It Was You Read online

  It Was You

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Fourteen years ago

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Seven years ago

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Four years ago

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Four years ago

  Chapter 8

  Three years ago

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Three years ago

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  It Was You

  Jo Platt

  Fourteen years ago

  ‘Hi, I’m Alice. I’m next door.’ I pointed down the hallway to my left. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here yet and I wondered if you fancied coming out for a coffee?’

  The delicately pretty blonde girl opened the door fully and smiled. ‘That’d be really nice,’ she said, beckoning me into her room. ‘I was just beginning to wonder what to do next.’

  ‘Great.’ I followed her inside, where she sat down on a single bed, identical to the one in my room, and began to peel off a pair of long, red-and-white-striped slipper socks.

  ‘I’ll just put some shoes on,’ she said.

  I looked around, noticing the absence of a second bed. ‘You’re not sharing then?’

  ‘You are?’ she asked, slipping her now bare feet into trainers.

  I nodded. ‘With someone called Miriam, who’s studying History. But,’ I shrugged, ‘as I say, no sign of her yet.’ I continued to take in the room, which was already, I thought, looking worryingly well organised in comparison to the chaos I had left behind in mine. ‘Actually, maybe I should leave a note for her, explaining that I haven’t quite finished sorting out my things yet,’ I said. ‘Your room is so tidy.’

  She followed my gaze. ‘I can’t claim all the credit for that. My parents stayed for ages to help. I’m an only child, so separation is hard for them.’ She looked up at me, before adding more quietly, ‘For me too, actually.’

  ‘I’m an only child too,’ I nodded. ‘So I can relate.’

  She smiled and gestured towards a largish box of Geography text books next to her desk. ‘They’d still be here now, putting those on shelves, if I hadn’t insisted they leave.’ She looked around and then picked up a grey rucksack. ‘I’m pretty sure my purse is in here,’ she said, opening the bag and beginning to rummage.

  ‘My mum and dad weren’t half as useful as yours,’ I sighed. ‘Mum just kept reading recipes out loud from the student cook book she’d bought me and Dad spent the entire time circling all the police stations in my A-Z.’

  She looked up and laughed, before delving again into the rucksack, finally withdrawing her hand and triumphantly holding up a purple leather purse. ‘Found it!’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘There’s a nice café by the water tower on the Downs. We can sit outside.’

  ‘You sound as if you already know your way around Bristol,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’m from Reading. The university open day was my first visit.’

  ‘I’m less than an hour from home here,’ I explained. ‘So I’ve been a few times.’

  She walked to the desk and picked up a key. ‘That must make everything a lot less daunting,’ she said, sounding a little flat.

  ‘Not really. I’m still pretty terrified. Two weeks is the longest I’ve ever been away from home without my parents.’

  Her smile returned. ‘Thank you. That makes me feel better.’

  We made our way to the door, which she held open for me and then locked behind us. ‘And thank you for knocking on my door, Alice.’ She placed the room key in her purse and zipped it up.

  ‘Well, thank you for coming for a coffee…’ I began, before stopping short, suddenly realising that I didn’t know her name. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I didn’t ask your name.’

  ‘Didn’t I say? I’m so hopeless,’ she sighed, holding out her hand for me to shake as we made our way down the corridor. ‘I’m Lydia.’

  Chapter 1

  I re-entered the living room of my small garden flat, with a large packet of nuts in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other, to find Miriam in full flow and Connie and Abs listening intently. ‘And I agree with Connie,’ said Miriam, closing her copy of Chronicle of A Death Foretold and placing it on her lap. ‘A perfect example of how less is definitely more. What do you think, Abs?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Abs, nodding and flipping a long, dark brown plait over her shoulder, before continuing in typically encouraging fashion. ‘You’re always so insightful and to the point, Connie.’

  Connie smiled gratefully, lowering her pale blue eyes, made huge by the bottle-bottom glasses she wore when taking a break from her contacts. Despite, at forty, being twelve years older than Abs, she was far less assured in her opinions. And although she always offered quiet, thoughtful, comments during our book group meetings, she rarely did so with much confidence. ‘I’m so pleased you agree, Abigail,’ she said, in her soft, Californian drawl. ‘You know, I made the same point to Greg earlier this evening and he said he just couldn’t see it at all.’

  I heard Miriam let slip a quiet sigh, as I stooped to replenish the bowl of nuts sitting on the low coffee table in front of her. Fond as she was of Connie, I knew she disapproved of what she viewed as a tendency to allow herself to be dominated by an over-protective husband; not to mention a highly demanding three-year-old son and a hyperactive Labradoodle.

  Miriam cleared her throat. ‘Yes, well, husbands and wives often see things differently, don’t they?’ she said, leaning forward and taking a handful of nuts. ‘But that doesn’t make you wrong, or your opinions any less valid than Greg’s. Goodness knows if I rolled over and just accepted it every time Craig told me I was wrong, I’d never get off the blooming floor.’

