The Lying Room

by Nicci French

  ‘She’s better than clever.’

  ‘You mean very clever?’

  ‘I mean she’s good.’

  Hitching gave his smile, the smile that Neve no longer cared for.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Yes, I like that. Thanks for the drink.’

  Neve chopped red peppers, aubergine and shallots into chunks; she poured a small amount of oil over them and put them in the oven. She chopped vine tomatoes and put them in as well. Her hands were trembling. She poured rice into a small pan and covered it with water. She could hear Jackie, Renata and Will in the living room, laughing. Renata’s laugh was high and on the verge of cracking into something else.

  Fletcher came into the kitchen. His hair needed cutting and his beard trimming. His round glasses were slightly smeared. She felt a wave of such tenderness pass through her she could hardly keep standing.

  ‘Neve,’ he said. ‘We should talk.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘There are things I need to tell you.’

  There were things he mustn’t tell her. He mustn’t tell her about his affair with Sarah, because Neve couldn’t tell him about her affair with Saul, and so she would be in the unpardonable position of forgiving him for something she too had done. He would be forever in the wrong, she in the right. She mustn’t do that to him. She put her hands on his shoulders and their eyes met. He looked so miserable.

  ‘Fletcher,’ she said. ‘These last few years have been almost unendurable for both of us. I know we’ve neglected each other, been resentful of each other, angry, or distant, which is even worse. We haven’t paid each other enough attention or given each other enough time. Or had fun. Or talked. We’ve just struggled on trying in whatever way we could to keep going, like moles pushing through the soil.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Whatever’s happened in those years isn’t your fault and it isn’t my fault. It’s both of us. We needed to be a bit more understanding of what the other was going through, a bit more vigilant.’

  ‘You really don’t understand.’

  ‘I think I do. Look, Mabel’s probably going away soon.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think she knows. But soon everything will feel different. We’ll have time and space and we can think about what the rest of our lives are going to be.’

  ‘Do you want to leave me?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying. I just think that now is the wrong time to talk about things. It’s like a mad house. Renata, Jackie and Will are here – still here. Mabel and the boys are here. We’re all exhausted.’

  Another gale of laughter reached them from the living room.

  ‘Did you give Renata a second gin and tonic?’

  ‘She helped herself to one – rather more gin than tonic.’

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Oh Christ, I cannot have another person in this house,’ said Neve. ‘Whoever it is, send them away. No, actually, I will.’

  She strode towards the front door and yanked it open.

  ‘Oh. Charlie.’

  ‘Is she here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What the fuck is she playing at? She sleeps with her boss and then she waltzes off to have a never-ending party with you lot.’

  ‘She asked me if she could stay here and I said yes. That’s all.’

  ‘Hello, Charlie,’ said Renata, and Neve turned to see her propped up in the hallway. ‘Meet Will.’

  As if on cue, he emerged from the living room.

  ‘Can you come home so we can talk?’

  ‘Will and I were once an item,’ said Renata brightly. ‘Weren’t we, Will, back in the day? Such a long way back. When we were young.’

  ‘I should go,’ said Will, who was slack-jawed with embarrassment.

  Serve him right for hanging around long after his welcome had expired, thought Neve.

  ‘But then, I slept with lots of gorgeous men,’ continued Renata.

  Neve knew she should stop her but she couldn’t seem to speak. Behind her, Mabel was coming slowly down the stairs.

  ‘So many. Such fun. But it was like musical chairs. One day, the music stopped and I was with you and you were with me and the rest, as they say, is history.’

  ‘Renata,’ Neve managed to say. Mabel had halted on the final step. Fletcher was in the doorway of the kitchen, on his face a look of almost comical disbelief.

  ‘Did I love you?’ Renata asked reflectively, genuinely seeming to want an answer. ‘Did you love me? Did we like each other? And if we did, what happened? That’s what I want to know. What do you think, Charlie?’

  Charlie’s mouth was open. He blinked several times, then lifted his hand and patted his neat hair. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him. Neve almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘Let’s have another gin,’ said Renata. ‘I drink too much. That’s so I don’t have to think too much. Oh, it rhymes.’

  There was a silence and Neve had the terrible feeling she would start laughing at the brutal farce that was unfolding.

  ‘Renata,’ she said, at last going to her. ‘Please stop. You’re saying cruel things you don’t mean and you’ll regret.’

  ‘Am I? Am I, Charlie?’

  But Charlie had gone. Neve ran to the pavement and saw him walking away from the house, head down. She thought of chasing after him, but didn’t know what she’d say. She went back in and found Renata sitting on the floor of the hallway, her head in her hands, weeping. Will was crouched beside her, and Jackie was bending over her, cooing.

  ‘I think she’s had too much to drink,’ Will said apologetically.

  ‘I think you’re right.’

  ‘We should go.’

  ‘That would probably be best.’

  He stood up.

  ‘I’m sorry if we all stayed too long. I’m going back to Bristol the day after tomorrow, so this is goodbye. Let’s not leave it so long next time. It’s all been very . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Good choice of word,’ said Neve. ‘I hope it gets less interesting from now on.’

