His voice seemed to be far off in the distance, not coming from right beside her. She assumed he was speaking with Brian, but she couldn’t make out the words he was saying – it was as if he was talking with cotton wool in his mouth, the words muffled and incoherent. Louisa felt as though she’d been sat on the driveway for hours. Time had stood still.
Once the officer had stopped talking, he handed the mobile back to her. She took it from him and asked about what would happen next. The coroner’s officers were at the scene, he said, and Tiff would be taken to the hospital morgue to await a post-mortem. Once the police had carried out their investigations and the coroner his, if the cause of death was confirmed as accidental, the death would be registered. Although the officer’s words mingled in Louisa’s head, she did get the impression his initial considerations of the scene, together with Louisa’s statement and the paramedic’s observations, hadn’t indicated that Tiff’s death was suspicious. However, they couldn’t know for sure yet.
‘Lou!’ Brian’s voice penetrated her bubble. ‘Darling, are you okay?’ She felt his hands on her shoulders, then his arms were around her, pulling her upwards.
‘Tiff’s dead.’
‘I know, I know. I can’t believe it; the police told me on the phone. Where’s the baby?’
Louisa turned and pointed to the side of Tiff’s Audi where Noah’s pram had been parked since she’d called the ambulance. Brian steadied her against the fence, then left her side and she watched as he wheeled Noah’s pram out of the open gate. A few moments later he came back for Louisa. A few words were exchanged between him and the police officer, then she was inside the warm car, her teeth chattering together noisily.
‘We need to warm you up.’ Brian drove past the church and then took the left-hand fork in the road to go down through the middle of the village. For a Saturday it was remarkably quiet. There hadn’t even been a gathering outside Tiff’s house, and given that there were police cars, crime scene tape and an ambulance, Louisa was surprised. But even if there’d been a crowd gawping, she wouldn’t have been aware of it.
All she was aware of at this moment was that she’d let her best friend down. Not only that, but she’d allowed her to die before she’d apologised.
Something else she was now going to have to live with.
With one of Noah’s large cot blankets draped over her, Louisa sat, legs tucked beneath her, in the corner of the sofa. She’d been grateful for the hot tea Brian made as soon as they returned home from Tiff’s and, finally, she was beginning to feel warmth radiating from her insides to her skin. After he’d given her the tea and placed the blanket around her shoulders, Brian had left the lounge and gone upstairs. Louisa checked her mobile for the time. He’d been up there for almost an hour. Her heart pounded, her upper body pulsing along with it, its rhythm – steady, but fast. She not only felt it, she could hear it inside her head as well.
Like a ticking bomb.
Brian obviously wanted to be alone. Louisa wondered what inner battle he was having right now. Was he grieving her loss? What exactly had he lost – a friend? A lover?
Another sob burst from her. She shouldn’t even be thinking that. Why was she still assuming her husband and best friend were up to no good? Had been up to no good.
Noah began crying. Louisa sank further down on the sofa, laying her head on the arm. She was so tired. Emily would respond to Noah’s cries, take over for a bit. Louisa was in no fit state.
She closed her eyes, trying to replace the images of blood, blonde hair soaked red, pale skin and a lifeless body, by screwing them up tight, causing blackness to take over, then colours and patterns to swim behind her lids. She used to press hard on her closed eyes when she was a child, enjoying the kaleidoscope effect it had. Now though, she knew it wouldn’t last – that the hideous images would return and would never leave her.
The last image she’d seen of her best friend would haunt her almost as much as their last conversation.
39
THE GATHERING
Sunday p.m. – Day 16 post-party
As they all stood in the kitchen, Louisa couldn’t help but think of Tiff in hers, of what the paramedic had said about it being one of the rooms in the house where an accident was most likely to occur. She’d been told that the other was the bathroom. It was obvious, really.
Louisa eyed Oliver as he spoke about his shock to hear that Tiff had died. Brian had insisted on informing him, despite Louisa arguing against it. ‘It’s nothing to do with him, Brian; he hardly knows her.’
