by Karen Cole
Nine
Brown and Lowe’s is in an old part of town squeezed between an antique shop and a solicitor’s. From the look of the houses advertised in the window it deals mainly in expensive properties, the kind with aerial shots of acres of land and no price attached. Not for the likes of Abby. But she’s not here to buy property.
She hesitates for a moment outside, trying to build up her courage. Then she takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.
Inside is a large office with two big empty desks. A couple of framed photos of local beauty spots hang on the walls but otherwise the space is bland and colourless. A man in his late thirties or early forties is sitting at one of the desks, on the phone. He’s wearing a suit and a pink tie. He looks up as she walks in and she thinks she detects a flash of recognition in his eyes.
‘Hold on one moment.’ He covers the phone with his hand. ‘Please take a seat,’ he says smoothly. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’
While his attention is diverted she looks at him carefully and notices he’s wearing a name badge that says Andrew Wilson. It’s him. She draws in her breath, suddenly wishing she’d waited for Danny. She was stupid to come here alone. But it’s too late now. Anyway, he looks harmless enough, wide set, with reddish cheeks. He looks wholesome, even. More like a farmer than an estate agent.
When he’s finished on the phone he stands up and holds out his hand for her to shake. She’s frustrated to note her hand is trembling a little as she takes his. Since when did she become such a scaredy-cat?
‘How can I help you?’ he asks pleasantly.
She clears her throat. ‘I’m a friend of Mark’s.’
‘Yes, I remember you. We met on New Year’s Eve, didn’t we? Abigail, isn’t it?’
Abby nods. ‘That’s right. Mark said you might be able to help me. I’m looking for a flat, a one-bed.’ She quotes the price of a flat she’s seen online.
Andrew Wilson raises his eyebrows. ‘Hmm. It might be tricky to find something in town in your price range, but I’ll see what I can do.’
As he taps at the keyboard on his computer she notices the wedding band on his ring finger and the photo of his family on his desk: a wife and two teenaged children. And she feels disgusted. Even if it he didn’t take advantage of her – even if the sex was consensual, or at least he thought it was consensual, at the very least he’s betrayed his wife and his family.
‘A studio might be your best bet,’ he says, showing her a selection of pictures on the computer.
‘I like this one.’ She stabs randomly at an image of what looks like a stately home. Ivy covers half the façade. ‘But that can’t be in my price range, surely.’
‘Well . . .’ He laughs. ‘You don’t get the whole thing, of course. It’s divided into flats, but it is a bit of a bargain, that. It’s a bit out of town in the village of Bibury. Do you know it? The property’s empty at the moment so we can go and view it now if you like.’
Abby finds herself nodding.
‘Where did you park your car?’ he asks.
‘Um, I walked.’ She doesn’t tell him she doesn’t have a car, because if he knows that, he might wonder why she wants to look at a property so far out of town.
‘I’ll give you a lift then,’ he says, picking up a briefcase. Now she’s standing next to him, she realizes how tall he is. Tall and broad. She barely comes up to his chest. She wouldn’t stand much of a chance in a fight. She swallows a sudden panic. What’s to stop him driving her off to a secluded spot and raping her again, or worse? She tells herself she’s being paranoid. Still, there’s no harm in taking precautions.
‘I’ll just ring my boyfriend,’ she says pointedly, as they step out onto the street. ‘Let him know where I’m going. He might want to meet us there.’ She takes out her phone and rings Danny. But his phone is switched off. Shit, why’s he switched his phone off? Danny never switches his phone off. Maybe it’s out of battery. She speaks anyway, pretending he’s answered.
‘I’m at the estate agents, Brown and Lowe’s, with Andrew Wilson,’ she says loudly. ‘I’m going to see a flat.’ She gives him the address. ‘You can come and meet us there, if you’ve got time.’
Then she nods and smiles, pretending to listen.
‘Yes, okay. I’ll see you later,’ she says, and hangs up.
