I shake my head, shrugging. ‘I think service was a bit slow. I can’t remember. I probably thought it would be best to pay at the bar.’
‘In cash.’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get home?’ DC McCaulay asks.
‘In a taxi.’ I clasp my fingers together, to stop my hands shaking. It doesn’t work.
‘How did you pay for the taxi?’
‘Oh…’ I think, remembering Sean getting out of the car, leaving me to sort out the fare, the tension hanging thick between us. ‘I can’t recall. It was late. Probably cash too. Maybe Sean took care of it.’
‘Do you recognise this?’ DC McCaulay says, sliding across another plastic sleeve with a photograph inside.
‘Yes, I think so,’ I say. ‘Is that my scarf?’
‘Perhaps you can tell us that,’ she goes on.
‘I think it is, yes.’ I take a closer look. ‘Yes, it’s definitely my scarf. I thought it was lost.’
‘You left it in the taxi,’ DI Jones says. I’m just about to thank them for finding it but my mouth snaps closed. ‘The taxi your husband phoned for at 9.12 that evening, and the taxi you paid for at 9.32 on your Lloyds debit card ending 4803.’
I stare at the wall behind the detective. It’s like a cinema screen, playing everything out as I remember following Sean into the house after the taxi dropped us home, him storming off inside as I called out to Sasha, telling her we were home early, asking if Alice had been OK. I jolt as I remember how, a short while later, he’d grabbed me, how I’d screamed, how he’d yelled at me in the living room when I broke down. And then he’d slapped me.
‘Libby?’ DI Jones says.
I give him a look, touching my cheek, almost still feeling the sting.
‘I think it’s time you told us the truth,’ he says, his head tipped to one side, his arms clamped across his chest as he leans back. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No comment,’ I reply, staring at the wall again.
Twenty-Nine
Before
Libby sat back in Sean’s chair in the study. What was she doing, trying to get into his computer? Every suspicious thought she had about him was destroying her trust, tearing their marriage apart. She stared at Alice’s little face on a photograph on the mantelpiece. She remembered taking it, snapping it just as her daughter’s mouth opened to take a lick at the strawberry ice cream she was holding. Her face and shoulders were sandy from falling off the body board Sean had been teaching her how to use, and her hair was ratty and wet, straggling around her neck.
Libby took a breath and stood up. Enough was enough. Things had to get back to normal some time, though she admitted that life up at Marion’s had been a kind of refuge – something she never thought she’d say. All she knew was that she wasn’t relishing the idea of moving back into the cottage. She’d barely got dressed for days but, with a little coaxing from Marion, something had made her shower, put on some clothes, brush her hair and drag herself down to see what state the cottage was in. If she didn’t at least try to make it their home again, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to come back.
In the kitchen, she swept up the broken glass and wiped down every surface with disinfectant, spraying frantically as she went. She even cleaned all the doorknobs and anything else the police were likely to have touched – as if they themselves were infected. As she went meticulously around the room, she found more and more smears of what looked like black powder – fingerprinting residue, she supposed. As she rubbed hard at the door paintwork, the front of the fridge, she wondered what, if anything, they’d found.
In the living room, Libby cleaned out the fireplace, taking the ash out to the dustbin on the street, squashing it down until a cloud of dust billowed up in her face. Back inside, she plumped up all the sofa cushions, dusted and polished the furniture and vacuumed the floor.
Upstairs, Libby stood in Alice’s bedroom doorway, her heart sinking at the mess. She was sure that her daughter’s bedroom had been reasonably neat, but now it looked as though Alice had got most of her toys out as well as all her clothes. Every drawer in the chest was open, with little T-shirts spilling out, and the wardrobe was the same, with clothes fallen off their hangers. As she’d done downstairs, she set to and tidied it up, making sure every surface was polished and the floor clean.
And her and Sean’s room was no better. Even the bed had had its sheets stripped and taken away. Libby cringed as she saw that the bedside table drawers had been left half open, but the personal stuff she and Sean kept there was thankfully just as they’d left it.
