The Three Women

by Valerie Keogh

  The stack of A4 pages were put on the counter beside the tubes of glue. ‘And here are the original press cuttings,’ the assistant said, putting them on top of the stack. ‘That’ll be one hundred and eight pounds and twenty-eight p.’ And then, perhaps because he’d had time to consider, he asked, ‘Are you okay?’

  If she told him what she’d done, this young man whose life lay ahead of him full of rosy hope and exciting promise, would his concern turn to abhorrence, disgust, fear? ‘Thank you, I will be,’ she said, handing over her credit card to pay.

  ‘Have you a bag?’ he asked, waiting until she whispered no before reaching under the counter to pull out a battered cardboard box. ‘This should do,’ he said. He slipped the copies into it, folded the top down and pushed it across the counter.

  She took hold, held it against her chest, gave him a nod of thanks and left without another word.

  Back home in the small bedroom, she’d started straight away. The glue came with a roller-ball applicator and was easy to use. She rolled it over the back of an A4 page and placed it on the wall, beginning in one corner, placing each neatly beside the other. When tears blinded her she stopped, but only for long enough to dry her eyes on the sleeve of the cream silk blouse that was now streaked with multicoloured stains. When exhaustion overtook her, she’d curled up on the floor, but she couldn’t sleep and, minutes later, got up and started again, her fingers trembling as they worked.

  The ceiling and the upper part of the ten-foot high walls had been the most difficult to do. She stood on a bedroom chair, but still couldn’t reach. Of course, she didn’t have a ladder and cursed herself for this oversight, wondering if she should go and try to source one. But she was so tired, any delay was unacceptable. In desperation, she’d dragged a low table up the stairs from the lounge and placed the chair on top of that, climbing up awkwardly, balancing precariously as she applied a couple of sheets, getting down to move the chair slightly and go through it all again. Twice she’d fallen, lying shaken on the floor, until she was sure she could move and then climbed back up. It was a slow, painful process, but she knew she had to finish it before she could carry out the second part of her plan.

  Beth’s visit had interrupted her work. Joanne was still amazed she’d managed to fool a woman who was usually wise to every ruse. Once again, she wondered what was troubling her friend before brushing thoughts of her aside. She needed to get on. There was still half of one wall to do, another couple of hours should do it. She picked up the next photocopy, applied glue to the back and, carefully making sure there were no gaps, stuck it to the wall.

  She’d planned to finish it that night, but it was taking longer than she’d expected. Probably because, every now and then, she would pause and stand, staring. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing: minutes, hours? She hadn’t eaten or drunk since Friday and it was having an effect; every time she bent down and stood up, she felt dizzy. But there was no point in eating or drinking. After all, she wasn’t going to die of starvation or thirst.

  Her head had started to ache early that morning and Beth’s stress-inducing visit hadn’t helped. Now, it wasn’t so much an ache as a hideous pounding as if her head was going to explode. It made every task, every movement difficult.

  Looking around the almost-finished room, she felt the hundreds of eyes on her, condemning, judging. Eyes that looked at her and asked why? Soon, she wouldn’t have to look at them, wouldn’t have to suffer the excruciating guilt that was corroding her. A small section of the wall was still to be done but her hands were trembling so much there was more glue on them than on the paper. Scrunching up a ruined sheet, she threw it to one side with a sob of distress. She’d have a rest and start again when she was able.

  But first, before she closed her eyes, she needed to prepare for the final step. Holding tightly to the banisters, she headed down to the kitchen.

  It took her a few minutes to choose the right knife; she needed it to be sharp enough to cut through skin and muscle. She wasn’t a masochist; it needed to be quick. Unable to decide, she took two from the drawer, headed back upstairs, and laid them together on the table she’d pushed to the side.

  With the eyes in every photocopy staring at her, she curled up in the middle of the floor, her cheek resting on her joined hands. Exhausted, her head still pounding, she shut her eyes.

  Soon, it would be over.

