Tell-Tale

by Sam Hayes

  Nina decided she would allow them to talk a bit more before she introduced herself. There was still enough to keep her occupied in the kitchen for another ten minutes or so. Then she heard voices coming from the living room, confirming they’d moved on. She hoped the dealer was looking at Mick’s paintings. There were several pieces hanging on the walls. Nina grew excited at the prospect of Mick selling work at prices he’d never imagined. They’d talked again of an extension, perhaps a new bathroom; even with everything that had happened, Nina held on to the dream. It was all she had left.

  She pressed her ear to the closed door, straining to hear what was being said. They were talking so quietly – discussing time, passing years, she thought – but she couldn’t make out much. Mick was probably nervous, she guessed. He wasn’t the best at promoting his work.

  ‘Drinks right about now,’ Nina said, returning to the stove. She imagined Mick pouring from the decanter. She heard the chink of glasses and muttered toasts. ‘To Mick’s good fortune.’ She raised her own glass of wine. Something positive in all this mess, she thought.

  Nina washed her hands just as Josie came into the room. ‘Will you set the table, love?’ She tossed some napkins at her daughter and opened the kitchen drawer. She rummaged through the bills, pens, and assorted oddments before finding her lipstick. In the mirror, she applied a coat of pale pink. It was Mick’s favourite. She wanted to bring him luck, even if she wasn’t having any of her own.

  ‘Do I have to?’ Josie grumbled, gathering the cutlery. She did it in spite of her protests, muttering that she’d only come down for some crisps, that she was talking to friends on Afterlife.

  Nina stared at herself in the mirror and sighed. In the reflection behind her, through the door to the dining room, she saw Josie slowly arranging knives and forks on the table. A feeling grew in the pit of her stomach, a cross between rage, love and fear, and she had to clench her fists to stop herself lashing out. She wanted to smash everything up, destroy her life and everything in it before anyone else could. She shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out the hairclip. She stared at it closely and then stuck the sharp end against the mirror. She dragged it hard against the glass.

  ‘Ow,’ Josie squealed as a knife dropped to the floor, jabbing her foot. ‘That hurt.’

  Nina stuffed the clip back into her pocket, shaking, fearful, as if she had just caused her daughter’s pain. She glared at herself, trying to get a grip. ‘This is Mick’s night. Don’t ruin it.’

  Mick paused in the kitchen doorway. Nina knew he was staring at her. When she turned, she thought he looked anxious, slightly pale. He was sweating.

  ‘Not going so well in there?’ Nina asked. She wondered if Mick was out of his depth, dealing with these London galleries.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘I . . . I think we can work things out.’ Mick reached for a glass and filled it with cold water. He gulped as if he hadn’t drunk for a week. When he’d finished, he said, ‘You look beautiful.’ He stamped a kiss on her cheek. ‘Thank you for going to so much trouble.’ He gripped her shoulders for a moment – the exact same gesture she had wanted to make to him – and went back into the living room without asking her to join them.

  ‘Let me introduce you, darling . . . ’ Nina mocked, pulling a face. ‘Unless you’re ashamed of me,’ she said stupidly, knowing that wasn’t the case. Mick was just nervous. This was a very big deal for him.

  Nina heard the men’s voices again and decided it was time to make an appearance. She quickly fingered her hair as she walked past the mirror, noticing a thin scratch on its surface from the hairclip. A fracture in my perfect life, she thought bitterly.

  She went into the living room.

  The adrenalin hammered her heart long before she knew why. Nina felt as if she was striding across the room, but she’d actually stopped dead with her false smile dropping away. She stared at the guest, unable to move.

  He slowly stood up and extended a hand to Nina. His face was blank. He was average height, she noticed, a little shorter than Mick, and everything about him was pointed and sharp, from his hands and feet to his spiky hair and chiselled nose; even each individual tooth appeared to be honed jagged. And he sent her into paroxysms of fear.

  Nina forced her hand out in return. She had to stay in control.

  She looked at him.

  Was it?

  Then he gave her a tight smile.

  She tried to withdraw her hand, but it was too late. They were touching. He was already gripping her fingers between the points of his.

