Eve is right, it is the anticipation, the fear of the fear which is the worst part, this has compromised my every move. When I was finally confronted by her, it was a relief, we chatted things through. So many things I’d not been able to fathom suddenly made sense. Most of them anyway. The footsteps I heard when showering outside. The visit from the estate agent. The hoax call from the school. The ladder at the window. The dead tweeter. She wanted to rattle me, bribe me, control me, so she could finally have a taste of my life. Funny, I’ve not heard anything further from Clara. So, only one thing remains unresolved, if someone has stolen my husband, who is it? It can’t have been my stalker, not when I’m certain I saw her earlier on the day he avoided my calls.
When she finally left, promising me she’d allow me exactly twenty-four hours to come up with her share of my life. Smug in her reasonableness, I almost didn’t want her to leave, she understood me, appreciated where I was coming from, it felt oddly comfortable. Frozen, I sat at the outside table looking out across the estuary, even when the fine sea mist turned to heavy rain, I didn’t move. Caught, trapped. The net of lies flung over me. The life I once so craved, now a poacher’s snare. Unable to ask for help because no one understands.
So this is my one last act of control. I’ve left notes for the family I’ve lived with, the two children and the man I shared this house with, I owe them this. And, if I don’t tell, she will. And for the first time in so long, I need to tell the truth.
Now, gently, I push away the faces of the family. Stretch my tired body out to fill the bath and allow my mind to let go.
73
Cornwall 2017
Kyle
An hour on, Kyle finally swings in towards the gates, clumsy fingers punch the code into the pad, before accelerating down the driveway. Andi’s car is there. So she can’t be out at an appointment unless she’s taken a taxi, he considers, releasing his seatbelt. The house is in complete, unnerving darkness, so perhaps she has. Flinging open his door, he dashes for the front door, not appreciating the extent of his physical trembling until attempting to slide the key into the lock. Shaking his hand, slamming his fist against the wood, he tries again, then again. Moments later, in the hallway, he is shouting her name, imploring a response. Each time more desperate. Nothing. Complete silence. Flicking light switches, Kyle hurries through to the open plan living space.
Andi?
Andi?
74
Cornwall 2017
Andi
Andi? I hear somewhere in the distance as I fall to sleep, Andi?
Andi? Where are you? My eyelids so heavy.
Andi?
75
Cornwall 2017
Kyle
‘Andi?’
Kyle clatters through the kitchen, through the sitting room area, the downstairs bedrooms, bathroom, study… No Andi. Perhaps she’s taken her drunken self off to bed, that will be it – smashed out of her head, asleep. But the words of Eve are sitting firmly on his shoulder, following him around as he turns on lights, calling out her name. Finally, he bounds up the spiral staircase, taking the steps two by two up to the first floor, along the corridor, warily checking each room as he passes. Nothing. Only their bedroom remains behind the closed door.
Kyle braces himself before swinging the door open on its hinges. The bed sheets are unmade, on the floor lies a pile of clothes, assumedly, whatever Andi was wearing that day. But there’s no sign of her. He plonks down heavily on the bed, removing the mobile from his back pocket and attempts to call her again, his one hand supporting a heavy head with an elbow on his knee. His heart hammering through his work shirt. ‘Please, please answer,’ he whispers. It rings out, as he holds the mobile out level with his knees, watching the calling symbol flashing, as he feels a gentle stirring beneath the bed sheets. Jumping up, he throws back the silken top sheet as Andi’s mobile dances its way towards him, vibrating with each trill. Inside his blood drains from head to toes, turning him cold. Shivering.
Slowly, almost on tiptoes, he makes his way towards the bathroom. ‘Andi?’ He asks gently, ‘Andi? You in there?’ Gentle pressing at the door, he takes a couple of steps over the threshold into a clammy sweetly scented darkness, feeling for the light switch. As the circular room fills with a luminous glow, he drops his mobile, the echo of metal hitting a tiled floor. A monotonous high pitched beeping fills his ears. He swallows back the vomit, lurching forward, falling to his knees, ‘Andi. Please, God no, Andi. Please God. No.’
