He looks at me, aghast. ‘You didn’t try and save her?’
I shake my head. ‘No … it wasn’t like that. I was already outside when I realised the hostel was on fire. I was …’
I have to tell him the truth. That I was trying to escape her.
He frowns. ‘You were what?’
‘I … I was running away from her.’
I’ve never admitted this to anyone before.
His eyebrows shoot up so they are almost hidden by his fringe. ‘What? But why? I thought you said she was your friend?’
‘I found out that she had done something awful to me. It’s a long story, and it’s not important now. I just knew I could no longer trust her and I didn’t want to continue travelling with her.’
‘So you buggered off in the middle of the night, leaving her to die in a fire?’
‘I’ve carried the guilt with me for years.’ I hang my head.
He rakes his hands through his hair. ‘Christ, Libby …’ Then he stops and gives a humourless laugh. ‘That’s not your name, is it? It’s her name.’
‘She called herself Beth …’
He stands up so suddenly that I shrink back against the sofa. ‘I don’t give a fuck what she called herself!’ he shouts. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I just … I can’t …’
He storms out of the room.
Sylvia comes in with a tea tray, the cups rattling as she walks. ‘Everything all right?’ she asks too brightly as she sets the tray down on the coffee table. I get up and dash past her without answering.
I find Jamie in our room, lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, his face expressionless. The curtains are open but the room is in shadow, the light a grey-white on his face.
I stand over him. ‘Jay, you have to understand, I did it because I needed to change my life. My life was shit …’ Tears fill my eyes.
He groans. ‘I just wish you’d told me. I feel like I don’t know you … that’s the thing that hurts the most.’ He sits up to face me. ‘You’ve lied to me. For five years.’
‘My background, everything I told you about my parents, is true …’
‘But you’ve hardly told me anything about them. You’ve always been so cagey about your background. Now I know why.’
‘I told you my mum died of a blood clot. That’s true. I just … I lied about going to university …’
‘And your name. For Christ’s sake.’ He shakes his head. ‘Why couldn’t you tell me? You made me feel bad for hiding the fact that I was helping Hannah, that I’d cheated on her at uni –’ he gulps and makes an effort to continue ‘– and all this time you were hiding this huge thing from me. I knew you were keeping something from me. I thought it was odd you never wanted to go to Yorkshire, that you never really talked about your parents, or Thailand. But this …?’ He throws his arms up in the air. ‘All this deceit. I’m finding it hard to reconcile myself with the fact you’re capable of all this.’
I perch on the edge of the bed. Tears and snot are streaming down my face and I brush at my eyes angrily with my sleeve and try to blow my nose with a disintegrating tissue. ‘Would you have understood?’ I sniff. ‘I couldn’t tell anyone. And I wasn’t hurting anyone, Jay. I didn’t know that Beth was married. We were only twenty-one when we met. So young. Beth didn’t want that place on the course – and I’m a good teacher. I’m …’ I sob into my hands and eventually I hear the bed creak and feel Jamie’s arms around me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, burying my face in his T-shirt. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
When I wake up the room is completely dark and still. Too still. I can already sense that Jamie isn’t with me. My fears are confirmed when I turn over and see the space next to me is empty. I’m fully clothed, but the air has turned colder. I grab a cardigan and creep downstairs so as not to wake Sylvia or Katie.
Jamie is sitting in one of the rattan chairs in the conservatory in the dark, staring out at the garden bathed in moonlight; it looks magical. He’s wearing the same grubby T-shirt as earlier and the Wallace and Gromit boxer shorts I bought him last Christmas. I sidle into the seat next to him and take his hand in mine. He lets me. And we sit like that, for hours, not speaking.
33
A clean break. That’s what Jamie wants. No more lies. And the only way to do that is to tell the truth and suffer the consequences.
The next morning, as we sit around the breakfast table with Sylvia and Katie, I fill them in while Jamie silently butters his toast. Katie gawps at me open-mouthed. ‘I knew it!’ she says, dropping her knife in excitement. It clatters onto her plate. ‘I knew there was something off about you.’
