‘But I’m at the meeting. I’m in my car, waiting for you.’
‘I know, I feel awful, but you’re going to have to go in on your own.’
My mouth gapes. ‘What?’
‘Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’
‘Gabby,’ I snap, my cheeks burning with indignation. ‘You can’t be serious. You can’t do this to me.’
‘I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise! If I could be there, I would.’
I can’t help but snort at this. ‘There is no way on this earth I am going into that meeting alone. I’m going home.’
‘Janine, please,’ Gabby pleads. ‘You’ve seen Alexa’s diary. You know there’s something going on. The meeting could be the core of it all. We have to find out if it is.’
My eyes dart to the open door of the community hall. The warm, inviting light tells me that Gabby is right: Alexa’s secrets could be traced back to there. If we want to know what’s happened to her, I need to go inside. But the thought of entering that room on my own and hearing those people talk about grief…
‘Gabby, I can’t. I—’
‘Please,’ Gabby cuts in. ‘I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, and I’m as desperate as they come. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Alexa. Things here… they’re not good, Janine. I’m worried. We need to find her. Fast.’
It’s those words that push me to swallow my apprehension, unclip my seatbelt and leave my car.
CHAPTER 31
As predicted, the community hall is as cold on the inside as the world is outside. Chipped cream walls and a faded carpet in the entrance hallway lead to a set of wooden double doors with glass panels. As I walk towards them, I hear a hubbub of commotion on the other side. It sounds like a lot of people are in there. Far more than I assumed also carry the pain that’s underpinned my life for so long now.
When a ripple of laughter rings out, I freeze. My abrupt stop catches a person behind me off guard. They collide into the back of my rigid body, saying ‘Shit!’ as they do.
‘I am so sorry!’ the dark-haired woman cries, grabbing the top of my shoulder to prevent me from toppling over. ‘Are you okay?’
I turn around to reply but find that, as when faced with my laptop, I have lost my words.
The woman tilts her head. ‘First time here?’
Failed by language yet again, I nod.
She gives my elbow a kind squeeze. ‘Come on, we can walk in together.’
On shaking legs, I follow the stranger through the doors. A large room with a wooden floor and a stage at one end greets me.A handmade backdrop is pinned to the wall behind the stage, bearing a night-time scene I assume will be used for an upcoming nativity performance. The air is filled with the scent of cheap floor polish and coffee. A refreshments table stands in the corner of the room, providing an array of biscuits that would impress anyone’s sweet tooth. In the centre of the room lies a circle of roughly thirty plastic chairs.
The volume in the hallway was an accurate indicator of how many attendees there are, but I’m still surprised by the number. Men and women of all ages have congregated on this chilly Thursday night. Couples, people standing alone, groups in tight-knit huddles. Some are laughing. Some are drinking from plastic cups. Some look so normal that I want to ask how they maintain such an excellent façade when they have experienced the thing that has brought us all here.
‘Welcome to Families United,’ the dark-haired woman says. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you to some of the others.’
She leads me to a group of people standing near the refreshments table, homing in on a pale, pretty redhead.
‘Annalise, hi,’ the woman says, hugging her friend before gesturing to me. ‘I met this lovely lady outside. Well, I say met, but I actually walked straight into her.’
‘Typical,’ Annalise says, not unkindly. ‘I’d say Lola’s accident prone, but I don’t think that does her justice.’
The brunette I now know to be called Lola laughs. ‘I usually go with “walking disaster”. I broke my ankle last year just walking across my kitchen, can you believe it? Anyway, enough of my silliness. Here I am, introducing you without even knowing your name.’
As the two women look at me, I panic. Being here suddenly feels too real, too wrong, too… personal. I want more than anythingto distance myself from my need to attend this meeting. To be someone, anyone, but myself.
‘It’s Beth,’ I say, doing all I can not to flinch as I use my sister’s name as my own.
‘Lovely to meet you, Beth,’ Annalise says, shaking my hand. ‘I’m Annalise, and this is my husband, Simon.’