Saving Sophie: A compulsively twisty psychological thriller that will keep you gripped to the very last page. Sam Carrington
kitchen. Karen took Sophie up the stairs, struggling to keep control of the rubbery body; the laughing-one-minute, crying-the-next girl who, only a few hours ago, had left the house looking smart and beautiful in her new black dress. Karen scrunched up her eyes. She couldn’t cry now. Not yet. This wasn’t her Sophie. Not the Sophie who looked after her friends: picked them up when they fell, let them cry on her shoulder, took them home if they were drunk.
Why had they left her in this state? Or had Sophie left them? And she’d been rattling on about Amy; she’d seemed distressed about her. Karen’s chest tightened.
Where was Amy?
Karen sat with her knees up and her back against the soft velvet-covered headboard, tapping the screen of her phone.
‘What are you doing?’ Mike asked, walking around to his side of the bed.
‘Texting Liz.’
‘For God’s sake, Karen, it’s midnight. Leave it.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off his trousers. Small change from his pockets scattered on the wooden floor, clinking and rolling everywhere. ‘Darn it!’
‘I need to know if Amy’s home safe.’ Karen spoke the words quietly, thinking if she said them softly, he’d understand her need for reassurance.
‘Sophie’s so pissed up she wouldn’t have a clue who she’d been out with. Anyway, she obviously got separated from them and now they’ll be in the club until three. Do not worry Liz about it. Just go to sleep.’ He was tired. Irritable. Karen knew he hated it when she couldn’t let things go.
‘Yeah, right, like sleep is possible now. I think it’s more than just alcohol.’
‘Relax.’ He bounced up and down, settling himself and yanked the duvet up over his shoulder. He turned away from her.
‘Mike,’ she pleaded, adamant that the conversation should continue despite his warning tone. She had things playing on her mind: disturbing things. ‘Don’t you think she looked like she’d taken drugs? Or that someone had drugged her? The way she was talking …’
‘Are you for real?’ Mike flung the duvet back off, exposing his muscled torso, and sat up, eyes glaring. ‘Don’t you think the police would’ve been a bit more concerned if they suspected something untoward had happened? Just because you used to work with a bunch of screwed-up criminals, it doesn’t mean every time Sophie goes out she’s going to be targeted by would-be rapists.’
Karen smarted. ‘You were the one who shouted at Sophie, said anything could’ve happened – weren’t they your words?’
He rubbed his palms aggressively up and down his face, groaning.
‘I meant she could have been knocked over, ended up in a ditch somewhere, and yes, it did cross my mind someone could have taken advantage of her. But that clearly didn’t happen. What you’re saying is that someone purposely drugged her. I’ve no idea what goes through your head. Now please let me sleep, we’ll talk to her in the morning. It’ll all be some pathetic teenage drama, some stupid fall-out with Amy, that’s all.’ He returned to his position, facing the window with his back towards her.
A tear rolled down Karen’s cheek and hit the duvet cover. She stared at the mascara-stained drop for a moment, then ran her fingertip over it, smudging it. How could he be so insensitive? His irritation had pushed aside all he knew about her, her own traumatic experience: the attack, two years ago almost to the day. Had he forgotten why she was this way? She looked down absently. The cover would need washing now. She lifted her head, staring for a while at the back of her husband of twenty-three years. Then she continued the text.
Hi Liz, sorry to text this late, was wondering if you’ve heard from Amy? Sophie has been brought back by the police in a right state – I don’t know why she wasn’t with the others! I hope the rest of the girls have fared better. Text me when you get this please.
She put the phone on vibrate and placed it under her pillow. Snatching her sertraline tablets from the bedside table, she popped two in her mouth and swallowed without water, then went to check on Sophie.
Sunday
The chinking of plates and jingling of cutlery infiltrated Karen’s sleep. What time was it? The Sunday bells rang out from the church in the distance, the deep clanging tones coming and going as the wind carried them. She used to find the sound relaxing, reassuring even. Lately, though, it had become an irritation, a reminder of how long she’d lived in Ambrook. Moving from town ten years ago to gain the solitude that the tiny Devon village offered had seemed a good idea at the time. They hadn’t been able to afford any of the idyllic chocolate-box cottages, having to settle for the more modern, less striking semi-detached house instead. But the views of Dartmoor had made up for that. Now, even that didn’t interest her. She’d left it too late to move again, though, her current circumstances wouldn’t allow it.
Beside her, tiny tapping noises on the floor made her open her eyes. A heavy weight landed on her legs. Bailey scrambled to her face and planted his good morning kisses. She gave his belly a half-hearted rub. Then she bolted up to a sitting position. She turned to Mike’s side of the bed. Empty. He was the one crashing about in the kitchen. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was 8.45 a.m. Why hadn’t he got her up?
Pushing Bailey aside, Karen shoved her feet into her slippers, grabbed the dressing gown and walked along the landing. Pausing outside Sophie’s door, she listened for signs of movement, straining to hear breathing. Please let her be breathing. Don’t let her have choked to death on her own vomit. Karen laid a trembling hand on the door knob. She’d checked a couple of times during her own unsettled night, but it’d been over three hours since her last. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
On her tummy. Light-brown hair messily spread over the pillow and part-covering her face. In the exact position she’d left her. Karen could only hear her own breathing: rapid, shallow bursts of air. Why wasn’t Sophie making a sound? She reached a hand out, hovered it for a while before allowing it to lie gently on her daughter’s back. Warmth touched her fingers. Karen’s shoulders relaxed. Thank goodness.
‘Sophie,’ she whispered. Then more strongly, ‘Sophie.’
Sophie’s body wriggled under Karen’s hand, her eyes opened. Still dark, still unfocused.
‘What’s the matter?’ She wiped the wetness from her mouth with one hand, then turned over and sat up.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Okay,’ she yawned. ‘Tired.’ Her brow knitted as she ran her hand along the side of the bed, up and down the mattress edge against the wall. ‘Have you seen my phone?’
Karen had left it in the kitchen, thrown down on the worktop following several failed attempts to access any messages that might shed some light on the situation.
‘Yeah, it’s downstairs.’
‘Oh.’ Sophie looked perplexed. Her phone never left her side.
‘How did you get home last night?’ Karen thought she’d play it cool. She wanted to hear it from Sophie’s mouth, wanted her to feel bad about causing so much distress.
‘Uh … Taxi?’ She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes scanning the room. ‘Where’s my handbag?’
‘Sophie.’ Karen’s voice, harsher now. ‘It’s downstairs as well. Look, you didn’t come home by taxi. Don’t you remember how you got back?’
Sophie looked straight ahead, and said