I desperately want to be able to talk to Laurie about more consequential matters. Ask his advice about whether or not I should go to the police. I’m almost sure I know what his response will be. That is, after I have scraped him off the ceiling when he realises the depths of my stupidity. The whole convoluted mess has left me in a state of confusion. I’m starting to feel even more scared and isolated.
I heat up some food and get a cold bottle of beer from the fridge and hand it to Laurie.
‘You not having a drink?’
‘Nah,’ I say. ‘It’s been a long day. I’m knackered, and I’ve got a headache coming on. I think I’ll turn in early and read for a while.’
‘Not a great end to your birthday,’ he says, taking the plates and glasses to the kitchen. ‘Tomorrow will be better. You haven’t forgotten we’re going to the theatre, have you?’
A trip to Stratford on Avon is the last thing on my mind, even if it is meant to be a birthday treat, but I manage a weak smile.
‘No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m really looking forward to it.’
The events of today have pushed going to the theatre to the back of my mind. I’m not exactly fizzing with excitement at the thought of over an hour’s drive each way. What I am hoping, however, is that the evening will be a distraction. A breathing space where I don’t have to worry about the mess I find myself in.
Tucked up in bed, having done the nightly ritual of checking doors and windows, I attempt to get to grips with another book borrowed from Jenny. I’ve had it for months, and so far I’ve only read three chapters. I try to concentrate, attempting to override the intrusive thoughts that keep bubbling unbidden to the surface, forcing me to attend to them. The book is not especially well written, and I keep finding irritating errors that jump off the page. To be fair, the author is not a professional writer, and I try to be charitable given the subject matter. It’s an account written by a father left to bring up his young daughter following the death of his wife from cancer.
It’s a harrowing read and not the best subject matter under the circumstances. The description of the daughter’s reaction to her mother’s death causes a lump to form in my throat and tears to prickle at the corners of my eyes. The book conveys well the aftermath of a death as a time of heightened emotions and ambivalence. How is it possible the author writes, to feel relief and a sense of lightness, as though a weight has been lifted, when you have just lost the person you loved most in the world?
I can only hazard a guess as to how I might cope if anything happened to Laurie or the kids. Not well, if the truth be known. I do, however, wonder what it would be like for them if something awful happened to me. I’m sure Laurie would be fine. After he got over the initial shock and had dealt with my estate, he would be a free agent.
After Mum died, we made our wills. Apart from some personal gifts to the kids, everything goes to him anyway. Once a decent period of mourning has elapsed, I’m sure he will find someone else, maybe a younger woman. One still able to have children. He has time for a new relationship, a new life. Alice and Flynn will be okay, too, once their initial sadness has passed. Having a stepmum and possibly younger brothers and sisters will take some getting used to, but they have their own lives. It won’t be long before they have homes and families of their own. I suppress a sob at the thought of not being here to see the events of their lives unfold without me.
Oh, just stop it, you silly woman, I chastise myself, hardly believing how mawkish and self-absorbed I’m being. It’s not like me, but then who am I? I don’t think I know anymore.
Pull yourself together. It’s not the first time I’ve said these words to myself over the last few weeks, and I doubt it will be the last.
My sleep is disturbed. Dreams running like water, one into the other, full of longing and loss. Clearest is the one I awake from, shaking myself free from the snare of sleep. There had initially been fear, poised as I was at the edge of a precipice, struggling desperately to keep my footing. Arms encircle and support me, then lose their grip, leaving me to plummet earthwards. I don’t crash to the rocks below. Instead, I sprout wings, as soft and white as swan’s down, and float gently to the bottom.
I’m not superstitious. Assigning meaning to dreams is, in my opinion, as nonsensical as voodoo. It’s odd, though. The dream has left me with a residual feeling of optimism and a sense of how glad I am to be alive. I want to be the one who grows old with Laurie. I want to be there for my children and grandchildren. I don’t want some youthful facsimile taking my place in this imaginary future I have conjured up.
