The Night You Left

by Emma Curtis

  He goes out on to the landing and calls her name. She comes out of the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, her hair bunched up.

  ‘I’m just nipping out,’ he says.

  ‘But it’s almost nine o’clock. Why do you need to go now?’

  ‘Tension headache. I need air.’

  ‘OK, darling.’ She pauses, and he winces inwardly. She’s not happy about it. ‘Don’t be long.’

  Downstairs, with uncanny perspicacity, Toffee is waiting underneath his leash.

  ‘Not this time, boy.’

  Nick leads him back into the kitchen where he checks the class address list that Grace keeps stuck to the fridge, then slips out and closes the door on Toffee’s reproachful whine.

  He hesitates before he leaves the pub, the taste of whisky still in his mouth, questioning what exactly it is he wants to say to her. Perhaps it was a mistake to come here first, another mistake to have ordered a double. But he needed it and it’s done now anyway.

  His phone vibrates in his pocket as he’s turning the corner. He takes it out and glances at the message. It’s an unknown number. The message makes his blood run cold.

  Be very careful, Nick. If you take a wrong step now, there will be consequences. You won’t be able to protect Grace or Lottie.

  He reads it again. Who is this and how do they know their names? It must be about his conversation with Angus on Friday. Angus had mentioned others, hadn’t he? He had warned Nick that he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

  He’s almost ready to forget about Anna and walk away, but that isn’t the way he’s built. One problem at a time. Solve the threat from Anna. It won’t take long. Then he’ll go home and call Angus. He will tell him that he’s changed his mind; that he’ll keep his secret. He won’t do anything that might put Grace and Lottie in danger. The idea makes him feel physically sick, but there’s no alternative. It will be the last time he ever speaks to Angus Moody. He’ll write his letter of resignation tomorrow and think up a convincing story for Grace. He switches his phone off and hurries to Camomile Avenue.

  Nick wants Anna to explain and, for Christ’s sake, to see reason. They are not teenagers any more; they are adults with dependants and responsibilities who should be capable of behaving in a considerate and rational manner. Taisie – Anna – has obviously been brewing this for a long time.

  He rings the bell, then bangs on the door for good measure. The lights are off, but he has a feeling she’s in, and that she knows it’s him. When no one comes he steps back and looks up. He can see nothing, but he senses energy, movement behind the dark window. He’s woken her, maybe her son as well. Finally, he hears heavy footsteps descending the stairs. The door is pulled open abruptly and he comes face to face with Douglas Parr.

  Nick stares at him, open-mouthed, trying to make sense of this entirely unexpected development; then Douglas grabs him by the collar of his shirt, drags him in and rams him up against the wall. It happens so quickly that it feels surreal, like a dream; a man’s face in his, contorted with fury, spitting words, propelling him through the house to the kitchen at the back and pushing him down into a chair. He tries to stand up, but Douglas thrusts him down again.

  ‘Have you touched my daughter?’ Douglas spits. ‘If you have I’ll fucking kill you.’

  Nick looks beyond him, to Anna in a white towelling robe, hair loose and make-up smudged.

  ‘What is he talking about?’

  She doesn’t respond, so he repeats the question, shouting it this time.

  Galvanized, she launches into an explanation. ‘I told him about Izzy; what you did. That you sexually assaulted her.’

  ‘What? No. That’s a lie,’ he says, horrified. ‘I didn’t touch her. You’ve twisted what I told you. Christ, what have I ever done to you?’

  ‘You’re a creep,’ Anna says. ‘Like your father.’

  ‘I know he treated you badly, but that was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You’re just like him though, aren’t you?’ Douglas snarls. ‘You like underage girls.’

  Nick scrambles up and barges into Douglas, locking arms with him, but Douglas, although leaner, is muscular, and he pushes Nick into the conservatory, where they crash against the table. It scrapes along the quarry-tiled floor and a jam jar of paintbrushes falls and smashes. Anna screams as Douglas picks up a child’s wooden chair and sends it flying at Nick’s head. Nick raises his arm to deflect it, and Douglas charges him, crushing his fist into Nick’s diaphragm. Winded, Nick drops to the floor and rolls on to his hands and knees, sucking in desperate breaths. Douglas grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him up, then pushes him into the wall. The room is so small, they knock into furniture and pieces of painted driftwood fly from the dresser. One lands between them.

