I Let You Go

by Clare Mackintosh

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Ray held up the blue card in reply, and Kate grabbed her coat and ran after him.

  It took some time for Ray and Kate to find 127 Grantham Street, an unprepossessing redbrick semi in a seemingly endless row in which odd numbers were inexplicably far from their even counterparts. They stood outside for a moment, contemplating the scrubby front garden and the greying nets at every window. In the neighbouring garden two mattresses provided a resting place for a watchful cat, which meowed as they made their way up the path to the front door. Unlike the adjacent houses, which had cheap UPVC doors, 127 had a smartly painted wooden door with a spyhole. There was no letterbox, but fixed to the wall by the side of the door was a metal post-box, its door secured with a padlock.

  Ray rang the bell. Kate reached into her jacket pocket for her warrant card, but Ray put his hand on her arm. ‘Best not,’ he said, ‘not till we know who lives here.’

  They heard the sound of footsteps on a tiled floor. The footsteps stopped, and Ray looked directly at the tiny spyhole in the centre of the door. Whatever test was applied, they clearly passed, because after a couple of seconds Ray heard the door unlock. A second lock was turned, and the door opened by about four inches, stopped by a chain. The excessive security measures had led Ray to expect someone elderly, but the woman looking through the gap in the door was roughly the same age as him. She wore a patterned wraparound dress under a navy blue cardigan, with a pale yellow scarf looped around her neck and tied in a knot.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for a friend,’ Ray said. ‘Her name’s Jenna Gray. She used to live in this road but I can’t for the life of me remember which house. I don’t suppose you know her, do you?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  Ray glanced over the woman’s shoulder to see into the house, and she closed the door a fraction, making eye contact with him and holding his gaze.

  ‘Have you lived here long?’ Kate said, ignoring the woman’s reticence.

  ‘Long enough,’ the woman said briskly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

  ‘I’m sorry we disturbed you,’ Ray said, taking Kate’s arm. ‘Come on, honey, let’s go. I’ll make some calls – see if I can track down her address.’ He brandished his phone in front of them.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Thanks anyway,’ Ray said. He nudged Kate.

  ‘Right,’ she said, finally picking up on his cue. ‘We’ll make some calls. Thanks for your time.’

  The woman closed the door firmly and Ray heard two keys turn, one after another. He kept his arm through Kate’s until they were safely out of view of the house, feeling acutely conscious of the closeness.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ Kate said, as they got into the car. ‘Somewhere Gray once lived? Or does the woman there know more than she’s letting on?’

  ‘Oh, she knows something, all right,’ Ray said. ‘Did you notice what she was wearing?’

  Kate thought for a moment. ‘A dress, and a dark-coloured cardigan.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Kate shook her head, confused.

  Ray pressed a button on his phone, and the screen burst into life. He handed it to Kate.

  ‘You took a photo of her?’

  Ray grinned. He reached across and zoomed in on the photo, pointing to the knot of the woman’s yellow scarf, where there was a small circular mark.

  ‘It’s a pin badge,’ he said. He zoomed in a second time, and finally there it was. Thick black lines like two figures of eight, one nestling inside the other.

  ‘The symbol on the card!’ Kate said. ‘Nice work.’

  ‘There’s no doubt Jenna’s connected in some way to this house,’ Ray said. ‘But how?’

  30

  I never understood why you were so keen for me to meet your family. You hated your mother, and although you spoke to Eve once a week or so, she never made the effort to come to Bristol, so why should you trek to Oxford every time she wanted you there? But off you went, like a good little girl, leaving me for a night – sometimes more – while you cooed over her burgeoning bump and, no doubt, flirted with her rich husband. Each time you asked me to go with you, and each time I refused.

  ‘They’re going to think I’ve been making you up,’ you said. You smiled to show you were joking, but there was a desperation in your voice. ‘I want to spend Christmas with you – it wasn’t the same without you last year.’

  ‘Then stay here with me.’ It was a simple choice to make. Why wasn’t I enough for you?

