by Lisa Jewell
Emma raised a polite hand and then lowered it back on to the stem of a large glass of wine.
‘I just wanted to say how happy we are with what you’ve done at the school this last year. We’d been so close to moving away from the area. We’d even made an offer on a place in Wells. But since you came Felix has been so happy at school, and doing so well. And I’m sorry, but that woman, the one they just took away, the things she was saying about you were just nuts. Really.’
‘What things was she saying?’
‘Oh, just nonsense, really. That you were controlling her and had been sent to undermine the whole town, blah blah blah. Ridiculous. I just wanted you to know. In case you hear things via Chinese whispers. No one will pay any attention. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Everyone in the area knows you’re brilliant.’
‘Well, thank you so much,’ said Freddie’s dad. ‘I really appreciate your reassurance. I know Felix and he’s a great boy. I’m glad you didn’t have to move him away.’
The man shook Dad’s hand and went back to his wife, who was smiling really creepily at Dad and had that look in her eyes that women always seemed to have when they were around him.
Freddie grimaced and followed his dad to a table in the corner by the door. They toasted each other and crunched on scratchings and Freddie thought, Well, this is nice, but kind of strange, and they chatted for a while about how Freddie was getting on at school and the spring ball he wanted to go to, and his dad attempted some light teasing about girls which Freddie managed to brush off quite suavely with a practised ‘I’m not ready for girls yet’ even though it appeared currently no longer to be the case. And as this conversation meandered along it occurred to Freddie that his dad might be building up to asking him about the photos on his hard drive and he sat straight and bolstered himself, ready with some bullshit nonsense about school projects and the study of psychological disorders – like maybe, voyeurism – but the question never came and soon they were talking about days gone by, remembering old places they’d lived in and strange people they’d known and his dad was being so loose-limbed and genial, so focused on him and their conversation that Freddie found himself asking, ‘Dad, did you ever find out what was going on with that angry woman in the Lake District?’
His father suddenly tightened up. ‘What angry woman?’
‘Remember? That woman who came up to you when we were on that day trip and started hitting you?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh. God. Her. God, yes, I remember her. I don’t know. It was all so … odd. Wasn’t it?’
‘And you know, when you took her across the street, when you were talking to her. I always wondered what she was saying to you? And what you were saying to her?’
‘Christ. I don’t know. Probably just telling her she was being inappropriate, that she was upsetting my wife and my child. Calming her down, I suppose.’
‘It was horrible,’ Freddie said softly. ‘That day. It was scary. And it was horrible.’
‘Was it?’ asked his dad.
‘Yes. I’ll never forget it. And now this woman, Jenna’s mum, she hates you too.’
‘Ah, well, I think there is a difference between Mrs Tripp and the lady in the Lakes. The lady by the lake thought I was someone else; it was a case of mistaken identity. Jenna’s mum … well, she’s clearly got some kind of psychological disorder.’
Freddie nodded, agreeing with the distinction, but still uncertain about one thing. ‘Do they know each other, do you think?’ he asked.
‘Who? Jenna’s mum and the lady at the lake?’
‘Yes. Because …’ Freddie paused, selecting his words carefully. ‘I heard you and Mum talking. Saying that Jenna’s mum remembers you from that holiday.’
‘You heard us? When?’
‘The other morning. In the kitchen.’
His dad sighed. ‘Well, you weren’t supposed to hear that, but I don’t suppose it matters as Jenna’s mum was not on holiday with us and her thinking she was is just part of her disorder. Poor soul.’
‘Will Jenna be put into care?’
His dad sucked in his breath. ‘God. I really hope not. But it’s possible, I suppose. If her mum ends up being sectioned. If her dad can’t take her. But hopefully it won’t come to that. Hopefully I can make sure it doesn’t.’
Freddie nodded sagely.
His dad, the superhero.
35
Joey had seen it all. It had just begun to kick off as she got off the bus that night on the other side of the street. She’d stood and watched it unfold: the shouting woman, the blue lights, the police escort.
She hadn’t been the only one watching. There’d been a little bank of spectators. Nothing exciting ever happened in Melville – crazy people being escorted out of bars was the sort of thing that happened in the city, not here in this cosseted backwater – so when it did it couldn’t be ignored.
