Sixty-One
BETH
FRIDAY 11 DECEMBER
The café’s sign read ‘closed’, but Beth tried the door anyway. Her mum had sent her out on an urgent mission to buy her Auntie Tricia a birthday card. Mum always forgot her birthday until the last minute, too busy preparing for Christmas. Beth had actually been sent to the Picky Person’s Pop In, but she thought their cards were a bit cheap and rubbish. Seagull’s Outlook Café had recently started selling some lovely cards, though. A bit expensive, but handmade and really different, and she was sure Ursula Clarke wouldn’t mind her daughter’s best friend nipping over after closing time.
Mrs Clarke must only just have shut up shop, anyway. It was only a minute or so after 4.30 p.m. ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ still blasted out over the speakers – which was a bit unusual, as Beth knew that Chloe’s mum usually preferred to have background music only.
‘Hello?’ Beth called.
No reply. She moved, hesitantly, further into the café, suddenly feeling like a trespasser. Well, if there was no one around, she would take a card and leave the money along with a note explaining. As she moved over to the stand, she heard a grunt, followed by moaning.
It had come from the kitchen.
‘Mrs Clarke? Are you okay?’ called Beth.
What if something had happened to her? Perhaps she had fallen. As the teenager hurried round the counter, Mrs Clarke appeared. Dishevelled, not her usual pristine self. Her hair stuck up at the back and her blouse buttons were undone one more than decency demanded.
‘Beth! What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I just wanted a birthday card. Umm, are you okay? Have you hurt yourself?’
‘Hurt… ? No, I’m fine. Fine.’
A cough came from the kitchen. Beth’s face flamed scarlet as she realised what she had stumbled on. Mr and Mrs Clarke were at it!
‘I’m sorry, I’ll go.’ She backed away. Then her eyes fell on a jacket. Not the kind of jacket Mr Clarke, a solicitor in Wapentake, would wear. He wore smart three-quarter-length coats over his suits. This was the type of waxed jacket favoured by the farmers in the area.
Mrs Clarke was having an affair.
Shit, shit, shit!
Beth never swore, but this was definitely a sweary moment. Mrs Clarke seemed to realise it too.
‘This is grown-up business, and not something you should get involved in. If anyone were to find out, people could get hurt. You wouldn’t want people to get hurt, would you, Beth?’
The look on her face was so strange when she said it. Like a crazy woman.
Beth thought of her best friend. She came across as confident, cocky even, but Beth knew that beneath the bluff and bluster hid surprising fragility. There was no way she wanted to share this news with Chloe.
‘You know you can trust me, Mrs Clarke. I… I haven’t breathed a word of our other secret.’
‘Well, yes. You really haven’t told anyone, have you?’
Beth shook her head.
‘And you won’t tell anyone about this, either?’
Another shake.
‘Not even your parents?’
‘No, not even my parents.’
But she wanted to. As she walked away, she chewed on her thumbnail, scared that Mrs Clarke could tell.
Sixty-Two
At just gone 1 p.m., I got home. Odd; my parents’ Escort was parked on the road outside – they must have come straight from being with you at the hospital. Your dad’s Subaru was in the drive too. Something must have happened to you, Beth. The knowledge poleaxed me. It was my fault; I had spoken aloud my fear that you might never wake up, and tempted fate. Now it was coming true.
My legs shook as I clambered from my own vehicle, almost falling, and I feared I would be sick. The key trembled in my fingers, refusing to slide into the lock. It took a couple of goes before I succeeded.
Mum and Dad were sitting on the sofa with Jacob. They looked sombre. My heart thudded.
‘Sit down, duck,’ began Dad.
‘Oh God, no. No. No, no, no!’ I backed away, shaking my head, tears spilling.
‘Hey, hey, what’s happened? It’s okay,’ soothed Jacob, jumping up. He hugged me.
‘You’re asking me what happened? I thought you were about to tell me something dreadful about Beth!’
He exchanged a look with my parents. Mum tried to get me to sit down this time. I did as I was told, wiping my face.
‘So is everything okay?’
‘Well, that’s what we’d like to know, duck,’ replied Dad, leaning forward, businesslike.
I frowned. Mum reached for my hand and took up the conversation.
‘The thing is, we’re a bit worried about you. You’ve been through so much, and I wondered if you fancied a little holiday? Me and your dad would pay. Nothing fancy, just a cottage in Wales or Scotland or something. And of course, we’d keep an eye on Beth for you, see her every night. You need not worry about her – and, well, you’d be close enough to get home quickly if you needed to.’
‘Umm, that’s a bit of a turn-up for the books, Mum. I thought you were going to say something terrible from the look on your face.’
‘No! No, nothing like that. We’ve been worried, that’s all, and we think it’d do you good to get away.’
‘I’m all right, Mum, Dad, honest. This is a lovely offer, but I don’t think right now is a good time.’
Jacob knelt beside me, resting his hands on my knees and gazing up at me. ‘It’s the perfect time. Come on, we need a break.’
I considered it. I truly did, Beth. If we had a break together, perhaps your dad would forget all about Flo. But putting our marriage first was selfish when you needed us. I shook my head. ‘Jacob, I’m so close to finding out who did this. I can’t—’
He’d already erupted onto his feet. ‘This again! You see what I’m talking about?’
