by Lisa Hall
‘No, it’s fine. He’s gone to his room – he didn’t notice your trainers and your phone is still on the table in the hall. If you’re quiet you can sneak out without him hearing.’
Ted leads the way, pushing the bedroom door open and checking the hallway, before waving me through. I feel like I’m in a spy movie, only I doubt James Bond has shaky hands and a crampy belly at the thought of getting caught. Once at the front door, trainers safely back on my feet, I pull back slightly as Ted goes to kiss me.
‘I’ll call you,’ I promise, ignoring his puzzled frown, before a quick glance up and down the street and I’m off, feet pounding along the pavement, the pulse that beats in my throat the familiar thud of my heart working to keep up with my feet, instead of the panicky thump of fear.
The rain has died down to a misty fizz as I run all the way home, stretching my stride and aiming for maximum push in order to work up a decent sweat. I’ve been gone for over an hour, so I want to make sure that I look the part when I arrive home.
‘Hello!’ I call out as I fall through the front door, suitably out of breath and hair plastered to my head in a combination of sweat and rain water.
‘Hi Mum – good run?’ Robbie appears in the hall, a bowl of noodles in one hand. ‘You’ve been gone ages.’
‘Not that long. And you were out when I left.’ The beefy smell of the noodles makes my stomach roll, and I lean down to slide my wet feet out of my trainers for the second time this evening.
‘Dad said. We got rained off, I’ve only been back for a bit.’ He forks food into his mouth, splashing noodle sauce on his T-shirt.
‘And already eating,’ I laugh and ruffle his hair as he ducks away from me, the panic I felt at being caught earlier already slipping away into nothing, to be forgotten until the next time. Maybe Gareth did pay attention when I left the house after all. I pause on my way to the stairs, goosebumps prickling along my cold arms as I reach the door to Gareth’s office. I test the handle and it isn’t locked – but when I inch the door open and stand there, damp and cold, Gareth isn’t there.
Sighing, and shivering slightly in my damp clothes, I head upstairs eager to jump into a hot shower, but as I reach the landing Gareth calls my name.
‘Rach? That you?’ He appears in the bathroom doorway, warm light spilling out behind him, a cloud of fragrant steam wafting through the open door. ‘Here, you must be freezing.’ He stands to one side, and I squeeze past him into the bathroom, where hot water thunders into the tub. Huge clouds of bubble bath foam up under the tap, and a row of tea lights dance a flickering glow along the windowsill.
‘What’s this?’ I turn to face him, a puzzled look on my face.
‘I thought you might be cold after your run,’ he shrugs, ‘and I know I was a bit snappy earlier, so I wanted to do something nice for you. Shall I grab you a towel?’
I nod, feeling sick with guilt, and reach up to kiss him on the cheek. Stripping off my damp clothes, I slide into the hot water, goosebumps prickling all over my body as the warm water meets my cold skin, and I think, this has to stop, before it goes too far, before someone gets really hurt.
19
JANUARY – EIGHTEEN DAYS AFTER THE PARTY
I take a deep breath as I pull into the parking space, convenient in its proximity to the police station, almost as though someone is looking down on me, making sure everything goes smoothly and there is zero reason for me to not go ahead with this. The black underwear is encased in a plastic freezer bag on the passenger seat next to me, and my heart jumps in my chest every time I look down at it. I feel mildly unhinged, if I’m honest, as though this can’t possibly be my life, can’t possibly be happening to me. I tried to call Gareth back the previous evening, to convince myself that I did make an effort to be up front and honest with him, rather than for any other reason. I’ll blank out the fact that I rang him when I knew he would have gone into his meeting and his phone would be switched off. Now, I clutch the plastic bag in one hand and my own handbag in the other, each containing things that will hopefully start to bring all of this to a close.
‘Rachel. Come through.’ Carrie doesn’t keep me waiting, once I’ve asked for her by name, and she leads me through into an interview room. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit cold and drab in here. I didn’t think you’d want to use the room we used … before. You said you’ve got something to show me?’
