No Place to Hide

by Susan Lewis

  Abby and Ben. How had this happened? What kind of malice had been at play when fate had mapped out their ways?

  Justine’s mind went to Lula, at home with Francine, her round blue eyes watching, trying to understand, wondering why everyone was so sad. Perhaps they should have explained about Ben, but what could they say when for the past fifteen months she’d been encouraged to forget she even had a brother?

  They were handling it all wrong. They needed some advice; Lula had to be counseled, and so did they.

  Outside in the cold damp air Justine stood with her mother, Catherine, and Maggie while Matt and Rob thanked the funeral officials. There were bouquets and wreaths spread out over the courtyard from a previous funeral; the only flowers for Ben were still on his coffin. Would they be burned with him, or set aside for…what? Justine didn’t know and wouldn’t ask. Later, the crematorium would organize the disposal of the ashes—there was nowhere to scatter them that felt right, and they didn’t want any sort of plaque or memorial that might cause offense to others. It was more than enough, they’d felt, for reminders of their son to live on in the scars he’d left in their hearts.

  Abby’s ashes were still in a white marble urn at the bottom of Justine’s closet in Culver. Maybe when she got back she’d see about scattering them on the lake: that way she’d always feel close. This was provided Justine decided to go back, but she couldn’t imagine not doing so. Culver felt much more like home now than anywhere in England.

  Beside her Catherine murmured, “I wasn’t sure they’d come.”

  Justine glanced at her, then followed her eyes. Her heart contracted to see Simon clasping Matt’s shoulder.

  Matt turned round, and after a moment the brothers moved into a powerful embrace.

  Then Gina was there, pulling Justine into her arms and holding her tight.

  “I’ve missed you,” Gina whispered.

  Too emotional to speak, Justine simply hugged her back.

  When she opened her eyes she saw that Maddy and Ronnie were there too, and Melanie and Kelvin, but they didn’t come close, barely even looked at her, apart from Melanie, who glared at her so coldly it almost felt like a weapon.

  The only reason they’d come, Justine realized, was to make sure Ben really had gone, and perhaps to seek some sort of closure.

  As they walked away Justine looked around for Cheryl, wanting desperately to see her, but there was no sign of her.

  “Do you ever hear from Cheryl now?” she asked Gina as they started back to the cars.

  “No,” Gina replied. “I tried her mobile a few months ago, but she never got back to me, so I don’t even know if she got my message.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I simply asked how she was. I wondered afterward if she’s found that cutting herself off from us all is the only way she can cope.”

  Suspecting that was the case, Justine’s heart ached with grief and pity for her dearest friend. She wanted to see her so badly, to be sure that she was all right, but the only person she could call was Cheryl’s father, and why would he want to hear from her, much less assure her that his beloved daughter was recovering from the loss of her only child?

  She’d never recover from it, Justine knew that, and being in touch with her would only reopen the very worst of the wounds, which was the last thing Justine wanted.

  —

  Though Matt invited Simon and Gina to come back to Rob’s when the formalities were over, they gently but firmly excused themselves. There would be time soon, Simon had said, for them to get together, but today they needed to go their separate ways.

  “I guess,” Matt said in the car on the way home, “that now Ben’s gone they feel they can speak to us again.”

  Justine didn’t reply, though she’d reached the same conclusion. She could only wish Cheryl had felt the same way.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Matt commented.

  Justine wasn’t either, but what she said was, “You understand it, surely.”

  Matt nodded and sighed. The day had clearly taken it out of him, out of them all, but Matt’s strain was showing.

  Justine’s eyes went to Catherine. It would mean the world to her mother if her sons were reconciled; it would no doubt mean the world to them too, if they could manage it.

  Taking out her phone, she sent a text to Francine, asking her to let Lula know that Mummy was on the way home. Maggie had probably already alerted her daughter, but Justine had felt a sudden overpowering need for Lula, and for now this was the closest she could get to her.

