by Mark Edwards
Jessica was amazed Will had noticed. ‘Oh, Caspar got hold of him and made him all mucky. He’s in the wash.’
In fact, the giraffe and the other eyeless toys were still in the cupboard where she’d stashed them, and she mentally added ‘Order replacements’ to her To-Do List, though it was hardly high-priority at the moment.
Will wagged a finger at Caspar. ‘Naughty dog.’ Caspar looked perplexed.
Thank God he can’t speak, Jessica thought.
She had her back to Will, cleaning scraps of food out of the sink. She felt him approaching but before she could turn and ward him off he put his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her head. His body was warm against her spine. She went rigid.
‘You feel very tense,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’
She wriggled from his grasp. ‘It’s been a hard couple of days. Olivia’s been . . . difficult.’
‘Well, I’m back now.’
He took her damp hands and tried to kiss her. He had that look in his eyes, the shadow of desire. He was always like this when he’d been away for a night, absence having made his heart – or some other part of his anatomy – grow fonder.
‘I thought maybe we could have an early night,’ he said.
‘Good idea. I’m exhausted.’
He tried to kiss her again but she turned her face so his lips only met her cheek. He looked at her, trying to read her thoughts, and she stepped away from him. ‘I can’t have sex tonight,’ she said.
‘Oh.’ He looked like a little boy who’d been told he couldn’t have any ice cream.
‘I’m too tired and wouldn’t be able to relax.’
‘All right. Sorry. But can I have a hug?’
She let him put his arms around her, though she knew she must feel as stiff as a piece of wood. After a few seconds he gave up.
She watched him go over to the fridge, open it and peer inside. Could he really have murdered Izzy? The words, the question, bubbled up from inside her, trying to force their way out of her throat.
She would know if he was lying. But if she was wrong, if he was innocent, their marriage might never recover from the accusation. So she swallowed the words back down.
‘Did something happen while I was away?’ he asked, closing the fridge door.
She picked up the wine bottle, hoping that her hand wasn’t trembling. ‘No. Why are you asking?’
‘I don’t know.’ He tilted his head, the way he did when he was watching a movie he didn’t quite understand. ‘You’re acting strange.’
‘What? Because I won’t have sex with you?’
‘No. Don’t be . . .’ He trailed off. ‘You seem nervous or something.’
The fridge hummed in the silence. ‘Actually, there is something.’
She studied his face, searching for fear or at least anxiety. Because if she were carrying a dark secret, she knew she would always be on edge, waiting to get found out. Even now, five years on, thinking he’d got away with it, it would surely still be something he’d worry about. But he didn’t seem worried, just confused.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘The other day I was looking for a radiator key and found some cigarettes in your drawer. Have you been smoking?’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘Shit. Busted. Sorry, Jess – I bought them when I went out with Gary for a drink. I only had a few.’
‘Did you take them to the Isle of Wight?’
‘What? No. I chucked them away the other day. Do you really think I’d smoke around Felix?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘For fuck’s sake. Really? I bet you were drinking while you were looking after Olivia on your own.’
They stared at each other. They could have a fight now. A ‘domestic’. Jessica would almost welcome it, the chance to unbottle the simmering rage that was always there, lurking inside her, ready to show itself. But she fought it, breathed, knowing that if she lost her temper now she would say too much.
‘I don’t want to argue,’ she said. ‘I’m going to bed, all right? I really am exhausted.’
She left the room, continuing to focus on her breathing. She had to stop at the top of the stairs, to grip the banister. Because she had seen something in his eyes. Anger reflected back at her.
She hadn’t thought of it before. But now it hit her like a fist in the guts.
If Will was capable of murdering Izzy because he was afraid of being exposed, that meant he was capable of killing her too.
Chapter 28
Jessica ran through the school gate, almost tripping over another parent’s buggy. Rain was lashing down and everyone else had umbrellas, a shifting forest of them coming down the hill towards her. She didn’t even have a hood and greasy rain slid down beneath her collar. A perfect end to a terrible day.
She had spent the morning combing through Will’s computer and the drawers where he kept his paperwork, looking for evidence. Something that proved he had been screwing Izzy. Anything that would expose his guilt. The bill for a meal for two. A receipt for flowers or underwear that he hadn’t given to Jessica (come to think of it, when had he last bought flowers for her?) or even a scribbled note, a card, a declaration of love and passion. Maybe a possession of Izzy’s, some keepsake of their affair. She ransacked drawers, searched through the cupboards in his room, emptied cardboard boxes, even pulled up the edges of the carpet to make sure he hadn’t hidden anything under there.
She found nothing. At the end of it she was surrounded by mess and had to put everything back together, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Or maybe she wanted him to notice. Wanted him to worry and make some kind of move to reveal himself. Except that was dangerous, wasn’t it? She had a vision of waking up with his hands around her throat, whispering something about how she knew too much. The vision shook her. He wouldn’t really harm her, would he?
Not unless he was desperate. Like a fox chewing off its leg to escape a trap.
It was all so confusing and difficult and it left her feeling even more exhausted.
‘Won’t you give me a clue?’ she found herself saying out loud. ‘Come on, Izzy. Why won’t you talk to me?’
