by Lisa Hall
‘Is that …?’ I lean forward, my fingers catching the flimsy fabric and pulling it towards me. ‘This is my underwear. The underwear I was wearing at the party. I couldn’t find it the next morning …’ My cheeks burn with shame, and I can’t meet Liz’s eyes.
‘I thought so,’ she says quietly, reaching out to lay a hand on mine. ‘I found a jacket in the pool house – a man’s jacket. Lord only knows what people were doing in the pool house, I mean, it was freezing outside that night.’
‘Yes,’ I say,‘but what …?’
She cuts me off. ‘I found the jacket, thrown behind one of the chairs – it must have slipped off the back of it. I checked the pockets, thinking there might be something in there that might tell me who it belonged to, but … well, there wasn’t anything. Only these.’
‘Only these,’ I say absently, rubbing the fabric distractedly between my fingers. Somewhere, in the back of my mind I feel them being yanked down, the elastic digging in to my thighs before fingers tear it away, digging into my flesh, making me wince in pain. Wanting to kick, lash out, but my legs refusing to co-operate. ‘Excuse me,’ I manage to mutter, before shoving my chair back and running for the downstairs bathroom where I throw up the tea, and the few bites of toast I managed to choke down earlier. Finally, my stomach empty, I splash cold water on my face and rinse my mouth out before returning to where Liz waits in the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry, I just …’ I breathe hard, the sight of the wispy, black knickers on the table making my belly clench in protest again.
‘It’s OK, I’m sorry for upsetting you, I just thought that maybe you’d want to know that I found them.’ Liz’s eyes fill with tears and I can almost forgive her for not fully believing me in the first place. ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you when we talked before, about the night of the party.’
‘What do you mean?’ I pull my hand back, flicking right back to feeling angry with her again.
‘I know I told you who was at the party, Katie, Aaron and everyone, but the truth is … I have no idea who was there.’
‘How can you have no idea who was at the party?’ I feel my brows knit together in confusion, unable to understand where she’s going with this. ‘It was your bloody party!’
‘I know who I invited, but I have no idea who actually came.’ Liz averts her gaze, and her shoulders slump as she battles with what she says next, the words seeming to stick in her throat. ‘I’m an alcoholic, Rachel. By the time you arrived at the party I was already well on my way to being drunk – I’d been drinking since about two o’clock that afternoon. Neil had to put me under a cold shower about an hour before our guests arrived, to make sure that I was at least sober enough to welcome everybody.’
Jesus. This is one revelation that seems to have passed the West Marsham rumour mill by. Liz has somehow managed to keep this well-hidden – I wouldn’t ever have known, not on the surface, but now she has told me some things do come together to make sense a little. The way, when Josh was small, she would ask me sometimes to collect him from school, even though she didn’t work, and I’d drop him off only to see her car on the drive. The faint, spicy aroma that seems to follow Liz around – a smell that now I think about it, reminds me of the Bloody Marys Gareth and I had for breakfast one Sunday morning on a romantic weekend away to Edinburgh.
‘So, what are you saying?’ I ask, my fingers tapping anxiously on the table top. ‘That when you told me people were there, they might not have been?’ My stomach does a slow flip as I try and process what she’s telling me. I snatch my fingers away from the table as they drum harder and tuck them into my lap.
‘I’m saying that … I didn’t give the list of party attendees to the police – Neil did it. When you came over and I told you who I saw there, I was just reeling off whoever’s name I could remember seeing on the list. I barely remember a thing about that night, Rachel.’
‘So … you don’t remember seeing anyone – even me?’
Liz shakes her head, a tear plopping on to her blouse and adding to the beige stains left by the spilt tea. I try to feel some sympathy for her, but I’m empty.
‘And so … you said you saw Aaron there, when really you don’t remember seeing him at all?’
‘I don’t remember seeing anyone. Neil is the one who said he saw these people; Neil is the one who gave the list to the police. Neil is the one you should speak to.’
I nod vaguely, my mind already racing. Does this mean Aaron was telling the police the truth – he really wasn’t at the party? Was he being deliberately vague with me, just to taunt me and upset me?
