by Niki Mackay
It’s a long process. Each thing I touch has to go back exactly how it was. I go through every drawer. There are receipts in one of them for lingerie and dinners. All in the same pile, paper-clipped together. A mistress. Not the first, and certainly not the last. I pretend not to know, but I always do because his insatiable demands lessen for a time. I am grateful to these women for a moment’s peace. There’s nothing much else here, it’s all business-related – things I don’t know about, large sums of cash. I have no idea how much we are worth. I find a book of accounts and flick through it. Profit is dipping. It’s still good, but nothing like it used to be in its heyday. He signs off a lot of lunches, some hotel stays. I put the book back, hit by how pathetic it is that I don’t know my own financial situation, and the complete trust I put into someone who hates me.
I open cupboards, the filing cabinet. Nothing. I’m left staring at the safe. I try Bethany’s birthday, no. Mine, no, and it says three tries and I’m locked out. That means I have one left. It will be her, Ruth. But will it be her birthday or the day she died? I go for the latter – always the darker option with my husband – and it clicks open. The blood starts rushing again. My hand reaches out to see what’s there and almost, almost freezes. A photo album. Lots of pictures of Ruth, the family, the siblings. My heart aches just a little bit, for the frightened-looking little boy in these photos, gripping hard to his mother’s hand.
She was beautiful, Ruth Reynolds. Truly a work of art – high cheekbones, wide-set eyes and full lips, though they never seem to smile. They were younger even than us when they married, Ruth and James. Seemingly he rescued her from some unpleasantness at home, though it’s never discussed further than that. Marcus always said they were happy, but I doubt it. She has the same bird-like quality as her daughters. They would be her miniatures, but their colouring is different, less striking. I look like her, I know that. I’m not being big-headed. Beauty certainly hasn’t brought me a better life as I had assumed it would, but it’s there nonetheless. I know what Marcus liked in me. A fixable version of her, and I’ve played the part beautifully, moulded into what he wanted. Still, it seems not to be enough.
I put the album back and reach underneath. I pull out a scrapbook, filled with all of the articles relating to Kate’s arrest and subsequent trial, mingled in with legal documents, which I skim. God. Papers relating to Martha and her many sections. Bills from the asylum they call her spa. Careful, careful, a quick look and put them back. I’ve been in here for half an hour, my hands are starting to dampen again and I want out. Something else, right at the back – a notebook, no, but something. Bound in canvas, covered in butterflies, worn over time. I pull it out, careful, heart racing. I open up the first page and my blood turns to ice.
DIARY OF NAOMI ANDREWS
KEEP THE FUCK OUT!!
25.
Kate Reynolds
I dream that I am in prison and Naomi is chasing me, trying to tell me something, but she has no mouth and all I can hear are her muffled screams. I wake drenched in sweat, convinced I heard my door close. I am holding my breath. Everything is dark but I see my clock glowing: 3.30 a.m. I get out of bed as quietly as I can and head for the front door. It’s shut, but when I turn the handle it’s unlocked. Perhaps Oliver crept in. Maybe he’s cross that I found him. His wife. I know he can get around locks. He used to show up in my dad’s house all the time. Appearing from nowhere.
Did I forget to lock up when I came in? Maybe. I lock it now and turn on all the lights. I drag the duvet off my bed and into the living room. I turn on the TV and watch the light drift in. As the sun comes up I finally fall asleep. When I wake up it’s eight and I feel calmer. I probably left the door unlocked, maybe even open. Thinking it was Oliver is me being paranoid. Though I wouldn’t have put it past him to do something like this six years ago, he’s a grown man now. With a wife and a child on the way. I shudder now at what used to excite me.
I get to Madison’s office. Emma takes my coat. Madison is on the phone but waves at me to take a seat as she stands to head outside. Emma perches on the edge of Madison’s desk and asks how I am.
‘I don’t really know,’ I say.
Her face is kind, open. ‘I would think that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Plenty of adjusting to be done, eh? And all this to be sorted before you can really relax.’
I half whisper, ‘I’m worried I might be wasting your time.’
‘Well, now, I wouldn’t say righting wrongs is a waste of time.’
Emma’s nice. If she was your mum I reckon you’d end up with a much better life than the one that I have. Madison comes in exhaling a puff of smoke. She sits down heavily, dropping her phone on the desk with a clatter.
‘Your sister’s pretty out there,’ she says.
I smile at her bluntness. ‘She always was.’
‘The hospital confirmed that she was brought in the day after the party.’
‘No, she was there already. I’m sure of it.’ I can’t even bring myself to dwell on what that means.
‘How do you know?’
I try to think back. ‘Marcus told me, I think.’
‘When? Before or after your arrest?’
I feel sick now. ‘After.’
‘Right.’ A pause. ‘She wasn’t a fan of Naomi’s and didn’t like Oliver much either.’
‘Martha?’
‘Yes.’
My heart starts beating a guilty tattoo. ‘They weren’t very nice to her.’
‘How?’
