Caitlin clicked on the search button – typed in David A’s handle. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw there; she turned too suddenly, caught the mug with her arm and slopped its contents over the table.
‘Andy, quick,’ she said, ‘look at this.’
A picture had been tweeted earlier in the evening from the wine bar.
@DavidA: Waiting for the music.
It showed Caitlin and Fran, the singer, chatting before the show.
‘Christ,’ Andy said, putting his mug down and leaning in over Caitlin’s shoulder. ‘He was there.’
Caitlin scrolled down, nothing else, just that one shot. She looked at the picture again, examined the angle it was taken from.
‘That guy, the one who introduced himself, Caitie, it has to be.’
Caitlin shook her head. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean no? Who else could it have been? He was keen enough to talk, wasn’t he?’
‘It’s the wrong angle,’ Caitlin said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Whoever took this was sitting to my right. That guy, Nick, if he’d taken it, it would have been from the other side.’
Andy sighed and straightened. ‘That’s assuming somebody took it from where they were sitting, Caitlin. My guess is, it was taken from the bar.’
He had a point. It could have been taken from the bar, and so any number of people could have taken it.
‘What should I do, Andy? Block him?’
Andy stared at the screen. ‘No, not yet. He already knows where to find you. Let’s just see what he posts next. He might give himself away somehow. Follow him back even – he won’t be expecting that.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave it for now.’ She sat back, picking up the mug of tea that was cooling.
Andy pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. ‘Look, do you want me to stay tonight? I’m not comfortable leaving you. I can pull out the camp bed …’
Caitlin nodded. She hadn’t let anyone stay over before, even when she was distraught in the weeks after David’s disappearance. She preferred to be alone, but now she was glad of Andy’s offer. There was little chance she’d sleep that night, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry that the person who’d taken that picture had followed her home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Michelle
Michelle pulled up outside Nick’s house. She was early, and she wondered if he’d be home. He’d told her that he had a meeting with a potential client and that it might be six o’clock before he got in. Recently, he’d given her a key; in case of emergencies, he’d said, and they both knew what that meant.
She rang the doorbell and waited. Rowdy began to the bark in the back room, but there was no sound of Nick coming to answer. She thought about the key in her bag and wondered if she should use it. Better to text him – tell him she’d arrived. He might be annoyed if she just let herself in. It was starting to rain. She went back to the car and texted him.
Got here early. You on the way?
The phone blipped a minute later:
Caught here for another half hour – let yourself in? xx
She searched in the bag for the key that he’d given her. Things must have been going well with the client if the meeting had run late. She was glad. Nick needed something to occupy his mind. He loved designing houses, she knew that. He’d showed her that house he’d built for that singer. And a photo of the hexagon in Dalkey; Nick’s dream house. She wondered how he could bear now to live in a housing estate, but he’d said that it was temporary – that when he and Susan had separated, he’d wanted somewhere fast. In the future, when he bought land, he’d design another house and rent this property out.
Michelle pushed the door open and stepped into the hall. It was warm. Rowdy started to kick up a fuss; she could hear him scratching against the door, and when she opened it, he put his paws on her chest, almost knocking her over. She put him down and stooped to cuddle him. Nick had got custody of Rowdy when he’d divorced from his wife, who unlike Michelle, didn’t care for dogs. She wouldn’t have the dog in the house, Nick had told her, and had made him put a kennel in the garden. Michelle was the opposite. She’d have had Rowdy sleeping in the bed with them, but even Nick drew the line at that.
Michelle went upstairs. She’d begun leaving a bag of her stuff in the bedroom again, and she pulled out her slippers, kicked off her shoes and left them neatly by the bed. Everything was neat in Nick’s house. It was something they joked about. Towels went into the washing machine after every shower; the bedclothes were changed at least twice a week. She sometimes thought he had a touch of OCD he was so particular about things. But at least he could laugh at himself. He’d told her he’d been thinking of letting a room to a friend who was having trouble finding a place, but when he’d mentioned it, his friend had turned him down, saying that he couldn’t even eat in Nick’s house without the plate being whipped from under him the minute he’d finished and Nick appearing with a cloth to wipe up the crumbs.
Michelle looked round the room. She’d stayed over so often now that she could visualize every aspect of it when she wasn’t there. There were the bundles of loose change that Nick kept on the windowsill, the branch of pussy willow in a glass jar, so out of keeping with everything else. She wondered why he kept it. His desk had a pen holder and a calculator, no papers or books strewn across its top as there were on her small desk in the apartment. All of Nick’s papers and drawings were filed neatly in the cabinet beneath the desk. He’d shown her some of the designs he kept there.
