by Alex Lake
Sarah didn’t want to go in, but at least work would help pass the time until she got the graphology report, and besides, she’d been off work for nearly three weeks now, and she was feeling a little guilty. ‘I’ll be there,’ she said. ‘Eight a.m.?’
‘Thank you, Dr Havenant,’ Denise said. ‘We’ll see you on Friday.’
‘Work?’ Ben said.
‘I have to go in on Friday. The other doctors are dropping like flies. A norovirus. Is there any chance you could stay home with the kids?’
‘None,’ Ben said. ‘I’m still behind after the UK trip. We’ll have to find a babysitter.’
‘We need someone we can trust. I’ll ask Jean. She might be able to help.’
‘Are you sure you’re OK to watch them on Friday?’
In the passenger seat, Jean nodded. They were on their way to the beach – if everything went to plan it might be the last midweek beach trip of the summer as, once Rachel Little was off the scene, Sarah would be able to go back to work full-time.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Jean said. ‘It’s only one day. And it’ll be good for you to be back in work.’
‘Call me if anything comes up, OK?’
‘Of course,’ Jean said. ‘But nothing will come up.’
They pulled up in front of the sand dunes that separated the parking lot from the beach and unloaded the kids. Miles and Faye sprinted up the dunes, Kim waddling behind them.
‘Miles! Faye!’ Sarah shouted. ‘Come back and help carry the beach gear.’ She looked at Daniel and Paul; they were loading up with towels and shovels and bags.
‘Your kids are so well behaved,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.’ She looked back for Miles and Faye. They were nowhere to be seen, their beach toys still by the car. Kim was sitting by some kind of scrubby bush, putting something in her mouth.
‘Kim!’ Sarah shouted. ‘Stop it! Don’t eat things from bushes!’
Jean laughed. She picked up Sarah’s tote bag. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Let me give you a hand.’
Perhaps it was the time of the year – the late summer – or perhaps it was the hot weather or perhaps it was purely random, but the shallow water of the beach was crawling with crabs. Most were no more than an inch or two in diameter, but there were a few which were much bigger.
Sarah stood in the water and watched them.
‘Can you eat them?’ she said.
Jean nodded. ‘Sure. There’s not much in the little ones, but the bigger ones would be fine.’
‘You don’t need a permit to fish them?’
‘No,’ Jean said. ‘I don’t think so. But anyway, who’s going to know?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Then let’s get a bucket.’
They ended up with six or seven good-sized crabs. Sarah put them in a bucket at Jean’s feet for the trip home.
‘You want some?’ she said.
Jean shook her head. ‘No thanks. My kids won’t eat them and they’re a hassle to prepare. It’s not worth it. You share with Ben.’
‘You can come over, if you like? We can all eat together.’
‘It’s OK. By the time we get showered the kids will be ready for bed. But thanks.’
The beach was out of cell phone range – it was one of the things Sarah liked about it – and as they turned on to the main road her phone buzzed. She had a missed call and voicemail from Ian Molyneux.
She put her phone to her ear.
‘Sarah, this is Ian Molyneux. If you could call me when you get a chance, please do.’
There was an official tone in his voice which made her think this was not a social call. Her throat tightened, and she called him back.
He answered on the second ring.
‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘Thanks for calling back. Are you at home?’
‘No. On the way back from Small Point.’
‘So you’ll be back in around half an hour,’ he said. ‘I’d like to talk to you, if that’s OK.’
‘Can you talk to me now?’
‘No. It’d be better at your house.’
‘Ian,’ Sarah said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’ll tell you when you get home.’
14
Sarah pulled up outside the house. Ian Molyneux was sitting in a squad car, waiting for her.
Jean put a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll take the kids and feed them. You can come and pick them up when you’re ready.’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah replied. ‘I hope it doesn’t take too long.’
‘Take whatever time you need. We’ll be fine.’ Jean smiled. ‘Good luck.’
They sat in the kitchen, Ian on a stool, Sarah at the table. He had not accepted her offer of a drink.
‘So,’ she said. ‘What’s going on? I’ve been on edge all the way home.’
‘We’ve had a complaint,’ Ian said. ‘Well, less of a complaint. It’s more the raising of a concern.’
‘What about?’
‘About you.’
Sarah blinked. She felt the panic clawing at her and she closed her eyes. After a few seconds she looked at Ian.
‘What kind of a complaint? Or concern?’
‘This is’ – Ian hesitated – ‘this is a delicate topic. It’s not really a police matter, but I thought you should know about it.’
‘About what?’
He pulled his phone from his vest pocket and tapped on the screen.
‘Are you familiar with Craigslist?’
‘Of course,’ Sarah said. ‘Why?’
‘The complaint was about this.’
He handed her the phone. As she read the screen her throat tightened.
‘Ian,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen this before. I promise.’
I’m married but bored. Looking for NSA fun with like-minded. Clean, discreet, healthy (I’m a doctor!).
I can’t host but can travel. During the day better than evenings but I can be flexible.
And then there was a photo.
