The Night You Left

by Emma Curtis

  ‘Because Peter Mayhew is a friend of mine, and I didn’t want to see him lose money. I tried to persuade Sean out of it as well, but he wouldn’t listen. More fool him.’

  Nick bristles. He leans against the desk, his hands fisted. ‘It was none of your damn business. It wasn’t your money. You’ve got a lot to answer for.’

  ‘I’m a businessman and I can smell potential failure a mile off. I could smell it on your father. I’ve done you a lot of favours—’

  ‘You can stuff your favours.’

  Angus’s benign expression hardens. ‘Keep your voice down. Listen to me, Nick. You’ve worked hard and you’re a real asset to this firm, but that doesn’t give you leave to throw your weight around. Don’t make it personal.’

  ‘It is personal. Dad made a hash of it, but to go behind his back, to go behind my back … But I might have known.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I covered for you. I shredded papers and deleted files. I thought you had put things right, but now I can see I was mistaken. You’re ruthless.’

  ‘Let’s not get into that,’ Angus says.

  ‘No, let’s get into it. You acted illegally. You put this entire company and its employees’ jobs in jeopardy. I got my hands dirty for you, and you did that to my father. Well, I’m not going to put up with it any more.’

  ‘For God’s sake, shut up. Phillipa will hear you.’ Angus picks up a pen, twiddles it, then puts it down and moves it so that it lies parallel to his keyboard. Nick recognizes the signs of anxiety. Angus tries to hide it, but his eyes give him away; they looked startled.

  ‘I didn’t delete everything,’ Nick says.

  Angus goes preternaturally still, and Nick asks himself if he’s gone too far.

  ‘Now why would that be?’

  ‘To be honest,’ Nick responds, ‘I have no idea. A sense of self-preservation, I suppose. At any rate, since you’re not the man I thought you were, since you’ve turned out to be a devious bastard, I see no reason why I should be mixed up in this any more.’

  Angus shoves his chair back, stands up and walks right up to him. He prods him in the chest. ‘You’d better be extremely careful. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’

  Nick moves Angus’s hand away. ‘I think I do.’

  ‘What I did, didn’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘When you facilitate a crime, someone always suffers.’

  ‘What are we talking about here, Nick? Are you asking for a pay-off?’

  Nick grimaces. ‘I’ve only just found out what you did to my father, I haven’t had time to process it. But I think I need to do the right thing. You do too.’

  There’s a flash of genuine fear in Angus’s eyes, but it’s gone so quickly that Nick wonders if he imagined it.

  ‘You’d shaft me because I prevented a friend from losing money? You would give up everything you have here, out of spite? You need to think about this. There are implications. I don’t want to scare you, but I’m not the only one involved, and the others aren’t as nice as me.’

  ‘You’re not scaring me.’

  ‘No? Come on, Nick.’ His demeanour changes, he clamps his hand on to Nick’s shoulder. ‘Let’s not argue. When you’ve slept on it you’ll appreciate that I behaved perfectly reasonably. You would have done the same in my shoes.’

  Nick glances pointedly at Angus’s hand. ‘You’ve got until Monday to put it right, or I’m going to the Serious Fraud Office.’

  Angus frowns and says curtly, ‘I thought better of you. Go home, Nick. Take the rest of the day off. We’ll talk next week when you’ve had a chance to calm down.’

  To his relief the house is empty when he gets back. Even though it’s only three o’clock he grabs a beer from the fridge and pops the lid. The hour it’s taken to get home has given him time to cool off. What has he done? Maybe he shouldn’t have lost his temper. He knows Angus well enough to understand his behaviour. He knows his father well enough as well. Wouldn’t he have done the same in Angus’s shoes? He reaches for his phone, finds Angus’s number, then puts it down. Not yet. He’s not grovelling. Monday will be soon enough. He hears the girls come in and wanders into the hall to meet them. Grace raises her eyebrows.

  ‘This is a surprise! What are you doing home so early?’

  ‘I missed you,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Have you been fired?’ Lottie asks.

  ‘No. Just fancied an early one.’

  ‘Well, it’s lovely for us,’ Grace says, looking puzzled.

