by A J Waines
‘But you made it clear that was completely innocent.’
‘Yeah, but it’s planted a seed, hasn’t it? And now Peter’s asking lots of questions.’
She pulls her bare feet up onto the wooden chair and buries her face in her hands.
‘It’s falling apart, Mum…’ She starts weeping.
‘No, it’s not.’ I put my hands on her shoulders. ‘There is no evidence that you had anything but a vague professional interest in him. Nothing at all, you hear me.’
She doesn’t look up.
I glance at the clock. My stomach’s bubbling. ‘We’ve got a big party in less than two hours and you’re going to have to bring the performance of your life out of the bag.’ I bob down beside her. ‘You’ll be fine, sweetheart. You’ll be with all your friends, you can get up and do some singing and dancing and be the centre of attention. You’ll be fabulous.’
She lifts her tearstained face, looking anything but.
‘Come on, show me what you’re going to wear.’
She’s shaking her head the whole time. ‘I don’t feel like it,’ she grunts, and sidles off upstairs.
I take a shower and flick through the hangers in my wardrobe searching for something that will fit me. Everything looks too big. I try on my best cocktail dress, which used to be a snug fit, but there are floppy wings at the side where my hips used to be.
Beth’s wardrobe will be a better bet and I approach her room through the bathroom. That’s when I realise the music has stopped. I press my ear to the door and can hear her sobbing.
I tap on the door, not waiting for a reply, and go in. I sit beside her on the bed. She flings herself back on to the pillow with a loud groan.
‘It’s doing my head in…all these lies…all this sodding secrecy.’
‘You need to stop this right now,’ I tell her, an edge in my voice. ‘You’re not the only one affected here. It isn’t just your secret that you can do whatever you like with. I could go…would go to prison for what we did.’
She blocks me out with her arm over her eyes, but she’s stopped crying.
I get up to go.
‘You’re not wearing that, are you?’ she adds, without rearing up.
I’m still in the dress that hangs off me.
‘No. I wanted…I wondered…’
She laughs. ‘Help yourself,’ she says and swings the wardrobe door open with her foot. ‘I’m wearing the silver one.’
It’s the pleated Grecian gown we call the ‘Oscar’ dress. She looks stunning in it.
‘Nice,’ I say, picking out a pair of black silk culottes and a red frilly blouse. Her clothes are much more glamorous than mine and they’ll fit.
‘I was a little bit in love with Carl, you know,’ she whispers.
I stop in my tracks, holding the hangers against my chest. It’s something I hadn’t accounted for – her grief.
‘I’m sorry. About everything,’ I say, then as an after-thought. ‘And Peter? Are you still in love with him?’
She sits up. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she says, dismissively, her eyes not reaching mine.
Before I leave, I make a sweep of the room. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’m uneasy. ‘You’re not going to do anything rash tonight, are you?’
She huffs out a loud sigh. ‘No, Mum.’
As I leave her, my mind is still not set at rest. Beth loves a party. She wants to be the person who makes it memorable. The one who gets noticed. Is she planning on giving some kind of dramatic performance tonight, without telling me?
I shake my head.
What can I do?
31
Beth
Saturday, April 8 – The Hen Party
Mum is standing beside the bar telling everyone I’ve got pre-wedding nerves, but people are also whispering that I may be pregnant. I don’t care what they think at this point. Anything to get them off my back.
I met Tina in the car-park earlier and threw myself at her. I felt like I’d returned after months missing on a perilous voyage. We linked arms and headed towards the source of the music, but I drew to a complete standstill once we reached the entrance.
I couldn’t go inside. I completely froze. I pretended my stiletto had got stuck in the metal grille and stood back to let other people through, then I made out I’d left something in the taxi and aimlessly tottered across the tarmac.
Mum came out at that point, hurried after me and took my arm.
