by Sue Fortin
‘Ah, Mrs Stent. And this was after you had an argument with her about her daughter’s accident?’
I nod. It would be at this point I’d advise anyone to seek legal advice. I realise that the evidence is stacking up against me. It’s not exactly overwhelming evidence, although admittedly, we’re heading for ‘without reasonable doubt’ territory. There is nothing solid to place me at the scene or to prove I bought the aerosol and then went to Pippa’s. Although the traces on red paint on the towbar of my car aren’t exactly in my favour, it doesn’t mean I did it.
‘We’d like you to come down the station with us for questioning and to make a formal statement,’ says Evans.
‘Are you arresting me?’ I ask
‘No, at the moment we’re still gathering evidence. You do, of course, have the right to refuse and then I perhaps would consider formally arresting you on the grounds of suspicion of causing criminal damage,’ says Evans. ‘But, then, you know all that anyway.’
‘But I have work,’ I say. Leonard will go mad if I don’t turn up, especially after taking the afternoon off yesterday. ‘Can I come down at lunchtime?’
‘No, Mrs Tennison, we would like to you to come now, voluntarily.’
I decide not to oppose. The quicker this is done, the quicker I can get to work.
‘I’ll ring Leonard,’ says Luke, already one step ahead of me.
‘And, please don’t touch the car,’ says Evans. ‘We’ll be sending someone out to take photos and paint scrapings in case we need forensics to do a paint match.’ What she really means is, in case I don’t confess to reversing into Pippa’s car, covering it in graffiti and, instead, make up some other story as to how I have red paint on my car, a dent and an aerosol can.
I follow Evans and Doyle out to the squad car. I look over at Luke, who gives a shake of his head before turning back to the house. As the car pulls away, I look back to the house and see Alice watching from the living-room window. I’m struck by the memory I have of Alice leaving with my father. I sit back in the seat and concentrate on trying not to cry.
It’s three hours before I’m finally allowed to leave the police station. I’ve made my statement, been interviewed by Evans and Doyle and steadfastly refused to admit to causing the damage to Pippa’s car, pointing out that it is circumstantial evidence thus far. Evans says she will look at the CCTV footage from the garage before they go ahead and press any charges.
Luke collects me from the station and I give him a quick résumé of the past three hours.
‘Basically they are checking CCTV, checking the aerosol can for fingerprints and taking some paint samples from the tow bar in case they need to run it through forensics for a match on Pippa’s car. Oh, and let’s not forget the poo sample from my shoe to check for a DNA match with the poo on Pippa’s car.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. Apart from the DNA bit, but the way that bloody Evans was going on, I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s hardly a murder.’
Luke lacks any empathy for my black humour. ‘They haven’t charged you?’
‘Not at this point.’ We sit in silence. Neither of us knowing what to say. We seem to have run out of words for each other. I call Leonard.
Never one to beat about the bush, Leonard gets straight to the point. ‘Clare, what the fuck is going on? I’ve just had to deal with McMillan out of the blue. You had an appointment with him today. I’ve had to convince him he’s not dealing with some Mickey Mouse outfit.’
‘McMillan? I didn’t have an appointment with him today, I say. ‘It’s tomorrow, I’m certain.’
‘You rearranged, apparently.’
‘Yes, I did, but for tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.’ I run my hand down my face. I feel as if I’m losing my grip on reality. All these things that I think I may or may not have done. None of it is making sense.
‘I don’t think you’re up to the job at the moment,’ says Leonard. ‘As such, I’m taking over the case. I want you to take some time off work to get whatever is going on at home sorted out.’
‘I’m on gardening leave?’ I feel indignant. We’re equal partners and yet he’s treating me like I’m an employee. ‘I don’t think that’s up to you to decide.’
‘It is when I think you’re not in a position to make rational decisions. It won’t look good for the company. I’ve a lot riding on this McMillan case. I gave it to you as I thought I was doing you a favour. Turns out to be an error of judgement on my part.’
‘There is nothing wrong with my decision-making,’ I retort, hurt by his words.
