The Forever House, page 15
Nicola was engrossed in a phone call and looking, I thought, quite pensive. Simon stopped a good distance from her and I stood beside him. He, too, was watching her. I wanted to ask him what was going on, but I had an awful feeling I knew. As soon as she snapped shut her phone he was striding forwards.
‘Okay?’
‘Yes, but I have to go. Let Michelle know.’ She turned to me with a smile. ‘I see you’ve found Simon. Trust him, he knows what he’s doing.’ She swung back to him, smile gone, to tap him on the chest. ‘And explain that she’ll see it all first.’
‘Of course.’
And that was it. With a gestured wave Nicola was striding towards the beech arch. There were no high heels to click, but I saw Louise in the set of her shoulders, the way she held her head. I wondered, momentarily, what her own personal life was like.
‘Here’s a sunny spot,’ Simon said, ‘as long as you don’t mind sitting on the grass. We’re just going to have a chat, nothing too specific – this is an active police investigation and we don’t want to fall foul of that. I’ll be recording our conversation because it’s the way of the world these days. After you okay the story, or stories, it will be deleted. Or, if you like, I can send you an audio file before I do, so you’ll know what we covered. Okay with all that?’
‘Not entirely,’ but I sat with my back to the hedge and he sat, too. He placed his phone between us, rattling off the date and our names and where we were, almost a replica of how the detectives had opened my interview when I’d walked into the police station. In the back of my mind a cultured voice was asking if the phone was a burner, and I smiled at the memory. It wasn’t only the hacker I wouldn’t be mentioning.
~~~
When Simon had finished, I walked across to Michelle to offer my labour. It seemed ungrateful to be idle while everyone was working, and I didn’t want to leave without speaking to Nicola. But, just after one-thirty, they all seemed to stop and look at Michelle. Her phone was buzzing.
‘She’s always the last to notice,’ my workmate, Helen, told me. ‘She’d be better with it on vibrate, but she won’t be told. Michelle! It’s your phone!’
‘Is that our bell?’ Ashley called across, ‘because I’m famished and could do with some lunch.’
‘Aren’t we waiting until Nicola gets back?’ I asked.
‘It’ll be the sexton who’s coming back. We’re keeping out of his way, evidently. All a bit cloak and dagger if you ask me.’
‘That’s it, ladies,’ Michelle announced. ‘Thanks for your time and your effort. We’ve made great inroads for our first attempt. Ensure you’ve got all your tools. I’ll be in touch regarding the next session.’
I took a look around. We had made a noticeable difference. Mike’s debris piles had been moved to beneath the trees and added to substantially. Shrubs had been trimmed to manageable proportions and over-long grass strimmed and removed. The nettle-beds were bare patches of short stalks; most of the briars the same. It was a new landscape, and the sight fostered a wonderful sense of achievement. I could see Margaret’s pegged grave quite clearly among rows of newly-revealed headstones, and the gentle humps of other graves we’d been walking over without seeing them, were now showing themselves.
In twos and threes the gardeners made their way through the arch. I fell into step with Michelle, wanting to make a point of thanking her again.
‘You’re welcome. It makes a change from the usual tubs beneath street signs. Do you have a garden?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit overgrown at present, but I’ll get there.’
‘Well, when you have the time, we’re always looking for recruits.’
‘Thanks. When life calms a bit I may take you up on that.’
I passed on the offer of a lift, and instead walked back into town with a spring in my step. Now I’d been primed, I was surprised how often I noticed the group’s work. The tubs Michelle had mentioned bore hand-painted signs – Provided by Your Urban Gardeners – peeking out of delicate petunias or an orange riot of trailing nasturtiums. A triangular bit of spare ground filled with marigolds was outlined in painted stones urging viewers to Keep Your Town Tidy. Where did all the plants come from? The money to buy them? Did they grow them from seed somewhere?
When I came across discarded crisp packets and a can littering a border, I felt a proprietorial annoyance on the group’s behalf. Stepping between the blue and white flowers, I hooked out the intruders, depositing them in the first bin I passed.
