by Karen Clarke
I’d felt intimidated by Lilja, who Vic had been engaged to for four years, imagining her as not just beautiful, but frighteningly accomplished – she played the violin and spoke four languages, he told me – but the first time I went to his house for dinner, he revealed she had a terrible temper. She once threw a lamp through the window and a neighbour called the police. He stayed with her because it seemed easier than leaving. He’d confessed he felt relieved when she was offered the teaching post and told him she was going alone; a fresh start for them both.
I’d looked her up online that evening. She was beautiful, but I wasn’t intimidated anymore. Vic had kissed me that day in a way that suggested he was the sort of man who knew what he wanted and had found it. There was none of the flirty banter I’d had with Matt, which went on for several dates, but I liked that Vic was serious. I’d felt the possibility of reinvention, of being with someone I hadn’t annoyed a thousand times.
On our fifth date, he told me he loved me. When you know, you know.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said now, picking up my hair and letting it fall through his fingers. He looked at me intently, as if committing my face to memory. ‘You haven’t just turned up here to kiss my face off.’
I wished I had. ‘Something silly.’ I moved out of his arms, away from the strength of his gaze. ‘I found this on my car,’ I said, rummaging the crumpled leaflet out of my bag and handing it to him.
He read it, face darkening when the significance dawned on him. ‘Only your car?’
I nodded, and told him about my conversation with Nell at the café. ‘It’s escalating, Vic.’ A choke of fear rushed up my throat. ‘Something’s building, I can feel it.’
He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, a pulse ticking in his neck.
Dropping onto the chair I’d last sat in eight months ago, I stared blankly at the state-of-the art equipment Vic used for examining eyes.
‘Right, I’m packing up here,’ he said, springing into action. ‘I’ll grab some stuff from my place and stay at yours for the rest of the week.’ He crossed to his desk and pressed a concealed buzzer. Seconds later a young man with bouncy black hair came in, eyes darting between us as if looking for evidence of intimacy.
‘Niran, I won’t be in for the rest of the week,’ Vic said. ‘Can you refer my patients to either Susan Davies, or Hugh Nevin at the John Radcliffe?’ It wasn’t an order, but his tone had a ring of authority that brooked no argument.
Niran glanced at me. I could only imagine what he must be thinking. Vic was committed to his work. It had to be serious if he was taking unscheduled time off, especially when he’d already booked some holiday time for next week. ‘Of course, Mr Berenson,’ he said evenly. ‘What shall I say?’
‘Family emergency.’ Vic’s gaze flicked to me and I read the message in his eyes. Don’t you dare feel guilty about this.
I summoned a smile, determined to be grateful that he didn’t want me to go through whatever was happening – or about to happen – on my own. That he wanted to protect me. As much as I wanted to believe I was a capable, independent woman, who didn’t need saving – again – by a man, or anyone else, in that moment I didn’t feel it. I wanted backup and Vic was happy to give it. I wasn’t strong enough to turn him down. I needed him.
You’re the kind of woman who needs a man to save you. Repeating old patterns. You don’t even realise it, do you, despite all the counselling and therapy training. Sad, really. I mean, it’s nice that you’re trying to make a difference, but teaching people to paint their feelings doesn’t cut it, Beth. You know it too, deep down. I can tell.
It’s funny, because you look so strong on the surface and I don’t think you realise that. It’s how you talk, how upright you are, walking about with your game face on, pretending you’re in control – as long as the past stays where it is.
But we both know what can happen beneath the surface, don’t we, Beth?
People can drown.
Chapter 16
Vic insisted on driving Hayley to school the next day, and got out of the car to wait at the gates while I took her inside.
There was comfort in knowing he was there; another set of eyes to look out for me. If I was being watched, they’d know I’d told Vic about the flyer on my car. Why else would he be driving us to school, instead of going to work?
‘Is Vic going to be my new daddy?’ Hayley said, as we walked up the playground.
