Last Seen Alive Page 11

  15

  ‘There are no such things as coincidences,’ Sylvia says when we visit her on the first Sunday we’re back. ‘I’m glad you left when you did.’

  We are sitting around her large dining table eating a roast dinner. Jamie began telling them all about the holiday, but he’d recounted it in a witty, breezy way, not revealing how anxious we’ve been feeling about it since we arrived home three days ago. He doesn’t mention the food poisoning, wanting to keep the story light. I can tell he thought it would be a funny tale to regale his family with and he doesn’t anticipate Sylvia’s horror – although he should have done knowing how over-protective she can be.

  ‘I can’t believe you found dead animals in their basement,’ interjects Florrie’s husband, Richard, through a mouthful of roast potato. Jamie gets on quite well with Richard – but then Jamie gets on well with everyone. I think Richard is a bit immature. He’s the sort of person who falls about laughing if someone steps in dog poo and I’ve heard Florrie moaning to her mother that he stays up half the night playing on the X-box and can’t get up for work the next day. There’s something a little sleazy about him too, the way his eyes linger too long on your breasts, or how he can’t quite meet your eye. When Katie wears short skirts, which is more often than not, I notice how his gaze sweeps over her legs.

  Florrie nudges him in the ribs and scowls. He glances at me and pulls a comical face.

  ‘And I can’t believe,’ says Sylvia in her cut-glass accent, turning her flint-coloured eyes on me, ‘that you let my son languish in hospital without telling me.’

  There’s a collective intake of breath around the table. Florrie puts her knife and fork down with a clatter, Katie’s wine glass freezes at her lips and Richard looks at me with a smirk on his face as though he’s a kid at school delighted that I’ve been told off by the teacher. Hannah sits quietly at the end of the table, opposite Jamie, her large eyes watching me. Her little boy, Felix, and Florrie’s son, Jacob, are the only ones unaffected by Sylvia’s exclamation.

  The chicken I’m chewing feels like rubber in my mouth. I swallow painfully. ‘I … I didn’t want to worry you.’

  Her finely shaped eyebrows, so like her son’s, knit together. ‘It’s a mother’s job to worry. Thank goodness Hannah told me.’

  Hannah? I meet her cool, challenging gaze. How did Hannah know? And then I remember the text message she sent Jamie. With all the drama of leaving the Hideaway and fleeing back to Bath I’d forgotten to ask him about it. I can just imagine his text, apologising for not replying sooner because he’d been in hospital, discussing their secret and keeping it hidden from me. I feel an intense dislike for her then.

  ‘Mum, leave her alone,’ says Jamie mildly. ‘I’m thirty years old. You don’t need to know my every movement.’

  Sylvia’s face softens. She has an attractive face when she isn’t being judgemental, with striking grey eyes framed by her blonde fringe. She always dresses well, thinking it important to accessorise; she likes chunky jewellery and is never without a wristful of bangles. These jangle now as she pours gravy over her chicken. ‘But you were in hospital, Jamie, love. What if something had happened?’

  ‘I had a bit of food poisoning, that’s all. And that’s not the worst of it. We found –’ he lowers his voice so as not to frighten the children ‘– some clothing. Underwear. Ripped and covered in blood. Ziggy dug it up. We called the police. They’re taking it very seriously.’

  There’s a stunned silence.

  ‘Blimey, what a holiday,’ proclaims Richard eventually, sitting back in his chair. ‘Finding sexy underwear in the garden and having the shits.’

  ‘Hardly sexy,’ I mutter, appalled at his crassness.

  ‘Richard!’ Florrie prods him again. She seems to spend her whole life being embarrassed by her husband.

  ‘Mummy, what does “the shits” mean?’ asks Felix, glancing up at Hannah with the same big eyes. Hannah looks furious and glares at me, as though it’s my fault.

  ‘Uncle Richard said a bad word,’ she says, turning her attention to her son.

  The name jars but I push it out of my mind and distract Felix by asking him to show me the new cuddly seal that he’s brought with him. He’s soon telling me all about Snowy and Richard’s words are forgotten. I’m rewarded by a grateful – and rare – smile from Hannah.