My parents nodded. I looked from one to the other of them. And realised. ‘This is something you’ve all cooked up together? To stop what I’m doing?’
‘We’re worried about you,’ Mum repeated.
‘And you’re drinking too much,’ Dad growled. ‘You smell like a brewery, lass. You’ll find no answers at the bottom of a glass.’
‘I’ve had one drink, Dad.’ No need to mention it was for breakfast.
‘It’s not only that,’ Mum jumped in, ‘though it is worrying. You’re getting yourself worked up about trying to figure out who did this, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am!’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But, well, the police are the experts, they’ll get to the bottom of this. If you start suspecting people you’ve known all your life, you’ll drive yourself mad.’
Jacob had been pacing during this exchange, but now he seemed to force himself to be still. He sank down at my feet again.
‘I know how horrifying it was when we thought the contents of that book were real. But, thank God, they’re not. Beth was just exploring her emotions by using her imagination. That’s all. James Harvey didn’t hurt her – he didn’t do anything to her.’
Absolute clarity radiated from his expression. He had no doubts. Maybe… maybe he was right.
‘He’s been completely exonerated, hasn’t he?’ I accepted quietly.
Jacob nodded, his eyes softening but never leaving mine. ‘If I thought he was guilty, and the police weren’t doing anything about it, I’d kill him.’
‘Would you?’ I whispered, stunned. But I knew he was simply using the expression everyone does; he didn’t actually mean the words. Although he might be moved to beat James Harvey up, on the spur of the moment, he would never go so far as to cause real hurt, let alone kill. He was too good a person.
‘But medics have proved Beth is still…’ Jacob floundered, not wanting to say the word virgin. ‘None of the dates add up, because there was never a chance for he and Beth to be together the way she describes. It’s just a fantasy.’
‘And he has a rock-solid al
ibi for the night Beth was hurt,’ reminded Mum.
I nodded slowly, their words hitting home at last. So why did I feel like the fog was descending on me, instead of lifting?
Why did my mother’s intuition scream that James was lying? What about Aleksy, who seemed to know more than he was letting on? What about Jill, and the lookout – was she smuggling drugs and you somehow found out? Why did the conversation with Alison feel like a jigsaw piece? And how much did Davy know? I need to talk to him again.
Am I losing my mind?
Seeing me appear to accept their words, everyone relaxed a little. The tension dissipated. I used my go-to excuse to leave the room to try to clear my head.
‘Cup of tea, anyone?’
As per usual, though, my plans were scuppered when Mum followed me into the kitchen.
‘Come here,’ she said, and went to hug me. I gently pushed her away. The hurt on her face at my rejection was writ large.
‘Mum…’ I knew there had to be a way of explaining this without hurting your Granny Heather, Beth, but I couldn’t think of it at that moment.
‘I wish you’d talk to me, Melanie. You used to tell me everything, but since Beth was hurt you’ve clammed up.’
‘Oh, Mum.’ I doubled over the counter, hands over my head. It was true. We’d always been best friends – like you and I.
‘Please, stop pushing me away, sweetheart.’ Her hand rubbed circles on my back, as if I were a child. Just as I used to do for you, Beth.
And that was the problem.
I wanted my mum. I wanted her to nurture me and take away the pain like she had when I was a child. I wanted to lie on the sofa and feel safe and have real, adult life suspended.
But I couldn’t be around my mum, because of my jealousy of her.
She had a daughter she could look after. I didn’t. So I avoided my mum, to avoid the pain of what I was missing. It felt better to sit alone, longing to be held, but not daring to accept it. How dare I be comforted, when my own child couldn’t be held properly in case we dislodged some vital wire? I couldn’t tell you that everything would be all right, because you couldn’t hear me.
I couldn’t fix you.
So I refused to be fixed too.
Trying to put that tangled ball of emotions into words was impossible, though; all I managed was a muffled cry.
Mum made soothing noises, but her hand rubbed my back faster, betraying how frantic she truly felt. She wanted to take my pain on, to spare me. But she couldn’t. Just like I couldn’t do that for you.
‘Oh, Mel. Oh, love. She’ll get better. She has to.’
‘She must have been so scared,’ I sobbed.
Did you look up at the full moon and think of me, Beth? Did you despair, or was there still hope in your heart that me and your dad would do our job to protect you?
There were so many questions, and I’d never find peace until I had answers. James Harvey may or may not be innocent, but someone put you in hospital, and I wouldn’t rest until I discovered who.
* * *
I finally stopped crying and managed to stand up straight after using half the kitchen roll to wipe my face and blow my nose. I felt better for giving in to my emotions for a while. The kettle had boiled and the water gone well and truly cold again in that time, so I really hoped Dad and Jacob hadn’t wanted their cuppas too badly. Finally I got myself together enough to make them.
Mum’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears as she watched me stirring the milk into their teas.
‘You’re sure you don’t want a holiday?’ she checked.
‘It’s lovely of you. But not right now. You’re right, though, I need to prioritise my family, not my DIY detective work.’
