Slow Fire Burning (Paula Hawkins)

ALSOBYPAULAHAWKINS
TheGirlontheTrain
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pid_prh_5.7.1_c0_r0ThisbookisdedicatedtothememoryofLizHohenadelScott,whoseradiancemadetheworldawarmerplace.Shewillbeforevermissed.CONTENTS
Cover
AlsobyPaulaHawkins
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
Prologue
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthorsomeofusaremadetobecarrionbirds
&someofusaremadetobecircled
—EmilySkaja,“MyHistoryAs”Blood-sodden,thegirlstaggersintotheblack.
Herclothesaredisheveled,hangingoffheryoungbody,revealingexpansesofpaleflesh.
Shoelost,footbleeding.Sheisinagony,butthepainhasbecomeinconsequential,eclipsedbyothersufferings.
Herfaceisamaskofterror,herheartisadrum,herbreathisthestrickenpantofafoxgonetoground.
Thenight’ssilenceisbrokenbyalowhum.
Aplane?Wipingbloodfromhereyes,thegirllooksupattheskyandseesnothingbutstars.
Thehumislouder,lower.Acarchanginggear?Hasshereachedthemainroad?Herheartlifts,andfromsomewheredeepinhergutshesummonstheenergytorun.
Shefeelsratherthanseesthelightbehindher.
Shefeelshershapeilluminatedintheblackandknowsthatthecariscomingfrombehindher.
It’scomingfromthefarm.Sheturns.
Sheknows,beforeshesees,thathehasfoundher.Sheknows,beforeshesees,thatitwillbehisfacebehindthewheel.Shefreezes.Forasecondshehesitates,andthensheleavestheroad,takesoffrunning,intoaditch,overawoodenfence.Shescramblesintotheadjacentfieldandrunsblind,falling,pickingherselfup,makingnosound.Whatgoodwouldscreaming
do?
Whenhecatchesher,hetakeshandfulsofherhair,pullsherdown.Shecansmellhisbreath.
Sheknowswhatheisgoingtodotoher.Sheknowswhatiscomingbecauseshehasalready
seenhimdoit,shesawhimdoittoherfriend,howsavagelyhe…
“Oh,forGod’ssake,”Irenemutteredoutloud,snappingthebookshutandslingingitontothecharityshoppile.“Whatutterdrivel.”ONE
InsideLaura’shead,Deidrespoke.Thetroublewithyou,Laura,shesaid,isthatyoumakebadchoices
Toofuckingright,Deidre.NotsomethingLauraexpectedtosayoreventhink,butstandingthereinherbathroom,shakinguncontrollably,bloodpulsinghotandsteadyfromthecuttoherarm,shehadtoadmitthatimaginaryDeidrewasbangonthemoney.Sheleanedforward,herforeheadrestingagainstthemirrorsothatshewouldn’thavetolookherselfintheeye,onlylookingdownwasworse,becausethatwayshecouldwatchthebloodoozeoutofher,anditmadeherwoozy,madeherfeellikeshemightthrowup.Somuchblood.Thecutwasdeeperthanshe’dthought;sheoughttogotothehospital.
Therewasnowayshewasgoingtothehospital.
Badchoices.
Whenatlasttheflowofbloodseemedtoslow,LauratookoffherT-shirtanddroppeditonthefloor,slippedoutofherjeans,droppedherknickers,andwriggledoutofherbra,inhalingsharplythroughherteethasthemetalcatchscrapedagainstthecut,hissing,“Fuckfuckmotheroffuck.”
Shedroppedthebraonthefloortoo,clamberedintothebathtub,andturnedontheshower,thenstoodshiveringunderthepaltrytrickleofscaldingwater(hershowerofferedachoiceofveryhotorverycold,nothinginbetween).Sheranthetipsofherwrinkledfingersbackandforthoverherbeautiful,bone-whitescars:hip,thigh,shoulder,backofskull.
HereIam,shesaidquietlytoherself.HereIam.
Afterward,herforearmwrappedineffectuallyinreamsoftoiletpaper,therestofherwrappedinathreadbaretowel,sittingontheuglygraypleathersofainherlivingroom,Laura
ranghermother.Itwenttovoicemail,andshehungup.Nopointwastingcredit.Sherangherfathernext.“Youallright,chicken?”Shecouldhearnoisesinthebackground,theradio,5Live.
“Dad.”Shefeltalumprisetoherthroatandsheswallowedit.
“What’sup?”
“Dad,couldyoucomeround?I…Ihadabadnight.Iwaswonderingifyoucouldjustcomeoverforabit,Iknowit’sabitofadrivebutI—”
No,Philip.Deidre,inthebackground,hissingthroughclenchedteeth.We’vegotbridge
“Dad?Couldyoutakemeoffspeaker?”
“Sweetheart,I—”
“Seriously,couldyoutakemeoffspeaker?Idon’twanttohearhervoice;itmakesmewanttosetfiretothings.”
“Now,comeon,Laura.”
“Justforgetit,Dad,itdoesn’tmatter.”
“Areyousure?”
NoI’mnotnoI’mnotnoI’mfuckingnot.“Yeah,sure.I’mfine.I’llbefine.”
Onherwaytothebedroom,shesteppedonherjacket,whichshe’ddroppedinthehallwayinherrushtogettothebathroom.Shebentdownandpickeditup.Thesleevewastorn,Daniel’swatchstillinthepocket.Shetookthewatchout,turneditover,slippeditoverherwrist.Thetoiletpaperaroundherforearmbloomedscarlet,herlimbthrobbinggentlyasthebloodpulsedoutofher.Herheadswam.Inthebathroom,shedroppedthewatchintothesink,toreoffthepaper,droppedthetowelonthefloor.Climbedbackundertheshower.
Usingapairofscissorstoscrapebeneathherfingernails,shewatchedthewaterrunningrosyatherfeet.Sheclosedhereyes.ShelistenedtoDaniel’svoiceasking,Whatiswrongwithyou?andDeidre’svoicesaying,Bridge,Philip,we’vegotbridge,andtoherown.Setfiretothings.Setfire.Setfiresetfiresetfire.TWO
EverysecondSunday,Miriamcleanedoutthetoilet.Shehadtoliftthe(alwayssurprisingly,unpleasantlyheavy)cassetteoutofthelittletoiletatthebackoftheboat,carryitthroughthecabinandoutontothetowpath,andfromthereafullhundredyardstothelooblock,wherethewastehadtobetippedoutintothemaintoiletandflushedaway,thecassetterinsedouttoclearwhateverremained.Oneofthelessidyllicpartsofnarrowboatlivingandataskshelikedtocarryoutearly,whentherewasnooneelsearound.Soundignified,toferryone’sshitaboutamongstrangers,dog-walkers,joggers.
Shewasoutonthebackdeck,checkingshehadaclearrun
—thatthereweren’tanyobstaclesonthepath,bicycles,orbottles(peoplecouldbeextremelyantisocial,particularlylateonSaturdaynights).Itwasabrightmorning,coldforMarch,thoughwhitebudsonglossynewbranchesofplaneandbirchhintedatspring.
ColdforMarch,andyetshenoticedthatthecabindoorsoftheneighboringnarrowboatwereopen,justastheyhadbeenthenightbefore.So,thatwasodd.Andthethingwas,she’dbeenmeaningtotalktotheoccupantofthatboat,theyoungman,aboutoverstaying.He’dbeeninthatmooringsixteendays,twofulldayslongerthanhewasentitledtobe,andshe’dintendedtohaveawordwithhimaboutmovingalong,eventhoughitwasn’treallyherjob,notherresponsibility,butshe
—unlikemost—wasapermanentfixturearoundhereandthatimbuedherwithaparticularsenseofpublic-spiritedness.
???
THATWASWHATMIRIAMtoldDetectiveInspectorBarker,inanycase,whenheaskedher,lateron,Whatwasitmadeyoulook?
Thedetectivewassittingoppositeher,hiskneesalmost
touchingherown,hisshouldershunchedandbackrounded.Anarrowboatisnotacomfortableenvironmentforatallman,andthiswasaverytallman,withaheadlikeacueballandaperturbedexpression,asthoughhe’dbeenexpectingtodosomethingelsetoday,somethingfun,liketakinghiskidstothepark,andnowhewasherewithher,andhewasn’thappyaboutit.
“Didyoutouchanything?”heasked.
Hadshe?Touchedanything?Miriamclosedhereyes.Shepicturedherself,rappingsmartlyonthewindowoftheblue-and-whiteboat.Waitingforaresponse,avoice,oratwitchofacurtain.Bendingdownwhennosuchresponsecame,herattempttopeerintothecabinthwartedbythenetcurtaincoupledwithwhatlookedlikeadecade’sworthofcityandrivergrime.Knockingoncemoreandthen,afterafewmoments,climbingupontothebackdeck.Callingout,Hello?
Anyoneathome?
Shesawherselfpullingonthecabindoor,verygently,catchingasshedidawhiffofsomething,thesmellofiron,meaty,hunger-inducing.Hello?Pullingthedooropenalltheway,climbingdownthecoupleofstepstothecabin,herlasthellocatchinginherthroatasshetookitallin:theboy—notaboy,ayoungman,really—lyingonthefloor,bloodeverywhere,awidesmilecarvedintohisthroat
Shesawherselfswayonherfeet,handovermouth,pitchingforwardforalong,dizzyingmoment,reachingout,grabbingthecounterwithherhand.Oh,God.
“Itouchedthecounter,”shetoldthedetective.“IthinkImighthaveheldontothecounter,justthere,ontheleft-handside,whenyoucomeintothecabin.Isawhim,andIthought…well,Ifelt…Ifeltsick.”Herfacecolored.“Iwasn’tsick,though,notthen.Outside…I’msorry,I…”
“Don’tworryaboutit,”Barkersaid,hiseyesholdinghers.
“Youdon’tneedtoworryaboutthat.Whatdidyoudothen?
Yousawthebody,youleanedagainstthecounter…?”
Shewasstruckbythesmell.Underneaththeblood,allthatblood,therewassomethingelse,somethingolder,sweetandrank,likelilieslefttoolonginthevase.Thesmellandthelookofhim,impossibletoresist,hisbeautifuldeadface,glassyeyesframedbylonglashes,plumplipsdrawnbackfromeven,whiteteeth.Historso,hishands,andarmswereamessofblood,hisfingertipscurledtothefloor.Asthoughhewashangingon.Assheturnedtoleave,hereyesnaggedonsomethingonthefloor,somethingoutofplace—aglintofsilvermiredinsticky,blackeningblood.
Shestumbledupthestepsandoutofthecabin,gulpingmouthfulsofair,gagging.Shethrewuponthetowpath,wipedhermouth,criedout,“Help!Somebodycallthepolice!”butitwasbarelyseventhirtyonaSundaymorning,andtherewasnoonearound.Thetowpathwasstill,theroadsupabovequiettoo,nosoundssaveforthethrobofagenerator,thesquabbleofmoorhensghostinggentlypast.Lookingupatthebridgeabovethecanal,shethoughtshemighthaveseensomeone,justforamoment,butthentheyweregone,andshewasalone,grippedbyparalyzingfear.
“Ileft,”Miriamtoldthedetective.“Icamestraightbackoutoftheboatand…Icalledthepolice.Ivomited,andthenIrantotheboatandcalledthepolice.”
“Okay.Okay.”
Whenshelookedupathim,hewaslookingaroundtheroom,takinginthetiny,neatcabin,thebooksabovethesink(OnePotCooking,ANewWaywithVegetables),theherbsonthesill,thebasilandcorianderintheirplastictubs,therosemarygoingwoodyinablue-glazedpot.Heglancedatthebookcasefilledwithpaperbacks,atthedustypeacelilysitting
ontopofit,theframedphotographofahomelycoupleflankingtheirbig-bonedchild.“Youliveherealone?”heasked,butitwasn’treallyaquestion.Shecouldtellwhathewasthinking:fatoldspinster,treehugger,knityourownyogurt,curtaintwitcher.Pokinghernoseintoeveryoneelse’sbusiness.Miriamknewhowpeoplesawher.
“Doyou…doyougettoknowyour…neighbors?Aretheyneighbors?Don’tsupposetheyreallycanbeifthey’reonlyhereforacoupleofweeks?”
Miriamshrugged.“Somepeoplecomeandgoregularly;theyhaveapatch,astretchofthewatertheyliketocover,soyougettoknowsomeofthem.Ifyouwantto.Youcankeepyourselftoyourselfifyoulike,whichiswhatIdo.”Thedetectivesaidnothing,justlookedatherblankly.Sherealizedhewastryingtofigureherout,thathewasn’ttakingheratherword,thathedidn’tnecessarilybelievewhatshewastellinghim.
“Whatabouthim?Themanyoufoundthismorning?”
Miriamshookherhead.“Ididn’tknowhim.I’dseenhim,afewtimes,exchanged…well,notevenpleasantries,really.Isaidhelloorgoodmorningorsomethinglikethat,andheresponded.Thatwasit.”
(Notquiteit:Itwastruethatshe’dseenhimacoupleoftimessincehe’dmooredup,andthatshe’dclockedhimrightawayforanamateur.Thebargewasamess—paintpeeling,lintelsrusted,chimneyallaskew—whilehehimselflookedmuchtoocleanforcanallife.Cleanclothes,whiteteeth,nopiercings,notattoos.Nonevisible,inanycase.Astrikingyoungman,quitetall,dark-haired,dark-eyed,hisfaceallplanesandangles.Thefirsttimeshesawhim,she’dsaidgoodmorningandhe’dlookedupatherandsmiledandallthehairstooduponthebackofherneck.)
Shenotedthisatthetime.Notthatshewasabouttotellthedetectivethat.WhenIfirstsawhim,Igotthisstrangefeeling….He’dthinkshewasanutcase.Inanyevent,sherealizednowwhatitwas,whatshe’dfelt.Itwasn’tpremonitionoranythingridiculouslikethat,itwasrecognition
Therewasanopportunityhere.She’dhadthatthoughtwhenshefirstrealizedwhotheboywas,butshe’dnotknownhowbesttotakeadvantage.Nowthathewasdead,however,itfeltasthoughthiswasallmeanttobe.Serendipity.
“Mrs.Lewis?”DetectiveBarkerwasaskingheraquestion.
“Ms.,”Miriamsaid.
Heclosedhiseyesforamoment.“Ms.Lewis.Doyourememberseeinghimwithanyone?Talkingtoanyone?”
Shehesitated,thennodded.“Hehadavisitor.Acoupleoftimes,perhaps?It’spossiblehemighthavehadmorethanonevisitor,butIonlysawtheone.Awoman,olderthanhewas,closertomyage,perhapsinherfifties?Silver-grayhair,cutveryshort.Athinwoman,quitetall,Ithink,perhapsfiveeightornine,angularfeatures…”
Barkerraisedaneyebrow.“Yougotagoodlookather,then?”
Miriamshruggedagain.“Well,yes.I’mquiteobservant.Iliketokeepaneyeonthings.”Mayaswellplayuptohisprejudices.“Butshewasthesortofwomanyou’dnoticeevenifyoudidn’t;shewasquitestriking.Herhaircut,herclothes…shelookedexpensive.”Thedetectivewasnoddingagain,notingallthisdown,andMiriamfeltsureitwouldn’ttakehimlongtofigureoutexactlywhoshewastalkingabout.
Oncethedetectivehadgone,officerscordonedoffthetowpathbetweenDeBeauvoirandShepperton,movingalongalltheboatssavehis,thecrimescene,andhers.Atfirst,they’dtriedtopersuadehertoleave,butshemadeitclearshe’dnowhereelsetogo.Whereweretheygoingtohouseher?Theuniformedofficershespoketo,young,squeaky-voiced,andspotty,lookedperturbedbythisshiftingofresponsibility,fromhershoulderstohis.Helookedupattheskyanddownatthewater,upanddownthecanalandbacktoher,thissmall,fat,harmlessmiddle-agedwoman,andrelented.Hespoketosomeoneonaradioandthencamebacktotellhershecouldstay.“Youcangobackandforthtoyourown…uh
residence,”hesaid,“butnofurtherthanthat.”
Thatafternoon,Miriamsatoutonthebackdeckofherboatinthepallidsunshine,takingadvantageoftheunusualquietoftheclosed-offcanal.Withablanketpulledaroundhershouldersandacupofteaatherelbow,shewatchedthepolicemenandthesceneofcrimeofficersscurryingbackandforth,bringingdogs,bringingboats,searchingthetowpathanditsborders,pokingaroundinthemurkywater.
Shefeltoddlypeaceful,giventhedayshe’dhad,optimisticalmost,atthethoughtofnewavenuesopeningupbeforeher.
Inthepocketofhercardiganshefingeredthelittlekeyonitskeyring,stillstickywithblood,theoneshe’dpickedupofftheflooroftheboat,theonewhoseexistenceshe’dwithheldfromthedetectivewithoutevenreallythinkingaboutwhyshewasdoingit.
Instinct.
She’dseenit,glintingtherenexttothatboy’sbody—akey.
Attachedtoalittlewoodenkeyringintheformofabird.Sherecognizeditstraightaway;she’dseenitclippedtothewaistbandofthejeanswornbyLaurafromthelaunderette.
MadLaura,theycalledher.Miriamhadalwaysfoundherquitefriendly,andnotmadatall.Laura,whomMiriamhad
witnessedarriving,tipsy,Miriamsuspected,atthatshabbylittleboatonthatbeautifulboy’sarm,twonightsago?Three?
She’dhaveitinhernotebook—interestingcomingsandgoings,theywerethesortofthingshewrotedown.
Arounddusk,Miriamwatchedthemcarrythebodyout,upthestepsandontothestreet,whereanambulancewaswaitingtotakehimaway.Shestoodastheywalkedpasther;outofrespect,shebentherheadandsaidaquietandunbelievingGowithGod
Shewhisperedathank-youtoo.Forbymooringhisboatnexttohersandthengettinghimselfbrutallymurdered,DanielSutherlandhadpresentedMiriamwithanopportunityshecouldsimplynotallowtoslideby:anopportunitytoavengethewrongthathadbeendonetoher.
Alonenowand,despiteherself,alittleafraidinthedarknessandstrangequietude,shetookherselfintoherboat,boltingandpadlockingthedoorbehindher.ShetookLaura’skeyfromherpocketandplaceditinthewoodentrinketboxshekeptonthetopbookshelf.Thursdaywaslaundryday.ShemightgiveitbacktoLaurathen.
Orthenagain,shemightnot.
Youneverknewwhatwasgoingtoturnouttobeuseful,didyou?THREE
Mrs.Myerson?Doyouneedtositdown?Thereyougo.
Justbreathe.Wouldyoulikeustocallanyone,Mrs.
Myerson?”
Carlasankdownontohersofa.Shefoldedinhalf,pressingherfacetoherknees;shewaswhimpering,sherealized,likeadog.“Theo,”shemanagedtosay.“CallTheo,please.Myhusband.Myex-husband.He’sinmyphone.”Shelookedup,scanningtheroom;shecouldn’tseethephone.“Idon’tknowwhereitis,Idon’tknowwhereI—”
“Inyourhand,Mrs.Myerson,”thewomandetectivesaidgently.“You’reholdingyourphoneinyourhand.”
Carlalookeddownandsawthatsoshewas,grippinghermobiletightlyinherviolentlytremblinghand.Sheshookherhead,handingthephonetothepolicewoman.“I’mgoingmad,”shesaid.Thewomanpressedherlipsintoasmallsmile,placingahandonCarla’sshoulderforjustamoment.Shetookthephoneoutsidetomakethetelephonecall.
Theotherdetective,DetectiveInspectorBarker,clearedhisthroat.“IunderstandthatDaniel’smotherisdeceased,isthatright?”
Carlanodded.“Six…no,eightweeksago,”shesaid,andwatchedthedetective’seyebrowsshootuptowherehishairlinemightoncehavebeen.“Mysisterfell,”Carlasaid,“athome.Itwasn’t…itwasanaccident.”
“AnddoyouhavecontactdetailsforDaniel’sfather?”
Carlashookherhead.“Idon’tthinkso.HelivesinAmerica,hehasdoneforalongtime.He’snotinvolved,he’sneverbeeninvolvedinDaniel’slife.It’sjust…”Hervoice
cracked;shetookadeepbreath,exhaledslowly.“ItwasjustAngelaandDaniel.Andme.”
Barkernodded.Hefellsilent,standingramrodstraightinfrontofthefireplace,waitingforCarlatocomposeherself.
“You’venotlivedhereverylong?”heasked,afterwhatCarlaimaginedhethoughttobearespectfulpause.Shelookedupathim,bemused.Heindicatedwithonelongforefingertheboxesonthediningroomfloor,thepaintingsleaningagainstthewall.
Carlablewhernoseloudly.“I’vebeenmeaningtohangthosepaintingsforthebestpartofsixyears,”shesaid.“OnedayI’llgetroundtogettingpicturehooks.Theboxesarefrommysister’shouse.Letters,youknow,photographs.ThingsIdidn’twanttogetridof.”
Barkernodded,hefoldedhisarms,shiftinghisweightfromonefoottotheother,heopenedhismouthtosaysomethingbutwascutoffbythefrontdoorslammingshut.Carlajumped.
Thewomandetective,DetectiveConstableChalmers,scuttledintotheroom,duckingherheadapologetically.“Mr.
Myerson’sonhisway.Hesaidhewon’tbelong.”
“Helivesfiveminutesaway,”Carlasaid.“NoelRoad.Doyouknowit?JoeOrtonlivedthereinthesixties.Theplaywright?It’swherehewaskilled,bludgeonedtodeath,Ithink,orwasitstabbed?”Thedetectiveslookedatherblankly.
“It’snot…relevant,”Carlasaid;shethoughtforahorriblemomentshemightlaugh.Whyhadshesaidthat,anyway?
WhywasshetalkingaboutJoeOrton,aboutpeoplebeingbludgeoned?Shewasgoingmad.BarkerandChalmersseemednottonotice,ornottomind.Perhapseveryonebehavedlikealunaticwhentheyreceivednewsofafamilymembermurdered
“Whendidyoulastseeyournephew,Mrs.Myerson?”
Barkeraskedher.
Carla’smindwascompletelyblank.“I…Christ,Isawhim…atAngela’shouse.Mysister’shouse.It’snotfar,abouttwentyminutes’walk,overtheothersideofthecanal,onHayward’sPlace.I’vebeensortingoutherthings,andDanielcametopicksomestuffup.He’dnotlivedthereforagesbuttherewerestillsomeofhisthingsinhisoldbedroom,sketchbooks,mostly.Hewasquiteatalentedartist.Hedrewcomics,youknow.Graphicnovels.”Shegaveaninvoluntaryshudder.“Sothatwas,aweekago?Twoweeks?Jesus,Ican’tremember,myheadisjustwrecked,I…”Shescrapedhernailsoverherscalp,pushingherfingersthroughtheshortcropofherhair.
“It’sperfectlyallright,Mrs.Myerson,”Chalmerssaid.“Wecangetthedetailslater.”
“So,howlonghadhebeenlivingtheredownonthecanal?”
Barkeraskedher.“Doyouhappentoknowwhen—”
ThedoorknockerclackedloudlyandCarlajumped,again.
“Theo,”shebreathed,alreadyonherfeet,“thankGod.”ThewomangottothedoorbeforeCarlacould;sheusheredTheo,red-faced,perspiring,intothehall.
“Christ,Cee,”hesaid,grabbingholdofCarla,pullinghertightlyagainsthim.“WhatinGod’snamehappened?”
Thepolicewentoveritallagain:howCarla’snephew,DanielSutherland,hadbeenfounddeadonahouseboatmoorednearDeBeauvoirRoadonRegent’sCanalthatmorning.Howhe’dbeenstabbed,multipletimes.Howhe’dlikelybeenkilledbetweentwenty-fourandthirty-sixhoursbeforehe’dbeenfound,howthey’dbeabletonarrowthatdowninduecourse.
TheyaskedquestionsaboutDaniel’sworkandfriendsanddidtheyknowofanymoneytroublesanddidhetakedrugs?
Theydidn’tknow.“Youweren’tclose?”Chalmersoffered.
“Ihardlyknewhim,”Theosaid.HewassittingatCarla’sside,rubbingthetopofhisheadwithhisforefinger,thewayhedidwhenhewasanxiousaboutsomething.
“Mrs.Myerson?”
“Notclose,no.Not…well.MysisterandIdidn’tseeeachotherveryoften,yousee.”
“Despitethefactshelivedjustoverthecanal?”Chalmerspipedup.
“No.”Carlashookherhead.“We…Ihadn’tspenttimewithDanielforaverylongtime,”Carlasaid,“notreally.Notsincehewasaboy.WhenmysisterdiedIsawhimagain,asIsaid.He’dbeenlivingabroadforawhile,Spain,Ithink.”
“Whendidhemovetotheboat?”Barkerasked.
Carlapressedherlipstogether,shakingherhead.“Idon’tknow,”shesaid.“Ihonestlydon’t.”
“Wehadnoideahewaslivingthere,”Theosaid.
Barkergavehimasharplook.“Hemustbefairlyclosetoyourhome,though.NoelRoad,wasn’tit?That’swhat?Aboutamilefromwheretheboatwas?”
Theoshrugged.“Thatmaywellbe,”hesaid,andherubbedhisforeheadharder,theskinturningquitepinkupnearhishairline.Helookedasthoughhe’dbeeninthesun.“Thatmaywellbe.ButI’dnoideahewasthere.”
Thedetectivesexchangedalook.“Mrs.Myerson?”Barkerlookedather.
Carlashookherhead.“Noidea,”shesaidquietly.
Thedetectivesfellsilentthen,forquitealongtime.TheywerewaitingforCarlatosaysomething,sheimagined,forherorTheotospeak.Theoobliged.“Yousaid…twenty-fourhours,isthatright?Twenty-fourtothirty-sixhours?”
Chalmersnodded.“We’reestimatingtimeofdeathsometimebetweeneightp.m.Fridaynightandeighta.m.
Saturdaymorning.”
“Oh.”Theowasrubbinghisheadagain,staringoutthewindow.
“Haveyouthoughtofsomething,Mr.Myerson?”
“Isawagirl,”Theosaid.“Saturdaymorning.Itwasearly—
six,maybe?Outonthetowpath,goingpastmyhouse.IwasstandinginmystudyandIsawher;Irememberherbecauseshehadbloodonher.Onherface.Onherclothing,Ithink.
Shewasn’tdrenchedinitoranything,but…butitwasthere.”
Carlagawpedathim,incredulous.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Youweresleeping,”Theosaid.“Igotup,Iwasgoingtomakecoffee,andIwenttogetmycigarettesfromthestudy.Isawher,outofthewindow.Shewasyoung,probablynotmuchmorethantwenty,andshewascomingalongthetowpath.Limping.Orswaying,maybe?Ithoughtshewasdrunk.Ididn’t…reallythinkmuchofit,becauseLondonisawashwithstrange,drunkpeople,isn’tit?Thattimeofday,youoftenseepeople,ontheirwayhome….”
“Withbloodonthem?”Barkerasked.
“Well,perhapsnot.Perhapsnottheblood.That’swhyIrememberedher.Ithoughtshe’dfallen,orbeeninafight,Ithought…”
“Butwhydidn’tyousayanything?”Carlasaid.
“Youwereasleep,Cee,Ididn’tthink—”
“Mrs.Myersonwasasleepatyourhome,”Chalmersinterrupted,frowning.“Isthatright?YoustayedthenightwithMr.Myerson?”
Carlanoddedslowly,herexpressiononeofutterbewilderment.“We’dhaddinneronFriday;Istayedover.”
“Althoughwe’reseparated,westillhavearelationship,yousee,weoften—”
“Theydon’tcareaboutthat,Theo,”Carlasaidsharply,andTheoflinched.ShepressedaKleenextohernose.“Sorry.I’msorry.Butit’snotimportant,isit?”
“Weneverknowwhat’sgoingtobeimportant,”Barkersaidenigmatically,andstartedmovingtowardthehall.Hehandedoutbusinesscards,saidsomethingtoTheoaboutformalidentification,aboutfamilyliaison,aboutstayingintouch.
Theonodded,slippingthebusinesscardintohistrouserpocket,andshookthedetective’shand.
“Howdidyouknow?”Carlaaskedsuddenly.“Imean,whowasit,whoreported…whofoundhim?”
Chalmerslookedatherboss,thenbackatCarla.“Awomanfoundhim,”shesaid
“Awoman?”Theoasked.“Agirlfriend?Wassheyoung?
Slim?I’mjustthinkingofthepersonIsaw,theonewiththeblood,perhapsshe—”
Chalmersshookherhead.“No,thiswassomeonelivingonanotherofthenarrowboats,notayoungwoman—middle-aged,I’dsay.Shenoticedthattheboathadn’tmovedinsometimeandwenttocheckuponhim.”
“Shedidn’tseeanything,then?”Theoasked.
“Shewasveryhelpful,actually,”Barkersaid.“Veryobservant.”
“Good,”Theosaid,rubbingthetopofhishead.“Verygood.”
“AMrs.Lewis,”Barkeradded,andChalmerscorrectedhim:Ms.“That’sright,”hesaid.Carlawatchedthecolordrain
fromTheo’sfaceasBarkerwenton.“Ms.MiriamLewis.”FOUR
Hestartedit,allright?Beforeyousayanything.Hestartedit.”
Theywerewaitingforherwhenshegothome.Musthavebeen,becausetheybangedonthefrontdoorliterallythirtysecondsaftershe’dgotinfromthegrocerystore.She’dnotevengotherbreathback—shewasontheseventhfloorandtheliftswereoutagain—andtheretheywere,anditjustmadeherangry,andnervoustoo.So,likeafuckingidiot,shestartedtalkingrightaway,whichsheknewfullwellyoushouldn’tdo.
It’snotlikethiswasherfirsttimeintrouble.
Granted,usuallyitwasadifferentsortoftrouble.Publicintoxication,pettytheft,trespass,vandalism,disorderlyconduct.She’dbeenfoundnotguiltyofsimpleassaultononeoccasion.Oneminorassaultchargepending.
Butthiswasn’tthat.Andsherealizedthatalmostrightawaybecauseasshestoodtherehuffingandpuffingandrunninghermouthoff,shethought,Hangon.Thesearedetectives.They’dsaidtheirnamesandranksandallthat,whichshe’dforgottenrightawaybutstill:theywerestandinginfrontofherinplainclothes,andthatwasawholedifferentorderoftrouble.
“Wouldyoumindifwecamein,MissKilbride?”theblokesaid,politelyenough.Hewastall,rangy,baldasanegg.“Itmightbebettertotalkaboutthisinside.”Hecastabeadyeyeatthekitchenwindow,whichshe’dboardedup,badly.
Laurawasalreadyshakingherhead.“Idon’tthinkso,no.Idon’tthinkso.Ineedanappropriateadult,yousee,youcan’tquestionme….What’sthisaboutanyway?Isthistheguyinthebarbecausethat’salready,youknow,inthesystem.I’ve
gotacourtsummons,it’sstucktomyfridgewithamagnet.
Youcanseeforyourselfifyouwant—no,no,no,hangon.
Hangon.Thatwasn’taninvitationtocomein,it’safigureofspeech.”
“Whywouldyouneedanappropriateadult,MissKilbride?”Theotherone—aboutafootshorterthanhercolleague,wirydarkhair,smallfeaturesallcrowdedtogetherinthemiddleofherbigmoonface—raisedhermonobrow.
“You’renotaminor,areyou?”
“I’mtwenty-five,aswellyouknow,”Laurasnapped.
Shecouldn’tstopthem—Eggwasalreadyhalfwaydownthehallway,Eyebrowpushingpast,saying,“Howonearthwouldweknowthat?”
“Whostartedwhat,MissKilbride?”Eggcalledout.Shefollowedhisvoiceintoherkitchen,wherehewasbentover,handsclaspedbehindhisback,peeringatthesummons.Laurahuffed,loudly,andshuffledovertothesinktogetsomewater.
Sheneededtocomposeherself.Think.Whensheturnedbacktofacehimhewaslookingfirstatherandthenoverhershoulder,atthewindow.“Hadsometrouble?”Heraisedhiseyebrows,innocent-like.
“Notexactly.”
Theotheroneappeared,beetlingherbrow.“Haveyouhurtyourself,Laura?”sheasked.
Lauradrankherwatertooquickly,coughed,scowledatthewoman.“WhathappenedtoMissKilbride?Eh?We’remates,now,arewe?BFFs?”
“Yourleg,Laura.”Hewasatittoo.“Howdidyouhurtit?”
“IwashitbyacarwhenIwasakid.Compoundbreaktothefemur.Gotawickedscar,”shesaid,movingherfingerstotheflyofherjeans.Sheheldhiseye.“Youwannaseeit?”
“Notparticularly,”hesaidmildly.“Whataboutyourarm?”
Heindicatedwithafingerthebandagewrappedaroundherrightwrist.“Thatdidn’thappenwhenyouwereakid.”
Laurabitherlip.“Lostmykey,didn’tI?Fridaynight.HadtobreakinwhenIgotback.”Shejerkedherheadbackward,indicatingthekitchenwindow,whichgaveontotheexteriorwalkwayrunningthelengthoftheapartmentblock.“Didn’tdoaverygoodjob.”
“Stitches?”
Laurashookherhead.“Wasn’tthatbad.”
“Didyoufindit?”Heturnedawayfromher,wanderingthroughthealcoveconnectingthekitchentothelivingroom,castingaboutlikehewasconsideringmakinganofferontheplace.Notlikely;theflatwasatip.Sheknewsheoughttobeashamedofit,ofthecheapfurnitureandtheblankwallsandtheashtrayonthefloorthatsomeonehadkickedover,sonowtherewasashinthecarpetandfuckknowshowlongthathadbeentherebecauseshedidn’tevensmokeandshecouldn’trememberthelasttimeshe’dhadsomeoneover,butshecouldn’tbringherselftocareenough.
“Well?Didyou?”EyebrowwrinkledhernoseasshetookLaurain,headtotoeandbackagain,herbaggyjeans,stainedT-shirt,chippednailpolish,greasyhair.SometimesLauraforgottoshower,sometimesfordays;sometimesthewaterwasscaldingandsometimesitwasn’thotatall,likenow,becausetheboilerhadpackedupagainandshe’dnomoneytogetitfixedandnomatterhowmanytimesshecalledthecounciltheystilldidfuckall.
“DidIwhat?”
“Findyourkey,”Eyebrowsaid,hintofasmileonherlipslikeshe’dcaughtherout,caughtherinalie.“Didyoufindyourkey?”
Lauratookalastgulpofwater,swallowed,suckedherteeth.Chosetoignorethequestion.“Doyoumind?”shecalledouttoEgg,elbowingherwaypastEyebrowinordertofollowhim.
“Notabit,”hereplied.Hewasstandinginthemiddleofherlivingroomnow,lookingattheroom’ssoleadornment,aframedphotographofafamily,parentsandayounggirl.
Someonehadgonetothetroubleofdefacingit,drawinghornsonthefather’sheadandaforkedtongueemergingfromthemother’smouth;they’dputx’soverthechild’seyes,coloredherlipsbloodred,beforeframingitandhangingit.Eggraisedhiseyebrowsandturnedtolookather.“Familyportrait?”heasked.Laurashrugged.“Dad’sadevil,ishe?”
Sheshookherhead,lookedhimdeadintheeye.
“Cuckold,”shesaid.Eggpursedhislips,noddingslowly.Heturnedtolookbackatthepicture.
“Well,”hesaid.“Well.”
“I’mavulnerableadult,”Laurasaidoncemore,andthedetectivesighed.
“No,you’renot,”hesaidwearily.Heturnedawayfromthephotographandloweredhimselfheavilyontohersofa.“Youlivealone,youhaveapart-timejobattheSunshineLaunderetteonSpencerStreet,andweknowforafactthatyouhavebeeninterviewedbythepoliceonanumberofoccasionswithoutanappropriateadultpresent,solet’sjustleavethatone,shallwe?”Therewasanedgetohisvoice,hisclotheswerecrumpled,andhelookedverytired,asthoughhe’dhadalongjourney,orashortnight’ssleep.“Whydon’tyousitdown?TellmeaboutDanielSutherland.”
Laurasatdownatthelittletableinthecorneroftheroom,theonewheresheateherdinnerwhileshewatchedTV.Foramomentshefeltrelieved;sheshruggedhershouldersupagainstherears.“Whatabouthim?”sheasked.
“Youknowhim,then?”
“ObviouslyIdo.Obviouslyhe’scomplainedtoyouaboutme.Whichisbullshit,canIjustsay,becausenothinghappenedand,inanycase,hestartedit.”
Eggsmiled.Hehadasurprisinglywarmsmile.“Nothinghappenedbuthestartedit?”herepeated.
“That’sright.”
“Andwhendidthisnothinghappen,”Eyebrowsaid,wanderingintotheroomfromthekitchen,“thathestarted?”
Shesatdownnexttohercolleagueontheuglypleathertwo-seatersofa.Sidebyside,theylookedridiculous—littleandlarge,himlongandlean,LurchtoherfatlittleFester.Laurasmirked.
Eyebrowdidn’tlikethat;herfacedarkenedasshesnapped:
“Issomethingfunny?Doyouthinkthere’ssomethingamusingaboutthissituation,Laura?”
Laurashookherhead.“Fester,”shesaid,smiling.“You’relikeUncleFester,butwithhair.Hasanyoneevertoldyouthat?”
ThewomanopenedhermouthtospeakbutEgg,deadpan,cutheroff.“DanielSutherland,”hesaidagain,louderthistime,“didn’ttellusanythingaboutyou.WecametospeaktoyoubecauseweliftedtwosetsoffingerprintsfromaglasswhichwefoundinDaniel’sboat,andthesetthatwasn’this,wasyours.”
Laurasuddenlyfeltcold.Sherubbedherclaviclewithherfingers,clearingherthroat.“Youlifted…what?Youliftedfingerprints?What’sgoingon?”
“CanyoutellusaboutyourrelationshipwithMr.
Sutherland,Laura?”Eyebrowsaid.
“Relationship?”Lauralaugheddespiteherself.“That’sabitstrong.Ifuckedhimtwice,Fridaynight.Wouldn’treallycallitarelationship.”
Eyebrowshookherhead,indisapprovalordisbelief.“Andhowdidyoumeethim?”
Lauraswallowedhard.“Imethim,because,youknow,sometimesIhelpoutthislady,Irene,shelivesonHayward’sPlace,youknow,justoverbythechurchthere,onthewaytothelittleTesco.Imetherafewmonthsback,andlikeIsayIhelpheroutfromtimetotimebecauseshe’soldandabitarthriticandforgetfulandshehadabitofafallawhileback,twistedherankleorsomething,shecan’talwaysgettotheshops.Idon’tdoitformoneyoranything,althoughshedoestendtobungmeafivereverynowandagain,justformytime,youknow,she’snicelikethat….Anyway.Yeah,Dan—
DanielSutherland—heusedtolivenextdoor,hehasn’tdoneforagesbuthismotherstilllivedthere,atleastuntilshedied,whichwaswhenwemet.”
“Youmethimwhenhismotherdied?”
“After,”Laurasaid.“Iwasn’tactuallyintheroomwhenshecroaked.”
Eyebrowglancedathercolleague,buthewasn’tlookingather;hewaslookingatthefamilyportraitagain,asadexpressiononhisface.
“Okay,”Eyebrowsaid,“okay.YouwerewithMr.
SutherlandonFriday,isthatright?”
Lauranodded.“Wewentonadate,”shesaid,“whichforhimmeanttwodrinksinabarinShoreditchandthenbacktohiscrappyboatforashag.”
“And…andhehurtyou?Or…pressuredyouintosomething?Whatdidhestart?”Eggasked,leaningforward,
hisattentionfullyfocusedonLauranow.“Yousaidhestartedsomething.Whatwasthat?”
Laurablinkedhard.Shehadamemory,startlinglyclear,ofthelookofsurpriseonhisfaceasshewentforhim.
“Everythingwasfine,”shesaid,“wehadanicetime.Ithoughtwehadagoodtime.”Outofnowhere,sheblushed;shefeltanintenseburstofheatspreadingfromherchesttoherneckanduptohercheeks.“Andthen,he’ssuddenlyalllike,coldorwhatever,likehedoesn’tevenwantmethere.Hewas…
offensive.”Shelookeddownatherbumleg,sighed.“Ihaveacondition.I’mavulnerableadult.IknowyousaidIwasn’tbutIam.Vulnerable.”
“Soyouarguedwithhim?”Eyebrowasked.
Lauranodded.Shewaslookingatherfeet.“Yeah,youcouldsaythat.”
“Didyoufight?Wasitphysical?”
Therewasastainonhertrainer,rightabovethelittletoeofherleftfoot.Adarkbrownstain.Shehookedherleftfootbehindherrightankle.“No,not…well.Notseriously.”
“So,therewasviolence,butnotwhatyouwouldtermseriousviolence?”
Lauramovedherleftfootagainstthebackofherrightcalf.
“Itwasnothing,”shesaid.“Itwasjust…handbags.”
ShelookedupatEgg,whowasrubbinghisforefingeroverhisthinlips.HeinturnlookedoveratEyebrowandshebackathim,andsomethingpassedbetweenthem,wordless.Anagreement.“MissKilbride,DanielSutherland’sbodywasdiscoveredinhishomeonSundaymorning.Canyoutellusexactlywhenyousawhimlast?”
Laura’smouthwassuddenlypainfullydry,shecouldn’tswallow,sheheardaroaringinherears,shesqueezedhereyestightshut.“Hangon…”Shegottoherfeet,steadyingherself
onthetable;shefelttheworldtip.Shesatdownagain.“Hangon,”shesaidagain.“Hisbody?Areyousaying…?”
“ThatMr.Sutherlandisdead,”Eggsaid,hisvoicequietandeven.
“But…he’snot,ishe?”Lauraheardherownvoicecrack.
Eggnodded,slowly.“Sundaymorning?YousaidSundaymorning?”
“That’sright,”Eggreplied.“Mr.SutherlandwasdiscoveredonSundaymorning.”
“But”—Lauracouldfeelherpulseinherthroat—“butIsawhimonFridaynight,IleftSaturdaymorning.IleftonSaturdaymorning.Seven,maybe,maybeevenearlierthanthat.Saturdaymorning,”sherepeated,onelasttime,foremphasis.
Eyebrowstartedtosaysomething,hervoicelightandmusicalasthoughshewastellingafunnystoryandwasjustabouttogettothepunchline.“Mr.Sutherlanddiedofmassivebloodloss;hehadknifewoundstothechestandneck.Histimeofdeathisyettobeformallyestablished,butourscienceofficerfeltitlikelytobearoundtwenty-fourtothirty-sixhoursbeforehewasdiscovered.Now,yousayyouwerewithMr.
SutherlandonFridaynight,isthatright?”
Laura’sfaceburned,hereyesstung.Idiot.Shewasanidiot.
“Yes,”shesaidquietly.“IwaswithhimonFridaynight.”
“OnFridaynight.Andyouwentbacktohishouseboatwithhim,yes?Youhadsexwithhim,yousaid?Twice,wasn’tit?
AndwhattimeexactlyonSaturdaymorningdidyouleaveMr.
Sutherland?”
Atrap.Itwasatrap,andshe’dwalkedstraightintoit.Idiot.
Shescrapedherteethoverherlowerlip,bitdownhard.Don’tsayanything,sheimaginedasolicitorwouldsaytoher.Don’t
talktoanyone.Sheshookherhead,asmallsoundcomingfromthebackofherthroat,seeminglywithouthervolition.
“Whatwasthat?Laura?Didyousaysomething,Laura?”
“I’msorryhe’sdeadandeverything,”shesaid,ignoringtheadvicecomingfromwithinherownhead,“butIdidn’tdoanything.Youhearme?Ididn’tdoanything.Ididn’tstabanyone.AnyonewhosaysIdidisaliar.Hewas…Idon’tknow,hesaidstufftome,stuffIdidn’tlike.Ididn’tdoanything.MaybeIhithim,maybe…”Shecouldtastebloodinhermouth;sheswallowedhard.“Don’t…justdon’ttrytosaythatIdidthis,becauseIhadnothingtodowithit.Maybetherewassomepushingandshoving,butthatwasit,youknow,andthenhewasgone,sothatwasthat,youknow.Thatwasthat.It’snotmyfault,yousee,it’snotmyfault,even…
thefightorwhatever,it’snotmyfault.”
Lauracouldhearherownvoicegoingonandonandon,risinghigherandhigher.Shecouldtellwhatshesoundedlike,likeamadpersonranting,likeoneofthosecrazypeoplewhostandsatastreetcornerandshoutsatnothing,sheknewthatwaswhatshesoundedlikeandshecouldn’tstopherself.
“Gone?”Eyebrowsaid.“Yousaid,‘Thenhewasgone.’
Whatdidyoumeanbythat,Laura?”
“Imeanhewasgone.Heleft,walkedout,whatd’youthink?Afterwefought—notreallyfought,butyouknow—
afterthat,hejustputonhisjeansandhisshirtandhewalkedoutandjustleftmethere.”
“Inhishouse…onhisboat,alone?”
“That’sright.Isupposehewasthetrustingsort,”shesaid,andshelaughed,whichsheknewwascompletelyinappropriateandyetstill,shecouldn’tstopherself,becauseitwasfunny,thethoughtthathewastrusting,wasn’tit?Underthecircumstances?Notfunnyhaha,maybe,butstill.Onceshe’dstartedlaughing,shefoundthatshecouldn’tstop;she
feltherselfgoingredintheface,asthoughshewerechoking.
Thedetectiveslookedateachother.
Eyebrowshrugged.“I’lljustgoandgetheraglassofwater,”shesaidatlast.
Amomentlater,Lauraheardthedetectivecallout,notfromthekitchen,butfromthebathroom.“Sir,doyouwanttocomethroughhereaminute?”
Thebaldonegotup,andashedid,Laurafeltawaveofpanicrise,chasingthelaughtercleanoutofherchest.Shesaid,“Hangonaminute,Ididn’tsayyoucouldgothroughthere,”butitwastoolate.Shefollowedthemtothethresholdofthebathroom,whereEyebrowstood,pointingfirstatthesink,whereLaurahadleftthewatch(theonebelonging,unmistakably,toDanielSutherland,hisinitialsengravedontheback),andthentoLaura’sbloodstainedT-shirt,scrunchedinaballinthecorneroftheroom.
“Icutmyself,”Laurasaid,herfaceburningred,“Itoldyouthat.IcutmyselfwhenIclimbedthroughthewindow.”
“Youdidtellusthat,”Eggsaid.“Doyouwanttotellusaboutthewatch,too?”
“Itookit,”Laurasaidsullenly,“obviously.Itookit.Butit’snotwhatyouthink.Ijustdidittopisshimoff.Iwasgoingto…Idon’tknow,throwitinthecanal,tellhimtogofetch.
ButthenI…Idon’tknow,Ithoughtitmightmeansomething,youknow,whenIsawtheengravingonthebackandIthought,like,whatifhismotherhadgivenittohimbeforeshediedorwhateveranditwasirreplaceable?Iwasgoingtogiveitbacktohim.”
Egglookedathersadly,asthoughhehadsomeverybadnews,whichinawayhedid.“What’sgoingtohappennow,”
hesaid,“isthatwe’regoingtotakeyouovertothepolicestationtoanswersomemorequestions.You’llbeansweringquestionsundercaution,youunderstandwhatthatmeans?
Thatyouhavetherighttoremainsilentifyouwishto,youdon’thavetoanswerthequestions.Therewillbeasolicitorthereifyoulike,toexplainittoyou.Andwe’realsogoingtotakesomesamplesfromyou,forcomparisonwithwhatwasfoundatthescene.”
“Samples?Whatdoesthatmean?”
“Anofficeratthestationwillscrapeunderyourfingernails,combyourhairforfibers,thatsortofthing.It’snothinginvasive,nothingtoworryabout.”
“WhatifIdon’twantto?”Laura’svoicequavered.Shewantedsomeonetohelpherandshecouldn’tthinkwhoitwassheshouldcall.“CanIsayno?”
“It’sallright,Laura.”Eyebrow’svoiceturnedsoothing.
“It’sallverysimpleandeasy;there’snothingtobefrightenedof.”
“That’salie,”Laurasaid.“Youknowthat’salie.”
“Theotherthingwe’regoingtodo,”Eggsaid,“isapplyforawarranttosearchyourhome,andI’msureyourealizethatunderthecircumstanceswe’renotgoingtohaveanytroublegettingone,soifthere’sanythingelseyouthinkweneedtoknowabout,it’dbeagoodideatotellusnow,okay?”
Lauraconsideredthequestion.Shetriedtothinkwhethertherewasanythingsheshouldtellthem,buthermindwasablank.Eyebrowwastalkingtoher,touchingherarm,andsheflinched.“Yourclothes,Laura?CanyoushowuswhatyouwerewearingonFridaynight?”
Laurapluckedrandomitemsofclothingfromthefloorinherroom.Shehandedthemapairofjeans,whichshemayormaynothavebeenwearing,sheflungabraintheirgeneraldirection.Shewenttotheloo,leavingthetwooftheminthehallway,Egg’sheadbentdowntolistentowhateveritwasEyebrowwassaying.Laurapausedatthebathroomdoor,
heardthewomanmuttersomethingaboutengravedandsomethingoddandnotreallyallthere,isshe?
Sittingontheloo,herknickersaroundherankles,Laurasmiledruefullytoherself.She’dbeencalledworse.Notallthere?Notalltherewasnothing,notalltherewasprettymuchacomplimentbycomparisontoalltheotherthingsshe’dbeencalledovertheyears:mong,freak,spaz,cabbage,retard,nutter.
FuckingpsychowaswhatDanielSutherlandhadcalledher,whenshe’dgoneforhim,properlygoneforhim,kicking,punching,clawingathim.Hegrabbedher,digginghisthumbsintothefleshofherupperarms.“Youfuckingpsycho,you…
crazybitch.”
Itallturnedsofast.Onemomentshewaslyingthereonhisbedsmokingacigaretteandthenextshewasonthetowpathwithbloodonherfaceandhiswatchinherpocket.Asthedetectivesescortedherdownsevenflights,Laurawonderedhowshecouldtellthemthetruthofthething,thatshe’dtakenthewatchoutofspite,yes,butstrangelyoutofhopetoo.
She’dwantedtopunishhim,butshe’dalsowantedtogiveherselfanexcusetoreturn,toseehimagain.
Nochanceofthatnow,though,wasthere?FIVE
Atthepolicestation,apolicewoman—ayoungwoman,withakindsmile—scrapedbeneathLaura’sfingernails,tookaswabfromtheinsideofhercheek,combedherhair,slowlyandgently,asensationLaurafoundsosoothingandsodeeplyreminiscentofchildhooditbroughttearstohereyes.
???
INLAURA’SHEAD,Deidrespokeagain.You’venoself-worth,that’syourproblem,Laura.Deidre,thescrawny,hard-facedwomaninwhosearmsherbrokenheartedfatherhadsoughtsolaceafterLaura’smotherleft,could,ifpressed,comeupwithawholelitanyofLaura’sproblems.Lowself-worthwasaparticularfavorite.Youdon’tvalueyourselfenough,Laura.
Fundamentally,that’syourproblem.Ifyouvaluedyourselfalittlemore,youwouldn’tjustgowithwhoeverpaidyouanyattention.
AfewdaysafterLauraturnedthirteen,shewenttoapartyatafriend’shouse.Herfathercaughthersneakingbackintothehouseatsixinthemorning.Hegrabbedholdofhershoulders,shakingherlikeadoll.“Wherewereyou?Iwasgoingoutofmymind,Ithoughtsomethinghadhappened!
Youcan’tdothattome,chicken.Pleasedon’tdothattome.”
Hehuggedherclosetohim;sherestedherheadonhisbroadchestandfeltasthoughshewereachildagain,normalagain.
“I’msorry,Dad,”shesaidquietly.“I’mreallysorry.”
“She’snotintheslightestbitsorry,”Deidresaidanhourorsolater,whentheyweresittingatthebreakfasttable.“Lookather.Justlookather,Philip.Likethecatthatgotthecream.”
Lauragrinnedatheroverherbowlofcereal.“You’vegotthatlook,”Deidresaid,hermouthpursedindisgust.“Hasn’tshegotthatlook?Whowereyouwithlastnight?”
Later,sheheardherfatherandherstepmotherarguing.
“She’sgotnoself-respect,”Deidrewassaying.“That’sherproblem.I’mtellingyou,Phil,she’sgoingtoenduppregnantbeforeshe’sfifteen.You’vegottodosomething.You’vegottodosomethingabouther.”
Herfather’svoice,supplicating:“Butit’snotherfault,Deidre,youknowthat.It’snotherfault.”
“Oh,it’snotherfault.That’sright.Nothing’severLaura’sfault.”
Laterstill,whenDeidrecameupstairstoLaura’sroomtocallherfordinner,sheasked:“Didyouuseprotection,atleast?Pleasetellmeyouweren’tstupidenoughtodoitwithoutacondom?”Laurawaslyingonherbed,staringupattheceiling.Withoutlooking,shepickedupahairbrushfromherbedsidetableandhurleditinherstepmother’sgeneraldirection.“Pleasejustfuckoff,Deidre,”shesaid.
“Ohyes,that’scharming,isn’tit?I’llbetyourfilthymouthisnotyourfaulteither.”Sheturnedtoleavebutthoughtbetterofit.“Youknow,Laura,youknowwhatyourproblemis?Youdon’tvalueyourselfenough.”
Lowself-worthwasindeedoneofLaura’sproblems,butitwasn’ttheonlyone.Shehadawholehostofotherstokeepitcompany,includingbutnotlimitedto:hypersexuality,poorimpulsecontrol,inappropriatesocialbehavior,aggressiveoutbursts,short-termmemorylapses,andquiteapronouncedlimp.
???
“THERENOW,”THEPOLICEWOMANSAID,onceshewasdone.
“You’reallset.”ShesawthatLaurawascryingandshesqueezedherhand.“You’llbeallright,love.”
“Iwanttophonemymum,”Laurasaid.“IsitallrightifIphonemymum?”
Hermumwasn’tansweringherphone.
“DoIgetanothercall?”Lauraasked.Theofficerathersideshookherhead,butseeingLaura’sdismay,sheglancedthiswayandthatalongthehallandthennodded.“Goon,then,”
shesaid.“Quickly.”
Laurarangherfather’snext.Shelistenedtothephoneringafewtimes,herhopessoaringasthecallconnected,onlytobeimmediatelydashedassheheardDeidre’svoice.“Hello?
Hello?Whoisthis?”Laurahungup,meetingtheofficer’sinquisitivelookwithashrug.“Wrongnumber,”shesaid.
ThepoliceofficertookLauratoatiny,stuffyroomwithatableatitscenter.Theofficergaveheraglassofwaterandsaidsomeonewouldbringsometeainaminute,buttheteanevermaterialized.Theroomwasoverheatedandsmelledofsomethingstrangeandchemical;herskinitched,hermindfeltmuddiedwithexhaustion.Shefoldedherarmsandlaidherheaddownuponthemandtriedtosleep,butinthewhitenoisesheheardvoices,hermother’s,Deidre’s,Daniel’s;whensheswallowedshethoughtshecouldtastemetal,androt.
“Whatarewewaitingfor?”sheaskedthepoliceofficereventually,andthewomanduckedherhead,shrugged.
“Dutysolicitor,Ithink.Sometimesittakesawhile.”Laurathoughtabouthergroceries,thefrozenpizzasandtheready-mealcurriesshe’dspentherlasttenneron,sittingonthecounterinherkitchenathome,gentlydefrosting.
Afterwhatfeltlikehoursbutwasprobablytenminutes,thedetectivesturnedup,solicitor-less.“Howlongdoyouthinkthisisgoingtotake?”Lauraasked.“I’vegotalongshifttomorrow,andI’mfuckingknackered.”
Egglookedatherlongandhard;hesighed,asthoughheweredisappointedinher.“Itcouldbeawhile,Laura,”hesaid.
“It’s…well.It’snotlookinggreat,isit?And,yousee,thethingis,you’vegotformonthisscore,haven’tyou?”
“Ibloodyhavenot.Form?Whatareyoutalkingabout?Idon’tgoaroundstabbingpeople,I—”
“YoustabbedWarrenLacey,”Eyebrowchippedin.
“Withafork.Inthehand.Fuck’ssake,it’snotthesamethingatall,”Laurasaid,andshestartedlaughing,because,honestly,thiswasridiculous,thiswasapplesandoranges,theonethingwasnotliketheotherinanyway,butshedidn’treallyfeellikelaughingatall;shefeltlikecrying.
“It’sinteresting,”Eyebrowsaid.“Ithinkit’sinteresting,inanycase,thatyouseemtofindthissoamusing,Laura,becausemostpeople—inyoursituation,Imean—mostpeopleIdon’tthinkwouldfindthisallthatfunny.”
“Idon’t,Idon’tthinkit’sfunny,Idon’t…”Laurasighedinfrustration.“SometimesIstruggle,”shesaid,“tomatchmyoutwardbehaviortomyemotionalstate.Idon’tthinkit’sfunny,”shesaidagain,butstillshecouldn’tstopsmiling,andEyebrowsmiledbackather,horribly.Shewasabouttosaysomethingelse,buttheywereatlastinterruptedbythelong-awaiteddutysolicitor,aharassed-looking,gray-facedmanwithcoffeebreathwhofailedtoinspiremuchconfidence.
Onceeveryonewassettled,introductionsmade,formalitiesoutoftheway,Eyebrowcontinued.“Weweretalkingamomentago,”shesaid,abouthowyoustruggletomatchyouroutwardbehaviortoyouremotionalstate.Thatiswhatyousaid,isn’tit?”Lauranodded.“Youhavetospeakup,Laura,forthetape.”Lauramutteredherassent.“So,it’sfairtosaythatyoucannotalwayscontrolyourself?Youhaveemotionaloutburstswhicharebeyondyourcontrol?”Laurasaidtheywere.“Andthisisbecauseoftheaccidentyouhadwhenyou
wereachild?Isthatcorrect?”Lauraansweredintheaffirmativeagain.“Canyoutalkabitmoreabouttheaccident,Laura?”Eyebrowasked,hervoicereassuring,coaxing.Laurajammedherhandsunderneathherthighstokeepherselffromslappingthewomanacrosstheface.“Couldyoutalkabouttheaccident’seffectonyou—physically,Imean?”
Lauraglancedathersolicitor,tryingtocommunicateasilentDoIhaveto?butheseemedincapableofreadingher,so,sighingheavily,shereeledmonotonouslythroughherinjuries:“Fracturedskull,brokenpelvis,compoundfractureofthedistalfemur.Cuts,bruises.Twelvedaysinacoma.Threemonthsinhospital.”
“Yousufferedatraumaticbraininjury,didn’tyou,Laura?
Couldyoutellusabitaboutthat?”
Laurapuffedouthercheeks,sherolledhereyes.“Couldyounotjustfuckinggoogleit?Jesus.Imean,isthisreallywhatwe’reheretotalkabout?SomethingthathappenedtomewhenIwastenyearsold?IthinkIshouldjustgohomenow,becausefrankly,you’vegotfuckall,haven’tyou?You’vegotnothingonme.”
Thedetectiveswatchedher,impassive,unimpressedwithheroutburst.“Couldyoujusttellusaboutthenatureofyourheadinjury?”Eggasked,histonepolite,infuriating.
Laurasighedagain.“Isufferedabraininjury.Itaffectedmyspeech,temporarily,aswellasmyrecall.”
“Yourmemory?”Eyebrowasked.
“Yes,mymemory.”
Eyebrowpaused,foreffect,itseemedtoLaura.“Therearesomeemotionalandbehavioralconsequencestothissortofinjury,too,aren’tthere?”
Laurabitherlip,hard.“IhadsomeangermanagementissueswhenIwasyounger,”shesaid,lookingthewomandead
intheeye,daringhertocallheraliar.“Depression.Ihavedisinhibition,whichmeanssometimesIsayinappropriateorhurtfulthings,likeforexamplethattimeIcalledyouugly.”
Eyebrowsmiled,sheroseaboveit,shepressedon.“Youhaveimpulsecontrolproblems,don’tyou,Laura?Youcan’thelpyourself,youlashoutatpeople,youtrytohurtthem—
that’swhatyou’resaying,isn’tit?”
“Well,I…”
“Andso,ontheboatonFridaynight,whenMr.Sutherlandrejectedyou—whenhewas,asyouputit,coldandoffensive,youlostyourtemper,didn’tyou?Youattackedhim,didn’tyou?Earlieryousaidyouhithim.Youreallywantedtohurthim,didn’tyou?”
“Iwantedtoriphisfuckingthroatout,”Lauraheardherselfsay.Nexttoher,shefeltthesolicitorflinch.Andthereitwas
—thepolicedidn’t,asshe’dsaid,havefuckall,becauseofcoursetheyhadher.TheyhadLaura.Theydidn’tneedaweapon,didthey?Theydidn’tneedasmokinggun.TheyhadmotiveandtheyhadopportunityandtheyhadLaura,whotheyknewcouldbecountedon,soonerorlater,tosaysomethingreallystupid.SIX
Inthearmchairinherfrontroom,herfavoredreadingspot,IrenewaitedforLaura,whowaslate.Thearmchair,oncepartofapair,althoughitspartnerhadlongsincebeenconsignedtothedump,waspushedrightupagainstthewindowofthefrontroom.Itwasthespotthattrappedthesunformostofthemorningandwellintotheafternoontoo,thespotfromwhichIrenecouldwatchtheworldgobyandtheworldgoingbycould,inturn,watchher,fulfillingtheirexpectationsoftheaged:sittinginachairinaroom,alone,musingonthepast,onformerglory,onmissedopportunities,onthewaythingsusedtobe.Ondeadpeople
WhichIrenewasn’tdoingatall.Well,notexclusively,inanycase.Mostly,shewaswaitingforLauratoturnuptofetchherweeklygroceries,andinthemeantime,shewassortingthroughoneofthethreeboxesofmusty-smellingbooksthatCarlaMyersonhadleftforher.Thebookshadbelongedtoadeadperson—Angela.Carla’ssisterandIrene’sneighbor,alsoIrene’sdearestfriend.
