Isla spent the next two days in bed, with Luna curled asleep on the pillow next to her.
Jack had tried to coax her out of bed on Sunday, his ploys ranging from sympathy to making jokes. ‘You know I’d do anything for you, Isla,’ he’d said. ‘A takeaway?’ ‘A glass of wine?’ ‘A strawberry milkshake?’ He’d even offered to watch The X Factor results show.
‘Or,’ he’d said, tugging at the duvet, ‘you can have my body, if you want.’
He’d tried so hard to make her smile, but she’d pulled the duvet further over her head, and said, ‘Just leave me alone, Jack. Please.’
On Monday she’d rung the magazine she was currently writing for feigning a stomach bug, and asking for her deadline to be extended, but it was her head that was a tangled mess. Jack had sat on the edge of the bed and, with worried eyes, he took hold of her hand and squeezed. ‘Maybe you need to see someone,’ he’d said.
‘What?’ She looked up at him, and pulled her hand away. ‘A shrink you mean?’
‘No, no … just the GP.’
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, although she knew she was far from it. ‘I challenge anyone not to feel like crap after the weird things that have happened.’ She burst into tears, and he wrapped his arms around her. ‘You do believe me don’t you, Jack? That I saw . . . ’ She wanted to say Spider-Man, but it almost sounded funny. Well it wasn’t a funny place inside her head.
‘I believe you saw someone,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Listen, maybe we should contact the police.’
She shook her head. ‘And say what? That Carl Jeffery, who is locked up in Australia, is stalking me?’
Jack shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know, Isla. I want you to be OK.’
‘I am, Jack,’ she said. ‘I probably just need a few days to reset.’ She leant in to him, sniffing against his shoulder. ‘That’s all.’
‘And you’re sure you still want to go to Sweden?’
‘Yes!’ She dashed away her tears. ‘I need to finish my book, and it’s more than that – if I don’t go, Jack, he’s beaten me, hasn’t he? The bastard’s won.’
That evening, as Jack watched Captain America in the lounge, she wished she had the strength to drag herself out of bed and go to him. To snuggle up next to him on the sofa, breathe him in. Pretend everything was OK. But instead she lay alone and lonely, eyes tightly closed, tears seeping through sealed lids, wondering if she was going crazy.
Tuesday, 8 November
The postman arrived early, and Jack placed a pile of letters and a cup of coffee on Isla’s bedside cabinet next to her battered teddy bear.
He kissed her head. ‘Why not go to your mum’s today?’ he said, before setting off for work, still urging her to get back to normal.
Once he’d gone, she pulled herself to a sitting position, and took a sip of coffee. The inside of her head felt like a maze with high hedges she couldn’t see over, but she had to get out of bed, get past this awful feeling that life was slipping backwards.
She grabbed the pile of mail: a circular from Virgin, a reminder that her tax was due on her car and a greeting card addressed to her and Jack in a spidery hand she recognised. She ripped it open and pulled out a floral engagement card that smelt of lavender, and smiled as a ten-pound note fluttered onto the duvet.
To our darling Isla and Jack. Congratulations to you both, Gran and Granddad xxx
Fresh tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t seen her grandparents in a long time, and a surge of happy memories filled her head of visiting them in Devon, reminding her of the child she’d once been.
She pulled her legs round, tucked her feet into her slippers, and padded into the lounge where she fired up her laptop. She needed to find out if there had been two people dressed as Spider-Man at Millie’s party. If she could only find a picture with both of them in it, Jack would have to believe her, and it would prove she wasn’t losing her mind.
But then Jack had never said she was losing her mind. He’d said he believed her. He was just worried about the effect it was having. Wasn’t he?
She trawled through the photographs she’d taken, finding a couple of Jack, the one of him and Roxanne dancing making her smile. But there was only ever one Spider-Man in each picture. She sighed. That didn’t necessarily mean there hadn’t been two. Maybe Jack’s doppelganger hadn’t been caught on camera.
It was pointless. She snapped her laptop closed, and thrust her pounding head into her hands. Once in Abisko she would feel better. The cold quietness of such a remote place would help her get her head straight. Everything would be OK once she was there.
Showered and dressed, she went back into the bedroom and began throwing things into her case, realising she was short of jumpers. She took a deep breath, went into the kitchen, and grabbed her car keys from the hook on the wall. She tickled Luna’s chin, and, with her jacket over her arm, she stepped out into the brightness of the chilly day.
She drove to Hitchin. She loved the market town with its abundance of crowded cafés, where she often sat outside, sometimes with Jack – him playing games on his phone, her writing and sipping cappuccino, and eating blueberry muffins – sometimes alone. She’d written a few articles for her local paper about Hitchin, and a feature for a woman’s magazine called ‘The Real Parminster’ about the series Doctor Foster being filmed there.
