It was a mind-boggling, thought-blocking, almost bed-wetting amount of money. And for a short while it succeeded where all the drugs had so far failed – it eviscerated her pain.
Fourteen
She had two million pounds in her account. Well, nearly.
McArthur's email went on to remind her that income tax would be due on the sum, and that it was vital she took financial advice immediately. He said he could recommend a number of financial advisers, but noted that all were based in London, and she would have to travel to meet them. He asked if she knew anyone locally who had experience in similar financial matters who might be able to assist her.
Julia thought for a moment. For some reason the only person who came to mind was Marjorie, who ran the Rural Dorset Creative Circle, for which she extracted fifty pounds a year from everyone who turned up more than three times, in order to pay for the hall and the biscuits. She blinked the idea away. Ridiculous.
Half a million pounds? she suddenly thought. Her bloody agent had taken half a million pounds of her money?
Julia puffed out her cheeks. The pain in her back returned. It had never really gone away, just hidden itself in the top of her legs for a while. She needed to wee, too. One of her earlier visits from the nurse had been to explain how the female urinal she had been issued with worked. She looked at it now. It was like some sort of watering can, made – inexplicably – from a clear plastic, so you got to show off whatever colour your wee was when you handed it to the nurse for emptying. Gritting her teeth against the onslaught of pain from moving, she slipped it into position.
Half a million bloody pounds, she thought again, once she had filled the urinal with a deep yellow, almost orange liquid.
Fifteen
Soon after, the body was found.
Julia learnt about it from her hospital bed. She hadn't even been watching for it at the time, and only had the local news on while waiting for a quiz programme she had grown fond of to start. But suddenly it was just as she'd imagined it. The studio presenter said something about a grim discovery near Dorchester, and then cut away to another presenter who was at the scene. And then an energetic young woman in a waterproof jacket filled the screen. She was standing on the same stretch of road where the accident had happened – it actually looked so different in the day that Julia was only able to presume it was the same stretch – and behind her two police cars stood parked so as to block the road from traffic. Behind them Julia could make out other vehicles, but not much more.
"Yes, Dominic, a farmer made a grim discovery today in a drainage ditch on this flooded stretch of the B454. This is a part of the road that is prone to flooding, and following the heavy rain of the last few nights it did indeed flood. When a local farmer tried to clear the debris that builds up in the drainage ditches to let the water flow away, that's when he made the gruesome discovery. It seems that the body of a woman was in the ditch, and that's what was causing the obstruction."
The presenter was having to work to tone down her excitement.
"The questions currently are – who is she? How did she get there? Dominic, at this stage both of these questions remain unanswered…"
There wasn't much more. Probably because the TV journalists didn't know anything else at this stage, but maybe also because what was known bordered on the too-grim-for-local-news, which usually featured snippets from the local football club, or reports into Dorchester's thriving High Street.
Julia watched the piece in a state of shock. When it finished, and the news had moved onto a report about Dorchester High Street's growing vegan movement, she turned the hospital TV/internet device (which she had now more or less mastered) onto the internet, and went at once to the local newspaper's website.
Mystery Body Found in Ditch
The headline dominated the website, but the article that followed provided Julia with little new information, other than the fact that the road was so badly flooded it had been impassable during the 24 hours preceding the discovery, and that it was this that had prompted the farmer to drive into the flood in his tractor.
But soon, more information came out.
The next day her identity was known. The dead woman was Jessica Lloyd, a seventy-five-year-old resident of a small hamlet a few miles outside Dorchester. She was well-known in her village, where most had considered her something of an eccentric. She had a reputation for striding energetically along the edges of the nearby fields, or cycling the country lanes on her bicycle. She was also quite deaf, which made it difficult to communicate with her, and quite rude, which meant that not many people tried in any case. She had been married – many years ago – to a school teacher, but after his death she had lived the life of a virtual recluse. She had no children, and no surviving close relatives.
The police were treating the death as unexplained. They made it clear in a press conference – of which only a frustratingly small snippet was shown on the TV news – that they believed Mrs Lloyd had been riding a bicycle at the time of her death, and that said bicycle had not been recovered from the scene. But it wasn't clear whether any firm conclusions had been drawn from this. Perhaps, Julia thought, they had already worked out that someone had tried to cover up the woman's death by hiding her bicycle – or perhaps they thought someone else had simply found it by the side of the road and taken it?
This second possibility was given some credence by the appeal the police went on to make. They asked for anyone who might have witnessed the accident to contact them, but were also appealing for anyone who had seen, or even taken, a bicycle from the side of the road to come forward. A photograph was shown of a bicycle very similar to the one Mrs Lloyd was believed to have been riding at the time.
However, there was a sense – evident in the amount of space devoted to the story on the local TV news and the local newspaper – that they were quickly losing interest in the story. It might have been different had the mystery woman turned out to be younger, prettier, or less widely considered to be a local loony. It seemed that the police and the journalists were somewhat going through the motions, pursuing this case only until something a bit more interesting came along.
