The Unheard

by Nicci French

  Until I met Jason. I’d been sure that I was loved by Jason and I’d given myself up in a way I never had before. But I’d been wrong. Now I was discovering that he had lied to me as well and it had destroyed my trust in everyone. Now nobody seemed quite safe or quite what they seemed. Everyone – that man in shorts crossing the road with his terrier straining at the lead, that one in his pinstripe suit and his briefcase, that one in the car with his elbow on the open window, that young one, that middle-aged one, that old one – carried secret selves. And the world in all its May brightness suddenly felt like a dark and scary place.

  I came to a halt. People flowed round me as I came to a decision that I hadn’t known I was going to make but must have been growing inside me.

  It was over with Aidan. It had to be. If I had the tiniest shred of doubt about him, I couldn’t be with him.

  Even if I trusted him entirely, it had to end. He was the right person at the wrong time.

  It was about Poppy. There was no room for anyone else. Sadness spread through me like a stain.

  * * *

  That afternoon we finished making the witch’s cloak. Poppy stood on a chair wearing the garment while I took up the hem, my mouth full of pins. When it was done, she refused to take it off. She raced round the garden, her face fervent under its glittering hood.

  I stood and watched her. A ping came from my mobile: Aidan. My heart was erratic and I felt a squeeze of panic in my stomach.

  Can I come round this evening? Tell me when Poppy’s asleep x

  I will.

  * * *

  Aidan took my hands in his and held them.

  ‘We need to talk.’ His face was grave. Did he know what I was going to say, or was this about the police? I couldn’t tell.

  ‘Come in.’

  One of the lenses on his glasses had a slight smear on it, which was unlike him. He normally looked so neat and prepared.

  We went into the conservatory and sat facing each other. He was wearing the dark green shirt I liked.

  ‘Aidan, listen,’ I began because if I was going to do this I needed to do it at once, like ripping off a plaster. But he held up a hand.

  ‘This is hard, but I need to say something first.’

  ‘All right.’ I watched his face. He didn’t look angry.

  ‘The police came and talked to me.’ He gave a slight grimace. ‘That makes it sound civilised.’

  ‘Oh God. What happened?’

  ‘They came to my workplace. One of them was in uniform, just to make sure that everyone noticed. I was in a meeting, but they said it couldn’t wait.’

  ‘I asked them to be careful,’ I said.

  Aidan let his gaze settle on me. ‘What have you done?’ His mildness was awful.

  ‘I should have told you before all this happened. I went to the police last week about my worries about Poppy. Obviously they thought I was being ridiculous. Which is why I never mentioned it, because of course it did sound stupid – Poppy starts wetting her bed and using swearwords and I go to the police! I went again when I heard that this woman had died falling off her balcony because it was like Poppy’s drawing. You must know all this; they must have told you.’

  He shook his head mutely.

  ‘So then it got weird because the woman who died wasn’t someone I knew as such, but she was that woman who we saw in the restaurant.’ His face remained blank. ‘You must remember that woman.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The one in the Italian the other night. Who thought she knew me.’

  Finally I felt I had got through to him. He took a step back.

  ‘She was the one who died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you knew her?’

  ‘No, you were there. She said she knew me.’

  I could see him frantically thinking.

  ‘That makes no sense,’ he said. ‘If she knew you, you must know her.’

  ‘But I didn’t. I told you at the time I didn’t. I’ve been going over and over it, but I can’t remember her at all. Maybe I’m being stupid and there’s something obvious. And that name: Skye Nolan. If I’d ever met anyone called Skye, I’d remember it. I could have met her somewhere and not known her name. But I’m sorry about all this. Was it awful?’

  He gave the very faintest of smiles.

  ‘You know how it is. Being interviewed by the police is…’ He searched for the word. ‘Unsettling. They were fine. I wish they’d been more discreet about it.’

  ‘But I had to tell the police, don’t you see? Poppy’s drawing and her behaviour were so strange, I had to tell them.’

