Finding Jessica Lambert Read online

  Finding Jessica Lambert

  by

  Clare Ashton

  Finding Jessica Lambert

  by Clare Ashton

  Copyright © 2020 Clare Ashton. All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Credits

  Editor: Jayne Fereday

  Cover: Fereday Design

  Published by:

  For Jayne

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1.

  Chapter 2.

  Chapter 3.

  Chapter 4.

  Chapter 5.

  Chapter 6.

  Chapter 7.

  Chapter 8.

  Chapter 9.

  Chapter 10.

  Chapter 11.

  Chapter 12.

  Chapter 13.

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15.

  Chapter 16.

  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.

  Acknowledgements

  About

  Chapter 1.

  The woman’s frantic movement through the window caught Anna’s eye first. As her Tube pulled in at the underground station she looked up and caught her own reflection – pale and features slack with inattention, her blonde hair draped around her face – then the Tube doors slid open. The young woman’s figure, moving fast in tight black jeans and smart jacket, was distinct for a moment against the tiled walls of the underground, before she barrelled into the carriage, eyes panicked and gleaming white against her brown skin.

  “Come on,” the woman rasped. She backed away from the closing doors, squeezing next to Anna, her shoulders hunched and diminishing her otherwise tall stature.

  “Are you all right?” Anna said. Her response was instinctive and her stomach tightened. She thought she recognised that fear. She knew that kind of panic.

  The woman didn’t respond and stared through the doors, anxious about someone outside, and as the Tube juddered into motion she clung to the partition. The train pulled out of the station, clacked quicker into the dark tunnels and passengers spilled back to the section by the doors. The chatter, the attention, the bodies squashed tight in the tin can of people, sent the woman cowering further towards Anna.

  “I need to get out of here,” she breathed, seemingly to herself. “I need to get out.”

  Anna modulated her voice in a way she’d perfected, so that it would soothe and imbue confidence. “Would you like me to help?” she said. Then when the woman didn’t respond, “Are you having a panic attack? Was someone following you?”

  The woman peeked up. “Yes,” she panted.

  The train lurched on the track around a corner and the lights flickered at the same time a flash burst from behind the woman. When the carriage lights relit, a group of teens were giggling and playing with their phones. It seemed to send the young woman’s anxiety rocketing and she clutched her head, her long fingers buried deep into her short black hair.

  The woman had caught the attention of a young man across the carriage. He leered and checked her up and down. The woman was undeniably attractive, Anna had taken in that much as she’d careered into the carriage, but she was obviously stricken. What was wrong with people? This wasn’t a time to ogle. A nearby businessman, peering down with disdain from his newspaper, was no help either.

  Frustrated at the response of her fellow passengers, Anna said, “It’s about half a minute to the next station,” and she offered a reassuring hand without thinking how the woman would react. She immediately buried herself into Anna’s trench coat and began counting in short breaths, “One, two, three,” swaying as the Tube curved around a bend.

  The carriage jolted and lights flickered again. Another flash bleached Anna’s vision.

  “Four, five, six,” the young woman counted louder.

  “Excuse me,” Anna tutted in the direction of the flash. It must have been the teens again. She shuffled around the young woman’s body to shield her. “Nearly there,” Anna said.

  The throng heaved against them from behind, pushing Anna against the woman.

  “Ten, eleven, twelve,” the woman gasped, and she buried her face into Anna’s chest as the Tube slowed, and almost on the count of thirty the train stopped.

  “Follow me,” Anna said, determined and taking the woman’s arm. Her companion followed, checking over her shoulder every second.

  “I don’t usually go this way,” Anna said, hesitating, “but it’s quieter and we can get you out quicker.” The woman gave the slightest nod of approval and Anna tugged her towards the inconspicuous archway and stairwell.

  “Count the steps if you find it comforting,” Anna continued. “I tried it once upon a time. There are seventy.”

  It was one of Anna’s little reassurances. One of her checks.

  The woman nodded and mumbled numbers as they climbed with a quick, fluid pace. A few moments later, the humidity and stuffiness of the Tube, the oil and sweat that lingered in the tunnels, was diluted with the freshness of autumn night air. An archway of orange streetlight opened up ahead and the exit emptied into a quiet side street and freedom from other passengers.

  “There,” Anna said. “You’re out.” And she dropped the woman’s arm.

  “I don’t know where I am,” the woman blurted, her anxiety climbing again. “I haven’t got a bloody clue.”

  “It’s OK,” Anna said. “Do you think you’re still being followed?”

  “I don’t know.” The woman peered behind her, but who could tell what was down in the darkness of the tunnels. “I touched in with an Oyster card and ran to the nearest train. I don’t even know what line that was.”

  “You were on the Northern Line,” Anna said, using all her training to project calm. “Where did you need to go?”