  ‘But I want to be with my family too. We don’t even have to stay the night – we can just go for lunch.’

  ‘And not have a drink? Some Christmas lunch that’ll be!’

  ‘I’ll drive. Please, Ian, I really want to show you off.’

  You were virtually begging. You had gradually toned down the make-up you used to wear, but that day you were wearing lipstick, and I watched the red curve of your mouth as you pleaded with me.

  ‘Fine.’ I shrugged. ‘But next Christmas it’s just you and me.’

  ‘Thank you!’ You beamed and threw your arms around me.

  ‘I suppose we’ll need to take presents. Bit of a joke, considering how much money they’ve got.’

  ‘It’s all sorted,’ you said, too happy to notice my barbed tone. ‘Eve only ever wants smellies, and Jeff’s happy with a bottle of Scotch. Honestly, it’ll be fine. You’ll love them.’

  I doubted it. I had heard more than enough about ‘Lady Eve’ to make my own judgement on her, although I was intrigued to see what made you so obsessed with her. I had never felt the absence of siblings to be a loss, and found it irritating that you spoke to Eve so often. I would come into the kitchen when you were on the phone to her, and if you abruptly stopped talking I’d know you’d been discussing me.

  ‘What did you get up to today?’ I said, changing the subject.

  ‘I had a great day. I went to an artisans’ lunch at the Three Pillars – one of these networking groups, but for people working in creative industries. It’s amazing how many of us there are, all working on our own at home in little offices. Or on kitchen tables…’ You gave me an apologetic look.

  It had become impossible to eat in the kitchen, thanks to the constant layer of paint, clay dust and scribbled drawings scattered on the table. Your things were everywhere, and there was no longer a place in which I felt relaxed. The house hadn’t seemed small when I bought it, and even when Marie was here there had been sufficient room for the two of us. Marie was quieter than you. Less exuberant. Easier to live with, in a way, apart from the lying. But I learned how to deal with that, and I knew I wouldn’t be caught out again.

  You were still talking about the lunch you had been to, and I tried to concentrate on what you were saying.

  ‘So we think that between the six of us, we can probably afford the rent.’

  ‘What rent?’

  ‘The rent on a shared studio. I can’t afford one on my own, but I’m bringing in enough money from teaching to go in with the others, and this way I’ll be able to have a proper kiln, and I can get all this stuff out of your way.’

  I hadn’t realised you were making any sort of income from your teaching. I had suggested you run pottery classes because it seemed a more sensible use of your time than making figurines that you sold for a pittance. I would have expected you to have offered a contribution towards my mortgage before agreeing to go into some sort of business partnership. After all, you had been living rent-free all this time.

  ‘It sounds great in principle, darling, but what happens when someone moves away? Who picks up the extra rent?’ I could see you hadn’t thought it through.

  ‘I need somewhere to work, Ian. Teaching’s all well and good, but it’s not what I want to do for ever. My sculptures are starting to sell, and if I could make them faster, and do more commissions, I think I could build a decent business.’

  ‘How many sculptors and artists actually do
that, though?’ I said. ‘I mean, you have to be realistic about it – it might never be more than a hobby that brings you in a bit of pocket money.’

  You didn’t like hearing the truth.

  ‘But by working as a cooperative we can all help each other. Avril’s mosaics would fit well with the sort of stuff I make, and Grant does the most incredible oil paintings. It would be great to involve some of my uni friends too, but I haven’t heard from anyone for ages.’

  ‘It’s fraught with problems,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe. I’ll give it some more thought.’

  I could see you had already made up your mind. I would lose you to this new dream. ‘Listen,’ I said, my voice belying the anxiety I felt, ‘I’ve been thinking for a while about moving house.’

  ‘Have you?’ You looked dubious.

  I nodded. ‘We’ll find a place with enough outside space, and I’ll build you a studio in the garden.’

  ‘My own studio?’

