The Bones of You

by Debbie Howells

  “Okay. That’s what she says about everything—‘It’s okay’—apart from some scathing things she says about her mother.”

  “She probably feels let down,” says Laura. “Not just by Jo, but by life. When I was her age, I didn’t have any worries—well, maybe about homework, that kind of thing. Nothing like this.”

  “What I hadn’t realized was Jo has a serious drinking problem. Vodka-for-breakfast kind of serious.”

  Laura hesitates. “Poor Jo. But it kind of goes with everything else, doesn’t it? The death of her daughter. Her insecurity . . . all the problems she’s been having? It’s probably how she survived being married to Neal, let alone the past few months.” She pauses. “The thing is, when someone’s been through what she has, there’s no easy fix. She’s suffered the worst things that can happen to anyone. Effectively lost half her family. How do you move on from that?”

  But I don’t like how Delphine has so easily been forgotten, as if she doesn’t count. “She has another daughter who needs her. She can’t just opt out, can she?”

  “Oh,” says Laura, “but she can. And Alex has been found, too. It seems he hasn’t been entirely truthful. He was with Rosie that evening. Earlier on, he says. Until her mother called to say that Neal was on his way round—so he says.”

  “But she was at Poppy’s.”

  Laura raises her eyebrows. “Yeah, well, it seems that was another one of Poppy’s lies. Her brother’s been locked up for beating up someone who used to bully her, so understandably, she doesn’t have much time for the police.”

  “So . . .” I try to work out what she’s saying here.

  “Alex may or may not have been with Rosie. May or may not be the murderer, quite honestly. Poppy swears he’s innocent. They both loathe Neal, but that’s not the issue. And there’s still one thing we haven’t considered.”

  “What?” I stare at her.

  “What if the papers were right, Kate? Only it’s come up time and time again. What if Rosie was pregnant?”

  DELPHINE

  When you see what it isn’t, you learn what madness is. It’s a world that’s different every single day. Moods without rhythm, like an out-of-time metronome. Words that mean anything or nothing. A smile that starts warm and, as you smile back, turns ice-cold and evil. It’s the home that’s a smart address and empty rooms. It’s lies and pretense. It’s vodka bottles, supposedly hidden, only not well enough. It’s being alive and not being allowed to live. Having only air that’s toxic. A sister you can hear, even though she’s dead.

  ROSIE

  Joanna gazes out the window. She can’t tell Neal what’s happening. Not ever. Like she can’t tell him that I’ve fallen in love with the gardener, for Christ’s sake. He’d blame her for letting it happen. She can hear him say it.

  Of all the people round here or at school, why him?

  Only he knows her too well, finds the test in the trash.

  “How could you let it happen?”

  Joanna flinches, waits for the blow.

  “You think I’m going to hit you, don’t you?”

  He watches her.

  “I might . . . or I might not. I haven’t decided. Stupid, ignorant bitch . . .”

  The blow, when it comes, is across her face, knocks the air out of her.

  “Another fat, stupid child. You can’t do anything right, can you?”

  He hits her again.

  “You better do something. Before anyone notices.”

  He has no idea it’s not her baby.

  He has no idea, either, that she’s already planning every tiny step meticulously. That it was in hand, anyway, even without him knowing.

  “Anything. I don’t care. Just get rid of it. . . . Or I will.”

  39

  I stare at Laura, then shake my head, because she’s wrong. Rosie definitely wasn’t pregnant. I distinctly remember Jo telling me.

  “But Jo clearly told me that she wasn’t. What was in the papers was just rumors. She was determined not to let it get to her.”

  “Another lie.” We both say it.

  Laura looks at me. “Why?”

  I shrug. “Jo likes everything to be perfect.” As I say it, I recognize how true it is. “The ways she dresses, her house, the husband she’s always praising. Her teenage daughter? She hated that Rosie was even seeing Alex, let alone that she was pregnant with his child. She wouldn’t want that being shouted about.”

