Forget Her Name

by Jane Holland

  Is love all that matters though? I wonder. Is love enough? No matter who you are and what you’ve done?

  Once Dominic is finally asleep, I climb softly out of bed and tiptoe through to the bathroom, barefoot and in my pyjamas. I’m exhausted but unable to sleep, so I might as well get up and try to do something. Besides, ever since the policewoman asked if anything else had been taken, the question has been weighing heavily on my mind. But I couldn’t check before now. Dominic has barely let me have a moment to myself since the police left, even talking to me through the bathroom door while I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. So I didn’t get a chance to make sure the snow globe is still under the bathroom sink. Not without risking his suspicion.

  Why would whoever cut up my wedding dress also want my sister’s snow globe? It’s a ridiculous thought. Yet I have to check. If only to set my churning mind at rest.

  Locking the bathroom door behind me, I gently open the cupboard under the sink and crouch to look inside.

  The box is open, empty.

  Rachel’s snow globe is no longer there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The empty box frightens me more than the sight of my ruined wedding dress.

  Where has her snow globe gone?

  Who would take such a thing? Or even know it was here, hidden under my bathroom sink among the half-empty shampoo bottles and shower gel?

  My skin crawls as I imagine the unknown intruder searching quietly through every room in the flat for this one specific object – opening drawers, looking in cupboards, until finally they came to the bathroom . . .

  What does it mean? What does any of it mean?

  My heart is racing and I’m trembling like I’ve been in an accident. Adrenaline, I realise, and try to control myself. But the terror won’t be controlled. I gulp and swallow, unable to comprehend what’s happening.

  Perhaps my memory’s at fault. I was so tired when I finished cleaning the snow globe the other night, it’s not impossible I made a mistake. It was still wet. Perhaps I left it out of the box, hiding it further back in the cupboard while leaving the empty box at the front.

  I search through the mess under the sink, moving things aside and removing others. It’s a dark, cramped space, dominated by pipes, spare toilet rolls, and boxes of tampons. Once I’ve checked behind those, there’s nothing left that’s big enough to hide a snow globe.

  It’s definitely not here.

  There’s a sudden noise beyond the bathroom door. The unmistakeable creak of a floorboard under someone’s foot.

  I freeze. Has the intruder come back again? Though my logical mind knows the front door is locked, the safety chain on, and the bathroom window behind me is shut and fastened.

  ‘Catherine?’

  I sag with relief, then hurriedly close the cupboard under the sink and stand up. ‘Just a minute,’ I say, flushing the toilet. I run the tap for a moment, washing my hands. Only then do I unlock the door. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

  Dominic looks past me into the bathroom, his face unreadable. ‘You okay? You’ve been in there a while.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I just couldn’t sleep.’ I make a face, trying to step past him so I can close the door behind me. ‘Can’t get the wedding dress out of my mind.’

  ‘So you thought you’d clear out the cupboards instead?’

  I stare at him, taken aback by the sardonic tone, then glance over my shoulder to see what he’s looking at.

  Shit.

  Two shampoo bottles and an old bar of soap are still on the floor by the sink. I must have shifted them out of the cupboard while searching, then forgotten to replace them in my hurry.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, struggling to sound casual as I gesture towards the bottles. ‘No, I was, erm, looking for . . .’

  ‘This?’

  I look back at him, and gasp in shock.

  Dominic is holding something in his cupped hands, like an offering.

  It’s my sister’s snow globe.

  My gaze lifts to his face. There’s nothing to be frightened of. I know that. This is Dominic and I love him. We’re going to be husband and wife soon. I trust him with my life. Yet I’m afraid.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I say, and hear the fright in my voice. I take a quick step back, stumbling, and come up against the cold seat of the toilet. ‘Dominic?’

  ‘This belonged to your sister,’ he says, still holding it out to me, ‘didn’t it? It was Rachel’s snow globe.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper.

  ‘Only you wanted it for yourself. You were jealous that she’d got this beautiful present from your dad. So you stole it from her.’

