It hadn’t. It had made things much worse. ‘That’s the problem,’ he’d said, screwing up his mouth, ‘you do it automatically. I see your eyes examine every face, male or female. I can almost see you tick them off that list in your head, one at a time. And then you relax, just for a moment, until new people walk in and you do it again.’
His words had stung, partly because he was right, it had become second nature to check everyone, but mostly because she thought he understood how important her role was. Keeping women and children safe from sexual predators and ensuring that the ones who got caught and arrested were prosecuted and put in jail, that was her job, more, it was her life. She thought he understood, that he was proud of the work she did and his criticism had cut her deeply.
Was that the start of the end? There had been an uneasy distance between them ever since, their conversation polite and careful, as if they’d been strangers forced to spend time together.
Her eyes followed a thin crack that crossed their sitting room ceiling. This house had been the second one they’d viewed when they’d decided to pool their savings and buy rather than continue to waste money renting. It was small but the location was ideal. Graham had been concerned about the crack but she’d dismissed it, as had the expensive surveyor he’d insisted they hire. Were there cracks in their relationship, even before last week, that she had dismissed just as easily? She’d thought they were solid, it looked like she was wrong.
She wondered where he’d gone. They… no, he had plenty of friends who would happily offer him a bed. Perhaps, when he got to wherever he was going, he’d send her a text. With a sliver of hope, she got to her feet and went to get her phone, the hope slipping away when there was nothing. She hesitated only a moment before she sent him another message, Let me know you’re ok.
There was nothing more to be done. Ignoring the chicken, the pots of cold vegetables and the sad table setting, she switched out the lights and headed upstairs. The hanging wardrobe door and open empty drawers seemed to be taunting her. She slammed them shut.
The night seemed endless. Beth couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept alone. Her hand stretched out to Graham’s side of the bed, the cotton sheet where his warm body should be lying felt cold and empty. She tossed and turned for hours before falling into a restless sleep to dream of cracks opening in walls and on the streets and everyone falling into them despite her screams of warning.
Waking in the early morning, convinced she’d heard the front door open, she jumped out of bed and tore naked down the stairs, words of love ready and waiting to be blurted out as soon as she saw him. But all she saw was the front door, shut tight. Standing on the bottom stair, all she could hear was the cold silence of the house and the sad thump of her heart.
She trudged back to her room. It was impossible to get back to sleep but she lay for another hour before giving up. Dragging herself from the bed, she took a long shower that she hoped would make her feel better. It didn’t. Nor did it make her look any better. Always pale, her complexion looked deathly, the smattering of freckles over her nose and across her cheeks standing out in sharp relief. The minimal make-up she wore at work didn’t help but she resisted the temptation to lay it on thickly. It would attract questions she didn’t want to answer. With a shrug, she dressed quickly in her standard workday dark jeans, pale blue shirt and navy jacket, pulled a brush through her hair and tied it back in a knot at the base of her neck.
It was early, she had plenty of time to sort out the mess in the kitchen, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door and see that sad table set for a romantic dinner they’d never have. Instead, she picked up the files from the sitting-room floor and headed out. Getting to the office early would give her a head start on a day that was going to be exhausting.
It only took her an hour and several mugs of vile coffee to get everything ready to present to the Crown Prosecution Service. An hour later, Beth was walking into their offices in Westminster with a clear case to present. There were some members of the CPS’s Rape and Serious Sexual Offences Unit who were difficult to deal with, pernickety and awkward at the best of times, rude and uncooperative at the worst. That morning she was in luck; her case had been assigned to Megan Reece, one of the best on the team and her close friend.
‘Thank God it’s you,’ Beth said, collapsing into a chair in front of the desk in the small cluttered office. ‘I really didn’t need a hard time today.’
Megan smiled briefly. ‘Let me see what you’ve got. I never make promises.’