  23

  Beth was annoyed. She’d listened to Megan and come on this stupid waste-of-time journey. Okay, Joanne looked a mess but maybe that was the way she liked to be when she was in the comfort of her own home. Maybe that’s why she never invited them to stay. Beth brushed away the niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right and concentrated on the road back to London and her own problems.

  The drive back, despite steadily moving traffic, seemed interminable, and she was in a foul mood by the time she reached the city. The continuous chirping of her phone telling her she had a message didn’t help. She’d checked the first time, the vague hope still lingering that it might be Graham. Instead, every single time, it was Megan. After the fourth message, Beth grabbed her phone, pressed the off button and tried to relax. But that was a fool’s game, there were too many thoughts spinning in her head.

  Home held no promise of comfort either. The light was fading, night would have fallen before she got there and, despite the timer she’d attached to one of the lamps, the house would be cold, unwelcoming and very, very quiet. Home, it didn’t seem to merit that word anymore.

  Almost without thinking, she indicated to take the turn for Megan’s apartment. Maybe talking to her would take her mind off her problems. At least she could tackle her about the stupid mission she’d sent her on.

  She knew the code to the apartment block’s underground parking. There weren’t designated visitor spaces available, usually she left her small car directly behind Megan’s and Trudy’s and, so far, there’d been no complaint. Today, however, she was surprised to see Trudy’s space empty, an unusual enough occurrence to make Beth frown. She’d often wondered why the woman kept a car as she never seemed to use it. Apparently there was an exception to everything.

  A different code was required to access the lift that would take Beth to the top floor. To her annoyance, she couldn’t remember it and spent fruitless minutes trying various combinations before, softly swearing under her breath, she took out her phone and switched it on. ‘It’s me. I’m in your garage. What’s the code? I can’t remember it.’ Beth had to wait until Megan had gushed out words of relief at hearing from her before she gave her the code. ‘Four, five, three, two, of course, okay, I’ll see you in a sec.’ She pocketed her phone, pressed the numbers and waited for the door to open.

  Megan was waiting in the doorway of her apartment when she stepped out of the lift. Although she was dressed immaculately in a fitted black skirt and loose grey jumper, she didn’t look well. She was too pale and her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been weeping all day. Beth regretted she hadn’t gone straight home; she could have drowned her sorrows in the rest of the whiskey. Now it looked as if she’d have to listen to Megan’s continued attempts to justify her actions in Capel-le-Ferne.

  Stepping out of the lift, the doors immediately slid closed behind Beth, giving her no choice but to move forward and walk across the hall to her friend. ‘You look like shit, Megan, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ Beth said, her eyes narrowing at her friend’s obvious distress.

  Suddenly, the absent car made sense and she groaned. ‘Oh, no!’ Reaching out a hand, she grabbed her arm. ‘Not you and Trudy?’

  Megan snuffled and put her hand over Beth’s for a moment before stepping back and waving her in. ‘I’m afraid so. I didn’t want to tell you when I found out about you and Graham splitting. I thought you had enough on your plate.’

  ‘But why? What happened?’ Beth said, watching as Megan vanished into the kitchen, returning moments later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.


  ‘Sit,’ Megan said, opening the wine.

  Beth sat on the sofa and took the glass that was handed to her, raising an eyebrow as her friend downed half a glass in one gulp. ‘Steady on, you’ll make yourself sick. Sit down, tell me what happened.’

  Megan sat, fiddled with the stem of the glass, and took another mouthful of wine. ‘Trudy said she couldn’t forgive my deception, that she no longer trusted me, couldn’t see that we had any future.’ Megan gave Beth a wry smile. ‘She’s given me till Friday to move out.’

  Beth opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again. It was thanks to her drunken prattling that Trudy had found out about that stupid lie in the first place. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, feeling as if everything she thought she knew and could trust in her world was falling apart. Trudy and Megan, they’d been solid. ‘Maybe she just needs time?’ Beth tried to read her friend’s expression. What she saw there didn’t look too hopeful.

