Forgive Me

by Susan Lewis

  Andee could see that what Gould had told her on the phone was correct: both bedroom wings appeared unscathed and the tower too was standing tall, apart from the scorch marks marring the limestone facade like forked tongues flickering around it. All six of the arched windows had been lost, glass shattered, metal frames buckled and burnt, but the stonework around them, blackened as it was, seemed solid. She couldn’t see the back of the place from here, but she imagined—at least hoped—that the damage might be slightly less severe, given the fire had been started at the front.

  The important thing was that the house could be saved. There was no doubt in her mind about that. If the will was there, and it surely was—or would be once the initial horror had passed—she saw no reason it wouldn’t be possible to re-create what had been destroyed and turn it back into a beloved home again.

  Claudia would want to know that. Maybe not today, but at some point soon.

  Checking her mobile as it rang, she clicked on right away. “Hi, Dan, are you at the hospital?”

  “Yes. Henry and I have just spoken to Claudia, but I’m afraid it didn’t go well. She’s furious that we knew who she was and never told her.”

  With a sigh, Andee said, “I don’t suppose we can blame her for that, but she’s still in shock. We need to give her some time to understand that there was nothing malicious on our part in keeping it from her. What’s bothering me more, right now, is that I didn’t tell her about this Miles Montgomery character right away.”

  “You can’t go there,” Dan cautioned.

  “It’s hard not to.”

  “Then ask yourself what she’d have done if you had? She’d still have gone to the dress rehearsal, because no one could possibly have known that the danger was so imminent, or going to take the shape that it did.”

  Knowing that was true kind of helped, and she was glad he’d been the one to say it, but she knew that, like her, he was having a very bad time with his conscience. Whichever way they looked at it they’d let Claudia and Marcy down. And in doing so had played a part in bringing about these horrific consequences. If they could change things, of course they would, but it was too late for that. Too late for anything. All they could do now was try to be there for Claudia and her family in every possible way, if they’d allow it. And perhaps as they dealt with their guilt—their responsibility—they should take a long hard look at the way they took decisions on behalf of others.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Outside the house. I think the structure is sound, but obviously we’ll have to get an expert to check it out. I haven’t been inside yet.”

  “Do you know if they’re insured?”

  Waving to someone she recognized, she said, “I put Claudia in touch with the broker Graeme and I use, so I’m hoping the answer is yes. There’s a house-to-house going on up here at the moment. Apparently someone saw a youth running away from the scene.”

  “Yes, Gould told me. Do you know if anyone else has come forward to say they did too?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. I don’t suppose Claudia gave you an idea of who she thinks might have done it? I mean apart from her husband, who we know is in prison.”

  With a sigh, he said, “She was in no state of mind to tell me anything, but I’ve just spoken to Gould and apparently someone’s on their way over here to speak to her. Maybe she’ll be a bit more forthcoming with them than she was with me. She won’t be dealing with someone she thinks has deceived her.”

  Understanding how bad he was feeling about that, she said, “Being angry with us at the moment is probably easier than trying to handle everything else she’s going through. Now tell me, what news of Marcy?”

  “She’s stable, apparently, and one of the nurses told us that the skin grafts are likely to start in the next couple of days.”

  “I guess she’s still sedated?”

  “She is. Hang on, Leanne’s here. She wants to have a word.”

  A moment later Leanne was saying, “I’ve just been talking to Mum and when the time feels right we’re going to ask Claudia if she’d like to stay with us at Ash Morley until the coach house is up together again. They can have the stables now that it’s empty. It’ll be one less thing for her to have to worry about.”

  “That’s a wonderful offer,” Andee responded with feeling, for being in the safety of Ash Morley surrounded by friends was exactly what Claudia and Jasmine were going to need in the coming weeks and months. “I guess we’ve no idea yet how long Marcy is going to be where she is,” she said, “but the next time I speak to Claudia I’ll ask if she’d like us to start moving things over there. How’s Jasmine holding up?”