  ‘Complete with kiln. You can make as much mess as you like.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’ A broad smile spread across your face.

  ‘I’d do anything for you, Jennifer, you know that.’

  It was true. I would have done anything to have kept you.

  While you were in the shower the phone rang.

  ‘Is Jenna there? It’s Sarah.’

  ‘Hi, Sarah,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid she’s out with friends at the moment. Did she not call you back the last time you rang? I passed on your message.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah. Well, I’ll tell her you called.’

  While you were still upstairs, I went through your handbag. There was nothing out of the ordinary; your receipts were all for places you had told me you had been. I felt the bubble of tension inside me dissipate. Out of habit I checked the notes section of your purse, and although it was empty I felt a thickness under my fingers. I looked more carefully and saw there was a slit in the lining, into which had been slipped a small fold of notes. I pocketed it. If it was housekeeping, tucked away for safe-keeping, you would ask if I had seen it. If not, then I would know you were keeping secrets from me. Stealing my money.

  You never mentioned it.

  When you left me, I didn’t even notice you had gone. I waited for you to come home, and it was only when I eventually went to bed that I realised your toothbrush had disappeared. I looked for the suitcases, and found nothing missing but a small bag. Did he offer to buy you what you needed? Did he tell you he’d give you anything you wanted? And what did you offer in return? You disgust me. But I let you go. I told myself I was better off without you, and that as long as you didn’t go running to the police with accusations of what they’d no doubt call abuse, I would let you run off to wherever you were going. I could have come after you, but I didn’t want to. Do you understand that? I didn’t want you. And I would have left you alone, were it not for a tiny piece in today’s Bristol Post. They didn’t print your name, but did you think I wouldn’t know it was you?

  I imagined the police asking about your life; your relationships. I saw them testing you; putting words in your mouth. I saw you crying and telling them everything. I knew you’d break down and it wouldn’t be long before they came knocking at my door, asking questions about matters that are no concern of theirs. Calling me a bully; an abuser; a wife-beater. I was none of those things: I never gave you anything you didn’t ask for.

  Guess where I went today. Go on, take a guess. No? I went to Oxford to pay a visit to your sister. I reckoned if anyone knew where you were now, it would be her. The house hasn’t changed much in the last five years. Still the perfectly clipped bay trees either side of the front door; still the same irritating chiming door bell.

  Eve’s smile faded pretty quickly when she saw me.

  ‘Ian,’ she said flatly. ‘What a surprise.’

  ‘Long time, no see,’ I said. She never had had the balls to tell me outright what she thought of me. ‘You’re letting all the warmth out,’ I said, stepping forward on to the black-and-white tiles of the hall. Eve had no choice but to step aside, and I let my arm brush against her breasts as I passed her and made my way into the sitting room. She scurried after me, trying to show me she was still mistress of her own house. It was pathetic.

  I sat in Jeff’s chair, knowing she would hate it, and Eve sat opposite. I could see her fighting with herself, wanting to ask me what I was doing there.

  ‘Jeff not here?’ I asked. I caught a flash of something in Eve’s eyes. She was frightened of me, I realised, and the thought was peculiarly arousing. Not for the first time I wondered what Lady Eve would be like in bed; if she would be as buttoned-up as you.

  ‘He’s taken the children into town.’

  She shifted in her chair and I let the silence hang between us until she couldn’t bear it any longer.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I was just passing,’ I said, looking around the big sitting room. She’s had it redecorated since we were last there – you’d like it. They’ve gone for those bland, chalky colours you wanted in our kitchen. ‘It’s been a long time, Eve.’

  Eve gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement, but didn’t reply.

  ‘I’m looking for Jennifer,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean? Don’t tell me she finally left you?’ She spat the words with more passion than I had ever seen her muster.

  I let the dig pass. ‘We split up.’

  ‘Is she okay? Where is she living?’

  She has the gall to be worried about you. After everything she said. Hypocritical bitch.

  ‘You mean she didn’t come running to you?’