Beth watched her slowly and methodically read the contents of the file. As she usually did, Megan read straight through once and then reviewed the more pertinent parts more closely. Beth didn’t realise she was holding her breath until she heard her say what she’d been waiting for.
‘Seems pretty cut and dried,’ Megan said. ‘We’ll proceed with prosecution.’
‘Another bastard put away,’ Beth said, releasing her breath. Then, with the relief of that decision out of the way, she glanced at her friend more closely. Megan was, as usual, dressed neatly in a dark grey silk blouse with a neck tie tied in a bow, slightly off-centre. It looked effortlessly classy, but Beth knew she worked hard at it. She favoured ridiculously expensive red lipstick and usually it looked well on her olive skin. But today that skin was pale, almost colourless, and her red lips stood out in a bizarrely creepy contrast. ‘You look like hell,’ she said with the bluntness of friendship. ‘Is everything okay?’
Megan arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘You don’t look so bloody amazing yourself. Any paler, I’d have to check for a pulse.’
‘I’ve been busy, and not sleeping too well.’ It was a half-truth; Beth didn’t want to tell her the whole, didn’t want to say words that would make everything seem even more final than she guessed it was. It was better to put her troubles to the back of her mind and focus on Megan’s. They’d been friends for a long time and Beth could tell something wasn’t right. ‘Have you set a date for the wedding yet?’ It was a roundabout way of asking if Trudy was okay; she would know from her response if there was trouble in that quarter.
But Megan surprised her by ignoring her question, and asking, ‘How would you like to go away for a night? Just the three of us, you, me and Joanne? A girlie night. We can put the world to rights.’
Beth frowned. She didn’t need to be a detective to know there was something wrong, but it looked as though her friend wasn’t going to talk about whatever was worrying her. That made two of them. Sometimes emotional pain was too difficult to vocalise. She hoped the reason for her friend’s pallor wasn’t the same as hers. Beth gave herself a mental kick. It couldn’t be; Megan and Trudy were solid, made for each other. It wasn’t a good idea to transfer her relationship woes onto everyone else. Megan was probably working too hard which was why she was suggesting a break.
A girlie night away? It might be just what she needed. ‘Yes. I think that’s a brilliant idea.’ A girlie night away.
The idea had lost its lustre by the time Beth arrived home that night. She pushed open the door, weary and heartsick. The blast of heat took her by surprise and she shut her eyes in dismay. She’d left the heating on full. With the front door shut, she screwed up her nose as the stench hit her. She dropped her bag and pushed open the kitchen door, almost gagging as she stepped into the small overheated room. Trying not to breathe, she pulled out a black refuse sack and quickly emptied all the food inside, tied a knot in the top and put it outside the back door. Opening the door wide, she pushed it back and forth to create a draught and then left it propped open to clear the smell.
Her house stank, her life stank. She wanted Graham’s arms around her; wanted to hear him say he was sorry for leaving and this time, he’d be the one begging for one more chance. And they’d laugh, talk, make love, and everything would be back on track. And this time, this time, no matter what it took, they’d get past their problems; they’d make time for each other, she’d make more space in he
r life for him. Sitting, she dropped her face into her hands as she felt her heart crack. She knew she was fooling herself; much as she loved Graham, her job was always going to come first. Perhaps, he’d finally realised that himself.
The room was cold by the time she moved. Shutting the door, she trudged up to bed, kicked off her shoes and climbed, fully dressed, under the duvet. Eventually, warming up, she pulled her clothes off and threw them onto the floor. She curled up, hugged her knees to her chest, and tried to ignore the chilling sense of loss she felt deep inside.
9
Joanne Marsden stretched like a lazy cat on the 800-thread count Egyptian cotton bed sheets. It had been a nice evening. The dinner had been delicious and the wine extraordinarily good. Felix was a generous host and an attentive companion. She liked spending time with him. Through half-opened eyes, she watched as he dressed. He was a very handsome man and, apart from a slight paunch, his body wasn’t bad either.
