I think of Robbie’s ugly version of Julia, then Damian’s idealized one, and I’m gripped with a sudden desire to hear someone without an agenda give their verdict on my best friend.
“You did like her, didn’t you?” I ask. “I mean I know you and she … that one time, but…”
Paul turns to me. “Julia was fun,” he says firmly. “And she loved you and the kids very much.” He pauses. “Having said that, she was deeply fucked up, all that sleeping around.” For a second, a judgmental look flashes into his eyes; then his expression softens and he sighs. “Like I said, poor Julia. And poor you, I’m sure it’s even worse to be worrying when it’s a child.”
I bite my lip. Again, I’m on the verge of telling Paul everything.
My phone rings. I grab it, heart thudding.
Please be Hannah.
But no name flashes up on the screen. Just the words NUMBER WITHHELD.
I snatch the cell to my ear.
“Hello?” I say. “Who is this?”
JULIA
I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
I admit it, I didn’t see Julia coming. See, I can do humble! I knew her well, of course, but I had no idea that she had persisted in trying to track down her best friend’s killer for eighteen years. Unbelievable tenacity. Still, that was Julia: a strange creature—as warped as she was clever, as ugly inside as she was beautiful outside, as unhappy as she was full of zest for life.
My first warning came when I discovered, several days after the event, that my box had been tampered with and Kara’s locket was gone. I knew straightaway who had taken it—and why—for money, of course. I confronted the thief, comforted only slightly by the knowledge that I had previously told them the box belonged to someone else—someone the thief disliked and mistrusted. I demanded to know where the locket was now. I was told it had been sold anonymously on eBay, though not that it was that slut, Shannon, who had done the selling. The thief, fearing reprisals, was careful not to mention her name. However, the lowlife did confess to having been found and interrogated by Julia just a couple of hours before. My fury grew as I realized that the thief had passed on the name of the person who supposedly owned both box and locket, that Julia therefore almost certainly thought she knew the identity of Kara’s killer, and that she was, in consequence, only a heartbeat away from discovering my own identity.
I acted immediately. Julia was not the victim I would have chosen, but fate had placed her in my path and I made a challenge for myself out of her murder: I had faked accidents before, and driven girls to suicide. But this time I would fake the suicide itself. I knew Julia had been researching fashion industry suicides—we’d even talked about it a few months before—how she’d researched the different methods, how certain drugs were actually quite easy to find on the Internet.
Armed with both the brochure and the Nembutal itself, I went to her flat. Avoiding the security camera at the end of the road, I crept in through the main front door, up to where she lived. She didn’t really want to let me in, but when I told her I had just found out about Kara’s murderer too and wanted her advice about what to do next, she relented. This was a cunning move on my part because, of course, I knew Julia was facing exactly the same dilemma herself. If Livy had only answered her phone that evening, the news would have been out. A thrill shuddered through me as I realized how nearly too late I was.
Julia was deeply agitated. We sat down. I asked for a Jack Daniel’s. Disgusting drink. As I’ve mentioned before, I prefer a single malt. But I knew Julia would have a bottle of Jack on the go. She always did. And of course, once I told her my own “discovery” regarding that darn locket, she explained, with evident relief, what she knew too (though leaving out any mention of Shannon). Our stories matched up. Well, of course they did. I was the source of all the information! Poor Julia. She was so nearly there, so right in so many respects. And yet, in the end, she had arrived at the wrong conclusion.
She still lied to me about where the locket was. Perhaps by that point, she was starting to suspect me, or perhaps deceiving people was simply second nature to her, but she strongly implied the locket was buried in a safe place and that no one except her would ever find it. Of course, in reality Shannon—who had been too suspicious to bring the trinket to their meeting two days before—still had it.
I had already slipped the odorless Nembutal into her drink, and soon after she died where she sat, on the sofa. I wiped surfaces, checking for hairs and fibers. But I hadn’t touched her. I was clean. I deleted all the Kara files on her computer and added the suicide note, placed the brochure on Nembutal on her desk; then I left as carefully as I’d arrived, taking all the Kara papers and—as usual—a small memento.