  ‘That’s not what happened.’

  ‘That’s not how you remember it, you mean.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s okay.’ His voice softens, becomes reassuring, his gaze locked with mine. ‘I know all about the snow globe. I spoke to your dad on the phone earlier. He told me everything.’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Everything?’

  Dominic nods. ‘He told me how, when you were kids, you stole the snow globe from Rachel’s rucksack. Only you dropped it. There was a crack in the base, he said, and all the water drained out. So you put it back in her rucksack, and you didn’t admit that you’d taken it. You blamed her for breaking it instead.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You lied to your parents about dropping it.’

  ‘No,’ I say again.

  ‘You lied because you saw a chance to get your sister into trouble. She’d been teasing you about your stutter, and you were angry. Blindingly angry. You wanted to get back at her.’

  ‘I didn’t need to do anything to get my sister into trouble. Rachel was perfectly capable of getting into trouble all on her own.’

  He raises his eyebrows, looking at me in silence.

  ‘And I didn’t have a stutter,’ I add bitterly. ‘Rachel used to upset me so much, it made me n-nervous, that’s all.’

  ‘Of course.’ Again, Dominic nods, seeming to understand what I’m saying. Even to sympathise with me. Then he looks down at the snow globe. ‘But this did belong to her, didn’t it? You took it from your parents’ house tonight and then came up with a story about someone having sent it to you.’

  ‘It wasn’t a story.’

  ‘Okay. Though I didn’t notice it arriving, Catherine.’

  ‘It was sent to me at the food bank, not here. It came with the other parcel deliveries. Only it was addressed to me personally. You can ask Petra,’ I add. ‘Ask Sharon. They were there. They saw it arrive.’

  ‘Fair enough. So why not show me the snow globe at once?’ His gaze searches my face. The skin prickles on the back of my neck. ‘Why hide it under the sink like you’re ashamed of it?’

  ‘I didn’t know how you’d react,’ I say. ‘And from the way you’re being now, it’s obvious I was right to be worried.’

  ‘And how am I being?’

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ I swallow hard, fighting an urge to cry. ‘We’re getting married in a few weeks. To have and to hold. Forever and ever.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Yet I tell you this, and you don’t believe me.’

  ‘In my defence, it’s not an easy story to believe. It’s . . . well, pretty far-fetched. Some anonymous person steals this from your dad’s house and sends it to you?’ He holds up the snow globe. ‘At the food bank where you’re volunteering?’ He hesitates. ‘I want to believe you. But you’re making it very hard for me.’

  ‘Look!’ I bend to the cupboard under the sink, tearing the door open so fiercely it almost wrenches the hinge off. The empty parcel is there at the front. Grabbing it, I shove the box towards him. ‘See? It’s addressed to me.’

  He does not move, still looking straight at me. ‘Sender’s address?’

  ‘There isn’t one. And the label’s printed. Do you think I didn’t check those things? It was sent to me anonymously. But I know why.’ I let the box drop, since he
refuses to take it. It falls on its side on the bathroom lino, white polystyrene chips spilling out. ‘He sent it to taunt me.’

  His eyes narrow on my face. ‘He?’

  ‘My dad.’

  ‘Your dad?’ He looks bemused now. ‘Why on earth would your dad do something like that?’

  ‘Because he hates me.’

  ‘For God’s sake—’

  ‘He blames me for Rachel’s death,’ I burst out.

  There’s a grim silence.

  Dominic studies my face. Then his frown finally relaxes, as though he’s come to some unspoken conclusion. He offers me the snow globe again. This time I take it with unsteady hands.

  The glass sphere is still warm from his touch. I look down at the Swiss chalets and snowy mountains, the tiny goat. Everything inside is damp and glittering, even though there’s no longer any water in it.

  I remember the eyeball, and shudder.

  ‘Look, there’s something wrong here,’ Dominic says slowly, as if he’s trying to work things out on his own. ‘You told me Rachel died in an accident when you were kids.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper.

