Текст книги "Lost Girls"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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I tried to speak but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and started again. “What thing?” I said in a thin voice.

Matt sighed sharply through his nose, his characteristic expression of annoyance. He was looking at me with such contempt that I flinched every time I met his eyes. The face belonged to a person I didn’t recognise at all.

“What – what’s going on?” I could feel my voice wobbling, as if someone had me by the shoulders and was shaking hard. Jessica took a step to the side, moving out of Matt’s shadow which fell across her like a black cloak. I could see her more clearly now. She was still holding onto the necklace.

“Stop trying to work it out, Maudie,” said Matt. Every time he said my name, his face contracted as if he were tasting something bad. “Your mind’s so fucked you don’t know what’s real and what’s not, you never have. Stop trying to make sense of it because you’re incapable of making sense of anything.”

“What?” I said.

“What? What? Is that all you can say?” said Matt. His whole face was twisted. The light was behind him but I could see the hate beaming out of him despite the shadow. Momentarily I was reminded of something; the dark figures that had stalked me through the bad time; that was the last time I’d been the target of such concentrated malice.

“You are so pathetic,” he said. “Do you even realise how pathetic you are? You do nothing, you know nothing, you’re so vapid I’m surprised you don’t disappear altogether. And you know what? I think you know how useless you are. I think you realise what a shallow, self-obsessed, neurotic, whining parasite you actually are. Why else do you drink so much?”

He paused for breath. I heard myself say something in a tiny, child’s voice that even I could barely hear.

“You thought I loved you?” he said. He started to laugh and then stopped abruptly. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not capable of being loved.”

I think we’d both forgotten Jessica. She took another step forward, further into the light. She was looking at Matt with an odd expression on her face.

“You know what I think?” he said. “I mean, what I really think – I’m not just saying this to hurt you, although Christ knows you deserve it. I think you killed Jessica. I don’t know why and I don’t know why you can’t remember it, but that’s what I think. That’s what you’ve not been facing for the rest of your life.”

“That’s not true!” I said, horrified. “That’s a lie.”

“Is it?” said Matt, sneering. “Well, you’d know all about that. You’re the liar, Maudie. You lie all the time, you lie and lie and lie. Do you even know you’re doing it? How can anyone trust anything that comes out of your mouth? You’re not even that good at it, did you realise? Do you really think I had no idea about your drinking? You’re so thick you judge everyone by your own pathetic standards. It’s a fucking insult. All this guff you’ve made up about your father, Christ, a child could see through it. I don’t know why you bothered.” He laughed at my expression. “It’s been like living with a child, a particularly moronic child. I’ve earned that fucking money, that’s for sure. I’ve fucking earned it ten times over.”

Something was rising up inside me. I gripped my legs, trying to control the shaking of my hands. The second he’d uttered the word ‘money’ I knew the truth – it was heading up within me, grabbing me in the throat, sending my blood thundering. My skin prickled with the knowledge. I looked at Jessica and said her name. She didn’t answer. I said it again.

“Jessica.”

Slowly, her eyes went from Matt’s face to mine.

“What’s your real name?” I said. “Because you’re not Jessica, are you?”

Her face twitched. “I can’t tell you that,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

I hadn’t taken my eyes from her face. “Why did you come here?” I whispered.

She looked at me, her hand still up to her throat. I thought for a second she wasn’t going to answer.

“I was worried,” she said, again.

"You were worried?" said Matt, and the sound of his voice made us both start. "You? You, with your well-tuned moral sense? What a fine upstanding person you are! You must be really proud of yourself!"

She looked at him. I saw comprehension dawning slowly on her face; she looked dazzled, as if she'd just woken from a not particularly pleasant dream. She looked at him the way I was looking at him; as a person never seen before. She didn't bother to reply.

"Tell me," I said, to her alone.

"Don't tell her," said Matt.

She looked at him with what looked like irritation. “It hardly matters now,” she said. “Does it?”

"Just shut up, would you?" said Matt. He was sweating; I could see his top lip shining even in the dim light.

I looked back at Jessica. “What’s your real name?” I said. “What are you really called?”

She just shook her head.

"I'm not mad," I said, trying out the sound of the words. Then I said it to Matt. "I'm not mad. You tried to make me think I was."

"No I didn't," said Matt, "You know you are. You’re not normal. You just don't want to admit it." He bent down and picked up the brandy glass and held it out to me. "Go on, drink this down. You'll feel much better about things afterwards. You know you always do, when you drink."

