She hadn’t seen James Addlington Jr for months, not since the day her father had dragged him from their garden and threatened him with loss of limb or life should he return. He had been so furious, which in turn had angered Evie. How dare he be so protective of her! She was practically a woman. And her mother had been strangely silent, but something in the way she looked at her daughter made Evie think that she knew – she knew that what Dominic was unwittingly doing was making James forbidden, and therefore all the more attractive. Not only that but she knew the strength of a sixteen-year-old girl’s emotions – in fact, Evie thought there was a lot her father the businessman could learn from his wife, if he ever solicited her opinion. Still, Evie had come to terms with the fact that if her father had anything to do with it – and he probably did – she would probably never see James again, or at least not up close. She’d gone back to school and listened to all the other girls talking about the boys they had met over the summer, all the time thinking about what might have happened if her father hadn’t come home early the day of her swim.
And here he was, in her favourite place in the world, by the sea. She could hardly get up and run away, so she had no choice but to find out what he had come here to say. Although if he made any kind of wisecrack about her swimming in her pants she would indeed run away, and he hardly looked in a fit state to follow her.
‘Your housekeeper told me she thought you were here,’ he replied, pushing himself to his elbows. ‘It’s quite a trek from your house.’
Evie jerked her head towards the pushbike lying on the grass. ‘Not if you take the road.’
James looked as though he might cry. Evie laughed.
‘Don’t tell me you walked up?’
He groaned and moved to sit next to her. Evie felt her face redden.
‘Bit of a risk, going to my house. If my dad saw you he’d rip your face off. Although your father would probably be able to afford a new one. A better one,’ she added, with a sideways glance. James laughed.
‘You really are a charmer, Evie Rousseau, anyone ever told you that?’
‘As a matter of fact, they do,’ Evie raised her eyebrows. ‘We have three whole members of staff dedicated to praising our every movement.’
He looked for a second as though he might believe her, then grinned.
‘That sounds exactly like something both of our parents would do.’
‘And yet they still don’t get along. Why did you go to my house, anyway?’
‘I wanted to see you.’
Evie swallowed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I like you. If I’m honest I think I’ve been a little bit in love with you ever since I was ten. No one had ever called me a bastard before.’
‘To your face,’ Evie joked. ‘But I am sorry about that. I was a precocious child.’
‘You were probably right,’ he moved closer and Evie could smell Joop, the aftershave every teenage boy seemed to bathe in these days. He was going to kiss her, and this time there was no one to interrupt them. She lifted her face and closed her eyes.
Evie knew that the other girls in school assumed she’d kissed loads of boys, and she hadn’t been without offers. It seemed like at this age boys expected to just walk up to you in the town and walk away with a phone number and a snog – they were obsessed with it – but Evie was glad she’d waited. It wasn’t like in books or films; there was no background music for a start, no fireworks and her heart didn’t ‘explode with joy’. She was too nervous to really enjoy it at the time, it was only when she looked back later, replaying every second over and over, that she knew that no night as long as she lived would beat it.
They had stayed there on the rocks until darkness had crept in around them, and Evie began to shiver with the chill.
Back at home Evie felt sure her parents would hit the roof. How could they not know? Every inch of her felt bruised and raw from his strong fingers, there was nowhere he hadn’t touched her and it had been glorious, but her body was unused to that kind of attention. They had stopped short of full sex – not that Evie thought she could have brought herself to say no if he’d asked her, but he seemed to understand it was too soon.
She needn’t have worried. Neither of her parents would have noticed if James had bent her over the dining room table. Papa was in his office, his voice firm and uncompromising and her mother was asleep on the sofa. Evie closed the door as quietly as she could, fixed herself a bowl of Weetabix and retreated to her bedroom to relive the last three hours over and over until she fell asleep and dreamed of them too.
23
Rebecca
I can’t get Evie’s profile, or Camille, out of my mind as I go into town a short walk from my flat to have a wander around and escape from the confines of its ever-shrinking walls. Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Is she trying to make out that she isn’t the villain in all this? That Evie was both fair and foul, that a darkness lived inside my best friend? Because that much I already knew.
The day is miserable, that glum drizzle which constantly threatens to transform into a full-blown storm, the clouds above thick with menace. My duck-handled umbrella puts up the obligatory fight before springing open and I button my jacket up around my neck.
The rain has driven people off the streets, save for the Big Issue sellers who work longer and in worse conditions than anyone I know and are still looked straight through, as if they are invisible. I fish into my purse to retrieve a two-pound coin and the man I hand it to tells me that God loves me. It makes me think of Evie, and how she would scoff at the idea that anyone could still believe in God when there was so much suffering and injustice in the world. If there is a God, she would say, He gave up on us a long time ago. Either that or He has a pretty sick sense of humour.
I’m still picturing her wry smile as she said this to the Jehovah’s Witness who asked if they could talk to her about the ‘true word of God’. If He fancies a chat, she said, He can slide into my DMs.
‘You do realise, he’s probably going back to his six-bed mansion,’ a voice to my left says. As I turn I see the frowning face of a man in a navy jacket, scarf pulled up around his face. His eyes look familiar, although I have no idea where from. Then I realise, Detective Thomas.