‘I’ll be back in a few weeks,’ he said, tying his tie. He tightened the knot, then bent to look in the mirror and straighten it. ‘Will I see you then?’
She shuffled into a sitting position and let the sheet slip down to show her breasts. Reaching up with both hands, she caught her expensively highlighted blonde hair and lifted it off her neck. It was a position that showed off her figure to its best advantage. She knew it, the man who watched appreciatively knew it. Dropping her hair, she smiled. ‘I think that could be arranged. Let me know when.’
After he left, she lay back, enjoying the peace and comfort for another hour before she climbed from the bed. Unusually, she was free until that evening and it was lovely to be able to enjoy the luxury The Ritz had to offer without having to rush away. She had a leisurely shower, wrapped herself in a soft cotton bathrobe and ordered room service from the very extensive menu. It was better to avoid the restaurant in the morning; there was always the chance she’d see someone she knew. Far better to have a relaxing breakfast in the comfort of the extremely plush room.
Half an hour later, room service knocked on the door, delivering excellent bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. She switched on the TV and sat watching the news as she ate. It had been an enjoyable evening, a good night, and now, a relaxing morning. Really, Felix was a dream customer, she wished they were all like that.
The room was hers until eleven. Enjoying the luxurious surroundings, she waited until the last minute before gathering her few belongings and leaving the room. She’d have asked the concierge to order a taxi but the foyer was busy, the concierge surrounded by a group of anxious-looking tourists. She threw him a smile that he acknowledged with a pleasant wave and headed out onto the street.
Her thin coat and skimpy dress were no match for the bitterly cold wind that swirled around the front of the hotel. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself as she waited for a taxi, relieved when one pulled up just a minute later to drop people off. She climbed into its welcome warmth, gave the driver her address and sat back with her eyes shut as the taxi made its way through the busy streets to her apartment.
King Edward’s Road, in Hackney, was a relatively quiet tree-lined street. Her apartment was on the fifth floor of a six-storey apartment block, an ugly building which stood out for all the wrong reasons among its more attractive neighbours. Joanne didn’t care; it was functional and she spent little time there. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a lift, just one main central stairwell that served all the floors, and emergency exit stairs at the end of each block. The stairwell invariably stank of human waste, homeless people finding it a good place to spend the night despite the security men’s endeavours.
She didn’t think they tried very hard but she never complained even when she returned late one night and had to step over a young man curled up in a distinctly malodorous sleeping bag. One flight of stairs up, she’d grunted with annoyance. It wasn’t in her nature to do nothing. Returning to his unmoving body, she took a closer look. ‘Well, you’re breathing,’ she muttered, opening her purse. She took out two tens and tucked them under his cheek. He didn’t stir.
There was nobody to step over today; she climbed the stairs to her apartment and pushed open the door. Her landlord rented it as an apartment, but it was, in fact, a tiny bedsit. A sofa bed that she rarely used sat against one wall. In one corner, a tiny fridge, a two-ring hob and a microwave formed a compact kitchenette; in the other corner, a door opened into a small room that was euphemistically called the bathroom. It was a wet room, slightly bigger than the average shower tray. There was a toilet, the tiniest wash-hand basin Joanne had ever seen, and a shower that trickled barely-warm water any time she had the misfortune to need to use it. Luckily, that wasn’t very often.
She had a few hours to spare. Taking off the dress and underwear she’d put on the day before, she dropped them into the suitcase that lay open on the tiny table in front of the apartment’s only window. She shrugged into a robe, picked up the book she’d brought from home, and sat on the sofa with her legs curled under her. Her life was so neatly compartmentalised that she had no problem switching off and relaxing for a few hours.
Mid-afternoon, she put down the book and made a mug of coffee. She’d never bothered plugging the fridge in so, while she was there, she drank it black. The mug, a jar of coffee and a teaspoon were the only items in the apartment’s single kitchen cupboard. Nothing else. She never ate there, rarely ate while she was working; that Ritz breakfast earlier being an unusual luxury. She worked three days in a row, sometimes with barely a break, and afterwards, she’d head home exhausted to her house in Royal Tunbridge Wells where she would relax and eat well for a week before doing another three-day stretch.
