‘I only went once,’ Tyler admitted with a defensive shrug. ‘I felt depressed for days afterwards. God, it was so grim.’
‘She was happy there,’ Adam said, scowling at him. ‘I made sure of that. There are fewer and fewer places available to provide assisted living.’
Tyler patted his arm. ‘I wasn’t criticising,’ he said, ‘I know you did your best. But I’m glad she spent her last months living with Ellie and Will. I’m sure she was much happier.’
Will pasted a smile in place. There was no point in telling them it wasn’t working out, that Ellie was unhappy with her twin living with her, that the day Tia died, she was heading for an assisted living bungalow in Brighton. No point at all.
The stories he could have told about her, the episode with the obstetrician, the ante-natal classes, the moment they realised she was in labour, the smile on her face when she held Bill, the times they spent playing with the child – he couldn’t share any of them. Instead, swallowing the sadness and the bitter guilt, he told them the very mildly amusing story of the first time Tia had fillet steak. ‘She was afraid to eat it because she didn’t know what it was,’ he said with a chuckle.
After that, they made light conversation and ended the lunch as soon as they could. Adam, pleading tiredness, promised to call around to see Bill in the next few days rather than going back to their house that afternoon. They all knew he was lying. He’d done his duty in memory of his old friend, but his heart had never been in it. Now that Tia was gone, and Ellie the mother of a small child, the relationship between them would continue to fade with the passing years.
Outside the restaurant, they hailed separate taxis, Ellie and Will heading home, Adam and Tyler heading elsewhere. ‘You’ll let us know if you decide to come and visit,’ Adam said, shaking Will’s hand, ‘remember there’s always a bed for you.’
Will didn’t bother reminding him that they’d already made a tentative date. He’d known it was never going to happen. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet up for lunch before you go back,’ he said.
‘Absolutely,’ Adam said, opening the taxi door, ‘we’ll be in touch.’
Ellie sat silently until they reached home. Inside the house, she turned to Will. ‘I’m going to lie down for a while. I’m so tired.’
‘Will I bring you up a cup of tea?’
She shook her head, turned and went up the stairs.
The kitchen door opened, and Mary stood with a sympathetic smile on her face. ‘The kettle’s on to make some tea,’ she said, offering the age-old panacea.
He smiled gratefully. ‘A cup of tea would be just right, thank you. I have a few phone calls to make, could you bring it into the sitting room for me?’
His laptop was where he’d left it. He pulled it out from under the sofa, switched it on and waited for it to power up. His mind drifted to Adam; he’d bet they didn’t hear from him again. It made it easier, with the secrets they had, to have as few people as possible close to them.
With a sigh of regret, he focused on his laptop and, within minutes of starting his search, had the information he wanted. And, more importantly, the phone numbers of the people to contact.
Mary arrived, carrying a tray she deposited on the table in front of him. She’d taken extra pains with it. One plate held sandwiches, neatly cut into triangles, another a selection of biscuits. She’d used a china teapot they rarely bothered using and china cups and saucers instead of mugs.
‘How kind,’ he said, genuinely touched.
A slight blush of pleasure crossed the woman’s face. ‘Is Mrs Armstrong holding up?’ she asked.
He tilted his head side to side. ‘She’s gone for a lie-down. It’s been tough for her.’
‘Of course,’ Mary said, nodding her understanding. ‘If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.’
When she’d gone, he poured tea. He didn’t want anything to eat, he seemed to have no appetite these days. But, unwilling to offend Mary, he forced himself to eat a couple of sandwiches as he wrote out the phone numbers he needed.
‘Hello,’ he said, when the first call was answered. ‘I’d like to speak to Detective Inspector Walker, please. He was involved in the investigation of a crash my wife was involved in and I have a few questions I’d like to ask him.’ If he’d expected to be put through to him he was quickly disappointed; Walker didn’t work in the divisional headquarters of the Brighton constabulary.