  Surely not him. Her mind was playing tricks again.

  The hairs on her neck prickled. She tried to focus on his face through the dizzy waves that were threatening to swamp her brain. She blinked, worried she might pass out. But her body was fighting back instinctively, driven by self-preservation, by survival.

  It must be a mistake, she pleaded desperately in her head. It can’t be.

  ‘Welcome . . . to our home,’ Nina said, speaking as carefully as her trembling jaw would allow. Did he recognise her? It had been so long, after all.

  ‘A real pleasure to meet you, Mrs Kennedy,’ he replied. Each word was precise, weaselled out of his thin lips like staccato bullets. Nina flinched.

  She swallowed, trying to think, but her mind was a whirlpool of emotion. ‘Call me Nina,’ she said, glancing at Mick, who had completely forgotten to do the formalities.

  ‘I’m Karl,’ he said. His eyes drooled and his chin angled forward. ‘Karl Burnett,’ he said.

  The name sent her reeling.

  He was here, in her home. How had he found her?

  ‘Delighted,’ he continued, pausing for effect, ‘to meet you.’

  Nina pressed her other hand against the outside of her pocket. She felt the hairclip nestled inside. He’d sent it to her as a warning and now he was here, in her house, silently threatening her. Avoiding recognition wasn’t an option. He knew exactly who she was. Worst of all, she thought, by being here, he was threatening her family. He could end it all with one private sentence whispered in Mick’s ear.

  For Mick and Josie’s sake, she had to hold it together – at least until she’d had a chance to think what to do. Nina prayed for the evening to pass quickly, for the three of them to stay safe. She could hardly speak, her mouth was so dry.

  Mick finally found his voice. ‘Darling, Karl owns a gallery on New Bond Street.’

  No he doesn’t, she screamed in her head.

  ‘Really?’ she managed weakly, shooting a look at her husband. Mick seemed bowled over by the man, judging by his wide-eyed expression. She willed him to unconsciously pick up on the danger signals she was sending out. How could she tell him that Karl wasn’t really interested in his paintings; that it was her he’d come to hang, not a landscape or delicate nude. She hated it that he was using Mick to get to her.

  Nina breathed fast, clinging to the hope that if she acted normally, the evening might pass without trouble.

  ‘I’m so pleased that there’s been such interest in Mick’s work recently.’ The gossamer-thin words barely made it across the room. Nina saw both men had drinks. She leaned against the dresser and poured herself a large gin and tonic.

  Karl paced around the living room. His manner was confident and slick, his expression giving nothing away. A blank face sat atop bony shoulders that were capable of moving the world – Nina’s world. He was dressed entirely in black. He touched a couple of ornaments, picking up a china bird that Josie had given to Nina last birthday. ‘Mick tells me you have a daughter.’ Then the smile again, drilling into Nina’s heart.

  The mention of Josie, the very fact he knew of her existence, made Nina erupt in a cold sweat. ‘Yes,’ she said, mustering all her resolve. ‘Would you like another drink?’ She had to steer him away from talking about Josie.

  Then it happened so quickly, yet seemingly in slow motion, that if asked to describe it later, Nina would only be able to tell of the deep ache in her heart
, the fear rising as bitter as bile in her throat.

  Josie sauntered into the room, lighting it up in her carefree, captivating way – a knack she’d had since she was able to walk. She paused briefly in the doorway, eyeing up who was there, until her father stepped towards her and wrapped his arm adoringly, protectively, around her shoulders. Mick, Nina thought, was glad of the reprieve Josie provided.

  ‘This is Mr Burnett from London,’ Mick said, when Josie looked up at her father. Nina prayed that he’d sensed the tension between her and Burnett, picking up on the silent messages she’d been sending him. She just wanted this evening to end.

