by Karen Clarke
‘What?’
‘Oh … nothing.’ She didn’t meet my eyes as she placed the jug carefully on the worktop. ‘It’s just a shame you’re not going with Matt.’
‘Mum.’ It came out as a groan.
She held up her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Vic’s lovely, and I’m sure you’ll have a good time, but Matt must feel awful that you’re doing this without him when he tried so hard.’
I gave her a look that I hoped said everything I didn’t have the energy to repeat. Not when we’d been through it already.
‘OK, I get it.’ She turned to take a glass out of the cupboard. ‘New man, new experiences, but don’t you think Hayley would prefer her dad to be there and—’
‘Mum, for God’s sake.’
She swung round, eyes wide. ‘Oh, Beth, I’m sorry. I know it’s a decision you won’t have made lightly, and it’s none of my business. I’m sorry, forget I said anything.’
‘You know, he came over this morning.’ I folded my arms, then dropped them. I looked like an angry teenager. ‘He still thinks he can drop in whenever he likes.’
‘Weeeell, it’s still his home, and Hayley’s his daughter,’ Mum pointed out, as if I didn’t know. ‘You can’t really blame him, Beth. He misses her. And you.’
‘He wanted me to change, be someone different.’
‘He wanted you to be happy, Beth. To stop feeling as if you didn’t deserve what you had.’
I ignored the scratch of her words, heard too many times over the past few years. ‘Anyway, it’s not for much longer.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know we’ll have to sell the house.’
Mum’s features froze. ‘But you both love that place. I remember when you first saw it, you fell in love with it. You said it would be your forever home. You couldn’t wait to get out of that poky basement flat.’
‘It wasn’t that bad.’ Matt and I had been happy for the year we’d been holed up in his bachelor pad, despite the hefty bills and leaky gutter outside the bedroom window. ‘Anyway, I can’t stay,’ I said. ‘Vic and I need a place that’s our own.’
A variety of emotions chased over her face. ‘But … it’s Hayley’s home too.’
‘It’s just a house, Mum, and it’s full of memories. Of Matt,’ I clarified. ‘And he won’t want me living there with Vic.’
‘Does he know you and Vic are going to buy a house together?’ Her voice sharpened. ‘Have you told him?’
‘Not yet,’ I admitted. ‘But remember, Mum, he was the one who moved out.’
‘I do remember.’ She was gripping the edge of the worktop with both hands. ‘But I also remember you told him to go, Beth. You said he deserved someone better.’
I nodded, feeling the prickle of tears. ‘Yes, and he agreed.’
‘In the heat of the moment, maybe. He hasn’t found anyone else, has he?’
‘Oh, Mum.’ A wave of tiredness crashed over me. ‘I’m not having this conversation again. Matt will always be in Hayley’s life and that’s fine, but I’m with Vic now.’
She rallied, straightening her back and tilting her chin. ‘And he’s a lovely man, who thinks the world of you,’ she said. ‘I think he proved that yesterday.’
The word yesterday brought me back with a jolt to the messages. ‘Mum, I …’
Her expression refocused. ‘What is it?’
‘Do you have the key for the studio?’
She studied me for a moment. ‘It’s where it always is.’
‘Thanks.’ I twisted my mouth into a smile as I reached for my bag and took my phone out. ‘I need to take some photos.’
‘Beth,’ she said, as I headed to the boot room where the key hung on its usual hook by the back door.
‘Yes?’ I glanced back, drawn by the appeal in her voice.
‘I’m here if you need to talk.’
‘I know.’ I made myself hold her gaze. ‘Everything’s fine, I promise.’
Chapter 10
The studio was really a glorified shed tucked away at the bottom of the garden, which Dad had transformed so I could paint in there, transferring garden tools, old bikes and pieces of furniture into the garage, proclaiming the car would be fine out on the drive.