‘They made fun of her.’ I blush, not adding that I joined in. I don’t suppose I have to, Madison’s not stupid.
She says, ‘Sounds like Naomi wasn’t nice to anyone. Martha must have been an easy target.’
I sigh. ‘Yes, I suppose she was. Do you think Martha was there that night?’
‘Why would Annie lie?’
‘I don’t know, to stir?’
She narrows her eyes. ‘Really? All these years later?’
‘You said yourself she’s still mad at me.’ It sounds pathetic even to me.
‘Yeah, at you, not Martha, which is who she’s implicating.’
I can’t even take that on board at the moment. Implicating.
‘I sent Oliver a message on LinkedIn,’ I say, changing the subject.
‘Great.’
She’s being sarcastic and I don’t blame her, but it’s better out than in I think, so I keep going. ‘Then I waited for him outside his work.’
‘Even better.’
‘I saw him meet his wife.’
Her eyes narrow. I feel embarrassed saying this stuff aloud, but I force myself to go on. ‘He saw me, and he’s been calling a lot since then.’
‘Saying?’
‘I don’t know; I haven’t spoken to him properly. He didn’t want to speak to me before.’
‘Now he does?’
‘He probably wants to tell me to stop stalking him.’
She looks cross, but her voice is even when she speaks. ‘Good, don’t stalk him and don’t take his calls. I’m fucking serious when I say that.’
‘I think someone came into my flat last night.’
‘Why?’
Tears prick the back of my eyes. ‘The door was unlocked. I thought I heard it shut.’
‘Might you have just forgotten to lock it?’
I nod. ‘I might have.’ But I don’t sound convincing.
‘Jeez,’ sighs Madison.
I go on, ‘Oliver used to turn up at my dad’s – he’d always find a way to let himself in.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘He’s four years older than he said he was.’
Her voice is cross now. ‘Stop stalking him. I’m going to visit him today.’
My phone beeps before I can respond to that and I check it.
‘Oliver?’ Madison asks.
‘No, my sister-in-law – she wants me to meet her today.’
‘Well, go do that – meet in a public place and stay out of trouble.’
I ask softly, ‘That bad?’
‘That fucking bad. Keep your phone on and pick up if I call.’
‘Okay,’ I reply, numbly.
I get to the park at almost exactly the same time as Claudia. She has a worried look on her face, but she still looks amazing.
‘Hi.’ I wave.
She physically jumps and immediately says, ‘Sorry.’
I recognise that jump. It’s the inbuilt warning system of the hunted. It’s how I reacted to every movement in prison, every time Janine brushed past me. When she whispered ‘boo’ I’d break down.
‘Hey, no problem, I shouldn’t sneak up on people. No Bethany?’ I ask.
‘She’s at nursery on the other side of the park. I probably have about an hour.’ She glances at an expensive-looking watch. ‘Let me buy you a coffee?’
‘Thanks,’ I say brightly.
‘I would have invited you to the house but it says in the calendar that Marcus is working from home today, though no sign of him yet.’
‘Okay.’
We walk through the park and into the café in companionable silence. She orders coffees. The boy who takes the order is all fingers and thumbs. He sneaks furtive glances at her as he steams the milk. She smiles at him when he brings them over and he turns the colour of beetroot.
‘Shall we walk?’ she suggests.
‘Can do.’ I smile.
‘I know it’s a bit chilly, but I spend so much time cooped up inside.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘God, of course you do, sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’ She stops, flustered and looks at me apologetically.
I laugh, ‘Claudia, it’s fine.’
She nods and we start to walk.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask her.
‘No, not really.’ She glances at me and I give her what I hope is an encouraging look. ‘Tell me about Marcus and Naomi,’ she says.
‘You don’t know?’
‘I didn’t, I might now. I think they were involved?’
I shrug. ‘Yes, they were sleeping together.’
‘Did Marcus . . . did he love her, do you think?’
I try and think about that for moment. ‘He probably thought he did. They were kids really.’
She nods. ‘What was she like?’
‘Generally, or to him?’
‘To him, I suppose.’ She shrugs. ‘No, generally.’
‘Not so good. She found other people’s feelings amusing.’
‘God.’ Neither of us speak for a while. We walk, drink coffee, and then she says, ‘Our life is a lie, you know.’
I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep quiet and she goes on, ‘I suspect you might have guessed how.’
I don’t even want to say the words, the ones that had been nagging. It’s all too perfect, too contained and I know enough about my brother to know that he’s a mess. That it has to come out somewhere. I ask her, ‘Does he hit you?’
Her beautiful big eyes shine with tears. She nods. ‘I was young and naïve when I met him, not that it’s any kind of excuse. I never for one second thought I’d grow up to be the kind of woman who stayed. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to go.’ She sighs. ‘I thought it was best not to.’
‘For Bethany’s sake?’
‘Yes, although staying hasn’t really done her any favours. Financial security is cheap when your safety isn’t certain. I’ve never told anyone.’
‘So, what’s changed?’
