The Breakdown

by B. A. Paris

  I dial his number, praying that I’ll be able to get a signal, because with the bathroom at the back of the house, it’s never a sure thing. When his mobile starts ringing, I’m dizzy with gratitude.

  ‘On my way,’ he says cheerfully, thinking I want to know how long he’s going to be. ‘Do you want me to stop off for anything?’

  ‘I think there’s someone in the house,’ I whisper shakily.

  ‘What?’ His voice is sharp with worry. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In the bathroom. I’ve locked the door.’

  ‘Good. Stay there. I’ll phone the police.’

  ‘Wait!’ I find myself hesitating. ‘I’m not sure. I mean, what if there’s no one there? I only heard something twice.’

  ‘What did you hear? Someone breaking in, voices?’

  ‘No, nothing like that… a crack and then some sort of creaking noise.’

  ‘Look, stay where you are. I’ll be with you in two minutes.’

  ‘All right,’ I say, ‘but hurry!’

  Feeling less anxious now that Matthew is coming, I sit down on the edge of the bath. The feel of it against my bare skin reminds me that I’m still naked, so I drag my dressing gown from the back of the door and shrug it on. I can’t help wondering if I should have let Matthew phone the police after all. If there is someone in the house, he could be in danger when he arrives.

  My mobile rings. ‘I’m here,’ Matthew says. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘I’ve parked in the road,’ he goes on. ‘I’m going to take a look around.’

  ‘Be careful,’ I say. ‘Stay on the phone.’

  ‘All right.’

  I listen nervously as I hear his footsteps crunch on the gravel and then round the side of the house.

  ‘Can you see anything?’ I ask.

  ‘Everything seems fine. I’ll just check the garden.’ A minute or so passes. ‘All good, I’m coming in.’

  ‘Be careful!’ I warn again, before the signal goes.

  ‘Don’t worry, I grabbed a spade from the shed.’

  The call cuts off and from the bathroom, I hear him checking out the rooms downstairs. When I hear him on the stairs, I start unlocking the door.

  ‘Let me check the bedrooms first!’ he calls. It isn’t long before he’s back. ‘You can come out now.’

  I open the door and when I see him standing there with the spade in his hand, I feel suddenly foolish.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I really did think someone was there.’

  He puts the spade down and wraps his arms around me. ‘Hey, better to be safe than sorry.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you want to make me one of your gin and tonics, do you? I could do with a stiff drink. I’ll just throw some clothes on.’

  ‘It’ll be waiting for you in the garden,’ he promises, taking his arms from around me and heading for the stairs.

  I pull on jeans and a T-shirt and follow him down. He’s standing in the kitchen slicing some limes.

  ‘That was quick,’ he says. But I’m too busy staring at the window.

  ‘Did you open the window?’ I ask.

  ‘What?’ He turns to look. ‘No, it was like that when I came in.’

  ‘But I shut it,’ I say, frowning. ‘Before I went up for my bath I shut all the windows.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ I search my memory. I can remember closing the windows in the sitting room and the one in the study but I can’t remember closing this one. ‘At least, I thought I had.’

  ‘Maybe you didn’t close it properly and it came open,’ he says. ‘Maybe that was the noise you heard.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ I say, relieved. ‘Come on, let’s have that drink.’

  *

  Later, after dinner, we carry the rest of the bottle of wine through to the sitting room to finish in front of a film. It’s hard to find one we haven’t already seen.

  ‘What about Juno?’ he asks as we flick through the list. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’

  ‘A teenager who finds herself pregnant and looks for the perfect couple to adopt her baby. I don’t really think it’s for you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He takes the remote from me and puts it to one side. ‘We haven’t talked about having a baby for a while now,’ he says, gathering me in his arms. ‘You do still want to, don’t you?’

  I lay my head on his shoulder, loving how safe he makes me feel. ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should start putting the wheels in motion. It can be quite a long process, apparently.’

