After the Party, page 22
I frown. ‘We’re friends, we’re colleagues.’ I wince, thinking about what the inspector said when he turned up at my house. You didn’t tell me you were in love with him.
‘So, there aren’t any romantic feelings between the two of you?’
I shake my head.
‘Okay, so we have witnesses that saw you together intimately in The Swan a few days ago. What do you have to say about that?’
I shake my head frantically, ‘Nothing, it was just a silly kiss, he was drunk. He was upset about Rebecca and I think he’d fallen out with her parents. I don’t know.’ I rub my hands over my face. What’s going on? Did someone see Dean and me in the field together yesterday? Was someone watching?
‘And Rebecca? What was your relationship like with her?’
‘We were friends, we worked together.’
‘We have a statement that says you despise Rebecca, that you’re in love with Dean and you wanted them to break up.’
‘No, that’s not true.’
‘We have witnesses that say you and Dean had a heated conversation alone in the gardens of Tinley Manor the night of your work’s Christmas party. What were you talking about?’
‘Nothing. I mean, he told me about Rebecca.’
‘And you didn’t know before that night about their relationship?’
‘No.’
‘So, you were upset? You were so upset you went home early.’
‘That’s not what happened. I was upset, yes, but I didn’t go home early because of that, I didn’t feel well.’
‘Did you go out again that night?’
‘No. I went to bed when I got in.’
‘Since Rebecca’s disappearance, you’ve been asking a lot of questions around the village about what people saw that night.’
I nod. ‘I just want to find Rebecca.’
‘Because she’s your friend?’
‘Yes.’
He nods, opening the folder and twisting it around to face me. It’s a picture of a phone half buried in slops of mud. I look up at him, alarmed.
‘We got a tip that identifies you, out in that field acting suspicious.’ He stabs the picture of the phone with his finger. ‘This is Rebecca’s phone. So I’m going to ask you again, did you go out again that night?’
I shake my head and start to sob uncontrollably. ‘No, I didn’t. I don’t know why that’s there.’
‘Did you have anything to do with Rebecca’s disappearance?’
My chest rises rapidly to the thrumming of my pounding heart, echoing in my ears.
‘No,’ I whisper.
‘Can you explain why she called you that night?’
‘No,’ I sob.
He flips the folder closed and slides it off the desk, rising. He pauses the interview.
‘I’m going to give you a break. One of our officers will make you a tea and bring you some water. When I come back, I want answers, honest answers. Otherwise, I will have to arrest you. Do you understand?’
I nod through the waves of tears.
‘Get her a box of tissues, please,’ he says to the other officer. He waits until the officer has left the room before he leans in slightly.
‘Please just be honest, Lizzie, otherwise I can’t help you.’
I look up at him through bloodshot eyes and my desperation dissolves into anger. How could he think I have anything to do with this?
‘I am being honest.’
He looks sad, as the other officer plants tissues next to me.
‘Think about it,’ he says, leaving the room.
What was Rebecca’s phone doing in the field opposite my house? I thread my red hair through my fingers and scrunch and pull it to try and relieve the frustration and confusion. I feel like I’m going to combust, they’ve got it so wrong.
I lean back in the chair and smother my face in a tissue. I don’t want them to come back and ask more questions. If I’m not under arrest, maybe I don’t have to be here? Would it look worse if I were to ask to leave, or just give me more time to find out what really happened?
I lean forward and put my head in the palms of my hands. Who saw me? Or who thinks they saw me? There’s only one person. Sheila. How could she?
The door swings open and Inspector Williams and the other officer enter. They both remain silent until the tape is resumed.
‘Is there anything you’d like to say?’
‘No. Only that, if Sheila was the one that told you I was in that field, then she’s mistaken. My mum took me home that night. I went to bed and I woke up in the morning. I didn’t go out.’
‘So you’re not covering for anyone?’
‘No.’ I know he means Dean and it’s now all becoming so much clearer. He thinks we conspired. No, he’s wrong.
‘Can you answer a very straightforward question for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you in love with Dean?’
I feel my hands shaking under the desk and I try to steady them, but I don’t know how to answer that. But I do, don’t I? I go to speak, but the door opens.
‘Sir, we need to speak to you urgently.’
Inspector Williams pauses the interview and both he and the other officer leave the room. I’m left alone with the answer to the inspector’s question resting on my dry tongue. They don’t come back for what feels like hours, and I wonder if it’s a tactic, leave me alone with my thoughts and then I’ll remember something, or say something, confess to something I didn’t do.
The door opens slightly, and an officer is standing in the doorway expectantly. He gestures for me to stand and follow him.
‘You can go,’ he says firmly.
I follow him down the long grey corridor and through the now empty offices. Glancing out of the small high windows I can see it’s dark, but I have no concept of time. My limbs feel detached as I float past the glaring eyes and out into reception. I expect to see Mum and Dad sitting there, but Sheila rises from the small wooden bench and smiles at me weakly.
