The Dead Dog Day

by Jackie Kabler

  47

  Ten minutes after Cora had driven off, Benjamin was still standing on the rain-soaked street, distraught and with no idea what to do next. He slumped against the wall of the nearest building, ignoring the curious stares occasionally thrown his way by passers-by, although most were too busy battling with their wind-blown umbrellas to notice the famous TV star with the tear-streaked face and the anguished look in his eyes.

  How could he have been so stupid? The look on Cora’s face … Benjamin groaned and reached for his phone. His fingers shook as he dialled her number. He needed to explain, she had to let him explain. But as the phone rang twice and then stopped abruptly, he realised with a sinking heart that it wasn’t going to be that easy. She’d been angry, really angry, and terribly hurt, and he didn’t blame her one tiny bit. What a complete idiot he was. He’d finally met a girl he genuinely believed he could be happy with, and he’d screwed it up. Screwed it up so very, very badly. She was never meant to see him with Alice, it was pretty much all over, for heaven’s sake. If only Cora hadn’t come along when she did, if only …

  Horrified by the whole situation, he stumbled down the street towards the nearest bar. He needed to think. And drink. Drink quite a lot, actually. And once he’d done that, he’d come up with a plan to sort this mess out. It would be OK. Somehow. Benjamin Boland usually got what he wanted, didn’t he? Of course he did. It would be OK. He spotted a tiny bar down a side street and staggered towards it like a dying man. It would be OK. He’d figure it out. He had to.

  48

  Tuesday 10th April

  Cora opened her still-swollen eyes gingerly. Ouch. Her head hurt. And why was the room so bright? Squinting, she sat up slowly in bed. It wasn’t her bed either, the duvet cover bright blue and slightly scratchy. She swung her legs over the side of the mattress and sat for a moment, head in hands, as her brain fog slowly cleared. Spain. She was in Spain. And Benjamin was a bastard.

  Cora stood up, wobbled slightly then walked carefully to the window, kicking an empty wine bottle out of the way and groaning as she remembered why her head was aching so much. She pulled the thin, white curtains back, grimacing as the light hit her tender pupils, then stood there for a minute, letting her vision adjust and drinking in the view. The soft morning air filled her lungs and she pushed the window open even further, eyes drifting across surprisingly green countryside and to the distant hills beyond.

  As she headed downstairs to the kitchen in search of tea, she muttered a fervent thank you to her parents for the always open invitation to pop over to their Spanish villa and, she had to admit, an even more ardent thank you to them for actually being away on a cruise right now. Much as she loved her mother, the questions would have been a little hard to take in her current delicate state.

  Cora’s parents lived in Moraira, a small, up-market town about halfway between Alicante and Valencia on Spain’s eastern coast. Formerly a fishing village, the town was now a thriving tourist destination, but also popular with the wealthy retired, particularly of the British variety. Edwin and Doreen Baxter had started working together when they got married nearly four decades ago, first setting up a successful cleaning business and later, when Cora and her two younger sisters had gone off to work and university, opening a seaside hotel in Cornwall. A few years ago they had sold the hotel for a healthy profit and decided to retire. Now in their mid-sixties, they lived a wonderful life in the sun, taking long holidays, playing golf, and generally making up for all the leisure time they had missed over the years.

  As she pottered around the immaculate kitchen with its wood burner, the big, cream tiles cool underfoot, Cora was again filled with gratitude that their long spell as hoteliers meant her parents had got into the habit of never, ever letting themselves run out of food. They might be away on a three-week trip but the tea caddy was stuffed with teabags, there was bread, meat, fish and some unidentifiable brown lumps in plastic bags in the freezer, and three bottles of white wine in the fridge (there’d been four last night, Cora thought ruefully), along with some unopened butter and pots of blueberry, raspberry, and mango jam.

