They hadn’t heard Megan leave.
Oh, dear God, maybe she hadn’t?
Beth glanced down the stairs and opened her mouth to yell for Joanne to come up, but she shut it again. Joanne had been through enough. It would be better to confront whatever nightmare waited inside alone. She put her hand on the door, and held her ear to it. There was no sound. Was Megan lying in there, dead? Or dying?
Beth had seen dead people. After the first, the gaping jaws and wide clouded eyes hadn’t really bothered her. But Megan was a friend, she’d known her forever. Grabbing the handle, Beth took a deep breath and flung the door open, braced to see whatever it was that waited for her on the other side. In her desperation, she opened with too much vigour, the door bouncing off the wall and almost shutting again. She reached a hand out and pushed it open, squinting to see into the dimly lit room, a sob escaping when she realised she’d been wrong. The room was empty, one bloodstained knife lying where Joanne had dropped it, the other still on the low table.
Beth stood in the doorway, her eyes running over the bloodstained carpet, the vicious knives and the terrifying decoupage. Megan was safe, but with sad certainty she knew Joanne would try again. Next time, she wouldn’t use a knife and she’d probably succeed. Beth wasn’t sure there was anything she could do to prevent it. She’d started to shut the door when something caught her eye. It puzzled her for a second, and she moved, one slow step after another until she was in front of it.
Her eyes searched the room, and came back to the same spot. A gap in the decoupage, just one. Had Joanne missed a spot? Peering closer, Beth saw a faint trace of glue. No, she realised, it hadn’t been missed, a copy of the news article had been removed.
Beth was unsure what to make of it. She hadn’t done it; she was sure Joanne hadn’t. That left Megan. They’d been hard on her the day before. Beth had seen the distress in her eyes. And if losing Trudy hurt even half as much as losing Graham, Megan had already been in a lot of pain. Why on earth would she want a copy?
32
Feeling suddenly chilled, Beth spun around. Matt Peters, forever twenty-eight, forever with that inane smile, stared at her from every article. If she had her way, she’d tear them all off, not just the one. She turned back to the gap. It hadn’t been torn off, she realised, it had been peeled away carefully. She was still trying to understand this turn of events when she returned to her seat in the kitchen. Picking up her coffee, she sipped it, putting it down again when she realised it was cold.
‘She’s gone?’ Joanne reached over and took Beth’s mug. Dumping it in the sink, she flicked on the kettle, took two clean mugs and made fresh coffee when the kettle boiled.
Beth was still worrying over what she’d seen. She took the coffee but put it down without drinking. ‘There’s a gap in your decoupage,’ she said slowly, her head still trying to figure out why Megan would want to do such a thing.
‘In my what?’ Joanne spluttered her coffee.
‘Decoupage… your artistry with those articles on Matt Peters. What would you call it?’
Joanne wiped away the spots of coffee that had sprayed onto the counter with the flat of her hand. ‘I wasn’t thinking of any particular decorative effect when I did it.’
‘Why did you do it?’ Beth asked. It had been something she’d wanted to ask the previous day but it hadn’t seemed appropriate. Now, she was curious, it had been a strange and beyond weird thing to do.
Giving a soft laugh, Joanne traced the line of cuts on her arm with a fingertip. ‘I’d planned for it to be a place to face my day of reckoning. Does that make sense?’
Strangely enough, it did. ‘But, on the day of reckoning,’ Beth said, ‘it’s God who is supposed to judge everyone’s actions and send them either to heaven or hell, Joanne. You’re not supposed to judge yourself, especially not so harshly.’
‘It felt right,’ she said, her expression set. She waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Never mind that now. What do you mean, there’s a gap?’
Beth would have preferred to continue the conversation about Joanne’s suicide attempt, to try to discourage her from another, but she could see from her shuttered eyes that she was wasting her time. She wasn’t giving up though, she’d try again later. ‘One of the copies has been peeled off. Very carefully too.’
It was Joanne’s turn to frown. ‘It wasn’t me and it obviously wasn’t you so it had to have been Megan. What a strange thing to do! She hardly wants a reminder of him.’