‘I can give you the number of the station where he works,’ he was told. Armed with the new number, he hung up and redialled.
This time it was right place but wrong day. Detective Inspector Walker, he was told, was not on duty.
‘Is he back tomorrow?’ he asked. Getting an affirmative, he hung up.
Tapping the phone against his chin, he considered whether it would be better to go there. Face-to-face conversations were often easier. Once there, he could visit the Brighton coroner’s office. He wanted to see the coroner’s report into Tia’s death.
Decision made, he looked up the addresses of Walker’s station and the coroner’s office. They weren’t too far apart. Making a note of the directions on the piece of paper, he closed the laptop, folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.
He’d taken the rest of the week off work. On Friday, he needed to take Ellie to the orthopaedic clinic to have the cast removed.
But tomorrow he was free to do some investigating.
49
He went to see if Ellie was awake. The door was partially open and, listening carefully, he could hear her gentle breathing. Back in the sitting room, he sank into the sofa, reached for the remote and switched on the television. There was a movie on, one he’d not seen before. He relaxed, let his mind go blank and watched it.
The movie was almost over before the door opened and Ellie appeared, wearing a carelessly tied robe, her hair messy. ‘Hello,’ she said, coming in and sitting beside him. She pulled her legs up, curling them under her. ‘I didn’t think I’d sleep,’ she said, smiling at him.
He reached for her and pulled her close, her head settling onto his shoulder where it belonged. ‘You needed it,’ he murmured into her hair, feeling closer to her than he had for a long time. Before Tia.
The thought had come unbidden but, once there, it wouldn’t go away. Especially as he realised he’d never asked Mary how Bill was, nor had he gone to see him. His eyes closed in the face of the wave of guilt that washed over him. Had Ellie been right? His contentment, was it because, for just a moment, he’d forgotten about him, about Mary. It was just as it used to be. Just the two of them.
Guilt had him push Ellie away. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I just remembered something.’ He stood. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Do you want anything?’
She stretched and yawned. ‘I’m feeling a little peckish. The sushi was lovely, but it wasn’t very filling.’
He smiled. Just what he’d thought. ‘How about I order a takeaway?’ he said. ‘Maybe Italian?’
‘Perfect,’ she said and reached for the remote control.
Leaving her to it, Will went next door to do what he should have done hours before. He smiled at Mary, who was stirring something in a pot, and went to peer into Bill’s cot. He was awake, his little hands reaching toward a mobile Mary had attached to the cot.
Bending, Will gently brushed his forehead. ‘Hello, Son,’ he said, and watched as the child gurgled happily and waved small chubby hands. ‘He’s looking well, Mary,’ he said.
She turned to look at him without stopping her circular stirring motion. ‘He’s a happy child,’ she said. ‘They’re easy at this age. As long as they’re well-fed and kept warm, and given a bit of love and affection, they usually do well.’
He smiled. ‘You make it sound easy.’
‘Babies aren’t complicated. That comes a lot later.’
He gave the child another glance before taking a menu from the drawer. ‘I’m going to order a takeaway, Mary. Would you like anything?
‘No, thanks,’ sh
e said, stirring faster, ‘I’ve something almost ready.’
He left her to it, ringing the Italian from the hallway.
‘It’ll be here in about fifteen minutes,’ he said to Ellie a few minutes later, setting the plates and glasses he’d gathered on the table, a cold bottle of Chardonnay wedged under his arm. Handing Ellie a wine glass, he twisted the lid and poured her a glass.
‘A toast,’ she said, raising her glass. ‘To Tia.’
Surprised, he lifted his glass and echoed her words. ‘To Tia.’ They touched glasses, the ping on contact loud in the quiet room. Before the sound had faded Ellie had reached for the remote control and turned the volume up.
She’d spread out on the sofa and didn’t move her legs to allow him sit. He stood for a moment, confused at her sudden change of mood, before stepping back and sitting in the single chair.
