by Nicci French
She told the nurse at the front desk who she was here to see.
‘It’s not visiting hours,’ said the nurse.
‘I’ll just be a moment. I just want to give my congratulations. Is Karen all right?’
‘She’s fine.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Along the right-hand corridor. Room G3. Wash your hands first.’
Neve used the liquid dispenser then pushed the large doors open and turned right. She stepped into room G3. There were four occupied beds. Trying not to be conspicuous, Neve looked at the charts on the end of each bed. Karen Maxwell was in a bed by the window, a window that looked out on a patch of green and beyond, there was even a glimpse of the river.
She looked at the woman in the bed. She was asleep. She had blond hair with a tint of red and pale, almost transparent, skin. Neve looked into the cot beside the bed, down at the fiercely pink little prune face, the scrunched-up fingers. Neve felt a sudden pang. She remembered Mabel and Rory and Connor when they were just born. It felt so long ago and yet it was a memory she could almost smell.
‘Who are you?’ said a dreamy voice.
‘You’ve got a beautiful baby,’ Neve said.
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Is it a boy or a girl?’
‘Agnes,’ she said. ‘She’s called Agnes. Eight and a half pounds.’
‘It must have hurt.’
‘I can’t remember anything about it. Just seeing her for the first time.’
Neve walked to the other side of the bed, pulled a chair over and sat down. Karen turned her head slowly to look at Neve.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m called Neve. I’m a friend of Alison Ferrimore.’
‘Alison Ferrimore,’ she repeated sleepily. ‘Ferrimore.’ It was like she was rolling the name around in her mouth.
‘You look happy,’ said Neve.
‘Yes. I am happy. I never thought I’d be happy. I never thought I’d have a child. I’m forty years old and I’ve got a child.’ She was still speaking in a dreamy, slurred tone. ‘I know I’m old to have a child. When Agnes is my age I’ll be eighty.’
‘You’re not old,’ said Neve. She put a hand out and touched Karen’s arm. ‘I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know you but I know your husband.’ She stopped. Nothing made sense; she had wandered into the wrong story. ‘I think I do,’ she added helplessly.
‘Michael,’ said Karen. ‘Michael’s nice.’
‘I meant Will.’
‘You know Will?’
‘Yes. But I thought – well, I thought Will was married to you.’
‘He was once.’ Karen’s voice became dreamy. ‘Long, long ago,’ she said.
‘But I don’t understand. Has he married again?’
‘God, I hope not.’
‘When did you separate?’
‘Eleven years ago.’
‘Oh,’ said Neve. ‘So you don’t live in a village near Bristol with two rescue dogs.’
Karen looked at her and an odd little smile twitched at her mouth. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes.’
‘What else?’
‘That he ran a company – something to do with logistics and data analysis.’
‘He once worked for a shoe company,’ said Karen. ‘Not for long though. There wasn’t much data analysis.’
‘And that you two couldn’t have children.’
Karen’s glance settled on the baby at her side. ‘But now I have. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.’
‘So everything’s a lie?’ asked Neve.
‘He has to lie,’ said Sarah. ‘He always lied. I hope he hasn’t hurt you.’
Neve opened her mouth to speak then shut it again. ‘It’s not me he’s hurt,’ she said.
‘How do you know him?’
‘I was at university with him. He was part of a group of people I knew at Newcastle.’
Karen gave a strange little laugh but didn’t reply.
‘What?’ said Neve.
‘Oh nothing,’ said Karen. ‘They gave me all kinds of drugs and I’ve got a new little daughter and I feel all discom—’ She stopped. ‘I can’t think of what the word is. I lost my thread halfway through saying the word.’
‘Newcastle,’ said Neve. ‘You laughed when I said Newcastle. Is there something funny about the city?’
Karen’s expression changed. It seemed to become clearer, more focused.
‘Could you help me sit up?’
Neve had to put her arm behind Karen’s shoulders to pull her up and put a pillow behind her back. As they were doing so, there was a tiny whimpering sound from the cot.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Neve.
Neve bent down and picked up the little bundle from the cot. The familiar heft of it in her arms gave her a pain deep in her chest. It was almost painful to hand Agnes across to Karen. Agnes was starting to cry. Karen pushed the top of her nightie down and held Agnes to her breast and the crying turned to a gurgling mumble and then stopped. Neve sat back down. There was silence for a moment. When Karen began to speak, it was almost like she was talking to herself.
‘I never thought I’d have this,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d missed it.’
‘About Newcastle . . .’
‘Maybe that’s where it began to go so wrong for him. When he dropped out.’
‘What?’
‘He had a kind of breakdown and never finished his degree. Didn’t you know?’
Neve shook her head slowly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t. I lost touch with him. I just didn’t notice.’
But perhaps it wasn’t so odd, she thought. He’d always been on the outside, someone who tagged along, nice enough but not distinctive; never anyone’s first choice best friend; never the centre of any group. He’d drifted into her life and then dissolved out of it and she hadn’t even realised he had gone.
