The Roommates

“You picked us up on Monday night and drove to the petrol station. She had stomach ache.”

There’s a flicker of recognition on his face. “Eight pound fifty? I remember.”

“Have you seen her since?” Sitting forward in the back seat between Tegan and Phoenix, she holds out photos of Amber on her phone, including the one she took before the fair.

“Sorry, love, can’t look. I’m driving.”

“Just a quick glance.”

Tegan’s impressed; with a drink inside her, Imo doesn’t take no for an answer. But the driver says he hasn’t seen Amber since that night – with or without her red wig.

“Are you sure? If she went anywhere by taxi this week, she’d have gone with you because of the discount,” Imo says, leaning on Tegan.

Tegan shrugs her off and studies Hamid’s expression in the rear-view mirror. He looks perplexed by the mention of a discount. As for knowing about Amber, it’s doubtful he can distinguish one pissed student from another.

Imo gives up, shifts onto Phoenix’s shoulder and closes her eyes.

Hamid, realizing the cross-examination is over, slips into driver-patter. “So anything you girls want to know about Abbeythorpe, you ask me. Anything.”

“Okay, thanks,” Phoenix says, adjusting the weight of Imo’s head. “So where’s the best nightlife?”

“Exactly,” Hamid says. “Anything like that you wanna know, just ask me.”

He pulls up on a taxi rank behind a black Mercedes. Tegan’s chest tightens.

“Bloody amateurs,” Hamid says, gesticulating. “Where’s a traffic warden when you need one?”

Through the windscreen of the cab, Tegan makes out a shape in the driver’s seat of the Merc. Skin tingling, she hangs back while Phoenix and Imo get out. Only after they’ve paid Hamid and headed towards the bouncer on the club door, does she scoot after them.

Chapter 14 (#ulink_e6a8d4e5-14e3-5c8e-91eb-9e1271479b2c)

Thursday 29 September

Imogen

She climbs in the shower, headache threatening. As she stands under the rushing water, her dreams flicker through her mind. Get me, won’t you? Amber, again, her face merging with her sister Sophia’s.

A memory from the club itches and she scrubs her body harder, feeling dirty. Buoyed by Jägerbombs, there had been a moment – maybe even ten minutes, as much as three tracks on the dance floor – when she’d forgotten her grief and enjoyed herself. Became the old Imogen – the one that went underage drinking with her mates, the higher her heels, the tighter her skirt. Then she saw him. At first she had thought it was just a trick of the light, her mind imagining things after a few too many drinks. But when she turned back for a second look, she had known for sure. It was him. The tall man standing across the dance floor. Hood up, watching her as he had done Tegan on arrivals day. Imo sensed his eyes rake over her body. He gave her a chilling smile.

Running to the ladies, she bumped her way through the crowd apologizing, spilling drinks. She made it to the loo in time to throw up. When she came out, Phoenix had an orange juice ready for her. Tegan – grim-faced – suggested they call it a night. Imo agreed. What must they have thought of her erratic behaviour?

Her phone rings as she’s towelling dry. She lets it buzz, knowing it’ll be Freddie without checking the screen. After he’s rung off, she texts him: I’m going, okay. The audition is today. She can’t remember changing her mind, but she must have done. Why else has she got up for a shower and left out leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt? Is she ready to live again?

Among the pizza delivery ads on the doormat lies a note for her from Royal Mail, telling her to collect a parcel from the student union building. How’s she supposed to know where the post room is? It’s probably spare hankies or a pillowcase from her mother.

There’s a package addressed to Riku outside the flat. How come his parcels get delivered and she has to collect hers? She props it outside his door and doesn’t knock. There’s still no reply from Amber’s room and she heads to the audition alone.

***

The auditions are in the theatre on the first floor of the student union. Three tiny backsides greet her when she rounds the corridor. Skinny girls in sports shorts and legwarmers using the bottom two steps of the staircase as a barre. Imo feels fat and unsupple. She has a coughing fit.

A chubby girl with purple hair and wearing the name tag Doris ushers her into a side room. “A word of advice,” she says as she fixes a sticker with a number thirty-one onto Imo’s chest. “Even if you’re not sure of your words, keep singing.”

It’s a small room clearly used as a costume store. Rails of Elizabethan doublets hang alongside sparkly mini-dresses. Three girls, all wearing black Musical Theatre Society T-shirts, stare at her as she picks her way through the busy room looking for a seat.

“Over here,” Lauren calls out and pats an empty plastic chair. She’s wearing her black cape over her dance clothes. Imo joins her but the intimacy of their coffee together has gone and neither can think what to say. They sit in silence while others chat.

Lauren keeps looking anxiously at her watch.

“Could be ages yet,” Imo suggests eventually.

“Hope not. I’ve got to get … go somewhere at twelve thirty.” She goes slightly red and changes the subject. “A lot seem to have been in uni shows before. They must have come back early for the audition. Have you done any musicals?”

Imo shrugs. In a different life. “Once or twice. You?”

Lauren lists a few shows she did at school and says she’s studying Theatre Studies as well as German.

Imo sits up. “My flatmate, Amber, does Theatre Studies. I thought she’d be here. Actually, I think you know her. I saw you with her before our first German lecture on Tuesday.”

Lauren looks away. “Not me,” she says quickly. “I don’t know her.”

Imo frowns, recalling when she walked across campus and spotted Amber linking arms with a girl in a black cape. It must have been Lauren.

“I could have sworn it was you. Are you sure?”

“Yep,” she snaps, then adds: “There was a girl called Amber who didn’t turn up to the Theatre Studies Meet and Greet last night. They read out all the names and she was the only one missing.”

Unease seeps across Imo’s shoulders, but before she has time to ask anything else, Doris appears and tells her the panel is ready.

“Don’t be nervous,” she says as she shows her the way onto the stage. “Break a leg.”

There is an audition panel of six at the front of an auditorium. All name-badged: Theo, Alice, Rusty …

Theo speaks before she can read the other names and asks her to sing. With heat rushing through her face, Imo waits for the introduction. Her voice is hoarse from coughing and she inwardly winces at how off-key she sounds, but she makes it to the end of the song. Theo thanks her with a blank expression and says they’ll see her later at the dance audition.

She doesn’t have to wait long. Doris calls twenty girls, including Imo, onto the stage. Imo hasn’t danced properly for months and isn’t sure her limbs still can. Not since Sophia disappeared. Tears prick her eyes but she blinks them away as Alice from the selection panel takes them through a warm-up. Surprised to find that jogging on the spot lightens her mood, Imo leaps into star jumps and shifts easily into stretches.

By the time they start the corner exercises, it’s the old version of herself that launches into spot turns and split leaps.

“Give it more,” Alice calls out from the wings.

Imo dances on, unencumbered by the baggage of the last seven months. Her steps are light, her body toned. She soaks up the panel’s attention. They can look and judge as much as they like. They don’t know her story.

The panel applauds when the routine finishes.

“Good job, ladies,” Alice says. “We’ll let you know.”

Imo leaves the stage glowing with energy. She gets her things but on her way downstairs she glimpses a man on the landing. An eerie coldness settles and she fears it’s him again. The tall man. She hurries outside. Is this what Sophia felt when she disappeared, that a man was following her? Did she see him everywhere she went until one day he came for her?