Julia stared at Paul’s face, trying to follow it as it swam around the room.
‘I’ll be honest, Julia, I didn’t believe it at first. I overheard part of your conversation just before Smith died. But I had to make sure.’
‘Sometimes I wasn’t sure either,’ she whispered. ‘Sometimes I wondered whether I’d imagined it all. Whether he was using everything I’d told him about myself at Strangeways when I’d been trying to make it easier for him to talk about himself. Just storing it up, knowing he could use it as a weapon against me. I told him my twin brother had died but that I still dreamt I would one day find him. Right up to the end I wasn’t sure. And then . . . ’
‘Well?’ Paul said.
‘I saw the swan.’
‘The swan?’
‘The birthmark on his neck.’ She turned her head away. ‘He’s dead but he isn’t dead. He’s still here with me. I can’t help it, Paul.’
‘Sam Smith is dead. The person who died out there on the moors was no longer your twin, but a man who became Sam Smith, regardless of who he was when he was born. You’ve been mourning an illusion.’
‘No. I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘You see, you can’t erase the past.’
‘Past or no past. Don’t you think it’s time to say goodbye to that dream? Look what it’s done to you. Look what it’s doing to you now. I’ve never seen you look like this.’
Paul stood up and walked to the window and back again towards the bed. In the silence that followed Julia looked down at Nicky resting on her arm. The child’s eyes were wide open and she realised that far from being asleep her daughter was listening to every word they said.
Slowly Nicky sat up. She looked first at Paul, then at Julia. Then again at Paul, who held out his arms towards her. With a little whoop she jumped off the bed and ran into his arms.
‘Well, I must be off,’ he said, still holding Nicky. ‘Wendy said she wanted to see you. Still blaming herself for everything.’ He looked at his watch. ‘She’ll be here in half an hour and will take Nicky home. You did a fine thing, Julia, sending her and Alan a cheque to cover a deposit on a little house. But a bit over the top, I’d have said.’
Julia ignored his remark. He would never understand. ‘Can’t you stay a little longer?’ she said.
‘I have to pack. My flight leaves tomorrow.’
Nicky clung to Paul.
He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Come on now, Princess. I must be going.’ He unwrapped her arms from his neck and put her down. She rushed back to Julia, glancing at Paul like a frightened deer caught between two hunters.
‘Will you be away long?’ Julia gripped Nicky’s hand. She felt as though every last breath was being sucked from her lungs.
‘Three weeks. My first holiday for two years. But who knows? I might stay longer.’
Julia managed a smile. ‘Well, have a good time. I hope everything is sorted out by the time you get home. Thank you for the lovely roses. And for the news,’ she added, avoiding his gaze.
Paul walked towards her bed. He bent down and kissed Nicky, rested his hand on Julia’s head for a moment, and then without looking back he walked quickly to the door.
TUESDAY
Eleven days later
- 117 -
It was two weeks since Julia was shot when Wendy drove her to Martin Bedlow’s outpatient clinic. He removed the bandages, sent her for another X-ray, took the stitches out and re-applied the cast.
‘The wounds are healing well, Julia,’ Martin told her, ‘and the bone is mending. But you’ll need physio three times a week from now on. Come and see me again in four weeks time.’
‘Will I be completely better then?’ she asked.
‘Don’t look so miserable, Julia. You’re doing just fine. You’ll be walking without crutches when you see me next. Though you might have a slight limp for a further few weeks.’
Martin was always so precise and thorough. It was good to know exactly where she stood, though she was appalled at how long it would take.
‘Just one more question. No, two. When can I go back to work? And when can I drive?’
‘I wondered when you’d ask me that. Work in about a month. Driving, I’m afraid, must wait another six weeks.’
‘That’s impossible. I can’t sit around all that time.’
‘If you had an automatic you could drive sooner.’
‘But I have an automatic. And it’s my left leg that’s injured.’
He smiled. ‘Then I’ll leave it up to you. Your leg will tell you when it’s ready.’
FRIDAY
Four and a half weeks later
- 118 -
‘Mummy, why are we here? You said Paul was on holiday.’
‘I heard he came back last week so I thought we’d surprise him. He told me once how he loved curries. I’ve made a chicken curry so he won’t have to cook when he comes home.’
Julia still thought it was outrageously presumptuous of her, but there didn’t seem to be anything she could do to stop herself. She’d tried the curry out on Wendy who, once she’d got over the shock of seeing Julia in an apron with a wooden spoon in her hand, had said it was fabulous.
‘Oh, I love surprises, Mummy. Like when you took me to see Swan Lake last night.’ Nicky ran up three steps, then down two, keeping level with Julia as she lumbered slowly up the stairs. ‘Is that why you bought that recipe book?’
Julia bent down and kissed the top of Nicky’s head. She picked out the shiny new key on her key-ring, remembering those few silent moments when she and Paul had held it together, his fingers touching hers.
She rang the bell first. When there was no reply she inserted the key and opened the door. Kevin Moorsley had told her Paul was still suspended, but that he’d been advising a film company in Leeds who were making a documentary about the police force, and was due back today. If the traffic was heavy he might be hours getting home.
