Sunlight was already streaming through the open balcony door, and the cool morning breeze was enough to raise goosebumps on Alice’s arms as she stirred. Rising from the bed, she moved across to the door and gently closed it, pulling the curtain back across, casting the room in a dim shadow.
When sleep had come, it had been interspersed with memories of the cuffs being snapped around Ben’s wrists and the sound of the van door being slammed. So vivid were the visions in her dreams that she’d woken believing the whole experience had just been a nightmare brought on by the stress of planning the wedding. Then she had turned to look at the other side of the bed and, seeing Tara’s face where Ben’s should have been, she’d realized how true the visions were.
Unlike Alice, Ben was a positive soul; rather than looking for worst-case scenarios, he always sought to find the green grass in every situation. If he were here now, he wouldn’t be worrying about the arrest or what others would say. Instead, he’d be telling her what a great anecdote it would make.
‘Remember that time I was arrested on our wedding day?’ he would laugh.
He would probably be back in her arms by lunchtime, and hopefully the whole sordid mess could be put behind them, yet her old self-doubt continued to niggle away: they wouldn’t have arrested him if they weren’t sure he was guilty; you always thought he was too good to be true; mud sticks.
Alice headed into the en suite bathroom, closed the door and switched on the shower, cranking up the heat before stepping in and feeling the hot and forgiving waters wash away the pain of yesterday. Emerging from the bathroom through a thick cloud of steam, she felt like a contestant on Stars in their Eyes.
Tara was still fast asleep, bless her. Her face looked like a child had come in and tried to fix her make-up: black smears running down both cheeks, her lipstick spread up at awkward angles.
Hours spent searching for details about Kerry Valentine online had proved fruitless. News of her death had yet to be picked up by any news agencies, and Alice had learned there were six Kerry Valentines listed in the Bournemouth and Poole areas alone, and there was no guarantee any of them was the victim.
Alice had even searched for her on Facebook, but with no idea what Kerry looked like, it had been impossible to work out which profile – if any – belonged to the victim. The profile images ranged wildly, from a woman in her early twenties with jet black hair, to an octogenarian with a purple rinse. For all Alice knew, Kerry Valentine may not have been active on social media or from Dorset. Alice had eventually given up her search shortly before three.
Her phone beeped on the duvet cover to indicate she’d received a message. Opening it, she saw it was from Dave. A simple:
How are you feeling? Can I do anything for you?
The only thing she wanted was for the clock to be reset so that she could relive yesterday without the interruption of the police, but nobody could provide her with that.
Tara pushed herself off the pillow and, bleary-eyed, stared at Alice. ‘Morning,’ she croaked.
Alice smiled warmly. ‘How did you sleep?’
Tara blinked several times and yawned. ‘Fine, I guess. What time is it?’
‘Just gone seven,’ Alice said, a small towel now wrapped around her head to dry her hair. ‘We should probably think about breakfast.’
Tara gasped at the time. ‘What are you doing up so early, you evil woman?’
Tara wasn’t a morning person, and Alice could forgive her reluctance to be awake so early on a Sunday morning.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Alice said apologetically. ‘You can go back to sleep if you want?’
Tara’s expression changed as the reality of last night filtered through the hangover fog in her head. ‘What kind of friend would that make me?’ She slid her legs off the edge of the bed, heading into the bathroom and closing the door. A scream a moment later meant Tara had seen her reflection in the mirror. The door to the en suite flew open and Tara’s face appeared around it.
‘I should probably shower and dress before breakfast. Can you give me twenty minutes to freshen up?’
Alice nodded and moved across to put on the room’s kettle, dropping teabags into two mugs before dressing in the summer dress she’d brought for the trip to the airport later. Their bags were all packed at home, waiting for collection, but if the police didn’t release Ben until this afternoon, it would be a rush to get to the airport for check-in.
The shower thundered to life, the sound reverberating off the connecting wall. The thought of seeing the guests who’d stayed at the hotel filled her with dread. Without Ben at her side, she felt so vulnerable.
A knock at the bedroom door startled her.
Dave’s hulking figure was leaning against the woodwork. ‘Morning,’ he offered.
‘Hi,’ she replied, surprised to see him looking as fresh as he did.
‘I sent you a message,’ he explained, ‘and then I thought that was pretty callous when you’re just down the hall. Did you manage to get any sleep?’
‘Some,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘I never sleep well in a different bed. So what I did do was jot down details of the stag night in as much detail as I could remember. That way, when I go to the police station, I can make it clear that Ben couldn’t have had anything to do with what happened to that poor girl, because he was with us all night.’
‘Thank you.’
He shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Listen, Alice, there’s …’ he paused as if trying to find the right words. ‘I … what I mean to say is … I’m sorry about all of this. It was my idea to drag Ben to Bournemouth, and it was my idea for none of us to mention where we’d been or why, and I was the one who hired the girl to strip, and …’
She was surprised to see his eyes welling, and felt obliged to put her hand on his arm reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, Dave, you couldn’t have known any of this would happen.’
She had met Dave at the first school she worked after graduating as a teacher. He was the son of one of the older members of staff, and he’d pestered her for months to go on a date with him. At the time she had been trying to focus on settling into her new career, but eventually she had reluctantly agreed. Rather than going for a drink or some food, he’d taken her to a party – a birthday party – for one of his friends. Suddenly thrust into a crowd of strangers who all seemed to know each other, she’d never felt so awkward, and had been trying to think of excuses to take off when Ben had walked into the room.
They talk about thunderbolts, and there was no other way to describe the instant attraction she’d felt to the handsome man in the Hawaiian-style shirt, his brown hair styled to within an inch of its life, his physique firm but not overly toned. She was sure her mouth had hit the floor. As he had approached, her hands had become clammy, her heart rate had increased rapidly, and by the time he was greeting Dave she was putty in his hands.
He’d respected the boundary, waited for Dave to introduce them, and had then asked questions of her. She could still feel the burn in her cheeks as her mind had gone blank, and she’d barely managed to string together two words. Despite her own awkwardness, Ben had discreetly slipped her his number before he’d been dragged away by one of the other partygoers.
She’d texted him her number as soon as Dave had dropped her home, and although Dave had leaned in for a kiss, she hadn’t reciprocated. Dave just wasn’t her type, with a shaved head and thick dark beard, his outer image was that of a bouncer at a nightclub. She preferred men in softer focus, more naturally handsome. Ben had ticked all of the boxes, and even some she hadn’t realized she wanted ticking.
She’d felt guilty when they’d started texting each other.