Laura Cassidy - Eighteen Kisses

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I was starting to think they’d forgotten about Kayla altogether.’

For a second I was taken aback, but then it clicked. She was Eleanor Higgins, a name from my list. I didn’t recognize her from the party video, but then I had only watched it once. I should probably watch it again, like Sergeant Lawlor had told me to, even if it made me uncomfortable.

‘I’m Kayla’s best friend,’ she said, signalling for me to take a seat. Her desk was covered in stacks of paper and CDs and magazines. ‘Well, I suppose she has three, but I think she’s probably closest to me. Every time my phone rings, I hope it will be her.’

Unfortunately I knew that was one phone call Ellie was never going to get.

‘Do you think she ran away?’ I asked.

‘No, no way. I think she was taken,’ she said. ‘But since she went missing, I’ve heard of two girls who were held captive and then escaped, years later… not in Ireland, I know, but still. You’ve probably heard about the serial killer theory, but they haven’t actually found any bodies. So maybe he’s keeping them somewhere? Sometimes I wish we could search every house. I didn’t want to stop looking, but eventually I had to. As much as I’d like to, I know I can’t look everywhere.’ Ellie was so composed earlier, but now she looked like she might cry. She took a tissue from the box on her desk and I looked around the office, giving her a moment to wipe her eyes. The place was chaotic, there was stuff everywhere, but there did seem to be some sort of order to it. Huge cardboard copies of recent covers of Electric were propped up against the walls. Gemma Hayes was on the February cover, Nick Cave in March, and Imelda May was the face of Electric in April. The covers were really cool. The artists were all impeccably styled; I’d have done anything to get my hands on Imelda May’s red dress.

‘How long have you worked here?’ I asked Ellie.

‘I started when I was nineteen,’ she said. ‘I did a diploma in journalism, then began as an unpaid intern.’

‘It’s a really cool job.’

‘It has its moments.’ She smiled meekly. ‘Kayla would be so impressed if she knew I was working here,’ she added. ‘She’s big into photography. Whenever we go to gigs she always brings her giant camera with her.’

I suddenly remembered Kayla’s outstretched arm in my dream, handing me the photograph, and a shiver ran through me. I tried to block it out. I could recall the dream’s details so vividly, which was useful, but also unsettling. I’d never experienced a dream quite so frightening. Well, not since last summer.

‘Ellie, was there anybody at the party who you were wary of?’ I asked. ‘Anyone you didn’t trust?’

‘No, not really. It was just our friends – you needed an invitation to get in. Not that Kayla wanted it to be exclusive or anything, but her dad would only let a certain number of people into the house at any one time. Hazel’s boyfriend was manning the door, making sure nobody crashed it.’

‘And nobody did?’

‘No, it wasn’t that big a gathering. I knew every single person there.’

‘Did Kayla seem upset?’ I asked. I figured if Ellie was her best friend she’d be able to tell me what kind of mood Kayla was really in.

‘No, she was in great form. She was enjoying the party. Yeah, she was a bit quiet, but she’s like that anyway, kind of introverted. But everybody likes her. I can’t think of anybody who would want to hurt her…’

Ellie was obviously another person who didn’t suspect any of her friends. I wondered if I would know, if I would sense during any of these interviews, that I was sitting across from a killer. Probably not. After all, I hadn’t sensed who the killer was last summer; I’d only figured it out when it was almost too late. But this time I had a head start – I wasn’t going to ignore Kayla like I’d ignored Beth. I was going to follow the signs she gave me and I was going to do everything I could to find out what had happened to her.

‘Sergeant Lawlor told me what you can do,’ said Ellie. ‘I hope you can find her.’

‘I hope so too,’ I said. There was such expectation in her eyes, it made me uneasy.

‘I better get back to those demos,’ I said, wanting to get out of the office. This was particularly difficult for me. I knew Kayla was dead, but I couldn’t tell Ellie. I felt so bad for her. I didn’t know what I’d do if something happened to Nick or Colin or any of my friends.

‘Yeah, of course,’ said Ellie. ‘I hope it’s not too boring. Sergeant Lawlor said you needed a reason to be up here, so I put in a good word.’

‘No, not at all, thanks a million,’ I said. ‘I love music, so this is perfect.’

I left the office and sat back down. I listened to a few more CDs, including a jazz ensemble, who were actually really good. The time went by so much more quickly when the music I was listening to wasn’t terrible. Before I knew it, it was one o’clock.

‘See you back here at two sharp,’ said Ellie as she passed our desk. She talked to us like she had earlier, like the exchange in the office had never happened, which I suppose was necessary. Nobody else could know why I was really here.

‘Hey, you wanna go somewhere for lunch?’ asked Dillon brightly. He picked up his bag and put it over his shoulder.

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘It’s fine about earlier. You don’t have to make it up to me; I suppose you couldn’t have known that my dad is dead. But I’m entitled to be here too, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Dillon. ‘I’m really sorry. I was just nervous about starting here, and when I’m nervous I say things that I immediately regret. Let’s start over, OK? Would you like to go for lunch?’ He shuffled awkwardly on the spot.

‘OK then, sure,’ I said, picking up my own bag. ‘Where do you want to go?’

‘Do you like crêpes, by any chance?’ he said.

‘Love them.’

‘Cool, follow me so,’ he said, and we made our way towards the elevator.

I took a bite out of my ham and cheese crêpe. The place was packed – the waiters were calling out order numbers as they walked past the tables, balancing plates expertly on their arms. I could feel the heat coming from the huge hot plates behind the counter, where a guy was flipping crêpes with a spatula. The sweet smells of cooking batter, melting chocolate and burning sugar filled the air. We sat at a small table in the corner. It was a bit crowded, but totally worth it because the crêpes were amazing.

‘Do you come up to Dublin much since you moved away?’ asked Dillon, who’d already eaten half of his chicken one.

‘Yeah, a good bit,’ I said. ‘I’ve played a few gigs up here.’

‘I remember seeing you upstairs in Whelan’s once,’ he said. ‘I was there with Mark.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘You played a cover of “Pale Blue Eyes”… I remember cos it’s my favourite song.’

‘That was ages ago,’ I said. ‘Did you want to strangle me?’ I added with a laugh.

‘No!’ he said. ‘It was a really good cover.’

That was nice of him to say , I thought. I loved playing that song – it was one of my favourites too.

‘Most of the time people talk so loud you can hardly hear me, and sometimes there’s only, like, six people in the audience,’ I said with a sigh.

‘There were only six people at U2’s debut gig in London,’ he said with a smile. ‘So you’re in good company.’

I smiled too. Maybe Dillon wasn’t that annoying after all.

I wanted to turn the attention away from me. I love singing and love performing, but I don’t really like talking about myself all that much. ‘So, you want to be a music journalist?’ I said. ‘Who do you most want to interview -’