Sylvia’s eyes radiate disappointment. It’s painful and I lower my gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble. Another apology. It doesn’t seem enough, somehow.
‘You took a dead girl’s identity!’ Katie stares at me incredulously. ‘How low is that?’ She turns to Jamie. ‘Surely you’re not going to forgive her for this? She’s lied to you for years. What else has she lied about? How can you ever trust her again? She married you under a false name. She’s a bloody bigamist.’
‘No, Katie, she’s not.’ Jamie’s voice is a warning.
‘Well,’ she says hotly, ‘she can’t be trusted. And surely it’s an offence to pretend to be someone else? I can’t believe you’re standing by her. You’re a mug.’ Her eyes flash dangerously as she turns her attention to me. ‘And you’re a criminal. I hope you’re going to tell the police. If you don’t, I will.’
Sylvia places a manicured hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘Katie. You’re not helping.’
She shrugs her mother off and jumps up. ‘Why should I want to help that stupid cow? I’m going out.’ She grabs her denim jacket from the back of the chair and storms out of the room. A few seconds later we hear the front door slam.
I stare at my plate miserably.
Sylvia’s voice, when she speaks, is clear but gentle. ‘I’m sorry about Katie. She’s always been hot-headed. And she’s fiercely loyal to her brother. I do agree with her, though, Libby. You do need to go to the police. I’m going to call my lawyer, OK? She’s the best in Bath.’ She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. ‘You’re family. And we love you and we will support you in this. Won’t we, Jamie?’ She shoots a look at her son, then gets up and breezes out of the room, leaving me staring after her, speechless.
‘I always thought your mum hated me,’ I say later as we walk along the Bath streets to the meeting with her lawyer.
Jamie has showered and looks handsome and much younger than his thirty years in smart jeans and a short-sleeved linen shirt. As we dressed this morning my heart swelled when I saw him pick out his outfit, realising he was making an effort. For me.
The sun is shining, the sky a clear pale blue with the occasional gauzy cloud. It’s the sort of beautiful spring day where you feel nothing bad can happen, and I feel optimistic that we can get past this, that Jamie can begin to forgive me. We can move forward, being honest with one another. I know I’ll lose my job, that I may never teach again, and it devastates me, but losing Jamie terrifies me more.
‘My mum can be a bit of a dragon, but she’s loyal. Like me.’ He takes my hand and squeezes it gently. He stops then, in the middle of the pavement, so that a woman with her head down almost bumps into him. She tuts loudly as she glides past.
‘What is it?’ I ask. His face is so serious I worry he’s going to say he’s changed his mind, and the day darkens just that little bit. He takes my hands in his and his voice, when he speaks, is urgent. ‘You have to promise me something though, Libs. No more lies.’
I swallow. ‘I promise. No more lies.’
We reach the lawyer’s office and are buzzed straight in. Melanie Finch is in her early fifties, tall, thin and glamorous, with sleek dark hair and a white streak at the front that reminded me of Anne Bancroft in The Graduate. She sits making notes on a leather-bound pad while I tell her everything as clearly as I can. Jamie holds my hand the whole time. A
fter I’ve finished she sits back in her chair and appraises me.
‘Will she be prosecuted?’ Jamie asks.
She blinks at Jamie and then addresses me in her calm, well-spoken voice. ‘Yes, you will most likely be prosecuted because you used the identity of a dead person for your own gain.’
My mouth goes dry. ‘Will I go to prison?’
She frowns. ‘It’s doubtful for a first-time offence. You’ll probably get a suspended sentence, maybe community service. I can’t promise that, of course, as it really does depend on the judge. But, Libby, there is a worse potential charge hanging over you. A man was found murdered at the bottom of your garden. You, and possibly Jamie, are likely to be suspects.’ She consults her notes. ‘I see that DI Hartley has interviewed you already. I’m glad to see you haven’t given him any information yet.’ She frowns. ‘It states here that the victim was last seen alive at midday on Wednesday fifth April and estimated time of death is anywhere between midday on the fifth and six p.m. the following day. Do you remember where you were?’