  She steered Renata to her bed, where she sat, still weeping steadily while Neve pulled off her shoes, socks, jeans, jumper and tee shirt.

  ‘What have I done?’ wailed Renata, lying back on the pillow, her face a smudge of ruined make-up and grief. ‘What have I gone and done?’ She sat up suddenly, clutching her wild hair. ‘I should go and tell him I’m sorry.’

  ‘You should work out what you want first,’ said Neve. ‘Whether you want to save the marriage or leave it. And you’re not going to do that tonight. You need to sleep. Tomorrow everything will be clearer.’

  ‘I don’t want it to be clearer. Clearer is horrible.’

  ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

  In response, Renata only grimaced.

  ‘I’ll bring you tea.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a cold fish though.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow.’

  The supper was burnt: yet another ruined meal.

  ‘I don’t care what we eat,’ said Neve.

  ‘How about cheese and crackers,’ suggested Fletcher.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Connor.

  ‘You can have beans on toast then.’

  They ate in front of the TV because Neve couldn’t bear the thought of trying to talk. Rory had a bowl of cornflakes, Connor beans on toast, Mabel ate a mouthful of cheese and then curled up in the corner of the sofa and closed her eyes.

  Neve watched the blue whale on the television screen, its mighty body rising above the waves, and the thought that had briefly twitched in her mind came swimming towards her again. She sat quite still, trying not to concentrate on it because that would only scare it away. And then at last she had it.

  She got up and stacked the plates.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said when Fletcher made a move to join her. ‘I’ll do this and feed Whisky and you
can get Rory and Connor upstairs.’

  She leaned over Mabel and touched her shoulder. Mabel’s eyes flickered open and she stared into Neve’s face as if she didn’t know who she was.

  ‘Bed,’ she said.

  ‘It’s only nine o’clock.’

  ‘You were asleep. You’re all in.’

  In the kitchen, she put the plates in the dishwasher, wiped the surfaces, put the milk and the cheese back in the fridge. Then she went into the garden with the guinea-pig food. Whisky pushed his face out of the straw and stared at her beadily, then came forward and pressed his nose against the wire. Neve opened the door and filled his bowl, checked the water. She stroked the creature’s rough little body gently, while her mind worked so hard she felt it might fly apart in a thousand fragments.

  Back inside, she said goodnight to the boys, checking they’d cleaned their teeth and that their clothes were ready for the morning. She kissed them both on their foreheads and said that tomorrow night they’d have a proper meal together because it might be Mabel’s last evening.

  She went softly into Mabel’s room and stood for a while looking at her daughter sleeping. She looked so young and defenceless it made Neve’s chest ache. She adjusted the duvet and crept out.

  Fletcher was in his study. She could see the line of light around its closed door. She went downstairs, pulled on her jacket, slipped the house key into her pocket and went outside. It was dark now, and gusty, with leaves fluttering about her, and she felt a few drops of rain on her cheek. It smelled like autumn.

  She walked down the street and knocked on the door of the house. She thought she heard shuffling steps, then the door opened. At first she thought that a child was standing in front of her, but it was a tiny man, very old and very bald, with mottled green eyes. Like a garden gnome who’d stood years in the rain.

  ‘Yes?’ His voice crackled like a radio with poor signal.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Neve. ‘I must have the wrong number.’

  ‘I’ve seen you. On your bike.’

  ‘That’s me.’

  She shook his hand, said she was sorry to have disturbed him and they must meet properly sometime, and left. Back at home, the house was quiet. She sat at the kitchen table and pressed her fingers against her temples. She knew now. She knew and the knowledge burned into her like a brand.

  She knew and her heart lifted in rage and gladness. Because it wasn’t Mabel. Of course it wasn’t Mabel.

  Finally, she did a google search. It didn’t take her long to find Alison Ferrimore’s number. Alison with eyes of different colours.

  ‘Sorry to ring out of the blue like this,’ she said. ‘It’s Neve Connolly.

  There was a pause. She could almost hear the cogs in Alison’s brain turning.

  ‘Neve. Wow, Neve. How long has it been?’

  ‘Too long,’ said Neve. ‘And I’d like to catch up sometime but right now I just need your help with something.’

  ‘My help?’

  ‘I need an address and phone number.’

  It took a few minutes for Alison to find it. It had been ages since they’d been in contact, she said.

  Neve frowned as she wrote it down.

  ‘I’m not sure this can be right.’

  ‘It’s all I’ve got. Let’s meet before we die,’ she added.

  After the call, Neve made lunch for Rory and Connor for the next morning – bread from the freezer, with the remainder of the cheese and chutney, a biscuit each and an apple. She put both lunch boxes into the fridge and wrote a note for Fletcher. She made sure that their PE kits were hanging from the hook in the scullery.

  There was one more thing she needed to do. She went out into the garden with her mobile and called Gary.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘I’m very sorry for the way I left.’

  ‘As you said, something came up.’

  ‘And I’m sorry that I haven’t been a good enough friend,’ she persisted.

  Gary grunted.

