We had all been too quick to believe Phil had killed Amy, even his wife. What that meant for him and Rachel, it was too soon to know. And now I’d told the police about Mike’s affair for nothing. A knot hardened in my stomach.
My instinct on Richard had been way off, and I shuddered as I pictured him sitting on my sofa. Had he come on to Amy as well? She would have spurned his advances. Was that what had pushed him to breaking point?
He must have planned all along to frame someone else for her death. His reaction to the suggestion that she had been having an affair with Phil was bizarre, considering he had sent the messages – but presumably that was all part of his attempt to cover his tracks. It was an elaborate scheme, though, and for just a second it struck me that it was implausible. But Richard had stolen Amy’s phone and could have accessed her Facebook, which meant he could have framed Phil. It had to have been him. But why?
And if it wasn’t him, then who?
‘Care for a nightcap?’
I jumped. I’d been so deep in thought that I hadn’t heard Mike come up behind me.
Chapter Twenty-One
None of the kids wanted to go to bed – at least, nobody wanted to sleep alone in their own bedrooms. Lucas insisted that he would have nightmares, and Betsy refused to even go to the toilet on her own. Auntie Sue agreed that it would be good for us to stick together and proposed a sleepover. She popped home to get a couple of sleeping bags for her and Mum, while we set up in the living room, pushing the furniture back to make room for us all to sleep in the middle of the floor, lined up like sardines.
I excused Mike from the slumber party and watched him climb the stairs, taking the bottle of scotch with him. He had been holding himself together remarkably well, but his expression changed whenever he thought nobody was watching. He was ready to crack, and as much as I was still furious with him, the idea that I had betrayed him was gnawing at me.
Betsy was sandwiched between Mum and Auntie Sue, where she promptly fell asleep, her jaw slackening on her wet thumb as her breathing slowed into soft snores. Lucas was reading with a small pocket light clipped onto the top of his book, casting him in a halo of yellow light. He fell asleep slack-mouthed, the book fanned open on his chest. Auntie Sue gently teased it free from his grip and pulled the sleeping bag up to his chin.
Hannah propped her head up on her arm, her face just below my shoulder.
‘Do they think Mr Pringle killed Mum?’ She was barely audible.
Instinctively, I shook my head.
‘No, darling, I’m sure—’
‘Don’t lie,’ she hissed. ‘They let Phil go – they wouldn’t do that if he was guilty. And why does Dad have to go in again? There’s obviously something going on!’
She rolled onto her back, flopping her head back against her pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
‘I wish Mum was here,’ she said, whispering to the dark.
I slept in fits and starts, lying awake for what felt like hours at a time. Eventually, the daylight beyond the window became too bright to ignore. I scanned the row of sleeping bags – everyone was still asleep, except Auntie Sue.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ she mimed drinking from a cup.
We gingerly climbed out of our sleeping bags, trying our hardest not to make any noise. In the kitchen I stretched, my back making a series of loud cracks. Auntie Sue put the kettle on. I checked my messages. There were three from Rachel:
OMG Izzy. I heard what’s happened! This is awful! They don’t really think Richard could have done it, do they? How are the kids? xxx
They’ve released Phil. He’s going to stay at his mum’s for a few days. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what to do!
I miss you guys, all of you. Can’t get through this without you. Coming home tomorrow xxx
And another from Adam:
IZ: CALL ME. IT IS IMPORTANT.
What was so urgent? I doubted it was more pressing than my sister’s stalker being questioned about her death. I looked at the clock – it would be just after lunch in Hong Kong. I’d give him a call after my coffee.
Breakfast was a sombre affair, the kids silently spooning mouthfuls of sugary cereal, except for Hannah, who just stirred hers. Poor girl – only thirteen and already she had bags under her eyes. Lucas was yawning too, and I realised I wasn’t the only one who’d only managed a few hours of sleep.