I resolve to do everything in my power to try to keep us all safe.
Whatever that may take.
31
I have misplaced my scarf. I’m wearing my peacock blue wool dress to go to the theatre. It’s my favourite, and I’ve been looking forward to pairing it with the scarf from Alice and Flynn. The scarf, however, is nowhere to be found. My newfound faith in the future dissipates, replaced by exasperation. How the hell could I have been so careless? I’ve looked in every part of the house, searched the car and its surrounds, and there is no sign of it anywhere.
‘You haven’t seen the scarf the kids got for me, have you?’
Laurie looks at me and gives me a wry smile. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve lost it already? Honestly, Fran, you only had it five minutes. Alice will have a fit!’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to ring around the train stations to see if anyone has handed it into lost property. I’m bloody well annoyed with myself, but it was quite a day. It’s hardly surprising I got somewhat careless.’
‘Mmm. Swanning about and having lunch with your daughter. Very arduous…’
I bite my lip before I say something in anger that gives me away, and stomp off upstairs to find an alternative. Of course, he has no idea what transpired after I left Alice. I know it’s unreasonable to expect a different response from him. Still, the unfairness grates.
I have a drawerful of accessories and scarves of every size and colour, and I still can’t find one that matches. Instead, I pull out a pendant made of sea glass that belonged to Mum. The stone is a deep cornflower blue, set in a silver filigree locket. Mum bought it on holiday in Northumberland during a week of unseasonably warm weather. The necklace always reminded her of the sea, which throughout her stay had been the deepest shade of blue.
Laurie, shouting from the bottom of the stairs, interrupts my musings, and I grab a white pashmina as protection against the evening chill.
‘You need to get a wriggle on, Fran. We have to leave, or we’ll be late.’
We eat at the rooftop restaurant with the River Avon flowing alongside, its surface illuminated by a high, bright moon. The reflections from the lights glitter in the darker water on the opposite bank. We have been seated next to a window, and I can feel the chilly night air through the glass. I’m glad of the pashmina I brought with me, and pull it around my shoulders to ward off the chill.
‘Do you remember our cheesy beans?’ Laurie says, feeding me a forkful of our shared dessert, a tower of mini profiteroles. .
I give him a wistful smile. ‘How on earth can I forget? They were all we could afford when the money started to run out at the end of the week. I think the highlight was when you persuaded the woman on the deli counter to sell you a heel of parmesan for 5p. Baked beans with grated parmesan, served with a sprig of parsley, became your signature dish. You called it Posh Beans.’
‘And look at us now,’ he says. ‘We’ve come a long way since then. We could have only dreamed of a meal in a smart restaurant followed by going to see a play in a building as beautiful as this. In those days, we were more than happy with a Chinese takeaway and a bottle of cheap plonk.’
He raises his glass in my direction. ‘Happy birthday, Fran. Here’s to many more to come.’
The alcohol is making me dewy-eyed, and I reach for his hand. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Not just for this, for everything. I want you to know I love you. I know I
don’t say it enough.’
Laurie gives me one of his ‘aw shucks’ looks, but I can tell he’s pleased. ‘And I love you, too. It’s been a roller-coaster ride, and I’m not just talking about the last couple of weeks. We’re a good team, you and I. When we pull together, we can overcome anything.’
Ay, there’s the rub, to quote the Bard. Pulling together requires there to be a bond of trust between us, and trust is something that’s in short supply on my part.
I’m saved from my musings by the first bell, which rings to summon us to our seats. Laurie has chosen well. We are in the stalls and have a good view of the stage without being too close. It’s a mesmerising production, set in the present day on a tropical island. The sensation of being at the centre of a wild storm during the shipwreck scene is unsettling. The experience feels so real.
It doesn’t escape my notice that some of the themes covered in the play are not too far removed from what is going on in my world. If I’m not mistaken, love, betrayal, forgiveness, and repentance all have their part to play in the drama that is my life.
