by cass green
I hesitate briefly and then follow her down there.
The little girl is crying as her mother holds the finger under the tap and speaks to her in a low voice, cross but not unkind.
When she sees me she says again, ‘Get out!’
‘I’m sorry, I …’ I start to say, then sensing a movement behind me I turn, starting when I see a man lurking towards the French windows. It’s the same one I’d seen coming to the house the other time I was here, the one I’d assumed was a delivery driver. There’s something else about him … I feel like I know him from somewhere else.
He looks considerably worse than he did then. His jaw is black with speckled stubble, his eyes slung with bags, his skin grey. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. He’s attempting to light one with badly shaking hands when the little girl rushes over to him and says, ‘Baba! I squished my finger!’
He gathers her up in a hug, murmuring endearments while Nooria says something sharply that makes them both stop and stare at her rather balefully. So he’s the little girl’s dad, then.
Nooria grasps her daughter and says something in an angry voice before lifting her up, so she sits on her hip, despite her size.
The man is sniffing now and wiping his nose with the back of his arm and Nooria says something that makes him nod and leave the room, looking like a man condemned.
I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I have no business witnessing whatever private drama this family is going through.
I must get out of here …
And then I hear the front door open.
Seconds later, Nick Quinn, the man I’ve heard so much about, walks down the hallway and into the kitchen.
55
Angel
Angel is made from water. This seems like an amazing revelation and she can’t believe she has gone all these years without this basic knowledge.
She’s part of the loch, looking up at the sparking sun dancing on the surface. She can hear Lucas’s high-pitched little voice as he tries to skim stones the way Grandad is showing him.
Then she’s in different water. This time it’s brown and dirty and it fills her mouth with poison.
With a strange mewling sound, she turns her head and feels sourness slipping out of her mouth and down into her neck. Someone says, ‘Oh, let’s get you cleaned up,’ and the light is so bright it feels like it’s splitting her head open.
She tries to speak but her voice feels broken. Her mouth is so dry that her tongue feels as though it is two-and-a-half times its normal size, at least. The person in the room, coming into focus as a thin blonde woman in nurse’s scrubs, helps to lift her head and gently tips a little water into her mouth. Angel drinks greedily until she starts to cough.
Her head hurts so much.
‘My ’n hospital?’
The nurse seems to understand anyway because she nods and says, ‘That’s right. Can you tell me your name, lovely?’
‘Angel,’ she says in the remnants of her voice. ‘It’s Angel.’
‘Right, that’s brilliant,’ says the nurse. ‘I’m just going to get the police lady who wants to have a little word, OK? They didn’t find your bag at first, but I’m assured your wallet and phone are in there. I’ll bring them to you in a mo.’
There’s a flare of panic in her chest and she tries to sit up. There’s something very bad that’s connected with the police, if she can only get it. ‘Prison,’ she says, ‘I’m ’n trouble,’ and the nurse gently pushes her back down.
‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘Please just try and rest while I go get someone.’
She leaves the room before Angel gets the chance to protest further.
Angel closes her eyes and winces as she begins to remember what happened. Today? Yesterday? How long has she been here?
She’d been on her way to the police station to report in.
And she’d decided to walk by the canal. That was it …
It was quiet down there, with only an occasional runner and, once, a boy on a bike with a Yorkshire terrier running along beside him. She’d been under the bridge when there had suddenly been the sound of loud footsteps behind her and there had only been a moment for her to turn to see a bearded man in a baseball cap before her head exploded with pain and she was falling. She vaguely remembers the tilted world showing her handbag being slid off her shoulder and then that’s the last thing she can remember.
Opening her eyes again now, Angel sees a couple of police officers, one male and one female, standing by her bed.
‘Hello, Angel. You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you? Are you up to talking?’
She turns her head to the wall and closes her eyes.
56
Nina
He says, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ and then he spots me and his face is a mask of pure surprise. ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ he says, brow scrunched. And then recognition dawns.
‘Oh! Goodness,’ he says and puts a hand to his chest. ‘You’re … you’re the person who …’
‘Yes, I’m Nina,’ I say in a rush. This is all so peculiar. He’s not what I expected.
He’s dressed in pressed khakis and a deep blue short-sleeved shirt. He’s both taller and slightly less good-looking than he appears on television. He looks tired, his eyes a bit bloodshot and baggy. He looks like a man grieving.
My overwhelming feeling now is one of embarrassment. My cheeks start to flame. What the hell am I doing here?
Nooria speaks to him in her own language and he replies the same way. She nods and hurries out of the kitchen, dragging the whining little girl by the arm. The man goes too, head bowed.
I should get out of here right now.
But I feel as though my feet are made of lead. I can’t seem to move.
Nick Quinn takes a step closer and I don’t move as he holds out his hands.
‘Nina,’ he says gently. ‘I don’t really understand why you are here. But in a funny way I’m glad you are. The police told me how you cared for,’ he swallows, visibly, ‘for Zachy that night. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.’ His eyes are shining, his shoulders slumped. I find myself taking his hands, almost without consciously deciding to do so. ‘My wife is,’ he pauses again, and a wave of pain passes over his face, ‘my wife would have been so grateful for your care.’