She was watching a chick flick, an unusual choice for her, and was obviously enjoying it, laughing and smiling at regular intervals. It was good for her, he decided, smiling at her infectious laughter. It was the most relaxed he’d seen her in a long time.
He’d expected her to be sad, maudlin even, expected he’d be needed to console and support, instead, he felt redundant. Shouldn’t he be pleased with how well she was coping? Why did he feel it was just a tad strange to be so apparently happy? He didn’t want to relate her relaxed mood to the words that still echoed in his head. When it was just you and me.
The sound of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He stood, giving Ellie a glance as he left the room. Her attention never wavered from the screen. Who knew chick flicks were so addictive?
When he returned, moments later, she didn’t stir. Laying out the containers, he took off the lids, arranged spoons in each and sat back on his heels. ‘Will you put that on hold,’ he asked her, slightly irritated.
Her eyes flicked over him and then over the food on the table. With obvious reluctance, she nodded, and, even more grudgingly, she aimed the remote at the television and put the movie on hold. Unfortunately, it stopped just as the heroine of the tale had opened her mouth to scream, her wide-jawed face frozen in time.
‘Not exactly the most pleasant of sights,’ Will said, reaching for a plate.
Ignoring him, she helped herself, sat back with her plate and started to eat.
‘I need to go into work tomorrow,’ he said, the lie coming easily. ‘There’s a meeting I can’t miss. I’m sorry, I had hoped to be here for you.’
His rehearsed words seemed silly in the face of her obvious lack of grief.
‘That’s fine,’ she said, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. She put it in her mouth and chewed, waiting until she’d swallowed before adding, ‘I’ll be fine. The weather is supposed to be good, I might take Bill out for a walk.’
The piece of beef Will was swallowing caught in his throat causing him to cough convulsively. There was no water; he reached for his wine glass and swallowed the contents. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping a serviette over his red, perspiring face. ‘Do you think that’s wise? You’ve only been out a few times yourself. The baby buggy is more awkward than it looks, especially with your cast.’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine. After all,’ she smiled across at him, ‘I can use it a bit like a walking frame to support me, can’t I?’
What could he say? Are you planning to murder my son to get your wish? It sounded crazy even to him. Maybe that’s what it was. He was going crazy. Suddenly he was no longer hungry. Putting his plate down, he refilled his glass and sat back in his chair.
As if this was a signal she could resume her movie, Ellie curled up with her plate and pressed play on the remote. The room filled suddenly with the sound of a woman’s scream.
50
Like most lies, the one he told grew legs. He had to leave at the same time he normally left for work and, although he’d have preferred to wear jeans and a casual jacket, he was forced to wear his usual work uniform of suit and tie, and to take his blasted briefcase.
He caught the eight o’clock train to Brighton from Victoria station and, eighty minutes later, he was standing outside the police station, staring at the formidable door with a feeling of panic.
Why was he here? To find out, without the shadow of a doubt, that Ellie couldn’t possibly have killed Tia? Because then his fears about Bill’s safety would also be unfounded?
And if there was still doubt or, worse, if his fears were proven, what then? Could he live with Ellie knowing she was a murderer? He ran a hand over his face. It appeared he didn’t have any choice. They were, as she so clearly pointed out, tied together by their secrets.
He sighed and turned away. He needed more coffee before he could face what he had to do. Looking down the street, he saw a familiar sign and headed toward it.
With a large cappuccino in front of him, he considered what he’d come to find out. He had to tread carefully with his questions; the man was a detective, he didn’t want to give him cause for suspicion. He sipped his coffee and faced the truth. If his fears were proven, it wouldn’t change how he felt about Ellie. He loved her, had done from the first day they met. Whatever she did, he’d still love her.
He wasn’t sure what that said about him.
