He hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, OK then.’
She took his card, reading the name, but it was initials, telling her nothing. ‘What’s it stand for?’ she said, after he’d keyed in the PIN and she’d shunted the order to Geraldo, the local chef, who was incensed that she’d interrupted his fag break to make him actually do some work. His day was one long fag break, punctuated by the occasional lacklustre peeling of potatoes.
The blue-eyed stranger sipped his beer again. His gaze locked into hers, and she felt her stomach spin in a sick, pleasant way, like being on a waltzer at a fairground. Every bit of her felt alive, where before she’d been sulky and apathetic, blood thudding through her veins. Even the framed pictures of Jim Bowen over the bar looked quaint and charming.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you can call me Sean.’
Eleanor
I needed proof. Everything else was just speculation, doubt, cobwebs crowding my brain. The word of a drunk, a liar. An insane story about a faked death. They say if you know a person, you know how to find them. And I knew my husband. I knew him better now than when he was with me.
After I left Conway’s, I paid a visit to my lawyer, Eddie, in his cramped offices above a building society. Dimly, I resolved that when all this was over, I would find a job of some kind, and take control of my own money. Give piano lessons, maybe. I could do that. The office was overheated, strips of tinsel taped to the filing cabinet in a gesture to the season. It seemed ridiculous to me, that Christmas was so near. What would I even do for it? Spend it alone in my damp cottage, watching my husband’s mistress, pregnant with his child, play happy families across the lane, or wander the streets like a madwoman as I was doing now? If what Conway said was true, Patrick had controlled me just as Nick did Suzi. Kept me medicated, afraid, terrified of losing my mind. Lied to me. Made me doubt the evidence of my eyes. We weren’t so different, Suzi and I – we had both been lied to by my husband. I could feel my plans shifting again, twisting and convoluting as the world changed.
Eddie was there, in an afternoon fug of coffee breath. He was alone, no sign of the ditzy teenage assistant who answered the phone and painted her nails in the office. ‘Elle! How lovely. Kathryn’s gone to the dentist. Did you . . . ?’
‘Sorry, no, I don’t have an appointment. I just need five minutes, if you don’t mind?’
Eddie never minded. He’d seen me through the loss of my family, and of Patrick. It was perhaps because of him, his office here, that I’d settled in Guildford in the first place. He was the nearest thing I had now to relations. I no longer counted my mother – she had been dead to me for decades, even if she was technically still alive. I had always paid for her nursing home from the money I’d inherited direct from my father – none left to her, which must have killed her – but I’d have to think about that, going forward. Now that I was broke. Now everything was different. ‘Of course.’
‘I’d just like an accounts statement. Of everything, all the transactions in the last year.’
‘Well, alright. You know, you could get this yourself if you signed up for online—’
I cut him off again. ‘I will. But for now, please?’
It took a few minutes for Eddie to click on various screens, turn on the ancient printer, turn it off again when it failed to work, turn it back on. I almost screamed. Didn’t he know what was at stake? Finally, I had a stack of printouts, everything that had been spent from our bank accounts since I lost my husband. Because I knew him. I knew he wouldn’t be able to live off whatever cash he’d siphoned over the years. There would always be the temptation to spend a little more, probably on some woman. And he knew I never looked at the accounts, that I wasn’t good with technology or forms, and that Eddie was less than vigilant. He might think it worth the risk.
My eyes devoured the sheet of tiny figures. I knew I would find something, in among all the dozens of tiny expenditures I had made myself. Food, petrol, the move. And eventually, at the bottom of the tenth page I scoured, there it was.
‘Elle?’ Eddie sounded worried. ‘Is everything alright?’
I felt the edge of the desk under my hand, and I felt the rest of my doubts collapse and fall away, taking with them Elle, Eleanor Sullivan, Elle-belle. The wife he’d duped over and over. Who he’d left to cry at his grave, which didn’t even have him in it.
‘I’m fine.’ I found my voice, and with it my rock-bottom. Everything I had known, everything I’d built my life on was a lie. I had not known my husband at all. I had not known anything.