When she returned the house was in full darkness and it was quiet enough to hear the sound of the tap dripping into the kitchen sink, the gurgle and buzz of the refrigerator. She wondered if she was alone. She went to Rebecca’s study at the top of the landing and knocked quietly on her door.
‘Yes.’
‘Ah,’ she said, pushing open the door, ‘you are at home.’ She saw the screen on one of Rebecca’s monitors switch quickly from some kind of image to a sheet of data.
‘Yes.’ Rebecca stared at her. ‘Hi.’
She looked chalky white in the glow of her computer screens. Her eyes were fixed wide, as though she’d been staring without blinking for hours. The window was slightly open and the room was cold, yet Rebecca sat in a thin blouse and bare feet.
‘God, it’s freezing in here! Aren’t you cold?’
Joey walked to the window to shut it, her eyes quickly searching the dark reflections of Tom Fitzwilliam’s bedroom window for a glimpse of his wife. But the room was empty, the lights were off. She peered down into the village. Between two passing cars she saw what looked suspiciously like Tom Fitzwilliam and his son entering the bar entrance at the Melville.
Her heart quickened and, almost breathlessly, she said to Rebecca, ‘Fancy going down to the Melville for an early supper? On me?’
They walked into the bar half an hour later. Joey had showered, brushed her teeth and put on tight jeans and earrings with small diamanté drops that she knew would glitter in candlelight. At first she didn’t see Tom. She thought with a heavy heart that she must have missed him. But as she stood at the bar she turned slightly and saw him tucked away in the corner with his son at a tiny table for two. He looked up just as she looked at him and she saw it, immediately, bright and unmistakeable: a look of excitement.
She returned his diamond smile and mouthed a hi.
She and Rebecca took a table slightly out of sight of Tom’s table; it was the only one free on a Friday night.
‘Thank you,’ Rebecca said, touching her Virgin Mary to the side of Joey’s Bloody Mary, ‘this was a good idea. Sometimes I really do need to be reminded about the big world out there, I become so …’ She trailed off suddenly and her gaze left Joey’s face and drifted to someone approaching behind. Joey could feel him before she saw him. Her heart lifted and her blood ran quicker. She looked up and smiled.
‘Hi, Tom,’ she said. ‘I would have come over but I didn’t want to disturb you and your boy having special quality time.’
‘Bless you,’ he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek, which, because it was Tom Fitzwilliam, felt like an appallingly erotic and complicated manoeuvre that could go wrong in so many unthinkable ways that she could barely breathe. She rose slightly from her seat to meet him halfway and the kiss passed without incident and Joey managed to pull herself together sufficiently to say, ‘You know my sister-in-law, Rebecca, I suppose?’
‘Yes!’ Tom replied brightly. ‘Yes, I do. Lovely to see you again. It’s been ages. I’ve barely seen you since you moved in.’
‘No,’ Rebecca replied drily. ‘I keep myself to myself.’<
br />
‘And I see you and Jack have been busy.’ He nodded towards Rebecca’s stomach and there was a moment of slightly painful silence prompting Tom to say, ‘Oh, God. Tell me it is a baby. It is a baby? Yes?’
Joey waited for Rebecca to reassure Tom that, yes, of course it was a baby, but she didn’t, she merely stared at him with her mouth slightly agape leaving Joey to say, ‘Yes. It’s a baby. My niece. Due in approximately two months.’
‘Lovely,’ said Tom. ‘Congratulations. How’s Jack?’
‘Jack’s fine,’ Rebecca replied. ‘Thank you.’ A crisp afterthought.
‘Good,’ said Tom, throwing Joey a sideways look so loaded with intimacy that it made her feel light-headed. He turned back to his table where his son was staring intently at his smartphone, casting his eye across the room every couple of seconds, ‘I should get back to Freddie. In fact, I should get him home. No doubt he’s got a ton of homework to do. Lovely to see you, Rebecca. And lovely to see you again, Josephine.’
‘Josephine?’ Rebecca hissed at her as Tom sauntered back to his table. ‘Why does he call you Josephine?’