  ‘Tess,’ he said gently. ‘Try to see this from my point of view for a moment. I fall in love with this woman, who has a little daughter, and we start going out. I’m happy. Happy like I haven’t been… well, ever, almost.’

  ‘Oh, but so was I—’

  He held up a hand. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I should have. I see that now. I just thought… I was so bewildered.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but did you not trust me?’

  I was about to babble out an apology, but I stopped myself.

  ‘It’s not about that. I don’t know what trust means anymore. The police just have to investigate. I feel terrible about it.’

  He stared at me and I could hardly bear to meet his gaze.

  ‘I’m in love with you,’ he said. ‘And I love you and I like you. And I love and like Poppy as well. I just—’ He stopped, lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘It’s not just about what happened with the police. I tried to do what you wanted. You cancelled on me, I said fine. You didn’t want me to stay the night, so I got up and left. You didn’t want me to pretend to be Poppy’s father, and of course I accepted that. At the same time, you wanted me to see that you and Poppy were a unit. I accepted that too. I’m not blaming you, but there’s something we’re not managing. I want you to tell me how to do this better.’

  I shouldn’t have let him talk for so long, but I wasn’t used to ending things, knowingly giving pain, saying goodbye. That wasn’t what I did. I dragged in a deep, hurtful breath, made myself speak.

  ‘Please, Aidan. There’s something I need to say.’

  He gazed at me. He knew; I could see in his eyes that he knew, and in the way he put a hand to his face, adjusted his glasses, readying himself. He suddenly looked smaller, bonier, and I felt monstrous.

  ‘Recently I’ve felt so taken up with my worry about Poppy and what’s going on with her that it’s all I’ve been able to think about. Nothing else really matters right now and I will always put her first. Always. You’ve known that from the start.’

  ‘Of course I’ve known it.’

  ‘Just now that means not having someone else in my life.’

  There was a thick silence in the room.

  ‘You mean, not having me.’

  I nodded. I wanted more than anything to put my arms around him and draw him close and comfort him, stop him being lonely and alone.

  ‘It’s been so nice. That’s not the right word. It’s been lovely. You’ve been lovely—’ I halted. I could feel a tear making its way down my cheek. ‘It’s just at the moment, I can’t do it. I don’t know what to do, but I can’t be… I just can’t… I’m so sorry.’

  I did everything I could not to cry – I was the one who was hurting him. My throat ached with the weeping that would come when he was gone, and my eyes stung.

  ‘You’re saying it’s over.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought we were happy. I thought I made you happy.’

  ‘We were. You did. I just can’t. I can’t.’

  ‘But what did I do wrong?’

  ‘No! Nothing, nothing at all. It’s me. Poppy. Everything. It’s the wrong time. Sorry.’

  ‘Is there nothing—?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Aidan.’

  There was a silence. I looked at him and his fac
e was pale and his mouth set. Our eyes met and for a moment I thought I would reach out and take his hand and pull him towards me and call him my darling, but I didn’t.

  He picked up his jacket and left, not slamming the door behind him.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I stood in my school’s playground and watched the children as they surged around me, forming groups and breaking up again, whispering to each other, barging into each other. It was the afternoon before the half-term and they were more excited than usual. I kept an eye on Fatima who sat alone in the far corner, trying to be invisible, trying to look as if she didn’t care. And on little Georgio, newly arrived in the school, with barely a word of English and half the size of the other boys in the class. He had sharp wrists and knobbly knees and his eyes were dark and huge as saucers; I wondered what he’d seen in his short life. I thought about Poppy, in a different playground. I pictured her shouldering her strong, determined little body through jostling groups of children to get whatever she wanted.

  Poppy was going to spend a long weekend in Brixton and I would have her the rest of the Whitsun holiday. I knew I should make plans of what to do with her, but the thought of arrangements defeated me. What I really wanted was to be in an isolated house in a raging storm, where I could read books to her and we could eat hot buttered toast in front of the TV and close the doors on the world.