And that, I thought, was that. Done. Over.
I didn’t have the locket, but I was certain that no one would be looking for it. I was also certain no one would question Julia’s “suicide.” However, on both those counts, I miscalculated.
Never mind. I have already retrieved the locket.
And, soon, I will deal with those who persist in searching for it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Hello, Livy?” It’s a woman’s voice.
“Yes?” I’m thrown. All my thoughts are with Hannah. I need to get whoever this is off the phone as fast as possible. Paul is watching me across the kitchen table, his eyes wide with concern. “Who is this?”
“It’s Sally Collins, Romayne’s mum. Er, Hannah asked me to call you.”
I jump to my feet. “Is Hannah with you? Is she okay?”
“Yes, yes, she’s fine. We’ve been out shopping. I understand you’ve left a few messages on her phone. I’m terribly sorry that she didn’t let you know what she was doing. Both girls swore blind to me that you knew exactly where we were.”
Relief shudders through me, my limbs turning to rubber. I sink into the chair. Across the table, Paul catches my eye. He points to his phone and I nod, knowing he is going to call Will and give him the news.
“Please can you put Hannah on the phone?” I ask.
There’s a short pause, the sound of muffled voices. I brace myself, ready to insist on Hannah talking to me if she refuses, as she did yesterday. She is clearly scared of my reaction—hence her persuading poor Sally to make this call.
But moments later, Hannah herself comes on the line. “Mum?” She sounds weepy.
“Oh, Hannah, sweetheart, thank God you’re all right. You had us both so, so worried.”
There’s a silence on the other end of the phone. Then Hannah says in a tiny voice: “Daddy’s really angry with me, isn’t he?”
“We both are, sweetie,” I say, trying to put some steel in my voice. Paul has left the room now. I can hear him talking to Will in the hall. “But you know what we are most of all … what we have been since we started calling you … is scared.”
“But I didn’t pick up your messages. We were in Top Shop and—”
“It’s not about not answering, Hannah—it’s about going off in the first place. Think about it from our point of view. You’re our little girl and you ran off and—”
“But I’m twelve,” she interrupts, sounding more like her usual truculent self.
“I know,” I say, trying to sound soothing. “I know you’re more grown-up than either of us realize, but it’s still a big deal to catch the train and go all that way on your own, and anyway, you didn’t have our permission to do it.”
“I sent Granny a text.”
“Leaving a note and asking permission are not the same thing.” I make my voice as conciliatory as possible. “You know that. You’re a smart girl. Come on, you know this was unacceptable, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mum.” Hannah’s voice is tiny. She sounds very fragile. “I’m sorry.”
I pause. “So where are you?”
Hannah sniffs. “Princesshay,” she says. “At a pizza place.”
“Well, I want you home now
,” I say gently but firmly. “I’ll come and get you.”
“Can’t Romayne’s mum bring me home? We’ll be leaving as soon as we’ve had lunch. We’ve already ordered the pizzas.”
I hesitate, weighing up the pros and cons of this. On the one hand, I want Hannah back as soon as humanly possible. Partly because I’ve been so worried, but also because she needs to know she can’t just run away without there being some consequences. Plus, it’s what Will will want. On the other hand, she will get home faster if someone brings her than if I have to drive to Princesshay.
“Let me speak to Romayne’s mum again,” I say.
I can hear the clank of plates and scrape of chairs as she walks to her table and hands the phone over. Sally comes on the line.
She immediately offers to bring Hannah home as soon as their meal is over, apologizing again for not having realized Hannah hadn’t cleared the outing with me. I thank her, then get off the phone and let out a relieved sigh as Paul walks back into the kitchen.
“Will asks if you’ll call him,” he says. “He says his meeting’s just ended.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Paul picks up his jacket off the back of his chair. “She’s all right, then?”
I nod.
“Good.” He hesitates.
“You don’t have to rush off,” I say. “Really.”