  “Pretty well, considering. She’s been calling people to let them know that she won’t be taking part in the concert and why. It seems to help her to talk about it, at least for the moment. She told me earlier that her special violin was in the house. Apparently her dad gave it to her not long before he died.”

  “Oh God,” Andee murmured, her heart contracting with pity, but as she turned to look at the house she experienced a beat of hope. “Tell her that if it was in her room there’s a good chance it’s OK. Or no, don’t say anything yet. There’s no point getting her hopes up until we know for certain. How much longer are you staying there?”

  “I’ve booked myself into the hotel tonight. So have Dan and Henry, but I’ll probably head back in the morning. Are you coming over again?”

  “I expect so. I’ll call Claudia first to make sure she wants me there. If she’s angry about us knowing who she really is she might want . . . Hang on, this is her trying to get through to me. Tell Dan I’ll call him back,” and switching lines, she said, “Hi, Claudia. How are you?”

  For a time there was only silence at the other end until Claudia finally said, “The fire wasn’t an accident. It was arson and my husband was behind it. If you know who I really am, then you’ll be aware of who he is.”

  “Yes,” Andee responded softly.

  “He’ll deny being involved, but if you can . . . The police should speak to his sister.”

  “I believe someone is already doing that.”

  “Good, but it won’t be easy to pin anything on her. They need to find the person who actually did it. He or she should be able to provide the link.”

  “Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

  “I can’t even tell you where to start. Do you know if my craft room is still intact?”

  “I’m outside now, and there’s a good chance it is.”

  “OK, there’s an attaché case in there, hidden inside a sewing machine box. It contains a lot of money and some papers that I think could incriminate Marcus’s cronies in the insider trading he was jailed for. If it’s possible, please get it to whoever is leading the investigation.”

  “I’ll go in as soon as I can and let you know what I find.”

  There was a moment’s silence that neither of them filled, until Andee finally said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I’d worked out who you really are.”

  “You didn’t tell me, but you told Dan.”

  “I know and I was wrong to do that. I’m sorry. But, Claudia, we’re on your side. Neither of us held back for any other reason than we wanted you to feel free to be whoever you want to be.”

  For a moment it seemed that Claudia was going to say more, but instead she ended the call.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I knew what was happening to you because it was on the news most days that first week. And the week after. Thanks to social media it seemed to go on forever. Not that I normally engaged with all that, but I did then—and you got a shedload of coverage on the local newspaper’s website as well. You made headlines nationally at first—“Sixty-Four-Year-Old Grandmother Victim of Arson Attack,” that sort of thing. The nation was outraged, but it didn’t seem to last. I reckon if it’d been your granddaughter who got hurt there would’ve been a lot more interest, but it’s like people don’t care so much about grannies
and over-sixties, do they? That’s what my ma said.

  Then it came out that your granddaughter’s violin had been lost in the blaze, one her dad had given her that was worth a good bit; she got plenty of coverage then. I saw her being interviewed on TV West and I thought to myself, must be nice to own something special like that, to have a dad who isn’t an a***hole who didn’t even hang around for the birth. A dad who’d think about what would make her happy when she got older and he was no longer around. I kind of get what she meant when she said she felt she’d lost the last part of him, and I forgot for a moment that it was because of me. Then I had this crazy idea about using some of the cash I’d made to try and get her a new one, but obviously I couldn’t do that, could I?

  My mum cried when she saw her on the news, then she flipped out the way she does sometimes, screaming and banging her head against the wall like she wants to bash her own brains in. I had to pin her down or she’d have managed it. I’ve always hated it when she goes off on one like that. I want to shout at her and shake her to make her stop, but I don’t. I just hold on until the worst is past. Then I give her some vodka or weed and try to settle her down.

