Don’t Trust Me

by Joss Stirling

  I run in bare feet after Drew. ‘Drew! Don’t go out there!’ But he’s already crossing the yard and shoving the gate closed.

  He turns to look back at me, just a bathrobe between him and the night. ‘Jess? I told you to stay in bed. You twit, look at your feet! You haven’t even got slippers on!’

  I grab his arm and drag him back inside. ‘Lock the back door.’

  ‘But I was going to check everything was OK in the yard.’

  ‘Do it in the morning.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Your heart’s beating like you’ve just run a mile.’

  Where to start? ‘I thought I saw something. Someone on the street.’

  ‘Probably did. We get vandals from time to time. Idiots. Come in for a dare. How close to the coffins can they get and that shit.’

  I press my head against his shoulder. He’ll think I’m crazy if I start on about ghosts. ‘Please, I’m scared. Stay with me.’

  That’s the right button to press. ‘OK, OK, yes, I’ll do that. Stop shaking, Jess. Take deep breaths. As you say, I can look in the morning. Let’s go and cuddle to get warm again – just a cuddle. I’ll rub your feet for you.’

  We go back upstairs and I return to the window. The place under the streetlamp is empty. The watcher has gone – if he’d ever been there.

  ‘Jess?’ Drew is already in his bed, duvet thrown back in invitation.

  ‘Won’t be a moment.’ I go into the bathroom and bolt down a Valium, then a second. No way will I sleep without a little help. Mindful of my evening’s activities, I jump in the shower, punishing myself with cool water. I’m still shaking. I’d thought myself safe from my nightmares at Drew’s.

  ‘Jess? You writing War and Peace in there or something?’

  ‘Coming.’

  I go back into his room and slip into bed.

  ‘I’ve got something to make you feel better.’ Drew reaches down to rub my toes but I’m not feeling like joining in these moves that could lead to something else.

  ‘Can we just spoon?’

  With a grunt, he moves up and settles in to surround me, my back to his chest, his arm over mine.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmur, sleeping pill finally kicking in.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in the morning.’

  I’m very slow to come round even though the sun is pouring through the open curtains. Drew brings me tea and helps me sit up by stuffing his pillow behind my back.

  ‘I checked the yard. No damage. I expect Phil just forgot to make sure the gate was properly bolted when he left. I’m going to have a few choice words with him when he gets in.’

  ‘Can people climb over?’ I’m seeing Scream-face ghost slithering over the gate.

  ‘Yeah, if they want. It’s not Fort Knox. There’s nothing to steal in the yard and the storeroom is secure.’

  ‘Maybe you should padlock the gate?’

  He ruffles my hair. ‘Maybe we should.’

  I smile blearily.

  ‘Jess, can I ask you something?’

  I sip my tea. ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘What tablets are you taking?’

  Damn. I must’ve forgotten to put away the blister pack last night in my hurry to get to bed. ‘Ritalin for my condition and then the occasional Valium for anxiety.’

  ‘Does the doctor know you’re taking both?’

  ‘Charles prescribed the Ritalin. I need to go back to your GP about that – thanks for reminding me.’

  ‘But are you supposed to mix them?’

  Well, of course not, but that seems the least of my problems. I try to appear innocently enquiring.

  ‘Look, I’m not the expert here, but I’ve known guys at clubs who take both as uppers and downers, amphetamines for the buzz and Valium to quieten them down. Once they get in a pattern they need to take more to feel the effect.’

  And that would be a pretty accurate description of me. ‘My tablets are prescribed medicines, Drew. I’m not scoring them off some shifty bloke on a street corner.’

  ‘I know but, I dunno, you were very jumpy last night, then went out like a light. That’s not normal.’

  ‘Drew, if when looking at me the first word that comes to mind is “normal”, then I’d say you were missing the point.’

  ‘True.’ Distracted from his medical pep talk, he snuggles up next to me. ‘The first word I think of is “gorgeous”.’

  The first word I think of is ‘skank’. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

  He leans over me and I’m worried he might make a move on me but I needn’t have fretted. ‘Jess, let’s go and have some fun today – get away from all this.’

