‘What, all of it?’
‘All of it.’ The look in her eyes was fierce and made it clear the decision was not up for discussion. Philippa grinned.
‘Excellent!’
She was as good as her word. I couldn’t watch as her beautiful blonde mane fell from her head and gathered unceremoniously in a pile at her feet. When she was finished, Philippa had stepped back proudly.
‘Wow.’
Evie looked stunning. Her hair was cropped short, the highlights more pronounced now, giving her face an impish beauty. Already I missed her long messy hair framing her face, but I had to admit the effect was amazing.
I’d had two inches off mine – thoroughly disappointing the adventurous Philippa – and we’d been starting a lukewarm Pinot Grigio when Evie’s phone had trilled impatiently.
‘My dad,’ she frowned and cut it off. ‘He’s been in Europe for four months and hasn’t called once. Now he arrives in London and expects me to run to his side like a bloody puppy. Bastard.’
‘When did he get back?’ The constant phone calls all weekend were beginning to make a bit more sense.
‘Friday.’
I’d put down my wine and my stomach had lurched. We’d eaten some French stick smeared in brie for breakfast but it had been pulled from the fridge of whoever’s house we stayed in that night and I doubted it was entirely fresh. That, combined with the cheap wine and the air pollution, and I wasn’t feeling my best. I got the sudden urge to leave, get away from the smelly, mouldy flat, so damp and dim that silverfish had begun their night-time dance at only four in the afternoon.
‘Need to get home,’ I’d mumbled. To her credit, Evie looked concerned.
‘Jesus, Becky, come on, let’s get you back.’
I’d felt all eyes on me as we mounted the steps to the tube. I figured I must look pretty green and awful for people’s eyes to be on me for a change.
‘I need to swing by mine for some stuff, then I’ll come to yours and look after you.’
I remember trying to argue, I just wanted to get back and try to sleep off whatever had come over me, but I was also starting to realise that it was easier just to go along with whatever Evie decided.
‘Is this where you live?’ Evie’s cheeks reddened as I gazed in unadulterated wonder at the apartment block the taxi stopped in front of. We were on Bankside, a far cry from the student accommodation I was crammed into. ‘Jesus, what’s the rent like on a place like this?’
‘No idea,’ she muttered, utter embarrassment clouding her beautiful features. ‘My dad owns it. And speak of the devil . . .’
A sleek black Bentley sat outside accusingly.
‘He’s here.’
She sounded neither surprised nor upset. I trailed behind her into an open-plan studio apartment where a man was sitting on the dark grey sofa, his head buried in a book. I hoped I wasn’t about to throw up on his carpet.
‘About fucking time,’ he got to his feet and threw the book on the sofa. Even in my delicate state it struck me that this man was beautiful. Where his daughter was lithe and angel blonde he was muscular and dark haired – they looked like yin and yang. The minute he saw her his eyes darkened and narrowed into furious slits.
‘What the fuck have you done, Evelyn?’
‘Daddy!’ Evie threw herself at her father, arms open wide, but he grabbed them and held her back.
‘Don’t “Daddy” me. What have you done to yourself? And where have you been? You invite me to stay then disappear for days on end? What if I’d phoned the police? Or is that what you wanted? Is this because I went to Italy?’
‘This is Rebecca,’ Evie pulled away from her father and stepped to one side to introduce me. There was no way I wanted to be introduced to anyone looking like I did, but I needn’t have worried, he paid me no attention anyway.
‘Hello Rebecca. I’m sorry if my daughter has dragged you into her silly little revenge plan but I’d appreciate if you could give us some time alone please.’
‘Of course,’ I’d mumbled, and without looking at Evie I’d stumbled out of the apartment to the sound of Evie’s father starting another rant about ‘your fucking hair’.
17
Evie
Firm hands grabbed her under the arms and yanked her upwards. Evie broke the surface and took in a deep gulp of air before thrashing her arms furiously.
‘Let me go!’