‘Hardly.’ Beth stood abruptly and left the room, returning moments later with her mobile. Tapping into her list of contacts, she found Megan’s number and rang. It went straight to voicemail. ‘Hi, it’s Beth, ring me when you have a minute, okay?’
She cut the connection, put the phone down and immediately picked it up again, searching for another number. ‘She’s probably in court,’ Beth said, ‘admin will know. I have a good rapport with one of the secretaries, she’ll tell me.’
It took a few minutes of waiting before Beth was able to speak to that particular secretary. ‘Sara, hi, it’s Beth Anderson, Megan Reece’s friend. I was trying to contact her and wondered if you’d be able to tell me when she’ll be free.’
Beth listened for a moment. ‘Okay, thanks, Sara. I don’t know what’s happened. When I find out, I’ll get her to ring you.’ She hung up and met Joanne’s questioning look. ‘She never turned up. Never rang. Sara said they’re steaming.’
‘How strange! She said she was going.’ Joanne tilted her head. ‘Didn’t she? There was so much talked about yesterday that it’s not all straight in my head.’
Beth tried to remember exactly what Megan had said. She couldn’t remember the words; she could only remember her look of utter desolation. ‘What exactly do the articles say?’ Beth had only looked at Matt’s picture and read the headings, not the details.
Instead of answering, Joanne stood and crossed to a bureau. Opening the top drawer, she took out a sheaf of papers. ‘I wasn’t sure how many I’d need,’ she said, sitting and putting the bundle on the table. Matt Peters’ smiling face looked up at them.
‘I’m glad you didn’t do the rest of the house,’ Beth said, reaching to take the first sheet. ‘It would have been even more creepy than what you did do.’ She shot Joanne a quizzical look. ‘What’s with all the white anyway? If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s also a little weird.’
Joanne blinked. ‘Weird? I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t really thought of it that way.’ She picked up her coffee and sipped a little. ‘When I bought the house, almost ten years ago, it was in bad decorative repair. I spent a lot of time and money getting it the way I wanted it.’
Beth watched as her expression grew sad and solemn. Joanne had always looked as though she hadn’t a care in the world, always beautifully dressed and her make-up expertly applied. Perhaps now Beth understood why. Her appearance, her clothes, they were the uniform of her career choice, and her carefree manner was a polite façade. How well had Beth ever known her?
‘It wasn’t originally my intention to have everything white,’ Joanne explained, ‘but every time I had to choose something – paint, furniture, carpet – it seemed to be what I came away with.’ She closed her eyes a moment and when she opened them there was a wealth of sadness in them that Beth had never seen before. She was sorry she’d asked. There was enough sorrow, she didn’t really want to hear more.
But Joanne wasn’t finished. ‘I’ve never really acknowledged the truth, that my home is a direct contrast to the seediness of the lifestyle I chose.’ She met Beth’s eyes. ‘Yes, seedy. I’m a prostitute, not a fool!’
Beth held her hands up defensively. ‘I never thought you were. And anyway, I don’t consider what you do seedy, as such.’ She pointed to the robe Joanne wore. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that’s silk.’
The hand that ran down Joanne’s arm was shaking slightly. ‘Things aren’t so bad now,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘I see mostly regulars these days, but in the beginning when I
was filled with loathing for men because of the way I thought Megan and Matt Peters’ wife had been treated, I charged them a fortune and let them do what they wanted with me.’
Joanne lifted one beautifully manicured hand and waved it round the room. ‘How do you think I was able to afford this?’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘Do you know, I really thought, by making men pay, I was getting revenge for all the women who’d ever been abused and mistreated. When I think back on some of the things I did…’ She gulped and shook her head. ‘It makes me feel ill.’
