by Jane Holland
‘What are you thinking?’ he asks softly.
‘Nothing.’
We look at each other. Our lips meet, and his tongue slips into my mouth, exploring gently. Then his hand strokes over the curve of my hip, pulling me into him. I can feel he’s interested in taking it further. Here and now. Whether or not I’m in pain.
‘The doctor said I should get some rest,’ I point out after a few minutes, by which time he is already breathless.
‘No problem,’ he murmurs, and pulls down the strap on my top, bending to kiss my exposed breast. ‘You lie there, take it easy. I’ll do the hard work of undressing you.’
‘But my parents . . .’
‘Forget about them. Focus on this instead. On feeling good.’ He kisses my mouth, demanding now. ‘It was quite a turn-on to see you on that trolley in A & E. In your loose hospital gown, with some doctor bending over you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘No doubt about it.’
‘Sicko.’
‘Maybe.’ He laughs, then cups my breast in its black bra. ‘You’re sexy when you’re helpless though, did you know that?’
After we’ve made love, Dominic and I lie together in panting silence until our hearts have slowed and the sweat on our bodies is beginning to cool. It’s dark outside the window, that pale, glowing, never-quite-black darkness of the city. I stare straight up at the ceiling, and avoid looking at the wall where my name was written.
Dominic is the first to break the silence.
‘What were you really doing in the cellar?’ he asks suddenly.
I don’t answer, pretending to be asleep.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I decide it will be good to have Jasmine here for Christmas. It should take the spotlight off me. She’s so vibrant and cheerful; it’s hard not to smile whenever she’s in the room. Even if everything inside is dark and silent.
But I still need to broach the subject of Rachel.
‘Dad, did you get my letter?’ I ask tentatively, finding him alone in the kitchen just before Jasmine is due to arrive from Birmingham.
He’s got his back to me, chopping herbs for our dinner: fresh parsley and dill for a sauce to accompany the salmon. I see him stop momentarily, then he carries on chopping the parsley.
‘Yes, I did.’ To my relief, he sounds calm.
‘And did you show Mum?’
‘Yes, I did,’ he repeats in the same way. ‘And thank you for being so candid with us. It can’t have been easy, putting that down on paper.’
‘No, it wasn’t easy.’
Dad turns his head and studies me, his expression unreadable. Then he says carefully, ‘I take it you’ve confided all this to Dominic?’
‘Of course.’
‘I see.’ He pauses. ‘Jasmine will be here soon. We can’t sit down and discuss Rachel with you and Dominic while she’s in the house.’
‘Why not?’
‘What happened with Rachel is private. Our family business. It’s not something we want to share with a guest.’
‘But Jasmine is family.’
‘Not close family,’ Dad says deliberately, as though this makes a difference. ‘And Christmas should be a time of peace and joy, Catherine. I’m afraid there’s not much joy to be had out of discussing your sister’s demise.’
And that’s an end to our discussion, apparently.
When Jasmine arrives from Birmingham, carrying a suitcase and gifts, I greet her with the others, then take advantage of the commotion to slip away from the kitchen and retrieve the notebook. It’s almost the first time I’ve been on my own since I got back from the hospital. Everyone insists on treating me like an invalid, although all I have is a cut on my temple and a sprained ankle.
Gently, I close the living room door to shut out the noise of Jasmine’s welcome, and turn on the lights. The room is quiet and empty.
I lean my stick against the armchair and lower myself gingerly to look under the glass-fronted cabinet. But there’s nothing there.
Someone has taken the notebook.
I stare at the space where I hid it. I can’t believe it’s gone.
‘What the hell . . . ?’
Someone comes along the hall from the kitchen, where Jasmine is being treated to wine and cake, and I clamber to my feet, wincing at the sudden strain on my ankle.
But whoever it is keeps on going and heads slowly up the stairs. Now they are calling, ‘Catherine? Where are you, darling?’ It’s my mother, undisguised concern in her voice. ‘Jasmine has brought Christmas presents. Why don’t you come and help her put them under the tree?’
