“I can’t think,” said Gus. “I’ll go and check.”
“You shouldn’t have to bother,” I said. The guilt was killing me, like it always does but worse. He was off, though. I listened to him quietly open a door and close it again. Waited. He came back into the hall, went out the front door. I could hear his boots on the path. Two minutes later he was back in the room.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Come on, I’ll come with you and show you. It’s all okay.”
“Where did you go?” I asked. He hesitated. “It’s all right. You can tell me.”
“Novelty pen,” he said. “It’s in the wheeliebin, wrapped in a bag. I didn’t want to walk through here with it.”
I gave him a long hard look. I was used to indifference and ridicule. This was freaking me. “Does someone else you know have this?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Why? Is it common?”
“Hardly. Just … nothing. You’re … good with people.”
“Look who’s talking,” he said. I had no idea what he meant. I had done nothing but boss him around, try to crap out, upset him with my brilliant wrong deductions, and burn his children.
“You were going to tell me how to break it to the kids,” he said. Was I? He had some recall for the state he was in. I couldn’t have told you what we were talking about before the … feathers … with a gun to my head.
“How far had I got?” I asked him.
“Tell them straight and answer their questions. Mummy loved you both very much but—”
“No!” I said. “God no. That’s what my dad always said to me after he left. Don’t tell them that whatever you do.”
He put his head on one side and kind of crinkled up his face, looking at me. After a bit he nodded. “My dad said that too,” he told me. “Once. In a letter. Well, a card. He wasn’t that touchy-feely, as it goes.”
“It made me want to scream.” I had screamed once, in Abington Services actually. “ ‘I love you more than life, Jessie. I’d die for you, Jessie. I didn’t leave you, Jessie. I left your mum.’ I always wanted to say, ‘I live in Dumfries, Dad, and you live in Glasgow. How’d you manage that without leaving me? And I don’t need you to die. I need you to stay until I’m more than seven.’ ” I took a deep breath. “Sorry.” But he was still nodding, a bit faster now.
“No, you’re right,” he said.
“I am, as it happens.”
“I totally agree. I don’t think it’s okay for people to leave. Married people. Dads.” His face clouded. “Mums.”
“Here’s what to say,” I told him, thinking Steve would die if he could hear me. “You should tell them that Mummy loved them as much as she could, but she wasn’t very good at loving people.” He was nodding again, so I said a bit more. “That she was ill in the bit where the love comes from. That way they won’t think loving means leaving. And they won’t be as fucked up as—”
“You and me,” he finished for me. “You’re totally right.”
“You’re totally not fucked up,” I said. But he was thinking, not really listening. I wondered whether to chance my arm all the way. In case I never saw them again after tonight, I’d better.
“You know what they will ask and I’ve got no idea how to answer?” I said. His head jerked up. “Why you were having another baby if it made her so low she’d do this instead.”
He relaxed a little, but then groaned and shook his head. “You don’t know the half,” he said. “After Ruby, I said no more, like I told you. Rubber raincoats.” I blushed and hoped the low light—one lamp and the logs burning—would hide it. “Until one night she jumped me. I’ll let you off with the details … but eight months later, Dillon appeared.”
“Weird,” I said. “You’d think she’d be really caref—Eight months?”
“Nine pounds five ounces,” said Gus. “Straight blond hair. I’m a ginge and Becky’s dark. You tell me.”
“Lots of kids start blond,” I said. “But . . . yeah.”
“And as for this one, she pounced again about three weeks ago,” he said. “And she did the test today. If they do a post-mortem, I’m thinking seven weeks.”
“So Dillon … ”
He bent over and pressed his head to his knees, like he’d suddenly got cramp out of nowhere. “I forgot him,” he said. “Wee man, waiting in his cot. Oh Christ.”
I stood to come over and sit close to him again, but he waved me back. “I can’t cry anymore,” he said. “I’m too tired.”
