by Lisa Jewell
‘Hello!’ Lily calls out through the door. ‘Hello! Lady! This is Lily! We spoke earlier on the phone. Lady? Are you there? Hello?’
She puts her ear to the door, but there is pure silence on the other side.
She turns to Russ. ‘Kick it in,’ she says.
‘What!’
‘Kick the door in. Please.’
‘I can’t do that, Lily. That’s criminal damage. I could be arrested; it could …’
Lily pushes him out the way and launches herself against the door.
‘Lily!’ He tries to stop her but she pushes him away from her.
The door feels solid, but not impregnable. She hefts herself against it again and again, until she can feel bruises forming on her hip. She uses her feet then, kicking and kicking, sending shockwaves from the soles of her feet through to her knee joints.
‘Lily! Seriously! You can’t do this!’
‘I can do this,’ she snaps, turning to Russ angrily. ‘My husband might be in there. Anyone could be in there. We drove five hours to come here. I’m not leaving until we’ve been inside this room. OK?’
She starts to kick again and then Russ is at her side.
‘Come on then,’ he says, ‘on three. One … two … three.’
They kick at the door in tandem, once, twice, three times, and suddenly, finally, there is a sound of splintering wood; they kick again – the door loosens; then again and the door flies open.
Russ reaches for the light switch. He turns it on. They step inside.
Forty-two
Frank’s face appears at Alice’s back window at about six o’clock. It’s become very cold very suddenly and his breath leaves his body in misty clouds.
‘Hi,’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Bit chilly, isn’t it?’
‘Get in front of the fire,’ says Alice. ‘I’ll bring you something to drink. What do you want? Tea? Wine?’
‘Actually …’ He pauses and looks down at his feet. ‘I didn’t come in to bother you – I know this is your busy time – I just came in to say I’m sorry. About earlier. I feel like I was a bit of a downer. And I didn’t thank you properly for the wonderful lunch. So nice of you. And also, I made you this.’ He passes her a postcard-sized piece of card.
She looks at the card, and then up at him, and then down at the card again. ‘You did this?’
He nods, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘It turns out I can kind of draw,’ he says.
‘Wow,’ says Alice. ‘That’s just, God, it’s beautiful.’
It’s a tiny pencil sketch of the three dogs on the beach, with the words ‘THANK YOU’ in an elegant calligraphy underneath. The sea in the background and the fairy lights in the foreground are coloured in pale smudges of pastel.
‘I hope you don’t mind but I used some of your art stuff. I found it in a drawer.’
‘No, God, no. Of course I don’t mind. I mean, wow, Frank, you’re really talented. This is so beautiful.’
‘It was the weirdest thing, Alice. I wanted to give you something so much and I have nothing to give you and I might never see you again after tomorrow and I was scared that maybe I’d never have a chance to repay you, and I saw your drawer and I had this huge wave of wanting to draw something so I sat down and my hands seemed to know exactly what pencil to use, how to use the pastels and the dogs just suddenly appeared on the paper and I can draw!’
‘You can draw, Frank,’ said Alice. ‘You really can.’
‘I know. And it’s quite ironic really, because just before this happened, I remembered what my job is. And seriously, it couldn’t be further removed from this.’ He gestures at the beautiful postcard.
‘What?’ she asks breathlessly. ‘What is your job?’
‘Guess.’
‘You’re an accountant.’
‘No, but not far off. I’m a maths teacher.’
‘Ha!’ Alice hoots. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. In a secondary school.’
‘Oh my God. Where? I mean, could you remember the name of the school?’
‘Couldn’t remember the name, but I remembered the uniform: black blazers, black jumpers with a red trim. Black and red striped tie. An emblem like a sort of castle thing, a turret.’
Alice smiles. ‘You know,’ she says, ‘actually, I can just see you. I really can.’ She laughs. ‘And had we known this sooner you could have repaid me for my hospitality by giving Kai some extra tuition.’
‘I still could!’ he says brightly. ‘I could do some with him now!’