Mike appeared, clean-shaven for the first time in days. He joked and bantered with the kids, trying too hard, a false lightness to him that everyone saw right through. I studiously avoided eye contact, busying myself with clearing away the breakfast things. Despite my resentment over what he’d done to Amy, my disloyalty sat souring like a saucer of milk left out in the sunshine.
Clearly, nobody was going to school. I couldn’t bring the kids’ mum back, and I couldn’t hide the fact that the local headteacher was about to be arrested for her murder, but I could protect them from the stares, the whispers, and the gossip of the world outside.
I remembered what it had been like to be the hot topic of the village. In a frighteningly short space of time, Amy and I had gone from getting condolences for losing Dad to worried queries about how well Mum was coping, and then thinly disguised attempts to mine for gossip.
Mum hadn’t been seen out in weeks by that point, and everywhere we’d gone, people had turned and whispered, or spoken to one another from behind raised hands, their eyes on us. The rumour was that Mum lost her mind and retreated to the attic like Mrs Rochester – or something like that. Little did they know that she had retreated to the other side of the world. They speculated, conjectured, hypothesised and guessed, made up stories to fill the void, created a narrative to make their boring little lives more interesting. They thought that I wouldn’t see, or I wouldn’t realise that they were talking about us, or maybe they just didn’t care. Only Mrs Wheeler had shown any true kindness.
No wonder I hadn’t been able to wait to get as far away as possible from this place.
I wanted to keep the kids in a bubble, at least for now. As soon as we knew what was happening with Richard, then we could make a plan. If he was guilty, we were going – never mind Amy’s last wishes. I would not, could not let them stay here. I would pack up the entire family and we would start a new life somewhere else, far away from Seahouses, where nobody knew what had happened. Far from here, where murderers and memories lurked around every corner. For now, I just had to keep them occupied and as sane as possible.
Mum was not herself, at least not the lively, happy woman she’d been just the day before. She hadn’t dressed yet and was silently nursing a cup of tea that must have gone cold. I’d barely heard her talk all morning, and the puffiness around her eyes made me want to cry. She stared straight ahead at an invisible point on the table, drowning in her thoughts. I could see that she was withdrawing into herself by the minute, and I was afraid to lose her again, just as she was starting to make progress. Even Auntie Sue was giving me one-word answers.
They needed a distraction – we all did. Thankfully, I had a pitch to finish.
It was a crazy idea, but I put everyone to work. Before long, Betsy was helping Auntie Sue to glue scraps of fabric and colour swatches onto my mood board while Lucas edited a 360-degree model of a hotel bedroom on the family laptop.
I asked Hannah to look at my PowerPoint, expecting some feedback on the design, and when she screwed her nose up at it, I told her to make me a better one. She was now putting together a short conceptual video to present Izzy Morton Interiors, scouring the internet for abstract footage and images that represented the brand vision. For once, I was lost for words.
Slowly but surely, Mum started to come around. Lucas nudged her gently with questions about the positioning of furniture in the 3D model, and as she described the flows of energy in a room, the light began to return to her eyes.
Lucas suggested that energy flows could be built into the model, an additional layer of graphics to give a visual representation
of the chi so that everyone could see it as she did. Under her direction, he animated swirling patterns that looked like streams of molten gold and shimmering diamonds, pouring in through the windows and doors and bouncing around the room, reverberating and echoing off the energy points she had strategically placed, and Mum’s smile finally returned.
We were disturbed by the sound of the front door opening. Auntie Sue gave me a questioning look as she got up to see who it was.
‘Rachel!’ Auntie Sue said. ‘My dear girl.’
She pulled her into an embrace, and Rachel gave me a feeble smile over her shoulder. She was pale, with sunken hollows beneath her eyes, and I wondered how much sleep she had managed to get. The last few days had added years to her. I wanted to feed her, provide hugs and cups of sugary tea.
At least working on the pitch was providing a great distraction for everyone. I had been so absorbed by the work and by making sure that everyone had something to do, I had barely thought about drinking.
