by T. M. Logan
“We could go in and give statements too,” I said. “Tell the police what we saw on Thursday night. Would that help, do you think?”
Beth shrugged. “It might.”
Mel gave me a sharp look. “He hasn’t actually done anything yet, apart from make a mess of his living room.”
“Not yet,” I said. “But he’s made threats. What if he comes here when I’m not around? What if it’s just you and Wills, and I’m not here to protect you?”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“He’s out there somewhere with a shotgun, Mel,” I said. “We need to do the smart thing. And Beth needs to protect Alice.”
“He wouldn’t hurt us,” Beth said quietly.
“That’s what battered wives have been saying since the day marriage was invented,” I said.
She glared at me. “Is that what I am now? A battered wife?”
“It doesn’t need to be physical abuse to be abuse. Rolling in drunk at midnight, shouting about killing people? I think that qualifies.”
Beth gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment. “Perhaps.”
Mel said, “You’re right, Joe. We should talk to the police. Would you like us to do that, Bee?”
Beth gave another tiny nod. “Would you?”
“Of course,” I said. “Is there a number we can call?”
She took a card out of her purse. Kilburn Police Station, duty desk, nonemergency only. The words PC Khan were written on the back in Beth’s smooth, flowing handwriting.
“Can we keep this?”
“Yes, I’ve got another.”
Mel said, “Where’s Alice now?”
“Gone to her friend Lily’s house. She didn’t want to be at home after Thursday night.”
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s frightened and worried for her dad at the same time. Trying not to show it.”
“We can cancel babysitting tonight, if you want. It’s no big deal.”
“No, it’s fine. I think she’d probably prefer to be out of the house, to be honest.”
“You could both stay over tonight, if you don’t want to go home,” Mel said.
Beth thought about this for a long moment, then shook her head. “I should be there when he gets back.”
“You shouldn’t feel like you have to dance to his tune all the time. Maybe once in a while he should find himself wondering where you are, instead of the other way around.”
“Old habits, you know? Hard to break.” She looked at her watch and stood up. “I should go.”
Mel stood up too and hugged her, patting her back. “It’s going to be OK. You’ll see.”
“I just want to get back to normal again. It doesn’t matter what happened the other night.”
“He’ll see sense soon enough. But you’ve got to ask yourself how long you’re going to let it go on for. How many more times.”
“I don’t know where I am without him,” Beth said, eyes downcast. “I don’t know what to do on my own.”
Mel said nothing in response. They disengaged from their embrace, and we stood as an awkward threesome, me between them, not knowing whether to hug Beth or not. Feeling like a fraud for not telling her the whole truth. We settled for an uncomfortable peck on the cheek, both given and received without much commitment.
Beth checked her phone’s screen. Sighed and put it back in her pocket. “What if he isn’t just blowing off steam? What if it’s more than that?”
“What do you mean, Bee?”
“What if it’s another woman?”
Mel smiled, shaking her head. “Ben would never do that.”
“How do you know?”
“He just wouldn’t, would he? He’s not that kind of guy.”
15
As soon as Beth left, I did another full circuit of the house to check all the windows were closed. Double-checked the kitchen door and slid both deadbolts across. Mel followed me, saying nothing, William clinging to her like a baby monkey. She had the little vertical line between her eyebrows that appeared when she was stressed or upset, but she seemed to feel safer with me in the room. And right then, I wanted to keep both of them—the two most important people in my world—close by.
“What’s going on with Ben?” I said, locking the patio door. “Why is he threatening us all of a sudden?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. No idea. It’s crazy.”
Eventually, we pulled the curtains in the living room, and I put CBeebies on for William. TV in the daytime was a deviation from the norm, but he seemed to sense that it was better not to question the break in routine, in case I changed my mind. Smart kid. I felt a pang of worry for him as he sat on the rug watching Chuggington, a toy car in each hand, oblivious to the mess the adults around him had created.
Should I keep a weapon handy in case Ben turned up out of the blue? What could I arm myself with if I had ten seconds to grab something? Kitchen knives, a rolling pin, a hammer from the toolbox. Not much, but better than nothing.
From our bedroom window, I surveyed the street, half expecting to see Ben’s white Porsche Cayenne careering around the corner and screeching to a halt outside our house, but there was not much going on. A couple of teenagers from a few houses down were doing tricks up and down the curb on their skateboards. Across the street, a woman in her fifties was walking a chubby golden retriever with its tongue hanging out.
Nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of Ben.
This was stupid. I could help to put things right, myself, right now. Rebuild some bridges. I punched Ben’s number into my new cell phone, and it rang six times before it went to Ben’s terse, no-nonsense voice mail.
“This is Ben Delaney. Leave a message.” Beep.
I hesitated, hit End and dialed his number again. This time it went to voice mail after one ring.
“This is Ben Delaney. Leave a message.” Beep.
