by Nicci French
‘I was going to ask if you wanted milk,’ said Naomi.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve just remembered. A meeting. I’m late. It’s already started. I feel terrible. Let’s do it again. It’s so rude. I’m sorry, I’ve got to–’
I virtually ran out of the house and along the pavement, searching for a taxi. But this was a residential area. There were no taxis. I looked at the back of my hand. A phone number. What good was that? Well, I could call it. I dialled the number on my mobile. It rang and rang and rang. I didn’t know what to think. They could be out on a long, healing walk. Or the phone might be unplugged. I didn’t know what to do. You can’t look up a phone number in a phone book. I thought of Trish. She knew things like that. I phoned her.
‘Trish,’ I said, ‘if I had a phone number and I wanted to know the postal address, is there anything I could do? Could I buy a CD-Rom or phone someone or is there something on the Internet or–’
‘What’s the number?’
I read it out to her.
‘Hang on,’ she said. I heard some tapping. ‘Ash Tree House, Corresham, Suffolk. You want the postcode?’
‘Yes.’
She gave it to me and I told her I wouldn’t be in until tomorrow.
‘But the weekend away?’
‘I’ll be back soon.’
‘Is there something I should know?’ she said.
‘You’ll know,’ I said. ‘One way or the other.’
I rang off and looked at my mobile as if it could tell me something. I could only think of one thing. One person. I punched in some numbers.
‘Todd?’ I thought of the whole long, messy story and my heart sank. I needed something quicker. ‘There was that time a bit ago when I asked if you’d do me a favour and you said of course, without ever asking me what it was?… You do? Because I’m asking a favour again. Right now.’
38
‘Todd,’ I said, as we left London and headed east on an A12 snarled up with early-evening traffic. ‘Thank you.’
He gave a sort of grunt but I didn’t think he was being cross. Not really. He was being basically calm and steady. Even the patient and unflustered way he drove was designed to settle my nerves. I sat hunched tightly forward in the seat as if I could give us extra momentum.
We didn’t talk much. I chewed my thumb furiously at every jam, groaned each time we were forced to a crawl, stared at the map as if I could find a miraculous secret path through the gridlocked cars, looked at my watch, tried to work out how much longer it would take us to get there. Once, we stopped for petrol. I could hardly bear how long it took to fill the tank, and then pay. It felt as though every minute, every second, might count; every queue might mean disaster.
It was nearly dark now, and drizzling. The road ahead was a long string of blurred headlights coming towards us and red tail-lights leading away. Where was Holly now, I wondered. What was she doing? For the hundredth time I pressed the repeat call button on the mobile; for the hundredth time I heard it ring and ring and no one replied. ‘Do you think I’m mad?’ I asked Todd, yet again.
‘Mad?’ he said. ‘Two weeks ago I gave my entire liquid assets to you to hand to a criminal. Now I’m driving you for hours to scare the life out of your best friend who’s on a longed-for holiday with her patient husband. I don’t think I’m entitled to accuse anyone in the world of being mad.’
‘Oh, Todd, that’s lovely of you.’
‘And, of course, there is the possibility that the phone number has no connection with Charlie and Holly at all and that we’re about to burst in on some total strangers.’
‘It can’t be,’ I said. ‘It mustn’t be.’
‘Oh, good,’ he said. ‘Then you must be right.’
I leaned forward in silence, feeling fear gnaw at my stomach. I wanted to pray, though I’ve never believed in God. Let her be all right, let her be all right, please let her be. The windscreen wipers swept back and forth across the screen, clearing semicircles in the glass, instantly refilled with splatters of rain.
Gradually the traffic thinned and Todd put his foot down. It was a dark, moonless night. On the shallow horizon we saw the orange glow of towns. At last we turned off the main road, and down a smaller one, under dripping trees. Cars passed us, dipping their lights. Our own headlights illuminated large, ploughed fields and small woods; old churches in the middle of nowhere with squat towers and coned spires. I bent over the map, trying to trace the quickest route to Corresham, which clustered with other villages in a triangle formed by bisecting larger roads, quite near the coast.