  Cora snapped off a couple of slices from a frozen loaf, popped it in the microwave on defrost, then shoved it into the toaster, sipping her black tea as the bread slowly browned. Then, after liberally spreading her toast with butter and jam, she pulled her mother’s orange floral dressing-gown tightly around her and carried her breakfast out onto the pool terrace, sinking into a rattan chair and wishing she’d brought her sunglasses with her. As the mid-morning sun – she had, incredibly, slept until nearly eleven – gently warmed her weary body, the events of last night came slowly back to her. It seemed so long ago, and so far away, and yet it was only a matter of hours since she’d driven frantically away from her unfaithful boyfriend and her deceitful colleague.

  Cora had dumped her car in the first long-stay car park she’d found at Heathrow Airport, grabbed her overnight bag and laptop and raced to the nearest ticket desk. Luck had, for once, been on her side, and she’d managed to grab a one-way ticket to Alicante, leaving on the last flight of the night. She’d worry about the return journey later. Once she landed, it had been a simple matter to hire a car and drive the familiar fifty or so miles north to Moraira. There’d been a moment of panic when, in the dark, Cora couldn’t locate the spare key her dad always left under a big rock at the side of the villa. But after a quick fumble and a lot of cursing, she was letting herself in to the quiet hallway, a huge sense of relief flooding her and for some reason causing her to burst into tears again.

  She’d dumped her bag in her usual bedroom and then headed for the fridge, still sobbing. Then, clutching a bottle and grabbing a glass from the cabinet as she passed, she’d sunk into the big, soft, brown sofa in the lounge, tuned the TV to an English language channel showing an old black and white comedy film, and poured herself a large drink. And there she’d sat until she was all cried out, and actually managing a giggle or two at the on-screen antics. She’d brought the remains of her wine to bed, sipping it as she snuggled under the duvet and the first light of dawn began penetrating the dark room, and had eventually fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Now she watched idly as a tiny lizard skittered across the flags of the patio, stopping to sun itself at the edge of the small swimming pool that was her dad’s pride and joy. Cora glanced at the wall thermometer hanging next to the table. It was nearly twenty degrees already. Suddenly feeling unexpectedly cheerful at the prospect of a day sunning herself, she downed the rest of her tea and headed back inside in search of a shower and some sun cream. She knew she had to make some phone calls, and decisions, but all that could wait. She’d get dressed, drive down to the local supermarket for some provisions, then sit by the pool and make a plan.

  By two o’clock she was settled in a sun lounger, dressed in a lurid pink strapless dress she’d found in her mother’s wardrobe, laptop and phone fully charged on the little drinks table at her side. She hesitated for a moment, then decided first things first. Her friends would be worried if they thought she was ill and not answering her home phone, so she’d have to come clean. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her mobile and called Sam. Five minutes later, she ended the call, greatly relieved. Despite being lied to last night, her friend had been incredibly forgiving about her bunking off work, satisfyingly outraged about Benjamin and Alice, and deeply understanding about Cora’s need for a few days off.

  ‘Seriously, love, don’t worry. I’ll put in a sick leave form for you for the rest of the week. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?’ Sam had said, sounding only slightly anxious.

  ‘That’s perfect, thank you so much. I’ll get my head together here for a few days and then book a flight back for the weekend. And Sam – you won’t say anything to Alice, will you? Not yet? I want to handle this myself, and I haven’t decided what to do yet. I need to think.’

  ‘Well, if that’s what you want.’ Sam’s tone was dubious. ‘It’s going to be hard for me to
treat her normally though, knowing what I know. What a total bitch!’

  Cora sighed. ‘I know. I’m not letting her get away with it, Sam. But I need to think carefully. Do I ring Benjamin and tell him she’s pregnant? Because I very much doubt that he knows that – from what Sherry said at work, Alice hadn’t told the father yet. That’s assuming he is the father of course. Who knows who else the little slut was sleeping with? Or maybe I’ll just confront her in the newsroom, in front of everyone. Or … I don’t know. It’s over between me and Benjamin, that’s for sure. I should have known better than to trust someone with his reputation …’

  She’d paused then, tears threatening to spill once more, and quickly ended the call, Sam urging her to chill out and come back refreshed and promising to tell nobody but Wendy what was really going on.