  You won’t want to hear this, but apart from her hysterics everything else was sweet for me. As far as the bosses were concerned, I’d done good and they were happy to pay out. As usual it wasn’t as much as I was expecting, thanks to BJ and the cut he helped himself to. Anyway, it meant I could get my mum some new clothes for job interviews, like we’d planned, and a woman who lives in the next street—Julie—came in to do her hair. We bought a car, an old green Astra with a red driver’s door, and we were just about to get the kitchen window fixed when the s*** suddenly hit the fan.

  It turned out the cops had the briefcase I was meant to have removed from the house the nights I broke in. I still don’t know what was in it, but when BJ came to beat the s*** out of me (he tried, failed) I got that some of the PCs I’ve delivered to in the past were suffering a lot of grief because of it. Actually, without making the connection, I’d already heard about some of the arrests on the news, high-profile stuff if you’re into that sort of world—basically corruption on plenty of levels—so no wonder the PC at the top of my command chain wanted it back.

  I couldn’t feel sorry they’d been busted, who in their right mind gives a s*** about minted scumbags who’d pay to have you knifed in a dark alley if it was going to save their skin? But I’ll admit to the proper heebie-jeebies about what was going to happen to me for screwing up. None of the bosses had been pulled in yet. According to BJ they were just the slamsex suppliers, had nothing to do with the insider stuff, but only a tossbag like him would believe that crap.

  The only good part of it all was that I was totally under the radar. The cops weren’t going to connect me with the torching, because they had no reason to. The only ones who knew were my ma, BJ, and the bosses who obvs weren’t going to talk. Oh, and I guess Monty, the mate in prison who I’d consulted about how to pull it off, he must have had an inkling it might be me, given it happened on my manor. Also, I reckon Smithy, who I’d borrowed the van from might have wondered. If he did, or if Monty did, they never said, and I wasn’t worried, because those of us who grew up on the estate never snitch on each other. They didn’t even speak up when a couple of kids we knew were hauled in to line up for an ID parade. Whether these kids were actually under suspicion I’ve got no idea, I just know they were on the radar for previous lightings, or spots of urban renewal as they termed it. At the end of the beauty pageant they walked, so no one got locked up that day for something they didn’t do.

  I don’t suppose you’re much interested in any of this though, are you? While it was all going on you were still having surgeries until you were transferred to the local infirmary for ongoing treatment. Apparently this meant your condition was no longer critical, but you were still a long way from being able to go home.

  I knew most of this thanks to Richie something-or-other, who kept on posting stuff on the Gazette website. He just couldn’t let it go, giving everyone constant updates on how you were doing, making a regular celebrity of you, and don’t think I didn’t understand what he was up to. He’d got it into his head that the job had been carried out by someone local, and so he was having a go at citizens’ consciences, trying to make someone come forward with any information they might have about the scumbag (my word, not his) who’d done this to you. He kept on and on and I read it all, couldn’t seem to stay away from it. I got a bit of a shock one day when he reported that someone called Miles Montgomery had been asking around about your daughter, Claudia, just before the fire. Apparently the cops were keen to know if anyone had heard of this bloke, or had been approached by him. I didn’t have a clue who he was myself, but what it told me was that there was someone else who might know I’d been chosen for the deed, and that didn’t make me feel very good.

  Then I thought about it and decided that it wasn’t in anyone’s interest to feed me to the law; they wouldn’t want me shouting my mouth off about who and what I knew. But the possibility that a bunch of muscles was going to shadow my doorstep and pulverize me for having screwed up hadn’t gone away.

  It was a stressful time, but I guess nothing in comparison to what it must have been like for you. My old lady kept going on about you. She was as fixated on this Richie’s postings as she was on Jeremy Kyle or Love Island, apart from when she was off her face. Then she cried a lot and got so scared and loud about what someone might do to me that I’d end up having to gag her before someone heard.

  Then a new post from Richie of the Gazette came up one day, and looking back I guess that was when my time properly started to run out.

