by Val McDermid
‘OK. What about a cleaner?’
Nick pulled a face. ‘I know she’s got one, but I think she comes when Jimmy’s at school.’
‘Babysitter?’
‘Emily. She’s Stephanie’s agent’s daughter. I really don’t think she’s someone we should be worried about.’
‘Probably not. You said the boy’s five?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Was there anybody who consistently took care of him when Scarlett was still alive? Because he’d probably still have a strong enough memory of her to trust her.’
Nick thought back to when he’d been introduced to what had struck him at the time as a chaotic household. He’d gradually realised it was anything but. ‘The person who held everything together was Marina. She was housekeeper, child-minder, cook. Without her, everything would have fallen apart. But she’s well out of the picture.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Scarlett left all her money to a charitable foundation that supports an orphanage in Romania. According to Stephanie, when she knew she was dying, Scarlett sent Marina back to Romania, where she’s from, to be the foundation’s representative at the orphanage. Basically, to run the place properly. Scarlett wanted somebody who knew how things work over there, but who wasn’t dependent on keeping in with the locals for her wages.’
‘And you know she’s still there?’ Charlie asked.
Nick made yet another note. His list was starting to look horrible. ‘I can check. But why would she get involved with something like this?’
‘Maybe she misses Jimmy. If she took care of him for the first four years of his life, it would have been a wrench to leave him. Maybe she didn’t have a high opinion of Stephanie’s childcare skills. You need to look at her, Nick. She’s someone that Jimmy would trust unquestioningly. If she could have found a way to get alongside him, she could have introduced him to the man who took him. It would have been easy for her to groom him.’
‘It seems a bit far-fetched,’ he complained.
‘This whole scenario is far-fetched,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s so public. Too many things could have gone wrong. It’s very bold.’
‘That’s why I was leaning towards Pete Matthews before I spoke to you,’ Nick said. ‘He’s a bully, he’s a stalker, he’s a control freak. He’s organised and he’s plausible.’
‘How well did he know Jimmy?’
‘I’m not sure. I think the boy was pretty young when Stephanie dumped Pete. But the guy’s a stalker, he might have found a way to get to know him.’
‘That’s true. I wouldn’t rule him out. But don’t lose sight of the other possibilities.’
Nick sighed. ‘If this is what you come up with off the top of your head, I’m not sure I’ve got the strength for a more considered response.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘Don’t hold your breath. There may not be much more.’
‘Before you go – what do you think this kidnap’s all about? Is it someone who wants Jimmy for himself, or is it going to come down to ransom?’
The line went silent. He knew she was thinking and he endured what felt like a long pause. ‘I don’t think this is about money. Because there is no money. There’s an intelligence at work here, and if a big payday was what they were after, there are a lot more promising targets than Jimmy. And that’s a good thing.’
‘Why do you say that? If it’s Jimmy they’re after, he might be gone for good.’
‘I appreciate that. But the chances are he’ll be kept alive. And that’s better than the alternative, don’t you think?’
23
Nothing was pleasant or easy when it came to dealing with Joshu. Every encounter with him or his lawyers was bruising and tiresome. I don’t know how Scarlett would have got through it without Leanne and me. We were the punchbags, the sounding boards, the support system. Marina did the practical stuff, but for everything else, Scarlett turned to the pair of us. We were her safety valve. On the days when she was off recording the TV show, she used up every ounce of energy maintaining Public Scarlett. Often when she came home, all she wanted to do was cuddle up on the sofa with a slumbering Jimmy, watch crap TV and drink Prosecco. But there were other times when she wanted to rant, and that was OK with us too. Leanne occasionally went out on the town. ‘Brave Scarlett’, she was these days, which was a definite improvement on the Scarlett Harlot.
‘He did you a favour, you know,’ I said one evening. I felt I was taking my life in my hands. She still wasn’t over him, not by a long way. But sooner or later, I was going to have to start saying what I really believed.