But that’s the thing about rock-bottom. It gives you something firm to put your feet on, at last. I looked again at the printout, the figures fuzzy before my eyes. A euro transaction. A bar somewhere in Spain. The Red Lion. An English pub – really? Not even a large amount. In pounds, it came to nine forty-eight. And for a moment I was almost disappointed, that he had pulled off such an audacious plan, then ruined it all for the sake of so little.
Suzi
It was snowing again outside the cottage. Coming down silent and stealthy over my poor dead plants, bringing with it grown-up anxieties about food, frozen pipes, being trapped out here, instead of innocent childish joy in sledging and snowballs. The windscreen wipers on Dr Holt’s jeep were working overtime as he pulled up near Willow Cottage. ‘You’re sure this is OK?’
‘Yeah, it’s not far.’ In truth, the walk down the lane was far enough in the snow, while pregnant, but I couldn’t risk being seen by Nick.
Dr Holt seemed reluctant to let me go. ‘Suzi, think about this. We know she’s dangerous – that she’d hurt a child. Is going back home really wise?’
‘I’ll be alright,’ I said, with more confidence than I felt. What was my alternative? I knew that if I kept running, kept hoarding my secrets, I would turn out like Nora. And I didn’t want that. I wanted to start my life again, with the truth this time.
Awkwardly, he said, ‘If you . . . if you need a place . . . Suzi, you wouldn’t have to be alone. OK?’ For a moment, we both stared ahead, out at the swirling snow. My mind rejected what he was saying, if indeed he was saying it. I couldn’t think about that now. All the same, it felt like a wrench to tear myself out of the warm car, and go out into the icy dark alone.
‘I’ll talk to you soon, OK?’ But would I? I’d no idea what might happen tonight.
‘Will you let me know you’re alright? It’s silly, but I feel responsible now. How’s the baby?’ He looked tenderly at my bump.
‘Kicking like mad.’
‘A good sign. Take care, Suzi.’ And he went.
The snow was a worry. Nothing else could go wrong, because I had plans. When Nick got home that night, I would be ready for him. I had showered, washing out the smell of the nursing home, and brushed my hair, but put on no make-up. I wanted Nick to see me, finally, as I was. I had cooked a simple meal, one that could be eaten cold if discussions went on all night, as I imagined they would. Boiled potatoes, salad, ham. I didn’t light the lamps or candles, but sat waiting for him in the stark overhead light of the living room. It was time for us both to face reality.
I heard a car outside, and my heart turned over. Footsteps on the gravel. I had half-hoped for some last-minute reprieve, that he’d work late again, but no, Nick was home. It was time.
I heard his footsteps in the hallway, and the sound of his shoes being taken off. A clear of the throat. I waited, holding my breath.
He poked his head into the living room. ‘What are you doing? Why isn’t there—’
‘There is dinner,’ I pre-empted him. ‘Everything is done. But it’ll have to wait.’ I summoned all my courage, which I had learned was so very meagre, and got ready to crack the thin glass between us, the pretence of being just alright that could have carried us through the next fifty years if I’d let it. I said the fateful words that can end a marriage, the pebble-roll that tips off the avalanche. ‘Nick. We have to talk.’
Of course I didn’t tell him the whole truth. Does anyone ever? Don’t we r
eveal it by stages, even to ourselves? Haltingly, the way I described it was that I had been ‘seeing someone’. ‘Like a friend!’ I stressed, as his face changed. ‘Nothing happened. I was just very lonely. The move down here, it was so hard for me. I was used to seeing people every day, at work or at the gym or for coffee.’ Nick said nothing. He was sitting opposite me on an armchair, the coffee table between us, the books on it arranged at mathematical angles. ‘The thing is, I learned recently that this friend, he died in an accident. Car crash. And his wife – well, she seems to think maybe I was with him when it happened, I don’t know, she must be crazy, poor woman – and she’s kind of . . . after me.’
It was so cold in the living room. I didn’t know why the heating hadn’t kicked in. ‘After you?’ he repeated, finally, his voice as cold as the air.
‘Yes. Nick, it’s Nora. It’s a long story but – basically, Nora is my friend’s wife. She followed me here. I’m scared. That dead thing, and losing Poppet . . . I think she might be planning to . . . do something.’