  It wasn’t until after they’d eaten—and praised—the cake and sandwiches Lula had helped Francine to prepare that Justine felt able to say she needed a lie-down.

  “I’ll come with you,” Matt said, starting to get up.

  “No, don’t!” she replied, so sharply that the others glanced up in surprise. Seeing the hurt and confusion in Matt’s eyes, she said, more gently, “Stay with Lula,” and, signaling to her mother to follow in a few minutes, she left the sitting room and went upstairs to the small guest suite Rob and Maggie had added to the house some years ago. It was warm and cozy, with toast-colored walls and matching curtains and carpet. The bed was an English king-size, American queen, covered by caramel-striped bedding and cream faux-silk pillows. This was where she and Matt had slept for two nights out of the five she’d been back; the other three they’d spent at her mother’s. She couldn’t be sure now why they hadn’t made love at the beginning; perhaps it was jet lag or grief. Since receiving Ben’s letter she’d simply been unable to, in spite of wanting him more than she ever had in her life.

  “Are you OK?” her mother asked, letting herself in the door.

  Taking Ben’s note from her bag, Justine handed it over. “I want you to read this,” she said. With a sad half-smile she added, “We seem to be reading a lot of letters lately. At least I do.” Oddly, the brief allusion to her grandmother brought a lump to her throat.

  Taking the note and seeing the prison paper, her mother’s eyes returned to hers. She was looking older, Justine noticed, and tired, though whether that was overwork, or all the heartache she’d been through, it wasn’t possible to know.

  “When did it arrive?” Camilla asked. “Before or after?”

  Understanding she was omitting “the suicide,” Justine said, “After. Matt hasn’t seen it yet, but he knows I have it.”

  Clearly baffled by that, Camilla said, “Why haven’t you shown him?”

  “You’ll see when you read it.”

  Saying no more, Camilla unfolded the note and started to read.

  Dear Mummy–

  The way her mother’s eyes quickly flicked to hers told Justine that she was wondering the same as Justine had on reading that childlike word—was it sarcasm, or had he reverted to being a little boy in his mind?

  The answer was almost instant.

  It’s all a load of bollocks really, isn’t it? Life, death—good, evil—freedom, captivity—guilt, innocence. I don’t get what all the fuss is about. We’re all going to die one day, so why the big deal when someone makes it happen? What’s wrong with having control, paying someone back for the shit they dished out? An eye for an eye and all that crap. I could always buy into that much more than turning the other cheek. What kind of fuckwit would do that?

  I know everyone wants me to feel bad about what I did, but sorry, I can’t. I hated every one of those wasters and I have to be honest, it made me feel good to watch them squeal and panic when they realized what was happening. They knew it was me, and they knew they were paying for fucking me off. Dumb thing they did calling me a psycho, dumber still to laugh. Had to do something about that, didn’t I, and what better than to prove them right?

  BTW, if you’re interested, Abby was the last to get it. She might have saved herself if she’d run, but only might, because I was on fire that day. She was screaming at me to stop. She didn’t think I’d have the balls to take her out too, but she knows better now.r />
  The funny thing is, Mummy, the only person I feel kind of bad about is you, and I’m still trying to figure out why. You looked so pathetic the day you came here, I wanted to laugh at you, but you ended up making me cry when you’d gone. Deffo hadn’t expected that. Got over it pretty soon though, which was why I never wrote. Didn’t want you getting to me again, did I?

  Dad told me you moved to America with Tallulah. Good long way from the psycho son, yeah? What’s it like there? Don’t worry about answering, I won’t be around to hear it, just being polite, which I bet you’ll say isn’t like me at all. Anyway, I’ve been giving this some thought since I was offered a quick way out, and I reckon your life might be a lot easier if I wasn’t around anymore. Don’t worry, I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me, cos majorly sick of it in here. When I’m gone you won’t have to feel guilty about not visiting me—I know you do, because I know you—and you won’t always be fretting over what’s happening to me in here.