‘It’s totally different inside,’ she insisted, speaking right into my ear. ‘It looks different, smells different, feels different. Just focus on all the new décor and party frills and you’ll be fine.’ With that, she dragged me over the threshold.
Mum has certainly done a great job of making the pub look primed for a celebration. Gold balloons, banners with the words Bride to Be, cupcakes iced with hearts, white roses, scatter-sequins on every table in the shape of stars.
She’s right. It barely looks like the same place.
Behind me is the cork board from our kitchen, with the label, Keepsake Kiss. There are squares for each party-goer to plant their lipstick pout. Three pink prints are already there, each signed underneath.
On a table in the corner, there’s a patchwork of numbered photos of me at different stages in my life, from toddler onwards. The caption, How old was the bride? is pinned to the top of the panel and there are coloured pens in jars beside answer sheets.
Mum’s thought of everything.
Once I’m inside, I’m greeted with squeals of ‘Here she is!’ followed by several rounds of embraces, swamping me with clammy bare arms and a clash of floral perfumes. Most of them are admonishing me for being out of touch.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘Why didn’t you return my calls?’
Tina asks what I want to drink and as soon as she heads for the bar, Laura emerges from a group to my right, presenting me with a glass brimming over with champagne bubbles. Within the first five minutes, I’ve gulped down both offerings. A buzz of electricity shunts around my body and I feel, at last, like I’m shedding the tight skin of dread and remorse that has kept me rigid for weeks. One thing is certain, tonight I’m going to steal the show.
It’s the first outing for my silk ‘Oscar’ dress. It was meant for a big night in the spotlight, crossing low over the front and back in soft silver pleats, then floating to the floor like a marble column. I look like a Greek goddess. Russell bought it for my twenty-first, for me to wear at a special film function, no doubt on Mum’s credit card from what she’s told me.
‘Doors will open up once you’ve secured a part alongside the big names,’ he’d said. ‘Or maybe save it for when you’re nominated for a role in a Hollywood movie!’
Nice idea. Problem is, I’d have to land a part, any part first, and ‘the accident’ has set me back months. My confidence is shot, I’ve been distracted and emotionally all over the place, when it’s come to showing audition panels what I’m made of. All since Carl hit his head in the cellar.
Not anymore.
I’ve decided that tonight is going to be my time. It’s my party and I’m going to shine. I’m going to have a few more drinks and wow everyone with one hell of a performance. There must be over a hundred people here already and I’m going to give them a stonking surprise. Reveal something I want everyone to hear. That will shut them all up!
‘So, how does it feel to wave goodbye to your single life and become Mrs Roper, next Saturday?’ It’s Pamela, a neighbour Mum invited. She’s managing to carry four wine glasses at once.
‘Oh, I’m not changing my name,’ I tell her, abruptly. ‘I’m going to be Beth Kendall forever. Celebrities never change their name when they get married.’ Pamela stares at me, her mouth open, as though she must have missed something. ‘It’s what you do when you’re famous,’ I tell her, walking away. I know I sound like a bitch, but I don’t care. Tonight, I’m going to show them. I’m sick of feeling
like a loser.
The DJ finally puts on La Bamba, one of the songs I asked for, and I take to the dance floor to show off my best moves; twirls, shimmies, spins and nifty footwork, all the while swinging my hips.
Everyone’s eyes pan round towards me, and groups clear the floor to watch. I’m in my element.
An hour and several drinks later and I’m holding the mike at the karaoke, singing my heart out to ‘Wrecking Ball’ and wowing everyone again. I get a massive blast of applause and take my bows.
It’s all going swimmingly until Laura asks why I’ve just sung a song about a couple splitting up.
‘It’s about giving all your love and getting wrecked in return,’ she says, sounding almost as drunk as I am. ‘It’s about calling it off and not going through with it…’
‘I just like the song,’ I retort, shaking my head and staggering off the stage for a breath of fresh air.
As I’m coming back inside, Peter calls and stupidly, I answer. Things start going off the rails after that.
