Finally, into their uncomfortable silence, the food came: the roast lamb on large white plates, the vegetables in individual crescent-shaped dishes. It all looked very nice but as soon as it came, her appetite deserted her. She forced down a few mouthfuls, refusing to look across the table or to acknowledge that Megan hadn’t moved, her meal sitting untouched.
Beth ate a little more before pushing the plate away. She picked up her wine glass, sat back and stared across the table with little sympathy, taking in the trembling lower lip, the furrowed forehead, and tear-filled eyes of her friend. It was hard to believe Megan had lied all those years ago. Beth remembered the terrible feeling of helplessness when she’d seen her poor abused body. It wasn’t something she’d ever forgotten. And now, they were to believe that all that awful damage had been self-inflicted. That Beth and Joanne had jumped to the same wrong conclusion. Even with the confession still ringing in her ears, Beth found it hard to believe.
Putting her glass down, she asked, ‘Are you sure?’
Megan couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice. ‘Sure that I wasn’t raped, you mean? It’s hardly something I’m going to lie about.’
‘It wasn’t something I thought you’d lie about twenty years ago either. And please,’ she said, holding up her hand, ‘don’t give me that crap about it being our fault, that we’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and you’d gone along with it. That’s nonsense.’
‘I hadn’t planned it; I didn’t do any of it deliberately. I was just so angry and very drunk. And then it all snowballed.’
Draining her glass, Beth picked up the wine bottle and refilled it. Alcohol probably wouldn’t help but it might soften the edges of what felt like a nightmare. ‘You should eat something,’ she said, noticing Megan still hadn’t touched her meal.
Megan picked up her cutlery with little enthusiasm and after a couple of mouthfuls, she pushed the plate away and reached for her wine glass. ‘I hope Joanne got something to eat,’ she said quietly.
Feeling a little light-headed from all the alcohol, Beth shut her eyes. Maybe she should go to bed; she’d wake up in the morning and find this was all a bad dream.
She opened her eyes to see Megan staring at her and shook her head. Not a bad dream, a waking nightmare. ‘Seriously, this confession was the stupidest idea, I don’t know what possessed you.’ Or maybe she did. She knew how much Megan loved Trudy. Would Beth do the same to get Graham back? Even confess all she’d done? She gulped some wine. All she’d done. She tried not to think about it and, Megan, she guessed, had no idea the can of worms she’d opened.
Megan drained her glass of wine with one swallow. ‘So, what now?’
Beth frowned at her. What now? Was she supposed to know? Was she supposed to sweep up the mess – Megan’s mess – and make everything better? She had her own problems with Graham to deal with. And it was going to take a while for Megan’s confession to sink in, longer to think it through, and a long, long time to come to terms with it. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I’m still trying to process it.’
‘Joanne seemed to take it very badly.’
A gross understatement, she had taken it very badly indeed. She’d looked shocked, stunned even. But then she’d always been the more honest of the three of them, the kind of person who’d check her change and if a penny over, bring it back. ‘It’s going to take time,’ Beth said, wishing she could think of something more profound to say.
When they’d finished the wine, Beth suggested they go and knock on Joanne’s door. ‘Maybe she’ll speak to us now.’ It was worth a shot. She was worried about how awful Joanne had looked. If nothing else, they could check that she was okay.
They knocked and waited. When there was no answer, they tried again. Beth held her cheek close to the door. ‘Joanne, come on, let me in.’ When there was still no answer, her brow creased in concern. ‘I don’t like this,’ she said, almost to herself. ‘Wait here, Megan. I’ll go and get someone to let us in. I’ll tell them we’re concerned about our friend.’
She hurried to the reception, the receptionist looking up at her approach with a puzzled smile. ‘Is everything okay?’
Beth, with years of training behind her, managed to control her voice. ‘Joanne Marsden, my friend, she had some bad news earlier and went to her room. We’ve been knocking on her door but there’s no answer and we’re a bit worried.’
The receptionist’s expression went from puzzled to concerned in a blink. ‘What room number?’
