The Slipping Place

by Joanna Baker

  ‘Treen.’ It sounded as if he found the name as ugly as she did.

  She took a breath. She was so tired of this. Doing the hard thing. Jumping in. ‘I’m going to run a theory past you and you tell me what it sounds like.’

  ‘What it …?’

  ‘No.’ She had been too tentative. ‘On second thoughts, you just listen. Let me get right to the end and then tell me what I’m supposed to think.’ Push on. ‘Belle said Treen had found a possible solution to her problem. Treen had found someone who might help her. Someone was offering to give her money.’ She wanted to look at him but knew it was best not to. ‘And that is the person who picked her up and took her to the mountain. In a blue Honda. Roland had the car keys but there were spares. The police are concentrating on the car. I don’t think it’s only Belle who saw it. And they’ll be finding forensic evidence in it.’

  Paul was looking at her, staring at the side of her face, as if he was starting to realise where this was going.

  She said, ‘I wonder if you …’ No. Keep it very plain. ‘Treen was violent, erratic, careless, devoted to Belle. She let her own child be hurt. She lied and blamed everyone else for things. Roland tried to say she was unhappy and needed help. Other people wouldn’t be so generous. They would simply wish she didn’t exist.’ His words. She paused to let them sink in. ‘If Treen was the mother of your child you were going to have a lot to do with her for the rest of your life. What is more, as you yourself say, you didn’t want any of it to be true. You didn’t want to be Mayson’s father. You certainly didn’t want John to know about it.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’ He looked shocked. ‘Veronica.’

  He stopped walking and stood facing the water. There was a dog picking its way across the rocks of the shore, and a teenage girl with a bucket.

  Veronica needed to press this home, so that he could see there was no point arguing with her and they could get to the point where he was willing to admit it and accept her help. ‘Roland won’t say anything. But I will if I have to. Everything links back to you. Treen and Belle had jewellery from John’s new range. You had been seeing them. John would have had painkillers for the carpel tunnel syndrome. Were they morphine based? Or your nan had some for her last illness. They were in your mother’s house. And the person who drove Treen up the mountain knew about the Slipping Place. Treen texted Roland about it, and she knew the name. The Slipping Place. Paul, there aren’t many people who know that. I took you there. I took you.’

  She could remember Lesley’s voice, ‘Let them have another biscuit. They’ve walked so far. What harm can it do?’ Everything had been bright, and the boys, flushed with the walk, sitting on a flat rock. The sun shining and a silver tree and the big blue empty sky.

  ‘You promised Treen money. You took her for a walk there with the weather closing in and filled her with drugs and left her there.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘Once Treen was gone, no-one was going to know about your night together and John needn’t find out about Mayson. Unfortunately, after Treen was gone, Belle was still around, asking for money and saying she wanted to stay with Mayson. And she started saying she knew who had driven Treen up the mountain.’

  ‘Veronica, this isn’t it. Not me.’

  ‘The door Belle fell through must have been opened with your father’s keys. Roland had taken a key from Gordon to get into the building, but there were a lot more keys left at the house. Someone bought her champagne. And someone put one of Roland’s drawings on the front door. I don’t think Roland put it there. But he had left pictures stuck on the gallery window. Someone took one and dressed Belle up as the girl in the drawing and they put the drawing on the door to frame him. It was organised and calculated. The shawl was yours. Your grandmother’s, I suppose. You and Roland had both been drawing it. You had it at the workshop.’ Veronica’s fingers were tingling in the cold wind. She got some of Belle’s hand cream out of her bag and rubbed it in. The pause gave them both a moment to absorb what she was saying. ‘I don’t think Belle was pushed. I heard her shrieking and laughing. It sounded more like she was playing a game.’

  She risked a glance. He was staring out across the beach and the sports fields, a lump of muscle tight at the corner of his jaw.