  ‘A skiing accident, you said. In . . . Switzerland, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The Swiss Alps.’

  ‘So how can your dad possibly blame you for that?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Without answering, I drop into a crouch and place the snow globe back in its box. As soon as I have closed the lid, I feel better.

  When I straighten, Dominic is still watching me, his arms folded. There’s a war in his face between wanting to trust me and the suspicion my dad has seeded in his mind.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘First, answer me this,’ I say, my tone brittle. ‘Who rang who?’ He looks mystified. ‘Did you call my dad or did he call you?’

  ‘He called me,’ Dominic says quietly, ‘on my way home from work. He told me what happened when you turned up. How upset you were.’

  ‘I’m surprised he noticed.’

  ‘Actually, he sounded very worried about you. He asked me to check how you were.’ When I shake my head in disbelief, he sighs. ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Your dad only has your best interests at heart. As do I.’

  ‘So which lie did he use this time? He thinks I’m having another nervous breakdown, is that it?’

  ‘Another?’

  My laugh is humourless. ‘My parents were always “worried” about me after Rachel died. Forever taking me to the doctor, to specialists. They said I was depressed.’

  ‘Maybe you were.’

  ‘I wasn’t depressed. I was just trying to get back to being me. Rachel was always the centre of attention. The centre of the whole world, it sometimes felt. After she died, I thought maybe, just maybe, my parents might be interested in me for a change.’

  He looks taken aback. ‘That’s not very . . .’

  ‘Nice?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘You didn’t know Rachel, or you wouldn’t judge me for craving a little attention. She wasn’t just your average spoilt brat who thinks she’s a princess. Rachel was . . .’ I screw up my face, struggling to make my point without sounding like a bitch. ‘She made our lives miserable.’

  ‘You already told me that,’ he interrupts impatiently. ‘When we first started dating, remember? You said she was a nightmare to live with.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth. There’s more. And some of it . . . some I can’t tell you. It’s too horrible.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You were just a couple of kids.’

  ‘Even kids can be dangerous.’

  Again, he shrugs. He thinks I’m exaggerating.

  ‘I didn’t matter to them, and that’s the truth. I was the out-of-focus sister.’ My voice stumbles, but I press on, determined to make him understand. ‘Do you have any idea how that feels? To grow up like that? Always the quiet one, the sensible one, the one who had to pick up the pieces, the one who never got what she wanted because Rachel always had first choice.’

  ‘Okay.’ He leans against the door frame, watching me. ‘So why does your dad blame you for Rachel’s death? How were you involved?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Catherine, there must be a reason.’ He frowns. ‘How exactly did Rachel die? You said she was skiing that day.’

  I pick up the box containing the snow globe and cradle it in my arms.

  ‘I don’t know what happened,’ I say simply. ‘I think she’d gone out on the piste with Dad, while I stayed behind with Mum. Mum had a cold, so she didn’t want to go out in the snow. Or maybe it was me who had the cold.’

  ‘You can’t be sure?’

  ‘My memory of that day is kind of hazy, except for when Dad came to tell me about Rachel. I remember that part perfectly. But the rest is fuzzy round the edges.’ I make a face. ‘Not surprising, really. It was years ago. And I was only a kid.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘There was this place . . . I suppose it was a hospital of some sort. I remember waiting there with Mum, though she’d gone off somewhere. To the toilet, I expect, or to grab coffee. And Dad came in. He looked awful.’ I feel my breathing quicken at the memory. ‘He said Rachel had died. And that was it. I flew home with Mum the next day, and Dad flew home a little later. I guess he had to wait for them to . . . release the body.’

  ‘She was buried in England?’

  ‘Cremated.’ I look at him. ‘Her ashes are in Dad’s study. They think I don’t know, but I spotted it when I was looking for an insurance document for my mum once, when he was away from home.’

  ‘It?’

