Margot’s head is reeling as she tries to process all this new information. Now the police know about Heather’s involvement in Keith’s accident she’s sure it won’t be long before the papers sniff out the story, and she knows they’ll go to town. But can she bring herself to call Jessica? She’d given Margot her business card again yesterday, after Margot was forced to admit she’d ripped up the last one. If she doesn’t talk to a journalist soon, one of them will go ahead and print something without her consent.
She sits up, leaning forward to get a better view from the window. There’s definitely someone out there. She’s sure it’s the same pest who was here this morning. Honestly, they’re like horseflies: you get rid of one and another pops up in their place. This morning’s had been a solitary man, who looked a bit worse for wear, with a three-day-old beard and his hair flattened by the rain. He’d stood at the gate, staring up at the house. When she’d driven past on the way to see Heather she’d wound her window down and told him there was no point in him waiting there: she’d agreed to do an exclusive with another newspaper. He’d opened his mouth, to convince her or to swear at her, she couldn’t be sure which, but she’d driven sharply away before he could speak, gratified to see that her wheels had sprayed mud over the bottom of his trousers.
Adam will be in soon, she tells herself, and she’ll send him out to get rid of the journalist. She stands up so he can see her. He’s illuminated by a lamppost, a fine rain falling on the hood of his parka. ‘Bugger off!’ she shouts, gesticulating, although she knows he can’t hear her. He bows his head, almost as if he’s apologizing, then turns around and gets into a car parked further down the lane.
Before Margot can change her mind she picks up her phone from the coffee table and taps out Jessica’s number. She knows Adam won’t approve of what she’s about to do: he’d tried to talk her out of it last night. But Jessica’s words have eaten away at her, like maggots on meat, and she can’t ignore them any longer. She can’t have faceless journalists digging away at her past.
Who knows what else they’ll unearth?
Adam flashes into her mind.
He’s definitely been acting oddly since it happened. She can’t push away the thought. He’s never been the most communicative of men. At least, not to her. He’s probably different with Heather, although Margot remembers Heather complaining about her husband’s brusque ways over the years. Like the time they’d attended that village fete and Adam really didn’t want to go so was abrupt and short with everyone. If he was in a bad mood he wouldn’t hide it. It had embarrassed Heather, who’s always had impeccable manners, thanks to Margot. She was very firm about that when her daughters were growing up. Adam still dutifully visits Heather every day, but for only half an hour or so. Margot usually waits outside the room if she arrives at the same time. She can see through the glass in the door that Adam holds Heather’s hand, although she can’t hear what he says to her. But his lips move, so he’s obviously saying something. Yet by his rigid posture she knows he’s angry and confused.
Now she’ll have to tell Adam about Heather killing Keith before it all comes out. She knows Heather’s never uttered a word about it to anyone. That was what they’d all agreed when they left Kent to make a new start in Tilby back in 1991.
The phone rings a few times before it’s picked up and Margot recognizes Jessica’s voice as she says hello. She sounds a little out of breath and, dare she say it, scared.
‘Jessica?’ She knows it’s her. She just needs to be sure someone else – maybe another journalist – hasn’t got hold of the phone. She still can’t quite believe she’s doing this.
‘Margot! Hi. Thank you so much for ringing,’ says Jessica. She sounds like she’s somewhere echoey.
‘I’m …’ Margot hesitates ‘… I’ve been thinking about what you said. Yesterday. If I gave you an exclusive, would everybody else leave us alone?’
‘I promise you they will,’ Jessica says. ‘And if they don’t, call me. I’ll come over and tell them where to go.’
She laughs, sounding so like the girl who used to stay with them all those years ago that Margot can’t help but smile. But just as quickly she remembers that Jessica is a journalist now. And that she hurt her precious Heather. She puts up the barriers again. ‘Adam doesn’t want me to do it.’
Jessica pauses. ‘Okay. But I promise you and Adam will get copy approval before anything is printed.’