  ‘All right. Well, I simply don’t have time, or frankly the energy, to mess around anymore. We have to go to the police. If you go to jail it won’t be for that long. At worst, it has to be manslaughter. Most likely it will be classed as behaviour endangering life or even accidental death. In both cases, Treen and Belle. So it won’t be too bad.’ She didn’t believe this. ‘And you have family. We’ll look after your son.’ That wasn’t well put. Presumptuous. She wasn’t Paul’s family. ‘Your mother will do it and I’ll help her.’

  He groaned and leaned down, put his hands on his knees, stared at the ground. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Paul we have to clear –’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘When you thought Mayson was Roland’s. Think about that. You wanted him, you wanted him in your family, but you didn’t want Belle to be with him. You wanted her gone. And you were probably glad Treen wasn’t around. You didn’t want them to be here. You didn’t want them.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but what I might have wanted isn’t relevant. I didn’t act on it.’

  ‘You didn’t help her. You let her run around that building. I wonder if you knew about the open door?’ He studied her face. ‘You did know. Well then. And you didn’t chase Belle, try to make her safe? You were going to go home with Vicky and Mayson.’

  ‘Not doing something is very different from acting.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Paul.’

  But he was walking away from her. He went back into the wind, walked quickly around the circle of shrubs, got to the end and stopped. She stood back a little, giving him space to think it through. But as she waited, there was another noise at the apartment windows. John was on the balcony, bright against the window behind. He had called and now he was gesturing with one hand, holding a cardboard carton under the other arm.

  Without speaking again, Paul went back along the path and up to the apartment.

  Chapter 29

  ______

  When Veronica and Paul walked into the apartment, Vicky was standing at the windows with her back to the room and John was behind the kitchen bench. He was pulling things out of his box: white paper packets and jars and takeaway containers with labels from the Hill Street Grocer.

  ‘We’ve been to the sausage shop,’ he said. ‘We’re planning the most wonderful old-fashioned thing. Chicken with forty cloves of garlic. We went to Vicky’s and put Rick Stein on. I have to tell you, he is a gorgeous man.’

  The playfulness seemed out of character. She thought it was an act intended to soothe Paul.

  ‘But then we just went and bought food. I’ve got some of the Lyric olive oil and a red wine vinegar from Westbury and a terrine.’ He looked up from his pile of packets. ‘I don’t know, all this drama has just got me starving.’

  The overdone cheerfulness made Veronica uncomfortable. There was something he was trying to hide.

  ‘And Vicky’s a terrible influence, because she doesn’t care about the size of her own arse. We’ve had eggs Benedict and now I’m just all … grrr antipasto.’ He made monster claws above the food.

  Paul looked bewildered. He took a step towards the bench, staring at the food.

  The wind had chilled Veronica’s hands and now, in the warm air, they were itchy. She rummaged in her bag, found the jar of cream and put some more on. There was a scent of geraniums. It reminded her of her grandmother’s house, gardens and pot pourri. And something else.

  ‘And we got yoghurt. And banana. Vicky thinks little kids like mashed banana.’

  ‘Little kids?’ said Paul.

  ‘Our kid.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘My kid then. Fuck off.’ John held out the yoghurt. ‘Put this away a
nd get out some –’

  There was a knock at the door, a scuffling sound. Then, as if the person knocking had only just found it, the doorbell rang.

  Paul put the yoghurt down slowly, looking at John, who pressed his lips together. Vicky went to the door.

  Paul said, ‘John, no.’

  Georgie came in, holding Mayson.

  ‘Oh no. No no no.’ Paul had his hands out in front of him, a double stop signal. ‘We can’t have him here. I’m not ready to do anything about this.’

  Georgie kept coming, chattering nonsense to the little boy. She met Veronica’s eyes for a moment, then took him across to the window to look out. He struggled to get down but she didn’t let him. Veronica started to go towards her but stopped herself and stayed near the bookshelves just inside the door. Georgie must have made some arrangement with John and Vicky about this. Best to stay out of it.

  Paul had turned to her for support. ‘This is insane. This is not going to happen.’

  John was fiddling with his box of food and Vicky went to help him. They looked as if they had expected Georgie. They must have organised it. And they had all anticipated Paul’s reaction and agreed to ignore him.

