If He Wakes

by If He Wakes (retail) (epub)

  Suzie looked at Della and felt the stabbing of the small knife in her chest gain momentum. Della opened her mouth to ask yet more questions in that irritating way she had and Suzie almost ran out of the conservatory, following Rachel in two quick steps.

  ‘Rachel,’ she called out, her voice panicky. ‘Rachel, can I have a word?’

  Rachel and Jennifer were in the kitchen. Jennifer had a notepad out on the marble worktop and had scrawled something in big, loopy writing.

  ‘Of course,’ Rachel said and limped out from behind the breakfast bar. ‘What is it? We're just about done here.’

  ‘Alone,’ Suzie said looking at Jennifer. ‘If you don't mind.’ Jennifer glanced at Rachel and let out another small laugh, before slowly moving.

  ‘I'll just be outside then,’ she said picking up her notepad. ‘Nice to meet you, Suzie. Rachel, I'll wait for you in the truck.’

  They watched her leave, Suzie noting how she gawped at the chandelier fitting in the dining room and ran her hand along the oak wooden door.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ Rachel asked once she'd gone and Suzie shook her head, rubbing her eye before putting her glasses back on.

  ‘I really need to leave early today,’ she swallowed, trying to get some control back into her voice. ‘Adam’s still not back and well, I need to sort some stuff out. And I need to borrow your laptop charger if I can,’ she shook her head. ‘I haven’t got the type for Adam’s laptop and I know you’ve got the same kind, once I can get into his laptop and see the accounts…’

  Rachel was nodding, searching in her bag and bringing out the charger. She handed it over to Suzie and it was then that Suzie saw that she'd only put on the briefest of make-up, and that her hair, usually so groomed, was messy and in need of a wash. It made her look younger somehow, more vulnerable.

  ‘And anyway, as I have to search through Adam’s laptop, I was hoping to leave the props with you so I could get away.’

  ‘But yesterday,’ Rachel said. ‘You told me that you'd be focused. The props and styling are your side of our business, Suzie,’ she looked down to her cast, ‘and I'm struggling here. That's why I contacted Jennifer…’

  ‘About that,’ Suzie interrupted. ‘How much is she charging? Have you compared her rates? I know her type, she’ll say one thing then charge another. Have you got a price because I don't think I can take the cut –’

  ‘It'll come out of my share,’ Rachel said quickly, stopping her from continuing. ‘Don't worry. You'll still get your full amount.’

  There was a moment where they looked at each other and Suzie felt her face colour.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn't mean that how it sounded. I’m sure she’s lovely, really, it’s just, well, I've budgeted for a certain amount from this job.’

  ‘The cost of the wedding mounting up?’ Rachel smiled. ‘It's fine. I understand. I'll take the hit, don't worry, after all, it's me that went and broke my ankle.’

  She looked down at her cast, the tip of it just peeking out from under her wide black trousers, and Suzie felt a sudden pang of guilt.

  ‘How is your ankle?’ she asked. ‘I'm so sorry about all this, Rachel, I'm usually much more professional, it's just with Adam, it's thrown me. I can't seem to get a handle on anything.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Don't worry. You're here now.’ She went to move, and then stopped. ‘Suzie, is everything okay?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This business with Adam,’ Rachel said, shifting her weight. ‘With him not coming back from his job yet, is everything okay?’

  Suzie took a moment then nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘Good,’ said Rachel and Suzie saw relief on her face.

  For a second she’d longed to confide in her, to tell her everything, how Adam worked the cash, how it’d all gone missing. The telephone conversation about jail, the loan shark, but looking at her friend, at her exhausted expression, she was glad she’d said nothing. Rachel had enough on her plate.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘You just get yourself better. How is everything with you? At home? You all… okay?’

  Suzie dipped her head as she asked, trying to convey what she was really asking Rachel without saying Phil’s name. Rachel nodded and for a long moment they looked at each other. If it had been a different day it would’ve been a different conversation, but there was no time. There was Adam to find, her money to find. She desperately needed the details to the safety deposit box, to search his laptop now that she could charge it, but first she had to dress this bloody house.