Startled out of the tenuous sense of security I’d felt since Vic and I left the hospital the day before, I gently squeezed her fingers, which were tightly wrapped around mine. ‘Of course not, sweetie. Vic is a very good friend, but you already have a daddy.’ An old question rose unbidden, like silt from the seabed. Had the man who drowned been someone’s daddy?
‘Daisy has two daddies.’ Hayley swung my arm, more relaxed. ‘One is called Steps, I think.’
I hid a smile. ‘If Vic and I got married, he would be your stepdad,’ I said. ‘But you wouldn’t have to call him Daddy.’
‘Can I still call his name Vic?’
‘Of course you can.’ Pausing, I crouched to face her, wishing we didn’t need to have this kind of conversation. I’d never expected this when I married Matt. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that, one day, we wouldn’t be together. Several of the other mums were divorced, single or remarried, navigating new relationships, but I knew how confusing and unsettling it must be for a child, however carefully handled. My parents could have split under the pressure of what happened to us, but they hadn’t. Part of me wished it was the same for Matt and me.
‘You don’t need to worry about any of that,’ I said to Hayley, sweeping back stray strands of hair that refused to stay in her ponytail. ‘Are you looking forward to going on holiday with Daddy, and seeing Gran and Grampy Turner?’
I knew she was, but wanted to see her smile and clap her hands. She obliged, her whole face lighting up. ‘I wish you were coming with us, Mummy.’
I held her, blinking back tears, determined not to think of them having a good time without me – so good, she wouldn’t want to come home. ‘We’ll go on holiday soon,’ I said. ‘Maybe to the seaside. Won’t that be fun?’
‘Yay!’ Pulling away, Hayley clapped her hands again. ‘I’m going to make a great big sandcastle.’
‘Yes, you are.’ I smiled as Daisy ran over, and when their teacher came to usher them inside, I had to resist the urge to call Hayley back for one more hug.
She’ll be safer in France with Matt, even if he’s the one threatening me. Walking back to where Vic was talking to Daisy’s mum, who was visibly braless under her T-shirt dress, another thought rose. If something happened to me, it would be terrible for Hayley, but she would hopefully recover one day. If something happened to her, I never would. Another horrible thought followed. What if the plan was to destroy me, by hurting my daughter?
I couldn’t let that happen, but how could I stop it when I had no idea who I was up against, or when they were going to strike?
*
‘What are you going to do today?’ Vic said, once we were back at the house. It was my day off and I normally worked on a painting. ‘Shall we go out? Get away for a few hours, do something normal? It’s a shame to be cooped up indoors.’
I looked through the kitchen window at the garden, which was a lot less unkempt than it used to be, thanks to Vic discovering a love of gardening. I’d done my best after Matt and I moved in, planting wildflower seeds in the borders, which never sprouted. I was generally too busy to bother, and Matt’s efforts had only extended to mowing the grass in the summer months. Despite a wealth of advice from Pam, whose garden was a riot of colour and life, ours had been woefully neglected until I met Vic.
‘Maybe we can have lunch out there,’ I said, a scrunched-up feeling in my stomach at the thought of food. ‘I just can’t concentrate at the moment on doing normal things.’
He rested his hands on the worktop and lowered his head. ‘I hate who
ever’s doing this to you,’ he said. ‘It’s so cowardly, apart from anything.’
The depth of anger in his voice struck an answering chord. ‘I know.’ I curled my hands into fists. ‘I wish they’d just confront me, so we could … I don’t know. Talk it out or something.’
‘How am I supposed to keep you safe?’ He raised his head, eyes meeting mine. ‘I can’t be with you twenty-four hours a day for the whole of the next year.’
‘You won’t have to be.’ I felt the pump of blood around my body. ‘Between you, me and Rosa, we’ll get to the bottom of this.
‘And if it’s Matt?’
My throat tightened. However unlikely, I couldn’t push the possibility away, especially since Vic had watered the seeds of my anxiety. ‘If it is, I’ll cope, I promise.’
‘You shouldn’t be making promises to me.’ He sounded anguished as he ran a palm over his hair. ‘I feel so bloody helpless, Beth.’
