I Am Watching You

by Teresa Driscoll

  Lily turns, leaning back against the Aga rail to explain yet again that she is very pleased indeed with her hair. She fingers it to illustrate that she has had the final four inches bleached so that she can use toners and vegetable dyes to ring the changes. So far she has tried aubergine, which was not a complete success, green, and now pink, which is her favourite, though she is worrying it will quickly fade.

  But what does Sarah really think?

  Sarah has said that it looks really cool, which isn’t entirely true, for she is disconcerted by this new version of her sister. The last time Lily visited Sarah and her mother in Cornwall was about three years ago, not so very long after the showdown that saw their father’s departure and Lily’s decision to leave home. She looked unwell then but more recognisable. Brown bob, regular jeans and a sweatshirt. At least a stone heavier.

  She said the visit was just to reassure them that she was very happy in Devon – she was careful not to share precisely where she was – and that she had made good friends and was starting a new life which would allow her to paint and follow the things that mattered to her.

  Sarah remembers wanting to say at the time, Don’t I matter to you anymore? But she did not have the courage. Upstairs later, Lily had whispered, Are you OK? but in a tone of panic that somehow demanded she answer yes, and so Sarah did not tell the truth about how very much she missed her sister and how baffled and upset she remained over their parents’ separation and the sudden disintegration of the family.

  The clothes worn by this new Lily are faux-hippy. A calf-length cotton skirt and a peasant-style blouse with ribbons hanging down at the cuffs and chest, which might be tied in bows but are not. Though her body is covered up, Sarah can tell from the few bits poking out that her sister is much too thin. Bony thin, especially her wrists, which sport several bands of beads.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t phoned more often about Anna,’ Lily offers suddenly as she turns away again to pour hot water into a large yellow cafetière. ‘It must have been so awful for you.’

  There had been a couple of phone calls soon after Anna disappeared, a card and some brief messages on Facebook. Sarah had hoped for much more, and could have done with her sister’s support. Though she said she did not want to talk about it, she did really. Deep down. Would she have told her the truth back then if Lily had made more effort? Pushed her? She does not know the answer, so says nothing and waits for her coffee. On the train here she had imagined it all very differently. A tsunami of revelations. Tears. Hugs. Relief.

  I am afraid Dad had something to do with Anna . . .

  Why hasn’t Lily asked?

  Now that Sarah is here, she is not at all sure how this is going to turn out. She and Lily feel like strangers standing in this large and cluttered kitchen. The pin is firmly back in the wretched grenade.

  ‘So have you told Mum you’re here?’

  ‘Not where. Just that I’m visiting you and that she’s not to worry.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want her having this address.’ Lily fidgets with her skirt, picking at some imagined bit of fluff or stain, and then Sarah feels her sister’s gaze, unblinking.

  ‘Perhaps if you phone her to confirm I’m with you, Lily.’

  ‘You think I need to do that?’

  ‘Yes. She’s getting quite upset.’ A pause. Sarah feels guilty. ‘She’s told the police I’m missing, that I’ve done a bunk.’

  ‘Oh, Sarah, you should have told me that from the off. We don’t want the police round here.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘OK.’ Lily glances up at the ceiling and then back at Sarah, hands on her hips. ‘I don’t have a mobile at the moment. We try to avoid them. We share one for emergencies.’

  Sarah finds this bizarre. No mobile? Curious as to who exactly the we refers to, she takes out her own phone from her pocket, selects the number and dials, waiting for the sound of her mother’s voice, and then hands the phone straight to Lily, widening her eyes.

  ‘Hi, Mum. It’s Lily here. This is just a very quick call to say that Sarah has told you the truth and you’re not to worry. She’s not missing. She’s just with me for a few days and is perfectly safe.’

  Sarah can hear her mother’s voice leaking from the phone pressed to her sister’s ear. A couple of words are loud enough to be heard. Home. A lot of babbling and then . . . Police. She tries to read Lily’s expression. A deepening frown. Narrowing eyes. A quick movement of the head and then apparent interruption . . .