He accuses me of being ‘different’. He says in the last few weeks I’ve been odd with him, asking questions I should know the answers to and confusing him. He says I’ve been blowing hot and cold – all over him one minute and distant the next.
I’m worse than tipsy and his voice comes and goes. I don’t want to listen to any of it, but I catch a few scraps: ‘badly wrong’ and ‘not the same’. Then he asks if there’s someone else.
‘Abslootly not… don’t be silly,’ I say, slurring my words.
As I’m speaking, a terrible thought occurs to me.
Carl always called me from random public places. He never rang from his own phone, and either he had an amazing memory or he must have written my number down somewhere. He must have done.
My call with Peter fizzles out after a string of silences and I find myself at the bar, accepting more drinks. I want everything to go away. I want to return to feeling as I had done just five minutes ago. The star of the show. But my mind is racing away. Where did Carl keep a record of my number? Would he have thought ahead and kept it somewhere Amelia would never look? With every sip I take, I’m doing my best to wash the problem away.
Before long, Mum is intercepting my drinks.
‘That’s enough, Beth. You’re wasted. Don’t make a fool of yourself on your special night.’
‘Let me enjoy myself for once,’ I throw back at her, with a glare that says don’t touch me.
She takes me on one side, growling into my ear. ‘I know the damage you can do, Beth. Pull yourself together.’
I snatch my arm away from her and stumble back to the karaoke and once I’ve got the microphone, I order the DJ to stop the music.
‘Okay, everyone, listen up,’ I say, my voice bellowing across the hush. ‘I’ve got something to tell yo’all…I’ve got a little announcement…’
The crowd erupts into a loud ‘Whoooo!’
Before I can speak again, Mum has stormed onto the platform and wrenched the microphone away from me.
‘What are you doing?’ she yells at me.
‘Leave me alone. I want to tell everyone.’
She’s got a firm grip on my arm and is dragging me across the dance floor. ‘You stupid girl, don’t ruin this one chance of happiness,’ she hisses.
She’s wearing shoes with lower heels than mine and single-handedly hauls me out of the room and along the corridor towards the toilets.
‘I can’t believe you’re doing this,’ I say, feeling dizzy at the sudden movement. She props me against the wall in the Ladies’ and checks the place is empty.
‘No more stuff on stage,’ she says. ‘In fact, this is the end of the evening for you, my girl. I’m calling a cab to take you home.’
‘You can’t do that! This is my party! I want to dance…’ I feel woozy and flop against the hand-dryer, using it to hold me up.
‘Look at you. You’re a mess. An announcement? What’s that about? I can’t trust you.’
Suddenly everything I’ve been forced to bottle up in the last month surges to a raging tornado inside my head.
‘This is all your fault! You had to come in and spoil everything that night, didn’t you?’
She’s affronted. ‘I came to change the central heating. You know that.’
‘You just barged right in and…and…you were a total maniac. You flew at him. You didn’t wait for me to explain—’
‘Keep your voice down,’ she spits in my face, her hands gripping my wrists.
‘I’m sick of you following me around, checking up on me…’
She toys between grappling with me and reasoning with me.
‘I only want what’s best for you…you know that.’
I wriggle free. ‘We should own up,’ I say, keeping her at arm’s length as if I’m fending off an aggressive dog. ‘We should tell the police everything. We should—’
‘Shut up!’
She thrusts her hand over my mouth, smothering my words, crushing me against the wall, but I manage to duck out of her reach.
‘What we did was an atrocity…you hear me…an ATROCITY!’ I yell the word with all my might.
There’s a resounding smack and I realise from the sharp sting on my cheek that she’s hit me. We both stagger back as if someone has fired a shot at the pair of us. She’s never done that before. She shrinks back, her hands over her mouth.
‘No! My God. Beth, I’m so sorry…’
Her face is white and within seconds she’s dissolved into sobs, trying to touch me, trying to reach out to me through her tears.
