Roxanne
Saturday, 12 November
Isla’s phone went straight to voicemail. Roxanne had tried to call and text her several times over the last few days, with no luck. It was odd that her friend hadn’t even messaged her from the airport, like she always did.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Leo, the bloke she’d met at Millie’s party the week before, heading down the stairs, two at a time.
‘Hey,’ he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He came up behind her, pushed her hair from her neck and trailed her with warm kisses. He smelt good. ‘You OK?’ he said, dropping down onto a chair at the table next to her and grabbing the box of cornflakes.
She watched him, mesmerised, a surge of panic rising inside her. He ticked far too many boxes – boxes she didn’t even know were there to tick. ‘Fine thanks.’
She put down her phone and opened Facebook on her laptop and began sharing links to various petitions.
‘Can I see you again?’ Leo asked, tipping golden flakes into a bowl. ‘I’d like to.’
She stared into his eyes. No, no, no. I hadn’t meant to see you this time. ‘Why not?’ she said, as her phone vibrated across the table.
‘You going to get that?’ he said, in his easy way.
She picked up the phone. It was Isla’s mum. Sally never normally called. Her number was only in Roxanne’s phone from a time when Isla was going through hell.
She was about to answer, when the call ended.
‘Everything OK?’ Leo said, dark eyes narrowing. ‘You look worried.’
‘I’m good. I’m sure everything’s fine.’ She rose from the table, a weird sense of doom washing over her. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, turning her back on him and pressing Sally’s number.
‘Hey,’ she said into the phone, when Sally picked up.
‘Roxanne.’ Her voice was jittery. ‘I . . . well . . . ’
‘What’s up? You OK?’ Roxanne turned a curl of her hair around her finger.
‘No, no I’m not. The thing is, Isla has emailed and . . . ’
‘Sally, what is it?’ Roxanne’s pulse quickened as Sally burst into tears. There was a rustle on the other end of the line, voices in the background. ‘Sally?’
‘Roxanne.’ It was Gary. His voice low and even. ‘The thing is, love . . . ’ He paused. ‘God there’s no easy way to say this.’
‘Say what, Gary? What’s going on?’
‘The thing is,’ he repeated. ‘We think . . . we think Isla may have taken her own life.’
***
Sally and Gary’s dining room had dropped into a painful silence, when the shrill sound of the doorbell pierced the still air.
‘That’ll be Jack,’ Millie said, rising and rushing to the door.
Within moments, Jack dashed into the room, pale and bewildered, Millie behind him.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ Sally said through tears that hadn’t stopped since Roxanne arrived. She rose and pulled him into a hug.
He freed himself from her grasp, yanked off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa in the adjoining lounge. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’
‘I’m so sorry to drag you away from your father, Jack . . . ’
‘It’s hardly important, Sally, in the scheme of things,’ he said, not meeting her eye.
‘No, no, of course it isn’t. My mind is a complete mess.’
‘Why would she have done this?’ Gary’s elbows were on the table, the heel of his palms pushed into his eyes. ‘My girl would never take her own life.’
Sally sat back down next to him. ‘We can’t make sense of any of it.’
Jack glanced at Sally’s pink laptop open on Isla’s blog in front of her. The words ‘Travelling Girl’ headed the home page, typed in a swirly lilac font on a background of blue skies and butterflies, and a photo of Isla smiled from the screen.
Sally must have read all the blog posts twenty times since Roxanne arrived, taking her glasses off and on, as if hoping, each time, the later posts might say something different.
‘I keep trying her mobile, even though there’s no point,’ Jack said, eyes flicking from Sally to Gary.
Gary sighed. He was wearing a polo shirt, and there was a mud stain on his cheeks from gardening. Sally was in the navy skirt suit and white blouse she wore to her part-time job as a travel agent.
‘We’ve all tried to call her,’ Gary said, shaking his head, ‘. . . if she’d only taken her phone charger.’