“It’s been some day,” I agreed. This morning I hadn’t known him beyond a face to smile at and wish I hadn’t. I might have thought I’d known him, from thinking daft things months back, but he was a stranger, really. And now here I was, in his house, talking like his best friend, rubbing his back while he cried. What the hell had happened?
“All in one day,” he said, but of course he didn’t mean me. “Pregnant, leaving, missing, dead.” He was frowning into the embers, and he might have said he was too tired to cry but I could see he wasn’t too tired to think. His eyes were darting back and forth like he was doing sums in his head or something. “I can’t believe how quickly they found her. On that road. She should have lain for weeks.”
Something low down inside me shifted at the thought of it.
“Could have, you mean?” I said.
He nodded absently, then blinked. “What did I say?”
I shook my head, no way I was starting to nitpick again about this now. I didn’t understand why talking to him made me so persnickety. “How come she didn’t?” I asked instead.
He heaved a sigh that was half a groan, like the first note of a bagpipe striking up, a creepy sound. “A hill walker,” he said. “His dog slipped its lead and went down the bank. I need to try to get in touch with him and say … thank you, I suppose. For getting it all over quickly.”
“Better this way?”
“All in one day,” he said again. “Even if it leaves you too tired to cry.” He looked up at me and gave an exhausted smile, all the quick darting looks totally gone. “I’ll make a note to cry tomorrow.”
“Safe bet,” I said. “Why don’t you go through to your bed? You know where I’ll be if you need me.”
I used the bathroom first. Brushed my teeth with my finger, washed my face with my hands, and dried it with Ruby’s bath towel. I took some baby lotion for moisturiser and slipped into Ruby’s room.
The bed was short, but so am I. I switched off her Ariel lamp and watched the shadows jump as the moonlight took over. I had just closed my eyes when I heard him leave the bathroom and then a knock came at the door.
“Jess?” he said. “I just thought of something.”
“What is it? Come in. Don’t wake the wee ones.”
He put his head round the door. “We’re right on the beach here,” he said. “There’s gulls everywhere, oyster catchers, ducks come down the estuary. Flipping geese sometimes, this time of year.”
“I’m fine with birds,” I said. Now he’d laugh. Surely.
“Oh,” he said. “That’s good. Good! I’ll just nip out first light and check for sandcastles. You know, sometimes kids decorate the turrets … well, you know. Night-night.”
“Night-night,” I said.
“And Jess?” I waited. “Thanks. Thank you.”
I put my hands behind my head and lay thinking. If it wasn’t for the note, if the cops knew about Dillon and the new baby, they’d be asking Gus where he was at three o’clock for sure. Or if her car had lain there unnoticed for days and they’d never pinned down the time. But they’d have searched for her after he called, when he found the note. Except he’d never have called if I hadn’t made him. And it was a chance in a million that I’d got involved. And heard him talking to her. Like an alibi. Except it was a voice-mail message.
I turned over on my side. Who does that? Talking
to a voice-mail message like it’s a person.
I curled up tighter and closed my eyes again. Who won’t go in a wee girl’s room in case she’s got Marabou Barbie?
Don’t beat yourself up, I told myself, just like Lauren coached me. You drove him home. You stayed with the kids. Even if it was because you couldn’t get away. You helped him get ready to tell them. You agreed to stay the night, for God’s sake. With a complete stranger. And the last thing he said was thank you. I ran over it again in my head, feeling a little smile start at the memory. And Jess? Thanks. Thank you. In the morning I’d tell him it was Jessie, or Jessica for Sunday best. No one except my mother called me Jess. Had I said Jess when I introduced myself? I’d never. Had he just shortened it without thinking? I sat up on my elbows. Something was bothering me. Something was making my heart beat faster. What had I forgotten?
My eyes popped wide open. Of course! That creepy guy that I thought knew my name. I’d never managed to tell Gus he’d been here. What had he said his name was? Started with K. Maybe a C. He’d said he was a friend, but he seemed pretty keen to be sure Gus was out. Maybe he was just Becky’s friend. Maybe he was even Becky’s special friend. No point upsetting Gus about him, in that case. Not when I couldn’t even remember his name. Ka-something. Ka-zakhstan, was all I could think of. Kalashnikov, Cossack, kazoo …
Eight
Wednesday, 5 October
I woke to the sound of Ruby wailing like a siren and knew he had told them. That was my first thought as soon as I heard the noise. There was no, Where am I? No piecing together the strange room and memories filling in. It was as though I belonged there.