  For the rest of the afternoon I watch the interaction between Jamie and Hannah, scrutinising them for signs that they are keeping something from me. They disappear at one point and I find them in the kitchen. I can tell by their body language that they are having a heart-to-heart. She’s standing with her back against the worktop and he’s so close that their shoulders are touching. She looks pretty in a knee-length floral dress, long boots and a denim jacket. He has his arms resting loosely across his stomach, his legs crossed at the ankle and they are talking in murmurs. As soon as I walk in they spring apart, Hannah reaching up to the cupboard to get a glass and Jamie inexplicably opening the microwave.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I say, my voice cold. Hannah glances at me, her face a picture of innocence.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, why have you disappeared in here?’

  ‘We’re just having a private conversation,’ she says and I want to slap her smug face. ‘That’s still allowed, now that he’s married, isn’t it?’ She smiles sweetly, then brushes past me and out of the room. Probably running to tell it all to Katie and they’ll gossip in the corner like two teenagers instead of the twenty-eight-year-old women they are.

  Jamie can’t meet my eye as he closes the microwave door. He’s empty-handed.

  ‘What’s she playing at?’ I hiss.

  Jamie shakes his head. ‘Libs. I’ve known her for years …’

  ‘I don’t care. She wants you for herself.’

  ‘She doesn’t see me like that any more …’

  I groan. ‘Are you that naïve …?’

  ‘And even if she did, it doesn’t matter. She’s just a friend. That’s all. You should know this by now, Libs.’ He strides over to me. ‘She’s just got a problem she wants some help with, that’s all. You do trust me, don’t you?’

  I sense an undercurrent of irritation beneath his jovial tone. I’ve always been secure in his love for me, even though I’ve sensed that his family don’t like me much, except maybe Florrie. So why do I feel this way now? This fear that I’m about to lose him, that everything is unravelling? Is it because of what happened in Cornwall? Or the fire and the miscarriage? I’m not sure.

  ‘You told me yourself, Hannah really loved you. She thought you were The One, Jay.’

  He looks down at his feet and shuffles, clearly uncomfortable. ‘We were kids …’

  ‘You broke her heart …’

  ‘We were too serious, too quickly. Then we went to different universities and things … well … you know how it is.’

  ‘You cheated on her!’ The realisation suddenly hits me. He’s never admitted that to me before but it’s in his expression: the downcast eyes, the sheepish smile. Guilt.

  ‘I …’ He shuffles and glances down at his Converse. ‘I’m not proud of that.’

  ‘Why have you never told me before?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m not proud of it.’ He lifts his head up but doesn’t smile or make a joke. I’m pleased he’s not trying to make light of it.

  I stare at him. He’s capable of cheating. Jamie Hall, who I’ve always thought was so black and white. So moralistic. So well bred. He is no better than my father. Than Harry.

  ‘Libs, why are you staring at me like that? As though you don’t know who I am. Jesus, it was a lifetime ago. I was young and stupid. I wasn’t in love. Not like I am with you.’ He moves towards me. ‘Please don’t make a big deal about this.’

  I swallow and try to compose myself. ‘I’m not … I just … I don’t know.’ How could I not have known this? We’ve been together nearly five years. Did he keep it from me deliberately? I think back to al
l those early conversations, intertwined on my single bed in a shabby bedsit, where we were finding out about each other. About past relationships.

  He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘It was different then. I was different. I would never do anything like that to you. I hope you know that. I don’t care how Hannah feels about me. It’s you I love. You I married. You I want to be with for the rest of my life.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I say. From beyond the doorway I catch a flash of floral, a swish of blonde hair. Has Hannah been standing there this whole time, listening? I lean into him and rest my head on his chest, trying to ignore my unease.

  It’s a cold day with a crisp blue sky and a low sun. After lunch I sit in the conservatory, enjoying the warmth filtering in through the glass, watching Felix and Jacob, wrapped up warm, sprinting up and down the vast lawn, Jamie and Richard running after them. Hannah and Florrie look on adoringly, their arms folded. Being back here, with his family, it’s easy to forget the events of the past week, almost as though we’ve never been to Cornwall.