It was a blurring of the truth, though. Mum would take it to mean I was giving up my investigation. I had no intention of doing so.
She helped me carry the steaming mugs into the living room and we handed them out. Neither man mentioned the inordinate amount of time we had spent in the kitchen, or the fact that my face was red and puffy.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ I announced. ‘We should do something special for Beth. She always loves it when we have a girly pamper night – especially when you join in, Jacob.’
He smiled, eyes sad, at the reminder.
‘Did you take the whole afternoon off today?’
He nodded.
‘Well, we could get the stuff together now and go straight to the hospital.’
He seized the olive branch. Mum and Dad swiftly made their excuses and left their teas so that we could get ready.
‘I’m so glad you’re feeling better,’ Mum whispered in my ear as we hugged goodbye. ‘You know you can talk to me any time.’
My heart clenched. ‘I know.’
Dad enveloped me in a hug next.
‘You’ll crack my ribs,’ I laughed.
‘You stay strong, duck. Beth will get better soon.’
‘I know.’
‘And no more drinking.’
‘Okay, okay. Promise.’
Jacob and I stood on the step, waving them off. Wiggins had his nose pressed against my leg, trying to peer round it, as usual. You would have stood on the ground in front of us, my hands on your shoulders to peer over. That was the way we always stood when bidding farewell…
I tilted my head back and blinked rapidly to disperse the threatening tears.
‘You okay?’ checked Jacob.
‘Yeah, fine. Honestly.’
Maybe I would be. If I tried hard enough. So I rushed around, getting things together, then heard a car door slam shut outside. Peering out, I groaned.
‘Great. Flo’s here.’
Jacob rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t call her that. Her name’s Britney—’
‘I know! But Flo suits her more.’
‘Nicknames aren’t really appropriate. She’s only here to do her job.’
And steal my husband.
Still, I slapped a welcoming rictus on my face and went downstairs to greet her. I wasn’t going to give her another opportunity to try to steal my husband, so I’d play nicely for now, because if I kicked off then Jacob would think I was acting crazy again and going back on the peace we had just brokered.
‘Thought I’d pop in, see how you are,’ she said.
‘Oh, you know, all right…’ I trailed off, unsure of what else to say. I brandished the handful of hair accessories. ‘Going to have a pamper night with Beth.’
Flo made all the right polite noises about how lovely that would be. As she did, Jacob slipped from the room.
‘Melanie, I hope you don’t mind, but Jacob has mentioned that you’ve been struggling to deal with everything.’
I silently ‘thanked’ him for that, Beth, my blood pressure rising. ‘I’m fine.’ If I said it enough, it might come true.
‘Well, I wanted to assure you that the investigation is making progress, and there are several promising leads that are being followed up. Don’t give up hope.’
‘I won’t.’ It didn’t sound sincere.
‘It’s also come to our attention that you’re conducting some kind of investigation yourself.’
I froze.
‘I really would urge you to stop. Without realising it, you could jeopardise what we are doing. I know that’s the last thing you would want.’
Unbelievable. The police had done nothing to find your attacker, as far as I could see. The appeal had thrown up absolutely nothing. The only real lead, James Harvey, had come from me. But they expected me to step back so they could let your attacker get away? Not bloody likely!
But if I said all that, it would be obvious I was going to carry on my own investigation.
I stepped into Flo’s personal space. ‘It’s okay, I’ve stopped.’
Confusion flickered. ‘That’s good to hear. It’s for the best. We don’t want any crossed wires.’
What I wanted was to tell her to concentrate on arresting your attacker, Beth, and not to try counselling me and mine. I wanted to giv
e her a good slap and tell her to keep her freakishly small hands the hell off my husband. But I forced down the words and smiled politely.
‘Well, I must get on,’ I said. Then leaned back and yelled, ‘Jacob! Can you come and see Flo, I mean the FLO, out, please?’
Seconds later, he emerged, red-faced, from the kitchen, where he’d clearly been hiding.
Upstairs I watched them chat, her hat under her arm, her round face earnest. Finally she got into her car and drove away.
Five minutes later, Jacob and I grinned at each other sheepishly, then got on our way.
Sixty-Three
Flicking through your iPad, I found your music ‘favourites’ list and pressed play. The hospital room filled with the sounds of Stormzy, whoever he was. Your dad tried to do a robotic dance to it. I could just imagine you rolling your eyes at him and begging him to stop, before joining in yourself.
But you didn’t move.
I smeared a face mask on myself. Your dad gamely joined in and we giggled self-consciously at the sight.
Your turn. I smoothed the sweet-smelling pale pink cream over your face so carefully, terrified of knocking your breathing tube and nasogastric tube. Then popped cucumber slices on your eyes. Pulled them off again quickly. They had made me think of the large pennies Victorians used to place over the eyes of corpses.
The pamper nights we had shared over the years were filled with fun. We’d try to make each other laugh, to crack the face packs. Do silly dances, tickle each other, make funny noises. We’d giggle at how the dried mask made us look like old crones until we washed it off. There would be noise, chatter, singing. Me and your dad tried our very best to replicate it, but it was a hollow copy.
The Darkest Lies: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist Page 21