  Cora shut her eyes for a few minutes, savouring the heat, then made quick calls to Rosie and Nicole to fill them in too. Their horrified exclamations and vows of love, support and plenty of cake when she returned left Cora feeling more cheerful. Then she tapped out a quick email to her parents, deciding that was the best way to reach them on a cruise, and told them she’d decided to take a last-minute mini break at the villa but that everything was fine and not to worry. She had a sneaking suspicion they would have asked some of their neighbours to keep an eye on the place in their absence, and didn’t want to cause a panic when lights were seen going on and off inside later.

  Finally, a few brief texts to the boys, simply saying she’d split up with Benjamin and had taken a few days’ leave in Spain. They all responded within minutes, making her laugh with declarations that she was too good for him anyway and to have a great rest/drink lots of sangria/pick up a nice Spanish hunk (or, in Nathan’s case, to bring him back a nice Spanish hunk).

  Duty calls all done, Cora looked at her watch. Just after three. She picked up an old crime thriller she’d found on a bookshelf in the lounge and settled back, ignoring her phone when it rang. It would only be Benjamin again, for around the sixth time today. Let him suffer, she thought coldly. I’ve had enough of men messing me around. For a fleeting moment, Adam came into her thoughts, but she instantly berated herself. For goodness’ sake, no more men!

  She’d concentrate on her career from now on, especially if Alice was pregnant and her job was likely to be up for grabs … maybe she and Benjamin had done Cora a favour after all … and maybe …

  Her thoughts became a confusing jumble as sleep overtook her, the novel sliding out of her hand and slipping to the ground as her heavy eyes shut. It was nearly five when she awoke with a jump, neck stiff and cheeks pink from the sun. She lay still for a moment, as a sudden feeling of overwhelming loneliness swept over her. Why did this keep happening to her? She’d talked to Benjamin about coming out here for a weekend, and he’d seemed so keen on the idea, promised to make her paella, get her drunk on cava and have his evil way with her …

  There was no point in thinking about that now. Cora sighed, sat up and started to gather her belongings. She was about to head back inside when out of the corner of her eye she saw something move on other side of the pool. Startled, she shaded her eyes and stared at the cluster of palms and phormiums along the back wall. Was there something there? Or – somebody? Her breath quickened.

  ‘Is … is someone there? Hello?’ Her voice was tremulous. There was silence. No noise, no movement, just a few innocent looking plants. She was an idiot, letting her imagination run away with her, that was all. Probably just another one of those little lizards. She felt herself growing calmer again. She’d go inside, have a nice cool shower, whip up some pasta and watch an old movie. It would be lovely. With one last glance across the turquoise water, she skipped into the villa.

  49

  In London, Benjamin’s mood was anything but sunny. He too had woken with the most shocking hangover, and it had taken him a full ten minutes to work out how he’d actually got home. The memories slowly trickled back into his aching brain as he moved cautiously round his designer kitchen, every clink of a cup and tap of a teaspoon hurting his throbbing head. Eventually he sank onto the sofa, strong coffee in slightly shaking hand. Swallowing two paracetamol, he shut his eyes and remembered. Remembered the grotty little bar he’d spent the evening in, knocking back first beer and then brandy. Ugh. He didn’t even like brandy. And then remembered why he’d drunk so much, the horrible scene on the Embankment as Cora had appeared from nowhere and his world had fallen apart. And all his own fault. He knew that, he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. A hot flash of anger pulsed through him. He had brought all this on himself, and now he needed to fix it.

  He’d stayed in the apartment all day, staring miserably out at the driving April rain and trying Cora’s number every couple of hours. Each time, she refused to answer. He hadn’t seen her on the TV this morning, which probably meant she was off filming somewhere. And he had no idea where, so there was no point in getting in the car and trying to find her. By four o’clock, Benjamin was close to despair. He slumped in a chair, head in hands, and then nearly jumped through the adjacent window in shock as his phone finally rang. He grabbed it, elated, and then dropped it again. Alice. He couldn’t talk to her, not now.

