And So It Begins

by Rachel Abbott

  Surely she should be able to tell Mark? He was hardly likely to need to call a helpline, but it sounded typical of Evie to hide something that didn’t need to be hidden.

  ‘Anyone would think she was an MI5 undercover operative, not working for some poxy charity.’

  She heard an irritated sigh from the other end of the phone.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. She was letting Evie drive a wedge between her and Mark and she couldn’t let that happen again. She had already let him down once this week – not because she hadn’t had the time to do as he asked, but because she couldn’t feel any commitment to it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mark. And I’m sorry too that I didn’t manage to finish that silver piece for Evie – I had more on than I thought.’

  ‘That’s okay. Look, I’ve got to go – I think we’re getting close to the marina. But don’t worry about the jewellery. She never knew what I was planning. I gave her something else, so we can save it for another time.’

  Mark rang off.

  Cleo sat in the car for another ten minutes, wondering what she should do. Aminah seemed to think there was something wrong, even though she wouldn’t be specific. Whatever it was, Cleo had to fix it. She might be happy if things between Evie and Mark were going wrong. But if Evie left, Lulu would be lost to her. And that couldn’t happen.

  16

  Mark has been away for ten days now, which is longer than he had hoped. On his way back he’d had to kick his heels for a couple of nights in London to talk to a gallery interested in including some of his pictures in an exhibition, and it made more sense to stay than to come home and go back two days later.

  I’ve seen neither Cleo nor Aminah since that first day, although I know Cleo sat outside the house in her car for a while. There’s a spy hole in the door and I watched her hitting the steering wheel with the palms of her hands in frustration. Both Cleo and Aminah have tried to call me, and even though I ignored them for a couple of days, I knew at some point I would have to pick up.

  Eventually I spoke to Cleo. Mark asked me to explain to her why he was going to be away for longer, saying he didn’t want to speak to her because she was being weird and he could do without her winding him up.

  ‘Honestly, Evie, it’s best all round if we keep her happy. She just worries about us all.’

  By ‘all’ he means him and Lulu. There’s nothing to be gained by my pointing that out though.

  Mark isn’t the same when he’s away. Sometimes, depending how things have been between us before he left, we don’t speak for the whole time he’s gone. I don’t know why he puts himself, and all of us, through it if he hates it so much. But I don’t discourage him. In fact, I actively encourage him. I need him to be away for some of the time. It would be impossible if he was always here.

  Today he spoke with what seemed to be genuine affection, saying how much he was looking forward to coming home and being with us. I try to respond, but sometimes it’s difficult. I can feel him waiting, urging me to tell him that I love him. Sometimes the words come. Often they don’t, and I know when he’s home it will become an issue and I will regret my inability to play the game effectively. It’s so very hard to let him get close when I think of the pain that is to come.

  I did as he asked, though, and called Cleo. The conversation was short. She wanted to know what I had been saying to Aminah about Mark, and I told her I had said nothing at all – which was perfectly true. She asked if she could come round to see Lulu and I said it would be better when Mark was back. She didn’t like it, but I think we’ve both given up pretending we can be friends. We have reached a point at which we manage to say all the right words to each other, but they are hollow – the fancy wrapping paper around an empty box.

  It doesn’t matter now, though.

  Aminah, of course, is a different matter. She calls repeatedly wanting to know what happened to my eye.

  ‘Ah,’ I tell her. ‘The black eye. I didn’t realise you’d noticed. It was Lulu. I was fastening her nappy and she was having a bit of a kick with her legs when boom, her little foot went straight in my eye.’

  ‘So why didn’t you open the door when you saw me in the garden?’ she asks, not unreasonably.

  ‘Because I honestly didn’t think you’d seen it, and I assumed if I let you in you’d take one look and think the worst – that either I’d had another stupid accident or I’d been punched.’ I give a little laugh at the ridiculousness of this idea. ‘It seemed better not to see anyone rather than try to make excuses. Nobody ever believes you, do they?’