Michelle noticed that the blue light of Nick’s computer was on: he hadn’t shut it down completely. She figured he wouldn’t mind if she checked her mail, so she clicked the mouse to rouse it. The computer whirred, and the screen came on. At the top of the screen, several windows were open. Michelle clicked on one of them and suddenly she was looking at a photo of a dark-haired woman. She wasn’t looking at the camera; it looked like the picture had been taken when she was unaware. There was something on the woman’s lap. Michelle looked closer and discovered that it was a case of some sort, maybe for a musical instrument. She began to feel queasy. She clicked on the next photo; it was a house, the hexagon that Nick had told her about: the house that he’d designed for his father-in-law and that he’d shared for a number of years with his wife. There was nothing else that would cause her to question anything, only the picture of the woman.
She went back to it, right clicked on the file to access its details. When she saw that it had been taken only two days before, her worries amplified. She thought back to yesterday’s phone call. When she’d asked Nick what he’d done the night before, he’d said he’d gone to bed early. Michelle sat back and chewed on her thumbnail. She didn’t want to snoop. She should just ask Nick who the woman was, tell him that she’d opened the computer to check her mail. It wasn’t as if she was hiding anything. If she didn’t look properly though, who knew when she’d get another chance? Checking her watch, and listening for any noise downstairs, Michelle accessed Nick’s browsing history. He hadn’t erased his cookies, why would he? Nobody looked at the computer but him. Michelle trawled through the recent sites, her confusion growing. She scanned an archived newspaper article about a murder-suicide from 1980, skimming through the details. She was about to click on another link, Nick’s Twitter account, when she heard the front door open. Rapidly, she returned the computer to sleep mode, and appeared at the top of the stairs just as Nick called her name.
‘Hey. Sorry, I got delayed,’ he said.
Michelle forced a smile. ‘How did it go?’
‘Really well. I got the contract, just a few details to be worked out.’ He grinned and pulled her into a hug.
Who was the woman in the picture? She looped her arms round his neck, trying to put it out of her mind for the moment, and pulled him close. It was good to see him smiling again. When they met, he’d smiled all the time. She’d told him he was one of the most cheerful people she�
�d ever met. It was one of the things that had attracted her to him, his positive attitude. But what was he hiding from her?
‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘Really great.’
They walked into the living room, his arm still around her. Rowdy ran in circles round him. He stooped to fondle the dog’s ears. ‘Now, I didn’t get a chance to get any food in, so we can either order in and watch a movie, or I can get cleaned up and we can head out for a bite?’ Nick playacted with the dog, rolling him over and scratching his belly. Michelle wondered how she could ask him about the woman without spoiling his mood. He’d given her no reason to mistrust him. She decided to ignore the picture and ask about the article instead. That way he’d know that there was every chance she’d seen the picture too.
‘Nick, I booted up your computer to check my mail. I hope you don’t mind – there was an article about a murder – I wasn’t snooping …’ she added quickly.
Nick’s smile was gone. He stood up, and without looking at her, crossed to the window. ‘Did you read it?’ he said.
‘I scanned through it,’ she said. ‘The headline caught my attention. I was just wondering about it …’
Nick turned to face her. ‘I think we’d better sit down,’ he said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nick
Nick sat at the table and Michelle sat opposite him. ‘This is going to sound really bizarre,’ he said. ‘Although maybe not to you because you believe in this sort of thing.’ His intonation rose on the word believe, unable to keep his old scepticism out of his voice, even though now he absolutely believed what he was about to say. And she would too, that was what worried him.
‘You know how I’ve been having hypnosis?’
Michelle nodded.
‘Something strange happens every time I go under. I become someone else.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The hypnotist told me that it could be something called confabulations – false memories. But I know it’s not, that these events I’m seeing really happened.’
‘What events?’
Michelle was leaning in towards him, keen to understand. Most people would think he was mad if he told them this story, they’d probably think he’d been having hallucinations related to his illness or his withdrawal. Michelle wouldn’t, she’d believe the truth, that he’d slaughtered two people and then taken his own life. She’d believe that he had been Johnny Davis. Even if he still had doubts himself, this was the type of thing that fascinated Michelle.
‘The first time I was hypnotized, I found myself in this house … it wasn’t anywhere I knew. It was like watching a film. I looked different, but I knew that it was me …’ He paused and looked at her. ‘Michelle, I did something terrible.’
He could see Michelle’s mind working, putting it all together, and in a way he was glad that she’d seen that article, that he didn’t have to put into words what he’d done.
‘You think you’re the guy in the article. The murder-suicide …’ Michelle reached out and took his hand. It was unexpected and a relief.
‘I know I am,’ he said. ‘I’ve had memories of my wife, my daughter … Her name is Caitlin; she’s still out there, Michelle. I tried to kill her, to take her with me … She was five years old.’
‘Is she the woman, the woman in the photo?’ Michelle was hesitant.
He’d forgotten that he’d left that file open too. Now he nodded. ‘I’ve seen her. It wasn’t hard once I knew her name. I searched the net, found her on Facebook and Twitter. She plays music in a wine bar on Eden Quay. I went there last night. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It was something I needed to do on my own.’
‘Of course.’
Michelle was quiet for a minute. He wondered what she was thinking. ‘You’ll probably want to go,’ he said. ‘Get away from me. I wouldn’t blame you.’