  And so the long, grey day continued, Cora rejecting Benjamin’s calls and Benjamin ignoring Alice’s. As the sun started to set outside his huge windows though, the plan he’d been formulating all day finally came together. He would see Alice, one more time, and finish it properly. He had to work tomorrow, but Thursday. Thursday evening would be good. And then he’d go and find Cora.

  50

  Cora yawned loudly and reached out a hand to flick the bedside light off. Stuffed full of crab and prawn pasta, and suddenly too weary to concentrate on a film, she’d done a quick tour of the house checking that doors and windows were locked and then headed upstairs. She glanced at the clock. Only nine o’clock. She was so rock and roll, honestly. She managed a smile as she snuggled down under the duvet. An early night would do her good. Tomorrow she’d go and pootle around the shops in Moraira, treat herself to a new handbag or a piece of jewellery, maybe have tea and a pastry in one of the sunny coffee shops. Then she’d look into flights home. She wasn’t quite sure yet how she was going to deal with Alice, or whether she was ever actually going to speak to Benjamin again, but she’d work it out … an early night would help … she was just so tired and …

  Within seconds, she was gone, sleep rolling over her and wrapping her in its comforting numbness, her whirling mind finally at rest for a few blessed hours. And then a dream, in which she was back in London, in the newsroom, frantically trying to finish a script, and Jeanette was standing over her, screaming, and Cora started screaming back and Jeanette screamed louder and then ran, ran straight towards the window and plunged through it, and the ghastly sound of glass shattering and falling filled her ears and she screamed louder …

  Cora woke, sweat streaming down her face. Trembling, she looked at the clock. Just after eleven. She’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. What a horrible dream. She sat up slowly, trying to get her breathing under control. It was just a dream. Nothing to worry about. Just a stress reaction to all the things that had happened recently. Her heartbeat slowed. She’d go down and make a cup of tea, maybe sit up for a while and watch some late night TV. She swung her legs off the bed. And then …

  ‘Oh, shit!’ She gasped in horror as she heard it again. The sound of glass, falling and smashing. Not a dream then. Here, in this house, somebody was breaking a window. There was somebody downstairs.

  For a moment she sat motionless, horror-stricken. Then her mind started to race. What did one do, in this sort of situation? Call the police. That’s what she needed to do. Call the police NOW. There was another noise from downstairs, a soft thud followed by more tinkling glass. Shit, shit, shit. Cora frantically fumbled for her phone on the bedside table. It wasn’t there. She scanned the room, desperate now. Where had she left it? Nothing on the dressing table, nothing on the wi
ndow sill. She stood for a second, breathing hard, trying to calm her brain enough for coherent thought. She’d been so tired, she must have left it downstairs. Yes, she had. She could see it now, in her mind’s eye, lying on the arm of the sofa. So, no mobile. Was there a landline phone anywhere up here? Her parents’ bedroom? Cora couldn’t remember, didn’t know. She looked around again, trying not to let panic take over completely. Definitely no handset in this room anyway. She’d have to go out, find a phone …

  She grabbed her mother’s dressing gown from the chair by the bed and pulled it on, just as there was another sound from downstairs, a gentle thump, as if somebody had bumped into something. Please don’t come up here, please don’t come up here, please …

  Chanting the phrase in her head like a protective spell, Cora tiptoed to the dressing table and picked up a large and – she noted even in her state of abject terror – shockingly ugly yellow vase. She needed a weapon, and this would have to do. Still on tiptoe, she crept to the door and opened it slowly. It swung silently on well-oiled hinges. Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much, she thought.

  She paused, listening. Silence. Where was he? Or she, or whoever it was? Cora was suddenly filled with a white-hot anger. Was this her stalker, following her to Spain? Or just an opportunistic burglar? How dare they invade someone’s home like this, how dare they break windows and creep about? Her fingers clenched around the vase, a steely determination taking hold of her. Why not just turn on a light, demand to know who was there, shout out that the police were on their way? They might just run. She looked around, saw the light switch that would illuminate the landing, stairs and hall in one quick movement, and reached out a hand.