Margot shuffles in her seat. Her back aches. She spent too long out with the horses after visiting Heather earlier, then that jaunt across the field. She turns sixty next year, and keeps forgetting she’s not thirty any more. She’d cleaned one of the static caravans, too, as a family wants to rent it this weekend. It smelt strongly of dog and there was a wee stain on the lino so Margot had had to get down on her hands and knees and bleach and scrub until it was spotless. During the summer months she has a cleaner, but in the off season she wants to save the money. And then the whole thing with Ruthgow. It’s too much. It’s all just too much.
She sighs. ‘Okay. Fine. Can you come over tomorrow? I’d rather do it face to face, if you don’t mind.’
Jessica sounds thrilled and Margot feels the familiar lurch in her stomach. Can she trust her?
They arrange a time for the next day and Margot hangs up. She sits for a while longer, staring at the phone in her hand, wondering if she’s made a huge mistake by allowing Jessica Fox back into her life.
19
I’m feeling cold now. Too cold. It doesn’t matter how many blankets I’m swathed in, I can’t stop shivering. Your face flashes through my mind, as well as Dylan’s, Uncle Leo’s, Jess’s.
Jess.
In my mind she’s still the same fourteen-year-old. More or less neglected by her own mother and so desperate for attention from ours. I could never blame her for that. She thinks nobody knows about the secret she’s kept to herself all these years.
But she’s wrong.
20
Jess
I hardly slept last night for worrying about what I’d told Jack. Could Wayne Walker really have found me here? I wasn’t imagining it last night when I noticed that light in the derelict building opposite. Was someone in there, watching my movements?
I have to be honest with Rory. Jack’s right about that. He’s been so good to me. He deserves better. Tonight. I’ll tell him tonight. I’ll cook dinner for a change. I’ll make an effort.
And in the meantime I need to see Margot.
Ted was ecstatic when I told him this morning that Margot had agreed to an exclusive interview. He didn’t show it, of course. That’s not his way. But I could tell by the shine in his eyes and the way his chewing slowed down, the gum moving around his mouth less frantically than normal. He told me to take Jack and get as many photos as possible. ‘And if you can get some of Margot’s personal ones of Heather growing up that would be even better.’
I told Margot on the phone last night that I’d be there at noon. She wanted to go to the hospital to see Heather first thing, she’d said. But at eleven Jack still hasn’t turned up for work. I text him, mentioning that Margot has agreed to talk, but when there’s no response I ring his mobile. In desperation I leave my desk to find Ellie, the trainee.
She’s on a computer in the corner uploading press releases onto the Herald’s decrepit website. It’s supposed to be updated daily, but Ted hates anything too technical and because it’s so out of date hardly anybody reads it. Ellie has sprayed the ends of her brown hair blue today. Usually it’s pink. The odd occasion it’s been green. I ask her if she’s seen or heard from Jack yet today, but she shakes her head, without looking up from the keyboard.
Seth is painstakingly sorting through photos in his side room. I go up to him and stand in front of his desk. He looks up and smiles kindly, pushing his black-framed glasses further onto his face. ‘You all right, girl?’ He calls everyone ‘girl’. Even Sue. But nobody is ever offended. If Ted said it, or Jack, it would come across as condesc
ending. But Seth is old-school. A Cockney who worked in Fleet Street back in the day. Getting on for seventy now, he should have retired long ago but he loves his job. And it’s not as if he goes around brushing up against us or slapping our arses. Even Ellie, twenty-three and a staunch feminist, doesn’t seem to mind. In fact she calls him ‘Pops’ in retaliation, and he loves it.
‘Just wondering if you’ve heard from Jack. I’ve tried to call his mobile but it goes straight to voicemail.’
Seth glances at the clock on the wall, his brow furrowed. ‘No. Now you mention it I haven’t. He’s never late.’
A sense of unease settles in my stomach. Has something happened? It can’t have. I left him with Finn last night. Maybe they’d had a late one and he’s overslept. But even as I think it I know that’s wrong. Jack is always on time. Diligent. Professional to a T.
‘We’re supposed to be going on a job.’ Although he wouldn’t have known that last night.
