The Night You Left

by Emma Curtis

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ I say, trying to sound friendly. ‘You know Lottie cleans her own bathroom.’

  Cora turns and smiles. ‘She’s a child. Now, if you want to do something helpful, you could strip our bed. I’ve noticed you do have some clean linen in the cupboard.’

  I stare at her, my mouth gaping. I want to respond, what did your last slave die of? but refrain, instead telling her, politely, what I’ve talked to Marsh about, and that he’s going to speak to her old friends, Jess and Sean Wells.

  ‘I need to talk to Jess first,’ she says, dropping the sponge into the bath and getting to her feet. She peels off her rubber gloves and rubs the small of her back.

  ‘I got the impression you weren’t on speaking terms,’ I say.

  She hesitates at the door. ‘This is important. We’re all involved in this whether we like it or not. Jess and I were close once. I can’t believe she won’t care about what I’m going through.’

  I feel a tiny twinge of compassion for this intelligent, bitter woman, although she evidently feels little for me. It must be sad when you lose a close female friend, sadder than losing a lover. If Cassie dumped me, I’d be devastated.

  I follow her downstairs and make us both a cup of tea while she takes the phone into the front room. Jess is obviously prepared to speak to her, because I can hear the murmurings of conversation. I go out into the hall and stand close to the sitting-room door, not quite putting my ear against it, but almost. The floor creaks and I wince, holding my breath.

  ‘Grace thinks he may have gone to Devon,’ Cora says. ‘To the house … Why am I calling you? To tell you … Well, no, I know it’s nothing to do with you but … Jess. Look, I’m sorry, I was just reaching out. It’s been so long … What? No. No, of course we can’t. Well, if that’s the way you feel—’ She breaks off and says, ‘Jesus. What a bitch.’

  I nip back into the kitchen and pretend to be rummaging through my bag. I glance over my shoulder when she comes back in. ‘So, what did she say?’

  ‘You were listening, weren’t you?’ Cora says.

  She picks up her book and, without waiting for her tea, takes it upstairs.

  Since I spoke to Marsh, I’ve been obsessing about Devon. I want to see the place where Anna’s little sister died. The more I learn about what happened, the more I’m certain that the waves caused by that summer have followed Nick down through the years. My gut tells me those waves broke on the day he left this house to buy a pint of milk and ran into Anna Foreman. I have nothing against coincidence, but there are far too many for credibility here. Nick and Anna were estranged childhood friends who happened to wash up in the same corner of suburban London. Anna’s brother happened to contact Nick the day after she spoke to him. I don’t think so.

  I sit cross-legged on the sofa, cradling a cup of mint tea, thinking about the logistics. I don’t want to stay overnight, not when things are on such a knife-edge here. I’ll do the drive there and back in a day. It’ll be exhausting but even if I’m not back in time to see Lottie before she goes to sleep, I want to be there in the morning when she wakes up.

  The only obstacle is that I’ll need permission and that means getting in touch with Angus Moody. I bite my lip. I don’t want to ask him if I can have a snoop round his house and land; he could react badly.

  Anna, I think suddenly. She can get me in, and she can guide me; she can help me picture what happened to her sister and she can explain the relationships between the various family members. I put my drink down and reach for my mobile. Is this wise? Do I really want to share my intentions with a woman I don’t entirely trust? I hold the phone in the palm of my hand. Time might be running out for Nick. I have no choice. It’s Anna or nothing.

  ‘But why are you going at all?’ Anna says when I explain what I want from her.

  ‘Because it was a significant event in Nick’s life that I didn’t know about, and I have this gut feeling. I need to see it, to smell it.’

  There’s a long silence and when she does speak, she sounds as though she might be wavering. ‘I haven’t seen the Moodys in years. And anyway, they probably won’t be there, they’re in London or abroad most of the time. It was only ever a summer holiday home.’

  ‘There must be some local person who looks after the place.’

  She sighs. ‘Well, there’s Mrs Burrows. Unless she’s retired. Someone in the village will know; everyone knows everyone’s business down there.’

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘Can you be ready to leave by seven?’