Silence.
Was she going to have to get Olivia to communicate with Izzy again? To get the Scrabble pieces out? No. She wasn’t going to put her daughter through that stress again. It wouldn’t be fair on her. She just wished Izzy would talk to her, especially now she had shown that she was willing to listen.
‘Please, Izzy,’ she said aloud, straining to hear something in return. God, what would people think if they saw her now, covered in dust and talking to her dead sister? Poor Jess, she still hasn’t got over it. It’s made her lose her mind.
She had just finished tidying up when she heard the chime of church bells, ringing in the distance. Three o’clock.
Oh shit – she was going to be late picking up Olivia.
She had raced down the stairs, out to the car, and here she was now, running up the path to the early-years block, dodging brollies and parents who, she was sure, were judging her. Look, it’s Olivia’s mum. Always late.
And her husband was shagging her sister, you know? Her husband, the murderer. But she’s too pathetic to do anything about it.
The voices were so real that she was convinced someone had actually said the words aloud. She stared at a woman in a purple cagoule. Ruby’s mum. Was it her? Or had it been Jackson’s nanny? Or Reuben’s dad? She wanted to grab them all, tell them she wasn’t a bad mother, a terrible sister, a deluded wife.
Really, she wasn’t.
She reached the classroom door and found herself face to face with Ryan. Swiftly, she rearranged her face, smiled, tried not to look like she was completely insane.
‘Do we have an appointment?’ he asked.
She looked at him blankly. ‘What? I’m here to collect Olivia.’
‘Oh. It’s just that your mum’s already picked her up. She said you’d asked her to. I hope that was all right.’
She gawpe
d at him. Oh my God, he was right. She had asked Mum to pick up Olivia today. She had been so swept up in everything that she’d forgotten.
She laughed, hoping she didn’t sound like a crazy person. There was no way she could cover this up. She put a hand on her wet head and said, ‘I can’t believe I forgot. I’m losing it. I’m completely bloody losing it.’
She expected laughter but got a look of concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I . . . Yes . . . I . . .’
He glanced over her shoulder. All the other parents had gone and there were no children left to be collected.
‘Do you want to come in for a minute? Dry off a bit? Mrs Rose isn’t well today so it’s been me and a supply teacher who had to shoot off the moment the bell went.’
She was going to say ‘No’ and slink away, but found herself saying, ‘Thank you.’
She entered the classroom, rain sliding down her face, dripping on to the floor and creating a small puddle. She hugged herself, shivering.
‘Oh dear,’ Ryan said, as if he was talking to one of his four-year-old charges. ‘Wait there.’
He disappeared into an anteroom and came back with a towel, which he handed to her.
‘Thank you.’ She rubbed at her hair and face with the towel, feeling pathetically grateful. He was watching her intently, as if seeing a woman dry her hair was novel and fascinating.
‘I’m actually pleased you’re here,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat. ‘This whole thing about Olivia being . . . interested in death. She said something strange today. Something about talking to her Auntie Izzy.’
Jessica hung her head. She should have known Olivia wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about it. ‘What did she say, exactly?’
He closed the classroom door. ‘Do you want to sit down?’
She perched on a desk rather than sit in one of the tiny chairs, and put the wet towel aside. He sat down too, facing her. She could smell the cheap deodorant he wore.
‘She said that she played a game with you – something to do with spelling out words? We were practising her words at the time. She was writing Mummy and Daddy and she asked if I had any “Scabble” pieces. The rest of what she said didn’t make much sense, to be honest, but it was kind of disturbing.’
This was it. He was going to report her for being an unfit mother. Get social services involved. Olivia would be taken away. And as Ryan looked across the table, something burst inside. She felt a tear run down her cheek and realised she was crying.
She picked up the towel and buried her face in it, unable to stop sobbing. All the drama and worry of the past few weeks, especially the last few days . . . She couldn’t keep it bottled up any more. She fought against it, embarrassed – no, mortified – to be letting go like this in Ryan’s presence. But then she felt a hand on her shoulder, resting there lightly, and she stopped caring. She let it come.
She wasn’t sure exactly how long she cried for. Maybe only a minute; maybe two. When she got hold of herself, she rubbed her face with the damp towel, aware as she took it away that she must look a mess. But Ryan was smiling sympathetically at her.
‘I guess you’re used to dealing with tears,’ she said, her voice thick.
‘Yeah. Usually not the parents, though.’
She laughed. ‘Oh Jesus. What must you think of me?’
‘It sounds like you’re going through a tough time.’
‘Yeah. You could say that.’
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds. ‘So,’ he said, ‘this thing with the Scrabble tiles. I wasn’t sure if Olivia was making it all up . . . but it sounded like some kind of seance.’
‘Are you going to report me to social services?’
‘What? Of course not. I mean, assuming you don’t have Olivia involved with devil-worship or something.’ He smiled to show he was joking, but Jessica couldn’t make herself smile back.
‘I take it you don’t believe in all that stuff?’ she said. ‘Ghosts. Being able to talk to spirits.’
‘No, of course not. Why, do you?’
‘I used to. Then I stopped believing. Now I’m not sure any more.’
