by Louise Voss
Despite the lack of a body, Garvey was convicted and jailed for fifteen years, and Shelagh was finally declared officially dead.
A month later, in a registry office in Weybridge in front of a select group of witnesses comprising April and Mike, Maddie and Geoff, and Mike’s mum, Sandra (our producer on Make Do), plus a few others from MADS, Ed and I became Mr and Mrs Naismith.
There was no beaming flower girl or ring bearer standing between us as we made our vows, but Ed’s jubilance helped make up for the permanently aching hole in my belly and my heart. It was a strange feeling, celebrating and mourning simultaneously.
But I had Ed, and I told myself that that was the most important thing of all.
39
May 2017
Maddie greeted me with open arms in the arrivals hall at Jersey airport.
‘It’s so good to see you, Lynn. I’m really sorry about Ed, but he’ll turn up, I’m sure he will.’
‘Ben thinks I’m a terrible human being for going away while he’s still missing.’ I returned the hug, inhaling her familiar lavender scent. She was as solid and reassuring as ever, taut and muscled from all the yoga she did, my favourite person to hug. Her clothes were always loose and soft, layers of cotton and linen in muted earth-mother tones. I didn’t want to let her go.
‘Oh, sod what he thinks. He’d probably prefer you to be holding a twenty-four-hour candlelit vigil seven days a week while he carries on with his life exactly as normal, but that’s hardly reasonable, is it!’
I grinned and fished for a tissue in my pocket. ‘You should be available on the NHS,’ I said, blowing my nose. ‘And anyway, I’m not just going to sit around while I’m here. I didn’t tell you on the phone, but I’ve tracked down Shelagh’s sister. She lives on Alderney now. I’m going to go and visit her. I sent her a message on Facebook asking if I could – but to be honest, even if she says no, I’ll go and find her anyway. I need to talk to her.’
‘Shelagh-Shelagh? Ed’s other wife?’ Maddie had taken the handle of my suitcase and started wheeling it towards the car park, but stopped abruptly, almost causing a small pile-up behind her with a couple with a toddler in a buggy. ‘Why do you want to see her?’
‘I’ll tell you over lunch. Can we go to that place I like in the port?’
‘Already booked,’ Maddie said.
Within forty minutes of the plane bumping onto the tarmac, we were sitting underneath a heater at an outside table overlooking St Aubin’s harbour, huge menus in our hands and wine glasses being filled by a handsome young waiter. Sun dazzled on the water and I squinted at the yachts’ masts swaying by the harbour wall.
‘I want to get my hair cut while I’m here,’ I announced, taking a big mouthful of the cold white wine. ‘Can we go this afternoon?’
‘Sure. I’ll take you to my place. Gino’s great, if he’s got a free appointment. A trim?’ Maddie reached out and lifted one of the ends of my long blonde bob. ‘It looks OK to me.’
‘Nope, all of it. As short as yours is.’
‘Why? Bit drastic, perhaps? And I thought Ed liked your hair long.’
‘He does. Did. But fuck him. I reckon he’s been faking the dementia and now he’s done a runner.’
‘What?’ Maddie said, so loudly that the women on the next table all looked over. ‘No way, Lynn! He’d never do that.’
She had been leaning her chin on her hand and my words made her so flustered that she dug her nails into her cheek, leaving three crescent-shaped marks.
‘But he didn’t want me to come into London with him on the day he disappeared. His passport’s missing – and so is all the money from our savings account.’
‘Oh my God.’
Maddie filled our glasses, dripping icy water from the wine cooler across the table. Her hand was shaking. ‘Hang on, though. I don’t see how that equates to him faking being ill for the best part of a year?’
‘I think he was planning his getaway and pretended to have dementia as a diversion, so he knew nobody would suspect he was up to anything. I certainly didn’t.’
‘That’s because he probably wasn’t!’ Maddie was getting more distressed. ‘Lynn, think about it. I know you’re hurt and desperate and perhaps he has done a runner, but it doesn’t add up! Why would he lie to us all for so long first? Have you looked at all the other possibilities? He might have got mugged in London, forced at gunpoint to withdraw all the money from your account, and then lost his memory, or had an accident?’