Relief washes over me. ‘Yes,’ I almost shout. ‘We were in Cornwall. Wednesday the fifth was the day Jamie got sick and he was rushed to A&E. We were at Falmouth Hospital that day. You can check. We couldn’t have murdered Sean. We didn’t get back to Bath until the evening of the sixth.’ My voice rises in excitement.
Melanie Finch smiles. ‘I will check it out, of course, but that’s encouraging news.’
The police want to question me again the next day and Melanie accompanies me to the station. She’s advised me to admit everything.
DI Hartley and his colleague, DS Trott, sit in silence, the tape whirring while I explain all that’s happened. ‘Sean must have orchestrated the house swap in order to do something awful to me – thinking I was Beth. That’s the only explanation I have as to why he’d do such a thing.’
‘And he ended up dead. How convenient,’ says DI Hartley with a sneer.
‘Maybe he had enemies? But Jamie and I were in Cornwall that whole week. Staying in Sean’s boss’s house. And on the day Sean was killed, we were in hospital. Jamie had food poisoning, you see … from the food that Sean had provided …’
Melanie pushes a piece of paper across the desk. ‘I have confirmation here from Falmouth Hospital,’ she says, ‘but feel free to check it for yourselves. The worst my client has done is commit identity theft.’
DI Hartley glances at me smugly, obviously relieved I’m not walking away from all this without some kind of punishment. And it’s true: my career is ruined. The thought of no longer being able to teach breaks my heart. I’m back to square one. And then I think of Jamie, my husband, the love of my life, and how he’s standing by me and I realise that, no, I’m not back to square one at all. It’s just a different kind of future than the one I had envisaged, that’s all.
Jamie is waiting for me outside the police station and I fall into his arms, feeling so much lighter.
‘Does that mean I’ve got to call you Karen now?’
‘I hope not. I like the name Libby Hall.’
‘We’re not legally married, you do realise that?’ He stoops to kiss me. ‘It means we’re just going to have to do it again.’
‘Just us this time. A quiet affair.’ I throw my arms around his neck. ‘Just you and me.’
A new beginning. A fresh start. We can finally put the past behind us.
34
The weather holds as April turns into May. It’s not until I look at the calendar on my phone that I realise – I’ve not had a period for months. They were all up in the air after the miscarriage, but surely I should have had one by now? It could be the stress of the last few weeks, and I don’t dare hope as I sneak out to Boots to buy a pregnancy test.
When I get back I call for Jamie and he follows me into the bathroom, his eyebrows raised questioningly, a hopeful expression on his face. And then we’re hovering over the little white stick as the pale blue line becomes a cross. Positive. Jamie’s eyes light up as he glances at me and with a cry of joy he picks me up and whirls me around and I laugh, catching my heel on the bathroom door.
Over the next few days I oscillate from being wildly, deliriously happy to anxious and sad. I’ve had no choice but to resign from my job. I write a letter to Felicity, explaining that my circumstances have changed and I feel I am no longer able to teach. I tell her I have a criminal record now and that I lied about my qualifications to get on the PGCE course. I can’t bear to think about how it will look for the school when the news gets out – as it surely will when the case comes to court. I can imagine the newspapers will be all over it. I avoid calls from my teaching assistant, Cara, unable to face talking to her, preferring to hide away from it all. Knowing I can’t run away. Not this time.
Hannah made reference to my deceit only once, the day Jamie and I found out about the baby. She studied me coldly as we were standing in the garden, near the coach house. Felix was rolling around in the grass, enjoying the sunshine, and I had my hands on my tummy, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face every time I thought about the baby. We call it Peanut as we are convinced that’s how big it is, although we don’t really have a clue. We’ve decided to keep the news to ourselves for now, until we are past the twelve-week mark. So Hannah knew nothing about it as she said, quietly but with a steeliness that I’ve never noticed before, ‘You’d better never hurt him again.’ It had shocked me.
I met her gaze; it was challenging, confrontational. Territorial. ‘I won’t,’ I said firmly, before walking away from her.