  “Anywhere.” It was like the woman’s body burned with stress.

  “It’s all right,” Anna murmured and she moved closer, catching a vague smell of liquor. “Have you been drinking?”

  “I’m not drunk,” the woman shot back. “I don’t usually drink. It’s just… Yes, I have.” She deflated. “I wanted to calm my nerves. A quick vodka. Then another. Maybe another after that. But people were looking. And this guy approached. Panicked. I was sure he followed me into the subway.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to be judgemental,” Anna said, purposefully slowing her voice. “Nothing like that at all,” she carried on, seeing its calming effect on the woman. The woman’s tension subsided whenever Anna talked. “I thought that perhaps we could find yo
u a coffee, to sober up.”

  “Oh. That’s probably a good idea. But…”

  “Somewhere quiet?”

  “Yes, please show me. Somewhere I can rest for a while. Somewhere to hide.”

  The young woman trembled when Anna took her arm and led her from the side street, perhaps coming down from nervous energy. Now that Anna had time to think, she would have guessed the woman was in her twenties. Her voice, although broken with anxiety, had a deep timbre that suggested some maturity, but in moments of calm it had the clarity of youth and her face, though strained with distress, had a flawlessness that only the young enjoy.

  Anna led on with a confidence that she didn’t feel but, with her practice, projected. The young woman stood as tall as Anna now. She had a firm grip around Anna’s arm, a presence in fact, no matter how much she’d tried to hide it on the train. It seemed ludicrous somehow when she’d attempted to make herself small in Anna’s chest, her thick black hair buried against Anna’s shirt.

  But Anna knew what it was like to feel vulnerable, to have that fear, and she’d despaired that not one person was willing to help.

  “Let’s try Costa,” she said.

  “Is it quiet?”

  It was Friday evening around eight o’clock Anna guessed. “Perhaps,” she replied, not hopeful. “Let’s take a look.”

  She winced as they broke into the main street with the glare of streetlights and assault of taxis, buses and bikes buffeting past.

  “It’s this way,” she said, drawing breath.

  She made a mental note, as she always did, of the shops along her familiar route. First was the nail bar, where best-friend Penny used to work years ago, with a dark alleyway down the side that Anna always checked. The convenience store where she bought her food. Flicks the hairdressers where the trusted and much appreciated Lucca kept her practical bob in perfect trim. A few doorways to offices, shadowy this time of night, but empty Anna registered with relief, then on the corner a Costa, which she sometimes frequented.

  She pushed the café door open and the wave of harsh chatter and incessant chink of crockery told them straight away that it was full.

  “Jesus, it’s packed,” the young woman said.

  “Shall we check at the back?”

  “No, I can’t stay here,” she said, and she was already tugging Anna towards the street, more agitated than ever.

  “It’s Friday,” Anna said. “Everywhere is probably busy. Let’s check for a table.”

  “I can’t. There are hundreds of people in there. They were already staring at me. I need a break.”

  The woman’s expression was taut. Was it fuelled by paranoia? Anna wouldn’t blame her, but it was useless trying to ask above the noise of the café and with the woman’s anxiety on the rise. It would likely cause further agitation, so Anna remained calm. Every time she’d offered help, the woman had responded well.

  Anna racked her brains. Pubs were a poor place to leave someone who needed sobering, restaurants would be full with Friday night diners, coffee shops on the main street packed, those less frequented on side streets already shut. Apart from Zehra’s. But she’d been avoiding there.

  Anna sighed. “There’s a Turkish coffee shop not far away. It closes in an hour so it’ll be quiet. We could go there.”

  “Please,” the woman breathed.

  They turned and Anna reached out again for the woman’s arm, but was met with the warmth of her naked hand. The sensation was vivid and intimate, the woman’s soft fingers clinging around the edge of Anna’s palm and when Anna met her gaze, the young woman’s eyes were wide and intense. Anna realised the woman had placed her faith in her. She was trusting Anna to take her to safety.

  Chapter 2.

  Jess’s brain fizzed, her stomach clenched and her body wound tight. The sensation of the woman’s fingers wrapped around her own was her only anchor and she clung on.

  “Is it far?”

  “Not at all, although I take a long way around I’m afraid.” The woman had the kind of voice Jess found herself trusting, like a doctor’s. It had a reassuring quality, mature and confident with quiet authority and it held Jess’s attention in her sea of anxiety.

  Jess had lost all sense of direction. They’d crossed several busy roads, playing Russian roulette with the zebra crossings, headlights of cars and buses flashing in every direction, horns shrieking, and all the while the woman continued her steady pace.

  They turned down a side road, the streetlights becoming sparse and traffic quieter, and into a narrower lane towards a small café with ochre awnings. There were a scattering of tables and chairs outside, each accompanied by an elaborate Middle Eastern pipe.

