On balance, Stephanie thought she believed Evie’s courtroom version of events rather than the abduction story. But who knew?
‘Why did she concoct this elaborate lie about her death, though? Why didn’t she just leave you?’
Nigel’s eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, I understand that totally. She didn’t want to hurt me.’
He must have seen the confusion on Stephanie’s face. ‘If she’d left me, I would have known I wasn’t good enough for her. She knew me well, you see, and it would have destroyed me. I would have followed her wherever she went, begged her to explain what I could do to fix things, tried to make her come back to me, promised to change. All that stuff. Of course I was devastated that she was dead, but I was left believing that she loved me, like she said in the letter.’
Stephanie had to accept that there was some weird logic to it, but suspected it was more a case of Evie not wanting her husband to know where she was living. Had she merely left him, he seemed like the kind of man who would forever be checking up on her to see if she was doing okay.
Nigel sighed and leaned back in his seat, as if worn out by the conversation.
‘I still didn’t believe it was really her on trial for murder until I got to court. She looked so skinny, so different from the lovely plump lass I married. I was mad at first that she’d lied to me. I decided to go back home – to New Zealand, as it happens. But when I read what had been going on, what that bastard had been doing to her, I was horrified. I thought she might need me, you see. So when I heard she was out of prison, I came back. I thought I’d hang around here, close to where she grew up, thinking this is probably where she would choose to live. I haven’t plucked up the courage to see her, though. I’ve been waiting for the right moment. The anger’s gone, but now I’m terrified that she won’t be pleased to see me, so I’ve changed my mind. I’m leaving.’
Stephanie had barely taken in the last part of Nigel’s comment. She leaned forward, across the table.
‘What do you mean, where she grew up?’ She tried to keep her voice even. She didn’t want Clarke to know this was news to her.
‘She was born in Norfolk, but her mum ran away from home when Shelley was born and came here. Shelley lived here with her mum and brother as a kid. She was always obsessed with this place. She had the local paper delivered to us all the time we were in Leicester and she would read it from cover to cover. I never understood why she bothered, because sometimes she would get so cross at the articles – especially those about people or places she used to know. I asked her a few times what was winding her up, but she said I wouldn’t understand.’
Stephanie was still struggling to absorb the fact that Evie had lived here and yet that fact had never come to light. But they’d had no reason to look so far back.
Nigel Clarke rested his chin on an upturned palm. ‘Once or twice I pulled the paper out of the bin to see what was bugging her, and after one of her strops I saw there was a story about some guy who had married a rich American. I realise now that must have been Mark North, but I didn’t take much notice at the time. It didn’t mean a thing to me. I didn’t ask her about it because I knew she’d have yelled at me and told me to mind my own business. She could be quite fiery.’ He smiled fondly at the thought.
Stephanie could feel her heart rate increasing with every sentence. Why would Evie have taken the local paper when she was living in Leicester? Why would she have been angry about Mark and Mia’s wedding?
‘We understand her mother died, but you mentioned a brother. Do you know what happened to him?’
Nigel Clarke nodded.
‘I think it was because of him – Dean, he was called – that she was so fixated on the place.’
‘Why? Where’s Dean now?’
‘There was an accident when she was about nine and sadly she witnessed the whole thing. Her brother died quite tragically.’
64
Cleo had succumbed to a sleeping tablet the night before, but it hadn’t worked so she had taken another one. All she had wanted was oblivion, but now, as a harsh banging on the front door slowly dragged her back from a state of stupefied semi-consciousness, she wanted to hide her head under the pillow until whoever it was had gone away.
Sadly, they didn’t seem to be going anywhere and the banging continued. She heard a voice she didn’t recognise shout her name, and if this carried on the whole street would be out. Mark’s death and the news of his abusive behaviour had made her something of a pariah around here, as if she was responsible for his actions. Maybe she was. Maybe she had protected him from the harsh realities of life for too long.
‘I know you’re in there, Cleo North, and I’m not going away.’
It was a woman’s voice.
Cleo tried to look out of the window, but whoever was making all the racket was standing underneath the porch by the front door. She was going to have to go down and let this woman in, but she had no idea what she might want.
She grabbed a dressing gown and dragged her fingers through her hair. Fortunately it was so short that it never needed much attention. Her face, however, was a different matter. As she passed the mirror she couldn’t fail to see the dark hollows around her eyes and the blotchy appearance of her otherwise pallid skin. Well, it wasn’t a beauty parade and if this woman was determined to see her, she would have to deal with her frightful appearance.
She walked down the hall and pulled the door open as the woman raised her fist to start hammering again. Cleo looked at her, and felt a twinge of recognition. The woman standing in front of her was tall and slender with short auburn hair. She would probably have been very attractive if it hadn’t been for the straight line of her clenched lips and the wild look in her eyes. Cleo was sure she had never met her, but maybe she had seen a photograph, or perhaps she had been one of the nosy parkers who’d come along to watch the trial.
‘What do you want?’ Cleo asked, with little grace. She didn’t feel it necessary to be polite to someone who was banging on her front door first thing in the morning.
