The Unheard

by Nicci French

  ‘Have you made tea?’ she said. ‘I’d like something herbal. Ginger maybe.’

  ‘I’ll do it now.’

  She looked at me. ‘Haven’t you made Tess tea?’

  ‘I would have, but she’s about to go.’

  ‘Don’t let me drive you away,’ Emily said.

  ‘That’s all right. You get better.’

  ‘Did you get everything sorted?’

  ‘Everything was already sorted,’ said Jason. ‘There wasn’t much to talk about.’

  I had the disconcerting feeling that he knew everything and that he was toying with me.

  I waved a little goodbye to Emily. I didn’t want to hug her and I was sure she didn’t want to be hugged by me. As I walked towards the front door, Roxie emerged from the living room and barked at me just as she had done before.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ I said to her, but silently.

  FORTY-TWO

  Back at home with Poppy, I watched over her as if she were a glass ornament that might break even when gently touched. I had a painful impulse to close the door, keep her with me and protect her for ever and ever. But then I remembered that the very next day Jason was going to fetch her and take her away, back to that house. What if I ran away with her, somewhere where nobody could find us?

  This was a ridiculous idea. If I tried anything of the kind, Jason would set the law on me and he would have the law on his side. The result would be not to save Poppy but to lose her altogether. It was terrible. I would do anything to protect Poppy. For the moment, I felt that was the whole purpose of my existence. But I didn’t know how to do it.

  As I gave her a bath, I asked her about the party I’d just collected her from. I knew it had been the fourth birthday party of a girl in Poppy’s class called Alicia. But when I asked Poppy about it she said firmly that it wasn’t a birthday party and when I asked if they sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Alicia, she said, no, they didn’t. I asked if there had been lots of people and she’d said no. When I asked her how many then, she just held her arms out and said, ‘That many.’

  I asked her what games they had played and she said they had played the elephant game. I asked did that mean pin the tail on the elephant and she said no. I asked if it meant making an elephant out of balloons and she said no. I’d recently read her a storybook about an elephant that gets returned to the jungle and I wondered if she had got her memory of that confused with her memory of the party.

  And this was the witness whose memories I’d been relying on, whose memories had turned my life upside down.

  But there was Skye. I had to hold on to that. Skye had fallen from a tower. Skye had been murdered.

  I put Poppy to bed and read her a story that wasn’t about an elephant. Afterwards, I lay beside her for a bit and then suddenly came to and realised we had both fallen asleep.

  I had to look around to recognise where I was. I got up and made myself a coffee. I knew that I should eat something. I hadn’t eaten all day. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to stay in some kind of functioning health. But food could wait. I switched my computer on and checked my emails. There were advertisements from clothes shops and spam about losing wrinkles and dating online and there were the three messages I had forwarded from Jason’s computer: Lara Steed, Nicole and Inga. One from each.

  So I had them. What was I going to do with them? I quickly saw that there was only one thing to do. Lara Steed was the most recent, so I clicked on her address and selected ‘new message’. I considered how to do this: breezy, casual, as if it were no big deal. Above all, nothing that would suggest any connection with Jason. I briefly considered disguising my name, but then I’d have to set up a fake email account. That would be like an admission of guilt if something went wrong. My own name would be simplest. I wrote:

  Hi Lara,

  Sorry to contact you out of the blue, but someone told me you might know a friend of mine: Skye Nolan. I’m trying to find people who knew her. If the name rings a bell, could you reply to this?

  All best,

  Tess

  I stared at the message for a full minute. What could go wrong with this?

  So much, in so many different ways.

  I pressed send.

  FORTY-THREE

  Jason’s message was curt: Bring Poppy to café by London Bridge. 3.30pm.

  Poppy didn’t want to leave – she wanted to play chase in the park, she wanted to finish making her cardboard house, she wanted another drink, she wanted to change into different clothes, she wanted her hair in plaits and then she didn’t, she wanted to have another story, do another drawing, talk to Sunny, she wanted to play hide and seek and stood behind the curtains and was cross when I found her. So we were late to arrive. But when I pushed open the door to the café, Jason wasn’t there. Emily was, sitting at a little table drinking herbal tea.

  ‘Hello,’ she said timidly. ‘Jason was a bit held up, so he asked me to come.’

  So he didn’t want to see me. That was fine, I didn’t want to see him either – except of course, it wasn’t fine, because we had a child together; we had Poppy. I thought back to that list of rules we had agreed on, which were based on the principles of collaboration and mutual trust. That felt long ago.

  ‘No,’ said Poppy.

  ‘It’s OK, honeybunch. Daddy’s waiting,’ said Emily.

  She looked tired, and she’d lost her peachy lustre. Her skin was pale and dull, her hair was lanky.

  ‘Do you feel rotten?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll pass. That’s what Jason says. He says I should just keep going and not give in to it.’

  ‘He’s never been pregnant.’ I turned to Poppy. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘No,’ she said again, and she wrapped her arms round my legs.

  I bent and undid her grasp, put her unwilling hand in Emily’s outstretched one.

  ‘You have a lovely time, darling.’

