by Ruth Dugdall
Beyond the glass, Daniel remained oblivious to what was coming. He was focused on two women, whom he was tying up like origami with red bands that hung from the ceiling. Holly was unable to hear a word but still followed everything that was happening. A smooth operator, Daniel didn’t have a dark hair out of place. His taut frame was clad in tight black running clothes, and both women contorted at his command like fluorescent parrots. One woman in a bulging electric-blue unitard found this harder than the other, but he was there to push her generous bottom along the narrow band until she had achieved the position, grinning at him as she did so. Holly felt the mirrored touch on her own backside, and shifted in her seat to make it go away.
Daniel tapped his client on her bright-blue thigh in congratulation, looked at his watch and then began a spontaneous round of applause, which neither of the women could join in without risking a fall. He untethered them, and the class was over, the women collecting their water bottles and snazzy sports bags, eyeing Daniel appreciatively as he exited.
Arriving in the reception area, he spotted Holly on the sofa. His features froze and his eyes turned steely, then as the receptionist told him she was here as a client, he adjusted his face to be more welcoming.
‘Hi, Holly. What a surprise to see you here – welcome to Samphire! How can I help you?’
He actually looked sincere, and she thought how easy it must be to trust this man.
Holly smiled sweetly, aware of the twitching ears of the receptionist. ‘It’s rather delicate, so if we could talk somewhere private . . .’
She saw him hesitate, and feared he was going to say no, despite the receptionist saying he had loads of spaces. ‘I’m very busy right now. Christmas is such a stressful time that my clients always like a bit more attention.’ As he said this, the two women from the class appeared, now with brushed manes and glossy lips, chatting together and looking curiously at Holly as they made their way to the juice fridge, and he called, ‘Try the new Christmas Samphire, girls – it’s got cinnamon and turmeric to help you get through the shopping madness!’
They both smiled, and keenly grabbed the snot-green bottles as though they contained the elixir of health.
‘I’d really appreciate just a little of your time,’ Holly said. ‘I’ve heard such good things about your cures.’
‘Then please come up to my office.’
Upstairs was no match for the luxurious ambience of the lower floor. The corridor was narrow and dark, paint peeled from the walls, the restroom door hung open, as did the door of a cleaning cupboard, revealing anti-bacterial sprays and tall rolls of paper. Daniel’s office was a room of similar size, barely large enough for the MDF desk he had wedged against the wall and the single kitchen stool. He appeared not to register the incongruity of this, and showed her into his office with the same flair as if he had managed to find a space on Murray Mound at Wimbledon.
‘Voilà! I’ll go get another chair. Would you like a juice?’
‘I’d like to try the Red Dragon, if I may.’
She wasn’t thirsty, but asking for a juice bought her a few minutes as he’d have to return downstairs to fetch it, and who could turn down the promise of emotional peace?
Once he’d gone, she looked around properly, surprised by the mess and clutter, when the man himself was so well groomed. It was like cracking open his handsome skull and peering inside to the ugliness within. Stacks of paper flooded the desk, old mugs bore tea stains on the porcelain, a calendar tacked to the wall had a mess of scribbles next to different dates: Flora, Gabby, Linda, Victoria & Dawn.
He was soon back, brandishing a bottle and a camping chair.
‘Red Dragon, my own secret recipe.’ He passed it to her, and as she took it, their fingers touched. She felt his need to keep control of this interview, as well as his underlying fear that he wouldn’t be able to.
‘Madame,’ he said, opening out the camping chair for her to sit on and perching on the desk.
‘Thanks.’ It had a low seat, so she was looking up at Daniel. ‘Looks like you’re in the middle of something?’
‘Ah, I’m playing catch-up. Most of this stuff just needs filing, and Katie’s been too busy on reception to sort it out. I’m getting ready for the end-of-year returns and all that nonsense.’
‘How’s the gym doing?’ she asked, opening and sipping her juice, waiting for the Red Dragon to kick in.
‘Woodbridge is a great town for a healing studio – lots of educated people who care about their health and their bodies.’
