The Night You Left

by Emma Curtis

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I naively thought he would leave Cora and we’d set up home together, but it turned out it was a kiss goodbye, not hello. He told me that it was wonderful to see me, that I was adorable and would always have a place in his heart, but that I had my whole life ahead of me and it couldn’t include him. He said he loved me, but he didn’t want to ruin my life; or his. When I explained about the baby …’ She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. ‘I thought he would be pleased. I had this fantasy … but he told me none of it could happen, that it would destroy him, and he could end up in prison. I loved him, so I agreed to keep quiet.’ A tear makes its way down her face. ‘I managed to convince Mum and Dad that it was some random guy I’d met at a party, and since I was a total nightmare at the time, drinking and staying out all night, they believed me.’

  ‘Did you have an abortion?’ Douglas asked, wiping her tears for her.

  ‘No. Tim wanted me to, and offered to pay for it, but I couldn’t so I had her adopted.’ She sniffs. ‘It was hard, but it was the right thing to do. After that I moved back to London and sofa-surfed with friends for a while, but usually their parents got fed up with me pretty quickly. I was a mess.’

  ‘Poor Anna.’ His arms tightened round her. ‘Poor baby.’

  She snuggled into him. ‘You won’t hurt me, will you? You wouldn’t treat me like Tim did?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Only I don’t think I could bear it if it happened again.’

  She only worried because her attraction to him felt similar to the way she had felt with Tim – insecure; scared that this all-consuming love might not be reciprocated, that she was being toyed with again. She felt him withdrawing and decided to reveal more, to pique his interest.

  ‘I have a few mementos.’ She sat up and pulled the covers over her, hunching over her knees. ‘I wanted proof of where she came from, so I pulled out some of her baby hairs.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘She screamed like crazy, but I have her DNA.’

  The revelation has the desired effect. ‘Clever girl.’

  ‘I didn’t feel particularly clever,’ she grumbled. ‘I felt like an idiot. I’ll never forgive either of them.’

  ‘Either of them?’

  ‘Nick too. But that’s another story.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Are you interrogating me?’

  She hopped out of bed and went into the bathroom, turned on the tap and angled her mouth beneath it. Her face was still flushed and her eyes bright. She splashed her cheeks with cold water and dried them with a towel.

  ‘I want to know everything about you,’ Douglas said.

  How far could she trust him? She barely knew him. But Douglas wasn’t Tim and she had to talk to someone about what happened. It had been poisoning her for so long. She crawled back under the blankets and snuggled up to him, closing her eyes tight.

  ‘Talk to me, Anna. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.’

  She hugged her arms around her knees above the duvet. ‘The reason Izzy ran down to the river was because something had upset her, had scared and shaken her so much that she wasn’t in her right mind. Before she went, she told me she had been hiding with Nick. She was trembling from head to toe, and she looked like a ghost.’

  She felt Douglas’s body tense.

  ‘What are you saying?’ His voice had bite in it. The loving quality had gone.

  ‘We’d been playing this silly game, pretending Nick didn’t exist. Izzy didn’t like it and would sneak off and spend time with him when she thought no one was watching. But I knew. I suppose they got close and Nick misinterpreted the signals and took things too far. He was a very troubled teenager.’

  Why did she add that last lie? He wasn’t troubled, at least not before that summer. Had she really been that powerful? It seemed extraordinary now.

  ‘He changed after she died; became withdrawn and depressed, everyone knows that. It wasn’t as if he had lost a sibling, so it must have been a guilty conscience. He did something to her, then made sure she couldn’t tell. He knew she was a weak swimmer. I think he may have followed her down to the river that day.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘And something happened. Obviously, I can’t prove that.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Anna. Get to the point. What did he actually do?’

  ‘She said he had his hand on her breast.’

  ‘Fuck.’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell the police?’

  Because in her heart she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. In her heart, she knew it was her fault.

