by Karen Clarke
‘But, why change it and not tell you?’
‘Because he’s been Vic Berenson for twenty-two years.’ I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. My head felt like it was in a vice. I longed to feel fresh air on my face, to have a cold drink and to sleep for twelve hours straight.
‘If he kept that from you, what else might he be hiding?’
I remembered the newspaper at the cottage. ‘We’ll talk when I get back.’
‘Beth, wait—’
I rang off and shut my eyes. Jonathan Ryder. I couldn’t associate the name with Vic. It was a sensible name, a nice name even. Why had he changed it, and why Vic Berenson? And what if he’d changed it more than once? He could have been Jack Taylor at some point.
I couldn’t make it add up, or stop the questions rampaging around my head. I gave a strangled scream and jumped when a voice said, ‘Excuse me, are you OK?’
I lifted my head. A young couple were peering through the car window with alarmed expressions. ‘Are you ill?’ said the female, her face a worried frown.
I summoned a smile that I hoped didn’t look demonic. ‘Thanks, I’m fine.’ I rested a hand on the steering wheel. ‘I’ve been driving all day and needed to stop for a rest.’
They nodded their understanding and moved away as my phone buzzed. It was a text from Tabitha at the art gallery.
Love the paintings, bring them in ASAP!! Got a couple of interested parties already. Think this is going to be your moment! T X
A burst of pleasure ignited and quickly died. It would be ironic if I finally became famous after my death, like so many great artists.
Not that I was great, and I didn’t want to be famous.
I just wanted to live.
Chapter 28
I wasn’t ready to go back to the cottage, and drove the few miles from Penzance to St Ives, where I parked the car and wandered through the narrow, cobbled streets, past whitewashed slate-roofed cottages, my thoughts zig-zagging. I looked unseeingly in the windows of shops, bakeries and galleries, Angie’s face merging with Maggie Taylor’s, their voices overlapping with Emma’s in my head.
Avoiding the seafront – mindful of my last visit, when huge waves had leapt over the railings like crazy horses and I’d screamed with terror – I took refuge in a vegan café where I toyed with a salad and drank two cups of green tea, scrolling through photos of Hayley on my phone. I called Pam, who sounded thrilled to hear from me and assured me all was well next door. ‘I’ve been watering the garden. Don’t worry about a thing.’
Fat chance.
When my headache had eased a little, and the noise in my mind was quieter, I visited the Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden, and bought a Little Scientist jigsaw I knew that Hayley would love.
When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I drove back to Perran Cove, spotting the police car as I wound up the path to the cottage. It must be the officer Rosa had spoken to. Andrew Fellowes. I’d expected him to call, not drop round, but maybe this was better. If I was going to confront Vic – and I didn’t see that I had a choice – it might be better to have a … the word witness sprang to mind and I pushed it down. It would be good to have someone else there.
My legs felt leaden as I got out of the car. As if in tune with my mood, the sun disappeared behind a bank of clouds and the breeze raised the hairs on my arms.
As I stepped through the door, the low voices from the living room stopped. A uniformed officer was sitting in the armchair, knees spread wide, a notepad in his hand. Vic was standing in front of him with his arms folded.
He spun round, a look of comical relief on his face. ‘Here she is.’ He came over, but I sidestepped his attempt at a hug so our arms clashed. ‘This is PC Fellowes,’ he said, after a moment’s awkward silence. ‘I’ve been talking him through everything.’
‘Why did you change your name?’
The air seemed to thicken as the colour drained from Vic’s face.
‘How did you know about that?’
‘It’s true then?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Is … everything OK?’
My gaze swivelled from Vic’s sickly pallor to Andrew Fellowes. He was bulky and bearded with a heavy brow and dark, deep-set eyes that flicked between Vic and me. Reassured by his solid presence, I turned back to Vic.
‘Tell me who you really are.’
‘Beth, please—’
‘It’s not a trick question.’
He lifted his arms and ran his hands over his head. ‘I’m exactly who you think I am.’ He met my gaze with the slightly stunned look of a sleepwalker woken in the middle of a nightmare. ‘I’m Vic Berenson.’
