. That’s how I know.’

‘You don’t have any, then? Children?’

‘Me? God no.’ Michelle starts to play with a beer mat, tearing at the paper on it.

‘So, you mentioned Victoria’s boyfriend the other day?’

‘Yeah, Ryan Thompson.’

Sam tries again, with the meat this time, but it’s tough and dry, a nasty aftertaste.

‘Had she been with him long?’

‘Not long. Met him at the start of the summer.’

‘Was it serious?’

Michelle see-saws her hand from side to side. ‘Much as it can be when you’re fifteen, I suppose. But they saw each other nearly every day in the summer. Think so anyway.’

‘Right – he from school, was he?’

‘Nah! Older. Eighteen. She was going to meet him that night, but she didn’t turn up…’ Michelle trails off. ‘I always wonder how that’s made him feel. Maybe she was on her way there, you know. And whatever happened, happened.’

This catches Sam’s attention, a comb snagging in knotted hair. ‘Sorry? Did you say she was meeting him that night?’

‘Yes?’ Michelle sounds hesitant now. ‘But like I said, she didn’t turn up.’

‘Did you tell the police that?’ Sam says.

‘Me?’ A guard is going up. ‘Well, I didn’t, personally. Nobody interviewed me. I’m obviously not important enough. But I’m sure someone did. Sylvie. Or Ryan.’

‘How do you know she was meeting him, Michelle?’

‘Erm, I don’t remember now. Victoria must have told me. And… and I was at Ryan’s later that night.’

‘The night Victoria died?’

‘Yes.’ Michelle tries to take another drink, but her glass is empty.

‘Were you there all night?’

‘No, not until later. I got there about ten.’ Michelle’s voice has an unmistakable undercurrent of panic.

Sam doesn’t let up. ‘Where were you before that?’

‘Nowhere. Just at home.’ Michelle stands up quickly, reaching for her bag. She accidentally pulls a serviette off the table, cutlery clattering loudly to the floor.

‘You know where he lives, this Ryan?’

Michelle picks up the cutlery and sits back down, as if trying not to put any weight on the chair.

‘Well, I know where he used to live, obviously. Last I heard he was still there.’

Sam gets notebook and pen out of his pocket and puts them on the table in front of Michelle.

She blinks and looks at him as if he’s done a magic trick. ‘Well, I don’t feel right about giving people’s addresses out.’

‘It’s not like I’m flogging something, is it? It’s for Victoria.’

Michelle thinks for a second, then picks up the pen. At first it won’t write and she scribbles hard on the pad. She writes the street name down, and then puts the pen in her mouth and closes her eyes. She puts one hand out, hovering it over the table, looking like a bad psychic.

‘I’m just trying to visualise the number.’

Sam doesn’t interrupt her and, after a few seconds, she snaps out of it and quickly scribbles a number down. She looks pleased with herself.

Sam switches tack.

‘So, what did Victoria’s parents make of her seeing an older lad like that? Not sure I’d have liked it.’

‘You would when you were fifteen!’ She’s hooked back in. ‘Her dad didn’t like it. At all. Tried to ground her and everything. But she kept seeing him.’

‘What about Sylvie? How did she feel about Victoria’s new boyfriend?’

Sam thinks he can detect a small glint in Michelle’s eye at that.

‘Think she’d have liked to have Victoria all to herself. But that’s what fifteen-year-old girls are like, isn’t it?’ Then she adds, ‘This is all just teenage stuff, you know.’

They sit in silence for a while. Michelle runs her finger along her empty plate, scraping up a fine film of the remaining gravy and putting it in her mouth. She catches herself and shoves her hands underneath the table. A few moments later, she gets up to leave.

‘Anyway, it’s been nice chatting to you,’ she says. ‘Good luck with it all.’

On the way out, the waitress shouts across to Michelle just as she’s about to get into the revolving door. She’s forgotten to pay.