  Aminah is silent, and I guess she is deciding whether to ask me a direct question. But she knows, by what I have already said, that I will lie. So there is little point.

  ‘Just remember, Evie. I’m your friend,’ she says. ‘If ever you need anyone, call me. Okay?’

  That is the moment I realise that this has gone on long enough. It’s time for it all to stop. It has to end very soon.

  He’s home. He arrived late this afternoon, walking into the house, dropping his bag by the door and flinging himself onto the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him.

  ‘Don’t make me stay away that long again, Evie – it was hell.’

  He hasn’t noticed anything different about my face, but then he’s been away for ten days and any black eye would fade in that time. Only Aminah knows, and she’s unlikely to tell him.

  Mark bathed Lulu and put her to bed. I could hear her giggling and him singing to her. She loves her daddy, which makes everything so much more difficult.

  It’s late now. We opened some good wine to have with dinner, and I decided ‘to hell with sobriety’. When the first bottle had gone we opened another. Mark drank steadily but without a pause, and even I had considerably more than my occasional small glass. He told me all about his trip to Croatia.

  ‘I wasn’t too keen on the idea of the trip on the yacht, but actually it was good,’ he said. ‘And it did give me some ideas for the mural. But I missed you and Lulu.’

  I know I was expected to say that we missed him, but I didn’t.

  ‘You know, Evie, I’m the first person to admit that I’m not easy to live with. There are some things about me that must drive you mad. But somehow you seem to manage to cope with me. I want you to know how much I value that. I’m going to try harder, I promise.’

  ‘Were you the same with Mia?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s difficult to see yourself through anyone else’s eyes, but Mia was much more outspoken than you are. She thought she knew what was best for me.’ He took a long gulp of his wine. ‘I was bullied when I was a kid – I’ve told you that before. I swore I would never let anyone get the better of me again, so when Mia was telling me what to do I probably… Oh I don’t know. I spent a year or so after she died wishing I’d been a better husband, I do know that.’

  ‘But you still let Cleo tell you what to do. How’s that any different?’

  Mark looked puzzled. ‘Do you think she’s bossy with me?’

  I gave a snort of laughter. ‘Mark, you do everything she bloody tells you to!’

  His face changed and I could see he was angry with me for daring to criticise Cleo. I had to nip it in the bud before it became an argument.

  ‘But that’s fair enough,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘She’s your big sister and all she wants to do is make sure you’re happy. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  The evening continued to go reasonably well until Mark received a call from Alain Roussel in Paris. I didn’t even know he had our home phone number and couldn’t believe Mark had given it to him. Maybe it was Cleo.

  It seems that Monsieur Roussel wants Mark to go and see him in Paris as soon as possible. He’s had some more thoughts about the pictures. Mark told him that it would be difficult right now because he has a number of commissions that need completing, but Roussel was adamant that he must come. Even from where I was sitting I could hear his broken English, telling Mark in no uncertain terms
that, given what he was paying for these photographs, Mark should be ready to dance to his tune – or words to that effect.

  The impact on Mark’s mood was significant.

  ‘I want to tell the bastard to go to hell,’ he said as he slammed down the phone. ‘I don’t need this stress in my life.’

  After that, the conversation dried up and now the mood is broken.

  It’s not long before Mark says he’s tired and needs to go to bed. He’s wired, though, and there is little or no chance of him sleeping. I know he wants me to go too, and despite everything I agree. I need him to keep in good spirits – or as good as I can make them – for the few days before he plans to leave for Paris.

  But it’s hard. Harder than I ever imagined.

  17

  The five days since Mark’s return have passed quickly and reasonably harmoniously, although I’m struggling to keep my nerves under control. The thing is, I know what’s going to happen. I have been picturing every single moment of the night before he leaves for Paris, and I haven’t liked what I’ve been seeing. But now that night has arrived, and I’m scared.