Michelle shook her head. ‘I’m amazed that you believe it, that you don’t just take the hypnotist’s word …’
‘At the start, I didn’t want to believe, but then there were names, dates … I can’t not believe it. It feels too real.’
Michelle looked up suddenly. ‘What was his name, your name, then?’
‘Johnny Davis.’
Michelle nodded. ‘Now it makes sense,’ she said.
‘What does?’
‘When you disappeared, when I thought it was over and couldn’t figure out why, I went to see that psychic, the old woman I told you about before. We thought it was a wrong reading, the woman apologized. She’d referred to you as Johnny, said that you were connected to a dark-haired woman and a child. Jesus. I’ll bet she was dark, the woman, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s so strange, isn’t it? She’d tapped into that, Nick, she’d tapped into your previous life.’
Nick looked at Michelle, she was excited that the woman’s words were true, but he wasn’t sure that she fully understood the gravity of what it meant, for both of them.
‘Michelle, I killed my wife. Slaughtered her lover and killed her, and then …’
‘I know. I know, Nick, but it was a previous incarnation; it’s not now, not this life.’
‘I left my daughter to deal with that. Five years old and orphaned. I have no idea what her life was like …’
‘But she’s okay, isn’t she? I mean you saw her. She’s a musician.’
‘It depends what you mean by okay. She’s alive, she’s out there. I don’t know what happened to her after, if there was family that took her in, if she was adopted … I need to know, Michelle. I need to find a way into Caitlin’s life, to make up for what I did somehow.’
Michelle took a breath. ‘How do you propose to do that? I mean you can’t tell her who you are, who you were. She’d think you were crazy.’
‘Of course I can’t tell her who I am. But if I could find some way to meet her, to talk to her.’
Michelle frowned. ‘That won’t be easy. Unless a man is in a woman’s circle, a colleague, something like that, she’ll think he’s hitting on her. You said that you saw her profile, did you find out anything about her, any idea what she does apart from playing music?’
‘She’s a magazine editor. I viewed her profile on LinkedIn.’
Michelle was nodding. ‘Okay, that’s better. What if I were to write to her, propose writing an article on health and fitness, something like that? A woman’s magazine should go for that kind of thing.’
Nick considered this. It certainly wasn’t a bad idea as a way of making contact. ‘And then what?’ he asked.
Michelle shrugged. ‘I could try to arrange a meeting with her to discuss the article, try to find some common ground when we meet, befriend her. I’m not saying it would be easy, but it’s probably better if I try to make the connection rather than you. If you try and it goes wrong, then it’s unlikely you’ll get a second chance.’
‘I already spoke to her,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ He registered Michelle’s look of surprise. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing much. It was at the gig. I sort of accidentally knocked her drink over. It might sound weird, but there was a moment when there was a spark of something, like maybe she knew. She couldn’t, of course, it would be ridiculous to think so, but I think she felt something, some kind of recognition. She asked me my name.’
Michelle didn’t look happy.
‘You think I shouldn’t have done it?’ he said.
‘No … not necessarily. She could have felt something – some connection, but be careful, Nick. I still think the best thing is if you leave this to me. The last thing you need is her thinking you’re some kind of creep.’
Nick winced as he felt a dull pain in his abdomen. He needed this to happen. He knew that he would never be able to give Caitlin back what he’d taken away, but if there was something, anything, he could do to make her life easier, he would.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’
‘No, it’s not that. Pain,’ he said. ‘Some d
ays it’s worse than others.’
Michelle reached out to him. ‘Are you okay? You-you haven’t drunk anything?’
‘No, ten days and counting … only another twenty-three weeks to go, give or take …’ He smiled, trying to lighten the mood again, as the pain subsided.
Michelle got up and put her arms around him. She didn’t tell him that it would be okay. She’d never be that flippant. He’d told her the worst and she was still here. He knew that she’d do everything she could to help him. He just hoped that it wouldn’t all be in vain, that she wouldn’t be the one to suffer in the end.
Michelle pulled back and kissed him. ‘Okay, show me this LinkedIn profile,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can find an email address on it. If not, at least we can find out the name of the magazine and I can call the office tomorrow.’
‘Okay, we’ll try it your way. God forbid she’d think me a creep.’
‘Oh God, Nick, I didn’t mean it that way … it’s just, you know how it is – strange man starts talking to a pretty girl in a bar …’
‘Who said she was pretty?’
‘No one, I just assumed. Is she?’
Nick laughed. ‘She’s my daughter, Michelle. Not in this life, but she’s still my daughter. Now you really are making me sound creepy. Come on, I’ll show you any info I was able to find about her.’ He took her hand and led her to the stairs, amazed that she was still here, and she was willing to help him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Caitlin
When Caitlin woke, it was to the sound of rattling delft and cupboards being closed below in the kitchen. She lay on her back and for those first few seconds she thought that it was David, her brain in its sleep-filled fug cancelling out the last year. Then she remembered the previous night, and that it was Andy who was moving about in the room downstairs.
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