“They’renotworthanything,”CarlahadtoldIrenewhenshedroppedthemoffsometimelastweek,“justpaperbacks.Iwasgoingtotakethemtothecharityshop,butthenIthought…”She’dgivenIrene’slivingroomaquickonce-over,awrinkleappearingatthebridgeofhernoseasshesaid:
“Ithoughttheymightbetoyourtaste.”
Aveiledinsult,Irenesupposed.Notthatshecared,particularly.Carlawasthesortofwomanwhoknewthepriceofeverythingandthevalueofnothing.Notworthanything?
Showedwhatsheknew.
ItwastruethatwhenIreneopenedupsomeofthemoreancientPenguins,theirbrightorangecoverstatteredandworn,theirpagesbegantocrumblebeneathherfingertips.
Succumbingalreadytoslowfire,theacidificationofthepaperdestroyingitfromwithin,eatingawayatthepages,makingthembrittleandbreakable.Itwasterriblysadwhenyouthoughtaboutit,allthosewords,allthosestoriesslowlydisappearing.Thosebooks,inanycase,she’dhavetothrowout.Butasfortherestofthem—theywereverymuchtohertaste,somuchsothatshe’dalreadyreadquiteafewofthem.
SheandAngelausedtoswapbooksallthetime;theysharedapredilectionforthebestsortofcrimenovels(notthebloodyones;thecleverones,likeBarbaraVine,orP.D.James)andforthesortofbookclubfictionatwhichthelikesofCarlaMyersonnodoubtturneduptheirnoses.
ThefactthatIrenehadreadmostofthemwasbesidethepoint.Theimportantthing—thethingthatCarlaprobablydidn’tknow,eventhoughthiswasherownsistertheyweretalkingabout—wasthatAngelawasavandalwhenitcametobooks:acrackerofspines,adog-earerofpages,ascribblerinmargins.So,whenyouleafedthroughAngelaSutherland’scopyofTheHauntingofHillHouse,forexample,youmightnoticethatshe’dunderscoredcertainlines(thepoorgirlwashatedtodeath;shehangedherself,bytheway);whenyouturnedthepagesofAngela’swell-thumbedADark-AdaptedEye,youdiscoveredhowstronglyshesympathizedwithVera’sfeelingstowardhersister:exactlythis!shehadscrawledinthemarginnexttothelinethattoldusNothingkillslikecontempt,andcontemptforhercameuponmeinahotflood.Everynowandagain,youmightevencomeacrosssomelittlescrapofAngela’spast—abookmark,say,oratrainticket,orascrapofpaperwithashoppinglistonit:cigarettes,milk,pasta.InNoCountryforOldMen,therewasapostcardpurchasedattheV&A,aphotographofahousewithawhitepicketfence;inIntheWoods,therewasascrapofpaperwithadrawingonit,
twochildrenholdinghands.InTheCementGarden,shefoundabirthdaycard,blueandwhitewithapictureofaboatonit,thepapercreased,wornthinwithhandling.TodarlingDaniel,themessageread,withallmyloveonyourtenthbirthday,kisses,AuntieCarla
Notworthanything?ShowedwhatCarlaknew.ThetruthwasthatwhenyoureadabookthathadpreviouslybeenownedandreadbyAngelaSutherland,youbecamepartofaconversation.Andsince,tragically,therewerenevertobeanymoreactualconversationswithAngela,that,toIrene,wasvaluable.Thatwasinvaluable
Ifitweren’tforthenaggingworryofthewhereaboutsofLaura,Irenemighthavebeenquitecontented,baskinglikealizardinthemorningsunlight,sortingthroughthebooks,watchingtheofficeworkersandthemumswiththeirchildrenhurryingpastinthelaneoutside.
Irene’slittletwo-up,two-downhousesatononesideofHayward’sPlace,anarrowlaneintheheartofthecity.Notmuchmorethanafootpathcuttingthroughbetweentwolargerroads,Hayward’sPlacewasflankedononesidebyfivesmallidenticalhouses(Irene’swasnumbertwo),andontheotherbythesiteoftheRedBullTheatre(whichmayormaynothaveburneddownintheGreatFireofLondonandwhichhadnowbeendevelopedintoanuninspiringofficespace).Itofferedaconvenientshortcutandwas,onweekdaysatleast,busydayandnight.
WherewasLaura?TheyhadsaidTuesday,hadn’tthey?SheusuallycameonaTuesday,becauseonTuesdaysshehadalaterstartatthelaunderette.WastodayaTuesday?Irenethoughtthatitwas,butshewasstartingtodoubtherself.Shepulledherselfupoutofherchair,gingerly—she’dnotlongagotwistedanankle,whichwasoneofthereasonssheneededhelpwiththeshoppinginthefirstplace—andwitheffortcircumventedthelittlepilesofbooksonthefloor,thereadand
unread,thefavoredandthedestined-for-the-Oxfam-shop.Shepotteredacrossherlivingroom,furnishedsimplywithherchairandasmallsofa,adresseronwhichsatanunfashionablysmallandrarelywatchedtelevisionset,andabookcaseatopwhichperchedherradio.Sheturnedtheradioon.
Atteno’clock,thenewsreaderconfirmedthatitwasindeedaTuesday—TuesdaythethirteenthofMarch,tobeprecise.
ThenewsreaderwentontosaythatPrimeMinisterTheresaMayhadgiventheRussianpremieruntilmidnighttoexplainhowaformerspywaspoisonedinSalisbury;hesaidthataLaborMPhaddeniedslappingafemaleconstituentonthebuttocks;hesaidthatayoungwomanwasbeingquestionedinconnectionwiththemurderofDanielSutherland,thetwenty-three-year-oldmanfounddeadonanarrowboatontheRegent’sCanalonSunday.Thenewsreaderwentontosayanumberofotherthingstoo,butIrenecouldn’thearhimoverthesoundofbloodrushinginherears.
Shewasimaginingthings.Shemustbe.DanielSutherland?
Itcouldn’tbe.Herhandstrembling,Ireneturnedtheradiooffandthenbackonagain,butthenewsreaderhadmovedonnow;hewastalkingaboutsomethingelse,abouttheweather,aboutacoldfrontmovingin.
PerhapsitwasadifferentDanielSutherland?HowmanyDanielSutherlandswerethere?Shehadn’tboughtthenewspaperthatmorning,shehardlyeverdidanymore,soshecouldn’tcheckthat.She’dhearditwaspossibletofindanythingonamobilephonethesedays,butshewasn’tentirelysuresheknewhow,andinanycase,shecouldn’tquiterememberwhereshe’dseenthephonelast.Upstairssomewhere,probably.Batterydeadasadodo,probably.
No,she’djusthavetodothingstheold-fashionedway;she’dhavetogoaroundtothenewsagenttogetthepaper.Sheneededmilkandbread,inanycase,ifLaurawasn’tcoming.Inthehallway,sheshruggedonhercoatandpickedupherbag
andhousekey,noticingjustasshewasabouttoopenthefrontdoor,justintime,thatshewasstillwearingherslippers.Shewentbackintothelivingroomtochangehershoes.
Shewasforgetful,thatwasall.Funny,though,hownervousshefeltwhensheleftthehousethesedays—sheusedtobeoutandaboutallthetime,shopping,goingtothelibrary,volunteeringattheRedCrossshoponthehighstreet,butyoufelloutofthehabitquickly,afteraperiodofbeinghousebound.Sheneededtowatchthat.Shedidn’twanttoendupbeingoneofthoseoldpeople,toofrightenedtowalkouttheiroldfrontdoor.
Shewas,shehadtoadmit,happytoavoidthesupermarket
—sofulloftheimpatient,unthinking,distractedyoung.Notthatshedidn’tlikeyoungpeople.Shedidn’twanttobecomeoneofthosesortsofelderlyeither—thebittersort,closed-offandself-satisfiedintheirbeigeseniorcitizensandalsorderedfromthebackpagesoftheSundaysupplements.Ireneworeblue-and-orangeNewBalancetrainerswithaVelcrostrap.
TheywereaChristmaspresentfromAngela.Irenehadnothingagainsttheyoung;she’devenbeenyoungherselfonce.Onlyyoungpeoplemadeassumptions,didn’tthey?
Someyoungpeople.Theyassumedyouweredeaf,blind,weak.Someofthesethingsmightbetrue(andsomenot—
Irenehadthehearingofabat;sheoftenwished,infact,giventhepaper-thinwallsofherhouse,thatherhearingwasn’tsoacute).Nevertheless,itwastheassumptionthatrankled.
Backhomefromtheshops,shefoundnothinginthenewspaperaboutDanielSutherland(andnotonlythatbutsherealizedshe’dforgottentobuymarmaladetohaveonhertoast,sothetripwasabust).Shedideventuallylocateherphone(inthebathroom),butitsbatterywas(asshe’dpredicted)flat,andshecouldn’tforthelifeofherrememberwhereshe’dputthecharger.
Infuriating.
Butshewasn’tlosinghermarbles.Itwasn’tdementia.Thatwastheconclusiontowhichpeoplejumpedwhenyouwereoldandforgotthings,asthoughtheyoungdidn’talsomisplacetheirkeysorforgettheoddthingofftheirshoppinglist.Irenewascertainitwasn’tdementia.Shedidnot,afterall,saytoasterwhenshemeanttablecloth,shedidn’tgetlostonthewayhomefromthesupermarket.Shedidn’t(often)losethethreadofaconversation,shedidn’tputtheremotecontrolinthefridge.
Shedidhaveturns.Butitdefinitelywasn’tdementia;herdoctorhadtoldherso.Itwasjustthatifsheletherselfgetrun-down,ifsheforgottodrinkenoughwaterandeatregularly,shebecametiredandthenshebecameconfusedandbeforesheknewit,she’dquitelostherself.Yourresourcesaredepleted,Mrs.Barnes,thedoctortoldherthelasttimethishadhappened.Severelydepleted.Youhavetotakebettercareofyourself,youhavetoeatwell,youhavetostayhydrated.Ifyoudon’t,ofcourseyouwillfindyourselfconfusedanddizzy!Andyoumighthaveanotherfall.Andwedon’twantthat,dowe?
Howtoexplaintohim,thiskind(ifeversoslightlycondescending)youngmanwithhissoftvoiceandhiswateryblueeyes,thatsometimesshewantedtoloseherselfinconfusion?Howonearthtomakecleartohimthatwhileitwasfrightening,thefeelingcouldalsobe,onoccasion,thrilling?Thatsheallowedherself,fromtimetotime,toskipmeals,hopingitwouldcomebacktoher,thatfeelingthatsomeonewasmissing,andthatifshewaitedpatiently,they’dcomeback?
Becauseinthosemomentsshe’dforgetthatWilliam,themanshehadloved,whosebedshe’dsharedformorethanfortyyears,wasdead.Shecouldforgetthathe’dbeengoneforsixyearsandshecouldloseherselfinthefantasythathe’djustgoneouttowork,ortomeetafriendatthepub.And
eventuallyshe’dagainhearhisfamiliarwhistleoutinthelane,andshe’dstraightenherdressandpatherhairdown,andinaminute,justaminute,she’dhearhiskeyinthedoor.
IrenehadbeenwaitingforWilliamthefirsttimeshemetLaura.ThedaytheyfoundAngela’sbody.
Itwasterriblycold.Irenehadbeenworried,becauseshe’dwokenupandWilliamwasn’tthere,andshecouldn’tunderstandwherehe’dgotto.Whyhadn’thecomehome?Shetookherselfdownstairsandputonherdressinggown,shewentoutsideandoh,itwasfreezing,andtherewasnosignofhim.Nosignofanyoneoutinthelane.Wherewaseveryone?
Ireneturnedtogobackinsideonlytofindthatthedoorhadswungshut,butthatwasallrightbecausesheknewbetterthantogooutwithoutakeyinherpocket;shewouldn’tmakethatmistakeagain,notafterlasttime.Butthen—andthiswastheridiculousthing—shejustcouldn’tgetthekeyintothelock.
Herhandswerefrozenintoclaws,andshejustcouldnotdoit,shekeptdroppingthekey,anditwassosilly,butshefoundherselfintears.Itwassocold,andshewasalone,andshe’dnoideawhereWilliamwas.Shecriedout,butnobodycame,andthensherememberedAngie!Angelawouldbenextdoor,wouldn’tshe?Andifsheknockedsoftly,shewouldn’twaketheboyup.
Soshedid,sheopenedthegateandsheknockedsoftlyonthefrontdoor,callingout,“Angela!It’sme.It’sIrene.Ican’tgetbackin.Ican’topenthedoor.Couldyouhelpme?”
Therewasnoreply,andsosheknockedagain,andstillnoreply.Shefumbledforherkeyagain,buthowherfingersached!Herbreathwaswhiteinfrontofherface,andherfeetwerenumb,andassheturnedshestumbledagainstthegate,bangingherhipandcryingout,tearscoursingdownhercheeks.
“Areyouallright?God,you’renotallright,courseyou’renot.Here,here,it’sokay,letmehelpyou.”Therewasagirlthere.Astrangegirlwearingstrangeclothes,trouserswithaflowerypattern,abulkysilverjacket.Shewassmallandthin,withwhite-blondhairandasprinklingoffrecklesoverthebridgeofhernose,andshehadthemostenormousblueeyes,herpupilslikeblackholes.“Fuckinghell,mate,you’refreezing.”ShehadbothofIrene’shandsinherown;shewasrubbingthemgently.“Oh,you’resocold,aren’tyou?Isthisyourplace?Haveyoulockedyourselfout?”Irenecouldsmellalcoholonthegirl’sbreath;shewasn’tsureshelookedoldenoughtodrink,butyouneverknewthesedays.“Istheresomeonein?Oi!”sheyelled,bangingonAngela’sdoor.“Oi!
Letusin!”
“Oh,nottooloud,”Irenesaid.“It’seversolate;Iwouldn’twanttowakethelittleboy.”
Thegirlgaveheranoddlook.“It’ssixthirtyinthemorning,”shesaid.“Ifthey’vegotkids,theyshouldbeawakebynow.”
“Oh…no,”Irenesaid.Thatcouldn’tberight.Itcouldn’tbesixthirtyinthemorning.ThatwouldmeanWilliamhadn’tcomehomeatall,thathe’dbeenoutallnight.“Oh,”shesaid,herfreezingfingersraisedtohermouth.“Whereishe?WhereisWilliam?”
Thegirllookedstricken.“I’msorry,darling,Idon’tknow,”
shesaid.ShetookacrumpledKleenexfromherpocketanddabbedatIrene’sface.“We’llsortitout,allright?Wewill.
ButfirstI’vegottogetyouinside;you’reicecold,youare.”
ThegirlletgoofIrene’shands,turnedbacktowardAngela’sfrontdoorandbangedhardwiththesideofherfist,thenshecroucheddown,pickingupapebbleandhurlingitagainstthewindow.
“Ohdear,”Irenesaid.
Thegirlignoredher.Shewaskneelingnow,pressingherfingersagainsttheflapoftheletterslot,pushingitopen.“Oi!”
sheyelled,andthenallofasuddenshejumpedbackward,flailingintheairforasecondbeforelandingheavilyontheflagstonesonherbonybottom.“Oh,fuckinghell,”shesaid,lookingupatIrene,hereyesimpossiblywide.“JesusChrist,isthisyourhouse?Howlong…JesusChrist.Whoisthat?”Shewasscrabblingtoherfeet,grabbingIrene’shandsagain,roughlythistime.“Whoisthatinthere?”
“It’snotmyhouse,it’sAngela’s,”Irenesaid,quiteperturbedbythegirl’soddbehavior.
“Wheredoyoulive?”
“Well,obviouslyIlivenextdoor,”Irenesaid,andsheheldoutthekey.
“Whythefuckwouldthatbeobvious?”thegirlsaid,butshetookthekeyanywayandunlockedthedoorwithoutaproblem.SheputherarmaroundIrene’sshouldersandguidedherinside.“Comeonthen,yougoin,I’llgetyouacupofteainaminute.Wrapyourselfupinablanketorsomething,yeah?
Youneedtowarmup.”Irenewentintothelivingroom,shesatdowninherusualchair,shewaitedforthegirltobringheracupoftea,likeshesaidshewould,butitdidn’tcome.Instead,shecouldhearsoundsfromthehall:thegirlwasmakingacallfromherphoneinthehallway.
“AreyoucallingWilliam?”Ireneaskedher.
“I’mcallingthepolice,”thegirlsaid.
Irenesatinherfavoritearmchair,andsheheardthegirlsaying,“Yeah,there’ssomeoneinthere,”and“No,no,nochance,it’swaybeyondthat,definitely,onehundredpercent.
Youcansmellit.”
Thensheranoff.Notrightaway—first,shebroughtIreneacupofteawithacoupleofsugarsinit.ShekneltatIrene’s
feet,tookIrene’shandsinherown,andtoldhertosittightuntilthepolicecame.“Whentheygethere,tellthemtogonextdoor,allright?Don’tyougoyourself.Okay?AndthentheycanhelpyoufindWilliam,allright?Just…don’tgooutsideagain,okay,youpromiseme?”Shescrambledbacktoherfeet.“I’vegottascarper,I’msorry,butI’llcomeback.”
Shecroucheddownagain.“Myname’sLaura.I’llcomeseeyoulater.Okay?Youstaygolden,yeah?”
???
BYTHETIMEthepolicearrived,twoyoungwomeninuniforms,Irenehadforgottenthegirl’sname.Itdidn’tseemtomatter,terribly,becausethepoliceweren’tinterestedinher;alltheywereinterestedinwaswhateverwasgoingonnextdoor.Irenewatchedfromherowndoorwayastheycroucheddown,callingoutasthegirlhaddone,andthenstartingback,justasshehaddone.Theyspokeintotheirlittleradios,theycoaxedIrenebackintoherownhome,oneofthemputthekettleon,fetchedablanketfromupstairs.Awhilelater,ayoungmanappeared,wearingabrightlycoloredjacket.Hetookhertemperatureandgentlypinchedherskin,heaskedherlotsofquestions,likewhenshe’dlasteatenandwhatdayitwasandwhowasprimeminister.
Sheknewthelastone.“Oh,thatawfulMaywoman,”shesaidtartly.“I’mnotafan.You’renotafaneitherareyou?”
Themansmiled,shakinghishead.“No,I’dimaginenot,whatwithyoubeingfromIndia.”
“I’mfromWoking,”theyoungmansaid.
“Ah,well.”Irenewasn’tsurewhattosaytothat.Shewasfeelingabitflustered,andveryconfused,anditdidn’thelpthattheyoungmanwashandsome,veryhandsome,withdarkeyesandthelongestlashes,andhishandsweresoft,andsogentle,andwhenhetouchedherwrist,shecouldfeelherselfblush.Hehadabeautifulsmileandakindmanner,evenwhen
headmonishedhergentlyfornottakingcareofherself,tellinghershewasverydehydratedandthatsheneededtodrinklotsofwaterwithelectrolytesinit,whichwasexactlywhatherGP
hadtoldher.
Thehandsomemanleft,andIrenedidasshewastold;sheateapieceoftoastwithsomehoneyonitanddranktwolargeglassesofwaterwithoutelectrolytesbecauseshedidn’thaveanyofthose,andwasatlaststartingtofeelalittlemorelikeherselfwhensheheardthemostterriblecrashfromoutside,aterrifyingsoundand,heartracing,hurriedtothewindowinthelivingroom.Thereweremenoutthere,meninuniformsusingasortofmetalbatteringramtosmashAngie’sdoordown.“Ohdear,”Irenesaidoutloud,thinking—stupidly—thatAngelawasn’tgoingtobepleasedaboutthatatall.
Somehow,still,thepennyhadnotdropped,thatAngelawouldneverbepleasedbyanythingeveragain,anditwasn’tuntilanotherpoliceofficer,adifferentwoman,notinuniform,cameroundandsatherdownandexplainedthatAngelawasdead,thatshe’dfallendownthestairsandbrokenherneck,thatfinallyIreneunderstood.
WhenthepolicewomantoldIrenethatAngelamighthavebeenlyingtherefordays,forasmuchasawholeweek,Irenecouldbarelyspeakfortheshame.PoorAngela,lyingalone,ontheothersideofthatwall,andIrene—havingoneofherturns,lettingherselfslipawayintoconfusion—hadnotevenmissedher.
“Shedidn’tcryout,”Irenesaid,whenatlastshefoundhervoice.“Iwouldhaveheardher.Thesewallsarepaperthin.”
Thepolicewomanwaskind;shetoldIrenethatitwaslikelythatAngelawaskilledinstantlywhenshefell.“Butsurelyyoucantellwhenitwasthatshedied?”Ireneknewalittleaboutforensics,fromherreading.Butthewomansaidthattheheatinghadbeenon,turnedupveryhigh,andthatAngela’sbodyhadbeenlyingrightupagainsttheradiatoratthebottom
ofthestairs,whichmadeitimpossibletoascertainhertimeofdeathwithanyaccuracy.
Noonewouldeverknow,notreally,whathadhappened.
Thepolicesaiditwasanaccident,andIreneacceptedthat,thoughthewholethingfeltwrongtoher,toohastilyconcluded.TherewasconflictinAngela’slife,plentyofit:shearguedwithhersister,shearguedwithherson—orrather,itseemedtoIrene,oneortheotherofthemcamebytoharangueher,leavingherupset,settingheroffonabinge.Irenementionedthearguments—overmoney,overDaniel—tothepolice,buttheydidn’tseeminterested.Angelawasanalcoholic.Shedranktoomuch,shefell,shebrokeherneck.“Ithappensmoreoftenthanyou’dthink,”thekindpolicewomansaid.“Butifyouthinkofanythingelse,anythingthatmightberelevant,”shesaid,handingIreneacardwithatelephonenumberonit,“feelfreetogivemeacall.”
“Isawherwithaman,”Irenesaid,suddenly,justasthewomanwasleaving.
“Okay,”thewomansaidcarefully.“Andwhenwasthis?”
Irenecouldn’tsay.Shecouldn’tremember.Hermindwasablank.No,notablank,itwasfogged.Therewerethingsinthere,memories,importantones,onlyeverythingwasshiftingabout,hazily;shecouldn’tfixonanything.“Twoweeksago,perhaps?”sheventured,hopefully.
Thewomanpursedherlips.“Okay.Canyourememberanythingelseaboutthisman?Couldyoudescribehim,or…”
“Theyweretalkingoutthere,inthelane,”Irenesaid.
“Somethingwaswrong;Angelawascrying.”
“Shewascrying?”
“Shewas.Although…”Irenepaused,caughtbetweenresistancetodisloyaltyandanurgetotellthetruth.“She’s
quiteoftentearfulwhenshehasalittletoomuchtodrink;shegets…melancholic.”
“Right.”Thewomannodded,smiled;shewasreadyfortheoff.“Youdon’trememberwhatthismanlookedlike,doyou?
Tall,short,fat,thin…”
Ireneshookherhead.Hewasjust…normal;hewasaverage.“Hehadadog!”shesaidatlast.“Alittledog.Blackandtan.AnAiredale,perhaps?No,anAiredale’sbigger,isn’tit?Maybeafoxterrier?”
Thatwaseightweeksago.FirstAngelahaddied,andnowhersontoo.Irenehadnoideawhetherthepolicehadeverinquiredaboutthemanshe’dseenoutsidewithAngela;iftheyhad,itcametonothing,becauseherdeathwasrecordedasaccidental.
Accidentsdohappen,andtheyespeciallyhappentodrunks,butmotherandson,eightweeksapart?
Infiction,thatwouldneverstand.SEVEN
Theo’sbedroomwindowoverlookedasmallwalledgarden,andbeyondthewall,thecanal.Onaspringdaylikethisone,theviewwasapaletteofgreens:brightnewgrowthontheplaneandoaks,themutedoliveofweepingwillowsonthetowpath,electriclimeduckweedspreadingacrossthesurfaceofthewater.
Carlasatonthewindowseatwithherkneespulledupunderherchin,Theo’sbathrobe,pilferedfromtheBellesRivesHotelinJuan-les-Pinsalifetimeago,gatheredlooselyaroundher.Itwasalmostsixyearssinceshe’dmovedoutofthishouse,andyetthiswastheplaceshefeltmostherself.
Morethanthemuchgranderhouseshe’dgrownupinonLonsdaleSquare,certainlymorethanherdrablittlemaisonettedowntheroad,thishouse,Theo’shouse,wastheonethatfeltlikehome.
Theowaslyinginbed,thecoversthrownback,readinghisphoneandsmoking.
“Ithoughtyousaidyouwerecuttingdown,”Carlasaid,glancingoverathim,teethgrazinglightlyoverherlowerlip.
“Iam,”hesaid,withoutlookingup.“Inowsmokeonlypostcoitally,postprandially,andwithmycoffee.Sothat’sanabsolutemaximumoffivecigarettesaday,assumingIgetashag,which,Iregrettosay,isnolongerbyanymeansaforegoneconclusion.”
Carlasmileddespiteherself.“Youneedtostartlookingafteryourself,”shesaid.“Seriously.”
Helookedacrossather,alazygrinonhisface.“What,”hesaid,flickingahanddownwardoverhistorso,“youthinkI’moutofshape?”
Carlarolledhereyes.“Youareoutofshape,”shesaid,juttingherchinout,indicatinghisgut.“It’snotamatterofopinion.Youshouldgetanotherdog,Theo.Youdofarmoreexercisewhenyouhaveadog.Itgetsyououtofthehouse,youknowitdoes;otherwiseyoujustsitaround,eatingandsmokingandlisteningtomusic.”
Theoturnedbacktohisphone.“Dixonmightturnup,”hesaidquietly.
“Theo.”Carlagottoherfeet.Sheclamberedbackontothebed,thedressinggownslippingopenasshekneltinfrontofhim.“Hewentmissingsixweeksago.I’msorry,butthepoorchapisn’tcominghome.”
Theolookedupatherdolefully.“Youdon’tknowthat,”hesaid,andreachedforher,placinghishandgentlyonherwaist.
Itwaswarmenoughtoeatbreakfastoutsideonthepatio.
Coffeeandtoast.Theosmokedanothercigaretteandcomplainedabouthiseditor.“He’saphilistine,”hesaid.
“Aboutsixteenyearsold,too.Knowsnothingoftheworld.
Wantsmetotakeoutallthepoliticalstuff,whichis,whenyouthinkaboutit,theveryheartofthenovel.No,no,it’snottheheart,that’swrong.It’sattheroot.Itistheroot.Hewantsitderacinated.Deracinatedandcastintoaseaofsentimentality!
DidItellyou?HethinksSiobhanneedsaromance,tohumanizeher.Sheishuman!She’sthemostfullyrealizedhumanI’veeverwritten.”
Carlatippedherchairback,restingherbarefeetonthechairinfrontofher,hereyesclosed,onlyhalflisteningtohim.She’dheardthisspeech,orsomevariantthereof,before.
She’dlearnedthattherewasn’tagreatdealofpointputtingforwardherview,becauseintheendhe’ddowhateverhewantedtoanyway.Afterawhile,hestoppedtalking,andtheysattogetherincompanionablesilence,listeningtothe
neighborhoodsounds,childrenshoutinginthestreet,theding-ding-dingofbicyclebellsonthetowpath,theoccasionalwaterfowlquack.Thebuzzofaphoneonthetable.Carla’s.
Shepickeditup,lookedatit,and,sighing,putitdownagain.
Theoraisedaneyebrow.“Unwelcomesuitor?”
Sheshookherhead.“Police.”
Helookedatherforalongmoment.“You’renottakingtheircalls?”
“Iwill.Later.”Shebitherlip.“Iwill,Ijust…Idon’twanttokeepgoingoverit,tokeepseeingit.Tokeepimaginingit.”
Theoplacedhishandontopofhers.“It’sallright.Youdon’thavetotalktothemifyoudon’twantto.”
Carlasmiled.“IthinkIprobablydo.”Sheswungherfeetoffthechair,slippingthemintothetoo-largeslippersshe’dborrowedfromTheo.Sheleanedforwardandpouredherselfahalfcupofcoffee,tookasip,andfoundthatitwascold.Shegottoherfeet,clearingawaythebreakfastthings,placingthesilvercoffeepotandtheirmugsontothetray,carryingthemupthestonestepstowardthekitchen.Shereemergedamomentlater,anoldDauntBookstotebagslungoverhershoulder.
“I’mgoingtogoandgetchanged,”shesaid.“IneedtogetbackacrosstoHayward’sPlace.”Shebentdown,brushingherlipsmomentarilyagainsthis.
“Aren’tyoudonethereyet?”heasked,hishandclosingoverherwrist,eyessearchingherface.
“Almost,”shesaid,loweringherlids,turningawayfromhim,disentanglingherself.“I’malmostdone.
“Areyougoingtodoit,then?”shecalledbackoverhershoulder,assheheadedupintothehouse.“AreyougoingtohumanizeSiobhan?Youcouldalwaysgiveheradog,Isuppose,ifyoudon’twanttogiveheralover.AlittleStaffie,maybe,somepitifulrescuemutt.”Theolaughed.“It’strue,
though,isn’tit?You’resupposedtogiveyourcharactersomethingtocareabout.”
“Shehasplentyofthingstocareabout.Shehasherwork,herart…”
“Ah,butthat’snotenough,isit?Awomanwithoutamanorachildorapuppytolove,she’scold,isn’tshe?Coldandtragic,insomewaydysfunctional.”
“You’renot,”Theosaid.
Carlawasstandinginthekitchendoorway;sheturnedtofacehim,asadsmileonherlips.“Youdon’tthinkso,Theo?
Youdon’tthinkmylifeistragic?”
Hegottohisfeet,crossedthelawn,andclimbeduptomeether,takingherhandsinhis.“Idon’tthinkthat’sallyourlifeis.”
Threeyearsaftertheymarried,Theopublishedabook,atragicomedysetinaSiciliantownduringtheSecondWorldWar.Itwasprizenominated(althoughitdidn’tactuallywinanything),ahugebestseller.Abelow-parmovieadaptationfollowed.Theomadeagreatdealofmoney.
Atthetime,Carlawonderedwhetherthebookmightspelltheendoftheirmarriage.Theowasawayallthetime,touring,goingtofestivalsaccompaniedbyprettyyoungpublicists,minglingwithambitioustwentysomethingspromotingmuch-praiseddebuts,rubbingshouldersatpartieswithimpossiblyglamorousHollywooddevelopmentexecutives.Carlaworkedinthecityatthetimeforafundmanager,insales.Atdinnerparties,people’seyesglazedoverwhenshetoldthemwhatshedid;atcocktailparties,theyglancedoverhershoulderinsearchofmorestimulatingconversationalpartners.
Sheneedn’thaveworriedaboutTheo’sheadbeingturned.
Hetiredquicklyoftouringlife,ofthepunishingenthusiasmofbrightyoungthings.Allhereallywantedtodowastostayhome,withher,andtowrite—hewasplanningaprequeltohissuccessfulnovel,chroniclinghisprotagonist’smother’sexperiencesintheFirstWorldWar.AfterCarlafellpregnant,hewasevenless-mindedtotravel,andoncethebabywasborn,lesssostill.
Theohadmissedtwodeadlinesandwasoncoursetomissathirdwhen,justafterhisson’sthirdbirthday,CarlaannouncedthatshehadtogotoBirminghamforasalesconference.She’donlyrecentlygonebacktoworkanditwasvital,shesaid,thatshemaketripslikethisoneifshewasn’tgoingtobesidelined,shuntedontothemommytrack.
“MaybeIcouldcomewithyou?”Theosuggested.“You,me,andBen—wecouldmakeaweekendofit?”
Carla’sheartsankalittle;she’dbeenfantasizingaboutthehoursshemightspendalone,soakinginthebathundisturbed,puttingonafacemask,fixingherselfalongdrinkfromtheminibar.“Thatwouldbelovely,”shesaidcarefully,“onlyI’mnotsurehowthatwouldbeperceived.Youknow,meturningupwithmyhusbandandtoddlerintow?Oh,don’tlooklikethat,Theo!You’venoideawhatit’slike.IfyoushoweduptoaworkdowithBen,they’dgiveyouamedalforfatheroftheyear.IfIdoit,they’llsayshecan’tcope,hermind’snotonthejob,there’snowayshecanhandleanymorethanshealreadydoes.”
Insteadofyielding,insteadofjustsaying,Oh,allrightthen,darling,I’llstayinLondonwithBen,yougoahead,TheosuggestedtheyleaveBenwithhisparents.
“InNorthumberland?HowamIsupposedtogethimallthewaytoAlnmouthbeforeFriday?”
“Theycouldprobablycomeandpickhimup.They’dloveit,Cee,youknowhowMumadoreshim—”
“Oh,forGod’ssake.Ifyoureallyinsistoncoming,he’llhavetogotomysister’s.Anddon’tmakethatface,Angieadoreshimtoo,andshe’sfiveminutesawayandIdon’thavetimetoorganizesomethingelse.”
“But—”
“LetAngiehavehimthistime;nexttimehecangotoyourmum’s.”
Thereneverwasanexttime.
OntheSundaymorning,theyreceivedaphonecallintheirhotelroom.Theywerepacking,gettingreadytoreturntoLondon,quarrelingaboutthebestroutetotake.Themanonthephoneaskedthemtocomedowntothereceptiondesk,thenheseemedtochangehismind,spoketosomeoneelse,andthensaidthatinfacttheyshouldwaitintheirroom,thatsomeonewouldcometothem.
“Whatonearthisthisabout?”Carlaasked,butshereceivednoreply.
“Ibetsomefucker’sbrokenintothecar,”Theosaid.
Thereweretwopoliceofficers,amanandawoman.Therehadbeenanaccident,theysaid,atCarla’ssister’shome.Benhadfallenfromthebalconyonthesecondfloorofthehouseontothegardenstepsbelow.
“Butshekeepsthestudydoorshut,”Carlasaiddumbly.
“Therailingsonthebalconyarebroken,sothedoorisalwaysshut.”
Thedoorhadn’tbeenshut,though,andlittleBenhadtoddledoutandslippedthroughtherailings,fallingontothestonestepstwentyfeetbelow.Hiseight-year-oldcousin,
playinginthegarden,foundhim;he’dcalledanambulancerightaway.
“Ishegoingtobeallright?Ishegoingtobeallright?”
CarlakeptaskingthesamequestionoverandoverbutTheowasalreadyonhisknees,howlinglikeananimal.Thepoliceofficer,thewoman,hadtearsinhereyesandherhandswereshaking.Sheshookherheadandsaidthatshewasverysorry,thattheparamedicshadarrivedwithinminutesbuttherewasnothingtheycoulddotosavehim.“Butishegoingtobeokay?”Carlaaskedagain.
AfterCarlaandAngela’smotherdied,tooyoung,ofbreastcancer,theirfatherstayedonintheramblingthree-storyfamilyhomeonLonsdaleSquare,althoughitwasobviousitwastoomuchforhim,theclimbfromhisstudyonthesecondfloortothebedroomsonthethirdtakinglongerandlonger,becomingmoreandmoreprecarious.Thegardenbecamewildandovergrown,thegutterswentuncleared,theroofleaked,thewindowframesbegantorot.AndthewroughtironrailingsonthelittleJulietbalconyleadingoffhisstudyrustedallthewaythrough.
Theirfathermovedintoacarehomesixmonthsbeforehedied,andsinceCarlawasalreadylivingwithTheobythistime,Angelatooktheoldplaceover.Shehadgrandplansforit,sheforesawyearsofpainstakingrenovation,shedesignedmuralssheplannedtopaintinthehallwaysandabovethestaircase.Firstoff,however,weretheessentialrepairjobs,thetopprioritybeingtheroof.That,ofcourse,tookallthemoneytherewastospare,soeverythingelsehadtobeputonhold.
TherustedrailingswerebarelythoughtofuntilDanielwasborn.Oncehewasoldenoughtocrawl,Angelalockedthestudydoorandleftitthatway.Therulewasthestudydoorstayedshut.Atalltimes,thestudydoorstayedshut.
“WherewasAngela?”CarlaandTheoweresittinginthebackofapolicecar,neitherinafitstatetodrive.“Wherewasshe?”Carla’svoicebarelymorethanawhisper,hereyessqueezedtightlyshut.“Ijust…Idon’tunderstand.WherewasAngela?”
“Shewasinherbedroom,”thepolicewomantoldher.“Shewasupstairs.”
“But…whydidDanielhavetocalltheambulance?Whatwasmysisterdoing?”
“Itseemsshewassleepingwhentheaccidenthappened,”
thepolicewomansaid.
“Shewasn’tsleeping,”Theosaid,“shewassleepingitoff
Wasn’tshe?”
“Wedon’tknowthat,”Carlasaid,reachingforhishand.
Hesnappedhishandfromhersasthoughscalded.“Don’twe?”
ThepolicedrovethemstraighttoWhittingtonHospital.Theyweremetbyafamilyliaisonofficerwhotriedtopersuadethemnottoseethebody.“Itwouldbefarbetter,”shesaid,“torememberyourlittleboyathishappiest.Runningaround,orridinghisbike…?”Theydidn’tlistentoher.Neitherofthemcouldcountenanceneverseeinghimagain;itwasanabsurdthingtoask.
Inacoldandbrightlylitroom,theystayedformorethananhour,passingtheirsonbetweenthem.Theykissedhistinyfingers,thesolesofhisfeet.Theywarmedhiscoldfleshwiththeirhandsandtheirtears.
Afterward,thepolicedrovethembacktotheirhomeonNoelRoad,whereTheo’sparentswerewaitingforthem.
“Whereisshe?”wereTheo’sfirstwordstohismother.Shejerkedherheadtowardthestairs.
“Upthere,”shesaid,herfaceandvoicetightasadrum.
“She’sinthespareroom.”
“Theo,”Carlasaid,“please.”
Sheheardhimshouting.“Youwerefuckingsleepingitoff,weren’tyou?Youwerehungover,weren’tyou?Youlefthim,youlefthimalone,youleftthedooropen,youlefthim.Youlefthim.Youlefthim.”Angelawaswailing,keeninginagony,butTheowouldnotrelent.“Getoutofmyhouse!Don’tyouevercomebackhere.Idon’teverwanttoseeyouagain.”
CarlaheardDaniel;hewascryingtoo.“Leaveheralone!
UncleTheo!Please!Leaveheralone!”
???
THEYCAMEDOWNSTAIRS,AngelaandDaniel,holdinghands.
Angelatriedtoembracehersister,butCarlawouldnothaveit;sheturnedaway,shehunchedhershouldersandcroucheddownandcurledherselfintoaball,likeananimalprotectingitselffromapredator.
Whentheyweregoneandthefrontdoorwasclosed,Theo’smotherturnedtoCarlaandsaid,“Whydidn’tyoulethimcometome?Iwouldhavelookedafterhim.”Carlagottoherfeet,sheballedherhandsintofists,shewalkedthroughthekitchenintothebackgarden,whereherson’stricyclelayonitssideinthemiddleofthelawn,andshestartedtoscream.
CarlaandTheoblamedthemselvesandeachotherendlessly;everysentencebeganwithanif.
Ifyouhadn’tgonetotheconference
Ifyouhadn’tinsistedoncoming
Ifyouhadn’tbeensoworriedaboutperceptionsIfwehadtakenhimtomyparents
Theirheartswerebroken,shatteredforever,andnoamountoflove,nomatterhowdeep,howfierce,wouldbeenoughtomendthem.EIGHT
Twenty-threehoursafterthey’dpickedherup,thepolicetoldLaurashecouldgohome.ItwasEggwhodeliveredthenews.“We’lllikelyneedtospeaktoyouagain,Laura,”hesaid,“sodon’tgoanywhere.”
“Ohyeah,noproblem,I’llcancelthattriptoDisneyWorldIhadplanned,don’tyouworry,”Laurareplied.
Eggnodded.“Youdothat,”hesaid,andhesmiledhissadsmileather,theonethattoldhersomethingbadwascoming.
Itwasaftertenwhenshewalkedoutofthestationintoacoldandsteadydrizzle.ShecaughtthebusonGray’sInnRoad,collapsing,exhausted,ontotheonlyspareseatonthedownstairsdeck.Thewomannexttoher,broad-beamedandsmartlydressed,wrinkledhernose,shiftingherselfclosertothewindowinanattempttominimizecontactwiththisdampandsmellynewarrival.Lauratiltedherheadbackagainsttheseat,closinghereyes.Thewomansuckedherteeth.Lauraignoredher,turningherfaceaway.Thewomansighed.Laurafeltherjawtenseandherfiststighten.Counttoten,herfatherusedtosay,soshetried,onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree—shecouldn’tgetpastthree,couldn’tgetanywhereatall,andthewomansighedagain,shiftingherfatarsearound,andLaurawantedtoscreamather,It’snotmyfaultit’snotmyfaultit’snotmyfuckingfault
Shegottoherfeet.“Iknow,”shesnapped,eyeballingherneighbor,“Istink.IknowIdo.I’vebeeninapolicestationfortwenty-fourhoursandbeforethatIwasdoingmygroceryshoppingandbeforethatIhadaneight-hourshiftatworksoIhaven’thadashowerin,like,twodays.Notmyfault.Butyou
knowwhat?InhalfanhourI’llbesmellingofrosesandyou’llstillbeahugefatcow,won’tyou?”
Lauraturnedawayandgotoffthebusthreestopsearly.Allthewayhomeshecouldn’tstopseeingthewoman’shurtexpression,herfacecrimsonwithembarrassment,andshehadtobitetheinsideofhercheektostopherselffromcrying.
Theliftwasstilloutoforder.Shedraggedherselfupsevenflights,fightingtearsalltheway:tired,herlegaching,thecutonherarmthrobbing,starving.She’dbeengivenfoodatthestation,butinheranxietyhadn’tbeenabletoswallowamouthful.Shewasravenous,herheadlightwithhungerassheslippedhersparekeyintothelock,jiggleditabout,coaxedthedooropen.Thekitchenlookedasthoughithadbeenransacked
—hadbeenransacked,shesupposed,bythepolice—thedrawersandcupboardsopen,potsandplatesstrewnabout.
Amongthemlaytheruinedfoodshe’dboughtfromthesupermarketwiththelastofhermoney.
Sheturnedherbackonitall.Turnedoffthelightsandwenttoherroomwithoutshoweringorbrushingherteeth.Shecrawledintobed,sobbingquietly,tryingtosootheherselfbystrokingthenapeofherneck,thewayherfatherusedtodotoeasehertosleepwhenshewastroubled,orinpain.
She’dhadplentyofit,troubleandpain.Herearlychildhood,livedoutingrimysouthLondon,wasuneventful.Souneventful,sherememberedalmostnothingofitexceptforanoddlysepia-tonedmentalimageofaterracedhouseonanarrowstreet,thesensationofdry,scratchylawnbeneathherfeetinsummer.Hermemoryseemedonlytobloomintofullcolorfromaroundtheageofnine,whichwaswhensheandherparentsmovedtoalittlevillageinSussex.Whereallthetroublestarted.
Notthattherewasanythingwrongwiththevillage.Lauralikedthevillage;itwasquaintandpretty,withstonecottagesandcricketonthevillagegreen,politeneighborswithblondchildrenandLabradoodles.Laura’smother,Janine,declareditstultifying,whichwasabadthing,apparently.Lauralikedit.
Shelikedthevillageschool,wheretherewereonlyfifteenpeopleinherclass,wheretheteachersdeclaredheraveryadvancedreader.Shelikedridingherbike,completelyunsupervised,alongnarrowcountrylanes,insearchofblackberries.
Laura’sfather,Philip,hadsecuredajobinanearbytown.
He’dgivenuponhisdreamofalifeintheaterstagedesignandwasnowworkingasanaccountant,afactthatpromptedJaninetorollhereyeswheneveritwasmentioned.“Anaccountant,”shewouldhiss,drawinghardonhercigarette,pluckingatthesleevesofherpeasanttop.“Doesn’tthatsoundlikefun?”
“Lifecan’tjustbeaboutfunallthetime,Janine.Sometimesonejusthastobeanadult.”
“AndGodforbidadultsshouldhaveanyfun,right,Philip?”
Herparentshadn’talwaysbeenlikethis,itseemedtoLaura.Shevaguelyrememberedhermotherbeinghappier.
Sherememberedatimewhenhermotherhadnotsatatthedinnertablewithherarmsfoldedacrossherchest,barelypickingatherfood,replyinginsullentonestoherfather’severyquestion.Therewasatimewhenhermotherhadlaughedallthetime.Whenshehadsung!
“WecouldgobacktoLondon,”Laurawouldsuggest,andhermotherwouldsmileforamomentandsmoothherhair,andthenlookwistfullyintothemiddledistance.Butherfatherwouldreply—toobrightly,withalittletoomuchvim—“Wecan’tgoback,chicken,I’vegotajobherenow.Andwe’vegotsuchanicehousehere,haven’twe?”
Atnight,Lauraheardthemarguing.
“You’vegotajob,”hermotherhissedinahorriblevoice,
“infinancialadvice!Christ’ssake,Philip,isthatreallywhatyouwanttodowithyourlife?Countotherpeople’smoneyallday?”
And
“Isthatreallythelifewe’regoingtolive?Anordinaryone?
Inthecountryside?InSussex?Because,youknow,that’snotwhatIsignedupfor.”
And
“Signedupfor?Thisisamarriage,Janine,notadramacourse.”
Laura,ahopefulchild,pretendednottohearthearguments,convincedthatifsheworkedveryhardandbehavedverywellthenwhateveritwasthatwasmakinghermotherunhappywouldblowover.Lauratriedhardtopleaseher;shewasquicktopassoncomplimentsfromteachersortoshowheranydrawingsshe’ddoneatschool.
Athomeintheafternoons,Laurastayedbyhermother’sside;shehelpedoutiftherewascleaningtodo,orsatathersidewhilesheread,orfollowedherquietlyfromroomtoroomasshemovedrestlesslyaroundthehouse.Shetriedtoreadherfacialexpressions,triedtoimaginewhatitwasthatshewasthinkingabout,thatmadehersighlikethat,orblowthefringeoutofhereyesinthatway,triedtofigureoutwhatshecoulddotoearnasmile,whichsometimesshesucceededindoing,althoughsometimeshermotherwouldyell,“Christ’ssake,Laura,givemeaminute,wouldyou?Justoneminutetomyself?”
Intheautumn,Janinestartedtakingartclasses.AndbythetimetheChristmasholidayscamearound,somethinghadchanged.Afreezingwindblewinfromtheeast,bringingwith
itachinglybeautifulblueskies,abitterchill,andasiffromnowhere,afamilialthaw.Atruceseemedtohavebeendeclared.Laurahadnoideawhy,butsomethinghadshifted,becausetheargumentsstopped.Herfathernolongerlookedhangdog,harassed.Hermumsmiledwhileshedidthewashingup,shecuddledupclosetoherwhiletheywatchedtelevisionintheevenings,insteadofsittingapart,inthearmchair,readingherbook.They’devenbeenonoutingstoLondon,oncetoHamleysandoncetothezoo.
Thenewyearstartedinaglowofoptimism,hermotherwavingherofftoschoolinthemorningwithasmileonherlips.Therewasevenapromiseofafamilysleddingtripontheweekend,ifitsnowed.
Itdidsnow,buttheydidn’tgosledding.
ThatFriday,twoandahalfinchesofsnowfellinlessthananhour,enoughtocancelfootballpractice.Itwasonlyjustafterthreeo’clockwhenLaurafreewheeleddownthehilltowardhome,ridingoutinthemiddleoftheroad,wherethesnowhadmeltedcleanawayduetotheweightoftraffic,butitwasalreadygettingdark,andsheneithersawnorheardthecarthatswungoutintotheroad.Itseemedtocomefromnowhere.
Shewasthrowntwelvefeet,landingonherbackontheroad,thecrackofherhelmetonthetarmacaudibletohermother,whowasstandinginthedrivewayinfrontofthehouse.Herskullwasfractured,herlegandpelvisbadlybroken.Thedriverofthecarthathadhitherdidnotstop.
Thencamethetrouble,andthepain.Sixoperations,monthsandmonthsinhospital,hoursuponhoursofagonizing,exhaustingphysicaltherapy,speechtherapy,traumacounseling.Everythinghealed,eventually.Moreorless.Abadseedhadbeensown,andalthougheverythinggotbetter,Laurawasleftworse.Shewasslower,angrier,lesslovable.Inside
herabitterdarknessbloomedasshewatched,withhelplessdesperation,heronce-limitlesshorizonsnarrow.
Inthemorning,Lauraputallthedefrostedfoodintothemicrowaveandblitzedthelot.Sheateasmuchofitasshecouldstomach,threwtherestinthebin,andgotdressedforwork.
“Whatd’youthinkyou’redoing?”Maya,Laura’sbossatthelaunderette,saidwhenshecameinfromthebackroomtofindLauratakingoffhercoatandhangingitonthepegbehindthecounter.
“It’smyshift,”Laurasaid.“It’sWednesday.”
“Yeah,andyesterdaywasTuesday,anditwasalsoyourshift,onlyyoudidn’tshowup,didyou?”LaurastartedtosaysomethingbutMayaheldupthepalmofherhand.“Nah,I’mnotinterested.I’msorrybutI’mnotflippinginterested,Laura,Idon’tcarewhatyourexcuseisthistime,I’veabsolutelyhadit—”
“Maya,I’msorry—”
“Doyouknowwhatyesterdaywas?Doyou?Itwasmygrandson’sfifthbirthdayandhismumwastakinghimonaspecialoutingtothezooandIwassupposedtobetherean’
all,onlyIflippingwasn’t,wasI?BecauseIwashere,coveringforyou,whodidn’tevenhavethedecencytocallme.”
“Icouldn’t,Maya,I’msosorry,Ireallyam,I’msosorryforlettingyoudown—”
“Youcouldn’tcall?Why?Bangedup,wereyou?”Laurahungherhead.“Oh,you’vegottobebloodyjoking!ExcusemyFrench,butyougotarrestedagain?”Mayaraisedbothhandsinagestureofsurrender.“I’msorry,love,butIcan’thavethis.Ijustcan’t.Enough’senough.I’veputupwith
enoughofyournonsense.Andyou’vebeenwarned,haven’tyou?Timeandagain.Late,unreliable,rudetothecustomers
—”
“ButMaya,itwasn’t—”
“Iknow!Iknowwhatyou’regoingtosay.It’snotyourfault.It’sneveryourfault.Maybeitisn’t.Maybeitisn’tyourfault,butit’sflippingwellnotmine,isit?”
Lauravomitedonthepavementoutsidethelaunderette.Fishfingersandpizzaallovertheplace.“Ididn’tdoitonpurpose!”sheyelledthroughthewindowatMaya,whowaswatchingher,open-mouthed,aghast.Shedidn’tdoitonpurpose.Itwasn’tlikeshecouldthrowupondemand—itwasjustthatshe’dstuckhercardintothecashmachinerightnextdoortothelaunderetteandconfirmedthatshehadsevenpoundsandfifty-sevenpenceinherbankaccount,which,combinedwiththefourpoundsinchangeshehadinherpurse,wasallshehadintheworld.Andnowshe’dbeensacked.Ithitherthen,likeastraightpunchtothesolarplexus—gettingsackedmeantgettingsanctioned.Theycouldwithholdherhousingbenefit;they’ddoneittopeoplesheknew,sometimesformonths.She’dbehomeless,shethought,unlessshewenttoprisonformurder.Thatwaswhenshethrewup.Shewipedhermouthandwalkedaway,bitingdownonherbottomlip,tryingtoquellthefeelingrisinginherfreshlyemptiedstomach,ofpurepanic.
Assoonasshegothome,sheranghermother,becausenomatterhowbadlyhermotherdisappointedher,howmanytimeshermotherletherdown,Lauracouldn’tseemtostopherselffromlovingher,frombelievingthatthistime,thingsmightbedifferent.
“Mum?Canyouhearme?”Therewasacrackleontheline,noiseinthebackground.“Mum?”
“Laura!Howareyou,darling?”
“Mum…I’mnotsogood.Couldyoucomeandseeme?”
Alongpause.“Mum?”
“Sorry,sweetheart?”
“Isaid,wouldyoubeabletocomeforavisit?”
“We’reinSpainatthemoment,sothatmightbetricky!”
Shelaughed,alowthroatylaughthatmadeLaura’sheartache.
“We’llbebackinafewweeks,though,somaybethen.”
“Oh.Afewweeks?I…whereareyou?”
“Seville.Youknow,liketheoranges.”
“Yes,I’veheardofSeville.”Sheswallowedhard.“Listen,Mum,someshit’shappenedandI’minabitoftrouble….”
“Oh,Laura!Notagain.”
Laurabitherlip.“Yes,again.Sorry.But…Iwaswondering,couldyoulendmesomemoney,totidemeover?
I’vejusthadabitofbadluck,itreallywasn’tmyfault….”
“Laura…”Therewasanothercrackleontheline.
“Imissedthat,Mum.”
“I’msayingit’sjustnotsuchagoodtimeatthemoment;thingsareverytightforus.”
“InSeville?”
“Yes,inSeville.Richard’sgotsomepiecesinanartfairhere,butit’soneofthosedealswhereyouhavetopaythedealerforspace,so…”
“He’snotsoldany,then?”
“Notyet.”
“Okay.”Therewasalongpause,anothercrackle,Lauraheardhermothersigh,andinthatmoment,something
cracked;shefeltherdisappointmentwraplikeafistaroundherheart.
“Laura,areyoucrying?Oh,Laura,don’t.Please.Don’tdothis.YouknowIcan’tbearitwhenpeopletrytoemotionallymanipulateme.”
“I’mnot,”Laurasaid,butshewassobbingnow.“I’mnot.”
“Listentome,”hermothersaid,hertonebrisk,businesslike.“Youhaveagoodcry,andthenyouringmeback,allright?I’lltalktoRichardaboutthemoney,okay?
Laura?Youtakecarenow.”
Lauracriedforalittlewhile,andwhenshewasdone,allemotionspent,shecalledherfather,whodidn’tpickup.Sheleftamessage.“Dad,hi.Yeah,soIgotarrestedyesterday,accusedofmurder,they’veletmegowithoutachargebutIgotfired’cosImissedworkduetobeinginpolicecustodyandallthefoodIboughtwentoffandI’vegotfuckallmoneyleftsocouldyougivemeacallback?Cheers.It’sLaura,bytheway.”
TheOneWhoGotAway
Whenhewakesthatmorning,hecan’timaginehowthedayisgoingtogo,can’timaginehowit’sgoingtoendup,allthehighsandlows.
Doesn’timagine,whilehe’sshavinginthedirtymirrorinthebackbathroom,rustywaterinthesink,stinkofshiteverywhere,doesn’timaginethathe’llmeetsuchalovelygirl.
Howcouldheimaginehowit’dgo?Howshe’dteasehimandflirtwithhimandhurthisfeelingsandthencomerunningback,thumbstuckout,askingforhelp,askingforhiscompany,forhishandonherlovelysoftthighinthefrontseatofthecar.
Whenhewakesthatmorning,hecan’t
imaginetherough-and-tumblelateron,theexcitementofit,theanticipation.NINE
Fourdaysaweek,MiriamworkedatBooksonaBoat,afloatingbookshoponthecanal,justbeyondBroadwayMarket.Theshop,amixofnewandused,hadbeencirclingtheplugholeofbankruptcyforyears.Nicholas,itsowner,hadinrecenttimesbeenforcedtorelyon—inhiswords—thekindnessofhipsters(crowdfunding)tokeeptheplaceafloat.
(Thiswasliterallytrue:they’drecentlycrowdfundedtorepairdamagetotheboat’shullwhenitstartedtotakeonwater.)Miriam’sfunctionwas,toalargedegree,backoffice—shedidtheaccounts,keptontopofmostoftheadmin,stackedshelves,andkepttheplacetidy.Shewasnolongerpermittedtoservecustomers(toorude),norwassheallowedtowritetheshelftalkers—thelittleblurbswherebookshopstaffgavetheirviewsonthelatestreleases(toobrutal).Plus,shewasoff-putting.Nicholasneversaidso,buthedidn’tneedto.Miriamknewverywellthatshewasnotanappealingpersontolookat,thatshedidnotdrawpeopletoher,thatwhatevertheoppositeofmagnetismwas,shehaditinspades.Shewasconsciousofthesethingsandwaspreparedtofacethem.Whynot,afterall?Whatwouldbethealternative?Therewaslittlepointinpretendingthatthingswereotherthantheywere,thatshewasotherthanwhatshewas.
Wednesdays,Nicholaswenttoseehistherapist,soMiriamopeneduptheshop.Alwaysontime,neverlate,notbyaminute;shecouldn’taffordtobe.Thismorning,sheduckedundertheCatandMuttonBridgeatexactlyquartertonineandsowassurprisedtoseethat,already,therewasacustomerstandingoutsidetheshop,handscuppedaroundhisface,tryingtopeerthroughawindow.Atourist,shethought,and
thenthemansteppedbackandlookedherwayandMiriamfroze,adrenalinespiking.TheoMyerson.
Recovering,sheremindedherself:thiswormwasturning.
Shetookadeepbreath,drewherselfuptoherfullfivefeettwoinches,andmarchedconfidentlytowardhim.“CanIhelpyou?”shecalledout.
Hisfacedarkening,hehoppedofftheboatandcametomeether.“Youcan,actually,”hesaid.
Asluckwouldhaveit,therewasamomentarylullinfoottrafficandthepairfoundthemselvesaloneonthepath.Thebridgebehindher,theboatbefore,TheoMyersonwasinherway.“We’renotopenyet,”shesaid,andshesteppedout,towardthewater,tryingtoedgepasthim.“Weopenatnine.
You’llhavetocomeback.”
Myersonshiftedinthesamedirection,blockingherpathoncemore.“I’mnotheretobrowse,”hesaid.“I’mheretowarnyoutostayoutofmybusiness.Toleavemyfamilyalone.”
Miriamshovedhertremblinghandsintoherpockets.“Ihaven’tbeenanywherenearyourfamily,”shesaid.
“Unless…doyoumeanyournephew?”Shelookedhimdeadintheeye.“Horriblebusiness.”Retrievingthebookshopkeyfromherbag,sheelbowedherwaypasthimatlast.“I’mawitness,didtheytellyouthat?Thepolicecametoseeme,askedmeawholelotofquestions,andIansweredthem.”
SheturnedtolookatTheo,atightsmileonherface.
“Wouldyouhavehadmedootherwise?Itellyouwhat”—shereachedintoherhandbagandtookouthermobilephone
—“shallIgivethemaring?Ihavethedetective’snumberinmyphone;hesaidIshouldcallifIrememberedanything,orifInoticedanythinguntoward.ShallIringhimnow,shallItellhimthatyou’vecomeheretoseeme?”Miriamwatchedtheconsternationpassoverhisfacelikeashadow,andtherushof
pleasureshefeltwasintenseandquiteunexpected.“Mr.
Myerson?”
Sothis,Miriamthoughttoherself,iswhatpowerfeelslike.
WhenMiriamgothomefromworkthatevening,beforeshe’devenmadeherselfacupofteaorwashedherhands,shetookherwoodenbox,theoneinwhichshekepthertrinkets,fromtheshelfabovethewoodburnerandplaceditonherkitchentable.Sheopeneditupandsortedthroughitscontents,aritualsheengagedinfromtimetotimetosootheheranxiety,awayofcalmingherself,orderingherthoughts,focusingonwhatitreallywasthatwasimportanttoher.
Shewasanoddfishandsheknewit;sheknewwhatshewasandsheknewhowpeoplesawher.PeoplelookedatMiriamandtheysawafat,middle-agedwomanwithnomoneyandnohusbandandnopower.Theysawanoutsider,livinginahouseboat,clothesfromthecharityshop,cuttingherownhair.Somepeoplelookedatheranddismissedher,somepeoplelookedatherandthoughttheycouldtakewhatevertheyliked,imaginedshewaspowerlessandcouldn’tdoathingaboutit.
Fromtheboxinfrontofher,Miriamtookoutapieceofpaper,asheetofA4,foldedinhalfandintoquarters;sheunfoldedit,spreaditoutinfrontofher.Sherantheheelofherhandovertheletterhead,shereadthewordsagain,wordsshehadreadsooftenshefeltshemightbeabletorecitethem,oratleastthemostoffensivepartsofthem,byheart.
DearMrs.Lewis,
Iwriteasin-housecounselforHarrisMackey,TheoMyerson’spublishers,inresponsetoyourletterofFebruary4.IwriteonbehalfofboththecompanyandMr.Myerson,whohasapprovedthecontentsofthis
letter.WewishtomakeitclearfromtheoutsetthatMr.
Myersoncompletelydeniestheallegationsofcopyrightinfringementmadeinyourletter;yourclaimisentirelywithoutmerit.
YourclaimthatTheOneWhoGotAway,thenovelpennedbyMr.Myersonandpublishedunderthepseudonym“CarolineMacFarlane,”copies“themesandsignificantportionsoftheplot”ofyourmemoirisflawedforanumberofreasons.
Inordertoestablishavalidcopyrightinfringementclaim,thereneedstobeacausalconnectionbetweentheclaimant’sworkandtheallegedlyinfringingwork;youmustdemonstratethatyourmemoirwasusedbyMr.
MyersoninwritingTheOneWhoGotAway.
Mr.Myersonacknowledgesthatyouaskedhimtoreadyourmanuscriptand,despitehisextremelybusyscheduleandconsiderabledemandsonhistime,heagreedtodoso.AsMr.MyersonexplainedtoyouwhenyouwenttohishouseonDecember2,heplacedthemanuscriptintohisluggagewhenheflewtoBuenosAiresforaliteraryfestival;unfortunately,hisluggagewaslostbyBritishAirwaysandwasnotrecovered.Mr.Myersonwasthereforeunabletoreadyourmanuscript.
ThesimilaritiesyouclaimbetweenTheOneWhoGotAwayandyourownmemoirarenothingmorethangenericthemesandideas…
Weconsideritneitherreasonablenornecessarytoaddresseveryweakcomparisonyouattempttomake…
YouhavemadeseriousandfalseallegationsagainstMr.Myerson…
AnylegalactionbyyouwouldbeinappropriateandunreasonableandwouldberobustlydefendedbyMr.