  ‘When this calms down,’ Rachel said. ‘We’ll have that drink you were talking about. Next week maybe?’

  ‘That would be good,’ Suzie smiled, and felt tears prick her eyes.

  ‘And Adam as well,’ Rachel went on. ‘I’m going to start calling him Lord Lucan if he ducks out again; I’ve started to think he doesn’t really exist. That you’ve made him up.’

  Suzie let out a laugh, it was shrill and high.

  ‘Well,’ Rachel turned to go. ‘Don’t keep Della until silly hours, will you? She’s not really employed for this kind of stuff.’

  ‘I can't be that long myself,’ Suzie found herself saying and she hated the way her voice sounded. ‘I really need to get back.’

  ‘Suzie,’ Rachel said and suddenly the lightness to their conversation was gone. ‘If we're doing this party then you need to pull your weight. I can't do it alone, that's why I've got Jennifer in. I don't know about styling and photography, and you've got Della. She might not be experienced but she's another pair of hands.’

  ‘I know,’ Suzie shifted her glasses back up her nose, they were slipping with the sweat, ‘any other time and it would be fine, no problem. It's just with Adam not yet back, and the bank calling, I need to sort a few things out.’

  ‘Can't they wait until next week?’ Rachel paused, studied Suzie’s face. ‘Shall we call it off,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Is that what you're suggesting? Have we taken on too much, too soon? We could, I suppose, call Tailor Made Events, explain that…’

  ‘No!’ Suzie was surprised at how loud she said the word. ‘We need this job. I need this job.’

  ‘Then do it!’ Rachel said and they stared at each other. ‘The party is on Saturday. Wherever Adam is, whatever the bank wants, surely they can wait for a few days?’

  Suzie found herself nodding. This job couldn’t be cancelled, it was a large amount of money for relatively little work, and Suzie needed to be paid. That money had to go into her bank account if nothing else.

  ‘Isn’t Adam always working away?’ Rachel sighed heavily. ‘I don’t see why it’s suddenly a problem him not being around now. You can't expect to get paid without working, Suzie.’

  Suzie watched her go, the anxious stabbing in her chest picking up speed. She needed money. She needed the pay from this job. She needed to find if Adam had hidden any cash and where it might be. She needed to be in so many places other than where she was.

  From the conservatory, she heard her phone ring out. She ran forward, grabbing it and saw it was a local number. Not listed as a contact. Someone who hadn’t called before.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Is Mr Staple there please?’

  The sinking feeling of depression that hit her stomach was intense. ‘No,’ she felt herself deflate a little. ‘If you’re calling about a job, I’m afraid he’s…’

  ‘I’m calling from Chester council,’ the woman said. ‘Do you know where we can reach him? It’s concerning his car, a VW?’

  ‘What about his car?’ Suzie asked quickly. ‘I’m his fiancée.’

  ‘It’s been reported as abandoned,’ she answered. ‘And we need him to move it as it’s on private land and there will be costs if we remove…’

  ‘Sorry,’ Suzie interrupted. ‘You’ve found Adam’s car?’ A bubble of hope rose in her chest. ‘Where is he? Tell me where he is.’

  ‘His car,’ the woman corrected her,
‘has been reported abandoned on…’ There was a pause and Suzie held her breath, ‘the Grosvenor retail car park in Chester,’ she finished and Suzie blinked rapidly. ‘Just outside the fast food restaurant.’

  19

  Rachel

  I read about a couple in a magazine who had a country wedding. After the ceremony, they took the wedding party outside where they had a tug of war of sorts with a thick rope. The groom’s family on one side, the bride’s on the other, and between them, a huge knot. As each side pulled, the knot was tightened. A poignant act involving all they loved to mark what they were doing. They had it above their bed, hanging there. In the picture, they were both sat smugly under this bit of old rope.