‘Six,’ Beth said, squeezing her hands together. To her surprise, the receptionist’s expression cleared.
‘Room six?’ Her eyes turned to the computer screen in front of her and she tapped a few keys with her long manicured fingernails before looking back to Beth. ‘Ms Marsden checked out about thirty minutes ago. She said an urgent matter had come up and she needed to go home.’
Stunned, Beth wanted to scream at the receptionist, to reach across the desk, grab her by the neck and shake her until her eyes popped. Instead, she shut her own eyes briefly and took a deep breath. It wasn’t the receptionist’s fault. She wasn’t to know that Joanne had had far too much to drink and shouldn’t be driving anywhere, wasn’t to know how badly she’d taken Megan’s stupid, unnecessary, unfuckingbelievable news. For a moment, Beth was unable to move, as if her feet were stuck to the floor.
‘Are you all right?’ the receptionist asked.
All right? No, she bloody well wasn’t all right! It was a mess; every fucking thing was a mess. ‘Yes,’ Beth said, with a nod, ‘thank you.’ She moved stiffly away, having to concentrate hard to put one foot in front of the other, feeling the receptionist’s suddenly curious eyes watching her, seeing the door just ahead, inches, miles. On the other side, she leaned against the wall for a few seconds, armpits sticky, forehead damp. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and took deep breaths, trying to get her thoughts in order.
When she got back to Joanne’s room, a few seconds later, Megan was leaning against the door, her cheek resting against it, her eyes tightly shut. Maybe she was apologising, begging Joanne’s forgiveness for the lies, for the shocking deceit. Beth couldn’t help her lip curling. It was going to take a lot of that before this was resolved. ‘She’s gone,’ she said bluntly. ‘She checked out half an hour ago.’
‘Gone?’ Megan opened her eyes wide. ‘Oh no!’ Blood seemed to drain from her face, she held shaking hands up to it, red varnished nails stark against her skin. ‘She’s had too much to drink to drive safely.’
Beth had thought exactly the same thing, but there wasn’t much they could do about it except to hope that Joanne got home without crashing, or worse, killing someone. ‘The shock probably sobered her up,’ Beth said and then regretted the words when she saw Megan’s horrified face. ‘There’s no point in worrying. I’ll text her, tell her to let us know she got home safely.’
Megan started to cry. ‘If anything happens to her.’
The temptation to say that it would be all her fault was brushed aside. Joanne’s decision to drive under the influence was hers alone. It was far too easy to blame others. Megan was trying to blame them for assuming she’d been raped, for putting the crazy idea into her head in the first place but they’d all made their own choices. One thing was certain, the honesty about what had happened that night twenty years ago was stopping here.
Some secrets were better being kept.
16
Beth and Megan had breakfast together the next morning. Beth had wanted to leave earlier, to get away from Megan’s pleading eyes and sad desperation, and would have done if she hadn’t knocked at Beth’s door at eight thirty.
‘I heard your shower running,’ Megan said, explaining her arrival.
Beth, one hand on the door, glared at her, but one look at Megan’s pale face and the dark shadows under her eyes that said she’d not slept well, if at all, and Beth couldn’t bring herself to slam the door in her face. She, however, had taken a couple of sleeping pills and slept li
ke the dead. It was the only way she got through a lot of her nights. It was the only way she’d slept since Graham had left.
The dining room was already busy with a continuous movement of people between their seats and the breakfast buffet. Beth and Megan were shown to a table for two overlooking a garden that probably looked pretty in the sunshine, but in the gloom of a thundery sky there was something chilling about the imposing palm trees and the spiky leaved cordylines.
‘Creepy,’ Beth said, moving to sit with her back to it.
The waiter brought them the cafetière of coffee they’d requested and left them to help themselves. Beth went to the buffet, returning with a single croissant, and sat nibbling it as Megan reluctantly went up and filled a bowl with cereal.