  ‘In a few days’ time,’ she said, ‘I’d like to come over for the day and we can clear up your flat. It’s easier with another person – and then we can go out for supper together, just you and me.’

  ‘You’re too busy.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’d like to. Also, I think you should ask Charlie to help you sort out your debts. I think he’d be glad to help.’

  ‘I don’t want people’s pity.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Gary. This is what friends do for each other. We help each other.’

  After she ended the call, she pulled up Google Maps on her phone and keyed in a postcode before setting the alarm for 5.30.

  All the tiredness had gone from her and she felt alert now. It was as if electricity was running through her, and she didn’t know how she would ever sleep. She went through the house in her bare feet, stopping at each bedroom door. The light was off in Fletcher’s study and when she went into their room he was propped up against the pillows. Without his glasses, his eyes looked naked.

  ‘Did you go out?’ he asked. ‘I thought I heard the front door.’

  ‘I needed some fresh air.’

  He nodded.

  Neve undressed, feeling oddly self-conscious, and climbed into bed beside him. They were both tense, careful not to touch each other. She slid her mobile under her pillow, so he wouldn’t be woken by the early alarm, and turned off her lamp. They lay side by side in the darkness. She knew he was awake, and she listened to him breathing softly. At last she reached out and took his hand.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said.

  ‘Neve—’

  ‘Sweet dreams.’

  She let go of his hand and he turned from her and before long a little rumbling snore came from him. But Neve lay for a long time, waiting for the morning to come.

  8

  The Last Supper

  Neve slept fitfully and was awake before the alarm went off, sliding out of bed quietly so as not to wake Fletcher. In the dark, she pulled clothes out of the drawer and put them on, then crept out of the room and down the stairs. Jacket, shoes, backpack, mobile, keys, bike lock.

  She wheeled her bike out and shut the door gently. The sun hadn’t risen yet but to the east the horizon was beginning to glow. It was cool, fresh after the rain. The wind lifted her hair. There was nobody on the streets, and until she reached Lower Clapton Road, barely any cars. She paused and closed her eyes, surveying the mental map of London in her head. Normally with a long ride of this kind right across the city she would choose a route along a canal or by the river or through parks. But now none of that mattered. The traffic would be light, or as light as it ever got in central London. She just needed to get there quickly. It was a matter of heading west as directly as possible and then curving slightly to the south.

  She set off and turned down Victoria Park Road. From then on, with various twists and turns, it was really just one long road: Hackney Road, Farringdon Road, Oxford Street, along the side of Hyde Park. She saw some early runners, dog walkers and she met a growing number of cyclists coming to work early from the west. Sometimes cycling was a way of thinking, but not this morning. There were too many buses and delivery vans. Anyway, what was there to think about? Not yet. Soon there would be plenty.

  Down the hill to the Shepherd’s Bush roundabout and straight across and along to Goldhawk Road. The morning rush hour was taking shape but it was all in the other direction. She crossed the river on Chiswick Bridge and pulled into the side of the road and looked at her phone. Yes, she was almost there. She turned left into a residential street and in a couple of minutes she had pulled up in front of Number Thirty-Six, Coleridge Road. The Thames was only a few minutes away in one direction and Kew Gardens a few minutes away in the other, but this was just a quiet street of Victorian terraced houses that could have been anywhere in London.

  The windows were dark. It looked as if everyone was asleep. She looked at her watch. It was ten to s
even. It was a terrible time to call on someone she had never met. She decided to wait until seven. That would be all right. After seven – even one minute past seven – it was all right to make a delivery or come to read the meter. A surprise visit from a stranger might seem odd but she felt that now she was here she had to go through with it.

  She stood there on the little front path looking at her watch as the second hand slowly went round. She stared at it. It seemed to be going too slowly. It had almost come to a stop. She blinked. It was still moving.

  ‘Hello?’ said a voice. It was more an accusation than a greeting.

  Neve looked round. A woman had emerged from next door and was looking over the fence. She was grey-haired, wearing a dressing gown and slippers.

  ‘I saw you through the window,’ the woman said. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m calling on Karen,’ said Neve, half expecting to be told that no such person had ever lived here. Because of course they lived just outside Bristol, in a village, with two rescue dogs.

  ‘You’re not doing much calling while standing in her front garden.’

  ‘I was waiting until seven o’clock.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s seven o’clock now.’

  ‘She’s not here,’ said the woman.

  ‘Is she on holiday?’

  ‘She’s in hospital.’

  ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘It must have come early.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It wasn’t due till next week. They went in yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Due?’

  ‘The baby.’

  ‘I don’t understand. I thought they couldn’t . . .’ Neve trailed off. She didn’t know where to start unpicking her confusion. ‘Is Will here?’

  ‘I’ve got to feed Billy while they’re away.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Neve peered at her. ‘Did you say Billy?’

  ‘I thought you were a friend.’

  ‘Of a friend. Do you know which hospital?’

  Half an hour later Neve was walking up the stairs of St Joseph’s Hospital in Barnes. A small voice was telling her that it was hideously inappropriate to ambush a woman in a hospital bed who had just given birth. But she ignored the little voice. She’d done enough bad things already. What did another matter?