It’s enough, she hopes. Andrew Wilson is warned. He knows that she’s told someone where she’s going and who with. He would be stupid to try anything.
*
A sleek, black BMW is parked halfway down the street, squeezed into a tight parking space between two other cars. As soon as she climbs in and inhales the familiar smell of new leather seats and gardenia air freshener she knows: she’s been in this car before.
Abby is silent as they head through the town centre. She’s fighting a growing sense of unease, thinking about what could have happened in this car.
‘You gave me a lift home on New Year’s Eve, didn’t you?’ she blurts.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ says Andrew evenly. ‘I’m surprised you remember, though. You were a bit worse for wear that night.’
Abby grips the seat. She must be crazy accepting a lift from this man. But it’s too late now. They’re already on their way, heading out of town towards the ring road.
‘I know,’ she says, keeping her voice steady. She must keep it casual. Avoid letting on that she suspects anything – that if they did sleep together, she just regards it as a normal one-night stand. ‘I had a bit too much to drink. I really don’t remember much at all. Did you come into the house?’
Andrew Wilson stares straight ahead at the road, smiling slightly.
‘No, nothing like that. I’m nearly old enough to be your father.’
‘So, nothing happened between us? We didn’t sleep together?’ Abby clasps her hands in her lap and looks across at him, studying his face.
His neck flushes red and he gives a short, embarrassed laugh. ‘No. I’m a married man. I only gave you a lift because I was worried about you. You said you were going to walk home alone. You were upset about something . . . and, well . . . my niece is about your age. I wouldn’t want her walking home on her own at that time of night.’
‘So, you just dropped me at my door and that was it. You didn’t come in?’
‘Well, I waited until you were inside and then I drove off.’
He sounds convincing. He even sounds genuinely shocked that she would suggest that they’d slept together. And Abby finds herself wondering if he’s exactly what he seems – a nice, normal, middle-aged man. But she’s lost faith in her ability to judge truth from lies. She’s entered a crazy new world where the impossible can happen and no one is to be trusted.
They are driving along a country lane now, hedges whizzing past. Andrew drives fast, not slowing down for sharp bends. Abby grips the seat and tries to remain clear-headed, logical. She needs to make the most of this situation, find out as much as possible.
‘What time was it when you dropped me off?’
If he thinks it’s strange that she wants to know the time she arrived home more than three months ago, he hides it well.
‘Let me see. It must have been about two o’clock, I think. I got to my house around half past two and it probably took me a half-hour to drive home.’
He slows down a little to pass through a quaint Cotswold village and over a river.
‘Look, I promise you, nothing happened.’
He sounds so plausible, but as they turn into a gravel driveway and through an imposing stone gateway, Abby wonders what a married middle-aged man is doing at a party with twenty-somethings. And why didn’t his wife come with him that night? Surely it’s normal to spend New Year’s Eve together with your nearest and dearest?
He pulls up outside the large Cotswold stone mansion and kills the engine. They step out and Abby looks at the wide sweeping
lawns that lead down to a lake. The wind is gusting across the open space and she shivers in her thin jacket.
‘You would have shared access to the gardens,’ says Andrew Wilson. ‘And there’s plenty of parking space, as you can see.’
They climb a dark carpeted staircase and he slips a key into the lock. The flat is cold, empty of furniture and slightly musty. There’s a dead fly on the windowsill. The door swings shut with a thud and Abby tries not to think about the fact that she is all alone with him or that she is only five-foot-two and he is over six foot. She wishes she’d carried on with those self-defence classes. She had attended the classes with Ellie years ago, after Ellie was almost attacked just outside their home, but she doesn’t remember much.
‘It’s a great view, isn’t it?’ says Andrew Wilson half-heartedly. She follows him to the window and stares out at the grey sky and the wide, sweeping lawns. ‘Well, feel free to have a look around.’
Abby pretends to take an interest in the kitchen – the grimy-looking electric hob and the cheap-looking counters. She’s trying to ignore the rising feeling of unease inside her. She wraps her fingers round the keys in her pocket, making them into a knuckle duster. You’re supposed to go for the eyes, she remembers that much.