Chapter 24
Louise closed the apartment’s door behind her and paused to sniff the air. ‘What is that divine smell?’
‘Beef and butternut squash, Moroccan-style. There’s the last of the focaccia, too. I also bought a bottle of Chianti. Not quite North Africa, but it’ll go with the beef. There’s a glass waiting here for you.’
‘Are we celebrating? Have you heard from the police?’ She sailed across, her heels clicking, to lean over my shoulder and inhale the concentrated scents. ‘Heaven.’
‘Nothing from the police. Celebrating?’ I thought about it. ‘Maybe. I’ll explain over dinner.’
I pointed to the open bottle breathing beside me, but she declined with a flick of her hand.
‘Only with a meal, Carrie, only with a meal. It’s a slippery piste neither of us wants to ski down.’
As she tottered along the corridor, her tinkling laughter was so unexpected I turned to frown at her. She disappeared into her bedroom without a backward glance.
Giving the dish a stir, I measured out the couscous ready to add its stock, and reached for my glass to take a sip. The aroma of the plum and berry fruits was beautifully balanced by its full-bodied taste. Despite Jason’s occasional jibes, I could pick a discounted wine when I needed to.
I set it down next to the empty glass, my gaze lingering. Had Louise’s play on words been a joke, or something more? I turned to the work surface behind me. Alone beside the larder unit was the bottle of red which had arrived with the supermarket delivery. Even from where I stood I could see it was still a third full. I remembered loading the dishwasher after our meal, swilling the remaining wine from her glass and thinking it a waste. Had Louise not bought it? Had her PA added it to the order along with the gravlax? Certainly the kitchen had no wine rack, and when did a designer kitchen have no built-in wine rack?
As well as the stemmed glasses and the Chianti, I poured water into two tumblers, placing those on the table at the head of the cutlery. When Louise finally emerged, immediately full of her day and her gaining a new client, I soaked the couscous and served our meal.
‘Oh, it’s gorgeous,’ she said, waving her fork. ‘As sumptuous across the tongue as the nose. I had no idea you were such a good cook, Carrie. Jason always gave the impression that of the two of you he was the chef.’
‘I can follow a recipe, Louise. It’s not hard.’ I took a sip of wine, wondering if she’d do the same, but she didn’t. It wasn’t important, not what I wanted to broach, and I knew if I didn’t jump in now she’d fill the gap and we’d soon be watching another RomCom.
‘Ah, news,’ I began, trying to be chatty but sounding theatrically contrived.
‘I’ve teamed up with a local charity to raise funds so that Jennifer Ann can be interred in her mother’s grave. But we couldn’t even find it, the area was so overgrown—’
Louise had sat upright and was staring at me.
‘—but the charity-worker knew a group of lady gardeners. I joined them this morning. It’s amazing what can be achieved in a couple of hours. We took photos—’
‘What?’
‘We took photos,’ I repeated in a flatter tone; it was all or nothing now, ‘to appear beside a future write-up in the newspaper.’
From her reaction I thought Louise was going to have a seizure. Then she exploded.
‘Why? Why are you doing this?’
‘I’ve just told you. I intend to have Jennifer Ann—’
‘It’s nothing to do with you!’
‘She was murdered in my house. How can it have nothing to do with me?’
‘You’re becoming obsessional again, Caroline. It has nothing to do with you. Leave it to the authorities.’
‘I am not obsessional. It’s a case of doing the right thing to the best of my ability.’
‘It happened before you were born.’
I blinked and then sat back. ‘Yes, it did,’ I said calmly. ‘In 1942. If my history serves, at the same time six million other souls were being murdered in concentration camps. Are we to ignore that, too, because it happened before we were born? Gloss over it and move on as if it had never occurred?’
She was shaking with emotion, staring at me and shaking, but I was not going to give in.
‘What is the matter, Louise? Why are you reacting like this?’
