Ray joined her on the divan. ‘I haven’t looked at this thing since high school.’ He held it to his nose. ‘Ah, eau de mildew.’ A riffle of pages, followed by a groan. ‘That’s me.’ He pointed to a photo in the top row. ‘Can you believe what a total dork I was?’
As she leaned in to look, her hair fell over her shoulder and she brushed it back. L. Raymond Hopkins. Wavy brown hair, longish sideburns, serious eyes. A wide-collared shirt, topped with a striped knitted vest. He was the only boy on the page not wearing a jacket and tie. No activities were listed under the picture. Just a string of nonsense words and symbols. A code, she imagined, known only to the in-crowd. Though a quick glance confirmed that most students had strings of coded messages under their photos, some with a forest of exclamation marks, or other symbols, impossible to decipher. A few of the girls had included a tiny heart followed by a set of initials. She wondered if one of the girls was history girl. Ray’s entry ended with a George Orwell quote about how you could only break the big rules if you paid heed to the minor ones.
He turned back to Tim’s page and read aloud the Jimi Hendrix quote. ‘Holy crap. That’s eerie. It’s like he knew, or something.’
It would be rude to point out that the sentiment under Ray’s and Tim’s photos was not all that different. Both suggested rebellion, or at least the need to make one’s mark on life. But look how things turned out: Tim was locked up in a high-security psychiatric ward, while Ray lived in a spacious, light-filled flat on the Upper West Side.
L. Raymond Hopkins. ‘What’s the L stand for?’
‘Lewis. My dad’s name.’ He tossed the yearbook on the floor and refilled their glasses.
Erin shifted her legs. ‘What about friends, did Tim hang out with anyone in particular?’
‘Not that I know of.’ His eyes clouded over. ‘Wait. There was this one kid. Frizzy blond hair, coke-bottle glasses, acne. No idea what his name was, but his face might ring a bell.’ He grabbed the book and flipped through the pages.
Out in the street, a jackhammer started up. Sleepy from the wine, Erin wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the divan, with its heap of squashy cushions, and close her eyes.
As Ray pored through the photos, a lock of hair flopped in his eyes. ‘Aha.’ He stabbed the page with a finger. ‘Jeremiah Sowka. I’m pretty sure that’s the guy.’
In the photo, the boy’s unruly hair appeared to have been tamed with a thick hair gel. No signs of acne. Someone had done a good job with the airbrush.
‘Did you know Tim’s parents?’ Erin shifted on the couch to put some distance between them.
Ray knocked back the last of his wine. When he offered her more, she shook her head. ‘His parents?’ He jumped up and headed to the kitchen. ‘I might have run into his mother the couple of times I was at the house. But the dad?’ He appeared in the doorway with a bottle of Perrier and shook his head. ‘Never met him.’
In need of air, she moved to the open window. The angle of light filtering through the plane trees and the familiar urban symphony reminded her of London. How she missed it. The bustle in the streets. Red double-deckers glistening in the rain. The bluebell wood near the Thornbury Clinic where she used to wander during her lunch break.
Little more than an hour in Ray’s company was enough to expose the hard kernel of loneliness lodged in her chest. Since returning to America, he was the first person she’d met who made her feel perfectly at ease. The moment she crossed into his light-filled flat and heard the warm timbre of his voice, something inside her had shifted. She longed to suggest they continue their conversation at some lively bistro in the neighbourhood. But it was time to shake off her musings and catch the train back to Lansford. She touched the cool glass with her fingers.
Looking for something?
Erin whirled around, but the room was now empty. When her phone rang, she jumped. Anonymous caller. Though Ray was in another room, she stepped into the front hall before answering. ‘Hello?’
Dead air, followed by the sound of something heavy scraping across the floor and a ragged intake of breath.
‘Hello? This is Dr Cartwright.’ The click of a door closing. ‘Who’s there? Hello?’ But the connection was cut, and she clutched her phone, waiting for the caller to ring again.
‘Everything okay?’ Ray stood in the doorway.
‘Fine.’ Her face burned. ‘Wrong number.’ She struggled to keep her voice casual, but her throat was tight. It could have been Cassie. But there was no way to know, and now no chance to reach her.
She turned away from Ray’s quizzical gaze. She’d told him her name was Carson. Had he heard her say her real name when she answered the call? The endless lies were exhausting. But it didn’t matter, it was unlikely she’d ever see him again.
27
Greenlake Psychiatric Facility
Atherton, New York
April, Present Day
Hunched over a stack of paperwork, Harrison barely glanced up when Erin entered the room. ‘If I’m not mistaken, today is your last formal session with Tim?’ He stuck his glasses on top of his head and rubbed his eyes.
Erin nodded. ‘If things go as planned, I’ll be submitting my full report to the review board by the end of next week.’ Ahead of the deadline, she might have added, despite the earlier setbacks.
‘Well, that’s good to hear.’ He fussed