  Megan shook her head and gave a sad laugh. ‘I only told her the truth about what I’d done because she’d been going on about how pure and honest our relationship was. I didn’t want to marry her with that lie on my conscience. I thought being honest was best, but what was it you said about honesty, Beth, that it was a dangerous blade to wave about? How right you were.’ The sob sounded as if it came from Megan’s broken heart.

  Beth put her glass down, took the one from Megan’s hand and pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly while she sobbed uncontrollably. Beth guessed she should be trotting out the old faithful platitudes, the lie that it would all be okay, that she was better off without her, that there were plenty more people out there to love. The lies she’d been telling herself since Graham left. Lies. It wouldn’t ever be okay, neither of them was better off without the one they loved and she knew, for Megan as much as for her, there was nobody else out there.

  Soon both were sobbing, a deep heart-broken sound that echoed around the apartment.

  They were exhausted by the time the crying stopped. Arms still wrapped around each other, they rested back against the sofa without a word and stayed there for a long time, each deep in thought of what they had lost.

  ‘Where are you going to go?’ Beth asked finally, pulling away and reaching into her pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes and nose.

  Megan, snuffling, shook her head. ‘I don’t know, I’ll have to find somewhere to rent, I suppose. Trudy was quite clear; Friday at the latest.’

  ‘You’re welcome to move in with me, if it would help,’ Beth said with a quick grin. ‘I know it’ll be a huge comedown from this.’ She waved her hand around at the spacious elegant room with the stunning city views. ‘But it will allow you to take your time and find something decent rather than grabbing the first place you see.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Megan said, sounding genuinely grateful.

  ‘The offer is there, if you need it.’ Beth reached for her glass. She had never given any thought to their living arrangements. If she had, she’d have assumed the apartment belonged to both of them. ‘You never contributed to the mortgage?’ she asked quietly.

  Megan shook her head and picked up her glass. ‘Trudy bought the apartment just before we met. She’d won a very prestigious architect’s award where the first prize was a large amount of cash that she used as a deposit. The award also led to some very lucrative jobs and, sensibly, she paid money off the mortgage each time.’ Megan sighed. ‘When I moved in, I did suggest that I pay towards it, but she said no and that was that. She continued to pay off the mortgage with any spare cash. Meanwhile, we used my money for holidays, nights out etc.’ Megan’s laugh was sardonic. ‘What a fool I was, eh?’

  ‘Couldn’t you argue that since your contribution to the lifestyle you both enjoyed allowed her to reduce the mortgage, that you were, in effect, paying some of it?’

  ‘I was the one who liked the nice holidays, the five-star hotels, the fine dining. Trudy could get any number of people to say she’d have been just as happy with a weekend in Margate.’ Megan shrugged. ‘It’s true actually, she wasn’t wild about travelling but came with me to keep me happy. It never entered my head to worry about the future. I thought that was sorted.’

  Beth was mentally congratulating herself that at least her home was secure when the crashing truth hit her. Secure? Yes, she could just about pay the mortgage single-handed but that depended on her police salary. What would happen if she lost her job? Worse, if she ended up in prison? Despite the gloomy look on her Fed rep’s face, she didn’t think that would happen. So, okay, she could afford to pay the mortgage, but what she hadn’t considered was that Graham might want his share of the house. Might? Of course he would. He’d meet someone else, want to start a life with them. The thought made her stomach heave.

  What was she going to do? They’d paid over three hundred thousand for the house but prices had risen, she guessed the market price now would be nearer six. She’d no savings, and no bank in its right mind would allow her to borrow what she’d need. There would be no option but to sell, pay off their joint mortgage, and divide the profit. All she could hope to get for the money she’d have, was a small one-bedded flat much further from the station. She’d have to hope that Graham gave her time to get everything sorted.

