Talking to Strangers, page 9
I laugh as I turn up Taylor Swift on the radio.
* * *
—
There is an eerie silence when I get to Knapton Wood and turn off my engine. The only sound is the buzz of ideas in my head. I’m the only car, and I give a silent cheer that I’ve got the place to myself. I head for the first police cordon, daring myself to slip under it and follow the team’s trail to the spot where Karen died.
I feel a guilty twinge of relief when a young police community support officer suddenly emerges from the trees and I know I don’t have to do it. I’m not as brave as I used to be, when I had a news desk snapping at my heels. Miles would have a conniption if he knew I’d even considered doing it.
The officer is stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together to keep the circulation going.
“You can’t come in here, I’m afraid,” he calls across in an officious tone. “It’s a crime scene.”
“Okay, I quite understand,” I call back and keep walking toward him. “You look cold,” I say. “Did you draw the short straw?”
He half smiles. “Yep, it was my turn to freeze to death,” he mutters and blows his nose loudly. “And I left my gloves at the station.”
“Have you had many people up here, wanting to have a look?” I step closer and mirror his attempts to stay warm. We’re in this together, my flapping arms and toe rises are saying, I hope.
“A few,” the officer says, waving his tissue at a bedraggled cluster of bouquets and candles on the grass verge.
“Well, the florists are doing well out of it.” I grin.
“They always do.” He grins back. “People have been leaving stuff since Saturday. Local women, mainly, but the misery tourists always turn up, don’t they? I think some of them just want to get on the telly. You see them hang back until the TV crews start filming.”
“I bet. So just women?”
“Well, a few blokes. Why?”
“I’m writing about the murder,” I murmur, and see his mouth harden. “Just a color piece,” I add hastily, “about Karen and how the locals are coping with this happening in their town.”
“It is just horrible,” he says bluntly. “My family’s in Ebbing, and my sister was in tears on the phone about noises in the garden last night.”
“Poor thing,” I say gently. His face softens.
“What about the men?” I go on. “How are they doing? It must be awful having people look at them as potential predators.”
The CSO nods. “Yeah, I’ve just had Ash Woodward from Sunny Sands up here all upset.” I feel an anticipatory tingle in my fingers. Ash of the haircuts. Had he come back to the scene?
“He’s a nice bloke,” the officer continues. “A bit quiet for some people—but he’s no trouble. Very upset about this, though.”
“Were he and Karen very close?”
The officer shrugs. “Dunno, to be honest, but someone will if you ask around. Ebbing’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone round here. And their business.”
“Sounds cozy,” I say and struggle not to pull a face. It actually sounds bloody claustrophobic to me. It’s why I’ve always lived in cities—the sort of neighborhoods where you can say hello to the same shopkeepers every day but lie dead for months without anyone noticing. That wouldn’t happen in Ebbing. They’d miss you the first morning. But with that kind of daily scrutiny, I imagine people must have to bury their secrets very deep.
“Did Ash say anything to you when he turned up?” I push him on.
“Um, just was it okay to put his flowers down.”
“He brought flowers?” I squeak, resisting the urge to hug him.
“Didn’t I say? Yeah, red roses from the Co-op.” I try not to run—I don’t want the officer knowing how eager I am, but I walk straight over to the floral tributes and search through the sodden mass of leaves and packaging. Where there are flowers, there are messages.
Ash’s are right at the back, despite being the most recently laid, like he’s hidden them on purpose. There’s nothing stuck to the packaging. I swear under my breath and am about to shove them back. But then I spot it. A scrap of paper poked down in the leaves. I almost tear it in my hurry to see what it says. There are just five words. “Sorry. I loved you. Ash.”
Sorry for what? I think as I straighten up. That she’s dead? Or for something he did to her?
TWENTY-THREE
ELISE
Monday, February 17, 2020
When Elise finally got home that night, it was too late to eat, so she made a cup of herbal tea and sat in the window, looking out at the High Street. She might have seen the victim if she’d looked out of her front window on Friday. The pub was directly opposite the fisherman’s cottage on Ebbing High Street that Elise had bought two years ago. There’d been a time, just after her mastectomy, when she’d spent hours at the window, eyes on the street, rediscovering the addictive buzz of surveillance.
But she was back at her real job now, and some days the curtains never got opened. The night Karen had died, Elise had spent her Valentine’s evening catching up on paperwork, transcribing reminders onto the clutch of neon-colored Post-its in her pockets.