---

Sam feels the areas of the town change from street to street, an invisible line between them. One minute you’re in a well-to-do area – tended lawns, hanging baskets. The next street along, something has changed to boarded-up houses and broken glass. He has reached Brantham now and quickly checks the address in his notebook again. One house has newspapers covering the windows. A large Alsatian roams the garden like it’s searching for something in the overgrown grass. A child on a scooter goes past and the dog leaps up at the wooden fence. It looks like one decent run up and it would be over and on the loose.

He drives round the small roundabout twice more and is grateful that the satnav finally kicks in and tells him where to go. As he passes a group of boys sitting on a wall outside the shop, one of them makes an obscene gesture with his hand and they all laugh. He’s driving along Wagon Way. Rows of small, red-brick houses, steps up to them a bit like Sylvie’s. He sees number twelve and pulls over to park. A large St George’s flag hangs out of one of the windows, flapping loudly in the breeze. He takes his camera out and films it. The boys across the street eye him with suspicion, all facing towards him. He unlocks and locks his car again before going up to the house.

Quickly after Sam knocks on the door, a small woman opens it, wearing leggings and Ugg boots. Sam only knows the name of them as he bought Natalie some for Christmas a few years ago. He couldn’t believe how much they cost, had got annoyed to see the way Natalie slouched in them, seeming to roll onto the sides of her feet, the soles wearing away unevenly.

Despite the casual outfit, the woman’s face is perfectly made up, icy-pink lip gloss freshly applied, smooth foundation, a biscuit shade. She squints at the light.

‘Yeah?’ she says accusingly, her perfectly smooth forehead crumpling up as if an invisible thread has been pulled. ‘Can I help you?’ She looks behind Sam to see if there’s anyone with him.

‘I’m here to see Ryan; I’d like to talk to him, please.’

The woman brings her hand up to her face to shield her eyes. She closes an internal door behind her.

‘Is he in?’ Sam says.

‘Who’s asking?’ She has mostly closed the front door now, too, and just her head peeps out.

‘My name’s Sam. I’m a film-maker. I’m researching a documentary about Victoria Preston.’

That thread across her forehead is pulled tighter still.

‘What?’ Her tone is impatient, defensive.

‘Victoria Preston. She was murdered twenty years ago. Her body was found in the lake. I believe Ryan knew her.’

She starts to close the door, but Sam pushes his hand forwards and stops it.

‘Listen, I’m not trying to cause trouble or anything; I’m talking to lots of different people who knew her.’

The woman scowls again, deep grooves etching themselves between her eyes.

She looks at him once more and slams the door.

Sam starts to back away from the house, thinks of heading back to his car to write a note for Ryan, push it through the letter box. But there’s a scraping sound of the chain being adjusted and the door springs open again, wider this time. It’s a man.

‘I’m Ryan.’ He opens the door wide. He looks much older than thirty-eight, his face weathered, skin puckering around his mouth and eyes, a greyish tone to it around the crevices. He’s wearing an NYPD T-shirt and jersey bottoms.

‘My name’s Sam Price. I’m a film-maker. I’m researching Victoria Preston’s case. I believe that you knew her.’

‘Yeah, I knew her,’ Ryan says. His voice is gentle, even. ‘You better come in. You’ll have to ’scuse the mess, though.’

Sam notices that Ryan walks unevenly with a distinct limp. As they go into the living room, Ryan picks up a games console balanced precariously on the edge of a squashy sofa and kicks a doll out of the way on the floor at the same time. A girl with pale-pink plastic glasses and a school uniform is sprawled across the carpet, taking up most of the available floor space, colouring in, swapping coloured felt tips every few seconds. She looks up at Sam and gives him a grin, tiny teeth missing at the front.

‘I told you to take your uniform off,’ Ryan says to the little girl. Then he points to her picture. ‘You’ve missed a bit.’

A slightly younger boy appears, tearing out of the kitchen, wearing a cape and making a roaring noise like he’s pretending to be a plane. The boy wends between Sam and Ryan, making Sam feel off-balance. Ryan opens his mouth to tell him off, but the boy’s already flown back into the kitchen. He shakes his head good-naturedly, gesturing for Sam to sit on the sofa, moving a pile of folded washing out of the way so that he can. Sam had expected more hostility.