‘Will was angry at Newcastle but Will was angry with everything. He was angry with the places he worked for; they were never good enough for him; they never recognised his talents. He was angry with his family. He was angry with his friends. Everything had gone wrong in his life, wrong from the beginning, and he was so angry. He was angry with me as well, of course. Really angry. Sometimes I thought he might even, well—’
She stopped.
‘What?’ said Neve. ‘What did you think?’
‘I don’t want to say. Not with Agnes here, even though she can’t understand. Have you had children?’
‘Three.’
‘Oh my God. I feel tired just thinking about it.’
‘You said that Newcastle made him angry. Especially angry.’
‘He got fixated on it. He said it was where he took the wrong road. It was all right for everybody else except for him. That was always the story of his life. I felt like I was trapped in it and then I got away.’
Neve was thinking frantically, trying to make sense of it. There was another question. She didn’t need to ask it. But she asked it anyway.
‘Was there anyone in particular?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘At university. Was he angry with anyone in particular? Like a girl?’
‘He always said it was easier for girls than for boys. They could do what they liked. They just glided through life. And there was one girl he was involved with who he felt really let him down; she led him up the garden path, made him think they would be together. They were all but engaged, he said, and then she humiliated him in front of everyone. Or that was his story.’
‘Was she called Renata?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know. He was still angry about the way she treated him and he took it out on me.’
Neve stood up and gently touched the top of Agnes’s head.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘As you said, it was a long time ago. You’re free of all that and you’ve got Agnes and you’ve got Michael and you don’t need to think about him.’
Karen smiled.
>
‘No, I don’t, do I?’
‘What’s going on?’
Neve looked round and saw a bleary-looking unshaven man in a grey sweater and blue jeans holding a cup of coffee.
‘This is Neve,’ said Karen. ‘She’s a friend. Except I’ve never met her before.’
‘That’s true,’ said Neve. ‘Congratulations.’
‘What do you mean?’ said the man who Neve realised was Michael.
‘I’ve got to go now. But you’ve got a beautiful daughter.’
Neve leaned across and kissed Karen’s forehead.
‘Bye,’ she whispered.
‘Hats,’ said Karen.
‘What?’
‘Hats. The girl he was meant to be with. She always wore hats. “Fucking hats,” he said. She thought she was better than everyone. I wish I’d met her.’
‘Thank you,’ said Neve and went out, leaving Michael looking baffled.
As she walked down the stairs, she tried to think clearly. She knew. She knew everything. But what should she do?
She took out her phone and called Mabel.
‘Don’t speak,’ Neve said hurriedly. ‘Just yes or no. Are you still at home?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is Will there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pretend you’re speaking to someone else.’
‘I can’t today, Louis,’ said Mabel in an over-bright voice. ‘Sorry!’
‘Is Fletcher there too?’
‘Yes. Another time,’ she added.
‘I want you to do exactly what I say. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Louis.’
‘Stay there with Fletcher. Don’t go out. Especially, do not go out with Will. Whatever happens, whatever he says to you. Do you understand?’
‘I do, Louis.’ The voice was even brighter and louder.
‘You promise?’
‘Yes.’
‘Make sure Fletcher stays there too. Invite other friends over. Fill the house. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Mabel sarcastically. ‘Whatever you say, Louis.’
Neve felt she was overdoing the Louis-thing a bit. ‘I have one more thing to do,’ she said, ‘and then this will be over.’
She ended the call. She felt breathless. The man who had murdered Saul, who wanted to kill her or put her in prison, was with her husband and her daughter at this very moment. She could picture him, with his boyish charm, his slightly jug ears, his rueful self-deprecation, the toxic anger seething beneath the surface. But Mabel and Fletcher were together.
She just needed to call Hitching and tell him everything and they would be safe. But first, there was the present. The present in the flat.
If she called Hitching, Will would be arrested. Perhaps he would tell them about her and Saul but she could simply deny it. Except that they would go to the flat and find the package and Hitching would know. And then Mabel, who had cleared away evidence and given a false alibi, would still have committed a crime.
She would go to the flat, retrieve the package and then phone the police. One more hour.
She briefly thought of going by taxi but knew in the snarl of rush-hour traffic it would be quicker to cycle. She ran to her bike, unlocked it and set off. She went as fast as she could, hearing the blare of horns, breathing in the exhaust fumes, jolting over potholes that opened up beneath her. Her back was sweaty and her chest ached with the effort.
She pedalled hard up a hill. Will Ziegler. She had suspected her dearest friends, Tamsin, Renata and Gary. She had suspected Fletcher, who she would have said before a week ago she knew intimately and trusted implicitly. And she had suspected Mabel. There had been times when she had felt sure Mabel had killed Saul. But it was Will Ziegler all along. She had never thought about him, had barely remembered him when they met. But he’d thought about her, obsessed over her, felt shamed by her, blamed her for ruining his life. His hatred had grown fat on his bitterness and humiliation and self-pity. Will Ziegler. He had followed her, seen her with Saul – and the thought of him crouched in the shadows watching her as she allowed herself to come alive again, made her feel sick. Was he the one who had pushed her off his bike? He had stolen her bag and found the secret key. He had let himself into Saul’s flat to wait for her, perhaps to confront her or blackmail her or kill her, but Saul had arrived instead. Disastrously. Fatally. And then he had set out to frame her and Mabel had been dragged into it. Collateral damage. He had spread distrust through her like a stain.