  She finished her wine, holding her hand over the glass when Megan gestured to the bottle. ‘No thanks, I really can’t afford another hangover. I’d quite like some coffee but don’t get up,’ Beth hurried to say as her friend stirred. ‘I can get it myself. Would you like one?’

  ‘No, I think I’ll stick to the wine, thanks.’

  Beth watched Megan as she waited for the kettle to boil. She’d soon discover the oblivion wine gave didn’t last, she thought, spooning coffee into a mug. She carried it to the window to stare out over the twinkling city lights. They looked so cheery, so full of promise. It was all a lie, a deception. In the morning, they’d fade and be gone like her dwindling hope that Graham would come home. She turned back to look at Megan slouched on the sofa, her glass held in her two hands, eyes unfocused.

  ‘I hadn’t planned to call in, you know,’ she said as she pulled a small leather chair over and sat facing her. ‘I’d gone down to check on Joanne, as I’d promised.’

  Megan’s blank staring eyes blinked as if to bring herself back from wherever she’d drifted. ‘Sorry,’ she said, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘I saw Joanne,’ Beth said more bluntly. Despite her woes, Megan had sent her on that waste-of-time journey to Tunbridge Wells.

  ‘Oh yes, Joanne.’ Megan’s expression continued blank and distant for a moment before she set down the wine and straightened herself in the seat. ‘Is she all right? She sounded so odd on the phone and there was that thing about her having a secret… It all sounded so unlike her.’

  ‘I think you just caught her at a bad time,’ Beth said, repeating what Joanne had said to her. ‘You must have misunderstood. It was your secret she said she was referring to.’

  Megan frowned and then, slowly, shook her head. ‘No… no, it wasn’t. That wasn’t what she said.’

  Beth ran a hand over her head. A headache was brewing; migraine, she could feel the soft throb that she knew would build to a crescendo and leave her crippled. It would be best to get home before it got worse. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it. Listen, I’d better head off.’

  ‘No wait,’ Megan said hurriedly, ‘I can prove it.’ Getting to her feet, she headed to the kitchen, returning seconds later with her mobile phone in her hand, frowning as she looked at it. ‘I only have one phone for both work and personal use. It’s important for me to have a record of my business calls.’

  Beth watched her and waited.

  ‘So many people swear they said x whereas they actually said y so I’ve always recorded my calls for security. I tell people that when they ring.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s surprising how many people hang up, you know. Anyway, I keep the business ones and delete the personal ones.’ She tapped a key
. ‘I haven’t had a chance to delete Joanne’s call as yet so you can hear exactly what she said, listen.’

  Seconds later, the room filled with Joanne’s voice, sounding as Beth had never heard it before, eerily empty and cold. It was a voice that answered questions in a dead monotone. Finally, barely audible, she said, It’s not your secret I can’t live with, Megan, it’s mine. And then she hung up.

  In the silence that followed, they stared at each other. Megan had been right, there was something wrong here. There’d been something so profoundly unnerving about the way Joanne spoke. Thinking back to her visit that morning, Beth knew she’d ignored the blatant hints because she hadn’t wanted to see them. Hadn’t wanted more heartache. She’d visited, wasn’t that enough? Now, she knew it wasn’t. A good friend, one who wasn’t wrapped up in her own problems, would have seen through Joanne’s patent attempt to appear perfectly normal, and refused to leave until she had told her what was really going on. There was only one thing to do.

  Only one thing she could do. She had to go back.

  24

  Megan insisted they wait until morning. ‘You’ve had a glass of wine and you look wretched, Beth. Sleep for a few hours and we’ll head down together.’ It took a lot of persuading but eventually she managed to coax her to stay and take the spare bedroom. ‘I can lend you pyjamas, if you’d like, and there’s spare toothbrushes and moisturiser etc. in the bathroom cabinet. Trudy liked to be prepared for unexpected visitors.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Beth said, standing up and stretching tiredly. ‘I think, I’ll take you up on it. To be honest, it beats going home to an empty house. I’ll say yes to the toothbrush but no to the pjs.’