Holly involuntarily pulled her stomach in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked out, unless sex with Leif counted as aerobic exercise. The juice, though, was tasty and she could almost feel it doing her good.
‘And, of course, we offer far more here than exercise – there’s a whole host of alternative therapies. And the juices. Enjoying it?’
‘It’s delicious,’ she said, honestly.
‘This is just the start. When the Spa opens, we’ll offer a raw-food programme, tailored to specific needs. We’ll have more space, a better ambience . . . Think of all those people we’ll be able to help. I’m only scratching the surface at the moment.’
Daniel’s ambition sickened her: he was able to enthuse about it so soon after Maya’s death and Hector’s arrest. And none of it would be possible if Maya were alive – she’d have sold the farm to the Port Authority. Holly glanced again at his calendar, with its scattering of names. ‘Are your customers always women?’
‘It’s a female-only studio. My clients would feel inhibited if there were a man around. It’s a safe space for them.’
‘But you’re a man,’ Holly pointed out, taking another sip of her juice to hide her bemusement.
‘I’m a professional,’ he replied curtly, ‘so I don’t count.’
Holly thought back to his two smitten customers. Daniel counted very much, and he liked it that way: the only male in an exclusively female environment.
‘So,’ he prompted, ‘how can I help you?’
Holly took a breath and dived in. ‘I have synaesthesia. I can sense people’s emotions, feel touch when I see it. And it’s driving me crazy – I’d like you to cure me.’
Daniel’s face lit up with intense curiosity. ‘Well, that’s a new one. Let me see what I can do.’
He came towards her, and Holly tried not to flinch when he placed his hands on her shoulders, pressing down. This proximity is what I need, to sense any guilt. ‘Breathe deeply and close your eyes, please.’
She did, and she found her breathing matched his, that his hands warmed her arms, moving up her neck. And then she saw him, lifting the boot of his car and bundling something inside. She smelt blood in her nostrils as surely as if she were back again with Maya’s body.
‘Breathe, Holly. You’re tensing.’
Her body betrayed her: she was relaxing, her mind seemed to be uncoiling and laying itself flat. Daniel was chanting now, a strange humming sound that made her think of dark places, warm spaces. No, tune in to his senses, don’t let him take over.
She tried to get back to that place, to see Daniel once again bundling something into the car, but the moment had gone. The smell had left her, and all that remained was the sandalwood of his aftershave. Her body was moving, swaying to his command, and she felt heat travel through her limbs, a healing balm. Then he stopped.
Her eyes clicked open like shutters. She was back in the room.
‘Okay, Holly,’ Daniel said, crouching in front of her, ‘you can relax now.’
She realised that she wanted him to cure her, that if he told her he could, she’d believe him. Please, she inwardly begged, make it stop.
‘I’m so sorry. Your disorder is so hardwired, I can’t reach it. I don’t think there is a cure.’
Two miles out of Woodbridge, she pulled into a lay-by and, hands sweating, called Leif. She didn’t know if he’d understand, didn’t understand it herself, but she had to speak to someone.
‘Sötnos, where are you? Are you coming home?’
Home. It was where she longed to be, not hunched in her car in a rest stop, shaking like a kitten. ‘Leif, something happened.’
‘Holly, are you crying? Tell me where you are – I shall come.’
‘No, just listen. Leif, I can’t tell you how I know this, but it was Daniel who shot Maya. And I think he bundled something with her blood on it into his car. Can you get the team to examine it?’
‘To seize a car we need proof, Holly. Do you have that?’
She really was crying now, for the career she was giving up. She had to do this though. Like Alfie said, people’s lives were at stake. ‘Leif, I looked at Maya’s medical records and her cancer had returned. I think Daniel shot her to stop her exposing him and because she wasn’t going to give him the farm. I have the contract she signed, agreeing to sell to the Port Authority. And I have reason to believe her blood is in his car.’
39
Cassandra
Daniel arrives home late and in a taxi. He’s pale and looks upset.