What, I didn’t know. The only thing I could think of was that she was waiting for me to have the baby. To be at my most vulnerable, and then to strike.
Nick said nothing for a long time. He was staring at the expensive hardwood floor with its underfloor heating. So much he had laid under my feet, and this was what I’d done. ‘I gave you another chance.’ His voice sounded strangled. ‘After that fucking twat – Damian.’
My heart lurched. So as I suspected, he knew.
‘I know what you did,’ he confirmed. ‘You came home reeking of him. Fucking slut.’ The word made me jump. Had he seen it, written in the snow? ‘Bastard got what was coming to him, anyway.’
I didn’t know what he meant. But then I did. ‘His car,’ I said dully. ‘You smashed it up.’ Of course it hadn’t been you. Another lie. You wouldn’t have cared enough to do something so risky, go out of your way to avenge me.
Nick made an impatient gesture. ‘He deserved it, and worse. But I gave you a chance. We’d move away from the city, from all those temptations, and maybe you’d behave. And now you’ve done it again! Jesus, Suzi, what could you even do out here? You don’t have a car, and we’re in the middle of nowhere! But still you managed it. You dirty little bitch.’
For a second I couldn’t believe he’d said it, Nick who never cursed and hated me doing it. ‘Nothing happened!’ I tried the stock adulterer’s approach, to be met with a hard stare.
‘Don’t lie to me. You can’t help yourself – you’re, Jesus, you’re like some desperate nympho, aren’t you?’ I almost laughed at the seventies sleaziness of ‘nympho’, but managed not to. This conversation wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. But really, what had I expected? Understanding, tears and hugs? How stupid I was.
‘I was just lonely. He was nice to me. I know it was wrong, but you have to believe me . . .’
‘Believing you would be a real exercise in stupidity.’ He stood up, pacing. ‘I knew there was something going on. I just hoped I was wrong. Why do you think I trace your phone? Set up the smart alarm? You know it tells me every time you enter and leave the house? You know there’s security cameras I can watch you through when you’re here? I see you, crying all day long. Was that for him? Starting my dinner with minutes to spare. You think I don’t know? You must think I’m really dumb.’
I gaped at him. ‘You trace my phone? You – stalk me?’ Suddenly I understood. How he always seemed to know when I hadn’t been where I said. When I’d gone out for hours instead of the quick walk I told him about, or vice versa. When I hadn’t done each household chore exactly to his liking.
He laughed. ‘Jesus, you’re stupid. You did it yourself! What do you think Find My Friends is for? If you weren’t so clueless, you could have turned it off. I told you about the alarm system, that it worked remotely, that we could check on the house on the cameras whenever we wanted. That you can even talk through them, if you see an intruder. You weren’t even listening. You never listen to me.’
‘And – the music? The temperature?’ Those were all controlled remotely too. Had Nick really been behind all this? The dead animal, the message in the snow? It was him making me feel I was slowly going mad?
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes I’d get angry. Seeing you here, with all the things I bought you, crying and moping. For another man, as it turns out.’
I felt sick. All this while I’d breathed a sigh of relief when the door shut in the mornings and he was gone, but really Nick was sitting in his office, watching me, turning the temperature up then down again, making songs play, locking the doors, changing the codes. So I’d think I was crazy. Like his little doll, walking stiffly through the rooms of his perfect house. ‘Nick, this is insane. I could go to the police.’
‘It’s not illegal. Trust me, you signed up to all this voluntarily. Plus, I don’t think you want to be talking to the police right now, do you?’
‘What do you mean?’ My voice wavered.
‘They wanted to speak to you. Why? That man who drove into the tree, that was him?’
I nodded miserably. No point in denying it. Nick said, in a low voice, ‘I’m glad he’s dead.’
I made myself sound scared, which wasn’t hard, since I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. ‘We have to think of the baby. Nora – I’m afraid she might hurt us.’ I cradled my bump. ‘Our baby’s in danger, Nick.’
‘Our baby?’ he sneered.
