Like you.
‘Doing some work?’
Alice picks up the papers and taps them on the table to arrange them neatly, closing the folder. I catch sight of the familiar handwriting and reach out to take it from her.
She rakes her hand through her hair. ‘Your mortgage papers – I presume you left them out for me.’
‘Yes, I did. But you don’t have to, you know.’
‘You were upset about Chris defaulting on his payments. I don’t like seeing you upset.’
Our eyes meet and I look away, an unexpected, warm feeling inside. ‘I meant what I said. I’ll stand up to him. There’s a woman who often comes into the shop, she’s a solicitor. I’ll engage her if it becomes necessary.’
‘Good. Don’t let him intimidate you. I’ll have a look through them anyway.’
‘Thanks.’
A lone bird tweets from the roof and I’m reminded of how threatening the garden felt in the dead of night. I look around for Lady; I can’t help worrying. ‘Did you hear any noises in the night? I thought I heard someone in the garden.’
‘I was shattered when I got back, crashed out right away. What kind of noises?’
‘Footsteps, and I thought I saw someone with a torch. But without my contact lenses my vision isn’t great – it was probably a bush, a trick of the moonlight. I’m sure it was nothing.’
‘No, you’re right to be alert.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘This is London. I wondered about the anonymous note you got, the sender. If Chris’s other woman sent it she’s bound to be suspicious he’s still seeing you. She might be a bit unhinged. Deep down she must know she can’t trust him. Men don’t change. He’s cheated on you, he’ll most likely do the same to her. Maybe not for a while, but…’ Alice shrugs, leaves the thought hanging in the air. It comforts me, the idea of him hurting her too. It’s so easy to blame her instead of him.
‘Or maybe she feels threatened by me?’ The thought glimmers into a flame of hope inside me. Why can’t I let him go?
‘Don’t get your hopes up.’ Alice’s voice is gentle. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’
I nod, but my hands cup the flame of hope, nurture it, willing it back to life.
‘Right,’ she says, ‘this garden won’t organise itself. I need to start working.’
She pulls on her flowery garden gloves and I laugh. ‘What?’
‘Everything you wear looks so stylish. Look at me in this old sweatshirt.’
‘You look lovely.’
I smile, blushing as I gather our mugs together. I’m about to go inside when Alice lets out a cry. I turn, tea slopping everywhere.
‘What is it?’ I put the mugs back on the table. ‘Alice, what’s the matter?’ Her face is buried in her hands.
‘No, Ella, don’t come any nearer. It’s Lady.’
I rush forward despite Alice’s protests and stop dead when I see Lady lying on the ground, rigid, flattening the long grass. I drop to the floor and lean over her. ‘Lady, no, poor Lady.’
Alice kneels beside me and puts her arm around me. ‘I didn’t want you to see,’ she says, her voice raw.
‘But what’s happened? She doesn’t look hurt.’ There’s no sign of any injury, no blood. I burst into tears.
‘Come inside,’ Alice says, leading me indoors. ‘Was she old?’
I nod. ‘About eighteen. She was Nancy’s cat.’ Tears roll down my face.
Alice pushes a box of tissues in front of me. ‘You’re shaking. Put this on,’ she says, handing me her jumper. ‘I’ll go and… look after her. We’ll do something nice for her later.’ She rests her hand on my head before she heads back outside. I bury my face in Alice’s jumper, breathing in her musky perfume.
Something about Lady’s death doesn’t feel right.
Diary
8 MAY 1996
Doris has been to the hairdressers’. They’ve cut and straightened her hair – à la Princess Diana, she told them. I fussed over her hair hoping she wouldn’t pay attention to the thick make-up I was wearing on my cheek, thick like cement to hide the bruise Edward gave me last night. The pain almost made me pass out when he knocked me against the edge of the door. I can’t face questions from the doctor, not after last time when I was convinced my rib was broken, and he asked all sorts of probing questions as if he didn’t believe me. I came out shaking, terrified Edward would find out.
