‘No, Libby, he hasn’t. No one’s come in.’
I dive under the table, looking to see if he’s there. Then I twist round in my chair again, making sure he’s not crept up behind me, about to plant his hands on my shoulders, tell me it’s time to go home, that there’s been a terrible mistake and Sasha’s not dead and we’re going out for a nice meal tonight, and Marion is going to babysit for us and… and…
‘What did they tell you?’ I say, imagining that they’ve found her, what she must have looked like – pale and cold, her face sweet and still. Was she naked? Hurt? Was she hidden in a bush or left for dead out in the open?
‘I have no specific details yet, I’m afraid. But I’m assuming there’s significant evidence, given your reason for arrest.’ Claire picks up her pen. ‘Look, I have to ask you something, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Libby, but I need to check regarding your mental health. Do you often hear voices when there’s no one there? Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental illness?’
‘What?’ I say. The ridiculousness of her question gives me a moment’s clarity. ‘No, of course not. There’s nothing wrong with me. I just… I just thought I heard…’ I shake my head. ‘Look, I’ve been under a lot of stress these last few weeks. Everyone in the village has felt it one way or another. Jan, Sasha’s mum, has completely fallen apart. Phil, her dad, too. Sean and I just feel… so guilty. We’ve been going through our own kind of hell. Do you understand that? The poor girl was in our house when whatever happened to her happened.’
Claire nods, adopts a sympathetic tone. ‘I understand. When you’re interviewed by the detective, if you have nothing you want to say or can’t answer a question, I’d recommend not reacting like that though.’ The solicitor pulls a face. ‘It’s not going to do you any favours.’
I feel like I’m being told off. The naughty schoolgirl. ‘OK,’ I say quietly. ‘Sorry.’
‘This note you mentioned before, Libby. The one you found on your car. Do you know who sent it?’
‘No,’ I say, wondering whether I should tell her about the second note. That one disappeared too. ‘Someone just trying to cause trouble, I suppose.’ Then Natalie is on my mind – standing in front of me wearing one of her perfectly coordinated outfits, looking down on me. Her hair glossy, nails immaculately painted. ‘I really don’t see the relevance.’
‘Who would want to cause trouble, do you think?’
I stare at the ceiling. Sean and I talked about this, of course, going over a thousand times who might have left it. Correction – I went over it a thousand times. ‘It’s unrelated to Sasha,’ I say.
‘But Libby, receiving that note caused you to have a night out with your husband, which resulted in Sasha babysitting and then going missing. I’d say the detective will think it’s very relevant. It’s unusual. Or do you get these sorts of notes all the time?’
‘Of course not.’ I bite my lip. ‘Look, Sean’s been married once before. To Natalie, the mother of his son, Dan. They split up a few years ago but she’s never got over him leaving. And she hates that he married me and that we have a child of our own.’
Claire looks at me, her face unreadable. Yet in its blankness I manage to see her disdain, her pity, thanking her lucky stars that she’s not me.
‘I suspect it was Natalie who wrote the note, but of course I can’t say for sure. I’ve hinted to Sean about it, but I don’t want to be that woman. The jealous wife. I’ve given him a hard enough time as it is. Anyway, having a meal out with Sean was meant to put any ill feeling behind us. My ill feeling.’
‘And what did the note actually say?’ Claire asks.
‘To tell you the truth, I can’t really remember,’ I say, the five words emblazoned on my mind.
Everything will be OK, Sean had told me, his hands on my shoulders in that way of his. I nodded, agreeing with him. And don’t confuse things. Stick to the relevant facts. Remember, we want Sasha found alive as quickly as possible too, OK? Like everyone does.
I’d trusted him completely, thanking God we were in this together. We’d already made one lengthy statement to the detective but he kept coming back, asking new questions. Just an informal chat, he’d told us. We answered everything, of course, sometimes separately. No one wanted Sasha back alive more than us.
‘You can’t recall the words of the note that caused you so much upset?’ Claire says.
‘I’ve tried to forget it. It just implied that Sean was… well, up to no good. But he’s a good man and would never hurt me,’ I say, shrugging. ‘Not my finest moment.’