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘I’ve got some beans to harvest on a roundabout, and some roses to prune on scrubland in Hounslow.’ He grins.

  I dig deep for some of my usual enthusiasm. ‘Guerrilla gardening? Count me in.’

  Chapter 32

  Michael, 20th August

  I’m going stir-crazy. Though the numbers of the press pack have declined this morning, there are still a few of the most dedicated paying someone to keep a watch on me. I see a changing guard of young men on the wall opposite, eager, probably interns who think journalism will still exist as a paying profession in ten years’ time. If I go out to buy a pint of milk, they summon their photographers and hound me like Furies to the corner shop. I want to grab their expensive Nikons, strangle them with the straps, then smash the equipment and stomp on the pieces.

  The irony is that to pass the time, I’m reading Eisner’s paper on reducing violent homicides. I’ll have to mention to the professor, if ever I’m invited back to Cambridge, that I’m finding false accusations a real spur to homicidal urges.

  Right now the person I’d most like to squeeze the life out of is Jessica. She talked to some hack, taking Fleet Street’s thirty pieces of silver, and so has fed gossip-soaked fuel onto the bonfire of what used to be my career. Sex Pest. The words might as well be branded on my forehead. It’s hard, if not impossible, to come back from this. Colleagues are muttering, students posting about the least flirtatious remark I made. Holding open a door has now become sexual harassment and lawyers are trawling for cases amongst my students, past and present. Christ, life is unfair.

  Lizzy can sense I’m at the end of my tether. She repeatedly tells me there’s no need for me to go out, that if I give her a list she’ll get anything I want. I can’t bring myself to admit to her that what I want most is her absence. She’s hanging around like I’ve got some illness that needs nursing, tempting me with what she thinks are my favourite meals, trying to get me into bed. We haven’t yet christened the new mattress and she’s complaining that I no longer desire her. She’s right, but I have to pretend it’s just a temporary blip. God knows, my libido isn’t crushed; I just want someone young and uncomplicated. Not the thirty-something woman next door with a spaniel, a career, and expectations.

  Thankfully I’ve persuaded her to go home at night. I look forward to those long blanks where I can knock back the Scotch and glare into the dark. It’s the most fun I have all day and I find a perverse pleasure in looking forward to these drinking sessions. I know what that sounds like, and doubtless Charles will tell me it’s a slippery slope but, God, I just need the break from myself that alcohol gives me.

  The back door opens and Lizzy breezes into the kitchen with the latest resupply like a plucky ship going to an Antarctic research station.

  ‘Hello, darling. I don’t think there’s going to be anyone out there today. I heard on the news that there’s a big fire over in Shepherd’s Bush so they’ve moved on. Some faulty tumble-dryer scandal to cover.’

  ‘Temporarily.’ I’ve certainly been put on spin for weeks now.

  ‘Poor baby.’ She kisses my cheek and attempts to run her fingers through my hair but I move out of reach. Her lips thin but she doesn’t say anything. Her patience is running out though, and I can hardly blame her.

  ‘Thanks for this – breakfa
st, I mean. Let me do something for you for once. How about coffee? I can get out the espresso machine, froth the milk and so on.’

  ‘Please, yes, that would be nice.’ Smiling properly now, she sits down at the table and scoops Colette onto her lap. Funny how I never noticed before, but Jessica always let the cat come to her; Lizzy demands attention. ‘Not sleep well?’

  ‘Not really.’ I ransack the cupboard for the pods that go in the machine.

  ‘Nightmares?’

  ‘No, just not sleeping.’

  ‘I was hoping that you’d get better rest, what with the new mattress and no Jessica to disturb you.’

  I’d told Lizzy as an excuse to keep her away that, after five years of being interrupted by Jessica’s ridiculous dreams about some childhood bogeyman, I preferred to have some time sleeping alone. ‘I’m sure I’ll catch up later today. Not as if I have anything else to do.’ I should’ve been on a plane to Washington, putting the final touches to my speech; instead I’m stuck here with everyone at the conference talking about me. ‘There’s a flavour here called caramel latte macchiato. How does that sound?’