Though Julia noted this, it did little to calm her nerves, and when, moments later, the door to her hospital room opened and a uniformed police officer walked in, she nearly leapt out of her bed in shock.
“Hello again, Julia! Ooooh, you look in a bit of a state.”
It was PC King, the same female officer who had breathalysed Julia at the scene of the accident. Had Julia been able to get out of bed and run, she would have certainly done so. But that being impossible she was forced to lie still – perhaps play dead – and await her fate. They had found her. Julia didn’t know how they had done it. But they had found her. She wondered if she would be handcuffed.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” PC King asked. Julia shook her head and the policewoman did so, an act complicated by the range of gadgets attached to her belt. When she’d found a comfortable position, PC King leaned forward and smiled.
“So, Julia, I’m just here to tell you we’ve concluded our investigation into the accident. We weren’t able to get any useful evidence from your vehicle, it was too badly damaged, but a number of witnesses provided statements saying your front right tyre burst, causing the swerve across into the opposing carriageway and into the other vehicle. A blowout.” She smiled sympathetically.
“So, I’m pleased to tell you that Yeovil police will be taking no further action on the matter.”
Her job done, PC King looked awkward for a moment.
“So, err, I hope you get better soon.”
She backed away out of the room.
The next day, Julia was discharged from the hospital.
Sixteen
Two weeks later Julia had still not replaced her car, so she had to travel over to Southampton by public transport. That meant calling a taxi to take her from her cottage to Dorchester station, and then the train the rest of the way. No doubt Geoffr
ey would have given her a lift into Dorchester – or even all the way to Southampton if she had asked – but she didn't want him knowing where she was going.
The whole time Julia had been in hospital, Rob had failed to make contact with her. This surprised her. Julia was certain now it was just a matter of time before his grubby little blackmail demand came in. But his delay gave her time to formulate, and put into practice, a counterplan of her own. In the end, it was she who made contact first.
She made no mention of the idea in her email, but simply asked if the three of them might meet up. She’d suggested the Southampton branch of Waterstones bookstore, partly because it was much closer, and therefore more convenient for them – Julia didn't know if Rob's van had been fixed – but also because it was somewhere she felt she would be protected, surrounded by so many books. There was another reason, too. Geoffrey had mentioned how he had passed by the window and seen it was filled with promotional stands for The Glass Tower. And that was something Julia had to see for herself.
When Rob emailed back, he rather bluntly demanded to know what she wanted to talk about, without even agreeing to meet. At first this threw Julia a little. She had assumed that – since he was poised to contact her – he'd jump at the opportunity. But when she thought about it, his attitude made more sense. He was planning to blackmail her. He probably had a method worked out already, and he would be wary that this meeting might affect his plans. Actually, his was the natural response. She replied simply, saying it was very important. In his next email he agreed to meet.
On a whim, she had bought herself a first-class ticket for the train to Southampton. She couldn’t recall ever travelling this way before, and it somehow seemed to suit her new status. Besides, her back was still giving her a lot of pain so she thought the more comfortable seats would help.
It was strange, adjusting to having money. When she arrived in Southampton she passed a branch of her bank, with a cash machine just inside the door. There was no one using it so she quickly pushed her way inside and slipped her card into the slot. On the options screen she pressed the button to show the balance on her account. She stared at the figure for a long time. Then she drew herself up taller, reclaimed her card, and went on her way.
The displays for The Glass Tower were fabulous. Almost half of the front window of the store was given over to a cardboard cut-out of the lighthouse as rendered on the book cover, half-set into the rock from which it rose up, tapered and elegant. Arranged around that, on various upturned boxes covered with matte black paper, were dozens of copies of the hardcover edition of her book. For about five minutes Julia simply stood in the street, staring at the beautiful display created entirely from her story. Then, reluctant that she had to look away, she pushed her way into the store.
She passed a table where dozens more copies of her book had been piled up, then took the stairs down to the little café in the basement. It was quiet there, not yet coffee time for the light crowd of Southampton shoppers. Julia ordered a drink and took it to the back, sitting where she could keep an eye on the stairs. Then she pulled out the paperback she was reading from her bag and settled down to wait.
Rob and Becky arrived exactly on time, but their appearance surprised Julia so much that she almost didn't recognise them – they both looked so young, almost like children. She was struck too by how handsome they looked together. She had remembered how good-looking Rob was, but Becky was pretty, too. Julia hadn't noticed that before, concentrating instead on her good character. She registered the thought that she would have actively disliked Becky when she was in her twenties. For being able to attract a boyfriend as handsome as Rob was, all because of how symmetrically her features had happened to arrange themselves before she was even born. Julia closed her book thoughtfully, as if filing that idea away for later. She watched as they came over and stood by her table.
"Hello," Julia said. She held out a £20 note to Rob. "I'm afraid there's no table service here. Would you mind getting yourselves a drink?"
Wordlessly, Rob did what she said while Becky sat down.
