The Bed I Made (35 page)

I parked back at the cottage but didn’t immediately go in. It wasn’t just that I hadn’t left a light on and the house looked dark and forbidding: I needed to walk.

Bolting the gate after me, I went back across the grass, over the road and on to the harbour front. The ferry had just left and was only a couple of hundred yards out, lit up in the darkness like a fairground ride. They were playing the pre-recorded message about what to do in the case of emergency, the tinny voice just audible as the wind carried it back. The water lapped against the harbour wall by my feet, black; further out, it was yellow where the streetlights caught it. I walked up past the lifeboat office and the King’s Arms, whose low windows gave out a rosy light on to the street. There were men at the bar, and the tables in the window and by the fire were taken. I carried on past the George and into the Square.

There were only two or three lights along the pier and away from them the boardwalk stretched out into darkness, the wooden shelter at the end with its pointed roof seeming to float above the water, lights shining out from its little windows. I started walking. Apart from the sound of the water slapping against the struts and my feet on the boards, there was silence. The ferry was a long way off now. I felt exposed out over the water, away from the town, suddenly conscious that there was no way back should anyone follow me out here. But who would that be? No one knew I was here. I couldn’t be so timorous all the time.

I reached the end and leant against the wooden railing. The air carried the taint of rotting fish; the line-fishers gutted their catch here rather than at home, throwing the heads and entrails back into the water. In front of me, across the Solent, the lights of the mainland lay like a necklace along the shoreline, clustered more densely at the mouth of the Lymington River. Away from the shelter of the town, the breeze was stronger. It blustered round my ears until I turned up the collar of my coat but even then I could hear a whine in it, a gentle echo of the wind that had come crying around the house after Christmas, hurting my heart.

It took me several seconds to understand that it wasn’t the wind. It was crying, a woman’s crying, and it was coming from inside the shelter. Once I realised, I wondered how I could have mistaken it but even so there was still a moment when I questioned whether my mind was playing tricks on me and the weeping from the dream had crossed over, infiltrated my waking life.

I walked round to the entrance of the shelter, which was built away from the end of the pier to protect it from the wind. On the wooden bench inside, a woman was sitting with her head in her hands, her hair falling forward to conceal her face. I didn’t need to see it to know it was Sally: her tiny frame and the huge black coat were instantly recognisable. She seemed not to have heard me so I went to sit next to her. After a second or two she looked up. Her eyes and nose were swollen from crying.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said, and her voice was almost fierce.

‘Walking – I needed some fresh air. Are you all right?’

She ran the ball of her hand under her eyes and sniffed.

‘Has something happened?’

She looked at me for several seconds, as if she was weighing up whether to tell me. ‘Tom found my emergency fund,’ she said. ‘Two hundred pounds. I kept it in my wardrobe in the pocket of an old coat. He’d been through everything.’

The little shit
, I thought.

‘I just don’t know what I can do any more. He takes money from my purse but this – how did he even know it was there? I’ve got nothing now – that was it. Is this my fault?’ she asked, turning back to me suddenly, eyes glistening. ‘Because I brought him up on my own?’

‘No. Don’t think that. You do your best for him – it’s obvious.’

‘Is it?’ She got a tissue out of her pocket and started blotting her wet eyelashes, wiping away the mascara that had transferred on to her cheeks. She pushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ears. ‘I’ve got to get back. God knows what else he will have done. I had a bottle of wine in the wardrobe – he’ll have had that as well.’

‘I’ll come with you – it’s too cold out here.’

We walked back along the pier together. She was preoccupied and hardly said a word but I was glad of her company. The pier seemed even longer now, a great stretch to be covered before we reached the safety of the Square again, the occasional lights along it seeming only to emphasise the loneliness. I could almost see the
Crimewatch
reconstruction.

Outside the Bugle, I stopped. ‘Let me buy you a drink,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Shall we have a drink – or something to eat? Have you eaten?’

She looked at me for a moment as if I had taken leave of my senses.

‘Not to worry,’ I said. ‘It was just an idea. You should get back.’

We could have gone as far as St James’s before parting ways but I had the strong sense that she wanted to be on her own. I hung back and let her go.

Back at the cottage, I turned on my computer. The home screen of my email account told me I had one new message. Helen, I hoped, clicking into my inbox, but of course it was from Richard. Before I could stop myself I’d opened it.

I’m enjoying our game, sweetheart; it’s an amusing diversion now that all I do with my life is work and talk to my wife’s solicitors. I can use up hours thinking about where you might be. You’re not in London, I’m pretty confident of that, and you won’t be in Bristol now Daddy’s gone, will you? I think we can safely say you haven’t run into the loving arms of your mother. But don’t worry, I’ve got my ideas and I’m getting warmer all the time. I’m run off my feet at the moment but I’ll always make time for you.

One more thing, Katie: if you were ever involved with anyone else – even thought about anyone else – I’d kill you
.

Chapter Thirty

The phone on the wall in the café kitchen only ever rang with calls from Mary or the greengrocer’s so when I heard Chris’s voice I knew immediately that something was wrong.

‘I’m sorry to call you at work,’ he said. ‘I tried your mobile but it’s switched off.’

‘I forgot to charge it. What’s happened?’

He paused for a moment. ‘It looks like they’ve found Alice’s body.’

The feeling like cold hands came over my skin. ‘Where?’

‘A fishing boat . . .’

‘No – not in the nets?’ For a split second I saw her body among fish spilling out on deck, the shimmer of scales. I felt a rush of nausea and put my hand over my mouth.

‘If it is her,’ he was saying, ‘she didn’t move far from where they picked her boat up. They were fishing round the back of the Island, near St Catherine’s.’

