by Amanda James
God it felt so good, the power-surge coursing through my veins when I pushed her over the edge. I heard her gasp in shock as she tried to suck air and failed. Then I watched her flailing arms, her body bouncing off the side of the cliff and heard the satisfying thud when she hit the ledge way below. Okay, she should have landed on the rocks, but even though she didn’t, you’d think the fall would have killed her. She must have the luck of the devil. Seems like she didn’t recognise me though, which is a lifesaver. If she had, there’d be some very difficult questions to answer, particularly given it’s not so long since Penny’s sad demise.
Let’s hope Alison doesn’t start to remember bits that she shouldn’t. Because if she does, I’ll have to make sure I finish what I started. Nothing will stand in the way of my happiness now. I’ve suffered too long, it’s time for some smooth waters on this choppy ocean. I think I’ll pop along and visit poor Alison soon… see how the land lies.
I stare at the words. Stare and stare. I didn’t write this. DID. NOT. But then all the doubts about the vengeful me, the vicious me, the vindictive me, push at my rational thought – rush at it all at once until it’s swamped. My hand comes up to my mouth trembles over my lips, stifles a moan that’s been building. I look at the words again and slowly my rational thought recovers – pushes back. This isn’t my writing. It looks a hell of a lot like it, but my ‘fs’ and ‘ys’ are less looped, straighter. The ‘ts’ are wrong too. But my God it’s good. Really good.
The book falls from my hands, falls shut on the tiles. A memory from school thuds into my head. Sick notes from parents written to order, a fiver a time – a nice little earner he’d said. Everyone marvelled at how good a forger he was. Dan, ever the entrepreneur. He’d written another note recently, too hadn’t he? That one fooled the police. The implication of these entries is clear. They’re insurance for the future. In case I decide I’ve had enough – want out. I’d be punished – would have to be. A few nights ago, he’d said he’d never let me go. This would stop me leaving because if I did, he’d take the book to the police. If I called his bluff, I’d end up inside.
Tears roll down my face as I look up at the cabinet and it blurs to just a suggestion of square light on the wall as I realise he has more. He’s not keeping the tablets as a memento – he’s keeping them as proof! Proof that I killed Penny. They were my tablets – my handwriting on them. I wrote the suicide note – tried to kill Alison too. It’s here in the book, after all.
I get to my feet and stumble out of the room. Lean against the wall in the kitchen. I have to think about this calmly. Think what to do! I can turn it round on him before he gets back. I have the tablets, the hoodie, the book with my fake writing. An expert could tell it wasn’t mine and then he’d be in deep shit. He’d be the one inside. Fury at what he’s tried to do builds and I kick a chair across the room, pretending it’s his face.
Anger gives me strength, power. But a second later it drains as more thoughts rush in. Some tablets, a hoodie with mud on, my insistence that he confessed, a notebook with my ‘so say’ fake writing. They’re not enough, are they? Would the police arrest him on this? Probably, but is this evidence alone enough to convict him? It will be my word against his about the confession. My writing’s on the tablets. If I tell them about the suicide note being fake I’d be implicated in covering up Penny’s murder.
My world turns upside down, I stumble into the living room and sit on a high-backed chair – my thoughts in turmoil. I try to unpick a positive strand from the tangled mess in my brain, but I can’t. More of the same instead. The antidepressants are mine, I could have planted them on Dan, for all the police knew. But what about his fingerprints? They’d be all over them, wouldn’t they? He’d think of something – a way around that. He’s better at lying than I am. He’s charming too, confident, assured.
Just like me today, Dan probably wore gloves too. He’d get lawyered up – the best money can buy, and he’d get off. Then he’d get revenge no question. My life wouldn’t be worth living. I’d end up inside – not him. Hell hath no fury like a murderer scorned. But what can I do? There’s only one thing to do. I have to try and bring him to justice – clear my name.
I collect the red bag from the wardrobe, the tablets and book from the bathroom, and put my hand on the front door handle. Then all the arguments flash through my head again and the scenarios of their outcomes. I sigh. There’s more than just one thing I can do. Dashing tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I return the items to their places ensuring everything is as Dan left it. Then, with a heavy heart, I walk out of the cottage and drive away.