The woman stared back, looking slightly puzzled.
‘I’m coming in,’ she said after a moment, taking a step forward.
Cleo was about to try to close the door when she noticed someone standing behind the woman who had previously been shielded from view.
It was Joe, and suddenly Cleo knew where she had seen this woman’s face before. When she briefly believed that she and Joe had a future together she had parked outside his house when he was away on business because she wanted to see his wife – the woman whose life she was about to tear apart.
This was Siobhan, and there could only be one reason she was here.
Cleo stood back and Siobhan stormed in. Joe shot Cleo an anxious look, but followed his wife down the corridor. She had found her way to the sitting room and was now standing in the centre of the room, her face a picture of disgust as she looked at Cleo, who could guess what she was thinking. Why on earth would Joe have been interested in this mess of a woman?
But she hadn’t been a mess – not then, at least.
‘Sit down, if you like,’ she said. ‘I’m going to put some clothes on.’
‘Don’t bother on my account,’ Siobhan said. ‘And no doubt Joe’s used to seeing you in all stages of undress.’
Cleo felt slightly nauseous at the misery in the woman’s voice, but ignored her and fled up the stairs. She could hear angry whispers behind her, and wished Joe would follow her and explain what was going on. But clearly he couldn’t do that.
She nipped into the bathroom to clean her teeth, pulled on a pair of jeans and a bright coloured shirt and dabbed some tinted moisturiser on her face. She would have felt much safer behind full makeup, but she had the feeling that if she delayed too long, Siobhan would come marching up the stairs and drag her back down to face the music.
When she returned to the sitting room, Siobhan was exactly where Cleo had left her but Joe had seated himself on the arm of the sofa with his head bowed.
As Cleo looked at him she realised what an insignificant little man he was. She had never wanted to tear his family apart – but he had seemed to sway with the wind, clearly glad to be told what he should do. And then he had turned up during the trial to suggest they could take up where they’d left off. She was well out of it.
Cleo had no time to speak before Siobhan launched into the attack.
‘I want to know why you’ve been shagging my husband, for how long, and when you’re going to stop.’
Cleo took a deep breath. She felt this woman’s pain and didn’t want to hurt her more than she already had been. But she had no idea what she knew, or how.
‘Why don’t you ask Joe, Siobhan?’ she said.
‘Oh, you know my name! Excellent, so my weasel of a husband bothered to tell you at least that much about me, did he?’
Cleo didn’t answer, but looked away from Siobhan’s torment.
‘Apparently everyone’s talking about the fact that my husband is shagging the sister of that wife-beater. It seems I’m the only one that didn’t know.’
Cleo jerked her head round and glared at Siobhan.
‘He wasn’t a wife-beater.’ The one thing Cleo would not take, from anyone, was the lie that Mark was an abuser. The fact that Evie wasn’t his wife was irrelevant.
Siobhan scoffed, and Cleo thought how strange it was that even the most attractive people turned ugly when they were hurting. Her own anguish faded momentarily at the sight of the woman’s distress, and she felt ashamed of herself and of Joe. She had been sure Siobhan would never find out. Nobody had known about their affair. Only Mark, and he wouldn’t have said a word.
‘I don’t know how it’s taken me so long to find out about you two.’ The contempt dripped from Siobhan’s tongue. ‘But the word is that it’s a full-on affair, and that Joe is going to leave me – you’ve talked him into it, against his better judgement.’
She suddenly seemed to crumple and finally she walked over to a chair and sat down.
‘That’s not true, Siobhan,’ Cleo said quietly. ‘Joe’s not going anywhere. At least, not with me.’
‘I didn’t believe it to start with,’ Siobhan continued as if she hadn’t heard Cleo. ‘Some woman in the park was talking about you – you’re quite the celebrity these days. She knew so much about you, Cleo, and she seemed to hate you every bit as much as I do.’
‘Do you know who she was?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes. At least, it does to me.’
‘I don’t know who she was. Shoulder-length dark hair, red lipstick, black raincoat. I don’t really care. To start with, I decided it was ridiculous gossip, but I started to check up on Joe – and that’s when I saw the email.’
Cleo flicked a puzzled look at Joe, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. He hadn’t spoken a word in defence or support of either of them. What had she ever seen in this man?
‘What email?’
‘The one you sent late last night – and don’t be coy with me. It’s not the sort of email you would forget writing, trust me.’
‘I didn’t send any email to Joe – not last night, not any night, come to that.’
Communication between Joe and Cleo had always been via a pay-as-you-go phone that Joe kept hidden in his car.
Siobhan reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. ‘It’s our time now, Joe,’ she read in a tight voice. ‘I need you more than ever. My world is falling apart, and I have nobody left. Please, Joe – change your mind.’
Cleo stared at Joe to see if he could cast any light on it, but he shrugged as if he had no more idea than she did.
‘Siobhan, I promise you that email did not come from me.’
Siobhan jumped up from the chair and walked over to Cleo, pushing the piece of paper under her nose. ‘And that’s not your email address, I don’t suppose?’
The email address was cleo.north.1979 and it was a Hotmail address.