  I’ve bought Mark a present and it was delivered yesterday – only just in time for his departure. I want him to be happy and thrilled that I care so much about him. It’s a telescope, something he’s talked about buying for months because the view of the sky from the window in the sitting room is stunning. It’s all wrapped and waiting for me to give to him tonight, as a parting gift. I’ll tell him it’s something to look forward to when he comes back from Paris. It’s in our bedroom, though, and he won’t see it until we go to bed.

  I’ve arranged candles around the room, and I’ve changed the sheets. When it’s this hot we only ever have a top sheet and no duvet. We never close the curtains in the bedroom. Nobody can see in. The moon keeps making a brief appearance from under the scattered cloud and floodlighting the room. Everything is perfect. My eyes are drawn to the photograph above the bed. It’s a picture of me – Mark’s favourite of the ones he took for my father. I look carefree, the wind blowing my hair across my cheeks and my eyes alight with laughter. The expression on my face conveys a sense of happiness that couldn’t be further from how I’m feeling now.

  I return to the sitting room to wait for Mark to say he’s ready to go to bed, and when he does I whisper in his ear as he walks towards the stairs down to the bedroom. Mark has always been the one to arrange what he calls his little surprises before he leaves on a trip, but tonight it’s my turn.

  ‘I’ve got something for you.’ I rest my hands on the back of his shoulders as I speak. He’s ahead of me on the stairs, and he tries to turn round but I won’t let him. ‘It’s in the bedroom.’

  As we walk into the room, I reach out a hand to switch the light on. There’s a tiny pop and nothing happens. The lights in the hall have gone out too.

  ‘Bugger,’ Mark says. ‘It’s tripped the circuit breaker for some reason.’ He stands by the door, seemingly unwilling to enter the room.

  I feel a flutter in my chest, but the moon is my friend at that moment and peeks out from behind a cloud just long enough for me to find matches and light the candles.

  ‘This is better than a bright light, isn’t it?’

  He wasn’t expecting that, and I see a flicker of interest in his eye. He’s intrigued by this version of me. His present is lying on the bed, beautifully wrapped in black and gold paper with a huge bow.

  I can see he’s debating whether to open it now or come for me.

  ‘You start to unwrap it. I’ll go and get you some scissors. I think the packaging will need more than fingers to open it.’

  I’m only gone for a couple of minutes, and the lights are still off.

  ‘I was going to reset the lights, but I couldn’t see which switch was down in the fuse box,’ I say. ‘But the candles are okay, aren’t they? Let’s not worry about it for now. I’ve brought you something to open the package with.’

  Mark turns towards me and holds out his arms. ‘You do know I love you, don’t you, Evie?’ he asks and I bury my head in his shoulder.

  ‘Come on,’ I say, gently pushing him away. ‘Open your present.’

  I hand him the long, thin boning knife that I picked up in the kitchen, and move to the other side of the bed.

  Mark is looking at me with an expression I recognise. His eyes are glinting with excitement and it’s not my present that’s doing it. He holds the knife up and looks at the blade.

  ‘I don’t want you to forget me when I’m gone,’ he says. ‘You know that’s my biggest fear. I’ve arranged something extra special for you in the morning, but maybe you should have it now instead.’

  He walks round the bed towards me. It is happening. The moment is finally here.

  PART TWO

  The room is dark. It’s the way he likes it. He knows exactly what he's doing: he can't bear to see eyes full of hatred staring at him. He likes the sounds, though – the crack of the whip cutting into flesh and the muffled screams.

  18

  Sergeant Stephanie King wished with all her heart that she hadn’t been on duty that evening when the call for help had come through. From the moment she and Jason had opened the door in the windowless white wall, she had known it was going to be bad. But she hadn’t expected it to be as bad as this.