I threw back the covers, pulled on my jeans, and, in my bare feet, went through to the kitchen to try to help. She was like a rag doll in his arms, legs hanging down, arms flopped over his shoulders, head buried in his neck, bellowing. Dillon was in his high chair eating Cheerios off his finger ends, watching his sister.
“Here’s Jess,” he said. “Look, Roobs, here’s Jess come to give you a cuddle.”
“Nooooo!” she screamed. “Mummeeeeeee!”
“Okay, okay, you’re all right,” said Gus.
She lifted her head and looked at him. “It’s okay?” she asked.
“It’s all going to be okay.”
“Mummy’s coming home?”
“Mummy’s not coming home, darling. Mummy died. Mummy’s gone to live in heaven with Grandpa.”
She twisted in his arms and started yelling again. “No! Stop saying it. Mummy doesn’t even like Grandpa! Mummy lives here. I want Mummeeee. Now! Now! Now!” She was bucking like Dillon had the night before, but she was bigger, had to be turning him black and blue the way she was laying in to him, but he just rocked her until she was calm. Then he sat down with her still in his lap. He was in boxers and a t-shirt and his arms and legs looked cold, his big ugly feet purple and his toes white. Poor circulation.
“Can I do anything?” I said.
“Coffee’d be good,” said Gus. “Want some hot chocolate, Roobs?”
“Lot-lit,” said Dillon.
“Coming up,” I said and started looking for the fixings.
“D’you want to go to nursery today, darling?” Gus was saying. “Or d’you want to stay at home with me?”
“And Mummy?”
“Just me, sweetie pie.”
“Nursery,” said Ruby. “I’m telling Miss Colquhoun what you said. I’m telling on you.”
“I’ll phone Miss Colquhoun,” said Gus. “Come on and we’ll get you dressed then. Your chocolate’ll be ready by the time you are.”
“Lot-lit,” said Dillon.
“He’ll be lucky to get out of his jammies today,” said Gus, looking over Ruby’s head towards me.
“I’ll dress him, if you like,” I said. I thought that’s what he was hinting. But he screwed his face up and gave me the kind of look people get when they’re going to ask something big and they know they shouldn’t. It’s the same look when someone’s going to pop a cork on a bottle of Cava.
“I was going to ask you if you’d run Ruby into school,” he said.
“Where’s school?” I asked.
“Dumfries,” he said. “I thought, if you’re going in anyway. To work.” Ruby turned her head and looked at me. Her face was swollen and blotched—you could see where she got her complexion, could see how tough a time she’d have in her teenage years. I smiled at her, but she didn’t so much as twitch a muscle at me. Who could blame her? How could she deal with strangers on a day like today?
“I don’t think—”
“I said I’d stay in for the cops,” said Gus. “I don’t really want a big meeting.” He jerked his head towards her. “Different with Dillon, but … ”
“Won’t you need your car?” I asked. I thought a frown flashed across his face, but it cleared before I was sure.
“I’ve got the van,” he said. “At the workshop. I’d really appreciate it. That’s okay, Ruby, eh no? If Jess takes you to school? I’ll tell her the secret word so she can pick you up again too.”
It was the worst idea I’d ever heard. Ruby and me agreed on that. She slid out of his lap and left the room, giving me a wide berth on her way.
“How come she still goes to school in Dumfries?” I asked. It was getting on for an hour’s drive away.
“Just nursery,” said Gus. “She calls it school to feel like a big girl. We didn’t want too many changes all together, you know.”
Sounded crazy to me. Far better to have her with her new friends at her new house. And it was October. She must have been away from this Miss Colquhoun all summer anyway.