  ‘We said when we’d been married a year,’ I say and, despite my joy, I realise that I’m stalling, because how can I think about having a child when, before it’s even a teenager, I could be diagnosed with dementia, like Mum? I know I’m probably worrying about nothing but to ignore the problems I’ve been having with my memory would be stupid.

  ‘It’s lucky it’s our anniversary soon, then,’ he says softly. ‘Why don’t we watch an action film instead?’

  ‘All right. Let’s have a look at what there is.’

  We watch a film until it’s time for the news. As always, Jane’s murder features prominently and I only carry on watching because I’m desperate to know if they’re any nearer to catching her killer, but they’ve made little progress. Then a police officer comes on:

  ‘If you, or anyone you know, were in the vicinity of Blackwater Lane last Friday night, or in the early hours of Saturday morning, and saw Jane Walter’s car, a dark red Renault Clio, parked or otherwise, please call the following number.’

  He seems to be looking directly at me as he speaks, and when he adds that people can call the number anonymously, I realise it’s the answer to my dilemma.

  The news finishes and Matthew, ready for bed, tries to pull me to my feet.

  ‘You go ahead, there’s something I want to watch on another channel,’ I say, reaching for the remote.

  ‘OK,’ he says cheerfully, ‘I’ll see you later.’

  I wait until he’s upstairs, then rewind the news until I find the number and jot it down on a piece of paper. I don’t want the police to be able to trace the call back to me so I’ll have to use a payphone, which means I won’t be able to phone until Monday, when Matthew’s back at work. And once I have, hopefully some of my guilt will disappear.

  SUNDAY, JULY 26TH

  The house phone rings while Matthew is in the kitchen, making breakfast to bring back to bed.

  ‘Can you get it?’ I call from the bedroom, shifting further down under the covers. ‘If it’s for me, tell whoever it is that I’ll call them back!’

  A moment later, I hear him asking Andy how he is, so I guess bumping into Hannah has prompted his call. Remembering how I had suddenly run off to meet Rachel, I can’t help feeling a little guilty.

  ‘Let me guess – Andy wants you to play tennis this morning,’ I say when Matthew comes back upstairs.

  ‘No, he wanted to know what time we’re expecting them.’ He looks quizzically at me. ‘I didn’t realise you’d invited them today.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that you didn’t mention it was today they were coming for a barbecue.’

  ‘It isn’t.’ Sitting up, I take one of the pillows from his side of the bed and put it behind my back. ‘I said they must come round but I didn’t say when.’

  ‘Well, Andy seems to think it’s today.’

  I smile. ‘He’s having a joke with you.’

  ‘No, he was deadly serious.’ He pauses. ‘Are you sure you didn’t invite them today?’

  ‘Of course I am!’

  ‘It’s just that you did the garden yesterday.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Just that Andy asked me if you’d managed to get the place tidied up. Apparently, you told Hannah that if they came for a barbecue, it would be a good excuse to get the garden into shape.’

  ‘Then why didn’
t they know the time? If I’d arranged something with Hannah, I would have said the time. She’s got it wrong, not me.’

  Matthew gently shakes his head. The movement is so subtle, I nearly miss it. ‘I managed to hide the fact that I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about and said twelve-thirty.’

  I look at him, appalled. ‘What, so they’re all coming? The children too?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But I didn’t invite them! Could you phone Andy back and tell him there’s been a mistake?’

  ‘I could, I suppose.’ Another pause. ‘As long as you’re sure you didn’t tell them to come today.’

  I stare at him, trying not to let him see how unsure I suddenly feel. Even though I can’t actually remember inviting Hannah and Andy today, what I do remember is Hannah saying, just as we parted, something about Andy looking forward to seeing Matthew. My heart sinks.

  ‘Look, don’t worry,’ Matthew says, watching me. ‘It’s no big deal. I can always pop out and buy a few steaks to throw on the barbecue. And some sausages for the children.’