She was in the kitchen when someone knocked on the door. She glanced up at the clock. Who the hell was knocking at nine thirty? Work would have rung, not turned up at her house. Ronnie? She really wasn’t in the mood, but she crept back to her window to look, just in case. And there he was, standing with a bottle of wine in one hand. Elise saw him spot the twitch of the curtain and smile. She smiled back and went to let him in. She hadn’t bought the lippie or beer, but at least she wasn’t in her pajamas.
“Hi. Hope I’m not too late, but I saw your lights on. I’ll only stay for five minutes,” Mal said when she opened the door. He stood back. Not pushing his way in.
“No, no, come in. I’ve got some work to finish, but I can do that in a bit,” Elise said, automatically introducing her escape strategy.
He ducked his head as he entered and seemed to fill the tiny front room while she cleared her laptop and files off the sofa. He was a bit older than she’d thought, but he was Elise’s physical type: taller than her, which was always a bonus, strong, and athletic. His sandy-colored hair was a bit thin, but then, so was hers.
“Come and sit,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I, er, I brought a bottle with me.” He handed it over and she picked up the slight stammer. Was he as nervous as her? Her stomach unclenched a notch. “But I’m happy with anything that’s open,” he added.
“This looks great—I’ll get the glasses.” She went and stood in the kitchen and took deep breaths. This was a casual drink. Nothing heavy. But he made her feel…oh, God, he made her feel like she used to. When she was still a woman. Not a diagnosis. Not a struggling boss. Just her. And it felt bloody wonderful. She pinched her cheeks to get a bit of color going. Flashed a smile at herself in the window. And strode back in.
He was looking at the handful of books on her shelf. “I’ve read this one,” he said, pulling out a thriller. Elise hadn’t. Ronnie had pressed it on her and she’d shoved it on the shelf.
“I don’t get much time for reading,” Elise murmured.
“You certainly work long hours,” Mal said and went a bit pink. “Sorry, I’m not watching you or anything. It’s just that you usually park under my bedroom window.”
Elise laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s hard not to notice, living side by side like this. Have you met Ronnie yet?”
Mal grinned and his eyes lit up. They were blue. Elise wondered when she’d last noticed the color of a man’s eyes outside of a witness description. “Oh, yes!” he said. “She finally caught me today and gave me the third degree. The estate agent warned me she’s a bit of a sticky beak.”
Elise felt herself bristle. Even if Ronnie was a terminal busybody, she was still her friend.
“Perhaps. But she’s been wonderful since my cancer was diagnosed,” she said, and wanted to bite her tongue off. Why had she mentioned her cancer? It would be all he could think of now. All he’d remember about her when he left.
“Poor you. My mum had it, too,” he said, suddenly serious. “The treatment is awful, isn’t it? But you look great. Right, well, cheers.” He clinked their glasses lightly and moved the conversation on. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
“Where were you before?” Elise said gratefully.
“All over the place, really. In the military for a bit and then working for a digital marketing company. How about you?”
“I work for the police. So what brought you to Ebbing?” Stop interviewing him, she silently screamed at herself. He’s not a suspect!
“The sea. I love swimming and surfing. I’d prefer warmer water, but I can’t afford Hawaii. Do you go in?”
“You must be joking—I’m defrosting my car some mornings. Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me.”
“It certainly gets the blood racing,” he laughed. “So, police? Where are you based?”
Here we go.
“Sussex HQ. Major Crime Team.”
“Oh,” he said and took a mouthful of wine.
She hated this moment. Judgment. Morbid fascination. Being a detective could provoke extreme reactions. She wondered what he’d ask next. Would it be Have you ever met a serial killer? Or would he make his excuses and scuttle off—and leave her wondering if he was hiding something?
“I applied to join the police when I left school,” he said. “But they turned me down. Don’t know why—I certainly met the height requirements.” Elise laughed with him. “But I probably wasn’t bright enough,” he added.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, touched by his honesty. “Can I top you up?” She could feel the gravitational tug of attraction in her chest and stomach and immediately blushed. Mal offered up his glass and steadied the bottle as she poured too quickly. Brushing her fingers. He had beautiful hands.
He finally left at gone eleven—“Sorry to keep you up on a school night”—and Elise sat for a few minutes to steady herself.