Beth had visited enough women in the sexual offences unit to know the depths of depravity that men, and sometimes women, could stoop to. They may have paid Joanne well, but Beth didn’t think her friend had got the best of the bargain. With each payment for services rendered, she’d have lost part of herself and it would have left its mark on her soul. Reaching out, Beth put a hand on her arm and could feel her tremble. ‘It’s not too late.’ She wished she were able to put more reassurance into the words but it was hard when she didn’t really believe them.
Joanne raised one eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’ She put her hand over Beth’s. ‘You know as well as I do, that it’s way too late. For me,’ she narrowed her eyes, ‘probably for you too. From what Megan said, it looks like your career is over.’
Beth felt the warmth of Joanne’s hand. She was probably right, on all accounts. ‘I wonder if Megan felt the same.’ The article was still in Beth’s other hand, she lifted it, squinted slightly and read it. ‘His wife said he walked along the coastal path most evenings. Her guess is that he slipped.’
‘You don’t believe that for a second,’ Joanne said. ‘The path is set a good bit back from the edge. He’d have had no reason to get that close unless he wanted to jump. I remember his wife’s face, Beth, it was a picture of betrayal, she wouldn’t have been able to hide that from him, even if she’d wanted to.’
Joanne waved the article. ‘He was reported missing the next day and his body washed ashore some miles away a few weeks later. Whatever happened to him, she was wise to stick to her story that he fell because suicide cancels most insurance policies.’
‘All these years she’s spent hating him.’ Joanne’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I often wondered what she’d told their children.’
Beth threw the article back on top of the pile. ‘It can’t have been easy for her. The children were only young. She had to cope with their grief but her own would have been tempered by what she thought he’d done.’ Beth’s eyes widened as an idea struck her. ‘Would that be where Megan has gone? To his wife? To tell her the truth and try to make amends, to apologise for her part in what happened?’
Joanne pulled her hand away and met Beth’s gaze. ‘I suppose it’s possible, but she doesn’t have to tell her, by now she already knows.’
33
Joanne saw Beth’s look of shocked surprise and laughed, quickly slipping into hysteria. Joanne wasn’t surprised. Ever since Megan’s confession, she’d felt herself fraying at the edges. She’d probably have continued laughing for a long time if Beth hadn’t stood and slapped her, hard. The blow staggered her but had the desired effect. Joanne sobbed once and fell silent.
After a moment, where neither of them moved, she rubbed her cheek. ‘Thank you, although you might have pulled your punch.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Beth said, sitting back in her seat, ‘I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t handle a hysterical woman on top of everything else. Now, tell me, what did you mean about the wife already knowing?’
Joanne dropped her hands onto the table, wrapped her fingers around the mug of coffee, and took some comfort from the slight warmth. ‘I wrote to her, when I’d decided to… you know…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I decided that the last thing I had to do was to tell her the truth. She deserved to know even after all these years. More importantly, her children deserved to know the truth about their father. So, I wrote a letter explaining exactly what happened that night.’
Colour drained from Beth’s face. ‘You told her everything?’
‘I owed it to her.’ Joanne was startled when Beth stood abruptly and with her hands curled into fists, moved away to stare out the window.
There was nothing in the backyard to hold Beth’s interest yet she continued to stare, her hands clenched, her back rigid. They’d been friends for a long time. But Joanne wondered how much she really knew about Beth and gave a rueful smile – about as much as Beth knew about her. They’d been friends, but not, Joanne realised, confidants. They’d enjoyed each other’s company, laughed and drank together but she didn’t remember ever sitting down and having a heart-to-heart with either Beth or Megan. They’d all had secrets; it made deeper friendship impossible. ‘You okay?’ Joanne asked quietly.
‘You posted it to her. When?’ Beth asked without turning around.
Did it really matter? Joanne tightened the belt of her robe that had worked its way loose. ‘Posted it? Of course, I didn’t post it,’ she admitted, raising an eyebrow when Beth turned immediately with a look of relief.
‘Good,’ she said, coming back and taking her seat again.
