‘You, one of the others, I was always expecting someone to turn up. You do know you’re not the first, I presume?’ The way she said it made Karen sound like a commodity, a replaceable part in an everlasting machine. ‘But no one ever has. I assume you didn’t come today to tell me tales of his affair?’
She’d always known what Emily Lenton looked like, from the Facebook photos she tortured herself with so often. In real life she was more delicate, breakable even, and her hands shook slightly when they weren’t clasped together in front of her. Karen could tell she had been beautiful once but the strain of her situation had taken its toll. Her hair was salon-finished but it was thinning in places, and her make-up looked like a mask against the accusations that she’d lost her husband because she’d let herself go. She made a small motion for Karen to sit down and perched herself on the edge of the large plum-coloured sofa.
‘This isn’t Michael’s house.’ Karen looked around the room at the solid oak furniture, the marble fire surround. Why was his wife here?
‘This is our daughter’s home. She rents it from a family friend. We have three children, three girls. The youngest are twins.’ The words were designed to sting, and they did.
His children. Another inconvenience Karen had managed to block out, pretend didn’t exist. Twin girls of about thirteen years old. She’d seen the pictures: Bethany and Rose. Beautiful children who didn’t deserve an absent father. She realised that she was furious at Michael for what he’d done, for what he’d allowed her to do. She’d known before now, probably for a long time, that their relationship couldn’t go on, but now she was certain and she felt nothing but a slight regret. Regret that they hadn’t met under different circumstances, regret that they had let themselves believe that what they were doing didn’t matter as long as his wife didn’t find out. It did matter, and this woman sitting before her was the victim of their actions. Karen had never even known about another daughter.
‘So why are you here? To find this Jessica Hamilton?’
‘Yes, she’s a patient of mine and I’m very worried about her.’
‘I don’t understand how you ended up here if you didn’t know Anne lived here.’
‘Because this is the address Jessica gave the practice when she signed up.’
‘Not possible. I haven’t heard her name in five years, and she’s never lived here.’
‘But you do know her?’
‘I know of her. She was a friend of Anne’s at college. I’ve never met her.’
‘Is Anne here? Can I speak to her?’
‘She’s gone out, thank goodness. She doesn’t need to see you here. How do you think I know who you are? I found a picture of you and Michael at some event in a book that Anne lent me last year. She doesn’t need to be confronted by her father’s mistress, thank you. It’s bad enough she knows you exist. I never wanted her to find out what her father was really like.’ She stood up.
‘I’m sorry I can’t help you find your patient. I have no idea where Jessica Hamilton lives. We haven’t heard from her in years. Goodbye.’
The confrontation Karen had imagined more than once had been nothing like the fiery affair she’d expected. The wife and the mistress bidding each other a civilised farewell.
Emily spoke again as Karen was walking through the front door, hesitantly, as though she didn’t want to speak at all but would regret it if she didn’t. ‘You and Michael …’
‘It’s over,’ Karen replied, knowing it was true. There was no pretending Michael’s other life didn’t exist after stepping into it, even for just a minute. Emily let out a breath, something almost like relief, and then the mask was back in place.
Karen’s hand was on the door handle of her car when she heard her name being called.
She glanced up. Emily was pointing to where a car had pulled into the cul-de-sac and was coming towards them.
‘Looks like you’re about to get your wish after all,’ she said. ‘That’s Anne’s car.’
Anne slammed on her brakes at the sight of Karen outside her house, put the car into reverse and began to spin her wheels backwards up the street. Karen swung open her door, slammed it behind her and started the engine, shoving the car into first. Emily screamed something after her, but she had no time to stop and explain. She was chasing Anne Lenton’s car, but the person behind the wheel was Jessica Hamilton.
81
What happened the day you met Jessica Hamilton?
Nothing. I thought she was just a regular patient until I saw her with Adam. That’s when I knew she was a danger to my friends.
Not to Bea, surely? How was Jessica sleeping with Adam a threat to Bea?
Jessica hated Eleanor, she told me. She wanted to hurt anyone Eleanor loved. Me, Bea, Noah.
Did she say those words? Did she say their names?
Of course she didn’t. She didn’t need to.
How do you feel about your friends, Karen?
What kind of question is that? We’re like sisters. I love them.
Eleanor and Bea’s bond was particularly close, was it not?
We were all close. All three of us.
And you never felt jealous of the bond shared between the others? It must have been difficult, them being so alike and you keeping the secret of what happened to your sister. Never being able to tell them what life was like at home for you.
We were best friends. I’ve told you, all of us. I wasn’t the odd one out. I wasn’t different. I was one of them. I loved them.
82
Bea
‘What the hell has Anne done?’ Michael was still shaking his head and muttering to himself as they drove towards where his daughter lived. It was clear now that Anne was involved in all of this, possibly even the instigator, and Bea thought he might be having a breakdown with all the information he was trying to process. They’d already had to pull over twice, he was shaking so much and Bea had sat mutely in the car whilst he smoked two cigarettes in a row. She’d attempted to summon up the smallest bit of sympathy for him, but she couldn’t force herself to feel anything other than disgust. Her friend was dead, her other friend was under suspicion of murder, and at the moment she was laying all the blame firmly at his door. If Karen had never met him, if he’d not been a liar and a cheat … if, if, if. Unable to think of anything constructive to say, she bit her bottom lip and stared out of the window.
