There was no point taking the car. The trip to Aminah’s would take fifteen minutes on foot, and she needed the exercise. Maybe this stormy weather would blow away the thick mist that seemed to have settled in her brain.
Head down, she battled against the wind, welcoming the sharp shards of rain as they lashed her uncovered face and head. Aminah’s house was lit up like a Christmas tree even though it was the middle of the day. It looked warm and inviting through the window, in sharp contrast to the murky day outside.
Running up the last few steps to the front door, jumping over a puddle in her path, Cleo pressed hard on the doorbell. She heard Aminah inside shouting at one of the children to watch the baby. She was surprised by that. Anik was the youngest and he could hardly be classed as a baby. She hadn’t expected all the children to be at home, and realised belatedly that it was probably a school holiday.
Hoping that Aminah would at least be able to spare her an hour for a chat, she pasted an expectant smile on her face as her friend opened the door.
She was not prepared for the look of shock and embarrassment on Aminah’s face.
‘Oh. Cleo. I wasn’t expecting you.’
Cleo was confused. She had never had to make an appointment to come round here before.
‘Can I come in?’ she asked, hating the pleading sound in her voice.
‘Oh shit, Cleo, I’m sorry but you can’t.’
Rain from the small porch was dripping into the puddle and splashing the back of Cleo’s legs. She could feel the water seeping through her already wet jeans. She knew she should speak, but she was shocked and hurt by Aminah’s response.
‘Look, this is dreadful and I never wanted to be put in this position. But we’ve got Lulu here.’
Cleo felt a leap in her chest. ‘Can I see her, Aminah? Please – I’ve missed her so much.’
Aminah’s usually cheerful face looked drained and Cleo sensed pity in her friend’s words and tone.
‘I’m so sorry. God, this is awful. Evie brought Lulu round this morning because some of the sea water has come into the house. She needs to keep on top of it and brush it out until the tide turns.’
‘I get that, but why does it mean I can’t come in?’
Cleo knew the answer, but surely Aminah wouldn’t side with Evie?
‘She doesn’t want Lulu to see you. Look, Cleo, I just think she wants Lulu to know who her mummy is and to avoid her getting confused.’
Cleo felt her cheeks burn and the hand in her pocket balled into a tight fist. How could Evie do this after the care Cleo had taken of her child?
‘I can see how this is making you feel, but it’s not my decision to make. I’m just helping a friend.’
‘But I’m your friend.’ Even to Cleo’s own ears she sounded pathetic but, bit by bit, Evie was stripping her of everything that mattered in her life.
‘Of course you’re my friend – but so is Evie. She’s had a tough time over the last year and I’m simply trying to be supportive.’
Cleo wanted to grab Aminah and shake her to try to make her understand. She felt her throat tighten and her words came out as a hiss.
‘She killed my brother!’
‘I know, love, and I realise how devastating it’s been for you. We all do, and I understand why this made you more possessive of Lulu than was really acceptable. But he was hurting her, Cleo. I know that must be a hard thing to come to terms with, but I can see both sides. Look, I can’t let you come in now, but as soon as Lulu’s gone why don’t I give you a call and we’ll have a glass of wine or two when the kids are in bed?’
Cleo could see the compassion in her friend’s eyes but she didn’t care. She didn’t want her pity. She wanted Aminah to understand how devastated she was by all that had happened and fight for her – for her right to see Lulu. But she could see that wasn’t going to happen. She took a step back, straight into the puddle. The cold water washed almost unnoticed around her feet.
‘Forget it. I can see where your loyalties lie. Just forget it.’
Cleo turned and walked down the drive, her head held high. She wasn’t going to beg, but the truth was that Evie had taken Mark, Lulu and now Aminah. Cleo had nobody left.
63
Relieved that it was her day off, Stephanie was still wandering around in her dressing gown at ten o’clock in the morning. She had slept badly and had planned to have a lie-in, but once she woke up she found it impossible to settle again. So with a sigh of irritation she had thrown back the covers and got up. She had wasted far too much time trying to piece the letter together last night, and in the end had gone to bed determined to forget it. But she couldn’t. Instead she went over and over in her mind the man’s behaviour in court in the hope that it would give her a clue.
He was fixated with Evie. The letter mentioned Leicester. It was clearly written to someone special, because it began ‘My darling’ and she could only assume that referred to the man. It was signed by someone with the initial ‘S’, and it seemed to be saying that S would, by the time he was reading it, already be dead.
‘Right,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Let’s do this.’
She was certain that if Gus found out what she was doing he would tell her to stop wasting everyone’s time, but with a bit of luck he would be hiding in his office and wouldn’t know she had called the team responsible for checking on Evie’s background.
‘Azi, it’s Stephanie. Can I pick your brain on the quiet, do you think?’
She had chosen Azi, a young Nigerian man, because she knew he had a soft spot for her since she had helped his mum – a neighbour of hers – when she had been ill. She paced the room as she spoke.
‘Sure. Fire away.’
‘You were one of the team that looked into Evie Clarke’s life in Leicester, weren’t you? What can you tell me, in addition to the information that was shared in court?’