“Ben, it’s Joe. Joe Lynch. I just wanted to speak to you about the other night. I’m sorry—I was out of order. I honestly didn’t know what was going on, and I’m sorry about what happened. Give me a call if you want to talk about anything. This is my new cell phone number; I’ve got a new phone. Anyway, I hope you’re OK.”
I hit End and looked up to see Mel standing in the doorway.
“Who were you calling?” There was a hint of accusation in her tone.
“Ben.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Thought it might help if I could talk to him. Clear the air.”
“And did it?”
“Got his voice mail. Although I think the second time he was screening my call.”
She crossed her arms. “Why would he do that?”
I shrugged again. “Same reason he’s not returning his wife’s calls, probably. Maybe he’s embarrassed now, doesn’t know how to come back without looking foolish.”
“What were you saying about the other night?”
“Just that if he wanted to talk, this was my new number. It would be nice to be able to give Beth some reassurance that he’s OK, to say that one of us has spoken to him.”
Mel tilted her head to the side slightly. “You need to be careful with him, Joe.”
“Phone call can’t hurt, can it?”
“Do you really think calling him is going to help? I don’t want him coming around, especially with William here.”
“I won’t let anything happen to Wills.”
Her face fell, and I suddenly realized she was on the verge of tears. I went to her and hugged her tight, her head against my chest.
“It’s just so weird, all of this,” she said. “It never would have occurred to me that Ben had any violence in him.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I’ll look after you and Wills. I will never let anything happen to you. Never.”
“I know. I’m more worried about what Ben might do to you.”
“We should go to the police,” I said. “Make a statement, like Beth did.”
Mel looked up at me. “A
bout what?”
“About seeing Ben on Thursday, about what he said—he was proper weird with me. We both saw him at that hotel. We need to give that information to the police. Maybe it will help them to find him, sort all this out. Put Beth’s mind at rest.”
“I’m just not sure that anything I could tell them would help very much.”
“We don’t know for sure, though, do we? It might be something that we don’t think is significant. Something that’s relevant to what’s going on Ben’s life right now, but we don’t realize it.”
She shrugged. “Like what?”
“That’s the point—we don’t know what might be important. The police are the professionals. They’re the ones who can work out what’s relevant and what’s not.”
William appeared behind her on the landing, looking from me to his mum.
“Are we calling a police car, Daddy?”
“No, matey. Not today.”
“Can we call one?”
“No need, Wills. You’ve already got loads.”
“Yes, but they’re not big, silly Daddy.”
“What are you up to anyway, little man?”
He held out the toy car in his hand, a silver Land Rover. “Can we play airport parking lot?”
I took another look up and down our street. No white Porsche.
No Ben Delaney.
“Of course, Wills. You go and start, and I’ll be there in a minute.”
He trotted off across the landing.
Mel was silent, staring after our son as he disappeared back downstairs.
“Well?” I said.
“I don’t know. It just seems like … an overreaction.”
“He’s not been seen for more than thirty-six hours, Mel.”
“London’s an easy place to disappear in.”
“Is it? But why would he want to?”
“He’s always done exactly as he pleases, and screw everyone else.” She crossed her arms. “Always.”
“I know that, but why now? And why was he so angry on Thursday? He was really wound up, like something was going on. After what Beth said about him taking a gun from the house, I just think we need to do the right thing.”
“The right thing?”
“Yes.”
“But what if…” She trailed off.
“What?” I said gently.
In a small voice, she said, “What if we don’t know what the right thing is?”
That made me pause. “What do you mean, love?”
She was about to reply, then looked away.
“Mel?” I said. “Tell me.”
She sat down on the bed, shaking her head.
“Mel?” I said again.
“You’re always so sure of what the right thing is, aren’t you? Good old Joe. How come everything is so black and white for you?”
“We need to help Beth. Help both of them.”
“I’m just not sure that us going to the police is the kind of help Ben would want.”
“The police are already involved. So are we, whether we like it or not.”
“Not involved. Not really.”
There was a strange, forced tone in her voice. “What’s up, Mel?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s up.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. I waited, thinking she was going to say something else, but then she seemed to decide against it.
“OK,” I said. “Let’s give that PC what’s-his-name a call. Have you got the card that Beth left?”
She fished the business card out of her sweatshirt pocket.
I took my phone out and dialed the number. The call connected and began to ring in my ear. It rang once. Twice.
Mel stood up abruptly and put a hand on my arm. “Joe. Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Hang up,” she said.
“Why?”
“Just hang up,” she repeated. “Please.”
I hit End and cut the call off. “What’s the matter?”
“Something I need to tell you first. Before we do this.”
“OK.” There was a strange tingling feeling at the back of my neck, as if someone had crept up behind me. I turned quickly, but there was no one. Of course there wasn’t.
She took a deep breath. “There’s something you need to know. Sit down on the bed a minute.”