She tells me about a conversation she heard between my dad and my brother, Marcus asking ‘What if she remembers?’ I feel tears prick my own eyes. When she tells me what she found in his safe I feel them escape and drip down my cheeks.
‘I need you to bring me the diary,’ I tell her.
‘I know.’
‘Will you?’
She nods. ‘Yes, but I have to make it safe for Bethany. He’ll know.’
I take her hand and give it a squeeze. ‘You’ll come to me. We’ll talk to Madison and she’ll know what to do after that.’
‘I was right to tell you, wasn’t I?’
I nod. ‘I’m glad you did.’
She presses her hand deeper into mine and squeezes back. I look down and see finger-sized faded brown bruises round her wrist, like a hateful mockery of a beaded bracelet.
‘I’ll call when I can,’ she says, before leaving to go and pick up Bethany.
I ring Madison and tell her shakily what Claudia has told me, what she has found.
She says gently, ‘It might mean nothing.’ But I don’t see how that can be. I walk slowly around the park, trying to clear my head, but my heart is too heavy for silence. I feel the awful fear creeping in. Like I’m about to be suffocated by it. My knees start to turn into jelly and I manage to make it to a bench. I slide down, pulling my phone from my bag. My hands are sweating so much it slides away, onto the floor. I wipe my hands and pick it up and then I ring Dean.
‘Kate, I was just thinking about you.’
I smile and feel my pulse slow, already feeling better for hearing his voice. ‘All good things, I hope?’
‘Of course. How are you?’
I sigh and tell him about the diary. When I’m done, there is a long silence and I say, ‘Dean . . .?’ wondering if we’ve been cut off.
He says, ‘Sorry. I was just mulling it over. Marcus certainly is a mystery, isn’t he?’
I laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Dean, I feel so let down.’
‘They’ve been letting you down for a while now, Kate.’ He says it gently, but the words still hurt.
‘I know.’
He says, ‘Look. You’re doing well, far better than I thought you would. Don’t go getting depressed now, okay?’
‘Okay.’
He says, ‘Everything will be fine.’
I feel better by the time I hang up. But it takes me a few minutes before I stand and walk home. Looking over my shoulder as I go.
26.
Anthea Andrews
I know that I have crossed some sort of line. I couldn’t stop myself and I didn’t really want to. I’d known I was going to do it. I’ve been researching how to pick locks for over a week and found it surprisingly easy to get information once I found the right forums to ask. So I went with it, knowing it would keep playing out in my head if I didn’t. I left while Damian was asleep. I purposefully parked a few doors down so he wouldn’t hear the car start, not that he’d have woken up. He never does, and I’d ‘slept’ in Naomi’s room. He leaves me when I’m there now. At first he used to come in and lie behind me, sharing the pain. Now he finds it maudlin. The time limit on his grief has expired, apparently.
I spend a lot of time in that room, absolutely determined to remember everything about my daughter. To always keep her firmly in the forefront of my mind. Naomi was a wonderful girl. Even as a toddler she had been miles ahead of the other kids – she had been early to walk, to talk. Once she could communicate she’d bark out orders to me and Damian and we would smile at each other over her head, amused by her bossiness. Clever little thing. As she grew she mastered things quickly but then tired of them. Swimming, then gymnastics, a phase of ballet. She’d tire of friends as well, when she outgrew them, as I always saw it. Other mums complained occasionally and I told them what for; they were just jealous that their daughters weren’t Queen Bee.
Damian had warned me that I was spoiling Naomi. That she was a girl who needed limits. But children need love. Especially children like Naomi. Special ones who weren’t even supposed to be born. It was the only thing we’d ever argued about. When Naomi became a teenager it had got worse and I had found my
self keeping things from him. Naomi’s ‘high jinks’, as I tried to think of them, became more and more outrageous. I told myself she was just a teenager. They’re notoriously difficult. I have no doubt it was a phase she’d have grown out of.
I had been so intent on getting into Kate’s flat last night that once I was inside I hadn’t known what to do. I left the door ajar and crept into the bedroom and watched her sleep, this stupid girl who had almost lived in our house at one point. I’d thought seriously about killing her, then and there. That’s probably what I’d been thinking all along really. I’d looked at the pillow next to her and almost felt my hands grabbing it, lifting it up, pressing down on her face. But something held me back and I looked for just a minute, no more. Then I left, shutting the door harder than I’d meant to on the way out. I’d hurried down the stairs, out onto the street and to my car. By the time I got back home it was four a.m. and I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep, so I watched the sun come up, pleased that I had the option. I’ll wait and see what the little bitch is up to and then I’ll kill her. I’m half smiling by the time Damian comes down and he smiles back as he makes us both coffee.
27.
Madison Attallee
Peter brings the files. He catches me unaware at home and before I can think straight I’ve agreed to him coming in. I make coffee, my hands shaking. It feels strange having him here in my flat. We chat about nothing. When he says he probably ought to go I agree, but neither of us move. For a second I think he’s going to lean in to kiss me and I’m ready to push him gently back. He doesn’t though; he takes my hand instead and says, ‘I know now isn’t the time.’