  Paul seemed to realise this and became angrier. He banged on the kitchen bench. ‘We do not know how to look after a child! What are we supposed to do? Get to know him? We’re not ready! For fuck’s sake!’ His voice had risen to a shriek. He drew in a breath, clenched his fists. ‘I’m not a father. All I’ll end up doing is wrecking what I’ve got. I don’t want him. Not yet. Not ever.’

  Mayson struggled again. Georgie sat on the floor and pulled some things out of a bag.

  John and Vicky stood side by side behind the bench. John said, ‘We want him.’

  Paul said, ‘My decision. He’s mine.’

  ‘No. He’s ours.’ John and Vicky both looked steadily at Paul. ‘It’ll be like a joint project. It’s already a joint project.’ John waved his hands trying to describe it. ‘One of those things that isn’t really going anywhere and isn’t helping any of us, but none of us can escape from it.’ He nudged Vicky. ‘Used to be called a family.’

  They were smiling at Paul, trying to look hopeful, looking terrified. There was a silence.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, John,’ said Paul.

  Mayson picked up a toy and began banging it on a glass side table. Georgie had him trapped between her outstretched legs. She was trying to subdue the arm movements and talking to him. ‘Good boy. Being nice and quiet.’ She looked at Veronica. ‘He’s been screaming his head off. Just screaming.’

  John put his hands in front of him, gripped the wrist brace, pulled his chin in. ‘Vicky knows a bit about kids.’

  But if this was Vicky’s cue to move towards the child, she didn’t take it.

  Veronica said, ‘Let’s just sit down and have some –’

  There was loud knocking at the door. Three hard thumps, made with a fist, moving the door in its frame. And then, just as he had at Belle’s, Dane seemed to be in the middle of the room before he managed to stop himself.

  Everybody froze.

  Dane moved his arms stiffly out from his sides, as if he was intending to lunge at someone, but hadn’t decided where. He seemed to think some words were required. ‘Fuck me.’

  Georgie grabbed Mayson but he struggled free and, without making a sound, put his head and shoulders under the low table. He lay still with his back to the room. Georgie edged in front of him and placed one hand on his hip. Veronica wanted to help shield the boy, but to do that she would have to move past Dane. She didn’t have the courage.

  John started moving around the side of the room, keeping his distance from Dane. He stepped in front of Georgie.

  ‘You don’t wanna do this,’ said Dane. ‘What’s coming. Ask her.’ He jerked his head at Veronica. Then he lurched towards John and shoved him aside with no apparent effort. John fell towards the window frame. Georgie wriggled backwards, closer to Mayson’s legs.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Vicky.

  Dane looked at Vicky, then at Veronica and gave a mad laugh. He went to the dining table and picked up one of the chairs. As he moved, Vicky hurried across to John and pulled him to his feet. Dane turned back, holding the chair by one leg, swinging it lightly as if testing its weight.

  Vicky and John put themselves side by side, in front of Georgie and Mayson. Dane stared at them for a moment and then gave an aggressive grunt that he might have intended to be another laugh.

  And then his expression changed, to a half smile, and a kind of wary excitement.

  He wasn’t looking at Mayson, Veronica realised. He wasn’t fighting his way towards the boy. He had pushed John and picked up the chair just to show he could. To set parameters. Now his expression was calculating. He was going to make a demand.

  She said, ‘You are ridiculous.’ But it was her voice that sounded ridiculous – pretending to be brave, instead sounding weak and terrified.

  Dane came towards her. She winced with remembered pain, stepped sideways, jarred her shoulders. She could already feel the heat of him, smell his skin and a thick, sickly aftershave. But instead of looking at her, his eyes were sweeping the room and he saw something. He dropped the chair and swung away to the kitchen bench. Paul jumped backwards.

  Dane picked up John’s iPad. He spoke to Paul. ‘I want five grand.’ Veronica found she could breathe again. He hadn’t come for Mayson at all. He must have thought this through overnight, and decided to bully them one last time. And to extract what he could. The banality of it, the stupidly small amount of money, diminished him. The others could feel it too. The terror in the room was slowly subsiding. They were simply stunned.

