by Liz Lawler
She squealed out in terror at the touch on her shoulder and any remaining strength in her legs failed her. Strong arms enfolded her, a hand stroking over her head. She blocked out the voice calling to her, until she heard another voice she was more used to hearing in the dark, when in private to confess her sins. Martha opened her eyes and saw the tall figure of her parish priest. Father John, looking like Count Dracula in his dark overcoat.
‘Is she all right, Jim?’ he asked. ‘The police have called an ambulance.’
Martha stared at the man holding her and saw Jim’s face stark with worry.
‘Did I miss my fish and chips?’ she asked.
Jim’s response was to give her too tight a hug. But she didn’t mind. It was Jim and not that demon man.
‘Did the police come to the house?’ she asked.
He nodded, hard. ‘They’re here, parked outside the gates.’
‘Well, it was good of them to wait. I lost track of time. I lost the jam jar too. Jim, is my bag here?’
He nodded. ‘It’s right beside you, Martha.’
‘Good. I have a dead plant in it.’
‘How are your legs, Martha? Do you think you’d be able to stand up?’
‘In a moment, I will. I want to ask first, did you see him?’
Jim shook his head, causing Martha to sigh with disappointment. ‘No matter,’ she said. ‘When I’ve told the police all of it, they’ll go see him.’
‘Come on, let’s get you up. There’s an ambulance on its way, and unless you want to spend a night in A & E you’ll have to show them you’re fighting fit.’
He helped Martha up off the ground and dusted her down, reminding her of her own earlier actions. She felt the top of her head. Her scarf was gone. Hopefully it was in her bag along with the jam jar. She hoped she hadn’t lost it. It wasn’t a scratchy nylon thing like some of her others. She saw Father John standing on the path; she had forgotten the man was there.
‘What are you doing here in the cemetery, Father John?’
‘Helping Jim look for you, Martha. You gave us all a bit of a scare. Did you get locked in when the gates shut?’
Her eyes showed her surprise. ‘I didn’t know they were. What time is it?’
‘It’s after nine o’clock.’
Martha grabbed hold of Jim’s arm, mortified. ‘Jim, I’m so, so sorry. And after promising you I’ll behave. I’ll understand, Jim, if you start looking for new quarters. I won’t hold it against you. You’ve been more than good enough to me.’
Jim tucked his arm beneath hers, to lend her some support, as they walked along the path in the near dark.
‘And then who would I have to give me all this trouble? You’re all right, Martha. I’ll not be leaving. At least not until we’ve warmed up the cold fish and chips.’
Martha’s laughter carried across the cemetery, reaching to the ears of the police, and to the paramedic just getting to the gate. It was a good strong sounding laugh. Reassuring them that someone this old who’d been lost all day – causing mounting worry after a shopkeeper reported his concern at seeing an old lady carrying a jam jar of pennies and wearing her slippers – was found safe and able to make this robust sound. It would have been awful if they’d found her in there dead among the dead.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tess ventured out of the bedroom when she heard the front door close. She was desperate for the loo. Treading down the creaky stairs from the top floor she stood still as she reached the landing to listen for any sounds coming from the ground floor. Reassured to hear only the ticking of the clock she hurried to the bathroom, passing their open bedroom door. He’d slept alone in the freshly made bed while she stayed in a single bed in the room above – anxiously, in case he came up to find her.
She winced at the slight sting as she started to pee, she’d held her bladder too long and hadn’t drunk enough. In bare feet and wearing only pants and a T-shirt she made her way downstairs, her need for some tea more important than her state of dress.
In the kitchen, evidence of his cooking from last night was left out on the worktops, the remnants of food dried in pans and on plates and vegetable peelings curling on the draining board. He hadn’t cared enough to clean up, not even to scrape the food from his plate. He’d left it for her to do.
She drank a full glass of water before switching the kettle on, and started to clear his mess. Working quickly and making a clattering noise in her haste to get done, she scraped dishes and banged pans and then punished them with a scouring pad under a constant flow of water. The room fell silent as she loaded a final pan. She breathed out noisily as she closed the dishwasher door, and then almost jumped out of her skin.
She’d heard sounds coming from the study. He was not at work. But she had heard him go out, heard the front door close. She left the dishcloth in her hand on the worktop and with insides quivering made her way to the study. The door was ajar. He was wearing one of his best suits, a charcoal grey, and was standing looking at the bookcase. She saw his fingers run across manila folders, his hand momentarily resting on an old pale one before he picked up a newer-looking one next to it.
He turned and saw her.
‘Did you want something?’ he asked bluntly.
She shook her head and moved closer into the room. ‘I thought you were at work. I thought I heard the front door close earlier.’
‘You did, it closed behind me when I went out to fetch the post.’
‘Is there any mail for me?’
‘No.’
She fidgeted as she stood there, conscious of what she was wearing, wishing she’d put on more clothes.
‘In that case could I have my phone back so I can check to see if Stella has emailed me? The hospital might get in touch with me that way. I’d also like to see if Sara has been in touch.’
‘She hasn’t,’ he replied. ‘And nor has Stella. I’ve been checking for you.’