‘Thank you,’ I say, nodding towards the fabric still left lying on the table. I don’t know what else I can say; my thoughts are crashing and tumbling over each other in my mind. ‘For bringing these over. And for being so honest. If you don’t mind, I think I need to be on my own for a bit – get my head round things.’
‘Of course.’ Liz jumps to her feet – now she’s done what she came here to do, she can’t get away fast enough, it seems. ‘Rachel, you won’t say anything to anyone else, will you? About what I told you? I am getting help now, it’s just … I don’t want Josh to know.’
I think she’s mildly deluded if she thinks that Josh doesn’t know already, he’s Robbie’s age after all, but I just nod and promise to keep it to myself. Once Liz has left and I have the house to myself again I begin to think things over. I don’t feel as though I am any closer to getting to the bottom of it all, and Liz’s visit has muddied the waters somewhat. I did think, when I heard that Aaron had attended the party that he could be the one responsible – he hassled me for months before, after all – and I honestly believed that he lied to the police about not being at the party, but now I know that Liz didn’t actually see him there, I’m not so sure. I only have Neil’s word for it that Aaron was at the party at all.
Previously, it never even crossed my mind that Neil would have had anything to do with this – good old, dependable Neil, always there when you need a recommendation for a handyman or financial advice – but now a seed of doubt has been planted. Would he lie about Aaron being there? Or did he just not remember things correctly? I’m not even sure that he and Liz know Aaron that well – Liz couldn’t even remember his name when I asked her about the party originally – so why would Aaron be invited? Has Neil added his name to the list, knowing that I had problems with Aaron before Christmas?
Then there’s Jason – another name that never occurred to me, not until Ted said he saw him at the party. Now, I find out that he’s left Newcastle after being accused of a similar offence, not that that necessarily means anything, but it’s something else for me to think about.
And then, of course, there’s Ted. Ted, who said he’d call the police about seeing Jason, but didn’t – why not?
A thumping starts up in my temples and I lay my head flat down on the cool oak of the kitchen table. I don’t know what to think any more. Black dances at the corner of my vision and I sit up, pulling the underwear towards me, letting the flimsy fabric run through my fingers. Something catches my eye, and I stop, the hair prickling on the back of my neck. With clammy fingers, I lay the fabric out flat, so I can see clearly. There is a tiny stain, on the front panel, on the outside. Small, silvery and hopefully full of DNA. Raking my hands through my hair, I grab the phone and punch in the number I know by heart. It rings, and when the voicemail cuts in I hang up abruptly, not leaving a message. I forgot I’m not speaking to Amy, forgot that she can’t be trusted, and my instinct was to call her straight away. My eyes flick to the kitchen clock, checking the time, and then I dial Gareth’s number.
‘Hello?’
‘Gareth, it’s me. Can you talk?’
‘If you’re quick, I’m about to go into a meeting,’ his voice softens for a moment,‘is everything OK, Rach?’
‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be quick,’ I say, racing to get the words out before he has to go. ‘Liz came over. She found my underwear, the stuff I was wea
ring the night of the party. Someone left a jacket in the pool house and they were in the pocket. Gareth, there’s a stain on it … you know what that means?’
‘Shit. Listen, Rach, don’t do anything stupid.’ The line muffles for a moment as though he’s put his hand over the mouthpiece, and I hear him call out to someone.
‘Gareth, are you even listening?’ My voice is shrill, and I fight back the urge to scream at him, demand his full attention.
‘What? Yes, I’m listening, I’m just saying don’t do anything rash, OK? I thought we agreed … Maybe just call …’ The line breaks up, crackling and stuttering filling my ears.
‘What? I can’t hear you …’ The line goes dead in my hand and I hang up. I don’t need Gareth to approve what I’m doing. Dialling, I wait, my pulse sounding in my ears until I hear just the voice I need to.
‘Hi, Carrie? It’s Rachel Walker. You know you said if I brought you something solid, you might be able to do more, get the case moving again? I have something for you.’
