‘Sean. What he could have done to us. Whoever killed him did us a favour.’ I shudder at the thought. He’d been here, in our home. What had he planned for us? He’d stolen money from our account and he’d sent cards to the neighbours, pretending to be from Jamie. He had been a twisted individual. For the first time I realise how it must have been for Beth. No wonder she scarpered over five thousand miles to Thailand to escape him.
‘I think he might have killed us,’ Jamie says, his face troubled. ‘That’s why he was watching us at The Hideaway. The underwear was obviously some kind of threat.’ He frowns and then answers his own question: ‘I guess we’ll never know.’
Something wakes me in the night, a sudden, heavy thud coming from the flat above. I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding, my skin hot beneath my night clothes. Jamie continues to snore beside me. I listen carefully to the comforting sounds of our home: the buzzing of the fridge, the clanking of the pipes, the occasional whoosh of a car outside. Was I mistaken? I strain my ears. Nothing. I’m just about to settle back under the duvet when I hear it again, as though something has been dropped overhead. My first thought is that Evelyn’s flat is being burgled. I nudge Jamie awake.
‘Jamie,’ I hiss. ‘There’s someone upstairs.’
He groans and reaches for his phone, the screen lighting up the room. He blinks furiously as his eyes adjust. ‘Urgh, it’s four a.m.’
‘Did you hear it? That noise. Someone’s in Evelyn’s flat. Oh God, should we call the police?’
He’s wide awake now. His hair looks comical, standing up on end. I’d laugh usually, but adrenaline is pumping around my body so fast I feel dizzy. He tilts his head to one side, just like Ziggy does, and listens. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
My heart is still thudding and I press my hand against my chest, willing myself to calm down. It can’t be good for the baby. ‘I heard a crash.’
He runs his hands through his mad hair. ‘There’s no one living in Evelyn’s flat. Why would somebody be up there?’
‘Burgling her?’
I peel the duvet back and get out of bed. I stand at the window, peering through the curtains. The street beyond is dark, the rose bush outside our window scratching the glass in the wind. I don’t know what I expect to see but there is nothing except a black cat sauntering across the main road and a dustbin lid on the pavement. Is that what I’d heard? A dustbin lid clattering to the ground? But it had sounded like it had come from overhead. Maybe it was my imagination, a symptom of missing Evelyn, of knowing that the flat above is no longer filled with her presence, her little quirks, like the too-loud radio and the tunes from her favourite soap operas drifting through the ceiling. Sometimes I forget she’s not up there, pottering around, making cups of tea or knitting.
‘Come back to bed.’ Jamie’s voice is thick with sleep. ‘It was probably an animal or something.’
I curl up beside him. His body feels warm and he’s soon fast asleep again, while I lie in the dark, wide awake. Evelyn’s flat is also on the market. Apparently there was a nephew somewhere who made that decision. But as far as I’m aware all her photos and furniture, her ornaments and clothes, are as they were when she died. I long to go up there, to be amongst her things, in her comfortable sitting room where I always felt safe. Was someone up there now? Or am I being paranoid again? After everything that has happened over the past few months, I assure myself, it really isn’t surprising.
We spend all Sunday frantically cleaning the flat, trying unsuccessfully to rid the sofa and rugs of the smell of dog. I light candles, hoover, dust, tidy. It takes three hours. But when it’s finished I feel a sense of achievement. It’s finally ready. Tomorrow we can contact an estate agent and begin the process of moving.
Jamie takes Ziggy out for his walk while I finish wiping down the kitchen. I also have a doctor’s appointment the following day. I’ve calculated I must be about six or seven weeks pregnant, which would explain the queasy feeling I’ve experienced since Cornwall that isn’t just down to anxiety. I try not to think about what we will do for money now that I’m no longer able to work as a teacher and I push away thoughts of how much I miss my class and the school, determined to remain upbeat. I’m lucky, I know I am. Things will work themselves out, I feel sure of it. I find that I’m humming to myself as I wipe down the worktops, and I switch the radio on, scanning the channels for something that I can dance to. Despite everything, I’m feeling positive. This is a good day. The sky is a hazy blue, it’s warm but not as hot as it has been. I feel closer to Jamie than I ever have now that there are no lies between us. He still calls me Libby, which is the way I want it. Karen feels like another person now.
