Roxanne
Roxanne sat in the waiting room at Narvik Station – a yellow, two-storey building close to the railway line – her phone open on the Internet in front of her, struggling to find ways to help Isla. Everything she came up with seemed futile or pointless.
Apart from Andy, it was the reunion that played on her mind the most. The odd way only Sara had turned up, and Trevor’s strange comment on Isla’s Facebook update.
Trancelike, she searched for Veronica’s website. There was a contact address and, without thinking too much, she emailed her.
From: ROXANNE Furaha roxannefuraha@littleboxmail.com
To: VERONICA Beesley veronicabeesley@yomail.com
Hi Veronica
You may not remember me, but we went to university together. Isla Johnson mentioned that you almost met up for a uni reunion the other night with Ben Martin, Sara Pembroke and Trevor Cooper. Just wondered if she’s been in touch with you at all, especially in the last few days.
Cheers
Roxanne Furaha
She felt, deep down, it was a waste of time. Surely she would have known if Isla had been in contact with Veronica. Roxanne and Isla shared everything. Except they hadn’t, had they?
She signed into Facebook. Sara Pembroke had accepted her friend request, so she composed a message to her too.
Hi Sara,
You may not remember me, but we went to university together. I understand you met with Isla a little while back at a reunion in Cambridge, organised by Trevor Cooper. The thing is, and this is really hard to say, it looks as if Isla may have attempted suicide. I know this is a total long shot, but I wondered if you thought there was anything strange about her when you met up, or did she mention a bloke called Andy? Or if you’ve heard from her in the last few days. I’m sorry if this all seems a bit odd, but I’m desperate.
Cheers in advance,
Roxanne
She pressed send, before thrusting her head into her hands. What the hell was she doing telling Sara about Isla? Was she being disloyal?
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
The train roared into the station, bringing her out of her anger. She shoved her phone into her bag and rose. Determined to keep strong, she slapped away a tear rolling down her cheek, and strode from the waiting room and stepped on board.
An hour and a half later, she was back in Abisko, hurrying from the railway station, crisp newly fallen snow crunching under her boots, as she headed for Camp Arctic. She prayed Jack had found something out, and together they would find Isla.
Once there, she scanned reception for Jack’s face among the guests, before dashing towards Alma.
‘Have you seen Jack? The man I was with when I first arrived?’ she asked, a little out of breath, as she fussed over the dogs, who’d greeted her with wagging tails.
‘He left a while ago,’ Alma said, glancing up from her computer screen.
‘Left? Did he say where he was going?’
Alma shrugged. ‘Not to me, I just noticed him leave.’ She paused, and tilted her head. ‘I understand you still haven’t found your friend.’ Another pause. ‘The police have been here asking questions.’
‘Really? Well thank God they’re taking it seriously.’ Although the fact they were made it all the more worrying somehow. ‘We thought we’d found her in Narvik,’ she said. ‘But it wasn’t her.’ The words took shape in her head, and the mystery surrounding her friend deepened to a darker level. Isla hadn’t been seen for over thirty-six hours, and it was well over twenty-four hours since she’d sent the email. If she’d taken her life, wouldn’t they have found her by now?
She turned away, pulled out her phone, and tried Jack’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. Where are you, Jack?
Her stomach grumbled and a wave of nausea washed over her. She hadn’t eaten for ages. She would be no use to Isla if she passed out, so she tugged off her snowsuit and hung it up, before heading into the restaurant where she ordered game soup.
‘I wondered, have you seen my friend?’ she asked the waitress before she could walk away, thrusting the photo of Isla and Andy in front of her.
‘Yes, I saw her a few times,’ the waitress said, studying the picture.
‘What about him? Did you see him?’
She shook her head. ‘No, she was always alone.’
The dark, hot soup smelt rich and comforting, and as Roxanne ate, her stomach made grateful gurgling noises. One-handed, she did a Google search for ‘Ben Martin’ and ‘Publisher’, and came up with nothing.
There was a text from Leo, who had drifted so far from her thoughts since she arrived that she wondered if she would ever meet up with him again. She’d probably be alone for ever – would prefer it that way. Was she afraid of commitment? Too selfish to share her life? Or was it more than that? Had what happened to Isla in Australia affected Roxanne more than she realised?
As she left the restaurant her phone rang. It was Sally.
‘Roxanne, where are you?’ Her voice was tense.
‘In Abisko.’
‘Well, we’re at the hospital, and it’s not Isla.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You know?’
‘Yes, didn’t you get my message?’
‘Message?’
‘I sent you a text.’ Roxanne thought back to how the call from Jack had come through just as she was about to send it. Had she pressed send? Had her mind been so full that she’d forgotten to press send? ‘I was at the hospital, but I’m back at Camp Arctic,’ she said, moving on as swiftly as she could, guilt engulfing her. ‘I’m trying to find Isla.’ It sounded weak. How could what she was doing – eating soup, for Christ’s sake – be classed as searching? She put down her spoon, no longer hungry.
After a silence, Sally gave a little cough, and said, ‘She’s awake – the woman they thought was Isla – she’s awake.’ She paused, and Roxanne knew she was crying. ‘The police spoke to her. She’s a student, apparently, and admits she was pretty out of it last night. But she remembers someone pushing her in front of the car, and insists she has no idea why she has Isla’s bag.’
‘Jesus. That’s pretty weird stuff,’ Roxanne said. ‘Do you think she’s telling the truth? Maybe she’s covering her back.’
‘I don’t know.’ Sally’s voice was cracking under the stress and exhaustion. ‘We’re going to talk with the police now, and we’ve hired a car, so maybe we’ll head to Abisko if we get no joy here. And, Roxanne.’ There was a pause. ‘If you hear anything – anything at all – call me. Please.’
‘Yes, yes, I will. Of course.’
‘Oh, and one more thing, the police have spoken to Andy Fisher.’
‘And?’
‘He admits meeting Isla in Canada, but he insists they didn’t have a relationship. He was there with his wife, and a whole group of them befriended her.’
‘And they believe him?’
‘He’s nearly seventy, Roxanne. I can’t see how it can be the same man Isla talked about.’
‘No, no, you’re right. It can’t be.’
‘I’ll talk to you soon, love,’ Sally said, before ending the call.
Roxanne left her half-eaten soup and returned to her room. She sat on the bed cross-legged, and tried Jack’s number twice more, with no luck. What else could she do? Her eyes drifted to the window. It was still snowing, flakes tumbling from the sky, clinging to the glass. And although it was warm inside, it was as though she was out there in the cold.