Roxanne hadn’t seen Gary cry since she arrived. But he’d left the room several times, and his red-rimmed eyes told of private tears. He stood up, pushed his chair back and left the room again, leaving the door open.
Millie sat down next to Roxanne, and Jack dropped into the seat next to Sally.
‘So what did her email say?’ he asked, fingers entwined on the top of his head, pressing down on his skull as if suppressing unwanted thoughts. Roxanne knew he was already aware of what Isla’s email said. Well some of it. Sally had blurted it out on the phone when she’d called him earlier.
Sally grabbed a tissue from a box and blew her nose.
‘Isla said she was sorry, Jack,’ Roxanne said, trying to sound calm, but she was far from it. She’d created a tough, strong image, but wasn’t sure that’s who she was any more. ‘She said she couldn’t go on.’ She paused for a moment, deliberating whether to say more. He would know soon enough. ‘It seems there was someone else, Jack.’
‘Someone else?’ His eyes flicked to Roxanne’s. He lowered his hands, and held her in a stare.
She nodded. ‘Andy.’
‘Andy?’ Jack’s eyes widened. ‘Who the hell is Andy?’
Roxanne shrugged and looked down. ‘She met him in Canada, and . . . well . . . ’
‘She fell in love with him,’ Millie cut in.
Jack screwed his hands into fists, his face distorting, as though someone had rammed a blade in his back. He got to his feet, and began pacing. ‘But we just got engaged,’ he said, voice rising. ‘How is that even possible?’
‘Jack, please. Try to keep calm,’ Millie said, eyes doubling in size, her acne inflamed. She pushed her fringe from her forehead. ‘We’re all trying to make sense of it. We’re all in pain here.’
‘Sorry,’ Jack said. ‘Sorry,’ he repeated. ‘It’s just . . . I’m sure I would have known if there was someone else. I know Isla.’ But Roxanne picked up on the doubt in his voice. The doubt she felt too.
‘We all thought we did,’ said Millie, dashing a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘But she hasn’t been herself lately.’ She rose too. ‘I’ll put the kettle on again.’
Roxanne glanced at the half-empty mugs and screwed-up tissues that littered the table. The strong smell of lilies in a vase in the centre of the table punctured the air, making her nauseous. ‘Not for me, Millie, thanks,’ she said, pushing her fingers through her hair, a sudden tightness in her chest. ‘You got anything stronger?’
‘Mum?’ Millie looked at Sally.
‘There’s your dad’s gin in the cupboard,’ she said.
Silence fell as Millie left the table, tugging up her pink tracksuit bottoms. Her dark hair hung lank and loose to her shoulders, and she wasn’t wearing make-up. She crouched down and opened the cupboard door.
Roxanne looked over at the framed photographs that jostled for space on the many surfaces: Isla’s graduation; Millie and Julian’s wedding; Abigail growing from a cute toddler to a teenager, no evidence of her Asperger’s syndrome.
How could this happen to such a strong and happy family? But then Roxanne had asked the same question six years ago, when Carl Jeffery came into Isla’s life, and changed her from a carefree young woman to a frightened rabbit refusing to leave the comfort of her parents’ house. And now this had happened – an affair gone wrong, and a suicidal impulse. How the hell had she missed that?
Millie pulled out a bottle of gin and a clutch of glasses, and returned to the table.
‘Did she mention me? In the email, I mean,’ Jack asked, grabbing a glass as Millie filled, knocking back the gin in one gulp.
Roxanne dragged a glass across the table towards her, and shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’
‘She didn’t mention me either,’ Millie said, as though they’d joined the same club. ‘She sent Mum an invitation to read the blog she’d been writing since the beginning of August, said it would explain everything. But . . . ’
Jack looked at everyone in turn, grabbed the bottle and filled his glass once more. ‘But what?’
‘Please don’t read the blog, Jack. No good will come from it,’ Millie continued.