I don’t answer.
Hurriedly, before limping out of the room, I check all the surfaces and shelves, in case Kasia has been cleaning in here and, after finding it, put the notebook to one side to be claimed later.
But there’s no sign of it.
Who took the notebook from its hiding place? And where the hell is it now?
On Christmas Eve, Dominic takes me and Jasmine out to the pub for drinks with some of his colleagues. We grab a meal first at Sushi Hiroba in Holborn, the sort of Japanese restaurant where the food goes around on a conveyor belt and you help yourself. It’s busy and fun, and a good way to avoid the chaotic atmosphere at home. We left Mum and Kasia struggling to manoeuvre a gigantic turkey into the fridge, while Dad alternately stirred a vast vat of mulled wine and brought bottles up from the cellar for a drinks party they’re giving tonight for their friends and a few of Dad’s colleagues from the Foreign Office. We were also invited, of course, but excused ourselves.
‘I doubt there’ll be anyone there who’s under forty,’ I tell Jasmine as we lean forward to select colour-coded dishes from the revolving belt. ‘But we can head back early after the pub, if you want.’
‘I love your mum and dad to bits, God bless them,’ Jasmine says, turning heads with her hoarse Brummie accent, ‘but to be honest, this is more my scene.’ She gestures to the sharply dressed young professionals around us, and raises her voice above the din of their chatter. ‘I’d rather stay in the pub than go back to the house, if that’s all right. Posh parties like that terrify me. What if I end up stuck next to some toffee-nosed ambassador? I wouldn’t have a clue what to say.’
Dominic grins, pouring soy sauce over yellowtail sushi. ‘You could always tell him about your love of stock car racing,’ he suggests lightly, and she giggles.
After dinner, we take a taxi to meet his colleagues at a pub called The Ship and Shovell, near Victoria Embankment. Louise’s choice, apparently, because it does good ales. We have to stand outside at a barrel table, as the pub is packed with festive drinkers.
I wish I could sit because my ankle aches. First day without the walking stick I’ve been using to replace the crutches that have gone back to the hospital. But I don’t want to spoil the evening by mentioning it.
‘You okay?’ Dominic says in my ear.
‘Never better,’ I lie.
He examines my face. ‘Back in a minute,’ he says suddenly, and disappears into the pub.
His colleagues emerge a moment later. Louise is carrying a tray of drinks, and Sally has bought several bags of peanuts. I wave my hand until they spot us and head in our direction. Louise is walking awkwardly in heels that look new.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she says, putting the tray down. ‘I hope I got everyone’s order right.’
Sally dumps the bags of peanuts on the table too, and then tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. ‘Nuts, anyone?’
‘Me,’ Jasmine says, and helps Louise tear open the bags of peanuts for sharing.
Sally’s phone rings and she turns away to answer it.
Louise watches Sally anxiously as though worried they are going to be called back to St Hilda’s for some major emergency. I hope not, watching Sally, too. This is Dominic’s first night off in ages. I don’t know how he wrangled it but maybe he had to promise extra overtime later this week.
But Sally is laughing, her head
back, chatting with whoever it is in a relaxed way. Not a work call, thank God.
‘So, we didn’t have much of a chance to talk before. How have you been since the wedding?’ I ask Jasmine, raising my voice to be heard above the revellers and the sound of constant traffic.
‘Not too bad, thanks.’ She hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder at the pub. No sign of Dominic returning yet. ‘By the way, about that postcard . . .’
I feel suddenly cold, and not just because of the chill December air. ‘The postcard supposedly from Rachel?’
‘Yeah.’ She looks unhappy. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I felt really bad afterwards.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mentioning something like that to you on your wedding day.’ Jasmine makes a face. ‘Your mum rang me later, tore a strip off me.’
I’m confused. I don’t remember mentioning the postcard to Mum at the time. So how did she know about it? Dominic probably told her, I realise. He’s so overprotective, always looking out for me – even when I don’t need him to. They all are, in fact. It’s like being suffocated in cotton wool.