I’m jigging along to Justin Timberlake when I hear the front door slam. It must be Jamie, back early from his walk. I dart into the hallway, happy to see him and wanting to show him how pretty the flat looks now it has been decluttered and cleaned, but his face is pinched with worry.
‘What is it?’ And then I notice Ziggy. He’s slumped on the floor, his eyes sad. I bend down to him. ‘Ziggy, are you all right, boy?’ I ruffle his head but he hardly moves. He lets out a sorrowful whine and my heart contracts.
Jamie unclips his lead, but he doesn’t stand up again, instead he crouches so that he’s at my level and says, ‘I think we need to take him to the vet, Libs. There’s something wrong with him.’
Ziggy suddenly makes a choking sound and my face grows hot with panic as he starts convulsing, his eyes rolling back in his head.
‘What’s happening?’ I cry, standing up.
‘It looks like he’s having a fit. We need to get him in the car. Come on, the vets are open twenty-four hours.’
Ziggy is so heavy that it takes both of us to carry his shuddering body to the car. We lay him on the back seat and I run back into the flat to get a towel and blanket. When I return Ziggy is no longer convulsing but is still. Too still. I climb into the back seat with him and place my hand on his tummy, reassured when it rises and falls. ‘He’s unconscious. Quick, Jay. We need to get to the vets, right now!’ I yell.
Jamie looks ashen. He pulls away from the kerb at speed, and as I glance up I’m certain I see a shadow at the window, as though someone is watching us from behind Evelyn’s yellowing net curtains.
35
Beth
I’ve been watching and biding my time.
I’ve seen the police come and go, and Sean’s body carried out in a bag. I’ve witnessed forensics comb the garden and the flat. And when I was satisfied the police wouldn’t return, when the team dispersed, I moved into Evelyn’s flat. I had no choice. I need to make my money last and the bed and breakfast I’ve been staying in for the past six weeks is too expensive. I must get around to visiting my dad’s solicitor to find out if the bastard has left me any money. Seeing Karen’s photo in the newspaper distracted me from all that.
And then, yesterday, there they were, tripping out of their car all smiles and laughter and cheesy banter as they led their big dopey dog into their flat. Slipping back into their lives as effortlessly as pulling on a pair of favourite jeans.
So they’ve allowed her to come home, which means they aren’t treating her as a suspect. I know they won’t be looking for me. I’m like a ghost, a spook, the way I come and go, leaving behind no trail. I’ve paid for everything in cash – her cash.
It’s easy to do damage to someone who thinks I’m dead.
I haven’t got many belongings. I left most of my things behind in Barcelona. I’ve just got a bag of clothes, my passport and my phone. And the photo. I look at it every night. It’s my only reminder of her, my beautiful princess. I sleep upstairs in one of Evelyn’s spare rooms, which she never used, by the look of them. There is a thick layer of dust everywhere, on the picture rails and coating the carpets. The air is stale and musty.
A ‘For Sale’ sign has been erected outside the window. It’s a bit of a risk, staying here when prospective buyers could descend at any time, like magpies picki
ng their way through that nice old lady’s things and cawing over the period features. But it’s a small price to pay to be near to Karen.
Because there is more damage to inflict, more pain to cause. She hasn’t even begun to suffer enough.
On Sunday I hear a commotion. I rush to the window, pulling aside Evelyn’s net curtains just in time to see Karen and Jamie heaving their dog into the back seat of their car. I’m not a fan of dogs – I prefer cats myself; dogs are too needy, too desperate to be loved for my liking. I want Karen to be tormented, believe me, but even I wouldn’t wish suffering upon her dog. It’s just a defenceless animal at the end of the day.
Karen turns towards the window, her eyes full of pain and unshed tears, and quickly I withdraw into the shadows. Out of sight. Just how I like it.
36
Libby
We are told Ziggy is in a critical condition. I can’t stop tears rolling down my face as I kiss him goodbye on the velvety bit between his nose and mouth, where his whiskers grow. My favourite bit. ‘I love you,’ I whisper to him. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow.’