  ‘Look, I can understand you’re upset, Mum, but Sarah doesn’t want to come home right now. There is no need to involve the police. She hasn’t run away. She isn’t missing, she’s just staying with me . . . If they need to speak to her, they can do that when she returns.’

  Another bout of louder intervention from their mother, Lily closing her eyes this time, wincing as she listens.

  ‘Well, we are going to have to beg to differ on this. I will tell Sarah to keep her phone switched on so that she can pick up any texts. OK. Bye, then.’ She holds the phone to her waist, apparently scanning for the button to end the call, and then holds it back out for Sarah.

  ‘So, she doesn’t change.’

  Sarah shakes her head as the phone rings again immediately. The ringtone is one she downloaded in hospital. An old-fashioned trill phone. She had quite liked it then. It reminded her of old sitcoms. Here, it suddenly sounds ridiculous. The screen confirms it is her mother again. She rejects the call and switches the phone to silent as Lily turns back to finish the coffee, pouring it into two bright red mugs and raising a carton of milk by way of question, to which Sarah nods.

  They stand there sipping, Sarah glancing for a chair, wondering again if she dares to open the conversation she so dreads. As if sensing this, Lily suddenly announces that she is going to give her a tour. And then she is sweeping out of the kitchen, her skirt swirling as she moves, leading the way.

  ‘Come on. Let me show you round. You must meet people.’

  Sarah is awkward as she tries to manage the mug as they walk, and has no interest now in a tour and certainly no interest in company.

  The house is large and impressive, in a tatty, shabby style throughout. There are huge faded sofas in the sitting room, a wall of books in the dining room and an enormous sun room with plants everywhere. The floors are all original wood with bright rugs. Lily is talking non-stop as they walk. Three couples share the house with Lily and the owner Caroline, she explains. It’s not a commune but more a coming-together of the like-minded. They are all artists, mostly.

  ‘So do you have a job? I mean – what pays for all this?’ Sarah sips at the coffee as they stand in the middle of the sun room. She is wondering where everyone else is. Who precisely is home for her to meet today?

  ‘We all have jobs and we all contribute in different ways. Caroline’s parents own the house. Peppercorn rent.’

  ‘Lucky.’

  ‘We believe you make your own luck in life. That we are responsible for what we become now. Whether we fulfil our potential.’

  Sarah hears an echo and remembers exactly the same words being shared when Lily came home that first time. She imagines it is a quote from the mysterious Caroline.

  ‘So what’s she like – Caroline?’

  ‘Caroline is very special.’ Lily cups her coffee in both hands. ‘Very special indeed. You’ll meet her later.’

  ‘And everyone is cool for me to stay?’

  Lily smiles but says nothing. Sarah looks intently at her sister and decides enough is enough.

  ‘OK. So while I have you on your own, I really do need to talk to you about Dad, Lily. It’s why I came.’

  Lily’s face changes instantly, not just turning pale but displaying an expression of something between dread and terrible exhaustion. She is very still suddenly. And then just as Lily draws breath to reply, a man appears in the doorway from the garden. Sarah had not noticed him walk across the lawn and is momentarily startled by the squeak of the door, almost spilling
her drink.

  ‘Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t see you.’

  ‘My fault.’ The man has his hand outstretched as he walks across the room. It surprises Sarah. The formality of shaking hands. He is dressed like Lily. Like something from a past era. Peculiar baggy trousers in bright green, tied in tight at the ankle. Navy T-shirt.

  ‘You must be Saffron’s sister?’

  ‘Saffron?’ Sarah turns to Lily, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows.

  ‘We all get new names here.’ Lily is smiling at the interloper. ‘This is Moon.’

  Crikey. So this is a cult? She notices that Moon is wearing the same brightly coloured bands around his wrists as Lily.

  ‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Moon, and it’s very good of you to let me stay, but I really need to talk to my sister in private, please.’

  Sarah had imagined that this claim, this reference to family, would be enough, but no. The man moves even closer to Lily and rests his hand on the beads around her left wrist. He stares into Lily’s face as if reading some secret there.