Now, she strolled towards the market. It reminded her of her childhood, when she would push through the crowds, gripping her mum’s hand. Listening as fruit sellers yelled that their strawberries or bananas were a bargain at twice the price, while the smell of hotdogs and burgers from a van had made her young tummy rumble.
After wandering from stall to stall for some time, she finally bought two jumpers from a woman selling hand-knitted woollens, and was on her way back to her car when she heard a voice she recognised.
‘Isla?’
She turned to see Sara crouched in front of a flower stall, a spray of pink roses in her hand, her perfect face lit up with a bright smile. She was wearing jeans, a green woollen poncho and suede ankle boots, her blonde hair scooped into a high ponytail.
‘Oh my God,’ Sara continued, thrusting the flowers back into the bucket of water. She rose, raced towards Isla as though they were long-lost friends, and air-kissed Isla’s cheeks, her distinctive perfume wafting on the air. ‘How lovely to see you again.’
Isla wasn’t sure it was. She wanted to get home. Pack. And get out of England as soon as she could.
‘How are you?’ Isla said, always polite. ‘How’s your dad?’
Sara screwed up her nose. ‘If I’m honest, not so good – I’m really worried about him.’ Her chin fleetingly crinkled. ‘He relies on me so heavily, which I don’t mind. But I just want him to be OK.’
‘I’m so sorry. It must be so hard for you.’
She shrugged. ‘Enough about me, or it’ll set me off,’ she said with a sniff. ‘What are you doing here?’
Isla lifted her bulging carrier bag. ‘Shopping for woolly jumpers,’ she said.
‘Ooh, yes, you’re off to Sweden tomorrow, aren’t you?’ She gave a gleeful whoop. ‘I got your email. Sorry I haven’t replied. I’ve been so busy at work.’
Isla’s forehead furrowed. She hadn’t expected her to.
‘I’m so jealous, by the way,’ Sara went on. ‘I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights.’
‘Me too,’ Isla said. A twinge of excitement ran through her body. The first she’d felt since she returned from Canada. ‘Although I guess there are no guarantees I’ll see them.’
‘Fingers crossed. Listen, I don’t suppose you fancy a pot of tea and maybe some cake, or something?’ Sara tilted her head. ‘I spotted a lovely little tea room in Bancroft.’
Isla glanced at her watch. ‘Maybe another time. Sorry. I need to get back to finish packing. I’ve barely started . . . ’
Sara put up her hand like a traffic cop. ‘No excuses necessary,’ she said. ‘Totally understand.’
‘So what about you?’
‘Me?’ Sara pressed her chest.
‘Hitchin’s a bit of a trek for you, isn’t it? What are you doing here?’
‘Well, you’re never going to believe this,’ she said with a grin. ‘Trevor Cooper got in touch and asked if I’d like to meet up with him.’
So he did organise another reunion.
‘We had lunch at the restaurant in the Market Square,’ Sara went on. ‘They do a great beef Wellington.’ She glanced about her. ‘In fact, Trevor’s about here somewhere.’
A shudder ran through Isla. He was the last person she wanted to see.
‘Are you OK, Isla?’ Sara asked, as Isla’s mind drifted. ‘Isla?’ she repeated.
‘Sorry, I’m miles away. Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Trevor said he wanted to invite you, to make up for the Spoon’s fiasco. He’s so embarrassed by that, poor chap, but his messages didn’t seem to go through.’ She tilted her head, the cool, bright sun highlighting the strands of gold in her hair. ‘He even tried to call you several times when we were in the restaurant.’ She paused for a moment. ‘He’s still got that yellow Nokia he had at university, would you believe? It did make me laugh.’
‘What do you think of him?’ Isla said, trying to keep her tone even.
‘Trevor?’ She shrugged. ‘He seems nice. Just like he was at uni, really.’
Isla’s legs felt unsteady, her head muzzy. Should she mention the odd messages? ‘It’s just . . . ’ She paused. No, she really didn’t know Sara well enough. ‘Did Veronica and Ben come?’
‘At lunchtime?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Ben was there.’
Isla’s heart sank. If Trevor hadn’t been so odd, she might have met him.
‘He couldn’t believe how much I’d changed,’ Sara continued. ‘Pretty sure he was flirting with me.’
‘Some things never change,’ Isla said with a smile. ‘He was a bit of a player at uni, wasn’t he?’
‘I wouldn’t know. Nobody but Trevor spoke to me much back then.’ She laughed as though it didn’t matter. ‘I told Ben about your book.’
‘You did?’ Isla felt her cheeks flush.
‘Aha. I gave it my best shot, told him what a great project it was, about the cats in France.’