Joanne shook her head. ‘No, you don’t understand, who posts things anymore? I know I said letter, of course, I meant an email but I didn’t send it to her.’ She hesitated, her eyes fixed on Beth’s suddenly alert face. ‘I emailed it to the local newspaper, the same one that printed that article twenty years ago. I guessed they’d know how to contact her and I asked them to see she got it.’ Joanne tilted her head, puzzled at the look of defeat in Beth’s eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said quickly, ‘I didn’t name names, just what happened that night and how very sorry we were.’
Beth’s laugh was hard and cynical. ‘You didn’t name names! Are you serious? You’ve given the damn newspaper probably the biggest story they’ve had in years, maybe ever! They’ll spread it across their paper, it might even be picked up by the nationals. Matt Peters was a local man, people will want to help and they’ll think back, and remember. Somebody always remembers. The newspaper will contact the police, who will have no problem tracing the email you sent back to your computer, Jo, and it won’t take them long to find out all the details. Twenty years isn’t long enough.’ She looked away and mumbled, ‘Not nearly long enough.’
Tense moments followed before she turned back to Joanne. ‘Megan knew you sent the email to the paper?’
Joanne slowly nodded. ‘You’d run from the room. Megan was apologising yet again and I couldn’t help myself, I blurted it out. She looked sick with guilt, Beth, and I was glad because if it hadn’t been for her stupid deceit, my life would have run a different course. I wanted to hurt her,’ Joanne said, meeting Beth’s worried eyes.
‘I think you probably succeeded,’ Beth said. ‘Why?’
‘That’s a stupid question!’ Joanne stood and tossed her uncombed tangled hair back. ‘You know why! If she hadn’t deceived us, our lives might have been different. Megan should feel guilty, she should be hurting.’ Joanne watched Beth’s expression harden and turned from the derision in her eyes. But she couldn’t escape the truth that was hurtling her way.
‘You could have stopped her that night,’ Beth said quietly. ‘You saw her leave; I know you did.’ The words fell into the silence and seemed to echo around the room.
Joanne spun round. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ But she couldn’t meet Beth’s eyes, because of course she knew, she just didn’t want to admit it. The can of worms was open and everything was wriggling free and escaping.
‘You lied that night,’ Beth went on, ‘when you said you didn’t know where she was. I heard the lie, saw it in your eyes. And you pretended to look for her in the Ladies while I was asking the bar staff if they’d seen her, but I kept my eye on you, Joanne. You never went inside. You didn’t need to because you already knew she’d gone.’ Beth flung her arms in the air. ‘Layers and layers of lies.’ She began pacing. ‘We’re all at fault. It’s time to stop pointing the finger at each oth
er because we’re equally guilty.’
And so, it was out. The lie that had been eating away at Joanne ever since Megan had told them the truth about what had happened. The lie Joanne had barely admitted even to herself. She’d seen Megan talking to the stranger that night, saw her picking up her coat and bag, getting ready to leave. Joanne had quickly averted her eyes when Megan had looked her way, she didn’t want to be responsible for her, didn’t want to have to tell her to wait for them. She could be an absolute drag, at times, and with her gone, it meant that Joanne and Beth could walk home together. Just the two of them, and they could talk about boys and sex and girly stuff without feeling the weight of Megan’s dislike for such conversations.
The stranger hadn’t looked threatening. In fact, he looked a little bored. She’d turned away, ignoring the little voice that told her she should be looking out for her friend, that she shouldn’t let her leave with a strange man. But she was selfish and hadn’t wanted to spoil her own night. That was the guilt that had haunted her day and night. Even Megan’s confession didn’t alter the facts. If Joanne had been a good friend, if she’d stopped her leaving with that man, the whole deception would never have occurred.
Joanne looked at Beth, her shoulders slumped with the weight of guilt and grief. ‘Yes, I knew,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘So, you were wrong. It wasn’t Megan’s action that set off a chain of events, it was that one action… or lack of… that did it. I’m responsible for everything that happened.’ Joanne held her hand up when Beth tried to interrupt. ‘No, it’s all out now. I was so cruel to Megan because I wanted to blame her for everything, for the choices you and I had both made, when deep down I knew…’
The Three Women Page 20