  Later that evening, he pokes his head round Lottie’s door to say goodnight. She’s awake and holds out her arms to him. He sits down on the edge of her bed, leans over and kisses her cheek.

  ‘Sleep well, Shrimpy.’

  ‘Shrimpy?’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘I’m not Shrimpy.’

  In the darkness he flushes. ‘Damn, I’ll have to make up a new name for you,’ he says, adjusting quickly. ‘What about Octopus?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Heffalump?’

  Lottie giggles and thumps him.

  ‘Go to sleep, then. You can tell me who you are in the morning. Love you.’

  He should tell Grace what’s happened, but he can’t. It’s too soon and he’s too wound up, and anyway, it might all be straightened out by Monday with no one any the wiser. He knows how much she worries, understands that her upbringing has made her unduly anxious about money and stability. He has to know the answers to the questions she’s going to ask, before she asks them.

  GRACE

  Monday, 7 May 2018

  I WANDER AROUND THE HOUSE, CARRYING A CUP OF coffee, alone except for Toffee who refuses to let me out of his sight, even scratching at the bathroom door when I have a shower. I have an appointment later, but not until eleven thirty, so I’m rattling around, unable to settle to anything, feeling listless and drained of energy. The spare bedroom is neat and tidy, divested of most, but not all, of Tim and Cora’s belongings, as if they’re telling me not to get too comfortable. In fact, I heard from Cora an hour ago; she sent a text saying that her mother had died in the early hours. They’d be staying for a couple of weeks to have the funeral and deal with everything, but they would be back as soon as possible. I messaged back with my commiserations and urged her to take as long as she needed.

  In Lottie’s room, I empty the contents of her rucksack on to the bed and sort out the clothes that need washing from those that just need folding back into her chest of drawers, then I go downstairs to the utility room. My clothes are in the basket. I take each item out and throw it in, checking pockets for stray handkerchiefs or, better still, loose change; and that’s when I find it. The baby wristband. I lay it on my palm and smooth it out. With all that’s been happening, I had forgotten all about it. It has Daughter of WELLS, Anastasia written on it in biro, and the date: 30.07.2001.

  Anna had a baby before Kai. That child would be sixteen by now, around the age Anna would have been when she had her. She hasn’t mentioned her, and, apart from this souvenir, I found no clue to her existence in the house. Alex had said Taisie went off the rails, so it could have been some random boy, but I can’t help wondering if Tim is the father. She leaned on him because he was very attractive, he was in control and he made her feel better. He took advantage of an unhappy girl, a girl whose family was reeling from the loss of her sister. He messed Taisie up while his son was steeped in his own personal hell, retreating to his bedroom and locked in depression. What a total and utter bastard.

  I find a scrap of paper and write out the months, counting back. The baby would have been conceived in the autumn of 2000, so it fits. The family would still have been living in London then, the restaurant about to open, Tim stressing about investors, trying to keep up a confident front, realizing that this was his last chance of success, feeling vulnerable about middle age, looking for something, or someone, to make him feel young again. Anna would have felt so alone; her parents drowning in grief for Izzy, her
brothers too young to be of any help, her friends unable to understand, Nick as good as gone, and anyway she had thoroughly alienated him on that holiday.

  Did she come to this part of London to settle old scores? Did she threaten to expose Tim, encouraged by women coming forward in the media with tales of historic rape and assault by seemingly respectable men? Or did she come to find the Ritchies because she hadn’t got either of them out of her system? Whatever the truth, Nick vanished on Saturday, 14 April, forty-eight hours after Anna confronted him. Day Zero.

  I pick Toffee up and hug him, pressing my cheek into his soft fur. He twists his head round and licks me.

  I smarten myself up for my appointment, take Toffee and let myself out into a blessedly quiet street. One knock-on effect of Anna’s attack is that the press have lost interest in me, a young mother being left for dead on the Common weighing more in the balance than a thirty-four-year-old missing man. That may change of course, when they spot the connection, but for the moment I’m just grateful to be left alone.

  I didn’t think I was up to it, but in fact getting away from the area is exactly what I need. I feel a burst of energy as I put the Common behind me and ride towards Chelsea. The house I visit isn’t Rupert’s yet, but he’s interested. He wants to know what I think, whether it has potential.