‘Clare,’ his voice softens. ‘You know how much I care about you. I’m doing this for your own good. It’s not an easy decision for me, but I need to do what’s best for you and the firm.’
‘Please, Leonard,’ I find myself pleading like a child who wants to go out even though they’ve been grounded.
‘Trust me, Clare. I’ve never let you down. This is for the best.’ He ends the call and I’m left staring at my phone in disbelief. Another part of my life falling apart.
‘You should take advice from the people who care about you,’ says Luke as we pull up outside. He cuts the engine and turns in the seat to face me. ‘Listen, Clare, I know this whole Alice thing has been difficult for you. No, wait. Hear me out. The memory of Alice and the legacy she left behind; the scar it left on you and your mum has been immense. I know that. And I know how much you wanted to find her. Finding your sister, not just for your mum but for yourself too. So, Alice turning up and not exactly fitting that little slot you carved out for her has been … challenging.’ He brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes.
God I want to sink into him. This small act of tenderness is in danger of reducing me to a whimpering wreck. I fight back the emotion. I swallow hard and it hurts my throat, such is the size of the lump. I stare straight ahead, not daring to look at Luke as I know I will crumble completely. ‘I find her difficult. I feel I’m just scratching the surface of what she’s really like. I can’t seem to warm to her,’ I confess.
Luke gives a small sigh of exasperation and he moves his hand away. ‘Just because she’s your sister, it doesn’t mean you automatically love her. You have to give these things time.’
I look at the house I’ve called home for all my life and think of the love and pain that has coexisted for all that time. I used to think I was safe here, me and Mum. We could shut the gates and shut the world out, but now I realise that’s not true. I don’t feel safe. I don’t feel loved and I don’t feel love. It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s dangerous.
In a moment of clarity. I know what I have to do.
Mum and Alice are having lunch in the kitchen when I go in. Mum stops mid-bite of her sandwich and slowly places it on her plate. A small dollop of pickle slides out between the slices of brown bread. Alice takes a sip of her coffee and sits back in her seat.
‘I’m so, so sorry, Mum. I want to apologise for my behaviour. And to you too, Alice. It really has been unacceptable; I don’t know what’s got into me lately.’ I drop my head and pause for a moment. ‘Please can you forgive me? Both of you?’
‘Clare, my darling, of course we can,’ says Mum, getting up and giving me a hug. She takes my hand and leads me over to the table. ‘Alice?’
‘Oh, what? Oh, yes, of course.’ She gets up and hugs me too. ‘Of course, we forgive you.’
I nod and give a meek smile. ‘I think you’re right, Alice. About working getting to me. I’ve not been coping very well.’
Mum pulls out a chair and sits me down. ‘Luke, make Clare a cup of tea.’
I don’t look at Luke, there’s no need, I can feel the weight of his gaze on me. After a second, he does as he’s told and goes to make me a cup of tea while Mum tells me how run down I must be, that I’m looking tired and I really must take care of myself. That she and Alice have been very worried about me. In fact, they were only just saying how tense I was and maybe I should go to the doctor.
It takes som
e effort on my part not to make a retort to that remark. What is it with everyone that they think I’m going mad? I’m not, but I mustn’t argue. I don’t want to fan the flames.
‘Actually, I’ve been thinking,’ I say. ‘I do feel as if everything has been a bit overwhelming. I’ve already spoken to Leonard and I’m taking some time off work.’ This time I do catch Luke’s eye, but he doesn’t betray my version of events. I continue. ‘I need a bit of headspace. I thought I’d spend a few days visiting Nadine. You know, Nadine Horricks, who I went to school with? She lives in Cambridgeshire now. She’s always said if ever I want to come and visit.’
‘Nadine Horricks?’ says Luke. ‘There’s a blast from the past. I didn’t know you were that friendly still.’
‘We keep in touch, you know that,’ I say. Luke makes some sort of noise resembling an acknowledgement, but doesn’t comment further.
‘I remember Nadine,’ says Mum. ‘Nice girl. Went on to be a nurse or something, I think.’
‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘Anyway, thought I’d go and see her.’
Mum pats my hands. ‘That’s a good idea, darling. And when you come back, everything will be just fine.’
I take a final sip of my tea. ‘In fact, I’ll go and email her now.’
I go into the living room and switch on my laptop. Luke comes in and leans against the doorframe.
‘What are you up to?’ he says.
‘Me? Nothing. I’m just emailing Nadine, like I said.’
‘That will be Nadine, who I know for a fact you haven’t exchanged even a Christmas card with for the last two years.’
‘It doesn’t matter. She’s still my friend.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ warns Luke.
‘Of course I won’t. I’m just having a few days’ break, that’s all. I mean, that’s what everyone keeps telling me to do. I thought you’d be pleased.’ I load up my email account and log onto it. I glance up at Luke, who is still standing in the doorway. ‘Don’t worry, everything is fine.’
‘Hmm,’ is all Luke says, before pushing away from the doorframe and leaving the room.
Immediately he’s gone, I open a new tab and type in the website for British Airways.
The idea that has been percolating in my mind, consciously since the police turned up and took me away, but probably subconsciously a few days prior to that, has turned into a plan. There are things I need to find out about Alice.
Chapter 19
The first thing I notice when I step off the plane the following weekend at Jacksonville is the unexpected warmth. It may well be the beginning of November, but the Florida sunshine is still hitting at least seventy degrees Fahrenheit during the day and lingering into the evening.
I’ve pre-booked into a local motel, which is just a short drive away. I check my watch and calculate the time delay. It’s around teatime in the UK. I’ll get booked in and then give home a ring to speak to the girls before they go to bed. I hate the thought of being apart from them, but I know I have to do this. I can’t stay at home and let things carry on as they are. I can’t confide in anyone; everyone thinks I’m cracking up and just can’t cope with having to share my life with Alice. But little things keep niggling me.
On the flight over, I made a list of all the things that don’t add up since Alice has been here: things that have made me suspicious or question her and/or her motives and to question my own sanity.
1. The photograph being reversed.
2. Flirting with Luke.
3. The glass in my wedding photo being shattered.
4. Alice telling me Hannah broke the glass.
5. The slashing of Luke’s painting.
6. Alice wearing my clothes.
7. The photograph of Alice and Luke.
8. Daisy’s accident.
9. The story about Roma and Nathaniel.
10. Alice with Leonard outside coffee shop???
11. The missing McMillan file and rearranged appointment – hacked email account???
And then underneath in capital letters, I wrote the word…
WHY????????
Money? – Inheritance, trust fund??
Love? – Mum? Family?
Revenge? – being taken to America, Mum letting her go???
Taking over my life???!!!
I’m aware of the number of question marks on the piece of paper.
The motel room is basic, that’s all I want and I pay for it using my Visa card. I drop my rucksack onto the bed and take out my phone and call home.
It’s Mum who answers.
‘Hi, Mum, it’s me.’
‘Hello Clare,’ there’s a pause. ‘Are you all right, love?’ I can hear the concern in her voice.
‘I’m fine, Mum, honest. Please don’t worry,’ I say reassuringly. ‘Is Hannah there? And Chloe? I wanted to say goodnight to them.’
‘It’s only teatime,’ says Mum.
I quickly check myself. Mum has no idea I’m on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean and in a totally different time zone. ‘I didn’t want to call too late and I wanted to catch Chloe before she went off to bed.’ Mum seems satisfied with that and I hear her calling to Hannah.
‘Hello, darling,’ I say.
‘Mummy!’
Her voice brings a smile to my face. We have a little chat about the day. How her and Chloe have been painting with Daddy at the kitchen table, which warms me to hear. Then she tells me how she and Alice made cakes this afternoon and how much Daddy loved them, which has the opposite effect.
The image of Alice in domestic harmony with Luke and the girls boots me in the stomach. ‘That’s nice,’ I force the words out. ‘Shall I say hello to Chloe now?’ I can hear her giggling in the background and I could do with the distraction from Hannah’s piece of news. Then I hear Alice’s voice.