31
Early signs of spring are making an appearance along the cliff path. By my feet, there’s a shy crocus emerging from slumber, its yellow petals reflecting the weak March sunshine. Below on Mawgan Porth beach, the scene looks like a painting. The obligatory surfers sit astride their boards waiting for a wave, a few seagulls wheel above them screeching at the horizon, and dog walkers hurl balls along the sand from plastic catapults. I wonder how the round red-cheeked lady and her unruly dog Hattie are getting along. I’ve seen them from time to time, but they aren’t here today. My mind’s taken back to the day I first met them – me stood in wellies, hoping the tide would carry me away. Today I’m a long way from that sad place – but there’s still some dark to come before my dawn.
Despite my situation, the walk has done me good, and adrenalin lifts my spirits as I set out on the last stretch home. It’s a week since the wedding. Jack and Felicity didn’t come, thankfully. Isn’t it funny how life changes? A few months ago, I would have given anything to see my boy’s face on the day. The way things have become, I would have given anything to keep him away, if he hadn’t done that himself. Helena, Carl and my darling Adam came, so did a few work colleagues and my old boss, Naomi – but not poor Alison of course. No. She’s still in recovery, and it’s uncertain whether she’ll walk again, but Naomi says she’s in fine fighting spirit. Determined to get well. She can’t remember any more about her attacker though, sadly.
The wedding went as well as could be expected under the circumstances. I put my key in the front door and congratulate myself again on how I avoided the disgust of sleeping with my husband on the wedding night. My husband the murderer. Diazepam in his champagne once we’d got to our bridal suite in the hotel did the trick. A taste of his own medicine – literally. Dan had gone out like a light until morning. When I’d pointed out he’d had the brandy and champagne, plus what he’d had through the evening, he’d accepted that he’d been caning it and didn’t seem too suspicious. Why would he? I’d carefully researched how much to add – I didn’t want to wake up with a corpse.
The next morning, I unfortunately “found that I had my period” and that it would probably last seven days. I said I was as devastated as him, of course, as we’d both waited so long to consummate our marriage. Never mind.
In the kitchen, I fill the kettle and take two mugs out of the cupboard. I go in search of Dan and find him out by the hot tub, fiddling with the controls. He’s like a kid with a new toy since it was declared open this morning. I remember that he wasn’t so pleased, in fact he was furious, when I told him that tonight I’ve treated my daughter and her husband to a rare night out – at a hotel spa and restaurant, and I was babysitting. Tonight was supposed to be our late “wedding night”. A romantic evening to celebrate the early completion of the new hot tub with champagne and special canapés. The whole thing had been my idea, but it had just slipped my mind and I’d double-booked. Obviously, I hated to let him down at the last minute and told him I’d see what I could do about it.
The mugs rattle against the plate of biscuits on the tray as I carry it down the path towards the chairs and table on the new raised deck. The view of the coast from this perch is even more panoramic now. Heavenly. Dan looks up from the hot tub and I smile. ‘I’ve made tea and got your favourite biscuits, sweetie.’
‘You spoil me, hon.’ Dan grins,
sits opposite and shoves a whole Hobnob in his mouth at once. Crunching it down, he takes a swig of tea and says, ‘Have you had any ideas as to how we can still have our romantic evening?’
I dunk my biscuit and say, ‘I have. I’ll get Mrs Jacobs, Helena’s neighbour, to sit for an hour. She’ll jump at it, her being on her own after her husband died last year.’ I give Dan a sexy pout. ‘God, Dan – it will be so romantic, rushing back here to join you naked in the tub. Get the champagne on ice, but don’t start on it until I get back. I’m not having you conking out on me like you did on our wedding night.’
He shakes his head, bewildered. ‘I still don’t know how that happened. I’d had a drink, yes – but not that much.’
‘You know you did. But let’s not go over all that now.’
Dan gives me a slow lingering look, his gaze alighting on my breasts and then flicks up to my eyes. ‘How about we christen the tub now? We can always do it again later.’