Well, that was nice, she told herself. More than nice.
Mal had made her laugh a lot and even persuaded her to consider sea swimming. She’d found herself wondering where she’d put that halter-neck swimsuit Hugh used to love. She could wear her prosthetic insert she still hadn’t got used to. And there was no Mrs. Mal. He’d said moving around with the army had meant he’d missed the boat when it came to marriage. He’d stood close to her as he said good-bye and she’d inhaled his scent. Clean. Slightly salty.
In the kitchen, rinsing the wineglasses, Elise found herself imagining kissing him and caught sight of her reflection in the window. Grinning like a monkey. Oh, get over yourself, she thought suddenly. Why would he be interested in you? Her damp hand went to the shiny scar that snaked across her chest into her armpit. She couldn’t let anyone see her naked now. She’d moved the full-length mirror out of her bedroom after the mastectomy, preferring to see herself exclusively from the shoulders up, like a portrait in a gallery.
She looked back at her reflection in the window and found that she was no longer smiling.
TUESDAY:
DAY 4
TWENTY-FOUR
ANNIE
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Annie knew she should have been getting ready for work, but her mind kept sliding over the latest row, snagging on the details. She tried to drink the cup of tea that Gavin had put in front of her half an hour ago, but her hand was trembling too much to hold it straight.
“Come home,” her youngest was saying quietly in the hall, and Annie’s stomach lurched. Was he ringing Henry? I need to talk to him first. But it wasn’t his dad. “Xander, there was another big row last night and Dad’s gone off,” he whispered. “I don’t know—they were shouting about Archie and other stuff…No, no one called the police. But, Xander, can you come home? Please.”
When Gavin came back in, he sat opposite her. White-faced and stricken. “Xander’s coming,” he said.
“But he’s working. And he’s only just been down. Ring him back and say he doesn’t need to,” Annie said. “I’ve told you everything’s fine.”
But they both knew that was a lie.
“And you need to go to your rugby training,” Annie said.
“I can go in later,” her son said, his lips trembling. “Where do you think Dad is?”
“I’m not sure, love, but he’ll be back soon,” Annie said, trying to sound confident, but she felt sick. Henry had turned off his phone after he’d walked out. She’d lain awake, frantic with worry, most of the night. Now she waited until Gavin had gone upstairs, then called Henry’s number and almost shouted with relief when it started ringing.
“Annie,” he said when he picked up, voice cracking. “Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry. I was about to ring you. Are you okay? I just don’t know what is happening to us.”
“I know. I’m all right. But where are you? I’ve been so worried.”
“I slept in my car. Look, I’m on my way home. I want to make this right. I should be back in twenty minutes. Is that okay? Is Gavin at training? Did he hear us?”
“He’s upset, but let’s talk when you get home. Drive carefully.” She ended the call and sat in the window to watch for his car.
He looked terrible when he walked up the path. His face was gray and gaunt, his shirt untucked on one side, and Annie wanted to put her arms around him.
“Oh, love,” he called softly as he opened the door and saw her standing there. But before Annie could speak, Gavin appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Dad?” he said, and stood looking at them. Annie felt like they were characters in a soap opera, face-acting through another horrible plot twist.
“Come into the kitchen, Henry,” Annie said. “Can you give us a moment, Gav?” He nodded uncertainly, but she heard him tiptoe down the stairs as they went through. She knew he wanted to be on hand in case things escalated again, and Annie blew him a kiss in her head.
Henry took her face in his hands, and she could see the fear and distress in his eyes.
“Darling, I didn’t mean it to blow up like that,” he said. “I was so upset after what you said. About me trying to forget Archie. You know I’m not. How could I? I loved the bones of him. Why did you say those awful things? I just wanted you to stop.” My fault, then, rang in her head.
Annie was suddenly too exhausted to speak. So she simply nodded and Henry put his arms around her and held her close. And it was over. It would all get put away again. Like it always did. Buried with everything else.
* * *
—
Xander arrived an hour later, rushing up the path from the taxi and into the kitchen, where they were still sitting. In all the emotion, Annie had forgotten he was coming, and Henry looked shocked.
“Xander? What are you doing back here?” he said as their eldest came through the door.
“Never mind that. What the hell has been going on?” Xander said too loudly, and Annie looked up at him.
“Mum? Are you okay?” he blurted.
Henry got up and stood behind Annie’s chair.