I moved forward and touched his arm. ‘Let’s not think about it today.’
He covered my fingers with his and after a few seconds, nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’
There was a moment’s silence. I looked around at the mess left over from breakfast. Matt used to love to plunge his hands into a soapy sink full of water, even though we had a dishwasher, singing in a silly baritone as he washed up. Vic had no problem with loading the dishwasher, but I’d never heard him sing.
‘I think I’ll tidy up in here, then start a new canvas,’ I said. ‘I’ve got some oil paints I’d like to try.’ At least that wasn’t a lie, though I knew I should be binning Matt’s gift, not planning to use it.
‘You go on up, I’ve got this.’ As Vic gave my fingers a final squeeze I let go of my breath, wondering whether there’d be a time when my feelings weren’t threaded with guilt about something. ‘I’ll bring you some coffee, and then get on with my paperwork,’ he added, making an obvious effort to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I might even have a look at some property websites, see what’s out there.’
‘Good idea.’ I wished I could see into the future and know for certain we’d be buying a home together soon.
As if he was thinking it too, Vic gave a wry smile. ‘I suppose we have to try and stay positive,’ he said. ‘Go and do some painting and forget everything else for now.’
I climbed the stairs to the comforting sounds of clattering dishes in the kitchen. Vic had turned on the old transistor radio I’d had in my bedroom growing up, and the sound of a string quartet filled the house. Very Vic. I allowed a smile. Just for this morning, I would follow his advice and put everything out of my head but painting.
I’d set up the easel Emma had bought for my birthday, facing the window to make the most of the light, the paint stand from Jamie still in its box by the door. The room was a spare bedroom really, painted in creamy, calming neutrals, a cushion-cluttered day bed along the wall where I’d sometimes lie and do breathing exercises.
Glancing through the uncurtained window, I saw Baxter lying in a patch of shade next door, panting gently, and smiled to see Pam reading a magazine on her sun lounger in shorts and a sleeveless top, a cold drink on the grass beside her. She’d told me once she’d loved sunshine holidays when she was younger. She and her husband had thought about buying a guest house in their favourite seaside resort in Cornwall – or was it Devon? It saddened me to think she’d spent so many years alone, mourning her dead husband, when she had so much love to give. Though Marianne still missed Mick, especially coming up to the anniversary of his death, she was at least open to meeting someone new these days.
Turning back to the room, I decided to send Tabitha the photos I’d taken of the paintings for the gallery exhibition and ask for her feedback. Returning downstairs to get my phone, remembering I’d left the oil paints in the living room, a kernel of hope unfurled. If I could make it through to my next birthday – assuming someone was messing with my head and didn’t really intend me to die – I was going to approach life differently. If one thing had come out of the last few days, other than a permanent headache, it was the will to carry on living. Not with the ghosts of the past dragging me down, but fully, in the present, making the most of each moment the way I should have been for the past twenty-six years. Twenty-six years. Something about the number tugged at my memory and floated out of reach.
‘Just getting my phone to call the gallery,’ I called from the hall to Vic.
‘Coffee’s on the way,’ he replied. There was a crash and a muffled swear word. I stifled a laugh. He was wrestling with the old coffee machine Emma had bought me and Matt as a wedding gift, knowing I loved real coffee. I didn’t mind instant these days, but appreciated Vic making the effort. I tried not to feel guilty all over again that he was acting as my bodyguard, instead of seeing his patients.
Taking my phone from by bag on the hall table, I was surprised to see I’d had a text from Emma, as if thinking about her had conjured it up.
Can we meet somewhere for a drink tomorrow evening? I need to talk to you. I can come over your way x
My heart flipped. I remembered the look on her face as she left my party with Mum and Dad, and the sense I’d had that she wanted to tell me something. But going out for a couple of hours meant leaving Hayley. Vic was booked to give a talk at Oxford University tomorrow evening, and after my last conversation with Matt, I couldn’t ask him over – apart from anything, Vic wouldn’t be impressed. Mum and Dad would love to babysit, but I couldn’t face them either after my outburst with Jamie.