  ‘No,’ Poppy repeated. ‘No, no, no.’

  ‘We’ll make a cake together,’ said Emily in a pleading voice. She sounded as if she was about to weep.

  Poppy lifted her head and glared at her suspiciously.

  ‘A chocolate cake?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘With chocolate buttons?’

  ‘Buttons. Good idea!’

  ‘And I did walk on Ben’s feet. And feed Roxie. And no bath.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Emily helplessly.

  ‘Right,’ I said. Then before I had decided to say it: ‘Do you know anyone called Inga?’

  ‘Inga. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Or Lara? Or Nicole?’

  ‘Do you mean Nicole Drake?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I know her a bit. Lara’s my best friend. I’ve known her since we were Poppy’s age pretty much.’ Emily gave a small, girlish laugh, as if remembering them when they were tiny, and then her face clouded. ‘Why?’

  Suddenly I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know whether to cover up the secret or to warn her. But how could I, her husband’s ex-partner, tell her? Would telling her, or not telling her, be selfish and wrong?

  ‘No reason.’ My tone was breezy, unconvincing. Emily gazed at me with her blue, innocent, worried eyes. ‘Maybe Poppy said something.’

  ‘No,’ said Poppy crossly.

  I watched them walk away, hand in hand, Poppy’s little red backpack bobbing into the distance.

  * * *

  I made myself go to a friend’s party that evening, but it was a mistake and I didn’t stay long. I went home and opened my laptop to see if anyone had replied. Above me, Bernie and a woman were shouting in pleasure.

  I don’t know anyone called Skye Nolan, wrote Inga. And btw, who are you? How did you get my email?

  I hesitated, then replied: I used to live with Jason Hallam. Does that mean anything to you?

  This time there was no answer.

  * * *

  The following day was Poppy’s last day of half-term holiday. I collec
ted her from Brixton. Jason passed her over at the door, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a push over the threshold, like she was an object on wheels, and we went straight to London Fields for a picnic.

  I’d arranged to meet Gina, Jake and maybe Nellie there, but Laurie turned up as well. I’d brought a collection of M&S food, miniature Scotch eggs and falafel and sticks of carrots, cans of lemonade and some strawberries, but Laurie was carrying a proper wicker hamper which he opened triumphantly to reveal Tupperware containers of homemade salads, chicken drumsticks that he’d obviously roasted himself, neat wholemeal sandwiches with hummus, also homemade, and a bottle of elderflower cordial.

  ‘Did you make this too?’

  ‘The first of the season,’ he said, pouring it out into plastic glasses. ‘Cheers.’

  He’d brought a soft ball as well, and after we’d eaten, we ran around on the grass kicking it, while the sun poured down, thick and warm, and Poppy and Jake shrieked.

  I watched him. The perfect stay-at-home dad, with his dimply chin and charming smile. Too good to be true? He put an arm round Gina’s waist and she smiled at him, while Nellie, perched on his back in the child carrier, peered over his shoulder.

  We lay on the grass. All around us there were people spread out, sunning themselves.

  ‘I’m taking next week off,’ I said to Gina, quietly so no one else could hear.

  ‘Are you? Good idea!’

  ‘I’ve a doctor’s note, actually.’

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Stress,’ I said.

  She opened her eyes, turned her face towards me. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Things to sort out,’ I said.

  ‘I’m glad you’re taking time for yourself,’ she said. ‘If you want to talk—’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks. Anyway, let’s keep in touch about the arrangements with Poppy and Jake.’

  ‘Sure.’

  * * *

  Walking back to the flat, we met Bernie walking in the opposite direction. He was with a woman I hadn’t met before. Where did he find them all?

  ‘Pops!’ he called from a distance.

  Poppy shrank back as he got closer. ‘Go way.’

  ‘One of those days, eh?’ he said cheerfully.

  He held up his hand that was missing two fingers and waggled it in her direction. Poppy stared at him in fascinated horror. Playfully, he bared his teeth. The woman beside him tugged on his arm.

  ‘Don’t scare her,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

  Poppy contemplated him, her tongue on her upper lip as it was when she made drawings.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  FORTY-FOUR

  I thought of what Peggy Nolan had said: there was a Hannah Flood, who used to be Skye’s friend; a Hannah Flood, who had a shop off Marylebone High Street selling candles. I googled the name and found nothing, and nothing about candles and Marylebone either. But it was my only possible connection so the next morning, after dropping Poppy off at school, I went there by bus and underground.

  I wandered aimlessly up and down the neighbouring streets – past well-heeled houses, past shops that sold designer-wear and simple, scarily expensive pottery, a place that mended and sold violins, past little cobbled courtyards and a florist with its cool green interior beckoning. No candle shops, until I went down a narrow street whose apartment blocks blocked out the sky. A newsagent. A shop selling electrical items. A shop called Rainbow that sold aromatic oils and candles.

  I stepped inside. There were pillar candles and taper candles and tea lights and floating candles and scented ones and ones carved into the shape of a skull, an elephant, a pyramid and a water lily. There was an incense stick burning on the wooden table that served as the counter and behind it stood a tall, strong-boned young woman. She wore a dress that looked like a tent and her brown hair, centrally parted, reached almost to her waist. Her face was a smooth, surprised oval.