‘Millie’s right,’ Roxanne said. She’d seen the photo of Isla and Andy sitting in a café together. She’d read Isla’s posts – the things she’d said about Jack – and felt sick that her friend had been leading a double life. ‘She’s said some odd things.’
Sally let out a wail like a strangled cat, and pushed her head into her hands. ‘What were you thinking, Isla?’ she cried, as though her daughter was in the room.
‘I want to read it.’ Jack sat down once more. ‘I need to.’
Roxanne leant across the table and placed her hand over his. ‘It’s as if none of us really knew her. I wonder if she ever truly got over six years ago, and she mentions an appeal that none of us even knew about.’
‘It doesn’t make sense, Jack. I can’t understand why she didn’t tell us about it,’ Sally said, dabbing her cheeks with a screwed-up tissue. ‘I never even noticed how much pain she was in.’ She grabbed a glass and knocked back the drink, pulling a face as the liquid ran down her throat, wincing as she swallowed.
‘She said she didn’t want to worry you,’ Jack said softly, rubbing his forehead.
‘You knew about it?’ Roxanne glared at Jack. ‘And you never said anything.’
‘How long have you known?’ Sally said, grabbing another tissue.
‘She only told me recently.’ Jack didn’t meet Sally’s eye. ‘Darleen Jeffery tried to get her brother acquitted back in September.’
‘The bitch who wrote that awful book?’ Roxanne said.
Jack nodded. ‘She didn’t win, but it unsettled, Isla.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She wasn’t herself.’ He looked about him as though trying to find the right words. ‘We should contact Camp Arctic.’
‘Done that,’ Gary said, drifting back into the room, his cheeks red and blotchy. ‘She’s not in her room. They said they’ll make enquiries. Call us back as soon as possible.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘That was a couple of hours ago. If she’s not there, I don’t know what else they can do.’
‘Maybe it’s an awful mistake.’ Sally rubbed her face. ‘Please let it be a terrible mistake.’
‘Have you called the police?’ Jack asked. ‘Would the cops be able to help?’
Sally nodded. ‘They’re sending someone round to talk to us.’
At that moment the doorbell rang, and Millie rose once more. ‘It must be them,’ she said, her voice dull and lifeless, as she left the room.
***
Roxanne looked on as two police officers introduced themselves, and sat down at the table, opposite Sally. PC Samantha Langton was young, with dark hair and a large nose; Inspector Blackstone older, with a crumpled, battered look, as though he’d been dragged through the last forty years tied to the back of a police car.
Jack was on his feet once more, pacing in front of the French doors, an unlit cigarette clenched between his fingers.
Roxanne had got up and drifted to the corner of the room, where she was now leaning against the magnolia wall, beneath a print of a field of poppies. To an onlooker she probably looked calm, too nonchalant perhaps, but it was far from the truth. Someone had to stay strong, and looking at the state of everyone else, it had to be her.
‘I understand your daughter has sent you an email, claiming she intends to take her own life,’ Inspector Blackstone said to Sally, rubbing his chin.
Roxanne couldn’t help feeling as if she’d been transported into one of the crime TV shows her mum watched: the bumbling older cop, who was actually a super-sleuth, and his young sidekick.
Except it wasn’t, was it? This was her best friend: her lovely, funny Isla. The girl she thought she knew so well, but it seemed she didn’t know at all.
Sally stared at the inspector, her bloodshot eyes vacant, as though her brain had shut down, unable to cope any more. She nodded, and patted her cheeks with a wad of brightly coloured tissues. ‘She just got engaged, seemed happy. I can’t believe she would take her own life.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I should have noticed what a state she was in, especially after what happened before.’
‘Carl Jeffery?’ The inspector rubbed his forefinger across a deep crevice in his chin, his bushy grey eyebrows rising. He’d clearly done his research. ‘Targeted hostels over in Australia.’
Millie nodded. ‘Isla was one of his victims,’ she said, pouring another gin, and swigging it back in one gulp.
‘He killed three backpackers,’ the inspector went on, as though he was telling them something new.