Alice laughs again. ‘I think that might not go down all that well as a Sunday-evening suggestion. But if you come back from the police station tomorrow, I’ll definitely take you up on the offer.’
Frank nods and then sighs. ‘There’s more, Alice.’
She bites the inside of her cheeks and waits for some terrible pronouncement about children and wives.
‘I’m pretty sure I’m single.’
She starts and looks up at him. ‘You mean …?’
‘I mean I remembered where I live. I could see the inside of my flat. All my stuff. And there was no sign of a woman. Just a cat. Called Brenda.’
Alice feels her heart blossom and unfurl. This man, this remarkable stranger, this person who has made her feel ways she thought she might never feel again, is a single maths teacher with a cat. She laughs loudly. ‘Brenda?’
‘I know! Brenda! What a wag I am!’
‘What a wag you are, Frank.’ She smiles and hugs herself.
‘And now, of course, I’m really worried about her.’
‘About Brenda?’
‘Yes. I live alone. She must be hungry.’
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘cats are adaptable, resourceful. She’ll find someone to feed her.’
‘Do you think?’
And his face is so stricken with concern that Alice can’t help throwing her arms around him and hugging him. ‘Don’t you worry about Brenda,’ she says into his ear. ‘If you get locked up tomorrow I’ll personally go to your flat and collect her and bring her back here to live with me. OK?’
‘A murderer’s cat? Are you sure?’
‘As you know,’ she says drily, ‘I have no problem with animals owned by criminals.’
He pulls back from her and appraises her warmly. His eyes are taking in the detail of her and she feels raw and alive. ‘You’, he says, ‘are amazing.’
‘I am not amazing,’ she says. ‘Really. Trust me. Ask anyone. I’m an idiot.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Because I am. Just look at me. Look at this house. It’s chaos. And you know …’ She stops, hovering with one foot poised on the edge of a conversational precipice. ‘You know, I’ve had the social services called on me. Twice.’
He looks at her disbelievingly.
‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘Once in London over Kai and Jasmine. Some busybody mother at the school decided I wasn’t raising them properly, because there were people in my house who maybe shouldn’t have been in my house, because they were late for school most mornings, because I couldn’t get my arse out of bed in time, because I was so fucking depressed, because sometimes I had no food in the house and I sent them in with inappropriate meals. All that. And it was all true. I was a shit mother. I loved them, but I didn’t have a clue how to mother them. That was a real wake-up call. I changed everything. I went to the GP, got myself a prescription for Prozac. Got rid of the stupid friends. Kept the good ones. Tidied the flat. I was allowed to keep them. But it was close. And it was …’ She blinks slowly and swallows, ‘… it was the worst time of my life. But we got through it. And then, oh, you know, clever, clever me, I go and get pregnant again. By some man that any other woman wouldn’t have touched with a bargepole. A psycho. So, that was great. Just when I’d got my shit together, suddenly I’m suffering with PND and a new baby and a controlling idiot of a man trying to tell my kids what to do, trying to tell me what to do, what to wear, what to think.’
She sto
ps and pulls her hair back from her face. ‘So, yeah – we ran away. Didn’t tell Romaine’s dad where we were going. I did all this covertly.’ She indicates the cottage. ‘Waited until he was in hospital, for his cirrhosis, because, oh yes, I forgot to mention, didn’t I, that he was an alcoholic?’ She laughs wryly. ‘He stopped drinking for long enough to be granted occasional access to Romaine. And then he kidnapped her. It was …’ She gasps as tears jump up her throat. ‘It was a nightmare. Then, thank God, he fucked off to Australia and made a baby with another woman and everything settled down for a while. And then, oh joy, Romaine’s reception teacher decides that Romaine is being neglected.’
‘What!’