  ‘Grace.’ Her voice is taut with suppressed frustration. ‘I can’t come with you, not at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘You owe me.’

  ‘For what?’ She sounds incredulous, and I admit, I am pushing it.

  ‘For not telling me you knew Nick.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake … All right. Fine.’

  ‘I’ll come and pick you up. I’m sorry, I’d offer to have Kai here with Lottie, but I know you don’t want to see Tim and Cora.’

  ‘Kai isn’t a problem. My neighbour will have him.’

  ‘Thanks. You never know, the trip might be good for you too.’

  She laughs drily. ‘If you dare say the word closure, I’m not coming.’

  GRACE

  Thursday, 26 April 2018

  I STRETCH AND YAWN, SURPRISED THAT IT’S NOT DARK outside, that my clock reads not two or three or four, as it has been since Nick went missing, but five forty-five. Blearily I feel along the row of buttons on top of my radio and cancel my six o’clock alarm. I can’t believe I slept so solidly, but perhaps it’s because I’m going somewhere and doing something constructive for Nick. I rub my eyes and sit up, throw back the duvet and swing my legs out of bed. I feel refreshed by sleep for the first time since he left.

  I chide myself. Nick didn’t leave. Leaving is something you do on purpose. Nick is missing, absent, vanished.

  I make sure everything Lottie needs is easy to find; she’s supposed to organize herself, but now is not the time to stand on principles. The last thing I need is a call from the school secretary demanding I bring in her recorder. I haven’t told Lottie that Anna is coming with me in case she mentions it to Cora and Tim, because they’ll want to know who this Anna is and why I would want her company. It’s ridiculous; Anna’s bound to bump into them soon. I can’t walk across the Common without seeing someone I know; it’s that sort of place. But it’s none of my business.

  By seven, I’m parked in Camomile Avenue. Anna gives Kai a hug then propels him towards the neighbour’s door. I wait until he goes in, then we drive away.

  Anna is texting someone. She sends it and drops her phone into the canvas tote that she’s settled in the space at her feet, then leans back and closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to involve the Moodys, so we’ve arrived unannounced. If the housekeeper isn’t there, Anna knows where she lives in the village.

  ‘Too early for you?’ I ask, in a friendly way.

  She turns her head. ‘Just a little.’

  ‘I don’t mind if you nod off.’ In fact, I’d like it, at least until I’ve got used to having her there.

  ‘No, it’s OK.’

  She straightens up, drinks from the water bottle she’s stashed between her thigh and the gearbox and wipes the corners of her mouth with a delicate finger.

  I switch the radio on and Anna groans as John Humphrys sinks his teeth into the Transport Secretary. The sun has risen, and although the forecast is that the mini heatwave is over, the sky is brightening.

  I check the petrol gauge. Half a tank. I’ll have to fill up. Normally, this is something I’d do without thinking; just one of life’s chores. I rarely look at the cost of anything, let alone a litre of petrol, but since Marsh sent me copies of Nick’s bank statements I’ve had to change my ways. There are various standing orders, but the fifteen hundred pounds a month he gives Tim and Cora sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s unsustainable. If Nick doesn’t return his account will empty and those comm
itments won’t be honoured. I regret the impulse that led to this morning’s trip, but it’s too late to back out now. And I need to do this, for Nick’s sake as well as my own.

  We approach the Moodys’ house by way of a long, meandering drive abutted by fields. On one side, sheep lift their heads, ruminating gently as we pass. On the other side the green shoots of some crop or other march along ridges of earth. There’s woodland beyond them and the sky above is pale blue broken by wispy strips of cloud. An aeroplane trail streaks across it, its tail softly dissipating. The house is built of grey stone and is cloaked in wisteria. Chimneys rise from a slate roof. I’m open-mouthed with envy. It’s gorgeous.

  Beside me, Anna sits up straighter. ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not what I was expecting at all. I thought it would be smaller. This is so grand. They must have pots of money.’

  ‘This is just their country crash pad. It’s been in Lorna’s family for generations. You should see their Kensington house. It’s eye-watering.’