“Are you OK?”
“Yes. Maybe.”
I sat down on the bed next to her. “So tell me.”
“The thing is … I think I might know what’s going on with Ben.”
16
The silence lay heavily between us.
I trusted my wife absolutely—always had—but she’d never been like this with me before. And her body language was all wrong: tucked in on herself, head down, hands clasped tightly together.
“So what’s going on with him, Mel?”
She put her head in her hands and began to cry. I put an arm around her shoulders, pulled her close.
“You can tell me anything, Mel. Anything at all. It’s OK, whatever it is. You know that, don’t you?”
A tear splashed onto the leg of my jeans. Then another. I let her cry for a minute, rubbing her shoulders, comforting her, the soft, fresh scent of her perfume surrounding us both.
“Just tell me,” I said again. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I made a mistake. A couple of years ago.”
A lurching, sinking feeling started in my chest and moved down through my stomach.
“A mistake?”
“I’m so sorry, Joe.” The breath caught in her throat. “It was so stupid.”
“Try to calm down, Mel. It’s OK.”
“Can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“What do you mean, a mistake?”
She reached for a box of tissues on the bedside table, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “Do you remember Charlotte and Gary’s wedding?”
“The one with the ice sculptures and the free bar?”
“That’s the one.”
Charlotte was another friend of Mel’s from college. She and Gary had gotten married in a posh ceremony in Highgate, followed by a reception at a fancy hotel set in its own parkland estate. William had just turned two. He’d begun to fidget and cry as the bride walked down the aisle, so I’d taken him outside, where we spent the entire ceremony looking at the badges of different cars lined up next to the graveyard. Audi. Bimmer. Ford. Saydees.
“What about it?”
“Do you remember the evening?”
I searched my memory. A lot of life was a blur when William had been that age, but this was the first wedding he’d been to, so it was more memorable than most.
“Not much of it. Didn’t I take William back to the hotel early for his bedtime? But you didn’t get back until after midnight, and you woke us both up falling over the suitcase. Twisted your ankle. You had a massive hangover the next morning.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“Something else happened at the reception?”
“Yes,” she said very quietly.
“Involving Ben?”
“You took Wills home early because it was past his bedtime. Beth went home because she had her yoga or something in the morning. There were loads of people there that Ben and I didn’t know, the DJ played some songs I remembered from college, and Ben asked me if I wanted to dance. Then he got a bottle of champagne, and we sat down and started talking. We had loads in common and talked for ages, about everything. Music, books, films, traveling, work. Future plans.” After holding it back for so long, it was coming out in a torrent now as if she couldn’t stop. “We drank that bottle, and then Ben got another, and eventually, he said he’d fancied me for ages. Told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me, that I was his perfect woman, that he’d had a thing about me since I’d first visited Beth at college, when we were both nineteen.”
My stomach lurched again as I guessed what I was about to hear next. A sick, sinking feeling that spread to my arms and legs.
“And?”
“I was flattered.”
“Then what?”
She paused, looked away.
“What happened, Mel?” My voice was hoarse.
“And then he leaned in and kissed me.”
It was like being sucker-punched in the back of the head. I felt dizzy, disoriented.
“What did you do?” My words seemed to fall over each other.
She shrugged, a tiny movement as if the answer was obvious. “I kissed him back.”
“And then what?” Heat was rising to my face.
“He said he was staying in the penthouse and that there was more champagne in his room. And strawberries for breakfast. That kind of brought me to my senses, and I ran out of there as fast as I could, jumped in a cab, and came back to our hotel.”
“How long did it last?”
“The conversation?”
“The kissing.”
“A minute? A few minutes, maybe.”
“Maybe?” I tried to keep my voice level.
“Not very long. I was drunk. I’m so sorry.”
I stood up, paced the room once, twice.
A kiss. Just a kiss, two years ago. Nothing else. They were drunk.
It happens. It changes nothing.
“Talk to me, Joe,” she said, her voice cracking. “Come and sit down again.”
I sat down next to her on the bed again, trying to blink the dizziness away. “Jesus, Mel. This is a bit of a bloody bombshell. What the hell were you thinking?”
“That was it, I wasn’t thinking. It was the booze. That’s no excuse—”
“No, it isn’t.”
She paused, seeming to choose her next words with care. “I’m so sorry, Joe.”
“Nothing else happened?”
“It was just a kiss, that was all. A stupid, drunken snog.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it then, or since?”
“Because I was mortified, couldn’t believe what had happened, and worried about how you’d react. By the time I’d started to get over the shame, it seemed like there wasn’t any point in telling you because it was over and done with, all in the past. Obviously, I couldn’t tell Beth because she’s a friend. And anyway, nothing really happened. Not really.”
“But you’re telling me now.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with the tissue again. “The thing was, after that night, Ben was … different.”