  Having sent Jason to find the crying child, Stephanie found herself alone in a room with at least one, if not two dead bodies. There had been nothing further to suggest that one of them was still alive since that faint moan a few moments after they arrived and she was beginning to wonder if she had imagined it. She couldn’t take the risk, though. She had to be certain. Both bodies were entangled in the blood-soaked sheets, and she had no idea which of them might somehow have survived whatever atrocity had happened.

  Knowing she was potentially destroying evidence, Stephanie nevertheless had a duty to preserve life so she shone her torch on the floor and moved as quickly as she dared towards the far side of the bed where the bodies were huddled, trying her best to avoid anything that might be vital to the investigation.

  Only one face was visible, and this one was dead. There was no doubt about it. The eyes were open – wide and unseeing. They didn’t flicker when Stephanie aimed the beam of her torch straight into them.

  The face of the second person was hidden beneath the jumbled mass of bloodied linen, and as Stephanie leaned forward and reached out a hand to touch a shoulder through the thin sheet, the upper body of a young woman suddenly reared up, the head shaken free from the bedding. Stephanie recoiled, startled, as a pair of eyes, wild with either fear or horror, stared at her and a deep cry of distress ripped through the silence.

  Before Stephanie could do a thing she heard a shout and running feet. ‘Sarge – are you okay?’

  Stephanie twisted her head to the door. ‘Where’s the child?’

  Jason didn’t answer. He peered through the gloom at the figure on the bed, her slender body naked from the waist up, her skin covered with blood. Her initial cry had switched to sobs and Jason seemed rooted to the spot.

  ‘Jason – the child,’ Stephanie prompted.

  ‘She’s safe. She’s too young to walk and she’s in her cot.’ He hadn’t taken his eyes off the girl.

  ‘We need to check the house – it didn’t look as if anyone had broken in, but we can’t be sure. If the child is safe, check the basement – there’s a gym and a pool down there.’

  Stephanie leaned towards the woman on the bed. ‘Are you okay? Are you hurt?’

  She could see some cuts on the woman’s arms and chest, but these could not be the sole cause of the blood. The woman gazed blankly at her, tears pouring down her face. Stephanie reached out again and touched the woman’s skin. Despite the warm evening, it was cool to touch and she realised she was in shock.

  Stephanie looked over her shoulder.

  ‘Why are you still here, Jason? Go – search the place now and don’t take another step into this room. We need to d
o what we can to preserve any evidence I haven’t already destroyed.’

  She grabbed her radio and, without taking her eyes off the young woman on the bed, demanded that an ambulance be despatched urgently. She knew that within no time at all the place would be crawling with detectives, crime scene investigators and paramedics. She would be glad to hand this one over.

  She glanced around her and saw a woollen throw on a chair close to the bed. She reached for it and put it around the woman’s shoulders.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked again. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  The woman lowered her head, her body shaking, but at a cry from the child she raised her chin and her body stiffened.

  ‘Lulu?’ she asked, her eyes meeting Stephanie’s for the first time.

  ‘Is that your little girl?’ The woman gave a quick nod. ‘She’s okay. She’s in her cot and we’ll get to her as soon as we can. But she’s safe for now. Do we need to look for anyone else? My colleague’s checking around, but it would help if you can tell me.’

  But she already knew there would be no intruder hiding in the shadows. If someone had been there, he would have been long gone by now, and it was unlikely that he would have left his weapon behind.

  Her eyes were pulled back towards the one piece of evidence that nobody must touch. Lying on the pillow next to the slashed throat of the dead man, the stainless steel hilt of an expensive boning knife twinkled in the beam of her torch, its blade covered in blood.

  Stephanie didn’t hear the paramedics arrive. The bedroom was on the sea side of the house, and although she had done what she could to comfort the woman on the bed, her sobs had not diminished and she had neither confirmed nor denied if anyone else had been involved. The baby crying in a room not too far away was distressing to hear as well, and Stephanie felt profoundly relieved at the clatter of heavy boots coming down the wooden staircase.