A photo of her, on the beach, in her red bikini. It was taken from behind; she was looking to the side, in a pose that suggested she was unaware of the photographer.
Which she had been.
‘Ian,’ she said, ‘I did not post this. I didn’t even know people used Craigslist for this kind of thing.’
‘A woman called it in,’ Molyneux said. ‘She said she didn’t think her doctor should be engaging in this kind of activity.’
‘Who was it?’ Sarah said.
‘She didn’t give her name.’
It was Rachel, she was sure of it.
‘Did you speak to her? What did she sound like?’
‘I didn’t take the call. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you anything.’
‘Fine,’ Sarah said. ‘But I’m not engaging in any kind of activity. This is bullshit.’
‘Even if you are, there’s no crime, which is what we told her. And I would have left it at that, but given what’s been going on I thought you should know.’
There was a noise from the kitchen door. They both looked up.
‘Know what?’ Ben said.
Neither of them replied.
‘She should know what?’ he said. ‘Even though there’s not been a crime committed?’
Ian stood up, stiffly. ‘I’ll leave you two to sort this out,’ he said. He tapped on his phone. ‘I’ve sent you the link. Let me know if you need anything.’
15
Sarah stared at her husband. This was not going to be easy to explain. Stupidly, she felt guilty, even though she knew she had done nothing wrong.
‘So?’ he said. His expression was grim; he was used to this stuff now.
‘Ben,’ Sarah said. ‘Before I show you this, you need to know I had nothing to do with it.’
‘Like you had nothing to do with the rest of the stuff,’ he said. ‘Honestly, as an excuse it’s getting a little thin. But never mind. What is it this time?’
‘It’s not an excuse.’ She opened her email and clicked
on the link Molyneux had sent. ‘The police had an anonymous complaint about this being inappropriate for a local doctor. Here it is.’
‘Inappropriate for a local doctor? What the hell is it?’
‘Read it.’
He read it slowly. When he looked up, his expression was hollow. ‘I don’t believe this. What have you been doing?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t post this. It’s a fabrication.’
‘By who, Sarah?’
Sarah took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. But if I had to guess I’d say it was Rachel.’
Ben closed his eyes. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘You think Rachel did this?’
Suddenly it was all clear to her, and the words came tumbling out.
‘I know she did. She did it all. The Facebook page, the emails, the books. Everything.’
‘She moved here a few weeks ago. The Facebook page is months old.’
‘She could have done it from anywhere,’ Sarah said.
‘OK,’ Ben said. ‘Then why?’
‘Because she wants to drive a wedge between me and you. She wants to steal you from me.’
Ben looked away. When he turned back to her he had tears on his cheeks. ‘Sarah,’ he said. ‘You need help. Listen to yourself. You think Rachel did this because she wants to steal me from you? This started six months ago, before she’d even met me.’
‘It’s all linked to this guy at high school. He was into me and I think it got to her. So she married my ex, and now she’s after you.’
‘Sarah. You sound—’
‘I sound what?’
‘You sound a little unhinged. This is paranoia.’
‘No, it isn’t. Paranoia is irrational. This is real.’
‘That’s what every paranoid person says.’ Ben shook his head. ‘I’m not angry, Sarah. I know this is not your fault, and I want to help you get better. But you’re going to have to start by admitting it.’
‘There’s nothing to admit!’ Sarah shouted. ‘More to the point, why don’t you believe me?’
‘Because what I see are the classic symptoms of bipolar disorder,’ Ben said. ‘Highs – often characterized by grand, implausible plans like moving suddenly to another country, or by promiscuity – and lows, filled with anxiety and paranoia. I’ve been reading about—’
‘Reading?’ Sarah said. ‘Or talking to Rachel Little?’
‘Reading,’ Ben said. ‘And your question only proves what I’m saying. You’re convinced Rachel is out to get you – or me – but she isn’t.’
‘Really?’ Sarah said. ‘Well, I can prove she is.’
‘You can?’ Ben said. ‘Then go ahead.’
‘Wait there.’
Sarah went to collect the samples of handwriting she had sent to Donna Martin: her real handwriting, the forgeries in the book and postcard and the list of yoga classes Rachel had written. She brought them into the kitchen and laid them on the table.
‘I’ve sent these to an expert graphologist,’ she said. ‘One who testifies in court. The first thing she’s going to do is show my real handwriting and the stuff that was sent to us, purporting to be from me, aren’t the same.’
Ben looked at the samples. ‘They look pretty similar,’ he said.
‘Maybe. But she will be able to see the subtle differences,’ Sarah replied. ‘And when she’s done that, she’s going to prove the fakes are by the same person who wrote this list of yoga classes. Which was Rachel Little.’
Ben looked again. He bit his lip.
‘They look nothing alike,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all.’
On the surface, Sarah could see he was right, but he needed to look deeper. He needed to have faith.
‘She will find the similarities,’ she said. ‘She’s an expert.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’ Ben said. ‘Or more likely, when she doesn’t? Will you admit this was you all along?’
‘It won’t happen.’
‘If it does?’