I have to think quickly. ‘No. We’ve waited this long – we can wait until tonight. I want it to be special.’ Dan frowns, opens his mouth as if he’s going to protest, and I add, ‘I have stuff to do, anyway. Stuff to be ready for our special night.’ I give him a wink and blow him a kiss.
That seems to have pacified him a little, but he says, ‘I wish you weren’t staying over at Helena’s. If Adam stayed with us, we’d have more time and you’d hear him if he woke because of the baby alarm thing.’
I smile. ‘It’s called a baby monitor. But I told you, he’s going through a funny phase being scared of the dark right now. He’ll be better at his own house and settle better in his own surroundings. His parents won’t be around to comfort him if we have him here.’
Dan nods grudgingly and kisses my cheek. ‘Okay, Sam. Whatever you think best. I love you so much, you know that, right?’
‘Of course I do, Dan,’ I say, and kiss him back. And I do know. Despite everything he’s done and would do in a flash, if he felt threatened, he does love me. Well, whatever love actually means for him. Always has – I never doubted it. That’s what makes it all so desperately sad. I’m not sad for long though. Fury drives what I have to do.
Bath time with Adam is a delight. He squeals when I blow bubbles at him and he piles a heaped tower of them on his head. With the back of my hand, I add a bubble beard to his chin and show him in a hand mirror. He chuckles so loud and long that I think he’ll never stop. It’s infectious, so free and joyful, unencumbered by any self-conscious worry about sounding daft or uncool. Toddlers are a tonic. I join in, adding my giggle to his and it feels good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed, or even cracked a genuine smile.
Later I lower him into his cot and note that it won’t be long before he’ll need a real bed. A pang of sorrow touches my heart. Time moves on so quickly, doesn’t it? I wish he could stay little for longer. In a few years he’ll be at school and not need me as much… but that’s just a selfish thought. I need to take each phase as it comes, because each will be different and filled with new adventure. Life is what you make it and I plan to make the rest of mine worth living.
I turn the lamp on by the cot which rotates colourful patterns on the ceiling and Adam watches them, his eyes opening and closing as sleep tries to claim him. ‘Story, Andma?’
‘Really? I think you’re too sleepy for a st–’
Adam’s eyes open wide and sets his mouth in a determined line. ‘No. Story peese.’
I nod, pick up a storybook and swallow hard. Sometimes I can see his granddad so clearly in his mannerisms. I wish my darling Adam could have seen this little one. He’s missed, is missing, so much. Maybe he can see him somehow, see me too. I like to think so, sometimes I feel so close to him, as if he’s standing by my side. I’ll always love him and keep his memory alive, so perhaps that will be enough until we meet again. I wipe away a tear and begin to read, but when I look up from the first page, I see that Adam’s fast asleep.
Breakfast is a messy affair as Adam insists on “helping” me with mine. Helena and Carl walk in to find my face covered in jam, and scrambled egg in my fringe. The two of them look refreshed and happy as if they’ve been away on holiday, not just overnight, and I’m glad I could give them some time as a couple.
‘Thanks again, Mum, for that lovely surprise.’ Helena hugs me on the doorstep as I set off for home.
‘You’re welcome. It will have done you good to have a night away.’
Helena gives me a shy smile and looks over her shoulder at Carl who’s boosting Adam into the air. ‘Yes. Especially now we’re trying for a brother or sister for Adam.’ She puts a forefinger to her lips. ‘Shh. Our secret for now, yes?’
My heart is bursting with excitement. A new baby, how wonderful! ‘That’s fantastic,’ I whisper and give her a hug.
There are three police cars outside my house as I pull onto the drive. As I get out, DI Nick Brocklehurst and DS Charlotte Jennings come down the side of the house and hurry over. Brocklehurst’s face is serious, but there’s sympathy in his eyes. ‘We’ve been trying to contact you for the last hour, Mrs Lane – sorry, I mean Mrs Thomas, now isn’t it… Is your phone off?’
As I’m scrabbling for an answer and checking my phone, which is off, a private ambulance just like the one that came for Penny pulls up behind my car. I gawp at it open mouthed. I look back to DI Brocklehurst and DS Jennings. ‘What’s… what’s happened?’