  ‘I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Oh really?’ I said, not believing her for a second. ‘But you two were so close – you must have some idea.’ A muscle began to twitch in the corner of my eye, and I rubbed it to make it stop.

  ‘We haven’t spoken in five years, Ian.’ She stood up. ‘I think you should go now.’

  ‘Are you telling me you haven’t heard from her in all that time?’ I stretched out my legs and leaned back in my chair. I would decide when to leave.

  ‘No,’ Eve said. I saw her eyes flick briefly to the mantelpiece. ‘Now I’d like you to go.’

  The fireplace was a characterless affair, with a polished gas fire and fake coals. On top of the white-painted surround were a handful of cards and invitations, propped up either side of a carriage clock.

  I knew at once what she hadn’t meant me to see. You should have thought a little more carefully, Jennifer, before sending something so obvious. There it was, incongruous amongst the gilt-edged invitations: a photograph of a beach taken from the top of a cliff. On the sand were letters spelling out Lady Eve.

  I stood up, allowing Eve to usher me towards the front door. I bent down and kissed her cheek, feeling her recoil from me and fighting the urge to slam her against the wall for lying to me.

  She opened the door and I made a play of looking for my keys. ‘I must have put them down,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a second.’

  I left her in the hall and went back to the sitting room. I picked up the postcard and turned it over, but didn’t find the address I had hoped to see, only some saccharine message to Eve in your familiar untidy writing. You used to write notes to me; leave them under my pillow and in my briefcase. Why did you stop? A muscle tightened in my throat. I studied the photo. Where were you? The tension I felt threatened to burst out of me, and I ripped the card in half and then in half again, and again, feeling instantly better. I pushed the pieces behind the carriage clock just as Eve came into the room.

  ‘Found them,’ I said, patting my pocket.

  She looked around the room, doubtless expecting to see something out of place. Let her look, I thought. Let her find it.

  ‘A pleasure to see you again, Eve,’ I said. ‘I’ll be sure to drop in next time I’m in Oxford.’ I walked back towards the front door.


  Eve opened her mouth but no words came, so I spoke for her:

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  I began looking online as soon as I got home. There was something obviously British about those high cliffs, reaching around the beach on three sides, and about the grey sky with its ominous clouds. I searched for ‘UK beaches’ and began scrolling through images. Again and again I clicked on to the next page, but all I found were holiday guide photos of sandy beaches filled with laughing children. I changed my search to ‘UK beaches with cliffs’ and continued scrolling. I will find you, Jennifer. Wherever you’ve gone to, I’ll find you.

  And then I will come for you.

  31

  Bethan strides towards me, a knitted hat pulled low over her hair. She begins speaking when she’s still some distance from me. It’s a clever trick: I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can’t walk away when she’s talking to me. I stand and wait for her to reach me.

  We’ve been walking across the fields, Beau and I, steering clear of the clifftops and the rolling sea. I’m too frightened to go near the sea again, although it’s not the water I am scared of but my own mind. I can feel myself going mad, and no matter how much I walk I can’t escape it.

  ‘I thought it was you, up here.’

  The caravan park is barely visible from here: I can only have been a speck on the hillside. Bethan’s smile is still open and warm, as though nothing has changed since the last time we spoke, but she must know I’m on police bail. The whole village knows.

  ‘I was going for a walk,’ she says. ‘Do you want to come?’

  ‘You never go for walks.’

  Bethan’s mouth twitches slightly. ‘Well then, that’s how much I wanted to see you, isn’t it?’

  We fall into step together, Beau racing ahead in an endless search for rabbits. The day is crisp and clear, and our breath mists in front of us as we walk. It’s almost noon, but the ground is still hard from this morning’s frost, and spring feels a long way away. I have taken to scoring out the days on the calendar; the day I answer bail marked with a big black cross. I have ten days left. I know from the leaflet I was handed in custody that I might have to wait some time for my trial, but that I am unlikely to see another summer here in Penfach. I wonder how many I will miss.