‘I don’t understand why they’d want to go through our clothes,’ Libby said to herself, sighing as she hung up dropped blouses and shirts. The cupboard above the wardrobe had had a particularly good going-through, it seemed, and some items had fallen out. Libby kept some handbags up there, a few belts and a couple of hats, while Sean had some hand weights shoved at the back. There was also a shoebox filled with things Alice had made or drawn for them that they hadn’t had the heart to throw out.
Libby dragged a chair across, grabbing some stuff off the floor and shoving it back in the top cupboard. She tried to push the doors closed, but they wouldn’t click shut and kept popping open. A couple of items fell to the floor, so she tried again, rearranging things until a sweat was breaking out on her face – not from exertion as such, but more frustration at having to do this in the first place.
‘Damn,’ she said, when something else dropped out, almost hitting her in the face. When she got down to retrieve it, she saw it was a small gift bag with a tag attached. Inside, something was wrapped up in gold and black foil paper – only small, about the size of the mini-cereal packets Alice liked.
Libby sat on the bed and looked at the tag. The words ‘with love x’ were written on it, nothing else – no name. She recognised Sean’s handwriting – his oversized and messy scrawl, as though his hand wasn’t a part of him whenever he held a pen. Her breathing quickened and her hands shook as she took out the wrapped item. Had Sean bought her a present and hidden it away? She had no idea why he would. It wasn’t her birthday for a few months yet, or Mother’s Day or an anniversary of any kind. Knowing how last-minute he was, it was too early for him to be thinking about Christmas presents. He was very much a two-days-before man, and other family members’ presents usually fell to her to buy.
‘Perhaps he just wanted to buy me something nice for the hell of it,’ she whispered to herself, her heart slowing a little. Maybe to help make amends after everything, she thought. She even managed a small smile at the thought of his random kindness, felt guilty for having found it, even if it was by accident. Though if she was honest, Sean had always been more a bunch of flowers man – though never petrol station chrysanthemums. He’d sometimes dive into the florist’s near the vet’s practice at lunchtime and surprise her with a handmade bouquet when he came home.
‘Unless it’s not for me,’ she added, turning the present over and over in her hands. Without opening it, there was no way to tell. It didn’t rattle or smell of anything, and there was nothing to glean by feeling its shape. It was just a rectangular box.
Was this gift for her? Libby wondered. The other woman? The thought made her want to throw it across the room. She picked at one end of the neatly stuck-on Sellotape, seeing if it would peel off cleanly, but the paper began to tear. If she unwrapped it, there was not much chance of making good again. Sean would know it had been opened.
In an impulsive moment and not caring about the consequences, Libby pulled off the paper, revealing a black and gold box, similar in style to the paper. Whatever it was, she could tell it was good quality just from the box itself and, as she lifted the lid, it took her a moment to realise what was inside. The silver lighter was bedded into a grey satin interior and, as she took it out, she saw it was an old-fashioned flip-style one with an engraving in a panel on the side. It looked expensive.
Libby turned it over in her hands, knowing immediately that i
t couldn’t possibly be for her. She had never smoked a cigarette in her life.
She stared at the symbol or whatever it was engraved into its side, tears collecting in her eyes. She had no idea what it meant, though it reminded her of something – she just couldn’t place what. It looked for all the world like a tall letter M but with a little arrow pointing downwards on the longer right-hand stroke.
‘Maybe it’s a present for Fred,’ Libby whispered hopefully. But she’d only ever seen Fred smoke a cigar once or twice at Christmas. And besides, he and Sean didn’t have the type of relationship where they exchanged gifts. She stared at the symbol, thinking perhaps she was mistaken, that it was in fact an N not an M, but whichever way she looked at it, it was making her feel sick.
Why had Sean bought someone a lighter? Even if he was a smoker, she knew he wouldn’t have bought it for himself – and he wouldn’t have written a gift tag either, let alone write ‘with love’.
No, this gift was for someone else. Someone special.