DS Jennings takes my arm and says, ‘We had a phone call from a Mrs Kellerton – the cleaner of your retreat. She tried to find you, but you weren’t here. Have you been out for an early walk?’
‘No. No, I’ve been babysitting my grandson – stayed overnight.’
Brocklehurst and Jennings look at each other, say nothing.
‘For God’s sake will you please tell me what’s happened!’ I can’t stand this any longer.
Brocklehurst takes my other arm and leads me to the bench outside the kitchen window. I sit down, look up at his grave expression. ‘Mrs Thomas… Samantha. I’m sorry to have to tell you that your husband is dead.’
I shake my head open and close my mouth. ‘D-dead?’
He nods. ‘I’m afraid so. He–’
I stand up. Point my finger at him ‘No. No he can’t be! There’s some mistake…’
As Brocklehurst is struggling for words, a man dressed in a white coverall comes round the side of the house. Then he sees me and quickly turns back. I set off after him, shaking off the attempts of Brocklehurst and Jennings to stop me. The man hurries down the garden path, to where a huddle of police officers and more people in white coveralls are talking, pointing, taking photos. Rachel Kellerton, ashen-faced, is sitting outside the retreat drinking tea, a police officer jotting stuff down on a pad. When she sees me, her cup clatters against the saucer and she half stands. I ignore her and run to the huddle of people and stop.
The babble of voices falls silent and everyone looks at me. Through a gap I can see an arm. It’s Dan’s arm. I push past to see him naked in the hot tub. Dan’s face is white… so white. He’s dead. Dead and swimming in a pool of his own blood, and it’s Penny all over again. The coppery tang of blood hits the back of my throat, my stomach rolls and my legs give way. I’m only saved from falling by two police officers.
‘No. No. No!’ I scream and struggle against the officers who are trying to shield my view. Then I let my body go limp and burst into tears, allow myself to be led away from the horror of it all, towards my house.
Epilogue
I can’t believe that six weeks have passed since I lost Dan. The calendar says May though, and the scene from my balcony looks like the front cover of a magazine for the Cornish tourist board. Yellow sand, blue sky, fluffy white clouds and hundreds of people on the beach, in the sea, building sandcastles, eating ice cream. It’s as if Dan was never here, but life has to go on, doesn’t it?
Those people on the beach have no clue what happened in the grounds of this house not very long ago. They have no clue what I
had to go through, what I had to endure. But why should they? People’s lives are similar, very similar, in the day-to-day. We go shopping, have jobs, need a roof over our heads, have things and people we love, but we are often worlds apart in the wider scheme of things. The way we see the big picture is different for all of us. Some never see all of the picture, some don’t want to, and some, if they don’t like the one they have, seize a brush and paint a new one with bold new strokes. Like me.
The police found a suicide and a confession note addressed to them folded neatly in the top pocket of Dan’s jacket. It said that he couldn’t forget what he’d done to Penny – that he’d killed her in cold blood. That he’d sat in the hot tub, taken the same tablets as he’d given Penny which he’d taken from me, and then slashed his wrists with a razor blade. He’d also tried to kill Alison – he’d explained why. The hoodie he wore at the time, and my antidepressants he’d used on Penny and a notebook could be found at his cottage.
The two officers, who stopped me from falling, found another letter addressed to me on my pillow, as they led me to my bedroom to recover from the shock. The police took it as evidence but let me have it back again after they’d closed the case. I can remember it almost word-for-word, but I take it out of my pocket and read it again now.
My darling Sam, I can’t live with what I’ve done. I killed Penny. I let them think it was you who’d killed her at first, because I had to keep them right away from me – it’s always the husband who’s suspected, isn’t it? I didn’t think for one minute they’d have strong enough evidence, but I couldn’t be sure, so I wrote Penny’s fake suicide note to free you. I adore you, my love, and did the worse thing a person can ever do. I killed Penny because I wanted to be with you, to marry you and also because I despised her. Because of one mistake with her when we were teenagers, I lost you for thirty years. We could have been married long ago, had children, maybe grandchildren, by now. I couldn’t forgive her for that.