Rewind

by Catherine Ryan Howard

  Shanamore Cottages, Shanamore, Co. Cork. He was in hospitality too, it turned out. And he’d done something truly terrible, despicable and ferociously illegal that she’d captured on camera.

  This idea, she came up with all by herself.

  Jennifer had visited the website. It was a bare, ugly, rudimentary thing. But there were six cottages. That meant six master bedrooms, and six more cameras meant a lot more footage to trade.

  That’s how it had started: extra stock. In the beginning, that’s all she’d been after.

  She’d sent him the video, then posed as a fellow victim forced to deliver Andrew his instructions – that was still a performance she was proud of – and explained the actions he needed to take to keep the video of him committing a heinous, shameful crime off the internet and away from the Gardaí. She had a video like that too, she’d told him, that they were going to release unless she got him to do what she’d been told to tell him to do. She was nervous, teary-eyed, forever frantic.

  And he’d fallen for it hook, line and hidden camera.

  That was her genius move, really: to keep her real identity from him. They’d started with just the one camera, to see how he handled that. She’d cried and apologised throughout the installation process. She’d thought that was a nice touch.

  The answer, though, it soon became clear, was that Andrew couldn’t handle it at all. Within days, he was a nervous wreck. And he did stupid things, careless things, like using the same computer for this as he did for everything else. She was tempted to just cut him loose and leave it be. More trouble than he was worth, that idiot.

  But then she’d met Mike. And Mike had a wife. And Mike was too good a man to leave the woman who’d made their lie of a perfect life her business plan. And Jennifer had begun to think that maybe Andrew could prove useful after all.

  _________

  Natalie’s mistake had been the same one she always made, in everything, as far as Jennifer could figure out: she’d thought this was all about her. That everything always was. That the weird things that were happening were happening because of her online ‘fame’.

  Come on.

  After Mike had walked into Sycamore House – and into her life, changing it for ever – Jennifer had Googled his name. She was desperate to know more about the man she knew now was her future.

  She’d known right from the get-go that he was married, but unhappily so. He and Natalie had been together for years and for the last few they’d been focusing on their wedding, her increasing fame. There’d been distractions. They hadn’t smelled the rot, had been oblivious to it. You could see it in the pictures she posted online. The more perfect they got, the more fake the smiles seemed.

  But Mike had seen the truth, although he feared taking action. She knew that was the problem before he did.

  So Jennifer decided to take it for him.

  _________

  There was a Garda car parked outside Mike’s house and a uniformed officer standing by the garden gate. She hadn’t been anticipating that and, for a moment, Jennifer considered driving past and going home. But then she thought of Mike and her heart tore a little in her chest and she knew that, for both their sakes, she had to take this chance.

  She checked herself in the rear-view mirror. Fixing her hair, swiping away a stray eyelash. She rubbed balm on her lips and sprayed a light dusting of the perfume she knew he liked on her neck and wrists. She didn’t like how tired she looked. All the back and forth, the driving up and down from Shanamore … The lack of sleep had caught up with her, had crawled deep into her bones and settled there.

  Play it cool, she told her reflection. Now would be a terrible time for her to lose it. They’d got this far. She couldn’t run dramatically into his arms, she knew that, but she could at least see him. Talk to him. Let him know that she was there for him, that she was ready when he was.

  She got out of the car and crossed the road, immediately attracting the attention of the Garda.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he said when she was near.

  He couldn’t have been more than twenty, twenty-five. He didn’t even look like he was shaving yet, for fuck’s sake. What age did you have to be to become a guard? He looked more like a Confirmation boy playing dress-up. When did the guards all get so bloody young?

  ‘Is Mike in?’ Jennifer asked. ‘I’m a friend of his. I just wanted to see how he was doing.’

  The guard lifted his chin. ‘Name?’

  Her first instinct was to lie, but there was no need to now, was there? There was nothing to connect her to what had happened in Shanamore. And Mike needed to know it was her, here.

  ‘Jennifer,’ she said. ‘I’m an old friend. I know – knew – Natalie too. I just wanted to pop in for a few minutes, to check on him …’

  The guard walked her up the path to the front door where, after he’d knocked lightly, it was opened by a second officer. A female one. She was young too and really pretty, with more make-up on than Jennifer would’ve thought Gardaí were supposed to wear.

  She felt a pang of jealousy that this bitch was locked up in this house with Mike, but she pushed it down.

  ‘A friend of Mike’s,’ the male guard said. ‘Jennifer.’

  The female guard looked her up and down while Jennifer’s hands slowly clenched into fists.

  ‘This way,’ she said then.

  _________

  The problem was Natalie just didn’t seem to be taking the bait. Not at first. She’d apparently ignored unlocked doors, things disappearing, coming back. There’d been a lot of interest in the house and it had been on the market long enough for a bidding war to play out; it had been easy to get into the house numerous times and, on one occasion, palm the key for the back door, get it copied and return it on her next ‘viewing’. This time of the year, it was easier to come and go, slinking down the side of the house and around the back under the cover of early-afternoon or early-morning darkness, letting herself in, doing what she needed to do, sneaking back out. It was helpful that Natalie kept a schedule of all her movements online for the world to see, so Jennifer could pop in when she was out.