Carefully, she placed her knife and fork either side of her plate, and drew a controlled breath.
‘I offer you a safe haven and you bring this into my home, then you have the temerity— Tomorrow you will pack your bag and find yourself a hotel.’
Stunned, I couldn’t react when she dragged back her chair and shot along the corridor.
‘Louise!’ But her bedroom door had already slammed.
I sat at the table looking at the half-eaten meal and the barely touched glasses. What a mess I’d made of that. And it was no one’s fault but mine. Yes, she had offered me a haven when I needed one. And didn’t I already suspect she was ill? Why hadn’t I thought about that?
Pulling myself from the chair, I padded to her bedroom door, wondering what I could say. I raised my hand to knock. There was crying from within. Not just gentle sniffs, but full-on sobbing. What on earth had I unleashed?
Fortifying myself, I tapped the wood. ‘Loui—’
I hadn’t even got her name out when I heard another door slam – the door to her en suite. I reached for the handle to push open the bedroom door, but didn’t apply the needed pressure. This was her home, and this was her inner sanctum.
Retreating to the kitchen, I binned the meals and set the dishwasher going, hoping the noise would bring her out. It didn’t.
~~~
I endured yet another interrupted night. My mind kept rolling over different scenarios that might have played out across the table... if I’d just said… if I hadn’t…
But I had, and now here I was, in a different kind of limbo, dealing with the repercussions. I didn’t want to fall out with Louise, but what to do to make it right that wouldn’t be a capitulation? If only the police would let me have my house back. And where were they? For a liaison officer there had been precious little liaising. As soon as it was a decent hour I’d ring.
A tell-tale gurgling of the pipes woke me from a doze and I checked the time. I would let Louise get ready for work. Interrupting her routine wouldn’t help at all. I’d wait until she was finishing her breakfast, putting on her shoes, and then I’d make my conciliatory move. It sounded flaky, but was the best I could think of.
The pipes calmed. I waited to hear her bedroom door open. But I rarely did, when I thought on it, and I wouldn’t hear her moving about the kitchen area; it was too far down the corridor. She put on her shoes only when she was about to leave. I’d have to time it. I waited, watching the clock, hearing nothing, until I couldn’t wait any longer.
The kitchen area was empty. There was no plate in evidence, no cup, no discarded coffee pod. Beside the machine was a note: Leave my key here. I thumped the counter in annoyance, but there was no mistaking the finality of the instruction. In a fit of pique I stormed back to my room, pulled her precious key from my bag and returned to slam it under her handwriting. There, she could have it.
It felt a relief, and I sloughed away the held tension under a long, hot shower. With the bedding in the washer, and a coffee to hand, I cooked myself an omelette. Louise wouldn’t be returning to check up on me so there was no reason to rush.
I was packing my few possessions before hoovering the bedroom when my mobile thrummed a text. Louise. No, it was Simon.
Have emailed drafts. Can you look them over asap and let me have your thoughts. Thanks.
A sudden shiver of dread raced through me, and I admonished myself. Taking my laptop down to the kitchen, I set it on the table.
There was only a single attachment, but it contained three articles. The headlines were drafts, he advised: recipient media will use their own. That did not reassure me, though as I read my anxiety eased.
All were written through the lens of the charity. One was a short news item in which I was barely mentioned. The second was longer, with direct quotes from me explaining how my uncovering the pictures etched into the plaster had begun an interest in past occupants of the house, which led to the “shocking discovery”.
The third article was more in-depth, giving my emotional reactions as I realised something was amiss, followed by a rather big jump to the police stepping in, despite no mention of a suspect, and finishing with me joining the urban gardeners to create a wildlife haven and provide closure for mother and daughter. It read rather sugary, but thankfully not sensational. I’d seen similar in glossy magazines. Paragraphs from Nicola interspersed each.