‘Our savings account doesn’t have a cashpoint card,’ I said. ‘He transferred the money online into a different account. And the police checked around all the hospitals for anyone matching his description brought in on that day. I know I sound paranoid, but – don’t you think it’s odd that he seems to have been completely healed after just a few months on some clinical trial that even I was hardly allowed to know anything about?’
‘I admit, that did seem to happen very fast,’ Maddie conceded. ‘But, regarding his passport, you told me on the phone that you hadn’t seen it for years anyway, so you can’t be certain he took it. And you said Ben confirmed that it’s a real trial. Are you sure you’re not adding two and two and making five?’
For the first time ever, I felt annoyed with Maddie, not least because she was saying exactly what Adrian had said. ‘Give me some credit. What do you think I am, some hysterical irrational woman making up conspiracy theories? It might have been a real trial, but the doctor was fake! I wouldn’t say this lightly.’
‘I know you wouldn’t,’ Maddie soothed.
She picked at a slice of fresh baguette. ‘Also – just suppose he was in with the doctor and had been faking it, wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to disappear with people thinking he did have dementia than after he’d been supposedly cured? They’d assume he’d wandered off and fallen into the canal or something.’
‘Yes, but, if he was faking, he’d have known that a missing person with dementia would be searched for much harder than someone in good health who’d just chosen to up sticks and go. Perhaps that’s why he pretended to be cured. Or perhaps he just got bored of pretending to be losing his marbles.’
‘Then why pretend in the first place? It doesn’t sound like it’s been a barrel of laughs for him either.’
That was the question I didn’t want to answer. Fortunately Maddie amended it to an easier one: ‘How had things been, between you?’
Our dressed crabs and chips arrived and I paused until the waiter had topped up my water glass.
‘That’s another thing – we had almost no sex at all, all the months he was ill. Our relationship changed completely. You know how he always had to be in charge of everything before: the car, the holidays, running the house? Well, obviously he couldn’t – or didn’t – do any of that. I took over everything, and just sort of completely mothered him, I suppose. I’ve heard of couples who have loads more sex once the husband gets Alzheimer’s or whatever, but it didn’t happen with us. We’ve only shagged a couple of times since his diagnosis, and we used to be at it like rabbits…’
Maddie looked horrified. She and Geoff had a very active sex life, apparently, and I knew she couldn’t countenance the idea of a sexless existence. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth, though, that I’d supplanted my dearth of action with Ed with a few clandestine shags with Adrian.
‘In fact, he slept in the spare room for a few weeks, because he started getting night terrors and punching me when we were asleep. It was awful. That was around the time that Mike was murdered.’
‘Oh, come on, Lynn, how extreme would that be, for him to have faked all that?’ Maddie said. ‘Surely he wouldn’t go to all that trouble – and why, anyway? And he had a professional diagnosis, didn’t he – he couldn’t have fabricated that.’
‘Well, that’s all weird, too. When I went to the consultant with him for the diagnosis, Ed refused to have a brain scan because of his claustrophobia—’
‘He never used to have clau
strophobia.’
Maddie had known Ed for longer than I had – she’d been doing costumes for the drama group for years before Make Do and Mend. Mads from MADS, that was how she was first introduced to me.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘He apparently developed it before he got ill. That, and a fear of flying. The doctor said it could be a symptom – but it could also be very convenient … But then, get this, the day we went up to London for the appointment with Bill – he’s the guy allegedly running the trial – Bill produced some scans dated just after Ed’s diagnosis showing that his brain was damaged. Ed claimed he hadn’t remembered having them done but that he’d obviously been persuaded. So that’s on my list of things to do: check with Mr Deshmukh, the original consultant, about that. He’d have been the one who convinced Ed to have them – but how come I didn’t take him to the hospital? And if I didn’t, who did?’
‘Could it have been April? Maybe she took him to her hospital and did them there.’
