by Nicci French
I put my hand up to retrieve the key that I hang round my neck when I go running.
‘Shit.’
‘What?’
‘I forgot my key. We’re locked out.’
The woman took off her glasses and blinked at me. She was older than me, severely thin and neat.
‘So what do we do?’ said Jason.
‘I’ll see if my neighbour’s in.’
I rang Bernie’s bell and to my relief heard his unmistakeable thumping down the stairs.
‘Tess,’ he said. ‘You got caught in the rain.’
‘I know. I forgot my key.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re in a bit of a pickle then, aren’t you?’
There was a horrible moment where I tried to remember whether I really had given him the spare key or whether I had borrowed it back from him and not returned it and wondered what on earth I was going to do. And then I looked at him and saw him smiling.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Of course I’ve got your key.’
He ran back up the stairs.
‘You know the song about good neighbours,’ he said cheerfully when he returned with the key. Nobody responded. ‘Becoming good friends. Anyway.’ He clapped Jason on the shoulder. ‘We met before. The other day. Poppy was rubbing mud into her little friend’s face. I’m Bernie.’
‘Jason.’
‘I know. The ex.’ He looked at the woman. ‘Is this your new—?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jason said. ‘We’re in a bit of a rush.’
I opened the door to my flat and we stepped in, shutting it on Bernie’s grin.
‘Is it all right if I change?’ I asked when we were in the conservatory. ‘How much of a rush are you in?’
‘It’s fine,’ said the woman.
I was puzzled. She was speaking as if she were in charge.
‘I’m sorry, who are you?’
‘My name’s Fenella Graham. I’m a friend of Jason’s.’
That didn’t feel like a proper answer, but I was beginning to feel cold and clammy and also grimy and dishevelled compared to them in their smart, dark clothes and me with wet bare limbs and goosebumps. I hastened into my bedroom, peeled off my clothes, towelled my hair and pulled on a tee-shirt dress.
Back in the room I offered them tea or coffee.
‘We’ll only be a minute,’ said Jason.
We sat at the kitchen table, me on one side, Fenella and Jason facing me. I laughed nervously.
‘It feels like an interview,’ I said.
‘I wanted to make this informal,’ Jason said. ‘Fenella is a friend and she’s doing this as a favour. It’s very generous of her. To you as well as to me.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said. My mouth suddenly felt dry, but I didn’t exactly know why except that I felt something bad was coming. Jason looked at Fenella and nodded and she nodded back and then looked at me.
‘As I said, I’m a friend of Jason’s.’
I gave another scratchy laugh.
‘I thought I knew most of Jason’s friends.’ As I said the words, I remembered that there was a whole other category of Jason’s friends that I hadn’t known. Was Fenella another of them?
‘I’m also a solicitor. But I’m not here officially.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I don’t normally make house calls.’
‘After your recent behaviour,’ said Jason, ‘I thought I should get some legal advice.’
‘What do you mean?’
Jason held up one hand. He spoke calmly, drawing out his words, watching them land. I could imagine him talking like this at one of his meetings at school.
‘I’ve tried to be patient,’ he said. ‘I know you’re under stress. I know that my marriage to Emily has caused you jealousy and distress and the fact of her pregnancy has been very painful for you. And I accept that there have been faults on both sides.’
‘What is this actually about?’
Jason looked at the solicitor. She smiled at me, as if we were two new friends, sitting over coffee.
‘You know, Tess,’ she said, ‘I work in family law and, as a lawyer, one of the main pieces of advice I would give a friend is, don’t bring in lawyers. Once they get involved it quickly becomes very unpleasant and very expensive.’
‘You are a lawyer.’
‘As I said, I’m here as a favour. To you as well as to Jason.’
‘You’re here as a favour to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Could you explain that?’
Her smile faded; her face was stern again. ‘Jason has told me about the events of the last few weeks. He has told me about things you have said, about things you have done and accusations you have made. Jason is understandably upset by this. He feels threatened, he feels that his family are threatened, and he feels that his daughter is unsafe. Nevertheless, when we talked about this, he was sure that you could settle it like reasonable people.’
I looked at the two of them, first one then the other. I felt I was under attack and I didn’t know how to defend myself.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think a useful first step would be if you agreed not to approach or go near Jason or his wife or her brother.’
‘This is ridiculous. We have a daughter together.’
‘Emily can collect her for the time being,’ said Jason. ‘Not tomorrow, as it happens. She’s not well and I don’t think it’s a good idea for Poppy to come to our house. But she can collect her from school on Friday, and in the future, we can make arrangements for an efficient exchange.’
‘It’s all about being sensible,’ Fenella Graham continued. ‘You need to stop making it difficult for Jason to see his daughter. And you mustn’t make contact with his colleagues or acquaintances.’
I shook my head.
‘This is all rubbish,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to be told what I can and can’t do.’
She smiled again. I hated her more when she smiled and pretended to be friendly than when she was serious and businesslike.
