Close Your Eyes

by Rachel Abbott

  ‘I’d have given that man anything and everything I owned,’ he said. ‘But he told me I was an incompetent wanker – just because I didn’t know about WiFi passwords. That’s not my job – that should have been his.’

  It was no wonder Strachan had seemed so distraught since his wife’s body had been found. It wasn’t grief at all. He must have known something hadn’t gone quite to plan and was horrified his perfect plot was falling around his ears.

  Tom had decided that Becky and Keith could conduct Strachan’s interview. He couldn’t tolerate another moment in the company of either of the two men.

  Setting Martha up had apparently been Niall’s idea. He hated the fact that she’d turned him down, but it was her argument with Genevieve that made him realise how exposed he was. Martha may have refused to tell his wife anything, but she knew how much money he was bleeding from the company, and that made her dangerous. Martha’s remoteness from everyone had played into his hands.

  ‘She had victim written all over her,’ Spencer said. ‘From what we could discover, she had no one in her life – no friends or family. We didn’t know about her son. I was pretty sure she’d changed her name too, so she was already running from something. She seemed like a woman no one cared about.’

  Tom had held himself firmly in check. There was nothing he could say or do that was appropriate or that would come close to demonstrating the disgust he felt with Johansson.

  ‘I understand why Strachan wanted his wife out of the way, and he would obviously have been the prime suspect if she was murdered, so how did he persuade you to do it?’

  Spencer looked Tom in the eye. ‘Half a million quid is a pretty big incentive, don’t you think? That’s what I stood to lose, but more to the point, XO-Tech was going to make me a fortune. Half a million would look like small change. Besides, Genevieve was a leech – always demanding, never giving. She’d have held us back and made Niall’s life hell for giving me shares. She told me she should have been on the board, not me. Snotty bitch.’

  Tom gazed at the man opposite him. Was that the trace of a self-satisfied smile on his face? Tom had a horrible feeling that Johansson was strangely proud of what he had done.

  79

  MARTHA

  The police car pulls up at the gates. I jump out and bang my fist on the intercom buzzer over and over again. No one answers, but the gates start to open. I don’t get back into the police car; I squeeze through the gap and run down the drive towards the door.

  Where’s Alfie? Where’s Dad?

  I don’t see any sign of my rental car, and I have a wild hope that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Mum has gone somewhere to meet Dad, and he hasn’t brought Alfie here.

  The police car catches up with me as I get to the steps.

  ‘Are you okay, Ms Porter?’ the officer asks. He doesn’t know anything about me – he’s just been asked to drive me home – but he can see I’m panicking.

  I spin towards him. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, but I’ve never spent a night away from my son before, so I just want to get to him.’ The officer shrugs, and I turn back to race up the steps.

  I hear the tyres crunching on the gravel as he drives away and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, but I can’t think of any way I could have kept him here.

  I push open the front door. ‘Alfie!’

  There’s no answer. The house is quiet, and I hurry towards the back, to the kitchen.

  Mum is there, slicing vegetables at the worktop. She has her back to me, but she’s alone.

  ‘Where’s Dad? Where’s Alfie?’

  Before she can answer, I hear footsteps behind me.

  ‘DeeDee!’ Dad says, then drops his chin as if he can’t bring himself to look at me.

  ‘Why did you come here, Dad? I told you to keep Alfie away from here!’

  He still doesn’t look up. ‘I’m sorry. I thought Nicola would leave with me. She said Aram wasn’t around, so I thought I could make everything okay again.’

  I want to scream at him for falling for Aram’s tricks, but he looks so hurt, and I was asking a lot of a man who was beaten into submission years ago. But I haven’t got time to worry about him now.

  The edges of my vision blur; only Mum is in sharp focus.

  My voice is surprisingly calm. ‘Where’s Alfie, Mum?’

  She turns slightly, her head on one side. ‘He’s with his father, of course.’

  ‘Where? Where is he?’

  She doesn’t reply, and with nothing more than a scornful smile, she turns back to preparing the food.