‘Pete – will he have to identify her?’

‘The body’s been in the water for so long . . . I think it’ll be dental records.’

‘Oh God.’ I put the hand back over my mouth, tried to breathe through my nose. ‘Where is he?’ I asked after a few seconds.

‘At home. The boat radioed in just before seven; he hadn’t left for work when the police went round. They’re with him now. I’ve shut the shop and I’m coming down but I thought you should know in case you see him. I don’t know how he’s going to react.’

There were a number of people in the café so I couldn’t stay in the kitchen. I splashed water on my face but it didn’t help. I kept thinking of her body, rolling in the cold water off the back of the Island for almost five months. Dental records – what had the trawlermen seen when they brought their net up? I imagined her skeleton dragged back and forth along the seabed all through the winter, the turbulence in the water tearing away her clothes, crabs coming to feed on her flesh. I rushed to the sink and was grateful only to dry-heave.

The policemen, an officer in uniform and another in plain clothes, walked past the window just before eleven. Though the station was at the bottom of the road, I hadn’t seen police in Yarmouth more than a couple of times in five months; they had to be on their way from Pete’s. I felt so powerless, trapped in the café. I wanted to throw everyone out, lock the door and go rushing up the road, knock on doors until I found his house. But what would I do when I got there? Were we still friends? I didn’t even know that.

I thought about calling Helen but realised that almost all of this would be news to her. I’d told her about him at Christmas, the man whose wife had disappeared off her boat, but she knew nothing about our friendship, if that was what it was or had been, or how I felt. I hadn’t told her about the dinner that night, let alone the kiss. Why hadn’t I spoken to her? She hadn’t called back after I’d rung her at the office; why was that? Maybe Esther hadn’t passed on the message, or maybe she just hadn’t had a chance.
What? In almost a week?
asked a quiet voice.

The news didn’t become public currency until three o’clock. I was carrying plates of sandwiches to the window table when I overheard a woman regaling her husband with the details. ‘Imagine,’ she said. ‘In the water since November, nothing left on the body to identify her by. They say the fish go for the face first, don’t they?’

‘Glenda, please,’ came the response but I didn’t hear the rest. I managed to get to the back door and yank it open before I was sick into the bucket used for washing the floor. I leant against the wall for a few seconds, dizzy, but there were orders outstanding and I couldn’t leave the counter unattended. Inside I washed my face and hands thoroughly; I’d have to sort out the bucket later.

It wasn’t until four that Mary came in with the soup for the next day, elbowing her way through the front door with her hands full. ‘You’ve heard about Alice Frewin?’ she said, putting the bowl down on the kitchen counter. ‘That poor, poor man. Better that she fill herself full of pills at home, surely, than put him through all these months of not knowing. I feel sorry for her, of course I do – no one in their right mind would ever do it. But to put someone you love through this . . .’

As soon as I got back to the cottage, I went upstairs and ran a bath. In my mind, the woman’s voice was still playing on loop –
They say the fish go for the face first, don’t they?
Afterwards, in a fresh pair of jeans and with my hair washed, the sweaty, nauseous sensation and the images of Alice were a little less vivid. I took the dinosaur tooth out of my bag and lay down on the sofa holding it, hoping that somehow it would channel my feelings and let him know I was thinking about him.

I woke in darkness, seconds passing before I realised that the banging sound was not in my dream but at the front door. Someone – a man – was calling my name. My first thought, heart thumping: Richard. But no, not him, not his voice. More hammering. I stood up from the sofa too quickly, making my head spin, and reached for the switch. The sudden light hurt my eyes.

I stumbled the few steps into the kitchen and saw Chris through the glass. He was shifting from foot to foot, looking at me, then away down the passageway. When I opened the door, chill night air followed him into the kitchen, clinging around his coat like smoke. He was out of breath, as if he’d been running.

‘Is Peter here? Have you seen him?’ he said.

‘No – should I? I wasn’t expecting . . .’

‘I’d said I’d cook him supper but when I got back to his, he was gone.’

‘You’re sure he’s not there? Maybe he’s just not opening the door.’

‘It was open. I’ve searched the whole house.’

‘Have you tried Sally Vaughn’s?’

‘Yes, first,’ he said. ‘It was the obvious place.’ He looked at me, registered the look on my face. ‘He’s already seen her today. That’s why I’m worried – she told him that Alice was seeing someone else.’

‘What?’

‘He went to see her this afternoon. You know she and Alice were good friends? Apparently she just came out and said it –
Alice was seeing someone
.’

I thought of how she had described them to me the first time I’d met her. Perfect for each other; weren’t those her words? ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Alice had started seeing a new psychologist in Southampton – twice a week. But it seems she only went to a couple of sessions. She kept up the pretence as a cover but really she was meeting someone else over on the mainland instead, a man.’

‘How did Sally know?’

‘Alice confided in her.’

‘But surely that means . . .’

‘She knew all this when she went missing?’ He nodded. ‘And it seems that it might be the reason. Sally said that they’d talked about running off together somewhere, making a go of it, but this man, whoever he was, got cold feet and called it all off. Alice went over one last time to plead with him but he wouldn’t budge. Sally thinks that’s why she did it – that it was the last straw.’

‘Why didn’t she tell anyone at the time?’

‘She says Alice swore her to secrecy, that while there was still a chance she might come back she couldn’t break her promise.’

‘What – even after all these months?’

‘She only told him today because she thought it would help, she said. She thought that if he knew, it would take the edge off his grief.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve just been round there. She’s beside herself that she’s hurt him – near hysterical. Could she really have thought she wouldn’t?’