I am now as restless as Katie, both of us wafting in and out of rooms without purpose. Sometimes Hannah and Felix join us, usually when Felix is home from school and she’s finished for the day at the estate agent’s where she works. Not that Hannah ever talks to me. I sense she only comes over because she wants a babysitter for her son. So I spend my time with Felix while Hannah seeks out Katie. The two of them are always together, heads bent next to each other, in the conservatory or walking around the garden, deep in discussion or heading towards the coach house, Felix usually forgotten. I’m sure they are talking about me.
On the odd occasion I’ve found her in the kitchen with Jamie, chatting over a cup of tea. Her face closes up when I come in, as though she’s a robot who’s run out of batteries. It seems that only Jamie and the Hall family can fire her up. When I see the two of them together I have to remind myself that it’s me he loves, that we are having a baby together. But I can’t shake the feeling that Hannah would have been a better wife to him than me. That she wouldn’t have lied to him like I have.
We’ve been living with Sylvia for nearly a month when I receive a call from Melanie Finch. At first I think that she’s ringing about a court date, but I’m ecstatic when she tells me, in her crisp, calm voice, that an arrest has been made.
‘It seems that Sean Elliot had a lot of dodgy dealings and was wanted by some very shady characters. A man that Sean owed money to was seen in the area around the time Sean was killed. You and Jamie are free to go back to your flat.’
I put the phone down, feeling relieved. We can go home. I run to tell Jamie the good news. As much as I’ve enjoyed staying at Sylvia’s – more than I thought I would – I’ll be happy to escape Hannah’s hostility and Katie’s quiet disgust. She is still barely speaking to me. I deserve her contempt, I know I do. But Jamie and the rest of his family have forgiven me, so why can’t she?
That night as we’re lying in bed, Jamie turns to me in the dark, raising himself up onto his elbow. His hand traces my stomach where it now gently bulges. ‘You do realise we’re going to have to sell the flat, don’t you, Libs?’
I nod, although I’m not sure he can see me in the dark.
‘We can’t afford it now that you’re no longer working. I’m not making as much as I’d like yet, but we have a bit of equity. We’ll have to move further out. Maybe one of the villages on the Bristol side. We can get more for our money there.’
The prospec
t of a bigger place away from here fills me with excitement. Maybe somewhere with a garden for Ziggy and Peanut. ‘I think that’s a good idea. A fresh start.’
He props himself up further. ‘What about the estate agent where Hannah works? They could give us a valuation.’
I don’t want to involve Hannah, but I agree nonetheless. If Jamie had asked me to run around the garden naked, I’d do it to make him happy. To keep the equilibrium.
By the weekend we are back in our flat. It smells the same, a slight dog odour mixed with damp washing and something sweet, a sort of exotic incense. Ziggy is pleased to be back in the place where he can, once again, lounge all over the furniture, which he isn’t allowed to do at Sylvia’s.
‘It feels weird being back,’ I say as I slump next to Ziggy on the sofa. ‘Everything has changed.’ We’ve changed. We’d left in such a hurry that we’d not had time to clean up the dirty cups on the coffee table and now green spores of mould cling to the tea at the bottom. It’s obvious by the mess that the police had a good rootle around. Jamie’s work cabinet has been emptied, a pile of files left on the floor. The cupboards in our sideboard are yawning open. Melanie told us they had taken some items away for further tests and the flat now has the air of a burglary about it. Strangers have been rifling through our things. I’ll be glad to sell it.
Jamie’s standing at the window looking onto the street above, and I know he’s probably worrying about who’s out there; nameless, faceless men who might be staking us out, thanks to the porn site. The police have managed to deactivate the site but it hasn’t allayed our fears; our address has been out there for too long. He sighs. ‘So much has happened. I can’t get my head around it.’
‘I know I keep saying it, but I’m sorry, Jay. And it could all have been so much worse.’
‘What do you mean?’ I notice the doubt flickering in his eyes as though he’s expecting me to reveal another secret, another lie, and it makes me feel sad. I’ve caused this. Will things ever go back to how they were?
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