  ‘We’ve talked about this, Saffron. It’s up to you now. You want me to stay? Yes?’

  ‘What do you mean you’ve talked about this?’ Sarah is nonplussed and puts the coffee mug down on a small table so that she can straighten up properly. ‘This is our business. Family business. This is my sister and I need to talk to her about something important. In private.’

  Moon does not move. Is he Lily’s partner? Is that what this is?

  Lily says nothing to help, her face still in anguish. It is Moon who finally speaks again.

  ‘Remember this is your choice, Saffron. Do you want to talk to Sarah?’ A long pause. ‘Or not?’

  CHAPTER 28

  THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

  ‘Double espresso.’ Matthew is fishing for a five-pound note from his wallet as Melanie appears alongside him.

  ‘Double? You sure that’s a good idea, Matt?’

  He turns to beam at her, genuinely delighted, and kisses her on the cheek enthusiastically, which makes her blush. He reddens, too.

  ‘And for you, Mel? Cake? Toasted teacake? My treat.’

  ‘I need to be good. Over-caffeinated.’ Melanie scans the tea display, opting for Earl Grey with lemon and declining cake. This does not deter Matthew, who orders a slice of carrot cake and selects seats in a quiet alcove.

  To his surprise, Melanie then produces a gift from her small rucksack. Pink paper with white storks and pink ribbon.

  ‘Oh, Mel. You shouldn’t have. When did you have time to do this?’ He is a little shaken – so touched.

  It’s her turn to beam now as she insists he opens it. Inside is the sweetest babygro and matching hat, in white with pale pink hearts.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. I’m very touched.’

  ‘So what’s it like, then? Fatherhood?’

  He takes a deep breath. Melanie is the first person he has seen beyond immediate family. Beyond the bubble of the hospital.

  ‘Completely overwhelming. Sal was amazing but it was a slog.’ He tells her then very briefly, sparing her the gory details, of the C-section drama. The horror of waiting in the corridor for news. The fear. Then the joy. Then this bizarre limbo of not knowing quite how to be or what to do, with Sally stuck in hospital for days.

  ‘So that’s why you’re working? I thought it was odd.’

  ‘It’s this case. Got under my skin a bit, Mel. And now . . .’ He pauses as the waitress arrives with their drinks, waiting for her to return to the counter, out of earshot. As Matthew watches her retreat, he notices her strawberry-blonde hair and finds himself thinking of a baby-snatch case he worked on years back. The young mother had the same colour hair. Curly, too, just like the waitress. He remembers that when she was being interviewed about what had happened, she had to break away suddenly to vomit. He had felt compassion for her, watching her sitting there with her hands trembling, pale and terrified. But only now does he realise, with shame, that he was also a little impatient, needing to get on with his job. Only now does he even begin to understand . . .

  Matthew looks across to find Melanie staring at him.

  ‘You OK, Matt?’

  ‘Sorry. Miles away. Still not sleeping. I’m spending the mornings and evenings at the hospital, and catching up with bits and bobs at home in between.’

  ‘And working.’

  ‘And working, yes. Trying to tie up a few things before they come home.’

  ‘Well, I hope you don’t bank on helping to tie up the Anna Ballard case in that mix, because there’s a lot of muck hitting a lot of fans right now.’

  She leans forward.

  ‘OK. So I am only talking to you because I trust you, and because right now I feel like doing the same as you did, and throwing in the towel.’

  Matthew tries to read Melanie’s face properly. He is praying she is not serious. Just sounding off . . . Should he tell her that he often regrets it? That some days he wishes he could press rewind?

  ‘You do not quit, Melanie, you hear me? You are worth three of this DI what’s-his-face.’

  ‘Yeah . . . but we both know that makes no difference.’

  Matthew just sighs, wishing he could say this were not true.

  ‘OK, Matt. So listen to this . . . strictly between us?’

  ‘. . . hope to die.’ They both know they have long since crossed all the lines; that this only works because they trust each other.