Compartmentalised, it worked well for her.
At seven, she took underwear from a drawer, and a tight-fitting low-cut black dress from the single wardrobe. Her next customer didn’t appreciate subtlety so she applied make-up with a heavy hand, thick eyeliner, lashings of mascara, loud red lipstick. She was smiling at her reflection in the small mirror on the wall when her personal mobile rang.
She stared at it, first in surprise and then with suspicion. It rarely rang. She preferred to be the one doing the calling. It was better for her, easier, and the few friends she had knew that. Picking up her phone, she looked at the screen. Megan. With a quick look at her watch, Joanne decided she had time to spare. ‘Hi, this is a surprise.’
‘Joanne, hi! Yes, listen, I’m sorry, I know you don’t like us calling you but this is important.’
She was fond of Megan, they’d been friends for a long time, but there was something in her voice, a barely discernible undercurrent of distress and, suddenly, Joanne was sorry she’d answered. ‘What is it?’ Her voice was cool rather than encouraging.
‘I was speaking to Beth earlier, and we’re going to go away for a night. Just us. The three of us, like old times.’ There was silence for a few seconds. ‘Next week, Joanne. Just one night. It’s really important to me. Do say you’ll come.’
Her fingers clenched the phone. Like old times? The three of them had only been away together once. One night, over twenty years ago, and it had been a disaster. She’d say no. It was a silly idea.
‘Please,’ Megan said.
Joanne’s job had made her sensitive to nuances, to the way people spoke rather than the words they used. There’d been a hint of distress in her voice and now a clear note of desperation in the please. She frowned. There was definitely something wrong. Megan was one of the few people she counted a friend, her and Beth. They met once a month or so, usually for dinner, sometimes for a drink, but they’d never been away together since that one night. Joanne wasn’t sure if that had been a conscious decision, or if their lives had just been too busy. Now, despite her feeling that there was something bothering Megan, the idea of getting away for a night with her two old friends appealed to her. It would be fun. ‘Okay,’ she said before she changed her mind. ‘And next week is good for me. So,’ she said, checking her watch, ‘where are we heading?�
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‘Capel-le-Ferne.’
Joanne swallowed. She must have misheard. Megan couldn’t possibly have said what she thought she’d heard. ‘I’m sorry, there’s interference on the line, where did you say?’
‘Capel-le-Ferne,’ Megan repeated. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting the same bungalow. There’s a spa hotel there now. I thought we could stay there.’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Because it wasn’t, it was a stupid crazy idea.
A soft sigh came down the line. ‘This is important, Jo. I’ll explain when we get there.’
Why had she answered the damn phone? What possessed her to have agreed to go? She was about to say she’d changed her mind, when she heard that soft pleading voice again.
‘Please, Jo.’
They had been friends for long enough to warrant doing something she didn’t want to do, hadn’t they? ‘Okay. I’ll go along with it. Text me the details.’
‘You won’t let me down?’
‘I won’t. But I don’t know why you want to go back there. I think it’s an absolutely crazy idea, but it’s obviously important to you so, as I said, I’ll go along with it even though I don’t like it.’
Megan’s soft laugh came down the line. ‘Friday then. I’ll text you the hotel’s postcode. We can check in after two. Come as early as you can.’ The line went dead.
Throwing her mobile on the table, Joanne stood for a moment thinking, wondering if she should call Beth and find out what the hell was going on. Joanne glanced at her watch with a groan. It would have to wait until the next day.
She slipped on her coat, checked in the mirror to make sure everything was just so and stared at her reflection, wondering again what had possessed her to say yes. The three of them had kept in touch all these years, she considered them her best friends, went to their various parties, listened to their stories, but they weren’t that close anymore, were they?
The Three Women Page 6