My heart feels like it’s going to break seeing him lying there on the vet’s cold, metal table, a tube in his paw, his eyes closed. ‘I don’t think I can bear it if he dies,’ I sob, not caring that snot is running from my nose and merging with the tears dripping off my chin and onto my cotton blouse.
‘He’s not going to die,’ Jamie insists. He grabs my hand; his feels hot and sticky in mine. ‘He’s going to be fine.’ I can tell he doesn’t really believe it by his tight smile and his fake joviality. His eyes are red and he’s unable to tear them away from our beloved dog.
Our vet, Owen, comes in wearing green scrubs and holding a towel. He’s quite young, although he has an air of calm and authority about him. He’s been Ziggy’s vet ever since we’ve had him. ‘He’ll be in good hands here overnight,’ he says. ‘Please try not to worry. We’ll do all we can. This should flush the poisons out of his system. I’ll ring you if there is any change.’
Poison?
I grip Jamie’s arm tightly as we walk back to the car. ‘He’s been poisoned, Jay. Who would do such a thing?’ I think of the shadowy figure I’m certain I saw in Evelyn’s flat. Why can’t I shake the feeling that someone is still watching us, despite Sean Elliot’s death?
‘He could’ve eaten something on our walk,’ Jamie says. ‘But I’m always so careful, and he seemed off before we left. Not like his usual self. Quieter, didn’t you think?’ We get into the car and sit for a bit outside the vet’s, unable to drive away. It feels wrong leaving Ziggy behind. I touch my stomach. There is only a slight swelling, barely noticeable, but I already feel an overwhelming protectiveness towards this baby. The future stretches in front of me, my earlier hope diminishing, instead replaced by all the dangers that could threaten our precious baby and I’m seized with anxiety so strong I start to shake. Will I be able to do this? What if something happened again?
‘I don’t want to leave him, Libs,’ says Jamie, his voice sounding pitiful in the silence of the car. He collapses into tears then, and I stare at him in shock as his shoulders heave. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him properly cry before, not like this, not these giant sobs that seem to consume him, and it scares me. I reach out and touch his shoulder, murmuring words of comfort, for myself and him, then he turns and pulls me into his arms, fiercely, and we hug awkwardly over the gear stick. Despite how uncomfortable it is, we stay this way for ages.
The sun is going down by the time we get home, and our side of the street is in shadow. I’m conscious of how puffy my face looks, how red-rimmed my eyes are, and I’m grateful that the street is quiet in the way it often is on a Sunday evening. It’s cold in the shade and I shiver in my short-sleeved blouse as Jamie retrieves the door key from his pocket.
The flat seems so empty without Ziggy rushing to greet us. I feel a fresh wave of grief when I notice his lead on the floor where we’d left it in our rush earlier and I pick it up and hug it against me, inhaling his scent.
Jamie is bending down to untie his laces when I see an envelope, half-wedged through the letterbox. It definitely hadn’t been there earlier. Had it? Even if it had, we wouldn’t have noticed, we had been so focussed on Ziggy. I pull it out and open it, and straight away I wish I hadn’t. The words blur in front of me. Those awful, awful words.
‘What is it?’ asks Jamie, peering over my shoulder. ‘Why have you been sent your medical records? Did you request them?’
‘It’s … it’s nothing.’ I try to shove the sheets of paper back into the envelope but they refuse to go, bending in the wrong direction.
‘Libby? What’s going on?’
‘Nothing … it’s nothing … I’ll put the kettle on …’ I slip them under my arm and hurry to the kitchen but he’s close behind me.
‘Why are you being so secretive? Why did you request your medical records?’
How can I tell him that I didn’t. I place them face down on the worktop and put the kettle on. When I look around he’s holding them in his hands.
I snatch them from him, furious. ‘That’s private!’ I snap. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
He stares at me, his face full of hurt. ‘Private? You’re having our baby. Why can’t I see your medical files? You’re welcome to see mine – I’ve got nothing to hide.’ His eyes are hard as he assesses me. ‘Have you?’
No more lies. That’s what I promised him.
