I arrive at Temple Meads Station too early, and decide to grab a croissant and coffee before taking a seat on the platform. I haven’t left Bristol in over ten years, never wanting to in case Katy came home one day, but there were other reasons too. My life lost direction, and Katy sent me off course a long time ago.
I don’t think she would mind me thinking of her like that, because there was never any shame or guilt when I looked at her. Although her blonde hair and blue eyes always reminded me slightly of him, it was resilience and patience that shone through. He never touched any part of her.
I didn’t tell Mum exactly what happened. I think a lot of it she guessed, or got from asking me direct questions one night when I was twenty and I nodded and shook my head along to them all. The rest of my pregnancy was a blur, but I never saw Ian again, not until last night.
He had sent some requests for a paternity test through solicitors, but they were all denied. I never had to see him, though. But just to know that he was present again, that he was trying to worm his way back into my life, was enough, was too much. In the years following Katy’s disappearance I was full of hope and pain, but the trauma of what happened to me started to emerge when he tried to contact me to find out if Katy was his.
His. Like she could belong to him, like he owned her, like he had some claim upon the grief of losing her. It was sickening, but the trauma never manifested until Katy went missing. When I lost all focus and purpose in my life and started to drift. When I saw his name written plainly on court documents, it all reminded me of a night I can never forget.
His appearance on the show wasn’t a total shock; the studio had primed me that they had been speaking to him, but there was a part of me that didn’t believe them. He had failed to prove he was Katy’s dad, so why would the show want to speak to someone who was just making claims? It made no sense to me. I almost brushed it aside, thinking that they’d discard the drama of it, the unfounded allegation of who he was to Katy.
The coffee is bitter, but it’s been so long since I had a coffee from a takeaway cup that the novelty warms me. The tannoy calls my train but I’m reluctant now, almost lost for a moment in something as simple as having coffee, surrounded by people, that the reason I’m sat here feels far away.
Another final announcement of my train. Like Katy’s show, I could just wait for time to pass and miss it, and then whatever pain awaits at the other end will remain a mystery to me. But it’s been ten years now of waiting for this moment, of what I’d say to Graham if I ever saw him again. So why doesn’t this feel right? I slide a hand into my coat pocket and feel for the pocket knife I stashed in there earlier. I don’t know why I brought it, I tried not to think about it too much, but I reasoned that it was protection.
I head to my platform and jump onto the train just as the doors glide shut. An annoyed-looking conductor raises an eyebrow at me, asking for my ticket before grunting as I head to my seat. Unruly fields littered with cows and tufts of white slink past as we travel towards Bath. I unravel the address and type it into maps on my phone to help me get there.
Graham lives in a town outside of Bath called Keynsham, just one stop to and from Bristol. In my head, he’d always moved further away, to London or maybe even abroad. I’d never expected him to stay so close.
I’ve thought about Graham a lot in the last ten years, imagined what I would say to him if I ever saw him again. I spoke with the people in the forum about it, theories I had about who she’d seen in the car that night. Something that remained a big mystery to the group. I tried to convince the police that he had something to do with it, but what evidence did I have? Only that Katy wasn’t herself when she was with him, that he wasn’t good for her.
I get off the train and follow the stream of people onto the main road, glancing down at my phone to show me the way. It’s a twenty-minute walk, slightly uphill to a newbuild estate on the edge of town. Graham couldn’t have lived here long; there are still some houses being built as I walk past the showroom and marketing office. Maybe he did leave to put some distance between what happened and what people said and thought he did, but this show…
To anyone who didn’t know him, he’s charming. All the suspicion cast on him seems ill placed when there were so many other people involved. He’s made himself out as the loving boyfriend, heartbroken when the person he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with disappeared.
His house is in a cul-de-sac, next to a small playing field and rows of newly planted trees. It’s of grey stone, double-fronted, with a red door, a black SUV parked in the driveway and – I freeze – a small pink bike lying on its side behind the car. Does he have children? A family?
In my head I’d imagined him alone in a flat, working in a job he’d managed to get through good references and no one knowing who he was.