Myerson;hewouldlooktorecoveralllegalcostsfrom
youwhich,inlightoftheabove,wehavenodoubtthecourtwouldgrant.
Thereitwas,inblackandwhite.Foralltheinsultstheyhurledather,forallthehurtful,unpleasantaccusations,forallthedismissalofherclaimsasentirelywithoutmerit,flawed,weak,false,inappropriate,unreasonable,thesubstanceoftheirargument,boileddowntoitsessence,couldbefoundinthatfinalsentence:Wehaveallthemoneyandthereforeallthepower.Youhavenothing.
Handstrembling,Miriamrefoldedtheletterandtuckeditbackintothebottomofthebox,retrievinginsteadthelittleblacknotebookinwhichsherecordedcomingsandgoingsonthecanal.Shehadlivedhere,onthisboat,forsixyears,andshehadlearnedthatyouhadtobevigilant.Allhumanlifewashere:good,decent,hardworking,generouspeople,mixedinwithdrunksanddruggiesandthievesandalltherest.Youhadtokeepyourwitsaboutyou.Youhadtokeepyoureyespeeled.Youhadtolearntowatchoutforpredators.(Miriamknewthatbetterthanmost.)
So,shenotedthingsdown.Shehad,forexample,notedthetimeonFridayeveningwhenMadLaurafromthelaunderettehadshownupwithDanielSutherland;shehadmadeanotetooofwhenCarlaMyerson,theboy’saunt,withhergoodhaircutandhernicecoatandherstraightteeth,hadcomeknocking.
LastWednesdayitwas.TwodaysbeforeDanieldied.Bottleofwineinhand.
Next,shepickedupthekey—MadLaura’skey,theoneshe’dtakenfromthefloorofthedeadman’sboat.Sheturneditoverinherfingers,feelingitsedges,stilltackywithblood.
Miriamhadthesensethat,whateverthegirlmighthavedone,Laurashouldbeprotected.Afterall,shewasanotherwithoutpower,wasn’tshe?Oh,shewaspretty,bright-eyed,andslender,butshewaspoortoo,andtroubled.Therewassomethingwrongwithher;shewalkedwithalimp,andhad
somethingmentallywrongtoo.Notquiteright.Peoplecouldtakeadvantageofsomeonelikethat,asmall,powerlessyoungthinglikeLaura,justastheyhadtakenadvantageofMiriam.
Butpowershifts,doesn’tit,sometimesinunexpectedways?Powershifts,andwormsturn.
Whatif,contrarytowhatshe’dwrittendowninherlittlebook,Miriamhadn’tseenLauraatall?Whatif,asshe’dtoldthepolice,she’donlyseenCarlaMyersonwithDanielSutherland?Andwhatif,nowshecametothinkaboutit,shemightevenhaveseenCarlaMyersonmorethanonce?Thedetectivehadaskedhertogetintouchifshethoughtofanythingelse,hadn’the?Ifsherememberedsomething,itdidn’tmatterhowsmall,thatmightbesignificant?Whatif—
oh,nowitwascomingbacktoher!—sherememberedoverhearingsomething,raisedvoices,she’dthoughtmerrimentatfirst,butperhapsitwassomethingelse,perhapsitwasanargument?
Miriammadeherselfacupofteaandsoakedherfeet,workingherwaymethodicallythroughhalfapacketofdigestivebiscuitswhilesheconsideredwhatsheneededtotellthedetectiveinspector.Shouldshemention,forexample,herencounterwithMyersonthatmorning?Orwasthatcardbestheldback,keptinreservetoplayanothertime?Shewasacutelyawarethatsheneededtobecarefulabouthowshehandledthings,thatsheshouldnotbereckless,shouldnotletthisnewpowerofhersgotoherhead.
Sherangthedetective’smobilephone,listenedtohisvoicemailgreeting.
Hello,DetectiveBarker?It’sMiriamLewis.YousaidIshouldcallyou,ifIthoughtofanything?Well,it’sjustthat…
it’soccurredtomethatthewomanIsaw,theoneItoldyouabout,theolderwoman?I’vejustrememberedthatIsawherontheFridaynight.Youknow,Iwasthinkingitwasthe
Thursday,becauseI’djustcomebackfromworkwhenIsawhergoingpast,shewascarryingabottleofwine,yousee,notthatthat’simportantbutthethingisthatI’djustcomebackfromwork,butIdidn’tgotoworklastThursdaybecauseIhadabitofastomachbugwhichisunusualformebecauseI’vegottheconstitutionofanoxgenerallybutinanycaseIwasn’tfeelingwellonThursdayandsoIdidmyshiftonFridayinstead…
Miriamendedthecall.Sheleanedforwardtotakeanotherbiscuitfromthepacketandthenreclined,swingingherlegsupontothebench.Howsatisfyingthiswas,toholdsomethingoverMyerson!Sheimagined,foramoment,thegreatmanhimself,standinginhisstudy,holdingthephone,acallfromthedetectives,perhaps,tellinghimtheyweretakingherinforquestioning,hisdarlingCarla.Sheimaginedhispanic.Whatwouldsuchanordealdotoher?Andjustthinkaboutthebadpress!
Thatwouldteachhim,wouldn’tit,fortakingwhatwasn’this?FortreatingMiriamasthoughshewerenothing,asthoughshewerematerial,tobeusedanddiscardedashewished.
AndifCarlasufferedtoo,well,thatwasn’tideal,butjustasmyenemy’senemyismyfriend,sometimesmyenemy’sfriendisalsomyenemy,andthatjustcouldn’tbehelped,thatwasthewayoftheworld.Thatwashowthissortofthinghappened;itwasn’tfair.Inanysortofconflict,therewereboundtobeinnocentcasualties.
Miriamclosedhernotebook.Sheputitbackintothebox,andontopofit,Laura’skey,nestlingagainstthemahoganywithLorraine’sgoldhoopearrings,thesilvercrossherfathergavetoheronherconfirmationwhenshewasfourteen,andanIDfromadogcollar,inscribedwiththenameDixon.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Thesobbinghasstopped.Therearedifferentnoisesnow.
Thegirlusesthecoverofthesenewsoundstobreakthewindow.Then,workingquickly,sheclearsasmuchglassasshecanbeforetryingtoclimbout.Neverthelessshecutsherselfbadly,onhershoulders,hertorso,herthighs,assheforceshersolidfleshthroughthesmallsquareofthewindowframe.
Onherhaunches,shesits,backtothewall.
Bloodflowsfromherwounds,soakingintothehardgroundbeneathherfeet.Whensheruns,shewillleaveatrail.Heronlysalvationwillbetogettotownbeforehecomesafterher;ifshegoesnow,shestandsachance,perhaps.
Itisdarknow,moonless.Savetherhythmiccroakofafrog,thenightisstill.Shecan,however,stillheartheminside.Thenoiseshemakes,thenoisesshemakesinreturn.
Shecloseshereyes,admitsthetruthtoherself.Thereisanotherchanceofsalvation:Shecouldgobackintothehouse,throughthefrontdoorandintothekitchen,shecouldfindaknife.Surprisehim.Cuthisthroat.
Sheimagines,foramoment,herfriend’srelief.Howtheywouldclingtoeachother.Sheimaginestellingthepolicewhathappened,
imaginesaheroine’swelcomeatschool,howgratefulherfriend’sfamilywouldbe!
Howgratefulwouldtheybe?
Shepicturesherfriend’sbeautifulface,herlonglimbs,herniceparents,herexpensiveclothes.Sheisoverwhelmedbythethoughtofherlife,herhappiness
Thegirlimaginesherselfenteringtheroom,thekniferaised,imagineshimturning,catchingher,punchingherinthethroat.Sheimagineshimcrouchingoverher,hiskneespressingagainstherchest,imagineshisweightontopofher,imaginesthebladepressedagainsthercollarbone,againsthercheek,againstherlips.
Shedoesn’tevenknowifthereisaknifeinthekitchen.
Shecouldtrytohelp;shecouldfight.Orshecouldtakeadvantageofhispreferenceforherbeautifulfriend.Shecouldrun.
Thisisnotherfault.Shedidn’tevenwanttogetintothecar.
Sheissorry.Shereallyis.Sheissorry,butsheruns.TEN
DetectiveBarker,hisbaldpateshininglikeanewpennyinthebrightmorningsunlight,watchedastheuniformedpolicewomanpushedaplasticstickintoCarla’smouth,scrapingitalongtheinsideofhercheek,withdrawingit,droppingitintoaclearplasticbag.Whenshewasdone,henodded,satisfied.Heaskedthepolicewomantowaitforhiminthecaroutside.TheboatonwhichDanielSutherlandhadbeenstaying,BarkerhadalreadyexplainedtoCarla,wasarental,anditwasfilthy.Thereweretracesofatleastadozenpeopleonit,probablymore,sotheywerecollectingDNAandfingerprintsfromanyoneandeveryone,hesaid,inordertoruleoutasmanypeopleaspossible.
Carla,sittingatherdiningroomtable,wipedhermouthwithatissue.“Well,”shesaid,rollinghershouldersbacktoeasethetensionatthetopofherspine,“thereiseverychanceyou’llfindmine.”DetectiveBarkerraisedhiseyebrows,crossinghisarmsinfrontofhischest.“Ilied,”Carlawenton,
“aboutnotknowingthatDanielwaslivingontheboat.Iliedaboutnotseeinghim.”Barkersaidnothing.HecrossedtheroomandsatdownoppositeCarlaatthetable,lacinghisfingerstogether.“Onlyyoualreadyknowthat,don’tyou?
Someone’ssaidsomethingtoyou,haven’tthey?That’swhyyou’vecome,isn’tit?Didsomeoneseeme?”Still,Barkersaidnothing.Thatoldtrickagain,tomakeyoutalk,topressyouintofillingthesilence.
Itwasirritatinginitsobviousness,butCarlawastootiredtoresist—she’dnotsleptmorethananhourortwoatatimesincethedetectiveshadbeenherelast,fivedaysago.Shekeptseeingthings,startingatshadows,blackspotsmovinginthecornersofhervision.Thatmorning,shepassedamirrorand
wasstartledtoseehersister’sfacelookingbackather,cheekshollow,expressionfearful.
“Danieltoldmehe’drentedaboatwhenhecametopickuphisthings.Hetoldmetodropby.Toldmenottoexpectmuch.
Iwentthere.Twice.Don’taskmewhenexactly,becauseIhonestlywouldn’tbeabletotellyou.”Shepaused.“IliedtoyoubecauseIdidn’twanttoadmitinfrontofTheothatI’dbeenthere.”
Barkerleanedbackalittleinhischair.“Andwhy,”hesaid,flexinghisfingerssothattheknucklescrackedinadisgustingway,“wasthat?”
Carlaclosedhereyesforamoment.Listenedtothesoundofherownbreath.“Doyouknowwhathappenedtomyson?”
sheaskedthedetective.
Henodded,expressiongrave.“Ido,”hesaid.“Ireadaboutitatthetime.Aterriblething.”
Carlagaveastifflittlenod.“Yes.Mysisterwaslookingafterhimwhenithappened,I’mnotsureiftheyreportedthat?
Shewassupposedtobelookingafterhim,inanycase.Theoneverforgaveher.He’shadnothingtodowithhersince,notfromthedayoursondieduntilthedayshedid.Hewouldn’thaveherinourlives.Hewouldn’thaveherinhis,inanycase,whichatthetimewasalsomine.DoyouseewhatI’msaying?
IsawmysisterandDanielinsecret.Ofcourse,TheosuspectedthatIsawheroccasionally,andthereweresomeargumentsaboutit,butwedivorcedandImovedhere,anditdidn’tseemtomattersomuchanylonger.Inevermentionedthemtohim.Thereitis,Isuppose.I’vebeenlyingtoTheosolongaboutthatsideofmylifethatsometimesIforgetwhenit’snecessaryandwhenitisn’t.Ididn’twanthimtoknowthatI’dvisitedDanielontheboat.”
Thedetectivescrunchedhisfaceintoafrown.“Soyouliedtous,tothepolice,duringamurderinvestigation,justbecause
youdidn’twantyourex-husbandtoknowyou’dseenyournephew?”Heopenedhispalmstoher,hisfingersspreadwide.
“Thatseemsextraordinarytome;itseems…”Heraisedhiseyebrows.“Areyoufrightenedofyourex-husband,Mrs.
Myerson?”
“No.”Carlagaveabriefshakeofherhead.“No,Ijust…Ididn’twanttoupsethim,”shesaidquietly.“ItrymybestnottoupsetTheo,andmehavingarelationshipwithDanielwouldupsethim.”
“DoesMr.Myersonhaveatemper?”
Carlashookherheadagain.“No,”sheinsisted,exasperated.
“It’snot…it’snotlikethat.”
“Whatisitlike?”Barkerasked.He’dtheairofsomeonegenuinelyinterested;hewaslookingatherasthoughshewereaspecimen,acuriosity.“DidMr.Myersonthinkyouweretryingtoreplaceyourlostchild?Withyournephew?IsthatwhyyourrelationshipwithDanielupsethim?”heasked.
Carlashookherheadagainbutsaidnothing.Sheturnedherfacefromthedetectiveandstaredatthesad,pavedbackyard,withitspadlockedshed,itsblackenedplants,deadintheirpots.
Theshedwasemptysaveforalittleredtricycle,brightbluetasselsstillattachedtothehandlebars.Itwasapresent,forBen’sthirdbirthday.They’dhadapartyattheirhomeonNoelRoad,justfamily—Theo’sparents,AngelaandDaniel,Theo’solderbrotherandhiswife,theirkids.Afterthecake,afterthecandles,theytookthetricycleoutonthetowpath,Carla’schestachingwithtendernessasshewatchedBentryitout,hischubbylegspumpingupanddownashepedaledasfastashecould.Theo’sface!Hispride.“He’sanatural,seethat?”AndAngela,smoking,oneeyebrowarched.“It’satricycle,Theo.
Everyonecanrideatricycle.”Andonthewayhome,duskfalling,thecrowdsthinning,DanielpushingBenalong.Theo’smothersaying,“Careful,Daniel,nottoofast,”whileBenandDanielignoredhercompletely,thepairofthemshriekingwithlaughterastheycareenedaroundacorner,almosttopplingover.
WhenBenwasgone,whenthefuneralwasoverandthegod-awfulmournersfinallybanished,Carlawenttobedandstayedthere.Theorarelycametobedatall.Heremainedfiercely,angrilyawake;throughhermedicatedhazeCarlausedtohearhimpacinginhisstudyoffthelanding,stompingdownthestairsandthroughthekitchentothegardentosmokeandthenstompingbackagain.Sheheardhimturningtheradioonandoff,flickingthroughthechannelsonthetelevision,playinghalfatrackofarecordbeforesendingtheneedleskitteringacrossthevinyl.
Sometimeshecameupstairsandstoodinthedoorway,notwatchingherbutstaringoutthewindowopposite,hishandacrosshisface,fingersworkingathisstubble.Sometimeshesaidthings,statementsthatseemedtoleadtowardquestionsatwhichtheyneverquitearrived.SometimeshetalkedaboutAngela,abouthowshehadbeenasachild.“Yousaidshehadatemper,”he’dsay,or:“Youalwaystalkedabouthercrazyimagination.Bloodthirsty,yousaid.Shehadabloodthirstyimagination.”
Occasionally,heaskeddirectquestions.“Wasshejealous,doyouthink?OfthewayBenwas?”
Itwasdiscussedbetweenthem,whenBenwasalive,howdifficultitmustbeforAngelanottodrawcomparisonsbetweentheirsonandherown.Benhitallhismilestonesearly;hewastalkativeandagile,empatheticandnumeratebeforehisthirdbirthday.He’llbereadingbeforehisfourth,Theolikedtotellpeople.Carlahadtotellhimnottoboast.
Danielhadn’tbeenlikethat.Hewasafussybaby,apoorsleeper,he’dtakenforeverjusttocrawl,hewastwoandahalfbeforehestartedtotalk.Hewasaclumsy,frustratedlittleboy,pronetoepictantrums.
“Doyouthinkitbotheredher,”Theoasked,“howspecialBenwas?BecauseDan’sabitofaweirdkid,isn’the?IknowI’mnotobjective—nooneis,notabouttheirchildren—butevenso,inthiscase,Ithink,objectivelyspeaking,Benwasjustthemostwonderfullittleboy,hewas—”
“Whatareyousaying?”Carla’svoicesoundedlikeitbelongedtosomeoneelse,toanoldwoman.“Whatareyoutryingtosay?”
Hedrewclosertothebed,hiseyeswide,faceflushed.“I’maskingyouwhetheryouthinkAngelawasjealous.If,onsomelevel,ifshe…”
Carlaclutchedatthebedsheetsanddrewherselfpainfullyuptoasittingposition.“You’reaskingifIthinkmysisterleftthatdooropenonpurpose?Becauseshethoughtoursonwasmorespecialthanhers?You’reaskingifIthinkshewantedBentodie?”
“No!Christ,no.Notthatshewantedhimtodie,no.Jesus.
I’mnotsayingshedidanythingonpurpose,I’mjustwonderingifonsomesubconsciouslevelshe—”
Carlacollapsedbacktoherside,drawingtheduvetupoverhershoulders,overherhead.“Leavemealone,Theo.Pleaseleavemealone.”
ItwasayearbeforeCarlaredevelopedthehabitofgettingupeveryday,showering,dressingherself.Itwaseighteenmonthsbeforeshesawhersisteragain,insecret.ShetoldTheoshehaddecidedtojoinayogaclass.Shedressedherweak,fleshybodyintracksuitbottomsandaT-shirtandwalkedovertoher
sister’sflatonHayward’sPlace.WhenAngelaopenedthedoortoher,Carlarecoiledinshock:Hersisterhadagednotbyayearbutbydecades.Shewasemaciated,hersallowskinstretchedtightoverherskull.Shelookedhollowedout,desiccated.
Angela’shairwentwhiteovernight.That’swhatshesaid,inanycase.Bothsisterswentgrayyoung,butAngelaclaimedthatshe’dgonetobedonTuesdayabrunetteandwokenuponWednesdayalmostcompletelygray.Justlikethat.Shekeptitlonganddidn’tdyeit.“Ilooklikeawitchinafairytale,don’tI?”shesaid.“Iterrifychildreninthesupermarket.”Shewasjoking,butCarladidn’tfinditfunny.Carladidn’tdyeherhaireither;shechoppeditalloffwhenitstartedtogo.“You’relucky,”Angelatoldher,andCarlaflinched.“You’vegotanicelyshapedhead.IfIcutallmyhairoff,I’dlooklikeanalien.”
Itwasacompliment,butCarlawasannoyed.Shedidn’tlikethesoundofthewordluckyinhersister’smouth,certainlydidn’tappreciateitbeingappliedtoher.“Youcan’tgograyovernight,”shesaidcrossly.“Ilookeditup.It’samyth.”True,althoughitwasalsotruethatshehadreadaboutyoungwomen,muchyoungerthansheandhersister,SovietwomenfightingforthemotherlandintheSecondWorldWar,who’dfacedsuchunspeakableterrortheyhadgrayedovernight.She’dreadaboutCambodianwomenwhowitnessedsuchhorrortheylosttheirsight.
“Ithappenedtome,”Angelasaid.“Youcan’tsayIdidn’texperiencewhatIexperienced.Youwouldn’tknow;youweren’taround.”
“Yogaclasses”becameaweeklything,anexerciseindeterminationonCarla’spart.Shebelievedinhardwork;infact,shebelievedthatthemostworthwhilegoalswereoftenthehardesttorealize.Shebelievedthatifyouworkedhardenoughatsomething,mostoften,youwouldachieveit.Callit
thetenthousandhourstheory:Ifshespenttenthousandhourstryingtoforgivehersister,wouldshesucceed?Nowayoftelling,butitseemedareasonablecourseofaction—afterall,herparentsweregone,hersonwasgone.Therewaspreciouslittleleftforherintheworld:onlyAngela,andlittleDaniel,andTheo,ofcourse,althoughsheknew,inthesaddestpartofherheart,thatsheandTheowouldnotsurvivewhathadhappenedtothem.
OncewhenCarlacametovisitAngela,sheheardnoisesassheapproachedthefrontdoor,voicesraised.Shehadbarelyfinishedknockingwhenthedoorflewopen,hersisteryankingatitasthoughsheweretryingtopullitoffitshinges.“Oh,Christ,”shesaid,whenshesawCarla.“Forgotitwasourday.
Daniel’soffschool.He’s—”Shebrokeoff,shrugged.“He’sjust…offschool.”
Theysatinthelivingroomastheyalwaysdid,andafterawhile,Danielcamedowntosayhello.Intheiryearandahalfofseparation,AngelahadagedbyadecadeandDanielnotatall.Atnineyearsoldhewasstillsmallforhisage,darkanduncertain.Hehadahabitofsneakingaround,appearingsuddenlyandwithoutwarning,wringinghishandsinfrontofhisbelly.“Likealittleanimal,”Carlacommentedwithasmile.
“Alittlesavage,”hismothersaid.
Thatday,whenheappeared,asiffromnowhere,inthedoorwayandsaid,“Hello,AuntCarla,”hebaredamouthfullofmetalather.
“Jesus,Daniel,don’tmakethatface!”Angelasnapped.“It’shisfuckingbraces,”shesaid.“Hecan’tsmilenormallyanylonger.Mostkidswhentheygetthem,theytrytohidetheirteeth.Nothim—hepullsthatawfulexpressionallthetime.”
“Angela,”Carlahissed,asDanielslunkawayasquietlyashe’darrived,“hecanhearyou.”
Herheart,thebitofitthatwasleft,brokeforhim.
Thenexttimeshecame,shebroughthimahugesetofcoloredpencils,whichshetookuptohisroom.Hiseyesshonewhenhesawthegift.“Oh,”hebreathed,delightedalmostbeyondwords,“AuntCarla!”Hesmiledhisghastlysmile,wrappinghisskinnyarmsaroundherwaist.
Carlafroze.Shewasunpreparedforhowittookher,thefeelingofachild’sbodyagainsthersforthefirsttimeinsolong;shecouldscarcelybreathe,couldhardlybeartolookdownathissmallhead,attherichchestnutofhishair,atthenapeofhisneck,onwhichshenoticedtwobruises.Aroundthesizeofafingerandathumb,asthoughsomeonehadgrabbedhimthere,andpinchedhard.WhenCarlalookedup,shecaughthersisterwatchingthem.
“Hegetsintofightsatschoolallthetime,”shesaid,turningaway.Carlaheardherclumpingdownthestairs,hertreadstrangelyheavyforonesolight.
Carlaletthechildholdherforalittlelonger,andthen,gently,sheremovedhisarmsfromaroundherwaistandcroucheddownsothathereyeswerelevelwithhis.“Isthattrue,Daniel?”sheaskedhim.“Haveyoubeenfighting?”
Hewouldn’tlookatherforamoment.Whenhedid,hisexpressionwasgrave.“Sometimes,”hesaidquietly,
“sometimespeopledon’t…theydon’t…”Heblewouthardthroughpuffedcheeks.“Oh,itdoesn’tmatter.”
“Itdoesmatter,Dan.Itdoes.”
“No,itdoesn’t,”hesaid,shakinghisheadgently,“because,I’mgoingaway.I’mgoingtoanewschool.I’mgoingtolivethere,nothereanymore.”Hehuggedheragain,hisarmsaroundherneckthistime.Shecouldhearhisbreathing,quickandlight,likecorneredprey.
Angelaconfirmedit;hewasgoingtoboardingschool.“Hisfather’spaying.It’sthesameonehewentto,somewhereinOxfordshire.It’squitegood,apparently.”
“SomewhereinOxfordshire?Ang,areyousureaboutthis?”
“You’venoideahowdifficultthingsare,Carla.”Sheloweredhervoice.“Howdifficultheis.”Hervoicehadthathardedgeagain.“Don’t.Don’tlookatmelikethat.Youdon’tseeit,youdon’t…you’rehereonceafuckingweek,youdon’tseehowhebehaveswhenit’sjustmeandhim,youdon’t…Hewastraumatized.Severelytraumatizedbywhathappenedtohim.”
CarlagaveaswiftshakeoftheheadandAngelasaid,“Iknowyoudon’twanttohearthis,butit’strue.”Shereachedforhercigarettes,fumbledoneoutofthepack.Angela’shandsshookallthetimenow.Before,she’dbeenalittleshakythemorningafterthenightbefore,butnowitwasconstant,atremorinhandsthatwerealwaysmoving,alwaysreachingforsomethingtooccupythem—aglass,abook,alighter.
“Yes,ofcoursehe’straumatized.”
“Thepsychologistsays,”Angelasaid,lightinghercigarette,takingadrag,“thatnowhe’stellingherthathesaw…youknow,thathesawhimfall,thathesawBenfall.He’ssayingthatitwasn’tjustthathefoundhim,butthatheactuallysawit.”Sheclosedhereyes.“He’ssayingthathescreamedandscreamed,thatnoonecame,he’ssaying—”
Carlaheldupherhand—Angelawasright,shedidn’twanttohearthis.“Please,”shesaid.Shetookamomenttoallowherbreathtosteady.“Butsurelytheycan’tthink—youcan’tthink—thattheanswertohistraumaistoseparatehimfromhismother?”
“Hismotheristhewholeproblem,”Angelasaid,crushingherhalf-smokedcigaretteintheashtray.“Heblamesme,Carla,forwhathappened.”ShelookedupatCarla,wiping
tearsfromhercheekswiththebacksofherhands.“Hetoldhispsychologistthatwhathappenedwasmyfault.”
Itwasyourfault,Carlathought.Ofcourseitwasyourfault.ELEVEN
Couldyouopenyourmouthabitwiderplease,sir?Therewasayoungwoman,briskanduniformed,bendingtowardhim,insertingaplasticstickintohismouth,andwhiletheexperienceoughttohavebeenintrusiveandunpleasant,Theowasdisappointedtoadmittohimselfthathefounditstirring.Heclosedhiseyes,butthatonlymadeitworse.Hetriednottolookatherwhileshewastakinghisfingerprints,butwhenfinallyhemettheyoungwoman’seyehecouldtellthatshesensedsomething,somethingthatmadeheruncomfortable,andhefeltlikeatotalshit.Hewantedtosaytoher,I’msorry,Ireallyam.I’mnotlikethat.I’mnotoneofthose.I’maone-womanman.
TheohadonlyeverlovedCarla.Therewerewomenbeforeandtherehadbeentheoccasionalonesince,butCarlawaswithoutquestiontheone.Theoneandthemany,hesupposed,becausetherewasthisCarlaandtherewasthepreviousCarla;itseemedasthoughoverthecourseofhislife,he’dknownmultipleCarlasandlovedthemall,wouldcontinuetolovetheminwhateverincarnationtheyappeared.
Carlawasallhehad.TherehadbeenBen,ofcourse,forthatshort,gloriousinterlude,thatthreeyearsandforty-sevendaysofjoy,butnow,therewasjustCarla.Carla,andhiswork.
Fifteenyearsago,whenBendied,Theohadbeendeepintohisthirdnovel.Heabandoneditwithoutmuchthought;hesimplycouldn’tbeartoreadwordshe’dwrittenwhileBenplayedonthelawnoutside,orsangwithhismotherinthekitchen.Forayearortwo,hecouldn’twriteatall,hebarelyeventried,andthenwhenhedidtry,nothingcame.Formonthsandmonths,foryears,nothingcame.Howtowritewhenhishearthadn’tbeenbrokenbutremovedfromhis
body?Whattowrite?Anything,hisagenttoldhim.Itdoesn’tmatter.Writeanything.Sohedid.Hewroteastoryaboutamanwholoseshischildbutsaveshiswife.Hewroteastoryaboutamanwholoseshiswifebutsaveshischild.Hewroteastoryaboutamanwhomurdershissister-in-law.Itwasawful,allofit.It’slikepullingteeth,hetoldhisagent.Worsethanthat.It’slikepullingfingernails.Withhisheartgone,everythinghedidwasworthless,sterile,inconsequential.Whatif,heaskedhisagentashesat,terrified,infrontofablankscreen,Icannotworkanylongerbecausethemanwhowrotebooksisgone?
Allthewhile,Carlaslippedawayfromhim.Shewastherebutnotthere,awraithinthehouse,slippingoutofroomswhenheenteredthem,closinghereyeswhenhecrossedherfieldofvision.ShewenttoyogaclassesandreturnednotatallZen-likebutunsettled,angry,crashingthroughthehouseandoutintothegarden,whereshewouldsit,scratchingattheskinonherforearmsuntilitbled.Hisattemptstoreachouttoherwereclumsy,hesawlater,ill-judged.Theideatheyshouldtryforanotherbabywasmetwithcoldfury.
Theobegantospendlessandlesstimeathome.Hetraveledtowriters’festivals,hegavelecturesatfar-flunguniversities.
Hehadabriefandunsatisfyingaffairwithhismuchyoungerpublicist.Finally,Carlalefthim,althoughherdesertionlackedconviction.Sheboughtahousefiveminutes’walkaway.
Theotriednonfiction;hetriedtowriteaboutthelowvalueassignedtofatherhood,hequestionedthetruthsoffemaleliberation,heponderedareturntomoretraditional(sexist)values.Hehatedhimself.Andhecouldnotbegintofindthewordsforthescopeofhisloss,thedepthofhisanger.
Withouthisson,hiswife,hiswork,Theobecamedesperate.
Afterthepolicehadleft,Theowentoutforawalk.Itwashishabittotakeaquickturnaroundtheneighborhoodaboutthistime,justbeforelunch,topreventhimselffromeatingtooearly.Hehadatendencytowardgluttony.Inthehallway,hereachedforhiscoatand,instinctively,forthedog’slead,onlytowithdrawhisemptyhand.Theoddthingwasn’tthathereachedforit—hestilldidthateveryotherday;hewasn’tyetusedtoDixon’sabsence.No,theoddthingwasthatDixon’sleadwasn’tthere.Helookedaboutbutcouldn’tseeitanywhere.Thecleanermusthavemovedit,hethought,thoughhecouldn’tforasecondthinkwhy.
Usuallyhe’dheadalongthetowpath,butgiventhatitwasstillcordonedoffbythepolice,heheadedupoverthebridgeonDanburyStreetinstead.Therewasamaninuniformtheretoo—ayoungmanwithashavingrash,whogrinnedwhenhesawTheo,raisinghishandingreetingbeforeself-consciouslypullingitaway.
Theosawanopening.
“Stillsearching,areyou?”hesaid,walkingofftotalktotheyoungman.“Lookingforclues?”
Theofficer’sfaceflushed.“Uh…yes,well.Lookingforaweapon,actually.”
“Ofcourse,”Theosaid.“Ofcourse.Theweapon.Well…
,”hesaid,lookingupanddownthecanalasthoughhemightspottheknifefromupthere,“bestletyougetonwithit.Goodluck!”
“Andtoyou,too!”themansaid,andheblushedfuriously.
“I’msorry?”
“Oh,it’sjust…yourwritingandthat.Sorry.I—”
“No,that’squiteallright.”
“I’mafan,that’sall.Yeah.I’mabigfanofTheOneWhoGotAway.Ithoughtitwassointeresting,thewayyouturnedthewholethingaround,youknow,tellingthestorybackwardinsomepartsandforwardinothers,lettingusseeinsidethekiller’shead—thatwassobrilliant!Atfirstyou,like,youdon’tknowwhat’sgoingon,butthenit’sjustlike…whoa
Socool.Ilovedthewayyouturnedeverythingonitshead,playingwithoursympathiesandempathiesandallthatbusiness.”
“Really?”Theolaughed,fakingincredulity.“Ithoughteverybodythoughtthatwasaterribleidea!”
“Well,Ididn’t.Ithoughtitwasclever.Anewwaytotellastorylikethat,makesyouthink,doesn’tit?Willyoubewritinganotherone,doyouthink?Anothercrimenovel,Imean,another”—hepausedtoair-quote—“CarolineMacFarlane?”
Theoshrugged.“Idon’tknow.I’mthinkingaboutit,certainly.”Hewavedanarmvaguelyinthedirectionofthewater.“Icouldtakeinspirationfromthismess,couldn’tI?IcouldcallitTheBoyontheBoat.”Theybothlaughedawkwardly.
“Isthatwhereyougetyourideasfrom,then?”thepolicemanasked.“Fromreallife?”
“Well,nowthere’saquestion…,”Theosaid,tailingoffinhopesthatthepolicemandidn’treallyexpectananswertothis.
Therewasamoment’suncomfortablepausebeforetheyoungmansaid:“Because,yousee,ifyoueverwanted,youknow,todiscussideasforcrimenovels,like,maybeaspectsofpolicework,orforensics,oranythinglikethat…”Thepolicemanwastalkingtohim,Theorealized;heoughttobepayingattention.“Imightbeabletohelpoutwiththingslikethat,forexample—”
“That’sverygoodofyou,”Theosaid,beamingathim.
“Verykindindeed.I,uh,well,fornowIsupposeIwasjustwondering,youknow,howmuchprogressyou’remakingatthemoment?Onthiscase,my,uh,mynephew’scase?”Thepolicemanpursedhislips.Theostoodback,spreadinghisfingers,palmsupward.“Look,”hesaid,“Iunderstandyoucan’tgivedetails.Iwasjustwondering,because,youknow,thishasbeensoupsettingforus—formywife,forCarla;she’sbeenthroughanawfullotlately—andifanarrestwereimminent,wellitwouldbeahugereliefforbothofus,ofcourse….”
Theofficerinhaledsharplythroughhisteeth.“We-ell,”hesaid,duckinghisheadalittle,“asyousay,Ican’tgivedetails….”Theonoddedsympathetically,hisexpressionrueful.Hefishedaroundinhisjacketpocketandextractedapacketofcigarettes;heofferedonetothepoliceman,whoaccepted.“Look,Icantellyou,”thepolicemansaidasheleanedclosertoTheotolighthiscigarette,“thatthere’ssomeforensictestinggoingonatthemoment,andasI’msureyouknow,thesethingstakealittlewhile—wedon’tgettheresultsovernight;it’snotlikeCSIoranyofthatrubbish….”
“Forensictests…?”Theoprompted.
“Clothing,”theyoungmansaid,hisvoicelow.“Bloodyclothing.”
“Ah.”Thatwasreassuring.“Bloodyclothingbelongingto…thatgirl?Theoneyouquestioned?Because,youknow,Isawher.Runningfromthescene.Thatmorning,Isawher,andIdidn’tdoanything.Sostupid.Ijustthought,youknow,shewasadrunkorsomething….”
“Mr.Myerson.”Thepolicemanarrangedhisfaceintoanexpressionofdeepconcern.“Therewasnothingyoucouldhavedone.TherewasnothinganyonecouldhavedoneforMr.
Sutherland;hisinjuriesweremuchtoosevere.”
Theonodded.“Yes,ofcourse.Ofcourse.But,toreturntothisgirl,she’stheprimaryfocus,isshe,forthemoment?
There’snot…oh,Idon’tknow,adrugsconnection,ortheft,or…?”
Theyoungmanshookhisheadsadly.“Ican’ttellyouthatasyet,”hesaid.“We’repursuinganumberofleads.”
“Ofcourse,”Theosaid,noddingvigorously,thinkingabouthowpursuinganumberofleadswasreallycodeforWehaven’tthefaintestideawhat’sgoingon.Hemadetowalkawaybuthecouldseeashedidthatthispoliceman,thisspottyyoungman,wasdesperatetogivehimsomething,toprovehisimportance,hisworth,andsoTheoasked,“Canyoutellmeanythingabouther?Thegirl?Nothername,ofcourse.Iwasjustwondering,youknow,becauseIassumeshe’slocal,theysaidinthepapersshewasaresidentofIslington,andnowshe’soutthere,wanderingaround,andofcoursebecauseofmy…mypublicprofile,it’snotdifficulttofindoutwhoIamandwhomywifeis,andthethingis,well,perhapsI’mbeingparanoid,butwhatIwanttoknowis,isshedangerous,thisperson?Well,evidentlyshe’sdangerous,butissheadangertome?Tous?”
Theyoungman,clearlyintenselyuncomfortableandatthesametimefilledwiththedesiretoimparttopsecretinformation,leanedtowardTheo.“Shedoeshaveahistory,”
hesaidquietly.
“Ahistory?”
“Ofviolence.”Theoshrankback,aghast.“Look,it’snothingtopanicabout.She’sjust…she’sunstable.That’sallI’mtellingyou.That’sallIcansay.Look,Iwanttoreassureyouhere,Ido—we’redraggingthecanalagainthisafternoon.
We’restillsearchingfortheweaponandoncewe’vegotthat,thenBob’syouruncle.Oncewe’vegotthat,anarresthasgottobeimminent.”
Backathisdesk,feelingsomewhatreassured,Theosortedthroughhismail,includingthefewfanlettersforwardedfromhisagent’soffice.Timewasthereweredozensoftheseaday,andaccordinglytheyweredealtwithbyoneofhisagent’sminions,buttheflowhadstemmedsomewhatovertheyears.
Theodidn’tdosocialmedia,hedidn’treplytoemails,butifsomeonebotheredtoputpentopaper,hetendedtoreplytothempersonally.
DearMr.Myerson/MissMacfarlane,
Ihopeyoudon’tmindmewritingtoyou,IamabigfanofyourcrimenovelTheOneWhoGotAway,andIwaswonderingwhereyougotyourideasfrom?
Theoreleasedagroanofexasperation.GoodGod.Wereideasreallysuchahardthingtocomeby?Puttingthemintowords,ontopaper,thatwasanotherstory,butideasweretenapenny,weren’tthey?
Specificallywheredidyougettheideaforthisbook?
Wasitfromanewspaperreportorfromtalkingtothepolice?IamthinkingofwritingacrimethrillermyselfandIenjoyreadingcrimereportsontheinternet.Doyousometimesaskthepoliceforhelpwithplots,specificcrimes,workingthingsoutetc?
AlsoIwaswonderingwhyinTheOneWhoGotAwaythecharactersaren’tgivennames.Thatisquiteunusualisn’tit.
Pleasecouldyoureplytomebye-mailbecauseIameagertohearyouranswerstomyquestions.
Yourssincerely,
HenryCarterhenrycarter71@gmail.com
PSIdisagreedwiththereviewsthatsaidthebookwas
“misogynist”and“pretentious,”Ithinktheydidn’tunderstandthestoryproperly.
Theolaughedatthatasheslidtheletterontothetopofhisin-tray,promisinghimselfthathe’dgettoittomorrow.Hestoodup,reachingacrossthedeskforhiscigarettes,andashedidhelookedupandoutthewindow,acrossthegardentowardthetowpath,where,standingstock-stillandlookingrightathim,wasMiriamLewis.
“JesusChrist!”Hejumpedbackward,almostfallingoverhisdeskchairinfright.Swearingloudly,hehurrieddownthestairs,rushedoutintothegarden,flungopenthebackgate,lookingdesperatelyaround.Shewasgone.Theowalkedupanddownthetowpathforafewminutes,hishandsclenchedintofistsathissides,passersbyskirtingaroundhim,expressionsnervous.Hadshereallybeenhere?Orwasheseeingthingsnow,wasthiswherehe’dgotto?
Withouthiswife,hisson,hiswork,Theobecamedesperate,andindesperationhewroteacrimenovel.Itwashisagent’ssuggestion.WhenIsaidwriteanything,hesaid,Imeantit.
Anything,justtogetbackintothehabit.Trysci-fi,romance,whatever—youwon’tbelievesomeoftheswillthatgetspublishedunderthebannerofcommercialfiction.Itdoesn’tmatterifit’sanygood;itdoesn’tneedtohaveworth.We’llslapsomeoneelse’snameonit.Justwritesomething.Andsohetried.Romancewasabustandhedidn’thavethebrainforsci-fi,butcrime?Crimehecouldseeworking.HelovedMorse,he’dreadDostoevsky.Howhardcoulditbe?Allheneededwastherighthook,therightconcept,andhe’dbeaway.Andthenanideacametohim,landedrightonhisdoorstep,andhetookitandranwithit;heworkedwithit,craftedit,madeitintosomethingdistinctive.
TheOneWhoGotAway,publishedunderthepseudonymCarolineMacFarlane,wasahighlyexperimentalbook,theplotunfoldingbackwardinsomesections,forwardinothers,withthepointofviewoccasionallyswinging180degreessothatthekiller’sinnermostthoughtswererevealedtothereader.
Itwasabookthatexposedthewaythesympathiesofthereadermightbemanipulated,layingbarehowquicklywejumptoconclusionsaboutguiltandinnocence,powerandresponsibility.
Theexperimentwasnotanunqualifiedsuccess.AlthoughTheohadcarefullyhiddenhisidentity,usingawoman’snameforhispseudonym(Womenlovecrime!hisagenttoldhim.
Theyenjoythecatharsisofvictimhood.),thesecretdidn’tkeep.Someoneletthecatoutofthebag,whichmeantofcoursethatthebookbecameaninstantbestseller,butitalsohadthecriticssharpeningtheirknives(someofthereviewswerequitevicious),anditbroughtallthecraziesoutofthewoodwork(Youstolemystory!).Itachieveditscentralaim,however.ItgotTheowritingagain.Thatwasthething:whenthemusefellsilent,Theorefusedtogiveup,heseizeduponascrapofastory,andhemadeithisown.Thatwasthetruthofit.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Anticipation.Sometimesit’sthebestpart,becausethingsdon’talwaysturnoutlikeyouwantthemto,butatleastyoushouldbegrateful,shouldn’tyou,forthesunshine,hotonyourback,andthegirlsgoingoutintheirshortskirtsandcroptops?
Atthepubheseesagirlsittingwithheruglyfriendandshe’swearingaskirt,notacroptopbutawhiteT-shirtandnobraandshe’sbeautiful.
Shehitchesupherskirttogivehimabetterlookandhe’sgratefulforthat,sohesmilesather,butinsteadofsmilingbackshemakesafaceandsaystoheruglyfriend,Asif.
Asif.
Hefeelsallwrong,likehe’sbeinghollowedoutfromtheinside,likesomething’seatinghimup,andhefeelsaterriblecraving,alongingleftbytheplacehersmileshouldhavebeen.TWELVE
Miriamthoughtshemightnotmakeitbacktotheboat.Shethoughtshemightpassoutrightthereonthetowpath;shecouldfeelitcoming,thecrashingwaveofpanic,herfieldofvisionnarrowing,darknesscrowdingin,chesttight,breathcomingingasps,heartpounding.Shecrasheddownthestairsintohercabinandcollapsedontothebench,headhanging,chintochest,elbowsonherknees,tryingtoregulateherbreathing,tryingtoslowherracingheart.
Stupid,stupid,stupid.Sheshouldneverhavegoneovertheretoseehim—whoknowswhatmighthavehappened?Hemighthavecalledthepolice,hemighthaveclaimedshewasharassinghim—shecouldhaveendedupjeopardizingeverythingshe’dbeenworkingtoward.
Shehadgivenintoherdesire,herimpatientdesiretoseeMyerson,justtocatchaglimpse.Shewasgettingnojoyatallfromthenews:twodayshadpassedsincehercalltoDetectiveBarkerandshe’dyettohearanythingaboutanyonenewbeingquestionedinconnectionwithDaniel’sdeath.
Shehadstartedtowonder—perhapstheyhadn’ttakenherseriously?Itwouldn’tbethefirsttimesomeonehadclaimedtohaveherinterestsatheart,hadpretendedtolistentoherandthenhaddismissedheroutofhand.PerhapsMyersonhadsaidsomethingabouther,somethingtodiscredither?Thatwaswhysheneededtoseehim,toseehisface,toseewrittenonitfearorstressorunhappiness
Andsheknewexactlywheretodirecthergaze:upatthewindowlookingoutoverthegarden.Thatwasthewindowtohisstudy,infrontofwhichstoodthestoutmahoganydeskatwhichTheoMyersontoiled,headbentoverhislaptop,
cigaretteburningdowninthesquareglassashtrayashecraftedsentencesandconjuredimages.As,inanaffrontthatfeltlikeanactofviolence,hewroteMiriamoutofherownstory.
WhenMiriampicturedMyersoninhishome,athisdesk,wanderingdowntothekitchentofixhimselfasnack,pausing,perhapsinfrontoftheframedpictureinthehallofhimandhiswife,youngandvitalandwreathedinsmiles,shewasnotconjuringthesedetailsoutofthinair.ShehadvisitedTheo’sbeautifulVictorianhouseonNoelRoad;shehadwalkedthroughtheentrancehallandintoadarkcorridor,paintedsomefashionableshadeofashorstone,mole’sbreathordeadfish.She’dadmiredthepaintingsonthewalls,thejewel-coloredPersianruglaidoveroriginalwoodenfloorboards,thedrawingroomlinedwithbookshelvesgroaningundertheweightoffirsteditions.She’dnoticed,withasharptwingeofpity,thesilver-framedphotographonthetableinthehall,ofasmilingdark-hairedtoddler.
MiriamhadbeenworkingatthebookshopfornomorethansixmonthsthefirsttimeMyersonappeared,strollingalongthetowpathwithhisdog,asmallterrier,atiresomeyapperwhomhewouldtethertoamooringwhilehebrowsedthebooks.
MyersonandNicholas,Miriam’sboss,wouldgossipaboutwhatwassellingwellandwhatwasbombing,aboutwhowasgettingsavagedonthepagesoftheLondonReviewofBooksandwhowasintherunningfortheBooker.Intheshadowsbehindashelf,Miriameavesdropped,unseen.
She’dreadhisbooks—mostpeoplehad.Hisfirst,publishedbackinthemid-1990s,hadmoderatesalesandgoodreviews;thesecondwasarunawaybestseller.Afterthat,hedisappeared,notjustfromthebestsellerlistsbutfrombookshopsaltogether,hisnamecroppingupintheodd
Saturdaysupplementfeature,thegreatliterarysuccessstoryoftheninetiesundonebypersonaltragedy.
Miriamhadalwaysconsideredhiswritingoverrated.Butshefoundthatevenshewasnotimmunetotheglamourofabrushwithcelebrity—itwasoddhowquicklyonebegantoreassessthequalityofsomeone’sworkonceitscreatorwasnolongeranabstract,nolongerjustasmugphotographonabookjacketbutaliving,breathingpersonwithashysmileandasmellydog.
Oneday,aWednesdaymorninginearlysummer,perhapssixmonthsafterhe’dfirststartedvisitingtheshop,MyersonturnedupwhileMiriamwasmindingtheshopalone.Hetetheredthedogasusual,andMiriambroughtitabowlofwater.Hethankedhergraciously,askingwhethertheyhadinanycopiesofthenewIanRankin.Miriamcheckedanddiscoveredthatitwasn’tpublishedyet;itwasdueinthefollowingweek.She’dsetasideacopyforhim,ifheliked.Herepliedthathewould,andtheybegantochat.Sheaskedifhewasworkingonsomethingnewandhesaidthathewas,thatinfacthewasthinkingoftryinghishandatcrime.“Really?”
Miriamwassurprised.“Iwouldn’thavethoughtthatwasyourcupoftea.”
Hebobbledhisheadsidetoside,awrysmileonhisface.
“We-ell,”hesaid,“it’snotreally,butIseemtofindmyselfinsomethingofarut.”Itwastrue,morethanadecadehadpassedsincehe’dpublishedanythingsubstantial.“IwasthinkingImighttrysomethingcompletelydifferent,”hesaid,tappingatthesideofhistemplewithhisforefinger.“SeeifIcanshakesomethingloose.”
Thefollowingweek,whenthenewRankindulyarrived,Miriamsetasideacopy.OnlyTheodidn’tturnuptofetchit,notthatday,orthenext,orthenext.Shehadhisaddress—
they’dmailedbookstohiminthepast—andsheknewexactlywherehelived,itwasn’tveryfarfromhernarrowboat,less
thanamilefartheralongthecanal,soshedecidedtodeliveritbyhand.
Shewasn’tsureifthiswouldbeanintrusion,butinfact,whenheopenedthedoor,heseemedgenuinelypleasedtoseeher.“That’ssokindofyou,”hesaid,invitingherin.“I’vebeenabitundertheweather.”Helookedit.Darkcirclesunderhiseyes,whitesyellowingaroundthepupils,hisfaceflushed.
Thehousereekedofsmoke.“Difficultforme,”hesaid,hisvoicecracking,“thistimeofyear.”Hedidn’telaborateandMiriamdidn’tprobe.Awkwardlyshelaidahandonhisarmandhepulledaway,smiling,embarrassed.Miriamhadfeltsuchtendernesstowardhim,whenfirstshegottoknowTheoMyerson.
Theytooktheirteaoutontothelittlepatiooutsidehiskitchenandtalkedbooks.Itwasthestartofsummer,eveningslengthening,thesmellofwisteriaheavyintheair,musicplayingsoftlyonaradiosomewhere.Leaningback,eyesclosed,Miriamfeltanimmensesenseofcontentment,ofprivilege.Tobesittinghere,inthisgemofaLondongarden,rightinthemiddleofthecity,conversingonmyriadtopicswiththisdistinguishedwriteratherside!Sheglimpsed,openingupinfrontofher,thepossibilityofaquitedifferentlifefromtheoneshecurrentlyled,afarricher(intheculturalsense),morepeopledlife.Notthatsheimaginedanythingromantic,notwithTheo.Shewasn’tstupid.Shehadseenpicturesofhiswife;sheknewthatshedidnotcompare.Butherehewas,treatingherasanequal.Asafriend.Whensheleftthatevening,Theoshookherwarmlybythehand.“Dropbyanytime,”hesaidwithasmile.And,foolishly,shetookhimathisword.
Thenexttimeshecametoseehim,shehadanoffering.
Somethingshethoughtmightdrawthemtogether.Abook,her
book,tellingherownstory,amemoirshehadbeenworkingonforyears,butthatshehadneverhadthecouragetoshowtoanyonebecauseshehadnevertrustedanyoneenoughtoletthemseehersecrettruth.UntilshemetMyerson,arealwriter,amanwhoalsolivedwithtragedy.Shechosehim.
Shechosebadly.
Shebelievedshewasentrustingherstorytoamanofintegrity,amanofgoodcharacter,wheninfactshebaredhersoultoacharlatan,apredator.
You’dhavethoughtshe’dbeabletorecognizethembynow.
ThefirstpredatorMiriamevermetwascalledJeremy.Jezforshort.OnastiflingFridayafternooninJune,hepickedthemup,MiriamandherfriendLorraine,inhispaleblueVolvoestate.Theywerehitchhiking—peopleusedtodothatinthe1980s,eveninHertfordshire.They’dbunkedoffthelasttwoperiodsatschoolandwereheadedintotowntohangout,smokecigarettes,tryonclothestheycouldn’taffordtobuy.
Whenthecarpulledup,Lorrainegotintothefrontseat,becausewhywouldn’tshe?Shewastheslimone,theprettierone(althoughtobehonesttheywereneitherofthemlovely).
Shewastheonehestoppedfor.So,shegotthefrontseat.
Miriamclimbedintotheback,satbehindLorrie’shead.Thedriversaidhelloandtoldthemhisnameandaskedfortheirs,butheneverlookedatMiriam,notonce.
Inthefootwellofthecar,emptiesrattledaroundMiriam’sfeet,beerbottlesandawhiskeybottle.Therewasanoddsmell,underneaththesmokefromJez’sandLorraine’scigarettes,somethingsour,likeoldmilk.Miriamwantedtogetoutofthecaralmostthesecondshegotin.Sheknewtheyshouldn’tbedoingthis,knewitwasabadidea.Sheopened
hermouthtospeak,butthecarwasalreadymoving,acceleratinghard.Miriamwonderedwhatwouldhappenifsheopenedthedoor—wouldheslowdown?Mostlikelyhe’dthinkshewasmad.Shewounddownherwindow,breathedinthehotsummerair.
Asongcameontheradio,aslowone,andJeremyreachedouttochangethestation,butLorraineputherhandonhisarm.
“Don’t,”shesaid.“Ilikethisone.Don’tyoulikethisone?”
Shestartedtosing.
ForthetimeIhadwithher,Iwon’tbesorryWhatItookfromher,Iwon’tgivebackJezdidn’ttakethemintotown;hetookthembacktohisplace,
“forasmoke.”
“Wehavecigarettes,”Miriamsaid,andLorrieandJezbothlaughed.
“Notthatsortofsmoke,Miriam.”
Jezlivedinashabbyfarmhouseafewmilesoutsidetown.
Thehousewasattheendofalonglane,awindingroadtonowhere,thetarmacgettingnarrowerandnarroweruntilbythetimethey’dgottothegate,ithaddwindledallthewaytonothingandtheywerebumpingalongadirttrack.Miriam’sstomachwasinknots;shethoughtshemightactuallyshitherself.Jezgotoutofthecartoopenthegate.
“Ithinkweshouldgo,”MiriamsaidtoLorraine,hervoicequivering,urgent.“Thisisweird.He’sweird.Idon’tlikethis.”
“Don’tbesuchawuss,”Lorriesaid.
Jezdrovethecarintothedriveway,parkednexttoanothercar,anoldwhiteCitro?n;whenMiriamsawit,herheartgavealittleleap.Hermotherusedtohaveacarlikethat.Itwasthesortofcarmiddle-agedwomendrove.Perhapshismumwashere,shethought,andthenshenoticedthatthecar’stireswere
flat,thechassisrestingontheground.Despitetheheat,sheshivered.
Jezgotoutofthecarfirst;Lorrainefollowedhim.Miriamhesitatedforamoment.Perhapssheshouldjuststayinthecar.
Lorrainelookedbackather,wideninghereyes.Comeon!shemouthed,gesturingforMiriamtofollow.
Sheclimbedout,herlegstremblingasshewalkedtowardthehouse.Asshesteppedfrombrightsunlightintoshadow,shesawthatthehousewasn’tjustshabby,itwasderelict.Thewindowstotheupstairsroomswerebroken,thedownstairsonesboardedup.“Youdon’tlivehere!”Miriamsaid,hertoneindignant.Jezturned,andhelookedatherforthefirsttime,hisfaceblank.Hesaidnothing.Heturnedaway,takingLorrainebythearmashedid.LorraineglancedbackoverhershoulderatMiriam,andMiriamcouldseethatshewasfrightened.
Theywalkedintothehouse.Itwasfilthy,bottlesandplasticbagsandcigarettepacketsstrewnoverthefloor.Therewasastrongsmellofshit,andnotanimalshiteither.Miriamputherhandoverhernoseandmouth.Shewantedtoturnback,torunbackoutside,butsomethingpreventedherfromdoingso;somethingkepthermovingforward,onefootinfrontoftheother,walkingbehindLorraineandJez,downahallway,pastastaircase,intowhatmusthaveoncebeenalivingroom,becausetherewasabroken-downsofapushedupagainstawall.
Miriamthoughtthatifsheactednormal,thenmaybeeverythingwouldjustbenormal.Shecouldforceittobenormal.Justbecausethisfeltlikethekindofthingthathappenedinahorrormoviedidn’tmeanitwouldbelikeahorrormovie—quitetheopposite.Inhorrormovies,thegirlsneversawitcoming.Theyweresostupid.
Theyweresostupid.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Shewakes.
Jointsstiff,hipaching,partblind,unabletobreathe.Unabletobreathe!Shejolts,rocksherselfupright,intoasittingposition,herheartthunderinginherchest.Sheisdizzywithadrenaline.Sheinhalessharplythroughhernose.Shecanbreathe,butthereissomethinginhermouth,somethingsoftandwet,agag.Sheretches,triestospititout.Handsbehindherback,shestruggles,pushingthroughpain.
Finally,shepullsherrighthandfree,takestheragfromhermouth.AT-shirt,shesees,fadedblue.
Inanotherroom,nottoofaraway,someoneiscrying.
(Shecan’tthinkaboutthatnow.)
Onherfeet.Herrighteyewillnotopen.Withherfingernails,thegirldelicatelypicksacrustofbloodfromhereyelashes.Thathelps,alittle.
Itopens,alittle.Nowshehasperspective.
Thedoorislocked,butthereisawindow,andsheisonthegroundfloor.Thewindowissmall,granted,andsheisnotslender.Itisnotquitedark.Towardthehorizon,overtothewest,amurmurationforms,dissipates,re-forms.Theskyfillswithbirds,empties,fillsagain,anditisbeautiful.Ifshestaysrighthere,thegirlthinks
toherself,righthereonthisspot,ifshewatches,itwillnevergrowdark,andhewillnevercomeforher.
Thesobbinggrowslouderandshestepsbackfromthewindow.Shecannolongerseethebirds.
Likethedoor,thewindowislocked,buttheglassisasinglepane,breakable.Breakablebutnotsilentlybreakable—willshehavetimetogetoutbeforehecomes?Willshebeabletoforceherfleshthroughthatsmallspaceatall?Herfriendwouldbeableto.Herfriendisslender,shedidballetuntilshewasthirteen,herbodybendsinwaysthegirl’sdoesnot.
(Shecannotthinkofherfriendnow,ofthewayherbodybends,ofhowfaritmightbendbeforeitbreaks.)
Thecryingstops,startsagain,andshecanhearavoice,saying,please,please.Thefunnythingis(notfunny,notreally)thatit’snotherfriend’svoice,it’shisvoice.Heistheonewhoisbegging.THIRTEEN
Laurawokeuponthesofa,fullydressed,hermouthdry.
Sherolledoverandontothefloor,grabbingherphone.
She’dmissedcalls:fromIrene,fromtwodifferentnumbersshedidn’trecognize,fromherfather.Shedialedhervoicemailtolistentohismessage.
“Laura,”avoicethatwasnotherfather’ssaid,“it’sDeidrehere,I’mcallingfromPhilip’sphone.Mmmm.”Amongthemanyteeth-grindinglyannoyingthingsaboutDeidrewasherhabitofpunctuatingherspeechwithaweirdhummingsound,asthoughshewasabouttoburstintosong,ifonlyshecouldfindtherightnote.“Wegotyourmessage,andthethingis,Laura,thethingisthatwealreadyagreed,didn’twe,thatwewouldn’tjustbehandingovermoneyeverytimeyougetyourselfintotrouble.Youneedtolearntosortthesethingsoutforyourself.Mmmm.MyBeckyisgettingmarriedthissummerasyouknow,sowe’veconsiderabledemandsonourfinancesasitis.Wehavetoprioritize.Mmmm.Allrightthen.
Good-bye,Laura.”
Laurawonderedifherdadhadevenheardthemessage,orwhetherDeidrelistenedtothemfirst,andscreenedouttheonesshedidn’tdeemimportant.Shehopedthatwasthecase;itwaslesshurtfulthatway,toimaginethathedidn’tevenknowshewasintrouble.Shecouldcallhim.Shecouldfindoutforsure.Shejustwasn’tquitesureshecouldstandto.
Herheartinhermouth,shescrolledthroughtheBBCnewssitelookingforstoriesaboutDaniel’smurderbutwasdisappointed.Noupdatessinceyesterday;thepolicewerepursuinganumberofdifferentlinesofinquiry,theywereappealingforwitnessestocomeforward.Shewonderedhow
manytherewouldbe,howmanypeoplehadseenherthatmorning,downonthetowpathwithbloodonherlips.
ShedistractedherselfbytextingIrene.SososorryI’vehadsomeproblems
onmywaynowgetyrshoppinglistreadyseeyouvsoon
Usually,she’daskIrenetotexthershoppinglistsoshecouldpickupthegroceriesonherwayover,butthistime,shewasgoingtohavetoaskforthemoneyupfront.
Awoman,familiarinsomevagueway,openedIrene’sdoorwhenLauraknocked.“Oh,”Laurasaid.“Is…isMrs.Barnesin?I’mLaura,I’m…”Shedidn’tfinishhersentencebecausethewomanhadalreadyturnedawayandwassaying,“Yes,yes,she’shere,comein,”inatonethatsuggestedannoyance.
“Lookslikeyourlittlehelperhasturnedupafterall,”sheheardthewomansay.Laurastuckherheadaroundthelivingroomdoor.
“Allright,gangster?”shesaid,grinningatIrene,whousuallylaughedwhenevershesaidthis,butnotthistime.Shelookedquiteanxious.
“Laura!”sheexclaimed,raisinghercrookedlittlehandsintotheair.“I’vebeensoworried.Wherehaveyoubeen?”
“Oh,I’msorry,mate.”LauracrossedtheroomtogiveIreneakissonthecheek.“TheweekI’vehad,like,youwouldnotbelieve.I’lltellyouallaboutit,Iwill,buthowareyou?Youdoingallright,yeah?”
“Sinceyourfriendishere,”theotherwomanwassaying,hervoiceclipped,cut-glass,“IthinkI’llgeton.Isthatallright?”sheasked,tiltingherheadtooneside.“Irene?”SheslungwhatLaurajudgedtobeaveryexpensivehandbagoverhershoulder,collectedacoupleofshoppingbagsfromthedoorway,andthrustapieceofpaperinLaura’sdirection.“Herlist,”shesaid,fixingLaurawithawitheringlook.“You’llseetothat,willyou?”
“Iwill,yeah,”Laurasaid,andsheglancedatIrene,whopulledaface.
“I’llshowmyselfout,”thewomansaid,andshestalkedsmartlyfromtheroom,slammingthefrontdoorbehindher.Amomentlater,Lauraheardanotherdoorslam.
“Whoisthat?”sheasked.
“That’sCarla,”Irenesaid,raisinganeyebrow.“CarlaMyerson,myfriendAngela’ssister.”
“Warm,isn’tshe?”Laurasaid,givingIreneawink.
Ireneharrumphed.“SomehowinCarla’spresence,Ialwaysfeellookeddownupon,andIdon’tjustmeanbecauseshe’stall.ShetalkstomeasthoughI’mafool.Anoldfool.Shedrivesmepotty.”Shepaused,gentlyshakingherhead.“ButIshouldn’tbeunkind.Shemaynotbemyfavoritepersonintheworldbutshe’shadanawfultimeofit.Hersisterpassingaway,andthenhernephew.”
“Ohyeah,”Laurasaidasthetruthdawnedonher.Thatwaswhyshelookedfamiliar;shelookedabitlikehim.Somethingaroundtheeyes,thesetofthemouth,thewayshetiltedherchinupalittlewhenshespoke.“OhGod.Ididn’tthinkaboutthat.Soshe’shisaunt?”