She pushed locks of wet blonde hair from her eyes and glared into the face of her captor. A jolt of recognition hit her – she had seen him before, but she couldn’t for the life of her think where. He was strong, and very attractive. She shoved him hard in the chest and he released her.
‘Oh, you’re fucking welcome,’ the boy gasped, struggling to tread water.
‘For what?’ Evie dipped her head under the water to fix her hair. She looked up at the rocks where the remaining four boys were peering over.
‘You were drowning.’
‘Was not.’
‘You screamed!’
Evie grinned. ‘I was messing around. Seeing how many of you would jump in after me. Thanks, by the way. If it were up to your mates I’d be dead.’
The boy scowled and Evie wished she’d let him hold onto her a little longer.
‘You can’t be serious. How stupid can you be?’
Evie grinned. ‘Race you back.’ She turned in the water and swam away, knowing he had no choice but to follow.
‘Evie!’ Jessica ran over with her towel as Evie rounded the rocks back to where her friends were waiting. Harriet looked over her shoulder at where her rescuer was running up behind her.
‘Here,’ Harriet held out her towel to him. ‘Your friends decided to walk down,’ she pointed to where the other four boys were making their way to the railed-off walkway.
Ignoring her, he grabbed Evie by the arm. ‘I don’t know what you were thinking but—’
‘Agh!’ she fell to the sand, clutching her ankle, and his face dropped.
‘Sorry, are you okay?’ he knelt down beside her.
‘I think it’s twisted,’ Evie massaged her ankle and sucked in a breath. ‘Ow.’
‘Here,’ he wound his arm around her back and lifted her to her feet. She leaned into his firm, wet body for support and suppressed a smile. Harriet looked furious. Evie wondered how long she could keep up the damsel in distress routine before he caught on.
‘They’ve probably gone back to the tents,’ he inclined his head to where his friends had disappeared. ‘We’re camping on the other side of the dunes. Are you from the campsite?’
Evie let out a snort of laughter before she could stop herself. The thought of her mum and dad pitching a tent and sleeping on the ground was hilarious. But of course he didn’t mean with parents – he was about eighteen and would be camping with his friends. No matter how adult and worldly-wise she thought herself, Evie had never been on holiday without her parents before.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘We live in Hopton, we, erm, we got a lift here.’
‘Evie,’ he said, and her name sounded different coming from his lips. ‘Evie Rousseau?’
She gave a start.
‘How did you know? Have we met?’
The feeling of recognition she had felt when she first saw him – where did she know him from?
‘A couple of times, actually,’ he grinned. ‘The bastard, remember?’
A memory tried to break its way to the surface but she couldn’t quite grasp it. He laughed.
‘You were quite a bit younger then. And I was an arrogant child. You told me I was a bastard because I said a maid’s daughter shouldn’t be attending a fancy party.’ His eyes dropped to the sand. ‘You were probably right.’
‘James,’ she said, the memory of their earlier encounter coming into focus. ‘Your father was friends with mine? James Preston-Addlington Jr.’
‘It’s just Addlington these days,’ James looked bashful. ‘The double barrel Jr thing just sounded pretentious. And our parents aren’t friends any more.
Dad wanted to go into business with Dominic, that’s why we were at your house. But they couldn’t make it work – because your father is an asshole, apparently. Just his opinion.’
Evie squared her jaw. ‘Well it’s an asshole opinion, if you ask me,’ she snapped. ‘If my dad didn’t want to go into business with your dad he had a good reason.’
James shrugged. ‘Probably,’ he smiled good-naturedly. ‘Does the daughter of a business mogul make a habit of jumping off rocks and pretending to drown?’
‘I wouldn’t say a habit,’ Evie smiled. ‘But someone had to show you and your jellyfish friends how it’s done. Does the son of an asshole make a habit of saving damsels in distress and then twisting their ankles?’
‘Only the pretty ones.’ He looked as though he was about to move towards her and her heart sped up. What was about to happen? Was he going to kiss her? Was this normal – to meet a boy for the first time on a beach and kiss him? She knew that other girls in her school did things like this, maybe that’s the way teenagers were supposed to act. Would they kiss here? In such a public place?