It would be the easiest thing in the world to capitulate. To give in. To keep the peace. My hand moved forward and then something stopped it; I could feel something snapping shut, like a trap within me.

I looked him in the eye. “I don’t think I will.”

My blood was up and humming. I was darting little glances at the open door to the hallway. What was the chance that I’d be able to get past him and out the door? I thought for a moment of shouting for help but it was an old building; the walls were thick, the ceilings high. No one would hear me.

              I thought faster than I’d ever had in my life. I was in danger here. I looked at my husband. He looked like Matt, he sounded exactly like Matt, but he’d been body snatched. He’d been possessed by someone I didn’t know at all.

“Why–” my voice cracked for a second. I tried again. “Why did you do this?”

Matt rolled his eyes.

“Was it just for the money?” I said. I had that horrible, sweaty feeling you get when you’re about to vomit. I swallowed hard. “Was that all it was about? How could you – how could you be so cruel?”

He didn’t answer.

“You were trying to drive me mad,” I said. The full meaning of the words hit me for a second and I almost gagged. “Were you going to have me locked away? Was that the plan? You wanted the money for yourself, all of it? You couldn’t bear to share it with me?”

“Oh Maudie,” he said. He was trying for a bored, incredulous tone, I could tell, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. “What are you saying? You’re totally insane.”

“But that wasn't it, was it Matt?" I said. I could hardly speak, my mouth was so dry. "That wasn't what you had planned at all, was it?" I thought back to the sleeping pills he'd reminded me to get. I thought of how bitter the brandy he’d brought me had tasted.

"Were you trying to get me sectioned? Or was it more than that, were you trying to make me kill myself? Or were you going to do it for me?”

“Oh God, would you just listen to yourself?” said Matt. I could see beads of sweat caught like pearls in his stubble. “You’re completely insane, you’re mad.”

Jessica was looking back and forth, from Matt's face to mine.

“I’m not,” I said again. “If I’m mad, who’s that?” I gestured at Jessica. “Who’s that, then?”

Matt’s face flickered. “Who’s who?” he said, quietly. “Maudie, there’s no one there.”

I blinked. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said after a moment. “Don’t try that. You know she’s there. She’s there.”

He was looking at me quite steadily. “Who’s she?” he said. I could see Jessica’s head whipping back and forth as she switched her gaze between our faces. “There’s no one there.”

“You just talked to her! You just looked at her! You told her not to come here.”

“Maudie, for God’s sake,” he said. He was holding both hands up as if he were warding something off. “You’re frightening me now.”

“Stop it,” I said, my voice trembling. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Stop what?” he said. His voice had got suddenly gentler. “Maudie, you need help. You’re seeing things. There’s no one there.”

“There is!” I said, in what was not quite a shout. The sound made me start to cry, properly, and I heard myself sob with helpless fury. “She’s there, she’s right there, you were just talking to her, she’s there...”

Matt was shaking his head, quite slowly. The disgust was gone from his face: now he simply looked sad. He held out the brandy glass to me again. “Drink this,” he said. “You need to drink this. Don’t struggle anymore.”

I turned to Jessica. “I know you’re there,” I said, my voice vibrating so much I could barely understand myself. “This is just part of his plot, that’s all. You know that.”

"I’m here," she said. “You’re not wrong.”

I looked her, full in the face. I had to make her understand.

"So was he paying you?" I said. "Did he promise you a cut of the proceeds? Did he say he'd take care of you?"

Her eyes wavered and fell. I saw her fingers close in on one another.

"He told you that," I said. "I wonder what else he told you about me? Do you think he was going to let you just walk away with your money? When you're the only person who knows what he did?"

She looked up again at that and her eyes met mine, wide and horrified.

“Maudie, stop it,” said Matt. “Stop pretending. It’s embarrassing.”

I ignored him. "No one knows you exist, Jessica, do they? Who is going to miss you, if you disappear? Don't you think he knew that? He knows you're – you're totally dispensable. How long do you think you’d last, once he got what he wanted?"

I stopped speaking and for a moment the room was silent, save for the sound of our lungs labouring for air. Slowly, Jessica turned to Matt. He wasn’t looking at her; he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. Then, very slowly, she pivoted. She turned back and I saw her mouth something, I heard her whisper something. I think it was 'go'.

I didn't stop to think. My foot went up and out, connecting with the brandy glass in Matt’s hand. It went flying, a golden sheet of liquid, spread for a second in the air like a shimmering silk scarf. Then the glass hit the floor and shattered. In the same moment, I propelled myself forward, aiming myself between the two of them. My shoulder hit Matt’s arm and flung him backwards. I was at the hallway door. I was running down the corridor to the front door. I was free.

I was at the front door, scrabbling at the lock, when he grabbed me around the neck. I shrieked.

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll kill you right now, right here.”

His arm was pressing on my windpipe. I clawed at his sleeve, gasping. He began dragging me backwards. I could hear my heels thumping and clacking uselessly on the wooden floor as I was pulled remorselessly back into the living room.

He stopped for a moment, panting. His hold around my neck had loosened and I dragged some air into my burning lungs. I was almost too frightened to think, certainly to speak, until I saw Jessica’s face. I couldn’t stop thinking of her as Jessica. She was biting her lip, looking at Matt and me. Her hand was at her throat again, holding onto the necklace that I’d bought her.

I managed to get enough air in to speak. “Jess – you – please help me. Please–”

Matt pulled me away. He started dragging me towards the doors of the roof terrace. I started to struggle even harder. I stopped clawing at his arm that lay like a bar of iron across my neck, the muscles tense as stone, and started flailing at anything I could, grabbing for a grip on something anywhere, on anything.

“Don’t fucking struggle,” said Matt, through gritted teeth. He sounded as if he were crying. “If you do, I’m just going to knock you out. Stop struggling –“

I barely heard him. I had my eyes fixed on her, on the fake Jessica. I tried to pour all my terror, all my despair into my eyes, every single bit of concentrated emotion into my gaze; as she’d once done for me, staring up at me from the street outside.

“Jessica,” I croaked. “Don’t let him do this-” She said nothing but her eyes were on mine. I couldn’t read her expression. My vision was beginning to fog.

My last sentence was cut off with a gasp as I was pulled through the open doorway to the roof terrace. A gust of cold wind blasted against my cheek.

“Straight over,” said Matt in a high, strange voice. He sounded hysterical; he was half-laughing, half-sobbing. “It won’t hurt, Maudie. It’ll be quick.”

The next moment, the rough concrete of the boundary wall was up against my chest and my head was being forced over the top of the wall. I heard the tinkle of glass as my knee hit the mirror that stood against the wall. I could see the street far below. It was going to happen, then. I was going to die.

“I’m sorry,” said Matt, crying. “It’s for the best. I’m sorry-”

I could feel him dip behind me and grasp me around the waist and I felt myself begin to rise. I couldn’t scream. My whole being was concentrated on trying to grip the wall, trying to stay alive for one second longer. The far-off road swung dizzily in my tear-filled vision. God help me.

The pressure around my waist suddenly slackened. At the same time, I heard Matt roar out. I was released; the swinging road vanished as I fell backwards away from the wall. My feet hit the floor and my knees buckled, but, oh God, I hadn’t gone over, I hadn’t fallen... I gulped in cold night air. My face was burning where the concrete had scraped it and I’d cut my knee on a shard of mirror glass. I turned round.

Jessica had dug her fingers into Matt’s eyes. She had her arms around his neck and was forcing his head back. Her teeth were bared in a desperate grimace; she looked as though she was laughing. As I watched, Matt’s fist caught her full in the face and he flailed backwards – I watched her nose spout blood and gasped involuntarily. She loosed her hold and dropped to the floor. Matt turned, snarling, his eyes streaming. I saw his fist come up and back as my own hand closed upon a long shard of glass. As his fist came down towards Jessica’s face, I drove the glass into the side of his neck.

Blood flew out in a parabola of red. It spattered across Jessica’s face as she lay gasping on the decking. Matt staggered and dropped to his knees. He put a hand up to the shining splinter protruding from his neck. His fingers pulled at it and more blood fell, this time in droplets, thickly over his shoulder and onto the terrace.

I realised I had my hands clamped over my mouth. I could feel my eyes bulging.

Matt groaned. A fine spray of blood feathered through the air. His bleeding hand fell away from the mirror shard buried in his neck. He took one shuffling knee-walk step and fell, his face dropping onto Jessica’s leg. She cried out and rolled away and he fell onto the floor, face down. The piece of mirror shattered, half of it falling beneath his body, half of it remaining in his neck. It jerked with each bump of his pulse and, as I watched, the jerks grew fainter and fainter until at last the piece of glass grew still. Behind the blood dappling the surface, I could see the night sky reflected; a little sliver of darkness buried in the pale flesh of my husband’s neck.

My eyes met Jessica's. Beyond the awful bubble of silence that surrounded us, I could dimly hear the sounds of the city flowing on without us: car horns, a siren, a shout from the street below.

Jessica pulled herself into a sitting position and hung her head forward. She was breathing heavily, blood dripping from her broken nose. She put a hand up to her mouth.

"Shit," she said thickly and as her hand came away I saw a nugget of enamel in her bloodied palm, half a tooth that Matt's fist had knocked from her jaw. It dropped from her fingers and was swallowed up in the lake of blood that lay by Matt's downturned face.

I managed to take my hands from my face; my whole body felt stiff, as if I'd been welded to the spot and hadn't moved for hours. Slowly, I held out a hand to Jessica and helped her to her feet. We stood swaying, holding one another up.

"Are you alright?"  I asked.

"Not really." She looked at me, tears welling up. "Oh shit, Maudie. You killed him."

We both looked down at Matt's body, the blood surrounding him, the mirror shard winking grotesquely from his neck. I dropped Jessica's hand and stepped back.

"Oh my God, you killed him. What are we going to do?"

"Just wait-"

"Maudie, we're fucked. What are we going to do?"

I lifted a clenched fist and rested it against my chest, between my breasts. I could hear the study thump of my heartbeat beneath my breastbone, slowing gradually as my breathing grew deeper. The strangest thing was happening. Inside, I felt a core of something hard, and metallic, something steely, unfolding like a metal flower. Filaments were beginning to spread through me, molten iron sending out a root system of strength that straightened my back and lifted my head. For the first time in my life, I had no one to turn to, no one to take care of things for me. I had no one. And yet, for the first time in my life, I knew it didn’t matter. I can do this, I thought, I can cope. Yes, said a little voice inside my head, a sane voice, a voice of reason. You can.

I looked down at my hands. The terrace wall had broken open the scabs on my palms but there were no cuts from the glass I’d held, none at all.

I took a deep breath. I’d made my decision.

"You should go," I said. "Just go. Get out of here."

She stared. "But what about you?"

"Don't worry about me," I said. I looked at her, standing square-mouthed and crying like a child, and felt again that odd unfolding of steel within me.

"Just go”, I said. “I'll deal with this."

Epilogue

“I’ll have the smoked salmon and the scrambled eggs, please,” I said, handing the little plastic menu back to the guard. I looked across at Becca and raised my eyebrows.

“I’ll have the same,” she said.

I waited until he’d moved off down the train corridor. The carriage was quiet – this was the mid-week morning train to Cornwall and not many commuters or tourists used it.

Becca shifted uncomfortably. “Just as well it’s first class,” she said. “There’s no way I’d fit into an economy seat with this belly.”

I smiled. “You do look a bit as though you’re about to pop.”

“Oh well. Only two months to go.” She looked down at herself and sighed. “God, me, a mother. Who’d have thought it?”

“You’ll be fine,” I said. “You’ve always looked after me, haven’t you? You’re a natural.”

Another guard was moving down the corridor with coffee jugs in either hand. I smiled at him briefly as he refilled our cups and then walked away, staggering a little as the train rounded a curve.

"I'm sorry I haven't been round much," said Becca. "I'm just so damn uncomfortable I don't feel like walking any further than the kitchen at the moment. Even then, Martin’s doing most of the cooking."

"Becs, it's absolutely fine. I'm fine on my own, really. I'm used to it by now."

Matt's name hung in the air between us. Our eyes met for a second and then I looked away.

The guard came back down the corridor, proffering his coffee jugs again. As he moved past from our table, Becca spoke.

“How are you feeling about this?”

I looked down at the table. I tried to be honest about my feelings now, with people I trusted, but it took me a moment to formulate the answer.

“Upset,” I said slowly. “A bit churned up inside. Sad. But – but sort of relieved, too. That it’s finally at an end.”

Becca nodded. Then she said, even more cautiously, “And how do you feel about – about the trial?”

I picked up my coffee cup for the comfort of its warmth against my hand. The trial. Every time I heard that word I could see it in my mind’s eye, in thick, black capital letters. THE TRIAL. And there were other images that always accompanied it; wood panelled court rooms, a baying mob of journalists on the steps of the buildings outside, myself with my hands clenched on the side of the dock as the judge passed sentence upon me. There were sounds too; the thwack of the gavel as I was given a life sentence, the wail of sirens, the clang of the prison gate. The jeers and catcalls of the other prisoners. The sound of a key turning as I was locked into a cell.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be like that. But perhaps it would.

“I’m trying not to think about it much,” I said. “My chances aren’t good.”

Becca looked uncomfortable. “Surely your lawyer–” she began.

“He’s doing his best,” I said. I put the coffee cup down as my hand was starting to tremble. “But it’s not looking good.”

“Oh Maudie–”

“Please,” I said. I couldn’t deal with her tears as well as my own. “Let’s not talk about it now.”

We were silent for a moment as one of the other passengers came down the corridor past us. Then Becca spoke again, quietly.

“Do you think Matt always – always meant to do it?”

I put my coffee cup down. “What I really think? I just don’t know. I don’t think he planned it from the moment he met me. He must have thought he’d have a comfortable enough life as my husband; he knew he was marrying into money.”

“Well, yes,” said Becca.

I stirred my coffee. “He also knew I was vulnerable and a bit – damaged and when he started getting greedy, he saw how he could use that.”

“I don’t understand people like that,” Becca said. “It’s just beyond me. How could he be so cruel?”

I shifted uncomfortably, remembering I’d said exactly that to Matt on the night of his death. I always thought of it in those terms – the night of his death – as if his death was nothing to do with me, as if it had happened because of someone else entirely. I had to think like that – it was the only way of staying sane.

“I don’t know,” I said. I looked down at the flat brown circle of my coffee cup. “It’s a mystery. He was obviously able to detach himself from what he was doing. That’s what Margaret said. He could compartmentalise it all. Perhaps it started off as a game. You know, what would happen if Maudie died? He must have realised it was a possibility, more of a possibility that it would have been for any–” I hesitated, “-any normal young woman. He knew my history, he knew about my past. He knew about my mother and what happened to her. Perhaps he didn’t even have to suggest it to himself, perhaps he honestly thought it would happen. Perhaps–” I hesitated again. “Perhaps it was his way of controlling the situation. You know, pre-empting what he thought was going to happen anyway.”

“Oh, come on,” said Becca. “Please don’t give him that much credit. If he really thought that, why go to all those lengths? Why have an accomplice? He was trying to drive you mad.”

I hung my head. “I know,” I muttered. “I know he’s a bastard. Was a bastard. But seriously, Becca, I was so awful to live with, at the end. I mean, I was awful. It probably made it a lot easier for him.”

Our eyes met again. I wondered if she was remembering the scene in my flat, when she’d told me she was pregnant, and I’d overreacted. I was the first to look away.

“Maudie,” she said, patiently. “Your so-called husband was trying to convince you that you were insane. There’s nothing that you could have done, no way you could have behaved, that would excuse that.”

“Yes–”

“Yes, really. Stop blaming yourself. Haven’t you done enough of that for one lifetime?”

“Yes, I know–”

Becca arched her back, relaxed again and sighed. “You really had a bad deal with the two men in your life, didn’t you?” she said.

I looked out of the window at the countryside speeding past us. I could feel my chest tightening, as it always did when I thought about Angus. I tried to breathe deeply, but unobtrusively, as Margaret had taught me. Thinking of her prompted me to speak.

“Margaret said that could be why I ended up with Matt in the first place. You know, why I felt safe with him.” I found myself smiling, rather grimly. “Safe, I know. Stupid, isn’t it? But she said you’re often attracted to people who act in ways you recognise. Or you recognise patterns in their behaviour, without even realising you’re doing it.”

“Two sociopaths in the family,” said Becca. “How convenient for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “It sounds a bit trite, I know. Matt wasn’t a sociopath, anyway. He was just a weak, greedy man who wanted more than he had. And I’m not sure you can call An – my father a sociopath, either.”

“No?”

“No.” I looked out the window again. “I don’t know what he was.”

“Well, I know what Matt was.”

“What?”

“A complete and utter bastard.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “True. He certainly had a massive sense of entitlement.”

“And don’t even get me started on her.”

I pleated a fold of my napkin between my fingers. “She saved my life,” I said.

Becca sniffed. “Yeah, after trying to drive you crazy.”

“She changed her mind, though,” I said. “I think she realised she couldn’t do it. I think she came to warn me.”

Our food arrived at the moment and we both fell silent as the plates were placed into front of us.

“Can I get you ladies a drink?” asked the guard.

I fought the usual internal battle. One day at a time, Margaret had said. Just take it one day at a time. Only she knew how bad my drinking had been. Only she and Becca knew about Angus, and what had really happened that night in Cornwall. I hadn’t told the police. I couldn’t have coped with the resulting investigation and the media attention. And there was Aunt Effie to think of. Or that was what I’d told myself.

“Just water for me, thanks,” I said.

“Same here,” said Becca.

I pushed at the mass of scrambled eggs on my plate. I wasn’t hungry. “I wonder if anything she told me was true?”

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t know. She was so convincing. Surely no one’s that good an actress? And it would explain a lot... if she’d had that sort of a life.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Perhaps that’s how Matt met her.”

I put my fork down. “Perhaps.”

“Ugh.”

“Well, yes. I wonder what he told her, about me.”

“God knows,” said Becca. “It must have been convincing.”

I sighed.              “I was so stupid,” I said. “That’s what hurts most of all.”

“Come on. You weren’t to blame. You’re supposed to be able to trust your husband. That’s supposed to be part of the deal.”

“I wanted to believe it,” I said. “That was the clincher. I wanted it all to be true.”

“Well, of course you did,” said Becca. “Of course you did. That’s natural.”

I fell silent. Becca regarded me with sympathy. “Maudie, he had us all fooled. But don’t worry. It’s not like you could have spotted what he was doing, could you? Not really.”

I stared down at my half-full plate. “No.”

“Your defence will bring that up, won’t they? I mean, that is the defence, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, slowly. We hadn’t yet talked about this and I wasn’t sure what to say.

Becca gave me a quick, penetrating glance. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“Well,” I said. I consciously made myself relax my hands. “The trouble is that the prosecutors–”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Yes?” Becca prompted.

I took a deep breath. “The prosecution’s case is that there wasn’t anyone else there. It was just me and Matt.”

Becca blinked. “What do you mean?”

I could feel my fingers tightening again and I took hold of my legs under the table.

“There wasn’t anyone called Jessica there as well. They’re saying she didn’t exist. It was just me and Matt. Just a common or garden domestic that went wrong.”

Becca was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed a little uncertainly. “That’s crazy,” she said. “There’s evidence–”

“There isn’t,” I said, interrupting her. “Or not much. A blonde girl on the CCTV, once or twice.”

“Well, that’s–”

“They’re saying it’s me,” I said, flatly. “It’s me on the CCTV. That’s their angle.”

Becca chewed her lip for a moment. I could see her flicking through the possibilities in her head, just as I had, and felt a rush of affection for her, even despite my anxiety.

“He knocked out her tooth,” she said. “Didn’t he?”

I felt the corners of my mouth pull in, in what was almost a smile.

“The police couldn’t find it.”

Becca was quiet for a moment. Then she sat up a little and smiled. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, trying for briskness. “You and I, and your lawyer, know the truth, don’t we? We know she was there, don’t we? She was there, wasn’t she, Maudie?” When I didn’t answer immediately, she asked again. “Wasn’t she, Maudie?”

“Of course she was,” I said. I cleared my throat and said it in a firmer voice. “Of course she was there.”

“Right then,” said Becca. I saw her bite her lip again as she looked out of the window. Then she faced me, and smiled again. “I know it’s hard, but try not to worry too much. I’m sure it’ll all work out fine in the end.”

I tried to smile back. “I know. Thanks, Becs.”

The train rattled on. Beneath the table, my palms were marked with eight little reddened half smiles.

The sun was shining when the train drew into Penzance, although a strong breeze buffeted us as we stepped out onto the concourse. The harbour was a mass of yachts, boats, dinghies and fishing trawlers, all bobbing on an azure sea. I took a deep breath, throwing my head back against the dazzle of the sunlight.

We picked up the keys for our hire car and found it in the car park. I slotted myself behind the steering wheel. I drove carefully, tensely, looking out at the little stone cottages, the holidaymakers eating ice-cream, the far-off white peaks of the waves out in the bay. So familiar, yet so alien. I was glad Becca was there. I looked across at her and smiled when I saw she’d fallen asleep, her head lolling against the tatty fabric of the car seat, her mouth inelegantly agape. I looked back out of the window, and at the distant countryside beyond the houses and roads of the town.

We’d booked into a little guesthouse in the village, two streets over from the cottages Angus had once owned. One of them had become a bed and breakfast place, but staying there would have been too much for me. All the same, I stopped the car on the road outside for a moment. The two houses hadn’t changed much. One had grown a small extension and the creaky old wooden gate at the front was gone. The hedges had grown but not as much as I would have thought. Or was it just that I myself was taller? I could see my old bedroom window from where I was parked. I wondered what the reaction would be if I knocked on the door and told the occupants there had been a murder in their front room.