Ryan got up, took a few paces away from her. ‘You believe Olivia’s actually being haunted by your sister?’
Yes. ‘Maybe.’
‘And you think you made contact, during this . . . seance?’
I do. ‘Again, maybe.’
‘Wow.’
‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’
‘And what does Olivia’s dad say about it?’
‘Will? I haven’t told him.’
He raised an eyebrow, as if he was thinking, But you’re telling me? ‘Why not?’
‘Ha. Because of what she said.’
Again there was a silence.
‘Have you talked to your mother about this?’ he asked.
‘No way!’
A little smile. ‘Jessica, I’m not a counsellor or anything. But I think you should talk to Will about all this. Tell him whatever it was Olivia said.’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘I’m not an expert, Jessica. I’m not even married and you can tell me to mind my own business, but it seems like the kind of thing you and he should talk about.’
‘Maybe.’
It was fully dark outside now, the winter night rendering the windows opaque, and Jessica could see her own reflection in the glass. She looked tired and bedraggled, all her eye make-up rubbed away. And she needed to get going, to pick up Olivia, even though she was dreading seeing her mother and having to deflect all her questions again.
‘I have to go. But thank you. And please, forget everything Olivia told you about the . . . seance.’
‘As long as you promise you’re not a devil-worshipper.’
She laughed. ‘I promise.’
‘And you should talk to Will,’ he said, closing the door behind her.
Chapter 29
January 2013
Isabel crunched across the gravel to Nina’s car. The trees around their house were bare, making her feel exposed. She preferred the house in the warmer seasons, when thick leaves protected it from view.
‘You look amazing,’ Nina said as Isabel got into the car. She was wearing the Burberry trench coat that Darpak had given her for Christmas and she’d had her hair cut that morning.
‘Hmm.’
Nina gave her a curious look, then glanced down at her own clothes. Nina, who was a decade younger than Isabel, was wearing a biker jacket and a short skirt with black tights.
‘Do you think I look too scruffy?’ she asked. ‘I was in a rush and didn’t have time to get changed.’
‘Shut up. You always look gorgeous.’ Isabel reached for her seat belt. ‘I’m not even sure of the point of this meeting. Why can’t I just turn up and have my photo taken? It’s a photo shoot for a newspaper. He’s not painting the bloody Mona Lisa.’
Nina started the engine. ‘But it’s Gavin Lawson!’
Isabel laughed. ‘So you keep saying. I’d never even heard of him before he started coming to my classes.’
Nina did a ‘shock-horror’ face. ‘That’s like saying you’ve never heard of, I don’t know, David Bailey.’
‘Who?’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Yes, I’m joking. And I get it. Gavin Lawson is a big deal.’
‘Yeah. He is. I would love to be photographed by him.’
‘He just seems like a typically entitled middle-aged bloke to me. One with a girlfriend half his age.’ She remembered how he’d half-swaggered, half-staggered out of his final session.
‘Carmen? You know she’s a model? I don’t think she’s actually his girlfriend.’ They pulled up at a red light. ‘I really wish I’d got to meet him before he stopped going to your classes.’
‘Well, don’t worry. You’ll get to meet him today.’
They drove in silence for a minute, allowing Isabel to gather her thoughts and reflect o
n what had led to today and what might happen next.
The article about Mind+Body in the local paper, combined with what Isabel imagined to be a swell of chatter among her clients, a number of whom worked in the media, had led to an approach from one of the biggest national newspapers, The Herald. They wanted to write a feature about Mind+Body, and Blissful Massage, for their Sunday magazine. It would be the main feature in that issue and there was a good chance her picture would appear on the cover.
‘This is huge,’ Darpak had said when she told him.
‘I’m not sure if I should do it.’
‘What? Are you crazy? It’s incredible exposure. Think about all the new business it will bring in. We’ll be able to open that centre in Manchester. We could even go international.’
We. That was interesting. So he wasn’t planning on leaving her. Not yet, anyway.
‘But what if they take the piss?’ Isabel had asked. ‘You know what the press can be like when it comes to sex. Especially anything that has a vaguely New Age air about it. Remember what happened to Sting when he told the world he was into tantric sex? People still go on about it twenty years later!’
In the end, though, she had allowed herself to be persuaded. It would be good for the business, and she would just have to make sure she didn’t say anything that could be misinterpreted or used against her. Her biggest worry was that they would bring up Uncle Larry and use that to make her look foolish. The journalist from the Bromley Gazette hadn’t mentioned the poltergeist in her article in the end, but that was because Darpak knew the head of advertising – they occasionally played squash together – and had had a word with him.
When The Herald told her Gavin Lawson was going to do the photo shoot, he had already stopped coming to Mind+Body. And when Isabel told Nina the news, Nina had insisted on showing her Gavin’s work.
‘It’s so sexy,’ she’d enthused, showing Isabel a selection of his photos on her iPad. Sexy was right. Or maybe the word should be explicit. There was a lot of nudity, tons of young women with their boobs and bums on display, most of them with messy, just-been-fucked hair; couples in clinches, tongues touching; models perched on toilets in grimy bathrooms, or lying on threadbare sofas.