The cafe was busy with friendly staff and a pleasant atmosphere, but the coffee wasn’t good. He pushed it away and stood. He loved her, but he also loved his son and he needed to know if he was at risk. Back outside the police station, he didn’t hesitate, taking the steps to the door two at a time and pushing it open without allowing time to think or change his mind. The desk clerk looked him up and down, taking in his smart suit, his neatly tied tie. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak to Detective Inspector Walker, please.’
The clerk looked at him without speaking, as if waiting for more information before he could proceed.
‘Detective Inspector Walker investigated a crash my wife was involved in. I wanted to ask him a few questions about it. At least,’ he babbled on, ‘I was hoping he’d be able to answer some questions.’ He stopped, feeling embarrassed.
‘Take a seat,’ he was told, the calm, indifferent clerk waving to a waiting room.
The room was small and stank of a combination of odours which, he decided, it would be wiser not to try to identify. The chairs, bolted to the floor, had seen better days. Will tried to find one where he wasn’t at risk of contamination, choosing one separated by an empty chair from his nearest neighbour, quickly realising why it was empty when wafts of foetid air drifted from the man, causing his nose to twitch. He hugged his briefcase, and hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long.
His hopes, unfortunately, were doomed and it was over an hour before his name was called. He jumped up immediately. ‘Here,’ he said, hoping it didn’t sound as public school boyish to everyone else’s ears as it did to his.
He needn’t have worried, nobody paid him the slightest attention.
The clerk who had called him waited for him at the doorway and then walked briskly ahead of him, forcing Will to increase his pace. Finally, they stopped at a doorway that the clerk opened without knocking before standing back to let him in.
Expecting to be led into a busy office, Will was surprised and annoyed to find himself in an empty room.
‘The inspector will be with you soon,’ the clerk said, closing the door and leaving him alone before he had a chance to ask what soon meant in the Brighton police vocabulary.
He sat on one of the two chairs in the room, putting his briefcase on the scuffed, worn table in preference to the floor and settled down to wait. In his experience soon usually meant five or ten minutes but it was another twenty before the door opened and a harassed-looking inspector appeared in the doorway.
Will barely recognised him as the man he’d met in the hospital. His skin was pale and dull, dark circles under his eyes hinting at excess of some sort. Standing, he reached out a hand. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me,’ he said with a smile.
If he expected an apology for being kept waiting, he was disappointed. Walker took his hand briefly, took the chair opposite, and sat looking at him with a distinct lack of interest. ‘You wanted to see me?’ he said.
Will tried the smile again, feeling it fade in the face of the man’s lack of response. He’d practised what he was going to say. It had sounded perfectly reasonable to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He pasted on the same unconcerned look he’d tried then. ‘I’m so sorry to take up your valuable time,’ he started, hoping the man didn’t think he was being sarcastic. ‘We buried my sister-in-law yesterday and Ellie, my wife, is slowly coming to terms with her loss.’ He brushed away the image of Ellie laughing at that stupid movie. ‘She’s finding some aspects of it difficult. If we had more information, I think it would be easier for her to move on.’
Walker ran his hand through lank hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘and I don’t mean to be rude. But I’ve no idea who you are.’
Will blinked in surprise. Of all the reactions he’d expected, this wasn’t one of them and he was lost for words. Then he remembered. Of course. He was so used to thinking of Tia in relation to Ellie, he’d forgotten she’d an identity of her own. ‘Tia Bradshaw,’ he said, waiting for the penny to drop.
It did, Walker’s puzzled face clearing a little. ‘Ah yes, I remember now. You came to ID her. I’m sorry, your name didn’t register.’ He ran a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes and added, ‘I’ve been up all night on a case. So how can I help you?’ he asked.
Will slipped back into his practised lines. ‘My wife drove the car, so is understandably feeling guilty.’ He waited for a nod of understanding. It didn’t come, the detective’s face still registering puzzlement. ‘I know it’s splitting hairs, really,’ he gave a little laugh, ‘but if I could tell her that Tia’s head injury didn’t actually happen in the crash, that it happened afterward when she fell…or something…it might help.’
Secrets Between Us Page 25