Sarah didn’t answer. Ben sighed.
‘This is the problem,’ he said. ‘You aren’t prepared to listen to reason.’ He tidied up the papers and handed them to her. ‘It’s pointless me trying to convince you,’ he said. ‘This graphologist is going to give you an answer you don’t like, and you’ll ignore it. You’ll move on to the next crazy theory, when what you should do is admit you need help. But until you do, I’m powerless.’
‘Wait,’ Sarah said. ‘You’ll see, tomorrow. And then we can resolve this.’
‘OK,’ Ben said. ‘I hope you’re right.’
16
In Jean’s kitchen Sarah kissed Miles, Faye and Kim goodbye, then hugged Jean. It felt good to be in her work clothes. It felt almost normal and for a time she’d forgotten what normal was.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.’
‘No problems,’ Jean replied. ‘Is everything OK? Your eyes are a little bloodshot.’
‘I didn’t get much sleep,’ Sarah said. The truth was she had barely slept at all. Ben had gone to bed at nine in the spare room, after a tense hour downstairs during which they hardly spoke to each other. Normally she would have tried to talk it through with him to avoid going to bed on an argument – that was their agreement – but there was little point. There wasn’t much she could say, and besides, she might as well wait for Friday, when she would have proof she was not paranoid or bipolar or making all this up.
‘Are you sure you want to go to work?’ Jean said.
‘I have to. They have no other cover. And anyway, I need to keep my mind occupied. I want this day to be over as soon as possible.’
It was odd to be back at the office. Nothing much had changed; there was an outbreak of mono among Barrow’s teenagers, so she saw a host of guttural fifteen-year-olds. One guy, a contractor in his fifties, hobbled in with a swollen foot – Maybe an infection, he said, nothing serious – which turned out to be a broken ankle, and there was a woman in her forties suffering from bouts of nausea. She – to her surprise and joy – was pregnant.
And then she looked at her schedule and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea.
Derek Davies was her next patient.
She walked over to the receptionist.
‘Denise,’ she said. ‘When did Mr Davies make his appointment?’
‘He called yesterday,’ Denise replied.
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said. She looked past the receptionist into the waiting room. Derek Davies was sitting in the corner, reading People magazine.
She stared at him. How had he known she was back today, for this day only? Had he known? Or was this another coincidence?
‘Denise,’ she said. ‘Is there any way you can find a slot for him with one of the other doctors? I’m very busy.’
Denise tapped on the keyboard. ‘I think Dr Bisson could fit him in. Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Sarah said. ‘Everything’s fine.’
As she headed into a post-lunch appointment with someone complaining of swellings in their neck, Denise came over to her.
‘Dr Havenant,’ she said. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I have a message from Jean.’
‘Oh,’ Sarah said, the hairs on her neck prickling. ‘What is it?’
‘She called about her son, Daniel. He fell and she thinks he may have broken his arm. She’s taken him to the Emergency Room, along with your children. She wants to know whether you can come for them.’
‘I can’t,’ Sarah said. ‘I might be able to get away by four, but that’s a couple of hours.’
Denise nodded. ‘What about your husband?’
‘I’ll try him, but he doesn’t always answer his phone during the day.’
‘Could you try? I’ll let your patient know you’ll be another couple of minutes.’
Sarah nodded. ‘Thanks, Denise.’
Ben – for a change – answered immediately. He sounded guarded, reluctant to talk.
‘Ben,’ Sarah said. ‘Are you free?’
‘No,’ he
replied. ‘I’m at work.’
‘I mean, can you get free? It’s important. I got a message from Jean. I called but it went to voicemail. She needs someone to come and get the kids.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Ben said. ‘What now?’
‘Daniel broke his arm, so Jean had to take all the kids to the ER. Is there any way you can pick them up?’
It was a few seconds before Ben replied.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’
‘Thanks, Ben,’ Sarah said. ‘Go straight there. I’ll see you at home later.’
She broke the connection then checked her email.
Nothing from Donna Martin yet. But it’d be there by the end of the day and she’d be able to walk into the house and show it to her husband.
It couldn’t come soon enough.
17
Her phone rang as she was collecting her bag and getting ready to leave work. It had been in there all afternoon; she had run from appointment to appointment and had no time to check it.
It was Donna Martin. She glanced around, then lifted it to her ear. As she did, she noticed she had two missed calls from Ben, both a couple of hours ago.
She’d see him in a few minutes at home. She needed to talk to the graphologist. She answered the call.
‘Donna,’ she said. ‘Thanks for getting back to me.’
She felt the kind of nervous expectation she had not felt since the end of medical school when she was waiting to find out her results. She’d been pretty sure she had got the grades she needed, but so much was riding on the outcome that even the slender possibility she hadn’t was enough to cause a high level of anxiety.
This was the same. This was the moment when her life got back on track.
If, that was, Donna Martin told her what she was hoping she’d tell her.
‘No problem,’ Donna said. ‘I completed my analysis this afternoon. It’s conclusive, actually.’
‘And?’ Sarah said. ‘What did you find out?’