‘Sorry, Stephanie, but not very much. We were looking for her husband, Nigel Clarke, but although neighbours told us he’d left the country, nobody seemed to know where he’d gone.’
‘But Evie didn’t go with him?’
‘Apparently she was supposed to follow a couple of months later, after she’d sorted out their flat, got rid of their stuff, that kind of thing. But of course, she never did.’
‘Did she get rid of everything – or was anything left behind?’
‘Not a thing. They rented, so she terminated the lease and apparently had a massive garage sale. Sold anything that wasn’t actually nailed down, by all accounts.’
Stephanie thought for a moment.
‘Did you find out anything about friends, other family, anyone they were close to there?’
Azi laughed. ‘Absolutely the opposite. Everyone we spoke to said they were a very self-contained couple. I think that was a euphemism for anti-social. Especially her – she hardly passed the time of day with the neighbours. They only knew the husband was leaving the country because he asked them to keep an eye on her. He was worried about leaving her alone, but he couldn’t delay his departure for some reason. Work-related, I expect.’
‘Okay, thanks, Azi. It was a long shot. One last thing, if I may. I don’t suppose you spoke to or came across anyone whose name began with S, did you?’ Stephanie said, without either hope or expectation.
‘Not that I recall. Other than Shelley herself, of course.’
Stephanie stopped pacing. ‘What did you just say?’
‘Evie – you knew her first name was Michelle, didn’t you? Well, the husband – Nigel – apparently always called her Shelley.’
Oh my God, Stephanie thought. It all made sense.
‘Thanks, Azi, and if you could avoid mentioning this until I’ve checked a few things, I’d be forever grateful.’
She pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. All her efforts had been worth it, if what she suspected turned out to be true.
The letter was from Shelley, aka Evie, to someone she called ‘My darling’ – could that be Nigel? That wo
uld explain why he had been staring at her in court, possibly unable to believe his eyes. That’s why he had ripped up the letter.
Because he believed his wife was dead.
It was only later, as she was hurriedly taking a shower and getting dressed, that another thought occurred to Stephanie. Was the real Evie Clarke dead? Had the woman in the witness box somehow gained her identity? But surely if that were the case and the man in court was Nigel Clarke, as she suspected, he would have said something?
Somehow or other, Nigel must have heard about the trial and come along, suspecting it was some other woman with the same name. And then that day, as he sat in the gallery staring at the wife who had deserted him, he must have felt so dreadfully betrayed. Why would she do that? If she had wanted to be rid of him, why not just leave?
It was all too confusing, and it felt as if only Nigel held the key.
Stephanie walked over to the window to stare out at the wet and windy day, wondering what she should do next. She was tempted to call Gus to tell him what she had discovered, but then decided it would be much better to see if she could track down Nigel Clarke first, provided he hadn’t already left the area. Gus had never trusted Evie, and now Stephanie may have found further evidence of her lies. But maybe there was an explanation and she wasn’t prepared to share her doubts until she knew more.
How was she going to find Clarke on her own? She could start with the assumption that he was staying around here, but there were so many hotels locally. This was a holiday resort and he could be in any of them. Their background research hadn’t suggested that he was wealthy, and when she saw him in the café he had been neatly dressed but he wasn’t flashy. She decided to start by calling the mid-priced hotels and the better bed and breakfasts. It was going to be a hell of a job, but she couldn’t justify asking for help from her colleagues. The trial was over. Evie was free. Gus would probably tell her to leave it, and then she would have no choice. She logged onto her laptop and pulled up a hotel directory.
The list was pages long. It was going to take hours, and she had to find a way to narrow it down. Gambling on the fact that Clarke would have chosen a hotel where he could get a hot meal each night, Stephanie refined the list and started making the calls. On her seventh call she punched the air. She had found him – or at least, she had found where he was staying. He was out, according to the receptionist, but had booked a table for dinner in their tiny restaurant for seven pm, and was due to check out the next morning. Stephanie gave the receptionist her details and asked her not to inform Mr Clarke that she had been enquiring about him.
The thought of going out into the stormy night didn’t thrill Stephanie, but this might be her only chance, and so she kicked her heels until she was sure Nigel would be safely ensconced in the dining room and made a dash for her car.
She pulled up in front of a small, respectable-looking hotel and raced through the rain. The reception area was small, but had a cosy feel to it, and Stephanie shook the water off her shoulders and held out her warrant card to the receptionist.
‘I called earlier, looking for Nigel Clarke. Is he in the restaurant?’
The girl nodded and asked Stephanie if she needed someone to show her which table. She declined the offer. She would recognise him, she was in no doubt of that.
The dining room had a utilitarian feel to it, with no cloths on the dark wood-veneered tables, and it was a bit too brightly lit to feel as welcoming as the reception area had promised. Only a couple of tables were occupied, and Nigel Clarke was sitting at the back of the room, facing the door. He was casually dressed in a dark jumper and he was studying his iPad as he forked pasta into his mouth. As she walked towards him, he lifted his head and stared at her, clearly startled by her presence and even more shocked by the fact that she seemed to be making a beeline for him. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and pushed his plate of food away, as if preparing to stand up and leave the room.