‘Yes.’ The air in here is chilly and I wish I’d worn something warmer, instead of just grabbing the first thing I touched in the wardrobe. ‘Here. Liz Greene brought these to my house.’ I pass her the freezer bag containing the underwear.
‘She should have called me herself.’ Carrie frowns, as she pokes into the bag with the end of her pen.
‘She feels bad, for holding the party. Like she thinks she’s to blame or something. She wanted to tell me herself.’ I pause for a moment, wanting to tell Carrie what Liz told me about the list but not sure what reception it will get.
‘And she found them where?’
‘They were in the pool house, at the far end of the garden. She found a jacket in there, and when she checked the pockets to see if there was anything in them that could tell her who it belonged to, she found these. Carrie, there’s a stain on them.’ My eyes fill with tears and that familiar nauseous feeling washes over me. I haven’t eaten since the toast I threw up yesterday morning and I feel light-headed, as though my head isn’t quite attached to my body. Carrie tips the underwear on to the table and smooths it out with her pen, careful not to touch it herself. When she sees the stain, her mouth makes a little ‘oh’ shape and she raises her eyes to mine.
‘You’re one hundred per cent certain that these belong to you?’
‘Yes,’ I nod frantically, ‘they’re definitely mine. That’s what I was wearing that night.’
‘OK. This is good,’ she says, and my heart does a little skip of excitement, ‘I can get this sent away to be tested. We can take a sample of DNA from the stain, and request samples from the guests at the party, then compare them – this will help get things moving again, Rachel. I’ll also go and visit Liz again, I’d like to see that jacket.’ She uses the pen again to stuff the underwear into a proper evidence bag, as I sit and watch.
‘There’s something else,’ I say, blurting the words out. They ring around the room, breaking the thick silence between us. I lean down into my handbag, noticing that I have two completely different shoes on – both black, but different styles. I must be in more of a state than I realized. Tucking my feet under the chair and out of sight, I pull out my notes and lay them on the table.
‘What’s this?’ Carrie frowns, as I flip the notebook open to the first page, the lines covered with my hurried scrawl.
‘Notes,’ I say. ‘I’ve been making notes, about everything. Look, I understand, Carrie, I really do. I understand that without sufficient evidence there aren’t any leads to follow, and I know that you’re all busy on newer cases, but I thought that maybe I could just keep digging, try and find out what really happened, you know?’ I flip the pages over to how her how much I’ve written, the things that I’ve uncovered.
‘Oh, Rachel …’ She holds out a hand to stop me, but I carry on flipping through, the pages slicing briskly through the air as I turn them.
‘Look, see? Here’s a list of names – I thought at first it was Aaron, because of how he bothered me so much before Christmas, but then …’ I break off, remembering that she doesn’t know what Liz told me yesterday. ‘When Liz came to see me yesterday, she told me something. She said … she said she’s an alcoholic. She doesn’t remember anything about the party. The list she gave you was from Neil, not from her. He could have said anyone came … and I was thinking, why would they invite Aaron? They barely know him. What if Neil said he was there, to throw the scent off him?’
‘Rachel, please.’ Carrie’s voice is firm, and she lays her hand flat on the page, obscuring the words. ‘This isn’t for you to investigate – let me do my job, OK?’
>
‘But …’
‘I know. I know exactly how you’re feeling. You’re feeling helpless and vulnerable, and you think that we don’t care, but we do. We have to tread so carefully, Rachel, you have to let us do the work – if you don’t there’s a chance that if we do find him, any evidence we have could be compromised.’ Her eyes meet mine and hold my gaze intently, not letting me look away. ‘You have to trust me now. I’m going to take these,’ she holds up the evidence bag, ‘and I’m going to get them tested, and then I’ll hopefully have some answers for you. You’ve done brilliantly to get them to me, and I swear to you as soon as I have anything for you, I’ll call you. But please, Rachel, you have to let it go. You have to let me do the work, not you.’