‘Except …’ I took a step back. ‘You’re not.’
‘Would you like to explain, sir?’ PC Fellowes had got to his feet, a look of watchful curiosity on his face. I noticed his hand stray to the radio on his shirt, as if he might need to call for backup.
Emboldened, I said, ‘Yes, Vic. Would you like to explain?’
He looked cornered, turning once on the spot as if seeking an escape route, then seemed to make up his mind. ‘Fine.’ He smoothed a hand round his jaw. ‘Vic Berenson wasn’t the name I was born with,’ he said. ‘I changed it – legally,’ he stressed, for the officer’s sake, not looking at me. ‘I did it because I wanted to break ties with my old life once I turned eighteen; become someone new.’
Watching a nerve jump under his eye, I knew with a chilling certainty I’d made a mistake.
‘My childhood wasn’t happy,’ he went on, still directing his words to Andrew Fellowes, who was listening attentively. ‘My parents died in a car crash when my sister and I were very young and we were raised by an aunt who was … let’s just say, not the kindest person in the world, though I’m sure she did her best. I was badly bullied at school for being “brainy”—’ he made quote marks ‘—and I decided I didn’t want to be that person anymore, so I chose a new name. A combination of my father, Victor, and my mother’s maiden name, Berenson, to honour my parents.’ Oh, Vic. ‘You can check it out if you want,’ he said, again to the officer. ‘There’s no mystery – I just became … Vic. I don’t even think about my old name. I just wanted to choose one that I felt suited me better.’
I had the feeling it would hurt him too much to look at me now – to acknowledge the extent of my betrayal.
‘Well, that makes sense, and as you say, it’s not illegal.’ Andrew Fellowes turned to me, searching my face with friendly vigilance. ‘Does that sound OK to you?’
I nodded, close to tears, knowing I’d flushed scarlet. ‘I just wish you’d told me, Vic.’
‘It didn’t seem relevant.’ He looked at the floor. His face was set, hands loose by his sides. I knew with a sinking feeling that there was no coming back from this.
Buoyed up by something beyond my control, I stalked to the kitchen and yanked the newspaper out of the bin before storming back and thrusting it under his nose. ‘Why did you bring this here?’
Startled out of whatever state he’d fallen into he took it from me, brow furrowed. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘The headline.’
His eyes flicked across the page. Seconds later, understanding spread over his face. ‘Jesus, Beth.’ The disgust in his voice made me reel. ‘It was on the worktop when we got here,’ he said. ‘I saw it when I was making coffee, when you went upstairs to the bathroom. I assumed it had been left by whoever had been here before us and I threw it in the bin.’
‘What’s the headline?’ I’d almost forgotten Andrew Fellowes was there.
‘It’s about me,’ I said, my voice too high. ‘And the man who saved my life in 1992.’
His eyebrows lowered. ‘That seems like an odd coincidence.’
‘It’s not a coincidence,’ I said. ‘This is what’s been happening, what Rosa, the officer who called you, was talking about.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ Vic said.
‘Then how did it get here?’
> ‘I’ve no idea.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You actually think I’m responsible for this, as well as everything else?’ Reading my face, he made a dull sound in his throat. ‘Unbelievable.’ He threw the paper onto the table and turned to PC Fellowes, who was watching our exchange with unnerving intensity. ‘I promise, this isn’t my doing,’ he said, one hand patting the air in front of him. ‘Everything I told you, before Beth came back, about the texts, about her being followed, or stalked, or whatever the hell’s going on, it’s not me, I’m not gaslighting her. I’m trying to help her, for God’s sake. I love her.’ His words, wrenched from deep inside him, had the unmistakable ring of truth.
The officer looked at Vic for a long moment, as though weighing up what he’d said, then turned to me. ‘Do you feel safe here with Mr Berenson?’
‘Of course I do.’ But it was too little too late. Vic’s humourless laugh felt like a recrimination.
‘Obviously she doesn’t, but it’s fine, I’ll go.’