  I felt tired and numb. Last night with Aidan now felt like a slow-motion dream of a break-up. It was like I’d been in a car crash and I was playing it over and over in my mind. Several times I’d thought of calling him, and even picked up my phone to do so, but then drew back. What was there to say?

  I looked at my mobile, knowing there was no message there from Jason. Had the police visited him yet? We had agreed to see each other in Vauxhall Park for the handover of Poppy. But of course that was before I had given the police his name.

  ‘Miss, Miss,’ shouted a boy, running towards me, and I came out of my reverie. I glanced down at my mobile one last time. Still nothing from Jason.

  * * *

  A couple of hours later, one look at Jason told me he was furious. Just the forceful way he walked towards us, crunching his feet down on the gravel path, was a warning. He looked like a large, consolidated mass of masculine rage.

  ‘Daddy!’ cried Poppy. ‘I did see a quirrel.’

  Jason stooped and picked her up and whirled her round and she laughed ecstatically and kicked her legs out. Over her shoulder, his eyes bored into mine.

  ‘I’ve got some bread,’ he said, setting Poppy down. ‘Shall we go and feed the ducks?’

  ‘Ducks and baby ducks!’

  ‘That’s right. Let’s go and find them.’

  ‘I’ll say goodbye,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll feed the ducks together,’ Jason said.

  ‘Yes,’ cried Poppy. ‘All of us: Mummy and Daddy and Poppy. Hold my hands. Swing me! Swing me high!’

  ‘One, two, three, and up you go,’ said Jason, and as Poppy rose into the air shrieking, he said to me, ‘The police came to my school.’

  I didn’t reply.

  ‘Again,’ said Poppy. ‘Again. Higher.’

  Up she went.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Didn’t they say?’

  ‘It was in my school, in front of my teachers and my parents. Do you know what that means for me?’

  I thought about the way Jason talked about ‘my’ teachers and ‘my’ parents, in the same way that he talked about ‘my’ wife and ‘my’ family.

  ‘I’m sure you found a way to explain it,’ I said.

  ‘They also came to the house and talked to Ben. He’s not doing well as it is. What do you think this does to him?’

  ‘Again,’ said Poppy, dragging down on both our hands so her bottom was practically on the ground.

  ‘No,’ said Jason, too forcefully so that she shrank back. ‘Here’s some bread. Tear pieces off – little pieces so it will last – and you can throw them to the ducks.’

  ‘A woman died.’

  In front of us Poppy hurled scraps of bread into the water and chortled as the ducks found them.

  ‘Your three-year-old daughter did a drawing and wet her bed. Are you insane?’

  ‘Look,’ I said, crouching beside Poppy and pointing. ‘A duckling. There! On the other side.’

  I stood up again. To my surprise, I was feeling quite unmoved in the face of Jason’s whispered onslaught.

  ‘Only a madwoman would think that has anything to do with a woman dying,’ Jason continued in his carrying hiss.

  ‘I met her. She tracked me down.’

  ‘I don’t care. I don’t care about this strange paranoid world you’re living in.’

  ‘Jason,’ I said. I could see myself in his pupils, and I could see the tiny pricks of stubble on his chin. ‘All this is beside the point. Did you know Skye Nolan?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘But you would say that.’

  ‘Then don’t ask me.’

  ‘Daddy,’ said Poppy, running into him and holding out a hand. ‘More bread.’

  He pushed another stale slice into her imperious fist.

  ‘They knew about the marches we used to go on. And,’ he lowered his voice again, ‘they asked about my personal life.’

  ‘You mean your affairs?’

  ‘My affair.’

  ‘Just one?’

  ‘I had an affair and that was wrong, but you can’t go calling in the police and suggesting I killed a woman because you want some kind of revenge.’

  ‘Is Daddy angry?’ Poppy was back.

  ‘No, Daddy isn’t angry. Last bit of bread and then I must go.’