  I race to the door. I know where they’ll be.

  I can see them in the distance as I tear round the side of the house. Aram is holding Alfie’s hand, as he used to hold mine, and I pray that this is the nice version of Aram – the one who told me about the plants and the creatures that live in the water. I want to run, to tear Alfie’s hand from Aram’s and pick him up so we can escape to safety, but I know that would only frighten him.

  Instead I get close, then call his name softly. I expect him to run to me, but he doesn’t.

  He looks up at his father as if asking permission before he turns. Aram has had hours to influence him, and I don’t know what he’s done. I know that children respond more readily to hypnosis than adults, but although it has always been one of the weapons in his armoury, Aram only uses it when his usual forms of mental torture fail. In Alfie’s case, though, speed would have been important; Aram had no idea when I would be back and he will have done whatever he thought necessary.

  I try to appear casual as I walk towards Alfie and crouch down. ‘Hi, baby. Are you okay?’

  He nods, seeming a little unsure, so I reach out to pull him close. His limbs feel taut, but then it’s as if his body remembers how good it feels to be hugged and he sags against me.

  ‘Is it true that he’s my daddy?’ he whispers.

  I don’t know what to say, but before I have the chance to speak I feel a damp patch on my neck and Alfie’s body shudders slightly. He’s crying and trying to hide it.

  ‘He says crying’s bad, and I’ve got to live here with him. You’re not Mummy; you’re India. He made me say it lots of times.’

  I lift my eyes to Aram’s and a white-hot fury sears through me. I know I shouldn’t look at him, but no power on earth is as strong as the love for my child.

  ‘Come on, Alfie. Let’s go back to the house. Do you want me to carry you?’

  His head nods against my shoulder, and without another word I pick him up and turn away from Aram.

  I walk back into the kitchen, clutching Alfie tightly, and Dad pushes himself unsteadily from a chair.

  ‘Is he okay?’ he asks.

  Mum doesn’t bother to turn round, the rhythmic thwack of the knife hitting the chopping board demonstrating her indifference.

  ‘Barely,’ I say, my mouth tight. ‘Where are the car keys, Dad? We’re leaving.’

  Dad glances at Mum. ‘What did he do with them?’ I know he means Aram.

  She doesn’t have time to answer before Aram strides through the door.

  ‘You’re being melodramatic, India. The child is fine, and he needs to get to know me. He’ll be living with me from now on. You both will.’

  No one speaks, and it feels as if the air has been sucked from the room. The corners of Aram’s mouth curve up in a self-satisfied smile. Mum turns, and her body hunches over as if she’s fighting back a sob. Dad is biting his lip. I can’t breathe.

  It’s Mum who breaks the silence, her voice tentative. ‘Are they coming with us, Aram?’

  He glances her way for a moment and then back at me.

  ‘No. That’s not how it’s going to work.’

  Dad and Mum both speak at the same time.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Dad says.

  Alfie starts to whimper. He shouldn’t be here to witness this.

  ‘Dad, I know I’m asking a lot of you again, but will you take Alfi
e outside, please? Play with him, keep him occupied until this is sorted.’

  ‘There’s nothing to sort,’ Aram says.

  But there is, and with a last imploring look at Mum, Dad takes Alfie from my arms.

  ‘Go with Grandad, poppet. He’s going to teach you to play tig. It’ll be fun.’

  As soon as the door closes behind them, I turn to Aram. I look at the point of his chin rather than his eyes, even though I think my rage will protect me against his tricks.

  ‘Where do you think we’re going, and why do you think I’ll agree?’

  ‘I’m leaving Lakeside,’ he answers, folding his arms. ‘I’ve sold it.’

  I think back to the boxes of files, to the papers upstairs, to the signatures on what looked like legal documents. I forgot all about them after I was arrested. That’s why he has sent everyone away. They are never coming back, and they don’t know.

  ‘Can you do that? What about Dad?’

  ‘Two trustees are all it takes, India.’ I know Mum has signed.