“That’sright,”Irenesaid,hereyebrowsknittingtogether.“ItakeityouheardaboutwhathappenedtoDaniel,then?”sheasked,andLauranodded.
“Yeah.Yeah,youcouldsaythat.”
“It’sbeenalloverthenews,hasn’tit,andtheyhaven’tcaughtthepeoplewhodidit.”
“Earlydays,Isuppose,”Laurasaid,hergazeslippingawayfromIrene’s,gratefullycastinghereyeoverthelistthatthewomanhadgivenher,frowningasshedid.“Isthisyourlist?
Didshewritethis?”
Irenenodded.“Oh,yes,shedidn’thavethepatiencetowaitformetothinkofthethingsIneeded,shejustwentintothekitchenandlookedinmycupboardsanddeduced.”
Laurarolledhereyes.“Muesli?Youdon’tlikemuesli,youlikecrunchynutcornflakes.”
“Ididtellherthat,”Irenesaid,“butshewasn’thavingit.”
“Wildrice?Whattheactual…JesusChrist.”Laurarippedupthelist,tossingthepiecesintotheairlikeconfetti.“Whatyoushoulddo,yeah,whenyouthinkofsomethingyouneed,ismakeanoteonyourphone—”
“Oh,Ican’ttypeonthosethings,it’salltoosmallandIcan’tseewhat’sgoingonevenwithmyglasses,andhalfthetimethedamnthingchangesyourwordswithoutyouasking,soyouendupwithgibberish—”
“No,no,”Lauraprotested,“youdon’thavetotypeanything.WhatIdo,see,isrecordstuff.I’vegotaterriblememorysoassoonasIthinkofsomethingIneedtodoorbuyorwhatever,Ijustusethevoicerecordersoyoudon’tneedtotype,youjustneedtosaystuff—”
Ireneshookherhead.“Oh,no,Idon’tthinkso.I’venoideahowthatworks.I’mnotevensureIhaveoneofthoseonmyphone.”
“Courseyoudo.”LaurapickedupIrene’shandsetandswipedthescreen.Shelocatedthevoicerecorderappandclickedonit.“Crunchynutcornflakes,”sheenunciated,loudly.“Notsoddingmuesli.”ShewinkedatIrene.“Then,seehere,youcanplayitback.”Crunchynutcornflakes,notsoddingmuesli,thephoneintoned.
“Oh,thatdoeslookeasy,”Irenelaughed.“Showmeagain.”
Afterthey’dputtogetheranewlist,IrenetoldLauratotakeatwenty-poundnotefromherpursetocovertheshopping.Irenepaidherfivepoundspertimetofetchhergroceries,whichwasprettygeneroussinceitgenerallytookheralloffifteenminutes,butthistimeLaurahelpedherselftotwotwentiesanyway.Shespentfourteenpoundsandpocketedtherest,losingthereceiptonthewayhome.
Whilesheunpackedthegroceries,shefilledIreneinonwhathadbeengoingon—howshe’dlostherkeyandhadtobreakintoherflat,howshe’dhurtherarmandthenlostherjobontopofthat.SheleftoutthepartaboutDaniel.Irenedidn’twanttohearaboutthat,didn’twanttohearaboutthefuckingandtheargumentandthegettingarrested.
“I’mreallysorryIdidn’tgetintouchearlier,”Lauratoldher,onceshe’dfinishedputtingeverythingaway,onceshe’dmadethembothacupofteaandlaidsomechocolatebiscuitsoutonaplate.“I’vejustbeenallinaspin,youknow?”IrenewassittinginherfavoritechairandLaurawasleaningupagainsttheradiatorunderthewindow,herlegsstuckoutinfrontofher.“Ididn’tmeantoletyoudown.”
“Oh,Laura.”Ireneshookherhead.“Youdidn’tletmedown,Iwasjustworriedaboutyou.Ifsomethinglikethathappensagain,youmustletmeknow.Imightbeabletohelpyou.”
Laurathoughtofthemoneyshe’dtakenandhatedherself.
Sheshouldgiveitback.SheshouldslipitbackintoIrene’spurse,andthenjustaskher,straightout,thewayanormalpersonwould,foraloan.Forhelp,justlikeIrenesaid.Itwastoolatenow,though,wasn’tit?Irene’sbagwasrighttherenexttoherchair—shecouldn’tputthemoneybacknow;therewasnowayshecoulddoitwithoutIrenenoticing.Andanyway,ifevertherewasatimetoaskforhelpithadjustpassed,afewsecondsback,whenIreneofferedit.Shestayedforalittlewhilelonger,timeforanothercupoftea,acouple
morebiscuits,butshe’dbarelytheappetiteforit;herdishonestycurdledwithinher,souringeverything.
Shemadeherexcuses.Sheleft.
Onherwayout,shenoticedthatthedoortonumberthree—
AngelaSutherland’shouse—wasslightlyajar.Shepusheditopen,verygently.Peeringinside,shesawCarlaSutherland’scoatdrapedoverthebanister,theexpensivehandbaghangingfromthenewelpost,andtheotherbags,theshopperandthetote,justslungonthefloor.Justlyingthere,withinreachofanopendoor!Fuckingrichpeople.Sometimestheyjustaskedforit.
???
BACKATHOME,sheemptiedthecontentsofthetotebagontoherlivingroomfloor,herheartracingas,alongwiththecrappyoldscarfandthedecentbutancientYvesSaintLaurentjacket,cametumblingtwosmallleatherboxes.Shegrabbedthefirst,thesmaller,purplebox,andopenedit:agoldring,setwithwhatlookedlikealargeruby.Inthesecond,thesmaller,brownleatherbox,therewasaSaintChristopher’smedal,alsoingold,withtheinitialsBTMengravedontheback,alongwithadate:March24,2000.Achristeningpresent,maybe?
NotforDaniel;theinitialswerewrong.Someotherchild.Shesnappedtheboxshut.Itwasashameabouttheengraving,shethought,itmadethemedallesssellable.Butthering,ifitwasreal,thatmustbeworthabit.
Whatapieceofshitshewas.
Inthekitchen,sheemptiedherpocketsandcountedoutallthecashshehadtohername:thirty-ninepoundsfifty,twenty-sixofwhichshe’dstolenfromherfriendIrene.
Whatalying,thievinglowlife.
Lauralistenedtothevoicerecordingsonherownphone,listenedtoherownvoiceremindinghertocontactthecouncil
aboutherhousingbenefit,tocontactthebuilding’smaintenancepeopleabouttheboiler(again),tocallthenurseatthedoctor’ssurgerytotalkaboutrefillingherprescription,tobuymilk,cheese,bread,tampons…
Shepausedtherecording,exhaustedattheveryprospectofallthethingsshehadtodo,attheobstaclesshecouldalreadyseerisinginfrontofher.Shescrolledquicklythroughhermessages,fromboysshe’dbeenchattingto,prospectsshe’dbeencultivatinginwhomshenowhadnointerestandforwhomshehadnoenergy.Shelistenedtohervoicemails,oneofthemacoldcallaboutinsurance,theotheramessagefromherpsychologist.
You’vemissedtwoappointments,Laura,soI’mafraidifyoudon’tmakethenextonewe’regoingtohavetotakeyouofftheservice,doyouunderstand?Idon’twanttodothatbecauseIthinkwe’vebeenmakinggoodprogressandkeepingyouonanice,evenkeelandwedon’twantallthathardworktogotowaste,dowe?SoI’mexpectingtoseeyouonMondayafternoonatthreeandifyoucan’tmakeit,pleaseringmebacktodaytoreschedule….
Lauraslidlowerintoherchair.Shegentlymassagedherscalpwiththetipsofherfingers,squeezinghereyesshut,tearsslidingoutfromunderherlidsandacrosshercheekbones.
Stopstopstop,shesaidquietlytoherself.Ifonlyitcouldstop.
Laurahadbeenreferredtothepsychologistaftertheforkincident.Shewasaniceenoughwomanwithasmallfaceandlargeeyes;sheremindedLauraofsomesortofwoodlandcreature.ShetoldLaurathatsheneededtostopreacting.“Youseemtospendyourentirelifefirefighting,Laura.Youkeeplurchingfromonecrisistothenext,sowhatweneedtodoistofindsomewaytobreakthispatternofreaction.Weneedtoseeifwecandevisesomestrategies…”
Psychologistswerealwaysbigondevisingstrategies:strategiestostopheractingout,lashingout,losingcontrol.Tomakeherstopandthink,topreventherfrompickingthewrongcourseofaction.Youknowyourproblem,Laura,youmakebadchoices
Well,possibly,butthatwasonlyonewayoflookingatit,wasn’tit?Anotherwayoflookingatitmightbetosay,youknowyourproblem,Laura,youwerehitbyacarwhenyouweretenyearsoldandyousmackedyourheadonthetarmac,yousufferedafracturedskull,abrokenpelvis,acompoundfractureofthedistalfemur,atraumaticbraininjury,youspenttwelvedaysinacomaandthreemonthsinhospital,youunderwenthalfadozenpainfulsurgeries,youhadtolearntospeakagain.Oh,andontopofallthat,youlearned,whileyouwerestilllyinginyourhospitalbed,thatyouhadbeenbetrayedbythepersonyoulovedmostintheworld,theonewhowassupposedtoloveandprotectyou.Isitanywonder,youmightsay,thatyouarequicktotakeoffense?Thatyou’reangry?
TheOneWhoGotAway
Intheplacehersmileshouldhavebeenthereisaquestion:So,whereareweoffto,then?Nowthere’snospacewherehersmileshouldhavebeenbecausenowsheissmilingandhe’snotangryanymore,he’sthinkingofhowit’sgoingtobe,he’swishingthefriendwasn’tthereintheback,butifhejustdoesn’tlookatherdoesn’tthinkaboutherthenmaybeit’llbeokay.
Hedoesn’tlikethewaythefriendlooksathim.Thewayshelooksathimremindshimofhismother,whoheshouldhaveforgottenallaboutbuthehasn’t.Shewasuglytoo,bittenbyadogwhenshewasagirlandyappingaboutiteversince,hermouthscarred,liptwistedlikeshewassneeringatyou,whichsheusuallywas.
Scarredinsideandout,alwaysyelling,athimorathisdad,wantedhimtobemiserable,justlikeher,couldn’tstanditwheneverhewaslaughingorplayingorhappy.
Nowlook.He’sthinkingabouthismotheragain.Whyisshealwaysinhishead?It’stheotherone’sfault,isn’tit,theuglyoneintheback,she’smadehimthinkofhismother,hethinksofherwhenhe’sdoingthings,allsortsofthings,drivinghiscar,tryingtosleep,watchingTV,whenhe’swithgirlsandthat’stheworst,makeshimfeelallhollowinside,
likehe’snotgotenoughbloodtofillhimup.
Makesitsohecan’tdoanything.Can’tseeanything,exceptforred.FOURTEEN
IrenewasveryworriedaboutLaura.Inherkitchen,gentlyheatingasaucepanofbakedbeanstopouroverhertoast(Carlawouldnotapprove),shethoughtaboutphoningherup,tomakesureshewasallright.She’dsaidshewas(“Golden!
YouknowIam!”),butsheseemeddistractedandanxious.Ofcourse,she’djustlostherjob,soshewasboundtobeworried,wasn’tshe?Butitseemedlikemorethanthat.Today,LaurahadseemeduneasyinIrene’scompanyinawayIrenehadnevernoticedbefore.
Notthatshe’dknownherverylong.Justacoupleofmonthstheyhadbeenineachother’slives,andyetIrenehadquicklycometocareforthegirl.Therewassomethingsoterriblyrawabouther,sounguarded,Irenefearedforher.
Someonelikethatseemedsovulnerabletotheworsttheworldhadtooffer.AnditwasonthisvulnerableyoungwomanthatIrenehadcometorely,becausewithoutAngela,Irenefoundherselfalone.Shewasaware,ofcourse,thattherewasadangerinallowingherselftoseeLaurasomehowasareplacementforAngela.
Theywere,intheirway,quitesimilar:bothfunny,kind,visiblyfragile.Thebestthingaboutthem,fromIrene’spointofview,wasthattheydidn’tmakeassumptions.Lauradidn’tjustassumeIrenewouldbeincapableoflearninghowtouseanewapponhermobilephone;Angeladidn’tassumeIrenewouldhavenointerestinthewordsofSallyRooney.NeitherofthemassumedthatIrenewouldn’tlaughatadirtyjoke(shewouldifitwerefunny).Theydidn’ttakeforgrantedthatshewouldbephysicallyincapable,orsmall-minded,oruninterestedintheworld.Theydidnotseeher,asCarladid,asabusybody,anoldfool.
Irenewaseightyyearsold,butshedidn’tfeeleighty.Notjustbecauseshewas,sprainedanklenotwithstanding,aspritely,trimwoman,butbecauseitwasimpossibletofeeleighty.Nobodyfelteighty.WhenIreneconsideredit,shethoughtthatsheprobablyfeltsomewherearoundthirty-five.
Forty,maybe.Thatwasagoodagetofeel,wasn’tit?Youknewwhoyouwerethen.Youweren’tstillflightyorunsure,butyouhadnotyethadtimetoharden,tobecomeunyielding.
Thetruthwasthatyoufeltacertainwayinside,andwhilethepeoplewhohadknownyouyourwholelifewouldprobablyseeyouthatway,thenumberofnewpeoplewhocouldappreciateyouasthatperson,thatinsideperson,ratherthanjustacollectionofthefrailtiesofage,waslimited.
AndIrenenolongerhadtoomanypeoplearoundwho’dknownherherwholelife.Almostallofheroldfriends,hersandWilliam’s,hadmovedoutofthecity,manyofthemyearsago,tobenearertochildrenorgrandchildren.Atthetimeithadn’tbotheredIreneallthatmuch,becauseaslongasshehadWilliam,sheneverfeltremotelylonely.AndthenonebrightMarchmorningsixyearsago,Williamwentofftogetthenewspaperandhenevercamehome;hedroppeddeadinthenewsagent’sfromaheartattack.Irenethoughthewasstrongasanox,shethoughthe’dgoonforever;shethoughtshemightdiefromtheshock,atfirst,butthenthatworeoff,andthegriefcame,andthatwasworse.
AdoorslammedandIrenejumped.Itwasnextdoor;Irenewaswellaccustomedtotheparticulartimbreofthefrontdoorslamming.Shestruggledtoherfeet,leaningforwardtoseeoutthewindow,buttherewasnoonethere.Carla,presumably,doingGodknowswhat.AngelahadbeengonefortwomonthsandstillCarlacametothehouse,dayafterday,“sortingthroughthings,”thoughIrenestruggledtoimaginewhatthere
wastosort;Angelahadn’thadmuch.Theycamefrommoney,CarlaandAngela,butsomehowCarlaseemedtohaveendedupwithmostofit.Angelahadthehouse,ofcourse,butnothingelse.Sheekedoutameagerlivingdoingfreelanceeditingandcopywritingwork.She’dhadherchildyoung,thatwasthething.Hisfatherwasoneofheruniversityprofessors.
Therewasanunhappyaffair,anunexpectedpregnancy,andAngela’slifewasderailed.She’dhadadifficulttimeofit,Irenewasaware;she’dstruggledagreatdeal,withthemoneyandthechild-rearingandallherdemons.
Peopleassumedyoucouldn’thavemuchofalifewithoutchildren,buttheywerewrong.IreneandWilliamhadwantedkids.Ithadn’tworkedoutforthem,butIrenehadhadaperfectlygoodlifeanyway.Ahusbandwholovedher,ajobasadentalreceptionistthatshe’denjoyedmorethanshe’deverexpectedto,volunteeringattheRedCross.Tripstothetheater,holidaysinItaly.Whatwaswrongwiththat?Shecoulddowithabitmoreofit,ifshewerehonest.Andshewasn’tdoneyet,despitewhatpeoplethought;shewasn’tindeath’swaitingroom.She’dtheVillaCimbroneshewantedtovisit,inRavello,andPositano,wherethey’dfilmedTheTalentedMr.
Ripley.Oh,andPompeii!
Irenehadreadinanewspaperarticlethatthehappiestpeopleonearthwereunmarriedchildlesswomen.Shecouldseewhy—therewasalottobesaidforthatsortoffreedom,fornotbeinganswerabletoanyone,forlivingexactlyhowyoupleased.Only,onceyou’dfalleninloveyoucouldneverbetrulyfree,couldyou?Itwastoolatebythen.
AfterWilliamdied,Irenefellintooneofhermoods.
Depression,theycalleditnow,thoughwhenshewasyounger,itwasjustmoods.AngelacalledittheBlackDog.Irenehadbeenvisited,infrequently,bythedogeversinceshewasayoungwoman.Sometimesshetooktoherbed,sometimessheploddedthrough.Themoodstookhersuddenly,sometimes
triggeredbyanobvioussadness(herthirdmiscarriage,herlast),thoughsometimestheydescendedwithoutwarning,onthebrightestofdays.ShekeptherheadabovewaterandsheneverwentunderbecauseWilliamdidn’tlether.Williamalwayssavedher.AndthenwhenWilliamwasgone,miraculously,Angelasteppedin.
TheyearWilliamdied,2012,ChristmascreptuponIrene.
Somehowshe’dmanagedtomissthegradualappearanceonshopshelvesofdecorationsandfestivefood,she’dturnedadeafeartotheannoyingmusic,andthensuddenly,itwasfreezingcold,anditwasDecemberandpeoplewerecarryingtreesalongthelane.
Irenereceivedinvitations—onefromherfriendJen,who’dmovedtoEdinburghwithherhusband,andanotherfromacousinshebarelyknewwholivedinBirminghamofallplaces
—butshedeclinedthemwithbarelyathought.Shecouldn’tfacetheChristmastraveling,shesaid,whichwasquitetrue,althoughtherealreasonshefeltsheoughttostayathomewasthatifshedidn’tspendChristmasalonethisyear,thennextyearwouldbethefirstonewithoutWilliam,ortheoneafterthat.AlltheChristmasesfortherestofherlifeweregoingtobewithoutWilliam.Shethoughtitbesttojustgetthefirstoneoverwith.
Angela,whowassensitiveaboutthissortofthing,saidthatatleastIreneshouldpoproundonChristmasEve.“DanielandIwillbehavingatakeawaycurryfromtheDelhiGrill,”shesaid.“Deliciouslambchops.Won’tyoujoinus?”
Irenesaidthatsoundedveryniceindeed.Ontheafternoonofthetwenty-fourth,shewentouttogetherhairsetandhernailspainted,andtobuysomesmallgifts:ahardbackcopyofTheHarewiththeAmberEyesforAngelaandavoucherforartsuppliesforDaniel.
Onreturninghome,she’dbarelyhadtimetoputdownherthingswhensheheardthemostpeculiarsound,akindofmoaning,alowingalmost.Thatstrange,animalsoundwasinterrupted,sharply,byanother:somethingshattering,glassorchina.Shoutingcamenext.“Icannotdealwithyou!It’sfouro’clockintheafternoonandlookatyou!Justlookatyou.
Jesus!”Daniel’svoicewashighandstrangled,thevoiceofsomeoneattheendoftheirtether;Angela’swasthevoiceofsomeonewaypastthat.“Getout!”shewasscreaming.“Justgetout,you…youbastard.God,howIwish…”
“What?Whatdoyouwish?Goon!Sayit!Whatdoyouwish?”
“Iwishyou’dneverbeenborn!”
Ireneheardthesoundofsomeonecrashingdownthestairs,thefrontdoorslammingsohardthewholeterraceseemedtoshake.FromthewindowshewatchedDanielstormpast,hisskinlivid,hishandsballedintofistsathissides.Angelacamereelingoutintothestreetafewmomentslater;shewasfalling-downdrunk.Literally—Irenehadtogooutsidetohelpherup.
Shemanaged—afterafashion,afteragreatdealofconsolingandcajolingandgentleandthennot-so-gentlepersuasion—togetAngelainsideandupthestairstobed.
Angelatalkedallthewhile,mumblingtoherself,scarcelyaudibleattimes.Ireneheardthis,though:“Everyonetoldmetogetridofit,youknowthat?Ididn’tlisten.Ididn’tlisten.
Oh,IwishI’dhadyourgoodfortune,Irene.”
“Mygoodfortune?”Irenerepeated.
“Tobebarren.”
???
ITWASBOXINGDAYbeforeIrenesawAngelaagain.Angelacameroundwithabook(acollectionofShirleyJacksonstories)andaboxofchocolates,apologizingforthemissed
dinner.“I’msosorry,Irene,”shesaid.“Ifeelawful,justawful,but…thethingis,DanielandIhadarow.”
Shedidn’tseemtohaveanyrecollectionofherfall,ofwhatshe’dsaidafterward.Irenewasstillangry;she’dhalfamindtorepeatwhatAngelahadsaid,totellherhowhurtshehadbeen.Angelamusthaveseensomethinginherface,perhapshadaflashofrecollection,becauseherownfacecoloredsuddenly,shelookedashamed,andshesaid,“Itisn’tme,youknow.It’sthedrink.”Sheexhaledashort,painfulbreath.“Iknowthat’snotanexcuse.”Shewaitedforamomentforsomeresponseandwhennonecame,shesteppedforwardandkissedIrenelightlyonthecheek.Thensheturnedawayfromher,towardthedoor.“Whenthey’reborn,”shesaid,herhandrestingonthedoorhandle,“youholdthem,andyouimagineaglorious,goldenfuture.Notmoneyorsuccessorfameoranythinglikethat,buthappiness.Suchhappiness!You’dseetheworldburnifonlyitmeanttheywouldbehappy.”FIFTEEN
Carlastood,distracted,inAngela’skitchen,whichwasemptysaveforanancientkettleonthecounternexttothestovetop.Hermobilephonewasbuzzing;itkeptbuzzing,onandon.Shedidn’tbothertolookatit—eitheritwouldbeTheooritwouldbethepolice,andshewasn’tintherightframeofmindtotalktoeither.She’dalreadyhadtheestateagentonthephone,wantingtosetupatimetoseetheplacesotheycouldgetitonthemarketintimeforthepeakhome-buyingseasonoflatespring.She’dfoundtheactofengaginginconversation,withtheagent,withIrenenextdoor,almostoverwhelming.
Sheopenedthecupboardsabovethesinkandthenclosedthemagain,shecheckeddownbelow.Thecupboardswereempty.Sheknewtheywereempty.She’demptiedthem.Whatonearthwasshedoing?Shewaslookingforsomething.Whatwasthat?Herphone?No,thatwasinherbackpocket.Thetotebag!Wheredidsheputthetotebag?
Sheleftthekitchenandwentbackintothehallway,onlytodiscoverthatshe’dleftthefrontdooropen.Jesus.Shereallywaslosinghermind.Shegavethedooragoodkick,slammingitshut.Sheturnedbackandstood,aimless,staringatthepointonthewalljustnexttothekitchendoorway,wheretheghostofapicturehung.Whatwasitusedtohangthere?Shecouldn’tremember.Whatdiditmatter?Whatwasshedoing?
Whathadshecomeinherefor?
Thisforgetfulnesswasnew.Itcamefromsleepdeprivation,shesupposed;therewasareasontheyuseditasaformoftorture—itrobbedyouofallcapacity.Sherememberedthisfeeling,vaguely,fromjustafterBenwasborn.Onlythenthedistractionwassuffusedwithjoy,itwaslikebeingstoned.
Thiswaslikebeingsedated.Orheldunderwater.Thiswasmorelikeafterhedied.
Carlawanderedbackintothekitchen,stoodatthesink,lookingoutintothelane,leanedforward,herheadagainsttheglass.Justaboutcaughtaglimpseofthegirl,theoneshe’dmetatIrene’s,disappearingfromview.Walkingwithastrangeshuffle.Therewassomethingaboutthatgirl,somethingoff.
Weaselly.Pretty,sharp-toothed.Sexuallyavailable.SheputCarlainmindofthatcartwheelingyoungwomanwho’dbeenalloverthenewspapersafewyearsback,theonewhomurderedherfriend.Ordidn’tmurderherfriend?SomewhereinFrance?No,Italy.Perugia,thatwasit.Jesus,whatonearthwasshethinkingaboutnow?Sheknewalmostnothingaboutthisgirl—infact,theonlythingshedidknowwasthatinhersparetimeshevisitedoldladiestohelpthemwiththeirshopping.AndherewasCarla,castingherasoneoftheMansonfamily.
Inherpocket,herphonebuzzed,anangryinsecttrappedinajar,andshegroundherteeth.Ignoredit.Tea,shethought.I’llhaveacupoftea.Lotsofsugar.Shewentbackintothekitchen,flickedonthekettle.Sheopenedthecupboardabovethesink.Stillempty.Oh,forGod’ssake.
Carlaturnedoffthekettleagainandwalkedslowlyupthestairs;shefeltexhausted,legsleaden.Atthetop,shepaused,turnedandsat,gazingdownthestepsatthefrontdoor,atthespaceonthefloorbesidetheradiatorwhereoncehadlainasmallQashqairug.Nexttoher,onthetopstep,therewasatearinthecarpet.Shepluckedatitsfabric,runningherfingeralongthelengthofitsneatslit,aninchortwo.Wearandtear.
Fromtheendofhernose,ateardropped.Wornandtorn,Ang,shethought.Thataboutsumsusup.
Wipingherface,shegottoherfeetandwalkeddirectlyintoDaniel’soldroomatthebackofthehouse,emptysavefortheoldsinglebedandthewardrobewithitsdoorhangingoff.She
placedthenotebookshewascarryingontopofthepileofpapersatthebottomofthewardrobeandclosedthedoorasbestshecould.Thenshetookthedog’sleadfromherpocket,shufflinghercoatoffhershouldersasshedidso.Sheclosedthebedroomdoorandloopedtheleatherendoftheleadoverthecoathook,givingitagoodtug.Sheleftithangingthere,openedthedooroncemore,andwanderedslowly,takinghertime,alongthehalltoAngela’sroom,draggingherfingertipsovertheplasterworkasshewent.
AfterAngelasentDanielawaytoboardingschool,Carlawentroundtovisitlessandless,untiloneday,shestoppedgoingaltogether.Therewasn’tareason,orrather,therewasn’tjustonereason;shejustfoundthatshecouldn’tfaceitanylonger.
Fakeyogawasover.
Yearspassed.Thenonenight,agoodsixorsevenyearsafterBen’sdeath,Carlawaswokenbyaphonecall,sometimeaftermidnight,theallottedhourofdreadedtelephonecalls.
Shetookawhiletoanswer,toshakeoffthefugofchemicallyassistedsleep.
“CanIspeaktoCarlaMyerson,please?”awomansaid.
Carla’sheartseized—TheowasinItaly,holedupinsomeremoteUmbrianfarmhouse,tryingtowrite,andpeopledrovesobadlythere.Theodrovesobadlythere;heseemedtofeeltheneedtojoinin.
“Mrs.Myerson,couldyoupossiblycomedowntoHolbornPoliceStation?No,no,everything’sallright,butwehavea…MissAngelaSutherlandhere,yoursister?Yes,she’sallright,she’sokay,she’sjust…she’shadabittodrinkandgotherselfintoabitoftrouble.Sheneedssomeonetopickherup.
Couldyoudothat,doyouthink?”
Carlacalledataxiandthrewonsomeclothes.ShestumbledoutintofreezingLondonrain,unsureastohowtofeel,terrifiedorfurious.Thepolicestationwasquietandbrightlylit.Inthewaitingareaawomansatalone,cryingsoftlytoherself,saying,“Ijustwanttoseehim.Ijustwanttoknowhe’sallright.”
Thewomanonreception,quitepossiblytheoneshe’dspokentoonthephone,noddedatCarla.“Domestic,”shesaid,indicatingthecryingwoman.“Helumpsherone,shecallsusthendecidesthat,actually,shedoesn’twanttopresschargesafterall.”Sherolledhereyes.“WhatcanIdoforyou,love?”
“I’mheretopickupAngelaSutherland.She’smysister.Iwastold…Iwastoldshewashere.”
Thewomancheckedhercomputerscreenandnodded,calledouttosomeoneinaroomsomewherebehindherdesk.
“CouldyoubringMrs.Sutherlandoutforme,John?Yeah,hersister’shere.”SheturnedbacktoCarla.“She’dhadtoomuchtodrinkandcausedasceneatthetaxirank.”
“Ascene?”
Thewomannoddedagain.“Shewasbeingabusivetoanothermaninline,amanwhobyallaccountshaditcoming,butinanycaseyoursisterwasextremelyvocal,andwhenoneofthecabbiestriedtointervene,hegotitinthenecktoo.Hecalledforassistanceandwhenacoupleofourofficersturnedup,theywerecalledabunchofeffingc-wordsfortheirtroubles.”
“Jesus.”Carlawasappalled.“I’msosorry,I’m…God,I’msosorry.She’s…I’veneverknownhertobehavelikethat,she’snotthatsortofpersonatall,she’s…quitecivilized,usually.”
Thewomansmiled.“Ah,well,thedrinkdoesfunnythings,doesn’tit?Ifit’sanyconsolation,Ithinkshe’sfeelingpretty
ashamedofherself.Andnochargeshavebeenbrought,sothere’snoharmdone,really.”Thewomanleanedforward,loweringhervoice.“Ithinkshe’sgivenherselfabitofafright,ifI’mhonest.”
Carla’soverwhelmingmemoryofthatnightwasofshametoo.TheshameofbeingcalledinthemiddleofthenighttopickupherdrunkanddisorderlylittlesisterwascompletelydwarfedbytheshameofseeingwhathersisterhadbecomeinCarla’sabsence.Emaciated,hollow-eyed,hersmoothcheeksspideredwithveins,hershouldershunched.
“Angela!”
“I’msosorry,Cee,”shesaid,hereyeslowered,hervoiceawhisper.“I’msosorry,Idon’tevenrememberdoingit.TheysaidIwasshoutingatpeople,shoutingandswearingand…Idon’trememberdoingit.”
TheysatsidebysideinthebackofablackcabonthewaybacktoAngela’shouse.Neithersaidaword,butCarlawrappedanarmaroundhersister’sbonyshouldersandheldherclose.Thesensationshamedheragain:itwaslikeholdingachild,likeholdinghersisterwhenshe’dbeenalittlegirl—
tinyandfierceandfunny.Infuriating.Lifetimesago.Itfeltlikelifetimessinceshehadlovedher,sincetheyhadbeeneachother’sbestfriend.Carlastartedtoweep.
Shewasstillweepingwhentheyreachedthelane.Sheweptasshehandedthemoneytothetaxidriver,asshefollowedhersistertothefrontdoor,asshetookinthemessofthehouse,itsdanksmellofdampandashes.
“Pleasestop,”Angelasaid.“Please,forChrist’ssake,stop.”
Angelatookherselfupstairs;Carlacouldhearherrunningwaterforabath.Carlamadetea—black,therewasnomilkinthefridge,therewasnothinginthefridgesaveforsomeancientcheeseandanopenbottleofwhitewine.Carlatook
twomugsupstairs;shesatonthelooseatwhilehersistersoaked.
“Ididn’tevenmeantogetdrunk,”Angelasaidtoher.Shewassittingup,dabbinggentlyatherbloodykneeswithaflannel.Carlacouldseehershoulderbladesmoving;theylookedreadytobreakthroughtheskin.“Ihadacoupleofglasses—three,maybe?Somethingelseinthepubafterward?
Itwasaworkthing,youknow.Noonesawme,Idon’tthink.
Atthetaxirank.God.Ihopenobodysawme.Itwasjustsosudden.OnemomentIwasfineandthenIsortofjust…
wokeupandtherewasthisman,toweringoverme,callingmeadrunk….”
Ithoughtyoudidn’tremember,Carlathought,beinginthetaxiqueue.Shesaid:“Youweighnothing,Angie.Hadyoueatenanythingbeforeyouwentout?”Angelashrugged.“Howlong…haveyoubeenlikethis?”
Angelalookedbackoverhershoulder,herexpressiondulled.“Likewhat?”Sheturnedaway,herfacetothewall.
Shepickedatthemoldonthegroutingbetweentheyellowingtiles.
Carlahelpedheroutofthebath,fetchedparacetamolfromherhandbag,foundsomeantisepticinthebathroomcupboard,whichsheappliedtoAngela’scuts.Shehelpedhertobed,layatherside,holdingonecoldhand,herthumbgentlystrokingthebackofhersister’sfingers.“Ishouldhaveknown,”shesaid,“thatthingshadgotsobad.Ishouldhaveknown.”
Ishouldhaveforgivenyou,shethought.Ishouldhaveforgivenyoubynow.
Theyfellasleep.
???
ANGELAWOKEHOURSLATER,acryinherthroat.Carlajerkedawakeinfright.
“Ishehere?”Angelawhispered.
“Iswhohere?Who?Angie,whoareyoutalkingabout?Iswhohere?”
“Oh.No,Idon’tknow.Iwasdreaming,Ithink.”Sheturnedherfacetothewall.Carlasettledbackdown,closinghereyes,tryingtoreturntosleep.“Didyouknow,”Angelawhispered,
“thatIwasseeingsomeone?”
“Oh.Wereyou?Ididn’tknow.Hassomethinghappened?
Didyoubreakup?”
“No,no.Notnow,”Angelasaid,herlipssmacking.“Then.
Iwasseeingsomeonethen.Inevertoldyouthis,didI?Hewasmarried.Hecametothehousesometimes.”
“Angie.”Carlaputherrightarmaroundhersister’swaist,pulledhercloser.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“LonsdaleSquare,”Angelasaid.Carlawithdrewherarm.
“WhenIwaslivinginLonsdaleSquarewithDanielafterDaddied,Iwasseeingsomeone.Thenightbefore…thenightbeforetheaccident,weweretogether,inthestudy.Watchingafilm,onthescreenthere,youremember?”Theprojectionist’sscreen,theirfatherhaditinstalled,forwatchinghomemovies.
“Weweredrinking,and…well.Ithoughtthekidswereasleep,butDanielwasn’t.Hecamedownstairs,hecaughtus.”
Herbreathingwasslow,ragged.“Hewassoupset,Cee…hewasjustsoangry,hewouldn’tcalmdown.Itoldhim—myfriend—togo.ItoldhimtoleaveandItookDanupstairs.Ittookmealongtimetocalmhimdown,togethimtosleep.
ThenIwenttobed.Iwentstraighttobed.Ineverwentbackdownstairsagain,tothestudy.Ineverwentbackdowntoclosethedoor—”
“Angie,”Carlainterrupted,“don’t.Don’tdothis.Wealwaysknew—Ialwaysknew—thatyouleftthedooropen.Itwas—”
“Yes,”Angelasaidquietly.“Yes,ofcourseyouknew.Ofcourse.”SIXTEEN
Laurapressedherphonetoherear,hunchedupherrightshouldersothatshecouldholditthere,hands-free.Shewasinherbathroom,searchingthroughthemedicinecabinetforsomeantiseptictoputonthecutonherarm.Inthesink,dampening,itsinkblurring,layalettershe’dreceivedthatmorninginformingherofachangeofdateforthehearingabouttheforkthing.Asshesweptlittlebottlesofftheshelvesandintothesink,ontotheletter,shestartedtolaugh.
“Thefork?Thefork,thefork,thefork!Theforkisaredherring!”Shelaughedharder,attheconnectionhermindhadmade.“Perhapstheforkwasaherringfork?”(Itwasn’t,itwasacocktailfork,sheknewperfectlywell.)
Shereleasedthephonefromhershouldergripanddroppeditintoherhand,lookingatthescreentoremindherselfwhoshewastalkingto.Shewasonhold,thatwasit,shewasonholdwiththecourtpeoplebecauseshewantedtotellthemthatthedatetheywerenowproposingwasnotconvenientforher.
Itwashermother’sbirthday.Theymightgooutforlunch!Shelaughedharder,laughedatherself.Whenhadhermotherlasttakenherforlunch?
Perhapsshecouldexplain,though.Perhapsshecouldexplainthewholeforkthingtowhoeverwouldbe,atsomepoint,ontheendoftheline.Perhapsshecouldtellthemthestory;perhapsthey’dunderstand.Itwasaneasystorytotell,she’dtolditbefore,anumberoftimes,anumberofversions:tothepolice,tothedutysolicitor,toherpsychologist(Weneedtodevelopstrategies,Laura,tohelpyoucontrolyouranger),toMayaatthelaunderette.
Tellitagain!
She’dbeeninabar,notfarfromwhereshewasrightatthatmoment.Itwasverylate,shewasverydrunk,andshewasdancing,slowly,onherown.Encouraged,perhaps,bythesmallgroupofpeoplewhoweregatheringtowatchher,sheperformed,slowlyandimpromptu,afairlyprofessional-lookingstriptease.Inthemiddleofthisroutineandwithoutsomuchasaby-your-leave,anaggressivelybeardedtwentysomething—drunktoo,butlessdrunkthanshe—
steppedforward,rightintoherspace,reachedout,grabbedherleftbreast,hard.
Hisfriendscheeredandeveryoneelselaughedexceptforonegirlwhosaid,“Fuckinghell.”
Laurawasthrownoffherrhythm,shestumbledbackward,grabbingontothebartosteadyherself.Everyonelaughedharder.Suddenly,blindlyfurious,shelurchedforwardoverthebar,gropingforaweapon.Shehappeneduponacocktailfork,atwo-prongedaffairusedforskeweringolives,whichshegrabbed,lungingforward.Themandroppedhisshoulder,dodgedtotheright,losthisbalance,flailedwithhislefthand,grabbedthebarwithhisrightandthere,shestuckhim,rightthroughthecenterofhishand.Theforkwentin—itreallywentin,sankintohisfleshasthoughitwerebutter—anditstuck.
Therewasquiteascufflethen,withlotsofpushingandshovingandtheyoungmanscreaminginpain.Thebouncerswadedin,oneofthemwrappinghalf-nakedLaurainhisjacketandusheringhertowardthebackofthebar.“Didthatblokedothistoyou,love?”heasked.“Didheattackyou?Didhetakeyourclothes?”
Laurashookherhead.“Itookoffmyclothes,”shesaid,
“butthenhegrabbedme.Hegrabbedmytit!”
Thepolicewerecalled,andwhiletheywerewaiting,thetwoprotagonists—themanwiththeforkinhishandandthe
half-nakedwomanwithabouncer’sjacketaroundhershoulders—wereforcedtositalmostsidebyside.“Fuckingmental,”themankeptmuttering.“She’safuckingmental.Shewantslockingup.”
Hewastryingtoextractacigarettefromthepackwithonehand,buthekeptdroppingthepackonthefloor,whichwasmakingthebouncerslaugh.“Youcan’tsmokeinhereanyway,”thejacketlessonesaid.
Allthiswhile,Laurawassilent—theoutbreakofmayhemhadsoberedherup,frightenedher—untilthemansaid:
“You’regoingtogetdoneforassault,youmadbitch,youknowthat?You’regettinglockedup.”
Atthispoint,sheturnedtolookathimandreplied,“No,I’mnot.Idefendedmyself.”
“Youfuckingwhat?”
“WhendidIsayyoucouldtouchme?”Laurademandedtoknow.“Youassaultedme,”shesaid.“Youputyourhandsonme.”
Theman’sjawdropped.“Youtookyourtopoff,youmentalbitch!”
“Yes,I’mawareofthat,butwhendidIsaythatyoucouldtouchme?”
“She’sgotapoint,”thebouncersaid.Forkboysqueakedindisbelief.
Laurasmiledsweetly.“Thankyou,”shesaid.
“Yeah,”hewenton,“it’safairpoint,love,butstill.Youcan’tjuststabpeopleinthehandwithafork.It’sdisproportionate,innit?”
Lauraheldhergazeinthemirror.Shewasstillinthebathroom,stillholdingthephonetoherear.Therewasnosoundfromtheotherend,noonesaidanything.Noonewaslistening.Lauratookthehandsetfromherear,tappedthescreen,andscrolledtohermother’snumber.Shelistenedtoafamiliarbeepingsound,toawoman’svoicetellingher,Youhavenocreditavailableforthiscall.Sheplacedthephoneontheedgeofthebasin.Shetriedtosmileatherselfinthemirror,butherfacialmusclesdidn’tseemtobeworkingproperly;shecouldonlygrimace,atherugliness,atherloneliness.SEVENTEEN
TheoknockedonAngela’sdooragain,louderthistime.
“Carla?Areyouinthere?”Therewasanedgetohisvoice;hismoodhadbeenveeringallmorningbetweenirritationandpanic.He’dnotbeenabletoreachCarlafortwodaysnow—she’dnotrespondedtohismessagesandifshewasathome,she’dnotansweredthedoortohim.So,irritation:becauseshedidthissometimes,shedroppedoutofcirculationwithoutthoughtfortheconsequences,withoutcaringhowmuchothers—he,mostly—mightbeworryingabouther.Once,shedisappearedforawholeweek.ItturnedoutshewasinFrance;shewouldn’tsaywhowith.
Ontheotherhand,panic:hersisterwasgone.Sotoo,Daniel.Andinaweek’stimeitwouldbeBen’sbirthday.
WouldhavebeenBen’sbirthday,hadhelived.Hiseighteenth.
Theirlittleguy,anadult.Anactualadult.Talkingaboutgoingofftouniversity,bringinghomegirls.Orboys.Ithurttothinkabout,whohemighthavebeen,whotheymighthavebeen,ifnotfortheaccident.
IfnotforAngela.
TheohadbeentoCarla’shome,he’dbeentothegraveyard,he’dcalledherfriends.Ifhefailedhere,hemighthavetocallthepolice.Ithadcrossedhismind,morethanonce,thatshemightbewiththepolicealready.Thatshemightbesittinginaroom,rightnow,answeringquestions.Becauseifthey’dcomeforhisfingerprints,hisDNA,thenthey’dhavecomeforherstoo,wouldn’tthey?Andwhatmighttheyhavefound?
Heknockedagain,moreloudlystill,andcalledout,desperate:“ForGod’ssake,Carla,letmein!”
Thefrontdoorofthenext-doorhouseopenedafraction.Anelderlywomanpokedherwizenedfacethroughthecrack.
“There’snoonethere,”shesaidcurtly.“It’sempty.”
Thenosyneighbor.Carlahadmentionedher;Theocouldn’trememberhername.Hebeamedather.“Oh,hello.I’msosorrytobotheryou,”hesaid,steppingawayfromAngela’sfrontdoorandwalkingovertowardtheoldwoman.“I’mlookingformywife.CarlaMyerson?She’sAngela’ssister,Iwasjustwonderingifyou’dseenheratall…?”Shenarrowedhereyesathim.“Carla?”herepeatedloudly,enunciatingclearly.Thewoman’sbrowfurrowed.Hehadthefeelingshemightnotbequiteallthere.“It’sallright,”hesaid,smilingagain,“don’tworry,nevermind.”
“You,”thecronesaid,suddenly,pullingthedooropen,pointingonegnarledfingerathischest.“Itwasyou.Ofcourse!Ishouldhaverecognizedyou.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”Theosaid.
“Waithere,”shesaid.“Don’tgoanywhere.”Andoffshewent,disappearingdownherhallway,leavingthedoorwideopen.
Theostoodforamoment,unsurewhattodo.Helookedupanddownthestreet.Hecalledout,“Hello?Mrs….uh…”
Whatwashername?Senileoldgoat,heseemedtorememberCarlacallingher.Hesteppedintoherdarkhallway,glancingbrieflyatthepicturesonthewalls,cheapprints,navalscenes.
Perhapsthehusbandwasintoships?Hetookanotherstepfartherintothehouse.
Suddenly,outofthegloom,sheappeared,andhejumped.
Withapairofglassesperchedontheendofhernoseshepeeredathim,eyesnarrowing.
“Itisyou!Youwereherebefore,youwereoutinthelane,withAngela.”
“Uh,no…I—”
“Yes,yes,itwasyou.ThepoliceofficeraskedmewhothemanwasandIcouldn’tsay,Ididn’trecognizeyouatthetime,orIdidn’trememberanyway,butitwasyou.Youwerehere,withAngela.Youmadehercry.”
“Ididnot,”Theosaidemphatically.“Youhavemeconfusedwithsomeoneelse,I’mafraid.”Andheturnedaway,headingquicklytowardthemainroad.
“Youhadadogwithyou!”theoldladycalledoutbehindhim.“Alittledog.”
Theowalkedbrisklyalongthelane,aroundthecorner,andstraightintotheSekfordeArms.Heorderedhimselfawhiskey.Hedrankitswiftlyandwentoutsidetosmoke.
Breakingtherules,nospiritsbeforesixp.m.,thiscigarettedisallowedunderhisownregime.Still.Extenuatingcircumstances,hethought,crushingthehalf-smokedcigaretteagainstanashtray,turningtolookbackdowntheroadtowardHayward’sPlace,asthoughtheoldwomanmightbefollowinghim.
WouldshetellCarla?hewondered.WouldshetellCarlathatshe’dseenhimtoday,orthatshe’dseenhimbefore?JesusChrist.Hewentbackinsideand,raisingafingertotheyoungwomanbehindthebar,orderedanotherdrink.Thebarmaidraisedaneyebrow,almostimperceptibly.Almost.Mindyourownbusiness,hewantedtosay.Sheplacedtheseconddrinkinfrontofhimwithasmile.Thereyougo.Maybehe’dimaginedtheeyebrow.Maybehewasbeingparanoid.
Maybehewasbeingparanoidabouttheoldwomantoo.IfshedidsaysomethingtoCarla,thenwhat?WouldCarlaevenbelieveher?Surelyitwasparanoidtobelievethatshewould
—didn’tshethinktheolddearwaslosinghermarbles?Wasn’tthatwhatshe’dsaid?
Still.Whatifshedidbelieveher?Whatwouldshethink?IfsheknewthathehadbeenwithAngela,inwhatdirectionwouldthattakeher?Impossibletotell.TheohadknownCarlaclosetothirtyyearsandstill,hewasneverquitesurewhichway,inanygivensituation,shemightjump.Heknewthis:Hehadforgivenherallhertrespassesandwouldcontinuetodoso,always.Buthewasbynomeanscertainthatshewouldreciprocate.
HepulledhismobilefromhispocketandcalledCarlaagain.Still,shedidnotpickup.Hewastemptedtoorderanotherdrink,butthebuzzfromthefirstwasalreadydriftingintothedangerousfogofthesecond,andwhatifshedidpickup?Whatwashegoingtosaythen?Whatwashegoingtotellher?
Thelasttimehe’dseenAngela,theyhadbeenstandingoutonHayward’sPlace,wherehe’djustbeenspeakingtotheneighbor.Agrayday,aheavysky,allofLondonmonochrome.TheohadbeenlookingforDaniel,butinsteadhefoundAngela.Theoldwomanwasright,shehadcried,althoughhewasn’tsureitwasaccuratetosayhe’dmadehercry.She’djustburstintotearsthemomentshesawhim.Sheinvitedhiminsidebuthepreferredtotalkinthestreet.Hecouldn’tbeinaroomwithheralone;hedidn’ttrusthimself.
Shelookedshocking:painfullythin,spideryblueveinstracingtheirwaythroughpaperyskin.Herhairwasgrayandverylong;shelookedlikethewickedwitchfromafairytale.
Shelookedhollowedout,ahusk.Theotriedtoignoreherappearanceandherdistress.Hetriedtospeaktohermatter-of-factly,toconveyasdirectlyaspossiblewhyhewasthere.ThatDanielhadcometohishouseaskingformoney,thathe’dsaid
he’dlosthisjobandhadnooneelsetoturnto.Hedidn’twanttobotherCarla,he’dsaid.Theothoughtthatwasprobablyalie;heassumedtherewassomethingelseatplay,buthedidn’twanttoknowwhatthatwas.Theohadwrittenhimacheckforathousandpounds.Acoupleofweekslater,Danielcameback
—Theowasout,butheleftamessage.
“CanIlisten?”Angelaasked.
“Notonthephone,”Theosaid.“Hepusheditunderthedoor.”
“Whatsortofnote?Whatdiditsay?”Angela’seyeswerewide,thewhitesajaundicedyellow.She’sill,Theothought.
Shemightevenbedying.
“Itdoesn’tmatterwhathesaid,”Theoreplied.“Ijustneedtotalktohimaboutit.”
Angelasaidshedidn’tknowwherehewas,butthatifshesawhim,shewouldtalktohim.“Won’tdoanygood,”shesaid,shakingherhead.“Hedoesn’tlistentome.Carla’stheone,”shesaid,eyesfillingwithtearsagain.“He’llusuallydowhatCarlaasks.”
Theostoodthereforawhilewatchinghercry;hetriedtofeelpityforherbutfailed.Sheclearlyfeltsomuchforherselfalready,hisownseemedsuperfluous.Hewalkedawayfromherbeforehecouldsaysomethingheregretted.
Thatwasn’tthelasttimehesawher,ofcourse;thatwasthesecondtolast.EIGHTEEN
Inthecornersoftheroom,bodiesformedfromgatheringshadows,faceless,shifting,approachingandreceding,dissipatingbacktonothingness.Irenelayawake,listeningtoherbreathcomeshortandraggedinherchest,thesoundofbloodthickinherears,dreadweighingonher,pressingherbodydownintothebed.
Somethinghadwokenher.Afoxinthechurchyard?Orsomedrunkardoutinthelane,shoutingatnothing,or—there!
No,thereitwasagain,asound.Acreakonthestair?Ireneheldherbreath,tooafraidtoreachoverandturnonthelight.
Afewsecondspassed,afewmore.Perhapsshehadimaginedit?Perhapsshehadbeendreaming?Sheexhaled,slowly,turningontoherside.There!Again!Atread.Nodoubtaboutit,andnot—thankfully—onherstairs,butnextdoor.Sheknewthesoundwell;she’dlistenedtoAngelagoupanddownthosestairsatallhoursforyears.
Wasitanechoshewashearing,ofAngela’sfootsteps?Wasthisanormalresponsetogrief,justlikehervisionsofWilliam,comingwhistlingalongthelaneintheeveningsorstandingoverbythewindowwhenshewoke,alwaysonthepointofturning,alwaysonthepointofsaying,Fancyacuppa,Reenie?
Aroundtheedgesofhervision,somethingmoved;Irenegrippedthebedcoversotightlyherfingersached.
HowwouldAngelaappeartoher,Irenewondered,ifshecame?Wouldshebeherself,alwaysalittlejittery,herkneeforeverbouncingasshesat,oneskinnylegcrossedovertheother,chattingaboutthebookshe’djustfinished,herhandsalwaysworkingawayatsomething,rollingacigaretteor
pullingatathreadfromherlinenshirt?Wouldshebeherself,orwouldshebesomethingelse,wouldshecomecrooked,herneckbroken,hersweetwinebreathminglingwithrot?
Then—therewasnodoubtaboutthisnow—Ireneheardsomeonewalkalongthecorridorontheothersideofthepartitionwall.Asofttread,notlikeAngela’sdrunkenshuffle,andnotsomemuffled,indistinct,imaginednoise,butfootsteps.Carefulandunmistakable.
Therewassomeonenextdoor,anditwasnotaghost.Itwasanintruder.Morethanmostthings,Irenedreadedanintruder.
Shedreadedthemomentatwhichtheintruderwouldrealizethattherewassomeonehome,awitnesstheywouldhavetodealwith.Shedreadedthemomentofreckoning,themomentatwhichshe,thefrailpensioneraloneinbed,wouldcometounderstandthesortofintruderthiswas:anopportunist,outtosnatchawalletoralaptopcomputer,orsomethingelse.
Someoneinsearchofaplaything.Thoseterrible,pitifulstoriesyouheard,ofoldladiesbeaten,assaulted,eyesblackened,nightdressessoiled.
There,again!Anothernoise,someonemovingbackandforth,perhaps,alongthecorridor.Lookingforsomething?
Myerson,Irenethought.Themanwho’dmadeAngelacry.
Themanwho’dliedabouthavingeverbeenthereatall.She’dnotlikedthelookofhimatall,notlikedthewayhiseyesslidoverher,underestimatingherallthewhile.Stupidoldfool,he’dthought.Shecouldalmosthearhimmuttering.Nosyoldcow.
Well.Shemightaswellfulfillhercurtain-twitchingdestiny,then,mightn’tshe?Shefeltinthedarknessforthelightswitchandclickedonthelamp,blinkingashereyesadjustedtothelight.Maneuveringherselfintoasittingposition,shereachedforherspectacles.Hermobilephone,inevitably,wasnotnexttoherbed.Theblastedphonewasneverwheresheneededit
tobe;nomatterwhereshewasorwhatshewasdoing,itwasalwaysinanotherroom.
Shecreptdownthestairs,feelingherwayalongthestairwellinthedark,notwantingtoattractattentionbyturningonthedownstairslights.Stupid,shemutteredtoherself.
Blunderingaroundinthedarkness—nevermindtwistinganankle,you’llbreakahip.
AsIrenereachedthelaststep,ascarefullyshetestedwithoneslipperedfootthatshehadquitedefinitelyreachedthegroundfloor,sheheardfromnextdooraloudersound,asuddenwhump!asthoughsomeonehadstumbled,andshecriedout,“Whoisthat?Icanhearyou.I’mcallingthepolice!
Thepolicearecoming!”Shesoundedlaughablyindignant,eventoherownears.“Doyouhearme?”
Silenceanswered.
Twopoliceofficers,oneyoung,stocky,fresh-faced,theotherolder,awomaninherthirties,weary-looking,stoodoutsideAngela’shouse,handsonhips.“Thedoor’slocked,”thestockyonetoldIrene.Hetriedthedoorhandleagain,justtoshowher.“Nosignofanyonetamperingwithit.Nosignofanydamagetothewindows.”Heshrugged,apologetic.
“There’snosignofabreak-in.”
“There’ssomeoneinthere,”Irene,shufflingovertojointhepoliceofficers,insisted.“Iheardthem.Iheardthemwalkingaround.”
“Andyousaythehouseisempty?You’resureithasn’tbeenrentedout?”
“No,it’sdefinitelyempty,theyhaven’tevenfinishedclearingit,andthethingis,therewasamanheretoday,andheliedaboutthefacthe’dbeenherebefore,andIjust…Ijust…”
Thewomanpursedherlips.“So,someone’sbeenhangingaroundtheproperty,then?”
“Well…no,that’snotwhatI’msaying,butawomandiedhere.Acoupleofmonthsago,awomandied,andyou…notyou,butthepolice,saiditwasanaccident,onlyI’mnotsurethat’sright,becausenowtheson’sdied,anddoesn’tthatseemstrangetoyou?”
Thewomanblinked,slowly.“Sorry,”shesaid,“you’resayingtherehavebeentwosuspiciousdeathsattheproperty?”
“No,no,onlyone,thesondiedsomewhereelse….Ijust…I’mnotsometimewaster,”Irenesaid.“Butthere’ssomeonenextdoor,and…frankly,I’mfrightened.”
Thestockyonenodded.“Rightyouare,”hesaid,givingIreneasmile.Heraisedhisfistandthumpeditfirmlyagainstthedoor.Theyallwaited.Hethumpedagain.Andthenalightcameon.
Irenealmostfelloverthepolicewomaninherhastetobackawayfromthedoor.“Thereissomeonethere!”shecried,atonceterrifiedandtriumphant.Afewmomentslater,thedoorswungopen,andtherestoodCarla,herexpressionthunderous.
Later,afterthey’dsortedeverythingoutwiththepolice,afterCarlahadexplainedwhoshewasandhowshe’deveryrighttobethere,sheacceptedIrene’sofferofathreea.m.cupoftea.
“Youshouldn’tbecrashingaroundinthere,”Irenesaidtoher,aggrieved.“Notinthemiddleofthenight.”
“Withrespect,Irene…”AsCarlaacceptedamugofteasheraisedherchinalittle,sothatshewaslookingdownthebridgeofhernoseasshespoke.“IcangotherewheneverIwant.It’smyhouse.Imean,itwillbe.SoIwillgotherewheneveritsuitsme.”
“But—”
“I’msorryIdisturbedyou,”Carlawenton,hertonebetrayingnotoneiotaofcontrition,“butI’vebeensleepingbadly,ifatall,oflate,andsosometimesinsteadoflyinginbedstaringattheceiling,IgetupandIgetonwiththings,whetherthatbecorrespondence,orcleaning,orinthiscasecomingheretolookforsomethingImislaidearlier—”
“What?”Irenesnapped,infuriatedbyCarla’smanner,byherblithedisregardforIrene’speaceofmind.“Whatonearthdidyouneedsourgentlyattwoo’clockinthemorning?”
“Noneofyourbusiness!”Carlaslammedhermugdownonthekitchencounter,spillingteaontothefloor.“Sorry,”shesaid,andshereachedforasheetofkitchentowel,croucheddowntomopupthespill.“God!”Shestayeddownthere,crouchedover,herarmshanginglooseathersides,herfacepressedagainstherknees.“I’msorry,”shemumbled.“I’msorry.”
Irenereachedoutahand,placeditgentlyonCarla’sshoulder.“It’sallright,”shesaid,takenaback,alittle,bythisdisplayofweakness.“Comeon,upyoucome.”
Carlastood.Shewascrying—notloudly,ordemonstratively,butinaquiet,dignified,Carlasortofway—
tearsslidingelegantlydownhercheeks,drippingfromherjawlineontothecollarofhercrispwhiteshirt.Sheclosedhereyesandpressedtheheelsofherhandsagainsthercheekbones.
“Comeonnow,”Irenesaidgently,coaxingher,asthoughshewereananimal,orasmallchild.“Takeyourtea,there,that’sright,”shesaid,andsheledCarlafromthekitchentothelivingroom,wheretheysat,sidebyside,onthesofa.
“Ihadsomethings,”Carlasaidafterawhile,“inabag.
Someclothesandacoupleofjewelryboxes.Ihadthemwith
mewhenIcameheretoday—Imean,yesterday—wheneveritwas.I’msureIdid.”
“Andnowyoucan’tfindthem?”
Carlanodded.
“Theywere…valuable?”
Carlashrugged.“Notterribly.Idon’tknow…mymother’sengagementring,that’sprobablyworthabit,butthemedal,aSaintChristopher…Itbelongedtomyson.”
“Oh,Carla.”
“Ican’tloseit,Ican’t,weboughtitforhischristening,wehaditengraved….”Sheshookherhead,blinkingawaytears.
“Heneverworeit,ofcourse,hewastoolittle,buthelovedtolookatit,togetitoutofthebox,hewantedtoplaywithit,youknowhowkidsare.ButIalwayssaidthathecouldn’tkeepholdofit,thatitwasprecious,thathehadtoputitaway,andthatIwouldlookafteritforhim,Iwouldkeepitsafeforhim….Ipromisedtokeepitsafeforhim,andIdid,forallthistime,andnow—”Shebrokeoff,turningherfaceaway.
“Oh,I’msosorry,”Irenesaid.“Butwhybringittothehouse—wereyouonyourwaysomewhere?Didyoustopoffanywhere,perhaps?Ashop,perhapsyousetthemdown…?”
“No,no.Ididn’tgoanywhereelse.Iwasjust…Iwantedthemwithme,thosethings.Iwantedthemwithme….”Sheturnedherheadaway.
“Youwantedthemwithyou?”Irenedidn’tunderstand.
“Iwas…Iwasindespair,”Carlasaid.Sheturnedbackandtheireyesmet
Irene’shandflewtohermouth.Sheunderstoodnow.“Oh,Carla,”shesaid.“Ohno.”
Carlashookherheadagain.“Itdoesn’tmatter,”shesaid.“Itdoesn’tmatter.”
“Itmatters.Ofcourseitdoes.”IrenerestedherhandgentlyontopofCarla’s.“Yourson,andthenyoursisterandDaniel,soclosetogether—itfeelsliketoomuchtobear.”
Carlasmiled,withdrawingherhand,wipingthetearsfromhercheeks.“We’venothadmuchluck,”shesaid.
“You’regrieving,”Irenesaid.“Youcan’tthinkstraightwhenyou’regrieving.IwasthesamewhenIlostmyhusband,Ithoughtaboutit.Puttinganendtoit.Theredidn’tseemmuchpointingoingon,justme,youknow,nooneelse.Yoursisterpulledmeoutofit,youknow.Shejustkeptcominground,bringingthoselittlepastriessheliked,thealmondones,Swedish?Danish,that’sit,orsometimessomesoup,orjustcoffee,whatever,andshe’dbechatteringaway,aboutwhatshewasreading,youknow,thatsortofthing.Shesavedmylife,Angiedid.”Carla’sfaceseemedtodarken;sheturnedherheadaway.“Iknowthatthingsweren’talwaysgoodbetweenyouandher,butshelovedyou,”Irenesaid.“And…well,IknowyoulovedDaniel,didn’tyou,hemeantagreatdeal—”
Carlagottoherfeet.“Youneedtogobacktobed,”shesaidbriskly,carryinghermugbacktothekitchen.“I’vekeptyouup.”
“Well,Idon’tsleepterriblywellanyway,”Irenesaid.“It’sallright,ifyou’dliketoresthere,if—”
“Oh,no,”Carlasaid,asthoughtheideawereabhorrent.
Shewasbackfromthekitchen,alltraceofemotionwipedfromherface.Shestoodinthedoorway,backstraight,chintiltedtowardtheceilingmoldings,hermouthaline.“Don’tgetup,Irene,please,”shesaid.“Thankyouforthetea.AndI’msorryaboutthedisturbance,I’ll…I’llbegoinghomenow,soIwon’tbotheryouagain.”
“Carla,I…”Irenepaused.Shewantedtosaysomethingreassuring,somethinghopeful,somethingconciliatory.She
couldn’tthinkofasinglething.Instead,sheasked:“Youwillbeallright,won’tyou?”
Foramoment,Carlaappearednottounderstandthatquestion,andthensheblushed.“Oh,God.Yes,ofcourse.Youdon’thavetoworryaboutthat.I’mnotsureIeverwouldhavegonethroughwithit.Theimaginingofitisonething,isn’tit,andthenthereality…”Shetailedoff.“Ibroughtthedog’slead,”shesaid.Ireneshuddered,herskincrawlingfromhertailbonetothenapeofherneck,atthethoughtofit,ofanotherbodynextdoor,waiting,undiscovered,behindthosepaper-thinwalls.