But Doris had something else on her mind. She insisted I eat a fairy cake that Fred had baked the day before. She pretended not to watch me break it into bits and push the crumbs around my plate, but I knew she was watching. After an unusual silence she put her cup down with a bang that made the crumbs scatter in different directions. ‘I have to say something, Nancy,’ she said, ‘cos you’re my best friend and that’s what friends are for. Look at you.’ Doris grabbed my wrist and curled her fingers around it. She asked me how much weight I’d lost, but the voice in my head warned me not to say anything. I told her I’d got a headache and I had to go for a lie-down. It upset me, because I wanted to talk about Melissa and now I’ll have to wait another week.
* * *
12 MAY 1996
Melissa refuses to tell us her boyfriend’s name. She holds herself tight, as if she thinks Edward is going to hit her the way he does me. It kills me to see her frightened like that. When she refused to speak he told her she was grounded until he was satisfied she wasn’t seeing the boyfriend any more.
I heard her crying in her bedroom this evening, deep, uncontrollable sobbing that made me want to break down too. This morning I waited until Edward and Kit had left for work before I took her a breakfast tray. A soft-boiled egg and toast cut into soldiers, with freshly squeezed orange juice in her favourite glass. I told her she didn’t have to go to school, but in return she had to talk to me. When she came downstairs in her old grey tracksuit, tears running in lines down her face, I held her hands in mine and told her she could always trust me. Anything she told me would be in confidence, but her face remained as closed as her mouth.
* * *
At dinner tonight Edward ate his food fast, as he usually does, shovelling it in in great mouthfuls. A blob of gravy congealed on his chin. How different we used to be.
Thinking back to a meal out in the early days, I remember touching my flicked-back hair nervously, wanting to please the young man with the flared trousers. We ate ice creams at a table with a red-and-white checked tablecloth, me leaning over to wipe a splash of cream from his cheek with my fingertips, letting my hand linger there, enjoying the warm feel of his smooth skin. How brave I was then.
Edward’s face is craggy now, deep lines driven into it by his perpetual bad mood. Melissa ate slowly, her long hair hanging down over her plate, almost tickling the potatoes. Edward wiped his face with the once-white handkerchief he keeps in his pocket, then handed me his empty plate even though I was still eating, or rather pretending to. I welcomed the tiniest moment of respite from the cloying smell of the meat, the grey-looking potatoes.
Once I’d sat back down Edward made an announcement. His voice was low and cold but his words were clear enough. ‘No daughter of mine makes fun of me.’ He never says Melissa’s name, I’ve noticed that now. ‘I went to see your teacher last week.’ That made her look at him. ‘Messing around in class, not listening, wasting everybody’s time. Your mother will be picking you up at the school gates from now on. That will teach you.’
I was screaming inside at him. My hopes for Kit had already been dashed and I’d wanted so much more for Melissa – women can do anything these days, no matter what Edward says. My daughter didn’t say a word; she sat with her hair covering her face until he stopped speaking, then she bolted from the room. I went to go after her but Edward put a hand up to stop me. I obeyed; I know too well what damage that hand can do. The words I wanted to say tangled in a sticky mess of spaghetti in my throat; I knew the consequences if I tried to untangle them.
Twenty-Three
I don’t go into work the next day, too reluctant to leave the house. Alice buried Lady out in the garden and marked the spot with a circle of tea lights. How long had Lady been lying out there, hidden in the long grass? I walk past the seating area, to the middle of the garden which is a mass of bushes and weeds, but just beyond that a square patch of soil has been dug over, little green shoots peeking out from the soil. A tiny fence runs around it.
‘She’s done a good job, your mate.’ Mr Mortimer’s voice makes me jump.
‘Oh, hello, I didn’t see you there.’
I’m not in the mood for conversation, but I make an effort. He must be lonely and I know how that feels.
‘Alice, that’s my friend. She’s staying for a bit.’
‘I’ve seen her around, never close enough to say hello.’
‘I’m sure you’ll cross paths with her soon. How are you?’
‘Oh, mustn’t grumble. I find it hard to sleep. Then those pesky birds start up. Although the last couple of nights I was woken up by noises out here. When I looked out, I thought I saw a light, like a torch. It’s hard to tell with all the shrubbery.’