  Out of the corner of my eye I see a slow blush creep up her neck, but I don’t have time to dwell on why that might be. I pull up in front, and we get out, eager to breathe the fresh air and stretch our legs. There’s a scruffy Land Rover parked near the lawn. Anna marches up to the door and rings the bell. It peals long and loud.

  ‘That’s so people can hear it at the end of the garden,’ Anna explains. ‘Lorna used to ring it when it was time to come in for lunch. We could hear it all the way to the woods and …’

  ‘The river?’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’

  I allow a pause before I speak again. ‘You must have missed those holidays.’

  She shrugs. ‘They wouldn’t have been the same without Izzy.’

  We are greeted at the door by a friendly woman in her late sixties. Her grey hair is tied back, a baggy sweater swamps her plump figure, and she has green rubber gardening clogs on her feet. She frowns, evidently puzzled, then Anna introduces herself.

  She smiles warmly. ‘Goodness, you’ve changed. I thought you were a couple of lost ramblers.’

  ‘Mrs Burrows, this is Grace Trelawney,’ Anna says, indicating me. ‘Do you remember Nick Ritchie? Grace is his girlfriend.’

  ‘Of course I remember Nick. Are you on your holidays? You should have brought him with you.’

  The housekeeper looks from me to Anna, tweaking at the cuffs of her jumper, waiting for an explanation. She is more curious than impatient. She doesn’t have the faintest idea why we’ve turned up unannounced so obviously the police haven’t paid their visit yet.

  Anna and I have already discussed what we would say to her. There’s no point lying, since she’ll find out sooner or later. We tell her the simple facts. Nick is missing, and we think it might have something to do with that awful week. She takes us into the house, through the wide hallway with its grand mahogany staircase, and into the warmth of the kitchen. I can’t help staring round me, trying to imagine a younger Nick in this place, stuck here, with no one except a thirteen-year-old girl to talk to. No wonder he gravitated towards Angus. He must have been miserable. It makes me furious with Anna, but I push it down. I’m sure Nick forgave her a long time ago. He’s not the type to bear grudges.

  ‘I wasn’t there that afternoon,’ Mrs Burrows says, setting the kettle on the range to boil. ‘But even before the tragedy, that holiday wasn’t a success.’ She glances at Anna. ‘You probably didn’t notice – you had the twins to distract you – but those new ones … what were their names?’

  ‘Tim and Cora Ritchie,’ I supply.

  ‘Yes, them,’ she says. ‘I had nothing against Nick.’ She looks at me. ‘He was quiet and polite, but he didn’t fit in any more than his parents did. That mother.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘She was a piece of work. Treating me like I was there for her pleasure. That’s why I made myself scarce as much as possible.’

  That sounds like Cora. ‘So there’s nothing you can tell me about Nick specifically?’

  ‘I wish I could help. He was unhappy, but I put it down to his age. My son was the same. There were some days when he barely spoke a word to anyone.’

  I’m not sure whether she’s referring to her son or Nick.

  ‘You lot,’ she adds, looking at Anna. ‘You older girls didn’t have much time for him, did you? I’d have thought you’d have been delighted to have a good-looking boy around. But perhaps, with three girls, it was tricky. There’d be jealousy.’

  I glance at Anna to see how she’s taking this. Her mouth is set in a thin line.

  We change into our walking boots. Despite the sunshine, there’s a nip in the air and I wrap my scarf around my neck, do up the zip on my coat and raise the faux-fur collar. We walk across a wide lawn, and I can’t stop looking, taking it all in. There’s a huge Victorian greenhouse to the side and barns behind it. Over to my right a swimming pool, still in its blue winter coat, is surrounded by lichen-covered stone. There’s a wooden changing room and beyond that, a tennis court. We walk past a shrubbery that obscures a compost heap that fills my nostrils with the smell of rotting vegetation and damp earth, then we veer off down a gravel path that leads to woodland. Anna is walking fast, picking up real momentum, as if she can’t slow down because she fears that if she did, she’d turn back. I watch her thick hair bouncing, the sway of her hips.

  In the wood the air cools even more and the mud paths, untouched by the sun, are a black and claggy mess of human and dog prints. The air is full of birdsong. We hear a lot in our garden, but nothing like this. It’s an orchestra, melodies sung back and forth through the trees.