‘Italy.’
‘Yes, sorry. Although I’m not sure he really listened.’ She paused, and stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well thanks for trying,’ Isla said, wishing the ground would open up. ‘Was Veronica at the restaurant?’
Sara shook her head, her ponytail swinging to and fro. ‘Trevor invited her, but she couldn’t make it. Rude, if you ask me,’ she said, playfully, a slight snort expelling from her nose. ‘Trevor said Veronica messaged an apology both times. Mind you, he said he couldn’t really complain, having blown us all off in Cambridge.’ She put her hand on Isla’s arm, and narrowed her eyes. ‘Isla, there’s something I probably should have told you when we met up last time, and it’s been eating away at me ever since.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Especially as you said how close the two of you are.’
‘The two of us?’
A woman with a hessian bag barged past, banging Isla’s leg. She winced.
‘You and Roxanne,’ Sara said.
‘What about us?’
‘Listen, can we sit down? It’s so crowded here.’ Sara pointed to a bench near the river, and they strolled out of the market, and sat down. A man with a toddler laughed as they fed ducks. The little boy flapped his hands and stomped his feet as the ducks approached. The rushing sound of the fountain should have been therapeutic, but despite that, the stunning view of the ancient church and the sun’s rays glinting on the water, tension began to build in Isla’s shoulders. What was she doing here sitting with Sara? She needed to get home.
‘The thing is,’ Sara began, screwing up her face so a thin line formed in the centre of her forehead, ‘when it came to sharing a Bunsen burner, or a laminated list of chemical formulas, Trevor and I were a great team back then.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Sometimes, he would tell me things. Things he didn’t tell other people. I think he saw me as a kind of confidante. I mean, I wasn’t about to blab about what he told me, as I barely spoke to a soul during my three years there.’
She let out a strange little laugh, followed by a silence as Isla scrutinised her. There was no doubting she’d had work done. Everything about her was far too perfect. There was no trace of the girl she’d once been, and she wondered what insecurities had led Sara to change her appearance so drastically.
‘What kind of things did he tell you?’ Isla said, not sure she wanted to know.
Sara turned from Isla’s stare, and looked up at the sky. ‘Oh wow, look,’ she said as a noisy flock of Canadian geese came in to land. ‘Amazing, aren’t they?’ Her eyes were back on Isla, and she sighed deeply. ‘He said that the day Roxanne told him it was over between you . . . well . . . ’ She rested her hand on Isla’s knee. ‘She made a pass at him, and in a weak moment he slept with her.’
‘What?’ A surge of blood raced through Isla’s veins. She got to her feet. ‘That can’t be true. You must have it wrong.’
The toddler stopped flapping, and stared over.
‘Roxanne would never do that,’ Isla said, lowering her tone.
‘Well I suppose you weren’t technically with Trevor at the time.’ Sara shrugged. ‘On a break, as Ross in Friends would say.’
‘Even so, she wouldn’t have.’ She glared at Sara, who pulled a tissue from her poncho pocket. ‘Trevor must have lied.’
‘Please don’t shoot the messenger, Isla. I’m only telling you because I don’t like to think of you still being friendly with someone who let you down. I know it’s none of my business, exactly.’
‘No, no you’re right. It isn’t,’ Isla said, stepping backwards and touching the band on her wrist. ‘In fact, I barely know you, Sara. And why would I take Trevor’s word above Roxanne’s? And even if Roxanne did sleep with Trevor, which I’m sure she didn’t, you’re right – it was over between us.’
‘I’m only thinking of you, Isla.’ Sara patted her eyes with the tissue. She rose too. ‘You’re such a nice person, but you need to choose your friends carefully.’
Isla zoned out, her mind flashing to the past. The way it had ended with Trevor. ‘He’s so clingy, Isla,’ Roxanne had said a few weeks before she broke up with him. ‘He just won’t take a hint that you don’t want to be with him any more. I don’t know how you can bear it.’
‘But I love Roxanne, Sara,’ Isla said, as a flock of pigeons took off, flapping their wings. ‘She’s been my best friend for over ten years. She couldn’t have . . . ’
‘OK, OK. I’m sorry I even brought it up. I’ve clearly upset you, and I’m sorry for that.’ Sara dabbed her eyes once more. ‘I feel so stupid.’
‘No, no it’s fine,’ Isla said, softening, and touching Sara’s arm. ‘Let’s just forget about it, shall we?’ She shook her head, confused. ‘Anyway, I’ve got far too much going on in my head right now. I can’t worry about this as well.’
She turned to leave and, as she did so, Sara blurted, ‘Isla, please, please keep in touch.’
Isla didn’t reply. She just walked away through the busy market stalls, head down, not looking back.