‘Ready to go and face the real world?’ Laurie says as the lights come on following the final curtain call.
My heart performs a somersault in my chest. He doesn’t know how loaded with connotation that question is.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
32
The loss of my scarf is maddening. I have looked in every conceivable place, and it’s nowhere to be found. Nothing fitting its description has been handed in at left luggage at either of the train stations. I can only conclude that someone has taken a shine to it, or I didn’t leave it on the train. The train station staff I speak to suggest I ring again in a few days. One tells me it can take days or even weeks for lost items to show up. The more I think about it, the more sure I am I had it when I got to Mel’s house. Is it possible I left it there? The other alternative is that it could have slid from around my neck when I was getting out of her car. Surely she would have let me know if either had been the case? Then again, the celebrant was visiting over the weekend to talk about the funeral. With all that going on, it could easily have slipped her mind.
Rather than ring her, I send a text message with a brief description of the scarf.
Just wondering if I left it at your house or in your car? It was a birthday present from my kids. They will never forgive me if I’ve lost it. I insert a smiley face. I’m hoping the tone conveys urgency without sounding too heavy-handed.
To my consternation, I don’t hear anything from Mel as the week goes on, not even an acknowledgement of my text. Conscious the day of the funeral is fast approaching, I need a distraction, as I’m filled with dread at the prospect of attending. It’s been months since the house had a good clean, and it’s just the sort of task that dulls the thinking processes if you throw yourself into it. Systematically, I go from room to room, vacuuming, dusting, polishing and cleaning the inside of the windows until the house is gleaming in almost show-home condition. That is if you ignore the odd chip in the paintwork and a dangling cobweb, unreachable at the top of the stairwell.
The sense of satisfaction I feel at my efforts in creating order is short-lived. Still at a loose end, I try ringing Sal. The phone rings out, and I leave a message to say I will try again later. After a few minutes, my phone buzzes, and I pick up to hear Sal on the other end.
‘Fran? Hello, it’s Sal here. We were walking to the car when you rang, and I couldn’t get into my bag quick enough to get my phone before it rang off. How are you?’
‘I’m fine. Are you and Al keeping well?’
‘We are. We’ve been out for lunch at the marina at Willington with friends.’ Her voice fades, then disappears, before returning at full strength in my ear. ‘Hello, hello, can you hear me? I seem to be losing the signal.’
To save my ears, I place the phone on the worktop in front of me and put it on speakerphone. I had thought about making arrangements to go and see them, but it occurs to me that they will be passing close by on their way home.
‘Sal, do you think you could detour here? I have something to tell you, and I don’t really want to do it over the phone.’
There is crackling in the background and the sound of muffled voices; then Sal comes back on the line. ‘Send us your address and postcode for the satnav. We are on our way.’
I’m wearing one of Laurie’s old shirts and a pair of jogging bottoms. There’s not much point in running around trying to make myself look presentable for their arrival; there isn’t time. Instead, I bundle away the cleaning products lined up by the sink, rinse my hands and face, and run a comb through my unwashed hair. Finding one of Alice’s old scrunchies lurking at the back of one of the kitchen drawers, I scrape my untidy locks back into a tight ponytail. The kettle is just coming to the boil when, with a warning woof, Buddy runs to the door just as their car kicks up a section of loose gravel on the drive, heralding their arrival.
‘You found us, then,’ I say, gripping Buddy by his collar before he bowls them over in his enthusiasm at having visitors.
Al raises his eyebrows and frowns. ‘Just about. I think Sal needs a visit to Specsavers. She transposed the letters in your postcode. It’s a good job I noticed, or we would have ended up going round in circles.’
Sal grins and shrugs her shoulders. ‘Ah well, we’re here now. It’s lovely to see you, Fran, and Buddy too. He looks a lot better than when we last saw him.’ She bends down to scratch behind his ears and is rewarded with a lick to her face.