"I read about your accident," Becky said.
Julia smiled.
"Are you okay?"
"Well, it hurt a bit. It still does actually, but they've put me on painkillers, so I'll be okay." She smiled again.
Becky didn't reply. She seemed to be inspecting the edge of the table.
Slowly the smile faded from Julia's face, and they stayed quiet until Rob returned.
When he did, he was holding a tray with two cappuccinos.
"I didn't get you one," Rob said. "It looked like you still had some left."
Julia nodded, and she waited while Rob sat down, tore open the sachet of sugar and stirred it into his drink. He left the change on the tray, and Julia had to reach over to collect it back.
As she did so she tried to think of a way to begin. She had planned this conversation, but now they were in front of her, she felt her self-confidence cracking. She decided upon an opening and drew a breath to begin.
"Was it a real accident?" Rob asked, interrupting her thoughts. For a moment he had a milk moustache from the cappuccino, but then he brushed it away with the back of his hand.
Julia finished her breath. "I had to get rid of the car. In case there was evidence on it."
"So you crashed it on purpose?" Becky broke in. "I knew it." She turned to Rob. "I told you..." She didn't finish the sentence. Julia turned to look at him too, and his handsome face was set in a look of clear dislike.
"Why didn't you just burn it?" he asked. He sounded quite calm, genuinely interested in her answer.
"What?"
"Burn it. Take it somewhere. Chuck a bit of petrol inside and set it on fire, then report that it got stolen."
Julia opened her mouth to explain one of the many reasons why this approach wouldn’t have worked, but momentarily she couldn’t think of any. Her back suddenly gave a twinge of pain. The Dramadol she had taken on the train was wearing off.
She tried to ignore the pain and take control of the meeting before it got out of hand.
"Well, never mind that. I asked you here because I wanted to talk about what happened…" she began.
"Why?" said Rob at once.
"Just because... Because it's important that we all know what to say in case anybody asks."
"Who's going to ask?" Rob asked.
"Have you been following the news? About the woman?"
"I read something about her," Rob said. "But not much."
"We've been trying to forget about it," Becky explained.
Julia considered this for a moment. "Good. That's good." She fell silent again, still considering how to broach the topic she had come to discuss.
"Is that it?" Rob asked. "Is that what you brought us here to say?" He shrugged, and for a moment he looked like a sulky teenager getting a telling off. Julia found herself drawing strength from the thought.
"No," Julia said. She tried to fix her eyes on his. "I thought we should meet up. So we each know that none of us are going to do anything... silly."
"Like what? Like crash our cars into people?"
"No,” Julia replied. “Like speak to the police and get us all into very serious trouble." She spoke quietly but firmly.
There was a moment of silence.
"We are just trying to forget about it," Becky said again. "We think... Well, Rob thinks..."
"It was a mistake." He finished the sentence for her. "What we did for you. I don't know why we did it, but we shouldn't have. We should have just waited until someone came along. It was nothing to do with us." He looked miserable now.
The thought occurred to Julia that perhaps she had misread the situation. Perhaps she could even get out of her predicament without it costing her anything – but she dismissed the idea. That wasn’t why she had come. She was here to do the right thing. She was here to make certain.
"Well. Unfortunately, it's a little late for such thoughts now," Julia continued. "If we
could turn back the clock I'd prefer to go back a little earlier and have you warn me about the woman on the poorly-lit bicycle in the middle of the road, if you saw her so clearly. But what's done is done. It's how we deal with it that's still to be decided." Julia took a sip of her now-rather-cold coffee and began the pre-planned part of her speech.
"My first thought, when I learnt the poor lady's name, was that I might be able to do something to help her relatives – financially I mean, perhaps with an anonymous donation. But it turns out she had no relatives. She was just a poor little old lady. It's sad really, she was probably very lonely." Julia glanced at Becky, to see how she took that.
"Once I saw that wasn't possible, I thought – what else can I do? To make this horrible situation a little better." As she'd planned to, Julia paused here.
"And?" Rob prompted her, when she hadn't resumed her speech.
But now Julia changed the subject.
"You're both studying? Isn't that right? Becky? I remember you're studying literature, aren't you? What was it you were doing, Rob? Engineering?"
"Yeah."
"I imagine that must be expensive?"
"Why would that be any of your business?" Rob asked. Becky broke in to calm him down.
"I'm sorry, Julia, but what do you actually want? Rob's missing out on a lecture to be here. And I'm supposed to be writing an essay."
In her idealised version of how this meeting would go, Becky would have told her what the essay was about. Perhaps she'd even have asked Julia's opinion. After all, a quote from a bona fide literary sensation would surely be something very special. Julia smiled just as if she had been asked.
"Look, I've just... I told you I was wondering whether there might be a way for something good to come out of this. I've heard about how young people have to spend so much on university fees these days... Your finances are your own private matters I know. But you were both working at the party the other night, so I thought you must need money...?"
The Glass Tower Page 10