  Anna turns her head and says over her shoulder, ‘Glad you brought your boots?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  She slows down to let me catch up, even though the path is too narrow for us to walk side by side.

  ‘This must have been heaven for you as children,’ I say.

  ‘It was. When it was just us and Pansy and Freya, it was like we were the only people in the world. We made up such great games. Everyone got along, even Rory. We looked after each other. It was short-sighted of Mum and Dad to invite the Ritchies. It changed the dynamic.’

  ‘They had never met Lorna and Angus?’

  ‘No. It was Dad’s idea. Tim had got him interested in his restaurant. He was going to make Dad’s fortune – ha ha. Dad thought Angus would like him, but it was obvious from the moment they met that Angus thought Tim was an idiot. Of course he was friendly and polite, but the atmosphere was all wrong. Mum and Dad were being snarky with each other. Cora Ritchie sulked because she felt left out. Angus was playing the Lord of the Manor card. Tim was doing his best to ingratiate himself with him, but it was a losing battle.’ She stops to take a breath.

  By this time, we are deep in the woods and the path is beginning to slope. To my surprise Anna takes my arm and pulls me into step beside her. We are crammed together, our feet churning up the damp earth. Perhaps I should have brought Toffee. He would have loved it. He would also have been a distraction.

  ‘I’ve thought about this so often; I’ve wondered whether Izzy would be alive if I hadn’t behaved so badly. I was only angry with everyone because I knew that what I was doing was wrong, that my friends were getting pissed off with me. Even the twins. They had nothing against Nick – they barely knew him. He was male, our age and they were at a girls’ school, so obviously they found him interesting. I was jealous and unhappy, and I didn’t know how to handle the situation.’

  ‘Did the adults not notice?’

  She flushes. ‘Possibly. Probably. I’m not sure. I caught Lorna looking at me in a funny way sometimes. Nick rather attached himself to Angus – they liked having long discussions about history – and that probably happened because he was trying to protect himself. He was as confused as I was. Shit. I was a crap friend. I did apologize.’

  ‘At the time?’

  ‘No.’ She adds, ruefully, ‘Last week. I was eighteen years too late. I should have managed it better
, so that I wasn’t such a shock to him.’ She stops suddenly.

  I turn and look at her, as she puts her hand against the bark of a tree and drops her head.

  ‘Are you OK? Do you feel faint?’

  She looks up, her eyes sparkling with tears. ‘I can hear the river.’

  Through the rustle of the leaves and the call of the birds I hear running water. I feel warmth on my neck as the sun finds its way through the foliage. The water is hypnotic once I start listening.

  ‘You can stay here if you don’t want to come any further. This must be so hard for you.’

  She takes a deep breath and holds out her hand. I pull her up and she brushes the leaves off the seat of her jeans.

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘I need to do this.’

  I stand at the edge of the river and peer across it, while Anna stays a few feet back, her hands in her pockets, her chin dipped. She is tense and watchful. Unsurprising, I suppose.

  She joins me and points to a shallow inlet. Grasses and leaves wave languorously, caught at the edge. The water ripples but it isn’t flowing particularly fast. Last night, after Anna gave me the address, I looked the house up on Google Earth and zoomed in on its surroundings. The river meanders through miles of farmland, then broadens, winding snakelike until it reaches Dartmouth where it spreads and empties into the sea. It’s a long way for a body to travel. Surely if Nick had decided to drown himself his body wouldn’t have made it far? Someone, a rambler perhaps, would have found him.

  Anna looks around and seems confused, as if she’s expecting to see something that isn’t there. Is Izzy so vivid in her mind that her subconscious is looking out for her? She strides forward, then stops. I follow her to a muddy spot where the ground drops into the brown water less abruptly.

  ‘This is where Izzy went in, where her shoes were found,’ Anna says. ‘We swam here. Izzy wasn’t allowed unless there was an adult with her because she wasn’t a strong enough swimmer. She had weak lungs and her heart had been operated on when she was a baby, so she wasn’t supposed to over-exert herself. The problem was, she was determined to do everything we did, not to be the wimp.’