‘And where is the note now, Libby?’ Claire taps her pen on the table. ‘These are all things you’re likely to get asked. If they haven’t already got it, the detective may ask you for it.’
‘I threw it away. Hardly a keepsake, right?’
‘I understand,’ Claire says after a pause, reading through her notes again. She puts down her pen, leans back in her seat. ‘If you’re innocent, just tell things as they are. However, if you’re not sure, if you’re going to tie yourself in knots, then it’s best to say “no comment”. But not if you want to mention something as part of your defence in court. If you go to court, I should add.’
‘OK,’ I say, closing my eyes. But all I can see is Sean, his face up close, his eyes boring into mine when we came home from the pub that Friday night. He was angry, making it hard to understand what he was saying. And then his hand came out of nowhere.
I’d reeled, staggering backwards against the wall, my cheek stinging, smarting, feeling as if my teeth had been knocked out. I cupped my cheek where he’d slapped me.
‘Sean?’ I’d said, fighting back the tears. ‘Sean, please…’ He’d gone to sit on the arm of the sofa, his head hanging down. I couldn’t feel my face and one eye was watering. He’d never laid a finger on me before. When he looked up, his eyes were watering too. I went over to him.
‘What did you do?’ he’d said, staring up at me. There was hate in his eyes. I didn’t understand why.
‘What do you mean, what did I do?’ I’d been going to embrace him, try to take away the pain I knew he was feeling, but I halted. ‘You just slapped me.’
‘You were hysterical. I had to shut you up. Don’t twist this back on me.’ He’d turned away then, shaking his head. In fact, his entire body was shaking. Looking back, I felt the same – out of control. Yet, as ever, Sean was one step ahead of me. Generally, this never mattered. In fact, it’s one of the things I’ve always loved most about him. His intelligence, his ability to pace out the next steps with ease – like a real-life chess game, always thinking six moves ahead. It made me feel secure, as though he was watching out for us. His family.
‘I’m sorry,’ I’d said, hanging my head, knowing I deserved it.
Then I’d caught sight of it, lying on the floor, half underneath the sofa. At first I didn’t realise what it was, but as I drew close and bent down to pick it up, it was unmistakable.
‘This is Natalie’s, isn’t it?’ I’d said, holding up the silver bracelet. It was dripping with charms. ‘I swear it’s hers. I’ve seen her wearing it.’ Over the years, each sighting of Natalie had left me with a lasting impression. She was one of those rare people who left an indelible mark, especially on other women.
Sean had leapt up off the sofa then, snatching the bracelet from me. ‘Give it to me,’ he’d said. He turned it around between his fingers. ‘I don’t know whose it is,’ he said. ‘Probably Sasha’s.’ He dropped it down onto the coffee table then, along with all Sasha’s other stuff, as if it were infected.
‘No, no it’s not hers,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never seen her wearing it.’ It was true, plus it certainly didn’t look like something she’d wear, or be able to afford. ‘But I do remember it on Natalie and—’
‘No, Libby. You don’t. You’re wrong, OK?’ Sean’s eyes fixed on me. Then he came close, making me flinch when he raised his hand. But it was only to push it through his hair. I noticed the sweat on hi
s forehead, his top lip. ‘Go out and look in the barn for Sasha,’ he said, his voice calmer now.
‘But…’ I was going to protest but knew he was right. ‘OK,’ I said, heading out to the kitchen. I took the key from the hook in the back hallway and went out, stumbling across the cobbles. The wine had gone to my head, making my thoughts muzzy.
It was dark outside, the courtyard lit only by a square of light coming from the cottage window. ‘Sash?’ I made sure to call out, opening the barn door and going inside. ‘Are you here?’
It was silent apart from a couple of cars cruising past on the lane, an owl hooting in a tree behind the barn. Shivers ran down my spine.
And then I heard a noise. ‘Hello?’ I called out, staring back out into the courtyard. I shrugged and switched on the lights, going over to the pantry, leaving the door open. I’d left her a meal in the cottage fridge, telling her to help herself, so she had no need to come out here. I locked up the barn again. Of course Sasha wasn’t in there.
That noise again. An outside light coming on next door.
‘Who’s there?’ someone called out. Our neighbour, Arn, was hot on security ever since his garage had been broken into last year. All his tools had been taken.