I paused, a forkful of crab halfway to my mouth. ‘April…’
April had been a radiologist in a private hospital about five miles outside Guildford, but she’d left a few years before when Mike made his millions. She’d never really spoken much about her job, to the point that I had forgotten she ever did it.
‘You know, I never thought of that. But why wouldn’t she have told me? And could she, anyway? She left that job years ago, surely you can’t just wander in and start giving MRI scans to your mates!’
‘She might not have told you – she might have thought you’d be upset he agreed to go with her and not you…?’
I made a face. ‘Really? As if! I’ll email her and ask her – have you contacted her yet?’
‘Yes, I sent her a message the other day after you told me she’d gone. She hasn’t replied though. I still think it’s all a bit sudden, isn’t it? I wondered if that was part of the reason you wanted to come over, because she wasn’t around either. But now you say it’s because you’re visiting Shelagh’s sister…’
‘I wanted to come anyway, silly. I knew you’d make me feel better. In fact, I’m glad April’s gone away, because I’d have felt guilty about leaving her if she was still at home.’
‘Well, I’m very glad you’re here. Let’s get the bill and go and see if you can have your hair cut.’
My phone buzzed with a notification and I smiled at Maddie as I picked it up to check. Then the smile fell off my face. ‘Ellen’s replied to my Facebook message,’ I said.
Later that evening, freshly-shorn and seated in front of a roaring fire, I re-read Ellen’s message out loud to Geoff, having filled him in on the whole situation:
‘“Dear Lynn, I’m here if you wish to come and see me. You will find me in the flat above the HSBC Bank in Victoria Street, the main street in St Anne (the only town on Alderney). I would offer to pick you up from the airport but I have a broken leg so I’m afraid I can’t drive. Let me know which flight you’re coming on and I’ll book Max the Cab for you. I warn you, though, I have plenty to say about Ed Naismith and none of it good.”’
Maddie was on the window seat hemming a skirt, a pool of white light from an anglepoise lamp illuminating her fingers as the needle flashed in and out of the material. She looked up.
‘She really doesn’t like him, does she? Do you want me to come with you?’
Her voice had a distinct note of hesitation to it, and I guessed from this and from the look Geoff shot his wife that spending a couple of hundred quid on travel and hotels was probably not what they wanted to do just for a day or two.
‘No, thanks for offering, Mads, but it’s fine.’
They both looked relieved.
‘You’re not worried, are you, about what she’ll say when you meet her? You’re sure Ed had nothing to do with it.’
‘It’ being Shelagh’s disappearance, a question disguised as a statement, and clearly one that Maddie found hard to articulate.
I stared out of the window as I tried to think how to reply. It was almost completely dark outside, the sky already dotted with the stars that would later multiply and fill the velvety blackness.
‘I’m not saying that I do think Ed was involved – but I want to try to rule it out for my own peace of mind. It won’t be anything she hasn’t already told the police though, of course. They got a confession from that man Gavin Garvey a couple of years later, didn’t they? But he was homeless and admitted that he’d rather be in jail where it’s warm and he gets three meals a day. There was no DNA evidence and he couldn’t say what he’d done with Shelagh’s body. I always thought it was a bit iffy, but he had her necklace in his pocket so it probably was him.’
Maddie had no idea how hard I’d looked for evidence last time. But maybe there had been something I’d missed – or even, shamefully, glossed over, once my endorphins were in overdrive and I thought about Ed a hundred times a day, his engagement ring on my finger, his baby in my belly…
Could Ed have known Gavin Garvey? Paid him, even? There had never been any evidence of this, but still … it didn’t mean it couldn’t be so.
Please, God, no. That would be a catastrophe on every single level: personal, professional, ethical. At least Ed had never known I was undercover, so whatever machinations he may or may not have engineered regarding our relationship hadn’t been motivated by deception.
Geoff saw my stricken face and patted my knee with his big calloused hand. He was not a handsome man – he had an unfortunate squarish head, emphasised by his male-pattern baldness, and a jutting chin. But he and Maddie were made for one another; they were aging comfortably together, gently moaning about the indignities of it all – stiff knees and complicated digestions, failing eyesight and everything heading south.