She cycled through a red light, past queues of barely moving cars. A man leaned out of his window and jabbed his middle finger at her, shouting loud obscenities. So much hatred swirling around. Her legs hurt and sweat ran into her eyes. She would see Will Ziegler arrested. She would see him put behind bars.
She arrived and jumped off her bike, leaning it against the wall outside the building and not bothering to lock it. She felt that every second counted. She punched in the code and ran up the stairs two steps at a time, unslinging her backpack as she went, pulling out her wallet, finding the key. Let it be there, she thought, let it be there.
She pushed open the door, shut it behind her. There were several envelopes lying on the floor beneath its letter box and she squatted and scrabbled through them. Among the junk mail and flyers was a slim, squashy packet addressed to Mr Saul Stevenson. A staple ripped at her finger as she tore it open. She registered the pain without feeling it and shook out a fold of bubble wrap and thick tissue. She went into the living room and unrolled it and laid the necklace on the table. It was delicate and beautiful, a little scroll of worked gold on a thin chain.
She lifted it to the light and only then could she make out the miniature engraving on the rectangular gold clasp at the back. Neve Jenny. Hot tears filled her eyes, ran down her sweaty, grimy face. She wiped them away. Later. She would have time later for grief, for mourning, for shame and guilt and relief. Not yet.
She pulled her mobile out of her pocket.
There was a sound, a faint but unmistakeable click. The breath went out of her and then she felt like she was breathing acrid smoke and there was a roiling liquid in her stomach. If she could only make a call, lift the phone with her thick fingers.
The silence was almost worse than the sound. Nothing but the little gasps that were coming from her. There was no way out except through the front door. She couldn’t even jump out of the window. It only opened a few inches. Childproof. Burglarproof. And there was nowhere to hide in here. The table was pushed against the wall, the cupboards were small.
She heard soft footsteps in the hall. With immense difficulty, she lifted her mobile and pressed on the phone icon, but time wasn’t working the way that it should because it took so long for the contacts and numbers to appear on her screen, and then they merged in her vision.
The footsteps came nearer. She couldn’t look up because she knew who she’d see. It had all been for nothing.
A shadow fell across her. She lifted her head.
Will was standing in front of her. This was how it ended. All the plans, all the lies and betrayals, all the sleepless nights and desperate plans and frantic improvisations, the countless moments of terror as she had stumbled across the ice floes that melted beneath her, had led to this. She was back where it had begun, back where Saul had unbuttoned her shirt and called her my love, where he had died because he had stumbled into a trap that was meant for her.
She wanted it to be over now, quickly, but it was all so slow. She could see the red veins in his eyes, the knobbly Adam’s apple rising and falling. He had cut himself shaving, just below his left ear. He was wearing transparent latex gloves. She remembered how she’d worn gloves too, when she had scrubbed this flat from top to bottom. All for nothing. Worse than nothing. Because now she was going to die and nobody would ever know who had killed her.
He was holding a hammer. The hammer. The one she’d last seen in the toolbox in the garden.
He took the phone out of her ha
nd and tossed it away. She heard it fall and skitter across the boards.
She didn’t speak. He was looking at her and she was looking at him, as if they were about to kiss each other politely on the cheek in greeting. A tiny corner of her mind was telling her to pretend to be surprised, to pretend she didn’t know, as if there was still a way out of this horror story. She thought of her daughter, of the promise she had made Mabel that she would be all right. She saw Will’s face. His blank, pale, staring face. It was too late for any of that.
She was looking at him and at the same time, she was trying to look beyond him, towards the hall and the door. If she could run past him, into the hall, get the door open. She pictured the way the lock worked.
But he was holding the hammer and he was blocking her way.
‘You’ll be caught,’ she said.
‘How?’
Neve thought of her phone call to Mabel that morning. Mabel would know – but she mustn’t tell Will that. He couldn’t know.
She thought of pushing past him; her body was poised ready to do it. She took a breath. But he stepped closer.
‘I never harmed you,’ Neve said softly. Her fingers curled into fists. She had never wanted to kill anyone before.
‘You only harmed me, Neve. We were meant to be together. You led me on, and then you started your affair with that loser Fletcher under my nose just so I would see you with him like that. You laughed at me. Everyone did. You destroyed me.’
She realised it with a jolt.
It had been Will who had come into their room on that weekend long ago. Looking for Neve and finding her making love to someone else.
‘I never laughed at you,’ she said softly. ‘I never laughed at anyone.’
‘It was meant to be me. I knew that. You knew that. Don’t pretend you didn’t know that it was meant to be me.’
There was a noise outside in the hall. Neither of them paid any attention.
‘I didn’t know,’ said Neve.
‘Of course you knew. Are you saying I’m so stupid, so completely pitiful, that my whole life got wrecked over something that you didn’t even realise was going on?’
‘Will. Please. Put the hammer down and we can talk.’
‘You pretend to be so kind,’ said Will. ‘You make people think you love them.’