‘OK.’ I nod, adrenaline fading and leaving me exhausted and drained. I get to my feet, anxious now to be away from here, away from the chilly air, the faint antiseptic smell that seems to cling to my clothes. There is a feeling of relief that sneaks up on me as I step outside, into the grey, chilly January air. I have given Carrie evidence, something tangible she can use to finish this once and for all, and I feel the burden on my shoulders become a tiny bit lighter. I slide into the driver’s seat and rest my head on the steering wheel. Maybe, when this is all finally over, I’ll be able to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time before I jolt awake, my heart thumping. Maybe I’ll feel hungry again, craving the taste of rare steak and good red wine. A tap on the window startles me, and I utter a small shriek. Sean peers in the window at me, a look of concern on his face, and I lower the window.
‘Rachel? Are you all right?’ He looks up at the building behind us, the station casting a shadow over the pavement. ‘Did something happen?’
‘No … everything’s fine. I just needed a moment.’ I feel ridiculous, being caught like this, napping on the steering wheel, by my son’s best friend. I give him a watery smile and flick away the hair that has stuck to my lip.
‘Are you sure? I can help you home if you’re not feeling well, you look dead pale.’ He places his hand on my arm and I stare down at it, a rushing noise sounding in my ears. It morphs into Ted’s hand, only it’s not laid on the maroon wool of the jumper I’m wearing now, it’s on my bare forearm. It’s hot and I can hear music, Christmas music, even though it’s New Year’s Eve and surely, surely, Liz can’t think that that is appropriate party music. We’re all done with Christmas music now, time to move on! There is cigarette smoke on the air, and I feel sick, the tinsel and glitter of the baubles seeming to spin as I try and stay upright.
‘… looking pale. Let me help you.’ It’s Ted’s voice, and I want to shake him off, tell him Gareth is here somewhere and he’ll kill us if he sees us together, but I can’t seem to make my arms move in the direction I want them to. When I turn my head to try and tell Ted to leave me, I’m fine, everything moves in slow motion and I feel nauseous, bile scorching the back of my throat.
‘Rachel? Rachel!’ Hearing my name brings me back to myself and all I am left with is the certain feeling that I am about to be sick.
‘I have to get out.’ I shove the driver’s door open, catching Sean in the stomach, and lean into the gutter where I heave and heave until nothing is left. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Sean. You didn’t need to see that.’ Fumbling in my pocket for a tissue, I spit uncouthly into the gutter before wiping my mouth, my cheeks burning with shame at showing myself up in front of Sean like this. He hands me an opened packet of Polos. I take one and pop it into my mouth, the cool mint flavour taking away the acid sting at the back of my throat.
‘What happened?’ His voice carries a tinge of concern.
‘I’m not sure … a flashback maybe, to the night of the party? I could smell the cigarette smoke, hear the music …’ I trail off, shivering as though someone has just walked over my grave.
‘Did you remember something?’ Sean’s eyes are wide. ‘We should probably go back in there and tell someone if you did.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t be certain that it was a memory or whether … I don’t know.’
‘Are you sure you’re OK? Do you want me to come back with you?’ Sean looks more than a little uncomfortable and while I would love nothing more than to be at home with a cup of tea (and a toothbrush) I want to be home alone, so I can think about what I just experienced. Was it a flashback? A real memory, or something I dreamed up? It felt real.
‘I’m fine.’ I wipe at my mouth once more with the tissue. ‘Honestly. Maybe don’t mention it to Robbie, though, eh? I don’t want him to worry about me.’ I smile weakly; sweat making my fringe stick to my forehead. Sean nods uncertainly and I jump into the mini and drive away before he can offer any more help.
I am sliding my key into the lock, still feeling shaken from my vomiting bout, when a voice behind me startles me making me drop the key with a noise of surprise.
‘Mrs Walker?’ The voice is softly spoken, with a faint hint of an accent and I don’t recognize it. I turn slowly, coming face to face with Jason, the Greenes’ ex-gardener.
‘You? What do you want?’ I demand, fear making my voice shrill. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ I look down to where my door key glints on the path.
‘Please, I didn’t come here to be … I don’t want to hurt you,’ he raises his hands in a surrender gesture, ‘I just wanted to talk to you.’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea. My husband will be home any minute.’ I peer over his shoulder, as if looking for Gareth, and when he turns to look too, I quickly lean down and snatch up my key.