Roxanne eased away from the wall, and moved towards the table. ‘He’s rotting in prison, although it’s nowhere near enough. He deserves to be strung up by his balls, and a red hot poker shoved up his arse.’ She met Sally’s watery eyes. ‘Sorry, I just . . . ’
‘Isla thought she saw him recently,’ Millie said.
Jack’s forehead furrowed. ‘But it couldn’t have been him. He had an appeal recently, but it was refused.’
‘She was left scarred and shattered, after it happened,’ Sally said with a sniff. ‘But surely this can’t have anything to do with that. It’s been six years.’
‘She’d been behaving odd lately, Mum,’ Millie said.
Gary placed his hand over Sally’s. ‘The police need to know everything, love,’ he said. ‘It will give them an idea of the kind of person Isla is. You know yourself how long it took her to even go out after it happened.’
‘Yes, but that’s the point, Gary. She did in the end,’ Sally said. ‘Things had been going well for her over the past few years. She’d been like her old self. Why would she let some man ruin that?’ She let out a small sob, and whispered into her hands, ‘It’s heartbreaking.’
‘And why get engaged to Jack?’ Millie said, meeting the inspector’s eye. ‘Why would she do that, if there was someone else?’
‘Jack?’ The inspector scanned the room.
Jack stopped pacing, and raised his hand as though he was back at school.
‘She met Jack two years ago,’ Sally said, voice croaky now from crying. ‘She was so happy.’
‘But everything changed when she went to Canada,’ Millie said. ‘She didn’t seem herself when she got back. And now we know why. She met someone else.’
Roxanne glanced over at Millie. Was that anger or sadness in her bloodshot eyes?
‘You said on the phone that she’s in Sweden,’ the inspector said.
‘Yes, Abisko. She set off on Wednesday.’ Sally rubbed her forehead.
‘And nobody’s heard from her since she arrived? Apart from the email, obviously.’
They all shook their heads.
‘She forgot her phone charger,’ Jack said. ‘So couldn’t get in touch.’
‘She didn’t think to borrow one?’
Jack shrugged. ‘Isla often got lost in her work as a travel writer. She probably didn’t think.’
The inspector looked at Jack. ‘She never called you from a landline, no emails?’
‘No.’ Jack shook his head, his expression hard to read. ‘She’d only been gone since Wednesday.’
‘Except she’d been blogging, as it turned out,’ Millie said, refilling her glass, the gin splashing on the table. ‘She found time to do that.’
‘Millie, please,’ Roxanne said. ‘That isn’t helpful. This is hard enough for Jack, for all of us.’
‘But it’s the truth.’ Millie brought the glass to her lips. ‘I’m only saying it like it is. She couldn’t ring up or email us, but she was typing away on that stupid fucking blog of hers.’
‘Stop that now.’ Sally glared at her daughter.
‘I’m not five, Mum,’ Millie said under her breath.
The inspector’s eyes were back on Sally. ‘So Isla’s email came in early this morning.’
Sally nodded, now shredding a tissue, its pieces drifting onto the table.
‘And Isla said in this email that she was going to take her own life.’
‘Not in those words exactly, but . . . yes.’ A tear rolled down her face.
‘May I see the email?’
Sally rubbed her eyes dry, put on her glasses, and opened the email. She pushed the laptop across the table towards the inspector.
To: SALLY Johnson sallyjohnson@windlemail.com
From: ISLA Johnson islajohnson@windlemail.com
Dear Mum
I’m sorry I can’t go on living.
I fell in love for the first time in my life in Canada, but I was let down so painfully. Andy is my everything. Without him, I can’t go on.
I’ve been writing a blog since August – www.travellinggirlblog.com. It began as my travel blog, but later it was where I privately wrote my thoughts. I’ve sent you an invitation to read it, in the hope that, when you do, it will help you to understand what I’ve been through and why this has to be goodbye.
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Isla |
xx |