‘If I’d known . . . ’ Jasmine says.
‘Known what?’
She opens her mouth, then closes it again and shakes her head.
‘Jasmine?’
‘Nothing,’ she says abruptly. ‘Forget it.’
‘No, I want to know. If you’d known what?’ When she still doesn’t say anything, I lean in closer, meeting her worried gaze. ‘Please, Jasmine. This is important. What exactly did Mum tell you?’
‘Look, I’m sorry. She asked me not to say.’
‘Not to say what?’
I don’t mean to, but I’ve raised my voice.
Dominic comes up behind us unnoticed and puts a bar stool down next to the barrel. ‘There you go,’ he says to me. ‘Now you can sit down.’
‘Darling, that’s so thoughtful of you,’ I say, and perch on the bar stool with relief. My ankle feels less painful immediately. ‘That’s much better, thank you.’
‘You okay?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘So,’ Dominic says lightly, standing opposite and glancing at us both in turn, ‘I feel like I just interrupted something. Who asked you not to say what, Jasmine?’ His smile is steady but it still worries me. I know what he’s like when he thinks I’m hiding something from him. ‘Family secrets?’ he adds. ‘I’m one of the family now, you know. I get to hear about all those skeletons in the closet.’
Jasmine looks at me, her eyes wide and apprehensive.
‘Girl talk,’ I tell him quickly.
‘Hey, Dom, what do you think of this?’ Sally waves him over to see something on her smartphone that she and Louise have been laughing over.
Reluctantly, he turns to his boss. ‘What do I think of what?’
Jasmine mouths, ‘Sorry,’ to me behind his back.
I smile and take another sip of my white wine. I don’t want to drink too much. I’m already a little woozy and it could be a long night. As I put the glass down again, my gaze moves to Sally. She’s put the smartphone away, but is still looking at Dominic, a secret little smile on her face.
Taken aback, I flick a quick glance at Dominic, and he’s looking at Sally, too.
Also smiling.
A splinter of pain enters my heart.
It’s only a look, I tell myself. And indeed, a split second later Sally turns away to talk to Louise. Dominic returns to me and Jasmine, who is telling an anecdote about her mum and a pot of soft cheese, though I haven’t really been listening. Dominic grins at my cousin, adding something to the story. A flippant remark that makes Jasmine burst out laughing.
I laugh too, mechanically. But I’m still only half listening, agonisingly aware of the beating of my heart, deafening to my ears.
His boss.
God, he wouldn’t, surely?
We only just got bloody married. It makes no sense that he’d be playing around behind my back. Yet that look between them . . . what else could it mean?
Perhaps it’s a silly thing from the past. A one-night stand with his manager that he omitted to mention, long before I came along. I can’t hold something like that against him.
All the same, Dominic’s my husband now. He shouldn’t be looking at another woman like that – with that peculiarly intimate smile on his lips. It hurts just to remember it.
My hands curl into fists. Dominic’s been so demanding in bed lately. Almost brutal at times. I’ve been pretending I haven’t noticed the change. But I can’t keep hiding from the likeliest reason for this change in behaviour: I’m not exciting enough for him.
But Sally is?
I feel sick, and have to look away, struggling to breathe normally.
‘You okay?’ Jasmine asks.
Now Dominic turns to look at me. Louise and Sally, too.
Louise is concerned. ‘Cat, what is it?’
I fix them with my brightest smile, even though my heart feels like it’s breaking. ‘Nothing. It’s just my ankle. You know, the odd twinge.’
‘Ouch.’ Louise pulls a sympathetic face. ‘Poor you. And at Christmas too.’ She drains her glass of ale. ‘I should have given you a call when Dom told me. I feel bad about that. But it’s been so hectic at work. You sure you’re okay?’
‘Honestly, I’m fine,’ I say.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Jasmine says. ‘You fell down the cellar steps?’
‘That’s right.’
Sally is watching me now. Her smile is knowing. As if she thinks I’m one of those stupid, clumsy people who spend their lives getting into one scrape after another. ‘Head better now too?’