‘You have a lovely home, and the garden is so secluded.’
We have come into the kitchen, and she is peering through the glass door leading out to the back garden. ‘Does that gate lead into the woods? It must be so convenient for walks.’
I follow her gaze, looking out over our undulating stretch of lawn, still carpeted with leaf fall. I try to put myself in the shoes of someone unfamiliar with the broad swathe of woodland that now seems to me so menacing. Some of the trees are almost bare after the last high winds. Others, like the ancient oaks, still hold onto the last remnants of their foliage, like elderly men huddled into tweed jackets.
‘I used to love the walks. It’s just not the same since…!’
‘Oh, of course not. Forgive me, I’d forgotten. Me and my big mouth.’
Sal looks downcast, and Al moves to change the subject, rescuing her from further embarrassment.
‘I’ll have a look at that area you were thinking of turning over to a wildflower meadow before we go. I think I spy a great spot from here.’
We sit in the lounge and have tea and stale digestive biscuits I found at the back of the cupboard. Buddy has taken a shine to Al and keeps dropping his ball at his feet in the hope of a game.
‘I could take him for a walk if you two want a chat. I’m not very good at sitting for any length of time, and Sal can fill me in on what’s gone on.’
‘Really, Al,’ Sal says with disdain. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to stay and listen to what Fran has to say. She will think you have no manners.’
‘Actually, if you don’t mind walking him, you will be doing me a good turn. Saves me going out later in the dark,’ I say. ‘Sal can tell you everything, and if you don’t mind a chat over the phone, I could ring you. It would be good to hear your opinion on what I have to report.’
Al seems pleased to be let off the hook, and he sets off with Buddy, armed with a tennis ball and poo bags in the direction of the park.
‘Honestly, that man. He can’t relax. He’s not happy unless he’s busy. He’s always been the same. Not going to alter now, is he? Not at his age.’ Sal says this in mock annoyance although there’s a glint in her eye.
‘You adore him, Sal,’ I say. ‘You know you would be lost without him.’
‘You’re right, of course. We’ve been married a long time and gone through so much together. It would be like losing a limb if anything happened to him, and I know he feels the same about me. Anyway, enough
about us. You said there was something you wanted to tell me. Is it about that nasty piece of work Mel Ingram?’
I take a breath in through my nose, releasing it slowly to steady my nerves before replying. ‘You were spot on, you know. About Mel. She is involved in the drugs trade. She has a phone full of users’ numbers, wanting to buy drugs in the area. It’s called a County Line. Tyler was caught up in it, too, which is how he got himself murdered.’
I expect Sal to say I told you so, or words to that effect, but she doesn’t. Instead, she drains the last dregs of her tea and places the cup on the table in front of her.
‘Shall I make a fresh pot?’
She shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says quietly. ‘You’re worried, I can tell. Whatever has happened, you need to get it off your chest.’
She takes a cushion, plumps it and places it at her back. ‘I’m all ears.’
Sal lets me talk without interruption. I tell her of the difficult early years Mel spent within the Traveller community, of her estrangement from that way of life and ultimately from her family. How she and Joel created a home and family of their own and built up a successful business before it all fell apart and she was left to bring up her children alone. I recount what happened with Gabe in Birmingham and Mel’s admission of her and her boys’ involvement in the drug trade.
‘I’ve achieved what I set out to do; I’ve found out what happened to Tyler,’ I say. ‘But it’s gone beyond that. I’ve got myself into a mess, because now I know too much, and this leaves me exposed. I have to believe Mel and take her at her word. If she hands over her line to the gang, it will mean she and Gabe will be safe, and if I don’t go to the police with any further information, she has said they will leave me and my family alone too. It’s just…’
‘It’s just that your conscience is telling you that you should inform the police so that these vile pedlars of misery can be taken off the streets. That’s the crux of it. Am I right?’
In A Deep Dark Wood: A psychological thriller Page 17