‘That’s pretty cynical.’
‘It’s kind of my job to be cynical,’ he says.
‘You’re a long way from home, detective,’ I say, my pulse quickening. Does everyone immediately feel guilty when faced with a police officer? Or just those with something to hide? ‘Is this a business trip, or a coincidence?’
‘Business, I’m afraid.’ As he says this I have a ridiculous image of him pulling out a pair of handcuffs and snapping them over my wrists. Of course, he does no such thing. Instead he clears his throat as if he is about to ask me on a date and says, ‘Do you mind if I ask you a few things? I could use your help, as one of the people who knew Evie best.’
The only person who knew her at all, I think, but instead I say, ‘Know.’
He looks taken aback. ‘I’d have thought you’d want to help, given—’
‘No,’ I correct hurriedly. ‘I wasn’t saying no I won’t help, I was saying I know Evie the best. You said knew but we can’t really, I mean it’s hard to think of her in the past tense. Not when . . .’ I let my words trail off. Detective Thomas doesn’t even look embarrassed.
‘Shall we go somewhere drier?’ I shove down the impulse to say, Your place or mine, in case he takes me to the local police station. Instead I nod at a coffee shop already packed with mothers wielding prams and students sharing one hot chocolate between four of them. Hopefully it will be torturous enough for him to keep it short.
Inside, my wet umbrella dripping onto the wooden floor earns us a few glares, as does Thomas boldly moving a pushchair out of the way to nab a table for two in the corner. As he brings over drinks I remind myself to keep my verbal diarrhoea in check.
‘Is there any news?’ I ask him as he sits down opposite me. I’m reminded now of t
he first time I saw him, of how I’d thought he belonged in a TV drama about police rather than on the actual force. He is everything you’d picture a police officer to be – dark hair, brooding eyes – although I’ve never met a real one who looks like him. His attractiveness is unsettling. It’s not like Evie’s beauty, which drew you in and made you never want to look away. His sets him apart and makes you want to look anywhere other than his intense gaze.
‘Not exactly,’ he says, but doesn’t elaborate. As silence descends on the table I feel an urge to fill it – all part of the job, I suppose.
‘So, what did you want to ask me?’ I take a sip of the burning coffee to stop me saying more, confessing everything I know.
‘I got the impression there was more you wanted to say in the hotel room that night, and at the house the other day, just not in front of Mr Bradley.’
It’s not a question, just a prompt, so I shake my head. I must stay aware of these little tactics, these games they no doubt teach police officers in Interview 101.
‘Not anything I can think of,’ I say, my tone light. ‘It was a horrible night, I just couldn’t believe what people were telling me Evie had done.’
‘But you believe it now?’
‘Yes,’ I say. Was that too quick? Am I supposed to hesitate, to question the official line that Evie jumped off those cliffs of her own free will? ‘I have to, I suppose. She was seen, wasn’t she?’
Thomas doesn’t answer, another indication that he is in charge of the conversation.
‘Have you had any more thoughts about why Evie might have wanted to kill herself?’
I wonder for a second if I should make something up – if the lack of motive is the only thing keeping him on his quest for answers. After all, people kill themselves every day, don’t they? Surely it isn’t the norm for a police officer to drive hours out of his way to question friends and family weeks later?
‘Her mother had just passed away.’ This much, at least, is true. Of course he already knows that. ‘And her father, well, he didn’t make it in time for the ceremony so I suppose she would have been sad about that.’
‘Was it unusual for her father to let her down?’
I nod, warming to this subject. After all, this is the truth, there are no mines to navigate here.
‘Dominic is a very busy man. I got the impression he worked a lot, that sometimes he put his work ahead of his family, Evie included. She looked – looks – up to him.’ If he notices my slip in tense his expression doesn’t change. ‘In fact, I’d say she idolises him.’
‘It seems a stretch to think she would kill herself because he was late to her wedding, don’t you think?’
Yes, I do think. Evie was used to Dominic’s overbearing presence and perpetual absence.
‘I suppose. I just can’t think of anything else.’
‘What about the affair she was having?’
I put down my coffee cup so heavily that scalding liquid sloshes over the side. My face burns. Keep it together, Rebecca. Keep it cool.
‘Affair?’ I say, aware of how stupid my repetition sounds. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You mean you didn’t know that your best friend was seeing someone else?’
‘She wasn’t,’ I argue. ‘She would have told me. What evidence do you have?’
‘Because she told you everything, did she?’ He ignores my demand for information, his intense eyes watching my every reaction.
‘Yes, she did,’ I say, knowing this to be a lie. There were so many things Evie never told me, things I had to discover for myself.
‘But not that she was going to jump off that cliff.’
It doesn’t sound like a question but I answer it anyway, because that’s what you do when a police officer throws a curve-ball at you. They knock you off guard just to see what happens. I’m being played, like this is a production but I’m the only one who doesn’t know the lines.