  There was nothing above our bed, not even a picture. Just bare wall. Not one wedding photograph on show in the house. Not one picture of our extended family, of the ones we loved celebrating our union. If we'd had a proper ceremony, if we'd had the big group of friends and relatives around us, I wonder if things would've gone differently. If I'd insisted on the lavish party, entwining family and friends into our lives instead of a quick ceremony at the town hall followed by a pub lunch, would it have made any difference to the road our marriage had taken?

  When Phil proposed I just wanted to be his wife as quickly as possible. My mother was in agreement, she thought that if someone like Phil was willing to take me and Jessica on, then best get him tied down as quickly as possible. Phil's family weren't of the same opinion, particularly Barbara, his mother. She wanted to take time and plan a big wedding, to hold some kind of ceremony suited to her taste and religion, and that would mean having a long engagement. Long enough for him to change his mind, I expect she was thinking and I can't blame her. Who wants their son to bring up another man's child? But Phil did, he had, and Barbara did warm to Jessica a little. She was never any doting grandparent, that's for sure; neither of them were.

  I’m sure Phil’s parents never really liked me, they retired to France shortly after we were married and within a few months, became almost strangers to me. I never called them, and they would call Phil, occasionally, and he would tell me of their news but I never pretended to be interested. Why should I? They’d moved away, made it clear they weren’t going to be involved in our lives and I didn’t see any advantage in putting up a pretence. I was too busy. I was re-inventing myself as a caterer at the time, studying so I could launch a business. And then, when Katie came along, their true biological granddaughter, they didn't behave any differently, so the alienation couldn’t be all my fault.

  When the kids were really little, it used to amuse me the way Barbara was when she did see them. They would make this big drama out of visiting us at Christmas and birthdays and she’d speak in a loud voice, miming out her words. Katie and Jessica both assumed she was hard of hearing until they were older. Now when they visit all conversation is stunted. Short sentences, quick questions. The girls hate it, although of late I have heard Jessica boasting of her ‘grand-maman’ to her friends and expect she's about to switch in her attitude towards them now she can see a free holiday in France on the cards. I've yet to tell her that they don't work like that. Phil's parents don't do invitations, family holidays or anything of the sort. They do wine tasting, small dinner parties and lots of cruises. It makes me wonder how they were as parents to Phil, what values they imparted on him.

  All day, whilst Jennifer talked and finalised menus and ordered the food, I'd gone through my married life. I'd been wrestling with what he’d said to me that morning. He’d gone for a run, he’d been at Crewe, he didn’t take the morning off, there was no affair. I analysed everything he'd told me. Suddenly, after years of being so certain, I found I didn’t know my own marriage.

  I turned my back to the bare wall, took my painkillers and with some effort, got myself comfortable on the bed. I pulled the laptop onto my knee and opened it up. The girls were downstairs; against my better judgement I’d asked Jessica to watch Katie. Offered to pay her even just to give me some time, a few minutes to work things out. After taking them to school, Phil had left to go to the police station.

  ‘Found my car,’ he'd said breezily when he came off the phone to them. ‘It's a write-off, as expected. They're close to catching who stole it but need me to pop in, something to do with paperwork. I'll see you this evening.’

  He’d smiled at me, kissed me on the forehead and before I could ask anything, he’d told me once again to stop with my wild imagination. He told me to quit work, tell Suzie I wasn't coming in and to get some sleep. Take the day off, watch a film, get some rest, and numerous other patronising things that were meant to pacify me.

  I brought up the internet and, after a moment, did a quick search on how to hack a Twitter account. A short burst of laughter escaped me as I saw the results. There were pages and pages of them. Sites that offered software to do it, instructional videos, things to download, applications to go through.

  A small part of me toyed again with the idea that perhaps I had, by going through another website, accidentally stumbled into someone else’s account. It didn’t answer the question of whose account I’d hacked into, of who was arranging to meet up in Chester, but there was a tiny possibility that it could've happened. It couldn’t be ruled out and that was a small sliver of hope.

  I closed the window and opened up another browser, pausing again, taking time to get myself ready as if I were on a diving board, ready to jump, and then I brought up the police report on the hit and run.

  I held my breath as I read the account, then started to take shallow gasps as I realised it was the same story as before, the same wording. But at the end, was a small alteration. The word ‘updated’. My heart seemed to pop in my chest at that word, juddering and beating erratically.

  A burnt-out vehicle had been found. A black BMW believed to be the car used in the hit and run had been set on fire near Crewe cemetery. The fire brigade had been called out in the early hours of Thursday morning. There were no witnesses. No one was harmed.

  The early hours of Thursday morning.

  Last night.

  They were asking for witnesses. The same number to call should anyone have information in connection with the burnt-out vehicle. I closed my eyes. Remembered the smell of Phil as he’d crawled into bed. The acrid smell I couldn’t place at the time. I tried to concentrate on regulating my breathing. Phil's clothes in a hot wash in the early hours, him leaving the house at midnight. The crumpled-up parking ticket from Crewe. My heart was still making itself known, refusing to behave and I'd started to sweat, I could feel the chill of it on my upper lip.

  The front door closed and I heard Jessica tell Phil I was upstairs, my eyes sprang open and all thoughts of slow breathing were lost.

  ‘Rach? You up there? What did I say about going upstairs on your cast?’

  I listened to his feet on the stairs, his banal chatter about Chester football club and how there was a fixture at the weekend that he might go to. I blinked, stared at the telephone number on the laptop screen in front of me as he came into the bedroom, the half conversation about football still on his lips.

  ‘Your car was burnt out,’ I interrupted. ‘Last night. It was burnt out last night. In Crewe.’

  He didn’t move, half in the room, he stared at me from the doorway.

  ‘You didn’t go out for a run in the night,’ I said. ‘You went to Crewe cemetery. You went to burn out your car.’

  He turned and closed the bedroom door quietly. I went to move, almost forgetting that my leg was in plaster and cursed it for making me immobile. Phil looked at me, and we stared at each other for a moment.

  ‘You’re doing this again?’ he asked. ‘You're still at it? Telling me where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing?’

  I turned the laptop around so he could see it. I went to point to the updated part, the part about the burnt-out vehicle, when he came across the room and snapped it shut. The force of it made me jump. He took it from me and put it on the high shelf by the e
n-suite. Out of reach, balanced ridiculously beside my bottles of body lotion and perfume.

  ‘Enough Rachel, enough,’ he tuned to me. ‘We’ve been over this. We said it all this morning. We've gone through it, now, enough.’

  I watched him put his hand through his hair, go over to his drawers and empty out his pockets. I saw the debris of change and receipts that he put on top before taking out his phone and checking it.

  ‘Where was the map from, Phil?’ my voice didn't betray me. It sounded calm, soft almost.

  He closed his eyes.

  ‘The map of Chester, the one I found on top of your drawers,’ I reached for my handbag beside me on the bed and rummaged inside, ready to find it and show him.

  ‘Rachel,’ his voice was a warning but I couldn’t stop. There was too much unanswered. I'd been over it, my mind replaying things, a re-run again and again, the map, the messages, the parking ticket. His face behind the wheel of his car. It was all too much. It was sending me insane.

  He came over and gripped my hands, stopped me from searching. He took my handbag and threw it off the bed. It landed on the floor with a soft thump.

  ‘Just tell me,’ I said. ‘Tell me what the map was doing, where you got it from. Tell me why I found a screwed-up parking ticket from Crewe, tell me where you were last night, why you were washing your clothes.’

  He stared at me intently, silent.

  ‘Shall I call the police?’ I asked. ‘They’ll tell me what they know about your car. About where it was found, and at what time. Shall I tell them you were out for a run? Came home and washed your clothes? Shall I show them the parking ticket, see if they can work out where it was from?’

  ‘Rachel,’ his voice was steady, threatening. ‘You need to stop talking now.’

  ‘I’ll get Jessica,’ I said. ‘It is possible to hack into a Twitter account, I’ve found out that much, but those messages were still from someone in Chester. So if it wasn’t you on my laptop, then maybe it was Jessica after all.’