  Abs nodded. ‘I keep telling the kids at school that different isn’t the same as wrong,’ she beamed. ‘We all see things differently. If we didn’t, life would be so boring. For example,’ she continued, waving her Kindle, ‘if we’d all seen this book in exactly the same way, we’d have nothing to discuss.’

  ‘Very true,’ I said, holding the bottle of red wine aloft. ‘Now, who’s for some more of this?’

  ‘Me, please.’ Miriam held out her glass and looked up at me. ‘And how did you see the book, by the way, Alice?’ she asked pointedly. ‘You haven’t said much this evening.’

  ‘I read very nearly
all of it, actually, Miriam,’ I protested, picking up on the implied criticism: I had a rather confirmed reputation as a non-finisher of the books we chose. ‘The best thing was finding out what happens at the end, right at the beginning. Meant I didn’t have to read the last page first, like I usually do.’

  Miriam sighed and Connie and Abs laughed. ‘You are funny,’ said Abs, holding out her near-empty wine glass to me. I smiled at her as I topped it up.

  ‘Hmm…’ said Miriam. ‘Well, I think we need less funny and more reading from you, Alice Waites. May I remind you that we are The Short Book Group because of you – because you didn’t want to attempt anything over two hundred and fifty pages. And you hardly ever manage even that! What on earth is the point of having an English graduate in our book group if you never read the entire book?’

  ‘Oh, stop getting your knickers in a twist, Miriam,’ I said, placing the bag of nuts and the wine on the sideboard and flopping down on the sofa next to her. ‘And besides, you’re exaggerating. You know, I finish some of them.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Well done, you.’

  I looked at her. ‘You sound just the way you do when you talk to Phoebe.’

  ‘I often think you and my three year-old have a lot in common actually,’ she shrugged. ‘And I don’t just mean a shared refusal to see a book through to the end. How you and my husband didn’t get chucked off that English course when we were at uni, I don’t know.’ She shook her head despairingly.

  ‘That was over a decade ago, you know,’ I said tonelessly. ‘So I think it might be OK for you to stop telling us off about it now.’

  ‘Gosh, friends for over a decade and you still get on so fabulously,’ said Abs, without any hint of irony.

  I laughed and Miriam joined in. ‘We do,’ I said.

  ‘And talking of friends forever,’ continued Abs, stretching out in the small blue armchair she was occupying on the far side of the room, ‘why are there only the four of us tonight? Where are Jon and Sophie?’ She looked at me and frowned questioningly, while still maintaining the broad smile she was rarely without.

  ‘Sophie is sunbathing in Mauritius,’ I sighed. ‘And not back for another whole week. I really miss her at work. The office is so quiet and David is very down in the dumps without her there to shout at him every five minutes.’

  ‘Wow! Mauritius!’ exclaimed Abs, sitting up and leaning excitedly towards me, as if Sophie’s holiday was on a par with a moon landing. ‘How amazing! Has she gone with Carl?’

  I shook my head. ‘With Graham. The builder. Carl was the one before Graham.’

  ‘Gotcha.’ Abs pushed up the long sleeves of her outsized cream Aran sweater and gave me a double thumbs-up.

  Connie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I liked Carl,’ she said, bending down to retrieve a cup of tea from the floor, her mousy bob falling forward and hiding her face from view. ‘I met him only once, but I remember thinking that he had the most wonderfully exotic accent.’

  ‘He was Liverpudlian, Connie,’ said Miriam with a frown.

  Connie sat up and smiled. ‘Yes, it’s such a lilting, uplifting accent. So full of optimism and charm. It’s why I love Ringo Starr’s narration of Thomas the Tank Engine.’

  Miriam continued to frown, opened her mouth, as if to respond, before closing it again and smiling resignedly at Connie’s appreciation of the Scouse accent. ‘Yes, well, anyway,’ she said, turning to me, ’while we’re on the subject of men, how did your evening with Kieran go?’

  Three pairs of eyes looked at me expectantly. I had been both expecting and dreading the question.

  I smiled sheepishly. ‘I cancelled.’

  There was a collective groan.

  ‘You are joking,’ said Miriam.

  ‘I know, I know,’ I sighed. ‘I was a bit frustrated with myself too. But it got to Saturday afternoon and, well,’ I shrugged apologetically, ‘I just didn’t feel like going.’

  ‘Did you feel unwell?’ asked Connie. She pushed her glasses to the top of her head, reducing her eyes to regular size, and pulling back her hair to fully reveal pale, slim features, now anxious with concern.

  I shook my head. ‘No, I went to the Arnolfini with Jane Crane instead.’

  ‘But that’s the third time you’ve stood someone up in the past couple of months,’ said Miriam, with a hint of exasperation.

  ‘It’s not standing someone up if you tell them you’re not coming,‘ I protested. ‘Standing someone up is when—’

  ‘Stop dodging the issue by pleading technicalities,’ she interrupted.

  I looked at her and sighed. ‘I’ve said I know it’s not great, haven’t I?’

  ‘So, what’s the problem?’ she asked. ‘Do you think you’re still upset over Eddie?’

  ‘God, I really hope not,’ I said. ‘After all, it’s been…’ I hesitated, whilst performing a mental calculation, ‘…well over eighteen months now.’

