by Emma Curtis
My situation has improved in one respect at least; I’m in the clear. Marsh’s hope that he’d find my DNA all over the wheelbarrow hasn’t proved as daft as it sounded when he first mooted it. Nick’s DNA is present. Unfortunately, the identity of the person who lifted him in and wheeled him to the river remains a mystery.
If Marsh has his theories, which I assume he does, he hasn’t shared them with me, and I don’t want to think about it. I want to preserve my memories of Nick as a living man, not a corpse in a wheelbarrow.
Marsh has gone quiet since my interview. I’ve called him for updates, but all I’m told is that the investigation is ongoing but there is nothing he is able to disclose at the moment. I find that puzzling. To me it feels as though he’s lost interest in Nick and moved on. Harriet says he may be embarrassed about his treatment of me. But I don’t know, something feels fishy. On the other hand, it’s a great relief not to be his focus.
Each morning, when I come downstairs to make my first coffee of the day, when Toffee yawns, stretches and pads over to greet me, I have to remind myself that Nick is not coming back. Sometimes I find it unbearable, sometimes it feels as though life is moving on. Sometimes I stand in the middle of my kitchen and wonder who I am and what I’m doing here. Sometimes I feel nothing at all.
Work-wise, I’m on a mission to persuade Rupert that instead of buying the Chelsea house with its narrow profit margin, he should invest in property south of the river, aimed at professional families rather than the uber-wealthy. Not to neglect those, of course, but to create another arm to his empire which I would run and from which I would take a share of the profits, rather than a salary. I had the idea driving back from Chelsea after that first viewing. I don’t care what it takes; I’ll work hard. I am determined never to be financially dependent on a man again. Which takes me to this house, my house, in Burnside Road. And to Nick’s parents.
Tim and Cora have backed off, for the time being at least, although the legal situation with Nick’s estate is going to have to be addressed at some point. They will probably win, but at least if we do have to wait seven years, as Harriet Gayle advised could be the case, Lottie will still be able to grow up here. I won’t have to leave until she’s preparing to go to university.
I get a text and slide my phone across the table. It’s Douglas, wanting to know about arrangements. He’s keen to be waiting in the playground when Lottie’s coach arrives. It’s the first time she’s been away from both of us for more than a night. I text back that I’ll meet him at the school. I don’t want us to go together, it sends out the wrong message.
I settle down to work, the radio playing in the background. I’m surfing the internet for suitable properties when a name catches my attention. I dash across the room to turn the sound up, but I’ve missed the section. Frustrated, I go back to my laptop and search for the news. And there it is. Angus Moody, CEO of Financial Logistics, is under arrest following a covert investigation by New Scotland Yard Serious Fraud Office.
I read every word, looking for a mention of Nick. I find it eventually, at the end of the article, the investigative journalist pointing to the interesting coincidence that one of Angus Moody’s employees disappeared in April. Police sources deny that there is any connection between the two events, but I don’t believe it for one minute. Even writing that paragraph connects them. I call Detective Inspector Marsh, go through to his voicemail and leave a message asking him to get in touch with me urgently. I explain it’s about Nick’s boss. There must be something in this. There has to be.
I glance at the clock. The day is getting away from me. I’ve got a viewing in half an hour and I haven’t walked Toffee yet. I decide to combine the two, quick-marching my patient little dog along the paths that criss-cross the Common. At the parade, I tie him up outside the estate agent’s – not Bonner and Brightman, George Bonner still scuttles off if he sees me coming – and glance at the photograph of Anna’s house that appeared in the window last week. It’s available to rent, and this morning there’s a red Let sticker across the price. Someone has snapped it up. I’m glad because it means she can’t change her mind now. She won’t be back for at least a year, maybe even three if it’s a long let.
The agent I’m dealing with, Eva, a Polish woman with a bouncy ponytail and large hoop earrings, rises from her chair to greet me. She’s wearing heels and they click on the pavement as we make our way to the house. The quickest way to get there is down Camomile Avenue.