  ‘The urn containing her ashes. He keeps it in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Mum showed it to me after the funeral, so I recognised it at once.’ I grimace. ‘Promise me you won’t stick me in a filing cabinet when I die.’

  He smiles then. ‘I promise.’

  With careful hands, he takes the parcel away from me. ‘Come here,’ he says, putting it back on the floor. He pulls me towards him, ignoring how stiff and reluctant I am to be hugged.

  ‘He can’t have it both ways,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘He can’t blame you for Rachel’s death if you weren’t even with her that day.’

  ‘Dad loved her so much though.’

  ‘He loved you both. Loves you, I should say,’ he corrects himself. ‘He was in a complete state when he rang. He told me about the eyeball in the snow globe.’

  I close my eyes briefly. ‘Shit.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me about that?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Yet you went to Louise behind my back,’ he says, his tone accusing.

  ‘Louise had no right to—’

  ‘She hasn’t said a word. Your dad told me you’d spoken to her, that’s all.’ He shakes his head as though he’s disappointed. ‘You and Louise. I thought she was my friend. The two of you kept me out of the loop on this.’

  ‘Don’t blame Louise. She wasn’t happy about it either. I just didn’t want you to find out about . . . my family history. About how bad Rachel was. The things she did.’ I finish fiercely: ‘I wanted you to think I’m normal.’

  ‘Baby, I do think you’re normal. A perfectly normal woman with a perfectly normal reaction to disgusting things like eyeballs being sent to you through the post.’ His arms tighten round me. ‘Where is it now?’ he asks.

  I have to think for a moment. ‘Louise still has it.’

  ‘Good. She can keep it.’

  ‘I’m sure my dad sent it. He’s the only one who had the opportunity. Except for Mum. And I can’t see her even looking at an eyeball, let alone stuffing one inside a snow globe as a nasty trick.’

  ‘Sweetheart, your dad asked me to keep a close eye on you while you get through this. Begged me, even.’ Dominic pulls back, studying me with sympathy. ‘That doesn’t sound like someone intent on upsetting you, does it?’

  ‘I guess not.’


  ‘Your dad was very explicit on the phone.’ His voice deepens with significance. ‘He told me to watch out for you, to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. That’s why I was checking under the sink earlier. In case you had some . . . I don’t know . . . pills or something hidden in there. That’s when I found the snow globe.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I’m not suicidal.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear that. Because I don’t think I could live without you.’ Dominic puts a finger under my chin and tips my face up towards his, then kisses me on the lips. Slowly, and with a loving tenderness that melts my resistance.

  I close my eyes and lean into his kiss. My skin tingles with anticipation, and it’s hard not to touch him back when he strokes a hand down my spine. I can’t push him away when he’s like this with me. And he bloody well knows it.

  ‘I agree with Robert. You need to be looked after properly. Whoever sent that snow globe is out to hurt you. To upset you.’ Dominic looks at me intently. ‘And they’ve already succeeded, haven’t they? First the snow globe, then the wedding dress . . .’

  ‘I still think it was Dad,’ I say. ‘I told you, he’s always been off with me. Like he thinks the wrong daughter died.’

  ‘That’s not true. Your dad is on your side. But whoever is doing this, it ends here. Enough is enough.’

  I smile through my tears when he pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it. A typically gallant gesture, and precisely why I fell for him in the first place. Dominic may not have a white charger, but he knows how to make me feel swept off my feet.

  ‘If I’m going to be any kind of husband to you,’ he adds firmly, ‘I need to stop stressing about my work constantly and start thinking about you instead. I want us to start married life on the right foot, not looking behind us all the time, wondering who the hell’s out there.’ He leads me back to the bedroom, his arm about my waist. ‘Which is why I texted your dad after the police left, and agreed to his suggestion.’

  My throat tightens. ‘What suggestion?’

  He closes the bedroom door after us and pulls me closer, kissing my mouth. ‘That we should move into their place after the wedding,’ he says in my ear. ‘Where you’ll be safe from whoever got hold of the snow globe and sent it to you.’