“Notmydog,ofcourse,”Carlawassaying,“Idon’thaveone.Myex-husbanddid,though,andIthinkthatsomewhereinmysubconsciousIwasensuringthatIwouldn’tgothroughwithit.”Shesmiled,astrange,privatesmile.“IthinkImusthaveknownthatIwouldlookattheleadandIwouldthinkofhislittledog,Iwouldthinkofhowmuchhelovedthedog,andofhowmuchhelovedme,andthatwouldpullmeback.”Sheshrugged,herexpressionsoft.“That’swhatIthinknow,anyway.”
“Oh!”Irenesaid,rememberingallofasudden.“Iforgottosay.Yourex-husband,hecamelookingforyou.Hewashere
—”
“Here?”
“Well,outside,inthelane,knockingonAngela’sdoor.Ididn’trecognizehimatfirst,butthenIrememberedthathe’dcomebefore,I’dseenhimouttheretalkingtoAngela,so—”
Carlashookherhead.“No,thatcouldn’thavebeenTheo.”
“Itwas,itwasdefinitely—”
“You’remistaken,Irene,thereisnowaythatmyhusband
—”
“Isawhimwithher,”Ireneinsisted.“Isawthem,outthere,inthelane.Shewascrying.Angelawascrying.Ithinktheywerearguing.”
“Irene.”Carla’svoicerose,twospotsofdarkcolorappearinginhercheeks.“Theodidn’tspeaktomysister,hewouldnever—”
“Hehadhislittledogwithhim.Alittleterrierofsomesort,blackandtan.”
Carlablinkedslowly.“YousawhimwithAngela?”sheasked.Irenenodded.“When?”
“I’mnotsure,itwas—”
“Howmanytimes?”
“Justtheonce,Ithink.Theywereoutsideinthelane.
Angelawascrying.”
“When,Irene?”
“Aweekortwo,”Irenesaid,“beforeshedied.”
???
BACKUPSTAIRSINBED,Irenelayawake,watchingagraylightcreepthroughthegapinthecurtains.Itwasalmostmorning.
She’dreturnedtobedfeelingexhausted,knowingitwasunlikelyshewouldsleep.Itwastruewhatshe’dsaidtoCarlaaboutherwakefulness,shortsleepingbeingyetanothersideeffectofoldage.Butshedoubtedshe’dhavesleptnomatterhowshe’dbeenfeelingorwhatherage;thestrickenlookonCarla’sfacewhenIrenehadmentionedTheoMyerson’svisitwouldhavekeptherawakenomatterwhat.NINETEEN
Willyoujust.Fucking.Letmein?”
HalfpastnineinthemorninginthepissingrainandLaurastoodonthepavementoutsidethelaunderette,herbreathragged,onlyvaguelyconsciousofwageslavesbeneathumbrellashurryingpast,keepingawideberthofthenutcaseonthestreet,theonewhowasnowswingingherbackpackaroundintheair,whowashurlingitatthelaunderettedoorashardasshecould.“It’snotaboutthejob,”sheyelled.“Idon’tcareaboutthejob,youcanstickyourfuckingjob!IjustwantedtotalktoTania!Maya!Forfuck’ssake!Letmein!”
Ontheothersideoftheglassdoor,Mayastood,square-shoulderedandimpassive,herarmsfoldedacrossherchest.
“Laura,”shecalledout,“youneedtocalmdown.I’mgoingtogiveyouthirtyseconds,allright,tocalmdownandwalkaway,andifyoudon’t,I’mgoingtocallthepolice.Doyouunderstandme?Laura?”
Lauracroucheddown,shebitdownhardonherlip,shefeltawaveofnauseahitherasadrenalinefloodedhersystem,hermouthfillingwithsaliva,heartpumpingfittoexplode.Shegrabbedanemptybeerbottlelyinginthegutterandraisedherarm.
Ahandgrabbedher,pullingherarmsharplybackbehindhertorso.Shefeltapainfultwistathershoulderandshecriedout,droppingthebottle.Thehandletgo.“Whatonearthdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”awoman’svoiceaskedandLauraturned,lefthandrubbingherpainfulrightshoulder,tofindshe’dbeenapprehendedbythehobbit.
That’swhattheycalledherinthelaunderette,becauseshewasshortandhairyandshelookedlikeshemightliveina
burroworawarrenorsomething,althoughitturnedoutsheactuallylivedonaboat,whichwasinitselfquiteweird.
“Well?”Thewomanwasfrowningather,moreconfusedthanangry.Likewhenherdadgotcrosswithher,onlyhetriedtodenyitandsaid,I’mnotangry,chicken,I’mdisappointed
“Theywon’tletmein,”Laurasaidlimply,theredmistburningoff,quickasithaddescended.“Shewon’tletmein,andIdidn’tevenwanttostartanytrouble,IonlywantedtotalktoTaniaaboutsomething,it’snotevenanythingtodowiththeshop,it’snoteven…”Laurastoppedtalking.Itwaspointless.Allofit,pointless.Shesankdownontotheedgeofthepavement,herkneesupunderherchin.“Ididn’twanttocauseanytrouble.”
ThehobbitleanedheavilyonLaura’sshoulderasshesatdownatherside.“Well,”shesaidgruffly,“I’mnotcertainchuckingbottlesaboutisthebestwaytonotcausetrouble.”
Lauraglancedatherandshesmiled,baringamouthfullofcrooked,yellowingteeth.
“Ican’trememberyourname,”Laurasaid.
“Miriam,”thewomanreplied.ShepattedLauraontheknee.“Itakeityou’renotworkingthereanylonger?I’dnoticedyou’dnotbeenaround.”
“Igotfired,”Laurasaidmiserably.“Ididn’tturnupfortwoshiftsonthebounce,anditwasn’tthefirsttimeI’dmissed,andIdidn’tcallMayatotellher,soshemissedhergrandson’sbirthday,whichisreallyshit,butthethingisthatIdidn’tmeantodoit,Ididn’tmeananyofit.Itwasn’tmyfault.”
Miriampattedherkneeagain.“I’msosorry.That’shorrible.Horribletoloseajob.Iknowhowthatfeels.Wouldyouliketogosomewhere,todrinkacupoftea?I’dliketohelpyou.”Laurashiftedawayfromherslightly.“I’vehadtorelyonthekindnessofstrangersmyself,onceortwice,”
Miriamsaid.“Iknowwhatit’slike.Itcanbedisconcertingat
first,can’tit?”Lauranodded.“ButIthink,”Miriamsaid,smilingatherbenevolently,“Ithinkyou’llfindthatwe’rereallyquitealike,youandme.”
Nowe’refuckingnot,Laurathought,butshemanagednottosayanything,becauseshecouldseethewomanwasonlytryingtobekind.
“SothenfouryearsafterIgotrunover,mymothermarriedthemanwhoknockedmeoffmybike.”Laurapaused,addingmilktothemugsofteashe’dmade.Shehandedtheless-chippedmugtoMiriam.“Itfucksyouup,stufflikethat,noquestion.Imean,obviously,beingknockeddownbyacarfucksyouphysically,itleavesyouwithpainandscarsandallsortsofimpairments,doesn’tit?”Shegestureddownward,tohergammyleftleg.“Buttheotherstuff’sworse.Theemotionalstuffisworse,thementalstuff.That’swhatfucksyouupforgood.”
Miriamsippedherteaandnodded.“Icouldn’tagreemore,”
shesaid.
“Sonow,”Laurasaid,collapsingintoherchair,“Idostuff,stupidstuffsometimes,likethismorning,orlike…
whenever,andit’snotlikeIevenmeanto,orsometimesIdomeanto,onlyit’slikesomething’sbeensetinmotionandIcan’tstopit,andallIcandoisreact,tryandminimizethedamagetomyself,andsometimeswhenyoudothat,youendupdamagingotherpeople,butit’snotdeliberate.Notpremeditated.”Thehobbitnoddedagain.“Peoplescoff,youknow?PeoplelikemystepmotherormyteachersorthepoliceorMayaorwhatever,whenIsayit’snotmyfault.They’relike,well,whosefaultisit,then?”
Janine,Laura’smother,stoodinthedrivewayinfrontofthehouse,lookingoveratthebirdfeedersintheappletree.Theyneededfillingup.Shewasn’tsuretheyhadanymorefeed,butshedidn’twanttogototheshopsnow;ithadbeensnowingforawhileandtheroadswouldbehorrible.Sheclosedhereyesandtookadeepbreath,enjoyingthepullofcoldairintoherlungsandthealmostperfectquiet,whichwasbrokensuddenlyandviolentlybyasquealofbrakes.Therefollowedalong,swoopingsilenceandthenahorrible,sickeningcrack.
Thedrivewasabouttwohundredyardslongandtree-lined,andtherewasahedgeattheedgeoftheproperty,sotherewasnowayofseeingwhathadhappenedintheroad,butJanineknew.Shetoldthepolicewhentheycamethatshejustknewsomethingterriblehadhappened.
Thecarwasgone.Lauralayintheroadwithherlegstwistedaroundatastrangeangle.Asshesanktoherkneesatherchild’sside,JaninesawaslowtrickleofblooddrippingfromthebackofLaura’shelmetontotheslick,wettarmac.
Shereachedintoherpocketforherphoneandfoundthatitwasnotthereandshestartedtoscreamandscream,butnoonecame,becausethenexthousealongwashalfamileaway.
Thepolicewantedtoknowwhatshehadseenandheard—
wasshesureshedidn’tglimpseanythingofthecar,perhapsablurofcolor?Janineshookherhead.“Thiswasmyfault.Itwasmyfault.”
“Itisnotyourfault,Mrs.Kilbride;thisisthefaultofthedriverofthecarthathitLaura,”thepolicewomansaidtoher.
ThepolicewomanputherarmaroundJanine’sshouldersandsqueezedher.“We’llfindhim.Orher.We’llfindwhoeverdidthis.Don’tyouworry,they’renotgoingtogetawaywiththis.”
Janinepulledawayfromher,gazedatherinpale,wordlessterror.
Theydidfindhim.CCTVhalfamileawaycapturedtwocarsgoingpastwithinminutesofLaura’saccident:thefirst
belongedtoanelderlywomanwhosecarwasfoundtobeimmaculate,withoutanysignofacollision.ThesecondbelongedtoRichardBlake,anartandantiquesdealerwholivedafewmilesawayinPetworthandwhosecar,hesaidwhenthepolicetrackedhimdownatwork,hadbeenstolenthenightbefore.Hehadnotreportedit.Asthepoliceofficerswereleaving,Richardaskedinastrangledvoice,“Isshegoingtobeallright?”andthepolicewomanasked,“Iswhogoingtobeallright?”
“Thelittlegirl!”heblurtedout,wringinghishandsinfrontofhim.
“Imentionedachild,Mr.Blake.Ididn’tsayshewasfemale.Howdidyouknowthevictimwasagirl?”
AcriminalmastermindRichardBlakewasnot.
That’showithappened.That’swhatLaurabelieved.That’swhatshewastold,so—shewastenyearsold,remember?—
that’swhatshebelieved.
Atfirst,ofcourse,shedidn’tbelieveanythingatall,becauseshewasinacoma.Twelvedaysunconscious,andthenwhenfinallyshewoke,itwastoanewworld,oneinwhichshehadabrokenpelvisandacompound-fracturedfemurandasmashedskull,aworldinwhich,itseemed,someonehaddoneafullfactoryreset,sentherallthewaybacktozero.Shehadtolearntospeakagain,toread,towalk,tocounttoten.
She’dnomemoryoftheaccident,orofthemonthsprecedingit—thenewschool,thenewhouse,hernewbicycle:itwasallgone.ShehadavaguememoryoftheiroldhouseinLondon,ofthenext-doorneighbor’scat.Afterthat,everythingwentblurry.
Gradually,though,astimepassed,thingsbegantocomebacktoher.Afewweeksbeforesheleftthehospital,shesaidtoherfather:“Thehouseweliveinnow,it’satthefootofahill.Isthatright?”
“That’sright!”Hesmiledather.“Goodgirl.Doyourememberanythingelse?”
“Bungalow,”shesaid,andhenodded.Shefrowned.“Thecar.It’sgreen.”
Herfathershookhishead,aruefulsmileonhislips.“Red,I’mafraid,chicken.I’vegotaredVolvo.”
“No,notourcar.Thecarthathitme.Itwasgreen.Itturnedoutofourdriveway,”shesaid.“Itwasleavingourhouse,justasIwascominghome.”
Thesmileslidfromherfather’sface.“Youdon’tremembertheaccident,chicken.Youcouldn’tpossiblyremembertheaccident.”
Afewdaysafterthat,whenhermothercametovisit(theynevervisitedtogetheranylonger,whichseemedodd),Lauraaskedaboutthecarthathadhither.“Itwasgreen,wasn’tit?”
sheasked.“I’msureitwasgreen.”
Hermotherbusiedherselfwithtidyingtheget-wellcardsonthewindowsill.“Youknow,I’mnotsure.Ididn’tactuallyseethecar.”
Liar.
Janine,Laura’smother,stoodinthedrivewayinfrontofthehouse,shivering,wearingUggbootsandwrappedinabathrobeofchartreusesilk.Herskinwasflushedwithsex.
They’dlosttrackoftime;theywerestillentangledwitheachotherwhenshelookedoveratherhusband’swatchonherbedsideandsaid,“Shit,Laura’sgoingtobehomesoon.”
Richardhaddressedinahurry,healmostfelloverputtinghistrouserson,thepairofthemwerelaughing,makingplansfornexttime.Shesawhimoutandkissedhimashegotintohiscar.Hetoldherhelovedher.Shestoodonthedriveway,herheadtiltedback,watchingthesnowcomefallingdown,openinghermouthsoshecouldfeeltheflakesonhertongue.
Hiswordsechoedinherheadandthenshehearditandsheknew:somethingterriblehadhappenedtoRichard.
Shesprintedtotheroad.Thefirstthingshesawwashiscar,hisdarkgreenMercedesparkedatanoddangleinthemiddleoftheroadandthen,beyondthat,Richardhimself.Hewaskneelingwithhisbacktoher,hisshouldersheaving,andasshereachedhim,shesawthathewassobbing,histearsfallingontothebrokenbodyofherchild.“OhGodohGodohpleaseGodno,pleaseGodno.Shewasintheroad,Janine,shewasinthemiddleoftheroad.OhpleaseGodnopleaseGod.”
Janinegrabbedhisarm,startedtopullhimtohisfeet.“Youhavetogo,”shewassaying,hervoicesoundingweirdlymatter-of-facteventoherownears.“Youhavetogetinthecarandgo,gorightnow.Go,Richard,I’lltakecareofher.Goon!”
“She’sbleeding,Janine,it’sbad.OhChrist,it’sbad.”
“Youhavetogo,”shesaidagain,andwhenhedidn’tmove,shestartedtoshout.“Now,Richard!Leave!Justgonow.Youweren’there.Youwereneverhere.”
Liarliar.
Allthatwouldcomeoutlater.EveryonetoldLaura(everyonebeingherparentsandthedoctorandhercounselor)nottogooglewhathadhappened,thatitwouldn’thelp,itwouldonlyupsether,frightenher,givehernightmares.WhichLaura,whomighthaveonlyjustturnedelevenbutwasn’tbornyesterday,
thoughtwasbollocks,alsoquitesuspicious,andshewasrightaboutthat,wasn’tshe?
ThefirstthingshefoundwhenshegoogledherselfwasanewsstorywiththeheadlineMANJAILEDFORHITANDRUNandapictureofherlookinglikeatwatinherschooluniform,grinninggoofilyatthecamera.Shestartedreading:ArtdealerRichardBlakewasyesterdaysentencedtofourmonthsinprisonforthehit-and-runaccidentwhichseriouslyinjuredlocalschoolgirl,LauraKilbride,11.
Laurareadthatsentenceagain.Richard?
Butthatcouldn’tberight.SheknewRichard.Richardwasthemanwhotaughttheartclasseshermumwentto;Richardwasnice.Hehadanopen,friendlyface;hewasalwayslaughing.LauralikedRichard,hewaskindtoher,they’dplayedfootballtogetheronceinthecarparkwhenshewaswaitingforhermumtofinishupinthesupermarket.Richardwouldn’thavedonethattoher.Hewouldneverhavedrivenawaywithoutcallinganambulance.
TherevelationaboutRichardBlakewasquicklyforgotten,though,intheshockofwhatwastocome:
Mr.Blake,45,whopleadedguiltytofailingtostopandfailingtoreportanaccident,wasconductingarelationshipwiththechild’smother,JanineKilbride,atthetimeoftheaccident.Mrs.Kilbride,43,whoarrivedonthesceneshortlyaftertheaccident,calledanambulancetoattendtoherchild,buttoldpoliceshedidnotseethevehiclethatstruckher.JanineKilbridewasfined￡800forgivingfalseinformationtothepolice.
WhenLauralookedbackonthatperiod,sheidentifiedthemomentthatshereadthatparagraphasthebeginningoftheend.Herbodywasalreadybroken,ofcourse,herbrainfunctionalreadyaffected,butthatwasthesortofdamagefromwhichapersoncanrecover.Butthis?Theknowledgethatshebeenliedto,bybothofherparents,byeveryonewho’dbeencaringforher,thatwasaknockoutblow,thesortthatlaysyouout,thesortfromwhichyoudonotgetbackup.That
knowledge,thesenseofbetrayalthatcamewithit,thatchangedher.Itlefthermarked.
ItleftherangryTWENTY
Miriamcouldrecognizedamagedgoodswhenshesawthem.Peoplealwayswentonabouttheeyes,aboutguardedexpressions,hauntedlooks,thatsortofthing.
Possibly,Miriamthought,butitwasmoreaboutmovement,aboutthewayyoucarriedyourself.Shecouldn’tseeitinherself,ofcourse,butshecouldfeelit—shemightbeoldandheavyandslownow,butshewasstillontheballsofherfeet.
Stillwary.Readyforthatrushofbloodtothehead.
MiriamsawLauracreatinghavocoutsidethelaunderetteandseizedheropportunity.Shesteppedinquickly,pickedupLaura’srucksack,apologizedtotheexasperatedowner,andescortedthegirlsmartlyaway.Sheofferedheracupofteaontheboat,butLauraturnedherdown.Understandable,underthecircumstances.Whenyouconsideredthemessshegotherselfintolasttimeshewentdownthere.
TheywenttoLaura’splaceinstead.Anordeal,toputitmildly.LauralivedinacouncilflatinatowerblockoverbySpaFields,upontheseventhfloorandtheliftwasout.
Miriamwasunsureshe’dmakeitallthewayup;shehadtostopseveraltimes,herbreathshortandthesweatpouringoffher.Littletoeragsinthestairwelllaughing,makingjokes.Shitbruv,yournan’shavingaheartattack
Whenshegotupthere,though,theclimbfeltalmostworthit.Astiffbreeze,noneofthestinkofthecanal,andaview—agloriousview!ThespireofSaintJamesintheforeground,behindthatthehulkingbrutalisttowersoftheBarbican,thequietsplendorofSt.Paul’s,andfartherstill,thecity’sshiningglassfacades.London,inallitsglory,theoneyouforgotaboutwhenyoulivedwithyournosesoclosetotheground.
Laurahardlyseemedtonotice.Usedtoit,Miriamsupposed,andclearlyinpain—thelimpseemedtogetworsewitheveryfloortheyclimbed.WhenfinallytheyreachedLaura’sfrontdoor,Miriamaskedaboutit,politely,asasimpleexpressionofconcern,fullyexpectingabanalresponse—atwistedankle,adrunkenfall—andinsteadreceivedataleofwoeshecouldscarcelybelieve.Awfulparents,aterribleaccident,virtualabandonmenttoherfate.Miriam’sheartwentouttoher.Astartlikethatinlife?Nowondershewassuchanoddfish.
Hersympathyforthegirlswelledwhenshesawherpitifullittleflat.Cheap,uglyfurnitureonagrayacryliccarpet,wallstheyellowofnicotine.Thiswasthehomeofachildwithout:nocolorfulthrowsorcushions,noornamentsortrophies,nobooksontheshelves,nopostersonthewalls—nothingwhatsoeversaveforasingleframedphotograph,ofachildwithitsparents.Arelieffromthebleaknessuntilyougotcloser,asMiriamdid,steppingoverapileofclotheslyinginthemiddleofthelivingroomfloor,toseethatthepicturehadbeendefaced,thechild’seyescrossedout,itsmouthbloodied.
Miriampeeredatitandflinched.Whensheturnedaround,Laurawaslookingather,astrangeexpressiononherface.
Miriam’sskingoose-fleshed.“Shallwehavethatcupoftea,then?”sheasked,withforcedjollity.
(Damagedgoods,oddfish—whoknewwhatwasgoingonbehindthoseprettyeyes?)
Inthekitchen,teadrunkandanuncomfortablesilencehangingoverthem,Miriamdecidedtotakearisk,tospeakup.
“Iknowyou,youknow,”shesaid.Inherpocket,shefiddledwiththekey,theoneshe’dtakenfromtheflooroftheboat,withthekeyringattached.
Lauragaveheralook.“Yeah.Fromthelaunderette.Duh.”
Miriamshookherhead,asmallsmileonherlips.“It’snotjustthat.Iknowwhyyoudidn’twanttogodowntothecanal.”Shesawthegirl’sexpressionchange,fromboredomtoconsternation.“It’snothingtoworryabout,”Miriamsaid.“I’monyourside.Iknowit’syouthepolicearetalkingtoabouthim.AboutDanielSutherland.”
“Howdidyouknowthat?”Thereitwas,thegirl’sbodytensed,readyfortheoff.Fightorflight.
“Iwastheonewhofoundhim,”Miriamsaid.“Myboat—
theprettygreenone,withtheredtrim,theLorraine,you’veprobablyseenit—it’smooredjustafewyardsfromwherehiswas.”ShesmiledatLaura,lettingthisinformationsinkin.“Iwastheonewhofoundhim.Whofoundhisbody.Iwastheonewhocalledthepolice.”
Laura’seyeswidened.“Areyouserious?Fuck.Thatmusthavebeengrim,”shesaid.“Seeinghim…all…bloodylikethat.”
“Itwas,”Miriamsaid.Shethoughtofthegashinhisneck,thewhitenessofhisteeth.Shewonderedwhether,atthatmoment,Lauraheldthesameimageinhermind,whetherforamomentortwotheyfoundthemselvesinalignment.Shetriedtomeettheyoungwoman’seye,butLaurawasintheprocessofpushingherchairfromthetable,gettingtoherfeet,reachingoverMiriam’sshouldertopickupheremptymug.
“Haveyou…haveyoubeenintouchwiththepolicesince?”Lauraaskedher,hervoicestrangelyhigh.“Sinceyoufoundhim,Imean.Arethey,like,givingyouupdatesoranything?BecauseIkeeplookingatthenewsandnothingreallyseemstobehappeningandit’sbeenmorethanaweek,now,hasn’tit,sincehe…well,sincehewasfound,so…”
Shetailedoff.ShewasstandingwithherbacktoMiriam,placingthemugsinthesink.
Miriamdidn’tanswerthequestion,butwaiteduntilLaurahadturnedbackbeforeshespoke.“Isawyouleaving,”shesaid.“ThedaybeforeIfoundhim.Isawyouleavingtheboat.”
Laura’seyeswidened.“And?”Herexpressionwasdefiant.
“It’snotasecretIwasthere.ItoldthepoliceIwasthere.
EveryoneknowsIwasthere.Ididn’tlie.”
“Iknowyoudidn’t,”Miriamsaid.“Whywouldyou?Youdidnothingwrong.”Lauraturnedawayagain.Sheturnedonthetap,rinsingthemugsunderthestreamofwater,heractionsjerky,alittlefrantic.Miriam’sheartwentouttoher;shecouldseehervictimhoodwrittenalloverher,ineveryflinchandeverytwist.“Doyouwanttotellmewhathappened?”Miriamaskedgently.“Doyouwanttotellmewhathedid?”Breathheld,bloodsinging,Miriamfeltherselfteeteringontheedgeofsomethingimportant:aconfidence.Anallegiance.Afriendship?“I’monyourside,”shesaid.
“Myside?”Lauralaughed,ascornful,brittlesound.“Idon’thaveaside.”
Butyoucouldhave,Miriamwantedtosay.Youcouldhaveanally.Itcouldbeusagainstthem!Thosepeoplewhothinktheyhaveallthepower,whothinkthatwehavenone,wecouldprovethemwrong.Wecouldshowthemthatwecanbepowerfultoo.Youuphereinyourshabbytower,medownthereonthewater,wemaynotliveineleganthomes,wemightnothaveexpensivehaircutsandforeignholidaysandgoodartonthewalls,butthatdoesn’tmakeusnothing.SomanythingsMiriamwantedtosay,butshehadtobecareful,shehadtoapproachthisthingslowly,shecouldn’trushit.
Aslightchangeoftack,totesttheground.“Doyouhappentoknowanythingabouthisfamily?DanielSutherland’sfamily?”
Laurashrugged.“Hismum’sdead.Shediedquiterecently.
Shewasanalkie,hesaid.Hehasanaunt.ImetheratIrene’s.”
“Irene’s?”
“Myfriend.”
“Who’syourfriend?”Miriamasked.
“Justafriend.Noneofyourbeeswax.”Lauralaughed.
“Look,itwasnicetohaveachatandeverything,butIthink
—”
“Oh,well,”Miriamcutheroff.“IknowquiteabitaboutSutherland’sfamily,andIthinkyoumightfindwhatIknowquiteinteresting.”Laurawasleaningagainstthecounternow,pickingathernails;shewasn’tevenpayingattention.“Thethingis,yousee,Ithinkitmighthavebeenher,”Miriamsaid.
“Her?”Lauralookedup.
“Ithinkhisauntmighthavehadsomethingtodowithit.”
Laura’sbrowcrinkled.“Withwhat?”
“Withhisdeath!”
Lauragaveanabruptbarkoflaughter.“Hisaunt?”
Miriamfeltherfaceredden.“Thisisn’tajoke!”shesnapped,indignant.“Isawherthere,Isawhervisitinghim,justlikeyouvisitedhim,andIbelievethatsomethinghappenedbetweenthem.”Laurawaswatchingher,acreaseatthetopofhernose.“Ithink,”Miriamwenton,“andthisistheimportantthing:Ithinkthatherhusband—herex-husband,Imean,TheoMyerson—Ithinkhemightbetryingtocoverthewholethingup,because…”Miriamkepttalking,butasshedid,shecouldseethegirl’sexpressionchange,fromskepticismtodisbelieftosuspicion;shecouldseethatshewaslosinghertrust.Howcouldthisgirlbesoobtuse?Couldn’tshesee,attheveryleast,thatitwasinherownbestinteresttopointthefingeratsomeoneelse?Wasn’titobviousthat
Miriam’stheorywasbeneficialtoher?“Itmaysoundfar-fetched,”Miriamsaidatlast,“butIthinkyou’llfind—”
Laurasmiledather,notunkindly.“You’reoneofthosepeople,aren’tyou?”shesaid.“Youliketogetinvolvedinthings.You’relonely,andyou’rebored,andyoudon’thaveanyfriends,andyouwantsomeonetopayattentiontoyou.
AndyouthinkI’mlikeyou!Well,I’mnot.Sorry,butI’mnot.”
“Laura,”Miriamsaid,hervoicerisingindesperation,
“you’renotlisteningtome!Ibelieve—”
“Idon’tcarewhatyoubelieve!Sorry,butIthinkyou’reanutter.HowdoIevenknowthatyou’retellingthetruth?HowdoIevenknowthatyousawmeattheboat?HowdoIevenknowthatyou’retellingthetruthaboutfindinghim?Maybeyoudidn’tfindhimatall.Maybehewasaliveandwellwhenyouwentdownthere!Maybeitwasyoustuckaknifeinhim!”
LaurasprangtowardMiriam,hermouthwideopenandred.
“Hey,”shelaughed,prancingaroundthetable,“maybeIshouldbecallingthepolicerightnow?”Shemimedmakingacall.“Comequick!Comequick,there’samadwomaninmyhouse!There’ssomepsychohobbitwomaninmyhouse!”Shethrewherheadbackandcackledlikeaninsaneperson,shedancedabout,shewasupinMiriam’sface,invadingherspace.MiriamstruggledtoherfeetandlurchedawayfromLaura.
“Whatiswrongwithyou?”Butthegirlwaslaughing,manic,lostinherownworld,hereyesglistening,sharplittleteethshiningwhiteinherredmouth.Miriamfelttearsstinginghereyes.Shehadtogetaway,hadtogetoutofthere.Horriblelaughterringinginherears,shewalked,withasmuchdignityasshecouldmuster,fromtheflat.Sheshuffledexhaustedlydownthewalkwayanddownallthosestairs,legsheavyasherheart.
Miriamwastearfulbythetimeshearrivedhome,whichwasadramaticoverreactiontounkindnessfromastrangerbutnotunusual.Sheoverreactedtoslights,that’showshewas,andknowingathingaboutyourselfdidn’tstopitfromhappening.
Miriamhadlostthetalentforfriendshipwhenshewasyoung,andoncegone,itwasadifficultthingtorecover.Likeloneliness,theabsenceoffriendshipwasself-perpetuating:theharderyoutriedtomakepeoplelikeyou,thelesslikelytheyweretodoso;mostpeoplerecognizedrightawaythatsomethingwasoff,andtheyshiedaway.
Theworstpartofitwasn’ttheend,itwasn’tthejeeringandthemockery,theinsultingherappearance,itwaswhatLaurahadsaidearlier.You’relonelyandyou’reboredandyouthinkI’mlikeyou.AndMiriamdid,shedidthinkLaurawaslikeher.Thatwastheworstpartofit,beingseenforwhatshewas,whatshefelt.Beingreadandbeingrejected.
Inthecabinofherboat,inhersleepingquarters,MiriamhadanannotatedcopyofTheOneWhoGotAway,acopyonwhichshe’dmarkeduprelevantsections,onwhichshe’dnotedkeysimilaritiestoherownmemoir.Thepagestowardthebackofthebookwerethickwithherscrawl,blueinksoakingthroughthepageswhereshehadpressedherpenagainstthem,hernotesallbutunreadabletoanyonebuther,wheresherailedagainstMyerson’stwistingofhertale,againstallthethingshe’dgotwrong,allthethingshe’dgotright.
Smallthingsthrowyourlifeoffcourse.WhathappenedtoMiriamwasn’tasmallthing.Itwasaverybigthing,butitstartedwithasmallthing.ItstartedwhenLorrainesaidshecouldn’tstandtwohoursofMr.Picton’scoffeebreath,andbiologywassoboringanyway,andtherewasasaleatMissSelfridge.Miriamdidn’tevenwanttobunkoff;shethoughtthey’dgetintotrouble.Don’tbesuchawuss,Lorrainesaid.
Miriamdidn’twanttoargue—they’donlyjustmadeupfromthelastfight,overaboycalledIanGladstonewhomMiriamhadlikedforagesandwithwhomLorriegotoffataparty.Miriamfoundoutaboutitlater.I’msorry,Lorriesaid,buthe’snotinterestedinyou.Iaskedifhelikedyouandhesaidno.It’snotmyfaulthechoseme.
They’dnotspokenforaweekafterthat,butneitherofthemreallyhadanyotherfriends,anditwasn’tlikeIanGladstonewasevenworthit.Hekisseslikeawashingmachine,Lorriesaid,laughing,makingcirclesintheairwithhertongue.
Asmallthing,then.
Atthefarmhouse,Jezrolledajoint.Hewassittingonaleglesssofainthemainroomofthehouse,hislonglegsbent,kneesupbyhisears.Helickedthepaper,runninghisfattonguealongtheglue-tippededge,rollingthecigarettegentlybetweenforefingerandthumb.Helitit,tookahit,andhandedittoLorraine,whowasstandingawkwardlytoonesideofthesofa.Miriamloiterednearthedoor.Lorrainetookatoke,two,thenwaveditatMiriam,whoshookherhead.Lorrainewidenedhereyes—Comeon—butMiriamshookherheadagain.Jezhauledhimselfuptohisfeet,tookthejointfromLorraine,andwanderedslowlyoutoftheroom,headingdeeperintothehouse,awayfromthefrontdoor.“Anyonewantabeer?”hecalledoutoverhisshoulder.
“Let’sgo,”MiriamhissedtoLorraine.“Iwanttogetoutofhere.”Lorrainenoddedokay.Shelookedoutthedirtywindow,towardthecar,andthenbackatMiriam.
“MaybeIshouldsayweneedtogobacktoschool?”shesaid.
“No,let’sjust—”
Jezcameback,tooquickly,holdingtwobeers.“Ithink,”hesaid,notlookingateitherofthem,“LorraineandIaregoingtospendabitoftimeonourown.”
Lorrainelaughedandsaid,“Nah,that’sallright,Ithinkweactuallyhavetogetgoingnow,”andJezputthebottlesdownonthefloor,steppedquicklyovertoLorraine,andpunchedherinthethroat.
Miriam’slegswerejelly;theywouldn’tworkproperly.Shetriedtorunbutshekeptstumblingoverthings,andhecaughtherbeforeshereachedthefrontdoor,grabbingholdofherponytailandpullingherback,rippingthehairoutofherhead.
Shefelltotheground.Hedraggedherbackintotheheartofthehouse,throughthefilthonthefloor,thecigarettepacketsandthemouseshit.Lorrainewaslyingonherside,hereyeswereopen,wideandwild,shewasmakingaweird,raspingsoundwhenshebreathed.MiriamcalledouttoherandJeztoldherifsheopenedherfuckingmouthonemoretimehewasgoingtokillher.
Hetookherintoanotherroom,anemptyone,atthebackofthehouse,andshovedhertotheground.“Justwaithere,”hesaidtoher.“Itwon’tbelongnow.”Heclosedthedoorandlockedit.
(Whatwon’tbelong?)
Shetriedthedoorknob,pullingatthedoor,thenpushingit,runningatit,crashingagainstit.
(Whatwon’tbelong?)
Shecouldn’tbecertain,butshethoughtshecouldhearLorrainecrying.
(Whatwon’tbelong?)
Behindher,therewasasashwindow,bigenoughforhertoclimbthrough.Itwaslocked,butthethinpaneofglasswasoldandcracked.Itwasn’tdouble-glazed.MiriamtookoffherT-shirtandwrappeditaroundherhand.Shetriedtopunchthroughtheglassbutshewastootentative.Shedidn’twanttomaketoomuchnoise.Shedidn’twanttohurtherself.
Shetoldherselfthatwhateverwascoming,itwasgoingtobeworsethanacuthand.Shetoldherselfthatshedidn’thavealotoftime.ShehadonlyaslongashetookwithLorraine.
Shehitthewindowagain,harderthistime,andthenshereallywentforitandherhandwentsmashingthrough,onejaggedpeaktearingintoherforearm,causinghertocryoutinshockandpain.Desperate,shestuffedthebloodyT-shirtintohermouthtostifleherowncries.Shestoodstock-still,listening.Somewhereinthehouse,shecouldhearsomeonemovingaround,acreaking,aheavytreadonthefloorboards.
Miriamheldherbreath.Listening,praying.Sheprayedhehadn’theardher,thathewouldn’tcomedownstairs.Sheprayedandprayed,tearsseepingfromhereyes,thesmellofherownbloodinhernostrils;sheprayedthathewouldnotcomeforher.
Itwasstilllightout.Miriamrantothecarfirst,buthe’dtakenthekeyfromtheignition.Sheranon.Sheranalongthewindingdirtroad,blooddrippingfromthecutstoherarmandhertorsowhereshe’dscrapedherselfclimbingthroughthewindow.Bloodrandownherneckandherface;itoozedfromthewoundonherscalpwherehe’dpulledoutherhair.
Afterawhile,shewastootiredtorun,soshewalkedinstead.Shestillseemedalongwayfromthemainroad;shehadn’trememberedthedrivetothefarmhousebeingthislong.
Shewonderedifshemighthavetakenawrongturn.Butshecouldn’trememberaturn,couldn’trememberanyjunctionatall;therewasthisroadandonlythisroadanditseemedtogoonandon,andnoonewouldcome.
Itwasdarkbythetimesheheardthunder.Shelookedup,atthecloudlesssky,atthebrightstarsabove,andrealizeditwasn’tthunderatall,itwasacar.Herkneesbuckledwiththerelief.Someonewascoming!Someonewascoming!Joycloudedhermind,onlyforabriefmomentbeforeahowling
galeofcoldfearblastedthecloudsaway.Thecarwascomingfrombehindher,notfromthemainroadbutfromthefarm,andshestartedtorun,blindly,offtheroad.Shescrambledoverabarbedwirefence,cuttingherselfagainintheprocess,andflungherselfdownintoaditch.Sheheardthecar’sgearsgrindasitslowed,itslightsilluminatingthespaceaboveher.
Itpassed.
Miriamlayintheditchforawhileafterthat;shecouldn’treallybesureforhowlong.Eventually,though,shegotup,andsheclimbedbackoverthefence,thefleshofherarmsandlegsandtorsotorn,herknickerssoakedwithurine,hermouthstickywithblood.Shestartedtorun,shefell,shegotup.Shekeptgoing.Afterawhile,shereachedapetrolstation.Themantherecalledthepolice.
Theyweretoolate.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Shehasbeencryingforawhilenow,thisgirl,cryingout.Shecallsforhelpandbangsonthedooruntilherfistsbleed.Shesaysherfriend’sname.Quietlyatfirstandthenlouder,andlouderstill,overandover,shecallsherfriend’snameuntilitechoesthroughthehouseandsilencesthebirdsandsilenceseverythingbutherpitifulcries.
Inthissilence,adoorslamsandthesoundofitisdeafening,earth-shattering,asonicboom.
Louderthananythingthegirlhaseverheardinherlife.
Hercryingstops.Shehearsmovement,
footfalls,quickandurgentandcomingherway.
Shescrabblesbackward,falling,twisting,ferretingintothecorneroftheroom,whereshepressesherbacktothewall,bracesherselfwitheitherhand.Baresherteeth.
Thefootstepsslowasheapproachesthedoor.
Shehearsthescrapeofbootsagainstthestone,therattleofthekeyinthelock,aclickasitturns.Herbloodisroaringandsheisready.Sheisreadyforhimnow.Shehearshimsigh.Hush,now,biggirl.Hush,now,uglygirl.It’snotyourturn.Thereisanotherrattle,anotherclick,andherbloodsubsides,herinsidesseemtoshift,awavebreakingadam.Hotpissdripsontothefloor.
Asheleaves,hehumsatune,andinavoicefulloftears,hesings
WhatItookfromher,Iwon’tgivebackTWENTY-ONE
Carlamovedthroughherhouse,roomtoroom,checkingandrecheckingwardrobes,cupboards,thebacksofdoors,anywhereshemighthavehungthebagwiththeSaintChristopherinit.Light-headedwithexhaustion,shemovedslowlyandcarefully,asifthroughmud.Everynowandagain,herphonerang.Everytimeitdid,shelookedatthescreenandshesawthatitwasTheoandsometimesshehoveredherfingeroverthegreenbutton,shewilledherselftoacceptthecall,buteverytimeshewaveredatthelastminute,eitherreplacingthephoneinherpocketorpressingredinstead.
Whatwouldshesaytohimifsheanswerednow?Wouldsheaskhimthequestionstraightout?Whatwereyoudoingwithmysister?Whatwereyoudoingatherhome?Thoseweren’tthequestionsshereallywantedtoask,though.Shehadn’tformulatedtherealquestionyet;shehadn’tallowedherselftodoso.
Sheopenedthestoragecupboardintheupstairshallway.
Whywouldthetotebagbehere?Sheneveropenedthiscupboard,hadn’topeneditinmonths.Itwasfilledwithclothessheneverwore,silkdressesandtailoredsuits,clothesthatbelongedtoawomanshehadn’tbeeninyears.Shestaredstupidlyatitall,tooknoneofitin.Closedthecupboarddoor.
Inherbedroom,shelaydownonthebed.Shepulledawoolblanketoverherlegs.Shewasdesperatetosleep,buteverytimesheclosedhereyes,shepicturedit,shesawTheowithAngela,arguingoutsideherhouse.Thentherewasacut,andtheywereinsidethehouse,shoutingateachother.Inhermindtheyhadgonebackintime.CarlasawthemthewaytheywerethedayBendied,Theoraging,wild-eyed,Angelacowering,herdelicatehandsraisedaboveherhead,palewristsexposed.
SheheardTheo’svoiceasking,Wasshejealous,doyouthink,ofthewayBenwas?Yousaidshehadatemper.Bloodthirsty,hisvoicesaid.Yousaidshewasbloodthirsty.Thatwasn’twhatshe’dsaid,wasit?Abloodthirstyimagination,maybe?Carla’sownimaginationtookherelsewhere,toAngela’shouseonHayward’sPlace,wherenowTheoappearedasheistoday,hiscomfortablebulkpressingagainstAngela’sfrailty,grapplingatthetopofthestairs.Carlasawhimwalkingdownthestairs,steppingoverhersister’sbrokenbody.Shesawhimoutinthelane,lightingacigarette.
Sheopenedhereyes.Whatwouldithavedonetohim,Carlawondered,toseeAngelaagain,afterallthistime?Haditbeenallthistime?Orhadtherebeenothermeetingsthatshedidn’tknowabout?Ithurthertothinkaboutit,thetwoofthemtogether,keepingthingsfromher;shesimplycouldn’tfathomwhy.Allthis,ontopofDaniel,itwastoomuch.Shewasbecomingnumb,hermindfoggedwithmisery.
Sherolledherselfoffthebed.TheSaintChristopherhersonhadneverworn,sheneededtofindit.Itmustbeinthishousesomewhere,sinceitwasn’tinAngela’s.Shestartedagain,movingroomtoroom,blackspotsmovinginfrontofhereyes,aslowbuzzinherears,herlimbsliquid.Shetrampeddownstairsandbackupagain,backtothecupboardinthehallway,tothesilkdresses,tothewell-cutsuits.Theshelfatthebottomofthewardrobewaslinedwitharowofpaleblueshoeboxes.Sheopenedthemonebyone,revealinggraysuedeboots,red-soledstilettos,brightgreensandalswithblackheels,andinthelastone,noshoesbutaplasticbagfullofash.Carlasatbackonherhaunches,breathleavingherlungsinastutteringsigh.
Thereyouare.She’dnevermadeuphermindwhattodowithher.WithAngela.
Afterthefuneral,sheandDanielhadcomebackhere,toCarla’shome.Theysatsidebysideonthesofa,drinkingteainvirtualsilence,theplasticbaginfrontofthemonthecoffeetable.Theairinthehousefeltheavy,theatmospherethickwithshame.Danielwaspale,thin,hollowedout,drowninginadarksuitthatsmelledofsmoke.
“Wherewasshehappy?”Carlaaskedhim,staringatthebaginfrontofthem.“Itshouldbesomewhereshewashappy.”
Nexttoher,shefeltDaniel’sshouldersriseandfall.“Idon’trememberherhappy,”hesaid.
“Thatisn’ttrue.”
Hesniffed.“No,you’reright.IrememberherhappyatLonsdaleSquare.Butwecan’tverywellscatterthemthere,canwe?”Hisheadbent,hismouthopened,shouldersheaved.
“Shewasalonefordays,”hesaid.
“Daniel.”Carlaputherhandonthebackofhisneck,leaningclosertohim,herlipsalmostagainsthischeek.“Youcouldn’twatchherallthetime.”
Shemeantit,butshealsomeant:Icouldn’twatchherallthetime.“Youhavetoliveyourownlife,Dan.Youhaveto.
Wecannotallberuined.”
Heturnedhisfacetohersthen,burieditinherneck.
“You’renotruined,”hewhispered.
Carlaleanedforward,carefullyliftingthebagofashesfromtheshoebox,weighingitinherhands.
Iamnow.TWENTY-TWO
Sortingthroughhismail,TheodiscoveredanotherletterfromhisfanMr.Carter,who,Theocouldtell,notjustfromthesomewhatpeevishtonebutfromtheforcewithwhichthewriter’spenhadbeenpressedintothepaper,wasirritatednottohavereceivedareply.
Ididleavemye-mailaddress,becauseIthoughtthatmeantyoumightrespondtomequickly.
Iunderstandthatyourprobablybusy.
InmylastletterItalkedaboutthefactthatpeoplesaiditwassexistthatyouputthepointofviewofthemanforwardandwhatwouldyousayaboutthat?Ithinkitssexistwhenyouonlyseethefemalepointofview.Lotsofcrimebooksnowarewrittenbyfemalessoyouoftenhaveonlytheirpointofview.Ireadinlotsofamazonreviewsthatyourbookis“victimblaming”butisn’tthepointthat“he”hasalsobeentreatedbadlybymanypeopleinhislife,including“thefriend”and“thegirl”
soinsomewaysheisavictimtoosohecan’tbeblamedonehundredpercent?Ithinkthatmaybeyoumadehimtooweakthoughbyend.Doyousometimeswishyouhadwrittenastoryadifferentway?
Pleasecouldyoureplytomyquestionsbye-mail.
Thankyou,kindregards,HenryCarter.
Theotossedtheletterontotheto-dopilewiththeothers;heconsidered,briefly,whatthemostpolitewaymightbetotellMr.Carterthat,whileheagreedthatmany,manyAmazonreviewershadmisunderstoodhisintentionsintellinghisstorythewayhehad,itlookedverymuchasthoughMr.Carterhimselfhadn’tacluewhatTheowastryingtodoeither.He
consideredthis,andthenheforgotaboutit:hewas,asMr.
Carterpointedout,verybusy.
Notwithwork—he’dnotdoneanyproperworkfordays;hewastoobusyworryingaboutlife.ElevendayshadpassedsinceDanieldied,fivesincehe’dlastspokentoCarla.Shehadn’tbeeninpolicecustody—he’dspokentoDIBarkeronthephone;thedetectivetoldhimthattheywere“pursuinganumberofleads”(thatagain),buthealsosaidthey’dhadnoonenewinforquestioning,notsincethegirlthey’dpickedupandthenreleased;theyhadmadenoarrests.
Theowasatoncerelievedanddisappointed—whataboutthegirl,he’dwantedtoask.Whataboutthebloodygirl?
Relieved,though,thatCarladidnotappeartohavefallenundersuspicion.
Andheknewthatshewasallright,thatshewasupandabout,movingaroundthetopfloorofherhome—he’dglancedherthroughthewindowwhenhehadbeenround,thatmorning,toknockoncemoreonherdoor.He’dknockedandwaitedandthensteppedquicklyback,lookingup,tocatchherslippingbackbehindthecurtains.Hewasfuriousthen;hewantedtoscreamather,tobeathisfistsagainstthedoor.Hecouldn’t,obviously.Therehadbeenanincident,lastyear,whentheneighborscomplainedabouthimmakingaracketoutside.They’dhadarow;hecouldn’trememberwhatitwasaboutnow.
Hewouldn’tcareabouttheneighbors,didn’tgiveadamnaboutdisturbingthem,onlyhehadtobecautious:hewasa(semi)publicfigure;therewereconsequencesthesedays,toeverythingyoudid.Everythingwasrecordedandcommittedtocyberspaceforeternity—ifyousteppedoutoflineyou’dbeshamedontheinternet,pilloriedonTwitter,“canceled.”Itwasmobrule,notthatyouwereallowedtosayit.Sayingitwouldgetyoucanceledtoo.
Theowascertainnowthattheoldwoman,thenosyneighbor,musthavespokentoCarla,musthavetoldherthathe’dmetwithAngela.Andso,Carlawasangrybecausehehadn’ttoldher.Hewasn’tsurprised,buthewasannoyed.
She’dliedtohimdozensoftimesovertheyears.Hewasn’tacompletefool;heknewthatsheusedtoseeAngelaoccasionally.Hehadn’tknownabouttherelationshipwithDaniel—thathadcomeasashock,andhewasupset,notleastbecauseofthenatureofitsrevelation.Buthe’dnotfrozenherout,hadhe?Hehadn’tignoredhercallsorbarredhisdoor.
He’ddoneashealwaysdid,ashealwayswould:hehadstoodbyher.Hehaddirectedhisangerelsewhere.
Thelasttimehe’dseenAngela—theverylasttime—Theohadraisedhishandtoher.He’dneverstruckawoman,neverinhislife,buthehadthoughtaboutitwithher,forasecond,two.
Thenthemomentpassed,andinsteadofhittingher,hetoldherwhathethoughtofher,andthatwasworse.
Shehadcalledhim,leftamessagesayingtherewassomethingsheneededtotellhim,andthatshe’dprefertodoitface-to-face.Notearsthistime,notatfirst,anyway.Sheinvitedhimin,andthistimeheaccepted.Hehadthingstosaytoher,andhedidn’twanttosaytheminthestreet.
Theprevioustimehe’dseenherhe’dbeenthrownbyherappearance;thistime,hewastakenabackbythestateofherhome,itscarpetstainedandwindowsfilthy,thesurfacesthickwithdust,thepervadingairofneglectmadesomehowworsebythefactthattherewereprintsonthewalls,carefullyframed,asthoughAngelamustoncehavemadeanefforttomakeherhomelooknice.
“Lovewhatyou’vedonewiththeplace,”Theosaid,andAngelalaughed,athroatyrumblethattoreathisheart.Heturnedawayfromher,runninghiseyesoverthebooksonthe
shelfnexttothefireplace,hiseyescomingtorestonTheOneWhoGotAway.“Ihearthisone’sgood,”hesaid,wavingitoverhishead.Shelaughedagain,half-heartedly.Hetossedthebookontothecoffeetable,collapsingheavilyintoadarkleatherarmchair.Hetookouthiscigarettes.“Itakeityoudon’tmind?”heasked,withoutlookingather.
“No,Idon’tmind.”
“Youwantone?”
Sheshookherhead.“I’mtryingtogiveup.”Shesmiledathim,glassy-eyedateleven-thirtyinthemorning.“Youwantacoffee?”
“Isthatwhatyou’rehaving?”hereplied,andsheshookherhead.
Shesatdowninthechairfacinghis.“Thisishardforme,youknow,”shesaid,andTheobarkedaloud,mirthlesslaugh.
Angelapassedherhandoverhereyes.Hersmilehadbecomefixed,herexpressionstrained.Shewastryingnottocry.“Ispoketohim,”shesaideventually.“ToDaniel.Ifinallygothimonthephone.Mostofthetimehejustignoresmycalls.”
Theosaidnothing.“Iaskedhimtoleaveyoualone.Itoldhimthatyouwouldn’tbegivinghimanymoremoney.”
“Whenwasthis?”Theoasked.Heleanedforwardtoflickhisashintotheashtray,missed.
“Afewdaysago,”Angelasaid.“Hedidn’tsaymuch,buthelistened,andIthinkhe…”
Slowly,Theogottohisfeet.Heremovedfromhisinsidejacketpocketanenvelope,whichhehandedtoAngela.Sheopenedit,extractingthesinglepieceofpaperwithin,tookonelookatit,andblanched.Sheclosedhereyes,foldedthepaper,putitbackintotheenvelope.SheoffereditbacktoTheo.
“No,that’sallright,”hesaidcoldly.“Youkeepit.”Hedidn’twanttoseeitagain,thepencildrawingofhiswife,so
finelymade,perfectlycapturingheroddlyrapturousexpressioninsleep.Danielhadsketchedherlyingonherside,thecoversthrownback,herbodyexposed.“Ireceivedthatinthepostthismorning,”Theosaid,“soI’mnotconvincedyourlittlechatdidmuchgood.”Angelabentforward,herheadinherhands,mutteringsomethingunderherbreath.“Whatwasthat?”Theosnapped.“Ididn’thearyou.”
“It’smonstrous,”shesaid,lookingupathim,hereyesswimmingwithtears.“Isaidit’smonstrous.”Shebitherlip,lookedaway.“Doyouthink,”sheasked,herwordscatchinginherthroat.“Doyoureallythinkthey’ve—”
“Theyhaven’tdoneanything!”Theosnapped,viciouslygrindinghiscigaretteintotheashtray.“Thisisnotaboutthem,it’sabouthim.It’sallhim,it’shispervertedlittlefantasy.Anddoyouknowwhat?”Hewastoweringoverhernow,andshewassosmall,sofragile,likeachild.“Ican’tevenblamehim.
Imean,youcan’t,canyou?Lookatthelifehe’shad!Lookattheplacehegrewup!Lookatthestateofhismother!”
“Theo,please.”Shewaslookingupathimthroughhugeeyes,shewasbegging,andheraisedhishandtostrikeher,towipetheself-pityoffherface.
Hewatchedhercower,terrified,andthenhesteppedback,appalledatwhatAngelaprovokedinhim.“Ifeelsorryforhim,”hesaid.“Ido.Lookatthelifeyoumadeforhim.Hehasnoideaofwhatloveissupposedtobe,noideaofwhatamother’sloveis.Howcouldhe?”
“Itried,”shesobbed.“Itried…”
“Youtried!”heroaredather.“Yourlaziness,yourneglectcostmychildhislife.Andthenyouneglectedyourown,too,senthimawaybecausehegotinthewayofyourdrinking.Isitanywonderheendedupasociopath?”
“Hedidn’tendupa—”
“Hedid,Angela.That’swhatheis.Heisgrasping,calculating,andmanipulative.That’swhatyou’vedonetohim.”
Shefellsilentforafewmoments,andthen,unsteadily,rosetoherfeet.Handstrembling,shepickedupthecopyofTheo’sbookandtuckedtheenvelopehehadgivenherinsideit,beforereplacingitonthebookshelf.Sheturnedtofacehimagain,drawinginherbreath,asthoughsummoningherenergyforsomeoneroustask.“Ineed…,”shesaid,wringingherhandstogetherinfrontofherchest.“Iwanttotellyousomething.”
Theospreadhishands,eyebrowsraised.“I’mlistening.”
Angelaswallowedhard;sheseemedtobewrestlingwithsomething.“Well?”He’dnopatienceforthis,forheramateurdramatics.
“Ithinkit’sbestifIshowyou,”shesaidquietly.“Wouldyou…wouldyoujustcomeupstairs?”TWENTY-THREE
Laurafoundherselffixatingonallthethingsshe’ddonewrong,butnotnecessarilytheobviousthings.Shedidn’twakeupinacoldsweatthinkingaboutDanielSutherlandlyingdeadonhisboat,shedidn’tfixateontheguywiththeforkstickingoutofhishand.No,thethingthatkeptcomingtoher,thethingthatmadehercringe,madeallthebloodrushtoherface,madeherinsidessqueezeuplikeafist,wastheincidentonthebus,thattimeshe’dshoutedatthatwoman,callingherastupidfatcow.Shecouldn’tstopseeingtheexpressiononthewoman’sface,herhurtandherembarrassment;everytimeLaurathoughtofit,itbroughttearstohereyes.
She’dthoughtofgoingbackandridingthesamebusonthesamerouteinthehopesoffindingher,soshecouldapologizeandexplainthatshehadthisproblem,thatwhenshewasstressedortiredorangryshesaidthingsshedidn’tmean(whichofcoursewasn’ttrue;theproblemwasthatshesaidthingsshedidmean,butthewomandidn’thavetoknowthat).
Thethingwas,shecouldn’trememberwhatbusitwas.
Still,thinkingaboutthewomanonthebusmadeherthinkaboutMiriam,aboutthelookonherface,howshockedandhurtshehadseemedwhenLauratauntedher,whenshehadlaughedather.Miriamwasstrangeandoff-puttingandLauradidn’tfeelbadaboutwhatshe’ddoneinthesamewayshedidaboutthewomanonthebus,shecertainlywasn’tcryingoverit,butstill.Ithadbeenprettyfuckinguncalledfor.Therehadbeennoneedtobecruel.Shehadn’treallymeanttobe;she’djustgotcarriedaway.Andsinceshecouldn’tapologizetothepersonshewantedtoapologizeto,shemayaswellapologizetoMiriam.Sheknew,atleast,whereMiriamlived.
ShefoundtheLorrainemooredexactlywhereMiriamhadsaiditwouldbe,justafewyardsfartheralongfromwhereDaniel’sboathadbeen.Thatboatwasgonenow;therewasanotherinitsplace,amuchsmarter,tidieronewithanexpensive-lookingbikeattachedtotheroof.Itwasstrange,goingbackdownthere.Itwaslikehe’dbeenerased,everytraceofhim.Strangeinagoodway:itwaslikethatthinghadneverhappened,likeithadbeenadream—look,there’snodirtyblueboathere!Thatthingyouthoughthappened?Itdidn’t.Itwasanightmare.Youcanwakeupnow.
TheLorrainewasn’tlikethedirtyblueboatatall;itwaslongandsleek,paintedgreenwitharedtrim.Therewerewell-tendedpottedplantsontheroof,solarpanelsatoneend;itlookedtidyandcleanandlived-in.Itlookedlikesomebody’shome
Laurastoodoutsideit,onthetowpath,wonderingwhereexactlyitwasthatoneknockedwhenonewantedtoattracttheattentionofwhoeverlivedinaboat(onthewindow?Thatseemedintrusive),whenMiriamemerged,steppingthroughthecabindoorsontothebackdeck.Herfrizzyhairwasdown;ithunglimponhershoulders,echoingtheshapeofatentlikelinendress.Miriam’slegsandfeetwerebareandstartlinglywhite,asthoughthey’dnotseenthesuninaverylongtime.
Hertoenailswerelong,yellowingslightly.Laurawrinkledhernose,steppingbackalittle.ThemovementcaughtMiriam’sattention.
“Whatthehelldoyouwant?”shesnarled.
“Yourhomeisreallylovely,”Laurasaid,staringdumblyattheboatbeforeher.“It’sreallypretty.”Miriamsaidnothing.
Shefoldedherarmsacrossherchest,gloweringatLaurafrombeneathherlankhair.Laurabitanail.“ThereasonIcameisthatIwantedtosaysorryforhowrudeIwas.Iwantedtoexplain—”
“I’mnotinterested,”Miriamsaid,butshedidn’tmoveorturnaway;sheremainedonthebackdeck,lookingLauradirectlyintheeye.
“Isaystupidthings.Idoitallthetime,it’snoteven…Imeanitismyfaultbutit’snotalwayssomethingIcancontrol.”Miriamcockedherheadtooneside.Shewaslistening.“It’sathingIhave,acondition.It’scalleddisinhibition.It’sfromtheaccident.YouknowItoldyouabouttheaccidentIhadwhenIwasyounger?Please,”Laurasaid,takingasteptowardtheboat.Shehungherhead.“IonlywantedtosayIwassorry.Iwashorribletoyou,andyouwereonlytryingtohelpme,Iseethatnow.I’mreallysorry.”
Miriamgloweredalittlelonger.Sheturnedaway,asiftogobackintotheboat,thenturnedbacktofaceLauraagain.Atlast,sherelented.“Comeon,then,”shesnapped.“You’dbettercomein.”
“Thisisnice,isn’tit?”Laurawalkedupanddownthecabinspace.“It’sso…homey,isn’tit?Ididn’tthinktheseboatscouldbesocozy.”Miriamnodded,hermouthafirmline,butLauracouldtell,fromtheglowinhercheeks,theexpressioninhereyes,shewaspleased.Miriamofferedtea;sheputthekettleonandcollectedmugsfromacupboard.Lauracontinuedtolookaround,runningherfingersoverbookspines,pickinguptheframedphotographofMiriamwithherparents.“Thisisyou!Youcanseeit’syou,can’tyou?Youhaven’tchangedthatmuch,”shesaid,thinking,youwereuglythenandall.“Yourmumanddadlooklikenicepeople.”
“Theywere,”Miriamsaid.She’dhoistedherselfupontothebenchoppositewhereLaurastood.
“Oh”—Lauraturnedtolookather—“theynotaroundanymore?Sorry.Myparentsareadeadloss.Itoldyouthat,didn’tI?Mydadmeanswellbutmymum’sanightmare,and
thethingwithheris,nomatterhowshitsheis,right,Ialwaysendupforgivingher,don’tknowwhy.Ican’thelpmyself.”
Thekettlewhistled;Miriamgotupandremoveditfromthehob.Shefoldedherarmsoncemoreacrossherchest,watchingLaurawithathoughtfulexpressiononherface.“You’redamaged,that’swhy,”shesaidatlast.“Idon’tmeanthatasacriticism;it’sanobservation.Thingsweredonetoyouwhenyouwereyoungerthatleftyouwithscars,insideandout.Isn’tthatright?”Lauranodded.Shebackedawayalittle,sothatshewasleaningrightupagainstthebookshelf.“WhenIcametoyourhomeandyoulaughedatmeandmockedme—no,no,don’tsayanything,justlisten—whenthathappened,Itoldyouthatweweresimilar,andyousaidthatweweren’t,butyouwerewrong.Irecognizethedamageinyou,becauseI’vebeendamagedtoo,yousee.SomethinghappenedtomewhenIwasagirl,somethingthatmarkedme.”
Laurasidledalongthebackofthecabin,towardthebenchthatranalongoneofitssides.Shehoppedupontoit,crossingherlegsasshedid,leaningforward,hercuriositypiqued.
“Howdoyoumean?”sheasked.“Whathappened?”
Miriamreachedforthekettle,pickeditup,andthenputitdownagain.SheturnedtofaceLaura.“WhenIwasfifteenyearsold,”shesaidquietly,herexpressiongrave,“Iwasabducted.”
Laurawassosurprised,shealmostlaughed.Shecoveredhermouthwithherhandjustintime.“You…youwereabducted?Areyoubeingserious?”
Miriamnodded.“Iwaswithafriend.Webunkedoffschooloneday,wewerehitchhiking.Amanpickedusupandhe…
hetookustoahouse.Afarm.Helockedmeinaroom.”Sheturnedawayagain,herfatlittlefingersholdingontotheedgeofthecounter.“Helockedmein,butImanagedtobreakawindow;Imanagedtoescape.”
“Jesus.Thatis,like,unbelievable.”Laurameantit,literally;shecouldn’tbesurewhethertobelieveMiriam.
“That’sreallyhorrible.Wereyouhurt?”Miriamnodded.
“Fuck.Man,I’msorry,thatis…thatisproperlyscary.Wasyourfriendhurttoo?”Miriamsaidnothing.Shedidn’tmovebutLauracouldseeherknuckleswhitening.“Miriam?”