There’s a van parked outside Anna’s house, its back doors open. I twitch my collar up and walk faster, praying that Anna doesn’t come out. Eva is making small talk beside me, but I stop listening because Alex Wells comes out carrying a box. He puts it in the back of the van and goes back for more. He hasn’t seen me. Eva and I reach the end of the street and I finally tune in to her voice.
‘So, my sister is coming to stay,’ Eva says. ‘She’ll be sleeping on my sofa, but that’s OK. It’s a big flat.’
‘How lovely,’ I respond. ‘I see Camomile Avenue is let.’
‘Thank goodness.’
‘Why? Were you worried it was going to be hard to shift?’
‘No, not at all. It was her. Nightmare client. She’s the lady who was attacked on the Common last month.’
‘Oh really?’ I say innocently, my eyebrows shooting up. ‘Yes, I do remember that. Poor thing.’
‘I think that bang on the head did something to her. She’s not right. Always on the phone, always complaining, demanding. Do this, do that. And so picky about tenants. My God, you’d think it was a ten-thousand-a-month property.’
‘I expect she’s anxious. Being assaulted does that to you.’
Eva flushes. ‘Well, I know. But she’s always talking like this is a short-term thing, like she’s coming back. There’s some man. But I think he’s messing her around.’
‘You know a lot about her.’ More than me, it would seem. Didn’t Kai mention something? Well, good luck to her. I hope she finds happiness.
Eva smirks. ‘People talk to me. In this job it is like being a hairdresser. A friendly face, someone who does not judge. She says this man loves her, but she has to wait for everything to be right.’ She shrugs and laughs. ‘Sounds to me like he’s trying to get off the hook. Maybe he has a wife.’
The house is at the end of an attractive Victorian terrace, safely within the catchment for Cedar Heights school. It’s unmodernized and brimming with potential. I push all my worries aside and get stuck in, enjoying myself immensely. My experience means that I have a nose for problems and an instinctive feel for which of them are deal-breakers and which can be used as leverage for a price reduction. I make notes and I ask questions; I tease up corners of carpets and peel back wallpaper; I check the state of the neighbouring gardens from an upstairs window. Bar one or two letting the side down with clapped-out barbecues and overgrown lawns, they are well kept and most show signs that there’s a family in occupation; a small goalpost here, a slide or Wendy house there. It’s perfect.
I finish my viewing and arrange to come back with Voytek, the builder Nick and I used on Burnside Road, at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Eva has another appointment at the house, so I walk back alone. At Camomile Avenue it looks like Alex and Anna have gone, their rented van replaced by one for a cleaning service. So that’s it, for the time being at least. I stroll home, wondering about the boyfriend. She’s kept him close to her chest; but then she’s good at that. Even the arrest of Angus Moody hasn’t shaken my conviction that she’s involved in Nick’s disappearance. Marsh’s lack of interest in pursuing that line of inquiry infuriates me. What on earth would it take to make him sit up and pay attention? Nothing short of a full confession, I suspect.
After lunch, I do my chores; shopping for the weekend and a quick once-over for the kitchen and bathrooms, while I figure out how I’m going to sell Rupert on that house. When I’m ready, I sit down at the kitchen table and call him, my fingers crossed.
‘It’s perfect
,’ I gush. ‘It still has all its original features, and a decent garden. It’s belonged to the same couple for forty years. It has a really lovely atmosphere. You can tell they were happy there.’
‘Is there enough money in it, though?’ Rupert asks.
It’s not what he’s used to. This is a great location for families, but it doesn’t attract the kind of client Rupert normally deals with.
‘I know the people who live here, and I know what they want. We can definitely make money out of it.’
I tap my fingers on the table, hoping desperately that he’ll go for it. He’s having to weigh up his desire to help me get a foothold in the industry against his instinct to go for the megabucks. I’ll understand if he pulls back, but if he agrees, it’ll be life-changing for me.
‘I won’t let you down,’ I blurt out, when his silence gets too much.