She propped up her crutches just inside the front door. Even though she’d had the plaster off three days ago, she still needed them for climbing stairs.
There was a slightly damp smell in the flat from having been closed up for so long. She found the central heating switch and turned it on. A ten minute blast on a low temperature would get rid of the mustiness while she chopped up some salads and heated the curry and the rice.
Soon the flat was filled with the delicious aroma of eastern spices. The wine and the beer were in the fridge and she’d arranged a bowl of yellow roses on the table in the hall.
Nicky heard the key in the lock before Julia did.
‘Shh, Mummy. Paul’s coming. Shall we hide?’
‘No, darling. We’ll just stand here, and see what happens.’ She was perfectly aware that she was using her own daughter as a shield to make sure he could not reject her outright, as he might do if she were on her own.
Seeing one of the roses out of place she quickly repositioned it. What if he’d found someone new while he was on holiday? Or gone back to his ex-wife, she wondered. She should have thought of that before she embarked on this ridiculous harebrained scheme.
The door opened and Paul walked in.
‘Julia. What a surprise!’
He switched his gaze to Nicky, his eyes lighting up as she ran into his arms.
Julia leaned against the table. Was this what she wanted?
‘Paul, Mummy’s cooked a chicken curry and we’re going to have strawberries and ice cream and I’ve set the table.’
He put Nicky down. Still holding her hand he walked slowly towards Julia.
‘Why?’ he asked softly.
It wasn’t often Julia had no immediate answer. She smiled, feeling absurdly awkward. ‘We missed you,’ she said at last.
She’d had hours and days and weeks to consider the differences in their professional attitudes that had so often led to conflict. But in the end it wasn’t a question of who was right and who was wrong. It was what Jessie had said. The respect they had for each other was what counted. It w
as also impossible to forget that Paul had jeopardised his career to save her life, though she doubted he would admit to that.
He looked down at Nicky. ‘I missed you too,’ he said.
The meal surprised even Julia. After the first mouthful Paul raised his eyebrows.
‘Delicious.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, and for the first time in her life she realised what a buzz it could give you to cook for someone else’s enjoyment.
They ate in almost total silence, Nicky looking from Paul to Julia as though she was at a tennis match. Paul helped himself to more, adding a liberal sprinkling of chopped tomatoes, cucumbers and sliced bananas, and a seriously hot mango chutney. ‘I’m impressed. Who said you couldn’t cook?’
‘Everyone,’ she said, and they all laughed.
Nicky asked if she could watch television. Paul put on the stern face he usually reserved for criminals. ‘Just this once, young lady,’ he said, scooping her up and placing her on his reclining chair in front of the big wide screen.
Julia thought achingly what a normal domestic scene it almost was.
They carried the dishes to the kitchen and Paul stacked the dish-washer. He hadn’t mentioned Tandy or Jane, and Julia wondered whether his unusual quietness was because he was thinking of them, or because he resented her presence when he’d made it pretty clear before going away that her apparent lack of trust had been unacceptable to him.
He put the kettle on and took cups and saucers from a cupboard. ‘How’ve you been?’ he asked.
‘Okay, now that I’m back at work. It was lovely when Nicky was on her half term holiday. But when she was at school the house was so quiet. Wendy always busy or out with Alan looking for a house. The kittens gone and no Duke. Duchess is a poppet, but she’s really only Nicky’s dog.’
‘D’you mind if I ask you something personal? It’s been puzzling me for weeks.’
‘What is it?’
‘Most adopted people want to know fairly early in their lives about their real family. Yet until very recently you didn’t find out anything about them or about your early childhood. Why?’
Somehow I’ll just have to muddle through this, Julia thought, and took a deep breath. ‘When David and Jessie adopted me they told me they were now my parents and all the dreadful things that had happened before no longer existed. But I felt lonely and incomplete and even when the little boy next door came round to play and I thought he was my brother, and I was accused of ─ ’
‘Of what?’
‘Even then they didn’t explain.’
‘Accused of what, Julia? Tell me.’
‘Of . . . molesting him.’
He switched off the kettle, then slowly turned and looked at her.
‘And did you?’
‘Of course not. But . . . oh, don’t ask me, Paul.’
‘No. Wait, Julia. You’re getting sidetracked. I understand it was terrible for you, but which dreadful thing in particular?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’
‘Why did you really come here tonight?’
‘A whole lot of reasons,’ she said, relieved that it looked as though he had decided not to pursue questioning her about her past. She had seen a look on his face that she knew well. One he always had when he thought he was getting close to capturing his prey.
‘Tell me one.’
‘Nicky can’t live without seeing you now and then,’ she added, not wanting to sound too melodramatic.
‘And what else? Isn’t there something special you wanted to tell me? Something about your past. That you’ve not told me before?’
She picked up a sponge and wiped the sink and the worktop. He wasn’t letting it go. He was going to get it out of her if she wasn’t careful. She should never under-estimate his powers of detection, and should be prepared for a question that might trip her up.