She shrugged. ‘I must have told him that’s what I was called. That night when he had to bring me home. And now it’s sort of stuck.’
‘Why would you tell him your name was Josephine?’
‘Because it is.’
‘But no one calls you that.’
‘Oh, God. I don’t know. Maybe I was trying to impress him or something. Maybe I thought it made me sound better than I am.’
Rebecca blinked at her. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because …’ Joey pushed her celery stick around the edges of her glass. ‘I don’t know. You wouldn’t understand.’
‘I might. Try me.’
‘Well, imagine,’ she said, ‘just imagine spending your whole entire life in the shadow of a guy like Jack. Imagine cocking everything up, literally everything you do, and every time you look up from your own mess for even a minute there’s Jack, right there, doing literally everything right. And not just that, but being so fucking lovely about it. And I’m just, you know, stupid, chaotic Joey. And then I find myself talking to another incredible properly grown-up human being who does everything right and solves everybody’s problems and maybe I just wanted him to think that I was a smart, together Josephine. Not a stupid Joey. You know?’
‘I get that,’ said Rebecca. ‘I do. I feel that way too, sometimes.’
‘About Jack?’
‘Yes. About Jack. About people I work with. Most people really.’ She shrugged. ‘You know, when I first met you I was terrified of you. I still am.’
‘What!’
‘Yes. Jack always talked about you like you were some kind of cowgirl, out there in Ibiza, wrangling the rowdy stags, up all night, unstoppable, fearless. And then I met you and you were just so young and so cool, you give off this vibe like you could, you know, ride wild horses, shoot tin cans off walls. You seem so spontaneous, so free. While Jack is, yes, very successful but also so very measured and careful. Everything planned and thought through. No room for surprises. And I’m the same, so I guess in a way I find that side of you inspiring. But also scary.’
‘Well,’ said Joey, ‘please do not feel scared of me for another moment. I can assure you that I cannot ride wild horses and I have zero spontaneity and I am absolutely just a sad, sad loser.’
‘Stop it, Joey. Please. Just stop it. Because the thing is, the longer you tell yourself you’re a loser, the more likely it is that that’s what people will see you as. And you’re not. You’re superb. And you know …’ She plucked at the cuffs of her thin blouse. ‘I knew someone very like you, once upon a time. She was amazing and vital and beautiful and cool and she never believed in herself and she thought everyone was better than her and that everyone else knew what they were doing apart from her and then, one day when she was fourteen years old …’ She paused, her gaze fixed upon her hands. Then she looked up at Joey and continued: ‘She killed herself.’
Joey gulped and stared at Rebecca. ‘Oh my God,’ she said, ‘who was it?’
Rebecca pulled her cuffs down over the heels of her hands. She looked up at Joey again and said, ‘She was my baby sister.’
RECORDED INTERVIEW
Date: 25/03/2017
Location: Trinity Road Police Station, Bristol BS2 0NW
Conducted by: Officers from Somerset & Avon Police
POLICE: Please could you give your full name, for the recording.
AB: Alfie James Butter.
POLICE: And your address?
AB: Fourteen Melville Heights.
POLICE: Thank you. Just a couple of very simple questions for you, Mr Butter.
AB: Please call me Alfie.
POLICE: Certainly. Of course, Alfie. Where were you on Friday night, 24 March?
AB: I was at my mum’s until about seven o’clock. And then I headed home.
POLICE: And where does your mum live?
AB: She lives in Frenchay.
POLICE: Thank you. And how did you get home?
AB: I got the bus. I haven’t got a car right now. I’m saving for a van. For my painting job.
POLICE: So you got the number …?
AB: The 218, from the city.
POLICE: And you got back to Melville at?
AB: At about seven forty I suppose.
POLICE: And can you talk us through what happened after you got back to the village?
AB: Yeah. Sure. I stopped in at the corner shop and bought a couple of bottles of beer. I’d just texted Joey …
POLICE: That’s Ms Mullen?
AB: Yeah, that’s right. And she’d said she was staying in town shopping and wouldn’t be back for a while. And I needed a drink. You know. Friday night and all that. Then I walked up the hill to the house.