I manage a nod, remembering how friendly she was at the hospital that night, waving goodbye as the taxi pulled away. ‘All sorted.’
‘Kasia was telling me all about it this morning.’ Jasmine looks perplexed. ‘She said you thought you heard an intruder.’
‘A cat.’
Her eyebrows shoot up. ‘A cat? A cat in the cellar?’ She frowns. ‘Hold on, you don’t have a cat.’
I look at Dominic.
He puts his arm round my waist, his smile warm and understanding. ‘If Catherine says she heard a cat, then she heard a cat.’
Which is a very unsubtle way of saying he thinks I didn’t hear any such thing, but however crazy I am he is willing to support me one hundred per cent.
A group of hatted and scarved carol singers come into view, heading towards us from the pub round the corner, where we’ve heard them singing for the past half an hour. They stop a few yards away and start to sing ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’, two of their members walking among the drinkers, rattling buckets for a charity collection. Dominic puts a few quid in the bucket for us while I listen to the beautiful lyrics in a kind of trance. I think unwillingly of Rachel and the day she died: ‘Snow lay frozen, snow on snow, snow on snow . . .’ Why can’t I think of that day without feeling guilty? Is it because part of me was glad that my sister died, part of me wanted her dead? But how can I ever admit that to anyone?
Who would understand such a reaction? They would think I was a monster.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dominic wanted to get a cab, but I told him I could manage the Tube. Though I hadn’t realised how packed it would be this late on Christmas Eve. With most lines closing soon for the holidays, the station is so busy we have to fight our way down the platform. Dominic helps me, and I put my arm around his shoulders. Though I don’t really need it. My ankle is far less painful now. But I like the way he’s holding me close. Or am I holding him close? Making sure he doesn’t stray?
Louise and Sally are just behind us, laughing and chatting with Jasmine.
‘We’re only going one stop, then we have to change,’ Louise says to Dominic. She and Sally live near each other, so they can go back together. ‘I just hope we haven’t left it too late. It’s nearly eleven.’
‘Sorry?’ Dominic can’t hear her over the noisy rush of a train bar
relling into the station. ‘What did you say?’
There’s a loud disturbance behind us and I glance back. Some kind of deep-voiced, drunken chanting. A crowd of young men are pushing their way down the platform, maybe heading home after a Christmas party, singing some festive song with alternative lyrics.
Sally looks at them contemptuously. She probably has to deal with guys like that all the time in A & E. She moves between me and the track, a little unsteady on her feet. She kept a cocktail umbrella from one of her drinks and is twirling it in her mouth like a purple flower.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Jasmine says, nudging me.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I reply automatically, aware that Dominic’s arm is no longer around my waist. He is pulling Sally by the sleeve, tugging her back from the danger zone beyond the yellow line.
‘Careful,’ he tells her.
Sally says something, and he bends his ear close to her lips to hear it. They’re both dangerously near to the edge of the platform now, their heads together, deep in conversation. A conversation I can’t hear.
‘I’m really sorry,’ Jasmine says loudly.
I glance at my cousin. She’s pretty drunk too, I realise. Her words are beginning to slur and her eyes are shining.
‘What about?’
‘Before,’ she says, and then leans against me while she fiddles with her heel strap. I suck in my breath, the ache in my ankle gnawing as she puts too much weight on my shoulder. ‘God, these heels are killing me. I should have listened to your mum and worn trainers.’
I feel the change of atmosphere as our train approaches, pushing air out of the dark tunnel, little crackles and flashes of light surrounding its approach.
The crowd is pressing so close, it feels dangerous, out of control. There’s no room. No more room to move. So many people all desperate to get on the same train. It isn’t easy to catch my breath, I’m being so crushed.
Someone shoves me from behind. A nasty push, right in the small of my back.
I try to look round, but can only turn so far. There’s a mass of young men behind me, dressed for a night out on the town, swaying together mindlessly like plankton in an ocean current. They’re all chatting and singing, looking past me without seeing me, waiting to board the train . . .