We proudly showed Rachel our progress, and I could see how much the kids had missed her. They asked about Phil, and she was honest – she didn’t know what he had done or where he was. Her voice faltered as she spoke.
‘But no matter what, I’m still your Auntie Rachel. I love you all so much. And I’m not going anywhere.’
I pulled her into the privacy of the kitchen the moment the kids got back to work. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Phil?’
Rachel shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. ‘I’ve got no idea. He’s not answering my calls. The police told me he went to his mum’s, but she says he’s not there.’
I reflexively wrapped her in a hug. ‘Don’t worry, love. He’s probably just cooling off, getting over the shock of it all. He’ll be home soon.’
She nodded, wiping her tears on her sleeve.
‘And he’s innocent, that’s the main thing.’ I hesitated for a second, wanting to press without adding to the pressure on her. ‘So they must be convinced that it was Richard. I wonder what else they have on him, besides the phone. Are you sure Amy never said anything about him? Anything about being afraid of him?’
‘I don’t know, Izzy, I don’t know what to believe any more. I don’t know what’s real…’ Her lip trembled and she stopped short. I folded her back into me.
By midday, there was still no news. Rachel started making lunch, while the rest of us reviewed the results of a morning’s hard work. What we had managed to produce in just a few hours had surpassed even my grandest expectations. Izzy Morton Interiors was suddenly beginning to feel very real. Maybe, just maybe, I could pull this off.
We sat down to eat. Rachel’s hand trembled as she ladled soup into our bowls, so I gently took it from her and finished serving. Perhaps, when this was all over, I thought, we could take a break together – just to get away from Seahouses. A girls’ trip would do her so much good.
The chatter started to slow down as the family ate, and in those growing moments of silence, I could see worry flashing across the kids’ faces. Hannah kept looking at the clock and was constantly checking her phone – although that was nothing new. She was a bright kid, and she knew what she had seen that day in Newcastle. I wondered how much she had worked out for herself and how her loyalty to her father would be tested if she found out what he’d done. Mum began to hum, and Betsy started sucking her thumb as soon as she had finished eating. We needed to get back to work.
I stood at the front of the living room, my presentation on the TV screen and my mood board serving as a backdrop. Looking at my ‘audience’ I suddenly felt nervous – I needed to not let them down. They had as much invested in this as I had. I took a deep breath and started my pitch.
We hadn’t got far when the doorbell rang. Auntie Sue answered it and led Jake into the living room.
‘Just calling by to see how you’re all doing.’ He flashed me a heart-melting grin.
Auntie Sue raised an eyebrow at me as Jake wedged himself between the kids on the sofa. I tried to avoid the gaze of my newest audience member and concentrate on my script, but I felt the blush rising in my cheeks. Why did this man give me butterflies every time I saw him?
I stuttered my opening lines but soon found my stride, and actually started to enjoy it. I knew the idea was good and I was confident we were proposing a great concept. If Jennifer Wheeler would give me this chance, I wouldn’t let her down.
My rhythm was broken by Jake’s phone ringing. His face fell when he saw the caller ID and he excused himself to take it outside. I tried to carry on, but my concentration was shattered.
‘OK everyone, quick break time!’ I said, hurrying out of the room after him.
Jake was in the back garden, and I watched him from the kitchen window as he paced across the patio. His shoulders sank, and I knew from the curve of his neck and the way he held his head that we were back to square one.
He put the phone back in his pocket and I went outside to join him. His face said it all.
‘Richard had an alibi.’ He sighed. ‘A solid one. He was nowhere near Seahouses the night that Amy died.’
Something like fury bubbled up inside me. ‘That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it! Why did he have her phone?’
The ground started to spin, and my balance faltered. Jake was suddenly at my side.
‘Easy, there.’ He gently took my elbow. ‘Let’s just sit down here for a second.’ He put an arm around my shoulder and eased me onto the doorstep.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘He had her phone. He framed Phil.’
