The House Sitter, page 7
As for me, I believed I’d found love; had a husband, a future to look forward to. But I’ve lost it. I’ve lost everything. I think of my car again and what the police said, that they can’t be sure who the intended victim was. I imagine Oliver driving too fast, the fear he must have felt as he lost control on the flooded roads, the car spinning; the impact as it hit a tree; how the police aren’t sure if it was intended to have been me.
As I sit there, I feel as though the walls are closing in. Overwhelmed, starting to panic, I pick up my phone and call Jude.
2010
Gemma
In the kitchen of the French farmhouse, as Allison gazed at the flecks of Nadia’s blood on the wall, I assumed a frown to hide my surprise, before rolling my eyes.
‘Actually, I’ve just remembered where that came from. This cat keeps coming in. He’s a big old tabby cat. The other day, he brought in a rabbit. It was gross.’ I pulled a face. ‘I thought I’d cleaned it up.’ Going over, I bent down with a cloth and rubbed them away. ‘Thank goodness you noticed. I’d have hated Ray and Sally to have come back to that.’
‘Ray and Sally would have understood perfectly,’ she said, smiling conspiratorially. ‘They probably know the cat. Cats know a soft touch when they see one, don’t they? They’re going to be so pleased when they get back and see how much care you’ve taken of everything.’
*
With each day, my concern grew that someone would find Nadia’s body, but after a month, when no one had, I guessed that between the heat and the wild creatures, there probably wasn’t too much left to find.
Much as this life suited me down to the ground, the trouble was it hadn’t solved my problems. It had simply kicked them six months down the road. With the end of my time here not far away, my fear and uncertainty were back.
While my initial plan had been to escape my old life, now that I’d stumbled across this way of living, I knew I couldn’t give it up. Instead, I needed a way to maintain it, which first and foremost meant I needed money.
I waited until two weeks before Ray and Sally were due to come back, before sending them an apologetic email explaining that my father had been taken ill and that I needed to rush back to the UK. They couldn’t have been more understanding as they asked me just to leave the house tidy and put the key back where I’d found it.
The day I left, Allison came by one last time. I took the opportunity to show her around the rooms, to check the kitchen, so that she could see everything was immaculately tidy. Closing the house up together, I turned to her.
‘I just need to leave the key where Ray and Sally asked me to.’ After putting it back where I’d found it the day I arrived here, I went to find her again.
Allison looked wistful. ‘I’m so sorry you have to rush off like this, Gemma. Would you like a lift anywhere?’
This was getting even better. ‘That’s so kind, but I wouldn’t want to put you out. Unless you happen to be going anywhere near the station …’
‘I’m not – but it’s no trouble at all to drive you there.’
Driving into Hèches, she stopped outside the station. ‘Well, bon voyage.’ She smiled.
I lingered a moment. ‘I don’t like to think of the house empty. I feel terrible leaving earlier than I said I would.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll pop by now and then, just to check everything’s OK.’
‘That’s so kind of you. It’s been wonderful meeting you.’ I smiled back at her. ‘Who knows – maybe our paths will cross again?’
Crossing my fingers that they wouldn’t, I watched her drive away, before going inside and finding a bench to sit on while I waited.
As dusk settled over the town, I started the walk back to the house. As luck would have it, not a single car passed by. Finding the back-door key, I let myself in, carefully staging it to look like a burglary, taking the items I’d already singled out before placing them in the bottom of my rucksack.
Replacing the key, I went back down the drive. Twenty minutes later, after paying cash for my ticket, I was on a train speeding away.
*
After arriving in Perpignan late that night, I found a cheap hotel and the following day, carefully set about working on my appearance, pulling on a wig and making up my face to look much older.
With the items from the house safely inside my rucksack, wandering the streets, it didn’t take long to find the right kind of antiques dealer.
‘My grandmother left me these.’ I made my voice tremble just enough. ‘It’s the last thing I want to do, but things haven’t been going so well. Can you tell me how much you’d give me for them?’