  ‘I’m going with him,’ Mum whispers. She glances at him uncertainly. ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘I’m sure Joel will take care of you, Nicola. India and the child will be coming with me.’

  I hear a soft moan from Mum, but I ignore it.

  ‘What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you?’ I spit out the words, wanting to shout but scared my voice will carry to the garden.

  ‘You have no choice. You either come with me, or I hand over the clothes and knife, and you go to prison. I can take care of Alfie.’

  He’s enjoying this, knowing that leaving Alfie with him has to be my worst fear.

  ‘Why are you doing this? What do you want with us?’

  Mum’s face is flushed, her breathing fast. ‘He doesn’t want you, India,’ she hisses, each syllable laden with years of resentment. ‘I know you always thought you were special to him, but it was all part of his game. It’s never been about you. It’s the money – it’s always been the money.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, woman.’ His tone drips with contempt, but he doesn’t look at Mum; he’s watching me.

  For a moment I wonder what she’s talking about. I don’t have any money! Then it dawns on me. She means the trust fund that will pay out when I’m twenty-seven. She must have told Aram about it.

  ‘What makes you think I’ll give you a penny of it?’ I ask.

  ‘I think you’ll find I hold all the cards, India.’ He throws me a self-satisfied smirk, then, barely turning his head, speaks to Mum over his shoulder. ‘Get the bag, Nicola. I see your daughter needs persuading.’

  Mum doesn’t move.

  ‘The bag,’ he repeats, his voice edged with irritation.

  ‘I can’t,’ Mum whispers.

  He spins to face her. ‘Get the bag! The clothes!’

  Mum has backed up against the Aga. Her hands grip the chrome bar. I can barely hear her words. ‘We don’t have them any more, Aram. I burned them.’

  80

  MARTHA

  Through the open window I can hear my son giggling, and not for the first time I am astounded by the resilience of children. And even though it must be killing Dad to pretend that everything is fine, I hear him call, ‘I can catch you, Alfie! I’m coming!’

  Inside the kitchen Aram is staring at Mum, the first sign of uncertainty in his eyes. ‘Say that again.’

  Mum bites her lip and leans towards him, her hands reaching for him. He doesn’t move, and her arms drop back to her sides. It’s as if I’m no longer in the room, and I realise that all this – me, Alfie, Dad, Aram’s rejection – is too much for her. I can hear a raw desperation in every word as she starts to speak.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aram. Please forgive me. Don’t you see, I had to destroy the evidence. It was the only thing tying her to you – to us. I wanted to do it years ago when I realised she was pregnant. Do you have any idea how it felt, knowing you wanted her to have your baby? Knowing you planned to keep her close until she got the money? But she was only twenty-one. She’d have been here, with you, with us, for another six years. Six years! I couldn’t bear the thought. Thank God she left when she did. But now she’s back, and you were going to use the clothes to force her to stay with you. I had to burn them. It was the only way to get rid of her again.’

  For one wild moment I wonder if perhaps she destroyed the clothes to save me. But I know that’s not true. She did it so she could have Aram to herself. I can see it in her face. She wants me gone.

  She turns to me, her arms clasped around her hunched body. ‘There’s nothing keeping you here now. He can’t make you go anywhere with him. Aram and I can be alone, together.’ She picks up the knife she was using to chop the vegetables. ‘I even bleached the knife.’

  I wonder for a moment if it’s the same knife. The thought sickens me.

  She turns back to Aram. ‘It doesn’t matter that I burned them. You’d never have used them.’ She makes a sound that’s somewhere between a high-pitched giggle and a sob. ‘I knew that.’

  Aram is watching her, his face expressionless. He doesn’t move. He barely blinks, but I can feel the searing heat of his anger.

  I don’t know what Mum means, and I don’t care. All that matters now is Alfie.

  ‘Why did he want me to have my baby, Mum? Aram doesn’t like children. What does he want with my child?’