I read the articles again, slowly, pulling them apart. Nicola was there, I realised, not just to explain and promote her charity work, but to run target decoy. Doubtless there would be close-ups of her in her striking lemon jacket, while any of me would be long-shots wearing something drab. These weren’t just write-ups, they were carefully constructed to elicit a result. I didn’t think I’d ever read a magazine article in the same way again.
To my surprise, though, they gave me an unexpected lift. I could see this working, and it was with a smile that I texted Simon my thanks. He’d done a good job.
Before I closed down the computer, I thought it prudent to check hotels in the town, and while I was doing that my mind returned to the police liaison officer.
I’d anticipated voicemail kicking in, but she answered in person.
‘Ah, Mrs Haynes. I have it on my list to ring you today. Your house is being released. We need to agree a—’
I lost the rest of what she said due to my gasping. And then my hackles rose, the altercation with Louise fuelling my sense of grievance.
‘When was this decided? And when were you going to inform me?’ While she clucked and back-pedalled, another thought occurred. ‘And why now? What’s happened?’
‘The investigating team no longer believe further examination of your property will be necessary. The suspect has changed his plea.’
‘What?’ But I knew what. ‘Jak has admitted killing his sister?’
‘The suspect has acknowledged his guilt, yes.’
I sat on the nearest chair. It didn’t feel real, wasn’t real. It didn’t make sense. The memory of seeing him in his grand living room was running in my head, the arrogance with which he’d inspected me, the way he’d not spoken, merely rang a bell to have me removed. He’d murdered Jennifer Ann over seventy years ago. All he had to do was keep quiet and…
‘Why? Why has he changed his plea?’
‘I’m not a party to that information, Mrs Haynes. About your house, I will escort you, of course, but will your sister-in-law be available to accompany you?’
‘No,’ I said, wilting slightly, ‘she won’t.’
‘Is there someone you can call? You may find it rather emotional.’
She was talking about the debris in my kitchen, the great gaping hole leading… I shut my eyes and my mind on the spectre.
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, though I feared my words were mere bravado. Certainly, putting off the moment was just going to make it worse.
‘I want to return as soon as possible. When can I have my keys?’
Chapter 25
The liaison officer arrived in a plain car and she wore civilian clothes. She chatted but I didn’t want to hear it; I just wanted this to be over, for life to return to normal, even though I knew it would never be normal again.
‘Have you fallen out with your sister-in-law?’
Her question came out of the blue and I stared at her. Her gaze remained fixed on the road ahead.
‘It happens a lot,’ she said. ‘It’s the stress. It’ll be okay. I’ll have a word, if you like.’
I, too, gazed through the windscreen. ‘Thanks, but no. Six of one and half a dozen of the other. We’ll get over it.’ I wasn’t sure we would, not entirely.
By the time we turned into the street my heart was pounding. There were a few pedestrians, a few parked cars, a solitary van passed in the opposite direction. I hoped no one would catch my eye, though who did I know in the neighbourhood?
‘Be warned,’ she murmured, ‘it’ll be a mess.’
‘I made most of it.’
‘Your first reaction will still be to walk away. It always is.’
I said nothing, wishing only that she’d stop treating me like a child. And then she flicked the indicator and was parking, and it took a great effort for me to look at the house. The Virginia creeper was crowding the door. The curtains in the lounge remained closed. When I opened them everyone would know I’d returned.
The engine cut and she stepped on to the pavement. I followed, concentrating on retrieving my bags. She took the laptop case, and together we walked through the gate, she producing my keys before we reached the front door.
Everything seemed to move into slow motion, into vivid colour, innocuous details standing out as if magnified: the different greens of the creeper, flakes of loose paint showing blue undercoat beneath, grime caught between the frame and the glass of the round window. Then the door was open and she was stepping into shadow. I followed, but somehow she moved behind me shutting out the light, leaving me staring at the closed white door at the end of the hall leading into the kitchen.
‘Are you all right?’
I nodded.
‘I suggest we take it slowly,’ she said, ‘perhaps start with a tour of upstairs; make sure everything is okay?’