18
NOVEMBER – SIX WEEKS BEFORE THE PARTY
‘I’ll be back in a little while.’ I stand in the doorway to Gareth’s office, the door ajar for once. He looks up for one moment, his eyes flicking over me but seemingly not taking anything in. He makes no comment about the fact that I am in my running clothes, no mention of the rain that pelts at the windows, and the fact that it’s eight o’clock on a wet Tuesday evening in November, the darkness outside thick and velvety.
‘OK.’ With no interest in where I might be going he nods briefly, before he turns back to the papers in front of him, the screen of his laptop casting a white glow across his face. Bare branches from the tree outside whip at the window, and another gust of rain hits the glass. I wait a moment, just to see if he tells me to stay home, tells me that it’s too cold and wet, that I shouldn’t go running in the dark, it’s too dangerous for a woman on her own. If he tells me not to go, I’ll stay home. If he tells me he doesn’t want me out there on my own, I’ll stop everything with Ted, and I’ll stay home like a good wife. But he says nothing, just reaches for the whisky glass next to the monitor, his other hand shoved roughly into his hair as his eyes run over the computer screen. Silently, I turn away, clicking the door closed behind me.
Twenty minutes later, I stand outside Ted’s front door; the wind and rain driving towards me, pricking my skin like a thousand tiny needles and soaking through my clothes. My running fleece moulds to the shape of my body and my leggings stick to my calves, a thin stream of rain running down into my trainers. I shiver, rubbing my icy hands together, and wait for Ted to come to the door and let me in.
‘Rach? Get inside, you’ll freeze out there,’ Ted glances over my shoulder to make sure we are unobserved before he ushers me indoors. The warmth of the central heating hits me as I step in, and I sigh with relief. ‘When I said come over if you can, I thought you would drive over. Look at you, you’re soaked. You shouldn’t be out there, not in the dark, on your own.’ Oh, Ted.
‘It’s OK – I made it here in one piece, it wasn’t as bad as this out there when I set off. I thought if Gareth thought I was going for a run he wouldn’t ask any questions.’ Which, of course, he didn’t. I don’t tell Ted that if Gareth had asked me to stay home I would have done. Instead, I slide my wet trainers off, tucking them under the radiator in the hallway with the vague hope that they’ll dry off a bit before it’s time for me to leave, and let Ted lead me gently upstairs. He grabs a towel from the en suite, a huge, grey fluffy thing, and starts to towel dry my hair. Closing my eyes, I let myself drift for a moment, enjoying the feel of his hands in my hair, the lemony scent of his aftershave, and trying not to think of Gareth, at home, not the slightest bit concerned about me. Then, he’s sliding my damp top over my head, a hand reaches round to unclip my bra, and I forget about Gareth, I forget how miserable I feel. I forget everything.
After, I hide under the sheets, pulling them up to my chin and feeling oddly self-conscious. Ted is downstairs making tea, and he’s even draped my damp running clothes over the heated towel rail in the en suite so I don’t have to put wet clothes back on. Guilt bubbles up, before crashing over me in a huge tidal wave, making me feel sick deep in the pit of my stomach, any feelings of pleasure already washed away by the self-loathing I feel now. I don’t want tea. I don’t want to lie here under Ted’s sheets, with the smell of Angela’s fabric softener still on them. I don’t want to be here, in the bedroom that Ted used to share with Angela, her clothes still hanging in the wardrobe, the faint scent of her perfume still in the air as though ingrained into the furniture. Ted actually offered me something to wear, but the thought of wearing Angela’s clothes, whilst carrying on an affair with her soon-to-be ex-husband, made me feel even cheaper than I did before. Ted doesn’t seem to have made any effort to erase Angela from his life, even though she is the one who ran off and left him. The book she was reading before she hared off to start a new life with the yoga guy lies face down on the bedside table, the spine cracked, several of the page corners folded down to save her place as she read. I twist it round to see what book it is. I Am Pilgrim. I didn’t have Angela down as a thriller reader – I thought she would be more of a Danielle Steel fan. Ted enters the bedroom, a cup of tea in each hand, kicking the door closed behind him.
‘Sorry,’ he smiles, holding a cup out to me, ‘it’s not very romantic, is it? I did think about opening a bottle of wine, but I didn’t quite know how you would explain away the smell of alcohol to Gareth.’