Libby’s hands were shaking. She didn’t know whether to wrap it up again and put it back, or shove it in Sean’s face and confront him. In the end, she did neither. She just stood there, almost in tears, as she heard the front door opening – the familiar click of the old latch downstairs.
‘Sean?’ she called out, quickly shoving the gift bag and lighter under the duvet. She would have to wrap it up properly again later. ‘Is that you?’ But no one called back a reply.
Thirty
‘Jan…’ Libby gasped, standing in the living room doorway, after creeping downstairs. She let out the deep breath she’d been holding. ‘You scared the life out of me.’ Already on edge, Libby was shaking, but mainly from relief. When Sean hadn’t replied, she’d assumed the worst – an intruder. She was annoyed with herself for not locking the front door, but the poor woman was distraught.
Jan stared up at her from where she was kneeling on the floor, her face streaked with tears. Her hands were spread flat on the sofa cushions and her head dropped back down onto the seat. Libby saw the gentle juddering of her shoulders as she began to cry again.
‘Oh, Jan,’ she said, going up to her. ‘I know… I know.’ She hated that she was suffering so much.
‘I’m sorry, I should have knocked. I wasn’t thinking,’ she said, lifting her head, sniffing. ‘But I just wanted to be close to where she last was,’ Jan said. ‘Or, at least, where she was last seen. Connect with her somehow. Do you understand that?’
‘Of course,’ she said, rubbing her back. ‘Would you like some tea?’
Jan shook her head. ‘What happened, Libby? Where is she? I can’t stand it!’ She was suddenly on her feet, her face twisted with worry. ‘And where’s all her stuff gone? What’s happened to it?’ Then there was anger in her voice, her arms gesturing wildly. She wasn’t thinking straight.
‘The police have taken it,’ Libby said. ‘I’m sure they’ll give you it back when they’re finished with it.’
‘You mean when they find a body. Is that what you’re saying?’ She got up and strode to the leaded front window, staring out, palms pressed against the glass. ‘And what the hell does he want?’ she said, leaning forward, straining her neck to see up the street. Her breath fogged the panes.
‘Who?’ Libby came up beside her.
‘Phil, just now. He was walking past, looking in,’ she said. ‘He’s probably following me, wanting to know where I am. We’re supposed to be separated, for God’s sake, but I can’t take his paranoia and suspicion any more. I just can’t… not now.’ Jan broke down in tears again and, as Libby pulled her close and hugged her, all she could see was David’s snarling face from years ago, accusing her, wearing her down until she didn’t know which way up she was.
* * *
‘Thanks for saving me earlier,’ Libby said to Sean. ‘Jan was in a state.’ There wasn’t much conviction in her voice but it was true – Sean had come along at just the right moment to quell Jan’s increasingly agitated mood, especially after she’d seen Phil lurking outside.
Libby and Sean were at the farmhouse, sitting at the kitchen table while Marion read Alice a bedtime story. Fred was out at the pub – his usual place on a Friday night – and wouldn’t be back until later. Libby lifted the hem of her T-shirt and wiped her nose on it, making a face back when Sean gave her a look. She didn’t care if he thought she was disgusting. Things had gone beyond that.
‘Thanks for saving you again, you mean?’ His tone was sour, like the whisky they were sharing. Unusually for Sean, he’d come home with a bottle earlier and already Libby felt drunk – not the pleasant kind of light-headedness she sometimes enjoyed after a couple of glasses of wine. More a roaring burn ripping through her brain, disorientating her, obliterating what was on her mind.
She stared at him, ignoring his comment. ‘I don’t think I can ever go home, you know. It’s just not the same.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Sean sloshed more whisky into their glasses. ‘We have to.’
Libby wondered how she would ever see Chestnut Cottage in the same light again – especially since finding the lighter. Her shoulders tensed as she remembered the little tag… with love x. He’d chosen to write those words, had consciously made the decision to buy a gift for someone, wrap it and label it, intending to give it with love. All Libby knew for sure was that it wasn’t for her.
‘Give me your phone,’ Libby suddenly said, quite calmly, holding out her hand.
‘What?’