  Josie, oblivious to everything, grinned. Her straight white teeth sat perfectly within full young lips. Nina held her breath. Her daughter had changed into a pretty summer outfit with a low-cut top. It was as if she hadn’t even noticed her womanly curves before now. The white broderie anglaise bodice fitted snugly, sitting prettily over a colourful skirt that hung just above her knees. Wedge shoes gave Josie three extra inches and the light make-up she wore – the colours suggested by Nina only a week ago – made her look at least eighteen. Despite this, she still exuded innocence. Childishness on a woman’s body. Nina clenched her teeth; felt the pressure growing in her head.

  ‘Hello,’ she said sweetly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ As she had been taught, Josie politely held out her hand. Karl, however, ignored it and moved towards her with his arms wide open. He left a lingering double imprint on her face, one each side of her shimmering lips.

  ‘Mick, Nina.’ He glanced at them both. ‘You have an absolutely stunning daughter. I’m jealous as hell.’ Karl’s hands slid down Josie’s bare arms and locked with her fingers. He leaned back, examining her, his devious eyes sweeping up and down her length.

  Nina let out a little gasp. Mick, do something! Beads of sweat erupted on her face as Burnett leered at her daughter. Take your filthy eyes off her, she yelled but nothing came out. If she made a scene now, it would put them all in danger. No, she had to remain calm; get through the evening and give herself time to think, to get help, to protect Mick and Josie. It could all still, somehow, be an innocent mistake, a coincidence, couldn’t it?

  She excused herself and went into the kitchen.

  ‘We could go away,’ she whispered through the steam of the vegetables as her trembling hand spooned them into a serving dish. ‘All of us. We could just disappear. He’d never find us.’ Nina played over how it could work, how she would explain everything to Mick. Then suddenly there was a big void in her mind.

  Where were the others? Her hands shook as she removed the stack of plates from the warming oven. Frantically, she tried to recall the sentences passed by the judge. If they were all out, then this was just the start of the nightmare.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Mick was suddenly next to her. He seemed calmer now, although his knuckles were white as he gripped the worktop; the muscles on his forearms tight beneath rolled-up sleeves. Nina longed to fall into those arms, wishing she could take time back.

  ‘Oh, no one,’ she sang rather too brightly. ‘Here, take these through to the dining room, will you?’ She handed Mick a pair of serving dishes then froze. They stared at each other.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Nina?’ Mick frowned and swallowed. He walked away then stopped, turning back. ‘Nina?’

  He sounded serious. Nina wasn’t sure she could handle anything else.

  ‘We’re in this together, aren’t we? Just the three of us, through thick and thin?’

  Nina laughed, nervously, uncontrollably, filled with relief. ‘Yes,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘Of course we are.’

  ‘I couldn’t lose you, you know.’

  Nina swallowed. Whatever happened, she must keep her cool. She needed to think. ‘Where’s Josie?’ she said. It suddenly struck her that Karl would be alone with their daughter.

  Without waiting to hear Mick’s reply, she grabbed the wine bottle and sped through to the dining room. Burnett glanced up as she entered. Was she imagining his slow blink, his leering smile, each suggesting a thousand threats?

  Conversation bounced awkwardly between Mick and Karl. Nina dissected her food, spreading the fish to the edge of her plate. In all, she had consumed two tasteless mouthfuls. The whole evening was a nightmare, with Josie the only one apparently enjoying herself.

  ‘So, Josie,’ Karl asked. His fingers toyed with the cutlery, and his legs jittered beneath the table. ‘What are your favourite subjects at school?’

  ‘I love drama,’ Josie announced. Immediately, she fell into role. Her keen face spread wide as she thought of her passion. She’d loved acting, dancing and singing since she’d been able to walk. She leaned in across the table, pulling nearer to Burnett as if she were his leading lady. ‘I want to be an actress when I’m older.’

  ‘Do you now?’ Karl flicked a glance to Nina, who quickly looked away.

  ‘I auditioned recently and got the part of Roxie Hart in the youth theatre’s production of Chicago. It’s going to be on in the autumn.’

