In that moment, like so many others, I wished Amy was there – a deep longing, a yearning, to see her again and share that kernel of joy. To show her that maybe, just maybe, we would all be OK. Out of habit, I took out my phone and sent her a message.
Wish you were here. You would be so proud of Mum. Miss you every day xo
As I watched, the little icon beside the text turned green – delivered.
I checked back over the messages I’d sent Amy – they had all been delivered. When had that happened? The phone had been switched off when I’d tried calling it, and I remembered that my first message had stayed grey. When had I last checked?
Amy’s phone had been switched on. But who had it?
Mike had to have taken it. Maybe there had been something incriminating on it – something he hadn’t wanted the rest of the family to see. Some evidence of his affair with Julie Knox, something that proved Amy had found out who he had been seeing – perhaps something that had given him a reason to want her dead. A chill ran through me, making me shiver. But where could he have hidden it? I’d already searched the house. Could I have missed something? I could tip off the police, but then I pictured them turning Amy’s home upside-down, going through her stuff, the kids’ stuff. I chewed the ragged edge of a fingernail.
I needed Jake.
We arranged to meet on the seafront at Amble. I pulled into the small, sand-swept car park, and he climbed into my passenger seat. It was easier to talk to Jake like that – sitting side-by-side and looking out to sea rather than face-to-face. At least I couldn’t get distracted by him, and I had to admit to myself – I was finding Jake increasingly distracting. But this was most definitely not the time to fall for someone. My sister needed me.
I showed him the messages I’d sent to Amy that were now mysteriously delivered to a phone that had apparently been lost. We had to work out who might be hiding it. I allowed myself a peek at Jake as he took my phone from me, chewing pensively on his bottom lip.
Jake explained that the box of Amy’s possessions had been given to Mike two days after the accident. None of it was considered evidence, so the family were free to take it. I filled in the next piece of the puzzle for him – Mike claimed that he had given the unopened box to Mum, who had taken it home with her. By the time I had collected it, the phone was gone.
‘So did Mike take the phone before he gave the box to Mum, and lie that he hadn’t gone through it? Or did he go back for the phone after he gave it to her, when he realised what we might find…’
Jake twisted in his seat to face me.
‘Why are we here?’
I started to stutter, struggling to articulate a sound reason. It was a good question. I looked down at our hands, side by side on the armrest. Our fingers almost touching.
‘I know you want to find Amy’s phone, but I don’t see how I can help you with that.’
I fixed my gaze ahead towards the horizon. Saying nothing.
‘This is a difficult time for you, I understand—’
‘Don’t, OK?’ I cut him off. ‘It’s fine, you don’t need to explain yourself.’
The words were bitter on my tongue.
‘No, but I do. I do owe you an explanation.’
I turned ever so slightly towards him. Just enough to be able to see him from the corner of my eye.
‘I like you, Izzy – I really like you,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘In fact, I haven’t liked anyone – felt this way about anyone – in quite a long time. But you just lost your sister, you’re grieving – and I’m a partner at the legal firm that’s handling her estate. Not to mention how much I’ve become involved in the investigation. Do you understand?’
I shook my head. I knew that if I tried to speak, words would fail me.
‘I wish we had met under different circumstances,’ Jake said, running a hand through his hair, ‘and that I could just ask you out for dinner, or to the cinema, or the pub.’
‘But we didn’t,’ I croaked. Tears pricked at my eyes.
Jake brushed a fingertip against the side of my hand. His touch was barely perceptible and electrifying all at the same time. It had been so long since I’d felt this way about someone – it was like being a teenager again. Like those first flushes of adolescent pining, when Amy and I had whispered secrets to each other about the latest objects of our infatuation.
Amy.
Jake was right – we couldn’t get involved. Not now. I was falling for him, but he was out of reach. His finger was still touching mine. I looked back out to sea.
Jake’s let-down had been gentle, but I was deflated – it felt like yet another thing that Amy’s death had taken from me. Still, he had left me with some hope – that perhaps one day, when all of this was over, our friendship could become something else. If this was ever over. My determination hardened to find out what had happened to Amy.
I sat Mum and Auntie Sue down and told them to cast their minds back to the first few days after the accident, focusing on the box of Amy’s possessions. We needed to work out who might have had access to it.
Those