‘Oh yeah. Breaking my heart. That’s been really good for me,’ she slurred. ‘Like I totally needed something to push me into the family tradition of drinking like a fish.’
I squared my shoulders and looked her in the eye. ‘That’s your choice. And it’s a pretty spineless reaction, if you ask me. I think you’re better than that. Stronger than that. You prove it every day when you walk on that set stone-cold sober. This drinking at home, it’s nothing but self-indulgence.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be my friend.’ Her sulky mouth pouted even further.
‘Who else is going to tell you the truth? Joshu did you a favour. There’s the superficial thing of making you the victim in the eyes of the media, which is a whole lot better than them treating you like a villain.’ I waited for her to acknowledge I had a point.
Realising I was waiting in vain, I ploughed on. ‘He treated you like shit, Scarlett. You deserve better than that. But better wasn’t going to come along while Joshu was around, strutting his stuff. You’ve said yourself a thousand times, he was a crap dad. Well, the truth is, he was an even worse husband. You keep telling me about the grand plan. About making something of yourself. Face it, Scarlett, that was never going to happen while Joshu was still around. He’s on a downward spiral. You want to keep moving up, you’re better off without him.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’ Her tone was surly, but she put the bottle back in the fridge without refilling her glass.
‘I know. That doesn’t make it any less true. You’re better off without him.’
The uncomfortable aspect to the whole business was that the more I dished out advice to Scarlett, the less I seemed able to apply it to my own life.
To me, it didn’t make much practical difference whether I was out at the hacienda or in my own home. Apart from the interviewing aspect of my job, I could work anywhere with a door I could close on the outside world. Now Joshu’s sound equipment was gone, the glorified shed he’d used in the back garden was free. So on the mornings when I woke up in Scarlett’s spare room, I would take my laptop out there and plug my earphones in to transcribe my interviews. If Scarlett was filming, I’d head back to my own house after lunch and stay there for a day or two. It was all pretty random, and I soon realised that, however much it might suit me, it didn’t suit Pete.
It started with him picking holes in everything I did. The vegetables I’d bought were past their best, the meat wasn’t good enough quality, the wine was a lousy year. The house was too warm or too cold. Then it got more personal. Apparently I needed a haircut or a pedicure or a whole new wardrobe. In bed, I was too demanding, too passive or too critical of his performance. Never mind walking on eggshells. I felt as if I was encased in them from head to toe. I felt anxious and apprehensive all the time I was with him. And of course, when someone you love constantly finds fault, it’s hard not to feel at fault.
Looking back at it now, I can see it was all about power and control. Pete could only see my friendship with Scarlett in terms of himself. Every evening I spent with her was, in his eyes, undermining our relationship. Why would I rather be with someone he despised when I could be sitting alone at home waiting for him to possibly show up? But at the time, I was bending over backwards to see his point of view. He worked hard and when he had free time, he wanted to spend it with me. That was an advance on a lot of the men I’d tried to have re
lationships with over the years. And he was still capable of moments of tenderness and humour, moments that transcended the unpleasantness and convinced me that yes, it was all my fault.
But once I’d established a work routine out at Scarlett’s, Pete’s aggression began to escalate. If I wasn’t around when he was free and wanted to be with me, he would send snotty texts. I’d told him he was welcome at the hacienda, but he sneered at the idea. ‘Why would I want to spend my nights in a witches’ coven?’ was one of his responses. ‘You witches did your voodoo on Joshu. I’m not giving you the chance to do it on me.’
All of that I could put up with. I actually felt sorry for him. There must be a reason why someone who could be so loving it was almost smothering could also be that harsh. And the only reason I could think of was damage. Which meant I forgave him, time and time again. In my head I scolded myself for being so lacking in compassion.
It’s what abused women – and children – do all the time. They find a mechanism to blame themselves, partly because they’re innately kind and partly because that’s what the abuser inculcates in them as the appropriate response. I blamed myself for Pete’s anger.