Brian had countered that with: ‘He’s our friend, and what affects us, affects him.’ Louisa had laughed, much to his apparent annoyance. He had at least given her a day – waiting to tell Oliver until a few hours ago, but it had clearly been a difficult decision – now they were best buddies, Brian felt compelled to share the devastating news with him.
After Brian’s call, Oliver had immediately rushed over to the house to give his support. He was currently feigning shock and disbelief, and Louisa watched as Oliver’s right eye flickered, like a twitch was pulling at the corner. While she couldn’t quite let go of her suspicion he’d had something to do with Tiff’s death, she also had to consider that he wasn’t pretending – after all, he’d already suffered one major shock and although he’d not admitted it, he had also been spending time with Tiff.
So had Brian.
She turned her attention to her husband. His face was drawn, his mouth turned down to such an extent it seemed like it’d slipped further down his face and was closer to his chin. He really was upset. He stared off into the distance, out the back window and into the garden. Quiet contemplation. She wished she could tap directly into his thoughts.
‘Have you put anything on Facebook, Mum?’ Emily’s voice sliced through the atmosphere in the kitchen like a knife through butter. Louisa jumped at the sudden sound breaking the silence.
‘Er … yes. I posted on her timeline. Not until I knew her family had been informed, obviously. I waited for the go-ahead from the police first, too. I just wrote something brief as I didn’t want to go into detail, then added a lovely picture, the one of her at the school fete last year being given flowers by the kids. It was one of her favourite pictures of herself.’ Her voice caught, tears pricking at her eyes. ‘People are commenting with their memories of her. There are hundreds already.’
‘She was so popular, always had been,’ Brian mumbled, his attention remaining outside. He’d said it like he’d known her all her life, rather than for the past eight years through Louisa. She bristled. She was the one who was going to miss her most – she was the one who’d lost her only real friend. She hated fake mourners.
‘I’m going upstairs for a lie-down. Excuse me.’ Louisa pushed away from where she was leaning against the worktop and brushed past Oliver as she headed for the door. A hand reached out and grabbed her upper arm.
‘If you need me, don’t hesitate to call. I know what you’re going through,’ he said.
Louisa shot Brian a glance. He was oblivious, still staring blankly out of the window. But Emily was glaring right at Oliver.
‘I’ll be okay. Thanks.’ Louisa snatched her arm from his grip and walked out. Before she went into the bedroom, she paused on the stairs. She could hear voices, speaking in hushed tones, Oliver and Brian in full conversation now she’d left the room.
She wondered what they were talking about. Hopefully Emily would relay the details to her later. In the meantime, she sat on the bed, her phone in her hand, scrolling through the memories people had left on Tiff’s Facebook page, tears spilling down her face.
Blood, pooling.
Grass, cool and tickly beneath her feet.
‘Can I blag one of them off you?’
Icy cold.
Fear.
‘She knows.’
Louisa sat up, her hands flying to her throat as she gasped for air. She sucked in huge mouthfuls, her lungs filling, painfully tight.
She wait
ed until her heart rate stabilised, then stood up. Her head was woozy, like she’d been asleep for hours. She may well have been – the shock of finding Tiff like that had hit her hard.
Louisa turned to grab her phone, but it wasn’t on her bed. She’d had it though. She was looking at the memory page before she drifted off. She ran a hand along the underside of the bed – beneath the drawers there was little gap – but it wasn’t there. She threw up the duvet, checking under it.
‘For God’s sake, where is it?’
‘You looking for something?’
Louisa swung around at the sound of his voice.
‘What are you doing up here?’ she snapped at Oliver. He had a cheek, wandering about the house as if he lived there.
‘Brian wanted me to check on you, that’s all.’
‘Why couldn’t he check on me himself?’
