by Elle Croft
‘Don’t worry, Bethany,’ Clayton said, unsurprised by my reaction. ‘You’re not a suspect. We’re just making sure we’ve accounted for the whereabouts of all of his known contacts. Process of elimination.’
I tried to return the detective’s smile. The worst part of this whole interview wasn’t knowing what to say – I’d practised all night until my lies felt like truth – it was knowing what to do with my hands, my face, my feet. With every muscle movement, I felt like I was betraying my deception. When I didn’t move I looked forced. Robotic. But when I did, my movements looked rehearsed and contrived. I could barely concentrate on my words.
‘I was, uh, I was at the office,’ I said. ‘Working late.’
‘And what time did you leave your office?’
‘I got home at about eleven, I think, so I would have left at ten thirtyish.’
‘I see. And is there anyone who can verify that for us?’
My mouth had dried out and my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. The collar of my shirt suddenly felt like it was strangling me, and it took all my concentration to convince myself that I wasn’t choking. I took a sip of tea and almost spat it out when it reached my lips, scalding hot.
I cleared my throat, killing time.
‘Well, my husband was out when I got home. Client dinner. And Fran – my assistant – she went home earlier in the evening, so it was just me in the office.’
Clayton and Price glanced at each other. It was only for a split second, but I caught the flicker in their eyes. My head filled with a low hum. Had I just made an enormous mistake? I’d lied now. I couldn’t take that back, even if I wanted to.
But I didn’t want to. Just because I liked the look of Constable Clayton didn’t mean she was trustworthy. If I told her the truth, there was no way of knowing if she’d keep my secret, or run straight to the Daily Mail, hands outstretched for the payout. And Price? I couldn’t read him at all.
Besides, even if they promised not to spill my secrets, and even if I believed them, they’d have to tell the rest of the cops who were working on the investigation, which was most of them.
Once half of London’s police force knew, I was as good as front page news.
I knew I couldn’t take that risk, but a voice at the back of my mind nagged me. If the police knew everything – the whole truth – they’d have all that they needed to focus on finding his killer. Isn’t that what I wanted?
I almost laughed. It was fairly clear, even to me, that I had no idea what I wanted.
‘Bethany, could you tell us a bit about the team working on this documentary project?’
‘Sure. It’s a pretty big team. There’s the director and producers, then all the camera operators and audio, plus make-up and hair, lighting. Lots of contractors, like me. But I’m the only photographer on the project so I’m at every shoot. There are some team members who are only there occasionally, like the lighting guys, who seem to change every time.’
‘How often does filming happen?’
‘It really depends on Calum’s schedule. If he has meetings that can’t be filmed, mostly for privacy reasons, then we don’t go in on that day. We’re usually at Bradley Enterprises once or twice a week, but sometimes the producers try to get a full week of intensive filming in. That’s only happened a couple of times. And sometimes we’ll go for more than a week without any filming. It’s really changeable.’
‘Were there any issues with the documentary?’
‘What kind of issues?’
‘Was anyone making trouble for the producers, was anyone against it?’
‘You mean apart from Calum?’
Clayton’s eyebrows shot up. I mentally cursed. I was getting too comfortable talking about the project. I thought I was on safe ground. Was that their tactic?
‘Mr Bradley was against the documentary?’
‘Well, not exactly against it. He wasn’t trying to sabotage it or anything. He just didn’t really like it. It wasn’t his thing, having cameras in his face all the time.’
‘He told you this?’
‘No, not in so many words. I was just … around him a lot. So I could tell if he was relaxed, or tense, you know? I could sense that he wasn’t comfortable when filming was going on.’
‘Did you see him outside of filming, then?’
‘Sometimes. I took some behind-the-scenes pictures with him in his apartment, or in his office without the crew around. And we’d have meetings to select photos for the book.’
‘Were these private meetings? Just you and Calum?’
‘Sometimes. Mark would join us a lot, too.’
More notes. A pause.
I watched nervously as Clayton looked around my living room, and wondered what information she was scraping from our surroundings. Did the collection of framed photos showing Jason and me in every stage of our relationship mean something to her? Did my brightly coloured sofa and its mismatched cushions reveal clues about my personality?
‘Is there anything else you can tell us that might be of interest to our case?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘All right. Well, I think that’s all for now,’ said Clayton. ‘Thanks so much for your time. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch.’
The detectives were standing up now, smoothing the front of their trousers in unison, as though it was a routine they practised at their desks. Price nodded curtly, barely looking in my direction as he turned to leave. I showed the pair out and promised to call if I thought of anything as I waved them to their car.
When the door closed I let out a long, shaky breath, feeling like my guts had just gone through a tumble dryer.
Clutching the detective’s business card in my hand, I leaned my head against the hallway wall and replayed the conversation I’d just had, analysing my responses, their reactions.
Could they see through my deceit? Had they worked out that I was Calum’s mistress?
I gritted my teeth and for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, I questioned whether I was right to conceal the truth from the only people who could bring justice to Calum. I rifled through my secrets mentally, checking them one by one as if to reassure myself that they were still there, still intact. I seemed to be collecting a lot of them.