When his eyes gave me more than a passing glance, for a moment I wondered if he was suspicious. But in silence, he scrutinised each of the items before making an offer.
It was probably less than they were worth but it was way more than I’d expected. I pretended to hesitate. ‘Is there any way you could give me a little more? I mean, they are such beautiful things.’ Dabbing a tissue to my eye, I apologised. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s just difficult to hand them over – to a stranger.’
As he handed me tens of thousands of euros, I bit my lip, hiding my euphoria until I stepped outside. After a visit to a pharmacy for hair dye, I bought a couple of new outfits before returning to my hotel. Settling down with my recent purchases, Gemma Hargreaves was getting a makeover.
I imagined that at some point I’d hear from Sally, so two weeks later when she called, suitably prepared, I feigned my horror that their house had been burgled.
‘That’s terrible, Sally … I can’t believe it.’
‘It happens more often than you might think. There are too many people struggling at the moment. It’s why we like to have house sitters.’ She sounded upset. ‘It’s just such bad luck you had to leave early.’
‘It really was.’ Relief washed over me at how well I’d taken them in. I filled my voice with regret. ‘I can’t tell you how bad I feel.’
Apparently the police had found a credit card registered to a Nadia Delaney – it was maxed out – presumably in desperation, she’d turned to burglary. It had been an inspired idea on my part to leave the credit card. Knowing by now how unlikely it was that anyone would find her body, leaving it there would draw the heat away from me. It seemed the police had failed in their efforts to track Nadia down. They weren’t even sure if that was her real name.
After suitably expressing my condolences for everything they’d been through, I took down my house sitter listing – at least for the time being.
Meanwhile, I had enough money to survive for the foreseeable future, while I worked out what to do next. With Perpignan to explore, and trains and buses to the whole of the rest of France, I could feel my horizons opening up. With new people to meet and new places to see, it wouldn’t be long before I’d be living the good life again.
8
Jude
Having taken compassionate leave from work, my world grinds to a halt around me. Losing Oliver so suddenly has shown that nothing is certain; a reminder that death can strike any of us at any time.
That afternoon I get a phone call from her. Clearly on edge, she speaks too quickly.
‘The police have just left. They have evidence someone sabotaged the brakes … But they still don’t know who the intended victim was. What if it was me? What if whoever did it comes after me?’
‘Slow down, Kat.’ My initial shock at what she’s saying gives way to disbelief. We knew it was a possibility, but that it’s been confirmed is horrifying. ‘Are the police sure it isn’t possible the damage was accidental?’
There’s a brief silence before she goes on. ‘There’s more, Jude. They found three sets of fingerprints in the car. Mine, Oliver’s and someone else’s – a woman’s. I don’t know who else has been in my car – not a woman. I don’t know what to think.’
I feel a secondary wave of shock, before dismissing it. Oliver was devoted to Kat. There’s no way he would have been having an affair. ‘There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. He was giving someone a lift, for example.’
‘Do you think so?’ She doesn’t sound convinced. ‘I should have said that to the police.’
‘I’m sure they’ll consider every possibility.’ Trying to stay calm, I frown slightly. ‘Did Oliver often use your car?’
‘He did recently, since his started playing up. Nothing adds up, Jude. That day …’ Her voice trembles. ‘Before the crash, he was in a hurry. I remember him saying he was going to be late for his flight. The weather was awful – I thought he must have driven too fast. But now …’
‘If he wasn’t in a rush to get to work, where else was he going?’
‘That’s what I was thinking. How would I know?’ She’s clearly agitated. I hear the doorbell ring in the background as she goes on. ‘I’m sorry, Jude. There’s someone at the door. I have to go.’
But even her doorbell ringing has me worried. When potentially there’s someone out there who wants to harm her, she’s right to be concerned. The conversation hangs over me, my mind working overtime. If Oliver hadn’t been driving to work, where had he been going? I think about the friends he’s had since he was a teenager. Might he have confided in any of them? But they’ve drifted apart in recent years. To the best of my knowledge, any contact between them now is only peripheral.