A memory sparked as she said the words. At her fortieth party, when she’d supposedly gone off without telling anyone, Brian had said he hadn’t worried because Oliver had told him that he’d seen her stumbling into the accommodation block. And she’d questioned it then as she was doing now – why had Brian taken his word for it? Why hadn’t he checked on her himself?
‘He’s sorting people with some drinks.’
‘What? Sorting what people with drinks?’
‘A few people popped over. I think it’s because they know you and Tiff were such good friends and they want to pass on their condolences.’
‘Who?’ Louisa began ushering Oliver out of her bedroom, but he stopped at the top of the stairs to continue the conversation.
‘I thought I recognised a couple of them from your party, but I’ve no idea who they are really. Anyway, I’ll be off now. I don’t think you particularly want me here.’
She knew her facial expression would give away the fact that he was right. She didn’t want him in her house. But she didn’t want to outright tell him that, not now. It felt callous – and she’d experienced enough regret over the past few days to last her a while.
‘I’ve got questions to ask you, Oliver. I—’
‘Call me tomorrow,’ he said as he descended the stairs. ‘We’ll talk properly then.’ When they reached the bottom, he leant in close to her. She felt his breath on her neck as he inhaled her – then kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’re not alone. Remember that.’
She shrank back, away from his touch, and nodded without saying anything more. After letting him out the front door, she turned towards the kitchen, and the gathering that had occurred while she’d dozed.
This, she could do without.
It felt like her birthday party all over again, only with far fewer people, thankfully. Couldn’t they have waited for Tiff’s funeral though – her wake? That was the time people reminisced, passed on their condolences, not by showing up at someone’s house, imposing on them at such a difficult time.
‘I can’t believe it, Louisa. I was just saying to Brian, you never know when your time is up, do you? She had so much going for her, poor love. I can’t get my head around it – slipping on those tiles!’
‘No, Bridget, me neither.’ Was all Louisa could contribute to the conversation. She didn’t want to speak at all, let alone to the one person she knew was a busybody and would be sharing any nuggets of information gained from Louisa at the Co-op as soon as she could. Clearly Brian hadn’t informed her of the police’s initial investigation – that they’d had to look into the possibility of Tiff’s death being suspicious, otherwise she would already be embellishing the ‘slipping on those tiles’ theory.
Had Bridget been at Louisa’s party? She didn’t remember seeing her at all. Oliver had just said he recognised a few people from the party, but as far as Louisa could tell, none of the seven people currently standing in her kitchen had been there – these were all neighbours. God, that man was full of shit.
However, Arthur was there, and that seemed a more likely explanation as to why Oliver had the sudden need to rush off. Perhaps he’d clocked Arthur and was afraid that he’d be recognised from loitering in his car, and awkward questions would be asked.
Excusing herself from Bridget, Louisa sidled over to Arthur.
‘Hello, Arthur. I’m sorry, I was upstairs when you arrived, having a bit of a lie-down.’
‘Ah, my dear.’ He put his hands to Louisa’s face, tears shining in his yellowing, old eyes. ‘How are you doing?’
He was the first person to ask her that, and she responded by promptly bursting into tears. Arthur put his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, hiccupping sobs muffling in his Aran-knit jumper.
‘Let it all out, dear.’ He patted her back, just like her dad used to do to comfort her when she was little. More regret tore through her. She made a silent promise to make sure she went to see her mum and dad this week. Life was too short to have family feuds ruin what time she had left with her parents.
‘Sorry,’ Louisa said pulling away and swiping at her eyes with her jumper sleeve. ‘It’s been a long weekend.’ It’d been a long few weeks, but she refrained from telling him that.
‘Losing people close to you is devastating, and I’m afraid nothing I or anyone else tells you is going to change that. You just have to remember to let things out – don’t bottle up your feelings; that doesn’t do you any good. The hurt, the pain, it festers if you don’t let it out.’
She smiled at him, thanking him for his kind words. Then she poured herself a large glass of wine and downed it in a few, large gulps.