  Paul had his eyes on the chair, lying on its side on the floor. The others watched Dane. Nobody moved.

  ‘Five grand and I’ll go. I’ll stay away. You can have him.’ Another silence, then John said, ‘I’ve got a cheque book.’ He went out through a doorway.

  Dane was holding an iPad now instead of a weapon, and the simple demand seemed to give Vicky courage. She sneered at him. ‘Five thousand dollars? How did you get that figure?’ She stepped forwards. ‘You thought he was your son. Have you woken up and worked out the dates?’

  Vicky looked at Mayson’s feet, sticking out from behind Georgie. She seemed to realise Dane wasn’t interested in the boy, and the relief fuelled her outrage. ‘But two women are dead. So. Five grand? Is that enough?’ She lifted her chin. She was sweating, shiny. ‘I know you people. You’re all the same. You like to think you’re hard done by, but really you’re just cheap thieves.’

  Dane stepped towards Vicky, the iPad raised, threatening to hit her with it.

  Veronica said, ‘Maybe it was always about money.’ It was nonsense, she knew, but it helped to confuse him. He spun around, looking like he didn’t know who to lunge at first.

  John came back and quietly gave him a cheque.

  Dane said, ‘Fucken hell.’ He swung around, glaring at them all.

  ‘You’re the ones hiding the murderer.’

  Vicky didn’t seem to know what he meant. Her mouth fell open. John and Paul looked at each other. They weren’t shocked or horrified by what he had said. It was a knowing look, deeply troubled and mutually accusing.

  ‘You fucken people,’ said Dane. ‘My two girls are dead. They are dead. You lot have to pay for that. One way or another way, I don’t care. I know who was in that building yesterday. So why don’t you just sort it out. Before I have to do something.’

  His words were weak and he knew it. He stomped out, slamming the door. They all stood in silence. Up on the road, a car door slammed and an engine started. There was a faint squeal of tyres and a dog yelped, then silence.

  A flood of relief. Veronica found she was rubbing her hands together. She looked down at them, unable to think. There were patches of bright red skin.

  Paul said, ‘You haven’t got five thousand dollars.’ John said, ‘I’ll make a phone call.’

&
nbsp; ‘He won’t give it to you.’

  ‘Not my father. Yours.’

  Paul pushed out some air.

  Veronica’s hands were burning. She looked down. She had rubbed some of Belle’s cream on them. Now they were tight and hot.

  She said, ‘Paul, it’s time this was over. The police are about to find Roland. He’s running around, God knows where. He’s distressed. He’ll say stupid things. It’s time to tell the truth.’

  Paul and John were very still. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to react.

  ‘Paul. People will understand. You had a child and you didn’t want Treen and Belle making his life miserable.’

  Georgie began stroking Mayson on the legs, saying something to him, trying to coax him out from under the table.

  ‘Dane is right. Those two poor girls don’t deserve this. It’s time to go to the police and –’

  ‘No.’ Paul looked exhausted and immensely sad. ‘You’re wrong.’ Paul’s and Veronica’s phones both beeped. Text messages.

  Paul said, ‘You don’t see things as they really are. You never have.’

  Chapter 30

  ______

  The text messages were from Roland. Veronica’s said:

  Mon, 25 Jul 11.29 am

  Come to the house. I will tell you everything.

  Paul showed her his phone. The message was the same. She looked around the room. Vicky and Georgie were talking quietly to Mayson. She could see that, for now, he would be all right. He would always be all right. With Georgie to help. With Vicky.

  John was standing in the middle of the room, one hand still hovering in the air from where Dane had snatched the cheque. He looked blankly, forlornly, at Paul.

  Paul said, ‘It’s all right. It’s over now.’ He glanced again at Veronica and she followed him out of the apartment.

  When Roland said ‘the house’, he meant her house. Not Lesley’s, not Judith’s. On the way to the car, Veronica allowed herself a moment of grim satisfaction. Maybe Roland’s childhood had provided him with a foundation after all. It was revealed in traces, in his language.