But when he started shouting at me every time I didn’t match up to his impossible standards, I came to my senses. I’m a lucky woman, you see. I was brought up in a house where the adults respected each other. And they brought me up to respect myself. And I knew that Pete had crossed a line. Whatever history he was working out here had taken him too far. I tried to explain this to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He just kept on yelling. I belonged to him and I was going to have to learn how to behave. I was going to stop hanging around with those lesbian bitches. I was going to have to toe the line. Or else. It was scary. I really thought he was going to hit me. I’d never felt like that in my adult life.
I walked out. I walked out of my own house and got in my car and drove away. Of course I went to the hacienda. It was the easiest option. I’d already complained to Scarlett and Leanne about Pete’s unreasonable behaviour. If I’d gone to any of my other friends, I’d have had to explain the whole story, and I didn’t have the energy for that. One night, I thought. I’ll stay for one night and I’ll go back in the morning. I knew Pete was due in the studio the next day. Even if he stayed all night, he’d have to be gone by ten at the latest.
Scarlett was depressingly unsurprised to see me. ‘I could see this coming,’ she said. ‘He’s a bully, that one. Surly bastard, and all. I remember that time I dropped you off and he was waiting on the doorstep. Face like a slapped arse.’
‘Are you finishing with him?’ Leanne asked, putting the kettle on. We were trying to wean Scarlett – and ourselves – off the Prosecco and back on to the great Northern panacea of Yorkshire tea.
I could feel tears welling up. ‘I don’t want to. But I can’t put up with this.’
‘It’s like he wants you behind bars, waiting for him to come home and free you,’ Scarlett said.
‘Prisoner of love,’ Leanne intoned. ‘You could sell your story to a magazine.’
‘I don’t want to have a story.’ I like being a ghost. Insubstantial. Transparent. Anonymous.
‘Not like me, then,’ Scarlett said with a chuckle. ‘Fuck him, Steph. You’re worth a dozen of him. Just like you’re always telling me. You won’t find Mr Right with Mr Totally Fucking Wrong blocking the light.’
I wasn’t scared about going back the next morning. I thought Pete would have come to his senses and calmed down. But Scarlett was concerned. ‘You’ve led a sheltered life, you have,’ she said. ‘Where I grew up, toerags like Pete were ten a penny. Think they own you. Think you were put on the planet for their benefit. Tossers like him, they don’t let go easily. You’ve got to be prepared for it to get worse before it gets better.’
I wasn’t paying much attention. I thought I knew best. But when it came to men behaving badly, I had no idea.
24
The first shockwas that Pete was still there. His carwas parked outside my house and the bedroom curtains were still closed at half past ten. ‘That doesn’t look good,’ Scarlett said. ‘I thought you said he was supposed to be at work this morning?’
‘That’s what he said.’ But it looked as though he’d changed his mind. Or I’d changed it for him.
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
To be honest, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go in at all. Pete’s rage had unsettled me as well as frightened me. That he was still there indicated I’d been wrong about him getting over his tantrum. I didn’t want to confront that anger again. Ever. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life. In my head, I was finished with him. No amount of contrition could undo those moments of unchained fury and the promise of violence they held. ‘Let’s wait a bit,’ I said.
‘OK.’ Scarlett reclined the seat and closed her eyes. Since Jimmy’s birth, she’d developed the enviable habit of being able to catnap anywhere, at any time. I might be on tenterhooks. But Scarlett was asleep within a couple of minutes. I listened to the radio and her soft snores, trying to slow my own breathing to her rhythm.
It was almost eleven when the front door swung open and Pete emerged. Even from a distance, he looked wild-eyed and unshaven. As shocking as his appearance was the fact that he left the front door wide open behind him as he hustled down the path and into his car. The tyres screeched as he shot away, rousing Scarlett from her slumber.
‘Wassup,’ she grumbled. ‘Wassit?’