  Jennifer, of course, hadn’t told Mike what she was up to. She knew he wouldn’t go for it; his and Natalie’s lives were so entwined, business threaded through the personal, that it seemed like too big a devastation to cause. So she’d just had to wait, wait Natalie out, waiting impatiently for her to get a fucking clue.

  But she couldn’t do it for long. Enter Shanamore Cottages.

  She already had Mike’s credit card number from his stay at Sycamore House. She charged it again using Shanamore’s credit card terminal; Andrew, who she no longer trusted with anything, didn’t even know about that. She thought maybe Natalie would see the charge on the bill and freak out.

  Nothing.

  Jennifer printed out a mocked-up bill on Shanamore Cottage letterhead and posted it through the letterbox herself.

  Still nothing.

  Early the next morning she’d chanced going inside – a big chance, she knew that, probably her riskiest one – just to see what had happened to the bill. She saw a slip of white sticking out from beneath a sofa cushion. What the hell was it doing there? Either Mike had met the post and hidden it, knowing what she was up to, or Natalie had hidden it from him. She’d moved it, just because she didn’t know what else to do but she needed to do something. She needed to move this along.

  Hours later, she’d been parked across the street outside the house when she saw Natalie rushing out, looking frazzled, towing a small suitcase behind her. Just outside the gate she stopped, and for a moment Jennifer thought she might be waiting for a taxi. But she’d taken off down the road.

  Jennifer followed her. Saw her getting on to the 145 bus, which would take her all the way to Heuston Station.

  Trains to Cork left from there.

  Where was she going? Could it be …?

  The voice in her head told her it was. She called Andrew and got confirmation: Natalie had
just made a booking at Shanamore Cottages, arriving today, staying for two nights. Under the name of Marie Kerr, which was amusing, but actually helped Jennifer with her cover story.

  She told Andrew that they had arranged this, that for some reason this woman had angered them, and tonight they wanted Andrew to capture a video of her, for leverage. Insurance. Just in case.

  She said she was on her way to Shanamore now to help him with it.

  And she told him to ready Cottage No. 6.

  Jennifer hadn’t actually expected Natalie to go to Shanamore. That was pure luck. She thought maybe Natalie would confront Mike, who would of course deny ever being there – and he’d be telling the truth about that – but it would be the tug on the thread that would unravel everything.

  The truth would out. They’d admit to each other that their marriage was over. Mike would leave. He’d come to her.

  But Natalie actually went to Shanamore, the lunatic. Jennifer had the poetry book she’d taken from the house, the one that she knew Natalie could never mistake for anyone else’s. She would put it in No. 6 and wait for Natalie to find it. The camera would just keep an eye on things, maybe even pick up an upset phone call to Mike. Help her stay on top of it all.

  But on the way to Shanamore, a new plan began to form.

  After all, Jennifer considered, no one knew where Natalie was going, especially since Jennifer had taken the time to double back to the house and dump the note she’d found left on the kitchen table. And Andrew could be forced into doing almost anything. Neither Andrew nor Natalie had any idea who Jennifer was. Andrew didn’t even know her real name.

  Now Natalie was gone, Andrew had got the blame, Mike hadn’t had to even get involved and Jennifer’s hands were clean. Bleached clean. She was a goddamn genius.

  Everything had worked out perfectly. There’d been a couple of speed bumps, okay – like Andrew growing a conscience and writing that stupid note to Natalie, trying to get her to leave, but she forgave him for the good job he’d done in persuading her to stay another day when she actually went to do it.

  And that reporter not checking her email all damn night and day, so it was much later than Jennifer would’ve liked when someone finally watched her little feature film.

  Aside from that, it had all gone to plan.

  But it was always going to, wasn’t it? Because Jennifer wasn’t like everyone else. She didn’t make mistakes.

  _________

  She found Mike in the kitchen, sitting at the table, an array of paper things spread out in front of him. Official-looking documents slipping out of a file folder. A couple of newspapers with Natalie’s face on the front. He was sitting very still, holding his head in his hands. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and Jennifer’s heart clenched when she saw that his eyes were rimmed red and swollen. He’d been crying, the poor thing. Her arms ached to reach for him.

  ‘Hi, Mike,’ Jennifer said, just the shape of his name on her tongue bringing her some relief, deflating the tension of separation, of anticipation.

  She’d waited so long for this.

  He looked at her, then at the female guard who was still standing by the door.

  ‘Could you give us some privacy?’ Jennifer said to her. ‘Thank you.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, the guard nodded and turned to leave. When Jennifer heard the door close behind her, she advanced into the room, pulled out the chair closest to Mike and sat in it.

  He seemed to pull back from her, a little uncertain.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she soothed. She dropped her handbag on to the table and turned to face him, to meet his eyes, to let herself fall into them. ‘It’s okay. Really.’

