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Jennie forces herself to smile back. The list doesn’t have all Hannah’s friends on it.
She didn’t include her own name.
Chapter 15
Simon
Simon Ackhurst is on a date. The fancy new wine bar on Summerley Street isn’t his usual type of place – it’s all statement wallpaper, gold furnishings and jaunty neon signs – but Clare seems to love it, so Simon tries to hide his awkwardness. It’s only their second date and he doesn’t want to screw it up.
He raises his eyebrows at the price of Clare’s prosecco and his alcohol-free beer – it’d be half the price at the Cross Keys – but pays the girl behind the bar anyway. Then he carries the drinks across the crowded bar to the table in the corner where Clare is sitting.
‘Here you go,’ he says, handing the prosecco to her before sitting down on the bench seat.
‘Thanks,’ Clare replies, smiling and taking a sip.
He likes her smile. Her lips aren’t all pumped up with filler like some girls’, and she doesn’t wear lipstick – which he’s thankful for because he hates the taste and texture of the stuff. ‘So how was your day?’
‘Same old, same old,’ Clare says, but she’s still smiling. ‘You know how little kids are.’
He doesn’t, actually, but he keeps that to himself. Instead he smiles, pretending like he does. That’s the thing about dates, isn’t it? You’re never yourself. You put on a show, or at least that’s how Simon always feels when he’s meeting someone new. It’s why he hasn’t dated in a long time, because the effort of pretending can be a real drain. It’s hard work acting like you’re a regular person. A good man. Presenting your best self to the person you’re with and trying to get them to like you. But there’s no harm in it, is there? Everyone’s faking it because no one wants to reveal their secrets, especially him. ‘Some of the older kids are pretty challenging too.’
‘I bet,’ says Clare, taking another sip. ‘I don’t know how you do what you do. Working with young offenders must be so hard.’
‘It can be tough, but I love it.’ Simon smiles. His work is a topic he can talk about happily, and honestly, for hours. ‘Working with someone who’s taken a wrong turn and helping them turn their life around can be very rewarding. Addiction is highly complex. I’ve been there myself, many years ago, and if I hadn’t been given the support to fight it, I probably wouldn’t be here today. So for me it’s about paying it forward.’
‘That’s so admirable.’
Clare’s voice is so sincere it makes Simon blush. Seconds later the guilt comes. She wouldn’t think he was admirable if she really knew him. He takes a gulp of his alcohol-free beer and changes the subject. ‘I don’t know how you do your job. I can’t imagine having to control a bunch of under-fives all day; it must be mayhem.’
She laughs. ‘It’s pretty manic, and noisy, but I love it. I’ve worked at the nursery for a while now, so I know the kids and the parents fairly well.’ Clare takes another sip of her prosecco. ‘Did you grow up around here?’
‘Yeah,’ says Simon, taking another mouthful of his beer. ‘I was born at Moreton Hospital; lived in White Cross my whole life.’
‘So did you go to that old school where they found the body earlier in the week?’ asks Clare.
Simon’s smile freezes on his face. ‘Yeah.’
Clare keeps talking. He can see her lips moving but he’s not focused on her words. All he can see in this moment is Hannah: long strawberry-blonde hair, those piercing blue eyes, and her lips naturally pillowy and pinker than any other girl he’d known.
‘Simon, are you okay?’
Clare’s voice brings him back into the moment. He pushes the image of Hannah away. ‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine.’
Clare’s still looking at him funny, but he’s not sure what else to say. He certainly isn’t going to tell her the truth; that the body found at the school belonged to his first girlfriend, Hannah Jennings. That her being the talk of the town again is bringing all the old memories back from when Hannah disappeared. The memories that he thought he’d escaped from. The memories that had pushed him to take solace in drugs in the first place.
Simon tries hard to keep his answer vague. His tone normal. ‘I was at the school when she disappeared, I vaguely remember it, but I was pretty young. Feels weird, something like that happening here in White Cross.’
Clare nods. ‘Totally. I couldn’t believe it.’
Simon can’t think of what to say next. Around them the chatter seems to grow louder. The girls on the table behind them – three peroxide blondes with heavy eye make-up and glossy lips – laugh raucously at something. The Weeknd’s ‘Blinding Lights’ is playing over the speakers. The lyrics mirror how Simon’s feeling. He needs to snap out of it and say something. Start a new topic of conversation. Lighten the mood. But he can’t think of anything else to say.
Clare finishes the last of her prosecco.
He nods towards Clare’s empty glass. ‘Would you like another?’
‘No, I’m fine thanks.’
Simon’s heart sinks. He’s blown it. She clearly can’t wait to get away from him.