‘It’s just me, Arn,’ I called back. ‘Libby. Sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘Everything OK?’ he said, his head appearing over the stone wall. He wasn’t a tall man but often popped up for a chat if he heard me outside hanging out the washing or playing with Alice.
‘Everything’s fine,’ I said. What if he’d seen Sasha earlier? What if he knew something? I should have asked him but didn’t. I wasn’t thinking straight. ‘Night then, Arn,’ I said, hurrying back to the cottage. As I locked the back door, I saw him disappear again and his outside light go off.
‘Did you look properly?’ Sean said, leaning against the kitchen sink. ‘Move stuff about in case she was hiding?’
‘Obviously,’ I replied, shivering.
He nodded. ‘I checked upstairs again. I even went through the built-in cupboards in case she was hiding in there. I made a bit of a mess.’
‘OK, good,’ I said, thinking a mess was the least of our worries.
We’d gone back into the living room then and Sean had stoked the fire, peering into it for ages. I remember wondering how he could do something so trivial at a time like this. But then I went to make some tea – equally unimportant, though somehow comforting as the situation grew more serious. When I came back, Sean was drinking whisky. He offered me one, ignoring the tea. I took it gratefully and knocked it back in one go.
‘I’m going up to check on Alice again,’ I said, but Sean stopped me, telling me I was being obsessive. ‘I think one of us should go out and look around the village,’ I suggested, already reading Sean’s train of thought. I glanced at my watch. ‘It’s ages since we got back. I’ll go. I’ve drunk way less than you.’
Then he turned his back on me, made some comment about being driven to drink after an evening like we’d had. I couldn’t help the tears welling up in my eyes then. I just wanted to get out of the cottage, have time to think. To work out how to make things right again. Though they seemed so very far from that.
‘Be careful, OK?’ Sean said, grabbing my shoulders as I was putting on my coat. I flinched again as he shrugged into his own jacket. ‘Have you got your phone?’
‘Yes,’ I said, nodding. Then I told him where I’d go, just a quick spin around the village. ‘And if I see anyone, I’ll make sure to ask if they’ve seen her,’ I added, repeating his instructions. I felt Sean’s hands shaking on my shoulders, in time with my own tremors.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ I say, gripping the edge of the table.
The solicitor stops, tipping her head to one side. She’s been talking and I’ve not been listening – my mind filled with thoughts of that night.
‘Sorry, Libby?’ she says. ‘You didn’t mean to do what?’
I stare at her, the scene still playing out. Driving down the lane, peering out of the car windows. Sasha was everywhere I looked – her face imprinted on my mind as I tormented myself – yet she was nowhere to be seen. I was sweating, my vision skewed from the wine, the alcohol taking hold of my senses.
‘The lane narrowed,’ I went on, shaking my head. ‘It was dark. The windows were fogged up. It was just an accident.’
Be careful, you’ve been drinking too, Sean had said before I left. Then he whispered something else in my ear and I’d nodded.
‘Accident?’ Claire says, her voice coaxing and earnest. ‘What kind of accident?’
I look at her, knowing I’m going to disappoint her, that what she wants is an easy afternoon, not to be kept late, to go home. She doesn’t really care if I’m charged or not, just wants to make sure I go through the process fairly with my rights intact and she gets paid for it.
‘Have you got a husband?’ I ask her. ‘Or a partner. Girlfriend, boyfriend?’
The solicitor’s eyes narrow. I hate her. Want to punch her. She can walk out of here. I can’t.
‘It’s not me we’re here to talk about,’ she says. ‘Did you accidentally hurt Sasha? Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘No,’ I say, wondering whether to mention bumping the car. ‘Of course not. Is this what you do? Make people say things to suit your version of events?’
‘No, Libby. But you’re not helping me or yourself here. It’s hard for me to advise you.’
‘Sorry,’ I say quickly, just like I’d said to Sean a thousand times that night. I’d turned into a mess, wasn’t coping. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I swear,’ I add as Claire slowly turns up the sleeves of her blouse, exposing a pretty silver bracelet with a heart charm on it. I stare at it, wondering what happened to Natalie’s bracelet that night, if Sean ever gave it back.