“Your mum and I had a silly row last night,” he said. Speaking for both of them again. “But we’ve sorted it out. It’s good of you to come, Xander, but there really was no need.”
Xander didn’t even look at him. He couldn’t take his eyes off his mother’s face. And she had to look away.
TWENTY-FIVE
ELISE
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Ronnie was waving over the fence when Elise looked up from her toast. She lifted her hand without enthusiasm. It was a bit early for heart-to-hearts. But her neighbor clearly didn’t think so, bursting through the back gate and door and flicking on the kettle.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?” Elise said, playing for time.
“You had a visitor last night? I knew he would call. He said he was going to.”
“Who?”
“Who! Mr. Gorgeous from next door, as you well know.”
Elise tried not to grin, but it got away from her.
“Ha! He did.” Ronnie sniggered triumphantly. “Go on, then—how did it go? Was there snogging?”
“Back off, Ronnie. It was just a glass of wine and a chat.”
Ronnie smiled broadly. “Right,” she said. “That’s for next time, then. What did you find out? Did he tell you he used to be in the military?”
“Yes, yes. He said you’d got to him first.”
“Yup. Finally cornered him in the Co-op. Got him to reach me a bag of pasta from the top shelf—I don’t know why they put it up there. Anyway, he was very charming. And lovely hands.”
“I didn’t notice,” Elise said primly, but then ruined it by grinning again. “Anyway, how come you were at your listening post last night? I thought it was book club at the library.”
“No. It was canceled,” Ronnie said. “No one wants to come out after dark. Not at the moment.”
Elise sighed. “People just need to be sensible,” she said.
“Women, you mean,” Ronnie said. “And why should we? Men need to stop attacking us.”
“Yes,” Elise said wearily. “But while they still are, women need to look after themselves.”
“Funny you should say that,” Ronnie chirped.
“Oh, God. What are you up to now?”
“I’m starting a WhatsApp group for me and my friends to stay in touch and report any new suspicious characters in the town. And I’m recruiting men to walk us home when it’s dark. We’re having a meeting tonight in the Neptune—you should come.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to get your community officer to attend?” Elise said, idly sweeping crumbs off the table into her hand.
* * *
—
There is an eerie silence when I get to Knapton Wood and turn off my engine. The only sound is the buzz of ideas in my head. I’m the only car, and I give a silent cheer that I’ve got the place to myself. I head for the first police cordon, daring myself to slip under it and follow the team’s trail to the spot where Karen died.
I feel a guilty twinge of relief when a young police community support officer suddenly emerges from the trees and I know I don’t have to do it. I’m not as brave as I used to be, when I had a news desk snapping at my heels. Miles would have a conniption if he knew I’d even considered doing it.
The officer is stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together to keep the circulation going.
“You can’t come in here, I’m afraid,” he calls across in an officious tone. “It’s a crime scene.”
“Okay, I quite understand,” I call back and keep walking toward him. “You look cold,” I say. “Did you draw the short straw?”
He half smiles. “Yep, it was my turn to freeze to death,” he mutters and blows his nose loudly. “And I left my gloves at the station.”
“Have you had many people up here, wanting to have a look?” I step closer and mirror his attempts to stay warm. We’re in this together, my flapping arms and toe rises are saying, I hope.
“A few,” the officer says, waving his tissue at a bedraggled cluster of bouquets and candles on the grass verge.
“Well, the florists are doing well out of it.” I grin.
“They always do.” He grins back. “People have been leaving stuff since Saturday. Local women, mainly, but the misery tourists always turn up, don’t they? I think some of them just want to get on the telly. You see them hang back until the TV crews start filming.”
“I bet. So just women?”
“Well, a few blokes. Why?”
“I’m writing about the murder,” I murmur, and see his mouth harden. “Just a color piece,” I add hastily, “about Karen and how the locals are coping with this happening in their town.”
“It is just horrible,” he says bluntly. “My family’s in Ebbing, and my sister was in tears on the phone about noises in the garden last night.”
“Poor thing,” I say gently. His face softens.
“What about the men?” I go on. “How are they doing? It must be awful having people look at them as potential predators.”
The CSO nods. “Yeah, I’ve just had Ash Woodward from Sunny Sands up here all upset.” I feel an anticipatory tingle in my fingers. Ash of the haircuts. Had he come back to the scene?