I walk slowly up the small path and hold a hand up to the red door to knock. Will he recognise me? What if he does have kids and they’re in? I turn away, but I hear the clip of heels and the door slides open. A woman’s voice, soft and concerned. ‘Hello?’ she asks.
I turn slowly, my breath catching in my throat. She has long ash blonde hair and light blue eyes, blushed pink cheeks and a creamy complexion. She looks so much like Katy that it winds me. I take a step back and trip on the path, my legs give way and I fall, landing on my spine. A pain shoots up my back, but I make no noise. We’re both completely still for a moment until she darts forward to help me up, folding a hand around mine to pull me up from the ground.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks, her eyes searching mine. She smiles, but it is unkind, not like Katy’s smile.
‘Are you a reporter?’ she asks.
I shake my head. ‘No.’
Her hands fall to her side and she tilts her head. Her features melt down her face as it dawns on her. ‘You’re Katy’s mum,’ she whispers.
I nod, brushing down my jeans and straightening my coat. ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ I say. I turn to walk away, but she runs after me.
‘Why did you come?’ she says.
When I turn to face her, whatever malice I saw in her features has been replaced by a wild, almost maniacal stare.
‘I wanted to talk to him,’ I say, bluntly.
‘What could you have to say?’ she says, and I realise that she’s defensive of him, whoever he is to her.
‘Are you his wife?’ I ask.
She shakes her head. ‘We never got married.’
‘Oh, you have kids?’
She glances back at the pink bike and nods reluctantly, before raising her chin defiantly. ‘You didn’t answer me.’
‘I want to ask him what he did with my daughter.’
She shakes her head and I almost think she’ll laugh, but she clutches the waist of her cardigan and gestures towards the house. ‘Do you want to come in?’ There’s a glint in her eye; her lips are still pursed with anger, but she’s curious.
I follow her back towards the house, clutching the bottom of my back as pain vibrates through my thighs and tingles at the backs of my knees.
‘Do you want some ice for that?’ she asks, as she steps through the front door.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I lie, following her through.
‘You can leave your shoes on; I need to clean the floors anyway. The dog has been in with his muddy paws.’
‘You have a dog?’ I ask.
‘Clover,’ she says. ‘Crazy little thing. She’s a rescue. Graham likes to rescue animals.’
I follow her down the narrow hallway into a black and white kitchen diner with pale grey floors and granite work surfaces. There’s a large bench table wedged next to patio doors. It’s covered in crayons and pictures, colourful beakers and stuffed animals.
‘Do you want a tea or something?’ she asks, gesturing to a dining chair.
I shake my head, lowering myself slowly onto the chair. I try to see out into the garden, but the view is blocked by a purple orchid arching over the top of the counter.
She leans against the counter, staring at me, deciding what to say and what to do. I don’t know how much she knows about Katy, about me, but I imagine she’s watched the show. She knows everything that he has told her. She only knows lies, so I tread carefully.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask.
‘Elsa,’ she says, dismissively, glancing away. ‘How did you find us?’
‘I saw it online somewhere,’ I lie.
She nods quickly, not buying it, but chooses not to push me on it. I’m here now and that’s a problem for her.
‘I understand’, I say, ‘that this is a shock, but there’s a lot unresolved.’
‘Unresolved?’ she says, cutting me off. ‘I know you lost your daughter and I’m so sorry for that; I truly can’t imagine what it must have done to you, but Graham is innocent and I’m sick of this following us around. I didn’t want to come back here, you know, I wanted to stay in London where we were safe, but Graham wanted to be near his mum, near his home. I just’ – she throws her arms up – ‘I just can’t understand what you could possibly have to say to him after all these years.’
She picks up her phone from the side and dials a number, not even looking at me. ‘Can you come in, please? There’s someone here who wants to speak to you.’ She hangs up, placing the phone back down as she looks towards the patio door.
A few moments later it opens and in the doorway stands Graham, not seeing me at first, just the anguish on his partner’s face.
‘What is it?’ he says, before noticing me. His eyes dart back to Elsa. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, panic in his voice.