Paul gives me a rueful smile. “I have some work to do,” he says. “Then I’m heading over to Dad’s. Martha’s still away. And … so is Becky, as you know, so … but call me if there’s anything I can do, or if you just need a shoulder to cry on.” He pauses. “I know Will and I are in the office together, but he hasn’t said anything and, well, you were my friend first, Liv. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if you two can’t sort things out, then I’m here for you. Anytime. Understand?”
“Thanks, Paul.” I give him a hug, then walk him to the door. “Say hi to Leo.”
Paul drives off on his bike and I call Will. He is still angry, though I can hear the relief in his voice as I relate my phone conversation with Hannah.
“I have to take another bloody conference call with yet more Germans in ten minutes, but I’ll come home straight after.” He pauses. “We need to talk, Liv.”
“About Hannah?”
“And about us.”
“Okay,” I say. “Later. Tonight.”
I feel sick to my stomach at the prospect of the conversation we are likely to have.
I call Mum next, reassuring her that Hannah is fine. She sounds a bit shaky, but she holds back from crying though I can hear she’s close to it. Her tone becomes more distant as she talks. I know she’s thinking about Kara, but she doesn’t say so out loud and neither do I. As we skirt around the memories that fill both our minds, I think of Damian’s phrase again:
Your life isn’t small—you’ve just got too used to living at the edges of it.
Maybe that’s a way of life I learned from Mum. It’s certainly how the two of us behave when we’re together.
After a minute or two, Zack takes the phone. He, unlike Mum, is openly weepy and saying he wants to come home. I speak to Mum again, apologizing for disrupting our time together with the kids. Mum brushes this off as unimportant under the circumstances. I tell her that either Will or I will drive over soon to pick up Zack, then phone Will.
He offers to go for Zack immediately after his conference call. I agree, saying I’ll wait in for Hannah.
“We’ll all be at home for supper,” I say, trying to sound cheerful.
“Yeah, happy bloody families,” Will says with a sigh.
He sounds so miserable. A sob rises inside me. Maybe it’s good Will and I are falling apart like this. Maybe we need things to come to a head so that they can be resolved once and for all. Because—and I have to face this—it’s impossible for me to trust him, ever again.
My thoughts stray to Damian. I wonder how he’s doing. I think about calling him, just to try to put all the pieces we’ve discovered in some kind of context. But before I do, I want a cup of tea—Paul pouring me that scotch was a nice idea, for a couple of sips, but I can’t take hard liquor at this time of day—and the only milk in the fridge is going bad. Plus, there’s no food for supper. I don’t have my purse and cards, of course, and I can find very little cash in the house, so I rummage around for an old bank card from a sole account in my maiden name that I hardly ever use. Then I get dressed quickly in jeans and a long-sleeved top. It’s much cooler than it was earlier; the rain that fell when Damian and I left the cathedral seems to have cleared the air.
I drive to Sainsbury’s. I have only another twenty minutes before Hannah will be back, so I’m scuttling past the stacks of pet food, heading to the dairy section, when a familiar figure turns the corner just in front of me.
“Leo, hi.” Will’s boss is the last person I am expecting—or wanting—to see, but I force a smile on my face as I greet him. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in the office with Will?”
“Just left!” he booms. “Popped in here on the way home.” Leo’s eyes express genuine warmth. He’s dressed in corduroy slacks and an open-neck shirt. Tufts of gray chest hair poke out from the carefully ironed cotton. “Will told me about Hannah. Thank God she’s okay.” He shakes his head. “Kids … honestly. Poor Will, I couldn’t believe he managed to remember any of his German this afternoon, but he did. He’s an asset, a brilliant asset.”
I can feel my cheeks burning at this show of admiration for Will. Desperate to change the subject, I find myself saying that it seems weird to have bumped into Leo in a supermarket. Leo looks slightly confused, but points out that I shouldn’t be that surprised to see him, as he and Martha live just ten minutes away, albeit in the opposite direction from my own house.