‘Chloe, are you going to say hello to Mummy?’
I want to scream. Why is Alice with my children? Where the fuck is their father?
‘Chloe, hello. It’s Mummy.’
‘Mummy! Mummy! Alice tickling me. We had cakes. Butterfly cakes. Wiv cream.’
‘Lovely. Were they scrummy? Will you save me a cake?’ I force myself to remain upbeat. I can hear Mum’s voice in the background telling Chloe to say goodbye and to say ‘love you’. Chloe obliges and I’m grateful to Mum for the little prompt. Then she gets Hannah to say the same.
‘Love you, Mummy,’ she says.
‘I love you too. Very much.’ Mum comes back on the phone. ‘Is Luke there?’ I ask, even though as much as I want to speak to him, I don’t, in case he asks me awkward questions about Nadine, which will mean I have to tell him more lies.
‘He’s in his studio,’ says Mum. ‘He’s been moping around today, so I told him to do something creative to cheer himself up. It’s not good for the girls; all this bad atmosphere in the house.’
‘I know, Mum. I’ll be back mid-week and we’ll sort things out. I promise.’ One way or another, this disharmony must end. I either have to accept Alice in my life or not. I’m unsure what the latter means for me, for my marriage and my family, but at some point, I need to draw a line under it all. We can’t carry on as we are.
I’m awake early the next morning, and although the travelling made me tired, it wasn’t enough to fully slip into the local time zone. I think I probably managed about five hours’ sleep. I cross the road to the local diner and order pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast and a pot of coffee. It reminds me of Luke and me talking about going to America one day. It was a wet Sunday afternoon and we hadn’t been married long, Hannah was just a baby and we were trying to plan our first family holiday. America with a six-month-old baby seemed a tad ambitious but we had cuddled up to each other with a glass of wine, making an imaginary list of all the things we wanted to do when we went to America and promising that one day we would actually do it. Pancakes with maple syrup had been high on my list, which had made Luke laugh and he had teased me for a long time afterwards.
; I smile at the memory and a wave of sadness drowns the happy thought. I look down at the pancakes and suddenly they don’t seem so appealing. Not today, not on my own without Luke or the girls. I push the plate away, pay the bill and leave.
Sitting in the rental car, I take my phone from my bag and look in my saved notes for the postal address of Alice Kendrick and input it into the sat nav. It tells me the location is forty minutes away and I take my time as I drive on the freeway for the first time, paying close attention to the directions, the traffic ahead and the traffic signals, remembering that you can go on a red light if you’re making a right turn and nothing is coming. It’s a little unnerving, but I manage it. Soon I’m travelling over the bridge that connects Amelia Island to mainland Florida. It’s a small island of just thirteen miles in length and a population of less than twelve thousand. It’s a popular tourist resort yet, according to the tourist board’s website I read earlier, maintains a small friendly town atmosphere.
It’s not long before I pull off Jasmine Street and follow directions to a small cul-de-sac, where the sat nav announces I’ve arrived at my destination. It’s a detached bungalow in a road with similar properties, some detached and some semi-detached, but all looking very well kept and modest. Nothing flashy or ostentatious here. Tall trees offer plenty of shade from the blazing sun, which dapples the road with spots of golden light. Long threads of Spanish moss hang from the trees, reminding me of tired party streamers the morning after New Year’s Eve celebrations.
Looking at the house, it’s hard to tell if there’s anyone home. The street is very quiet and there’s no sign of life from any of the houses.
I climb the porch steps and knock on the door. I listen intently for any sound of life, but there is none. I haven’t come all this way to be put off by an empty house. I take a glance up and down the road, but there still doesn’t appear to be anyone about, so I make my way around to the side of the house. There’s a gate and when I try the latch, it’s unlocked and opens inwards, allowing me access to the back garden. It looks as if it was kept nice and tidy at one point. Perhaps that was Patrick Kennedy’s thing – maybe he liked gardening.