I would feel foolish if I weren’t so full of rage. Seeing him in the flesh, older, with a beautiful wife and a daughter, makes it all come rushing back, all the ugliness and spite and anger. The feeling that I want him dead.
‘What are you doing here?’ he repeats. ‘Leave,’ he says loudly.
I can’t answer, because the truth is, I don’t know. In my dreams, in every scenario, I always ended up killing him.
‘Get out,’ he says.
But I don’t move, I can’t feel a thing but a dull ache at the bottom of my back. I don’t want to kill him.
‘I just want my daughter back.’ I start to cry, violent tears that catch in my throat. I scream as loudly as I can and to my surprise he rushes forward and grips my shoulders, firmly but not forcibly. He is keeping me upright. He is stopping me from falling.
* * *
At the bottom of Graham’s garden is a small studio, a fancy insulated shed with a desk and chair, and a fold-out table with a kettle. He hands me a tea as he closes the door, smiling at Elsa, who eyes us from the open patio doors.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Not really,’ I say, ‘but I’m sick of saying I am.’
He nods. I sniff, wiping my nose with the tissue he gave me.
‘Tell me something truthful,’ I say.
He smiles softly. ‘I loved her,’ he says. ‘I know you think we weren’t right for each other, and maybe we weren’t, but it didn’t change that I loved her.’
‘You can’t, the things you’ve said about her, what you’ve accused her of.’
He’s silent. He leans back in his chair and brings a mug to his lips.
‘I lost everything,’ he says, finally. ‘I had to move away, I lost my job, all my friends, I lost Katy.’
‘No, I lost Katy, not you.’
He sighs. ‘Everything I’ve said about Katy is the truth. I know it’s hard to hear, but it is the truth.’
‘I know my daughter, the things you’re saying about her—’
‘I know,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry, they can’t be easy to hear, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. I was with my mum, the police know this. There isn’t anything left to ask,’ he says.
‘Joanna thinks you were controlling Katy, she thinks—’
‘Joanna is a liar,’ he says, bluntly. ‘She and Katy weren’t even speaking when Katy went missing. They hadn’t spoken for weeks, maybe months.’
I shake my head. ‘No, they were best friends, of course they spoke.’
‘No, they fell out, I’m not sure what about – you know Katy, she didn’t exactly share. They had a bad fight. Katy just didn’t think it was a fight, she didn’t read it like that, but I did. I think it was about Tom, that guy Joanna was seeing at the time, and I’m pretty sure he got involved, told Katy to piss off or something juvenile like that. Katy didn’t want that drama in her life, of course she didn’t.’
‘No, you’re wrong. Joanna would have said something, she wouldn’t have kept that to herself.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m not sure what to tell you, but they weren’t friends, so I was surprised to see her show up on that documentary pretending they were.’ He sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Grace, people just aren’t who you think they are.’
‘That’s not true, any of it.’
‘Ask her, if you’re still in touch. But don’t count on her telling you the truth.’
‘What was your fight about?’ I ask.
‘Fight?’
‘You said the night before you’d had a fight.’
He nods. ‘Katy was annoyed I had to cancel our date to work, it was…’ He looks at me, biting his lip, thinking about what to say, whether to say it. ‘We broke up.’
My skin turns cold and there’s a light pressure tingling all over me, like I’m being sucked into a vacuum. ‘What?’
He nods reluctantly. ‘I have told the police since the documentary, so don’t think I’m hiding anything.’
‘You lied.’
‘No, I told the police we’d had a bad fight. I was honest – they asked me did we break up, and I said I wasn’t sure.’
‘But you were.’
He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t like that. Katy and I were always breaking up and getting back together. For all I know it was just another one of those lame, childish fights we used to have back then.’
‘But she messaged you, she wanted to meet.’
‘Exactly. Like I said, it wasn’t a proper breakup, but I know they’re the words you want to hear. And if you need them, that’s what I want to give you.’
‘You must have been mad at her.’