  ‘Our local office gets a call from Anna’s dad, right? He wants to speak to me. He says he will only speak to me. Turns out he’s in his barn with a shotgun.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘Exactly. So what does DI Halfwit decide? He decides not to tell me. Worse – he arranges sneakily for me to be given the day off to keep me out of the picture, then he marches in with both left feet, and winds Ballard up by refusing to let him see me. Cocks the whole thing up so badly that Henry Ballard waves his gun at all and sundry and very nearly shoots himself in the process.’

  ‘Good grief. And now?’

  ‘They have the dad in custody and won’t let me anywhere near the place. One of the uniforms tipped me off and I’ve just spoken to the family liaison officer who’s with the mum, Barbara, at home.’

  ‘So why are they keeping you out of it?’

  ‘Who knows? Probably because I’ve sussed what an incompetent, jumped-up waste of space he really is.’

  ‘Please tell me you haven’t said that to his face.’

  Melanie blushes.

  ‘Oh, Mel.’

  ‘Well the word is he’s also working on some serial killer case and, as far as I can see, doesn’t really give a damn about finding Anna Ballard. He’s lazy, just waiting for a body to turn up so forensics can sort it all out. He’s only down here because he has some mate locally to look up.’

  ‘Right. And they really think the dad is in the frame now? I mean – do you think he could have done it? What about the two guys just out of Exeter? I thought they were still the key suspects.’

  Melanie leans back in her seat. ‘You and me both.’

  Just at that moment, her phone rings. A new jazzy ringtone, which does not surprise Matthew. Mel has always been nuts about jazz. To celebrate passing out after their initial training, she organised a night at a fantastic local jazz bar. That was a seriously good evening.

  Melanie takes the phone from her pocket, and Matthew nods that he understands as she gets up to walk away and take the call privately.

  Matthew finishes his coffee and takes a sugar sachet from the ceramic bowl in the centre of the table. He is thinking of pyramids but checks himself. Stop fiddling. Not today. He replaces the sachet and waits for Mel to return to her seat.

  ‘It gets better. You are seriously not going to believe what’s happened now.’

  Matthew says nothing, just raises his eyebrows.

  ‘OK. So first. I am up to see the chief. The little creep has reported me. Formal complaint.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry M
el. Is this because of me?’

  ‘Hell no. They don’t know I’ve been talking to you. Anyway – never mind me, I can handle myself.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Matt – they’re pushing for a media blackout, but I kid you not, there is no way they’re going to keep a lid on what’s going down now.’

  CHAPTER 29

  THE FATHER

  ‘Why does this man have no socks on?’ The DI is staring at the sergeant escorting Henry into the room.

  ‘I’ve already told my solicitor I don’t want to wait for socks. I just want to get on with this.’ Henry takes his seat next to his solicitor.

  The inspector mentions ‘for the benefit of the tape’ that Henry Ballard has made no complaint about the interview going forward while barefoot, though his tone and expression make it clear he remains personally unimpressed by this state of affairs.

  ‘So have you checked out what I told you?’

  ‘I do the questions, Mr Ballard.’

  Henry bites into his bottom lip while the inspector skim-reads two sheets of paper in front of him. Henry, trying to read upside down, can just make out the name, which suggests they have indeed followed up the new version of his alibi.

  April.

  ‘So – does your wife know about your affair?’

  ‘No, she doesn’t.’ Henry will not add that he is already on his final warning with Barbara. He had a stupid fling when the girls were small – when Barbara seemed more interested in Anna and Jenny and their friends than she did in him. It wasn’t serious and he deeply regretted it. When Barbara found out, she gave him a second chance but made it clear there would be no more chances if he let her down again.

  ‘And you really think she believes this nonsense about you sleeping in your car, Mr Ballard?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I would really rather she wasn’t told about April . . .’

  ‘I bet you would, but so far we have had three versions of your story. And it’s wasting my time. Do you really need me to remind you that this is a serious investigation?’

  ‘How dare you.’ Henry stands up, his chair making a loud scraping noise against the tiled floor.