  ‘Drama queen, more like,’ Mick said, relieved not to be discussing art. Nina noticed how her husband sympathised with her mood. Her unease was clearly making him nervous too. They would lie in bed later, discussing the evening. Hopefully Mick would fall asleep, not so convinced he wanted to work with Burnett after all. Nina would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, remembering, watching the light seep around the curtain edges, too scared to close her eyes, planning what to do, fearful for them all.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ Josie said. Her eyebrows drew together and her lips plunged into a pout. ‘Mum takes me backstage as often as she can with her work in make-up and special effects. She’s just got an amazing contract with a big production company. I’m going to go to Pinewood with her. I might meet a director who—’

  ‘Really?’ Karl interrupted, turning to Nina. ‘You are successful in business as well as having a beautiful family. Perfect.’ Karl set down his knife and fork and raised his wine glass. ‘To the Kennedy family,’ he said precisely. ‘May they get everything they deserve.’

  CHAPTER 33

  Sylvia hands me two paracetamol. She’s been visiting her aunt, but now she’s come back to school. She likes to use the last few days of half-term to catch up with things while it’s quiet, she told me. Truth is, like the rest of us here, I don’t think Sylvia has anywhere else to go.

  ‘Get to bed,’ she orders. Her hands are propped on tilted hips and she’s wearing lipstick that matches her scarlet nails. She sees me looking at her. ‘I was going out, but with you like this, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Please don’t cancel. I’ll be fine.’ I glance at my watch. ‘Going anywhere nice?’

  Her cheeks redden for a second. ‘There’s this chap from the village. He wants to take me to the pictures.’ She glances in the mirror above the sickroom basin and puckers her lips. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ Without the girls here, Sylvia is a different person.

  I nod that I’m sure.

  It’ll give me a chance to speak to Adam. Since we visited the chapel, since he let on that his book isn’t just about the architecture of Roecliffe Hall, or local walks or wildlife, I haven’t been able to get out of my head just what it is that he knows. He’s aware of the murders, discovered that there were bodies, I know that much. But why is he so interested? Besides, I don’t want to be alone up here in case that prowler comes back.

  When Sylvia has gone, I leave sick bay, head down the main staircase, along several corridors, across the hallway, and down on to the lower level of the school. My spine prickles in the half-light. I feel along the wall for the light switch. I go up the rear staircase and along another corridor until I reach Adam’s room. I knock and the door swings open.

  ‘Adam?’ I say. ‘It’s me.’ Me. I wonder how we got so familiar.

  I step inside but he’s not there. It’s bigger than my attic room and every available surface is covered in books. Textbooks, hardback books, old books,
new books, paperback books, foreign books, modern glossy books, and ancient dusty books. I run my finger along a pile. Under the window there is an antique desk. His laptop computer glows pale blue. ‘Not one for tidying up,’ I whisper, intrigued by this glimpse into Adam’s private life.

  The bed is unmade and several days’ worth of clothes lie crumpled up on the end. In the middle of the bed, beside his discarded jacket, lies Adam’s Dictaphone. I reach down and pick it up. I look back at the door and turn the volume down to low. Heart thumping, I press play.

  ‘. . . Several altar cloths, stained, a broken crucifix, and on the tiles below the altar are a pair of . . . of old trainers. Nikes size ten. Near to where it apparently happened. Cigarette butts. Bottles. About thirty oak benches, rather ornately carved for a private chapel. The north window is . . .’ Then a familiar bang and cry reminds me of dashing up the chapel step to check if Adam was OK. I press fast forward for a second or two and then press play again. ‘. . . You should come inside with me. There are some interesting . . . features,’ he says loudly. It was when he was speaking to me outside the chapel. There’s a pause, some breathing, then whispering. Adam talking privately into the machine. ‘. . . She’s stunning . . . Her legs, her fingers, the pattern of her skirt. I do wonder about her, though.’

  I press stop and toss the Dictaphone back on to the bed. When I turn, Adam is standing in the doorway.

  ‘Oh! I came to see if you’d like to have a coffee with me in the girls’ lounge?’ My heart flips into my mouth and my cheeks burn like embers. Adam doesn’t say a word.

  He sits cross-legged on the floor of the boarders’ living room. His shoulders slump forward as if he’s totally relaxed about this. He spots a stuffed rabbit under an armchair and pulls it out. ‘Yours?’ he asks.