‘Vic, no. Don’t be silly.’ I put a restraining hand on his arm as he made to move away. ‘We’ve only just got here.’
Andrew Fellowes cleared his throat. ‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ I had the impression from the look he gave Vic that he felt rather sorry for him.
‘Is it possible to leave a car here, until we leave?’ I said.
Vic gave another hollow laugh. ‘I’m not going to murder you,’ he said, with a bitterness I’d never heard from him before.
‘Oh, Vic.’ I felt wretched. ‘Just as a precaution.’
‘It isn’t like in films,’ the officer said, kindly. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have the resources for a stakeout.’
‘No, of course not.’ I felt my blush deepen. ‘Of course you don’t. I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll see myself out,’ he said after a tricky pause. ‘Call if you think of anything else we can help with.’
‘Anything else?’ I said under my breath, watching him head back to his police car, tucking his shirt more firmly into the waistband of his trousers. ‘He hasn’t done anything.’
‘What were you expecting, Beth?’ I felt Vic’s breath on my neck. His voice was flat and empty. ‘I’m going to pack.’
I spun round, regretting it when the pounding in my head increased. ‘Vic, I’m so sorry.’ I curled my fingers around his forearm. ‘Please try and understand—’
‘You’ve been investigating me.’
‘Not me,’ I protested. ‘It was Emma, actually.’
He threw my arm off. ‘I should have known.’
‘She’s worried, Vic – she put two and two together.’
‘And made five.’ He shook his head again, wearily this time as he headed towards the stairs. ‘I’ve never tried to hide anything from you.’
‘I know that, now.’
‘You should have known already.’
‘I knew in my heart it wasn’t you, but some of the things she said, they made me think.’ My voice was rising towards tears. ‘My head’s all over the place, Vic. I didn’t know what to think. I’m suspecting everyone … Jamie, Katya.’ For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to mention Matt.
‘Katya?’ He turned, one foot on the stairs.
‘Marianne called, said she’s on her way here.’ I grasped the change of topic like a lifeline. ‘She’s been acting oddly recently.’
‘Isn’t she one of your patients?’
‘Yes … she’s one of my clients, but—’
‘Maybe you should have told the officer about that,’ he said, as if he barely knew me.
Suddenly furious, I threw my bag down. ‘How would you feel if it was you, Vic? How would you feel if your life had been threatened and you had no idea who was doing it, or why? Maybe your head would be fried too, trying to work it out.’ I was crying now. ‘I’ve got a daughter, Vic. I don’t want her to be without me.’
‘Maybe you should have mentioned your husband to the officer.’ His voice shook with emotion. ‘Matt has more reason than most to want you out of the way, now he knows you don’t want him and he hasn’t got access to his daughter twenty-four hours a day.’
‘He can see her whenever he wants,’ I sobbed, but I was deliberately missing the point and we both knew it.
For once, Vic didn’t come to me, or attempt to reassure me, and I had the feeling again of something being withdrawn that I’d taken for granted. ‘You’re right – that I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes,’ he said. ‘But I’ve done my best to help you. I’m sorry that wasn’t enough.’ He took the stairs two at a time and I shot after him into the bedroom.
‘Vic, please. Don’t do this,’ I cried, swiping tears from my cheeks.
He nodded at my open bag on the floor by the narrow wardrobe. ‘I know you don’t love me.’ There was a catch in his voice. ‘You haven’t even unpacked,’ he said. ‘You decided not to bring your red dress, because you don’t think I’m worth making an effort for.’
‘That’s not true.’ But even as I said it, I wondered whether it was.
‘You’re not wearing the necklace I bought you, but I see you’ve kept the bracelet on.’ I automatically looked at my wrist, circled by the bracelet Hayley had given me, picturing the ruby pendant coiled on the dressing table at home.
‘It’s not an everyday necklace, that’s all.’
‘I know you can’t say you love me,’ he went on, as though I hadn’t spoken. ‘I didn’t want to push you, but now I know you don’t feel it, either.’ He pressed a fist to his chest and carried on before I could speak. ‘I suppose I thought if I could get you here, get you into the sea and it went well, it might be enough to tip you over the edge.’ He saw my expression and shook his head. ‘Into loving me,’ he said, lips compressing. ‘Christ, Beth, what did you think I meant?’