‘Look, Tess, I don’t think you realise how tolerant Jason is being. Based on my understanding of what he has told me, he would have no trouble in obtaining a restraining order against you. If he wanted to pursue it, I’m confident he could successfully press charges against you. More than that, with his new marriage and family, his stable household, I believe a family court would be likely to award him sole custody of your daughter.’
‘You can’t. No. You can’t.’
All of a sudden, my throat thickened and, for a moment, the two figures blurred. For I had remembered that I hadn’t deleted those emails I had sent myself from Jason’s computer. They were there in plain sight. If he happened to look through the sent items, he would see at once that I’d broken into his house and into his laptop. Nothing more simple, nothing more incriminating. I put a hand across my mouth to stop myself howling.
‘Are you all right?’ Jason asked.
‘I just…’ I couldn’t continue.
‘I’m simply describing the situation as I see it,’ said the solicitor.
I was filled up with fear. I could taste it in my mouth and feel it rolling in my stomach. I had broken into Jason’s house. I had hacked into his computer. I had sent emails that I found there to my own computer, private and intimate correspondence. If he found that out, and it would be so easy for him to find that out… I couldn’t continue the thought. Jason turned to me. I could see the bones of his face, the curve of his jaw, the tiniest grimace, or perhaps it was a smile, tugging at his mouth.
‘Keep away from me, Tess, from all of us. This is your final warning.’
FIFTY
For the rest of the day I felt numb. I wrote the last of my reports, did some tasks around the flat and then in the afternoon I couldn’t remember what they’d been. I collected Poppy from school and she ran out and gave me a picture she had painted. It was of a fish in the sea and I looked at it suspiciously to see if there was anything ominous about it, but the sea was bright blu
e and the sun in the sky was bright yellow and the fish had a big smile on its face that stretched beyond its body.
‘It looks like a happy fish,’ I said to her. I wanted to pick her up and crush her to me and never let her go.
‘Lily fell on her head,’ Poppy said.
I didn’t answer at first because I was thinking of something else. I was always thinking of something else. Then I realised what Poppy had said.
‘Really? Is she all right?’
‘No,’ she said, not looking at me but straight upwards at the sky. ‘She cried.’
I looked around and saw Lily and her mother and walked across to them. Yes, it turned out, Lily really had fallen on her head. Rather proudly she pointed at the bit of her head that had a bump on it.
‘They don’t keep them safe enough,’ Lily’s mother said to me in an undertone. ‘I’m going to complain.’
‘I think they’re doing their best,’ I said feebly.
‘It’s not good enough. Anything could have happened. Lily could have hit her head on the corner of a table.’
I didn’t say anything more. I wasn’t the person to lecture anyone about overreacting.
The rest of the evening, part of me was cooking and giving Poppy a bath and playing a game with her and reading her a story, but all the time I was thinking about what Jason and Fenella had said. Thinking about what it would be like to lose Poppy. Thinking how I would go mad with grief. My whole body hurt at the idea of a life without her; my heart would break.
Poppy made the evening almost more painful for me by being happy and chatty and, apparently, untroubled. When she was in bed – she fell asleep almost immediately, with a smile on her face – I found a bottle of whisky and poured a glass and then stopped just as I was lifting it to my lips.
I could hear banging. I frowned. It sounded like someone was banging at the front door. Why would they do that, when there was a bell?
I waited, because whoever was out there was not someone I wanted to see. There was no one I wanted to see. I wanted to be alone in my flat with Poppy: just the two of us. I heard a voice and the banging stopped. My doorbell rang. I stayed where I was, the glass of whisky still in my hand. It rang again. I groaned and made my way upstairs, pulled open the front door and stepped into the hall.
Bernie was standing there and, beside him, a man I didn’t at once recognise. I couldn’t see his face because he had his forehead pressed against the door that led to Bernie’s flat. As I looked at him, he drew his head back and then struck it twice against the wood.
‘He said he’s a friend,’ said Bernie. ‘If so, he’s a friend who is not in a good way. Stop that, mate. You’ll injure yourself. Do you know him or shall I tell him to get lost?’
I stepped forward and put a hand on the man’s arm. He turned and looked at me wildly. I could smell alcohol and sweat and in the dim light of the hall I could see the whites of his eyes.
‘Charlie,’ I said and then to Bernie: ‘Yes, I know him. It’s OK.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
I led Charlie down the stairs and into the conservatory. I practically pushed him into a chair and poured him a glass of water.
‘Drink,’ I said.
He obediently lifted the glass and drank it down in thirsty gulps. I could see his throat jerking. He was wearing a heavy jacket that was far too hot for the summer evening.
‘Another?’ I asked.
He shook his head from side to side. I saw that his cheeks were wet with tears. They were draining into his beard, which had been neatly trimmed last time I saw him but now was longer and a bit frizzy. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his eyes were red-rimmed.
‘Coffee?’
‘Maybe. Thanks. Sorry.’
I could barely make out the words. I took the glass from his hand and went over to the sink where I filled the kettle and turned it on. Behind me, I could hear him blowing his nose several times. I ground the coffee beans and shook them into the cafetière, poured on the water.
‘White?’
‘And one sugar,’ he said.
I put the mug in front of him, sat down myself, took a sip of my whisky.