  ‘We’ll need to make a couple of salads as well,’ I say, feeling near to tears because I really don’t feel up to having them round, not with my mind full of Jane. ‘And what about dessert?’

  ‘I’ll buy some ice cream from the farm shop when I go for the meat. And Andy said that Hannah’s bringing a birthday cake – apparently, it’s his birthday tomorrow – so there’ll be plenty.’

  ‘What time is it now?’

  ‘Just gone ten. Why don’t you have your shower while I make some breakfast? We won’t be able to have it in bed though.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, trying to hide how depressed I feel.

  ‘And then I’ll do the shopping while you make the salads.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I mumble gratefully. ‘I’m sorry.’

  His arms come around me. ‘Hey, you’ve got nothing to apologise for. I know how tired you are at the moment.’

  I’m glad to be able to hide behind the excuse but how long is it going to be before he says something to me, because coming on top of having forgotten he was going away on Monday, this fiasco over the barbecue is one thing too many. I go through to the bathroom, trying to ignore the voice in my head: You’re going mad, you’re going mad, you’re going mad. It would be so much easier to pretend that Hannah, wanting to come round for a barbecue, had decided to manipulate an invitation. But that’s not something she’d ever do and I’d be mad to even think it. Anyway, what about my obsession to get the garden looking perfect? I’d been so sure that it was just a way of distracting myself, of keeping myself busy but, maybe, somewhere in my brain, I knew that I’d invited them.

  Thinking back, I can guess what happened. I’d been so distracted by the talk of Jane, I’d only been half listening to what Hannah was saying by the end of our chat. Maybe it was then, during those lost minutes, that I’d invited Hannah and Andy to come today.

  It used to happen to Mum all the time. She’d be there, nodding away at things I was saying, offering her opinion, even making suggestions, but a few minutes later she couldn’t remember anything that we’d said at all. ‘I must have been away with the fairies’, she’d say. ‘Periodic amnesia’ the nurse who came to check on her called it. Was that where I’d been, away with the fairies? For the first time in my life, fairies seem like evil creatures.

  *

  Hannah and Andy arrive a little after twelve-thirty, and it’s not long before the conversation inevitably turns to Jane’s murder.

  ‘Did you see that the police are appealing for people to come forward in relation to that young woman’s death?’ Hannah says as she passes a plate to Matthew. ‘Don’t you think it strange that nobody has?’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t suppose many people take that road late at night,’ Matthew says. ‘Especially when there’s a storm going on.’

  ‘If I’m coming back from Castle Wells, I take it all the time,’ says Andy cheerfully. ‘Day or night, storm or no storm.’

  ‘So where were you last Friday night?’ Matthew asks and, when they all start laughing, I want to scream at them to stop.

  Matthew catches sight of my face. ‘Sorry,’ he says quietly. He turns to Hannah and Andy. ‘Did Cass tell you she knew her?’

  They stare at me.

  ‘Not very well,’ I say quickly, cursing Matthew for mentioning it. ‘We had lunch together once, that’s all.’ I close my mind to the image of Jane shaking her head reproachfully at my quick dismissal of our friendship.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Cass, you must feel terrible,’ Hannah says.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ There’s a short silence where nobody seems to know quite what to say.

  ‘Well, I’m sure they’ll catch whoever’s responsible soon,’ Andy says. ‘Somebody somewhere must know something.’

  I manage to get through the rest of the afternoon but as soon as they’ve gone I wish they’d come back. Their constant stream of chatter may have been exhausting but it’s preferable to the silence that leaves me too much time to think about the things tumbling around in my mind.

  I clear the table and carry the plates into the kitchen and, as I walk in through the door, I stop in my tracks, staring at the window I hadn’t remembered closing yesterday, before I’d gone up for my bath. Because now, when I think about it, when I’d been making the curry, the back door had been open – but not the window.