They had tried calling Anne’s mobile several times, and eventually it had cut straight to answerphone. Now the mobile sitting in the cup holder buzzed to life, the words ‘Emily mob’ flashing across it.
‘My wife,’ Michael said, reaching down to take the phone. Bea could almost taste the disgust in her mouth.
‘Emily, what is it?’ He flicked the speakerphone on so he didn’t have to pull over.
‘It’s Anne, Michael, she’s just turned up at the house.’
Michael looked at Bea. ‘Is she okay?’
‘I don’t know, she didn’t come in. She took one look at your mistress and drove off.’
Bea let out a gasp. Michael looked as though he was going to deny all knowledge of Karen but obviously realised it was too late for that.
‘Is Karen there now?’ he asked. ‘Put her on please, Emily.’
‘She took off after Anne. What’s going on, Michael? That woman was looking for one of Anne’s old college friends. Is Anne in trouble?’
‘Yes. You need to call the police. Tell them the make and model of Anne’s car and that she might hurt herself or someone else. Can you do that?’ There was a mumbling at the end of the phone. ‘Please, Emily, can you do that?’
‘I said yes, Michael, I’m not totally useless! But I want you to know that if anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive you for bringing that woman into our lives.’
‘If anything happens to either of them I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.’ He rang off.
Bea was staring out of the window stony-faced.
‘Where to n
ow?’ she asked. ‘Where are they?’
‘I have no idea.’ Michael shook his head. ‘The only place I can think to go is home. Our home. Or I suppose I should say Karen’s home.’
83
Karen
Anne’s silver Fiat was parked across two of the spaces in the riverside car park when she reached it, the motor still running, door flung open and the driver’s seat empty. Karen pulled into a space and cut her engine, her eyes scanning the empty banks. She should walk away and call the police – stop trying to fix everyone and everything. If there was one thing she should have learned from all of this it was not to try and save the world. She slammed the car door behind her and, not bothering to lock it, ran towards the riverbank. Maybe she hadn’t learned anything at all.
She found her standing on the concrete underneath the bridge, staring into the dark water as though in a trance. As Karen approached, she didn’t even look up. Karen stopped walking and studied her.
Anne Lenton, the woman Karen had known as Jessica Hamilton for the last five weeks, the woman responsible for her entire world imploding, was just a child. She could see now the nervous girl from that very first encounter, her face pink and devoid of make-up, her hair thick and frizzy. How had things gone so far from that first day? Should she have realised sooner how much of a threat Anne was? Had she failed again?
Anne looked up, saw Karen watching and took a shaky step backwards. Gone was the cool, calm Jessica Hamilton, in control and holding all the cards. This girl – Michael’s daughter, for God’s sake! – looked petrified. It was difficult for Karen to reconcile her with the murderous psychopath she had felt so sure she was just a few hours ago.
‘Stay away from me,’ Anne said as Karen moved closer. She had one hand held out in a traffic-stopping pose, as though she could stop her with some unseen force. ‘Stay the fuck away from me!’
Karen stopped and held up her own hands. ‘I’m not coming closer unless you want me to. I just want to talk to you.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘Jess— Anne, you’ve nothing to fear from me.’ She inched closer, trying to utilise her years of training. She’d never been in a situation like this before – they didn’t teach you at university what to do if your married lover’s daughter turned out to be a dangerous psychopath. ‘Jessica paid for five sessions, remember? Well, she’s only had four. Let’s do your last session right here.’
Karen held her breath while Anne stood rigid, a look of confusion on her face. ‘What do you want me to talk about?’
‘Well, now that I know the real reason you came to see me, I think we need to take another look at the aims of your sessions. What do you hope to achieve?’
Karen felt calmer now. Although she wasn’t in her familiar office setting, just the rhythm and intonation of the psychiatrist’s role readjusted the control in the situation, brought them back on an even footing. Anne dropped her chin and studied the concrete.
‘Dad spent more time with you than the others. He was away all week and expected Mum to believe he was working away all of a sudden. So I followed him, saw him practically living at your house. I found out everything I could about you, at first I just watched the pair of you coming and going, then – I don’t know what made me do it – I booked an appointment with your practice. I suppose I just wanted to see what you were like up close. I don’t really know what I expected. Then when you didn’t recognise me – you didn’t have a clue who I was and I knew all about you – I started to think that maybe I could make you realise the damage you were doing. That’s why I invented the story about seeing a married man. I … I never even … I didn’t expect it to turn out like this.’
She looked out over the river and Karen took the chance to move forward half a step, a movement so imperceptible that the other woman didn’t even notice when she turned back to face her.
‘Why not just tell me who you were?’