Twenty-Four
Before
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Libby said, balancing the dish on her palms. Her bag kept slipping off her shoulder and her hair was billowing in her face, getting in her mouth. She blew it out, looking up at Sean.
‘Of course,’ he replied, staring straight ahead. He rang the bell again. ‘It’s absolutely the right thing to do. Would you want to think no one cared about us if Alice had gone missing?’
‘Sean, don’t,’ Libby said, shuddering at the thought. She screwed up her eyes to get it out of her mind. But all she could see was Sasha’s face – her mind in overdrive as she imagined her dead, her skin blue-grey, lying somewhere alone. She let out a little sob.
‘And try not to cry,’ Sean said. ‘This isn’t about you. It’s about the poor people inside this house.’
‘People?’ Libby said, finally hearing a noise inside, as if someone was coming. ‘I thought they’d separated?’
Sean glanced back. Jan’s car was on the drive, but there were a few others parked on the street. ‘That’s Phil’s van over there.’
‘Oh, OK…’ But Libby stopped, turning back to the door as she heard the chain slide, the key turn. ‘Jan,’ she said, making a sympathetic face as soon as she saw her. Jan was wearing a faded blue towelling robe, hanging open over an old T-shirt and leggings. Her feet were bare and her hair was unbrushed, pulled back in a ponytail that was coming undone.
‘Libby,’ she said, her voice not much more than a croak. She dragged her gaze up to Sean, one eyebrow flickering as he also greeted her. ‘I thought you might be the police. You know. News.’
‘Sorry,’ Libby said. ‘We brought you… you and Phil some food. We didn’t think you’d feel like cooking.’ Libby held out the terracotta dish covered in foil. It was a Moroccan lamb tagine that she’d had in the freezer, left over from a dinner party.
‘Thanks,’ she said, turning to go back inside, leaving the door open. Libby looked at Sean, who cocked his head, as if to say follow her in. Libby trod nervously over the threshold of the 1970s semi, stepping into the hallway. There were a couple of streets in Little Radwell built around that time, Mason Clo
se being one of them, but the rest of the village was classic Cotswolds stone cottages. Sasha had grown up here, attended the local primary school, then the high school before going on to the nearby sixth-form college. Libby stopped, staring around, seeing the coats hanging on the hooks, the pairs of shoes on the rack underneath, some of them looking like Sasha’s – white trainers, Converse, Adidas, Nike. She shuddered as she recognised a couple of Sasha’s coats and a scarf.
‘Come through,’ Jan said, leading the way past the stairs and into the small front room. Floral curtains hung at an aluminium window and a gas fire flickered in the pale brick surround. The brown carpet was worn in the doorway with a burgundy patterned rug taking up most of the floor space between the green velour sofas. There were several scented candles burning on the coffee table, alongside some incense. Almost shrine-like, Libby thought. ‘Please, have a seat.’
Sean and Libby sat down beside each other, Libby still holding the dish. ‘Here,’ she said, rising briefly again. ‘Shall I put this in the fridge? You might be glad of it later.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Jan said, taking the food and disappearing into the kitchen, returning a moment later. ‘That was thoughtful, Libby. Thank you.’
Libby nodded. ‘We’re just so sorry that Sasha hasn’t come back yet,’ she said. ‘We wanted to let you know that we’ll help in any way we can, do anything we can, and obviously cooperate with the police as much as they need. We feel utterly wretched.’
‘Don’t,’ a voice said from behind. Libby and Sean turned to see Phil standing there. Libby knew him, though not particularly well. Just from a few occasions in the pub over the years, or when he’d called by to fetch Sean for a shoot. He was a tall, broad man but today he looked half his size. Broken.
‘Hello, Phil,’ Libby said, standing up. She went to give him a hug but he just stood there, letting her give him a squeeze around the shoulders. Libby did the same to Jan too, realising she’d not greeted her properly yet. At a time like this, they needed to know people had got their backs, that they had support. ‘I’m so sorry about what’s happened. And of course, no one feels as wretched as you two must. Do they, Sean?’ she added, turning to him. ‘It’s unthinkable, and we all just want Sasha to be found safe and well.’
Date Night (ARC) Page 15