  “Come inside,” the woman said, and with that velvet voice Jess didn’t question her. “Go to the booth at the back. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Jess kept her head low, sheltered her face with a hand, pretending some annoyance with her fringe, and dived into a quiet booth by a window which overlooked a dark alley. She sank onto the padded bench seat.

  At last. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she wouldn’t be watched.

  She’d been stupid earlier that evening, diving into a pub to steady her nerves with a quick vodka, then another, and a larger one to follow. Voices of recognition had whispered around the pub, the young clientele picking up on her presence, and her back had prickled as she became aware of all eyes upon her. Faces from dark booths had peeked out to get a glimpse and a man had approached. Of course she’d started to slur and that flamed her panic.

  She’d fled, and the sensation of being watched had followed her down the street into the subway, Jess too fraught to discern whether the threat was real or imaginary. Then on the Tube, the group of teenagers had giggled and pointed. A young man tried to hide his urge to stare with a sideways glance. Jess had feared everyone knew who she was, but the businessman, from a different sphere, peered down at her with disdain. He probably equated her with the anonymous giggling teens who were ten years her junior. Then a handful of others frowned in confusion, perhaps noticing that she was noticed but couldn’t put a finger on why.

  Of all the crowd, the blonde woman paid her the most attention, but at the same time showed the least recognition of who Jess might be. It was sobering and engendered trust and Jess, lost and breaking down, had taken the offered hand.

  Now, at last, the tension dissipated, leaving Jess’s body leaden with fatigue. She propped her elbows on the café table and let her head drop into her hands. Her breathing slowed and the gridlock of thoughts and cacophony in her head began to clear until there was only a muffled sense of chatter and clink of cups, which she realised was simply the background noise of the café.

  Jess was finally calm enough to take in her surroundings with some kind of objectivity. Half of the café was dimmed, ready to close, the other loud and bright with colour. The counter was filled with trays of tiny sweets and cakes behind glass, and shelves of illustrated tins lined one side of the café. The walls blazed with pinks and yellows and greens, a mosaic trim around the whole room, and tinted photographs of, Jess assumed, movie stars and singers smiled with impossible glamour from the walls.

  The woman from the Tube chatted at the counter to a young man and middle-aged woman with long black hair streaked with grey. There was an exchange of handshakes and a kiss on the cheek from the older woman who held Jess's companion’s arm and chatted with a warm intensity. The familiarity was comforting, as was their disinterest in Jess, and she let go of another wave of tension and shuffled into her seat.

  The woman concluded her chat and slid into the booth seat opposite and Jess only had a moment to take her in while she made herself comfortable. A white woman, late thirties or early forties, she guessed. Naturally pale skin or skin that hadn’t seen the sun in a while, high cheek bones and a patrician demeanour.

  “You can relax here,” the woman said, her voice doing as much as the setting to soothe Jess. She was well-spoken, as Jess's mother would have described.
“Posh” her nan would have cackled. It was nothing like Jess's accent, or as it had been. Its corners had been rounded over the last few years, only coming out in full force on the phone to her parents, slipping into Brummie and saying “Mom” instead of “Mum” and lapsing into Northern idioms with her dad, with a few choice Jamaican Patois phrases from her Nan’s early life. Jess's accent was a blend with the flavour of many places and unmistakably British.

  This woman sitting a metre away, perhaps existed in a completely different world. She came from a different generation and class, probably shopped in places Jess still wouldn’t dream of frequenting. Jess may be one degree of separation from a millionaire on the other side of the world but many from this fellow countrywoman. Was it possible, but for that chance meeting on the Tube, neither would have known of each other’s existence?

  That seemed incredible and exciting all at once, and the possibility filled Jess with a strange hope. Perhaps this was the only person in London who didn’t have an ulterior motive and had simply offered help to a young woman called Jess.

  “I’ve ordered a dessert mezze with your coffee,” the woman said. “Eat as little or as much as you like but I thought sugar and caffeine might help steady you. I’ll wait until it arrives and you feel comfortable.”

  “Thanks,” Jess said. At least she was capable of speech now. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” the woman said, a picture of ease and decorum. “Do you know where you are?”

  Jess shook her head. She hadn’t a clue.

  “You could use your phone to see on a map?”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry.” Her brain was still sluggish. “I switched it off.”

  She dived into her jacket pocket, squeezed the side of her mobile and a light glowed in her hands. It took a while to start, but as soon as it displayed the home screen notifications beeped incessantly and didn’t stop for several seconds.

  “Jesus.” Jess dropped the phone on the table as if it burned and the woman shuffled in her seat, perhaps disconcerted at Jess's reaction.