Neither of them finished what they’d chosen. Instead, they drank cup after cup of coffee and sat staring into space. The original plan had been that they’d use the spa facilities for a few hours and leave after a late lunch. There would have been time to chat and catch up on their very different lives and somewhere during the morning, Beth had planned to break the news about Graham. Now she wanted to get away as fast as she could, leave Capel-le-Ferne and never look back. ‘I’m heading off straight after breakfast,’ she said, pouring more coffee from a second pot the waiter had brought.
Megan looked up and blinked slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s for the best.’ She put her coffee down, the cup rattling on the saucer. ‘I thought I might go home via Royal Tunbridge Wells and–’
‘No,’ Beth interrupted her without apology. ‘Absolutely not. You need to give her some space.’ When it looked as if Megan was going to argue the point, Beth shook her head. ‘Please, for Joanne’s sake, leave it for a few days.’ Beth ran a hand over her hair. ‘I tell you what, if we don’t hear from her by tonight, I’ll drive down tomorrow and check on her, okay?’
With reluctance, Megan said, ‘Okay, if you think it’s for the best.’
What would have been for the best, would have been for her to have kept her mouth shut on her nasty little secret, but there was no point in rehashing that now.
As soon as breakfast was over, they left, meeting in reception a few minutes later. ‘I’ll pay for the dinner and drinks,’ Beth said, as they headed towards the desk.
‘No, that’s okay, I’ll get it,’ Megan said, taking out her wallet.
Beth didn’t argue, handing the receptionist her key card and, with a promise to let Megan know if Joanne got in contact, she headed off, checking her phone as she walked. No message from her, and although she really wasn’t expecting one, her heart ached when she saw there were none from Graham.
She drove home without stopping, keeping the radio blaring to try to drown the thoughts whirling around her head. It didn’t work and by the time she reached home, her head was pounding from the effort as much as from the noise. Graham hadn’t answered her text. She’d no idea where he was staying, but if there was some tiny part of her that hoped he’d have returned while she was away, it died a quick death when she pushed open the front door. It was too quiet. A deadly, lonely silence that told her the house was empty.
It took her only a few seconds to realise that while she had been away, Graham had called in, and the few things he’d left behind were gone. She walked from room to room, a heavy weight in her chest as she took note of everything he’d taken. The few books that were his, a couple of CDs, an old sweatshirt hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. He’d taken the lot. But what made her cry out, what made her howl, a sad pathetic sound of loss and despair, was when she saw what he hadn’t taken. There were four framed photographs of the two of them on the bookshelf in the sitting room, smiling photographs taken on holidays over the years. Happy shots of a happy couple. Four of them. They were still there. He hadn’t even wanted to take one.
It was that, more than anything else, that told her he wasn’t coming back. And once again, he’d not bothered to leave a note, his actions speaking for themselves. They’d need to have a conversation, eventually, about the house, but it wouldn’t be done in the middle of their pain. Their pain, because, even though he was the instigator, she knew he would be hurting as much as her.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she returned to the kitchen and sat. The champagne was still where he’d put it, listing sadly in a bowl of water. She supposed she should empty it but she didn’t move. There were other practicalities she’d have to consider, but right now all she wanted to do was weep. In less than a week, she’d lost Graham and all trust in one of her best friends.
Beth was still sitting twenty minutes later when her mobile chirped. The time would come, she knew, when she wouldn’t hope that it was Graham. But it hadn’t come yet, and she grabbed it and stared at the screen, swallowing her disappointment when she saw it was Joanne. Beth was tempted to ignore it, unsure if she was able to talk to her just then. But, with a deep breath, she pressed the key to answer. Maybe someone else’s misery would be the perfect antidote. ‘Hi, Joanne. Are you okay?’
‘Fine,’ the answer came, barely above a whisper. ‘I’m sorry for going off without telling you last night, I needed to get away.’
Beth heard the strain in Joanne’s voice. ‘That’s okay, don’t worry about it, it was a weird day.’
‘Yes.’
She waited for more, holding the phone tightly to her ear. Thinking she’d been cut off, Beth called, ‘Joanne?’
‘Yes.’