‘I thought you knew that your boyfriend had children. I saw you once, sitting in your car outside Mum and Dad’s house. It wasn’t like you didn’t know he was married. If you already knew, what would be the point of telling you?’
Karen felt the shame wash over her as she took in the damage she and Michael had caused. She had always insisted to Michael that she didn’t want to know about his family, that it would make it impossible to continue if she knew what it was she was keeping him from, but the truth was she hadn’t been able to stay away. She hadn’t known about Anne, though. Emily’s Facebook page was full of pictures of the twins, but there wasn’t one picture of Anne on there.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘We were selfish and it was wrong of us. But why involve my friends?’
For a second Anne looked as though she was about to deny it; then she said, ‘I sent them the emails because I wanted them to see what you were really like. I’ve been watching you, the things you do when you think no one knows. I wanted them to see.’
‘How long have you been watching me?’
‘For a while. Long enough. Long enough to know I’m not the one who needs a psychiatrist.’
‘You could have just told them.’
‘You’d say I was crazy. You’d lie your way out of it. You’re a good liar, Karen, I’ll give you that.’
‘And the story about your sister?’
‘I just wanted to get some kind of a reaction from you. I hated seeing you so calm and composed every week while I knew what was really happening under the surface. I just wanted to see you rattled.’
‘Is that why you broke into my house? Stole my things?’
‘I didn’t break in; Dad has a key. He didn’t even suspect that I knew about you, so there was no reason for him to hide it. Who’s going to ask which doors his keys are for? Mum was turning a blind eye as always.’
‘So the woman you were talking about when you said you blamed her, you hated her for being weak and allowing her husband to be stolen …’
‘She never even tried to stop him, you know.’ Anne’s voice was filled with bitterness now, and for the first time Karen thought she could see the angry girl she recognised from their sessions. ‘I love her, of course; she’s my mother and she saved me from going into care when I was seven years old. I owe her everything. But all I ever wanted was a stable family. She could have given me that, but instead she chose to let him screw you. You’ve met her; she’s weak. I bet you walked up to my house and she just let you in. She probably offered you a cup of tea.’
Strangely, Karen wanted to defend her boyfriend’s wife, but she couldn’t. Emily hadn’t asked her to stop seeing her husband. Karen had always wondered about the type of woman who turned a blind eye, but when it came to it, that was exactly what Eleanor had done. How did Karen know she wouldn’t do the same?
‘You shouldn’t blame your mother. You don’t know what it’s like.’
‘To feel like someone you love is giving up on you?’ Anne snorted. ‘No, I’ve got no idea of that.’ She kicked at the clumps of dried soil on the concrete. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Karen replied. Her shoulders sagged at the weight of all that had happened, all the pain she had caused. ‘I guess we should go to the police.’
Confusion passed momentarily over Anne’s face. ‘You don’t want to do that.’
‘They’ll find you anyway, Anne. It’s better to hand yourself in. They already know all about what you’ve been doing to my friends and me. You left fingerprints at my house. They’re looking for you now, it’s only a matter of time before they arrest you for Eleanor’s murder.’
It was a risky lie and Karen had no way of knowing if Anne would believe her. Anne’s eyes widened in fear, and Karen could see no trace of the confident young woman who had sat across from her in her office, mocking her with her questions of morality and taunting her with her knowledge of Karen and her friends.
‘Me?’ Realisation dawned on her. ‘No. NO. You know I’m not responsible for those things, you know her
death wasn’t my fault. You can’t do this to me!’ She sank slowly to her haunches, doubled over as though hit by a sudden stomach cramp. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this.’ She began muttering something but Karen couldn’t hear what she was saying. She didn’t feel like a threat any more. Karen moved to kneel down beside her, but she didn’t even seem to notice; instead carried on mumbling the same sentence over and over.
‘Look, Anne, I’m sure they will take everything into account. It was an accident, that much is obvious. If you admit it they will go easy on you.’
The girl looked up, a mixture of fear and defiance in her murky blue eyes, and in that second Karen knew she’d underestimated her for a second time. She’d been wrong about what fear could make a person do.
‘You won’t get away with this,’ Anne hissed, and grabbing hold of Karen’s shirt collar, she dragged her towards the moving brown water.
84
Bea
‘This doesn’t feel right,’ Bea announced, following Michael up the stairs of Karen’s home. ‘I feel like an intruder.’
‘We’re trying to help. Besides, I live here.’
Bea scowled. ‘Don’t get me started on that again. I just don’t see how this is going to help Karen with your lunatic daughter. No offence. We should be driving around screaming her name out of the car window, not creeping around her bedroom.’
‘I hoped she’d have given up chasing Anne and come back here, but as she hasn’t, there’s something I wanted to show you.’ He emerged from the master bedroom with a shoebox in his hand and handed it to Bea, who took it gently, as though she was expecting it to burn her. She sat down on the top step of the stairs and opened the lid, Michael pacing behind her.
‘What am I looking at?’
Before I Let You In Page 27