I turned the key in the padlocked door and stepped through it, breathing in years’ worth of turps and old paint trapped in the sun-warmed walls. I hadn’t been inside for ages. Cobwebs draped across the windows on either side and the skylight – installed to maximise brightness – was coated in dead leaves, but it was still a peaceful space that transported me back to early mornings, swaddled in an old shirt of Dad’s, when I’d set up my easel and squeeze buttery blobs of paint onto my palette, adding a drop of linseed oil and swirling the colours together, before choosing my favourite brush to load with pigment.
Sweeping the first stroke of colour on a virgin canvas was still my favourite part; a new painting held so many possibilities. The world retreated and my heart would lift as the colours smudged together and became a restful sea under a cloudless sky, or an eddy of stormy waves, a hint of blue in leaden clouds, or a rocky shore dotted with ocean-tossed yachts. It was always a shock to come back to reality, like waking from a dream. Often, hours would have passed, drinks and sandwiches left by Mum untouched on the old wooden sewing box inside the door. Losing myself in art is how I find myself. I’d read that somewhere and it struck a chord.
My twenty or so paintings were still stacked against the wall, each one protected by bubble wrap. It struck me now what a waste it was, keeping them hidden away. I had no illusions they were masterpieces, but flicking through them, I could see they had something – a rawness or innocence – that might appeal to an audience. They meant something, and if I could see it, maybe others would too. They told a story.
‘Yeah, the story of a disturbed mind,’ I imagined Jamie saying. He’d professed not to understand art, but I knew it was more about me being given my own space to work in; being ‘spoilt’. We have to tiptoe around Princess Beth and her delicate feelings in case she gets upset, I’d heard him say to a friend who came round to play football in the garden, only for them to be told off by Dad because I was ‘working’.
I liked to think I’d have been more understanding in his shoes, but he was a teenage boy whose life had been pushed off course because of me. I couldn’t blame him for being upset.
Momentarily lost in the moment, I worked through the paintings, moving the bubble wrap aside to snap a photo of each on my phone.
Some of the pictures had formed part of my portfolio for art college, and I recalled the burst of pride I’d felt when my tutor remarked that my ‘Monster’ seascape reminded him of a famous painting, ‘The Wave’, by a Japanese artist called Katsushika Hokusai. ‘It’s good to have a specialty,’ he’d said with a rare gleam of approval. ‘You’ve got talent, Beth.’
I carefully replaced the paintings, my mind pleasantly blank. Straightening, I ran a finger through the layer of dust coating the surface of the old chest, still cluttered with brushes and jars, where I’d stored my paints, pencils and palettes.
Something struck a jarring note. I ran my finger along the window ledge and stared at the ashy smudge on my skin. No one ever ventured in here but me. Mum had occasionally run a cloth over the surfaces, but I’d preferred to do it myself, protective of my painting space. The shed was kept locked, as far as I knew.
I looked at my fingertips, breathing faster. They were clean, apart from the one I’d trailed though the dust, but wouldn’t my paintings have been dusty too, having not been touched for so long? Crouching, I ran my hands over the bubble-wrapped edges of each one. They came away clean.
Ears thrumming with my heartbeat, I looked around more closely, immediately spotting what I hadn’t seen before: the faint trace of a footprint on the dusty concrete floor.
Someone had been in here.
For a moment, it felt as if all the light had been sucked away, but when I looked through the skylight, the sun was a hard,
round ball in the sky.
I looked down again, checking the trail of prints I’d left, and knew the footprint wasn’t mine. There had to be a simple explanation, so why did I feel so spooked? It was too big to be Mum’s, too small to be Dad’s, and I couldn’t think who else would have been in here. Jamie? I picked up my phone and took a photo. Maybe Rosa, or one of her colleagues, would be able to identify the markings and maybe the size.
Suddenly the studio didn’t feel like a haven. I quickly locked up and made my way back to the house, reassured by the familiar whir of Mum’s sewing machine.
‘Find what you wanted?’ she said, not looking up as I came into the kitchen.
I moistened my lips. ‘I did.’ I looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I’d better make a move.’
‘OK.’ She pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. ‘See you Saturday.’