“Icouldn’thelpher,”Miriamsaidquietly.“Iranaway.”
“Oh,God.OhmyGod.”Laura,foronce,waslostforwords.Sheshookherhead,herhandcoveringhermouth,tearsspringingtohereyes.“Butthen…?”Miriamgaveacursorynod.“Oh,God,”Laurasaidagain.“Whenwasthis?Imean,youwerefifteensothiswaslike…theseventies?”
“Eighties,”Miriamsaid.
“And…whathappened,Imean,afterward,Jesus.Ican’tevenimaginethis;Ican’tevenbegintoimaginewhatitmusthavebeenlikeforyou.”
ForalongmomentMiriamstoodandlookedather,andthen,withoutspeaking,sheturnedaway,squeezingthroughthedoorfromthemaincabinintowhatLauraassumedmustbethesleepingareaattheendoftheboat;whenshereturned,shehadinherhandsasheafofpapers.“Ifyou’rereallyinterested,”shesaid,“youcouldreadthis.It’sthebookIwroteaboutit.Whathappened,howitaffectedme.”Miriamheldoutthepapers,whichhadbeenboundintoaheftymanuscript.
“Youcould…”Miriam’sfacewasflushed,hereyesshining.
“Isupposeyoucouldreaditifyouwant.”
Withoutthinking,Laurashookherhead.“I’mnotmuchofareader,”shesaid,andwatchedMiriamsnatchthemanuscriptbacktoherchest,allthewarmthdisappearingfromhereyes,hermouthturningdown,expressionsouring.“Imean…Ireallywouldliketoreadit,”Laurasaid,holdingoutherhand.
Miriampulledaway.“Only,itmighttakemeawhile,because,like,I’mreally,reallyslow.Imean,notlikeI’mslowinthe
head,thoughsomepeoplemightsaythattoo,althoughactuallywhenIwaslittletheysaidIwasgiftedandIusedtoread,like,allthetime,butthenaftertheaccidentIjustcouldn’tconcentrateonanythingandIkindoflostthehabit,doyouknowwhatImean?”Laurabitherlip.“Iwouldreallyliketoreadit,itsoundslike—”Whatdiditsoundlike?Itsoundedawful,devastating.“Itsoundslikesuchaninterestingstory.”
Warily,Miriamhandedoverthemanuscript.“Youcantakeyourtime.Butpleasebecarefulwithit,”shesaid.
Lauranoddedvigorously.“Iwon’tletitoutofmysight,”
shesaid,andsheshovedthemanuscriptintoherbackpack.
Theyslippedbackintoawkwardsilence.Lauragazedhopefullyatthekettle.
“Havethepolicebeenintouchwithyou?”Miriamaskedher.Laurashookherhead.“Good.That’sgood,isn’tit?”
Laurachewedherlip.“Isuppose.Idon’treallyknow.Ikeeplookingonthenewstoseeifthere’sbeenany…
progress,buttheredoesn’tseemtobe.”
“No,theredoesn’t,doesthere?”
Andthesilencedescendedagain.
“Icouldmurderacupoftea,”Laurasaid.
“Oh,yes!”Miriamlookedrelievedtohavesomethingtodo.
Sheresumedtea-makingduties,onlytoquicklydiscoverthatshehadnosugar(Lauratooktwoandahalfspoons),soshesaidshe’dnipalongtothecaféonthetowpathtoborrowsome.
Lauraslippedoffthebenchandstarted,oncemore,toinspectMiriam’saccommodation.Itwasalotnicerthanwhatshe’dbeenexpecting.Thenagain,whathadshebeenexpecting?SomethingsadanddirtyanddrearylikeDaniel’splace?Thiswasn’tthat;thiswasalotnicerthanLaura’sflat.
Heretherewereplantsandpicturesandcookbooks,therewereblankets,oldandthreadbarebutcolorfulstill,foldedneatlyinthecorner.Itsmelledlovely,ofwoodsmokeandlemon.Allthesurfaceswerespotless.
Onthebookcasenexttothewoodburnersatalittlegoldcarriageclock.Laurapickeditup,feltitspleasingweightinherhand.Abovethebookcase,therewasashelfonwhichsatawoodenbox.Lauratriedthelidandwassurprisedtofinditunlocked.Shetooktheboxfromtheshelfandplaceditinfrontofheronthebench.Inside,shefoundapairofearrings,hooped,alsoingold,whichdidn’tlooklikeMiriam’stasteatall.Sheslippedthemintoherpocketandcontinuedtosiftthroughthebox.TherewasasilvercrosswithatinycrucifiedJesus,adogIDtag,asmoothgraypebble,aletteraddressedtoMiriam,akeyattachedtoakeyring.
Laurawassosurprisedtoseeitthatatfirstshedidn’trecognizeitforwhatitwas.Notakey,herkey!Herfrontdoorkey,attachedtothewoodenkeyringwithabirdonit.Shepickeditup,holdingituptothelight.Behindher,sheheardacreak,shefelttheboatrockgentlybeneathher.Outofthecornerofhereyeshesawashadowmoveandavoicesaid,
“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”
???
LAURAJERKEDAROUNDSOquickly,shealmostfelloffthebench.
Miriamstoodinthedoorway,ajarofsugarinonehand,herfacethunderous.“WhatinGod’snamedoyouthinkyou’redoinggoingthroughmythings?”
“Yourthings?”Laurarecoveredquickly,squaringherself,readytogoontheoffensive.“Thisismine!”shesaid.“Whatthefuckareyoudoingwithmyfrontdoorkey?”
Miriamtookastepforwardandplacedthejarofsugaronthecounter.“Ifoundit,”shesaid,pursingherlips,asthough
shewereoffendedthatLaurashouldquestionherinthisway.
“Imeanttogiveitbacktoyou,onlyIforgot,I—”
“Youforgot?Youwereinmyflattheotherday,andyoudidn’tthinktotellmeyouhadmykey?Wheredidyoufindit?
Where…thisisblood,isn’tit?”Laurasaid,turningthekeyoverinherhand.“Thishad…Jesus,thisiscoveredinblood.”Shedroppedthekeyasthoughitwerered-hot,wipingherfingersonherjeans.“Whywouldyoutakeit?”sheaskedMiriam,hereyeswide,uncomprehending.“Youwerethere,yousaid,youwerethereafterIleft,butwhywouldyou…
whywouldyoutakeit?”Laurawasstartingtogetabadfeelingaboutthis,averybadfeeling,nothelpedbyMiriam,standingsquarelyinfrontofher,blockingtheentrancetothecabin,astout,squatblockofflesh,armsacrossherchest,shakingherheadbutsayingnothing,asthoughshewerethinking,asthoughsheweretryingtocomeupwithanexcuseforherbehavior.Laura’sstomachflipped.Before,backatLaura’sflat,she’dbeenjokingwhenshe’dsaidthatmaybeMiriamkilledDaniel,butnow,nowshewasthinkingmaybeshe’dbeenright;nowshewasthinkingallkindsofthings.
Thiswomanwasdamaged,thiswomanwasavictim,thiswomanwasfuckingcrazy
“Isawit.”Miriamspokeatlast,herexpressionblankandhervoiceeven,theangergone.“Isawthekey,lyingthere,itwasnexttohim.Hewaspale,andhelooked…oh.”Shesighed,alongsigh,asthoughallthebreathwereleavingherbody.“Helookeddesperate,didn’the?”Sheclosedhereyes,shakingherheadagain.“Isawthekey,Ipickeditup…”Asshesaidthisshehalf-mimedtheaction,bendingdown,pickingupthekey,hereyestightlyshutuntilshesaid:“Iwasprotectingyou,Laura.I’vebeenprotectingyouallalong,andImayhavemyownreasonsforthat,butthatdoesn’tchangeanything….”
Fuckingcrazy
“Idon’twantyourprotection!”Lauracouldhearthefearinherownvoiceanditmadeherfeelpanicky.“Idon’tneedanythingfromyou,Ijustneedtogetout,Ineedto—”ShegrabbedherbackpackandtriedtomaneuverherwaythroughthetightspaceoftheboatcabinpastMiriam’sconsiderablebulk.“Letmegetout,please…”ButMiriamwassolid,shewouldn’tmove,shepushedback,throwingLauraoffbalance.
“Don’tyoutouchme!Don’ttouchme!”
Lauraneededtogetout,sheneededtogetoffthisboat,shefeltasthoughshewerechoking,asthoughshecouldn’tbreathe.Shefeltasthoughshehadbeenplungedbackintothenightmarefrombefore,theonewhereshewasonDaniel’sdirtylittleboatandhewaslaughingather,andshecouldtastehisfleshinhermouth.Shewasspittingnow,screaming,Getoutofmywaygetoutofmywaygetoutofmyway,shewaswrestlingwithsomeone,someotherbody,grabbingfistfulsofgreasyhair,pushingagainsther,getoutofmyway,shecouldsmellsweatandbadbreath,shebaredherteeth,please,shewascryingout,andMiriamwascryingtoo.Don’ttouchmedon’ttouchmedon’ttouchme.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Armslinked,theyareontheirwayhomefromthehorriblepubinthemiddleoftown,thegirlandherfriend,weavingalittle,alongthesideoftheroad.Thegirlisbuoyedbyginandhappy,comfortedbythewarmpressofherfriend’sskinnyarmagainsttherolloffleshatherwaist.
Acarapproaches,andherfriendsticksoutathumb,half-heartedly.AbatteredyellowGolf,itsgo-fasterstripepeelingawayfromthepaintwork,cruisespast,slowing.Theylookateachother,laugh.Theyruntowardthecarandasitsdoorswingsopen,thegirlhearsasnatchofsound,ofmusic,someonesinging,aman’svoice,gravellyandlow.Shecatchessightofthedriver’sneck,redraw.
Don’t,shesaystoherfriend.Don’t.
Butherfriendisalreadygettingintothecar,slidinginnexttohim,saying,“Whereareweoffto,then?”TWENTY-FOUR
Thereweredandelionsanddaisiesaroundhisheadstone,sunnyyellowandsoftcreamamidthegrass,whichwasovergrownbutgavetheimpressionoflushnessratherthanuntidiness.Carlalongedtoliedownonthegrass,toliedownrightthere,tosleepandnotwakeup.Shehadbroughtwithheraredcashmereblanket,whichshelaidout,andinsteadoflying,sheknelt,leaningforward,asthoughinprayer.Shetouchedwiththetopsofherfingersthetopoftheblackgraniteheadstone,stillshockinglynewamongthegrayer,mossiergraves,andsaid,“Happybirthday,sweetheart.”Sheleanedbackonherhaunchesandallowedherselftocryforalittlewhile,insmall,hiccuppingsobs.Then,shewipedhereyesandblewhernoseandsatdown,cross-legged,herbackstraight,towait.Beforelong,shesawTheo,asshe’dknownshewould,makinghiswaytowardheralongthepath.Heraisedahandingreeting.Shefeltherheartbeatfeeblyinthebaseofherthroat.
Hestoppedafewpacesawayfromher.“I’vebeenworried,youknow,”hesaid,butshecouldtellfromthetoneofhisvoiceandthecastofhisfacethathewasn’tangrywithher.Hehadachastenedlook,thesameonehe’dwornwhenshefoundoutaboutthepublicist.So,heknew.HeknewthatsheknewaboutAngela,thattherewassomethingtoknowaboutAngela.
“IlostBen’sSaintChristopher,”Carlasaid,movingalittletooneside,tomakespaceforhimontheblanket.Hesatdownheavily,leanedintokissher,butsheshrankback,saying,
“No.”Hefrownedather.
“Wheredidyouloseit?Whatwereyoudoingwithit?”
“I…Idon’tknow.IfIknewwhereI’dlostit,Iwouldn’treallyhavelostit,wouldI?Ihaditout,because…justbecauseIwantedtolookatit.I’velookedeverywhere.”
Henodded,hisgazemovingoverher,takingherin.“Youlookawful,Carla,”hesaid.
“Yeah,thanks.I’venothadagreatcoupleofweeks,”shesaid,andshestartedtolaugh,justagiggleatfirstandthenafull-throatedcackle.Shelaugheduntiltearsrandownherface,untilTheoliftedhishandtobrushthemaway.Sheflinchedawayfromhim,again.“Don’ttouchme,”shesaid.“Notuntilyoutellmethetruth.Idon’twantyoutotouchmeuntilyoutellmewhatyoudid.”Partofherwantedtorunawayfromhim,partofherachedtohearhimdenyit.
Theorubbedthetopofhisheadwithhisforefinger,hischindroppingtohischest.“IsawAngela.Iwenttoseeher,becauseDanielhadcometomeaskingformoney,andI’dgivenhimsomebutthenhewantedmore.That’sit.That’sthewholestory.”
Carlatwistedherfingersintothegrass,pulledaclumpupwithherhands,pusheditbackintothesoil.“Whydidn’tyoutellme,Theo?Whywouldn’tyoutellmethatDanielhadcometoyou,ofallpeople…?”
Theothrewuphishands.“Idon’tknow!Idon’tknow.Ididn’tknowwhatwasgoingonandfrankly”—helookedherdeadintheeye—“Iwasn’tsureIwantedto.”
Carlafeltherskinflushfromthebaseofhernecktohercheekbones.“Soyousawher…once?Justthatonetime?
Theo?”
“Twice,”hesaidquietly.“Sheaskedtoseemethesecondtime,andIwent.Icouldn’ttellyou,Cee…itwas”—heexhaledhard—“justbeforeshedied.Iwenttoseeherandaweekorsolatershewasfoundatthebottomofthestairs.Itlookedbad.”
“Itlookedbad,”Carlarepeated.“Andwasit?”sheasked,hervoicesoft.“Bad?”
“Cee…”Hereachedforherhandandshelethimtakeit.
“Idon’twanttohavethisconversationhere,doyou?It’sBen’sday.It’shiseighteenth.Idon’tevenwanttothinkabouthertoday.”
“Whydidsheasktoseeyou?”Carlaasked.Theodidn’tanswer.Heleanedacrosstowardherandkissedheronthemouth,andshelethim.
“I’vemissedyou,”hesaid.“Idon’tlikeitwhenyoudisappear.”
Theysatforawhileinsilence,handinhand.Theohadbroughtcognacinahipflask;theytookturnssippingfromit,passingitbackandforthbetweenthem.
Whenthealcoholwasburninghotinherchest,Carlaaskedhim:“Whatwouldyoudodifferently?Ifyoucould?Wouldyoustillmarrymeifyouknewwhatwastocome?”
“OfcourseIwould,I—”
“Idon’tthinkI’dhavemarriedyou,”shesaid.Theowinced.Shesqueezedhishand,droppedit.“Idon’tmeanthattobecruel,butifIhadknown,Idon’tthinkIcouldhave.
Only,Isupposeitdidn’treallymatterwhoImarried,didit?Itmighthavehappenedanyway,mightn’tit?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Hetookholdofherwrist,fingerandthumbloopingaroundtheslenderbone.Withhisotherhandhereachedoutandtouchedherface;hetriedtoturnherchinsothatshewouldfacehim,butshepulledaway.
“Thepoison,”shesaid.“Itcamefromme,frommyfamily.”
“Youarenotyoursister,”Theoreplied.
Then,finally,shemethiseye.“Youshouldforgiveher,Theo.”
TheotriedtogetCarlatogohomewithhim,butsheinsistedthatshewantedtostayawhile.Atfirstheofferedtostaywithher,buteventuallyshemanagedtopersuadehimtogo.
Thoughnotbeforehe’dhandedoveraUSBdrivewithadraftofhislatestnovelforhertoread.“Theo,really?Idohavequitealotgoingonatthemoment,youknow?Ihaven’teven
—”Hervoicecaught.“Ihaven’tevendoneanythingaboutthefuneral.Daniel’sfuneral,Ineedto…”
“Icoulddothat,”Theosaid,stillpressingtheUSBstickintoherhand.“Icouldmakethosearrangements,but…Cee
You’vealwaysbeenmyfirstreader.Youcan’tjuststopbeingmyfirstreader;itdoesn’tworklikethat.”
Carlawatchedhimweavehiswaythroughthegravestones,alittletheworseforthecognac,dappledsunlightpickinghimoutashemadehiswaytothemainroad.Shewaitedforawhile,tomakequitesurethathewasgone,thathehadn’tturnedback,wasn’tloiteringsomewherekeepinganeyeonher,beforeshetookfromherpocketahandfulofashandsprinkleditoverthegrasscoveringBen’sgrave.
Shetriedtoconjureuphersister’slazydrawl,herthroatylaugh.
???
“DOYOUREMEMBERthathouseinVaugines,Cee?”Angelahadaskedher,yearsago.They’dbeensittingonthesofainAngela’slivingroominthehouseonHayward’sPlace,weaksunshiningthroughhalf-closedcurtains,illuminatingtheroomwithadirtyyellowglow.Angelasatwithherfeettuckedupunderneathher;shewassmoking,pickingathernails.Herhandsweresteady,whichmeantshe’dalreadyhadadrink.
“Doyourememberthatplace,bytheolivegrove,withallthosestrangeanimalheadsculpturesonthewalls?AndDanielandIstayedinthepoolhouse?Benwasstillababy,hewas
tiny”—sheheldoutherhandstodemonstrate—“warmandperfectlikealoafofbread.”
“OfcourseIremember,”Carlasaid.“Itwasthefirstholidayweevertookhimon.TheoandIspentallourtimeonthosedaybedsbeneaththetrees,fallingasleepwithhimtuckedinbetweenus.”Sheclosedhereyes.“Whatwerethosetrees?
Weretheyoaktrees,doyouthink?Ormaybeplane…”
“Thoseincrediblesunsets,”Angelasaid.“Rememberthose?
Allthatrosé.”
“Andyoucouldn’tgetDanieloutofthepool,notforlovenormoney.Doyourememberhowcrosshegot,becausehewantedtoteachBentoswimandwekepttellinghimBenwaswaytoolittle?”
Angelashookherhead.“Didhe?Didhereally?”sheasked,bendingforwardtostubouthercigaretteintheashtrayonthecarpet.“Itseemsimpossible,doesn’tit?Thinkingaboutitnow,fromhere”—shegesturedattheuglyroomaroundthem
—“thatwewereallsohappy.Itseemsunimaginable.Allthathappiness,wrecked.”
Carla’sownhandsshook;herarms,herlegs,herwholebodytrembledassherosetoherfeet,asshestareddownathersister,lamentingtheirlostcontentment.“Unimaginable,”shecroaked.“Itis,isn’tit?Justafewmomentsofcarelessness,anhourortwoofunthinkingneglect,adoorleftopen.Andhereweare.”
Sherememberedthewayhersisterstaredatherthen,glassy-eyed,hermouthworkingbutmakingnosound.
Carlatookanotherhandfulofash,andbroughtittoherlipsbeforeshepresseditdown,intotheearth.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Theyskipschool,slippingoutthroughthegatesunseen.There’sabustoandfromtown,oneanhour,onthehalfhour.Hurryup!Herfriendhitchesupherskirt,sprintsahead,wavingfranticallytoattractthedriver’sattention.Thegirlhalfjogs,bookbagslungawkwardlyoverhershoulder,largebreastsbouncing.Theyboardthebus,passthesmirkingdriver,passtheothersour-facedpassengers.
Themomenttheygetoffthebus,thegirlregretscoming.Itisbakinghot,pavementscrammedwithshoppers.There’snothingtodohere,nowheretogo.Listlesslytheydragtheirfeet,shoptoshop,theylookatclothestheycannotafford,theybuycigarettesfromthecornershop,cheapones,roughonthebackofthethroat.Theysmoke,lightingonefromanother,untiltheyfeelsick.
Theygotothepub,butthebarmanwon’tservethem.Theysitatatableoutside,skirtshitchedup.Sunningthemselves.Theoldblokessittingatthenexttablegivethemdirtylooks.Ayoungermanapproaches,helooksatthem,looksatthefriend,notatthegirl,hesmiles.Heisugly,hiseyestooclosetogether,acneonhisneck,redraw.Herfriendrollshereyes.Asif,shesays,andshelaughs.
Musicstartstoplayfromsomewhere,aradio,ajukebox,thegirlhasheardthisonebefore,somethingslow,aman’svoicesoftandhoarseoveracousticguitar.Inthehotafternoonsun,thegirl’sskiniscold.Shefeelsasthoughsomeonehaspouredpetrolalloverher,andyetthereisapointatthebackofherscalp,rightwhereherponytailissecured,thatthrobswithaviciousheat.
Somethingbadisgoingtohappen.TWENTY-FIVE
Thebasinalmostfull,herhandsplungedwrist-deepintowarm,soapywater,Miriamexperiencedaflashbacksopin-sharpsherecoiled.Itwasn’tvisualbutasensation—thesudden,surprisingheatofarterialbloodbubblingupthroughherfingers,theshock,immediatelyafterward,ofdisappointment.Ofsorrow.Notakingitback.Shestoodatthesinkinhertinybathroom,herarmsinthewater,unabletomoveforaminute,perhapseventwo.Herrighthandsqueezedanailbrushandherleftgrippedthehandleofpairofscissors,asifinspasm.
Andthenthemomentpassed,herhandsrelaxed,andshecamebacktoherself.Shepulledtheplugandwatchedthesoapywaterrunout,shereplacedthebrushandthescissorsonthelittleshelfbeneaththemirror.Carefully,shedriedherhandsbeforetippingalittleantisepticlotionontoaballofcottonwool,whichsheappliedgentlytothescratchesonherneckandarms.Shetookthestripsofadhesivebandageshe’dcutfromtherollandappliedthemtotheworstofthewounds,alongthesideofherleftforearm.
Whenshewasfinished,Miriamreturnedtothemaincabinandbegantotidyup.Shereplacedthebooksthathadtumbledfromtheshelves,sheputherwoodenboxbackinitsplace,andwithadustpanandbrushshesweptupbrokenpotteryandsoil,oneofherherbpotshavingfallenfromthesill.Theplantitself,alittlespikeoftarragon,wasirredeemable.Backaching,kneespressedpainfullyintothecabinfloor,sheworkedmethodically,tryingherbesttosweepawayalltracesofherconfrontationwiththatviciousgirl.Shewasangry,butherfurywascontrolled,simmering,rightupuntilthemomentthatshediscovered,underthetable,oneofLorraine’sgold
hoopearrings,bentslightlyoutofshape,andshestartedtosob.
Whymustpeopletakewhatdoesnotbelongtothem?Whymusttheytakewhatishers,andruinit?
WhatMiriamrememberedmostvividlyfromthetimeimmediatelyafterherabductionwasnotthehospital.Nothermother,sobbingsohardsheliterallyhadtobeproppedupbyMiriam’sfatherwhentheycametoseeherforthefirsttime.
Notthehoursofinterviewswiththepolice,notthecrowdsofpeoplecampedoutsidetheirhome,thejournalistsandthetelevisioncameras.
WhatsherememberedmostclearlywastheunbearablekindnessofLorraine’sparents.Lorraine’sfather,weepingwhenhecametoherhospitalroom,squeezingherhand,murmuring,ThankGod,thankGodyou’reallright
Surely,Miriamthought,thatcannotreallybewhathewasthinking?Surelyhemusthavebeenthinking:Whynotyou?
Whywasn’tityou?
AfterLorraine’sfuneral,therewasawakeatherparents’
home.Miriamaskedifshecouldgoupstairs,ifshecouldspendsometimeinLorraine’sbedroom,andLorraine’smother,thissmallbrokenwoman,managedtosmileather.Ofcourseyoucan,shesaid.Youarealwayswelcomehere.Youcanvisitanytimeyoulike.
Upstairs,sittingatLorraine’sdressingtable,Miriamlookedatallherfriend’sbrightlycoloredscrunchies,herlipsticksindarkpinksandreds,hereyeshadowpaletteinpurple,blue,andwhite.Therewasajewelryboxinfrontofthemirror.Itplayed
“Greensleeves”whenyouopenedit;Miriamhadadmireditsincetheywerelittlegirls.Insidetheboxtherewerenecklacesandbracelets,aringtoosmallforMiriam’sfingers,andthe
earrings,thegoldhoops,whichsheslippedintoherjacketpocket.Sheleftthewakewithoutsayinggood-bye.
???
THREEDAYSLATER,Jeremy’scarwasfoundinacarparkonacliffinanareaeuphemisticallyreferredtoasabeautyspot,oneofthoseplacespeoplegowhentheyhavenowherelefttorun.Threedaysafterthat,inverybadweather,thecoastguardcalledoffthesearch.Andthreeweeksafterthat,twoyoungchildrenplayingonabeachnearHastingscameacrossaseveredhumanfootthatwastherightsizeandcolorandcontainedbloodoftherighttype.Whetherdashedagainstrocksorchewedupinaboat’spropeller,Jeremywasgoneforgood,allthatremainedofhimbeingthenoteheleftintheglovecompartmentofhisabandonedcar,anoteofapology,asingleword,Sorry
Sorry.
Atschool,everyonefeltsorryforMiriam.Everyonefeltsorryforher,andnobodywantedtobeanywherenearher.
Everyonelookedatherandnoonemethereye.Hernamewasoneveryone’slipsandnoonespoketoheratbreaktime,atlunch.Shewalkedpastandtheysmiled,eventheteachers,kindly,lookingatsomepointinthemiddledistance,notather.
Shewastainted.People—herparents,hergriefcounselor,thepolice—toldherwhathadhappenedtoLorrainewasn’therfault.Noonewouldhaveexpectedyoutodoanydifferent,Miriam.Butthefactthattheyfelttheneedtosayittolditsowntale.Thefactthattheyfelttheneedtosayitmeantthattheyhadthoughtaboutit,theyhadthought,Youmighthavedonesomethingelse.Noonewouldhaveexpectedyouto.Butyoumighthave.
Nooneeversaidthatoutloud,notuntilTheoMyersoncamealong.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Whenhecatchesher,sheknowswhatheisgoingtodotoher.Shehascomefullcircle,thisgirl.Lyinginthedirt,sheseesherselfasshewasthatmorning,atherdressingtable,brushingherhair,pullingitbackintoaponytailthatshesecuredtightlywithabandatthenapeofherneck.
Stillinnocent,then.
Shecouldhavestoppedit,couldn’tshe?Shecould,whenherfriendsuggestedskippingschool,havesimplyshakenherheadandwalkedaheadtodoublemath.Shecould,whentheywereintown,haverefusedthepubandsuggestedthepark.Shecouldhavesaid,I’mnotgettinginthatcar.Shecouldhavesaiditlouder,don’t.
Evenafterithadallbeensetinmotion,shecouldhavedonesomethingdifferent.
Shedidn’thavetorun.
Shemight,insteadofrunning,haveselectedapieceofglassfromthedebrislyingontheyellowinggrassoutsidethewindowshehadshattered.Shemighthaveslippedthissliverintothepocketofherjeans.Shemighthavecreptbackintothehouse,followingthesoundsofherfriend’sdistress.Shemighthaveslunkintotheroomwhereheheldher,wherehepinnedherto
thefilthyfloor.Inbarefeetshemighthavemovedquickly,breathheld.Shemighthavegrabbedholdofhishair,pulledhisheadback,andjammedthepieceofglassintohisthroat.
Butnowitistoolate.TWENTY-SIX
Irene,dozinginherchairnexttothewindow,acopyofPatBarker’sBlowYourHouseDownopeninherlap,waswokenbytherain,asuddendownpoursoheavytheraindropsdrummedlikehailagainsttheflagstonesinthelaneoutside,thesoundofitsoloudthatIrenealmostmissedthesoundofsomeoneweeping.
Shethoughtshe’dimagineditatfirst,andthen,risingtoherfeet,shethoughtwithasinkingheartthatitmightbeCarla—
despairing,tragicCarla—backtohauntthehousenextdooroncemore.Butthensheheardaknockingatherdoor,sosoft,sotentativeitmighthavebeentheworkofachild.Sheheardasmallvoicecallout,“Irene?Areyouthere?”
Laura,onherdoorstep,soakedtotheskinandinadreadfulstate,herjackettornandalividbruisethesizeofatennisballmarringtheleftsideofherface.Shewastrembling,weepinglikealittlegirl.
“Laura,goodGod!Comeinside.”Irenereachedforher,butLauradrewback.
“Don’t,”shesobbed.“Youshouldn’t.Youshouldn’tbekindtome.”
“Whatonearthareyoutalkingabout?Laura,forgoodness’
sake.”Shegrabbedahandfulofthegirl’ssoddencoat.“Comein,comeoutoftherain.”
Inthedarkenedhallway,thedoorshutbehindher,Laurashookherselflikeadog.“Youshouldturnmeaway,”shesaidmiserably.“Youshouldtellmetofuckoff,notthatyou’deversaythat,becauseyou’retooniceandpolite.”
“Well,quite,”Irenesaidcrossly.“Stopbeingsilly.Takeoffthatwetcoat,putitontheradiatorthere.Hasn’titgotcold?
I’llturntheheatingon.Now,comeon,don’tdawdle,don’tdrip.Comeintothelivingroom.I’mgoingtoturntheheatingonandthenI’mgoingtogetusacupoftea.Youcantellmeallaboutit,youcanstartfromthebeginning.”
Whenshereturnedwiththetea,Laurawassittingonthefloorinthemiddleofthelivingroom,herlegscrossedandherheadinherhands.Irenehandedheramug.“Comeon,then.
Let’shearit.What’sgoingon?”
AsIrenesettledbackintoherarmchair,Laurabegan.Shesaidthatshe’dtakenmoneyfromIrene’spurse,whichIreneknew,ofcourse,becausealthoughshewasforgetful,shewasn’tafool.Lauratoldherthatshe’dtakensomethingfromnextdoortoo,thatshe’dseenthedooropenandsnatchedabagfromthehallway,andIrenehadnotknownaboutthat.
“Doyoustillhavewhatyoutook?”sheaskedsternly,andthegirlnodded.“Thenyou’llgiveitback.Moneyisonething,Laura,andIunderstandyou’reinatightspot.Butyoucan’ttakethingsthatmeansomethingtosomeone.Canyouimaginehowyou’dfeel,”shescolded,“ifsomeonetookWilliam’swatchfromme?Canyouimaginewhatyou’dthinkofthatperson?”Lauracringedinshame.Herexpressionforlorn,shetippedthecontentsofherbackpackontoIrene’slivingroomfloor,pickedupthetwolittlejewelryboxes,andhandedthemtoIrene.
“That’snottheworstofit,”shesaid,hervoicebarelymorethanawhisper.Inherchest,Irene’sheartquailed.ShedreadedwhatLaurawasabouttotellher,forwhatcouldbeworse?
Whatcouldbeworsethanstealingfromagrievingwoman?
“Whathaveyoudone,Laura?”Herbreathcatching,shecouldbarelyutterthewords.“You’venot…youhaven’thurtsomeone,haveyou?”
Lauralookedup,eyesbright.“Idon’tthinkso.Unlessyoucounttheguywiththefork,butIdon’tthinkthat’swhatyoumean,isit?”Ireneshookherhead,confused.“Daniel,”Laurasaid,andIrene’shandflewtohermouth.
“Ohno,Laura.”Irenefeltherheartmightstop.
“Ididn’tkillhim!”Lauracried.Shewasonherknees,atIrene’sfeet.“Ididn’t,Iswear.ButIwasthere….Justbefore,Iwastherewithhim.AndIdidn’ttellyou,becauseyousaidhewastrouble,you—”
“Ididn’tsayhewastrouble,Laura.Isaidhewastroubled.IthinkIwarnedyoutobecarefulwithhim,becausehewasatroubledboy,didn’tI?Hehadadifficultfamilylife,Itoldyouthat,I—”
“AndIdidn’tlisten.AndIwentwithhim,andIspentthenight….”Lauratailedoff.Outside,therainhadabatedsomewhatbuttheskywasdarkeningasifinpreparationforasecondassault.
“Youstayedthenight?”Irenerepeated,andLauralookeddownatthecarpet.“Oh,forGod’ssake!”shesnapped.
“There’snoneedtobesocoy.I’manoldwoman,notachild.”
Lauranodded,butshedidn’traisehereyes.“So,youspentthenightwithhim.Andthenyouleftwithoutanybreakfast,I’mguessing.Buthewasfinewhenyoulefthim?”Lauranoddedagain.“Andyou’venoideawhathappenedtohim?”Laurashookherheadthistime.“Laura!Didyouhonestlythink,inthelightofallthat,thatitwasreallyagoodideatogostealingfromhisfamily?ForGod’ssake.Imaginehowitwouldlook,ifsomeonefoundout,if—”
“Someonehasfoundout,”Laurasaid,hervoicesmall.
“Youhave.”
Irenerolledhereyes;shefeltquitecross.“Oh,don’tberidiculous,I’mnotabouttocallthepolice,amI?Andnoneof
thatexplainsallthis,”Irenesaid,wavingherhandinLaura’sdirection.“Noneofitexplainsthestateyou’reinnow.”
“Oh,well.”Laurasatbackdown,crossingherlegs.
“There’sthiswoman,yousee,wholivesinoneoftheboatsonthecanal,andIknowherabitbecauseshecomesinthelaunderettesometimes.Hername’sMiriam,andshe’sabitweird,shelooksweird,youknow,likeshe’salwayswearingafewtoomanyclothes,doyouknowwhatImean?Inanycase,she’stheonewhofoundDaniel,foundhisbodyImean,shewastheonewhocalledthepolice,andthentheotherday,sheshowedupoutsidethelaunderette,andIwasinabitofastate,nothingterrible,just…youknow.”Irenedidn’tknow;shehadnoideawhatLaurawastalkingabout.“Anyway,soIwentroundtoherplace,toherboat,yousee,becauseIowedheranapology—it’salongstory,youdon’treallyhavetoknowaboutallthis,butthepointis,thepointis,whenIgottotheboat,Ifoundoutthatshehadthekeytomyflat.”
“Shehadyourkey?”
“Exactly!RememberIsaidIlostit,wellshehadit.”
“Andshegaveitbacktoyou?”Irenewasn’treallyunderstandingthepointofthisstory.
“No,no,shedidn’tgiveittome.Shehiditfromme.Ifounditinherboat,Iwaslookingthroughherthings,yousee
—”
“Youwerelookingforsomethingtosteal!”Irenesaid.
“Yes,allright,Iwas,butthat’snotthepoint,isit?Thepointisshehadmykey.AndsowhenIfoundit,wehadabitofa…well…”
“Analtercation?”
“Exactly.”
“Andshehityou?Thiswomanhityou?Gaveyouthatbruise?”
Laurashookherhead.“Therewasabitofpushingandshoving.Iwasbasicallytryingtogetoutofthere,andItripped.Ifell.”
“Doyouthinkweoughttobecallingthepolice,Laura?Imean,ifthiswomanhasyourkey,then…”
“Oh,no—Ihavethekeynow.”Shedelvedintoherjeanspocketandpulleditout,alongwithonegoldearring,whichshepeeredat,beforestuffingitbackintoherpocket.“Ihavethekey,andIhavethisaswell.”Fromthepilewhereshe’demptiedoutherbackpack,shetookasheafofpapers,aboundmanuscript,whichsheheldouttoIrene.“Shegavemethis—
beforewehadour…whatchacallit,altercation,shegavemethis.Hermemoir,”Laurasaid,air-quotingwithherfingers.
“SuggestedIreadit.WhichI’mnevergoingtodo.Youmightlikeit,though.Ithasacrimeinit!Sheclaimsshewaskidnappedbyamadmanwhenshewasyoung.Orsomethinglikethat,anyway.”
“Goodgrief,”Irenesaid,acceptingthemanuscriptwithbothhands.“Howextraordinary.”Therewasasuddenflashoflightaccompaniedbyaparticularlyviciouscrackofthunder,whichhadthembothduckingtheirheads.
“Fuckinghell,”Laurasaid.
“Indeed,”Irenereplied.“Doyouknow,”shesaid,“Ithinkyououghttogoupstairsandgetoutofthosewetthings,hangthemintheairingcloset,andrunyourselfanicehotbath.Ithinkyoushouldstayherewithmethisafternoon,don’tyou?”
Laurasmiled,squeezingtearsfromhereyes.“I’dlikethat.”
Abovethesoundoftheseconddownpour,IrenecouldhearLaurasinging,hervoicetruerandsweeterthanIrenewouldhaveimagined.Shetookhertime;itwasalmostanhourbeforeshecamebackdownstairs,wrappedinapinkterryclothrobethathadbeenfoldedupintheairingcupboard,unusedforthebestpartofadecade.SomethingaboutthesightofthistinyyoungwomaninheroldrobewasextraordinarilytouchingtoIrene.Shefeltawaveofemotioncomeoverher,afeelingsheimaginedmightalmostbematernal.
ShesaidnoneofthistoLaura,whoshesuspectedmightbeembarrassedbysuchadeclaration.Instead,shesaid:“Doyouknow,it’sveryodd,thisbook”—shebrandishedthemanuscriptLaurahadbroughtwithher—“thismemoir.Iwasreadingthroughitand—”
“Youcan’thavereaditalready,”Laurasaid,flingingherselflengthwaysontothesofaandrearrangingthecushionsbeneathherhead.
“Well,Iwasjustskimmingthroughit—it’sactuallynotbadlywritten,alittleoverwrought,perhaps—buttheoddthingisthatsomepartsofitfeelterriblyfamiliar,thoughofcoursetheideaofsomeoneescapingfromaserialkillerisn’texactlyoriginal,only…”Shetailedoff,frowning,peeringupatherbookshelvesovertherimofherglasses.“There’ssomethingthat’sbotheringmeandIjustcan’tputmyfingeronwhatitis,I…”
Lauraclosedhereyesandsnuggleddownonthesofa,pullingIrene’srobedownoverherknees.“Oh,”shemurmured,“thisis,like,heaven.Iamjustsoknackered,youknowwhatImean?Ijustwanttoliehereforever.”
“Well,you’rewelcometostay.Youcouldevenspendthenight,”Irenesuggested,“ifyoulike.Icouldmakeupthesparebed.”
Lauradidn’tanswer,butwithasmileuponherlipssaid,“Ialwaysfeelsafehere,youknow?Ifeellikenoonecangetatmehere.”
“Noone’sgoingtogetyou,Laura,”Irenesaid.“Whyeverwouldyouthinkthat?”
“Oh,theywill,”Laurasaid,pullingtherobeupsothatitcoveredherchin.“Theywill.Theyalwaysdo.”
WhileLauraslept,Ireneread.Anumberofthescenesinthemanuscriptwereterriblyfamiliar—twogirlshitchhikingonahotsummer’sday,achanceencounter,asuddendescentintoviolenceoccurringataremotefarmhouse,tenderyounglimbsslashedonbrokenwindows—itwasallstandardhorrorfilmstuff,shesupposed,buttherewassomethingthatsnaggedonthememory,andthatwasthesinging.Arefrainplayedontheradio,sungbyoneofthecharacters(couldyoucallheracharacter,ifthiswasamemoir?),wasfamiliartoher;itremindedherofsomething,rangabellfromsomewhere.
Onthesofa,Laurastirred.SheturnedoversothatshewasfacingawayfromIreneandbegan,verygently,tosnore.Irenefeltagainthepullofaffection,atwingeinherstomachthatshethoughtofasmaternal,butthenwhatdidsheknow?Shecouldn’tsaywhatitwas,onlythatshefeltthesameurgetoprotectthegirlasshe’dfelttowardpoorAngela.
ShecasthereyeoncemoreoverAngie’sbooks,theonesshe’dnotyetfinishedsortingthrough.Shereallyoughttogetonwiththatbecausethosebookshadbeenlyingaroundforweeks.PerhapsshemightaskLauratotakethatfirstpileuptotheOxfamshoponUpperStreet.
Andthenshesawit.Onthetopofthecharityshoppile:TheOneWhoGotAwaybyCarolineMacFarlane.TheoMyerson’scrimenovel!Itwasstaringherintheface.Shegotoutofher
chairandpickedupthebook,ahardbackcopy,heftyandwellbound.Sheturneditover,readingthewordsonthebackcover,inboldbloodred:
Ontheirwayhomefromschool,agirlandherfriendwereabducted.
Thegirlmadeithome.Thefrienddidnot.
Thisgirlisavictim.
Thisgirlisgrieving.
Thisgirlisdamaged.
Thisgirlisvengeful.
Thisgirlisguilty?
ThisgirlistheOneWhoGotAway.
Irenerolledhereyes—she’dthoughtitwasdrivelwhenshe’dfirstreaditonpublication;herviewhadnotchanged.
Returningtoherchair,sheopenedthebook,flickingthroughittofindthepassageshefeltsuresheremembered,somethingaboutasong,asnatchofalyric.Itwastheresomewhere,thoughnotatalleasytofindinthisnovel,whosestoryjumpedabout,thepointofviewoccasionallyswitchingfromvictimtoperpetrator,thetimelinejumpingaboutallovertheplace.Veryconfusingand,ifyouaskedIrene,irritating.SherememberedhearingMyerson,oncehe’dbeenunmaskedastheauthor,defendingitonaradioprogram,sayingsomethingaboutplayingwithperceptionsofguiltandresponsibility,challengingthereader’sexpectations,allthatsortofguff.
Nonsense.Experimentationforitsownsake,whodidthatserve?Whatwaswrongwiththetraditionalcrimenovel,afterall,withgoodprevailing,evilvanquished?Sowhatifthingsrarelyturnedoutlikethatinreallife?
Irenewasinterruptedinherreadingbyanoddbuzzingsound.ShelookedupandsawalightflashingonLaura’sphone.Itquietenedandthen,afteramoment,startedupagain.
Onthesofa,Laurastirred.“Oh,that’sme,”shegroaned,rollingovertowardIreneandpromptlyfallingofftheedgeofthecouch.“Fuck’ssake,”shemumbledasshecrawledacross
thecarpettopickupthephone,“Iwascompletelyout.”Shesquintedatthescreen.“Yeah?”sheanswered.“Who?Oh,yeah,sorry.What’sthat?Oh,noI’mnotthereatthemoment,I’mwithafriend.Ican…butI…but…What,now?”Sheclosedhereyesforasecond.“DoIhaveto?”
Sheendedthecallwithaheartfeltsigh.ShelookedsleepilyupatIrene.“Toldyou,”shesaid,tryingtosmiledespitethetelltalecrackinhervoice.“Itoldyoutheyalwaysgetme,didn’tI?”Wearily,shedraggedherselftoherfeet.“Ihavetogetgoing,”shesaid.“Thatwasthepolice.”
Lauraleftinahurry,dismissingIrene’sconcerns.“It’snothingtoworryabout,mate,”shesaidassheranupstairstogetherclothes.“Nothingtoworryabout,”shesaidagainwhenshecamebackdown.
“ThisisaboutDaniel?”Irenesaid,andLaurapulledaface.
“Yeah,ofcourseitis!Ofcourseit’saboutDaniel—Ihaven’tsleptwithanyoneelsewho’scarkeditlately,haveI?
I’mawitness,that’sall;Iwasthelastpersontoseehim,youknow,alive.It’snothingtoworryabout.”Irenesawhertothefrontdoor.Helpingherintoherstill-dampcoat,sheaskedifLaurahadasolicitor.Lauralaughed,startedoffdownthelane,limpingalittlemorethanusual,andthensheturnedback,agrinonherface,alltracesoftearsbanished.“Doesthepopeshitinthewoods?”
Irenewasthinking,asshepoppedacoupleofslicesofbreadintothetoaster,howmuchWilliamwouldhavelikedLaura.
Shewouldhavemadehimlaugh.He’dnotbeenoverlykeenonAngela—hewasneverunkindtoheroranythinglikethat,hewasjustwary.She’sontheedgeofsomething,thatone,he’dsaid.Andwhenshegoesover,youdon’twanttobeanywherenearby,she’llcatchholdofyouandwhoop!Off
you’llbothgo.WilliamneverreallygottoknowAngela;henevergottoseehowkindshewas.
Toastbuttered,IrenesatatthekitchentablewiththememoiropeninfrontofherandTheo’snovelnexttoit,forcomparison.Somethingaboutsinging,shewassayingtoherselfassheflickedthroughthepages.Somethingabout—oh.
RightatthebackofTheo’sbook,tuckedintotheflapofthejacket,shediscoveredanenvelope,addressedtoTheoMyerson.Odd,sincethiswasAngela’scopyofthebook.
Insidetheenvelope,shefoundasheetofA4,apparentlytornroughlyfromapad,onwhichtherewasapencildrawingofawomansleeping,thebedclothesflungbacktoexposehernakedtorso.Atthebottomofthepage,inaspideryhand,waswritten,hellooldman,beendoingsomesketching,thoughtyou’dliketosee.Thenotewasunsigned,butthedrawinglookedverymuchlikeoneofDaniel’s.AndthewomaninthepicturewasunmistakablyCarlaMyerson.TWENTY-SEVEN
OnCarla’sbedlayhersuitcase,halffull.Thewardrobewasopentoo,andbitsandpiecesofclothingwerestrewnalloverthecounterpane.Shewashavingtroublemakinghermindupwhattopack;she’dnoideahowlongshe’dbegone,orwhatshe’dneed.Theweatherhadturnedcoldhere,butitwouldbewarmfarthersouth,wouldn’tit?Mindlessly,shegrabbedthingsfromhershelves,T-shirtsandjumpers,adressshe’dnotworninyears.Somewhereinthehouseherphonewasringing,butthen,herphonewasalwaysringing.Itneverstopped.
ShewouldhavetospeaktoTheoatsomepoint,sheknewthat,toaskhimtoforwardhermailtowhereveritisshedecidedtogo,todealwithsolicitors,withtheestate,withthesaleofAngela’shouse.
Therewouldbeanargument,inevitably,whichiswhyshewasconsideringtakingthecoward’soptionandcallinghimfromabroad.Shewasn’tsureshecoulddothattohim,tojustleave,withoutseeinghimagain.Shewasn’tsureshecoulddothattoherself.
Sheneededtotellhimthatshe’dlookedathislatestpieceofwritingtoo,thatshedidn’tlikeit,alltheto-ingandfro-ing,allthatjumpingaroundinthetimeline.Likethelastone,theawfulcrimething.Juststartatthebeginning,forGod’ssake.
Whycouldn’tpeoplejusttellastorystraightanylonger,starttofinish?
TheyearbeforeAngeladied,DanielturneduponCarla’sdoorsteponeSundaynightaroundeight.Hewasupsetandagitated,agrazeacrosshischeekboneandacutonhislip;he
hadalongandcomplicatedstoryaboutanargumentwithagirlfriend,followedbyamugging—Carlacouldn’tquitefollowthethread,buthesaidhehadnowheretogo.Hedidn’twanttocallthepoliceandhecertainlydidn’twanttogotohismother’s.“Shedoesn’twantmethere,”hetoldCarla.“She’sneverwantedmethere.”Carlasaidhecouldstay.Sheopenedabottleofwine,whichtheyseemedtodrinkveryquickly,sosheopenedanother.Abouthalfwaythroughthat,sheknewshehadtostop.
Shewentupstairs,showered,teeteredunsteadilystraightfromtheshowertobed,stillwrappedinhertowel.Shewokewithafright,thewaysheoftendidfromdrink.Shelaystill,herhearthammeringinherchest,andittookawhileforhertorealizethatshe’dthrownoffthecovers,thrownoffhertowel.
Ittookawhileforhereyestogrowaccustomedtothedarknessandforhertorealizethatshewasn’talone.Thathewassittingonthefloornexttothedoor,lookingupather,hissketchbookinhislap.“Daniel,”shewhispered,pullingthecoversupsharply,“youscaredme.”Inthegloom,shecouldnotmakeouthisexpression,onlythewhitenessofhisteeth.
“Couldn’thelpmyself,”hereplied.
Inthemorning,shefoundhimsittingatthecounterinherkitchen,drinkingcoffee.“Morning!”hegreetedherwithoutatraceofembarrassment.“Iwasjustwondering,”hesaidasshebusiedherselffillingthekettle,puttingtheglassesfromlastnightintothedishwasher,“ifyoucouldputmeupforafewdays?”
Carlaturnedtofacehim.Hewassmilingather,guilelessandbeautiful.“I’msorry,Daniel,”shesaid.Hissmilefalteredforonlyasecond.“Iwould,it’sjust…Theo,”shesaid.“Hewouldn’t…”Sheturnedaway.
“It’sfine,”Danielsaid.“Igetit.It’sfine.”
When,amonthafterhismotherdied,DanielcametoAngela’shousetopickuphisthings,helookedtiredandunhappy.Hedidn’twanttocomeintothehouse;theyalmostarguedaboutit.“Youneedtoseewhatthereis,Daniel.Ican’tsortthrougheverythingforyou.Ican’tchooseforyou.”
“Ijustwantmythings,mynotebooks,mystuff.Idon’twantanythingofhers.”
Wheneventuallyhedidenterthehouse,hewalkedstraightupthestairsandintohisbedroomwithoutlookingonceaskance.HepickeduptheboxintowhichCarlahadplacedallhisnotebooks.“Youhaven’tlookedatthese,haveyou,because”—hepulledaface—“they’renotgreat.”
Carlashookherhead.“No,you’vealwaysbeenclearthattheywereprivate.”
Hesmiled.“Thanks,AuntCarla.”Italwaystuggedatherwhenhecalledherthat.Itremindedherofhimasalittleboy,thoseenormouseyesinhispinchedface,waryandvulnerable.
Thepoorlittlesavage.Shesteppedforwardtokisshimonthecheek,andhemovedhisheadatthelastminute,brushingherlipswithhis.“I’verentedaboat,”hetoldherasheturnedtogo,“onthecanal,justbytheWhitmoreBridge.Itbelongstoafriendofafriend,soIgetmate’srates.It’sashithole,butit’sallIcanaffordatthemoment.You’llcomebyandvisit,won’tyou?”heasked.Carlawatchedhimwalkoutoftheroom,theboxinhisarms,watchedhimscuffthecarpetatthetopofthestairswithhistrainer.
Heturnedtoherandsmiled.“Becareful,yeah?”
Adayortwolater,maybethree.CarlawasatAngela’s,doingafinalcheckoftheroomstomakesureeverythingwasclearbeforethecleanerscamein,whenshediscoveredabatchoflettersinthebottomofDaniel’swardrobe.Threeofthemsent
byhersistertoMarcus,Daniel’sfather,theenvelopesmarkedreturnedtosender,butthelettersthemselveswellhandled,readandreread,conceivablybyAngela,butsinceshewasthepersonwho’dwrittenthem,itseemedmorelikelythatthepersonwhohadporedoverthemwasDaniel.
Andwhenshethoughtofhimreadingthem,sheimaginedlittleDaniel,sheimaginedlookingdownonhisneathead,onhisbruisedneck.ItwasthatDanielsheimaginedreadinghismother’swords,notthestrangemanhe’dbecome,andthethoughtofit,ithurtherheart.
Ithurtherhearttothinkofhimreadingallthehurtfulwordshismotherhadwrittentothefatherwhohadrejectedhim.IthurtherheartwhenshesawhowAngelahadbeggedforhelpforher“impossible”son,aboywhowasneverframedasanythingbutaproblem,somethingaboutwhichsomethingneededtobedone.Iamgoingoutofmymind,shewrote.Icannotstandtobenearhim.YouhavetohelpmeMarcus,I’venooneelsetoask.
???
ONHERWAYtothecanal,sheboughtabottleofwine.Shetriednottothinkaboutwhyitwasshedidn’twanttotalktohimwithoutadrinkinherhand.Shetriednottothinkaboutthenightofthefuneral,triednottothinkabouthimscuffingthecarpet,whichmeantnothinganyway,didit?Shemadeherwaydowntothecanal,andnexttotheWhitmoreBridgeshesawtwocanalbarges,oneabeauty,freshlypaintedinracinggreenwithadarkredtrim,thenextonealongashabby,rustingmessinblueandwhite.Sheknockedonitswindows,climbedupontothebackdeck,andknockedagainonthecabindoor,whichswungopen.
“Daniel?”shecalledout.“Areyouhere,Daniel?”
Hewasn’t,butshewasclearlyintherightplace—theboxofnotebookshe’dtakenfromAngela’shousewassittingon
thecounter,someofitscontentsdecantedontothebenchontheothersideofthecabin.Theboatitselfwasawful:thesinkandhobwerefilthy,themaincabinstankofrotwhilethetinysleepingareatothebackoftheboatreekedofsweatandsemen.Danielhadobviouslybeenkeepingcompany,andthethoughtofitprovokedahorribletwistinCarla’sstomach,followedbyaflushofshame.Danielwasagrownman,hewastwenty-threeyearsold,therewasnoreasonwhythethoughtofhimbeingwithsomeoneoughttomakeherfeeluncomfortable.Itoughtn’tmakeherfeelanywayatall.
Retreatingfromthebedroom,shepickeduponeofthenotebooksonthebench,guiltilyflickingquicklythroughitspages.Itwasfullofpencilsketches,unrecognizedfaces,disembodiedlimbs.Shereplaceditonthebenchandpickedupasecond,thisonefullofpen-and-inkdrawings,moredetailed,sophisticatedwork,afullgraphicnovel,bythelooksofit,withDanielhimselftheprotagonist.Onthefirstpage,shenoticed,he’dwrittenatitle—TheOriginsofAres—andhervisionwasquicklyblurredwithtears.WarlikeAres,themosthatedofallthegods,theoneevenhisownparentscouldn’tstand.
Oh,Daniel.
Sheturnedthepages,herstomachflippingqueasilyoncemoreassherecognizedherself,drawnyoungandluscious,morebeautifulandcertainlymorevoluptuousthanshehadeverbeeninreallife.Herskinburningwithembarrassment,sheclosedthebook,putitbackonthebench,andthen,almostwithoutthinking,pickeditupagain.Itwasstillinherhandwhensheclimbedoffthebackoftheboat,whenforasecondshelockedeyeswithawomanwatchingherintentlyfromthebackdeckofthehandsomered-and-greenbargemooredafewyardsaway.
Carlazippedhersuitcaseshut,carrieditdownstairs,andleftitinthehallway.Inthelivingroom,shelistenedtohermessages,onefromDetectiveBarker,askinghertocallatherearliestconvenience,andanotherfromTheo,invitingherfordinner.“Yourfavorite,lambchops.Notsureifyou’veheardyet,butthere’sgoodnews,Cee.Atlast.Goodnews.”TWENTY-EIGHT
Theostoodatthesinkinhiskitchen,hislefthandunderthehotstream,watchingthewaterrunredtopinkinthebowl.
Hehadslicedamillimeter,perhapstwo,fromtheverytipofhisleftforefingeranditwasbleedingasurprisingamount.Theculprit,hisrecentlysharpenedSantokuknife,laybloodiedonthecounter,nexttoitapink-tingedgarlicclove.TheSantokuwashardlytherightinstrumentforthinlyslicinggarlic,buthislittlechef’sknifewasmissingfromthemagneticstriponthewall,lost,nodoubt,somewhereinthechaosofthemiscellaneouscutlerydrawer,nevertobefoundagain.
Still,nottoworry.Therewasgoodnews.Goodnews,atlast!
Despitethesuddenandbittercold,Theohadbeenoutforawalkthatmorningandhad,bycoincidence,bumpedintotheyoungpoliceman,theonewiththeshavingrash,standinginthequeueforcoffeefromthecaféonthetowpath.Theo’sattempttoslipbyunnoticedwasunsuccessful;theyoungmancollaredhim,hisfacethepictureofapprehension.
“Mr.Myerson,”hesaid,sottovoce,“IwashopingI’dseeyou.There’sgoodnews.”
“Oh?”
Theyoungmannodded.“It’snotofficialyet,theyhaven’tputoutastatementoranything,butIexpectyou’llbehearingfromthemsoonenough.”Hetookadeepbreath,savoringhismoment.“They’vemadeanarrest.”
Theogaspedextravagantly.“Oh,”hesaid,hisadrenalinespiking,“thatisgoodnews.Who,uh,canyoutellmewhothey’vearrested?”
“LauraKilbride,”thepoliceofficersaid.“Theyoungwomanyousaw,theone…theoneImentionedbefore,theoneIsaid”—hespokefromonesideofhismouth—“hadahistoryofviolence?”
“Andthey’vechargedher?”Theomanagedtoask.
“Theywilldo.It’sonlyamatteroftime.Theyfoundtheknife,”hesaid.
“They…what?Youmeantheweapon?”Theo’sheartwaspoundingsohardinhischest,hethoughthemightpassout.
Theyoungmangrinned,eartoear.“They’vegother,Mr.
Myerson,bangtorights.”
Ontheshortwalkhome,Theofeltasthoughhe’dscaledamountainpeak.Hisjellifiedlegscouldbarelysupporthim;healmostfellovertwicetryingtotakeevasiveactionfromjoggers.Andyetatthesametimehefeltlikedancing!Itwasover.Theyhadher.Itwasover.Andthethingthatmadehisheartsoarwasthatitwasnotjustthisparticularmessthatwasover,notjustthisawful,brutalbusinesswithDaniel,butthewholething.DanielwasgoneandsowasAngela.Carlawouldsuffer,shewouldgrieve,shewouldfeelwhateveritwassheneededtofeel,butafterthat,shecouldstarttogetbetter,withoutanyonetodragherbackdown.TheSutherlandmess,allthatpoisontheyhadinjectedintohisfamily,intohismarriage,itcouldstarttodrainawaynow.
Theoknewtheywouldnevergobacktowhattheyhadbeen
—hewasn’tstupid—buthecouldseeawayforward.Hecouldseethembuildingsomesortoflifeforthemselves,somesortofpeace,andtheycoulddoittogethernow,withnothingandnoonelefttodividethem.
Withthebloodfinallystopped,Theobandagedhisfinger,washedtheknife,threwawaythesulliedgarlicclove,andreturnedtohisrecipe.Heleftthechopsmarinatinginoil,garlic,andmint,putonacoat,andtookhimselfoutside,ontothebackporchtosmokeacigarette.Henoticed,asheputthefiltertohislips,thathestillhadbloodinhisnailbeds.Hethought,suddenly,ofthemorninghe’dseenthatgirloutside—
Laura,theonetheyarrested.Afterhesawher,he’dgonebacktoanemptybedandfallenasleep.Whenhewoke,Carlawasintheshower,andwhensheemerged,hecalledherovertohim.Hereachedouthishand,triedtopullherbackdownontothebed,butsheresisted.Hekissedherfingertips,thenailbedsscrubbedpink.
Backinside,hewasjustpouringhimselfaglassofredwhenthedoorbellrang.Carlamusthaveforgottenherkey.Hepickedupthepileofmailonthematbythefrontdoor,slungitontothehallconsole,openedthedoorwithasmileonhisfaceandbutterfliesinhisstomach,liketheolddays.
“Oh,”hesaid,disappointed.“It’syou.”TWENTY-NINE
Somethingswerethesame,somethingsweredifferent.
Laurasat,bentover,herheadrestingontopofherfoldedarms.Lasttimewaslateatnight,thistimewasearlymorning,althoughreally,whocouldtell?Therewasnonaturallightintheroom;itcouldhavebeenanytime.Itwasadifferentroom,butforallintentsandpurposesitmightjustaswellhavebeenthesame.Lasttimeithadbeenoverlywarm,thistimeitwasbloodyfreezing,buttherewerethesamebrightlights,thesamecheapfurniture.Anastygraycarpetliketheoneinherhallwayathome.(Don’tthinkofhome.Don’tthinkofhome,oryou’llcry.)Likelasttime,Eggwasthere,andEyebrowtoo,sittingoppositeher,expressionsgrave.Graverthanlasttime,shethought.WhenevershecaughtEgg’seye,helookedaway,andthatmadeherscared.
Shewasexhausted.Itseemedlikedayshadpassed,evenweeks,sinceshe’dreceivedthephonecallatIrene’syesterdayafternoon.She’dgonetomeetthepoliceatherhomeaspertheirrequest.She’dbeencautioned,standingoutsideinthecarparkwithalltheneighborswatching,andthey’descortedherupthesevenflightstoherfloor.Therewerepeoplealreadythere,waitingonthewalkwayoutside,dressedinthosewhiteprotectivesuitslikeyouseeonTV.
“What’sgoingon?”Lauraasked.“You’vealreadydonethis,haven’tyou?Yousearchedherebefore—whydoyouhavetodoitagain?”Newevidencehadcometolight,someonesaid;theyweregoingtohavetosearchmorethoroughly.Therewasabitofwaitingaround,andthentheybroughtherhere,tothepolicestation.Itwaslatebythattime.
Theyputherinacellandtoldhertogetsomerest.Shehadn’tsleptawink.
“Laura?”Eyebrowplacedacupofwaterinfrontofher.
“Thedutysolicitor’sjustonhiswaynow,allright?We’llgetstartedinaminute.”
“Yeah,allright,”Laurareplied.“Cheers.”
Thatwasthesame—thepolite,faux-friendlythingtheydid.
They’dalwaysdoneit;everyrun-inwiththepoliceshe’deverhad,theydidit.She’dimagined,though,thatthistimemightbedifferent,becausethistimewasdifferent.Thiswasn’ttrespass,ordisorderlyconduct,itwasn’tpublicintoxicationorpettytheft.Thiswasmurder.
Murder!Laurafeltagigglerisingupinherchest.Shejerkedupright,bitingherlip,butfightthoughshemight,shecouldn’tkeepitdown;achuckleroseoutofher.Egglookedupfromhisnotes,surprised.Lauralaughedsomemore.Itwasn’tfunny,itwasn’tfuckingfunny.Shelaughedlouder,longer,tearscoming.
“Areyouallright,Laura?”Eggaskedher.Sheleanedforward,placingherforeheadonthedesk,chewingtheinsideofhercheek.Stoplaughingstoplaughingstoplaughingstopfuckinglaughing.
ThedooropenedandLaurastoppedlaughing.Shelookedup.Asmall,slendermanwithgingerhairandverypaleskinheldoutalimphandforhertoshake.Thedutysolicitor,differentfromtheonebefore.Hegaveherhisname,whichsheimmediatelyforgot,andaquick,nervoussmile.Whywashenervous?Thatwasn’taverygoodsign,wasit?
Eggsaidsomething;hewasintroducingthemall,fortherecord.Lauralistenedtoeveryone’snamesandthenforgotthem(again):Egg,Eyebrow,NervousGuy.LauraKilbride.