‘So, what is this?’ Ryan’s legs are spread wide open, body language relaxed.

The woman who had answered the door is busy in the kitchen, opening the oven door, shaking a tray of food, but Sam can tell she is paying attention, listening in. When he glances in, the woman moves quickly, pretending to be concentrating on the cooking.

‘People tell me you and Victoria were seeing each other?’ Sam says. ‘I’m looking to interview people that knew her. About what happened. And what she was like.’

Ryan takes a deep breath, puffs the air back out. ‘If you like, yeah. I was seeing her. We were knocking about together, yeah. I wouldn’t say it was serious.’

‘Are you going to be on the telly, Daddy?’ the little girl says, her glasses at an awkward angle.

‘No, Kirsty, I’m not. Get back to your colouring in.’ Ryan gestures for her to turn back around. ‘They don’t miss a trick, do they?’ he says to Sam.

Sam looks at the little girl and back to Ryan. ‘Might be better if we do this somewhere quieter,’ he says. ‘Away from little ears.’

‘She’s alright,’ Ryan says. But the girl turns around again, trying to straighten her glasses, and says, ‘Who is Victoria, Daddy? Do we know her?’

‘No, darling. Never you mind, nosey. Close your ears.’

She giggles at him, her tongue poking through her teeth, and puts her hands on the side of her head.

‘You don’t seem surprised to see me, Ryan.’ Sam decides to carry on.

‘I heard there was someone sniffing about so I wondered if you’d want to talk to me. It’s a small place round here.’

‘Do you mind if I ask what happened to your leg?’

‘Accident at work,’ Ryan says, automatically reaching out to touch it.

‘Yeah? What is it you do, then?’

‘I work in a bookies now. Was training to be a painter and decorator at the time. Fell off a ladder, knacked me leg in.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Don’t be.’ He grins at Sam. ‘I weren’t very good at it. Put it this way, you wouldn’t want me doing your place up.’

The little girl cranes her head around again. ‘Stop telling fibs, Daddy. If you tell fibs you won’t get any presents from Santa at Christmas.’

‘Oi! I told you to stop earwigging and colour that picture in for me, didn’t I? We need a new one for the fridge.’ He tickles the bottom of her feet, shaking his head at Sam.

The girl’s expression darkens and her face sets harder. ‘I heard Mummy telling her friend that some bad men took you up on the moors and hit you on the knee. A long time ago. Before I was even here. If I lie, too, I won’t get any presents either. That’s what you said.’ She scowls, confused.

Ryan’s face flushes red. He leans back in his chair and knocks on the kitchen door. The woman appears, face glowing, pushing her hair off it with the back of her hand.

‘Can you take her in there, please, Charmaine?’

The woman tuts, beckoning the girl through. ‘Come on, your tea is nearly ready. Can you set the table for me?’ She says to Ryan, ‘Everything alright, babe?’

‘Yeah yeah, sound. I’ll be through in a minute, OK?’ Ryan shoos the woman away.

The girl hops up to her feet in one swift movement. Ryan reaches out for her but she swerves out of the way. When she walks past Sam, she slows down and looks him closely in the face, then giggles. The kitchen door closes.

‘Is that true?’ Sam asks. Ryan has had time to shut down, though.

‘I told you. Work accident. I thought you were here about Victoria not my career.’ His hand is clutching at the back of his knee again, as if for support.

‘You and Victoria were dating, then?’

‘I wouldn’t call it that, but yeah, if you say so.’

‘What would you call it, then?’

‘Well, it’s just a bit old-fashioned, isn’t it? Like courting or something.’

‘Alright. Seeing, then? Whatever you want to call it.’

‘Yeah… I guess. Sorry, I ain’t being funny or nothing. It’s just a bit weird, you know, being asked about a girl from that long ago. It’s ancient history all that stuff.’ Ryan’s eyes dart around the room.

‘Not to Victoria’s parents it’s not.’ It escapes from Sam without him expecting it.

‘Yeah, and I get that. That’s why I’ve let you in, isn’t it? I got my own kids – my oldest is fifteen now; I get it.’