Pain wasn’t the only thing that could fester if you didn’t let it go.
Guilt and lies – they’d do the same.
40
THE FOOTAGE
Monday a.m. – Day 17 post-party
When Louisa had climbed into bed just after midnight, she’d been so exhausted both mentally and physically that she hoped she’d sleep regardless. But Noah had other ideas. He’d been more unsettled than ever before and Louisa’s ability to soothe him, whilst it had never seemed to be great, was particularly useless. The thoughts, the worry, the grief, all added to her own stress levels – and together with her current dark mood, it was obviously enough for Noah to pick up on.
And then there was the guilt.
That would eat through her consciousness; that would prevent her being able to come through this latest trauma the same person as before. Two weeks ago all she’d had to worry about was the difficulties that came with being an older mum, coping with endless sleepless nights. A short space of time later, she had a murder on her conscience, a missing person, and the death of her best friend – a death she was convinced she could have helped prevent. Adding to that the fact Louisa had accused Tiff of having an affair with either Brian or Oliver, and it became clear to her that so much had happened, so much had changed, the life she knew was never coming back.
It was whether she could adapt to the one she’d created that was the big question. Louisa thought she knew the answer, but it was very depressing and not really an option.
Louisa’s head was heavy, her eyes puffy. She was desperate to get back into bed, close her eyes and sink into oblivion now Noah was finally sleeping solidly. But it was nearing six o’clock and soon Brian and Emily would be up and about, banging around getting ready for work and school, so there was little point. Brian had offered to take sick leave so he could be with her over the next few days, but she’d convinced him there was no need. She’d rather just be with Noah, not have anyone there fussing over her, watching her every move.
Despite knowing the futility of it, as Louisa reached her bedroom door and noticed that Brian was already out of bed and in the shower, she went in and collapsed onto the mattress, pulling the duvet up to her neck. The gentle rhythm of the water from the shower was hypnotic; she felt herself drifting.
She woke with a start.
For a moment she was disorientated, couldn’t get a grasp on where she was, what time it was, or what was happening. The house w
as eerily silent. She must’ve slept through Brian and Emily getting ready and leaving for the day. The vision of Tiff’s motionless body, the blood on the tiles, shot into her mind. She moved to the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands over her face to try and rid herself of the images. Her stomach contracted violently, nausea clawing at her throat. Bolting to the toilet, she got there just as the bile forcibly evacuated her body. Last night’s drink burned her oesophagus as it reversed its journey.
Louisa watched herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. The woman there was unrecognisable, loathsome. She’d buried her past; put it so far to the back of her mind she’d forgotten almost everything relating to it. To protect herself and Oliver. They’d carried on their lives without thought of the consequences. Or Oliver had – she really had suffered from the trauma – her dissociative amnesia was real. What was Oliver’s excuse for why he had buried the truth for so long?
But knowing she had a condition that meant she didn’t remember the events didn’t make it right. And especially now she did know what had happened, now she had some understanding of what she’d done, to continue to blank it and attempt to put it back in its box and close the lid again, was unforgivable. The knowledge of it was going to be the biggest burden, and if they weren’t going to tell the police, then it was one she’d have to bear alone. The only person who Louisa might’ve had the guts to tell about what she’d learned about herself was now dead.
Noah was still asleep when Louisa popped her head around the nursery door. Good. She’d have some time to eat a bit of breakfast, if she could tolerate it, and peruse Facebook on her laptop. She still hadn’t found her mobile despite a frantic search when everyone had left the house yesterday evening, which meant only one thing as far as she was concerned. Someone had taken it. Her money was on Oliver. She couldn’t fathom why he’d bother taking it, unless he was afraid she’d told someone about their secret and wanted to check up on her. But even then, he could’ve just asked her outright. She’d turn the place upside down later to double-check it wasn’t in the house before accusing Oliver of theft.
The Missing Wife Page 19