Rupert sighs. ‘I’m only concerned you might neglect my clients.’
‘Of course I won’t. I just want …’ I stop.
‘What is it you want, Grace?’
‘To deal with normal people.’
That makes him laugh. ‘This is your thing, but ultimately it’s my risk.’
I can feel him wavering. ‘I know what I’m doing. And I’m going to have more time anyway, with Lottie going to secondary school in September. What I do for you takes me maximum three days a week; not even that sometimes.’
‘Send me some figures.’
Someone’s at the door. I tell Rupert I’ll call him back and shake the tension out of my shoulders. I know I can persuade him but it’s a good thing we stopped there. I was beginning to get emotional.
‘Anna.’ I step back in surprise.
‘You don’t mind, do you? I’ve been clearing out my house. I thought I’d come and say goodbye.’
She looks frail. With her face free of make-up, her cropped hair and the jeans hanging off her hips, she bears a disturbing resemblance to the young people I used to help when I worked at the charity all those years ago. Empty eyes, lost soul.
‘Of course I don’t mind. Come in. I was just cleaning up.’
I peel off my rubber gloves and look past her, to see if Alex is there, waiting in the van, but there’s no sign of him. I close the door and usher her into the kitchen.
‘You look so much better,’ I say over my shoulder as I reach automatically for the kettle.
‘No I don’t.’ She touches her hair and grimaces. ‘I look like shit.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’ I take two mugs out of the dishwasher and drop in teabags. ‘I saw your house was let. Have you given up on London?’
When I turn round, she’s studying the photos and calendar stuck to the fridge. ‘Not entirely. I haven’t made my mind up yet.’
There’s something absent about her, but I put it down to the injury and I’m prepared to be kind. All the same, she’s making me uneasy. She’s twitchy in her movements, and she won’t settle. Her eyes are everywhere, scanning the room, watching me, zooming in on family photographs.
‘How’s Kai?’ I ask to distract her and calm my own nerves. ‘Lottie misses him.’
Her face brightens. ‘He’s doing well. He’s got into a good secondary school.’
‘Are you still with your parents?’
‘Yes. No. Well, I won’t be for long. I’m working things out. So how are things with you two?’
For a moment I think she means me and Nick; but then I realize she’s talking about me and Lottie.
‘Oh, we’re doing OK. Trundling along as usual. Lottie’s been on the Dorset trip all week.’
‘I feel so bad that Kai’s missed out. He would have loved to have gone.’
The kettle boils and I pour water on to the teabags, add milk and stir them. There’s no answer to that. As I pick up the mugs and set them down on the table, I check the kitchen clock, then catch Anna watching me.
‘Are you in a hurry?’ she asks.
‘No, it’s fine. The coach is expected back at four. That’s all. We want to be there to meet her.’
‘We?’
‘Her father wants to be there too.’
Anna moves away from the fridge and sits down. I’m over-aware of her movements. It’s as if she’s a ticking bomb. I try and second-guess why she’s here, what it is she really wants.
‘Oh, right.’ She blows on her tea before sipping it. ‘Is he around as much?’
I’m not sure why she might think he wouldn’t be, but I let it pass. ‘Yes. No change there.’
She nods, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugs. ‘Oh, no reason.’
There’s a pause and I cast around for something else to talk about. Suddenly, four o’clock feels a long way away. I wish I’d told her I had to be somewhere earlier.
‘So, are you in London to hand over the keys to your place?’
‘Something like that. Just tying up loose ends.’
She sits forward suddenly, and the air goes still. She pushes her chair back, gets up and walks over to the sofa. Over the back, neatly folded, is a black fine-wool sweater. She picks it up, opens it out and turns to me.
‘Are you seeing someone?’
The idea is so outlandish that I laugh. ‘No, of course not. That belongs to Douglas. He must have left it behind last time he was here.’