‘Oh, I doubt he would even notice,’ I say lightly, and make up my mind to open a bottle as soon as I get home. A silence stretches out between us, and for the first time I feel a little awkward. Maybe it’s because this is the first time we’ve been together in Ted’s house, instead of some cheap hotel outside of town. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve realized that having an affair with Ted isn’t doing anything to fix my relationship with Gareth. All I know is that I shouldn’t be here.
‘Listen, Ted,’ I say, thinking it’s now or never, that familiar feeling of regret hovering over me. Perhaps it’s time to tell Ted that we should think about stopping this thing, whatever it is between us.
‘Rach, before you say anything, I just want you to know that …’ Ted breaks off, linking his fingers through mine. ‘I really enjoy spending time with you, you know. I know whatever we’re doing here isn’t ideal, but I’m in a better place, when I’m with you.’
‘Ted, I …’
‘I know things are hard for you at home, and I hope that when you’re with me, it makes things a bit easier for you. I’ve found it hard adjusting to life without Angela, but being with you makes me feel less …’ His fingers trace a pattern over the skin on my wrist, and I shiver despite myself.
‘Less?’ It’s hard to form a coherent thought when he’s making my nerve endings sing under my skin.
‘Less of a failure. I just let her go after all, didn’t I?’ His mouth twists up in a sad attempt at a smile, but I can see the hurt in his eyes.
‘I thought you and Angela breaking up was more of a … mutual decision? I know she left to be with Devon, but I always thought you thought being apart was the right thing?’
‘I did. I do. We weren’t right together; things between us had gone stale a long time before Angela ever met Devon. I don’t blame her for leaving. But maybe I wouldn’t have let her go so easily, maybe I would have fought a bit harder for Angela to stay if I hadn’t met you.’
‘God, Ted, you’ve known me for years. You can’t say I had anything to do with it.’ I give a tiny laugh, but it sounds hollow to my ears. The intensity of his voice unnerves me a little. I thought we both knew that this was just a bit of … something to make the days feel not so drab, not so long. Ted can’t change the rules now.
‘Well, you made things easier, let’s just say that.’ The thump of the front door slamming closed makes both of us jump, and I spill tea in the bed, my heart racing.
‘Fuck, Ted
!’ I hiss. ‘There’s someone here!’ Footsteps sound on the staircase and I look to Ted in panic. ‘My phone is down there … and my trainers are in the hallway!’ I feel sick at the thought of being caught, now, just when I’ve more or less made a decision to stop seeing Ted. He is already out of the bed, wrapping the huge, grey towel around his middle, and striding towards the door.
‘Dad?’ Sean’s voice calls up the stairs and I close my eyes, feeling as though I might faint.
‘Coming!’ Ted opens the door a fraction and slips out into the hallway. I dive into the en suite, and start to pull on my still damp clothes, shivering slightly as the cold fabric meets my skin, and tying my hair back into a ponytail. Heart thumping, I crouch with my ear pressed to the bathroom door, trying to make out their conversation.
‘Sean! What are you doing home so early?’ Tone it down, Ted, you sound like you’ve been up to something you shouldn’t. I would laugh, if I wasn’t so terrified.
‘Football was cancelled. The weather is too crappy, so they called it off. Are you OK?’ I imagine Sean on the landing, frowning at Ted wrapped in a towel this early in the evening.
‘Yeah, ’course. Just got a bit of a migraine coming, I think. I’m going to jump in the shower and get to bed early. Are you on your own?’
‘Yeah, Robbie went straight home.’ Leaning my forehead against the cool grain of the door, I close my eyes in relief. I just need to get out of here without Sean seeing me and I’ll be home and dry. I hear the two of them chat briefly again, and then jump as the bathroom door handle rattles under my hand.
‘Rach?’Ted hisses, and I step back to let him in.
‘Jesus, Ted, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Did he say anything?’ I catch sight of myself in the mirror, cheeks pale with an odd ghostly glow from the weird trendy bathroom light Ted has installed. I let out a long shaky breath that I wasn’t aware I was holding.