POLICE: And did you see anyone as you walked up the hill?
AB: No. I didn’t see anyone.
POLICE: And you live with Ms Mullen’s older brother and his wife. Is that correct?
AB: Yes. That’s spot on.
POLICE: And were either of them at home when you returned?
AB: No idea. I didn’t see either of them. It’s not my place so I try to just keep my head down as much as I can. Don’t want to get in their way. So I wasn’t going to go seeking them out. You know? So, yeah, I just took my beers and went straight up to our room to wait for Joey.
POLICE: And what time did Joey get home? From the shops?
AB: It must have been, I dunno, about eight fifteen. Eight thirty?
POLICE: Can you be more specific?
AB: Yeah. No. I dunno. Roughly that.
POLICE: And did she come straight up? As far as you’re aware?
AB: I had music playing so I wouldn’t have heard the front door going. But, yeah. I reckon she’d come straight up. She was still in her coat and her hands were cold. And her cheeks. Like she’d just come in from outside. Why?
POLICE: And how did she appear to you? Did she appear anxious? Or breathless in any way?
AB: No. She seemed … well, a bit, I don’t know – she said she’d had a stressful day. That the shops were rammed. She was tired. All that. So she wasn’t exactly jumping with joy or anything. But she was all right.
POLICE: All right?
AB: Yeah, she was fine.
POLICE: And what did she do, when she came upstairs?
AB: I don’t really know. We chatted for a bit. And then she took a shower.
POLICE: And what did she buy? At the shops? Did she tell you?
AB: A new bra. Apparently.
POLICE: Did she show you the bra?
AB: Yes. She was wearing it. What’s the deal here? You don’t think Joey had anything to do with this? Do you?
POLICE: Thank you, Alfie. That’s it for now.
36
10 March
It was an hour since the police had left and Jenna lay in her fleece pyjamas in a foetal ball on her bed. She held her phone in her c
upped hands and stared at the screen. Bess was out with Ruby and someone called Jed. Jenna had no idea who Jed was but he seemed to like sticking his tongue out any time someone pointed a camera at him. They had started off at a KFC in town and now appeared to be in someone’s bedroom. It wasn’t Bess’s bedroom. Jenna knew Bess’s bedroom almost as well as she knew her own. Snap Maps said she was at 24 Hawthorne Drive, a road in Lissenden, the next village along.
Her gut clenched at the thought of the parallel world in which she had gone to KFC after school with Bess and Ruby and Jed and was now sitting cross-legged in someone’s bedroom larking about in that carefree Friday-night way. Jed, despite his constantly protruding tongue, appeared to be quite good-looking. Maybe Jenna could have flirted with him. Maybe Jed would have ended up, in this parallel existence, being her first love, the boy she lost her virginity to. But she would never know, because she was here, curled up in bed, her stomach still churning in the aftermath of the hideous episode in the Melville, the humiliation of walking out with the policemen while the locals stood across the street gawping at them, the stress of lying to the PCs, to her father, to everyone.
She clicked on Snap Maps again and saw that Bess was still at number 24 Hawthorne Drive. It was ten forty-five. Bess’s mum liked her home by eleven at the weekends. She’d have to leave soon if she was going to make it.
She could hear her own mum downstairs, puttering about. In the old days, before she was ill, her mum always liked to be in bed by ten with a herbal tea and a good book, but now she was regularly downstairs until midnight, 1 a.m., 2 a.m., chatting online with people in the US, checking and rechecking things, taking photos, making endless notes. She could hear her going through the kitchen cupboards now, making a mental inventory of everything so that in the morning she’d know if anyone had been in in the night to rearrange their cutlery drawer.
Jenna rolled over on to her other side and looked at her phone again. Bess had left Jed’s house. She was moving quite fast so she must be in a taxi, or her mum might have gone to collect her – which was unlikely as their block of flats had first come, first served off-street parking and her mum refused to move her car for anything other than emergencies. She watched the little icon heading towards Lower Melville. She pictured Bess in the back seat, feeling awkward and not knowing whether she should talk to the driver or not. She’d be staring resolutely at her phone right now and Jenna thought about messaging her but her thumb slid away from the screen again.