‘Julia?’ He waited. ‘Okay. But I thought you said there were a lot of reasons.’
‘There are,’ she said, puzzled at why he was deliberately muddying the line of his questioning, chopping from one thing to another.
‘Well? Tell me another one.’
She stood at the empty sink looking through the window at the twilight sky. There were no stars out yet, but above the window a cloud of moths circled the outside light. I’m just like those moths, she thought. Free to fly wherever they like, but trapped by their need to keep on flying round and round that light.
‘And neither can I,’ she whispered.
There. I’ve said it, she thought, not really surprised at his apparent lack of response, since his mind was clearly targeted in another direction. Now the ball is in his court. Or is it still in mine? It will be impossible for us to move a single inch forward while this rock of doubt stands between us. He knows there’s something big on my mind. Something I’m deliberately withholding. I can’t bear his silence.
‘Paul . . .’
‘What?’
‘You’re right. I do have something to tell you.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘But first I have something to tell you.’
He opened a drawer and took out a handful of teaspoons which he rattled together as though he was playing castanets. ‘I may be out of turn in mentioning this,’ he said at last, ‘but I have a feeling you may be totally unaware of something forensics found when they carried out Smith’s autopsy.’
She stared at him but was unable to speak.
The letter.
So it was catching up with her after all. She felt the blood drain from her head. She felt like an animal trapped in a snare, unable to escape. The end, she thought. This is the end . . .
‘It may help to fine-tune your memory. Fill in a few gaps.’
Julia felt as though something was blocking her windpipe.
He paused, but when she still said nothing he carried on. ‘Forensics had a hell of a job deciphering it, but when they did, it made interesting reading. A letter in his pocket, drenched in blood, perforated by a bullet, but stamped and addressed to the Chief Constable Greater Manchester Police. Informing him that ─ ’
‘Stop! I don’t want to hear it.’ She hid her face in her hands.
‘Informing him that before he could drag you away into hiding, afraid for your safety he said, you had insisted on dialling 999, in spite of your own horrendous wounds, to say there’d been a serious accident at Mr Robert St John Spencer’s house and would they send an ambulance for him straight away. Is that true, Julia?’
Oh, Nicholas . . .
The floodgates of her memory sprang open, but only momentarily. And just wide enough to see herself running barefoot into the hallway trying to dodge the broken glass on the floor but not succeeding, and picking up the phone ─ before they clashed closed again and she was left with a blank screen and far more sorrow in her heart than relief, and yet more fragments of a picture that refused to slot into place.
Paul sighed, impatient with her hesitance.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That bit is true. Strange. I’ve only just this moment remembered it.’
‘And the other bit?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Paul. I’m not sure of it myself.’
‘Try, Julia. Try.’
She stood behind him and slid her arms around his waist. It was one way of not letting him see her eyes.
‘Remember I told you about Smith’s phone call the morning after he’d broken into my house, when he demanded a quarter of a million pounds. I told you he said he would not guarantee Nicky’s safety if I didn’t pay by the deadline he imposed.’
‘Go on,’ Paul said, his voice like a blank white wall.
‘Well . . . that wasn’t all he threatened.’
‘I knew there was something else.’
‘He said . . . he said if I didn’t pay he would make some . . . interesting facts public. A very juicy piece of news about me. He said he could tell the authorities a thing or two.’
Paul straightened her arms and swivelled round to face her.
‘And what were those facts?’
She wanted more than anything to break this impasse between them, but she’d been stupid to start something she couldn’t finish. Not only could she not finish, she couldn’t even begin. She would have to tell him that at first she had tolerated the sexual abuse. It’s our special secret, Julia . . . Before that, no other human being except her brother had loved her. No one apart from her brother had ever cared . . .
Paul stood looking down at her. His eyes never left her face as he waited for her answer.
Oh, how clever, Julia thought. He had timed the surprising news of the letter to perfection, knowing it would make it almost impossible for her not to elaborate further.
‘Go on, Julia.’
She turned her head away. ‘Well . . . I suppose, oh, I don’t know . . . I suppose it was . . . well, just that ─ that I was his sister.’
He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head and breathed in long and slowly through his mouth. ‘And you really think that would have injured your reputation? Do you think that would have worried me?’
‘You hated Smith. You despised him.’
‘You must have known that would cut no ice with me. You weren’t Siamese twins for God’s sake. He was Smith. And you’re right. I despised him. But you were two separate people.’ He paused. ‘No, Julia. I know you better than you think. There’s something else, isn’t there. What is it? Surely you can tell me?’
And in that split second she recalled Smith’s dying words. They’d been lurking in the back of her mind for weeks, not forming themselves. Now suddenly, like mountains emerging from a thick mist, they stood out, clearly etched against the sky.
It was lucky I came into your room when I did . . . sometimes we do what we have to do . . . he deserved to die . . .
The room waved and heaved as she strove to remember the detail, feeling it touching her then receding, touching and receding, and longing for it to jump into sharp focus.
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