  “But it was in the papers, Kate. Not all of them, but one or two printed horrible reports about how the wounds were mostly around her stomach. Jo couldn’t have imagined she could keep it quiet. It would come out once the trial started. What’s strange is she didn’t confide in you.”

  “But there’s a lot we didn’t talk about, and I didn’t want to upset her by always bringing up what was so painful for her. God, she lives with it in her head. She didn’t need me constantly talking about it, too. And everyone knows, don’t they, that the papers print as much fiction as fact?”

  Laura’s thoughtful. “If it wasn’t all so tragic, it would be quite impressive. . . .” Then she says slowly, “Have you thought that just maybe . . . ? Those notes, Kate. Maybe whoever wrote them didn’t know about Jo’s stillborn baby, but they knew about Rosie. Maybe the fetus is the second dead baby. . . .”

  “So who’s the third?”

  Our eyes meet, and a wave of shock goes through me.

  Not Delphine . . .

  On top of this, the unbelievable happens, as if the world has warped and slipped sideways. Out of nowhere, an alibi comes forward. I hear it on the radio as I’m driving. Neal was seen that evening. He couldn’t have murdered Rosie. Then Alex is taken in again.

  No. The word is loud in my head. I don’t know why, but I know this is terribly wrong.

  The necklace. It all comes down to the necklace. If they’d fallen out, there’s no way Rosie would have been wearing it.

  And Neal. His treatment of his daughters. Of Jo . . . the evidence on his laptop. The police have to charge him for all of that, surely. Or have they discovered something else?

  After further questioning, this time Alex is charged. However, when he’s bailed, there are too many lies and loose ends tangled together in my head. I ignore everyone’s warnings. I call Dan and persuade him to give me Alex’s address. Then I go to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” Alex doesn’t invite me in, just stands in his doorway, hostile, towering over me.

  “I need to talk to you. Could I come in? Just for a few minutes?”

  “Is this a setup? If Anderson has anything to do with this . . .” His voice is rough and full of menace.

  I almost turn, leave him. Almost. Then take a deep breath, because I’m puzzled.

  “I’m not here for them. I promise.”

  I try to forget that he’s beaten someone up, that he’s still accused of murder. I’m running on pure instinct, summoning every last bit of courage I can find, as in silence, he stands back to let me in.

  I follow him into the small, cottagey front room, which I could imagine would usually be cosy and comfortable. Though not now. It’s a mess, as no doubt his head is.

  “I don’t normally live like this. This is all courtesy of the police,” he says, on edge, looking around. “They don’t tidy up after themselves. So what do you want?”

  “I’m sorry.” I hesitate, aware suddenly of how intrusive this is. “But you know I knew Rosie. Not as well as you, I realize that, but I can’t believe you killed her,” I tell him. “I know it’s a police matter, but we need to work out who did it.”

  “I already told the police what happened that night. It was that bastard Neal.” He sounds furious, and for a fleeting moment, the doubts are back. If he got that angry . . . could he have?

  Telling myself to keep the faith.

  “Well, it seems someone saw him that night. Drunk, passed out on the village green. They tried to wake him, but he was out of it.”

  A chance sighting, which c
hanged everything. After I heard it on the radio, I called Laura, who filled me in.

  Alex looks disbelieving. “You have to ask, don’t you? Why this person didn’t come forward before?”

  “It was a guy who was cheating on his wife,” I say quietly. “On his way home from an illicit meeting. He didn’t want to give himself away . . . before.” I pause, watching him take it in. “Only his wife found out.”

  Alex sighs and sits down, gesturing to me to do the same.

  “I’ve told the police the truth.” He rests his head in his hands. “It all went so wrong.” When he looks up, his face is haunted. “We tried to keep it to ourselves, but you know, don’t you, after the garbage the press printed? Rosie was pregnant.”

  “I’ve only just realized,” I say truthfully. “Jo had no idea, though. She told me that what the papers printed was lies.”

  “Really?” He doesn’t look convinced.

  “Did you and Jo argue?”

  He looks startled. “The week before, yes. She wouldn’t let me see Rosie. She was doing her best to break us up.”