  ‘Because I had no proof. Also, he might have only meant to scare her, but lost control of the situation, or misjudged the river, and she was swept away. I’d known Nick all my life and I didn’t think he could do anything like that, and it was all so fragmented: the storm, the game we were playing, Tim kissing me. It was this weird kaleidoscope. It was only years later that my memories started to resolve themselves into something coherent. It seems so obvious now, but it wasn’t then.’

  Douglas is grinding his teeth. It was the first time she’d seen him do that.

  ‘I shouldn’t have told you.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Anna.’

  The words stripped the warmth from the room. ‘I’m not …’

  ‘He’s parenting my daughter, for fuck’s sake. Jesus.’ He thumped his fist down on the mattress. ‘I don’t believe it. If you knew that about him, why didn’t you say something to Grace?’

  Had she gone too far? Nick had come close to the bone when he asked her why she was so keen to lay the blame at his door, but she refused to feel guilty. He was his father’s son. She waited, then said quietly, ‘Because I wanted to use the information and I was waiting for the right time.’

  ‘What do you mean? Use it for what?’

  ‘For money.’

  There was a long, long silence. A door closed with a bang somewhere down the street. Anna imagined she could hear the fridge humming. Douglas got out of bed and pulled on his boxers, then went to the window, opened the curtains and looked out, his hands pressed against the frame, his shoulder blades jutting like fins. When he turned he was backlit by the street lights. The headlights of a passing car lit the room. She drew her knees up to her chest and covered her face with her hands.

  ‘How much money?’ he asked softly, coming to sit beside her.

  ‘Twenty thousand pounds down, plus a thousand a month,’ she mumbled into her palms.

  ‘And that’s what you think my daughter’s safety is worth?’

  She dropped her hands. ‘No! Of course I don’t think that.’ That was not what she meant at all, but why hadn’t it occurred to her that this would be his reaction? She back-pedalled quickly. ‘She isn’t in any danger. I could be wrong about Nick. That’s only my theory. Douglas, don’t you see—’

  But he’s already out of the bed and pulling on his trousers. He does up his shirt before looking at her again. ‘You’ve done a lot of damage, haven’t you, Anna? You’re going to have to put this right.’

  GRACE

  Monday, 7 May 2018

  ‘AM I A SUSPECT?’ I ASK DETECTIVE INSPECTOR MARSH.

  I’ve been brought to the police station to help with their inquiries. Like Tim, I was taken in a police car. I thank God Lottie didn’t see it. I had to tell Cassie, though, in case I’m not home in time to pick her up. If necessary, she’ll look after Toffee for me as well. The energy I had earlier, that little reserve, has entirely gone.

  ‘Why would you think that, if Nick killed himself?’

  I support my head with the palm of my hand. A stone-faced WPC called Venetia Grant is sitting next to the detective. Her cool blue eyes don’t leave my face. It’s disconcerting. Occasionally I stare back, but she doesn’t blink.

  ‘But I don’t think he did,’ I say. ‘I don’t think he’s dead.’

  ‘It seems odd that Nick never told you about that summer. If you were so important to hi
m, surely he would have confided in you.’

  I shrug.

  ‘Why do you think he didn’t tell you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He smiles. ‘But you can guess, surely? We don’t tell the people we love everything. We gloss over the stuff we’re ashamed of, the guilty secrets, or we miss out certain events because we’re scared of getting found out.’

  I clasp my hands together and press my knuckles against my teeth. My skin feels dry.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I repeat. ‘I have a lot of questions. I wish he was here to answer them.’

  ‘So do I.’ Marsh picks up his mug, peers into it and puts it down, disappointed. He taps his pen against his palm and flicks through the brown manila folder to a page with handwritten notes.

  ‘Did you suspect Nick was having an affair with Anna Foreman?’ Grant says. It’s the first time she’s spoken.

  I don’t miss a beat. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Did you add the pair of them to the app because you thought something was going on?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. And it was Cassie who added Anna, not me. I only added Nick.’