‘Are you okay, love?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Why don’t we go home? I can explain everything.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
When I’m curled up on Sheila’s chair with a cup of tea and fresh clothes, it feels like today was just a horrible dream, and tomorrow, as Sheila says, everything will look much better.
‘Did you tell the police it was me out there?’
She shakes her head. ‘Of course not. As soon I saw them sniffing around and you driving off, it just seemed fishy. I’ve been unwell the last couple of days, tucked up in bed, but I heard the commotion.’
‘What do you mean fishy?’
Her mouth twitches. ‘I told the police about seeing your friend’s car the night the girl went missing. I told them you never left the house after your mum brought you home. They were annoyed I hadn’t said anything before. But I told them,’ she says, holding a palm out, ‘that I was worried it would look suspicious.’
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly, my mind elsewhere. If Sheila didn’t say anything, then who did? ‘Marie came to mine looking for help that night, I hope this doesn’t get her in trouble.’
‘You have to be a bit selfish, Lizzie. Look what happens when you don’t protect yourself. She didn’t even tell the police she went to see you.’
I know she’s right, but it’s hard to hear, and somehow I don’t think we’re any closer to finding out what happened to Rebecca.
‘I wonder how her phone got there.’
She shrugs. ‘Maybe someone dropped it.’
‘Rebecca?’
‘Or someone.’ She looks at me squarely. ‘You should get some sleep, Lizzie.’
I nod. ‘Thank you for coming to the station and helping me.’
She smiles, swatting a hand through the air. ‘I know you’re a good girl, Lizzie.’
I walk back next door and curl up in bed. I should call my parents and tell them what happened, but I’m too exhausted to worry them. I’ll tell them in the morning. Everything will look much better.
I’m roused by a vibration, a bright yellow light flickering next to my cheeks, brushing against me like eyelids fluttering. It’s dark outside, but I make out the time on the nightstand, it’s 3 a.m. and someone is calling me. Something is wrong.
It’s a private number, but I answer anyway, half expecting it to be Marcus with some news, or to apologise for yesterday. I hold my breath, leaning up in bed, smudging mascara across my temple with the back of my hand.
‘Hello?’
‘Elizabeth Marson?’ It’s a woman, a voice I don’t recognise.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m calling you as you’re listed as the emergency contact for Dean Porter.’
My skin, despite the heat from the covers, turns cold.
‘Yes,’ I say, not knowing why.
‘Dean was assaulted in the early hours of this morning. He is going to be fine, but he’s taken quite a big blow to the head, and he has a few cracked ribs. We want to monitor him overnight for any signs of internal bleeding, just to be safe, but all his initial scans seem good.’ Her voice is gentle, soothing but firm, like she’s trying to read a script, but she’s having trouble and improvises instead.
‘Assaulted?’
‘Yes, the police are here, they’re asking him some questions, but we’ve had to give him painkillers to help with some of his injuries, so he’s a little drowsy— Can I ask? You’re listed as his partner, but we wanted to also contact his parents.’
‘I can come now.’
‘That would be best. He said you would.’
I take the details of the ward he’s on at Norwich Hospital and thank her, before hanging up. My hands are shaking as I get out of bed, reaching for my oversized joggers and thick wool socks. I stop, taking a moment to try and shake off the sickening fear rising in my throat, gnawing under my skin. The shock freezes me, and I do the only thing that makes sense, I call Mum.
She answers after the fourth ring.
‘Elizabeth?’ she says, breathlessly.
‘Mum,’ I sob. ‘It’s Dean, he’s been hurt and he’s at the hospital, and I’m scared. I know I should go to him, but—’
‘Say no more, I’m on my way.’
She’s at my front door within twenty minutes, her face fresh and ruddy from the cold night air, bare of makeup – it’s a rare, comforting sight to see her look as vulnerable as I feel, as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen her look. She doesn’t say anything, she just squeezes my arm as she leads me to the car.
‘How serious is it?’ she asks, as we twist and turn around the empty roads, the full beams from the car casting an orange shadow over tangled trees and worn wooden fences. It feels like something could step out at any moment and swallow us whole. I sink into the car seat, feeling infinitely small.
‘Bad, but they said he was going to be okay.’
‘Why did they call you?’
I look at her, focused on the road.
‘I’m listed as his emergency contact, as his partner.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know things had—’
‘They haven’t.’
‘How strange,’ she whispers.
When we arrive in the car park, I rush to the reception desk, leaving Mum to park the car. She told me she’d find me, and gave my knee a gentle squeeze before I got out of the car. When I arrive in the reception, I search the map for the ward I need, but my senses are on edge and I can barely breathe. I can hear every rattle of a loose wheel of a hospital bed, every clang of a faraway door, every clipboard sliding diligently into place. I want to cover my ears and scream, but I need to find him.
I ask a nurse which way to go, and she points me in the right direction. Her tone is familiar, forthright and conscientious, and I almost wonder if she’s the person who called me. I try and muster a smile as I thank her and head in the direction of Dean’s ward.