  I’m not sure it’ll make Dad’s life much easier. I’ve been providing a good excuse for him to stay in England, wonder what he’ll do when I’m not here anymore. I told you, ages ago, there was something going on with him and Hayley, but you never wanted to believe me. You’ll have to now, because there’s more to it than just an affair, or maybe you already know they’ve got a kid together. A boy, not sure of his name, but he must be about four by now, same age as Tallulah.

  He must have been going through a fertile patch back then, getting you both knocked up around the same time.

  When Camilla’s eyes came up again, Justine knew she’d reached the part about Hayley. She looked as shaken as Justine had felt when she’d read the words herself.

  She felt no better about them now, even though she kept telling herself they couldn’t be true. A part of her must believe it, or she’d have given the letter to Matt by now.

  “Keep going,” she said softly. “It doesn’t get any better, but you might as well.”

  Pressing a hand to her mouth, Camilla returned to the letter.

  It feels weird to think I won’t ever see you again, although I don’t suppose I ever really expected to. Just never really thought about it before. I wish I could tell you something to make you believe you were a great mum, but why should I when you weren’t, or at least not all of the time. Favoritism’s not a good thing, it fucks with a kid’s mind, gives him a sense of not belonging, or being wanted. That’s what you and Dad did to me, but lucky I could handle it better than most, and I suppose you were better than I gave you credit for before I came in here. That’s because I’ve had a lot of time to think since, and it’s funny the way my thoughts keep going back to you. It’s like that with mothers, I suppose, they always matter in the end even if they couldn’t stand you.

  This was where his pen had apparently run out of ink and he’d continued in pencil.

  You know, I’m intrigued to find out what’s on the other side, if there’s anything at all, or if all that crap about afterlife, judgment, eternal hellfire, is just another load of bollocks. Maybe Abby and the others will get to take some revenge on me, or maybe they’re in a place I’ll never be allowed to go to. Anyway, whatever’s over that side, anything or nothing, has got to be better than where I am now. OK, if I was going to get out one day, but it’s not going to happen even if I start saying I’m sorry and acting all weird so they can label me a mentalhead and put me in Broadmoor.

  So this is goodbye, Mummy. Guess what, I’m crying as I write this, like I don’t want to go, but I do. I guess it’s that I wish you were here to hold my hand, or tell me it’s going to be all right, the way you used to sometimes if Abby wasn’t around to distract you. I know it’ll make you feel better if I say I’m sorry for everything I did, so I’m sorry for everything I did.

  One last thing: I’m still capable of a good feeling toward someone and I hope you’re glad it’s you.

  Ben

  Justine watched her mother inhale deeply, push a shaking hand through her hair, and eventually put the note down.

  “I hardly know what to say,” Camilla murmured.

  Seeing there were tears in her eyes, Justine passed her a tissue and reached for her hand. “What do you think of the bit about Matt and Hayley?” she asked. “And the child?”

  “That it’s nonsense,” Camilla replied. “I don’t know why he said it, but frankly we’ve never known why Ben did anything.”

  Justine stared at the note. With all it contained, it felt like a bomb that kept on exploding.

  “You have to show Matt,” her mother told her gently.

  After a while Justine said, “What if it’s true?”

  “Justine, you know it isn’t. This is Matt we’re talking about—and Ben.”

  Her eyes full of anguish, Justine said, “I never believed my son could be a mass murderer before it happened.”

  Camilla almost flinched. “It’s hardly the same.”

  “Why not? People can be capable of so much more than we ever suspect, and when I think of how Matt didn’t seem to want to come to Culver, how he thought it was best for us to sacrifice our marriage for the sake of our children…”

  “I thought that was your idea.”

  “I guess it was both of us, but let’s not forget how Hayley’s been there for him since I left. She hasn’t let him down the way so many other friends have. She wouldn’t, if they have a child together…”

  Camilla picked up the note again, and after rereading parts she said, “I hear what you’re saying, and I understand why you’re afraid to trust—anyone would be in your position—but the part that’s not working for me is that Matt confided in Ben.”