It was straightforward enough at first. We turned left down another B road, marked in yellow on the map, drove through a couple of villages that were where they should be, took another turning.
‘We’re nearly there,’ I said. ‘Just a couple of miles. You have to go over a staggered crossroad any minute now.’
A few minutes later, I said, ‘I’m sure we should have got there by now. Hang on, we shouldn’t be in Foxgrove at all.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Turn left ahead. No, that’s signed to Lenham. I don’t understand it. Oh, God. Go straight. Or maybe we should turn round and retrace our route.’ I was almost howling by now.
‘Here.’ Todd pulled over and studied the map. ‘Confusing,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s drive to that pub up there and you can run in and ask.’
‘Quick, then.’
I got out of the car while it was still moving and ran towards the pub. It had more or less stopped raining, and although it was cold, the air was saturated and oppressive, like an icy blanket lying across everything. I banged open the door and ran to the bar, pushing my way past a couple of men and leaning across to speak to the woman serving. ‘Can you tell me how to get to Corresham?’
‘Corresham? Let’s see.’ She considered, lifting up a lump of ice with some metal tongs and dropping it into a tumbler.
‘It’s urgent,’ I said. ‘An emergency.’
‘She should go down Stone Street,’ said one of the men. ‘That’s a short-cut.’
‘Where’s Stone Street?’
He gave some needlessly complicated instructions as I backed out of the door.
‘Left, right, right, left,’ I repeated, as I dashed to the car, splashing through a deep puddle that soaked into my shoes. ‘Left, right, right, left. Go!’ I said to Todd.
We set off again and soon enough we came to Corresham, a small, straggling collection of houses running along the lane.
‘Thank God. Now, Mill House, The Nuttings, Pond Far… Where the fuck is Ash Tree House? I can’t see it.’
‘What about that one?’
‘It doesn’t seem to have a name. Shall I run and see? There’s a light on so someone’s there.’
I sprinted up the path and hammered on the door with my fists. Maybe Holly would answer, I thought. Or Charlie. But when the door swung half open I had to adjust my line of sight, for it was a tiny girl with hair in plaits, wearing a yellow dressing-gown. ‘Is your mother in?’ I asked.
‘My mother died,’ she said gravely.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Well, your father, then?’
‘Daddy,’ she called, in a high, piping voice. ‘Daddy, there’s a lady to see you.’
‘Ask her who she is, will you?’
‘It’s an emergency!’ I yelled through the door, then pushed it fully open. ‘Where’s Ash Tree House?’
He came down the stairs. ‘Ash Tree House? Why, that’s the one in the valley, I think. I’m pretty sure, anyway. Liz!’ he called back up the stairs. ‘Which one is Ash Tree House? Is it the one with the stream at the bottom of the garden, on the way to the Rose and Crown?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘There’s a lady here who–’
‘Can you just tell me,’ I interrupted. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘Up that way and then first on your right down a track,’ he said.
Ash Tree House was more of a cottage, whitewashed,
standing by itself in a small valley, with a copse behind it. There was no light on, no smoke coming out of its chimney. It looked cold and deserted.
I had to get out a final time to open a gate for the car, then didn’t get back in again, simply ran the last few yards down the track to the house. I stood on the doorstep, under a small porch, and banged the knocker. Nothing. I knelt and pushed up the metal flap of the letterbox and tried to peer in but saw only the brush through which letters were pushed. I pressed my face to the window, and in the gloom, lit only by the lights of the car, could make out nothing more than massed shapes in the darkness.
‘Holly,’ I called. Then louder, shaking hopelessly at the door handle: ‘Holly, are you there?’
Todd’s feet crunched over the gravel towards me and I turned. ‘Nobody’s here,’ I half sobbed.