  ‘But you were watching Nick’s and Anna’s progress that evening? Why was that?’

  ‘Idle curiosity – it’s what the app’s about. There’s a competitive element.’

  ‘And a nosy element.’ She smiles like we’re in this together.

  ‘Well, yes. It’s supposed to be fun.’

  ‘Until your partner stops to talk to the woman you suspect him of having an affair with.’

  ‘I did not suspect them. I didn’t think they’d even met.’ My palms have started to sweat. I wipe them surreptitiously on my jeans.

  ‘Your kids go to the same school. You share a friendship group. Are you asking us to believe that Nick and Anna never ran into each other?’

  ‘She only moved round here in January. And it’s not as if we socialized together. We probably would have done eventually, but these things take time.’

  ‘You were jealous of Anna, weren’t you? When you started to suspect that Nick was involved with her. How did that make you feel?’

  I frown. Why is she pushing this so hard? ‘It didn’t make me feel anything, because I am not jealous of her.’

  That isn’t entirely true. I remember how I felt on seeing Anna’s and Nick’s footsteps stop climbing; the sharp ache under my ribcage, the feeling of nausea and the surge of adrenaline.

  ‘Did you follow Nick that night? It would have been understandable in the circumstances. You were already suspicious about his relationship with Anna. He made yet another excuse to go out on his own. Weren’t you curious to see where he went the second time?’

  ‘None of that even occurred to me.’

  ‘When you went looking for him, did you walk or go by car?’

  ‘I walked.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Around the local area.’

  ‘Did you go straight home?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘You didn’t take a detour down Camomile Avenue, out of curiosity?’

  ‘No.’ A little worm wriggles in my tummy. I’ve told a lie.

  ‘I’m surmising,’ Grant says. ‘If it crossed your mind that he might be with Anna Foreman, the obvious thing would have been to have a look at her house.’

  ‘But it didn’t cross my mind,’ I insist. ‘I trusted him.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? You tracked Nick on the app.’

  ‘I didn’t track him,’ I say impatiently. ‘As I’ve explained, In-Step tells you how many steps your friends are doing. There’s no map; it’s just numbers.’

  ‘Fine, but you were curious about where he’d been and upset enough about your suspicions to mention them when you reported him missing. It would have been natural for you to wait and see if he came out.’

  I sigh. ‘But I didn’t. I went home, and I went to bed. I finally fell asleep about an hour later. When I woke, he hadn’t come home.’

  Grant leans back, and Marsh lifts his gaze from the files.

  ‘Did you put Nick’s body into his car?’ he asks. ‘Did you drive him down to Devon?’

  ‘No, I did not.’ I laugh, because the idea is so far-fetched. Marsh doesn’t crack a smile. ‘Look, what is this about? I don’t understand what I’m doing here.’

  He nods, then leans back. ‘You’re here because I think you’re right, Ms Trelawney. I think it’s very likely that Nick did not kill himself, that he was murdered.’

  ‘What can you tell me about your relationship with Douglas Parr?’ Marsh asks.

  The questions have been going on for over an hour now, and I’m feeling ill with exhaustion. Marsh and Grant look as fresh as they did when we began.

  ‘Civil.’

  ‘No conflict at all?’

  ‘Some, but it’s minor irritations. More like an annoying itch than pistols at dawn. Douglas has Lottie every other weekend. He adores her. It works because we both want it to, for her sake.’

  ‘I only ask because Cora Ritchie mentioned that he had some influence over you. She said that when he found out that her son was missing, he was straight in, telling you what to do, behaving in a hostile and threatening manner towards her and Tim.’

  ‘Cora is prone to exaggeration. Douglas has no influence over me. He has a strong personality, and she probably assumed I was affected by that. It isn’t true. I don’t care what he thinks any more. What has it got to do with Nick, anyway?’