‘I heard something too. I’m glad you said that, I thought I was going mad.’
‘Yes, I’m easily woken, though.’
‘Thanks for telling me. We always lock everything, but I’ll make doubly sure now. I don’t like the thought of anyone roaming around outside at night.’ I act calm, but inside I’m quaking. What if the noises were someone harming Lady?
Back inside, I remember the embroidery. With everything that’s happened I’d forgotten it. The Mortimers have lived next door for as long as Chris can remember. I’ll ask Mr Mortimer about that date next time I see him.
* * *
Later that day I get in touch with Jess, Chris’s PA. I doubt Chris will have told his colleagues about the split. He’s a private person and he hates anything that might show him up. My heart accelerates as the dialling tone rings, as if I’m doing something wrong.
A woman with a husky voice answers the phone. ‘Good morning. Jess Taylor-Scott speaking, how can I help you today?’
‘Jess,’ I say. ‘It’s Ella, Chris’s wife.’
‘Oh, hi, how are you? Chris is in a meeting, I’m afraid, he won’t be free until… actually he’s got a lunch, too, so he isn’t actually free until…’ I hear a tapping sound, ‘four o’clock this afternoon. He’s mostly out of the office these days. Maybe you should ring his mobile?’
‘It isn’t Chris I want to speak to, it’s you.’
‘Me?’
‘Could we meet for a coffee, on me, of course? I’d like to have a chat with you.’
‘I’m not sure—’
‘It would be in the strictest confidence. I promise if you don’t want to answer any of my questions, you don’t have to. It’s just that I’ve been worried about Chris.’
‘I suppose I could.’ Jess sounds cagey and I imagine her looking over her shoulder in case anyone is listening in.
‘What time do you finish work?’
‘Six.’
‘Forget coffee, how about I buy you a drink? There’s a bar in town not far from your office, Myrtle’s, do you know it?’
She laughs. ‘A bit too well, unfortunately. I’ll see you inside, round about ten past.’ A series of clicks sound. ‘Better go, there’s another call coming in. I’ll catch you later.’
* * *
I recognise Jess as soon as she comes through the door. Golden-brown tan; no make-up; naturally, effortlessly pretty. She hooks her backpack off her shoulder and dumps it on the chair.
‘This is weird,’ she says, straightening her shoulders. ‘I want to be upfront with you. After you rang, I had second thoughts. Chris is my boss, and it feels wrong to be going behind his back, meeting you like this. Although part of me is intrigued, obviously.’ Her voice has a rich tone to it and I recall in the back of my mind Chris saying she used to be an actress. This means she might be playing a role. God, I’m getting paranoid.
‘Please don’t worry, I asked you to meet me, I’ll take responsibility. I’ve got a few questions I want to ask about Chris.’
Jess frowns.
‘Let me get some drinks in. What would you like?’
‘Vodka and soda, please.’
‘Be right back.’
Once we’re settled with our drinks, I feel the familiar prickling of nerves, not knowing how this is going to go.
‘You haven’t been to the office for ages. Actually, I wondered if something was going on with you guys. He’s not been himself lately.’
‘In what way?’
‘I dunno, kind of distracted, not as cheerful as usual. And a bit scruffy – you know how he likes his clothes, always looks neat, for an older guy, even if he does favour a lumberjack shirt.’ She covers her smile with her hand. ‘No offence meant.’
‘None taken.’ Jess can only be in her early twenties, an age when anyone slightly older appears geriatric. I smile back to reassure her; I hope she can’t tell I’m lapping up her words. ‘Look, I appreciate you meeting me, I really do.’
She’s staring into her drink. Her eyes flash when she looks up at me. ‘Don’t think I’m being disloyal to Chris, it’s not what you think. He’s a good boss, but lately it’s not just him I’m worried about. The only reason I agreed to meet you is because I’m concerned about the company. I’m not supposed to know this, but my mate does the invoices and some of them haven’t been paid. Chris keeps making excuses but he looks like he’s falling apart. Are you guys having problems, is that what this is? Because he needs help, and if he doesn’t pull himself together I’m worried the business will go under. I’ve got my rent to pay, I can’t afford to lose this job.’