Still worried about Kat, early that afternoon I drive over to see her. It’s a quiet autumnal day, shrouded in mist that has lifted slightly but still lingers across the fields. I’ve always believed that whatever is going on, it’s better to know the worst than be left in limbo. But without any answers, it’s tough on all of us.
When Kat opens the door, the strain on her is obvious. ‘You didn’t have to come over.’ She looks wired, taut, as though she’s waiting for the world to cave in. But in her mind, it already has.
‘I did,’ I say gently as I go inside. ‘I was worried about you. Did you have a visitor earlier?’
‘A neighbour. They brought those.’ She points to a vase of autumnal flowers clearly picked from someone’s garden.
‘They’re lovely.’ I glance at the basket I’m holding. ‘I’ve brought some soup – and a loaf of bread. I thought we could share it.’
She shakes her head. ‘I don’t really have an appetite – it’s kind of you, though.’
As I follow her towards the kitchen, her shoulders are hunched; her usually glossy hair lank and in need of washing. In the kitchen, I take off my coat before going over to the cupboard and getting out one of her saucepans. Pouring the soup into it, I put it to warm on the Aga.
I try to get her to focus, to talk to me about how she’s feeling.
‘Are you sleeping, Kat?’
‘A bit.’
Her mind seems miles away. But as I watch her closely, I try to imagine how it must feel to know your husband had been keeping secrets from you. She’s silent, only now and then emotion exploding out of her like steam from a pressure release valve, leaving her temporarily calmer until the next time.
‘The police said they’ll have the post-mortem results in the next few days.’ Her eyes fix on me. ‘Once they have them, they’ll release Oliver’s body. I’ve found an undertaker. They understand the situation – I just have to call them when the time comes. Once that’s done, we can plan the funeral.’
My heart goes out to her. ‘Richard and I would have done that. There’s no need for you to take all this on alone.’
‘It gives me something to do.’ Her face is haunted. ‘I can hardly work at the moment. I can’t do anything.’
I wonder if the funeral will give her closure, but when we lose someone close, there is no quick fix. Each of us has to find our own way. I watch Kat, restless, not sure what to do with herself, wondering if there’s something she isn’t saying. But this is no ordinary grief. How can it be?
Joe’s lack of motivation has long been a source of irritation to me, but since Oliver’s death, he seems to have come into his own. Not a day passes I’m not grateful to him. He and Kat have always got on well, evidenced today when as I serve up the soup, I hear him let himself in.
‘Hey, Mum.’ Coming into the kitchen, he hugs me.There’s genuine warmth in his embrace.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ My heart unexpectedly twists as, for a moment, I see his resemblance to his brother. ‘How are you?’
‘Not so bad.’ He glances at the soup. ‘Is there enough for three?’
‘Plenty.’ Forcing brightness into my voice, I nod towards Kat. ‘While you’re here, see if you can persuade this one to eat.’
Joe turns to Kat. ‘Mum’s right, you know. You need to eat.’
Sighing, she joins us at the table. Slicing the loaf I bought on the way here, I pass her a piece.
‘How long are you off work?’ Joe asks.
‘For as long as I need to be,’ I say quietly, noticing Kat dip into the soup; not wanting to mention the funeral again. It presents another dilemma that plays on her mind, between playing a woman who was wronged or the grieving wife.
As she eats the soup, Kat is silent. Not for the first time, I think about the unhappiness of her childhood, as well as the people she’s lost. When burying emotion has become her way of survival, it makes dealing with grief so much harder.
‘The police will have the results of the post-mortem soon,’ she tells Joe. ‘The police were asking if we had an undertaker – so I found one. Once his body’s been released, we can plan the funeral.’ She glances from Joe to me. ‘Knowing that Oliver lied to me makes it so much more difficult.’
Joe leans forward. ‘Try to remember all the reasons you fell in love with him. In his heart, I’m sure he realised he was making a mistake. No one at the funeral is going to know what’s been going on.’