Theystartedaskingquestions,thesameaslasttime.WhereshehadmetDaniel,when,whattimethey’dgottentotheboat,whatthey’ddonewhentheygotthere.Allthesamestuff
they’dbeenoverbefore,firstintheflatandthenatthepolicestation.
“Fuckinghell,changetherecord,won’tyou?”Laurasaidatlast.“We’vedonethisalready,haven’twe,we’vesungthisduet.Quartet?”ShelookedatNervousGuy.“Wouldthisbeaquartet?You’renotreallycontributingallthatmuch,though,areyou?Doyoudoharmonies?”
Eggpursedhislips,hisexpressionpained.
“Doyouthinkthisisfunny,Laura?”Eyebrowasked.“Doyouthinkthisisajoke?”
“Itisafuckingjoke,yes!BecauseI’vealreadytoldyouaboutDanielSutherland.I’vealreadytoldyou,weargued,shovedeachotheraroundabit,andthatwasit.Ididnotstabhim.We’vebeenoverallthisandyou’vegotnothing—you’vegotfuckall,haven’tyou,it’sjustthatyouhaven’tfoundanyoneelse,sonowyou’vegotmebackinhere,andyou’reharassingme?”
SheturnedtoNervousGuy.“Theyneedtoputuporshutup,don’tthey?”NervousGuylookeddownatthenotepadinfrontofhim,itspagesblank.Fuck’ssake,hereallywasn’tmuchuse,washe?“Youneedtochargemeorletmego.”
Eggleanedbackinhischairandlookedherintheeyeashecalmlyexplainedthat,inadditiontoawitnesswhohadseenher,bloodyandagitated,leavingthesceneofthecrimearoundthetimeofDanielSutherland’sdeath,theyhadherDNAonhisbody,andhisonhers.Theyalsohadthefactthatshehadstolenawatchfromhim.Moreover,hesaid,theanalysisthathadbeencarriedoutonherT-shirtshowedthat,althoughthemajorityofthebloodpresentinthefabricbelongedtoher,asmallbutsignificantamounthadbeendetectedthatbelongedtoDanielSutherland.
“Canyouexplainthat,Laura?”Eggasked.“If,asyousay,Danielwasstillaliveandwellwhenyouleft,howdoyou
explainthepresenceofhisbloodonyourclothing?”
???
TURNSOUT,Danielhadsaid,sometimeintheearlyhours,whenhe’dfinishedforthesecondtime,gimp-fuckingisn’treallymything.Itcameoutofnowhere,that.Shehadn’tbeenreadyforthecasualcrueltyofit.SheknewDanielwasn’texactlyaniceguy—shewouldn’thavegonewithhimifhehadbeen,shedidn’tlikeniceguys,niceguysusuallyturnedouttobetheworst—butshehadn’texpectedthat.Shehadn’texpectedhimtopushheraway,tolaughwhenshestumbledandfell—notaforcedlaugheither,arealone,asthoughhegenuinelythoughtitwasfunny.Whenshegotup,shecouldhardlyseeforrage;shewentforhimsofastshecaughthimoffguard.Shesawthelookonhisface.Foramoment,justafractionofasecond,hewasafraid.
???
“LAURA?”EYEBROWTHISTIME,leaningforwardoverthetable.
“Canyou?CanyouexplainthepresenceofSutherland’sbloodonyourT-shirt?”
“Ibithim,”Laurasaid.
“Youbithim?”Eyebrowrepeated,deadlyserious,andashardasLauratriedtomirrorEyebrow’sstraightface,shejustcouldn’t;shestartedtolaughagain,becausehowcouldshenot?Thiswasserious,itwasdeadlyfuckingserious,andshelookedacrossthetableatthedetectivesandshelaughedandlaughedandthey,fortheirpart,lookedunhappy(Egg)andself-satisfied(Eyebrow).
Atherside,NervousGuytwitched.Heraisedhispalms,spreadhisfingers,andlookedatherasiftosay,Whatthefuck?“Ibithimhard,here”—Laurapointedtoaplaceonherneck,abovetheclavicle—“andIdrewblood.Ihadbloodinmymouth,onmylips,Iwipeditaway.Imusthavegotitonmyshirt.”
Eyebrowsmirked,shakingherheadasshedid.“Isthatit?”
sheasked.“Isthatyourexplanation?”
“Itis,yeah.Askyourforensicspeople,”Laurasaid.“Askthemiftherewasabiteonhisneck.”
“Giventhepositionofhisstabwounds,”Eggsaidquietly,
“it’spossiblethatwewouldn’tbeabletotell—”
“Hah!”Laurabarked,leaningbackinherchairwithasmile,victorious.
“ButIdon’tthinkit’sverylikelythatabitewouldaccountforthebloodthatwefound,unlessthebitewasextremelydeep.Wasit?”Eggasked.
Lauraswallowed.“Well,no.I’mnotafuckingvampire,amI?Therewasabitofascuffle.Somethingbroke,maybeaplate,aglass,Idon’tknow.Aglass.Wasthereglassonthefloor?Bettherewas.Hehadbloodonhis…onhishand,Ithink,andhepushedme—yes,hepushedmeintheface,becauseIremember,Ihadit,Ihadbloodonmyface,whenIgothome.Hepushedmeintheface,andmaybeagainonmychest,ashemovedpastme.”Besideher,NervousGuyscribbledfuriouslyonhisnotepad.
“Youdidn’tmentionthisbefore,Laura,”Eggsaid.“Whydidn’tyousayanyofthisbefore?”
“Itdidn’tmatter,”Laurasaid.“Itdidn’t—”
“Ofcourseitmattered—itmatterswhenyoulietothepolice,”Eggsaid,hisvoicestrained.“Whywouldn’tyoujusttellusthat?Whywouldyoulieaboutsomethinglikethis?”
“Whywouldn’tIlie?”Laurasnapped.“Iwasalreadyintrouble—I’malwaysinfuckingtrouble—Ijustdidn’twanttomakeitworse.Ilied,allright?”Shewasshouting.“IliedthenbutI’mtellingthetruthnow.”
Fromsomewhere—Lauracouldn’tsaywhere;perhapsshehadabagoftricksbeneaththetable—Eyebrowpulledoutaplasticbag,whichsheplacedonthetablebetweenthem.
Laurastaredatit.
“Whatcanyoutellusaboutthis,Laura?”Eyebrowasked.
Lauraopenedhermouthandthencloseditagain.“WhatcanI…?”Shewasgoingtolaughagain;shebitdownhardonherlowerlip.“WhatcanItellyouaboutit?It’saknife,bythelooksofthings.It’sasmall…smallishknife.Ithasablackhandle.Wooden,Isuppose.There’ssomethingontheblade.Ihavenoideawhatitis,butI’mguessing—”
“Don’tguess,”NervousGuyinterjectedsharply.
“Yeah.Okay.Goodpoint.WhatcanItellyouaboutit?IcantellyouitlookslikeaknifethatI’veneverseenbefore.”
Eggnodded.“Allright.Well,woulditsurpriseyoutohearthatwefoundthisknifeinyourflat?”
Laurashookherhead.“No…Imean,yes!Yes,ofcourseitwouldfuckingsurpriseme,IjusttoldyouI’dneverseenitbefore,it’snotmine.It’snot.”Shegottoherfeet.“It’snot!”
“Pleasesitdown,Laura,”Eggsaidgently.
Shesat.“WhywouldI…?”Shestartedagain.“No,okay,say,sayforthesakeofargument—”
“Ms.Kilbride,I—”NervousGuyhadwokenupatlast.
“No,it’sallright,it’sallright.Say,forthesakeofargument,itwasinmyflat.WhywouldIleaveitthere?DoyouthinkI’minsane?Amoron?WhywouldIjustleaveitlyingaroundforyoutofind?”
“YouleftDaniel’swatchlyingaround,”Eyebrowpointedout.
“Oh,forfuck’ssake,youdon’tkillpeoplewithawatch!”
“Butyoudokillpeoplewithknives?”
Laurarolledhereyes.“Youseethis?”shesaid,turningtohersolicitor.“Yousee?Tryingtoputwordsinmymouth,tryingtotrickme.Typicalfuckingrozzers.Thatknifeisnotmine.Idon’tknowwhereitcomesfrom;itisn’tmine.”
“So…what?”Eyebrowprompted.“Whatareyousaying?
Idon’twanttoputwordsinyourmouth,sotellmewhatyouthinkhappened.”
Lauraopenedhermouthandcloseditagain,likeafish.Shethrewherhandsintheair.“Idon’tfuckingknow,doI?
Someoneputitthere.Oneofyourlot,maybe.Tryingtostitchmeup.Desperate,aren’tyou,becauseit’sbeentwoweekssincehediedandyou’vegotfuckall.”
“Someoneputitthere,”Eyebrowrepeated,veryslowly.
“Youthinksomeoneplacedtheknifeinyourflat?Doesanyoneelsehaveaccesstoyourflat,Laura?Anyoneelsehaveakey?”
“What,asidefromthebutler?”Laurasnapped.“Asidefrommycleaninglady,andmypersonaltrainer,and…oh,hangabout.Miriam!”Itcametoher,justlikethat.“Miriamhadmykey!”Thedetectivesexchangedaquickglance.“Shemusthave…fuckinghell.Look,Iwasjokingaboutthebutler,butthere’sthiswoman,hername’sMiriam,shelivesonthe…
oh,youknowher,you’vespokentoher,shesaidshefoundhim,didn’tshe?Well,shehadmykey.”
AnotherlookpassedbetweenthedetectivesbeforeEyebrowleanedforwardandprompted,“You’resayingMiriamLewishadyourkey?”
“Idon’tknowherlastname—she’stheoneontheboat,whosaidshefoundhim.HowmanyMiriamscantherebe?”
“Onlyone,andthatisdefinitelyMiriamLewis,”Eggreplied.Helookedgenuinely,gratifyinglybaffled.“Why
wouldyoubelievethatMiriamLewishadputthisknifeinyourflat?”
Laura’sbreathwascomingquickandshallow,shewasseeingthingsasshehadn’tbefore,shewasseeingaglimmeroflight,shewasfeeling—whatwasthisstrangesensation?—
hope.“Mykey,”Laurasaid.“Youremember,ItoldyouIlostit?Ihurtmyarm?”Eggnodded.“Well,itturnsoutshehadit.
Shesaidshefoundit,inhisboat,shedidn’tsaywhyshetookit….Thepointisshecouldhavecomeintomyflat,atanytimesincehedied!Andthethingis,yousee,thethingis…”
Itwasallbecomingcleartohernow,allofit.“Thethingis,shehasagrudgeagainsttheMyersons.Didyouknowthat?
Hatesthem,thinksthey’reevil,notentirelysurewhybutshetoldme,right,shetoldmethatshethoughtitwasCarla—
that’sDaniel’saunt,yeah?ShetoldmethatshethoughtthatCarlakilledDaniel,whichIthoughtwasreallyweirdatthetime,butnowIthinkitwasbecauseshewastryingtodeflectattentionelsewhere.Imean,shesaysshefoundhim,buthowdoyouevenknowthat’strue?Maybeshefoundhimbecausesheknewhewastheretobefound?Don’ttheyoftensaythatit’sthepersonwhofoundthebodythatdidit?AndIknowitsoundsmaybekindoffar-fetchedbecauseshe’sanoldwoman
—”
“She’sfifty,”Eggsaid.
“Yeah,exactly,butjustbecauseshe’sold,doesn’tmeanshecouldn’thavekilledhim.She’s…she’sseriouslydamaged,youknow?Iknow,Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,you’relookingatmelike,lookwho’stalking,butsometimesittakesonetoknowone.Didyouknowshesaysshewasabductedbyaserialkilleronce?Thatshewroteabookaboutit?She’s”—
Lauradrewlittlecirclesintheairwithherforefinger,pointingathertemple—“she’sfuckingnuts.”
Thedetectives,bothofthem,wereleaningbackintheirchairs,theirarmscrossed.Foramoment,Lauraseemedto
havestunnedthemintosilence.Eyebrowwasthefirsttorecover.“Thiskeyyousayshehas,she—”
“Had,nothas.Igotitbackfromher.”
“Yougotitbackfromher?Yesterday,isthatright?Whenyouwenttoherboat,whenyouattackedher?”
“WhenIwhat?No,Ididn’tattackher,Ididn’t—”
“Ms.Lewismadeacomplaintagainstyou,Laura,”
Eyebrowsaid.“She—”
“Oh,nowthisisbullshit.Thisissuchbullshit.Ididnotattackher!Shepushedme!Look!”Laurapointedtothebruiseonthesideofherface.“Shepushedme,Ifell,but…butthat’snoteventhepoint,isit?”LauraturnedtoNervousGuy.
“Shouldn’tyoubedoingsomething?Sayingsomething?”Shepokedtheplasticbagcontainingtheknifewithherfinger.
“Aremyfingerprintsonthere?They’renot,arethey?”
“We’restillcarryingouttests.”
“Tests?Forfingerprints?”Shesplutteredaderisivelaugh.
“You’vefoundfuckall,haven’tyou?Look,areyougoingtochargemewithsomethingornot?Becauseifyou’renot—”
“Wearegoingtochargeyou,Laura.”
Hopes,dashed.“But…butthekey,”Laurasaid.“Doesn’tthatsayanythingtoyou?”
“Youhadmotive,means,andopportunity,”Eyebrowsaidfirmly,tickingitemsoffonherfingers.“YouliedtousabouttheseriousnessofyouraltercationwithDaniel.Hisbloodwasfoundonyourclothing.Themurderweaponwasfoundinyourpossession.”
“Itwasn’tinmypossession.”Laurastartedtocry.“Thekey,itmustbe..please.”ShelookedatEgg,wholookedasthoughhemightbeabouttocrytoo.Hewouldn’tmeether
eye;helookeddownatthedeskandthenoveratNervousGuy.
“We’lltakeherdowntoheartheformalchargenow,”hesaid.
“No,please,”Laurasaidagain.SheheldoutherhandstoEgg.Shewantedtobeghim,shewantedtoflingherselfathisfeet,toofferherselftohim,buttherewereotherpeopleintheroomnow,peopleinuniforms,someonehelpingheroutofherchair.Theyweregentleenoughbutthegentlenessmadeitworse;shestartedtopushthemaway,startedtofight.
“Laura.”ShecouldhearEgg’svoice,concerned,reprimanding.“Laura,comeon,don’tdothis.”Butshewantedtodothis,shewantedtofight,shewantedthemtograbher,tothrowhertotheground,toknockherout.Shewantedoblivion.THIRTY
Carlahadchangedheroutfittwice,shehadstartedandabandonedthelettershewaswritingtoTheothreetimes,andfinally,onthefourthdraft,shethoughtshe’dgotitright.
Insteadofjustdoingaflit,she’ddecidedthatshewouldgoroundtohisfordinnerafterall,shewouldstaythenight,assheusuallydid,andinthemorningshe’dslipaway,leavingtheletteronhisdesk.
ShehadacarbookedtotakehertoKingsCrossstationateleventhirtythefollowingmorning,allowingampletimeforhertoretrievefromHayward’sPlacethethingsthatshehadstupidlytakenacrossandleftthere—thedog’slead,theletters,andthenotebook—thingsshecouldnotbearforTheotofind.
Shedidn’twanthimtohavetofacerealityasshedid;hedidn’thaveherconstitution.Andlook,afterall,whatithaddonetoher.
WhatapitythatDanielwasn’tdoingabitmorewithhistalents!ThatwaswhatCarlawasthinkingonthedaythatshetookthenotebookfromtheboat,asshepagedthroughit,sittingonhersofaathome.Hedrewsobeautifully,renderedfacialexpressionsovividly.Hecapturedmovement,heregisterednuance,hewasempatheticonthepageinawayheneverseemedtoachieveinreallife.
Shefeltguiltyforthinkingthis,guiltyforlookingatthenotebooksatall—Danielhadalwaysbeenclearthattheyweren’tforothereyes,thathedrewforhimself.Aconfidenceissue,Carlahadassumed,althoughnowshewasn’tsosure
Shefeltdistinctlyuneasyasshedwelledonthepagesonwhichherownimageappeared,becausesheknewforsure
nowsomethingthatshe’donlysuspectedinthepast,thattherewassomethingwrongwiththewayDaniellovedher.Worse,shewasafraidthatthewayshelovedhimwassomehowwrongtoo.Shefeltallthesethings—guiltanduneaseandfear
—andyetshecouldn’tstopturningthepages,becausewhathehaddrawnwasbeautiful.
Itwasidealized,allofit.ThehouseonLonsdaleSquare,wheresheandAngelahadgrownupandwhereDanielhadspenthisearlychildhood,wasnowmorecastlethanVictorianvilla,thegroundsmoreparkthanLondongarden.Danielasayoungmanwasbroaderofshoulder,moreheavilymuscled,andwhenshesawBen,thebreathcaughtinherchest.Adimpledcherub,doe-eyedperfection:Danielhadcapturedperfectlythegenerosityofhislittlesmile,thesoftcurlofhishairatthenapeofhisneck;italmoststoppedherheart.
Sheputthebookdown.
Whenshepickeditupagain,assheskippedbackandforththroughthepages,tryingtomakesenseofwhereonearththisstorywasgoing,sherealizedthatnoteverythingwasidealized.
Angela,forexample,wascruellydepicted,scrawnyandscantilyclad,alush,afall-downdrunk.ButDaniel,too,sufferedinthetelling.InAres,althoughhewasphysicallybeautiful,hischaracterwasrotten:hewasmalicious,hepersecutedyoungerboysatschool,occasionallyincurringretaliatorybeatings,heseducedanddiscardedyounggirls,whoseemedtoappearsomewhereonthescalefromnaivetoidiotic,hebulliedandhumiliatedhismother.Itwasjustsobizarre,Carlathought,sounnervingandyetsoaffectingtoseeDanieldepictedasmonstrous,andtoknowhehaddrawnhimselfthisway.Whatdiditmeanthatinsteadofmakinghimselftheheroofhisownstory,hehadmadehimselfthevillain?Itcuthertothebone.Butassheturnedthepages,thatbloodyblocofpainsittingjustbeneathherbreastbonebegantoshift,todissolve,andwasreplacedbyafeelingofdread,a
creepingcertaintythatsheshouldputthebookdown,thatsheshouldcloseitandnotlookatiteveragain.Butthen,aroundhalfwaythrough,shecameacrossherselfoncemore,arrivingatLonsdaleSquareonasunnyafternoonwithBeninherarms,andsheknewimmediatelywhatdayitwas,andshecouldnotlookaway.
InDaniel’sversionofevents,Carlaiswearingadress,herhairislongandwavy,fallingoverbareshoulders,Ben—
gorgeous,goldenBen—issmilingandlaughing,perchedonherhip.Fromthebalcony,Daniel,hispinchedfacehalfindarkness,watchesasCarlahandsBenovertoAngela.Leaningoutintothesunlight,overthebalcony,Danielcallsandwavestohisauntbutshehasalreadyturnedaway,withoutacknowledginghim.Hislittlefacefalls.
Overthepage,nighthasfallen.Danieliswatchingtelevisionintheplayroom,alone.Hegetsupandgoesupstairstohismother’sbedroomtolookforher,tosaygoodnight,butsheisnotthere.Sohegoesbackdowntohisownroom,wherehefindsthathislittlecousinhaswokenup,hasclimbedoffthemattressonwhichhewassleepingandisnowlyinginthemiddleofthefloor.Heisdrawing,scribblinginabook,surroundedbysimilarbooksstrewnallaroundhim,theirpagescoveredinhisuglyscrawl.TheanguishonDaniel’sfaceisvividlydrawn:Benhasruinedallofhisbooks,hiscarefullydrawncomicbooks!Distraught,hecallsforhismother,butnoonecomes.Helooksforher,searchingroomtoroomuntil,eventually,hearrivesatthestudy.Thedoorisshut,buthecanhearsomeoneinside,makinganoise.Carefully,hepushesthedooropen,andtheresheis,straddlingaman,somestranger,somemanhe’sneverseenbefore.Herheadisthrownback,herred-lippedmouthopenwide.Sheturns,shecatchessightofherhorrifiedchildandstartstolaugh.
Danielfleestheroom.
ThenextsceneshowsDaniellyinginbed,hisimaginationacloudabovehiminwhichvariousscenesplayout:inone,heimagineshimselfhittinghismother’sloverontheheadwithachampagnebottle;inanother,heslapshismother’sdrunkenface.Then,thecloudofhisimaginationdissipates.Danielpropshimselfupononeelbowandgazesacrosstheroomatthelittleboy,asleeponhisside,hislonglashesgrazinghischeekbones,hisheadhaloedwithcurls.
Inthemorning,Danielgoesupstairstohismother’sroom.
Sheisasleep,alone.Heleavesher,closingherbedroomdoorbehindhim.Hereturnstothesecondfloor,tohisownbedroomwherehegentlyshakesthelittleboyawake.Thechild,delightedtoseehisbigcousin,smilesahuge,goofysmile.Danielhelpshimfromthebed,hetakeshishand,heleadshimtothestudy,opensthedoor.Thepairofthemcrosstheroom,handinhand,pickingtheirwaythroughtheevidenceoflastnight’sdebauchery—clothesstrewnaround,ashtrayoverflowing,anemptybottleofchampagnelyingonitsside.Danielleadsthechildtothebalcony,heopensthedoors,andfrombehindhisbackheproducesatoy—abrightredtruck.Heoffersittothechild,wholaughsdelightedly,reachingouttograbit,andashedoes,Danielrollsthetruckcarefullyoutontothebalcony,towardthebrokenrailing.Hewatchesasthechildtoddlesafterit.
Inthefinalpanel,Danielisaloneagain,sittingontheedgeofthebalcony,withhisfeetdanglingovertheedge,asmileonhislips.THIRTY-ONE
IrenesatperchedonanuncomfortablyhardchairinTheoMyerson’slivingroom.Shecouldtell,beforeshesatdown,thatthechairwasnotgoingtobecomfortable,butshesatinitanyway,becauseitwasrelativelyhighandshecalculatedthatshe’dbeabletogetoutofitwithouthelp,whichwasimportant.ShehadnodesiretobeatMyerson’smercy.Withsomedifficulty,onehandgrippingthechairandtheotherholdingherhandbagtightlytoherlap,shemanagedtoscootthechairafewinchesclosertothewoodburnerinthegrate.Itwasfearfullycold;winterhadreturned,withsomevengeance.
Ontheradiothatmorningthey’dtalkedaboutsnow.
Myersonwasinthekitchen,fetchingherasherry.Shedidn’twantone—she’dneverbeenmuchofadrinker—butwhenheoffered,afteronlygrudginglyinvitingherininthefirstplace,she’dthoughtitbesttoaccept.Hewasdrinkingwine.Alone,inthemiddleoftheafternoon.
Whilehewasgone,Ireneadmiredhisbookshelves.SaywhatyoulikeaboutTheoMyerson,hehadbeautifulbookshelves.Oak,Irenethought,andprobablycustombuilt,runningfromfloortoceilingoneithersideofthefireplace,withoneofthoseniftyrollingladderstoallowyouaccesstotheverytopshelves.Fromwhereshewassitting,shecouldn’treadthenamesonthespines,whichwasfrustrating.Irenelikedfewthingsmorethanagoodnosethroughotherpeople’sbookshelves,althoughnowwasclearlynotthetime.
“Carlashouldbealonganyminute,”Theosaidwhenhecamebackintotheroom.Hehandedherasmallcrystalglass.
“She’scomingfordinner.”
Ireneacceptedthedrinkwithanod.“Ididn’tknowwhereshelived,”shesaid,vaguelyawarethatshe’dalreadyexplainedthattohim.“ButIfoundyouraddress,asIsaid,onanenvelopeinabook.”
Theonodded.Hesankdownintoanarmchairquitesomedistanceacrosstheroom.Hetookalargegulpofwineandgloweredather.“Youneedtospeaktoherurgently?Canyoutellmewhatit’sabout?”
“Ithinkit’sbestwewaitforCarla,”Irenesaid.Shesippedhersherry.Theoraisedhiseyesbrieflytotheheavens,beforegloweringatheroncemore.Hewasnotasubtleman.Theysatinsilenceforafewmomentsandthen,crackingunderthepressure,Irenesaid,“IjustneedtospeaktoheraboutsomethingIfoundinAngela’shouse.”Shetookanothersipofthesherry.“AnotebookIfound,oneofDaniel’s.”Shetookitfromherhandbagandhelditupbrieflybeforethinkingbetterofitandslippingitbackintothebag.
“Andthisisurgent,isit?”Myersonsaid,hisvoiceflat.
“Well,I…Youhaven’tseenitbefore,haveyou,Mr.
Myerson?”Theoshookhishead,thankfullyuninterested.Heshiftedinhisseat,patentlyirritated;heseemedonthepointofaskinghertoleave.Nervously,shetookanothersip.“It’swhatyou’dcallagraphicnovel,Isuppose.TherewasoneontheBookerlist,wasn’tthere,notsolongago?Veryodd,Ithought
—Imean,howonearthdoyoucompareacomicwitharealbook?”Theoraisedhiseyebrows.Hegluggedhiswine.Hewasstartingtomakeherveryuncomfortable.“Well,noaccountingfortaste,Isuppose.”Shefellsilentamoment.“Ifoundthisinoneofyourbooks,”shesaid,holdinguptheenvelopewithhisaddressonit.“Thecrimeone.”
Inthelong,tensesilencethatfollowed,Ireneponderedthewisdomofbringingupthemanuscriptshe’dread,theonethatLaurahadgivenher.Butthen,nowwasperhapsnotthebest
timetoaccuseMyersonofplagiarism.Shewouldn’twanttogetdistractedfromthematterathand.Sheoncemoreraisedherglasstoherlipsandwassurprisedtofindthattherewaslittlemorethanadropremaining.
“Thisnotebook,”Theosaideventually,frowningather,
“yousaidyoufounditinAngela’shouse.WhatwereyoudoinginAngela’shouse?”
“Well,yousee,thethingis…”
Irenetailedoff.Shedidnothaveagoodanswertothisquestion.Theshortanswerwasshe’dbeennosingaroundnextdoor.Thelongerversionwasthatwhenshe’dheardontheradiothatLaurahadbeenchargedwithDaniel’smurder,sheknewatoncethatshemustspeaktoCarla,becauseshewascertainthatamistakehadbeenmade.Shedidn’thavecontactdetailsforCarla,butshefeltsurethattheremustbesomethinginAngela’shousewithanumberoranaddressonit.Onlywhenshegotthere,shewasdisappointed,becausethehousewascompletelyempty.Shewalkedfromroomtodingyroom,noticingforthefirsttimewhatadesperatestatetheplacewasin,thewallpaperbubblingandpeelingoff,thedamparoundthekitchenwindow,theframesinthebedroomsupstairssuccumbingtorot.Atthebottomofawardrobeintheupstairsbedroom—prettymuchtheonlyremainingpieceoffurnitureinthehouse—Irenediscoveredapileofpapers.Threeorfourletters,alladdressedtoAngela,andanotebook.Irenetookthemhomewithher.Shedidn’tfindanaddressforCarla,butthenotebookgavehersomethingelse.Notunderstanding—
Irenewasn’tsurethatwaspossible—butaglimpseofsomethingelse,aglimpseoftheplacewhereallthismighthavestarted,wheretheseedofdestructionwasfirstsown.
Theoleanedforward.“Well?WhatwereyoudoinginAngela’shouse?”Hisvoicewasbrittlenow,hisexpressionquitemenacing.“AsfarasI’maware,youdon’thaveanybusinessthere;that’sCarla’sproperty,it’s—”
“Isit?”Ireneasked.“DoesthehousebelongtoCarla?”
Myersongottohisfeetabruptly.“OhforGod’ssake!It’snoneofyourbusinesswhoownsthehouse.Carlaissufferingthroughaterribletimeatthemoment;thelastbloodythingsheneedsissomemeddlesomewomanbotheringher,interferinginheraffairs.”Hecrossedtheroomtowardher,holdingouthishand.“Givethenotebooktome,”hedemanded,“andI’llhanditovertoCarla.Ifshewishestodiscussitwithyou,she’llgetintouch.Iwouldn’tholdmybreath.”
Irenedrewherhandbagclosertoherchest.“I’dliketogivethebooktoCarlamyself,ifyoudon’tmind,”shesaid,hertightlyprimtonedisguisingthefactthatshewasafraidnow,ofthislargemantoweringoverher,afraidofwhathemightdoifhesawwhatDanielhaddrawn.
“Idomind,”Theosnapped.“Givemethebook,”hesaid,hishandheldoutinfrontofherface,“andI’llcallyouataxi.”
Irenepressedherlipstogetherfirmly,shakingherhead.
“I’maskingyounottoreadit,Idon’t—”
“Carlacanlookatit,butIcan’t?”heasked.“Why—”
“I’mcertainCarlahasalreadyseenit,”Ireneexplained.“Itwouldn’tcomeasashocktoher.”
“Ashock?”Hishandsdroppedtohissides.“Whywoulditbeshockingtome?”Heraisedhiseyestotheceilingoncemore.“Oh,forGod’ssake.It’saboutCarla,isn’tit?AretherepicturesofCarlainit?Hewasfixatedonher,youknow,inanunhealthyway.Hewasquiteadisturbedyoungman,I’mafraid.”Irenesaidnothing,onlylookeddownatthebaginherlap.“Isitnotthat?”Myersonasked.“Isitsomethingaboutme?Hehasapopatme,doeshe?”
“Thethingis—”IrenestartedtospeakbutshewassilencedbyasuddenactofviolenceasTheo’shandshotout,as
roughlyhegrabbedherhandbagfromherlap.“No!”shecried.
“Wait,please.”
“I’vehadaboutenoughofthis,”Theosnarled,snatchingthebookfromthebag,whichhethendiscarded,tossingitbacktowardher.Itfelltothefloor,spillingherpossessions,hersparespectaclesandherpowdercompact,herlittletweedchangepurse,ontothecarpet.
Takinggreatcare,Irenekneltdowntogatherherthingswhileaboveher,Myersontowered.IgnoringIrene,heopenedthebookandbegantoread.“TheOriginsofAres!”hesmirked.“God,hethoughtalotofhimself,didn’the?Ares,godofwar!Thatlittleshit….”Hiseyesskimmedthepagesasheflickedquicklythroughthebookuntilabruptly,andwithanaudibleintakeofbreath,hestopped.ThecurlofhislipdisappearedandhisskinseemedtowhitenbeforeIrene’seyes;hisfingersbegantocurlintofists,crumplingthepagesofthenotebookastheydid.
“Mr.Myerson,”Irenesaid,herheartsinkinginherchest,
“youshouldn’tbelookingatit.”Shepulledherselfslowlytoherfeet.“Youdon’twanttoseewhathedrew,”shesaid,althoughshecouldtellbythehorrifiedexpressiononTheo’sfacethatitwastoolate.“It’sterriblyupsetting,Iknow,I…”
Suddenly,Irene’sheadwasswimming,thecarpetbeneathherfeetseemingtotiltandrocklikeaboat,thewoodburner,thebeautifuloakshelvesblurringbeforeher.“Oh…Idon’tfeelverywell,”shesaid,andshereachedoutherhandtowheresheexpectedthechairtobe,butfoundthatitwasn’t.
Shestumbled,rightedherself,squeezinghereyestightlyshutandthenopeningthemagain.Itwasthesherry,thesherryandtheheatfromthefire,shefeltquiteodd,andtherewasMyerson,staringather,hismouthredandopenandhisfacedarkeningandhishandsclenchedtofists,ohGod.Shetookastepbackward,reachingforsomethingtoholdontoandfindingnothing,whatafoolshe’dbeen,tobringthenotebook
withher!Shethoughtshewasbeingbravecominghere,butshe’dbeenafool,anoldfool,justaspeoplethoughtshewas.THIRTY-TWO
Theohadkilledwiththestrokeofapenmanytimes.Overthecourseofafewthousandpagesoffiction,hehadstabbed,shot,andevisceratedpeople,hehadhangedthemfrommakeshiftgallows,hehadbatteredthemtodeathwithasharprockheldinthepalmofasmallhand.Andhehadcontemplatedworse(oh,thethingshehadconsidered!)ashewonderedwhatwe(he,anyone)mightbecapableofinextremis.
Thenotebookwasgone,fedtothefire.Theoldwomanwasbackonherfeetbutflusteredandfrightened;she’dnotexpectedhimtoreactsoquickly,asstronglyashehad.Ashewatchedher,itoccurredtohimhowlittleitwouldtake:theyweresofragileatthatage,andshewasalreadyunsteadyonherfeet;she’ddrunkthatglassofsherryveryfast.Nowsheswayedalittleinfrontofhim,hereyesfulloftears.Shestoodontheedgeofarugwhosecornerhadruchedupwhenshe’dbeenscrabblingaroundonthefloor,almostexactlymidwaybetweenthesharp-corneredstonehearthandhisclean-linedcoffeetableinglassandbronze.
Werehewritingthisscene,he’dbespoiledforchoice.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Hecan’tseeanythingexceptforred.
Whenhewokethatmorninghedidn’tthinkhe’dbetheheroofthestory.Ifhe’dthoughtaboutitatall,hemighthavecalledhimselfthehunter.
Whenhewokethatmorning,hecouldn’timaginehowitwouldbe,howshewouldbe,differentthanwhathewanted,nottheonehewantedatall.Hecouldn’timaginehowshe’dlieandtrickhim.
Whenhewokethatmorning,henever
thoughthe’dbetheprey.
Theunfairnessofit,bitterinhismouth,tricklesdownthebackofhisthroatashesuccumbstoher,theonewhogotaway,thegirlwiththeuglyface,red-handed,rock-handed,vengeful.She’sallhecansee,thelastthinghe’llsee.
TheOneWhoGotAway
Sheknows,beforeshesees,thathehasfoundher.Sheknows,beforeshesees,thatitwillbehisfacebehindthewheel.Shefreezes.Forasecondshehesitates,andthensheleavestheroad,takesoffrunning,intoaditch,overawoodenfence.Shescramblesintotheadjacentfieldandrunsblind,falling,pickingherselfup,makingnosound.Whatgoodwouldscreaming
do?
Whenhecatchesher,hetakeshandfulsofherhair,pullsherdown.Shecansmellhisbreath.
Sheknowswhatheisgoingtodotoher.Sheknowswhatiscomingbecauseshehasalreadyseenhimdoit,shesawhimdoittoherfriend,howsavagelyhepushedherfaceintothedirt,howhepawedather.
Shesawhowhardherfriendfought.
Shesawhowshelost.
Soshedoesn’tfight,shegoeslimp.Sheliesthereinthedirt,adeadweight.Whileweaklyhepawsatherclothes,shekeepshereyesonhisfaceallthetime.
Thisisnotwhathewants.
Closeyoureyes,hetellsher.Closeyoureyes.
Shewillnotclosehereyes.
Heslapsheracrosstheface.Shedoesnotreact;shemakesnosound.Herpalelimbsareheavy,soheavyinthedirt,sheissinkingintoit.
Sheistakinghimwithher.
Thisisnotwhathewants.
Heclimbsoffherbody,beatstheearthwithhisfist.Hehasbloodonhisfaceandinhismouth.Heislimp,beaten.
Thisisnotwhathewants.
Hestartstocry.
Whileheiscrying,shepicksherselfsilentlyupofftheground.
Go,hesaystoher.Justgo.Justrun.
Butthisgirldoesn’twanttorun;shehasdoneherrunning.Shepicksupastone,jagged-edged,itstippointedlikeanarrowhead.
Nothingtoobig,justlargeenoughtofitsnuglyintothepalmofherhand.
Herhandcupsthewarmstoneandhiseyeswideninsurpriseassheswingsherarmtowardhim.Atthesoundoftheboneathistemplesplitting,joyfizzesupinherandsheswingsasecondtime,andagain,andagain,untilsheisdrenchedinsweatandinhisblood.Shethinksshemighthaveheardhimbegginghertostop,butshecannotbesure;shemightjustaswellhaveimaginedit.
Whenthepolicecome,thegirlwilltellthemhowshefoughtforherlifeandtheywillbelieveher.THIRTY-THREE
Miriamsiftedthroughherkeepsakes,theobjectsshe’dgatheredduringthecourseofbrusheswithotherlives—
thelivesofothers,otherlivesshemighthavelived.Shenotedwithsomesadnesshowtheyweredepleted:thekeyshehadtakenfromtheboatwasgone,aswellasoneofLorraine’searrings,whichpainedherterribly.
Thethingsshechosetoholdontorepresentedimportantmomentsforher,andwhenshethoughtaboutthosetimes—
thosefewmomentsalonewithDanielontheboat,herescapefromthefarmhouse—shelikedtohaveassociatedobjectstohold,tohelpbringherbacktohowitreallywas,tohowshereallyfelt.Now,assheheldthelittlesilvercrossthatherfatherhadgivenherforherconfirmation,herfirstCommunion,sheclosedhereyestightlyandimaginedherselfatfourteen,beforethehorrorsofthefarmhouse,whenshewasstillaninnocent.
Miriamwasawarethatthishabit,ofcollectingtrinketstotransportherbacktoimportantmoments,wasatraitshesharedwithpsychopathsandserialkillers,whichwassomethingthatbotheredher,butthetruth,Miriambelieved,wasthatweallhaveourmonstrousmoments,andtheseobjectshelpedherstaytruetowhoshereallywas,tothemonstershehadmadeofherself.
Sometimes,whenshefoundherselfinaverydarkplace,shefeltoverwhelmedbytheurgetoconfess.Ifshehadaconfessor,wherewouldshestart?Woulditbewiththemostrecenttransgressionortheveryfirstone?Ithadtobethelatter,shesupposed.Thefirstwasthedefiningone,theonethatsetheronthispath.
Startwiththenightsheescapedfromthefarmhouse,whenshestoodinfrontofthebrokenwindowandprayed,andprayed.
Whensheclamberedoutthewindow,whensheranalongthedirtroad.Whensheheardthethunderthatwasn’tthunder,thesoundofthecar,comingfrombehindher,comingfromthefarm.Whensherealizedhewascomingforherandstartedtorunagain,scramblingoverafence,flingingherselfintoaditch,wrigglingforwardonherstomachuntilshewasconcealed,atleastinpart,byanoverhangingtree.Thereshelay,listeningtothecar’sgearsgrindingasitslowed,itslightsilluminatingthebranchaboveherhead.Thecarpassed.
Forawhileafterthat,shelayintheditch.Howlong,shecouldn’tsay.Shecouldneversay.Miriamrememberedsomuchdetailaboutthatdayandthenightthatfollowed—thesmellofthehouse,thepale,blastedblueoftheeveningsky,thesonginthecar,andthatsoundLorrainemade,thatawfulsound,afterhepunchedher.Butshecouldnotforthelifeofherrememberhowlongshehadlaininthatditch,frozenandunabletomove,onlyhermindwhirring,thinking,It’snotmyfaulthechoseyou
Shecouldnotremember,either,howlongshestoodinthelockedroominthefarmhouse,paralyzedwithterrorinfrontofthebrokenwindow,couldnotrememberhowlongithadtakenhertomakethedecisionthatherbestchancewasnottostayandfightbuttorun,toraisethealarm.Shecouldnotrememberhowlongshestoodthereandprayed,prayedthathewouldn’tcomedownthestairs,prayedthathewouldn’tcomeforher.PrayedthathewouldtakehistimewithLorraine
Hermindmovedon,anditwasn’tuntilshesatinLorraine’sbedroomatherdressingtable,pocketinghergoldearrings,consideringwhatabadpersonshewas,thattheyreturnedtoher,thosedespicablethingsshehadthought,allthetimeshehadwastedwhileshewasthinkingthem.
Miriamwastestedandfoundwanting;shediscoveredatthattimethatshelackedsomeessentialgoodness,somecriticalstrandofmoralfiber.
Shewasnotgoodthen,andhasnotbeengoodsince.
Atthebottomofthewoodenbox,beneaththeletterfromthelawyer,laythedogIDtag.
Miriamdidn’tliketothinkaboutthatmoment,themomentwiththedog.Itwasn’tsomethingshewasproudof;itwasalossofcontrol,inamomentofpain.Shekeptthetagasaremindertoherself,thatthetransferofhatredfromonepersontoanotherdidn’twork.Didn’tmakesense.ShethoughtaboutJeremy,howshelongedtopushaknifeintohisthroat.
SometimesshethoughtaboutMyersontoo,aboutsmackinghimoverthebackoftheheadwithaclawhammer,pushinghimintothecanal,watchinghimsinkbeneaththesurfaceofthatfilthywater.
Shethoughtaboutit,butshedidn’thavethecouragetoact.
Andthenithappened,oneday,thattherewasarudecustomerintheshop,andanear-collisiononthetowpathwithacyclistwhocalledherastupidfatbitch,and,arrivinghomewithherchesttightandhervisionblurred,intheearlystagesofafull-blownpanicattack,shefoundthedogonherbackdeck,tearingintothefoodrecyclingbagshe’dputoutthatmorningandforgottentotaketothebins,andalmostwithoutthinking,shesnatchedthedogup.Shetookitdowntohercabin,placeditinthesink,andquickly,withasharpknife,cutitsthroat.
Theanimaldidn’tsuffer;itwasacleankill.Notliterally,ofcourse—literallyitmadeaterriblemess,bloodalloverherhandsandherclothesandthefloor,somuchmorethanyouwouldhavethought;ittookanagetoclearitallup
Sometimes,shethoughtshecouldstillsmellit.
Laterthatnight,sheputthedoginabagandcarrieditalongthepath,tippeditoutofthebagintothewateratthebackofTheo’shouse.Shethoughtthelittlebodymightbefound,butitmusthavedriftedintothetunnel,perhapssnaggedonthepropellerofsomeone’sboat,sointheend,Theonevergottowonderaboutwhohaddonesuchaterriblething,hejustgottowonderwherethedogwas,andinsomewaysMiriamfoundthatmoresatisfying,thesightofhimwanderingupanddownthepathandintheroadsnearby,callingtheanimal’sname,puttinguppitifullittleposters.
Miriamslippedthedogtagintoherpocketandheadedout,walkingwesttowardMyerson’shouse.Ifsheweretoconfessanything,itwouldbetothat,theshamefulincidentwiththedog,andifsheweretoconfessittoanyone,thensurelyitshouldbetoMyerson.Hemightreporthertothepolice,ofcourse,butsomethingtoldherhewouldn’t.Hewouldn’twanttoadmittothemhowthisthinghadstarted.Hewouldn’twanttogointodetail;itwouldhurthispride.
Shehadconvincedherselfofallthis,reassuredherself,certainnowthattellinghimaboutthedogwouldbetherightthingtodoforher—itwouldhavethetwinbenefitsofpunishingMyersonwhileatthesametimeeasingherburden.
So,fistsdeterminedlyclenchedatherside,jawsetfirm,shemarcheduptothestepsfromthetowpathandaroundthecornertoNoelRoad,whereshecametoanabrupthalt.
Therehewas,atthetopofthestepsoutsidehisfrontdoor,lookingfurtivelythiswayandthat,scanningthepavementsanxiously,hiseyesmeetinghersandwideninginsuddenastonishmentbefore,flankedbytwouniformedpoliceofficers,hebegantomakehiswaydownthestepsandintoawaitingcar.
Offtheywent.Miriam,herheartbeatingfittoburst,couldscarcelybelievehereyes.Hadshewon?Hadsomejusticebeendone,atlast?
Shestoodthere,soastoundedforamomentbywhatshehadwitnessedthatshealmostforgottofeelelated,butthenthatmomentpassed,andshefeltherconfusiongivingwaytohappiness,asmilespreadingoverherface,andsheraisedbothhandstohermouthandstartedtolaugh.Shelaughedandlaughed,astrangesoundeventoherownears.
Whensherecovered,shenoticedthatsomeonewaswatchingher,amanacrossthestreet,alittlefartherdowntheroad.Anolderman,inawheelchair,withashockofwhitehaironhishead.Thenhewheeledhimselfdownoffthepavementandlookedupanddowntheroadasthoughhewereabouttocross;Miriamthoughtforamomentthathewasgoingtocomeoverandtalktoher,butacarpulledup,oneofthoselargetaxis,andthedrivergotoutandhelpedthemanintothebackofthecar.Thetaxiswungoutintotheroad,performingawideU-turn.
Asthecardrovepast,Miriam’seyesmetthoseofthemaninthecar,andallthehairstooduponthebackofherneck.THIRTY-FOUR
Everythingismaterial.Andcomedyequalstragedyplustime.Isn’tthathowitgoes?Sittinginastuffyroomfacedbytwodetectives,Theowonderedbitterlyjusthowmuchtimewouldneedtopassbeforewhathadhappenedtohim—thedeathofhischild,thesubsequentdisintegrationofhismarriage—wouldbecomefunny.Ithadbeenfifteenyearssincehissondied,afterall—shouldn’titbejustalittlebitfunnybynow?
Bullshit.
Asforeverythingbeingmaterial,hewasfindingithardtomakementalnotesofhissurroundings,allofhisobservationsturningouttobebanal:theroomwasgray,boxy,itsmelledlikeanoffice—badcoffee,newfurniture.Theonlysoundhecouldhearwasaninsidiouswhite-noisehumoverlaidwiththerathernasalbreathingofDetectiveChalmersopposite.
Infrontofhim,onthetablebetweenhim,Chalmers,andDetectiveBarker,wasaknifeinaplasticbag.Asmallknife,withablackwoodenhandleandadarksubstancestainingtheblade.Asmallchef’sknife.Hissmallchef’sknife,notlostinthechaosofthecutlerydrawerafterall.
Whentheyplacedtheknifeonthetableinfrontofhim,Theo’sheartsankwiththerealizationthatthiswasnotgoingtobematerial.Thiswasn’tgoingtobeafunnystoryhetoldlateron.Itwasgoingtobeavery,verylongtimeindeedbeforethisbecamecomedy.
“Doyourecognizethis,Mr.Myerson?”DetectiveChalmersaskedhim.Theopeeredattheknife.Manythoughtscameintohishead,allofthemstupid.Heheardhimselfmakingasmallhmmmnoise,whichwasalsostupid.Noonelookedatan
objectandsaid,hmmm.Theysaidyes,Irecognizethatorno,Idon’trecognizethat,butinthiscase,thelattercourseofactionwasnotopentohim,becausehewaswellawarethatifthepolicewerepresentingthisknifetohimatthismoment,theymustknowherecognizedit.
Thinkfastthinkfastthinkfast,Theothought,whichwasirritating,becauseitstoppedhimfromthinkinganythingotherthanthewordfastThinksomethingotherthanfast,forGod’ssake
Theknifewashis,andtheyknewit—theyhadnotconnectedittohimbyaccident.So,thatwasthat,wasn’tit?
This,Theothought,istheend.Theendoftheworldasheknewit.Andasthesonggoes,hefeltfine.Theoddthingwas,heactuallydidfeelfine.Well,perhapsfinewasastretch,buthedidn’tfeelasbadashe’dexpectedtofeel.Perhapsitwastrue,whattheysay—whoevertheyare—thatit’sthehopethatkillsyou.Nowthattherewasnolongeranyhope,hefeltbetter.Somethingtodowithsuspense,hesupposed.Suspenseistheagonizingthing,isn’tit?Hitchcockknewthat.Nowthesuspensewasover,nowheknewwhatwasgoingtohappen,hefeltshockedandsad,buthealsofeltrelieved.
“It’smine,”Theosaidquietly,stilllookingattheknife,ratherthanthedetectives.“Itbelongstome.”
“Right,”Barkersaid.“Andcanyoutelluswhenyoulastsawthisknife?”
Theotookadeepbreath.Foramoment,hesawhimselfbackinhislivingroomwithIreneBarnes,hesawthepicturesthatDanielhaddrawn,thevulgarimagesofhisbeautifulwife,thegraphicdepictionofhislittleboy’sdeath,hesawhimselfrendingthepagesfromthebookbeforethrowingthemintothefire.Heexhaled,slowly.Herewego.“Well,”hesaid,“itwouldhavebeenthemorningofthetenth.”
“ThetenthofMarch?”DetectiveBarkergavehiscolleaguethebriefestofglances.Heleanedforwardinhischair.“ThatwouldbethemorningDanielSutherlanddied?”
Theorubbedhisheadwithhisforefinger.“That’scorrect.Ithrewitaway.Theknife.Uh…Iwasgoingtothrowitintothecanal,butthenI…Isawsomeone.IthoughtIsawsomeonecomingalongthepath,andIdidn’twanttodrawattentiontomyself,soIjustthrewitintothebushesonthesideofthepathinstead.”
Thedetectivesexchangedanotherlook,longerthistime.
DetectiveBarkercockedhisheadtooneside,hislipspressedtogether.“Youthrewtheknifeintothebushes?Onthemorningofthetenth?So,you’resaying,Mr.Myerson,you’resaying…”
“ThatIwenttoDaniel’sboatearlythatmorning,whilemywifewasstillasleep.I…stabbedhim.Therewasblood,ofcourse,agreatdealofblood….Iwasheditoffmyselfintheboat.ThenIleft,andIthrewtheknifeintothebushesonthewayhome.AssoonasIgothome,Ishowered.Carlawassleeping.Imadecoffeeforbothofus,thenItookittoherinbed.”
DetectiveBarker’smouthfellopenforamoment.Heclosedit.“Okay.”HelookedathiscolleagueagainandTheothought,thoughitwasquitepossiblehewasimaginingthingsatthispoint,thathesawChalmersshakeherhead,veryslightly.“Mr.Myerson,yousaidearlierthatyoudidnotwishtohavelegalrepresentationhereforthisinterview,butatthispointI’mgoingtoaskyouagainifyou’dliketochangeyourmind?Ifthereissomeoneyouwouldlikeustocall,wecandothat,oralternativelywecanarrangeforthedutysolicitorhereatthestationtocomein.”
Theoshookhishead.Thelastthinghewantedwasalawyer,someonetryingtomitigateoutcomes,someone
overcomplicatingwhatintheendwasasimplething.“I’mquiteallrightonmyown,thankyou.”
Barkerreadthecautionthen.HepointedoutthatTheohadcomeinwillingly,thathehadrefusedlegalrepresentation,butthatinlightofwhathehadjustsaid,itwasclearthataformalcautionwasneeded.
“Mr.Myerson.”DetectiveBarkerwasstrugglingtokeephistoneeven,Theocouldtell—thismust,afterall,beanexcitingmomentforadetective.“Justtoclarify,youareconfessingtothekillingofDanielSutherland,isthatright?”
“That’scorrect,”Theosaid.“Thatiscorrect.”Hetookasipofwater.Tookanotherdeepbreath.Herewegoagain.“Mysister-in-law,”Theosaid,andthenstoppedspeaking.Thiswasthedifficultpart,theparthewasgoingtostrugglewith,theparthedidn’twanttosayoutloud.
“Yoursister-in-law?”Chalmersprompted,herfaceanopenbooknow;shewasastonishedbywhatshewashearing.
“AngelaSutherland?WhataboutAngelaSutherland?”
“Angelatoldme,beforeshedied,thatmywife,my…
Carla,andDanielwerehavingarelationship.”
“A…relationship?”Chalmersrepeated.Theonodded,squeezedhiseyestightlyshut.“Whatsortofrelationship?”
sheasked.
“Pleasedon’t,”Theosaid,andhesurprisedhimselfbystartingtocry.“Idon’twanttosayit.”
“You’resayingtherewasasexualrelationshipbetweenCarlaandDaniel,isthatwhatyou’retellingus?”Barkerasked.Theonodded.Tearsdrippedfromtheendofhisnoseontohisjeans.Hehadn’tcriedinyears,hethought,allofasudden.He’dnotcriedwhenhesatathisson’sgravesideonwhatshouldhavebeenhiseighteenthbirthday,andnowhere
hewas,inapolicestation,cryingoverthis.“AngelaSutherlandtoldyouabouttheirrelationship?”
Theonodded.“Iwenttoseeher,aboutaweekbeforeshepassedaway.”
“Canyoutellusaboutthat,Mr.Myerson?Canyoutelluswhathappenedwhenyouwenttoseeher?”
“Ithinkit’sbestifIshowyou,”Angelasaidtohim.“Wouldyou…wouldyoujustcomeupstairs?”
Theofollowedherintothehallway.Ashewatchedherclimbingthestairs,heimaginedthethingsthatshehadupthere,thethingsshewantedtoshowhim.Daniel’sthings,presumably.Morepictures,perhaps?Notes?Textmessages?
Thethoughtturnedhisstomach.Theostartedupthestairsafterher.Heimaginedthelookonherfacewhensheshowedhim,pitying,butwithahintoftriumph,ahintofItoldyouso
Lookatyourbeautifulwife.Lookatwhatshedoeswithmyson.Afewstepsfromthelanding,hestopped.Angelawaswaitingforhim,lookingdownathim,andshelookedafraid.
Herememberedhowshehadcoweredinfrontofhim,thedaythatBendied;herememberedhowhehadlongedtograbher,tothrottleher,todashherheadagainstthewall.
Hefeltnothingofthatnow.Heturnedawayfromher,startingbackdownthestairs.Heheardhercryingasheopenedthefrontdoorandcloseditbehindhim.Hesteppedoutintothebrightafternoonsunlight,pausingtolightacigarettebeforehesetofftowardhome.Ashewalkedalongthelane,towardSt.Peter’schurchyard,hewasovercomewithlongingforatimewhenhedidn’thateAngela,whenactuallyhehadlovedherverydearly,forthetimewhenhisheartusedtoliftwhenhesawher;shewasalwayssomuchfun,suchenjoyablecompany,shealwayshadsomuchtosay.Suchaverylongtimeagonow.
“Canyoutellusaboutthat,Mr.Myerson?Canyoutelluswhathappenedwhenyouwenttoseeher?”
Theowipedhiseyeswiththebackofhishand.Hewasn’tgoingtotellthepoliceaboutthat,abouthislonging.Itwouldn’tservehispurposesnow,wouldit,totellthemthathehadlovedheronce,asasister,asafriend?
“ShetoldmethattherewassomethinggoingonbetweenDanielandmywife.Wearguedaboutit.Not…Ididn’ttouchher.Iwantedto.Iwantedtowringherscrawnyneck,butIdidn’t.Ididn’tpushherdownthestairseither.AsfarasI’maware,Angela’sdeathwasanaccident.”
Asfarashewasaware.Andhewasnotabouttoadmittothepolicethatfortherestofhisdays,wheneverhethoughtofAngela,hewouldthinkofherasshewasthatday,cryingatthetopofthestairs,andhewouldthinkofthewordshespoketoher,whenhecalledherlazyandneglectfulandabadmother,andhewouldwonderwhetherthosewerethelastwordsthatanyoneeverspoketoher.Hewouldwonderif,whensheteeteredatthetopofthestaircaseorlaydyingatthebottomofit,hiswastheeulogysheheard.
“Soyouargued,youleft….Didyouconfrontyourwife?
DidyouaskheraboutwhatAngelahadtoldyou?”
“Ididnot.”Theoshookhishead.“Therearesomequestions,”hesaidsoftly,“whichyoudon’twantanswered.
Whichyouneverwantanswered.Inanycase,itwasn’tlongafterthatconversationthatAngeladied,andIwashardlygoingtobringuptheconversationwithmywifethen,whileshewasgrieving.ButIsuspected…IfeltsurethatDanielwouldusehismother’sdeathtotrytogetclosertoCarla.Icouldn’tbearthat.Ijustwantedhimgone.”
DetectiveChalmerspausedtherecording.SheandBarkergotupfromthetableandsaidtheyweregoingtotakeashortbreak;theyofferedhimcoffee,whichherefused.Heaskedforabottleofwaterinstead,fizzyiftheyhadany.Chalmerssaidshe’ddoherbest.
Itwasover.Theworstwasover.
Thenitstruckhimthattheworstwasn’toveratall.Thenewspapers!Oh,God,thenewspapers.Thethingspeoplewouldsay,ontheinternet,onsocialmedia.Christalmighty.
Hehunghishead,hisshouldersheaving,andhewept.Hisbooks!Noonewouldbuythemanylonger.Theonlygoodthinghe’deverdone—apartfromBen,apartfromlovingCarla
—washiswork,anditwouldbetarnished,forever,alongwithhisname.Hisbookswouldbetakenfromtheshelves,hislegacyruined.Yes,NormanMailerstabbedhiswifewithapenknifeandWilliamBurroughsfatallyshothis,buttimesweredifferentnow,weren’tthey?Timeshadchanged;peopleweresointolerant,youcouldn’tgetawaywiththatsortofthinganylonger.Onestepoutoflineandyouwerecanceled.
Bythetimethedetectivescamebacktotheroom,ChalmerscarryingabottleofEvian,whichwas,ofcourse,notfizzy,Theohadcollectedhimself—wipedhiseyes,blownhisnose,steeledhimself.Remindedhimselfofwhatwastrulyimportant.
Thedetectiveshadsomethingelsetoshowhim—aphotographthistime,ofayoungwoman.“Haveyouseenthispersonbefore,Mr.Myerson?”DCChalmersasked.
Theonodded.“She’stheoneyouchargedwiththemurder.
Kilbride,yes?”Helookedupatthem.
“That’stheonlytimeyou’veseenher?”
Theoconsideredthisamoment.“No,no.Icouldn’tsweartoitinacourtoflaw,butIbelievesheisthewomanItoldyouIsaw,onthetowpath,themorningofDaniel’sdeath.Isaidatthetime,ItoldyouthatIsawherfrommybedroomwindow.
Thatwasnottrue.Infact,I…IthinkImighthavepassedher.
Onthewaytotheboat,Ithink.Shewas…shewasshufflingalong,orlimping,perhaps.Ithoughtshewasdrunk.Shehaddirtorbloodonherclothes.Iassumedshehadstumbled.Imentionedherwhenyoufirstquestionedme,becauseIwastryingtodeflectyourattention.”
“Deflectourattentionawayfromyou?”Barkersaid.
“Yes,awayfromme!Obviouslyawayfromme.”
Thedetectivesexchangedanotheroftheirinscrutablelooks.
“Woulditsurpriseyou,”Barkerasked,“tohearthatthisknife
—theknifewhichyouhaveidentifiedasbelongingtoyouandwhich,yousay,youusedtokillDanielSutherland,wasfoundintheflatoftheyoungwomaninthephotograph?”
“I…”Surprisedidn’tbegintocoverit.“Inherflat?”AterriblethoughtpassedthroughTheo’smind,thathehadfallenonhisswordunnecessarily.“Youfoundtheknifeinherflat?”
herepeateddumbly.“She…well.Shemusthavepickeditup.Shemusthaveseenme,discardingit….PerhapsshewasthepersonIthoughtIsawlateron,perhapsthatwaswhenIsawher—”
“Youjustsaidthatyouthoughtyousawheronyourwaytotheboat,”Chalmerspointedout.
“Butitmayhavebeenlater.Itmayhavebeenlater.Myrecollectionofthatmorningisnotexactlycrystalclear.Itwasastressfultime.Anemotionaltime.Iwas…Iwasobviouslyveryupset.”
“Doyourecognizethis,Mr.Myerson?”
Theyhadsomethingelsetoshowhimnow,ascarf.Henodded.“Oh,yes,that’smine.It’sBurberry,thatone,agoodone.”Helookedupatthem.“Iwaswearingitthatmorning.IthinkIdroppedit.”
“Wheredoyouthinkyoumighthavedroppedit?”
Chalmersprobed.
“I…I’vereallynoidea.AsIsay,myrecalloftheseeventsisfarfromperfect.Wasitintheboat,perhaps?Orsomewhereonthepath?Idon’tknow.”
“IassumeitwouldsurpriseyoutohearthatthiswasalsofoundinLauraKilbride’sflat?”
“Wasit?Well…ifIdroppeditatthesametimeasIthrewawaytheknife,then…”Theosighed;hewasexhausted.
“Whatdoesitmatter?ItoldyouIdidit,didn’tI?Idon’tknowhowthegirlgotmyscarf,I—”
“Ms.Kilbridebelievesthatthescarfandtheknifewereplantedinherflatinanattempttoincriminateher,”Barkersaid.
“Well…”Theowasbaffled.“Thatmaywellbe,buttheyweren’tplantedbyme,werethey?First,Ihavenoideawhereshelivesandb,I’vejusttoldyouthattheybelongtome.WhywouldIplantthemandthentellyouthatthey’remine?Thatmakesnosenseatall,doesit?”
Barkershookhishead.Helookedveryunhappy,Theothought,notlikeamanwhohadjustcrackedacaseatall.“Itdoesn’tmakesense,Mr.Myerson,itreallydoesn’t.Andthethingis,”hesaid,sittingupstraightnow,hiselbowsonthetableandhisfingerssteepledbeforehim,“thethingisthatwefoundjustonefingerprintontheknife,anditisyours.Athumbprint,tobeexact.Butsincethisisyourknife,findingyourfingerprintonitisn’tparticularlysurprising.Especiallysincetheprintwefoundishere”—Barkerindicatedapointonthesideofthehandlewhereitmeetstheblade—“whichisn’t
reallywhereyou’dexpectathumbprinttobeifyouwerewieldingaknifetostabsomeone,althoughitiswhereyouwouldexpectthethumbprinttobeifyouwere,say,choppingonions.”
Theoshrugged,shakinghishead.“Idon’tknowwhatyouwantmetosay.Ididit.IkilledDanielSutherlandbecauseofhisrelationshipwithmyex-wife,Carla.Ifyoubringmeapieceofpaper,I’llwriteitalldown.I’llsignaconfessionnow.
Asidefromthat,Idon’tthinkIwanttosayanythingmore,ifthat’sallright.Isthatallright?”
Chalmerspushedherchairabruptlyfromthetable;shelookedannoyed.Barkershookhisheadmiserably.Neitherofthembelievedhim,Theothought,andtherealizationrankled.
Whydidn’ttheybelievehim?Didtheynotthinkhimcapableofsuchathing?Didhenotlooklikeamanwhowouldkillforlove,toprotecthisfamily?Whocaredwhethertheybelievedhim,hethought,glowingwithvirtue.Hehaddonetherightthing.Hehadsavedher.THIRTY-FIVE
Carlaonlywantedtohearhimdenyit.