He’s too late. It’s all far too late.
76
Cornwall 2017
Camilla
I open my eyes, a tender hand across my collarbone, searching for the delicate silver chain but all I feel is the plastic tube, spuriously keeping me alive. A fluttering in my stomach, panic, it’s gone. My necklace has gone. Cautiously, I turn my neck against plump pillows, each shifting millimetre forcing a contortion of my features. Someone, please, more morphine. Then, I spot it, alone on the shiny duck egg blue surface, coiled like a sleeping snake. I reach out, clumsily grasping at the links, slithering away from my touch. The necklace tumbles to the floor, the chinking of metal on cold tiles echoes against the monotonous bleeps from the contraption I am tied to.
I’m not as dead as I supposed I was going to be.
Is this a good thing? This is deja-vu surely. Caught in some weird nightmare, forced to relive my life all over. Groundhog day. The only difference being, this time, I know who I am, why I’m here and what I need to do. I’m not going back without what I came for. The door to my room opens, letting in light, as muled feet approach, I squint as almond shaped eyes greet mine. I don’t say a word. I haven’t decided what I’m telling them yet. What happened last night?
Blurry metal, impending dense trees, obscure skies and a windscreen confused by huge droplets of rain. I passed the Welcome to Cornwall sign, I remember. I’m back where it all began. The stench of burning rubber now convenes at the back of my throat. The taste of hot plastic. I cough but it doesn’t shift, set like tar. I see the bleep, bleep increase, jagged lines rising on the machine I’m attached to, as the thud of the impact satiates my ears. I lost control just when I thought I was taking it back. Then silence. All black.
‘Hello, love?’ This person standing over me says. ‘Now then, who are you love, what’s your name?’ she peers at me in the hope I will enlighten her. ‘We have your bag, love. With all your things, I can fetch it in a minute for you. There was nothing really to identify you by. Just your purse, more or less empty, a little cash. Oh, and a car hire agreement or something like that. But don’t you worry, we have it somewhere safe.’ I can’t say I care. ‘You travel light, don’t you love.’ She continues, pouring water into a glass. Then, silencing the bleeping machine which must have called for her in the first place. ‘Are you visiting Cornwall? Or are you local? We assumed visiting, what with it being a hire car, you know.’ She gently touches my hand. I desperately want to grab hold of it. Keep it close.
I thought I’d everything planned, in my mind. It was all going so well. Until Kyle texted me. He was heading back to Cornwall early. No residential. His wife needed him. Everything was off, my plan to finally confront her with him. He was running to her aid, her needs being greater than mine. He was hers not mine. It should have been me, I’d raged the entire journey to Cornwall. After Kyle’s text, I was sufficiently hurt and incensed to book a flight direct to Bristol. Hired a car, then shot along the M5, tired, hungry, angry and unbelievably dejected. Why was it always about her? I tortured myself with images as I flew along the third lane, the resentment burning at my conscience. By the time I hit the A30, I was running on borrowed energy and burnt out emotions. The road conditions were treacherous. I shouldn’t have been driving.
She attempted to kill me, and it’s still about her? She thought she’d succeeded.
Did I mean to leave the road? Could I have stopped the skid of the car? Did I try hard enough to fight it, to regain control? Over and over
in my mind, and Clara? Did they both want me dead? Was that their plan?
‘You okay, love? Sorry, silly me, what a stupid question.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘Too many questions, eh? Just your name though, my lovely, be good to know?’ My name? She silences the blood pressure machine’s alarm for the second time. ‘Just, your agreement thing was all we had to go on. You know, we were looking to identify you, hoped we could call someone for you for when you woke up. We’re assuming you must be Camilla? Is there anyone to call? Family, friend, anyone really?’
I meet her eyes, kind eyes, with no idea of the pain she is re-igniting.