  ‘Hannah?’ I asked.

  ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

  ‘Peggy Nolan told me you were a friend of her daughter Skye.’

  Hannah Flood’s face closed down on me; became a blank surface. She looked down at her hands, which were resting on the table, and blinked several times.

  ‘Who are you?’ She seemed suspicious. Rightly.

  ‘My name’s Tess. I knew Skye a little bit and since her death I’ve met her mother and Charlie.’

  ‘You know Charlie?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘He’s nice. She should have stayed with him. I always told her that.’ Hannah gave a sigh, and her shoulders slumped. ‘But then, when did Skye ever listen to anything anyone told her?’

  ‘I’m trying to find out about her last few weeks and months,’ I said.

  ‘Are you a journalist?’ She was twisting a wooden bangle round and round on her wrist.

  I told her my connection with Skye and she seemed convinced – or convinced enough.

  ‘I didn’t see her that much,’ she said wretchedly. ‘We’d drifted apart a bit. You’d think that would make it easier but it doesn’t. I wasn’t there when she needed me.’

  ‘Peggy said you knew her from when you were children?’

  ‘I never knew why she chose me. She was quick and clever and one of the popular ones. I was slow and clumsy and hated the way I looked. I was like a giant beside her. They called us Little and Large. She was the naughty one. She used to get me into such trouble.’ Hannah managed a smile at the memory of this.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘She went off the rails, but you probably heard about that. I tried to help, but she was difficult. She’d turn on me. She could be really cruel.

  ‘After she met Charlie, it got better for a bit. When I moved down to London, I saw her again. I’d see her from time to time. She was nicer to be around when she was with Charlie. She could be really generous. She’d see some madly expensive thing she thought I’d like and buy it without thinking about the price. She bought me a dressing gown once and a big book about trees. I love trees. I always did, even back when I was a kid.’

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. She got restless or bored. It’s like that saying, you don’t know what’s enough until you know what’s more than enough. For her it always had to be more than enough.’

  ‘Did you stay in touch?’

  ‘Just about.’ Hannah gave another sad smile. ‘I think I was too boring for her and she was too scary for me but we always kept a connection.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘About ten days before she died, I guess.’

  ‘How was she?’

  ‘She was fizzing and manic and it made me feel panicky just to be near her. If it sounds exciting, it wasn’t, it was horrible. I just wanted to get away from her.’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth and screwed up her face, hearing her words. ‘Like it was catching or something.’

  ‘What did she talk about?’

  ‘Dogs,’ said Hannah bitterly. ‘And how she wanted to be a foster parent, which was ridiculous. She couldn’t even look after herself. And the old days a bit, when we were kids and she got me into scrapes. We always talked about that. And she told me about this man she’d met – that was another thing we always talked about.’

  I went still.

  ‘Man?’ I asked.

  ‘Someone she’d met in a bar when she was out of it. Except being Skye, she didn’t think he’d picked her up. She thought he’d rescued her. He took her back to her flat and she doesn’t really know what happened between them, but she says he was nice to her. I’ll bet. And then he came back to see her. She told it like it was a big romantic story.’

  ‘Do you,’ I said in a voice I tried to keep neutral, ‘do you know his name?’

  She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t think so. It sounds like something I should remember, but she told me this kind of story pretty much every time we met – how she’d met a man and
he wasn’t like the others. He was different. This time it would work out.’

  I nodded. This was exactly what Charlie had said too.

  ‘Was it a common name, or unusual?’

  ‘Probably common, or I’d remember it, don’t you think?’

  ‘Jason?’ I suggested.

  ‘Hmmm. Maybe. I can’t say yes and I can’t say no.’

  ‘Or Ben?’

  ‘Could be.’

  ‘Or Aidan? Or Bernie?’

  ‘Honestly, I can’t say. She probably didn’t tell me his name.’

  ‘Or what he did for a living?’

  Hannah shook her head apologetically. She spread her hand at the base of her throat and leaned towards me.

  ‘Do you think he could have killed her?’

  ‘I don’t know. It happened in her flat so it might have been someone she knew.’

  ‘I thought it was a robbery.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what the police think.’

  ‘Who were those men you mentioned?’

  I didn’t answer that, saying instead, ‘Is there anything else she said about the man? What he looked like? Anything about what he did, where he lived?’

  ‘She just said he was nice.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And it was only a couple of times?’

  ‘I think they met somewhere else as well. I don’t know if it was more than one time. Also—’ She stopped.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I think she kind of followed him. She knew where he lived; she said it was a nice place. And she knew he was with another woman. Or maybe she said women, plural. That didn’t put her off. She was sure they had something special and they’d be together in the end. I think he was angry with her, but she said she had to be patient.’ Hannah gave a laugh. ‘Though patience wasn’t exactly Skye’s strong suit.’

  ‘So basically she stalked him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t use that word; it makes it sound too creepy. But I guess so.’

  ‘Where did this man live?’

  She made a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think she said.’