He walked round to the window and stared out. He looked shadowy, distant, like an image I couldn’t quite bring into focus. ‘I booked us a table for tonight,’ he said. ‘I thought it would be nice to walk back in the dark and look at the stars.’ His voice became self-mocking. ‘How pathetic is that?’
I knelt on the bed and reached for him. ‘It’s not pathetic, Vic. It was a lovely thought.’
‘Where were you really today?’
‘I told you, I went to St Ives.’ I felt sick. I wished my head would stop spinning. ‘I bought a jigsaw for Hayley.’
‘And you went to the Tate gallery, even though it’s right by the sea?’
I sank down and pressed my knuckles to my mouth. ‘I went to visit Angie,’ I said. ‘I wanted to talk to her about Mike.’
‘What?’ His face was a mask of disbelief. ‘And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me, I suppose.’ I started to speak, but he held up his hands. ‘You know what? I can’t even talk to you right now.’ He headed to the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’ I leapt up, steadying myself against the wardrobe.
‘Into the village,’ he said. ‘I need some fresh air and a drink.’ He paused and looked back, a greyish tinge to his face. ‘Lock the door after me.’ He sounded as if he hated himself for caring. ‘I’ll knock three times, so you’ll know it’s me when I come back.’
Seconds later, the door downstairs opened and slammed shut. I ran down and locked it, then sat on the stairs and wept into my hands.
Chapter 29
An hour later, I’d had a shower, taken a couple of paracetamols, eaten some toast and a banana and drunk a cup of coffee. I felt marginally better and called Hayley to say goodnight, letting her happy chatter dissolve some of my tension.
When she’d finished telling me how Grampy Turner had ‘teached’ her how to do fishing with a rod in the stream that ran by the farmhouse – the only water I could think of her being near without breaking out in a sweat – and about her bread, which had burnt, but ‘Granny scraped off the black bits’ she said, ‘I wish I could give you a cuddle, Mummy.’
‘I’m giving you a cuddle in my head,’ I said, trying to keep the tears from my voice.
‘Close your eyes and cuddle me back.’
‘I can’t!’ She gave a shriek of laughter. ‘Will you tell me a story when I come home?’
‘I’ll tell you six stories, I promise.’
‘Sometimes, Daddy’s sad,’ she said out of the blue. ‘I think it would be better if you’d comed with us to Granny’s, like before, but you have to go to a holiday with Vic now don’t you, Mummy?’
I closed my eyes, squeezing tears through my lashes. ‘Daddy’s happy because he’s with you,’ I said. ‘I bet you’re having a lovely time.’
‘Are you sad, Mummy?’
I pulled a tissue out of my bag and pressed it to my face. ‘Only because you’re not here to tickle.’
She gave her throaty giggle. ‘I’m going to tickle you on Friday.’
‘I’ll tickle you back.’
‘I’ll tickle you more and more and more.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
There was a clatter and then Matt’s voice in my ear. ‘Why are you sad?’
‘I’m not.’
‘Everyone sends their love.’
I wondered what Matt had told his family. Perhaps he’d painted himself as the good guy, worried that his daughter was living with her unstable mother and her lover. For all I knew, they were encouraging him to fight for custody.
‘Your parents must hate me,’ I said.
‘Nobody hates you, Beth.’
‘Somebody does.’ His silence cut through me. ‘Matt?’
‘Has something happened?’
I couldn’t work out his tone and felt too tired to try. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Been in the big, bad sea yet?’
‘No.’
More silence. Hard to believe we used to talk for hours, about everything and nothing.
‘Vic had better be looking after you.’
As I pressed my lips together to stifle a sob, I saw my phone on the kitchen worktop light up with a call.
‘Matt, I have to go,’ I said quickly. ‘Love you.’
I realised what I’d said as soon as I rang off. Obviously, it was a reflex, left over from when we were together. He’d know it didn’t mean anything.