‘Obviously not. I’d have never let her do it – that’s why she wouldn’t have told me. I’d have helped her, talked to her, convinced her not to do it.’
‘How well do you know Mr Bradley?’
His sudden change of tack blindsides me again. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. What does he know? What isn’t he saying to me?
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I buy myself time. Calm down, Rebecca. He knows nothing. If he did you wouldn’t be sitting here drinking coffee. ‘He was marrying my best friend – we’ve known each other since university.’
‘Did he know about his wife’s affair?’
I take a deep breath. ‘If Evie was having an affair – and you still haven’t told me what proof you have that she was – then I very much doubt Richard would have married her, knowing all about it.’
‘Evie was a very wealthy woman,’ Thomas says, taking a sip of his drink to give the words full effect. The implication hangs in the air between us. Married, Richard inherits everything.
‘I don’t see what relevance that has,’ I lie.
Thomas leans forwards. ‘If Richard found out about his wife’s affair, what do you think he’d do?’
‘Not throw her off a cliff if that’s what you’re thinking.’ The words tumble out before I can think and the detective sits back looking satisfied. I can feel the anger at myself and at him rear up in my chest. By saying it out loud I’ve been the one to put that possibility on the table.
Thomas shrugs. ‘He was seen arguing with her just before she fell.’
‘That wasn’t him. Besides, your witnesses . . .’
‘It was dark,’ Thomas argues. ‘They were far away. People get these things wrong all the time.’
‘Do you have proof Evie was seeing someone else?’
‘It’s my job to ask these questions, Rebecca. A man finds out his wife was having an affair on their wedding day, then she ends up at the bottom of the cliffs. It’s my job to question people’s stories. So I leave you with the question. How well do you know Richard Bradley?’
‘Well,’ I reply firmly. ‘Well enough to know that whatever you think of him is wrong.’
I never imagined, and neither did Evie, that Richard would be under suspicion. A whole wedding full of people, someone must be able to alibi him for the moment Evie jumped. But unless someone is willing to say for certain that they were with Richard the exact moment his wife went over the cliff he will remain a suspect.
‘Besides,’ I say, hoping I won’t come to regret the lie. ‘At the time those people saw Evie jump off the cliff, Richard was with me.’
24
Evie
Evie stretched her legs out carefully to avoid cramp and opened her eyes. James Addlington Jr lay with his smooth tanned back to her, breathing steadily.
So it hadn’t been a dream. Last night, their first full night together had really happened, and it had been everything she could have wished for.
Ever since that night on the cliffs Evie and James had been an item. As their fathers still couldn’t stand one another it had been best they kept their relationship to themselves, although it seemed to Evie like everyone could see it all over her face, that infatuation shone from her every pore. And now they had made the ultimate commitment.
James had insisted they wait until she was ready, and eventually, after nearly six months of dating, Evie had had to take matters into her own hands. She would be seventeen in a few weeks, it was about time everyone in her life stopped treating her like a child. She felt like a woman already, booking the hotel, finding something to wear and arriving early to sprinkle the bed with rose petals. He’d laughed at that, but in a teasing way. And she’d led him to the bed, acting far more confident than she felt, her legs feeling numb, her heart racing, and begun to kiss him, knowing that this was it – this was really it – and hoping to hell she didn’t screw anything up, or make a complete fool of herself. And yet James had been calm, confident, and so loving. There had been nothing that wasn’t absolutely perfect – if she ever told Harriet ab
out last night her friend would put her fingers down her throat and pretend to puke but Evie didn’t even care.
She looked over to the table, where the box still sat. Afterwards – he said she hadn’t given him the chance before – he had opened his suitcase and pulled out a box.
‘For you,’ he’d said, handing it to her. As she opened the lid she gasped at what lay inside. Lifting out the camera, she put it to her eye and clicked. The camera whirred and the photograph instantly began to emerge from the bottom.
‘So the world can see through your eyes,’ James told her.
He would probably never know what he’d done for her – what he had done for her just by listening to what she said and taking her seriously. And neither did she. Because what James Addlington had done was to steal her heart – and sign her death certificate.
25
Rebecca
I don’t know what made me lie about Richard being with me when Evie jumped off that cliff – I only know that I didn’t want him to be blamed for what happened. I’m confident that no one will dispute my story anyway – at the time no one knew they would have to remember where they were at exact points of the evening, and who looks at the time at a wedding anyway?
The bigger question is what does Detective Thomas know about Evie, and her life before the wedding day? Was he just testing me when he told me she was having an affair, to see how I’d react? And if it was a test, did I pass?
And now I’ve got to decide whether or not to tell Richard, all the while second-guessing what Thomas expects me to do, what will make me look guilty, what will make Richard look guilty. The words If Richard found out about his wife’s affair, what do you think he’d do? run through my mind over and over until all I can picture is a grief-torn and broken Richard standing in front of a jury of twelve people insisting that he didn’t murder his wife. Would I have to tell them the truth then? Or would I keep Evie’s secrets even as they dragged him away in handcuffs and sentenced him for her murder? How far am I willing to go to protect a woman who betrayed us both?
The Night She Died Page 9