‘Peggy,’ I said.
He nodded, gave a short sob.
‘I can’t seem to stop crying,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why. I didn’t cry like this over Skye. I never cry. Skye cried all the time. She cried when she was upset and she cried when she was happy, when she was angry, when she was tired.’
Charlie was crying as he spoke, his face puckered up so that he looked like a little boy, his words coming out in bursts.
‘It’s just so sad,’ he said. ‘I’m so sad. I’m so fucking sad I don’t know what to do with myself.’
And then he put his face in both hands and let himself cry properly, his shoulders in the heavy jacket shaking, tears seeping through the cup of his hands.
I waited. I couldn’t remember ever having seen a man cry like this before and it felt oddly intimate, like he had undressed in front of me. I remembered him in the swimming pool, his strong legs and arms and his small pot belly.
‘Sorry. So sorry,’ he managed at last, lifting his head and dragging the back of his hand across his smeary face. ‘Jesus. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘Grief,’ I said, and for a moment his face contorted once more. He made a visible effort to hold back more tears. He picked up the cooling mug of coffee and swallowed some.
‘You found the body,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Was she—?’ He stopped. ‘I don’t know what I want to ask.’
‘She was just dead,’ I said, seeing again those open eyes.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why would someone kill Skye and then Peggy?’ He put the half-full cup down, pushed his fingers through his slightly greasy hair. His face was puffy from crying. ‘They were so…’ He searched for a word. ‘Nice,’ he said eventually, hopelessly. ‘They thought well of people. They trusted people. I used to tease them for being so unworldly. Even when Skye was taking drugs and doing whatever she did, she was like a little kid. I remember…’ He squinted at me, as if the light was hurting his eyes. ‘I remember when I was first together with Skye and she took me home to Peggy’s, they would fuss over me and tease me and make me feel special and looked after. And if I did anything for them, they were so grateful. As if they weren’t used to people putting themselves out for them. I remember thinking they would be in my life for ever: Skye and Peggy. I was really happy then.’
He stood up and stared around him. I saw him taking in the room – Poppy’s drawings on the fridge, the sewing machine on the table, the whisky bottle, the garden outside in the fading light.
‘I let them down,’ he said. ‘I let them both down. I gave up on Skye and she died. Then I wasn’t there for Peggy when she needed me the most and if I had been maybe she would be alive now. I’ve always thought of myself as a decent kind of guy – not particularly handsome or clever or successful or anything. Ordinary, but OK, you know. Someone who’d do the right thing when push came to shove. But I failed the test.’
‘What test?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t save them. I didn’t even try to save them. I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘No?’
‘You will go mad if you think like that.’
‘How should I think?’
‘Someone is out there who killed Skye and then killed her mother. That’s how you should think.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Will you know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what to do.’
‘How can I tell you that, Charlie? We hardly know each other.’
‘No, I mean: tell me what to do to help you find him.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’ll do anything. Just say.’
‘OK. If there is anything
, I will just say.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise.’
He didn’t look so out of it now, just tired and crumpled.
‘It’s time for you to go home.’
* * *
We went up the stairs together. The door to Poppy’s bedroom opened and there she was, in her cotton pyjamas, eyes wide open, but not really awake. I took her hand and held it, but it was like a soft warm object that didn’t belong to her. She gazed at us, through us, as if we were made of glass.
‘Hello,’ said Charlie awkwardly. ‘Did I wake you? Sorry.’
‘What big ears, big teeth you’ve got! All the better.’
Charlie looked bewildered.
‘Bye,’ I said.
He hesitated, then held out his hand. I hesitated, then took it.
‘Remember,’ he said.
* * *
That night, Poppy sleepwalked, racing round the house, her bare feet thrumming on the wooden boards, her eyes staring fixedly ahead, seeing and not seeing.
I took her to her bed and pressed her back against the pillow. Her hair was sticking to her forehead. I sang her a song about the moon and she mumbled something, made a feeble attempt to join in, then her body softened and her bright eyes closed at last.
FIFTY-ONE
On the way to school the next morning, Poppy and I sang songs together and made up extra verses and silly rhymes and giggled madly. On the way back I thought about Charlie’s visit, which now had the quality of a dream, and about Jason. With a cold clutch of fear, I thought about losing Poppy. That was impossible, it couldn’t happen, it would be the end of me.
When I got home I felt a sudden sense of purpose. I made myself a pot of coffee and took a stack of paper from the tray of my printer and wrote notes of everything I could remember, underlining names. They filled several pages. I took a fresh sheet and started to construct a flow chart. I wrote ‘Poppy’s drawing’ then ‘Skye’s flat’ and drew an arrow from one to the other. I wrote ‘Peggy’s house’ and ‘watch’ and drew an arrow from the watch to Peggy’s house and another from Skye’s flat to the watch. The watch. Had Jason been wearing a watch? I tried to remember, but it was impossible. My mind had been on other things. I put a question mark next to ‘watch’. Then I wrote ‘home’ and ‘cap’ and drew an arrow between them. I wrote ‘Poppy’s school’ and drew an arrow from the school to the cap.