  Rupert is standing outside the property, looking up at the facade with the agent, a pretty blonde woman in a bright pink jacket. I park my bike between a Porsche Cayenne and an Audi, remove my helmet and quickly run my fingers through my hair.

  ‘You look shattered,’ Rupert tells me, as he kisses my cheek. ‘Are you OK?’

  My boss is in his mid-forties, tall and broad, with a florid complexion and sandy hair. I’ve never seen him out of a suit.

  ‘I’m fine.’ I shake hands with the agent, taking pride in my professionalism. No one would have a clue about the turmoil I’m going through. She walks up the steps, holds open the door and we go in.

  ‘No word then?’ Rupert murmurs as we inspect the front room.

  ‘No.’

  The house has belonged to the same family for seventy years, and the last resident, a ninety-seven-year-old man, died a month ago. I look up, and take note of the large brown stain, roughly the shape of Australia, and the damaged but beautiful cornicing. The house will be worth a fortune once it’s done up, but it’ll cost a lot to restore and the executors are asking an eye-watering price. I’m not sure it’s worth it.

  We spend three-quarters of an hour exploring the house and grilling the agent, then I make my way home. Away from Rupert, and the buzz of a potential new restoration, I start to think about Anna again. The wristband is in my bag. The fact that she had, and presumably gave away, a baby daughter, is heart-breaking. She was so young; several years younger than I was when I got pregnant with Lottie. I find it all too easy to empathize. We were both a mess, both torn about what to do, both with the wrong man. Douglas at least faced up to his responsibilities and fell in love with his daughter. If the baby was Tim’s, then he walked away and lived his life without a second thought.

  I slow at the corner to my street, then keep going without turning. I can’t go home now. Instead I ride to the hospital and find my way back to ICU. The nurse on duty tells me that Anna’s parents are with her but that I can poke my head round the door and say hello if I want.

  Jess and Sean Wells look up when I walk in. I compose myself and come forward. They both stand. Jess is petite and plump, with dyed brown hair. She wears clothes that fit snugly over her curves, a woollen dress over woollen tights worn with flat brown boots. Sean is wearing a lumberjack-style flannel shirt over blue jeans. He is almost entirely bald.

  ‘How long have you known our daughter?’ Jess asks after I’ve introduced myself and explained my presence here.

  ‘Not long. Only since the start of the year.’ I hesitate. ‘I understand you were estranged?’

  ‘It wasn’t our choice.’

  She gazes down at Anna then smiles, and her smile reminds me of Kai.

  ‘Did you want to talk to her? Sean and I need a break anyway. Why don’t you stay a minute? I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice.’

  I look at Anna, at the tubes keeping her alive and the monitors charting her vital signs. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘If you don’t mind.’

  When they’ve left, I sit down and rest my bag on my knee. I open my mouth a couple of times, but nothing comes out. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to even begin to unblock the lines of communication when someone is in an unresponsive state.

  ‘Anna,’ I say experimentally. ‘Anna, it’s Grace. I’m so sorry about what happened to you.’ I pause, my mouth bone dry. I open the zipped section in my bag and take out the wristband, put it in her hand and fold her fingers around it.

  ‘I’m on your side, Anna. I want you to know that whatever has happened to Nick, I understand that you have been through a lot. If you said something to him to make him leave, please tell me. I won’t hold it against you. I know you’ve suffered terribly. I wish you had told me about the baby when you told me about Tim.’

  I listen to the sound of her breathing, until its rhythmic pulse begins to make me zone out. She is so still, so defenceless. In that moment I feel nothing but sympathy. I don’t like her, but the things I don’t like about her are the same things I dislike about myself. The lying, the insecurity, the distrust of others. We are not so different, when it comes down to it.

  I stand up and hook the strap of my bag over my shoulder. I consider leaving the wristband in her hand, but I don’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair.

  On my way out, I pass Sean and Jess. They look at me eagerly, hoping, I imagine, that I will give them some insight into their daughter. I want to give them something so badly, but I can’t think what.