But she’s not listening to me. She runs her fingers over the soft wool, then puts it back, and it’s the care with which she does it, stroking it smooth, and the sensuality of the gesture, that sends the tension inside me sky-rocketing. Something has gone on between Anna and my ex. The thought leaps into my mind and once it’s there, I can’t dislodge it.
ANNA
Friday, 15 June 2018
GRACE WAS FROWNING. ‘ARE YOU … UM,’ SHE SAID slowly. ‘Are you and Douglas … Did you?’
Anna didn’t speak and Grace’s face fell.
‘Oh, Anna. You poor thing.’
‘What do you mean?’ The sympathy was false; Grace was jealous. ‘We’re lovers. He loves me.’
‘I’m sorry, but the only person Douglas Parr loves, other than himself, is Lottie.’
‘You don’t know anything about it.’
She felt threatened by Grace, by her assurance, by her grand house and expensive furnishings. She thought she knew it all, but she didn’t. She knew nothing. It was clear to Anna that Grace had never really got over Douglas. Anna should be the one feeling sorry for her.
‘When did it start?’ Grace asked. She was trying to sound casually interested. It wasn’t working.
‘That evening he came to pick up Lottie.’
‘Of course. I forgot about that. He fixed your plumbing.’
Anna smiled, remembering. ‘We just clicked.’
She was proud of this, proud to have fooled everyone, but it was such a relief to be able to tell, to say, you never guessed! Ha ha. Aren’t I clever? Childish, but immensely satisfying.
The moment was short-lived, spoilt by Grace’s look of pity. ‘You must have something he wants. He isn’t in love with you.’
‘Why the hell shouldn’t he love me?’
‘Sorry, that came out wrong. Why did neither of you say? It wouldn’t have bothered me.’
Anna paced over to the sink and bent to drink from the tap, raising her right arm automatically and crooking it over the back of her neck to scoop away hair that wasn’t there. She dropped her hand, embarrassed.
‘He didn’t want people to know.’
‘Didn’t you question why? You had nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Unlike you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Douglas told me you stabbed him.’ She had actually found out when Douglas had taunted Nick with it. She had asked him later on why he had lied, and he had shrugged and said it was none of her business.
Grace opened her mouth, grappling for words, her eyes full of hurt. ‘He told you that?’
‘He tells me
everything. I know all about you attacking Cora. You’re still capable of violence, aren’t you? And look at poor Nick.’
‘What about Nick? He never knew what happened with Douglas. Did you say something when you met him?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No, it’s none of my business. But perhaps you should have come clean. Secrets have a habit of coming out.’
The doorbell rang, long and loud, and they both went still.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ Anna asked.
‘No.’ Grace grabbed Toffee’s collar and pressed her fingers on his muzzle, silencing him. ‘It’ll be a delivery.’
‘Wait. Don’t answer it until we know who it is.’ Anna ran into the front room and peeked between the slats of the wooden shutters.
‘Anna?’ Grace stood in the doorway, looking uncertain.
‘It’s the police,’ she whispered.
‘It’ll be about Angus Moody. I’m letting them in.’
‘Angus?’ Anna frowned. What the hell had Angus got to do with any of this? ‘No, don’t. Leave it.’ The sound of her blood ringing in her ears was deafening. ‘Why would they want to talk to you about Angus?’
‘Haven’t you seen the papers today?’
‘No, I’ve been too busy clearing the house.’
‘He’s been arrested for fraud. I think it might be connected with what happened to Nick. Let me open the door.’
‘No. Not yet. We need to talk first.’
‘For God’s sake.’ But she didn’t move.
Grace’s mobile phone started to ring, and Anna shook her head. They waited for it to stop, then Grace listened to Marsh’s voicemail. Afterwards, she put it on speaker and played it again, the phone on her knee between them. She held Anna’s gaze.
‘Grace. It’s DI Marsh. Call me back soon as you get this. Just one thing, if Anna Foreman comes round don’t let her in. Call me immediately.’
Grace’s expression became wary. ‘I want you to leave.’
GRACE
Friday, 15 June 2018