He shakes his head. ‘I knew it wasn’t over between us, but I needed space from Katy. She could be—’
‘Don’t say a word about her.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘But I told her I wasn’t home, that I was at my mum’s, which I was, all night.’
I shake my head. ‘I have to go.’
‘I heard you went to see my mum,’ he says. ‘I know this must be bringing up a lot of emotions for you, but leave her out of this. She’s not well, and what happened has taken its toll on a lot of people’s lives.’ He looks up at me. ‘Not just yours.’
‘You didn’t deserve Katy. You are nothing,’ I say, opening the studio door.
He lunges forward and wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me backwards, sending pain jolting up my back. I wince, but he ignores it, pushing his face close to mine.
‘I could have said a lot worse about her, you know,’ he hisses. ‘She was a bitch.’
I feel for the knife I stashed in my coat pocket earlier today. The one I thought I might use to cut his throat open and watch him bleed and finally free myself of imagining it. But now I’m here, now I can smell cheap booze seeping from his pores, the bright blue eyes of a wife he wishes was Katy, or a life he’s trying to reclaim. I let my hand fall away, just as he lets go.
‘I feel sorry for you,’ I say, and I can tell it hurts more than any knife could have.
* * *
On my way back to Bristol, I try to ignore what he said about Joanna, but I can’t find a reason he might have said it. Why would he lie about that? What he said about Katy having affairs on TV, well, that has an impact on what people think of him, but what would he have to gain from this?
I walk back from the station, but not towards home, I head to Joanna’s. There must be some explanation, a little tiff between the pair that they patched up, something so small and insignificant it didn’t bear mentioning.
The past few days have left me feeling exhausted, forced to confront parts of my past, and of Katy’s past, that were best left buried. When I get to Joanna’s it’s just starting to get dark even though it’s only half three. Joanna’s kitchen light is on and through the lounge I can see her, hunched over the kitchen sink, but she isn’t smiling, her face is strained, her lips pressed together.
I knock on the door and she flinches but doesn’t move. The footsteps coming towards the door, the voice that calls out – they’re Tom’s.
He opens the door and looks puzzled, then angry. Wedging himself into the small crack, he takes a step forward so one foot is in and one is out.
‘Grace, what are you doing here?’
‘I need to speak to Jo, it’s urgent.’
‘Grace,’ he says, exasperated. ‘You can’t just turn up here when it suits you.’
‘Who is it?’ Joanna calls, her voice floating down the hallway.
‘I’m sorting it,’ Tom calls back. ‘She doesn’t want to see you.’
‘Don’t be silly, Tom, I need to speak to her. It’s about Katy.’
‘It’s always about Katy,’ he says, raising his voice. It’s not threatening, but any man who raises his voice makes me pause, ever so slightly.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your and Jo’s weird friendship is over. It’s gone on too long, and I’ve let it. But now we have a family, a baby, we can’t keep living in the past. And this show,’ he says, throwing his hands up. ‘I never wanted her to do it and all it’s done is caused her to be unbearably sad.’
‘That’s not true,’ I whisper.
‘All you do is take, Grace, and we’ve both been understanding, but it’s been ten years and we can’t keep doing this.’
‘No, I need to speak to Joanna. This is different; I saw Graham.’
He looks at me like he’s trying to process what I’ve said, if I’ve really said it, but he shakes it off. ‘This isn’t about him, or anyone, for me; it’s about Jo.’
I take a step backwards. ‘You didn’t like Katy, did you?’ I ask.
‘What are you talking about, Grace?’
‘They argued, didn’t they? Katy and Jo, and I think it was about you.’
He licks his lips. ‘You know,’ he pauses, rolling his eyes, ‘Jo wanted to make you godmother, but how can we do that, if you can’t even look after your own daughter?’
He steps back and closes the door. I stand there for what feels like a lifetime trying to process what he said to me, until I turn slowly and walk home.
It wasn’t painful; it was the truth, and no one has ever told me the truth before. They told me I was a good mum, that Katy loved me, that we had a special bond.
But this is the truth: I couldn’t look after her, I couldn’t keep her safe.