ThatFridaynightatTheo’shouse,acoupleofdaysaftershe’dreadDaniel’snotebook,shefellasleepearly,deaddrunk,onlytojerkawakeafewhourslater.Herheadachingandhermouthdry,thescenesDanielhaddrawnranlikeanewsreelacrosstheraggedscreenofhermind.Besideher,Theosoftlysnored.Shegotup.Nopointjustlyingthere,shewouldn’tsleepagain.Shedressedquietly,pickedupherovernightbag,andsoftlypaddeddownthestairs.Shedrankaglassofwater,standingatthesink,andthenanother.She’dhadmorethanabottleofwinethenightbefore,morethanshe’ddrunkinasinglesittinginyears,andthepainbehindhereyeswasblinding.Shefoundaboxofparacetamolinthedownstairslooandtookthree.
Backinkitchen,shelookedforpenandpapertoleaveanote.Couldn’tsleep,gonehome,somethinglikethat.Hewouldbehurt,hewouldn’tunderstand,butshedidn’thavespaceforhisfeelingsnow;shedidn’thavespaceforanything.
OnlyDaniel.
Shecouldn’tfindapen.Itdidn’tmatter;shewouldcallhimlater.She’dcallhiminawhile.They’dhavetotalkaboutitsometime;she’dhavetocomeupwithsomesortofstoryforwhyshe’dbeenfeelingthewayshehad,actingthewayshehad.
Youlookshell-shocked,Cee,hesaidtoherwhensheturnedup,asusual,forFridaynightdinner.Areyouhavingtroublesleeping?She’dtoldhimshewasandhe’dpressed:Whendiditstart,whatwasthetrigger?Shehadn’twantedtotalkaboutit.Afteradrink,shesaid;shedranktwoginandtonicsbefore
theystartedonthewine.Didn’teatathing.Nowondershefeltlikethis.
Nowonder.
Shecouldsee,lookingthroughthekitchendoors,thattherewasfrostonthelawn.Itwasgoingtobecoldout.SheputonherglovesandgrabbedfromthehallwayoneofTheo’soldscarves,whichshedrapedaroundhershoulders.Asshewalkedbackthroughthekitchen,shenoticedthattheknifeTheohadbeenusingtoslicethelemonsforherginandtonicwasstillthere.Justlyingthere,onthechoppingboard.
Sheonlywantedtohearhimdenyit.
Sheletherselfoutthekitchendoor,drawingthescarftighteraroundherneckasshewent.Sheunlockedthebackgate,steppedoutontothedesertedtowpath,andturnedleft,towardhome.
Agentlemist,silverinthemoonlight,roseoffthewater.
Thelightsofthenarrowboatswereallout;itmusthavebeenfourthirty,fiveperhaps?Stilldark.Carlawalkedslowly,withherhandsdugdeepintoherpocketsandhernosetuckedintothescarf.Shewalkedahundredyards,twohundred,shepassedthestepsshewouldusuallyclimbtotakeherhome,shekeptgoing.
Hermindseemedtoclearinthecold.Shecouldgotohimnow.Shewouldhearhimdenyit,hearhimsay,Thisisn’ttrue,it’snotreal,it’sjust…justwhat?Whatcoulditpossiblybe?
Afantasy?Anightmare?Whatdiditmeanthatsometimeoverthepastfewyearshe’dsatdownanddrawnthosepictures,ofhimself,ofher?Ofherboy.Whatdiditmeanthathe’ddrawnthemalllikethat?
Allshewantedwasanexplanation.
Assheapproachedtheboat,shewassurprisedtohearvoices,raisedandangry.Insteadofstoppingandknockingon
thewindowasshe’dplanned,shequickenedherpace,keptwalkingalongthepathandupthestepstothebridge.Shestoodthere,lookingdownontheboat,herbreathquickandhot,cloudingtheairinfrontofher.Afteramomentortwo,shesawhim,sawDanielclimbingoutontothebackdeckoftheboat.Dressedinjeans,hepulledasweatshirtdownoverhisnakedtorsoashesteppedontothepath.Heseemedtobesayingsomething,buthiswordsweresnatchedbythewind,spiritedacrossthewater.Carlawatchedhim,rollinghisheadfromsidetoside,pressinghishandtohisneck.Hetookafewstepstowardthebridgeandthenpausedtolightacigarette.
Sheheldherbreath,willinghimtolookupather.Hetookafewdragsfromthecigaretteandthenflickeditaway.Pullingthehoodofhissweatshirtupoverhishead,hepassedbeneaththearchonwhichshestood.
Afewmomentslater,agirlemergedfromtheboat.Young,tooyoung,surely,forDaniel,anddisheveled.Shestoodforamoment,herbacktoCarla,lookingthiswayandthat,asthoughnotsurewhichwaytogo.SheglancedmomentarilyupatthebridgeandthenshespatonthegroundandshuffledawayintheoppositedirectionoftheoneDanielhadtaken,laughingasshewent.
Itwasstartingtogetlight.Thefirst,mostcommittedrunnersofthedayhadlaceduptheirtrainersandmadetheirwaytothewater.OneortwohadalreadypassedbeneathCarla’sbridge,andsoontherewouldbemore.Itwascoldandshehadnodesiretowait.Shewantedtogoback—nothome,butbacktoTheo’swarmbed,tocoffeeandcomfort.Therewouldbeanotherdayforthisconfrontation.
Andasshethoughtthis,asshethoughtthatverything,shesawDanielemergefrombeneaththearchofthebridge,hisheaddirectlybeneathher.Shewatchedhimstroll,cigarettehelddelicatelybetweenthirdandfourthfingers—inmovementhewassomuchlikehismother—shewatchedhimclimbback
ontothebackdeckoftheboat,andashedidshefeltsosurethathewouldraisehiseyestohers,thathewouldseeher.
Instead,heduckedintothecabinandwasgone.
Ineitherdirection,Carlacouldseenooneelseonthepath.
Shewalkedquicklybacktothesteps,tookthemtwoatatime,rantotheboat,steppedupontothedeck,andduckeddownintothecabin—itmusthavetakenherlessthanhalfaminute,andnowshewasalonewithhim.Hisbacktoher,hewasintheprocessoftakingoffhissweatshirtasshearrivedandheturned,alarmedbythenoiseorthemovementoftheboat.Hedroppedthesweatshirtathisfeet.Foramomenthisexpressionwasblank,andthenhesmiled.
“Hello,”hesaid.“Thisisasurprise.”
Hespreadhisarmsoutwide,steppingtowardher,reachingforanembrace.Carla’shand,whichatthatmomentwasthrustdeepintoherbag,closedaroundtheknifehandle.Withonemovementshepulleditoutandthrustittowardhim,puttingallofherstrength,allofherweightbehindit.Shewatchedhissmilefalter.Therewasmusicontheradio,notveryloud,butloudenoughtocoverthesoundhemade,notascreamorashoutbutamutedcry.Shewithdrewtheknifeandstabbedhimagain,andthenagain,intheneckthistime.Shedrewthebladeacrosshisthroattoquiethim.
Sheaskedhim,overandover,ifheknewwhyshewasdoingthis,buthewasnotabletoanswerher.Shenevergottohearhimdenyit.
???
AFTERWARD,SHECLOSEDandlockedthecabindoors,undressed,showered,washedherhair,andchangedintotheclothesthatwereinherovernightbag.Thebloodiedonessheputintoaplasticbagshefoundonthesink.Sheplacedthatandtheknife,whichshewrappedinTheo’sscarf,intoherovernightbag,andthensheunlockedthedoorsandleft,leavingthe
cabindooropen,walkingatabriskpacealongthepath,backtowardTheo’shouse,amiddle-agedwhitewomanoutforanearlymorningwalk,attractingnoattentionwhatsoever.Sheletherselfbackinthroughthebackgate,intoTheo’sgarden,intothekitchen,wheresheleftherovernightbag.Shepaddedsoftlyupthestairs,slippedthroughthebedroom,whereTheolaysleeping,andbackintothebathroom.Shetookoffhercleanclothesandshoweredagain,standingbeneaththehotjetofwaterforalongtime,exhausted,herhandsaching,herjawclenchedtight,themusclesinherlegsdeadened,asthoughshe’drunamarathon.
Ifshe’donlywantedtohearhimdenyit,whydidn’tshegivehimthechancetodoso?Whytaketheknife?WhygobacktoTheo’s,insteadofhome,ifnottogiveherselfatleastthechanceofanalibi?Shecouldlietoherselfallsheliked,butwhenshelayawake,asshedidnow,nightafternight,thinkingaboutwhatshehaddone,shesawthetruth.She’dknownfromthefirstmomentshesawthatdrawing,ofDanielonthebalcony,smilingdownatherchild,exactlywhatshewasgoingtodotohim.Everythingelse,alltherest,wasalie.THIRTY-SIX
Whentheguardtoldhertherewasgoodnews,thefirstthingLaurathoughtwasthathermotherhadcometovisit,andthesecondthingshethoughtwasthatshewishedthathermotherwasnotstillthefirstpersonshethoughtof.Ofcourse,itwasn’tthat.Hermotherhadnotcometovisit,norhadsherequestedavisit.Herfatherhad;hewasduethenextday,andthatwasnice,butshecouldn’thelpit,shecouldn’t,shewantedhermum.Somehow,despiteeverything,inherdarkestmomentsLaurastillwantedhermum.
Theguard,whowasprobablyabouthermum’sageand,ifshethoughtaboutit,actuallyhadamumsierdemeanorthanherownmum,smiledkindlyandsaid,“It’snotavisitor,darling.Betterthanthat.”
“What?”Lauraasked.“Whatisit?”
Theguardwasn’tatlibertytosay,butsheledLauraoutofherroomanddownonecorridor,throughthedoors,andthendownanotherandanother,andallthetimeLaurawasasking,What,whatisit,oh,comeon.Tellme
TurnedoutitwasNervousGuy.“Him?”Lauracouldn’thideherdisappointment.“Him?”Theguardjustlaughed,indicatedLaurashouldtakeaseat,andwinkedatherassheclosedthedoor.
“Fuck’ssake,”Lauramuttered,sittingdownatthetable.
NervousGuysaidachirpygoodmorning.“Goodnews,Laura!”heannounced,takingtheseatoppositeher.
“Yeah,soeveryonekeepstellingme.”
Andthen,wouldyoubelieveit,itturnedoutthatitwas.
Droppingthecharges!Laurawantedtodance.ShewantedtoflingherarmsaroundNervousGuy,shewantedtokisshimonthemouth,shewantedtoripoffallherclothesandrunscreamingaroundtheremandcenter.They’redroppingthecharges.They’redroppingthefuckingcharges!
Shemanagedtocontrolherself,butshedidscrambletoherfeet,yelpinglikeapuppy,“Icango?Icanjustgo?”
“Yes!”NervousGuylookedalmostasrelievedasshewas.
“Well,no.Imean,notrightaway.There’spaperwork.TherewillbesomeformsI’llneedyoutosignand…Isthereanyoneyou’dlikemetocall?Someoneyou’dliketocomeandpickyouup?”
Hermother.No,nothermother.Herfather.ButthatwouldmeanaconfrontationwithDeidre;thatwouldkillherbuzzstonedead.Itwaspathetic,really,whenyouthoughtaboutit;she’dnoone,nooneatall.
“CouldyoucallmyfriendIrene?”sheheardherselfask.
“Irene?”Hereadiedhispen.“Andshe’s…afamilymember,isshe?Orafriend?”
“She’smybestmate,”Laurasaid.
Itwaslikeflying.
No,itwasn’tlikeflyingatall,actually,itwaslikeherinsideshadbeenknottedup,foragesandages,weeksandmonthsandyears,andthenallofasudden,someonehadcomealongandunpickedtheknots,andeverythinghadbeenabletounravel,andthehardnessinherbellywasgone,thefiredampeneddown,thecrampandache,thetortured,twistedfeeling,itwasgone,andfinally—finally!—shecouldstandupstraight!Shecouldstandupstraight,shouldersback,boobs
out,shecouldbreathe.Shecouldfillherlungs.Shecouldsing,ifshewantedto,shecouldsing.
TherewasLaura,singing,WellItoldyouIlovedyou,nowwhatmorecanIdo?
Theniceguardtoldhertogotoherroomandgetherthingstogether,thengouptothecanteenandhavesomelunchbecauseitwouldprobablybeawhilebeforetheyhadallthepaperworksortedandshewasboundtobestarvingandshe’dhavenothinginwhenshegothome,wouldshe?Theknotsstartedtoretiethemselves,butLaurapulledherselfupstraighterstill,shestretchedherarmsrightupoverherhead,shequickenedherpace.
ToldyouIlovedyou,youbeatmyheartblackandblue.
TherewasLaura,smilingtoherself,headbuzzingandskintingling,skippingalong,trippingalongtowardherroomwhen,fromtheoppositedirection,cameabiggirlwithanoseringwho,threedaysagointhecanteen,aproposofnothing,hadcalledherafuckinguglygimpcuntandtoldhershewasgoingtocutherfacenexttimeshesawher.
ToldyouIlovedyou,nowwhatmorecanIdo?
Thebiggirlhadn’tseenLaurayet;shewastalkingtoherfriend,smallerbutsquat,powerful-looking,notoneyou’dmesswitheither.
Doyouwantmetolaydownanddieforyou?
TherewasLaura,singing,butkeepingherheaddownallthewhile,chintochest,don’tlookup,don’tcatchhereye,whateveryoudo,don’tcatchhereye.Thebiggirlwasgettingcloser,shewaslaughingatsomethinghersquatfriendwassaying,makinganoiselikeadrain,exactlylikeadrain,andnowtherewasLaura,laughingtoo,headstilldownbutlaughing,unabletostopherselfbecauseitwasfunny,itwas
justplainfunny,undeniablyfunny,thatdrainlikesoundcomingfromthegirl’swideuglymouth.
TherewasLaura,herheadwasn’tdownanymore,itwasup,shesawthebiggirl’ssmileturnintoasnarl,heardherfriendsaywhatthefuck,andtherewasLaura,laughinglikealoon,likeabell,likeaswarmofflies.
TherewasLaura,herheadsmackingthelinoleumfloor.
TherewasLaura,screaminginagonyasabootslammeddownonherhand,therewasLaura,strugglingforbreath,asthebiggirlkneltonherchest.
HereIamhereIamhereIam.
Thereshewas.THIRTY-SEVEN
ThreedaysithadbeensinceIrenelastleftthehouse.Threedays,orfour?Shewasn’tsure;sheonlyknewthatshefeltterriblytired.Therewasnothinginthefridgeandshecouldn’tfacegoingout,couldn’tfacethesupermarket,thenoise,allthosepeople.Whatshereallywantedtodowassleep,butshedidn’tevenhavetheenergytorouseherselffromherchairandtakeherselfupstairs.Soshesatinsteadinherchairbythewindow,herfingersworkingconstantlyaroundtheedgeoftheblanketplacedoverherknees.
ShewasthinkingaboutWilliam.She’dheardhisvoicenotsolongago.She’dbeenlookingforhercardigan,becausetheweatherwasstillterrible,stillverycold,andshe’dwalkedfromthelivingroomtothekitchentoseeifshe’dleftit,asshesometimesdid,hangingonthebackofthechair,andsheheardhim,clearasday.Fancyacuppa,Reenie?
IrenehadleftTheoMyerson’sterriblyshaken.Thatwasdaysagonow,butsheremainedshaken.Therewasamoment
—briefbutnonethelessterrifying—inwhichshe’dreallythoughthewasgoingtohurther.Asheadvancedtowardherwithhishandsoutstretched,shehadalmostfeltthemaroundherneck;shehadcowered,terrified,andhehadseenherterror,shewassure.Heputhisarmsaroundher,gentleasamother,liftedher,andhelpedheracrosstothesofa.Hewasshakingallthetime.Hedidnotspeakanddidnotlookather;heturnedawayandshewatchedashekneltbeforethefireplace,asviciouslyhetorepagesfromDaniel’snotebookandtossedthemonebyoneintotheflames.
Awhilelater,sheleftinthetaxihehadcalledforher,almostovercomewithshameatthedamageshe’ddone.Ifhehadhurther,shethought,shemightjusthavedeservedit.
Terribleastheafternoonhadbeen,thatwasn’ttheworstofit.Theworstofitcamelater:acoupleofdaysaftertheincidentwithMyerson,IrenereceivedaphonecallfromasolicitorsayingthatLauraKilbridewasduetobereleasedfromremandprison,andwasaskingwhetherIrenemightbeabletocomeouttoeastLondonthatafternoonandpickherup.Irenewaselated;she’dbeensoexcited,sorelieved,onlyfortheretobeanothercallfromthesamesolicitor,justmomentsafterIrenehadfinishedorganizingataxitotakehertotheprison,sayingthatLaurawouldnotbereleasedafterall,thatshehadbeenattackedandseriouslyinjured,thatthey’dtransferredhertothehospitalrightaway.Irenewassoupsetthatshe’dtakendownneitherthesolicitor’snamenorthenameofthehospital,andwhenshephonedtheremandcenterformoreinformation,theywerenohelpatall.Theywouldn’ttellherhowserioustheinjurieswereorhow,exactly,she’dcomebythemorwhereLaurawasnow,becauseIrenewasn’tfamily.
Sincethen,Irenehadnotbeenabletoeatathing,she’dnotsleptawink,shewasbesideherself.Strangeexpression,that,andyetitseemedapt,becauseshedidfeelasthoughshewerehoveringoutsideherself,livingthrougheventsthatbarelyseemedreal,thatfeltasthoughshe’dreadaboutthemorwatchedthemunfoldonatelevisionscreen,atoncedistantandyetoddlyheightened.Irenecouldfeelherselfontheedgeofsomething.Sherecognizedthissensation;itwasthestartofaslideintoadifferentstateofconsciousness,whentheworldasitreallywasfadedawayandshewasleftsomewhereelse,somewherefrighteningandconfusinganddangerous,butinwhichtherewasthepossibilitythatshewouldseeWilliamagain.
Irene’seyelidsweregrowingheavy,herchinjuststartingtodroptowardherchest,whenshefeltashadowpassinfrontofthewindowandjerkedawake.Carlawasoutsideinthelane,rifflingthroughherhandbag,lookingforsomething.Leaning
forward,Irenetappedonthewindow.Carlastarted,lookedupandsawIrene,andnodded,didn’tbothertosmile.Irenemotionedforhertowaitamoment,butCarlahadalreadyturnedaway;she’dfoundwhatevershewaslookingforinherhandbag—thekeytonextdoor,presumably—anddisappeared.
Irenesankbackintoherchair.Therewasapartofherthatwanteddesperatelytojustleaveit,toforgetthewholething—
afterall,LaurawasnolongerundersuspicionforDaniel’smurder.Thedamagetothepoorgirlwasalreadydone.Thepolicehadanewsuspectfortheircrimenow;theyhadTheoMyerson.Itwasalloverthepapers:hehadn’tbeencharged,sothepolicehadn’tnamedhim,butthesecretwasout;somesharp-eyedphotographerhadsnappedMyersonexitingapolicecaratthestation,andthis,addedtothenewsthat“a52-year-oldIslingtonman”was“helpingpolicewiththeirinquiries”andthefactthatchargesagainstLauraKilbridehadbeendropped,leftlittleroomfordoubt.
PoorTheo.Ireneclosedhereyes.Shesawforamomenthisstrickenexpressionwhenhehadseenthedrawingsinthenotebookandfeltasharppangofguilt.Whilehereyeswereclosed,Irenesawherselftoo.Sheimaginedlookinginonherselffromoutsidethisroom,fromoutinthestreet,thewayCarlaMyersonhadlookedinonherafewmomentsbefore.
WhatwouldCarlahaveseen?Shewouldhaveseenalittleoldwoman,bewilderedandfrightenedandalone,staringintospace,thinkingaboutthepast,ifshewerethinkingaboutanythingatall.
There,inherimagination,waseverythingIrenefeared—
seeingherselfreducedtoaclichéofoldage,apersonwithoutagency,withouthopeorfutureorintention,sittingbyherselfinacomfortablechairwithablanketoverherknees,inthewaitingroomofdeath.
Well,bollocks,asLauramightsay,tothat
Irenehauledherselfoutofherchairandtotteredintothekitchen,wheresheforcedherselftodrinkaglassofwaterwhileconsumingtwoandahalfratherstalechocolatedigestives.Thenshemadeherselfacupoftea,towhichsheaddedtwoheapedteaspoonsofsugar,anddrankthattoo.Shewaitedafewminutesfortherushofsugarandcarbohydratetotakeeffect,andthusfortified,shepickedupherhandbagandthekeystonumberthree,openedherfrontdoor,walkedafewpacesroundtotheleft,andknocked,asfirmlyashersmallandarthritichandswouldallow,onAngela’sfrontdoor.
Asshe’dexpected,therewasnoanswer,sosheslippedthekeyintothelockandopenedthedoor.
“Carla?”shecalledoutasshesteppedintothehall.“Carla,it’sIrene,Ineedtospeaktoyou—”
“I’mhere.”Carla’svoicewasloudandalarminglyclose;itseemedtocomeoutoftheair,outofnowhere.Irenestartedbackinfright,almosttrippingoverthethreshold.“Uphere,”
Carlasaid,andIreneinchedforward,raisinghereyestowardthesourceofthevoice.Carlasatatthetopofthestairslikeachildescapedfrombed,pickingfibersfromthecarpet.“Whenyou’vesaidwhateveritisyouwanttosay,youcanjustdropthatkeyoffinthekitchen,”shesaid,withoutlookingatIrene
“You’venorighttoletyourselfintothishousewheneveryoufeellikeit.”
Ireneclearedherthroat.“No,”sheagreed,“IsupposeIdon’t.”Sheapproachedthestaircaseand,placingonehandonthebanister,bentdowntodropthekeysontothethirdstep.
“Thereyouare,”shesaid.
“Thankyou.”CarlastoppedpluckingcarpetfibersforamomentandraisedhergazetomeetIrene’s.Shelookedawful,blighted,herskingrayandhereyesbloodshot.“Therearejournalistsoutsidemyhouse,”shesaidinasmall,peevish
voice,“andTheo’splaceisbeingrippedapartbythepolice.
That’swhyI’mhere.Idon’thaveanywhereelsetogo.”
Ireneopenedherhandbag,peeredintoit,fumblingaboutwithitscontents.“Doyouhavesomethingelseforme,Irene?”
Carlaasked.Shesoundedragged,raw-throated.“Becauseifyoudon’t,I’dreallyrather—”
Irenepulledfromherbagthetwolittlejewelryboxes,theonewiththeSaintChristopher’smedalandtheonewiththering.“Ithoughtyou’dwanttheseback,”shesaidquietly,placingthemonthethirdstairnexttothekey.
“Oh—”Carla’smouthfellopen.“HisSaintChristopher!”
Shescrambledtoherfeet,almosttumblingdownthestairstofalluponthelittlebox,pickingitupandclutchingittoher.
“Youfoundit,”shesaid,smilingatIrenethroughtears.“Ican’tbelieveyoufoundit.”ShereachedforIrene’shand,butIrenesteppedsmartlyaway.
“Ididn’tfindit,”Irenesaidinameasuredtone.“Itwasgiventome.ByLaura.LauraKilbride?Doesthatnamemeananythingtoyou?”ButCarlawasbarelylistening;shewassittingagain,onthethirdstepnow,withthejewelryboxopenonherlap.Shetookthelittlegoldtokenandturneditoverinherfingers,pressedittoherlips.Irenewatchedher,grimlyfascinatedbythepeculiarpantomimeofdevotion.ShewonderedifCarlahadquitelosthermind.
“Laura?”Irenesaidagain.“Thegirlwhowasarrested?Themedalandthering,theywereinthebagthatLaurastolefromyou.Carla?Doesanyofthismeananythingtoyou?”Still,nothing.“Youleftthebaghere,righthere,inthishallway.Thedoorwasopen.Laurasawit,andshesnatchedthebag.Shefeltbadaboutit,soshereturnedthethingstome,only…oh,forGod’ssake.Carla!”shesnapped,andCarlalookedupather,surprised.
“What?”
“Areyoureallygoingtodothis?Areyougoingtosithereandfeignoblivion?Areyoureallygoingtolethimtaketheblame?”
Carlashookherhead,hereyesreturningtothegoldmedal.
“Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,”shesaid.
“Theodidn’tkillthatboy,”Irenesaid.“Youdid.YoukilledDaniel.”Carlablinkedslowly.WhenshelookedbackupatIrenehereyeswereglassyandstill,herfaceimpassive.“YoukilledDaniel,andyouweregoingtoletLauratakethefall,weren’tyou?Youweregoingtoletaninnocentgirlpayforwhatyoudid.Didyouknow”—Irene’svoicerose,trembled
—“didyouknowthatshewashurtwhileshewasonremand?
Didyouknowthatshe’sbeensobadlyinjuredtheyhadtotakehertohospital?”
Carla’schindroppedtoherchest.“Thathasnothingtodowithme,”shesaid
“Ithaseverythingtodowithyou,”Irenecried,hervoiceechoingthroughtheemptyhouse.“Yousawwhathe’ddrawn,inhisnotebook.Youcandenyit,itmakesnodifference.Isawthepictures.Isawwhathedrew…whatheimagined.”
“Imagined?”Carlahissed,hereyesnarrowing,herfacesuddenlyvicious.
Irenetookastepback,awayfromthestairsandclosertothefrontdoor.There,inthemiddleoftheemptyhallway,shefeltunmoored;shewanteddesperatelytosit,torest,tohavesomethingtoholdonto.Steelingherself,bitingherlipandholdingherhandbaginfrontofherlikeashield,sheinchedclosertoCarlaoncemore.“Isawwhathedrew,”shesaid.
“Yousawittoo.Sotoodidyourhusband,beforehethrewthepagesintothefire.”Carlaflinchedatthis,narrowinghereyesatIrene.
“Theosaw?”shesaid,herbrowknitted.“Butthebookishere,it’s…oh.”Shesighed,huffedasadlittlelaughasher
headdroppedtoherchestagain.“It’snothere,isit?Yougaveittohim.Youshowedittohim?Why?”sheasked.“WhyinGod’snamewouldyoudothat?Whatastrange,interferingwomanyouare,whatanutterpaininthearse.Doyourealizewhatyou’vedone?”
“WhathaveIdone?”Irenedemanded.“Comeon,Carla,tellme!”Carlaclosedhereyesandshookherheadlikeatruculentchild.“No?Wellinthatcasewhydon’tItellyouwhatyouhavedone?YousawthosepicturesthatDanielhaddrawnandyoudecidedthathewasguiltyofkillingyourchild,andsoyoutookhislife.TheknifeyouusedwasinthebagthatLaurastole,whichishowitendedupinherflat.Andthenyourhusband,yourex-husbandwholovesyoumorethanlifeitself,forsomereasonIhaven’tyetworkedout,hesteppedinandhetookeverythinguponhimself.Andyou!Youjustsitthereandyousayithasnothingtodowithyou.Doyounotfeelanything?Areyounotashamed?”
Carla,hunchedoverhermedal,hershouldersbowed,muttered,“DoInotfeelanything?ForGod’ssake,Irene.DoyounotthinkI’vesufferedenough?”
Andthere,Irenethought,wasthecruxofit.AfterwhatCarlahadendured,howcouldanythingelsematter?“Iknowthatyou’vesufferedterribly,”shesaid,butCarlawouldn’thaveit.
“Youknownothing,”shehissed.“Youcouldn’tpossiblyconceive—”
“Ofyourpain?PerhapsIcan’t,Carla,butdoyouhonestlythinkthatbecauseyoulostyoursoninthatterrible,tragicway,thatgivesyoutheright?”Beforeher,Carlacrouchedasthoughreadytospringather;shewastremblingnow,withgrieforwithfury.ButIrenewouldnotbecowed.Shewenton,
“Becauseyousufferedthatterribleloss,doyouthinkthat
givesyoutherighttolaywastetoeverything,todoasyouplease?”
“AsIplease?”Withonehandonthebanister,Carlapulledherselftoherfeet;standingonthethirdstair,shetoweredoverIrene.“Mychildisdead,”shespat.“Mysister,too,andshediedunforgiven.ThemanIloveisinprison.Youthinkthereissomepleasureformeinallofthis?”
Irenetookasmallstepbackward.“Theodoesn’thavetobeinprison,”shesaid.“Youcouldchangethat.”
“Whatgoodwoulditdo?”Carlaasked.“What—oh—”Sheturnedherfaceawayindisgust.“There’snopointintryingtoexplaintoyou—howonearthcouldyoupossiblyunderstandwhatitistoloveachild?”
Thatagain.Whatitalwayscamedownto.Youcouldn’tunderstand,you’renotamother.You’veneverexperiencedlove,notreally.Youdon’thaveitinsideyou,whateveritis,thecapacityforlimitless,unconditionallove.Thecapacityforunboundedhatred,either.
Ireneclenchedandunclenchedherhandsatherside.
“PerhapsIdon’tunderstandlovelikethat,”shesaid.“Perhapsyou’reright.ButsendingTheotoprison?Wheredoeslovecomeintothat?”
Carlapursedherlips.“Heunderstands,”shesaid,chastened.“IfTheodidseeDaniel’snotebooklikeyousaidhedid,thenofcoursehewouldunderstandwhyIhadtodowhatIdid.Andyou,standingthere,outraged,consumedwithself-righteousness,youshouldunderstand,too,becauseIdidn’tjustdothisforBen,IdiditforAngela.”
Ireneshookherheadindisbelief.“ForAngela?You’rereallygoingtostandthereandsaythatyoukilledDanielforAngela?”
Carlareachedoutand,surprisinglygently,placedherhandonIrene’swrist,closedherfingersaroundit,drawingIreneclosertoher.“Whenwasit,”shewhispered,herexpressionsuddenlyearnest,almosthopeful,“whenwasit,doyouthink,thatsheknew?”
“Knew?”
“Abouthim.Whathe’ddone.Whathewas?”
Irenepulledherhandaway,shakingherheadasshedid.
No,Angelacouldnothaveknown.Itwastoohorribletocontemplate,theideathatshe’dlivedwiththat.No.Inanycase,therewasnothingtoknow,wasthere?“Itwasastory,”
Irenesaid.“Hewroteastory,perhapstotrytoprocesssomethinghelivedthroughwhenhewasalittleboy,andforsomereason,hecasthimselfasthevillain.Perhapshefeltguilty,perhapshefeltheshouldhavebeenwatchingBen,orperhapsitwasanaccident….Itmighthavebeenamistake,”
shesaid,awarethatinpartshewastryingtoconvinceherself.
“Itmighthavebeenachildishmistake;hewassolittle,hecouldn’tpossiblyhaveunderstoodtheconsequences….”
Carla,listeningtoher,noddedherhead.“Iconsideredthat.
Iconsideredallthosethings,Irene.Idid.Butconsiderthis:hewasachild,yes—then,hewasachild,butwhataboutlater?
Sayyouareright,sayitwasachildishmistake,oranaccident,thatdoesn’texplainhowhebehavedlateron.HeknewthatIblamedAngelaforwhathappened,andheletmeblameher.
Heallowedmetopunishher,heallowedTheotorejecther,hewatchedherslowlycrushedbytheweightofherguiltandhedidnothing.Infact”—Carlagaveaquickshakeofherhead
—“that’snottrue.Hedidn’tdonothing.Hedidsomething—
hemadethingsworse.HetoldhispsychologistthatBen’sdeathwasAngela’sfault,heallowedmetobelievethatAngelawasmistreatinghim,allofit,itwasall…God,Idon’tevenknowwhatitwas.Agame,perhaps?Hewasplayingagame,
withus,withallofus,manipulatingus,forhisenjoyment,Isuppose.Togivehimselfasenseofpower.”
Itwasmonstrous,unthinkable.Whatimpossiblytwistedsortofmindcouldthinkthatway?IrenecaughtherselfsuspectingthatperhapsitwasCarla’smindthatwasmonstrouslytwisted—wasn’therinterpretationofeventseverybitasdisturbingastheimagesinDaniel’snotebook?
AndyetwhenshethoughtbacktoAngela,railingagainstherson,wishinghimoutofexistence,Carla’sversionofeventsranghorriblytrue.IrenerememberedthemissedChristmasdinner,whenAngelaspokeofenvyingIreneherchildlessness;shethoughtofherapologythenextday.You’dseetheworldburn,she’dsaid,toseethemhappy.
CarlahadturnedawayfromIrene,andnowshewalkedslowlyupthestairs,turningtofaceheronceshereachedthetopstep.“So,yousee,itwasinpartforher.Itsoundssoawful,doesn’tit,whenyousayitoutloud?Ikilledhersonforher.Butit’strue,inaway.Ididitforme,formyson,forTheo,butIdiditforher,too.FortheruinhemadeofAngela’slife.”
AsIreneletherselfbackintoherownhomenextdoorshereflectedonhow,whileitcouldbetryingattimes,atothersitwasfortunatethatpeoplelikeCarlalookedatlittleoldladieslikeheranddismissedthemasdim,distracted,forgetful,andfoolish.Itwas,todayatleast,luckythatCarlasawheraswaitingfordeath,notquiteofthisworld,notuptospeedwithallitscomplicatedways,itstechnologicaldevelopments,itsgadgets,itssmartphones,itsvoice-recordingapps.THIRTY-EIGHT
Theweatherhadturnedagain,thefreezingairofthepastweeksuddenlybanishedbyablessedbreathofwarmthblowingupfromtheMediterranean.Twodaysago,Miriamhadbeenhuddlinginfrontofherlogburnerwithacoatandscarfon;nowitwaswarmenoughforhertositoutonherbackdeck,drinkinghermorningcoffeeandreadingthenewspaper.
Whatwasinthenewspapermightwellhavebeenthestuffoffiction:TheoMyersonhadbeenreleasedfrompolicecustody,althoughhestillfacedchargesforwastingpolicetimeandforpervertingthecourseofjustice,whilehiswifewastheonenowfacingmurderchargesafterthepolicewerefurnished(byanunnamedsource)withadramaticrecordedconfession.
So,afterallthat,itturnedoutthatthepersonMiriamhadbeentryingtoframeforthemurderofDanielSutherlandactuallywasthepersonwhohadmurderedDanielSutherland.
Howaboutthat?Didn’tsaymuchforMiriam’sframingskills.
Thestuffoffiction!Miriamcouldn’thelpbutlaugh:WouldMyersontrytowrangleanoveloutofthismess?Perhapsshe,Miriam,shouldtrytowrangleanoveloutofit.Howwouldthatbeforawormturning?ForMiriamtotakehislifestoryanduseitasmaterial,totwistitanywaysheliked,torobhimofhisagency,ofhiswords,hispower.
Thenagain,therewasperhapsaneasier—andalmostcertainlymorelucrative—wayforward:WhataboutaquickphonecalltotheDailyMail?HowmuchwouldtheypayfortheinsidescooponTheoMyerson?Quiteabit,sheimagined,Myersonbeingpreciselythesortofperson—rich,clever,
sophisticated,leftish,metropolitan-elite-made-decadent-flesh
—thattheDailyMailloathed.
Shefinishedhercoffeeandpottereddowntoherkitchentable,wheresheopenedherlaptopandhadjustbeguntotype
“howtosellastorytothenewspapers”intoGooglewhentherecameaknockatthewindow.Shelookedupandverynearlyfelloffherstool.Myerson!Bentoveronthetowpath,peeringthroughhercabinporthole.
Warily,shemadeherwayoutontothebackdeck.Theostoodafewyardsaway,handsthrustintohispockets,expressionglum.He’dagedsincelastshesawhim,beingledawaybythepolice.Thenhewasstillhisportly,red-facedself;nowhelookedthinner,wrungout,hangdog.Miserable.Herhearttwitchedinherchest.Sheoughttobejumpingforjoy—
wasn’tthiswhatshewanted?Toseehimbroughtlow,toseehimsuffering.Whyonearthdidshefindherselffeelingsorryforhim?
“Look,”hesaid.“Enough’senough.Allright?Ijust…I’msureyourealizethatI’mgoingthroughsomething.”Heshrugged.“Ican’tevenputintowordswhatI’mgoingthrough.Yes,Iseetheirony.Inanycase,thepointis,Idon’twanttogetthepoliceinvolved.I’vehadquiteenoughofthemoverthepastmonth.Enoughtolastmealifetime.However,ifyoucontinuetoharassme,youreallywillleavemenochoice.”
“Ibegyourpardon?Harassyou?Ihaven’tcomeanywherenearyou,I—”
Theosighed,anexhaustedsound.Hepulledfromhisinsidejacketpocketapieceofpaper,which,slowlyandwithgreatdeliberation,heunfolded.Hebegantoreadfromitinaflatvoice,devoidofintonation.“Notrespondingtomylettersisrude,ittellsmeyouareveryarrogant.Thatstorywasn’tyourstotell,itwasmine,youhadnorighttouseitinthewayyou
did.Youshouldhavetopaypeopleforusingtheirstories,youshouldhavetoaskpermission.Whodoyouthinkyouaretousemystory…etceteraetcetera.Therearehalfadozenofthemlikethat.Well,notquitelikethat,theystartedoffaspoliteexpressionsofinterestinmywork,clearlydesignedtobaitmeintosayingsomethingaboutmyinspirationforthestory,buttheyquicklydeteriorated.Yougetthegist.Youknowthegist.Youwrotethegist.They’repostmarkedIslington,Miriam,forGod’ssake—Icanseethatyou’vetriedtodisguisewhoyouare,but—”
Miriamgawpedathim,mystified.“Thatisnotfromme.
Perhapsyoustolesomeoneelse’sstory?Perhapsyoudoitallthetime.”
“Oh,forGod’ssake.”
“It’snotfromme!”
Theotookastepback,exhalinginonelong,shudderingbreath.“Isitmoneyyouwant?”heaskedher.“Imean,yousayhere,youshouldhavetopaypeople,soisthatit?Howmuchwouldittake?Howmuchwouldittakeforyoutojustleaveme…”HisvoicecrackedandMiriamwashorrifiedtofeeltearsspringtohereyes.“Tojustleavemealone?”
Miriamquicklywipedherfacewithhersleeveandclimbeddownofftheboat.Sheheldoutherhand.“CouldIseethose,please?”sheasked.Theohandedthepagesoverwithoutquestion.
Thepaperwasthin,ofpoorquality,thehandwritingcarefulbutchildlike.
Myerson,
Whywon’tyouanswermyletters?Theproblemwithpeoplelikeyouistheythinktheiraboveeveryone.Thatstorywasn’tyourstotell,itwasmine.Youhadnorighttouseitinthewayyoudid!!!Youshouldhavetopay
peopleforusingtheirstories.Youshouldhavetoaskpermission.Whodoyouthinkyouaretousemystorywithoutasking.Youdidn’tevendoagoodjob.Thekillerinthestoryisweak.Howwouldaweakmandowhathedid?Whatwouldyouknowaboutitanyway.Youdidn’tshowrespect.
Shewasshakingherhead.“Thisisn’tfromme,”shesaid,turningthepageoverinherhand.“Youcan’tpossiblythinkthisisfromme—thispersonisbarelyliterate.”
Shestartedonthenextone.
Thepolicetookyouawaysomaybeyournotsomuchbetterthaneveryoneelseafterall?MaybeIshouldtalktothepoliceaboutyoutakingmystory.Thereshouldbeafeeatleastbutthethingthat’sreallybuggingmeishowyouknewaboutBlackRiver.
Miriam’sbreathcaughtinherchest.
Iwillleaveyoualoneandwont’writeanymoreifyoutellmehowyouknewaboutBlackRiver.
Beneathherfeet,theearthshifted.
Shereadthelineoutloud.“TellmehowyouknewaboutBlackRiver.”
“It’sasong,”Theosaid.“It’snotareferencetotheplace,it’s—”
“Iknowwhatitis,”Miriamsaid.Theworldwasturningblack,thedarknessclosingintoofastforhertopushitback.
Sheopenedhermouthbutshecoulddrawnoairintoherlungs;hermusclesweren’tworking,notherdiaphragmnorthemusclesinherlegsorherarms.Shewastremblingviolently,hervisiongonealmostaltogether;thelastthingshesawbeforeshecollapsedwasTheoMyerson’sstartledface.
“Itwasoninthecar,ontheradio.Thesong.Irememberhimfiddlingwiththetuner,hewastryingtochangethestation,butLorraineaskedhimnotto.Shewassinging.Shewassinging,andshesaid,don’tyoulikethisone?‘BlackRiver.’”
Myersonsetaglassofwaterdownonherbedsidetableandthenstoodawkwardly,lookingdownather.Itshouldhavebeenembarrassing,TheoMyersonhelpingherupfromwhereshe’dcollapsedonthetowpath,thetwoofthemshufflinglikeanoldcouplebacktotheboat,whereheputhertobed,likeachild.Likeaninvalid.Miriamwouldhavebeenmortifiedifshe’dbeencapableoffeelingmortification,ifshe’dbeencapableoffeelinganythingotherthanasortofbewilderedterror.Shelayonherback,hereyestrainedonthewoodenslatsoftheceiling,tryingtoconcentrateonherbreathing,inandout,tryingtoconcentrateonthehere,onthenow,butshecouldn’t,notwithhimthere.
“Whoelsedidyoushowitto?”heasked.“Your…uh,yourmanuscript.Whoelsereadit?”
“Inevershowedittoanyoneelse,”Miriamsaid.“ExceptforLauraKilbride,butthatwasonlyveryrecently,andaccordingtothenewspapersshe’snotinafitstatetowriteanyoneanyletters.Inevershowedittoanyoneelse.”
“Thatcan’tbetrue!Youshowedittoalawyer,didn’tyou?”
Theosaid,toweringoverher,rubbinghisbigbaldinghead.
“Youmusthavedone!Youshowedittomylawyer,certainly,whenyoumadeyour,uh,yourcomplaint.”Heshiftedfromonefoottoanother.“Yourclaim.”
Miriamclosedhereyes.“Ididn’tsendanyonethewholemanuscript.Iselectedanumberofpages,Ipointedtovarioussimilarities.Inevermentionedthesinging,eventhoughitwas…eventhoughitwasperhapstheclearestevidenceofyourtheft.”Theogrimaced.Helookedasthoughhewantedtosaysomethingbutthoughtbetterofit.“Ididn’twantto
mentionhersinging,Ididn’tevenwanttothinkaboutit,aboutthelasttimeIheardhervoicelikethat,thelasttimeIheardherhappy,carefree.ThelasttimeIheardherunafraid.”
“Jesus.”Theoexhaledslowly.“Doyoumind?”Heindicatedthebed,andforastartlingmomentMiriamwasn’tsurewhathewasasking.Hesat,perchinghislargebottomonthecornerofthebunk,aninchortwofromMiriam’sfeet.“Itcan’tbe,Miriam.He’sdead.Jeremyisdead,yousaidso,thepolicesaidso.”
“Iwishedhimso,andthepolicemadeanassumption.
Peoplesaidtheysawhim,inallsortsofplaces—Essex,Scotland.Morocco.Thepolicefollowedup,oratleasttheysaidtheydid,Idon’tknowhowseriouslytheytookanyofit….Butyouknowallthis,don’tyou?Itwasinthebook.”
Theowinced.“Therewassomethingaboutafoot?”heventured,hisfaceflushing.
Miriamnodded.“SomekidsplayingonabeachnearHastingsfoundahumanfootafewweeksafterJeremywentmissing.Itwastherightsizeandtherightcolor,ithadtherightbloodtype.Thiswasallpre-DNA,sotherewasnowayofcheckingforsure,butitwasassumedthatitwashim.Theythoughtmaybehe’dbeendashedagainsttherockssomewhere,orcaughtupinaboatpropeller.Thatwastheendofit,inanycase.Theystoppedlooking.”
“But…”Theowasshakinghishead.“Thinkaboutit.Ifsomehowhe’dgotaway,fakedhisowndeath,changedhisidentity,therewouldhavebeenothers,wouldn’tthere?Othergirls,Imean,otherwomen.Amanlikethat,amancapableofdoingwhathedidtoyou,toyourfriend,hedoesn’tjustdoitonceandthenstop,doeshe?
“Maybehedoes,”Miriamsaid.“Whereisitwrittenthattheyallgetatasteforit?Maybehetrieditandhedidn’treallylikeit.Maybeitfrightenedhim.Maybeitdidn’tsatisfyhimin
thewayhethoughtitwould.Ormaybe…”Theboatrockedinsomeothervehicle’swake,andMiriamopenedhereyestofocusontheceilingoncemore.“Maybehedidn’tdoitjustonce.Maybehediditagainandagain,andpeoplejustdidn’tmaketheconnections.Itwaseasier,backthen,wasn’tit,formenlikehimtojustkeepgoing,tomovearound,toexistonthemargins,todrift,tocarryonforyears?Hecouldhavegoneabroad,hecouldhavechangedhisname,hecouldbe”—hervoicefaltered—“anywhere.”
Myersonshuffledalongthebedsothathewasnolongersittingnexttoherfeetbutatherside.Hereachedoverand—
shecouldscarcelybelievethis—tookherhand.“Ihavehisemailaddress,”hesaid.“Thepolicewillbeabletotracehimusingthat.Icangivethemtheletters,Icanexplain,wecanexplain—wecanexplaineverything.”Hiseyesmethers.
“Everything.”
Miriamwithdrewherhand.Everything?Hewasoffering,Miriamunderstood,anapology.Anacknowledgment.Iftheywenttothepolicewiththeseletters,theywouldhavetoexplainhowitwasthatTheocametobetheirrecipient,howitwasthatthetwoofthemdeducedthatonlyonemanonearthcouldknowaboutthatsong,aboutitssignificance,andindoingso,Theowouldhavetounmaskhimself;hewouldhavetoacknowledgeMiriamastheinspirationforhisstory.Shewouldgeteverythingshewanted.
Sheblinkedslowly,shakingherhead.“No,”shesaid.“No,thatwon’tdo.”Shewipedherfacewiththebackofherhand.
Sheproppedherselfuponherelbows.“Youwon’tcontactthepolice,you’llcontacthim.Respondtohisquestions.Someofhisquestions,inanycase.”Shepausedforamomenttothinkthingsthrough.“Yes,youwillgetintouchwithhim,apologizetohimforneglectinghisletters.Arrangeameeting.”
Theonodded,hislipspursed,rubbinghishead.“Icoulddothat.Icouldaskhimtomeetme,totalkabouthisquestions.
Andwhenhecomes,thepolicewillbethere,they’llbewaiting.”
“No,”Miriamsaidfirmly.“No,thepolicewon’tbewaiting.”
Foralongmoment,Theoheldhergaze.Thenheturnedaway.“Allright,”hesaid.THIRTY-NINE
Thereshewas,inthebackbedroomofIrene’shouse,lookingattheneatlymadesinglebed,abrightyellowtowelfoldedneatlyatitsfoot.TherewasawardrobeandabookcaseandabedsidetableonwhichLaurahadplacedthedefacedphotographofherselfwithherparents.Shelookedatitamomentbeforeturningtheirfacestothewall.
Fromdownstairs,shecouldhearIrene’ssurprisinglygirlishlaughter.Shewaslisteningtosomethingontheradio,aprogramwherepeoplehadtotalkforaslongastheycouldwithoutrepeatingthemselvesorhesitating.LaurafounditmystifyingbutitcrackedIreneup,whichwasinitselfhilarious.
OnceLaurahadfinallyfinishedunpackingherthings—shedidn’townmuch,butshewasdoingeverythingone-handed—
shesatdownonthebed,proppingherselfupagainstthewall.
Pickingidlyatthecastaroundherwrist,theedgeofwhichwasstartingtofray,shelistenedtopeoplemovingaboutontheothersideofthewall,theirvoicesalowmurmur.Thehouse—Angela’shouse—wasupforsale,andtherewasaconstantstreamofviewers,noneofwhomhadyetmadeanoffer.Orsotheagenthadtoldher.“Rubberneckers,”he’dcomplainedtoherwhenshemethimoutsideinthelane,smokingfuriously,“collectingmaterialfortheirpoxytruecrimepodcasts.”
AfewofthemhadknockedonIrene’sdoor,butLaurahadseenthemoff.They’dhadrealreporterscomingtoo,butIrenewasn’ttalkingtoanyone.She’ddonehertalking,tothepolice.
She’ddonethelisteningtoo,andtherecording—Laurawasinsanely,stupidlyproudofher;shefeltprouderofherthanshe’deverfeltofamemberofherownfamily.Laurahadeven
startedcallingherMissMarple,althoughIrenehadputaquickandsurprisinglyirritablestoptothat.
Now,inbetweenlisteningtothingsontheradioandreadingherbooksandhelpingLauradealwithallthelegalstuffshehadtodo,herpersonalinjurycompensationclaimandherforthcomingcourtappearanceandallthat,shetalkedaboutthetwoofthemtakingatrip.She’dalwayswantedtogotoaplacecalledPositano,apparently,whichiswheretheysetthatfilmaboutHannibalLecter.Orsomethinglikethat.
Laurasaidshecouldn’taffordtogoonholiday,ornotuntilshegothercompensationmoneyanyway,butIrenesaiditwasn’taproblem.“Wehadsavings,WilliamandI,”shesaid,andwhenLaurasaidtheycouldn’tspendthat,Irenejusttutted.
“Whyevernot?Youcan’ttakeitwithyou.”
Laurahadtositdownforamoment;shefeltquitelight-headed.Lowbloodsugar,maybe,orperhapsitwasthedizzyingeffectofwatchingherhorizons,narrowedforsolong,expandingonceagain.
Theyweren’tgoinganywherejustyet.Laurawasstillrecoveringfromaconcussionandacrackedribandaseriouslymashed-uplefthand.Thatgirl,thebigonewiththenosering,she’dstuckhergreatbigsize-tenfootonitandstampedaway.
“Twenty-sevenbonesinthehand,”herdoctorhadtoldher,pointingtotheimageonthescreentoshowhertheextentofthedamage,“andyou’vebrokenfifteen.You’reverylucky—”
“Icertainlyfeellucky,”Laurasaid.
Thedoctorsmiledatherindulgently.“You’reluckythatthebreakswereclean.Withtherightphysicaltherapy,youshouldgetbackyourfullrangeofmotion.”
Backinphysicaltherapy.Justlikeoldtimes.
“Itfeelslikewe’vecomefullcircle,”Laura’smothersaid.
She’dbeenkeepingupahistrionicweepingatLaura’sbedsideforwhatwasprobablyjustafewminutesbutfeltlikedays.“Ican’tbelievewe’rebackhereagain,yougravelyhurt,inhospital….”
“Still,atleastthistimeit’snotbecauseyourbitonthesideranmeoverwithhiscaranddroveoff,isit?”
Hermotherdidn’tstaylong.Herfatherdidn’teither,becauseDeidrewasinthecaroutside,parkedonadoubleredline.“Withanyluck,they’lltowheraway!”hesaidwithanervouslaugh,glancingoverhisshoulderasthoughworriedshemightoverhear.HesqueezedLaura’sgoodhandandkissedherontheforehead,promisingtovisitagainsoon.
“Perhapswhenyou’rebetter,”hesaidashepausedinthedoorwayonhiswayout,“wecouldspendabitmoretimetogether.Wemightevengetaplacetogether,whataboutthat,chicken?”
Laurashookherhead.“Dad,Ican’t,wetriedthat.MeandDeidre,it’snevergoingtowork.”
“Oh,Iknow,”hesaid,noddingvigorously.“Iknowthat.Iknowyoucouldn’tlivewithheragain.Iwasthinkingabitfurtherdowntheroad,youknow.AfterI’velefther.”Laurasmiledathimreassuringly.Shewasn’tgoingtoholdherbreath.
Egghadcometoseehertoo.DetectiveBarker,hisnamewas;she’dfinallygotitintoherhead,thoughinherheart,hewouldalwaysbeEgg.Hecametosayhowsorryhewasthatshe’dbeenhurt,andalsotosaythatMiriamfromthecanalhadwithdrawnhercomplaintaboutLaura.“Sheadmittedhavingyourkey,”Eggtoldher.“We’vehadtotalktoherabouta
numberofstatementsshemadeduringtheinvestigationwhichturnedouttobenotquiteaccurate.”
“I’mshocked,”Laurasaid,smilingathim.“Trulyshocked.”
Heraisedaneyebrow.“Shehadquitethestory.Sheclaimedtobetryingtohelpyou,whoshebelievedtobeguilty,whilealsotryingtoincriminateCarlaMyerson,whoshebelievedtobeinnocentbutwhowas,infact,guilty.”
“Youreallycouldn’tmakethisshitup,”Laurasaid.
Hesmiledatherthen.“You’llbehearingfromus,Laura,”
hesaidonhiswayout.“There’sstillthematterofthisstolenbag,withtheknifeandthejewelry.”
“Don’tforgetthethingwiththefork,”Lauraremindedhim.
“Yes,ofcourse.Thefork.”
Atnight,lyinginhersinglebed,threadbaresheetstuckedtightaroundherbody,Lauralaywithhergoodpalmpressedagainstthewall,ontheothersideofwhichwasDaniel’sroom.Therewassomethinguncannilycircularaboutallthis,howitstartedoutwithherinDaniel’sbedandfinishedwithherseparatedfromhisbedroombyjustafewinchesofVictorianbrick.
Shereturnedoften,inhermind,tothenightonhisboat,tothemorningdawning,andthestrangethingwasthatwhattormentedherwasnothim,notthesuddenchangeinhisbehavior,theflickofaswitchfromcharmtocruelty,itwasn’tthelookonhisfacewhenshelungedathim,teethbared.
No,thethingthatshecouldnotgetoutofherheadwasthemomentshelefttheboat,themomentshesteppedfromthebackdecktodrylandandglanceduptoherright,themomentshesaw,inthatgraydawnhalf-light,awomanuponthebridgelookingdownather.Thethingthattormentedhernow
wasthatshecouldnotifherlifedependedonitconjureupthatwoman’sexpression;shecouldnotsaywhethershelookedsadorangry,brokenorresolute.EPILOGUE
Amanhasbeenfounddeadonahouseboatonthecanal.
Stopmeifyouthinkyou’veheardthisonebefore.
Carlaheardtherumors,thesillyjokesfromtheotherwomen,atlunchtime.Heanotheroneofyours,Cazza?Beenabusygirl,incha?Shewenttothelibrarythatafternoon;shewasn’tpermittedtoreadnewsstoriesaboutcrimesontheinternet,butshepersuadedoneoftheguards(a“Myersonmegafan!”)toprintthestoryoffforherathomeandbringitin.
SUSPECTEDKILLERFOUNDMURDERED
Thepartiallydecomposedbodyof58-year-oldJeremyO’Brien,whowasalsoknownasHenryCarterandJHBryant,wasfoundonapartiallysubmergedboatontheRegent’sCanal.O’Brien,whowaswantedinconnectionwiththe1983murderofteenagerLorraineReid,hadpreviouslybeenassumedtohavetakenhisownlifeafterhedisappearedwithindaysoftheReidkilling.
PolicesayitappearsO’BrienhadbeenlivingwithhisstepbrotherinSpainsincethe1980s,wherehewentbythenameJamesHenryBryant.O’Brienwasbadlyinjuredinacaraccidentin1988wherehesufferedspinaldamage;heusedawheelchair.PolicesaytheybelievehereturnedtoEnglandlastyearafterthedeathofhisstepbrotherandhasbeenlivinginshelteredaccommodationinnorthLondonunderthenameHenryCarter.
DespitesomesimilaritiesbetweentheO’BrienmurderandthatofDanielSutherland,23,sixmonthsago—bothbodieswerediscoveredinboatsonthecanalandbothdiedasaresultofstabwoundstothechestandneck—policesaytheyarenotconnectingthekillings,pointingoutthatthewomanconvictedofmurderingDanielSutherland,CarlaMyerson,whohasbeenimprisonedatHMPBronzefieldsinceJuly,pleadedguiltytothecrimeandmadeafullconfession.
Carlastoppedreading,foldedupthepieceofpaper,andhandeditbacktotheguard.“Thankyou,”shesaid.“Theo’s
saidhe’llputasignedcopyofhislatestbookinthepost.”
Afewdayslater,Carlareceivedaletterfromacriminologist,askingifshemightvisithertotalkabouthercase.Carlahadnoparticulardesiretotalktoanyoneabouthercase,butshedidcraveconversationwithsomeoneeducated.Shesaidyes.
Thecriminologist,abright-eyed,freshlyscrubbed,impossiblyyoungwomanwhoturnedouttobeastudentwithhopesofgettingafirst(andpossiblyevenabookdeal!)onthebackofherthesis,ofwhichshewashopingtomakeCarlathefocus.Therehadalreadybeenonefalseconfessioninthiscase
—wasitpossiblethattherehadbeentwo?CouldCarlabea(self-harming)victimofamiscarriageofjustice?WasthereaserialkillertargetingmenlivingonorneartheRegent’sCanal?Wasthereaserialkillertargetingotherkillers?
Thepoorthingwassopainfullyearnest,Carlafeltquitebadaboutburstingherspeculativebubble.Therewasnomiscarriageofjustice,shetoldtheyoungwomancalmly.
Thereisnoserialkilleroperatingonthecanal.Theonecasehasnothingtodowiththeother.
“Butyourhusband,hethought—”
“Oh.”Carlasmiledatherapologetically.“You’vebeentalkingtoTheo.Youneedtotakehimwithmorethanapinchofsalt,I’mafraid.He’sadreamer;helivesinhisownworld.”
“Soitwasdefinitely…youdefinitelydidit?”theyoungwomanprompted,disappointmentwrittenalloverherprettyface.
Carlanodded.“Idid,yes.”
“Well…why?Couldwetalkaboutwhy?”
Carlashookherhead.“IdidsayinmyemailthatIwasn’tpreparedtotalkaboutthebackgroundindetail,I’msorry.”
“Oh,really?Butyou’resoatypical—you’remiddleclass,you’reeducated,you’reunmarried….”
“Whatdoesthathavetodowithanything?”Carlaasked.
“Mymaritalstatus,Imean.”
“Oh,well,femalekillerstendtoconformtotraditionalgenderroles,they’reusuallymarriedwithkids,thatsortofthing.Youdon’treallyfitthemold.”
“Iwasmarriedwithachildonce,”Carlasaidsadly.
“Yes,but…okay.Okay.”Shewasstumped.Shelookedunhappilybuthopefullyabouttheroom,likesomeonestuckwithaboreatapartycastingaboutforsomeonemoreinterestingtospeakto.“Well,”shesaidatlast.“Couldyouatleasttellmethis:Doyouregretit?”
WhenCarlamadeherconfessiontoIrene—nottheoneshemadetothepolice,whichwasn’tanywherenearfull,itwasbarelyahalfconfession,theygotthebarebones,sherefusedtoelaborateonthemeat—shehaddismissedtheideathatwhatDanielhaddonehadbeenachildishmistake.She’dtalkedoftortureandmanipulation,andshehadmeantit.
Now,though,whensheallowedhermindtowander—andithadlittleelsetodo—itwenttoplacesshewouldreallyratheritwouldn’t.
Itwonderedwhetherperhapswhatshehadreadinthatfirstflushoffuryasmanipulationmightinfacthavebeensomethingelse.WhatifDaniel’sflirtatiousnesswasn’tcalculated?Whatifthatwasjustthewayheloved?Whatifhedidn’tknowanybetter?Maybethestoryshe’dtoldherselfwasnotruerthanthemythDanielhadmadeforhimself.
Itwasadarkroadtostartdown,anditbecamedarkerstillassherealizedthatitwasone-way:oncestartedalong,there
wasnoexit,andnowayback.
Thesedays,whenCarlathoughtaboutwhatshe’ddone,shesawheractionsinadifferentlight.Nolongeranesthetizedbyfear,byexhilaration(andyes,ithadbeenexhilarating,inthefeverishmoment),nowshesawwhatshe’ddone.Blood,somuchofit!Thenoisehemade,thesickeninggurgleinhisthroat,thewildwhitenessofhiseyes,thesmellofiron,thesmellofurine,thescentofhisagony,histerror.
Shemusthavebeenmad.Couldshetellherselfthatstory?
Couldsheconvinceherselfthatshe’dbeendeliriouswithpain,withgrief,thatshe’dactedunthinkingly?
Sittinginthevisitor’sroomofthelargestwomen’sprisoninEurope,sharingspacewiththebewildered,thesad,andthedeprived,aswell,ofcourse,astheveryworstthatBritishwomanhoodhadtooffer,sheaskedherself,didshebelong?
What,afterall,mightshehavedonedifferently,hadshenotbeenmad?Hadshebeensane,couldshehaveletitbe?Couldshehavechosentogoonlivingherlife,takentheknowledgeofwhatDanielhaddoneandchosentolockitawaysomewhere?Only,howcouldshepossiblyhavesanelychosenthat?HowcouldshehavechosentoliveinaworldinwhichDanielwasstillalive,inwhichshemightseehim,breathethesameairthathebreathed?Aworldinwhichthereexistedthepossibilitythatshemightstillfeelsomethingforhim,sometenderness,somethinglikelove.
Thatpossibilityshehadtokill.
“Mrs.Myerson?Doyouregretit?”ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ThankyoutoSarahAdamsandSarahMcGrathfortheirincisiveeditsandapparentlylimitlesspatience.
ThankstoLizzyKremerandSimonLipskar,thebestagentsonbothsidesoftheAtlantic,fortheirbrilliantadviceandunfailingsupport.
ThankyoutoCarolineMacFarlane,winneroftheCLIC
Sargentcharityauction,fortheuseofhername.
ThankstoearlyreadersPetinaGappah,FrankieGray,andAlisonFairbrother.
AndthankyoutoSimonDavis,becauseGodknowsthepastthreeyearscan’thavebeeneasy.ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
PaulaHawkinsistheauthorofthe#1NewYorkTimes–
bestsellingnovelsIntotheWaterandTheGirlontheTrain
Aninternational#1bestseller,TheGirlontheTrainhassold23millioncopiesworldwideandhasbeenadaptedintoamajormotionpicture.HawkinswasborninZimbabweandnowlivesinLondon.
DocumentOutline
AlsobyPaulaHawkins
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Epigraph
Map
Prologue
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
TableofContents
AlsobyPaulaHawkins
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Epigraph
Map
Prologue
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor