by Nikki Smith
I lift up the lid of the boot, stuffing Buddy’s blanket into a carrier bag before opening the driver’s door, pulling out carefully past Rob’s car so as not to scrape the paintwork. Just like he always told me to.
FRIDAY
Jo
My mother arrives outside our house at the same time as my sister, and I hurtle across the driveway to embrace Livvi as she steps out of the car. Paul is standing on the doorstep, his face an ashen-grey colour.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ I shout.
My mother frowns. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Do you know how worried we’ve been? We had a fire in Paul’s office and we had no idea where Livvi was.’
My mother steps out of the car. ‘I thought I could smell smoke. I just wanted to take my granddaughter out for a birthday treat. I did tell her teacher when I picked her up.’
‘Her teacher probably thought I’d given you permission to collect her. Why didn’t you call me and let me know where you were?’
‘I did let you know. I left you a message on your home phone.’
‘You didn’t, Mum. There’s nothing on the answerphone. I’ve checked.’
‘Well, I left a message.’ She sounds indignant but fiddles with her handbag, a sign she’s flustered. I hug my daughter again, not wanting to let her go. She kisses me, her lips sticky from the ice cream my mother has treated her to.
‘You should have tried my mobile. You gave us such a fright. I was just about to call the police.’ I’m not sure whether I’m talking to Livvi or my mother, the sense of relief making my legs feel as though they might buckle beneath me.
Paul steps outside and I let go of Livvi reluctantly, knowing how worried he’s been too. He looks at me, grateful, swinging his daughter up into his arms, but I can’t forgive him for what he’s done to us. Not yet. He carries her over to where Grace is standing in the hall and my mother trails behind, keen to get away from my stony glances.
Caroline gets out of her car as they go inside and walks over to me.
‘Everything OK?’ she asks.
‘Fine. Now. Mum collected Livvi from school and didn’t bother telling me,’ I say. ‘And there was a fire in Paul’s office. He managed to put it out, but the whole place is completely wrecked. Did you pick up your things from your house OK?’
She shakes her head and hands me a carrier bag and the spare key to our house that I’d given her in case of emergencies months earlier.
‘These belong to you,’ she says. I take them, looking at her, confused.
‘I need to ask you something, Jo. I need you to say that I was with you this afternoon. At the appointment. It’s important.’ She hesitates and I glance back at the house where I can hear Grace laughing.
‘Why? What happened? Was Rob there?’ I ask her.
She doesn’t answer.
‘Perhaps it’s better that I don’t know,’ I reply, staring at the key, the implications sinking in like a lead weight as I slip it into my trousers. ‘I tried telling you what he was capable of, but I should have tried harder. And I shouldn’t have left all those years ago without making sure you were safe. We need to look after each other.’ She nods, and I can see something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. Fear? Relief ? I can’t tell.
‘It was him, wasn’t it?’ I say, glancing at what’s inside the bag. ‘Rob took your key, let himself into our house and poisoned Buddy, didn’t he?
She doesn’t reply.
‘Oh God, he’s been watching us, hasn’t he? It was him hiding in Grace’s wardrobe.’
Caroline touches my arm. ‘You should go. Be with your family.’ The sound of Livvi giggling escapes through the open door and I turn my head.
‘I think Paul and I are going to spend a bit of time apart,’ I tell her. ‘He’s got some issues he needs to sort out and I need to be on my own for a while.’
Caroline nods slowly. She stands very still, almost as if her body is unwilling to move but I can see her hands are trembling.
‘Why don’t you come in?’ I ask.
She shakes her head, as if my question has forced her to make a decision, but still doesn’t try to leave. I put the carrier bag down by my feet and envelop her in an embrace. ‘I already told Alice before I left the office that I was meeting you at the property,’ I say in a low voice. ‘I said we’d be there all afternoon. And we were.’ I fish in my pocket and hand her a set of keys. ‘If anyone asks, I left you there to lock up. You said you were going to hang around to finish some paperwork.’
She smiles and wipes her eyes. ‘The police might call you,’ she says.
I nod. ‘Are you OK going back there on your own?’ I ask.
Caroline smiles, sadly. ‘I’ve been through worse.’
‘Call me if you need anything,’ I add.
I walk over to my car and open the boot, putting the bag inside. My sister heads back down the drive and starts her engine before I run after her and tap on the window. She lowers it.
‘I have to know,’ I say. ‘That video of Rob – do you know who he was with?’ I look into her eyes and can’t tell if she’s lying to me as she shakes her head.
‘I’ve no idea, Jo. Sometimes it’s just better not to ask.’
Epilogue
Ten Weeks Later
Caroline
I ask for the package at the post office and the lady behind the counter hands it over, the corners of her mouth turned up in a sympathetic smile that I’ve seen often recently.
‘It came a few weeks ago, but your son called before he sent it and asked me to put it to one side for you. He said you’d be in to collect it when you were ready. I know you’ve had a lot to deal with. I was so sorry to hear about –’
‘Thank you.’ I cut her short, not wanting to hear her condolences. ‘I’m actually going on holiday for a while to see him. He’s in Bali.’
‘That will be nice,’ she says. ‘It’ll do you good to get away.’
I smile as I take the package and walk out onto the street, opening the envelope and flicking through the bundle of Indonesian rupiah notes. It’s cooler today, I can feel the breeze on my face; there was a storm last night which had broken the heat. I wonder how I’m going to cope out in Bali.
My suitcase is in the hallway, the house is packed up into storage boxes. I’ve given Jo a set of keys and asked her to organise viewings to rent it out whilst I’m away. If things go as planned, I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. I need some time alone with my son. Just the two of us.
Jo had insisted on selling the business. She said it was the best thing for all of us and will let me know when everything is completed. She’s moving back to Bristol but has said she’ll wait until I’m back before she goes so there’s someone here to look after Mum. Paul moved back there after Rob’s funeral; he’s rented a flat and is trying to build up his business. Jo has agreed to clear his remaining debts; she used Mum’s house as collateral until the proceeds from the sale come through, but has insisted she’s not moving back in with Paul for the moment – she wants to wait and see what happens before making any final decisions. She’s said I’m welcome to go with her, that she’d love to have me living nearby and I promised her I’d think about it. A new start. Away from all the memories.
The post-mortem had concluded that Rob had died of a sudden-onset asthma attack, and although it had been impossible to say what had triggered it, they suspected it had been the smoke from the fire he’d started in Paul’s office; his fingerprints found on a petrol can dumped nearby. I told the police I hadn’t seen him since he’d left for work on the Friday morning, but that he’d tried to call me that afternoon. I hadn’t picked up as I’d been too busy – pulling together the property details with Jo. I couldn’t give any explanation as to why he’d committed arson.
I’d told Adam I’d come out to Bali as soon as I could. He hadn’t come home for the funeral. I’d told him I didn’t want him there. We’d kept it as the four of us, close f
amily; my mother’s face paler than it had been at Dad’s service a few months earlier. I’d watched Paul reach for Jo’s hand during the service and had seen her squeeze it briefly, before letting it go again.
She’d put her arms around me after we’d come out of the crematorium and hadn’t let go, her eyes glistening with tears as she’d stepped backwards. I know she hadn’t been crying for Rob. My mother had hesitated before putting a hand on her shoulder and I’d seen a look pass between them, something I hadn’t fully understood.
I still don’t know for certain how Dad had found out. All his belongings that Jo had taken home from the office had been destroyed in the fire but I think he must have got hold of CCTV footage from the vacant property where Lauren’s body had been found. He’d been selling it off for development when she’d died and must have been horrified to watch her trying to run away from his son-in-law. He’d thought he was protecting me and his grandson by not saying anything about it, but we’d continued to suffer whilst the family of an eighteen-year-old girl had never understood why her life had ended as it had, suspended by a dressing gown cord from a curtain rail. My husband had been responsible for more than anyone realised. Except for me, perhaps.
I pat my handbag, checking I’ve got everything I need; tickets, my brand-new passport, my phone and my purse. The taxi pulls into the drive, the sound of the car making my stomach clench until I see the driver through the windscreen. One step at a time, I tell myself. I shut the front door behind me, tucking a wispy strand of hair that’s come loose from my ponytail behind my ear.
The driver looks at me in his mirror. ‘Heathrow?’ he asks.
‘Yes, please. Terminal four. Would you mind stopping if you see a post box? I’ve got a package I need to drop off.’ He glances at me in his rear-view mirror as he pulls over half a mile down the road. I open the taxi door and hesitate, momentarily feeling bereft as I look at the small rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper, before letting it drop through the red slot. I hope it gives Mr and Mrs Taylor some answers to the questions that must have haunted them over the past three years.
I sit staring out of the window for the rest of the journey, looking at the people in the cars that slide alongside me; men, women, children; imagining lives that I’ll never know anything about. When we pull off the motorway, I take the three postcards Adam had sent me out of my bag and reread each one. I don’t want to leave them where someone might find them. The secrets others know about are always the ones that come back to haunt you.
My beautiful, brilliant son. In less than twenty-four hours I’ll be with him. I’d come home a year ago to find him hiding behind the door of our bedroom clutching a hammer, waiting for his father to walk in. He’d said he couldn’t bear it any longer. I’d managed to persuade him not to do something that would ruin the rest of his life. I wouldn’t have been able to bear the guilt of losing another child. I’d promised him I’d find a way, but had told him he had to leave first. To go somewhere safe. This had all been his plan originally, I’d just changed a few of the details.
I trace over his writing on the last postcard he’d sent me with my finger, feeling the familiar indentations his biro had made in the surface.
Had a very exciting afternoon fishing (lol!) at the famous Otan river. Unhooked several catches and still have water all inside trainers. It’s not great as they’re probably (obviously!) spoiled. Took outstanding freediving film in caves. Epic!
I look at the initial letter of each word, putting them together to construct a sentence, smiling as I read it to myself in my head.
Have a flat for us. Cash waiting at post office.
Not just a way of us keeping in touch, but a way of him letting me know things were ready on his side, a method of communicating that Rob would never figure out. Even though I’d refused to let Adam get involved, he’d done the only thing he could by telling me a new life was waiting for me; giving me a glimmer of hope to cling to.
I read the others he’d sent me one last time in order, each one containing a different message, wondering what else he’d said in the one Rob had burned, realising that it didn’t make any difference now:
Namaste! Experienced epic diving at Pulukan. Lodgings are nice. Plan on investigating surfing on Nusa – heard it’s mental?!
I think Seminyak’s awesome. Lovely, magnificent ocean, seen twelve turtles incubating many eggs. Baby elephants randomly emerged at dusk yesterday.
The cab pulls up outside the terminal and I get out, handing the driver three twenty-pound notes, the postcards still clasped in my hand. I walk inside the revolving doors, following the signs to ‘Departures’, pausing by one of the dustbins, letting his words disappear inside, severing the final connection to what we’ve done.
There’s a tiny moment of silence, a fraction of a second in which I consider a million different outcomes, a sense of guilt settling like an anchor at the bottom of my stomach, before I hear the cards hit the bottom of the bin. I take a deep breath, reach into my bag to pull out my passport and walk towards the check-in desk.
A free woman.
If you were gripped by Look What You Made Me Do, don’t miss Nikki Smith’s first compulsive, addictive thriller, All In Her Head.
Click here to read now!
Discover the debut thriller getting
inside everyone’s head . . .
Alison feels like she’s losing her mind. She is convinced that her ex—husband Jack is following her. She is certain she recognises the strange woman who keeps approaching her at work.
She knows she has a good reason to be afraid. But she can’t remember why.
Then the mention of one name brings a lifetime of memories – and the truth – crashing back . . .
‘Tense and moving’
HARRIET TYCE
Click here to read now!
Acknowledgements
Several authors far more experienced than myself warned me that writing a second novel would be difficult – they were right; and their description of it being ‘a bit like a second album’ didn’t quite represent how tricky it would be. However, it has made me appreciate all the support I’ve received during the writing of this one, and, I should add, throughout 2020 and ‘lockdown’ during which All In Her Head was published – an interesting time to launch a debut novel (!)
I’d like to thank my loveliest of agents, Sophie Lambert – I know how lucky I am to have her and am so, so grateful for all her expertise.
Thanks also go to my editor Harriet Bourton whose wise suggestions have helped to keep me sane during some of the hairier moments this year, and for her brilliant ability to identify exactly what is and isn’t working when I can’t see the wood for the trees. Thank you also to Lucy Frederick, Francesca Pearce and everyone at Orion. You are all honestly a delight to work with and I couldn’t ask for a more supportive team.
A big shout out to all my friends - I haven’t seen any of them as much as I’d have liked to this year but my life would be so much duller without them – Laura, Lauren and Zoe, my daily writing support team; all of the Ladykillers who make me laugh so often, Lynn, Ceril, Nanna, Anna & Els, and so many other local and not-so-local friends who have given me more support and encouragement than I could ever have hoped for. I should also mention the Debut 2020 group as well – in what has been ‘a year’ this group has provided advice, support and many giggles on a Friday evening zoom. Here’s to meeting up in person in 2021.
This book is dedicated to my parents, but I’m so grateful to my whole family – close and extended - for their support in ways too numerous to mention them all here. My sister-in-law for spending hours at a BBQ discussing a tricky plot issue with me, my father-in-law for asking about my book in every bookshop he visits, my daughters who make me laugh and continually inspire me, my cat for her attempts to step all over my keyboard and destroy my book on a daily basis, and to my husband, for his love and unending patience. I feel so fortunate to have a partner who is the exact opposite to Rob in thi
s book.
During the writing of this book, I have been privileged to hear stories from so many women who have, at some point in their lives, lived in fear of a partner. I would like to thank them for talking to me. There are many charities out there, including Women’s Aid (www.womensaid.org.uk) who are working to change this, but there is still a long way to go.
And finally, a huge thanks to everyone who helped champion my debut novel – other authors, booksellers, book bloggers and the team at Curtis Brown Creative. Your support has been so very much appreciated, and I am so, so grateful for your reviews and feedback.
Most importantly, thank you for reading this book. I am so grateful to each and every one of you. Without readers, stories would remain unheard, and in the words of Emily Dickinson which are perhaps more apt than ever this year, ‘To travel far, there is no better ship than a book.’
Credits
Nikki Smith and Orion Fiction would like to thank everyone at Orion who worked on the publication of Look What You Made Me Do in the UK.
Editorial Harriet Bourton Lucy Frederick Copy editor Marian Reid
Proof reader Linda Joyce
Audio Paul Stark
Amber Bates
Contracts Anne Goddard
Paul Bulos
Jake Alderson Design Debbie Holmes Joanna Ridley Nick May
Editorial Management Charlie Panayiotou Jane Hughes
Alice Davis
Finance Jasdip Nandra Afeera Ahmed
Elizabeth Beaumont Sue Baker
Publicity Francesca Pearce Alex Layt