  I Love My Dad.

  Douglas kicks it out of the way, then picks it up and looks at Nick. ‘I’m applying for custody of my daughter. You can’t be trusted. Grace will leave you when she finds out what kind of man you really are.’

  ‘She won’t believe you,’ Nick gasps. ‘She loves me. We’re getting married.’

  Douglas hesitates a second and then he laughs. ‘You poor bastard.’

  Nick hadn’t realized until now how much he hates Douglas Parr, how visceral his loathing is, how much he wishes he would sod off out of Grace’s life. If it wasn’t for Lottie, he would have told him to get lost ages ago. As it is, he has to grit his teeth every time Douglas enters his house. He hates his arrogance, his smugness, his ego; but most of all he hates the effect he has on Grace. She tries to hide it, but he knows that she’s scared of his dark side, wary of annoying him.

  This is all going wrong. He needs to talk to Anna on her own, to make her understand about the dreams, about the kiss coming from Izzy. He wants to explain that he does feel guilty; not about what happened in the cubbyhole, but about what happened beside the river; about Izzy screaming at him to go away, to leave her alone; about the way he shook his head, then turned his back on her, shoving his hands into his pockets and sloping off, back through the woods to the house. That was his guilt; not what she thought, or wanted to think, he had done. But he can’t explain all this while that man is here, maybe he can’t say it at all. Maybe he’ll never get to say it, because people will take it the wrong way. He needs to get out, go home, get to Grace before Douglas does.

  ‘I don’t know why you’d want Grace anyway,’ Douglas says. ‘She’s violent.’ When Nick doesn’t respond, he shrugs. ‘I gather she’s been economical with her past. Well, let me fill you in. Grace stabbed me with a kitchen knife. I rescued that woman from the streets, cleaned her up and sorted her life out and she repaid me by trying to kill me.’

  He raises his shirt and Nick blinks when he sees the puckered scar, about two inches wide, halfway between Douglas’s hip and his navel. It’s shocking, but he stands by Grace.

  ‘She must have had good reason.’

  ‘Is there ever a good reason to attempt murder? I didn’t press charges, but she was charged anyway. Suspended sentence. So do yourself a favour and get out of my daughter’s life. I don’t want you or your father anywhere near her.’

  Despite the pain he’s in, Nick draws himself up to his full height. ‘I’ll do no such thing. I’m marrying Grace, and Lottie will be part of our family. I’ve done nothing wrong. My father acted reprehensibly—’

  ‘Reprehensibly?’ Douglas sneers. ‘He got Anna pregnant.’

  Nick feels his colour drain. He turns to Anna, a question in his eyes.

  She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes fill and overflow. Her tears fall silently.

  ‘Oh, you didn’t know about the baby?’ Douglas says. ‘Your half-sister was adopted. Tim wouldn’t face up to his responsibilities. Fortunately for him, Anna kept his name out of it. She doesn’t need to do that any more though, does she? Tim should pay. If you don’t pack your bags and leave immediately, the newspapers are going to hear all about that, and all about how you molested poor little Izzy Wells and drove her to her
death. I’ll destroy your family before I let you near Lottie again.’

  Enraged, Nick launches himself at Douglas, hatred convulsing his features. Douglas is caught off guard, surprised that a man like Nick, normally gentle and measured, is capable of such violence. Before he can react, Nick has him down on the floor and is kneeling on his chest, his hands wrapped round his throat. Anna grabs at his shoulders, shouting at him to let go, but Nick ignores her. As he squeezes, he can feel the hard nub of Douglas’s Adam’s apple against the base of his palm, and the hot, panicky beat of the man’s pulse.

  Douglas’s eyes bulge, but Nick can’t stop. A red mist has descended, obliterating reason. Then something moves behind him, something dark and swift that descends on the back of his head with a sickening crack.