‘That’s alright,’ I say foolishly. ‘I only did what anyone would do.’
‘Look,’ he says, ‘you’ll have to forgive us for being in chaos. I’ve been away and our nanny Nooria seems to be having some sort of crisis.’ He makes a rueful face. ‘I’ve been trying to help her and her husband with their application for asylum but I think something must have happened on that front. Can I ask you to take a seat so we can speak properly? I would like to talk to you.’
‘I really should probably—’ I start to say but he interrupts.
‘Please, Nina,’ he says. ‘Have a drink with me? Just one.’
He looks so beaten down and sad that it feels like the very worst manners to leave now. He hasn’t asked why I’m here yet and I have no idea what to say if – when – he does. But I nod stiffly and take a seat at the table.
He presses his palms together in a little praying gesture and mouths, ‘Thank you,’ before leaving the room.
All I can think about is seeing him in news reports, relaying stories of terrible suffering with what seems like compassion and gravitas. Then I think about the guinea pig. About the small boy so terrified of an adult he wets himself.
This is a mistake. I should go, but I can’t seem to make myself get up. Is it this desire to understand that is pinning me to the spot? Do I really think I will be able to peer into this man’s heart and see the darkness there?
I can’t believe I am in any danger, but that’s not the only reason I shouldn’t be here. Ian and Carmen would have a field day if they knew I had done this, let alone the police. It might even be contempt of court or something. With a small internal groan, I
lean my forehead on my hand as I try to think what I can say to enable me to leave quickly.
A rustle in the doorway makes me look up sharply. The little girl is standing right on the threshold of the room, one foot twisted behind the other. Her skirt has got caught in her knickers and she has a doll under her arm. Her large dark eyes are fixed on my face.
Flushing, I attempt to smile. ‘Hello,’ I say, then, ‘how’s your sore finger?’
She holds it up to show me a printed plaster wrapped around it and I make a sympathetic face. ‘I bet that will do the trick,’ I say.
The little girl stares hard at me and then comes over to the table, where she places the doll. It’s a Barbie, dressed as a mermaid, with an extravagant, sparkly tail. The doll’s hair has clearly been cut on one side, giving her an odd, punky look.
‘Is that your dolly?’ I say a bit stupidly. I’ve forgotten how to talk to small kids. She nods solemnly though and slides the doll across, indicating permission to pick it up. I do, and begin to fuss with the hair a little.
‘You’ve made her look very pretty,’ I say, and she doesn’t reply but I can see the pleased flush of her cheeks.
‘My daddy bought her for me,’ she says airily and I make an appreciative noise. She takes the doll back – clearly, I have had it for long enough – and begins to fuss with the mermaid tail, crooning a little as she does so.
I look at my watch. It’s just after one pm. I still have plenty of time. But this is all too weird. I wonder if I should just slip out quietly without saying anything. The little girl starts to murmur something and I don’t catch it, but she is looking right at me, a sly expression on her face.
‘What was that, sweetie?’ I say, a bit distracted.
‘My daddy hurt an angel and he is very sorry,’ she says.
I stare back at her. ‘Pardon?’ Something begins to stir uncomfortably in my stomach. What an odd thing to say.
She looks down at her doll and says, very quietly, ‘My daddy didn’t want to hit the angel but Nick said he had to and now everyone is really cross.’ She scrunches her brow. ‘And angels can fly so why didn’t she fly away?’
But Nooria is standing in the doorway now, glaring. She calls sharply to the little girl, who hurries out of the room.
An angel.
Angel?
My mind is filled with shards of information that I can’t seem to connect.
Angel has been hurt. By this man, who is connected to Quinn’s nanny? But why? And hurt in what way? Seriously?
Understanding flashes bright in my mind then as I think about that news report, from earlier. The man’s face on the news.
It’s him. The man upstairs right now. Was it Angel who had been attacked? But why? The little girl said, ‘Nick said he had to.’ But why would Quinn do that when the police seem to have such a strong case against her and Lucas?
It doesn’t make any sense. One thing is certain, though. I have to get out of here.
Right now.
I can hear movement and quiet murmuring in Arabic between Nooria and Quinn in the hallway. The man says something louder and is shushed. There’s the sound of a bag being dragged across the floor and then the front door closes with a bang. My hands are shaking. He doesn’t necessarily know what I heard just now, does he? Did Nooria hear what her daughter said?
I grab my bag and move to stand up but Quinn comes into the kitchen just then and gives me a friendly smile.
‘Right, Nina,’ he says. ‘Let’s have that drink, shall we?’
‘No,’ I say, trying and failing to suppress the panic making my voice an octave higher than usual. ‘I really have to go. My son is arriving soon, and I need to be there.’
‘Please,’ he says, so reasonably. ‘Just stay for a minute.’ He closes the door. ‘It’s so draughty in this room,’ he says. ‘Can never seem to get this house warm enough.’