Bloody hell. Why had she answered the damn phone? ‘Megan was terribly worried about you,’ Beth said, trying not to let her irritation show. ‘She wanted to call at your house on the way back this morning but I persuaded her to give you some space.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s going to take time for us to come to terms with what she told us, Jo. I think she’s hoping we’ll forgive her.’
‘I’m sure she is.’
There was no inflection in the words, just a sad monotone. Beth, tired of the one-way conversation, decided she’d had enough. ‘Anyway, good to hear you’re okay. I was heading out. Do you want me to let Megan know?’
‘Please. And thanks. Talk soon.’
Joanne hung up before Beth had a chance to say goodbye, leaving her looking at the phone with growing irritation. Megan, she knew, would be anxiously waiting for news but Beth couldn’t cope with another laboured conversation. Instead, she sent a short text. Joanne rang, she’s fine. Pressing send, Beth switched off her phone.
The silence of the house was uncomfortable, almost unnerving, and the rest of the day stretched drearily before her. Graham had been part of her life for so long, she couldn’t remember how she’d filled the weekends before him, but anything was preferable to moping around the house feeling sorry for herself.
Running upstairs, she stuffed her gym gear into a bag and, an hour later, she was working up a sweat running on the treadmill. She went straight from it to the weight machines, trying to lose herself in physical exertion. Pushing herself, she deliberately overdid it to cause pain in the hope that it would consume the ache that had settled in her chest.
She stayed until the gym shut at nine and then, reluctantly, drove home. It crossed her mind to call around to one of their friends and see if they knew where Graham was. But what if he were there? Most of their friends, if she were honest, were his, not hers. Megan and Joanne were the only two who were just hers. And if she did go around, and they didn’t know where he was, or worse, knew but wouldn’t tell her, what then? She’d look sad and pathetic and she didn’t want that. It was going to take time but she had to face the truth. It was over, she had to let him go.
She did a detour and stopped at a row of shops. In the off licence, she chose a bottle of wine, red, since Graham would only ever drink white, grabbing the pitiful feeling of satisfaction with both hands and, as it quickly faded, she picked up a bottle of whiskey to add to her purchases. The Indian restaurant next door caught her eye. She stood for a moment reading their takeaway menu, thinking she should eat s
omething. Nothing appealed. Heartache was a great appetite suppressant.
Unusually, she managed to get parking right outside their house and was immediately sorry she had. The dark windows screamed nobody’s home. There was a timer somewhere, she’d find it and plug one of the lamps into it. It would make coming home late a little easier. But for now, she pushed open the door and quickly reached for the light switch.
In the kitchen, knowing she should eat something before she started to drink, she opened the fridge, her eyes lighting on a chunk of cheese; she picked it up and dropped it quickly with a loud yuk when she saw it was fuzzy with mould. The only other thing in the fridge, apart from milk and butter, was an opened jar of olives. She emptied some into a bowl, took it, a wine glass and a small tumbler through to the sitting room, put them on a table and headed upstairs to change.
She hadn’t bothered to shower after her workout and she couldn’t be bothered doing so now either. Instead, she ignored the acrid smell of sweat, dropped her clothes on the floor, pulled on a robe and headed downstairs. She couldn’t resist turning on her phone and checking for messages, throwing it across the sofa when it told her what it had told her before. There was no message from Graham. There was one from Megan, but Beth couldn’t bring herself to open it.
Picking up the wine, she twisted the cap and then put it down and picked up the whiskey. She opened it, poured a large one and took a mouthful, feeling the pleasurable burn as it went down. With each sip, she could feel the edges of everything that hurt fuzzing and getting softer so she sipped until the glass was empty. She might have felt a little better except for the silence, it was like a heavy blanket, pressing her down. Music was her first choice as an antidote but when she looked at what was available, she couldn’t find anything that didn’t remind her of Graham. Instead, she switched on the TV and, immediately, the room was filled with sound. It was some reality programme; she hated them but the voices were loud and cheerful so she left it on for company. She finished the whiskey, debated having more, but poured a glass of wine instead and sat back to sip it and eat the olives.
The Three Women Page 10