  Despite the years we’ve been together, I still can’t get over how large this house is, that this is where he spent his childhood. So different from the two-up two-down I’d grown up in. They even have a coach house at the bottom of the garden where their guests sleep. Sylvia is always having friends to stay over. I sense she likes it best when her house is filled with people and laughter and chatter, and despite the fact that she annoys me at times, I feel for her, not having her husband around any more.

  I watch as Jamie dribbles a ball and Felix runs after him, laughing, his arms outstretched. Jamie cheated on Hannah. I still can’t believe it. It’s as though he’s shifted slightly in my perception, like catching sight of him through one of those fun mirrors at a fairground.

  ‘Don’t you want to go out and join them?’ A voice makes me jump. I turn to see Katie reclining against the door frame, an insolent expression on her face. She has the same dirty blonde hair as her mum and Jamie, whereas Florrie is dark, like their dad. Katie is a pretty girl, all long arms and slender legs, but there’s something restless about her, as though she doesn’t really know where she belongs, boomeranging from one job to another, one boyfriend to another and one home to another. She’s recently moved back in with Sylvia, and is jobless once more, even though she’s only two years younger than me. Sylvia has never said it – she’s intensely loyal to all three of her children – but I know that she worries about Katie, her lack of direction. I would have given anything for the privileges and the expensive education that she obviously takes for granted. Even though Florrie is the archetypical bossy older sister, I prefer her to Katie. Florrie’s more down to earth, more solid, even if we don’t share the same taste in men. Not that Richard is a bad bloke, he’s just a bit of a prat at times. Katie, on the other hand, is manipulative, playing her role as the baby of the family to suit her needs. But not with me. I can see straight through her.

  I turn to her with what I hope is a ‘don’t mess with me’ look on my face, the kind I give my pupils when they play up. She ignores it and sits down opposite me on one of the rattan sofas. She swings her legs around so they are hanging over the arm. There is a wedding photo of me and Jamie above her head, Florrie and Katie flanking us, resplendent in pale blue. I remember how much of a diva Katie had been about the wedding, how she’d refused to wear blue as it ‘washed her out’, how she accused me of trying to make her look bad, as though it was all about her. I’d bitten my tongue, of course, although I refused to change the colour of the bridesmaids’ dresses. Jamie informed her firmly that she either wore the colour I’d chosen or stepped down as bridesmaid. Not for the first time I wished I’d had my own sister to stand by my side on that day, to fight my corner. It’s hard sometimes, standing up to the Hall women.

  Katie is quietly assessing me with her cool gaze. ‘You’re so quiet sometimes, Libby. Who knows what goes on inside your head? You should be out there with your husband instead of letting him play daddy to Hannah’s kid.’

  I fix a smile on my face, unwilling to rise to the bait. ‘It’s nice for him to spend some time with his family and I’m still feeling a bit off colour.’ I touch my stomach to illustrate my point. ‘And with my arm … you know …’ I lift my cast and pull a disappointed face. ‘Don’t want to fall over when the cast is coming off next week.’

  She chews her lip thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm, I suppose you don’t want to play with kids when you’re looking after them all day.’

  ‘It’s not that, I love kids …’

  ‘But it must be weird,’ she continues relentlessly, crossing her legs at the ankle and wiggling her toes. Her nails are painted a dark purple. ‘To see your husband with his ex-girlfriend. I remember how in love they were once upon a time. First love. That’s a powerful thing, isn’t it? We all thought they’d get married. Funny how things turn out. Don’t you think?’

  I wonder if she continues to see Hannah just to wind me up. It’s true they’ve been best friends for years but Hannah, now a mother, has outgrown Katie. It’s always struck me as odd how Katie parades Hannah around the house like some kind of prize pig.

  ‘Well, I’ve been seeing them together for five years, so I’m used to it,’ I say pleasantly, my tone belying my irritation. I’m like a tennis pro, the way I bat away her digs. I’ve had enough practice over the years. It’s as if she knows exactly what to say to get to me, but I never show her how much her words sting.