  ‘Kai is a super little boy,’ I say. ‘You’ll love him. Anna’s done a fantastic job. She’s a wonderful mum.’

  It was both the right and the wrong thing to say. Jess starts to cry, and Sean puts his arm around her.

  ‘Thank you, Grace. That means so much. We’re meeting our grandson tomorrow. We can’t wait.’

  I watch as they walk back along the corridor. I feel so lonely I could cry.

  I haven’t been in my house for five minutes before the doorbell rings. As usual my heart does a flip. As usual I force myself to control my expectations, to quash the spark of hope. It won’t be Nick. It’s probably Mrs Jeffers wanting me to change a light bulb for her, or something like that. Even my fretful neighbour’s company would be welcome right now. I see the two shadowy figures through the opaque panes and my heart drops to my stomach. Toffee barks, and I grab him before opening the door. He raises his front paws, straining at his collar, when he sees the two police officers.

  ‘Grace Trelawney,’ the WPC says. At her tone, flat and heavy, I step back instinctively. Toffee growls. ‘I have a warrant to search the premises.’

  ANNA

  Saturday, 14 April 2018 Day Zero

  THERE WERE TWO EMPTY WINE GLASSES, EITHER SIDE of her bed. Kai was at Hannah’s birthday sleepover, Anna had just had the shag of her life, and she was happy.

  Douglas’s ribcage rose and fell under her head. She could feel his heartbeat. Every so often his stomach gurgled. He played with her hair, smoothing it through his hand. He stroked her back too, in an absent way, but his hands were so warm and firm that it felt akin to a massage. The smell of his skin was seductive, a cocktail of male musk and soap. When they made love she had pressed her nose into his neck, breathing him in. She ran her fingertips over his stomach muscles, then slid them up to his scar. He had told her he’d got it in a brawl when he was younger. She loved all his imperfections.

  Anna was overwhelmed by emotion. She had known when she met him that there was something there, but this had taken her by surprise. She thought about what she had lost over the years: the betrayal by the first man she loved, the baby she’d had adopted, the family who turned cold, the husband who took himself
from her. Tears started to run, trickling from the corners of her eyes, down her cheekbones to her ears. Douglas touched her face.

  ‘Was it something I said?’

  She laughed and wiped the tears away. ‘No. Just feeling shaky.’

  ‘Come here.’ He pulled her up, and she curled against his chest. He held her like a child. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s evidently something. Vain as I am, I’m not deluding myself that my superior sexual performance has left you an emotional wreck.’

  She chuckled. ‘Well,’ she said, tipping her head up and letting him drop a kiss on her lips. ‘There is that, of course. Obviously, it was the best sex I’ve ever had.’ Another tear fell, and her laugh must have sounded forced, because he held her closer.

  ‘It’s a pathetic story.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

  She went silent, thinking. Where should she start, and how much should she tell him? She didn’t want to sound like she was whinging, but then again, this was part of her and if Douglas loved her he would understand. Her mouth was dry, but they hadn’t brought any water upstairs with them. She reached for the wine bottle and drank straight from it.

  ‘Easy there.’

  She put the bottle down with a grimace. She already knew that Douglas found excess unattractive. ‘When I was fifteen years old I was seduced by Nick Ritchie’s father.’

  She had already told Douglas about Izzy’s death, but not about the part Tim and Nick played in her life. Now she was ready to talk, wrapped in her lover’s arms, his scent in her nose, his hand tracing the curves of her body. She told him about Tim, how he had encouraged her to turn to him in the aftermath of Izzy’s death. How the secret affair had allowed her to occasionally forget what had happened.

  Her heart was racing. She had kept Tim’s secret for so long that it felt monstrous to betray it, but Tim had betrayed her first.

  She leaned back with a sigh. ‘But then everything changed. Ritchie’s collapsed and my parents were left with a huge hole in their finances. There was nothing we could do but sell up and leave London. I was still in love with Tim, I thought he loved me. I was young, and it was a fairy tale. Then I found out I was pregnant.’ She swallowed hard, that old humiliation still raw. ‘I was so happy. I called him, and we arranged to meet. He sounded on edge. Christ, that should have given me a clue.’