“He’s a nice bloke,” the officer continues. “A bit quiet for some people—but he’s no trouble. Very upset about this, though.”
“Were he and Karen very close?”
The officer shrugs. “Dunno, to be honest, but someone will if you ask around. Ebbing’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone round here. And their business.”
“Sounds cozy,” I say and struggle not to pull a face. It actually sounds bloody claustrophobic to me. It’s why I’ve always lived in cities—the sort of neighborhoods where you can say hello to the same shopkeepers every day but lie dead for months without anyone noticing. That wouldn’t happen in Ebbing. They’d miss you the first morning. But with that kind of daily scrutiny, I imagine people must have to bury their secrets very deep.
“Did Ash say anything to you when he turned up?” I push him on.
“Um, just was it okay to put his flowers down.”
“He brought flowers?” I squeak, resisting the urge to hug him.
“Didn’t I say? Yeah, red roses from the Co-op.” I try not to run—I don’t want the officer knowing how eager I am, but I walk straight over to the floral tributes and search through the sodden mass of leaves and packaging. Where there are flowers, there are messages.
Ash’s are right at the back, despite being the most recently laid, like he’s hidden them on purpose. There’s nothing stuck to the packaging. I swear under my breath and am about to shove them back. But then I spot it. A scrap of paper poked down in the leaves. I almost tear it in my hurry to see what it says. There are just five words. “Sorry. I loved you. Ash.”
Sorry for what? I think as I straighten up. That she’s dead? Or for something he did to her?
TWENTY-THREE
ELISE
Monday, February 17, 2020
When Elise finally got home that night, it was too late to eat, so she made a cup of herbal tea and sat in the window, looking out at the High Street. She might have seen the victim if she’d looked out of her front window on Friday. The pub was directly opposite the fisherman’s cottage on Ebbing High Street that Elise had bought two years ago. There’d been a time, just after her mastectomy, when she’d spent hours at the window, eyes on the street, rediscovering the addictive buzz of surveillance.
But she was back at her real job now, and some days the curtains never got opened. The night Karen had died, Elise had spent her Valentine’s evening catching up on paperwork, transcribing reminders onto the clutch of neon-colored Post-its in her pockets.
She was in the kitchen when someone knocked on the door. She glanced up at the clock. Who the hell was knocking at nine thirty? Work would have rung, not turned up at her house. Ronnie? She really wasn’t in the mood, but she crept back to her window to look, just in case. And there he was, standing with a bottle of wine in one hand. Elise saw him spot the twitch of the curtain and smile. She smiled back and went to let him in. She hadn’t bought the lippie or beer, but at least she wasn’t in her pajamas.
“Hi. Hope I’m not too late, but I saw your lights on. I’ll only stay for five minutes,” Mal said when she opened the door. He stood back. Not pushing his way in.
“No, no, come in. I’ve got some work to finish, but I can do that in a bit,” Elise said, automatically introducing her escape strategy.
He ducked his head as he entered and seemed to fill the tiny front room while she cleared her laptop and files off the sofa. He was a bit older than she’d thought, but he was Elise’s physical type: taller than her, which was always a bonus, strong, and athletic. His sandy-colored hair was a bit thin, but then, so was hers.
“Come and sit,” she said. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I, er, I brought a bottle with me.” He handed it over and she picked up the slight stammer. Was he as nervous as her? Her stomach unclenched a notch. “But I’m happy with anything that’s open,” he added.
“This looks great—I’ll get the glasses.” She went and stood in the kitchen and took deep breaths. This was a casual drink. Nothing heavy. But he made her feel…oh, God, he made her feel like she used to. When she was still a woman. Not a diagnosis. Not a struggling boss. Just her. And it felt bloody wonderful. She pinched her cheeks to get a bit of color going. Flashed a smile at herself in the window. And strode back in.
He was looking at the handful of books on her shelf. “I’ve read this one,” he said, pulling out a thriller. Elise hadn’t. Ronnie had pressed it on her and she’d shoved it on the shelf.
“I don’t get much time for reading,” Elise murmured.
“You certainly work long hours,” Mal said and went a bit pink. “Sorry, I’m not watching you or anything. It’s just that you usually park under my bedroom window.”
Elise laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s hard not to notice, living side by side like this. Have you met Ronnie yet?”