  I leaned back on the sofa and wondered what, or whom, Eddie Hall had been up to since our three-year relationship had reached its explosive conclusion. I had noted, with painful interest, the publication of his second novel. But having proudly resisted the urge either to read it, or to stalk him on the internet, I knew nothing more than that. I loathed him, of course, and couldn’t deny that I felt an enormous amount of bitterness towards him, but I was pretty confident that I viewed him as a despicable individual, rather than as representative of eligible men generally. So, as undeniably apathetic as my current approach to dating was, I didn’t think I could blame Eddie for it.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t think that’s it. I just…’

  ‘Can’t be bothered,’ said Miriam.

  ‘Would you like to meet someone?’ asked Connie, replacing her glasses, interlacing her hands on her lap and peering at me in the manner of a concerned psychiatrist. ‘Because, you know, it’s just fine to feel happy as you are.’

  I smiled at her. ‘The thing is, I really like the idea of a relationship, Connie.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid it’s going to stay just that – an idea – if you’re not going to give anyone a chance,’ said Miriam brusquely, reaching once again for the nuts.

  I frowned. Although barely a year older than me, Miriam had an irritating tendency to slip into bossy-big-sister mode. This wasn’t anything new and had been a recurring feature of our fourteen-year friendship. ‘Don’t get all Judge Judy with me, Miriam,’ I warned.

  Miriam smiled and rested her hand gently on my arm. ‘I’m not judging you,’ she said gently, switching seamlessly to kindly-mother mode, ‘I’m caring about you.’

  ‘Actually,’ I said, rolling my eyes at her saccharine tone and reaching for my glass of wine, ‘I think I prefer it when you’re judging me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s just too easy for you to cancel a date with someone you have no connection with,’ she continued, now beyond listening. ‘Perhaps if they were friends of friends, rather than people you just bumped into at conferences…’

  ‘I didn’t meet Kieran at a conference and don’t try to turn me into your next project, now that you’ve finished reupholstering that ottoman,’ I said dryly.

  She ignored the interruption.

  ‘…then you’d have to at least meet them for coffee when you said you were going to. It’d be much harder to let someone down if they were, say, one of our friends.’ She glanced at Abs.

  ‘Ooh, yes! Ooh! I’ve got a friend!’ said Abs suddenly, her hand in the air in the manner of one of her more excitable pupils. I looked across at her, then back at Miriam, suspecting a conspiracy. Abs was now grinning at me and fidgeting in her chair.

  ‘Aw, thanks for thinking of me, Abs, but…’ I began.

  ‘Tell us more, Abs,’ said Miriam, rubbing her hands together theatrically, in order to indicate extreme interest.

  I rolled my eyes at the display. ‘Like you don’t know all about him already,’ I murmured.

  ‘His name is Hugh McGlennon,’ said Abs. ‘He’s Scottish, very handsome, very tal
l, a forensic pathologist and into battle re-enactment,’ she beamed.

  ‘He sounds very interesting, Abigail,’ said Connie, nodding encouragingly.

  ‘So he’s either cutting up a dead person or pretending to be one,’ I said.

  No one appeared to hear.

  ‘The important bit,’ said Abs, ‘is that he’s bought a fixer-upper in Bishopston and could really do with some interior design advice.’ She looked at me significantly.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ I said.

  She laughed. ‘I might have already told him that you’re an interior designer, and so on, Alice.’

  My heart sank. I was very familiar with Abs’ rose-tinted descriptions of her friends. ‘When you say and so on, Abs, what exactly have you told him?’ I asked wearily.

  ‘Not much. Just that you’re thirty-two, highly intelligent, very beautiful and utterly fascinating. So,’ she looked at me expectantly, ‘what do you think?’

  I looked at her blankly. ‘I think that you’ve massively over-sold me.’

  ‘Look,’ said Miriam, ‘you’ve just said you’re frustrated with yourself over Kieran. So why not make a fresh start by meeting Hugh?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Abs clapped her hands. ‘Please, Alice. I could just say you’ve got some carpenter or plumber contacts for him. There’d be no pressure.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know…’ I said uncertainly.

  ‘I don’t see how it could do any harm, Alice,’ said Connie quietly. ‘It’s just a coffee.’

  I looked at her, smiling encouragingly at me, with, I knew, the very best of intentions. She was right. It could do no harm.

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ I said. ‘I’ll go for coffee with Hugh.’

  ‘Yay!’ said Abs, punching the air. ‘That’s the spirit. You’ve gotta be in it to win it, haven’t you?’

  ‘And,’ said Miriam, ‘if Hugh doesn’t work out, I’m sure we have plenty of other people up our sleeves.’

  I turned to her. ‘Like I said, I’m not your next project.’

  She smiled, put her arm around me and opened her mouth to say something but, at that moment, my phone buzzed in my back pocket. ‘Sorry,’ I said, extricating myself from her cuddle and standing up to remove my phone from my jeans, ‘this might be Jon. I sent him a text earlier.’ I opened my messages. ‘Yes, he’s working late so can’t make it. That’s a shame.’