I can’t tell if this is a normal thing to say. I eye the closed door. I’m too agitated now. I can’t believe he can’t see how desperate I am to leave. I should just walk straight out, but I don’t want to alert him to the fact that something has changed since I got here. I feel like there is a wasps’ nest in the room and I am going to have to get past it to get out of here.
He is still between me and the door as he goes to one of the cupboards, where he gets out a bottle of Macallan whisky, tipping it towards me with a raised eyebrow. I shake my head, a bit too vigorously. My hands are shaking hard and I grip the bag tightly to try to hide it. He gets a cut-glass tumbler and pours a generous measure into the glass.
He is still looking at me so pleasantly, as though there is nothing strange about any of this at all.
‘You really shouldn’t be here, you know,’ he says. ‘We are both key witnesses in a murder trial, not to mention the other terrible business those people put you through.’
‘I know, I—’ I start to say but he carries on speaking. He is leaning back against a cupboard, one arm slung across his waist, the other holding the tumbler of whisky. He looks completely at ease.
‘Don’t you want to see justice done?’
I swallow. I’m finding it very hard to meet his eyes, so I just look down and nod. ‘Yes, of course,’ I say. ‘I don’t really know why I’m here. I’m sorry. I really do have to go now. I don’t mean to be rude.’
His next words come as a shock.
‘I don’t think you should go anywhere, Nina,’ he says, drawing out my name. ‘First, I think you should tell me why you are really here.’
I swallow and force myself to meet his eye.
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say as I stand up. ‘And I haven’t got time to—’
The violence happens in what seems like a split second. The glass he had been drinking from explodes against the far wall, sending shards everywhere. The effect is like someone has attached a couple of charged defibrillator panels to my chest.
He smiles, oh-so-reasonably.
‘Come on, then,’ he says, still sounding normal. ‘What did that poisonous bitch Angel say about me?’
There’s no point pretending. I’m scared, but I’m angry too. This well-spoken, cultured bully thinks he has all the cards.
‘She told me about their childhood,’ I say tightly. I must clench my jaw to stop my teeth from chattering.
Quinn shakes his head slowly.
‘You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re on about,’ he says and then his face tightens. ‘Marianne was a flaky mess when I met her. Those children were practically feral when I came into their lives. No discipline … eating when they felt like it. It was a disaster of a household.’ He goes into the cabinet and gets out another glass, which he fills half full with whisky.
‘I did the world a favour,’ he says after taking a sip. ‘She was a drain on us all.’
My neck prickles. ‘What do you mean, a favour?’
He gives me a strange, disappointed smile. ‘I’m sure you are a smart lady. You can work it out.’
‘You killed her?’ I say. My breath is coming fast now. ‘Made it look like suicide?’
He wags a finger at me. ‘You shouldn’t go making accusations like that, Nina. It’s very impolite.’
He takes another sip and bares his teeth as it goes down. I don’t like the vulpine look it gives him before his face is in repose again.
‘Go on, then,’ he says. ‘What else have you got?’
I lift my chin and force myself to meet his eyes. ‘I think you killed Alice. And I think you got that man to attack Angel.’
He shakes his head and makes a loud ‘tut’.
‘What a flight of fancy,’ he says after a moment’s silence. ‘Are you one of those people who likes to blame everything on the Arabs, eh? Is that what’s going on here?’
‘Not at all,’ I say in as calm a voice as I can muster, even though my knees are shaking now. ‘I’m simply going by the fact that his face was all over the lunchtime news.’
Finally, somethi
ng seems to have penetrated his smooth outer layer. His brow folds and a flush creeps up his face.
‘What do you mean?’ The voice is sharp now.
‘They caught him on a camera,’ I say. ‘And there was a witness.’ Then, pretending to be about a million times more in control than I am, I say, ‘I have to go now. My son’s coming back from his holiday and people are expecting me.’
I force myself to put one foot in front of the other and move towards him and the door. It is so hard; like wading through a substance made of mud and my own terror. But – and I can’t believe it – he does nothing as I open the door and walk through.
I am suffused with such sweet relief it’s all I can do not to break into a grin.
Maybe this has all just gone too far now. He’s letting me go!
I hurry into the hallway on shaking legs. The front door is only about three feet away. I can see rain running down the stained glass of the window outside and it’s a beautiful sight. I want to be out there so badly, I don’t even care if I get soaked through.
I take two or three steps almost at a run and then there is sudden movement and I’m slammed against the wall. The back of my head explodes with pain and I cry out.
His face looms down over mine. He was only toying with me, I think. He was never going to let me go. His hands close around my throat as I look into his eyes. I fight with everything I have, legs kicking ineffectually, fingers scrabbling at his big hands.
And then—
57
Nick
Nick catches Nina as she begins to slide down the wall to the floor. She’s unconscious, but breathing. He lays her gently down and runs his hands through his hair.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Shit. Shit.’
He tries to slow down his breathing. This is all he needs right now.
‘Fuck!’
He kicks out at a delicate table that holds the telephone and a pad of paper. One of the legs snaps and it lists sideways, so the phone crashes onto the wooden floor. He stares at it for a moment and shakes his head.