She never got to find out. A shout came from the end of the beach and they both looked up – James’ friends were waiting on the other side of the barrier, fully dressed now and with a car parked alongside them.
James straightened up. ‘That’s my cue. Hope your ankle feels better soon, Evelyn Rousseau.’
Evie wanted to ask for his number, or if she could see him again, but the threat of humiliation in front of her friends held her back.
‘See you then,’ she said, shooting for an air of nonchalance she didn’t feel. Ask me to come with you, she pleaded silently. Ask me, and I’ll come.
‘Take care of yourself,’ he started to move away and hesitated, turning back. He leant forward, put a finger under her chin and, lifting her face to his, he kissed her lips – not a long lingering kiss, or a passion-filled tongue-clashing kiss she’d heard her friends talk about, but a soft, three-second meeting of the lips.
‘That’s for allowing me to save you,’ he smiled. ‘Best part of my week.’
She watched him walk away, her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. When he got to the waiting boys, who started shoving his shoulder and banging him on the back, he didn’t glance back until he was getting into the passenger seat. Evie lifted a hand made of stone and attempted a smile, her legs feeling like they were under anaesthetic. She wasn’t sure any part of her would work properly for days.
18
Rebecca
Martin has not long gone and I’m in the garden having a cigarette when the police arrive. It feels weird even lighting up without Evie at my side, hopping from one foot to the other because she was perpetually cold. I hadn’t even owned a lighter – I’d cried in the corner shop when I had to buy one after realising I always relied on Evie having hers. I wonder if I’ll give up now she’s not here. It doesn’t feel the same. Nothing feels the same.
What have we done?
I’m picturing other bits of my life without my best friend, trying my own life on to see how it fits. Work is fine, she never featured in that part of my life, but watching the third series of Doctor Foster on my own might break me. That’s when I see them standing in the front room. Richard has that confused look he seems to have permanently etched on his face. My first thought is, They’ve found her.
I can barely get the door open fast enough. I’m just in time to hear Michelle say, ‘I’m sorry, sir, it’s not her.’
‘What then?’ Richard sighs, and I feel the adrenaline that surged through me at the sight of the uniforms drop. God only knows how he feels. ‘Why have you come all this way?’
‘We haven’t found Evie, I’m sorry,’ she carries a bag I hadn’t even noticed into the living area of the apartment and lays it on the floor. ‘But there is something we need to show you.’
I remember them, kind, sympathetic Michelle and intense Thomas. Richard and I exchange a glance and both sit down, Richard on the sofa next to Michelle, me on the floor next to where Thomas is standing. I wish he’d sit down, he’s making me nervous and I feel like just shouting, What’s in the bag, Michelle?
‘I want to tell you how sorry I am about what you’re going through, Richard,’ Michelle says as she reaches into the bag at her feet. As she draws out the once white satin of Evie’s wedding dress, now looking as though it has been dragged through a mud bath, I can feel the little bit of breakfast I managed this morning churning in my stomach.
‘We found this,’ she stops short of laying the entire skirt out on the floor. ‘Or rather a coastguard found it. He thinks it’s been dislodged from some rocks near where Evelyn . . .’
I don’t hear what she says next, because I am hurling towards the bathroom, where I lean over the toilet and vomit until my insides are empty.
When I return to the room Richard barely notices I’ve been away, but Michelle gives me a sympathetic smile. She looks like she wants to ask if I’m okay but doesn’t want to interrupt the rant Richard is on.
‘. . . doesn’t help us to find out why she went over that cliff or where she is now,’ he is saying. I sit down on the floor. The bag is gone, which I’m grateful for. I picture Evie’s body smashing against those rocks. Where is she?
Michelle bows her head. ‘Richard, I promise we’re doing everything we can.’
‘Except you’re not, really, are you? No offence, but it’s not really your job to find out why someone commits suicide, is it? Once you have her body you’re done. It’s me who’s left to wonder who she was fighting with on those cliffs, me to—’
‘Fighting with?’ Thomas interrupts. His voice is deep and sharp; he’s definitely not had the family liaison training for a few years. ‘What do you mean, fighting with? Green?’