‘He took the phone – he’s admitted that, and they’ll charge him with theft, but there’s nothing to suggest he sent those messages from Phil Turner. There’s no evidence linking him to the accident.’ Jake shook his head. ‘Apparently, he says he loved her. He was planning to return the phone. He only took it to get photos of Amy.’
‘That’s stalking!’
Jake held up his hands.
‘It’s creepy all right, and it’s illegal, but it doesn’t mean he had anything to do with her death. Richard was at a conference in Edinburgh when Amy died. Hundreds of people saw him. Apart from the phone, there’s absolutely nothing connecting him to any of it.’
I folded myself forward and buried my head in my hands. I’d let Amy down again. And Auntie Sue was right – Richard wouldn’t recover from this. The people here, they’d never let him forget it. The story would grow and bend and twist and mutate into something hideous and unrecognisable from any version of the truth.
Perhaps that’s what he deserved. He had stolen her phone, after all. Or maybe he’d seen Amy for who she really was and couldn’t help but love her, and had been reckless in his desperation to cling on to any morsel of her memory. Maybe it was nothing more than that. Maybe he had loved her like we all had. Maybe Amy, if she were here, would forgive him for that.
We stepped back into the kitchen. Auntie Sue was waiting by the open door. She shook her head and for the first time in my life, I saw her disappointment in me and remembered afresh that there is no greater pain than letting down the people who love you.
I braced myself, but before she could say anything, the front door burst open, clattering so hard into the wall that the whole house shook. The noise was splintering, and I was running to throw myself in front of the kids before I even had to think about it.
Mike thundered into the hallway, his face a storm of fury and red with rage, lips carved into a snarl, fists balled at his side. He saw me first.
‘Get. Out. Of. My. House.’
He ground out each word through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched.
‘Mike, look – I mean, you can’t think any of this is my fault…’ I tripped over the words, inching backwards as he moved towards me.
‘Get out my house and get away from my kids.’
Auntie Sue came running down the hallway, her face shattered with panicked incredulity. ‘What on earth has happened?’
Mike peered around the living room, doing
a double-take when he noticed Rachel sitting in Amy’s chair. She stared at her feet with heavy eyes.
‘It’s her!’ He bellowed, pointing at me. ‘She’s trying to set me up!’
‘Mike,’ I said, trying to stay calm. ‘Let’s talk about this, please. I had to tell them…’
Auntie Sue shook her head and looked away.
‘Get out,’ Mike said, now eerily calm. Staring me down. He glanced at Rachel. ‘You too. Get out of my house and stay away from my kids.’
‘Come on, Mike.’ The words cracked on my tongue. ‘You can’t keep me away…’
‘I can, and I will.’ His voice was as still and deep as the sea, ready to whip into a storm at any moment.
I planted my feet firmly in the carpet and tried to summon the bravery to fight him, but it was no use. He was right. Then a hand at my elbow – and there was Jake, with his kind eyes. He ushered me and Rachel out of the room.
The kids were crying again, all three of them now. I gave a watery smile and mouthed to Hannah, ‘It’s OK…’ as Jake steered me through the doorway, the first tears rolling silently down my cheeks. Auntie Sue was holding Mum, still avoiding my eyes. From the hallway, I could hear the kids sobbing, Betsy properly wailing now, just on the other side of this wall. What had I done?
Only Hannah had the presence of mind to scoop up the things I needed for my pitch and pass them to me as we filed outside the front door, a motley crew straggling along the garden path, shell-shocked and shoeless.
‘Mike, come on, please don’t do this,’ I tried one last time.
He glared at me and slammed the door closed.
I pounded my balled fists against it, pleading. ‘Please, Mike. Please!’
But I knew it was futile.
I collapsed downwards, folding in on myself like a concertina until I landed in a crouch on the doorstep, sobbing into my knees, my arms wrapped around my legs. The village rumour mill would be sent into overdrive, but I didn’t care who saw or who heard any more; they could talk about us all they wanted. I had thought before that I’d lost everything – now I realised how losing everything really felt.
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