I pass along several brightly lit corridors; double doors fling open, and patients and doctors pass me like I’m invisible. The corridor opens up into a small reception area with pale blue plastic seats connected by thick white metal bars. A woman is sitting behind a monitor on the other side of a high, light wooden desk, her glasses perched on the end of her nose as she studies the screen. She mutters under her breath and says something, seemingly to no one, but a voice from a room behind her replies.
‘Hello,’ I say.
She looks up immediately, her round face circled by bunches of golden blond curls. She smiles, waiting for me to speak again.
‘I’m here to see Dean.’
‘Elizabeth.’ She nods. ‘Yes.’
It’s the voice from the phone, no mistaking it this time. She rises from her seat and leans forward, collecting papers from the desk in front of her.
‘I do have a few things for you to sign, but if you want to see Dean first, I can bring them in. The police left, but said they’ll be back first thing once they’ve let him get some rest. He might be asleep,’ she adds. She points to the right. ‘Room straight ahead.’
I wrap my coat around my body and walk quickly towards the room, nodding as she shouts, ‘Someone will be in to check on him soon.’ I slow as I get to the door, unprepared for what lies ahead.
The door is already propped open, and it leads into a small, compact room. Dark blue blinds are closed across a large window and there’s a soft, warm light circling the room, a contrast to the rest of the hospital.
Dean is lying in the middle of the room on a large white hospital bed. There’s a pastel green blanket pulled up to his chin, so just his head is visible, sunk into a white pillow, his black hair splayed across it like a halo. Both eyes are closed, and as I take a step nearer, his eyelids shine in the touch of light, a deep purple circling them like a mask. His lips are two shades paler, not their usual scarlet. His cheeks are deflated, and any signs of ageing have vanished from his pale complexion. He looks so small.
I lower myself onto the plastic seat next to him, trying to find his hand among the covers, but not wanting to wake him.
‘Who did this to you?’ I whisper, but he is asleep.
I don’t hear Mum in the doorway, but she clears her throat and when I look up she’s just staring at Dean, her lip shaking. She rushes to my side and places a hand hesitantly on my shoulder.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
I don’t reply. I can’t take my eyes off you, Dean. I can’t be the hero you need.
‘I hate how we left our last conversation.’
‘He is going to be fine,’ Mum reassures me. ‘I spoke to the nurse on the way in here. She said the police will be back soon.’
I cement myself to the chair, wriggling it closer to Dean.
‘I’m not leaving.’
She drops her bag to the floor and pulls her hands out of her thick red gloves. She stands behind me, running her fingers through my hair, smoothing her hand over my forehead.
‘We must come back tomorrow,’ she says.
‘I want to speak to him. I’m not leaving,’ I repeat. ‘I have to tell him—’ I stop. ‘I have to find out who did this.’
A nurse walks in, already wearing a smile as she manoeuvres quickly around Dean.
‘You’re his partner,’ she states. ‘The police may want to speak to you.’
‘I’m not his partner,’ I reply. ‘I’m just a friend.’
‘Okay –’ she hesitates ‘– but I’m going to need some details from you, and then I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.’
‘I want to stay with him.’
‘I’m sorry, but we need to send Dean for some more scans, and visiting hours are—’
‘What scans?’ I interrupt.
She holds up her hands defensively. ‘Just to make sure he’s okay.’
‘They’re just being cautious,’ Mum reassures me.
‘I can’t leave him,’ I whisper.
The nurse smiles at me in a peculiar way, tilts her head to the side and sucks in her lips. She sees that I love him. Everybody sees that. But what they don’t see is how much, and how all my doubt of it has washed away, and like a wave, my love for him is about to come crashing back down.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When I wake up, the sun is high and there’s a tinge of frost on the tips of the branches. I check my phone, and it’s nearly midday. I already have a few missed calls from Mum. She offered to stay when she dropped me off last night, but I just wanted to be alone. I make myself a coffee and grab my keys, ready to set off to the hospital, but first I call Mum back.
‘Elizabeth, oh my goodness, I was just about to come round. Have you heard?’
‘No.’
‘They’ve brought Marie back in and charged her, but they’ve also charged her partner.’
‘Robbie?’
‘Yes, yes, him.’
‘They’ve found Rebecca?’
She’s quiet on the other end of the phone for a few beats. My heart rate starts to rise and press on my chest.
‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘I think so.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘They announced it on the news this morning, that they found a body in the woods miles from Church Corner.’
A body.
I march to my desk and stab at my laptop, hunching over it in panic. I scramble at the keyboard and scan the entries. My stomach drops as I see a picture of Rebecca next to the words ‘body found in woods near Church Corner’.
My legs give way and I slump to the floor. It can’t be her.
‘No,’ I whisper.
‘She must have tried to walk home,’ Mum says, quietly. ‘I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.’
‘Robbie?’ I ask. ‘Why?’
‘They must have had more information come through, I’m not sure.’
Rebecca’s phone. Sheila’s statement about seeing Marie that night.
‘Mum, I have to go.’
‘Are you going to see Dean?’
Dean. What will I say to him? I failed him. I failed you, Rebecca. I should have answered you that night. I should have done more.
‘Will you come round later?’