A drop of perspiration snaked down my back. ‘Has anyone been down there recently?’
‘The studio?’ She glanced up with a frown. ‘No, why?’ Without waiting for a reply, she added, ‘It could probably do with a clean, but I know you don’t like anyone going in there. Does it look bad?’
‘A bit dusty, but it’s fine.’
‘What then?’
‘I thought some things had been moved, that’s all.’
‘Oh, no.’ She stood up and hurried to the boot room. ‘Ben next door had his shed broken into a couple of weeks ago.’ She locked the back door and rattled the handle to make sure it was secure. ‘They took his petrol mower and leaf blower while he was out shopping. It wasn’t even a proper break-in because they’d found the key hidden under one of his gnomes, so he can’t even claim on the house insurance.’
‘That’s awful.’
She looked worried now, one hand at her throat. ‘Was anything missing down there?’
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ I felt both relieved and ridiculous. Perhaps the footprint I’d seen belonged to the same person. Whoever it was had somehow got in, looked at the paintings and decided they weren’t worth stealing. ‘I was probably imagining it anyway. I haven’t been in there for so long,’ I said. ‘But maybe don’t leave the key where burglars can see it.’
‘That’s what Rosa said when she heard what happened next door.’ Mum’s anxious expression gave way to a smile. She liked Rosa. I knew she was hoping Jamie would ask her to marry him. ‘I should have listened,’ she added. ‘Put it in the bits and bobs drawer, to be on the safe side.’
I did as I was told, making a play of hiding the key among the jumble of cables, string, pens, old receipts and paperclips that had accumulated, so that Mum laughed and said, ‘Good luck to anyone trying to find it in there.’
As I drove away, I made myself think of her smiling face, instead of checking my rear-view mirror to see whether I was being followed.
*
Halfway home, I remembered Matt was picking Hayley up and taking her to dance class and decided to take a detour to Rosa’s to show her the photo of the footprint. If it belonged to the same person who’d stolen from Mum’s neighbour it might be helpful. If it didn’t … at least it would be on record. I didn’t want to be one of those victims who doesn’t go to the police until it’s too late, or assume people will peg me as paranoid, even if I am.
Victim. A word I hated. You were a child, a victim of circumstance, you can’t hold yourself responsible, my counsellor had said.
The man who’d saved me had been the true victim, the innocent one, and his family were victims too. Had one of them found me and wanted me to pay for his death? Would knowing I’d suffered a surfeit of guilt, that I’d tried, in my own way, to make amends be enough?
Bye, bye, Beth.
Feeling my chest tighten, I inhaled and exhaled deeply, until I arrived at Rosa’s rather industrial-looking apartment block in Folly Bridge, not far from St Aldates police station. Jamie had moved in about a month after they met, which we’d thought was too soon as he’d not long been out of a relationship, but it was clear pretty quickly this time was different. He’d met someone who seemed to understand him and didn’t judge. In her line of work, Rosa had to be open-minded and she’d brought out the best in my brother. He’d become surprisingly domesticated, taking over cooking duties, and we’d been round for dinner a couple of times.
As I got out of the car, glancing around with hawk-like intensity, as if someone might be approaching with a concealed weapon, my phone began to ring. I fumbled to answer it.
‘God, you scared me,’ I said to Vic, relieved to hear his voice. ‘I’m really jumpy today.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said, rather grimly. ‘I was calling to see how you are.’
‘I keep thinking someone’s going to leap out and get me,’ I admitted, leaning against the car. The hot metal burned through my shirt, but I didn’t care. It was good to feel something other than anxious. ‘I’ve just been over to Mum’s.’
I told him about my morning, omitting the part about Katya’s gift, picturing him in his leather chair in his consulting room, or standing at the window looking out at the car park.
‘It’s probably best to carry on as normal, and the exhibition’s a good distraction,’ he said. ‘You can’t let whoever sent that message get into your head.’
He didn’t mention security again, and I understood why. In the golden light of a warm July day, with normal life going on, the idea that someone might actually mean me harm was too surreal.