‘I want to see who you’ve been calling and messaging. Give me your phone.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ Sean said, standing up. ‘Not this again, Lib. Don’t you think there’s actually a shedload of bigger stuff going on right now?’ He pushed his face up close to hers so she could smell his whisky breath. Then he paced about the kitchen, glaring at her every time he passed. He swiped up his drink and drank it down in one go.
Libby bit her lip, trying to stop herself blurting out about the gift. She knew he’d deny it, that he’d already have a cover story concocted – that he was looking after it for a mate, or that it wasn’t his and he’d just found it somewhere, or that he’d bought it as a gift for someone long before they met and forgotten about it. He’d convince her she was going crazy, that she was mad, paranoid, not thinking straight. And perhaps she was.
Without saying a word, Libby took herself off into the downstairs toilet and leant on the vanity unit, staring into the mirror. She saw a gaunt, tired woman staring back – a woman she barely recognised. Food had been the last thing on her mind this past week and sleep was something that came in fits and starts. If she did drop off, she’d wake in a panic, thoughts screaming through her mind, her body drenched in sweat. Her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes.
As for taking care of Alice in the way she normally would, she shuddered at the thought of how she’d allowed Marion to do everything. But that was Marion’s way. At least this time, Libby was grateful for her doing things her way, even if it did make her feel like less of a mother.
As Libby splashed cold water on her face, she realised life as she knew it was falling apart. Had fallen apart. Against Sean’s advice, she’d cancelled this week’s dinner clients – despite needing the money – barely even finding the willpower to clean her teeth, let alone cater for dozens of people. She’d only made it up to the cottage earlier after a good talking-to from Marion. It was the shock of seeing the place in disarray after the forensics team had been in that prompted her to tackle a tidy-up – but then that had ended on finding the gift. The thought of moving back, after everything, was unthinkable. Home was tainted, stained with indelible memories.
Libby dried her face on the hand towel and went back into the kitchen.
‘Oh – hello, Dan,’ she said, stopping in her tracks.
Sean’s son stood there, his school bag slung over his shoulder, his fringe spiked with some kind of gel. Libby clamped her arms around her body, suddenly feeling freezing cold.
‘Hi, Libby. Mum dropped me off,’ he said, but Libby didn’t get a chance to reply as Sean came back into the room. Natalie was following close behind.
When Libby saw the lipstick mark on Sean’s cheek, she forced herself to bite her lip yet again.
‘Is Marion here?’ Natalie said cheerfully, dumping her peach-coloured slouchy bag on the table. It bumped against Libby’s whisky glass, nearly knocking it onto the floor. Libby lunged for the drink, getting a glimpse of the bag’s contents: make-up pouch, the bristles of a hairbrush poking out from beneath. A matching leather purse. A packet of cigarettes. Libby gripped the whisky tumbler in both hands, afraid it might crack from the pressure. Natalie was certainly the type to use – no, demand – an expensive lighter. ‘How did her hospital appointment go?’ she asked, staring directly at Libby.
‘Appointment?’ she replied, hating that Natalie knew more than her. She glanced at Sean. ‘Yes, yes, fine, I think,’ she said, swallowing.
‘Mum’s around somewhere,’ Sean said, sliding a hand around his ex-wife’s waist so he could squeeze past. ‘Fancy a drink, Nat?’
Natalie stared at Libby – a look on her face that showed she was trying not to sweep her eyes up and down her. Rather she took her in in one pitying glance. ‘No… no thanks,’ she said slowly. ‘I can’t stay long. Looks like someone’s started early, though.’ She stared at the glass in Libby’s hands.
‘Well, we both have, actually,’ Libby replied, but when she looked for Sean’s glass, it was gone. ‘It’s been a tough few days,’ she added, knocking back a large swig, trying not to choke.
‘Ah, there you are, Mum,’ Sean said, glancing behind Libby almost as if she wasn’t there. ‘Nat’s here. You didn’t find a bracelet, did you? You know, the one with all the silver charms?’
Date Night: An Absolutely Gripping Psychological Thriller With a Jaw-Dropping Twist Page 19