‘I didn’t mean to…my baby…I’m so sorry…I’d never hurt you…what have I done?’
I stay back, between the sink and the hand-dryer, my arms raised, but she’s weakened now with remorse, wanting only to placate me.
‘What are you really protecting?’ I scream at her. ‘My future or yours?’
I hear footsteps coming towards us and make a split decision. I kick off both my sandals and scoop them up, then grab the clutch bag I’ve left behind the taps and make a run for it.
32
Rachel
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I actually hit her. My own daughter. What have I become?
It’s all I can think about as I stride back from St Andrews, having spent half an hour spouting emotional ramblings to the stone that’s standing upright again on Russell’s grave.
This time, I don’t feel the weightless caress of his hand against my coat sleeve or any wispy breath sending me his words of comfort. There is none of that. I don’t deserve his understanding and compassion and he knows it.
The morning is one of those dazzling starts to the day that signals the unfolding of spring. Aubrietia, like clusters of amethysts, is tumbling down stone walls – the multiple tones of pansies, magnolia and tulips vying for attention. There’s beauty at every turn, but none of it reaches me.
I found out from Maria that the ‘big announcement’ Beth was all set to make last night was nothing to do with what we did to Carl. It was something else altogether. Apparently, she’s got her first callback for a part in a dystopian film and she wanted to tell everyone on her special night. Her first callback – and I ruined that precious moment for her.
Maria was one of the thoughtful guests who stayed behind to help clear up. She knew something had happened between Beth and I, but was tactful enough not to ask. She did say, however, that Beth especially wanted the audition news to be a surprise for me, to go some way towards showing her gratitude for putting on such a great party. I found that hard to stomach.
Beth’s been out all night. I can only assume she’s gone to one of two places; either back to Peter’s flat in Chelsea or to Adrian’s in Abbots Worthy. It was probably too late to catch a train to London by the time she left the party, so it’s probably the latter, by taxi.
I can’t face breakfast when I get back. The house feels hollow and is silent, but I creep into her room anyway, to check she isn’t hiding from m
e. No sign of her. Her new phone is back in its packaging on her dressing table, so I least I know there’s no point in calling that one.
I pour myself a strong black coffee and wonder whether it’s too early to ring my father. Undoubtedly, Beth will have a hangover and speaking to Adrian isn’t likely to get me anywhere. Beth might even have primed him not to answer my calls.
When she doesn’t answer my texts, I ring her phone over and over and finally she picks up with a snarl, mid-morning. She claims she’s only answered so I’d know she isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere and cuts it short, refusing to engage with me.
The doorbell rings before I have time to dwell on it. It’s PC Atkins asking me to come to the station.
‘What’s it about?’ I grab the doorframe.
‘It’s in connection with the murder of Mr Carl Jacobson,’ she says.
My throat tightens, producing a hoarse whisper. ‘Why? What’s happened?’ I feel like I’m falling, plunging downwards through the doormat, through the earth into an abyss beneath.
She won’t tell me any more than that. The police ran an appeal for information on TV yesterday. Perhaps someone has come forward.
I follow her, feeling dazed, and climb into the back seat glad for once that Beth is out of the picture.
At the police station, I’m taken to an interview room where a more senior officer, DI Longcroft, and another officer whose name I don’t catch, want to ask some questions about the refurbishments at the pub.
‘I understand that Marvin Henson, the landlord of the King’s Tavern, left you in charge of the renovations while he was away?’
‘That’s right,’ I tell them. I can barely breathe, all the air seems to be squashed out of me.
DI Longcroft confirms the dates.
‘Can you describe the nature of the work that was undertaken?’
‘Er…the place was more or less stripped.’ My voice comes out husky and shaky. ‘The old radiators replaced, new toilets put in, re-plastering, re-wiring of the electrics, new window frames round the back, painting and decorating, new carpets.’