‘I’m sorry …’ I say, swallowing down tears. I silently hand him the three sheets of A4, can only watch as his eyes scan down the first page, his expression growing darker.
When he’s finished reading he looks up at me. ‘You had an abortion?’ I consider lying, telling him these are the real Elizabeth Elliot’s medical records, not mine. But there is no point. The dates won’t add up. He knows when I stopped being Karen Fisher. I nod and look down at my stomach, as though I’ve betrayed the baby growing inside me.
‘Why?’
I sigh. ‘I wasn’t with the father. I met him in Thailand. Thought I was in love. I didn’t know I was pregnant. And then I came back here with a new identity, a new start. I’d only been at college a month when I realised I was pregnant. I couldn’t … I couldn’t keep it. It would have meant giving up everything.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
I meet his eyes. They are dark with disappointment.
‘Because …’ Katie’s voice comes back to me as clearly as though she’s standing in the kitchen with us. It doesn’t mean you’re weak to show that you’re not perfect, you know. ‘Because I didn’t want you to think less of me. I didn’t want it to tarnish the version of me that you have in your mind,’ I say, truthfully. ‘I’m the person that loves kids. A teacher. And I aborted my baby.’
‘And you really think that’s how I would have felt? That I wouldn’t have understood. I’m not anti-abortion. I wouldn’t have thought less of you. It’s the lies. I asked you. I asked you if there was anything else you weren’t telling me. You could have told me then. But you didn’t. I don’t think you’re perfect, Libby. I don’t expect you to be.’ He shakes his head, his expression perplexed. ‘What the fuck is going on in your head, Libby? Karen? Whatever your real name is. Who the fuck are you?’
‘I’m Libby,’ I cry. ‘I’m your Libby.’
His jaw is set hard as he says slowly, deliberately, ‘No. No you’re not.’ He thrusts the papers back at me and I grip them to my chest. I screw them up, the paper rustling under my fingers. He storms out of the room and I follow, watching silently as he pushes his feet back into the trainers he’s just taken off. And then he grabs his jacket from the peg by the door and wordlessly leaves the flat.
I cry myself to sleep that night, scrunched up in a ball, the duvet pulled tightly over my head. Jamie comes home late. I hear him crashing into things and wonder if he’s drunk. Who’s he been with? His mum? Hannah? When he doesn’t come to bed I gather my dressing gown around me and pad i
nto the living room to see him passed out on the sofa, snoring, still fully clothed.
I’m woken the next morning by the sound of the phone. I know instinctively that it’s the vet. I listen as Owen gently breaks it to me that Ziggy didn’t make it despite all his best efforts, that his heart gave out, and my mobile drops to the floor so that the screen cracks across the photograph I have as my wallpaper: of me, Jamie and Ziggy, together. One happy family.
37
I run to the bathroom and retch into the toilet, resting my head against the rim, the smell of toilet cleaner making me retch again.
Ziggy is gone. The enormity of it hits me afresh and tears careen down my already puffy face. Then I wake Jamie, my heart heavy that I have to give him such awful news. He turns over onto his back. He smells of stale sweat and last night’s alcohol. ‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ he says, closing his eyes.
‘Jay. It’s Ziggy.’
His eyes snap open. They are bloodshot, sticky in the corners. ‘What?’ He sits up. ‘What is it?’
‘He …’ I can feel the tears running down my face. ‘He didn’t make it.’
‘No.’ His voice breaks, and despite our differences I put my arms around him as he cries into my shoulder.
Later, after Jamie has showered and shaved, he sits on the sofa, as far away as he can get from me. The distance hurts. We always sat touching one another with some part of our bodies; our toes, our fingers, our thighs.
He clears his throat. ‘Listen. While you were getting dressed I called Owen. We know Ziggy was poisoned. But we don’t know with what. It was obviously heavy-duty though. To kill him.’ He winces as he says that last bit. ‘I can’t help but think someone did this on purpose.’
My scalp prickles. ‘What?’
‘It’s more than him eating some berries or a foxglove, Libs. He had a large amount in his blood. Enough to cause a cardiac arrest. I told Owen about Sean. About everything. I’m worried that Sean wasn’t acting alone.’
Last Seen Alive Page 23