  Someone is sobbing; the sound goes on and on.

  Someone is panting, out of breath, like they’ve been running.

  ‘Grace,’ Nick breathes, before the room shrinks to a tiny dot and is finally extinguished in the blink of an eye.

  GRACE

  Tuesday, 8 May 2018

  HARRIET GAYLE IS A COOL BLONDE, HER HAIR TIED tightly back, a pair of understated silver knots in her earlobes. She’s wearing a trouser suit with heels. She is quite perfect, from her plucked eyebrows to her exquisitely painted fingernails. She is also tough, no nonsense. Cassie gave me her number. She’s an old friend of Evan’s. After a shaky start, I ended up telling her everything about the various strands of our lives that knitted together at the point where Nick disappeared. I admitted I had been suspicious about Anna and Nick and had gone out searching for him, my heart racing, half expecting to see them together. I told her I’d stood at the corner of Anna’s street, waiting for him to come out of her house. All the things I should have confessed to Marsh. No WPC Grant this time.

  She advises me to deny watching the house, because it only complicates things. I have denied it, but Marsh evidently doesn’t believe me and thinks it’s the key to unlocking what happened.

  ‘Have you any idea why Anna Foreman would have walked across the Common on her own in the dark?’ Marsh asks.

  ‘None at all. It’s not something any of us would do.’

  ‘Then she must have been meeting someone. Was it you, Grace?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’

  He steeples his fingers and looks at me over them. ‘You had the opportunity, with Lottie not being at home. We all know you’re prone to flashes of violent temper. Stop lying, Grace, and tell me what really happened.’

  Harriet turns to me. ‘You don’t have to answer that.’

  ‘No comment,’ I say.

  ‘You have no evidence that my client has either committed or colluded in a crime,’ she tells Marsh. ‘No evidence either that Nick didn’t kill himself. You might have had a motive if Nick and Grace had been married, but as it is, you have nothing.’

  He leans back, stretches out a crick in his neck. ‘I would call jealousy a motive, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’m not like that,’ I protest, even though I know it’s not entirely true. ‘I don’t get jealous.’

  Harriet puts a hand on my wrist and applies gentle pressure. I take the hint and clamp my mouth shut.

  ‘What about your attack on Douglas Parr? That was provoked by jealousy, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That was years ago. Douglas and I have a good relationship these days.’

  ‘Are you still as volatile?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s not what Cora says.’

  ‘That woman hates me.’

  ‘You pushed her over,’ Marsh says.

  ‘I didn’t push her. She tripped over the dog. She told me that they wanted me out of the house, and I admit I lost it, but I didn’t physically attack her.’

  ‘Fine. How did it feel when you thought Nick and Anna Foreman were having an affair?’

  Harriet cuts in. ‘Don’t answer that, Grace.’

  I’d felt hot and bothered when we first came in and I had taken my jacket off, but now I’m chilly, goose pimples on my arms. The milky coffee in the plastic beaker in front of me has gone cold.

  ‘Were you angry, Grace?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘Did you use a knife again?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Harriet says.

  I lean forward, my hands clasped on the table. ‘I didn’t hurt Nick. I loved … love him very much. We were planning to get married. We had just got engaged.’

  ‘All the more reason to lash out when you discovered his betrayal.’

  ‘Which I didn’t.’

  ‘Did you or Nick mention your engagement to anyone? Maybe he called his parents to tell them the good news. Did you tell Lottie?’

  I have a sinking feeling. ‘We didn’t have a chance to tell anyone.’

  ‘So, none of it might have happened. You might have made up the conversation to deflect suspicion about the state of your relationship.’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth.’

  He flicks through his notes, then smiles to himself. ‘If Nick was intending to kill himself at the site of Izzy Wells’ death, the most obvious thing would have been for him to drive himself to Devon. But the car was back in its space on your forecourt the next morning.’

  ‘His car was there when I went looking for him. It hadn’t moved.’