‘Yes. Because I never had time to comb her hair in the mornings. Because she had stains on her sweatshirt. Because I was always late collecting her. Because she wet herself and cried a lot. Oh and because, once, once, she talked about a horror film she’d accidentally watched at home when I was out and Kai didn’t know she was in the room. Because …’ She sighs. ‘Because I took my eye off the ball. Because I’m a shit mother. And no, no action was ever taken. They came round here, I told them the story of her kidnapping – you know he kept her in a hotel room for nearly two weeks? Two weeks! On her own half the time as well and she was barely three years old. Fucking, fucking bastard. I was so cross with the school, with that po-faced little teacher with her fucking shiny little crucifix round her neck, who knew nothing about anything, I couldn’t walk through the gates without getting in a row with someone. I was that mother. You know: the scary one that they all have to have meetings about. It was …’ She pauses and rubs her face. ‘It was the worst time. Of all the worst times. I just wanted to sell the cottage and move somewhere else, Outer Hebrides, as far away from everyone and everything as possible. And that was when Derry stepped in. She turned everything round for me. Liaised with the school on my behalf. Helped me get a diagnosis of dyslexia for Romaine. Collected Romaine when I was running late. Smoothed everything over. Dear God, I’d be dead without her. Really I would.’
Frank has been staring at her fixedly throughout her monologue.
‘I still think you’re amazing,’ he says.
‘I haven’t told you about sleeping with Barry yet though.’
‘Barry?’
‘Yes, remember the dodgy lodger who stole chocolate and gave it to my kids? The one who left me with a six-stone Staffy and two months’ of unpaid rent? The one whose jacket I gave you on the beach?’
He nods.
‘Yeah. Him. I slept with him. He was physically repellent. But I did it anyway. Because I’m a fucking idiot. I’ve always been an idiot and I always will be an idiot.’
‘So,’ he says thoughtfully, ‘where do I fit into this litany of idiocy?’
‘Oh, pretty high, I’d say. Pretty high. Yeah, imagine how this would play with the social services, with the mums at the school. A man who remembers nothing other than that he thinks he might have killed someone. Living in my back garden. Oh, yes, and in my bed also.’ She shakes her head despairingly. Then she smiles drily and says, ‘At least you’re not married though, eh? That really would have put the cherry on top of the turd.’
Frank puts his hands on her shoulders and looks hard into her eyes. She feels like an open wound. There’s more she could have told him: all the one-night stands, the lost weekends, the cutting of the corners of parenting. She’s still a work in progress. But that’s enough for now. She’s given him almost the bottom line about herself. She doesn’t want to say goodbye to him tomorrow and leave him with some golden, idealised fantasy of who she is. Taking in stray dogs doesn’t make you a saint. Neither does taking in lost strangers. If it turns out that he’s done nothing wrong – that he really is just a slightly vague maths teacher with a cat called Brenda and is free to leave and get on with his life – and if he chooses to come back here, she wants it to be in the light of full disclosure. He can’t come back here expecting a saint and angel, expecting to be rescued. Because she’s not capable of rescuing anyone.
His hand caresses the side of her face, his thumb finding the dip under her cheekbone. She waits for him to say something but he doesn’t. He brings his hands to the nape of her neck and his lips to her forehead and he kisses her hard. The kiss feels like redemption, as though he’s taking away all her sins, sucking them out of her. She feels weak with it and soft and she takes his hands in hers and holds them against his face.
And then there is a scuffle at the kitchen door. A dog, followed by another dog, followed by a child. ‘Is it teatime yet?’ says Romaine. ‘I’m hungry.’
Alice lets Frank’s hands drop and takes a step away from him, her eyes still on his. Then she turns to Romaine and she says, ‘Well, yes, that’ll be because you only had potatoes for your lunch.’
‘Shall I make you a bagel?’ Frank asks and Romaine looks at him with wide eyes and says:
‘Yes! Please! But don’t forget to slice it first, Frank.’
‘I will never forget to slice a bagel again, thanks to you.’
‘I can do that,’ says Alice, opening the bread bin. ‘Seriously. You sit down.’
‘No,’ says Frank, cutting in front of her. ‘No. I want to. Honestly. More than anything.
Romaine picks up the postcard and says, ‘Wow, did you draw that, Frank?’
‘He certainly did, angel,’ says Alice.
‘Wow. It’s really good. Will you draw me something? Will you draw me? And Mummy?’