‘Please. I need to explain to you about the night of the party, and what happened before. Why I had to leave Newcastle.’ I pause in the action of sliding the key between my fingers.
‘All right.’ My curiosity is piqued. Why would he want to talk to me, unless he had something important to say? Surely if he didn’t have any explanation for being there he’d be avoiding me like the plague. Especially now that Liz has fired him. ‘I’ll listen to you. We talk out here, though, you’re not coming in.’ There’s a good chance Mrs Gregory is watching us out of her window – she’ll call the police if I scream loud enough.
‘OK.’ He rubs a hand raggedly over his stubble, and I notice the dark rings around his eyes. His face is thin and slightly baggy, as though he’s lost a lot of weight quickly and I almost, almost, feel a pang of sympathy for him. ‘I did come back that night,’ he admits, watching me warily, ‘but it really was only to get a saw that I’d left in the shed. I needed it for a customer after the Bank Holiday, one who would have sacked me if I couldn’t do the job properly. It turns out he’s sacked me now anyway.’ He gives a sad little huff of laughter and shrugs. ‘I didn’t do anything to you, Mrs Walker. I’ll admit that I was in the garden the night of the party, but for only a few minutes. It was just bad luck that I was seen. I didn’t come anywhere near you though – I didn’t see you or speak to you, I didn’t even come into the house.’
‘Right.’ I think for a moment, trying to process what he’s telling me, still unsure as to whether to believe him or not. ‘You say you didn’t see me – what about other people? Did you see anything out of the ordinary?’ I ask. ‘Anything that didn’t seem quite right?’
‘Nothing,’ he shrugs again, ‘but then I didn’t look. You people aren’t really my kind of people. Let’s just leave it at that.’ He wrinkles his nose with distaste, and I realize that we must seem over-privileged, money obsessed, and spoilt to him. ‘I had nothing to do with any of this, and now people are spreading rumours about me, about why I left Newcastle and I’m struggling to get work.’
‘Why did you leave Newcastle?’ I ask, any fear I might have had of him forgotten for a moment.
‘I was a teacher.’ He blinks rapidly, as if his eyes are stinging. ‘There was a girl … a student. She thought she liked me, and when I told her it wasn’t reciprocated, she told stories about me, said I did things that I didn’t. Nothing was ever proved – I was found not guilty and she eve
ntually admitted lying – but by then it was too late. I lost my wife, my job, my home, everything. That’s when I moved down here; to get away from the gossip, to start over and now it’s happening to me again. I told the police all of this, and they know it’s true, but they don’t care about telling everyone else the truth.’
‘Why should I believe you? You could be telling me anything.’
‘You should believe me because it’s the truth!’ His guard drops, and I catch a glimpse of desperation in his eyes, his mouth twisted in frustration, and in that moment, I do believe him. I recognize the look as the same one I carry, when I’ve tried to tell Gareth that I know something did really happen to me that night.
‘I’m sorry, Jason. I didn’t mean … I didn’t know.’ There is a lump in my throat and I cough gently to clear it. ‘I’m sorry this happened to you. I’ll speak to Liz, on your behalf.’ He gives me a nod and turns away without speaking again, his heavy, steel-toecapped boots leaving flakes of mud as he strides down the path, away from the house. I slide my note pad from my bag, reaching inside for a pen, and slowly and deliberately etch a thick, blue line through Jason’s name, striking him from my list.
20
I let myself in, and immediately I know that someone has been in the house. I listen carefully, straining my ears to hear if Robbie is in his bedroom, but there is only silence. There is a feeling, a sense that the air has been disturbed, and I reach for an umbrella that is propped against the wall. It’s not much, but it will have to do as a weapon, as I have nothing else if there is still someone in the house. Cautiously, I tiptoe along the hallway towards the kitchen, sweat beading on my brow and my breath coming in harsh pants, loud in my own ears. A metallic tang fills my mouth, the taste of fear, and I try to regulate my breathing.