  “And you got angry?”

  He nods slowly. “I lost it. I shouldn’t have. She’d locked Rosie in her room. She was eighteen, for God’s sake. What kind of mother does that?”

  The kind of mother who lies. Who told Laura that Alex pestered them. That Rosie was done with him. Why?

  “What about that last night? Rosie went to Poppy’s, didn’t she?”

  “I met Rosie at about eight that evening. She’d been at Poppy’s house. Poppy said she’d cover for her, if anyone asked. She was good like that. She’s a nice girl, for the record. Anyway . . . Rosie came here.”

  He goes on. “I cooked. She spent the rest of the evening here. We argued—again. She wanted us to cool things off—just till she went to university—because Joanna was being a nightmare about it. For her sister’s sake, she said. I got really mad at her. I mean, her sister was going to have to cope without her at some point. I couldn’t see the sense in dragging it out.”

  He sighs. “It wasn’t a good evening. She was going to walk out of here, but I managed to persuade her not to. We made up. Then, at about eleven, her mother called to warn her. She was in a state. Said Neal had found out about us and was already on his way here. That he’d just hit her for no reason and was in a raging temper. I remember Rosie’s face—white as a sheet. You could see how terrified she was.” His face clouds over. “I’ve no idea how she knew where Rosie was.”

  Silent for a moment, he buries his face in his hands. “Joanna told her to get out of the house as fast as she could. That she couldn’t come and get her, because he’d taken her keys. But to do it now, quickly, before Neal got here. Then she rang off.”

  His shoulders are rigid. “I told her to go back to Poppy’s, because I knew she’d be safe there. I was going to confront Neal and have it out with him, once and for all.”

  His eyes are guilt stricken. “If only I’d gone with her . . . When Neal didn’t show up, I went to Poppy’s. What a man, leaving my pregnant girlfriend to go off on her own, knowing her psychotic father was on the loose. Only she never got there, did she? Her fucking father got to her first. . . .”

  “But . . . this new alibi of his . . .” I’m confused.

  Alex looks at me. “Don’t you see? Neal bluffed, didn’t he, Kate? After he’d done it, he dropped the car home, got the bottle he’d stashed in the back, wandered down to the green, and got smashed. How hard can it be to fake it? Cheating guy sees him on his way through. . . .” He shrugs.

  Then my skin prickles. What if Alex is lying? What if he didn’t wait for Neal? What if, fed up with it all, he chased after Rosie, got into another row, and, in the heat of the moment, attacked her?

  “It has to be more substantial than that. The police would have checked the guy’s story.”

  What if I’m wrong? If Alex is the murderer?

  As Alex clasps his hands, a strange look flickers across his face. In the silence, uneasiness churns inside me. I glance at my watch, then get up.

  “I have to go. I told Angus I wouldn’t be long.”

  My throat’s dry and the words stick there, but outwardly I compose myself, feeling my heart thudding as I head toward the door. Then, just as I go to open it, I feel his hand grab my arm.

  ROSIE

  Joanna stays out of sight. It’s lucky she’s so good at hiding. Watches as I leave Poppy’s house, waving to Poppy, then walk down the road, past all the other houses, happy. Happy I have a friend on my side, happy I have Alex, happy that I’ll soon be away from here.

  She knows I’m going to see him. It’s eating away at her, in her stomach, crawling like maggots, making her sick inside. But she has to do this for Neal. Anyway, she reminds herself, she isn’t Joanna anymore. A part of her has splintered away and become Kate.

  She follows, stops round the corner from Alex’s house, waiting, holding her breath in case I turn back or walk past or just stop, look over my shoulder. See her.

  But I don’t. Alex opens the door, and she watches his arms go around me, his head lean down, his lips on mine as we stand, lost in each other, in the moment. Then we’re inside, the door closed behind us. Joanna swallows the bile in her throat. Knows she has to wait. Knows what she has to do next.