  An officer puts his head round the door and signals to Marsh, who pauses the tape and leaves the room. Harriet and I sit in silence. I wonder what’s happened, what new piece of evidence has come to light. Something that exonerates me, I hope. Why do I feel so guilty about Anna when I haven’t done anything wrong?

  Marsh comes back in. He sits down. We wait.

  ‘You’ll be pleased to hear Anna has regained consciousness,’ he says, his eyes on my face.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness.’

  ‘Are you relieved for yourself, or for her?’

  ‘For her, of course. But she’ll tell you I had nothing to do with the attack.’

  He smiles and switches on the recorder. ‘Let’s go back to the question of why Nick’s car didn’t leave the forecourt on the night he ended up in Devon. We only have your word that it was there all night. None of your neighbours can remember. You could have driven him, dumped his body in the river, hidden the bag and been back by dawn. Then when you subsequently visited the place with Anna Foreman, she pointed out where her sister had left her shoes at the water’s edge, and you realized you’d left the bag in the wrong place.’

  I’m so incredulous, I laugh. ‘Even if that were the case, which it’s not, there’s no way of getting to that stretch of the river in a car. I’d have had to have carried him a quarter of a mile down a rough footpath.’

  ‘But, if Nick knew where Izzy went in, if that place meant so much to him that he chose to die where she did, then why did he leave the bag fifteen yards downriver? It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘If he didn’t drive himself there, then someone else did. You didn’t know exactly where Izzy went into the water, did you?’

  ‘No, but I didn’t know Izzy Wells existed until a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘So you say. You agree that, in the dark, it would be easy to mistake the footpath and leave the bag in the wrong place.’

  ‘I think we’ve heard enough of this,’ Harriet says impatiently. ‘My client maintains that she did not drive her partner’s body to the river. Once you’ve had Forensics examine the car I’m sure you’ll be able to prove either case to everyone’s satisfaction. But until then, perhaps we can move on?’

  ‘One moment.’ He holds his hand up. ‘There is the small matter of the missing wheelbarrow.’

  I lean back in my chair and wait.

  ‘It was found in the woods. It’s being tested for traces of your and Nick’s DNA. If we find it, we will take that as confirmation that Nick was murdered. And don’t worry, we will find his body, Grace. It’s only a matter of time. Devon and Cor
nwall have a team working on it right now.’

  I remember something. I see Anna striding away from me, and Mrs Burrows preventing me from following her. ‘Anna took off in a huff in the direction of the river. If she had expected to see the bag, and hadn’t, perhaps she’d been waiting for an opportunity to check without me there. Her temper tantrum did seem a little contrived. But she didn’t make it further than the lawn because a police car turned up.’

  Marsh looks at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t she have put it in the right place at the time?’

  I lean on my elbows and press my fingers into my head. ‘God knows. She was in a hurry? She made a mistake? It’s been eighteen years since her sister’s death, and it was pitch dark. She could have taken the wrong path. She would have been exhausted, and maybe the environment had changed, and she didn’t recognize the spot. Or maybe it wasn’t her at all. Maybe she had an accomplice.’

  I realize as I’m saying all this how desperate I sound.

  ‘You really hate her, don’t you, Grace?’

  ‘No,’ I protest. ‘That is not what this is about. She has an agenda. She’s the one who was stalking Nick, not me.’

  ‘Right. I think that’s quite enough,’ Harriet interrupts. ‘It’s patently obvious that this is a fishing trip. Without a body, you can’t prove definitively that my client’s partner was murdered. If you have no evidence with which to charge Ms Trelawney, we’ll be going.’

  She drops her pad into her briefcase and slides her pen into the inside pocket of her jacket, then stands up.

  Marsh sighs and pushes his chair back.

  I lean against the wall of the police station while Harriet sends a text. Then she drops her phone in her bag and smiles.

  ‘Don’t worry, Grace,’ she says. ‘They’re clutching at straws. There is very little they can achieve without a body, frankly, and bar finding Nick’s blood in the boot of the car and a blunt object with your fingerprints on it, I can’t see what this achieves, apart from demonstrating to the taxpayers that they are actually doing something.’