  MONDAY, JULY 27TH

  After Matthew leaves for work, I’m unnerved by the sense of abandonment I feel, but I can finally make the phone call I’ve been dreading. I find the piece of paper where I jotted the number down and, as I’m looking for my bag, the phone starts ringing.

  ‘Hello?’

  There’s no reply so I presume whoever it is has lost their signal. I hold on for another ten seconds, then hang up. If it’s Matthew, I know he’ll phone again if he needs to.

  I run upstairs to fetch my purse, push my feet into some shoes and leave the house. I had thought about driving into Browbury or Castle Wells and using one of the payphones there but it seems a bit extreme when there’s one five minutes up the road, near the bus shelter.

  As I approach the payphone, I feel as if someone is watching me. I look to the right and left, then turn and look surreptitiously behind me. But there’s no one around, just a cat sunning itself on a low stone wall. A car drives past; lost in her own thoughts, the woman driver doesn’t even look my way.

  In front of the phone, I read the instructions – because it’s years since I used one – fish for a coin in my purse and with shaking fingers push a pound into the slot. I take out the piece of paper where I jotted down the number to call and punch it into the phone, my heart racing, wondering if I’m doing the right thing. But before I can change my mind, my call is answered.

  ‘It’s about Jane Walters,’ I say breathlessly. ‘I passed her car in Blackwater Lane at eleven-thirty and she was still alive.’

  ‘Thank you for coming forward.’ The woman’s voice is calm. ‘Could I—’ But I’ve already put the phone down.

  I leave quickly, hurrying down the road towards the house, the same uneasy feeling that I’m being watched following me as I go. Once inside, I make myself calm down. There wasn’t anybody watching me, it was only my guilty conscience at doing something secretive that made me think that there was. And because I’ve done what I should have done at the beginning, I begin to feel better about everything.

  After all my hard work on Saturday, there’s nothing left to do in the garden but there’s plenty of housework waiting. With the radio on for company, I drag the hoover upstairs and, armed with polish and cleaning materials, I make a start on the bedrooms. I work methodically, focusing on the task in hand, steering my mind away from Jane. And it works – until the news bulletin comes on at midday:

  ‘Police are appealing to the person who contacted them earlier today with information relating to the murder of Jane Walters to get back in contact with them. Jane
Walters was found murdered in her car the seventeenth of July and…’

  I don’t hear any more over the hammering of my heart. It reverberates in my eardrums, making me deaf. I sit down on the bed and take deep, shaky breaths. Why do the police want to speak to me again? I had told them everything I know. I try to squash down the panic rising inside me but it just keeps on coming. Even though nobody knows it was me who made that phone call, the fact the police have made it public means I no longer feel anonymous. Instead, I feel horribly exposed. The police had said something about the person who called them having information in relation to Jane’s murder. It makes it sound as if I told them something important, something vital. If Jane’s killer was listening to the news, he’s bound to feel threatened by my existence. What if he thinks I saw him lurking around Jane’s car that night?

  Horribly agitated, I get to my feet and pace the bedroom, wondering what I should do. As I pass in front of the window, I glance distractedly outside and then freeze! There’s a man, a man I haven’t seen before, walking away from our house. Nothing to worry about, except that he must have come from the woods. Nothing to worry about, except that it’s rare to see anybody walking past our house. Driving, yes, walking, no. To go for a walk in the woods, no one would go down Blackwater Lane on foot, not unless they wanted to get run over. The path that leads to the woods starts in the field opposite our house and is well signposted. I watch him until he’s out of sight. He doesn’t hurry, he doesn’t turn around but it does nothing to calm my heart’s furious racing.

  *

  ‘Is Rachel staying with you tonight?’ Matthew asks when he phones me later from the rig. I haven’t told him about the man I saw earlier because there’s nothing really to say. Besides, he might call the police, and what would I tell them?

  ‘I saw a man walking away from our house.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Average height, average build. I only saw him from behind.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘In the bedroom.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Nothing.’