Michelle shakes her head. ‘I wasn’t aware.’
‘No, I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet,’ Richard lies. He’s had plenty of time to tell the police, but I know why he hasn’t. ‘I met with some friends who had been at the wedding. They said Evie had been arguing with someone not long before she disappeared – just before actually.’
‘We spoke with all the wedding guests,’ Thomas frowns. ‘No one told us this.’
Richard looks embarrassed. ‘They didn’t see the guy she was arguing with properly. They thought it was me. They didn’t want to get me into any trouble.’
Michelle and Thomas exchange a look, and it’s not a ‘oh, isn’t that interesting’ look, it’s something much darker.
‘But it wasn’t you?’ Thomas asks. ‘You’re sure?’
Richard makes a weird snorty sound that’s not quite a laugh. ‘Don’t you think I’d remember if I’d been arguing with my wife moments before she jumped off a cliff?’
‘So you’re certain she jumped? Do you have any reason to believe your wife would do that?’
‘It was you who said she couldn’t have been pushed,’ Richard counters, getting flustered. I can see why, talking to the police is like talking to a child. You get yourself all tied up with their ridiculous logic, they tell you she was seen jumping then sound accusatory when you say she jumped. Not to mention that Thomas is scary intense; even his innocent questions sound like accusations. I liked him better when he wasn’t speaking. ‘You said there were witnesses . . .’
‘Yes,’ Thomas replies, but his eyes are fixed on Richard and it doesn’t seem like an answer designed to placate. ‘The witnesses.’
For the first time since Evie disappeared it crosses my mind that Richard might be a suspect. We’d been told that the police weren’t considering a verdict other than suicide – two people across the cliffs had seen her jump into the water and not seen anyone else present. Now, looking at Thomas and the way his eyes have never left Richard’s face – even when I ran off to throw up – I’m wondering if that’s still their stance.
Don’t they say the husband is always the first suspect when someone goes missing? And how does it look that I am always around – like Richard has mo
ved his mistress in at the first opportunity?
‘Richard,’ Michelle says, and she gives Thomas a look that says, Stand down. ‘Our enquiries are ongoing into what happened to Evie, and they will be so until an inquest makes a ruling. It is still very soon. For now, all we can do is follow the leads we have. If you could give me the contact details for your friends who saw your wife on the clifftops, that would be a great help.’
‘They told me everything you need to know. I can give you all the details.’
‘All the same, we’d need to speak to them directly.’
He lets it drop, thank God, and writes down a number, passes it to Good Cop. Bad Cop is still watching him as though he might break down and confess at any moment.
‘These witnesses . . .’ Richard begins, and I accidentally let out a groan. Shit. I screw up my face in an apology. But where is he going with this?
‘Yes,’ Michelle says, and I know she’s thinking the same as me.
‘Well, you’ve questioned them properly, have you? No, listen, don’t look like that, Rebecca. If you think about it, they are the only people who are saying Evie jumped off that cliff. Are you thinking they were wrong? Or could someone have paid them to say that? How do you know it wasn’t them who pushed her, then called it in as witnesses? How good is their eyesight? You’re spending all this time searching the sea and she might have been kidnapped by some lunatic.’
‘We have no reason to believe the people who saw Evie on the clifftop were lying,’ Michelle replies. Thomas looks as though he wants to say something but he doesn’t and I wish I could get inside his head for a minute. He isn’t as certain about the witness testimony, I can tell that much. And he latched pretty quickly onto what Richard said about a fight before she disappeared. Thomas thinks there’s more to this case than a suicide, I’d bet money on it. The problem is, I’m almost certain he suspects Richard. Shit.
19
Evie
The day had been long, hot and humid. Everyone at the house was avoiding one another, for they were all in the foulest of moods, and Evie was the worst. She felt like doing nothing, yet when she did exactly that, lounging around on the lawn, she was overheated and bored in minutes.
The Night She Died Page 7