‘So where did you meet, you and Victoria?’

‘Just around and about; you know how it is. I used to see her and her little mates down the shopping centre. It’s what everyone did on a Saturday afternoon, or when they finished school.’

‘So you knew her already?’

‘Not as such, no. I knew Michelle. Was mates with her brother. I’d just seen Victoria. Then we got together.’

‘Right, so you asked her out, or what?’

Something changes in Ryan’s demeanour. His posture becomes more aggressive. ‘Sorry, mate; I’m talking to you out of my own free will. Are my teenage dating moves really relevant here? Do you wanna start telling me about yours?’

‘This is about building up an idea of Victoria’s movements, what she was like, who she hung around with. What that summer was like.’

Ryan blows air out through his mouth, rubbing his hand across what’s left of his hair.

‘I didn’t ask her out really, no. It weren’t like that. It’s not an Enid Blyton book, you know? I saw her in the park one night and got chatting with her and you know how it is… Saw her a couple of times then we met up again at the ice-skating rink and I guess we were kind of a couple after that. I invited them back to my house.’

‘Them?’

‘Vic and her other little mate, Sylvie. She didn’t come anyway.’

‘How come?’

‘Dunno.’ He shrugs, unfazed. ‘It’s twenty years back. Fuck’s sake. She needed to get back or something. I don’t know, do I? I think Vic said that there was something going on at home with her dad. She was a bit snooty, to be honest, but so what? Can’t please everyone, can you?’

‘So, this party… these parties you had at your house…’

‘It weren’t really a party; it was a “gathering”.’ He gives Sam a grin, displaying yellowing teeth. Then he puts his hands up in surrender. ‘It were just a few people sitting around, having a few cans, chatting, watching shit on telly.’

‘Drugs?’

Ryan looks down at the floor.

‘I’m not looking to name any names on this,’ Sam says. ‘My focus is Victoria and building up a picture. If it’s not connected, I’m not interested.’

Ryan allows himself to look up. He checks the door before answering. ‘Sometimes, yeah. Es, trips. Bit of weed. Nothing major. Everyone was doing it.’

‘Any harder stuff? Heroin?’

‘Nah! Calm down, mate. I was an idiot but not that much of a fucking idiot.’ Ryan checks the door again. ‘I ain’t into any of that no more. I was a kid. I’ve got a family now.’

‘You gave them to Victoria? Es, trips…?’

He twists his mouth. ‘Yeah, but I didn’t force her or nothing. We were all doing it.’

Sam can see him clamming up again so he changes tack.

‘Was this your parents’ house?’

‘No, it was mine. Council place. Me and a couple of lads.’

‘You didn’t live with your parents?’

He lifts his head up fully to look at Sam square on now, enunciating his words. ‘No, I didn’t. We had our differences – me being a little shit, mainly.’

‘So, what did you and Victoria do? It was the school holidays. Where did you hang out?’

He shrugs. ‘The usual: my place, town, park, whatever. Weather was nice that summer so—’

‘The lake?’

Ryan makes a sharp, sudden gesture like he’s about to say something or jump up, but then he gathers himself again. ‘Look, we did go to the lake, yeah. So what? I’m not going to lie about that because I have nothing to hide.’ He throws his arms out to the side. ‘But I had nothing – you hear me – nothing to do with what happened to Vic. It isn’t me, it isn’t who I am. And even then, I wouldn’t have got mixed up in anything like that. I did some stupid shit but not that.’

‘So, you told the police everything?’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That you were supposed to meet Victoria later that night.’

Ryan’s face darkens. ‘No, I never. We weren’t meeting that night. What’s this?’

‘I heard,’ Sam says, ‘Victoria was planning to come to your house after the party at Sylvie’s.’

Ryan is shaking his head now. ‘Is this her mate saying that? Sylvie? I heard she was back here too. I never… I didn’t plan to meet her that night. It was cooling off, to be honest, for me anyway. I was avoiding seeing her a bit more. Look, I’m not sure I’m happy about this. I had everyone, the police, asking me at the time, and I told them the truth.’