Her eyes got big. ‘How?’
His expression said she should know how. ‘Your password was too easy to work out. Using your date of birth is not a sensible thing to do.’
She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to see how this invasion of her privacy affected her.
‘Yes, that was rather foolish. It was silly of me to do that.’
He took a step closer at the quiet tone of her voice and studied her.
‘You look pale. Are you feeling unwell? You don’t look like you have a fever.’
‘It’s nothing. I might have a water infection. My urine stings a little.’
He looked at her critically. ‘Give me a sample and I’ll get it tested. I’ll bring you home an antibiotic.’
‘Don’t you think it would be best if I go to my GP?’ she suggested, wishing instantly she hadn’t been so outspoken or phrased it that way.
He placed the red folder in his open briefcase then locked it shut. He tapped three of his fingers in a slow drum roll on the closed lid.
‘No need to do that,’ he softly said.
She didn’t answer. He stepped around the side of his desk to stand right in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.
‘You have me to administer to your needs. If you think you need examining, I’ll do it.’
She shuddered at the thought and he put a hand to her forehead. ‘Maybe you do have a fever. Stay in bed and rest. There’s no need for you to prepare supper tonight. I want you well because we’re dining at one of my colleague’s homes. The Porters.’
He saw her alarm. ‘You’ll like them, they’re nice. Perhaps you can pop out and get his wife some flowers. She’s called Vivien.’
‘I don’t have any money.’
His eyes settled on her face, as if considering something. He sat on the edge of his desk, letting her wait for his response.
‘Shall I not get them?’ she asked.
He folded his arms, his manner relaxed. ‘You’ve made things very difficult for us, Tess, and I really hope we can get past it. I’ve been giving some thou
ght to a few things. One is whether to let you go to London to sort out the flat. The other being, can I trust you?’
Tess held her breath in the hope of a chance to have some freedom. ‘You can trust me. I promise.’
A moment later he stood up. ‘You don’t get back your card or your phone and I’ll get your train tickets. I suspect you’ll have to make more than one journey.’ He pulled his wallet out of his jacket and handed her forty pounds. ‘In the meantime, get Vivian some flowers.’
He left ten minutes later, staying long enough for her to pass a urine sample. He told her to be ready by seven when he’d be home to fetch her, and to wear something nice as the Porters were having special guests. He clearly thought it important to attend. She could hear it in his voice.
At the kitchen table she sat down, feeling a little giddy. Her nerves fired with possibilities. She was going to be allowed to go back to his flat in London. Maybe more than once. With a little bit of freedom she would have time to find out the truth about his past. She needed to contain her excitement else he might sense it and change his mind, like the man in that book who saw through the writer. She’d hidden the book somewhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t chance finding it – under the mattress of the bed she had slept in last night. When she’d had some tea and was dressed she’d go and read more of it. She was on two missions now: uncover the mystery of this woman and uncover the mystery of her husband too.
There were two small bedrooms on the top floor of the house but no toilet or washroom facilities. On the first floor there were two bathrooms and five large bedrooms with a further bathroom on the ground floor. Tess had thought the arrangement of rooms could be made better use of and more suitable to a large family. She had imagined some conversions taking place in the future, like having a shower room put in on the top floor, and perhaps an en suite to the master bedroom. That was when she’d been eager to change things and had seen a wonderful future there.
The small bedroom she entered was only small compared to the other bedrooms, as it was larger than the one Tess had at her flat in London. It was not a homely room – it had just a bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. A thin vase of faded fake flowers on the windowsill put her in mind of an old people’s home, the pink eiderdown found in the wardrobe and put on the bed making it more so. It would be a good-sized house to turn into one, though she couldn’t imagine her husband ever wanting that. He wanted it filled with his children.
She slipped her hand under the mattress and took out the book and then sat sideways on the bed with her back against the wall to carry on reading:
Has he got Mrs Bowden spying on me? She is always kind to me so it is hard to consider that she might do this. Or perhaps Robert has told him, because when I took the car out on Wednesday and put it back exactly as I found it, Robert was in the garden pushing that very heavy grass roller I keep telling him not to, and looking anxious when I returned. He is only a young lad and needs the few pounds he is paid, but if my husband has coerced him into doing this with the threat of him losing his job, I cannot say that I can blame him. I can only blame the person who made him do it.
He knew I took the car that day. Perhaps he is monitoring the mileage. I cannot stay here much longer, but where else will I go where he will not find me? Today I showed my doctor the swelling in my breast, and he avoided looking at me when he gave me some ointment. Nor has he asked me how I came by the bruises which I find rather sad in this day and age. This is not the first time he has seen me with them, and I have to ask myself if this is an old-boy network thing where one professional protects another one’s reputation? I think it is. My husband is a very charismatic man, even up close you cannot tell what goes on behind his green eyes.
Tess sat up with a jolt. Then she scanned through all the pages looking for a name, expecting to see Daniel written somewhere on a page. After coming up blank, she put the book down and cupped her hands over her mouth and nose to breathe into them. This story could be about him. This could be her husband in this book. It sounded very much like this woman’s husband was a doctor too.