  Marsh raises his arms up and back and locks his hands behind his head, has a good stretch. He glances at Grant, who takes up the baton.

  ‘Grace,’ Grant says. ‘The police were called to the address you shared with Douglas on more than one occasion, when neighbours became concerned that a row had become violent. Once because they thought someone was going to get killed.’

  She contemplates me, then sits forward, pushes the folder towards me. Paper-clipped to the top sheet is a picture of me, my mugshot in fact, taken that night in the police station. I look dull-eyed and very young. My hair is tied back and I’m wearing a white T-shirt. I remember that it had a slogan on the front, in sloping bright pink letters, that read, I’m Trouble. A WPC had commented, not unsympathetically, that it should have said I’m In Trouble.

  I flip the folder shut and push it back with the tips of my fingers. ‘How long have you known?’

  Grant ignores my question. I glance at Marsh, but his face is stony.

  ‘You tried to kill your boyfriend,’ he says. ‘You stuck a knife in him, rupturing his diaphragm. He lost four pints of blood and needed a transfusion and narrowly escaped death. That’s bound to make us wonder, don’t you think?’

  I’m trembling like a leaf, like Toffee when he’s scared. ‘I didn’t try to kill him; I lost control. Douglas will tell you. He was happy to take the blame, and say he provoked me. I didn’t go to prison. I got a suspended sentence on condition I saw a psychiatrist. I did all that. Where did you get this information?’

  ‘A witness came forward when she saw the photograph of you and Nick on the news. She recognized you.’

  ‘A witness?’ I say. ‘Do you mean the woman he was sleeping with?’

  I hadn’t even known what her name was. Douglas had persuaded her to keep quiet about the incident. He probably paid her. No doubt this is going to end up on the front pages.

  ‘Why don’t you explain what happened.’

  ‘All right. It was before I had Lottie. I don’t think it would have happened if I’d been a mother. Douglas brought the woman to the flat while I was out. I walked in on them. At that time I was completely under his control, utterly infatuated …’

  ‘And psychotically jealous?’

  ‘I’d had a tough upbringing. I’d been in care. I was heavily dependent on Douglas, and his betrayal tipped me over. We were bad for each other. The relationship was toxic. He drove me crazy. When I caught him with that woman, he was so cold about it, treating me like I was being hysteri
cal. I got frustrated and lashed out.’ I remember it as if it was yesterday. The amusement in his eyes. The cold smile. Brushing me off. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I wasn’t thinking, I was reacting. I remember the blood. Her screams. His surprise. ‘I was very young. I’m a different person now.’

  ‘But the fact remains, your partner is missing, presumed dead, and you have a history of violence.’

  ‘It was one time,’ I protest. I sit back in my chair and fold my arms. ‘I want a lawyer.’

  He closes the file and switches off the recorder. ‘Fine. But we’ll need you to come back in as soon as you’ve found one. Tomorrow at the latest.’

  I walk out of the police station, shaken to the core, and breathe in deeply. I tell myself it will be all right. I had nothing to do with what happened to Nick or Anna.

  NICK

  Saturday, 14 April 2018 Day Zero

  HE SITS IN HIS STUDY, STARING AT THE BLANK SCREEN. Grace is upstairs, running a bath. He’s moved the keyboard out of the way and has a sheet of paper in front of him. It won’t do. He can’t hide behind a letter, he needs to tell her to her face and be man enough to take the consequences. He trails his pen across the next line, then sighs, and writes, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. Then he crumples it up and throws it in the bin. Why did he ask her to marry him? He should have waited until all this was sorted out. It had been an impulse, and it came from the wrong place, a place of loneliness and fear. He had wanted to tie her to him. Stupid.

  He stretches his legs out, folds his arms across his chest and leans his head back. He stares at the ceiling until it blurs, then groans and takes the screwed-up sheet out of the dustbin, smooths it out, folds it and shoves it into his back pocket. He can’t risk it being found.