‘You think?’ Her eyes flit anxiously.
‘Yes.’ I glance gratefully at Joe. ‘He’s right, Kat. For all you know, Oliver was waiting to find the right time to talk to you.’
‘He drank at work,’ Kat says starkly. ‘For an airline pilot to be drunk at the controls of a jet is unforgivable.’ She shakes her head. ‘There’s part of me that finds it really difficult to accept.’
‘Maybe his drinking wasn’t that bad. If there was something on his mind, maybe a quick drink was his way of dealing with it.’ But I know as far as flying goes, the rules are black-and-white. Yet again, I wonder if there’s more Kat isn’t saying. It’s the harshness in her words, her lack of sympathy. But in the circumstances, I suppose neither is surprising.
‘I know you’re angry, and with good reason. But I know you loved him, Kat.’ I watch her sigh. ‘Right now, you feel betrayed. But you’ll get through this. On the day, you’re going to stand there with all of us beside you, and you’re going to grit your teeth. It will be over sooner than you think. No one’s going to know about him losing his job or lying to you. Let them remember Oliver as the man you fell in love with.’
Kat looks worried. ‘But if the truth comes out, it will make me look as bad as he was.’
As she uses the word bad, I realise the impact Oliver’s deception has had on her. ‘Nothing’s going to come out. What’s happened is between us and the police,’ I say firmly. People come to a funeral to share their memories and offer words of comfort. It’s a formula, Kat. A ritual. No one will be expecting anything other than that.’
She hesitates. ‘You’re right. I’m so sorry … I just have so many things going around in my head. I think it’s what the police said earlier – it’s freaked me out a bit.’
‘What did they say?’ Joe’s voice is sharp.
‘They reminded me to be careful. The brakes were definitely sabotaged – but because it was my car, they can’t be sure who the intended victim was.’ The fear is back in her eyes. ‘There’s every chance it was meant to have been me.’
A look of alarm crosses his face. ‘You really do need to be careful,’ he says quickly. ‘If someone’s out to harm you, they may not have given up.’
Kat hesitates. ‘The police said to call them anytime. But I’ll be fine.’
Joe looks uncertain. ‘I’m not so sure. I really don’t think you should be alone.’
‘He’s right. I think you should come and stay with us. Unless …’ My eyes flicker towards Joe. ‘If you want to stay here, how about Joe stays with you? At least that way, you won’t be alone.’
‘I don’t want to put anyone out,’ she says obstinately. ‘I have neighbours if I need anyone.’
Joe turns to Kat again. ‘I don’t mind staying. We could start putting together ideas for the funeral.’
She looks undecided, before she gives in. ‘If you’re really sure … OK. Thank you,’ she adds, albeit reluctantly. ‘Both of you. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know I’m lucky to have you.’
I drive away, only mildly reassured that Joe will be with her. It’s clear that Kat isn’t looking after herself. Constantly on edge, there’s a brittle fragility to her that’s come to the fore. But none of this is easy for any of us.
At home, I get out the box of old photos I’ve collected over the years. There are so many of Oliver and Joe – as babies, toddlers, schoolboys. On family holidays; as teenagers before they grew into men.
Tears fill my eyes as I touch Oliver’s face with one of my fingers. He was such a determined child. Slightly anxious, too. Frowning, I study a photo of him with Richard. Richard’s hand is on his shoulder, the worried look that I remember on Oliver’s face. Richard’s, however, is austere.
I put the photo down, suddenly questioning myself. What kind of parents have we been to our children – not materially, but emotionally? Have I been so busy over the years that I’ve missed something? I flick through more photos, a feeling of unease filling me. Not a single one shows any emotion on Richard’s face – and it’s taken until now for me to notice.
Placing the photos in the box again, still uncomfortable, I make a mental note to talk to Joe about it. Life has been so fast-paced; about dealing with the everyday; the nuts and bolts of life, it’s only now that I’m taking time to consider our relationships.
