The Other Side of the Door by Nicci French (best novels to read for students .txt) 📕

‘Leave it here.’

We walked down through Camden, past Regent’s Park and into Bloomsbury. There were still a few cars on the roads, and a straggle of pedestrians on their way somewhere—London is never quite empty, never quite silent or dark—but as we walked over Waterloo Bridge it felt as though we were the only people awake in the whole vast and glittering city. The moon shone on the river and we could hear the small waves smacking against the shore. The clock on Big Ben showed four. Hayden walked fast, not talking. He looked young and purposeful, striding out as if he was heading towards a particular goal. His face in the moon- and lamplight was smooth, quite peaceful. We turned off the bridge and walked eastwards, along the Embankment, under the shadow of empty, monumental buildings. Now there was a faint band of light on the horizon and birds were singing in the trees. He turned and suddenly smiled at me, held out his hand for me to take, and I was filled with a surge of happiness so strong it made my chest ache.

Still we didn’t talk. We went back across the river at Blackfriars but with one accord stopped in the middle to look out at the City.

‘I think I’m going away quite soon,’ Hayden said.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah—time to head off.’

‘Where?’

I didn’t look at him, but down at the water beneath. Beside me, I felt him giving a shrug.

‘Somewhere else,’ was all he said. ‘Something’s come up. Anyway, maybe I need a change.’

‘What about the wedding?’ I forced my voice to remain absolutely neutral.

‘Wedding?’

‘That we’re rehearsing for.’

‘I’ll probably stay around for that.’

‘I see.’

‘What do you see, Bonnie?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

He took my chin in his hand and forced me to look at him. ‘Nothing lasts for ever.’

‘No.’

‘Come on.’

And we set off again, no longer holding hands, and the light came up and the shutters rose on newsagents and the traffic thickened. We stopped in a working-men’s café in Farringdon, and Hayden ate fried eggs on toast and I drank coffee. Before we reached my flat, he left me. He said he had things to see to.

After

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ I said. ‘It’s not possible.’

‘It has to be.’

‘Sonia?’ I stared at him. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘She could only have remembered the vase if she’d been there earlier in the evening.’

‘Maybe she saw it before.’

‘Had she ever been to the flat before?’

‘No.’ I remembered she had claimed she didn’t know where the flat was. I’d met her on Kentish Town Road and shown her the way.

‘There you are, then.’

‘The fact that she was there earlier doesn’t mean she killed him.’

‘Why has she lied?’

‘Why did you lie? Why did I?’

My brain was working slowly and ponderously. I could feel facts clicking heavily into place; interpretations rearranging themselves. I had called Sonia to come and help me get rid of the evidence of Neal’s crime—but it was her crime. She had come and helped me get rid of her own evidence. Or I had helped her. Together, we had cleared away every clue she had left behind. I stared wildly at Neal. ‘It can’t be true,’ I said. ‘It can’t be.’

‘Let’s go and find out.’ He stood up, decisive and full of new authority.

‘Now?’ I said stupidly. ‘It’s still the middle of the night.’

‘Yes, now. What—you want to wait until morning?’

‘No—but she’ll be with Amos. She said she was going there.’

‘So?’

‘Well, what about Amos? We can’t just—well—’ I stopped and put my head into my hands. I felt as though my brain was hissing.

‘Ring her mobile. Tell her we have to see her.’

‘She’ll think we’re mad.’

‘Unless I’m right. You’ll see.’

I picked up my mobile and scrolled down to Sonia’s number. ‘What shall I say?’

‘Tell her we know what happened and we have to see her at once.’

I pressed the dial button and waited. The phone rang and rang. I pictured Sonia curled up next to Amos.

When she answered, her voice was thick with sleep.

‘It’s Bonnie.’

‘What is it?’ Now she would be struggling into a sitting position, turning away from Amos so as not to wake him.

‘I have to see you.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Now she would be outside the bedroom, closing the door. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

‘It’s four o’clock. I’m with Neal and we need to see you at once.’

‘Why?’ Did the tone of her voice shift?

‘We know what happened.’

‘You want me to come and see you?’ Sonia still sounded quite calm. ‘The Underground isn’t running.’

‘We’ll drive to you.’ I looked at Neal and he nodded his approval. ‘Neal’s car is here. We’ll be waiting outside Amos’s flat. Ten minutes.’

‘All right. Ten minutes.’

Neal drove and I gave directions, then looked out of the window. It was foggy, although later the sun would burn it away. I thought about Sonia, her competent, practical kindness. I closed my eyes and for a moment let myself feel how very tired I was. Yet I was full of a restless, churning energy that made it difficult to sit still.

And then there she was, standing on the pavement in a belted mac, her hair tied back.

Neal pulled up. She opened the back door and climbed into the car. For a few seconds no one spoke.

‘Well?’ Sonia said at last.

‘Let’s drive to the canal,’ I said. ‘It seems a bit odd to be sitting outside Amos’s flat to talk.’

Sonia sat back and folded her hands on her lap. I told Neal where to go in a voice that sounded absurdly formal. The three of us were like awkward acquaintances. It was impossible to say anything at all except the huge unsayable thing that was squashing the air out of the space.

The car stopped. Neal turned off the headlights and the ignition. He coughed loudly and then I coughed as well.

‘Spit it out,’ said Sonia.

I twisted round to face her, made myself look at her full on. ‘Neal found the vase.’

‘Vase?’

‘The vase you remembered was there, except it wasn’t. With breasts.’

‘Breasts?’

‘Yes. You remembered it but it wasn’t there.’

‘You