  At home, the soft, sweet voice of the vodka bottle beckons. But though she’s tempted, desperate even, for once she doesn’t. Knows she can’t. Thinks of later, when not only will she have a glass, but she’ll drink it all. If she goes ahead, that is. Her doubts return, millions of little dust fairies all around her, until she takes a deep breath and blows them away.

  Time plays tricks on her that evening. Ticks so, so slowly. It starts when Neal comes in. She hears his feet on the stairs, then in the bedroom, then back on the stairs.

  “Where’s supper?” He looks around the kitchen, then at the glass deliberately placed in front of her, with disgust.

  She reaches inside and brings back Joanna. Fills her eyes with tears. She can do that so easily, just looking at him, with the ghosts of all those women standing around him, in her place.

  “I forgot,” she whispers. Adds a tremulous note for effect. Wobbles her lip. Cowers. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re pathetic.” Thrown like a weapon.

  “Shall I make something?”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll find something myself.”

  She hears him open the fridge, knows that there’s the slices of beef he likes, which she bought earlier. That he’ll eat them and still be hungry, then sate his appetite with drink until he’s passed out. She’s counting on this. He has to.

  But therein lies the beauty of her plan. She knows her husband so well. He eats all the beef, then pours a whiskey, then takes the bottle and turns on the television. She sips her water, breathes a cautious breath out.

  Glances at her watch, which says only nine thirty, then hears more footsteps. Feels her insides flip over as the door is pushed open. Her hand goes to her mouth. Oh my God. She’s forgotten Delphine. She always forgets Delphine.

  Joanna thinks quickly. She can’t let the fact that she’s forgotten her own daughter spoil her plan. Not now. Quickly, quickly. Keep Delphine happy. The first thing that comes to mind.

  “I’ll cook pizza, honey.”

  Surprise flickers in Della’s eyes that there’s even pizza in the house. The “honey.” We all know—in this house, how could we not?—there are enough calories in pizza to last you a week.

  40

  I panic, wrenching my arm free from Alex’s grip.

  “Stay away from me.” My heart pounding as I reach for the doorknob.

  But he refuses to back down and as the door opens, with one of his hands, he slams it shut.

  “Kate . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t kill her, I promise on my life. I have a temper. . . .”

  In those seconds, as he looms over me, so close I feel the heat from his body, for the first time I truly know fear. Kn
ow he could kill me. Know there’s no one I told I was coming here, because they’d talk me out of it.

  I’m just waiting. Terrified.

  Is this it?

  But he releases his hold on the door, stepping back.

  “I didn’t kill her, I promise, on my life . . .”

  He says it quietly, his final plea to me to believe him, as a picture of Rosie comes into my head. Her clear eyes, her hand on her necklace, her gentleness, the same perceptiveness that drew the horses to her. And as he opens the door to let me go, I know he’s innocent.

  In the meantime, I have to trust that the truth will come out, because Delphine preoccupies me. I ask no questions, offer no judgment, just let time and the horses work their magic on her, but noticing odd things for a girl of her age.

  “She spends ages in her room,” I whisper to Angus anxiously. “D’you think she’s okay up there?”

  “Probably. You don’t know what she does at home, do you?”

  “No . . . Maybe I’ll check on her. Try and get her to come and watch the television with us.”

  Outside her door, I listen for a moment, uncertain if I can hear her talking or not. Then I knock.

  “Delphine? Can I come in?”

  There’s silence; then the door opens suddenly. She moves noiselessly over to the bed and closes her notebook.

  “Why don’t you come downstairs? Join me and Angus. There’s a TV program that’s about to start.”

  She looks up, hopeful.

  “Well, come on, then. Would you like a hot chocolate?”

  “Am I allowed?”

  “Of course you are. Grace lives on the stuff! Come on. I’ll show you where it is. Then anytime you want to, you can help yourself.”

  It seems that this breakdown has sent Jo somewhere that defeats all her doctors. When I go to see her, there’s only the faintest indication that she recognizes me, after which she’s blank, staring at nothing, except she’s not staring at all. Her eyes are unfocused; her body is frozen. Even the mention of Delphine’s name doesn’t produce a flicker.