Calum Bradley and I were having an affair.
I knew why he’d been out by himself the night he was killed.
I knew who he had been meeting. Because it was me.
And I was the last person to have seen him alive.
Chapter Eleven
It had been the day after our dispute, a filming day, when Calum had arranged for us to meet in secret.
I’d spent the morning chastising myself for being stupid enough to have an affair with someone I worked with. I should have known better. It was a form of torture, having to act like a professional around him when there was so much subtext bubbling under the surface. Having to see Calum just hours after our row was close to being unbearable.
Some days in the Bradley offices were quiet, calendars filled mostly with meetings between producers, directors and publicists, with just a few crew members milling around. Those were my favourite days, when it was possible to snatch a few unaccompanied moments together. Coffee breaks, lighting tests … it was easy enough to fabricate a reason to be alone, however brief the meeting.
This wasn’t one of those days. The crew was in the middle of a heavy week of filming and they needed me to photograph angles that showed the cameramen, the director, the sound guys. My least favourite subjects.
I was miserable. I thought I was doing a decent job of hiding my feelings until Vincent strolled away from the rest of the security guys and over to me, muscles bulging under his white shirt, a frown creasing his forehead.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I’d said, trying to keep my voice light.
‘Come on, Bethany. I can tell you’re upset about something. You have a terrible poker face.’
‘Honestly, I’m fine. Thanks for checking though.’
End of discussion. He’d nodded, clearly unconvinced, and proceeded to tell me about a fan he’d had to physically escort out of the lobby earlier after she tried to get upstairs by flashing her brand new Calum Bradley portrait tattoo. I finally gave in and laughed.
‘That’s more like it,’ he’d said, gently punching my arm before sauntering back to the guys in the black suits.
And then, after what felt like an eternity of being ignored by the one person I truly wanted to see, Calum had finally acknowledged my presence. It was a curt request, not the heartfelt conversation I’d hoped for, but it was something. He wanted me to bring photo proofs to his apartment so he could review them with Mark. Which meant he didn’t want to see me alone. Which meant that the knot in my stomach remained firmly in place all day.
I’d arrived at Calum’s apartment at five to six as requested. He’d opened the door and ushered me in before getting straight to the point. No time for niceties.
‘I’m so sorry to do this, Bethany, but Claire is back from California so we can’t meet here. I want to work through what happened yesterday. I really wish you hadn’t left before we could resolve it, because I hate not knowing where we stand. I said some things I didn’t mean and I apologise for that, but we still need to talk. I have no gaps in my schedule now, but I can get out of here tomorrow night. Just meet me at ten o’clock. All right?’
He gave me the name of a café that I didn’t recognise.
I opened my mouth to ask him where it was, but as I began, Mark walked in and we were forced to snap back into our friendly-but-appropriate colleague roles. I’d made my exit shortly after, nodding in response to the look Calum gave me as I left. Of course I would meet him. Didn’t I always? But I had no idea what to expect. Was I going to be dumped the following evening? The thought made my chest ache.
The following day had been equally painful as I watched the clock, anticipating a meeting I knew couldn’t end well. I’d tried to guess what Calum would say so I could cling to my dignity. Whatever happened, I would not beg him to stay with me. I would not cry. At least, I really hoped that this time I wouldn’t.
I’d never been dumped before, not unless you counted Pete who, when I was nine, asked me out via my best friend and then ditched me through the very same go-between the next day. We’d never even spoken.
As I heaved the heavy office door open I was met with a light rain that marked the end of the blissful warm spell. My rain jacket was at home, along with my umbrella, but I rummaged in my desk drawer and at the bottom of a pile of barely worn heels, I found a hat that hadn’t seen daylight since autumn. I slapped a layer of dust from the felt brim and shoved it into my bag in case the drizzle turned into a downpour. A bit of frizz was preferable to hat hair for now.
I’d had to check the name of the café three times before I concluded that I was in the right place. When Calum had first mentioned our meeting point I’d thought the reason I didn’t know it was because it was too fancy for me, but this was the antithesis of fancy. ‘Greasy spoon’ was the term that streaked through my mind as I trod along the oily linoleum floor, past Formica tables and their scattered occupants.
There were only four patrons in the café besides me: an old man reading a newspaper, a couple arguing quietly over a Londres guidebook and a scruffy man hidden under a sports cap, who glanced up and nodded at me as I walked in. Ignoring him, I made a beeline for a table of my own, as isolated as possible, and chose a seat that faced the entrance. I fiddled with my hair, my face, my nails – which I suddenly wished I’d filed to hide the evidence of the day’s anxiety – and tried not to stare at the door.
A shriek bubbled up and almost escaped my lungs as I felt someone slide into the chair next to me. The man who had nodded when I entered was edging in, closer and closer. I opened my mouth to tell him where to go, but froze when I spotted the face beneath the cap.
‘Calum!’ I yelped, clutching my chest in shock.
‘Shhhhh.’