Seth sits back in his chair. ‘I’ll give him a call. Find out where he is. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’
I thank him and go back to my desk. I need to leave soon if I’m going to get to Margot’s for midday. I pick up my phone to check again, and as I do so it buzzes in my hand. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Jack’s name flashing up.
‘Where are you?’ I hiss into the phone. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ His voice sounds muffled and I can hear traffic in the background. A car horn beeps and I hear Jack telling them to fuck off. It’s unlike him to be aggressive and I flinch. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says. ‘Some twat almost knocked me over.’
‘Where are you? We need to go over to Margot’s.’
‘I’m sorry. Can you meet me downstairs?’
I glance at my watch. ‘Sure. What shall I tell Ted? Can you come with me to Margot’s or shall I say you’ve rung in sick?’
‘No. It’s fine. I’m fine. Just …’ He sighs impatiently. ‘Please, I’d rather meet you outside. Okay?’
I put the phone down, puzzled. Why’s Jack being so evasive? And grumpy. He’s usually so good-natured.
I gather up my things and call to Ted that I’m off to see Margot and meeting Jack outside. Then I hurry off before he can reply.
Outside Jack is smoking and talking to Stan, who’s huddled up in the doorway beneath a blanket. He’s drinking a takeaway coffee that I suspect Jack has bought him. Stan takes his filthy cap off to me, like he does every time I see him, and grins toothlessly. He smells of stale lager. I smile back and I’m about to indulge in a bit of banter, which Stan always enjoys, when I notice Jack properly and freeze. He’s sporting the ugliest black eye I’ve ever seen. It’s so puffy and swollen that he can hardly open it. He also has a cut lip. Instantly tears spring to my eyes at the thought of anyone doing this to him.
I rush towards him. ‘What happened? Oh, Jack …’ I put my hand to his lip. ‘Who did this to you?’
He covers my hand with his. ‘I was mugged. Last night. Some fucker tried to take my camera but I fought them off – not before they gave me this, though.’ He takes his hand away to point to his face.
I frown. ‘But you were with Finn last night.’
Jack steers me away from Stan. ‘Let’s walk and talk or we’ll be late. Where’s your car?’
‘At my place.’
‘Come on, then. We’d better be quick.’
He gives the rest of his cigarette to Stan, saying it hurts his cut lip to smoke it, and we walk down Park Street, trying not to notice the occasional stare directed at Jack.
‘Where was Finn when this happened?’ I ask, as we cross the centre and head towards the Welsh Back.
He hangs his head. ‘We had a row.’
I clench my fists in anger. Bloody Finn. ‘What about?’
‘Oh, nothing, really. It just escalated and he walked off in a huff. Got the bus home and left me to sit in the pub by myself. So I had another drink and left. But then I encountered this chancer. Thought he could take me on. But he underestimated me.’
‘Jack!’ I cry, exasperated. ‘You’ve been beaten up.’
He tries to smile but with his swollen lip it’s more of a grimace. ‘You should see the other guy.’
Margot is fussing around Jack when we arrive, asking if he’d like some ice for his eye. It reminds me of what she used to be like, when Heather and I were friends, always so motherly. Caring. Making sure everybody was okay. I always thought Heather and Flora were so lucky to have her. Even then I could tell she was different from my mum. And it’s not as if my mum didn’t care. She loved me – loves me – I know that. It’s just that she was preoccupied and busy a lot of the time, working as a secretary at the one and only legal firm in the high street. At weekends and in the evenings she was either fitting in the chores she hadn’t managed to do during the week or sorting out my grandmother, who was in a care home in Clevedon, or going on dates. She was happy that I was out of her hair for a few hours. Anything for a quiet life. That was her motto. Margot was just more present, I suppose. But she had her brother Leo around to help. And she worked from home.
I wonder who’s around for Margot now that Heather is in a coma. It doesn’t look like Adam is much company, from the little I’ve seen of him. The words ‘gruff’ and ‘unsympathetic’ spring to mind. And I heard Leo moved away not long after Flora disappeared. Even then I couldn’t help overhearing the rumour that he must have had something to do with it, and the gossip surrounding his ‘penchant for young girls’ because one of his old girlfriends had been much younger than him. I remember her, Hayley, tall and slim with long, wheat-coloured hair.