  ‘Perfect. That’s Jessica’s favourite.’

  ‘Is it?’ I fit it in the machine, hoping it’s not more complicated than that.

  ‘You should probably refresh the water if you’ve not used it in a while.’

  ‘I knew that.’ I send her what I hope is an endearing smile. ‘Where does it go?’ I look for a tap or hose.

  ‘There’s a tank inside.’ Lizzy sits back and lets me make a hash of it but I eventually find the container. It comes out easily so I fill it up and slide it back in.

  ‘It also helps if you plug the machine in and switch it on.’

  I’m losing the will to live here. ‘This is why I always make filter coffee in a cafetiere.’ Finally, I get the damn machine working and figure out on my own how to do the milk – well, with the help of the instructions in the top drawer. I present Lizzy with her drink, feeling more respect for baristas than before I started the interminable procedure. ‘How anyone can make a profit running a cafe is beyond me. I could’ve given a seminar in the time that took.’

  ‘It just takes skill and patience – skill by the server and patience from the people in the queue.’

  ‘I think there’s a blog post in that. I should make a note. Or a warm-up exercise for the First Years. Psychology of the coffee shop.’

  Lizzy sips her coffee – sorry, caramel latte macchiato. Is there actually any coffee in that? ‘Oh, I meant to say. I found a message from Jessica on the answerphone yesterday when you were dodging the reporters to buy the milk.’ She gives me a commiserating smile.

  ‘What did she say? “Suffer, Michael, suffer”?’

  She shakes her head at me. I’ve disappointed her. ‘Of course not. Jessica’s not like that. You can hear it for yourself. It’s in saved messages. Something about having found Lillian Bailey safe and well and that Jacob must’ve been mad.’

  A small glimmer of light enters the dungeon. ‘She found one of those girls? I take back everything I said about her. That’s really, really good news.’ I rub my hands together, some of my old energy returning. ‘I wondered if she’d keep on digging. I’ve not known her stick at things for long.’ But it then strikes me that Lizzy has known this a whole day and not thought to mention it. Doesn’t she get how crucial this is to me? ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me this?’

  ‘I just have.’

  ‘I meant yesterday.’

  She gets up, dumping Colette on the floor. ‘Because I forgot, Michael. I do have a life of my own as well as what you persist in portraying as a walk-on part in yours. I’m trying to be patient here but I’m not going to be talked to like that. I’m not like Jessica.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. And you’re absolutely not a walk-on part. How can you be? You’re my lover, my friend – you’re important to me.’

  She lets the silence between us stretch. I’m not forgiven yet.

  ‘I apologise for snapping. I’m just on edge.’

  ‘Oh baby, I know that.’ She moves in and gets her arms around my waist, head on my chest. I feel like I’m being slowly suffocated – a tree smothered in ivy. ‘I’m on edge too. I hate it when you go out and get chased by those vultures. You just need to let me take care of you and not worry. No way did you kill anyone, so you have to let the police clear you and then we can move on.’

  I’m fantasising about moving on to somewhere as far from here as possible. Like Melbourne or Wellington. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m just worried that Jessica will keep on digging and find out things about Emma that will upset you more.’

  Lizzy was always a good friend to my wife, just as she has been to me and Jessica over the past few years. She has a gift for loyalty – it’s one of the things I admire most about her. ‘Emma can’t be hurt now. I promised I’d not say anything—’

  ‘It was her last request. She wanted to protect her daughter.’

  ‘You don’t need to remind me, Lizzy. I’m a man of my word. When have you ever known me…’ I don’t finish the sentence because we both are aware of one big occasion when I didn’t keep my word. ‘But if Jessica does find out a few things, what does it matter now? That’s all in the past. My wife is gone. Kaitlin can’t be hurt by it.’

  Lizzy rubs my ribs. ‘I suppose. I just know what it means to you – and meant to Emma. I’d hate to see her reputation being trashed – you know how the press get? It would make what they are doing to your standing in the psychology world look like child’s play.’

  ‘OK, Emma made some mistakes, cut a few corners, but she’s dead, West too, so it’s not anyone’s business, is it? Why would they be interested?’ I’m saying this but I don’t really believe it. The story is too sensational and I’d get hit with some of the backwash. I don’t want it out there either. I’ll be accused of being part of the cover-up.

  ‘It might work out like that but it’s too big a risk. No one will come out of it smelling of roses. Hey, I know: why don’t we invite Jessica over?’ Lizzy looks up at me, brown eyes hopeful. Oddly, it makes me think of Flossie, her spaniel. ‘She can tell you about that Lillian person herself and you can suggest she lays off digging any deeper on the Emma side of things. It’s great that she has already undermined Jacob’s case so there’s no need really, is there, for her to carry on pushing? I’ll call her. I’m happy to cook dinner for us all to hash it out.’

  What planet is Lizzy on that she believes it a good idea to put her, me and Jessica in the same room and provide dinner? ‘Maybe just a quiet drink so Jessica doesn’t have to stay long if she doesn’t want to? You know, small steps? And let’s not tell her about us, OK?’

  Lizzy pouts. ‘You’ve got to tell her sometime. I’ve waited long enough. I don’t like lying to my friend.’

  I rub her upper arms, meant as a soothing gesture with a cajoling subtext of ‘get real’. ‘But not in the middle of a murder investigation, OK? I don’t want her to be pissed off with me – us.’

  ‘She might be relieved of any lingering guilt. She’s with Drew now, isn’t she?’

  ‘She always said they were just friends. He’s not her type.’ And Jessica likes her men with a bit of strength, not wimps like that Goth reject.

  ‘Hmm.’ Lizzy moves off but she has that look, the kind of ‘secrets between the sisterhood’ expression that I’ve seen whenever Emma or Jessica were plotting with any of their girlfriends.

  ‘What do you know?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself when she comes round?’

  ‘I’d prefer to keep personal stuff out of it.’

  ‘Men!’ Lizzy folds her arms. ‘You can’t do that, not without it blowing up in your face later when she does find out. Come on, Michael, what are you afraid of? This is sweet harmless Jessica, not some revenge-minded bitch who’s going to cut up your suits because you’ve dared to move on from her to a new woman.’

  I’m not liking this experience of being ho
unded down a path I don’t want to take. ‘No, you’re right. I made that mistake already when I thought she’d attacked my things in the bedroom. Maybe I should say something, but let me do it subtly, and let’s not say it started before I officially finished with her. Don’t push me on this.’

  ‘If she asks me a direct question, I’m not going to lie. I’m her friend too.’

  I’m getting a headache. ‘I’m not asking you to lie. OK, let’s invite her round and I’ll clear the air with her, find out what she knows about this girl.’

  ‘Give her a call.’ Lizzy hands me the phone. I wish she would just stop nagging. I have an image of myself bashing her over the head with the handset. Christ, I really am losing it. I didn’t know I had these violent urges in me. I’m afraid that one day I’m going to snap.

  I put the phone down with shaky fingers. ‘It’s OK, I’ll message her later.’

  The doorbell rings, saving me from having to take immediate action. I want to think about this some more. Handling Jessica is like dealing with an unexploded bomb – you can’t just rush in and cut wires at random.

  ‘Shall I get it? I’m getting good at telling reporters to go away,’ volunteers Lizzy.

  ‘Please.’ I retreat to the basement so I can’t be seen from the front door. Sitting on the bottom step, I’m not sure what I’m doing down here. I don’t want to raid the wine and can’t bear to look at any of Emma’s things right now. Some of them still have her scent. I’m worried that one day even that will have vanished and she’ll really be gone.

  ‘Michael, it’s the police,’ Lizzy calls apologetically.

  I grab the nearest bottle to explain my emergence from the basement and return to the kitchen. DI Randall and DS Lloyd are waiting for me.

  ‘Coffee?’ asks Lizzy. ‘Michael does a good line in caramel macchiatos.’

  I want to growl that it’s my kitchen and I’m not offering PC Plod anything but cold disdain, but I restrain myself.