The pause between us went on too long. ‘Of course it’s—’
‘I know you did your best to make it not mine. Suggesting the wrong times in the month. You think I can’t count? You really think I didn’t have my own apps that timed your cycles? That I don’t know how to hack yours – it’s all online, for God’s sake!’ Of course he did. I was so stupid. Relying on those apps, when they only knew what you told them. ‘All those years with no baby, then you’d act so sad, but then you’re smiling and cracking open a bottle, we’ll try next month, have a drink. As if you ever stopped drinking. Then you’re pregnant, after all that time? I’m not stupid, Suzi.’ He stopped in front of me, and I wished I was standing, because I suddenly felt very vulnerable, my bump weighing me down. ‘Is it his?’
For once, I told the truth. What was the point in lying, pretending I’d never slept with anyone but Nick? There was nothing left to save here. I could see that now. ‘I – I don’t know. It could be.’
‘Jesus.’ He rubbed his eyes with balled fists.
‘Nick, I’m sorry. I never meant to end up here. But we have. So what are we going to do?’
He shrugged. ‘I want this baby. I might not have another chance, and this one will at least have my name, even if it’s not mine. But you – I’m done with you, Suzi. You’re a whore.’
I should have been more upset, hearing this word, knowing my marriage was falling apart, but I wasn’t. I had known it for weeks, deep down, and there was a certain relief that he was the one pushing it over the cliff. Not my fault, that way. Not my decision. Very calmly I said, ‘Right, so what, you’ll move out till I have the baby?’
Nick gave a nasty little laugh. ‘I’m not going anywhere. This is my house – my dad’s money paid for it. You think I’d let you keep it?’
My heart sank a little. ‘So we’ll just both stay here?’
I’d heard of couples in that situation, unable to separate for money reasons, and it sounded awful. Maybe I could move out, find a flat in town – it felt overwhelming even thinking about it.
‘We will. But not in the way you think.’
‘What?’ Suddenly, I realised I had to stand up. I was far too vulnerable on the sofa and—
Too late. His fist came swinging towards me, and before I could fully marvel at what was happening, that it was Nick doing this to me, I was on the floor.
PART FOUR
Alison
FEBRUARY – TWO MONTHS LATER
Alison had never been so pleased to get inside the police station. She resolved that, when she go
t home that night, she was going on lastminute.com to find some winter sun. Images rose in her mind – cocktails with umbrellas, warm sand under her toes, the smell of sun cream . . .
‘Pasty?’ His mouth full of crumbs, Tom was approaching her desk, holding out a paper bag. He’d made her let him out at the Greggs in Sevenoaks.
‘Yuck.’ Alison eyed the bag, the grease seeping through it. ‘What is it?’
‘Cheese slice. I know you worry about the poor little animals.’
‘Go on then.’ Shovelling solid food into her stomach helped warm up the frozen core of her. She talked as she chewed. ‘It’s weird about those cottage people.’
‘The Wicked Witch?’ Tom’s dark eyebrows went up. There was a fleck of pastry in one.
‘No.’ She glared at him. ‘The posh ones who seem to have disappeared. Two deaths near the place in the last few months, and hardly anyone ever goes there? I mean, it’s the middle of nowhere, isn’t it?’
Tom swallowed a lump of sausage roll. ‘You reckon something fishy’s going on?’
‘You don’t think?’
‘I dunno. What are the odds?’
As police officers, they were world-weary with members of the public watching crime dramas on TV then ringing in with a vast conspiracy they’d spotted to steal all the recycling bins in their street, or insisting their neighbour was part of an international paedophile ring, rather than, say, a music teacher. All the same, Alison had an itch between her shoulder blades. A little out-of-the-way place like that should not have been at the nexus of several suspicious deaths in such a short space of time. Something was wrong.
Tom sighed. ‘Alright then. Let’s go to the guv’nor.’ He jerked his thumb to the office of their DCI, Claire Fisher, a powerhouse in tailoring. ‘It’s your neck on the line if it’s all in your head, though, mate.’
‘Alright.’ Alison wiped her hands clean. She wondered if she should tell him about the pastry crumb, and decided against it.
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