  It hadn’t seemed likely to Justine either when she’d first read it, but after giving it some thought…“They had to talk about something during all those visits,” she said, “and why would Ben bother to lie?”

  “To make mischief, of course.”

  “But what would he gain from it when he had no intention of being around for the fallout?”

  Though there were many ways of answering that, all Camilla said was, “You have to show Matt the letter, and frankly I think you should do it now.”

  Justine’s insides dissolved into turmoil. “And if turns out he does want to stay with Hayley?”

  Camilla’s face was pinched, but her tone was firm as she said, “It’s not going to happen, but if it does, we’ll work it out. I’m not sure how yet, but I promise you, we will.”

  —

  It wasn’t until much later in the day, after Lula was tucked up in bed and the others were watching a film downstairs, that Justine finally presented Matt with the note.

  As she passed it over she hated noticing how pale and edgy he seemed, as though he’d rather be giving it back than taking it.

  “Can I ask,” he said, “why you’ve waited until now to let me see it?” He sounded like a stranger, someone whose voice was hollow, not really belonging to him.

  Wondering what he was imagining, or dreading, and trying not to think of it herself, she told him, “It’s best if you just read it.”

  She noticed his hand shake as he unfolded it, and the way he suddenly frowned told her his eyes had gone straight to Dear Mummy.

  After that his expression wasn’t possible to gauge, since he got up from the bed and kept his back turned as he read. She could sense his tension, almost feel the emotions tearing through him, or perhaps they were her own. She was aware of her heart thudding, yet she was hardly breathing.

  He must be about four by now. If the child was real, then he was somewhere right now with his mother, maybe waiting for his daddy to call or come.

  She could live with it if it would bring Abby and the others back, but it didn’t work like that. There was no bargaining with fate, or destiny, or God if there was one. This cruel, never-ending suffering was how things were.

  Matt was shaking his head, and she suddenly felt herself being sucked into a terrible void where there was only darkness and dev
astation and no escape. She was going in deeper and deeper, gulping for air, shuddering, panicking, retching…

  Matt’s arms were around her, he was holding her tight, trying to soothe her, to make her look at him, to stop fighting him.

  “You need to listen to me,” he told her. He took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.

  “Tell me it’s not true,” she gasped.

  “Hayley has a child,” he replied, “but he’s not mine. I swear it. Hayley’s son is not mine.”

  The words were reaching her, but she was afraid to believe them. How could she trust anything or anyone anymore? “So why does Ben think he is?”

  “I’ve no idea what Ben thought. I never told him that.”

  “How did he know the child even existed?”

  “Because I talked about him sometimes…There was so little else to talk about, but never once did I say that Marcus was mine. Why would I when it isn’t true? Marcus has a father. OK, he hardly ever sees him, and over these past few months he’s probably seen a lot more of me, but he knows I’m not his daddy. He calls me Matt.”

  “I don’t know what that proves. You and Hayley were always—”

  “Good friends, and we still are. It might not be what you want to hear, but since you went, I swear I don’t know how I’d have coped without her. She’s been there for me in a way you just couldn’t be, because you had to put Lula first. We both did, and I still think we were right to do that, but I think we agree now that we went about it the wrong way.”

  She couldn’t deny that.

  “I swear to God Marcus isn’t mine,” he said softly. “It’s not possible for him to be when I’ve never slept with Hayley in my life. If you don’t believe me, call her. She’ll tell you it’s true, and she’ll tell you about Marcus’s father if you want her to. He’s her ex-boss, and he’s married, which is why he’s hardly ever on the scene, and that’s a shame, because Marcus is a wonderful little boy. You’d love him too if you met him, and I hope you will, because I don’t want to cut him out of my life as if he doesn’t matter. But if it’s what you want I will, because you and Lula come first now. Ben’s suicide is allowing me to make that happen…He’s given me…He’s done…He…” As he started to break down Justine folded him in her arms, crying too as their terrible, relentless grief engulfed them.