‘I’ll cook dinner this evening.’ Vic’s voice was warm in my ear, melting some of my tension. ‘You can put your feet up and relax, do some painting if you like. I can entertain Hayley, or Baxter next door will, if Pam doesn’t mind.’
I smiled, remembering what Pam had said about her friend’s Labrador having puppies. Maybe we should get a dog for protection, though something fierce would be a better idea. As my imagination cut loose, I pictured a snarling Alsatian grabbing a black-clad arm as it reached for me in the night.
‘What is it?’ Vic said. I realised I’d made a sound. ‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?’
‘How can I not?’ My voice was too high. A passer-by shot me a look, reminding me of the woman sitting outside Nell’s café. I looked more closely, checking it wasn’t her. ‘Someone told me I’m not going to live to see another birthday,’ I said, lowering my tone. ‘How am I supposed to react?’
‘I wish I’d seen the message.’ Vic’s voice held a hint of frustration.
‘Why?’ I tensed. ‘In case I misinterpreted it?’
‘No, of course not, but … do you remember when we drove past that cottage for sale last month, and you said we should make an appointment to view it because it was perfect?’
‘Of course I do.’ I’d been drawn by the wisteria-tangled trellis and brass knocker on the front door. ‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘You were convinced when you looked online that it had three bedrooms, and had recently been updated—’
‘But when we got there, it had two bedrooms and badly needed updating. I know, but this is completely different.’
‘I’m just saying, you saw what you wanted to see.’
‘Are you saying I wanted to see a message from someone threatening to end my life?’
‘No, but I know how guilty you still feel about what happened to that man, and maybe the message tapped into something but didn’t mean someone really wants you to die.’
I took my phone from my ear and stared in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying that, Vic.’
‘Look, I’m sorry.’ He gave a heavy sigh. I guessed he was pinching the bridge of his nose, which he tended to do when tired or overworked. ‘I suppose I don’t want to believe it, so I’m looking for reasons why it might not have meant what you think.’
‘Enjoy your birthday; it’ll be your last doesn’t leave room for doubt.’ I felt an irrational flare of anger. ‘What would your interpretation be?’
‘And you’re sure that was the exact wording?’
‘Why are you doubting me now?’
‘I’m not.’ His voice was firm. ‘I just wish I knew what to do.’
I huffed out a breath. ‘You’re not the only one.’
‘And you haven’t had any more?’
‘I’d have said if I had, but …’ I was going to tell him about the footprint in my studio but stopped myself, worried I sounded obsessed. Plus, I didn’t know if it was related in any way. ‘I can’t help going over it. I keep checking my phone,’ I said instead. So much for being an open book.
‘That’s understandable, but you’ve spoken to Rosa and unless – God forbid – anything else happens, I don’t know what else we can do, apart from be vigilant.’
‘So, I’m destined to be constantly on edge until I’m killed sometime during the next year, date unknown?’
‘Beth—’
‘No, Vic, that’s exactly how it’s going to be.’ I clamped a hand to my forehead, feeling dampness there. ‘I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder.’
‘Listen, Beth, we’re going away soon—’
‘Yes, to the place that still gives me nightmares,’ I cut in.
‘We can always cancel it.’
‘No, no.’ I subsided. ‘I don’t want to cancel it.’
‘I’ll be with you twenty-four seven.’ Vic’s tone was reassuring. ‘In the meantime, let’s get you a personal alarm,’ he said. ‘They make a hell of a racket if anyone you don’t like the look of comes near you.’
‘And then what?’
‘Call the police.’
‘Whoever it is doesn’t intend to be caught.’ My voice snagged. ‘This is something they’ve planned.’
‘You don’t know that.’
I didn’t know anything for sure. ‘I need to find out who sent that message, Vic.’ Silence swelled down the line. ‘Vic?’
‘How do you intend to do that?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ I glanced up at the apartments, hoping Rosa was in. ‘I’ve got to go,’ I said abruptly. ‘I’ll see you later.’