‘Where’s your car?’ I ask, but he shakes his head, gesturing to where Victoria’s curled up on the sofa, her phone in her grip as she furiously types messages and takes selfie snaps.
‘Dad! Come and see this clip Dawn just sent me,’ Victoria says, oblivious to his pallor. ‘It’s a kid who somehow got into a gorilla’s enclosure at a zoo. Hilarious.’
It doesn’t sound hilarious to me, it sounds terrifying. But it’s good to see her so happy, all because Dawn is coming tomorrow. Daniel organised it, with Mrs H and Dawn’s mother, who collected her from Oakfield today so he doesn’t have to make the long trip to Norfolk and she can spend one night at home. She’s going to miss a few days of school, but she’ll be here to support Victoria. And I agreed, for my own reasons. Tomorrow, Daniel collects Dawn from her mother’s. He’ll be seeing Monica.
Daniel gamely watches the clip, though I can tell something’s bothering him. He asks me, ‘Where’s Hector?’
‘Gone for a lie-down. What’s wrong, Daniel? Why did you come home in a taxi?’
He runs his hand over his face and for a terrible second I think he’s going to cry. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ He casts a glance at Victoria, and I understand that whatever has happened is bad.
‘There’s some halloumi salad left,’ I tell him. ‘Come eat something.’
‘I’m not hungry, I just need a drink.’
‘There’s some Cabernet open.’ I stand, obedient. ‘Do you want some juice, Victoria? Green or red?’
‘Green, please,’ she says.
In the kitchen, I replay my daughter’s voice in my mind – confident and clear, with the enunciation of a public-school education; her accent isn’t a place, it’s a class. This is the gift you bought her, Mum, when you paid for her to attend Oakfield. A bonus to the larger gift of a sanctuary away from my madness.
Back in the front room, I hand her the juice and pass Daniel a large glass of wine. He’s acting like everything’s okay, but he’s tense. I’m trying to be normal too, though it’s a stretch. The only thing left of ‘me’ is on the outside: my stiffly smiling face, my trembling hands on the glass of juice. Inside is a liquid mess, a flood of incomprehensible feelings. Maybe the drugs I’m taking, the Prozac and trazodone, are making me dissolve as well.
Finally, Victoria yawns and takes herself off upstairs and Daniel begins to clear away the napkins and empty glasses.
‘She’s barely said a word today that wasn’t about Dawn, she can’t wait to see her tomorrow.’ I laugh, as if this weren’t something that cuts my heart in two.
‘Mmm, that’s boarding school, I suppose,’ he says. ‘Strong friendships that last for life. Your mum said that’s why it’s such a wonderful experience.’
So much for that: your so-called friends, Mum, have sent cards but none have offered to help with the funeral. I keep that thought inside. It’s a battle I’ve already lost.
‘Please, Daniel, now will you tell me why you came home in a taxi? I can tell something bad has happened.’ I’m frightened of what he’ll say but I’ve been waiting since he came in, and I can’t wait any more.
‘The police came to the Studio an hour ago,’ he says. ‘They’ve seized my car.’
‘So how will you collect Dawn?’ My first thought, rather than the obvious question. This is how obsessed I am with Monica.
‘I’ve got a hire car arriving in the morning. I didn’t want to change our plans, especially when Dawn’s mum has already collected her from Oakfield.’
‘But why do the police want your car?’ Finally, the right question. ‘What reason could they have?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ he says, taking a deep slug of wine.
DAY 13
THURSDAY 13 NOVEMBER
40
Cassandra
As a watery sun appears, I abandon sleep and take a cold shower in a punishing attempt to wake myself up. I need to be prepared, I can’t be slow today. I have to concentrate.
Daniel comes downstairs an hour later, dressed in his work outfit: a navy polo shirt and jogging bottoms. I see a spot of blood on his chin where he cut himself shaving, and touch it. He holds my hand and kisses my fingers and I realise that for once he’s the vulnerable one. I let him cling to me, and when he pulls away he looks pale. I wonder if it’s because the police have seized his car or guilt because he’s about to betray me. But after today, there will be no more wondering. I’m going to know for certain: I’m going to follow him to Monica’s house.