  ‘Don’t you know? Haven’t you worked it out? The baby is his route to the money! He wants to keep you close until the trust fund pays out and the money’s in your bank. Then you’re expendable. When you’re dead the money will belong to the child – and as his father Aram will have control of it.’ She jabs the knife towards me, and although I’m beyond her reach, I take a step back. ‘He can’t let you die before your birthday, though. If that were to happen, the money would remain in trust for the boy until he’s of age. Another twenty years or so.’

  I know she’s telling the truth. It was never me he wanted. His plan must always have been to keep me by his side, then kill me as soon as the money becomes mine. Alfie will inherit it all. That’s what she’s saying. Maybe he plans to kill his son too, once the money is his. I know what he is capable of.

  I feel the rage building in me. I won’t let him win. I have to do something – put an end to the constant running, hiding. Even if Mum has destroyed the evidence he held over me, he might still demand access to his child – not because he has any interest in Alfie, but because it ties the two of us to him.

  The money means nothing to me. If it sets me and Alfie free, Aram can have every penny. I’m about to tell him when Mum speaks.

  ‘Go, India,’ she says. ‘Leave, and take the child. There’s nothing to hold you here now. He won’t kill you until the money’s yours. You should never have come back. You’ve made everything so much worse.’

  Before I can move, Aram steps towards her and rests his hands on her shoulders.

  His voice is so low I can barely hear it. ‘Look at me, Nicola.’ He shakes her. ‘I said look at me!’ I watch as Mum’s eyes lock on to his. ‘Jealousy is not a trait to be proud of. Have I taught you nothing? Look what it’s done to you.’ He gives a grunt of disgust. ‘I was never taking you with me. I have no further use for you.’

  His words are harsh, but his voice is strangely seductive. His hands draw closer together on either side of her slender neck and his thumbs press lightly against her throat.

  I watch as Mum leans towards him and raises her face to his, trying her best to give him a shaky smile. ‘You don’t need her, Aram. Let her go. We’ve got the money from the house. It’s enough. We can be happy. And you can trust me. You know you can.’

  She gasps on the last word as he begins to squeeze.

  ‘India is coming with me. She’ll do exactly as I tell her, as she always has. But you have nothing left to give. You were a means to an end. Nothing more.’

  I hear her start to choke, and I break free of the paralysis that’s been gripping me. I lunge towards them, dr
agging on his arms, trying to free Mum from his grasp. He’s too strong, and I’m having no impact. I’m about to scream for Dad, when suddenly Aram sighs and his hands fall to his sides.

  He turns slightly and lurches towards me, dragging me to the floor with him.

  Aram’s arm is lying over my body. He’s on his side, facing away from me, but I know he’s dead. Blood is pooling on the floor. His blood, not mine.

  ‘DeeDee?’ Mum’s voice is soft, shaky, as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

  I groan and wriggle out from under Aram’s arm. My body is bruised from the fall, but nothing is broken, and slowly I sit up, gradually regaining the breath that was knocked out of me.

  Mum lifts her hands to her face. ‘I killed him,’ she whispers, as she falls to her knees by his side, reaching out a hand to stroke the back of his head.

  A shriek of childish laughter comes through the window, and I push myself to my feet to hurry towards the door and lock it. Alfie can’t see this.

  Mum grasps Aram’s shoulder and shakes it gently, as if to wake him. Tears are running down her cheeks, dripping from her chin.

  ‘I killed him,’ she wails.

  He had pushed her too far, broken what little was left of her, and I realise that the knife she was holding is no longer in her hand. It’s in Aram’s neck.

  I walk towards the phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she cries.

  ‘I’m calling the police. It’ll be okay, Mum. It was self-defence. And we can tell them about Leah – say he admitted to it before he tried to kill you.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Mum, we have to call the police. They can search the grounds. They’ll find Leah. She deserves a decent burial.’

  ‘No, DeeDee, you can’t!’

  I don’t know what to say, but I know what I have to do, so I pick up the phone. She leaps to her feet, rushes over, yanks it out of my hand and slams it down.

  ‘We’ll bury him,’ she says, gasping for breath as if she’s been running.