Mal grinned and his eyes lit up. They were blue. Elise wondered when she’d last noticed the color of a man’s eyes outside of a witness description. “Oh, yes!” he said. “She finally caught me today and gave me the third degree. The estate agent warned me she’s a bit of a sticky beak.”
Elise felt herself bristle. Even if Ronnie was a terminal busybody, she was still her friend.
“Perhaps. But she’s been wonderful since my cancer was diagnosed,” she said, and wanted to bite her tongue off. Why had she mentioned her cancer? It would be all he could think of now. All he’d remember about her when he left.
“Poor you. My mum had it, too,” he said, suddenly serious. “The treatment is awful, isn’t it? But you look great. Right, well, cheers.” He clinked their glasses lightly and moved the conversation on. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
“Where were you before?” Elise said gratefully.
“All over the place, really. In the military for a bit and then working for a digital marketing company. How about you?”
“I work for the police. So what brought you to Ebbing?” Stop interviewing him, she silently screamed at herself. He’s not a suspect!
“The sea. I love swimming and surfing. I’d prefer warmer water, but I can’t afford Hawaii. Do you go in?”
“You must be joking—I’m defrosting my car some mornings. Sounds like cruel and unusual punishment to me.”
“It certainly gets the blood racing,” he laughed. “So, police? Where are you based?”
Here we go.
“Sussex HQ. Major Crime Team.”
“Oh,” he said and took a mouthful of wine.
She hated this moment. Judgment. Morbid fascination. Being a detective could provoke extreme reactions. She wondered what he’d ask next. Would it be Have you ever met a serial killer? Or would he make his excuses and scuttle off—and leave her wondering if he was hiding something?
“I applied to join the police when I left school,” he said. “But they turned me down. Don’t know why—I certainly met the height requirements.” Elise laughed with him. “But I probably wasn’t bright enough,” he added.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, touched by his honesty. “Can I top you up?” She could feel the gravitational tug of attraction in her chest and stomach and immediately blushed. Mal offered up his glass and steadied the bottle as she poured too quickly. Brushing her fingers. He had beautiful hands.
He finally left at gone eleven—“Sorry to keep you up on a school night”—and Elise sat for a few minutes to steady herself.
Well, that was nice, she told herself. More than nice.
Mal had made her laugh a lot and even persuaded her to consider sea swimming. She’d found herself wondering where she’d put that halter-neck swimsuit Hugh used to love. She could wear her prosthetic insert she still hadn’t got used to. And there was no Mrs. Mal. He’d said moving around with the army had meant he’d missed the boat when it came to marriage. He’d stood close to her as he said good-bye and she’d inhaled his scent. Clean. Slightly salty.
In the kitchen, rinsing the wineglasses, Elise found herself imagining kissing him and caught sight of her reflection in the window. Grinning like a monkey. Oh, get over yourself, she thought suddenly. Why would he be interested in you? Her damp hand went to the shiny scar that snaked across her chest into her armpit. She couldn’t let anyone see her naked now. She’d moved the full-length mirror out of her bedroom after the mastectomy, preferring to see herself exclusively from the shoulders up, like a portrait in a gallery.
She looked back at her reflection in the window and found that she was no longer smiling.
TUESDAY:
DAY 4
TWENTY-FOUR
ANNIE
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Annie knew she should have been getting ready for work, but her mind kept sliding over the latest row, snagging on the details. She tried to drink the cup of tea that Gavin had put in front of her half an hour ago, but her hand was trembling too much to hold it straight.
“Come home,” her youngest was saying quietly in the hall, and Annie’s stomach lurched. Was he ringing Henry? I need to talk to him first. But it wasn’t his dad. “Xander, there was another big row last night and Dad’s gone off,” he whispered. “I don’t know—they were shouting about Archie and other stuff…No, no one called the police. But, Xander, can you come home? Please.”
When Gavin came back in, he sat opposite her. White-faced and stricken. “Xander’s coming,” he said.
“But he’s working. And he’s only just been down. Ring him back and say he doesn’t need to,” Annie said. “I’ve told you everything’s fine.”
But they both knew that was a lie.
“And you need to go to your rugby training,” Annie said.
“I can go in later,” her son said, his lips trembling. “Where do you think Dad is?”
“I’m not sure, love, but he’ll be back soon,” Annie said, trying to sound confident, but she felt sick. Henry had turned off his phone after he’d walked out. She’d lain awake, frantic with worry, most of the night. Now she waited until Gavin had gone upstairs, then called Henry’s number and almost shouted with relief when it started ringing.