  He blinked at her. ‘I’m not sure I—’

  ‘Mike, don’t.’ She put a hand on his arm. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t wait a moment longer. Half on, half off the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt. Slowly she pushed it up until all five of her fingers were touching his bare skin. Jennifer stroked it lightly, feeling the heat transferring from his body to hers. The rest of her body ached for all of his. ‘It’s fine, really.’

  For a moment he let her do it, looking down at her fingers, watching them.

  Then, abruptly, he jerked his hand away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I just needed to—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but who the hell are you?’

  _________

  Mike was such a good man. Here was yet more evidence of it, as if she didn’t have enough already. She knew what this was, what he was doing. He was suggesting they start from scratch. Go forward from this point. Erase all the messiness that had gone before.

  It was so thoughtful of him. He didn’t want to contaminate their new love with all the darkness that had ended his old one.

  Jennifer smiled to let him know that she understood.

  Mike blinked back at her.

  And then, from behind, footsteps in the hall. Coming into the kitchen. It was the female Garda, rinsing a cup out in the sink. From the speed at which she was doing it and the odd cock of her head, it was stupidly obvious that she was eavesdropping.

  Fucking prissy bitch.

  Mike was staring at Jennifer.

  ‘So,’ she said to him, nice and loud and clear. ‘What’s all this then? Anything I can help you with? Maybe I could help sort through these cards … Gosh, there’s so many of them, aren’t there? Are these from strangers or people you know? Aren’t people lovely? So considerate …’ As she talked, she drew her bag to her and started feeling inside for her glasses case. Her fingers found the smooth, curved plastic. ‘Natalie was so popular. I bet this is only the start of it.’ She snapped the case open, took out her black glasses, unfolded their arms. She’d used them recently as a sort of disguise, but she did actually need them to read. ‘You’ll have to come up with some kind of plan. Are you going to respond to them? No, never mind. We can think about that another time. Let’s just have a read of them for now.’ She lifted the glasses and slipped them on, pushing her hair back off her face.

  She glanced at the guard, who was still in the same spot, still listening.

  But Mike had moved. Was moving.

  Up off his chair. Back from the table.

  While staring at her, open-mouthed.

  ‘Mike,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  The guard turned around.

  From somewhere behind her, a doorbell went.

  ‘You,’ he spat, pointing a finger at her. ‘It was you.’

  From the other side of the door, Audrey could hear voices and then the clack of footsteps, hurrying her way. They sounded like high heels. But when the front door opened it did so suddenly and the woman who came out ignored Audrey completely, pushed past her and hurried off down the garden path. She looked upset. A long, sleek blonde ponytail whipped back and forth behind her; it was the same woman that Audrey had seen leaving the house the one other time she was here, two days before. Two for two now. The woman must be one of Natalie’s friends. Perhaps one of her relatives.

  Audrey turned back just in time to see a young female Garda in uniform approaching her, her face full of concern. She opened her mouth to introduce herself but before she got a chance to, the Garda said, ‘Which way did she go?’ and then pushed past without waiting for an answer. She shouted something at her colleague, the male guard who’d been standing like a bouncer at the garden gate, and then the two of them hurried after the woman, him lifting his radio to his mouth as he went.

  Audrey blinked.

  What was that all about?

  Now she was standing outside the open front door, alone. She knocked on it and called out, ‘Hello?’

  No answer. No movement.

  She took a step, two, into the hall. ‘Hello?’

  Still no answer. No movement.

  No anything.

  ‘Hello?’ Audrey called again. ‘Is anyone home?’

  Finally, then, a shuffle of footsteps.

  A moment later, the door at t
he other end of the hall, the one that led into the kitchen, opened. Mike was standing there, white as a sheet, staring at her uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Mike,’ she said, giving a little wave. ‘Hi. How are you? I’m … I’m so sorry about Natalie, I …’ She wondered if he knew that she’d seen the body and – oh, God – been sent the video. What if he asked her about them? What would she say? Surely it was better for him to never know any specific details about either of those horrors? But how could she refuse to give him information?

  ‘The reporter,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Yes.’ Audrey took another step in. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, especially at a time like this, but I think that, um … Well, I’ve come from Shanamore and I was just wondering—’

  ‘Did you see her?’ Audrey thought Mike meant Natalie but then he said, ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘Sorry, I …’ She looked behind her, then back to him. Did he mean the guard? Or the woman, the friend? ‘I don’t know. Do you – should I go look for her? I can go get her if you—’

  ‘It was her,’ Mike said. ‘That was her. That just left.’

  Audrey wasn’t following. But she could see that something wasn’t right here, beyond the obvious. Mike looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked like he could be a ghost: he was so pale, and he was swaying slightly.

  Slowly, Audrey advanced into the hall until she was standing just a couple of steps from him.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, taking him gently by the arm. ‘Let’s sit down.’

  ‘It was her,’ he said again.

  ‘Let’s go and sit down and then we can talk about it, okay?’

  She led him to one of the kitchen chairs and then gently pushed him down on to it. He didn’t protest or say any more. She poured him some water, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she went to the right cupboard for the drinking glasses on her first try, remembering its location from her illicit search of the kitchen two days before.