Siobhan snatched the piece of paper back from Cleo’s hand.
‘I don’t have a Hotmail account. Anyone could have set that up.’
‘Oh, right. And they knew the year of your birth, did they?’
Cleo looked at Joe, even more confused. She wasn’t born in 1979, but Mark was… Of course! There was one person who might do that – who might use Mark’s year of birth as a calling card. Evie. Why would she want to do this? Hadn’t she caused enough pain already?
‘Tell me one thing, Cleo. Do you want my husband, or don’t you? If you do, I’m warning you that I’m going to fight for him. Not because I think he’s worth it, but sadly his children do. So what’s it to be?’
Cleo felt nothing but a deep sense of sadness and shame. Just the day before she had been wondering whether to get in touch with Joe. Not because she wanted him, but because right now she had nobody else.
She didn’t look at Joe, but leaned forward and stared straight into the other woman’s eyes.
‘I’m deeply sorry for any hurt I’ve caused you, Siobhan. I didn’t send the email, which suggests someone is out to make trouble for me, but that’s not the point. I’ve behaved badly, and there’s nothing I can do but apologise. And I can tell you categorically that I don’t want Joe. He’s all yours.’
65
It’s nearly time. I’m glad I’ve got this day with my lovely Lulu – Lolula, my private name for her. She’s so pretty, so delicate, and today we’re on the beach. It’s deserted, as I knew it would be at this time of the year, and our footprints are the only ones in the sand. I show them to Lulu – I let her walk right to the edge of the sea and run back ahead of the gentle wave that fills the holes made by her wellies. She laughs with joy.
The weather has been dreadful all week and far too rough to take a child onto the sand, but today is different, and everywhere appears to have been washed clean by the storms. I have to have this day with her, before everything changes. It’s only when I’m with Lulu that I feel calm. The rest of the time I’m filled with a sense of inevitability. I had expected my thirst for retribution to have been slaked, but the anger and hatred still disturb my nights and haunt my days.
I think about my journey to this place – the years of wondering how it would feel to be back in these streets, on this shore. But I never came. Not until I saw that Mark had married Mia. Only then did I venture here, disguised with my dark hair and over-the-top makeup. I even saw Cleo a few times, knowing she would never recognise me when I returned, fresh faced, slim and blonde.
Nobody would see any similarity to the child I used to be either –- fat from too many chips, mousey hair that was rarely washed hanging limply to my shoulders, scruffy clothes that were usually stolen from the charity shop. It meant I was able to mingle, listen to the gossip and find out everything I needed to know about Mark: how he had met Mia; where he liked to eat; what his life had been like before her.
Lulu deserves so much more in her life than I had – and I can’t give her that. I’m not sure if I’m famous or infamous – I suspect it depends who you ask and which side of the fence they are on. The truth is something I can’t afford for Lulu to know if I want her to grow up without making all the mistakes that I’ve made, and if I’m part of her life the truth will inevitably be revealed. She will be better off without me.
I was so sure I was doing the right thing – the only thing. So very certain. There was a burning inside me that I thought could only be extinguished by my own actions.
But it’s still not over. I’m not done.
For now I want to enjoy these moments with my daughter, as if I’m an average mum on an average winter’s day. But it’s not true. I know I have demons inside me, just waiting to get out and devour everything in their path, sweeping obstacles out of their way, like the sea sweeps the beach clean of footprints.
I need to protect my little girl and there’s only one thing I can do to make sure that my Lolula is safe from harm.
66
Stephanie felt a bubble of excitement.
She couldn’t wait to see Gus to tell him what she knew, and how it changed everything. Nothing was how they had imagined it, but finally it all made sense.
She had to find him. She had spent the morning researching the information she had gleaned from Nigel Clarke and, deciding to take the evidence she had unearthed directly to Gus rather than speaking on the phone, she jumped into her car and set off to CID headquarters.
She burst through the door into the squad room and several faces looked up from their computer screens and smiled at her.
‘Hey, Steph – you coming back to join us?’
She shook her head. ‘No – just looking for the boss. Is he here?’
Eyes went back to monitors with nobody apparently keen to answer that question, simple though it was. In the end, one of the guys she had worked with closely during the investigation came over to her.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ he said, leading her towards the drinks machine. He seemed to be stalling for time.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
He looked uncomfortable, and Stephanie realised that although she and Gus had never behaved as if there was anything between them, everyone knew.
‘I probably shouldn’t say anything, but DI Brodie is apparently in Leeds today.’
‘Leeds? What the hell is he doing there – is it a case?’
‘We’re not supposed to know, but there are never any secrets in this place. It seems he’s gone for an interview.’
Stephanie felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. He was leaving. She didn’t doubt for a second that he would get the job – he was always destined for somewhere with a bit more action than here and she had often wondered why he stayed.
She did her best to look interested rather than devastated.
‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’
‘Later on today, we think. He went yesterday.’
Swallowing a lump in her throat she started to explain what she had found, but realised it wasn’t going to work. The explanation would take too long, and this wasn’t Gus she was talking to – a man she knew would pick up the implications immediately.
And So It Begins Page 27