Sam lets the tension dissipate out of the air. ‘So how did you feel then? When you found out what happened to Victoria?’ he says.

‘Honestly? I was upset, I was shocked. I couldn’t take it in. But I was scared too. Course I was. I was scared they’d blame me. I was on their radar. They had me down as a wrong ‘un. They knew my name. I was scared that they’d pin it on me. But I was at my house the whole night. You can ask my mates. I’ll give you their names.’

‘So, if things were cooling off, you didn’t love her then?’ Sam asks.

The kitchen door opens. ‘Now that isn’t fair,’ Ryan says. The door closes again quickly, the smell of something savoury wafting in, a blast of warm air.

‘We’d only been seeing each other a few weeks. It weren’t like she was the love of my life or something. I think people would have preferred it if it was some big Romeo and Juliet thing but… it just wasn’t. And it still isn’t. I’m being totally honest with you.’

Sam can hear Ryan breathing steadily through his nose. In fairness, it would be easier for him to say he did love her, it would paint him in a better light for some people.

‘I had to distance myself. I have to,’ Ryan says. ‘Sorry, but time passes, you move on. It’s been twenty years.’

‘How did she take it, Victoria? About you backing off?’

Ryan raises his eyebrows slowly and takes a half-breath. ‘I don’t think it’s what she wanted. She started trying a bit too hard, coming on strong, you know?’ Ryan wriggles in his seat a little. ‘She wanted us to carry on. Maybe we would’ve, I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

‘You ever see Sylvie again? After that night at the ice skating?’ Sam says.

Ryan looks confused for a second. ‘Her mate? Couple of times, yeah. She hung about with us in town a few afternoons, but not loads, nah. Told you, she thought she was better than us.’

‘What about Victoria’s parents?’

‘Huh. Here we go.’ He gives a little laugh to himself. ‘Met him once or twice, yeah. Fucking nut job.’

‘Peter?’

‘Yeah. He came round one afternoon and practically dragged Victoria out of here by her hair.’

‘For what?’

‘Dunno. He must have followed her, she said. I didn’t ask her to, but she just snuck out of her house anyway. She knew her own mind, that’s for sure.’

‘You think she was scared of him? Her dad?’ Sam asks.

‘I don’t think he put her in the lake, if that’s what you’re saying,’ Ryan says. ‘Like I said, he was a fucking nut job but I’m older now. I get it. I got kids of my own, a teenager of my own, and yeah, I’d go round and I’d drag her out if she was hanging around with people like me and my mates were then. It’s what dads do.’

The door pops open again and there’s a commotion in the kitchen, chairs scraping, cutlery clattering, children running underneath hot baking trays held high in the air. The woman gives Ryan a look.

‘Any chance of a hand in here?’

‘I’ll be in in a sec, Char. Just give me a minute, yeah.’

Ryan stands up.

‘I’ll see myself out,’ Sam says.

‘Look. I want her parents to find out what happened to her, I do. I get it. But I promise you it ain’t nothing to do with me.’ Ryan puts his hand on his chest.

He goes into the kitchen and sits down at the table, looking up at Sam once more before turning his attention back to the little girl, pulling her seat in as she bounces her knife and fork off the table, legs dangling in mid-air.

As Sam is leaving, the woman follows him out, pulling the gilet tightly around her, phone clamped in her perfect, French-manicured nails.

‘Listen,’ she says. ‘You’re not planning on bringing trouble round here, are you?’

‘No,’ Sam says. ‘I’m looking for information, that’s all.’

The woman eyes him suspiciously. ‘Looking for people to be in your little movie, more like.’

Sam turns to go.

‘You know who did that to his fucking leg, don’t you?’ The woman’s voice again from behind.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, work it out. You’re making the bloody documentary. They thought Ryan knew something about it but he never… I was there that night. He was at that house all night. He’s turned himself around, right? We’re making a life for ourselves here. You think before you go causing trouble for people, you hear me?’ She closes the door.

As Sam walks down the path, he looks through the window and sees them all crowded round the small dinner table, Ryan’s leg stuck awkwardly straight out to the side.