Todd looked up at the dark house. Then he bent down, picked up a stone, and threw it through the window. The crash was surprisingly loud. We looked at each other: I was quite sure he had never done anything like this before, and I certainly hadn’t. We were rational people, Todd and I, law-abiders and rule-respecters. Todd knocked out the remaining bits of glass, unfastened the sash window from the inside and heaved it up. Breaking and entering. He climbed into the unlit house. I heard him move through it and then he opened the front door. I looked around for signs of life. Together we ran through the rooms, turning on all the lights and calling her name. I stepped into a room and felt as if my breath had been squeezed from my body. Holly’s clothes, clothes I had sorted with her, lay spilling out of a suitcase on the floor. On the table by the bed was a phone. Todd picked up the cord. ‘Unplugged,’ he said.
‘Where are they?’
‘They must have gone out somewhere,’ said Todd.
‘Yes. I guess so.’
‘But if so,’ said Todd, looking out of the back window, ‘they can’t have gone far. They’ve left their car.’
‘Where?’
‘Look, you can just see it parked behind that old shed.’
‘Yes, that’s Charlie’s car,’ I said.
‘Shall we go and take a look?’ said Todd, and suddenly we gazed at each other, mouths opening.
We ran down the stairs, two and three at a time and burst out through the open door, tripping over the bumpy ground and feeling undergrowth catch at our clothes as we hurtled towards the car. I could feel my heart bumping up and down in my chest and hear myself gasping. And as we came closer we could make out the low rumbling sound of an engine, and something snaking round from the exhaust pipe to the front passenger door. Todd pulled at the tissue paper packing the hosepipe in place and wrenched it free. I pulled desperately at the door, but it was locked.
‘Holly!’ I screamed, for I could just make out the pale triangle of her upturned face behind the fogged glass. She wasn’t moving. ‘Holly, we’re coming.’
‘Here,’ said Todd. He scrabbled desperately in the earth for something sharp or heavy and at last found half a mouldering brick.
‘Not through the front,’ I gasped, as he raised it above his head. ‘Through the back or you’ll cut her to pieces.’
He thumped the brick into the small side window, and then again, a jagged hole widening in the glass, and we could smell the gas coming in thick waves at us. Then he thrust in his hand and unlocked the door. I pulled it open.
‘Careful not to cut yourself,’ Todd said, but it was too late for that. I was plunging into the noxious depths of the car where Holly lay slumped, then heaving her slack body on to the cold ground.
‘Holly!’ I called. ‘Holly!’
I cradled her poor cold body against me. Todd crouched beside us and took her thin wrist between his thumb and forefinger. ‘She’s still alive, Meg,’ he said. He was punching 999 into his mobile as he spoke. ‘She’s still alive… We need an ambulance,’ he said into the phone. ‘Someone’s tried to gas themselves in a car. Ash Tree House, just outside Cor-resham, on the road to the Rose and Crown. Please hurry. And we need the police too,’ he added.
‘Ask them what we should do while we wait,’ I said.
But they were already telling him and he was relaying it to me. I held Holly’s nostrils pinched between my fingers and blew air into her mouth. Her lips felt rubbery and her skin cool, but I could feel her heart faintly beating. Todd and I took it in turns to give her the kiss of life, while the chilly wind blew in gusts through the trees, scattering fat drops of water. I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Minutes. Hours. We didn’t say anything.
And then two things happened. Over the brow of the hill, we saw headlights. And as the ambulance and police car came into view, Holly’s eyes flickered open. For the briefest moment we looked at each other and I think she even smiled.
After that, it was movement, light, noise and bustle; people bending over her, and talking in quick, clipped voices, giving instructions. A man was talking on a radio. Holly was lifted on to a stretcher, covered with a thick blanket and slotted into the back of the ambulance. Then it was driving away, its blue light flashing eerily across the woods, leaving behind only the police car and two men. Someone else was taking care of everything, so I walked across to Todd on legs that felt as it they were about to crumble into the earth, put my arms round him and hugged him tight. My cheeks were wet, but I couldn’t tell if that was with my tears, or his, or simply the rain that had started again. Then, over his shoulder, I saw a silhouetted figure standing at the gate. For a moment, it stood quite still, then walked down the drive towards us, breaking after a few seconds into a ragged run.