‘Is there a dishwasher?’ she asks.
‘Um, I believe so.’ He opens a few doors. ‘Yes, there you go.’
Abby looks in the bathroom and the bedroom as quickly as possible.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’
Andrew Wilson looks at his watch. ‘What about your boyfriend? Aren’t we meeting him here?’
‘What? Oh, no, he messaged me to say he can’t make it.’
‘Okay,’ he shrugs. ‘If you’ve seen enough.’
*
‘So, what did you think of the flat?’ Andrew asks as they drive back to town.
‘I’ll need to discuss it with my boyfriend.’
‘Yes, of course.’
It starts raining a light splatter against the windscreen and Andrew Wilson turns on the windscreen wipers. Abby stares at them, mesmerized. They remind her of something. Then she realizes what it is. An image flashes into her mind: snowflakes, lit up in the car headlights like a swarm of insects, the wipers squeaking as they pushed away the snow.
‘It was snowing on New Year’s Eve, when we drove home,’ she says.
Andrew Wilson glances sidelong at her. ‘Yes, that’s right. It had just started to snow. So, you do remember some things?’
‘Not much,’ she says. ‘I wish I could. Can you remember anything else about that night – the New Year’s Eve party? I’m trying to piece together what happened.’
He shrugs. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Did you see me at all at the party? What was I doing, who was I talking to?’
‘Let me see . . . When I arrived you were talking to some bloke on the stairs. I went into the living room and chatted with Mark and another bloke, a Chemistry teacher . . .’
‘Chris?’
‘Yes, I think that was his name.’
‘And after that?’ Abby glances over at him.
‘I don’t know. You were outside watching the fireworks at midnight, like everyone else. You looked a bit out of it. You were with a dark-haired woman. After the fireworks, I went to Danny’s room with Mark and we watched a boxset, so I don’t know what you were doing then.
‘Was it just you and Mark watching the boxset?’
‘No, that bloke Chris was there too.’
‘And then?’
‘I didn’t see you again, until I was leaving. You were at the door. It was starting to snow, and you didn’t have a coat on. I offered you a lift. It seemed like the right thing to do.’ He stops for traffic lights as they drive into town and looks at her directly. ‘I promise you it was nothing more than that.’
Abby nods. ‘And did we stop at a petrol station?’
‘Yes, that’s right. So, you are starting to remember?’
Is it her imagination, or does he look worried for a second? Why would he be worried that she’s begun remembering things?
Abby grips her phone tightly. Suspicion coils in her mind and there’s a tight knot of anxiety in her chest. She’s so deep in thought as they drive the rest of the way back that she blinks with surprise when they finally reach the town centre and stop opposite the church. ‘Let me know if you want to take the flat,’ Andrew says as she gets out of the car. ‘But you’ll have to be quick. A property like that won’t stay on the market very long.’
‘Thanks,’ says Abby, ‘I will,’
It’s only as she walks back home through the rain and can finally breathe that she realizes just how tense she’s been the whole time.
*
She finds Ellie outside, battling to bring in the washing, her mouth full of pegs. The wind is so strong the wet clothes keep wrapping themselves around her face.
‘Here, let me help,’ says Abby. It bothers her that Ellie does most of the housework even though her job is arguably more demanding than Rob’s, but it’s not her business to interfere and Ellie is that kind of person. She likes to look after everyone. She can see how it would be easy for Rob to slip into letting Ellie do a lot for him.
‘Thanks,’ Ellie mumbles. They work in silence for a while, racing against the wind and the rain, which is getting heavier.
‘Remember New Year’s Eve?’ asks Abby, as she lugs the washing basket back inside and they start hanging the clothes on the rack. ‘You and Rob went to Carla’s for dinner, right?’