“Annie,” he said when he picked up, voice cracking. “Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry. I was about to ring you. Are you okay? I just don’t know what is happening to us.”
“I know. I’m all right. But where are you? I’ve been so worried.”
“I slept in my car. Look, I’m on my way home. I want to make this right. I should be back in twenty minutes. Is that okay? Is Gavin at training? Did he hear us?”
“He’s upset, but let’s talk when you get home. Drive carefully.” She ended the call and sat in the window to watch for his car.
He looked terrible when he walked up the path. His face was gray and gaunt, his shirt untucked on one side, and Annie wanted to put her arms around him.
“Oh, love,” he called softly as he opened the door and saw her standing there. But before Annie could speak, Gavin appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Dad?” he said, and stood looking at them. Annie felt like they were characters in a soap opera, face-acting through another horrible plot twist.
“Come into the kitchen, Henry,” Annie said. “Can you give us a moment, Gav?” He nodded uncertainly, but she heard him tiptoe down the stairs as they went through. She knew he wanted to be on hand in case things escalated again, and Annie blew him a kiss in her head.
Henry took her face in his hands, and she could see the fear and distress in his eyes.
“Darling, I didn’t mean it to blow up like that,” he said. “I was so upset after what you said. About me trying to forget Archie. You know I’m not. How could I? I loved the bones of him. Why did you say those awful things? I just wanted you to stop.” My fault, then, rang in her head.
Annie was suddenly too exhausted to speak. So she simply nodded and Henry put his arms around her and held her close. And it was over. It would all get put away again. Like it always did. Buried with everything else.
* * *
—
Xander arrived an hour later, rushing up the path from the taxi and into the kitchen, where they were still sitting. In all the emotion, Annie had forgotten he was coming, and Henry looked shocked.
“Xander? What are you doing back here?” he said as their eldest came through the door.
“Never mind that. What the hell has been going on?” Xander said too loudly, and Annie looked up at him.
“Mum? Are you okay?” he blurted.
Henry got up and stood behind Annie’s chair.
“Your mum and I had a silly row last night,” he said. Speaking for both of them again. “But we’ve sorted it out. It’s good of you to come, Xander, but there really was no need.”
Xander didn’t even look at him. He couldn’t take his eyes off his mother’s face. And she had to look away.
TWENTY-FIVE
ELISE
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
Ronnie was waving over the fence when Elise looked up from her toast. She lifted her hand without enthusiasm. It was a bit early for heart-to-hearts. But her neighbor clearly didn’t think so, bursting through the back gate and door and flicking on the kettle.
“Well?” she said.
“Well what?” Elise said, playing for time.
“You had a visitor last night? I knew he would call. He said he was going to.”
“Who?”
“Who! Mr. Gorgeous from next door, as you well know.”
Elise tried not to grin, but it got away from her.
“Ha! He did.” Ronnie sniggered triumphantly. “Go on, then—how did it go? Was there snogging?”
“Back off, Ronnie. It was just a glass of wine and a chat.”
Ronnie smiled broadly. “Right,” she said. “That’s for next time, then. What did you find out? Did he tell you he used to be in the military?”
“Yes, yes. He said you’d got to him first.”
“Yup. Finally cornered him in the Co-op. Got him to reach me a bag of pasta from the top shelf—I don’t know why they put it up there. Anyway, he was very charming. And lovely hands.”
“I didn’t notice,” Elise said primly, but then ruined it by grinning again. “Anyway, how come you were at your listening post last night? I thought it was book club at the library.”
“No. It was canceled,” Ronnie said. “No one wants to come out after dark. Not at the moment.”
Elise sighed. “People just need to be sensible,” she said.
“Women, you mean,” Ronnie said. “And why should we? Men need to stop attacking us.”
“Yes,” Elise said wearily. “But while they still are, women need to look after themselves.”
“Funny you should say that,” Ronnie chirped.
“Oh, God. What are you up to now?”
“I’m starting a WhatsApp group for me and my friends to stay in touch and report any new suspicious characters in the town. And I’m recruiting men to walk us home when it’s dark. We’re having a meeting tonight in the Neptune—you should come.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to get your community officer to attend?” Elise said, idly sweeping crumbs off the table into her hand.