This book might belong to his first wife. She breathed in and out, anxiously. She had to find out about her husband’s past. She needed to see his parents. Ask them outright if their son had been married before. She needed to figure out the truth about Daniel, if she had any hopes of clearing her name. People might be less inclined to believe his lies if she uncovered a secret wife. And if it was true it would mean Daniel already knew this house. He had lived here before. He was nearly forty years old. Where was he before St Mary’s, two years ago? It may account for why he’d not shown her around this city or suggested they explore. He may already know it.
She needed to find this old lady now and when she did she was definitely going to invite her in. She’d ply her with tea, then ask her exactly what she knew about Daniel.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He handed her a box of Trimethoprim and told her to take the tablets for the next three days. She was peeing more but with ease now. He didn’t say if he’d found anything in her urine sample and she didn’t ask. She swallowed the first white tablet in front of him and then followed him out to the waiting taxi. She held the bunch of mixed flowers in her hand and he glanced at them briefly.
‘Not much for forty pounds, is it?’
‘I should have gone to a different shop,’ she replied. ‘Not the one on the corner.’ She thought it looked a lot of flowers for twenty pounds. The money she’d not spent had been added to her meagre savings.
‘I should have got her better ones,’ she said.
‘Annoying cow probably won’t even notice them.’
She looked at him in surprise and saw him grin.
‘Dreadful woman doesn’t shut up. How Mark puts up with her I don’t know.’
‘Thank you for reminding me of his name. I would have forgotten to ask.’
In the back of the taxi he felt for her hand and gently pressed it. ‘He wasn’t as lucky as me, finding someone like you.’
Her insides were doing somersaults. He was behaving like everything was normal between them. He leaned over and gently kissed her on the mouth. ‘You do me proud looking like you do. I shall be the envy of every man tonight. I wish we were going somewhere else for dinner. Just the two of us.’
She swallowed hard and tried to relax as he clasped her hand as if they were a normal couple out on a date.
The Porters’ home was set on the outskirts of the city, a stone-built house that was once part of a farm, probably at one time the farmer’s home. The sky wasn’t properly dark yet but full of orange-and-dark-blue clouds over black hilly countryside. It was peaceful, Tess decided, rural, with little traffic to be heard. She could imagine being out here in the winter dressed in wellies and a fisherman-style jumper.
Their hostess was wearing a pink summer cocktail dress, strapless and figure-hugging. Her skin was tanned, probably naturally. Her husband Mark was shorter and rounder than his tall slim wife and more casually dressed in an open-collar pale blue check shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. In a flurry of kissing and handshakes and the pointing out of where the loo was they were brought into a home that had been stripped of its original character. The décor was ultra-modern. Chrome spotlights embedded in a smooth white ceiling – where once would have been exposed beams – shone down on large white floor tiles. A deep-red patterned rug made a walkway between two black leather sofas stacked with stark white feathery cushions. A small glass table bookended each sofa. On two of them were matching red lamps.
Champagne flutes were placed in their hands and the flowers and wine they brought were whisked away.
They were taken into a large conservatory set out as a dining room, and introductions were made to the other couple standing there. Tess smiled and shook hands with the small slim woman as Daniel greeted the man as Professor Ferris. The man waived his title with a warm smile. ‘Please, call me Ed. And this is my wife, Anne.’
Tess sus
pected Ed was the ‘someone special’ her husband wanted to meet and wondered if he was a doctor in the same field of medicine. They seemed a nice couple, trim and fit-looking, in their early fifties or perhaps older, and more casually dressed than their hostess. Tess felt her choice to wear the simple short-sleeved navy dress again with its Peter Pan collar was suitable after all, having felt underdressed just a moment ago when seeing what their hostess was wearing. She tuned out momentarily as Daniel spoke to Ed and Mark spoke to Anne and was surprised when she felt a kiss on her cheek.
‘Thank you, Tess. They’re lovely,’ Vivien enthused, holding the vase of flowers aloft. ‘She’s absolutely adorable, Daniel,’ she called to him. ‘You’re a very lucky man indeed.’
Daniel acknowledged this with a smile, while Tess blushed and wondered how well he knew these people. Vivien certainly felt comfortable with him.
‘And you look very handsome tonight, Mr Myers,’ she added.
‘You’re looking pretty adorable yourself tonight, Vivien,’ he responded.
Vivien laughed. ‘Well, one has to make an effort at our age. Can’t let it all go to rack and ruin. Though I see you haven’t since I last saw you. You’ve returned to Bath looking even more dashing.’
Tess stood there stunned, but must have hid it well because no one was looking at her oddly. This new city wasn’t new to her husband, only to her. She had suspected as much, but now had it confirmed. She felt her eyes prick at the deceit of it all, feeling disconnected to reality. She felt a swirl of anger in her stomach. For a second she imagined taking the vase from Vivien’s hand and smashing it over his head. He was the liar. Not her.
She forced herself to smile. Breathe, and let it go. She had to protect her brain, deal it one shock at a time, nice and slowly. Let it process without a rush.