Ellie groans. ‘Yes, I remember. I wish I could forget. It was the worst. Carla invited Simon and his ex, and they had a huge row. Then Rob got into an argument with the guy Carla was seeing at the time. You know what Rob’s like. It almost ended in a physical fight.’
Abby grins. She does know what Rob’s like. He enjoys provoking people. Sometimes it’s amusing, but other times it’s just downright annoying. ‘What time did you get home?’
‘Just after twelve. We left as soon as we could. Why?’
‘And did you go straight to bed? Or do you remember me coming home?’
‘I don’t, but Rob might. He stayed up after I went to bed. Started watching a movie. God knows how long he was up.’ Ellie drapes one of Rob’s shirts over a hanger and glances curiously at Abby. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’ Abby slips away into the living room before Ellie can probe any further.
Rob is sitting with his feet up on the coffee table, watching the news.
‘You were completely off your trolley,’ he says when she asks him about New Year’s. ‘You could barely stand up. I gave you a glass of water to sober you up, but I still had to help you upstairs.’
Abby cringes with embarrassment and picks at some imaginary fluff on the sofa. ‘So, there was no one else with me? I didn’t invite anyone in?’
‘No.’ He gives her an odd look. ‘That’s a weird question, Abs.’
Abby opens her mouth to reply, but to her relief Rob turns back to the news, distracted by the report of a terrorist attack in France.
It seems as if Andrew Wilson was telling the truth. He dropped her off and didn’t come in. If he is the man she’s looking for, then either he parked in a lay-by somewhere or it happened sometime earlier at the party.
‘By the way, there are some more flowers for you in the kitchen,’ Rob says as she’s leaving the room.
Abby stares at him. ‘Flowers?’
‘Yes, unbelievable, isn’t it? Somebody’s got the hots for you. There’s no accounting for taste.’ He smirks.
‘Thanks a bunch, Robert,’ she says lightly, but there’s that feeling of apprehension again. Since when did something as innocent as a bunch of flowers make her belly twist so uneasily and her heart start beating so fast?
In the kitchen the flowers
, pink carnations this time, have been left in the sink in a pool of water. She sits at the kitchen table and reads the attached note. It’s the same as before: ‘Abigail with love’, typed neatly on a small, white card.
She sighs, makes herself a cup of tea and checks her phone. There are a few unread messages. One from a teacher at work asking if she wants to go on a geography field trip next week, and one from Danny saying he feels better and asking how it went with Andrew Wilson. The third is from a number she doesn’t recognize. She opens the message.
How about that date? Are you free tomorrow night? Do you fancy going to the cinema, eight o’clock? Alex.
Alex. Of course. He must have sent the flowers. She feels flattered and relieved, but she hesitates before replying. On the one hand, she doesn’t need to make her life any more complicated than it already is, on the other, if she spends time with Alex, maybe she’ll find out more about New Year’s Eve.
‘Love to,’ she messages back. Then changes it to ‘Okay x’. After a moment’s thought she deletes the kiss.
Ten
Abby’s newly generous cleavage is spilling out all over the place, a web of blue veins over plump, pale skin. The short blue dress clings to her figure, clearly outlining a small but definite bulge. That won’t do. She doesn’t want Alex to know she’s pregnant. Not yet. She takes it off and tosses it onto the bed. Then she pulls on a pair of stretchy tights and puts on a loose, lacy, black boho-style dress over the top.
She examines herself critically in the mirror, scraping eyeliner over her eyelids and tucking her straight brown hair behind her ears. Her normally elfin face looks a bit puffier than usual and she definitely looks tired, but no one would guess she was pregnant, at least.
Rob whistles when she comes downstairs. ‘What are you all tarted up for, Abby? Can you even walk in those heels?’
‘Ignore him. You look very nice,’ says Ellie. She’s sitting on the sofa squashed up against the arm. Hector is taking up most of the space, sprawled across the cushions, his head lolling in her lap. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Just to the cinema.’ She hasn’t told them about Alex. They’ll only give her the third degree and she doesn’t think she can face that right now.