I place my hand over hers. ‘That’s why I’m here, too, I understand more than you can know. Chris has left me for someone else. I’ll be honest, I’ve been wondering if it’s someone at work. I thought it might be Tanya.’
She bursts out laughing. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Tanya’s into young, fit blokes, no offence intended. Plus, she’s got a boyfriend. But if that’s what he says is going on, maybe it’s one of the clients. It must be tough for you, I’m sorry.’
‘I’m trying to get used to it. He won’t tell me where he’s living or anything.’
Jess wrinkles her forehead. ‘There is one thing. The other day I noticed some washing-up in the sink and I was puzzled as I’d done it all the night before and I’d been the last one in the office. And Tanya mentioned her shower gel had disappeared from the work shower.’
‘So do you think he’s been staying there?’
‘I do now. I guess that explains his slightly dishevelled look. And if he’s short of money, then that would explain why he isn’t living in a hotel.’
Jess’s words worry me.
‘This might sound like an odd question, but have you seen his car lately?’ I ask.
‘No, he hasn’t had it for a couple of weeks, it’s been in the garage, being fixed. He had a minor accident.’
This is news to me.
‘Doesn’t he have any mates who could talk to him?’ she asks. ‘If he is in trouble, he can’t just bury his head and hope it will all go away. I need this job, and I’m not the only one in the office who’s worried.’ Her eyes flicker to her phone. The music in the bar notches up a level and the chatter around us increases in volume accordingly. My head spins with Jess’s words.
‘Don’t worry, I’m on it.’ I make myself sound businesslike for her sake. Aside from Geoff, and Ted and Sadie, who live a few doors along Heath Street, he has a couple of good friends, but would they talk to me? Most of the times Chris was out with his friends I chose to stay at home and keep Nancy company. Why would I want to go out when I could spend an evening in my own home?
Jess’s eyes dart to her phone again.
‘I really appreciate you coming, and I promise you Chris won’t find out about it.’ Jess doesn’t need to kno
w he’s barely speaking to me as it is. What she’s told me makes my shoulders sink with worry. The image of the endless lines of transactions on his credit card, betraying his affair, is imprinted on my brain. Are there other credit cards I don’t know about?
She loads her bag onto her back.
I hug her but her shoulders are stiff and she looks thoughtful as she pushes her way through a group of women coming into the bar. Her words reverberate in my head.
Exactly how much trouble is Chris in?
Twenty-Four
ALICE
For a few precious seconds after waking I had no idea what day it was. Then it hit me: Olivia’s birthday. On this day last year the past caught up with me.
Everything went wrong after I heard the news. At first I didn’t let it affect me. After all, it had been so many years, and I’d changed so much. Olivia knew something had happened but I couldn’t tell her because how could I expect anyone to live with that? I didn’t want to be that person any more.
Little things gave me away. Lapses in concentration. Taking too long in the shower, the only place I could be truly alone, hoping the water would wash it all away and when it wouldn’t, trying to burn myself to blot out the never-ending pain. I couldn’t hide my reddened skin from Olivia; she wanted to scoop up cold white cream with her long brown fingers and smooth it onto the screaming scars. How could I tell her I wanted them, cruel reminders of what went before? Not letting her touch me any more was painful in itself. She’d curl up on the sofa and make herself small in an effort to take herself as far away from me as possible.
Her birthday was ruined and I couldn’t tell her why; I had to keep the devastating news to myself. The year before Olivia and I had slipped out of the house at first light and gone down to the sea. The waves lapping the shore were the only sound as we held hands and ran into the water, swimming until the day broke. We had breakfast on the terrace, where sun poured down through the trees, picking out gold strands in her hair. I traced the sunlit pattern on her face with my eyes, never tiring of looking at her.
The Woman at 46 Heath Street: A twisty and absolutely gripping psychological thriller Page 13