‘Meg,’ said Charlie, as he arrived. ‘What’s going on?’ He turned to the police. ‘Where’s my wife?’
Then he burst into tears.
39
I looked at Charlie as he gulped back his tears and said again, ‘What’s going on?’ His face in the lights from the police car looked gaunt and ghastly pale; his hands plucked at his jacket and his bloodshot eyes glittered. He was a man in torment, and in the midst of my anger, grief and terror, I felt unwelcome pity for him and a huge, almost crushing weariness.
‘It’s all right, sir,’ said one of the policeman, but I cut him short.
‘She’s gone in the ambulance, Charlie,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘And you know what’s going on.’
‘What?’ he said wildly. ‘What?’
‘She’s alive.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You understand very well,’ I said, and walked over to the two police officers, who were in conversation. ‘This is the husband. You need to talk to him. This wasn’t a suicide attempt. He tried to kill her.’
They looked at me with an expression that was close to embarrassment. I’m not sure if they were more suspicious of Charlie or of me. Charlie gave a jerky gesture and gabbled something about how he couldn’t bear it if Holly wasn’t all right.
‘I’m sorry,’ said one of them. ‘Miss, er… ?’
‘I’m Meg Summers, Holly’s best friend,’ I said. ‘My boyfriend and I have just driven up from London. I knew she was in danger. We only just arrived in time.’
‘I want to see my wife,’ said Charlie. ‘I want to see Holly. Can you take me there? Everything else can wait.’
‘How could you have done it?’ I said. ‘How? I know what you’ve been through. I know about Naomi. I know about everything. You could have left her, just walked away. How could you do this?’
‘Miss Summers,’ said the officer. ‘Please calm down.’
‘I’m calm. Am I shouting? Crying? No. I’m calm. Completely calm.’
‘Meg darling,’ said Todd, and took my hand.
Charlie turned to the police. ‘My wife has been suffering from severe depression,’ he said. ‘She’s already attempted suicide. She’s received ECT. She’s been talking of suicide for weeks.’
‘The last bit isn’t true.’
‘This isn’t her first attempt?’ the police officer said to Charlie.
‘No. She took a massive o
verdose a few weeks ago. She’s manic-depressive. It’s been hell for everyone. Look, we can talk about this later. I must see Holly.’
‘It’s because she’s manic-depressive and tried to kill herself that you thought you could kill her and get away with it. The perfect alibi. Everyone’s expecting her to do it again, so who’d suspect murder?’
‘Meg,’ said Charlie, quietly. ‘Stop. Please.’
‘You used to love her so much. How could it come to this?’
‘Don’t,’ he said. He actually put his hands over his ears. ‘I can’t listen to this.’
‘We can run you to the hospital in a minute, sir,’ said one of the policemen to Charlie. ‘In the meantime, you’d better go inside.’
The other officer actually patted his shoulder. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, sir,’ he said. ‘There’s probably been some sort of misunderstanding.’
The two of them – Charlie and the brawnier policeman – walked towards the house together. Todd and I were left with the other, who didn’t seem suspicious or angry or even very concerned. He just looked a little awkward, as if I’d complicated what should have been a simple situation.
‘It’s cold out,’ said the officer. He was middle-aged. His face was flushed red, probably because of the bitter wind sweeping over the fields from the north. The trees were bending with it. ‘We’d all like to get off, wouldn’t we? But in the meantime why don’t you wait in your car and we’ll have a look at things?’
‘You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you? How do you explain that I knew she was in danger and raced down here with Todd to save her? How do you explain that? Coincidence?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Let’s wait in the car,’ said Todd. ‘You don’t have to prove everything at once. You’ve saved her life. That’s the thing, Meg. She would have been dead by now and she’s not. She’s alive. She’s in hospital. She’s safe.’