  It had been strange at first, knowing Jamie’s ex was still a part of the family. Hannah had been heavily pregnant – and still married – when I first met her and I’d quickly realised that I’ll never have the sort of relationship with Sylvia that they share, the sort of relationship that I’d hoped for, had craved. I assumed, before I met Jamie’s mum, that she would fill the void my own mum had left behind when she died, that Sylvia would become a sort of surrogate. But of course it isn’t as simple as that. Sylvia couldn’t be more different to my own mother. It’s as though she doesn’t feel I’m quite good enough for Jamie, that I’m not the daughter-in-law she’d been hoping for, with my northern accent, my preference for a pint of lager over a glass of wine, my chipped nails, my clothes stained with marker pens. I’m not what she calls ‘well turned out’. Once I saw her looking with distaste at the tattoo of a winged bird on my upper arm. She doesn’t like that I’m competitive at board games, that I don’t iron Jamie’s clothes (I don’t even iron my own clothes), that I have three piercings in my left ear, that I’m not constantly on a diet or talking about food or baking. My saving grace is that I’m a teacher. I can almost hear her telling her friends at the Women’s Institute that at least I have an education. Hannah, on the other hand, fills that void, with her posh girls’ school education, and her family money, even if she is now a divorced single mum. Jamie confided in me once that Hannah’s family were ‘utter snobs’ and he never really liked them because they were so disinterested in Hannah, putting all their efforts and ambition into their Oxford-educated son instead. They moved to Jersey a few years ago and, so Jamie tells me, Hannah hardly sees them.

  Katie frowns now, twirling a section of her hair around her finger. ‘Yes, well I wouldn’t like my husband being so close to his ex. But then we’re different, aren’t we?’ She smiles sweetly and jumps up from the sofa, bored that she isn’t getting a rise out of me. I long to tell her to grow up, but I pick up a magazine from the coffee table and start leafing through it instead. I can sense her watching me by the door but I keep my eyes on the page, pretending to be engrossed in the private life of a soap star.

  ‘I know you think I’m pretty thick.’ Her words cut into the silence.

  I’m so shocked, the magazine slips from my lap and onto the stone floor. I snap my head up. ‘No, I don’t. I think you’re actually very clever.’ It’s true, she is. She just uses her intelligence in the wrong way, by being sly.

  ‘I might not have a degree, like you, but I know about people. An
d I know about you. You like to think you’re so together, so strong, but you’re like a swan; on the surface you’re elegant and in control but underneath it all your legs are desperately kicking to stay afloat.’

  ‘Katie …’

  ‘It doesn’t mean you’re weak to show that you’re not perfect, you know?’

  ‘I know that. I don’t think I’m perfect. Far from it.’ How can she know that most of the time I feel like an imposter?

  She narrows her eyes as though wanting to say more, but thinks better of it, tossing her hair back and flouncing out of the room.

  Outside the window, Sylvia is handing out tea from a circular tray, the steam rising from the assorted collection of bone-china mugs. Jamie and Hannah are in conversation on the edge of the group. She’s leaning into him and laughing at something he’s saying and it irks me that even after our earlier conversation he’s still indulging her. She sees me watching and smirks. I feel a spark of anger. She should be careful who she messes with. I’ve put everything I’ve got into creating my life with Jamie and I won’t let her, or anyone else, ruin it for me.

  16

  Two days before Good Friday I finally have the cast removed. I almost skip home from the hospital, ecstatic that I’m no longer restricted by the sling, that I can now take Ziggy for walks again, or go for a run, or play badminton, all the things I’d enjoyed before the fire.

  Evelyn is sitting at her window as I descend the steps to our basement flat and I give her a wave. She waves back and I vow to pop over to see her later. I fumble with my key; the new lock is a bit stiff and the door seems to resist as I push it open. I soon realise why. The post has arrived and it’s clogging up the hallway. I bend over to pick up the junk mail that’s dropped through the letterbox – ten times the amount we usually receive. I flick through it, frowning. All are addressed to me and seem to be from companies selling everything from the mundane to the obscure to the downright rude. I throw them onto the worktop and a lewd advert about a penis enlargement kit glares up at me. I screw it up and shove it in the bin, surprised when I see what’s underneath it: the same catalogue that was in the Hideaway, with all that expensive Scandinavian furniture. Surely I didn’t order this? Or did I? I throw it onto the sideboard, where it skids across the wood, only stopping when it knocks against an ornament.