‘Bastard,’ I said, already halfway out of the car.
She caught me up on my doorstep. ‘He left the door open?’
‘Obviously hoping for some passing burglar,’ I said bitterly over my shoulder as I walked in. Then stopped short. The hallway looked like the burglary had already happened. And a pretty spiteful one at that. Pictures had been stripped from the walls and dropped to the floor. Broken glass and fragments of frames were trodden into the carpet. A couple of the prints themselves were torn where a foot had gone through them.
‘Oh, shit,’ Scarlett said from behind me. I was beyond speech.
I didn’t want to go any further for fear of what I would find. A heady brew of smells was enough of a clue to what lay ahead of me. But uncertainty was worse than anxiety. I walked into what had been my beautiful open-plan ground floor living space and staggered as my knees lost the power to hold me straight. Scarlett grabbed me, saving me from collapsing amid the ruins of my kitchen. Now I knew what Pete had been doing all night.
It looked as if he’d opened every cupboard and drawer and swept the contents to the floor. Broken crockery, jars and bottles lay in random heaps linked by piles and pools of flour, rice, jam, pasta, ketchup, olives, oil, melted ice cream and alcohol. In the living space beyond, books and CDs were strewn all over the floor, more broken pictures and frames scattered over them. I thought I was going to throw up.
‘I’m going to fucking kill him,’ Scarlett said. ‘I swear to God.’ She picked up an overturned chair and lowered me into it. ‘But first I’m going to call the cops.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. He’ll twist his way out of it.’
‘How can he? We saw him leave.’
‘I saw him leave. You were still asleep.’
‘So? He doesn’t know that. I’ll tell the five-oh I saw him walk away and leave the door open.’
‘He’ll only lie about when he left. He’s got mates that’ll lie for him. It’s what they do, men like him. They gang up on us. And he’ll drag you into it. He’ll get his version out there. Hysterical men-hating women, that’s what we’ll be.’ I dropped my head into my hands.
‘You can’t let him get away with this,’ Scarlett protested. ‘Bastards like him, we need to stand up to them.’
‘Let somebody else do it,’ I said, on the verge of tears. ‘I haven’t got it in me, Scarlett. He’ll win and then I’ll wind up feeling worse. If that’s possible.’
She looked mutinous, but she backed off. ‘You’re coming back to
mine, then,’ she said decisively. ‘I’m going upstairs to pack a bag for you. No arguments.’
I sat there, stunned. The wreckage of my home felt like a dark stain inside me, spreading like dirty oil over a warehouse floor, tainting everything in its path. I loved this house and what I’d made of it. And he’d trashed it without a care, all because I’d wounded his precious male pride. How could I have missed this coiled rage lurking inside him? How could I have loved someone with this darkness at his heart?
Eventually, Scarlett reappeared, looking shaken. ‘I sorted out some clothes, and packed up your laptop and all the papers on your desk. Let’s go.’
Numb, I followed her out to the car, pointlessly locking the door behind me. I let Scarlett drive. Traumatised as I was, I still wanted to survive and I knew I wasn’t safe behind the wheel in that state.
Back at the hacienda, she dosed me up with tea and Valium and packed me off to bed. I slept on and off for the best part of twenty hours, and when I re-emerged into consciousness, I felt almost human.
I found Leanne and Scarlett in the kitchen, diaries open on the worktop as they went through their plans for the week. Scarlett leapt up and swept me into her arms. ‘How’re you doing, babe?’
‘Crap. But I’ll live,’ I said, disentangling myself and heading for the coffee machine. ‘I think I need to get a locksmith over there to change the locks. The bastard didn’t have keys before but he might have helped himself to my spares.’
‘No need,’ Leanne said briskly. ‘It’s all sorted.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I got a locksmith out there soon as we got back yesterday,’ Scarlett said. ‘And a professional cleaning crew. You won’t have to look at the state he left your place in again.’