‘There isn’t anyone,’ I tell her, ‘not any more. Only me.’
77
Cornwall 2017
Eve
‘Come on in.’
Eve guides the shadow of a man through her door, making discreet eye contact with Ruan before closing it to. It’s one of those times, there are no significant words, she can’t ask him to consider perspective or to count his blessings. An enormous sense of responsibility lies heavily across her shoulders as all the training and experience walk back out through the door. ‘Please take a seat, Kyle,’ She gestures softly towards the empty tub chair, ‘It must have taken so much for you to come today, so thank you. I was going to wait for your contact but…’ She takes to the seat opposite, leaning forward with open hands. ‘I felt it may help, for you to know a truth, a truth about Andi.’ He doesn’t utter a word, he’s trying not to cry, fixating on the books over her shoulder. ‘Firstly though, Kyle, I’m genuinely, unbelievably, sorry. There are no fitting words for your loss, and your children’s loss.’
‘You like your books,’ he says.
Eve smiles, ‘I do, do you?’
‘Used to,’ Kyle shakes his head, returning his eyes to Eve, ‘don’t have the time for them any more. And there lies the problem. The very reason Andi is no longer here, I don’t make time for anything any more, I didn’t make time for Andi, only work. Work, work and a lot more work, this is all I’ve cared about.’ And more recently, Camilla, his conscience taunts.
‘This isn’t true, Kyle, stop trying to punish yourself. You know, this talk certainly will not help your children. You feel bad because you couldn’t reach Andi, but this is not your fault.’
‘Andi liked her books,’ he says.
‘I know, she told me the first day we met.’
‘If I wasn’t the reason for Andi’s death, then who, what, was? In your expert opinion, who, what killed her. Thing is – she left me a letter but you know what, I’ve not been able to open it. How pathetic. Eh?’ His eyes fill with tears, then turn down towards clenched fists. ‘How bloody pathetic. I can’t bring myself to open it. I found it not long after I discovered her last night. I dragged her from the stone cold water onto the floor, you know. I was shaking her, yelling at her.’ Big tears now rolling down his face. ‘I couldn’t save her. She was already gone. How could she do this? Why didn’t I see it coming?’
‘She didn’t want you to save her, Kyle. She planned it all very carefully. You didn’t do anything wrong. She killed herself, Kyle, no one killed her.’ Eve’s words are kind and gentle, she’d already beaten herself black and blue with the thought that maybe she could have done more. Realised Andi’s intentions sooner and the speed with which she was to commit to them. But how could she have known for sure, you can’t go chasing someone down, accusing them of intending to take their life. If someone is so intent, they will find a way. For those left on the sideline it creates gigantic waves of guilt and self-reproach. But they are unfair to themselves. She couldn’t have stopped her either. She lied to her GP, she lied to us all.
‘People don’t kill themselves for nothing, someone must be to blame.’
‘You’re right, they don’t end their lives for nothing. But also it is unfair to assume someone else is always to blame. Kyle, there is no blame to be apportioned here. You are not at fault. Please try and consider this.’
‘You don’t understand, she kept trying to tell me, she was convinced someone was stalking her, following her, messing with her life. Making appointments on her behalf, even making a call pretending to be from the kids’ school. She became paranoid, someone was out to get her. And she may have been right. Could have been right all along and what did I do? I patronised her, told her she was being paranoid, accused her of fantasising, covering for her own mistakes and…’ he shakes his head, ‘and I accused her of being an alcoholic. Me, her husband, look what I did to her. Doesn’t matter what you say, I will always think I killed her. I didn’t listen, didn’t want to listen, let her down when she needed me most.’
‘There are things about Andi you don’t know, Kyle. I’m not saying this to make you feel better about yourself. Andi really did want to take her life and not because of anything you did or didn’t do. She made a life for herself, she chose paths, made some huge decisions which led her to her death.’
‘What do you mean? What do you know? I’m taking this is something she confided in you?’