  I waited till Poppy moved away again. ‘Is that what you think? That I’m doing all of this to get back at you?’

  ‘Either that or something’s very wrong with you.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that there’s a third possibility? That I’m genuinely anxious about Poppy and genuinely scared that she is in some way connected to what happened to that woman? To Skye Nolan,’ I corrected myself. ‘That I am just trying to stop something happening, or find out about something that did happen, something that feels horribly close to home, to our home, to Poppy. It feels like a nightmare that I kept trying to tell you about and you kept not paying attention, or maybe—’ I stopped abruptly. Poppy looked round at me and I smiled reassuringly.

  Jason muttered something under his breath.

  ‘You know what? I don’t really care what you think,’ I said, and found as I said it that it was true. ‘Poppy is in a vulnerable and anxious state: that matters. A woman is dead: that matters. Other stuff, not so much.’

  We stared at each other and, for a fleeting moment, something unexpected passed between us, a glimmer of recognition, a softening. I saw that if one of us held out a hand in friendship, the other would take it. I almost thought we could laugh together, at our anger and absurdity. I could sense him seeing it too. One word, one gesture, from either of us. The moment passed, like the sun going behind a cloud.

  Poppy turned and ran towards us, clasped each of our hands.

  ‘Push me on the swing now,’ she said. ‘Or we can see-saw!’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  I bent down and kissed the top of Poppy’s head, nodded at Jason and walked away.

  * * *

  It was Friday evening, and the beginning of half-term. I was alone: no Poppy, no date night with Aidan as we’d arranged. No more date nights with him ever. The flat was tidy, the fridge was empty, the phone didn’t ring.

  I went for a short run, had a shower, looked at my emails. I wondered why I’d never heard back from Felicity Carey Connors, and then a thought struck me and I went to the junk mailbox, and there it was.

  Dear Tess,

  So sorry not to have replied before; it’s been one of those weeks! I’d be pleased to meet with you. This Sunday afternoon, about 4, would work for me if you’re free, though it might be too shor
t notice? I’m at 12a Faversham Drive. Maybe bring your cello and we can see where you’re at.

  Felicity

  I replied saying Sunday was good, making no mention of the cello, but not daring to tell her I just wanted to ask about Ben.

  Then I made myself a gin and tonic, which was light on the tonic, and tipped a small bag of spiced nuts into a bowl. I had a strong desire for one of my rare cigarettes, so I went into my bedroom and rummaged in the underwear and the tee-shirt drawers until I found a squashy packet. There were five left. I pulled one out and went into the garden. The light was softly silver and wind rustled in the leaves.

  I lit my cigarette, which was stale with age, took a sip of my drink, put a nut into my mouth, watched the goldfinch. I felt lightheaded from the unaccustomed cigarette and from my sense of being in the aftermath of a derailment. I was estranged from Jason, had left Aidan, was without my little daughter for three days, and had made no plans. All the events of the past two weeks lay behind me in a wreckage and the future was a glare of blankness.

  I closed my eyes and a memory swam towards me: Jason and I, shortly after we’d met, walking up a mountain in the Tyrol. The fog had come down, until we could barely make out the path in front of us and the summit was hidden from view. I had a vivid recollection of turning round to look back and seeing the vague shape of Jason beneath me, almost wiped out by the fog. I felt like that now. Everything that had been vivid about our life together, everything that I’d taken for granted, seemed to be dissolving; everything that lay in front had become invisible.

  I dropped the cigarette and crushed the ember with my heel. I finished the gin, the spiced nuts. The goldfinch was gone and the light had thickened.

  What was going to happen next?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  On Saturday morning, Kelly Jordan rang and asked if she could come round.

  ‘Can’t you just tell me over the phone?’

  ‘It’s better face to face.’

  ‘Is it good news or bad news?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’

  I felt so agitated and confused that I tried to do some mindless tidying up as I waited for her to arrive. I was scrubbing the toilet bowl when the bell rang.