‘I hope you’re not opening some sort of can of worms by going.’
‘So do I, Geoff,’ I said fervently. ‘So do I.’
40
It was unseasonably chilly in Guernsey. As soon as I got off the plane from Jersey the next morning – so many planes to go such short distances, why wasn’t it possible to fly straight from Jersey to Alderney? – I started to shiver in my thin jacket. I thought enviously of April doing sun salutations on a verandah overlooking the outback, the object of her yogic attentions shining down on her lithe, bronzed body. I imagined the pleasure of sunshine soaking into my own bone marrow and pinkening my cheeks.
I rubbed the back of my goosepimpled neck. I liked my new haircut, though, despite the draught. Ed had always loved my hair long and never wanted me to cut more than a couple of inches off. This radical chop was an act of rebellion, trying to tempt fate perhaps. Let him come back and be pissed off when he saw it.
I had an hour to wait, so to pass the time I logged onto the airport’s wifi and checked my emails. To my surprise, there was one from Alvin; from his personal email account rather than the university’s. I’d emailed him to apologise and to ask for a month’s unpaid leave because of Ed going missing – but I was still barely able to believe that he hadn’t fired me. I was relieved he hadn’t – if Ed really had gone, I would need an income.
Hi Lynn, I’ve alerted HR and they are in agreement with me that we can extend your leave of absence in these unusual circumstances. Tell me to mind my own business but I am curious, having known Ed and Mike a little, many years ago at MADS. I’m aware that I wasn’t Ed’s favourite person but I’m guessing that you don’t know the real reason for that. Probably nothing to do with anything but if you want to chat you know where I am, and my mobile number’s at the bottom of this email. I do hope he turns up safe. Alvin x
I sat up straight in the uncomfortable moulded plastic airport chair, suddenly oblivious to the sounds around me, the tannoy and the rumble of suitcase wheels. What the hell did that mean? I would have to call him, but I didn’t have time – my flight was about to board.
I tapped out a hasty reply: Thanks for being so supportive, Alvin, I will definitely give you a ring when I get the chance. Lynn. I hesitated then
decided against adding a kiss.
There was nothing from April, so I quickly sent her another message, bland and brief, not mentioning anything about Ed’s disappearance:
Hi darling, dying to hear how it’s going. Nice people? How was the journey? I miss you so much. WRITE SOON and send pics. Love you, Lynn xxxx PS. Long shot I know, but did you ever take Ed to hospital for some scans?
I closed my laptop, drained my coffee and headed for the gate. Suddenly I felt exhausted and that all I wanted was to be back in the cottage, back in time, Ed pottering around nearby, Pick’s Disease and murdered friends not existing in our lives. All the adrenaline that had rocketed to my head like cocaine over the past few days subsided, leaving me deflated like a limp balloon.
The second flight was quick and painless, and within half an hour, my bag was rolling down the single conveyor belt into the small prefab cabin that constituted Alderney airport’s arrivals. As good as her word, Ellen had sent a cab for me – the driver was waiting for me by the door.
Once in the car, I reached for my seatbelt but there wasn’t one, and the cabbie didn’t have one either. He drove down narrow country lanes for mere minutes until the sea suddenly appeared, flanking a long, curved white-sand beach. Two minutes later, we were driving up a narrow cobbled street with brightly coloured Victorian shops and cottages on either side, linked by cheerful streams of bunting. My first thought was that it was almost deserted, and my second, that I could easily have walked.
‘This is the main street.’
‘Why’s it so quiet?’
The driver pulled over and parked on the pavement. ‘It’s lunchtime,’ he explained, which didn’t really clarify things. He got out, lifted my backpack off the rear seat and pointed me towards a small Georgian house. The front door, under a sign for HSBC Bank, was open. It was disconcerting to have gone from being in the clouds to arriving at your destination all within the space of ten minutes, I thought, as I paid him the paltry sum he requested.