‘Yes, it is, and of course there is the issue of a patient’s confidentiality, even after death, but I believe it is essential for you to understand the truth for the sake of your wellbeing and also for Trey and Dotty.’
Bloodshot eyes search Eve’s for answers. ‘What do you know about Andi? What did she tell you, she couldn’t tell me?’
‘I received a request for a telephone consultation. Nothing unusual in this, however, the fact they wished to remain anonymous was. Or rather, I certainly haven’t come across it before. I took the call, despite wondering if I should.’
‘And?’
‘From a female. Claiming to know one of my clients. She didn’t give me the client’s name exactly, but it didn’t take long to work out who she was referring to.’
‘Who?’
Eve nods. ‘She was very angry, aggressive in tone at first. Talked a little in riddles. Became more and more churlish in attitude. She said this client of mine was dishonest. A liar. That she was hiding something from her past, asked if I would pass on a message to her. I told her I was willing to listen, then we’d see.’
‘What was it?’
‘She told me – Andi had deceived even her nearest and dearest, including someone called Camilla.’
‘Camilla?’ Eve couldn’t help notice Kyle flinch at this name.
‘Camilla. Tell her I know – what she did to Camilla, she spat at me.’
‘You’re sure, she said Camilla?’
‘Camilla Stewart. Camilla. I believe she was one of the girlfriends caught in the tides down here. Missing, presumed dead. A friend of Andi’s. There were two of them weren’t there?’ Kyle continues to stare at Eve, lips thinning, subtly shaking his head. ‘Andi tried to talk to me about it once, but became too upset.’
Kyle jumps in. ‘We only ever infrequently talked about it. And then we only referred to it as the, “accident”, not the girls’ names, as if she couldn’t bear to…’
‘Sure, understandable,’ Eve says.
‘This Camilla, you say, she knew Andi, and she was one of the girls?’
Eve nods. ‘But there’s something else.’
Kyle raises both eyebrows. ‘Sometime before all this, Ruan, my assistant, came across something in an old article. I think you should take a look at this.’ Eve stands, patting Kyle’s heavy shoulder as she heads over to the desk. Lifting a manila file, she returns to sit in the opposite chair.
‘Here,’ she holds out the paper. ‘Take a look at this.’ Kyle’s eyes dart across the page. ‘It’s an old photograph.’ Eve studies Kyle’s face as he takes in what’s before him. ‘Both girls, Andi and Camilla, have been missing, presumed dead all these years. One of them was your Andi, Kyle.’
Andi and Camilla, missing, presumed dead.
*
Eve is the last to leave the clinic, she sent Ruan home after Kyle arrived. Now, sombre feet take the few steps down to the pavement, the clinic door locked behind her. Sometimes, th
e truth is so painful but Kyle had a right to know. It took him a while to grasp the truth hidden in the article. Turns out he knew both the dead girls, both very much alive. His Andi had no idea Camilla was still alive, he felt Camilla perhaps knew about his Andi though. He understood the anonymous caller was talking about his wife and for all of the time he had known her, in many ways he hadn’t. Anyway, Kyle had a right to know, not to carry the guilt he was burdening on his shoulders, this wasn’t his doing. Eve wraps her mac around her as she turns down Lemon Street for home. Time and time again, she thinks, it’s not what you see, what you know – it’s what you don’t see, what you don’t know. And in this case, who you don’t know.
78
Cornwall 2017
Camilla
This is my last chance.
‘Andi,’ I spit out. ‘Andi Johnson.’ Is this really how my voice speaks? Is this how I want it to sound? How it should sound? Does she sound like this?
At first the eyes regarding me – flicker, confused, before nodding as her face morphs to a smile, ‘There must have been a mistake then, I’m sure the paramedics handed your handbag in when they brought you in last night. Never mind we’ll get it sorted out. So, Andi, I’m Yvonne and you, my lovely, have been involved in a very serious car accident, you’re in Treliske Hospital. Are you perfectly sure we can’t call someone for you? If not family, a friend maybe?’
Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 30