‘I’d love to,’ he says. ‘Let me make you this bagel and then I’ll come back and draw you.’
Alice stands, her hips against the kitchen counter, her arms folded across her stomach, and she watches this man in her kitchen, making food for her baby, the dogs sitting at his feet, looking at him hopefully for possible scraps of ham or chicken. He belongs here, she thinks, suddenly, dreadfully. Whoever he is. Whatever he’s done. He belongs here.
And then she remembers that tomorrow she is taking him to the police and that chances are she’ll never ever see him again. She turns to the fridge behind her and pulls out a bottle of wine.
Forty-three
1993
It had all gone horribly wrong.
Kirsty had managed to get the blanket over Mark’s head but because Gray could not actually see the crown of Mark’s head, the base of the lamp had landed somewhere innocuous around the side of his head instead. Within seconds Mark had scrabbled his way out of the blanket and bundled Kirsty on to the bed. Gray had launched himself at him, grabbed him around the middle with his one good arm and attempted to wrench him away, but Mark was twice as strong as Gray even without the broken wrist and batted him off with very little effort.
Gray staggered backwards against the door. It was unlocked. His hand found the handle and he began to turn it.
‘You leave this room and I’ll kill her,’ said Mark.
Gray stopped.
‘You really don’t seem to have got the message,’ Mark continued, ‘either of you. You’re not going anywhere. The party downstairs is over. There’s no one else here.’
‘Our dad will be here soon,’ said Kirsty breathlessly.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Mark. ‘Your dad. Been and gone. Told him you left an hour ago.’
‘He’ll call the police,’ said Gray, ‘when he can’t find us. They’ll come straight here. They’ll find your drugs. You’ll be arrested.’
Mark shrugged. ‘I doubt it. I told him you’d gone to the beach. With some new friends. That you were both wired. Off your faces.’
He pulled Kirsty up to a sitting position by her arms and then turned to Gray. ‘Sit down,’ he said, patting the bed next to him. ‘Now.’
The knife was back at Kirsty’s neck. Gray sighed and moved towards the bed. Mark dragged him down and then jumped to his feet. He found the cord that Gray had ripped from the lamp and used it to tie their hands together so that they were joined together back to back.
‘My wrist,’ Gray called out, ‘please b
e careful with my wrist!’
Mark looked at Gray’s wrist thoughtfully and said, ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t know my own strength sometimes,’ before slowly pulling the cord tight around it, his eyes never leaving Gray’s as he did so.
Gray screamed. It felt like nails being driven into the marrow of his bones. It felt like every moment of pain he’d ever experienced blended together into one shocking, unthinkable sensation.
‘Scream as much as you like,’ said Mark, adjusting the cord fussily. ‘No one will hear you.’
Then he stood back to appraise his handiwork. ‘There,’ he said, ‘that should stop you both arsing about.’
‘Mark,’ said Gray, his voice desperate and hollow, ‘what are you doing? I mean, what is your plan?’
Mark adjusted his posture to that of someone giving something some very deep thought. ‘Gosh, good question. I really haven’t decided yet. Let me get back to you on that one.’
Sweat dripped into Gray’s eyebrows and down the sides of his face as he struggled to deal with the pain of the cord digging into his broken bone. Kirsty wriggled slightly and he howled in pain.
‘Sorry,’ he heard her whisper.
Meanwhile, Mark paced backwards and forwards, still maintaining his ridiculous ‘thinking’ charade. Then suddenly he sat down next to Kirsty and Gray felt her breath catch and her back straighten. Gray couldn’t see what was happening but he heard Kirsty say, ‘Don’t.’
‘Get off her,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Don’t fucking touch her.’
He felt Kirsty’s whole body twitch and buckle.
‘Stop it,’ she said. ‘Don’t.’
‘What’s he doing, Kirst?’ he asked.
‘I’m touching her, Graham,’ came Mark’s voice, calm and measured. ‘I’m touching her body.’
Gray flinched; his stomach felt liquid. ‘Fucking get off her,’ he said. ‘Get your hands off her or I will kill you.’