I have eggs boiling in a pan, the spelt bread is toasted, green tea is poured. It would look like a normal morning scene in an ordinary house, something from a TV ad, unless you could peer inside my suspicious mind.
‘You’re looking better today, Cass.’ He kisses me again, on the lips this time, and I lean into him. He’s resilient, my man, he’ll bounce back quickly. He’s already organised a hire car so he can fetch Dawn, and he’s said nothing more about the police taking his car.
I sneak a glance at him as he begins to eat. ‘What time are you setting off ?’
‘Soon. I want to fetch Dawn and drop her back here before lunch. I have clients to see for the rest of the day.’ He takes the toast from me and begins munching. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Oh . . . I’m seeing the funeral director for the final arrangements, choosing the flowers. Lots to do today.’ I keep my head lowered, pass him a glass of orange juice. ‘You don’t mind going to fetch Dawn? Given that the police . . .’
‘I’m not letting them change our plans, Cass. We carry on as before, okay?’ He downs his juice in one gulp. ‘The least we can do is let Tori have her friend to stay.’ He kisses me goodbye. ‘Look after our girl,’ he says.
We agreed Victoria isn’t going with him, that she’ll stay home to help me instead. That’s my story, but the truth is I don’t want her to be there when I don’t know what will happen, and anyway, her presence would change Daniel’s behaviour. If he’s guilty, I need to see it. And if he’s innocent, then I’ll know I really am sick.
Aware of the seconds passing, I go to the window of the front room to study the hire car. A Pacific-blue Mazda. I can’t see the number plate, but the car has a distinctive fin antenna on the roof. Then I dash upstairs to see Victoria, but she’s still asleep and her door’s locked. I push a message under it, already written, along with a ten-pound note:
I’ll be back later. Call if you need me. Mum xxx
The truth is, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I need to see for myself what Daniel is up to, because of seeing a woman in my home that Halloween, because it was the woman in the photograph on Dawn’s bedside cabinet, because of hearing the name Monica. Because of Daniel’s conversation with Dad about their story.
The can of worms is going to be opened today, whatever it reveals.
By the time I leave the house, the blue Mazda is gone, but there’s only one road out of the cul-de-sac and soon
I’m on it, driving fast towards the A12. I glimpse the car tail light, lit on account of the dull day. I keep my lights off, though it would be safer to use them, desperate to go unnoticed. My hands slip on the steering wheel and it’s an effort to keep my breathing steady. I’m frightened of what I’ll discover, but I’ve taken the first step now and I’m not stopping. I pray Daniel doesn’t need anything; if he pulls into a garage, I’ll have no chance of tracking him without being seen, but onwards he drives, so far ahead of me that there are several cars between us. This could be a fool’s errand. I may discover nothing today that helps me.
It’s tricky to remain unnoticed after we hit the B-road, inland from the coast that leads to Reydon, where I remember Dawn and her mother live. It’s just his car and mine on the road now, so I hang well back and see we have arrived at the town. I almost miss him when he takes a sudden turn left into a side road. I pull over, the risk of him seeing me is just too great now we’re driving in a 30 m.p.h. zone. I wait two minutes before I drive on again, scanning the tops of cars along the street for the blue fin. Then I see it, parked directly outside a red-brick end terrace.
I pull over sharply, breathless, pulling on the handbrake just as he gets out. My heart hurts. He looks so very much like my Daniel, but if my suspicions are true, he isn’t. He doesn’t even look down the road as he locks the car. He has no idea I’m watching as he walks up the path, stands on the doorstep and reaches forward to rap on the door. At least she hasn’t given him a key.
He collects the single bottle of milk from the step: it looks like she lives alone then. The front lawn’s uncut and the curtains hang uneven at the windows, as if she pulled them back in a hurry. This isn’t how I’d expect his lover to live – I’d imagined manicured perfection.
