Twenties Girl, стр. 71

The lift starts inching creakily downward, and I stare at the grotty carpet-wall, suddenly transfixed. Kate’s a genius. She’s got it in one. Sadie’s so proud, she’d never make the first move. She’ll be waiting somewhere; waiting for me to come and apologize and make up. But where?

After what seems like hours, the lift arrives at the ground floor, but I don’t move, even though this box is starting to weigh my arms down. I’ve left my job. I have no idea what my future is. My life feels as if it’s just been through the shredder, on extra-fine, totally destroy mode.

But I refuse to wallow. Or cry. Or drone on about it. I can almost hear Sadie’s voice in my ear. Darling, when things go wrong in life, you lift your chin, put on a ravishing smile, mix yourself a little cocktail…

“Tally-ho!” I say to my reflection in the grimy mirror, just as Sanjeev, who works on the ground floor, walks into the lift.

“Sorry?” he says.

I summon the most ravishing smile I can. (At least, I hope it’s ravishing, as opposed to deranged-looking.) “I’m leaving. Bye, Sanjeev. Nice knowing you.”

“Oh,” he says in surprise. “Well, good luck. What are you doing next?”

I don’t even pause to think.

“I’ll be doing a bit of ghost-hunting,” I say.

“Ghost-hunting?” He looks confused. “Is that like… headhunting?”

“Kind of.” I smile again and head out of the lift.

TWENTY-ONE

Where is she? Where the bloody fuck is she?

This is getting beyond a joke. I’ve spent three days searching. I’ve been to every vintage shop I can think of and hissed “Sadie?” through the racks of clothes. I’ve knocked on the doors of all the flats in this building and called out “I’m looking for my friend Sadie!” loud enough for her to hear. I’ve been to the Flashlight Dance Club and peered among the dancers on the dance floor. But there was no sight of her.

Yesterday I went to Edna’s house and made up a story about my cat being lost, which resulted in both of us going around the house, calling, “Sadie? Puss puss puss?” But there was no answer. Edna was very sweet, and she’s promised to get in touch if she sees a stray tabby around the place. But that doesn’t exactly help me.

Looking for lost ghosts is a total pain, it turns out. No one can see them. No one can hear them. You can’t pin a photo to a tree with Missing: Ghost. You can’t ask anyone, “Have you seen my friend the ghost, looks like a flapper, shrieky voice, ring any bells?”

Now I’m standing in the British Film Institute. There’s an old black-and-white movie playing and I’m at the back, scanning the dark rows of heads. But it’s no good. How am I supposed to see anything in this pitch blackness?

I start creeping down the aisle, crouching down, looking right and left along the dimly lit profiles.

“Sadie?” I hiss, as discreetly as I can.

“Shh!” says someone.

“Sadie, are you there?” I whisper as I reach the next row. “Sadie?”

“Shut up!”

Oh God. This will never work. There’s only one thing for it. Plucking up all my courage, I stand up straight, take a deep breath, and call out at the top of my voice.

“Sadie! It’s Lara here!”

“Shhhh!”

“If you’re here, please let me know! I know you’re upset and I’m sorry and I want to be friends and-”

“Shut up! Who is that? Be quiet!” There’s a wave of head-turning and angry exclamations along the rows. But no answering call from Sadie.

“Excuse me?” An usher has come up. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“OK. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I follow the usher back up the aisle toward the exit, then suddenly turn around for one last shot. “Sadie? Sa-die!”

“Please be quiet!” exclaims the usher furiously. “This is a cinema!”

I’m desperately peering into the blackness, but there’s no sight of her pale skinny arms, no beads clicking, no feathers bobbing among the heads.

The usher escorts me right out of the BFI, issuing me with stern warnings and lectures all the way, then leaves me alone on the sidewalk, feeling like a dog who’s been kicked out of a house.

Deflated, I start trudging along, shrugging my jacket on. I’ll have a coffee and regroup. Although, to be honest, I’m nearly out of ideas. As I head toward the river, there’s the London Eye, towering into the sky, still making its way around jauntily, like nothing ever happened. Glumly, I turn my head away. I don’t want to see the London Eye. I don’t want to be reminded of that day. Trust me to have a painful, embarrassing moment on the most prominent sight in London. Why couldn’t I have chosen a small out-of-the-way spot which I could then avoid?

I head into a cafe, order a double-strength cappuccino, and slump into a chair. It’s starting to get me down, all this searching. The adrenaline that powered me to begin with is fading away. What if I never find her?

But I can’t let myself think like that. I have to keep going. Partly because I refuse to admit defeat. Partly because the longer Sadie’s gone, the more worried I am about her. And partly because, if I’m honest, I’m clinging on to this. While I’m searching for Sadie, it feels as if the rest of my life is on hold. I don’t have to think about the where-does-my-career-go-now thing. Or the what-do-I-tell-my-parents thing. Or the how-could-I-have-been-so-stupid-about-Josh thing.

Or even the Ed thing. Which still upsets me whenever I let myself think about it. So… I just won’t. I’ll focus on Sadie, my Holy Grail. I know it’s ridiculous, but I feel like if I can just track her down, everything else might fall into place.

Briskly, I unfold my list of Find Sadie ideas, but most of them are crossed out. The cinema was the most promising. The only other entries are Try other dancing clubs? and Nursing home?

I consider the nursing home for a moment as I sip my coffee. Sadie wouldn’t go back there, surely. She hated it. She couldn’t even face going in. Why would she be there now?

But it’s worth a try.

I almost put on a disguise before I arrive at the Fairside Home, I’m so nervous. I mean, here I am, the girl who accused the staff of murder, pitching up on the doorstep.

Did they know it was me? I keep wondering in trepidation. Did the police tell them, “It was Lara Lington who besmirched your good name”? Because, if so, I’m dead meat. They’ll surround me in a nurse mob and kick me with their white clumpy shoes. The old people will bash me with their walkers. And I’ll deserve it.

But as Ginny opens the door, she shows no sign of knowing I’m the false-accusation-maker. Her face creases into a warm smile, and of course I feel guiltier than ever.

“Lara! What a surprise! Can I help you with that?”

I’m slightly laden down with cardboard cartons and a massive flower arrangement, which is starting to slip out of my arms.

“Oh, thanks,” I say gratefully, handing her one. “It’s got boxes of chocolate in it for you all.”

“Goodness!”

“And these flowers are for the staff too…” I follow her into the beeswax-scented hall and put the arrangement on the table. “I wanted to say thank you to everyone for looking after my great-aunt Sadie so well.”

And not murdering her. The thought never crossed my mind.

“How lovely! Everybody will be very touched!”

“Well,” I say awkwardly. “On behalf of the family, we’re all very grateful and feel bad that we didn’t visit my great-aunt… more often.”

Ever.

As Ginny unpacks the chocolates, exclaiming in delight, I surreptitiously sidle toward the stairs and look up them.

“Sadie?” I hiss under my breath. “Are you here?” I scan the upstairs landing, but there’s no sign.

“And what’s this?” Ginny is looking at the other cardboard carton. “More chocolates?”