The obvious answer was Pam. She’d be over the moon and could bring Baxter with her. Not just for Hayley – his bark would scare anyone who came to the door. Not that Pam would answer the door to anyone, even Matt, without calling me first.
Feeling apprehensive, I typed: 7.30 p.m. The White Hart, St Andrew’s Road? X
It was a traditional old pub in Headington, easy to get to.
See you there x
So sparse. I thought of all we’d shared over more than a decade of friendship, how close we’d been before our lives took us down different paths – hers to far-flung countries, mine back to the city I was born in.
Emma knew everything about my past and what my family had been through. It would be good to talk to her properly. Maybe it would help bring us back together.
Slipping my phone in my pocket, I recovered my paint box from the living room and ran a hand over the wooden lid. I could clearly picture Matt choosing it, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist. I shook off an image of him mooching around my favourite art-supplies shop. He’d probably ordered it off Amazon in an attempt to throw me off the scent.
Throw me off the scent. I shook my head, an ache passing through me at how my thoughts kept angling towards suspicion.
Tucking the box under my arm, I stood for a moment, looking around the room. I was rarely alone in it at this time of day. I’d either be at work, or painting upstairs, barely aware of my surroundings. Washed with sunlight, tidied and cleaned by Vic since the party, cushions plumped and straightened, surfaces shiny, Hayley’s toys tidied into the wicker chest beneath the window, it looked like a stage set; a room dressed and ready for the players to step in and bring it to life. It lacked the lived-in feel it used to have, when Hayley’s toys would be scattered around, the cushions awry, surfaces littered – happy chaos Matt called it.
Now, standing there, the melancholy sound of a piano concerto drifting from the kitchen, it felt as if something was missing. Something I’d never get back.
I gave myself a mental shake. I was being maudlin. The music, the text from Emma, Vic being here instead of at work, not to mention the fact that someone wanted me dead … my world had been rocked. Of course I felt off-kilter. It had nothing to do with the room and everything to do with my state of mind.
My gaze crept over my seascape above the fireplace once more, something niggling. I moved closer, swearing under my breath when I knocked my shin on the coffee table.
My eyes were drawn to the corner of t
he painting, where the water seemed to swirl, aquamarine tinged with white. Something didn’t belong there, almost invisible unless you were looking closely. A shape, carefully etched in silver, as though scored with a metal tip. A crudely drawn arm, pushing through the surface of the water as though calling for help. Someone drowning.
The air rushed out of my lungs.
Chapter 17
‘I can’t believe all this has been going on and you haven’t said a word.’ Emma stared in wide-eyed disbelief after I’d blurted everything out.
I started the minute we sat down, drinks in front of us, when Emma shrugged off her denim jacket with a casual, ‘So, how are you, Beth?’
‘I suppose I was trying to take it all in, and didn’t want to believe it was happening.’ It was an echo of what Vic had said a couple of days ago, though it seemed longer than that – as though I’d been under siege for months. ‘Do you really think I’m in danger?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She came to sit beside me on the leather banquette and took my hand. The old pub was busy with a rowdy birthday party that had spilled out into the leafy garden at the back of the building. No one was taking any notice of us, tucked in a corner booth, but I couldn’t help scanning faces every now and then, looking for something out of place.
Like in my painting.
Vic had rushed into the living room, alerted by my shout.
‘I’ve never looked at it this closely before,’ he’d said, peering to where I was pointing, the outline of the arm barely visible unless it caught the light. ‘It’s the sort of thing someone could have done ages ago and you’ve only just noticed.’
I’d jerked away from him. ‘But, why?’
‘I don’t know.’ He attempted to hug me, but I shrugged him off. ‘Some sort of joke?’
‘How is that funny?’
‘Sorry,’ he’d said, concern shadowing his face. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. I just …’ He shook his head, at a loss. ‘I don’t know what to think.’