He grabbed my hand, urging me not to draw attention to us. I looked around to see if we’d been noticed but the old man was muttering profanities into his newspaper and the French couple barely even glanced up before returning to their argument, which was steadily increasing in volume and pace.
‘Bethany,’ Calum began, ‘I’m sorry about our fight. I didn’t want to leave things how they were, and now that Claire’s back it’s hard to get time alone. I want to clear the air.’
‘Clear the air,’ I repeated dumbly. Is that what they were calling a break-up these days?
‘Yes. Clear the air,’ Calum said firmly. ‘I don’t want to fight with you, Bethany, but I also want to make sure there are no misunderstandings about what our relationship is. Because I’m not having this argument again. We’re having an affair. And both of us are married. To other people.’
‘Great. Thanks for pointing that out,’ I said, my voice soaked with sarcasm.
‘Well, after the other night I feel like I need to,’ he said. ‘I don’t like putting this so bluntly, but my marriage isn’t your business, and yours isn’t mine. If you can accept that, then we’re all good. Can you accept that, Bethany?’
I moved a crumb across the garish orange table top with my ragged thumbnail, trying to articulate the rush-hour of thoughts jamming my mind. I looked back up at him.
‘What if I’m in love with you?’ I said, immediately regretting it as heat settled in my cheeks. So much for keeping my dignity.
‘You aren’t,’ he said, his tone gentler.
I could see pity in his eyes, and it ignited a flicker of anger in my guts. I began to protest.
‘Calum—’
He held up a finger and I paused.
‘Bethany, we’re not in love. I care for you, a lot. But what we have is based on lies and secrecy. That’s not love. You must know that.’
A bored-looking waitress chose that moment to appear at our table, notebook at the ready.
I glared at her, wishing my eyes really could shoot daggers, but Calum was kinder.
‘We just need a few minutes,’ he said, looking down so his face was still hidden. ‘Thank you so much.’
She walked away without so much as a glance back and Calum cleared his throat.
‘Look, I know you’re confused, but you need to work out what you want, and what that looks like for your marriage. I care about you, and I have a lot of fun with you, but I can’t offer you anything more than what we have now. Ever. Claire and I aren’t going to break up. I thought you understood that.’
He held my gaze and I felt blood pulsing harder and harder against my cheeks. I was a fool. Worse, I was a cliché. I was everything I hated in other, stupider women. I tried to articulate a response but all my body would allow was the threat of tears prickling the back of my eyes. Perfect.
I blinked them away, angry at myself and angry at Calum for being so impossibly pragmatic. I knew he was right, but that didn’t make my feelings for him any less real. I was in love with him. I just happened to be in love with my husband, too.
‘Come on,’ he said, squeezing my hand. ‘Let’s go. I need some fresh air.’
‘It’s pouring out there.’ I pointed to the window, where droplets were pelting the glass.
‘A bit of water never hurt anyone,’ he said.
I nodded, too focused on staying composed to argue. As we stepped outside I grabbed the hat from my bag and pulled it on to cover my hair.
‘I’ll walk you to the Tube station,’ Calum said. ‘And then you should go home to Jason.’
‘Calum,’ I said, stopping in my tracks. I had lost most of my pride tonight already. A little more couldn’t hurt.
He stopped and peered under the brim of the hat to see my face.
‘I get what you’re saying. I really do.’
I concentrated on keeping my voice steady.
‘I know I have to work through some stuff.’
I paused, thinking.
‘OK, a lot of stuff. But the thing is, I … I really do have feelings for you. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know what to do about it. I’m in love with you. Is that so bad?’
Calum sighed and kept walking.
I followed him, unwilling to accept his silence as an answer. We walked for a few minutes more before he spoke, studying his feet as they paced across the footpath.
‘Of course that’s not bad, Bethany.’
His voice was measured. Even.
‘I have feelings for you, too. You know I do. But we need to be realistic. What we want from each other isn’t really the point. My life is complicated, and very public. I can’t just have an affair and make it known to the world. It would ruin me. It would ruin Claire. And it would ruin you, too.’
My traitorous body chose that moment to let out a mortifying sob. My hand flew to my face and I turned away from Calum, wishing the rain would wash me into the gutters. I am not that girl. I don’t cry over guys, and I don’t get heartbroken.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it away angrily. A whole arm made its way around my waist and guided me into the doorway of a building.
Through the blur of my tears I made out a lobby that gleamed; turnstiles standing sentry beside a reception desk adorned with a shock of yellow blooms. They did nothing to add character to the clinical space. Calum tightened his arms around me and I gave up, collapsing into his chest and crying for what felt like for ever. It was embarrassing, but it was also a relief.
For months I’d been holding in my confusion, concealing an ongoing internal argument, and finally I could let it all out on someone who understood.
When my gulping sobs had subsided, Calum pulled away and inspected me at arm’s length.
‘You’re going to be fine, Bethany. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you just have to work out what it is that you want. I hope that includes me, because I love spending time with you. But you have to be OK with the limits of our relationship, or it’ll never work. It’s time for you to make a decision, and I’ll be waiting whenever you’ve worked that out.’