Margot ushers us into the living room. It hasn’t changed much: still the same old sofas (although with different throws covering them), the old-fashioned heavy walnut furniture and the cosy open fireplace. In the corner, by the French windows, there is a box of toys that must belong to Heather’s little boy. I still find it hard to believe that she’s a wife and mother. I can’t imagine ever being either.
Jack and I sit side by side on the sofa while Margot bustles out of the room again. Five minutes later she’s back with a bag of frozen peas that she hands to Jack. ‘For the eye,’ she says. ‘Hold it there for a good five to ten minutes to reduce the swelling. That’s it. Now, I’ll go and fetch some tea.’
She leaves the room again and Jack turns to me. He’s moved the bag of peas from his left eye to his swollen lip. ‘She seems really nice,’ he says, his voice muffled by the bag.
‘She is. She’s thawed a bit since I first called round. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of her, though. She’s …’
I fall silent as Margot returns, carrying a tray and setting it down on the coffee table. She pours us both tea and leaves us to add milk as she settles herself in one of the armchairs. She seems chirpier today and I wonder if she’s had news about Heather.
‘How is Heather?’ I ask, stirring my tea. ‘Is there any change?’
‘No. But she’s stable. The doctors say there’s no reason why she should still be in a coma. Apparently it’s her body’s way of resting. There is no longer any swelling or bleeding on the brain. So it’s good news.’ She smiles, tucking her slippered feet underneath her. For once she’s not wearing jodhpurs but a pair of jeggings and a long jumper with a horse on the front. ‘I’m hopeful.’
‘I’m so pleased. I’d …’ I hesitate, trying not to look at Jack. ‘I’d love to see her again. When she wakes up. That is, if she’d like to see me.’
There’s so much I wish I could say to her. To apologize for.
Margot’s expression is steadfast and I’m worried I’ve gone too far, asked for too much. But, to my surprise, she nods. ‘I think she might like that. Yes.’
I’m so relieved and grateful that I can feel myself smiling back gormlessly. Then I remember why we’re here. I reach down to the bag at my feet and retrieve my notebook and pen.
Margot’s eyes go to the notebook and I see her stiffen. I try to
ease her in gently, just asking some anodyne questions, about the business and Heather’s set-up with Adam and Ethan. Margot’s answers are guarded and my heart falls. If she’s like this now, how will she react when I start probing further?
‘So, the day of the shooting. Last Friday …’
‘I can’t believe it’s only a week ago today,’ she mumbles. ‘So much has changed.’
Only a week. It feels much longer. ‘So that day,’ I try again, ‘where were you when you heard?’
She fidgets. ‘I was away. I hardly ever go away, and the one time I do … the one time …’
‘Who found Heather?’
She sniffs. ‘Sheila. Do you remember her? She still helps out with the horses once or twice a week.’
I nod. I do remember Sheila, a buxom, gossipy woman, who used to chat to everyone and anything incessantly, animals included. Heather and I used to giggle when we heard her talking to the plants.
‘She came in that day because I was on a yoga retreat with my friend, Pam.’
I scribble it down in shorthand. ‘Where was that?’
‘In Devon. But we were due back that day.’
‘And what time was this?’ I ask.
‘Sheila found her at about eight thirty a.m. in the barn. Heather had been unconscious for quite some time.’
I swallow, trying not to think of Heather lying in our favourite barn, bleeding and unconscious. ‘And Sheila called the ambulance?’
‘Yes. And then she called Adam. I was travelling home with Pam when Adam phoned me. He was distraught. He said they’d argued the night before and he’d walked out, staying at his mum’s with Ethan.’
This is news to me. I sit up straighter. ‘What did they row about?’
‘He didn’t say. Just that she’d been a little delusional and obsessed.’
‘Delusional and obsessed? About what?’
Margot stares at her lap. ‘I don’t know.’
I glance at her, wondering if she’s telling the truth. ‘You never asked him?’
Then She Vanishes Page 11