“It’s not that,” I confess, blushing slightly. “It’s more that I’ve never imagined you doing any food shopping.”
Leo laughs, a rich belly laugh. “Well, Martha’s still away, so I’m fending for myself this weekend. I was out last night.” He lowers his voice, his tone confiding, though he is still speaking much more loudly than I am. “Had far too much to drink. Paul’s coming over later to watch the football and grab some takeout.” He holds up his basket in which nestles some tins of cat food, a box of tea, and a bag of salad. He points to the lettuce leaves. “Health kick.”
“Right, yes, Paul said he was going to see you later.” I explain how Paul came round to give me some moral support.
“Good lad,” Leo says approvingly. “He’s very loyal to his friends. Always has been.”
Loyal, unlike Will.
I can see Leo clocking the shadow that must pass over my expression. At once, his own face falls. “Sod it, Livy, I can’t leave without talking about this,” he says suddenly. “I’m sorry Martha told you about … about what happened in Geneva.”
I stare at him. He knows? Martha was adamant she wasn’t going to tell him she’d spoken to me.
“I guessed she told you,” Leo says with a grimace. “You can’t be married to someone for fifteen years without knowing when they’re keeping something from you.”
“Right.” I smile at the irony of this remark. “I hope you weren’t too hard on Martha—she was just trying to be a friend.”
“To be honest, I’m more concerned about you.” Leo pauses. “When my first wife and I broke up, my world fell apart. I was devastated. Didn’t see Paul for ages.” He shakes his head. “I know there’s no comparison, but I do understand the hurt.”
Tears spring to my eyes at his kindness. I turn away, humiliated and touched. “Don’t be nice to me,” I whisper. “You’ll make me cry.”
“Oh, Livy.” Leo shakes his head sadly. “Will’s a fool. I wish I hadn’t seen what I saw.…” He trails off, and I remember what Martha told me again: Will and Catrina, kissing good-bye as Will left her hotel room.
I close my eyes against the image. I feel so stupid. So unbearably stupid. And in that moment, I know that I have to leave Wi
ll. I can’t give him another chance and retain any self-respect. It won’t be good for the children, but neither will a browbeaten, desperately unhappy mother. Maybe I have gotten too used to living at the edges of my life. Well, as of today, I’m walking right back into the center of it, changing the way I look at everything, including my family.
You go, girl, I can hear Julia drawl. Just remember you can’t teach an old dogma new tricks.
“What are you going to do?” Leo’s forehead is creased with a deep frown. His expression is so kind and fatherly that a tear escapes my eye and trickles down my cheek. If only Dad were here. It’s years since he died, but at times like this, when I really need his solid, commonsense affection, I miss him as much as ever. Across the aisle, a man struts self-consciously toward a stack of speciality teas. As I watch him, I think of Will’s easy, laidback stroll, and my heart seems to shrivel in my chest.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just don’t know.”
Suddenly everything Damian and I have been doing, trying to find out what really happened to Julia, seems utterly pointless. Nothing we find out will bring her back. Nothing can turn back the clock.
Nothing can make Will and me whole again.
Leo pats my arm; his hand is large and heavy. “Give me and Martha a call if there’s anything we can do.” He leans over, pecks me on the cheek, then leaves.
His kindness is touching—yet my overwhelming feeling is one of humiliation.
And loss.
I make it to the dairy counter before I break down. I stand, pretending to examine the ice cream boxes in the freezer. Tears stream down my face. The pain fills my entire body. I hold myself together, resisting the desire to collapse onto the floor and wail and howl. How can Will have done this? Images of him and Catrina fill my head. I can’t bear it. I see them kissing, her taking her clothes off for him, his eyes full of hunger and lust. I feel like I’m going mad. That I will go mad.
“Stop it.” I say the words out loud, willing the images away. I force myself to focus on the ice cream tubs below me. Zack likes strawberry. Hannah prefers chocolate. I’m about to take one of each when I spot the Neapolitan. That’s good. Will and I can eat the vanilla section.
You Can Trust Me Page 26