  Chapter Thirty

  The outpouring of support for Marcy on social media and in the local news had remained constant throughout the six weeks she was at the Morriston Hospital in Swansea, and Claudia and Jasmine had read or listened to it all. It was a comfort in its way, the hundreds of posts and heartfelt responses, and they continued during the time of her transfer to the burns ward of Kesterly Royal Infirmary. So many people wanted to welcome her home and assure her that the whole town was wishing her well. It touched Claudia deeply that people who’d never heard of them before seemed to care so much and were calling them by their first names, even stopping her in the street to let her know how appalled they were by what had happened. Many even offered to help rebuild the coach house.

  “My husband’s a plumber, call anytime.”

  “I’ve got a flooring company, happy to sort you out for cost.”

  “If you ever need to chat, our Bible group meets every Wednesday.”

  “Have you heard about our burns charity? We help with rehabilitation. Please get in touch when your mother’s up to it.”

  Marcy wasn’t going to be up to it anytime soon, Claudia was aware of that, and right now she wasn’t sure she’d want to take part anyway. She wasn’t the person she’d been before the fire. Everything about her had changed: her appearance, of course, drastically, but her sense of caring about her life, her family, her recovery seemed to have gone too, as had her upbeat morale and the musical timbre of her voice. Most of the time she preferred not to talk. She simply listened as others spoke to her, rarely looking at them or even showing that she’d heard, although Claudia knew that she had. Damaged though her left ear was, it was still functioning as well as the right one.

  Coping with the devastation of her mother’s spirit was almost as hard as trying to help her deal with the pain. It was so bad at times that Marcy screamed and writhed as she fought the urge to rip and tear at the fiercely prickling skin. She was on strong medication—in the early weeks she’d been on morphine—but recently the care team had moved her onto still powerful but slightly milder analgesics. The sepsis she’d suffered while still at the Morriston had, mercifully, not so far recurred. Those had been terrifyingly dark days for Claudia, when she’d felt convinced they were going to lose her. However, she’d managed to pull through, and n
ow Rohan Laghari, the lead consultant at Kesterly, was optimistic that the powerful cocktail of antibiotics she was still being fed intravenously would continue to prevent it happening again.

  Sepsis was one of the biggest killers of burns patients, Claudia had learned, so she understood how fortunate they were that her mother had survived it.

  Today another crucial stage in recovery was due to take place, and Claudia’s heart turned over with dread and anxiety simply to think of it. Putting all the surgeries and pain aside, she suspected this was going to be one of the most difficult tests for her mother so far, although Marcy hadn’t said as much, but then she said so little. For the past couple of weeks the medical team had been preparing her for mirror work, which spoke for itself, and it seemed everyone had a role to play, nurses, a clinical psychologist, a psychotherapist, and also the surgeons. With so many being involved, neither Claudia, her mother, nor Jasmine could be in any doubt of how seriously this vital next step was.

  Claudia knew, because she’d asked, that every patient dealt with it in their own way. For some the disfigurement wasn’t as bad as they’d imagined, while for others it was so much worse that they ended up on suicide watch. This was why the psychologist had spent so much time with Marcy lately, to help avoid post-traumatic symptoms developing into full-scale PTSD, but it was hard to tell how much Marcy had taken in given her reluctance to speak, or even to show any emotion.

  Now, as Claudia got ready to leave the stables at Ash Morley, which had been her and Jasmine’s home since the fire, her mind was filled with the shock she’d experienced the first time her mother’s dressings had been removed in front of her. The scars had been so visibly inflamed, like a live disease ravaging one side of her lovely face, that she could only feel thankful that Marcy’s eyes had been closed. She wouldn’t have seen the horror that whitened Claudia’s cheeks, but she must have heard Jasmine’s gasp and strangled cry as she’d tried to stifle the shock. Marcy had never mentioned it, probably because she wouldn’t have wanted to make Jasmine feel bad, but that terrible moment must have fueled her own dread as cruelly as it had her imagination.