“What about family?” I asked him. “Wouldn’t Ruby be better with someone she knows today? I’m really not that good with children.”
“Mum never came to my wedding,” he said. “Why should she rally round now?”
“Your dad?”
“Wouldn’t know me if we passed on the street.” The kettle was boiling, and I got up to make the coffee and watch the milk in the pan
“What about your brother?” I asked. “Where’s he?” Silence. I turned round. Gus was staring at me.
“Who told you about my brother?” he said. Dillon had gone very still, with his hand spread like star, a Cheerio on every finger.
“You did,” I said. “Last night, remember?”
“Right,” said Gus. “Did I? He’s a bit of a … ”
“Black sheep?” I said.
He smiled, easy again. “I was going to say wild card,” he said.
“Baa-baa back seep,” said Dillon.
“Anyway, he’s in Bangkok.”
“Sounds pretty wild, right enough,” I said. “Is this the kind that’s sweet already, or will I put some sugar in?”
“Tugar in!” said Dillon.
“Sugar in mine too!” Ruby was back. Her face was still tear-stained, but she was dressed. Leggings, a velvet dress, and a sparkly shrug. She had her hairbrush in her hand and a bobble with tinsel ribbons hanging from it.
“Can you do my hair?” she said to me. “Dad’s rubbish. Do it nice for when Mummy gets home and sees me.”
I sat down without a word, and she backed herself in between my knees. Gus got up and went to the cooker. I don’t know why, but I stretched out one of my bare feet and touched his leg. I was right. He was frozen and, at my touch, goose bumps sprang up on his skin, so that the red hair stood out like soft focus, or radioactive. He stopped with the milk pan poised above the cups.
“Thanks,” he said.
“How will I get the car back to you?” I asked, but he gave me a look that was so hurt, so totally miserable that I didn’t say any more. I was taking her to school and it looked like I was bringing her home again.
Very gently, starting with the ends, minding out for knots, I brushed Ruby’s hair. But no ma
tter how depressed Becky had been, she hadn’t neglected her children: it was hardly tuggy at all and it smelled of Johnson’s Baby. It shone like sheets of copper when the brush pulled it straight and then bounced back into coils when I let it go. If it was right enough that Gus had no family, then the kids would end up with a babysitter anyway while he got himself sorted. If they were going to have to put up with a stranger, I reasoned, it might as well be me. And nothing would happen. Probably. We’d all be okay.
He offered me a loan of clean clothes. He couldn’t have been thinking clearly. I managed to turn him down without letting on how creepy it was that he’d even imagined I’d wear them. I’d bend a rule and take something from work, for once. The underwear’s always new; we use the money we get from selling the brand name stuff on eBay and hit Primark for them. One of my favourite bits of the job, as it goes, shopping with somebody else’s money. Shame I’m always buying men’s socks and kids’ undies.
For now, I dressed in yesterday’s and soon we were ready to go. I was standing at the coat rack when he opened the front door and I turned to the light.
“Wow,” I said. Ruby ran out, Dillon toddling after her in his pyjamas. It was a perfect autumn day, clear blue sky, crisp white clouds. And the tide was almost in, the bay sparkling, the beach ruffled with waves. I walked down the path and out across the turf. The dry sand was white and a breeze sent it sheeting across the darker strip down where it was wet still. It was a stiff enough breeze to be shifting the shells too, sprays of tiny blue, pink, and gold ones at the high tide line, and it shivered the little plants tucked into the cracks in the rocks. Big rough grey rocks splotched with green and orange.
“What are those stains?” I asked, pointing.
“Lichen,” he said.
“It’s beautiful. Is that chives?” I pointed at the rippling little plants.
He laughed. “It’s called thrift.”
“It’s lovely,” I said.
“You’re easily pleased.”
I turned. “Don’t you think so?” He was gazing far out across the water. “I’d think … for an artist—”
His face clouded. I was getting used to the way it did that and I waited, but this time it didn’t clear. He didn’t smile, didn’t look at me.
The Day She Died: A Novel Page 6