‘Sit down, Mr Clarke,’ Stephanie said. ‘I assume from your expression that you recognise me?’ She carried on without waiting for an answer. ‘Don’t look so worried. You’re not in any trouble. I just want to check up on a few things, and to understand exactly what’s been going on. Do you mind if I join you?’
He didn’t look impressed, but he no doubt felt he didn’t have much choice.
‘Technically, I’m off duty – so I’m going to have a glass of wine. Would you like one?’ she asked.
‘Red, please,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not fussy about what sort. What do you want with me? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I know. But I also know you believed Evie – Michelle, Shelley, whatever you prefer to call her – to be dead. What’s going on, Mr Clarke?’
His eyes had a hollow look as if he didn’t know what to say, or even think. He shook his head.
‘Why don’t you just go? There’s nothing going on. Nothing that would interest you, anyway.’ The words were clipped, laced with pent-up emotion.
‘Does Evie know you’re here?’ Stephanie asked.
‘No! She’d be livid.’
Stephanie looked at the thin, fox-like features of the man opposite and understood why he seemed so angry. He had discovered the wife he thought dead had been living with another man, and had his baby.
‘Listen, Nigel – you don’t mind if I call you Nigel, do you?’
He shrugged and lowered his eyes to his half-empty plate.
‘I’m not here to cause you any bother – but I want to understand what made Evie pretend she was dead.’
His shoulders slumped.
‘She obviously didn’t want me any more. I had outlived my usefulness – isn’t that what people say?’ He gave a lopsided grin, but his eyes were desolate. ‘I don’t blame her for dumping me. I’m not much of a catch, and Shelley – that’s what I called her – seemed to get more beautiful with every passing year. She told me she was on a mission to be drop-dead gorgeous. But then she always was to me.’
‘How did you meet her?’ Stephanie asked.
‘She was living rough – had been since she was a teenager after her grandma died. I used to pass her sitting in a shop doorway on my way to the factory where I worked. I bought her a coffee one day and it went from there. She wanted to be someone different, she told me. I didn’t know what she meant, but in the end I asked her to marry me – said I’d help her fulfil her dreams. Maybe I was just one rung of the ladder.’
Stephanie felt for this man. His rude, aggressive demeanour had gone. All that was left was a sense of hopelessness.
‘My cousin sent me a clip from the paper with an article about the trial of Evie Clarke,’ he said. ‘I had to go to court to see if it really was my Shelley. I thought someone was pulling a fast one – using her identity. I’ve been out of the country for a few years now, but I decided I had to come back, just to check.’
Stephanie said nothing. The shock of seeing Evie in court must have been profound.
‘Talk me through it, Nigel – about the letter and what you believed.’
He looked at her for a moment, and sighed. ‘She was supposed to be following me. I’d always dreamed of travelling, and Shelley said she had too. I got a job abroad, but she said someone needed to stay and sort things. She would join me when it was all done and dusted. I thought she was stalling a bit, but she always had a good excuse for why she hadn’t left yet. And then I got the letter.’
‘I didn’t manage to read all of it. Can you tell me what it said?’
‘What, you want it verbatim? Because I can remember every last word.’
‘No – just the gist will do. How she explained herself.’
He let out a long, slow breath. ‘The letter was one she wrote when she knew she was ill. She gave it to someone and asked them to post it when she was dead. She thanked me for being such a loving, wonderful husband and for changing her life. She said she had taken care of everything – there was nothing for me to come back to. Her ashes would by now have been scatte
red according to her wishes, and any possessions had been given to the hospice where she’d been living.’
‘Do you know where that was?’
‘I guess it was London. That was the postmark, anyway. She told me in her letter that her grandma had died of the same thing, so once she knew what kind of cancer it was she realised she wouldn’t have more than a few weeks to live. That’s why she didn’t ask me to come back.’
‘Did she say which grandmother?’
‘She only knew one – her mum’s mother. She went to live with her when she was about nine. They were very close. She said her death had been devastating, and it was after that that she ended up on the streets.’
Stephanie couldn’t decide whether to tell him the truth – that the grandmother was still alive, had never been diagnosed with cancer as far as they knew, and from what they had learned in court was a monster. He must have stayed away from court after that first day. He couldn’t have heard the stories about Evie’s adolescence.
‘During the trial there was some evidence relating to scarring on your wife’s body. Were you not in court for that part of the proceedings?’
‘No. One day in that place was enough for me. I didn’t know what to think and I just wanted to get away.’
‘How did she explain the scars to you?’
Nigel Clarke looked to be on the verge of tears. ‘It was the worst story I’ve ever heard. When she was about thirteen she was abducted by a gang – something to do with revenge on her poor uncle, who had spoken out against this bunch of thugs. They beat her, broke several bones in her body, and then dumped her back in the street outside her house.’
Stephanie nodded sympathetically. ‘Did the police ever catch the guys who did this to her?’
‘No. The family decided not to report it. Shelley didn’t want the world to know she had been brutally beaten and raped, and they were concerned about further retribution. This was gang warfare, and her uncle had been trying to do the right thing. After that, I think they moved to get away from it all.’
And So It Begins Page 26