Close My Eyes (25 page)

‘No. I
promise
you,
no
.’ Art grips the chair. His knuckles are white but his eyes are steady as they hold my gaze. ‘Can’t you see you’re twisting
everything to fit what you want to be true? Ask yourself
why
would I pretend our baby was dead?
Why
would Rodriguez risk being struck off and sent to prison?
Why
would I
gamble my entire life on a lie?’ His voice cracks. ‘Gen, I have never wanted anything as much as I’ve wanted us to be a family. And . . . and it’s not fair that you
don’t trust me when I suffered just as much as you when we . . . lost her . . .’ He turns his face away so I can’t see the emotion that is so unbearably obvious in his voice.

I suddenly feel exhausted. Can I really be wrong? Am I seeing links between everything because I can’t bear the alternative – that Beth is really dead?

Art turns round. His eyes are beyond miserable. I’m suddenly filled with doubt.

‘How did you get hold of this film?’ he says. ‘Did someone help you?’

I flinch under his accusing gaze. And yet, why shouldn’t I tell him . . . we’ve done nothing wrong.

‘Lorcan helped me. We found the film at Rodriguez’s house. He offered me a lift, that’s all.’

‘Really?’ Art says sarcastically. ‘How many little get-togethers between the two of you is that since the party? If he isn’t halfway to seducing you by now then
he’s losing his touch.’

I’ve never heard such contempt in his voice. The doubts I was feeling just a few seconds ago vanish.

‘That’s not fair,’ I say, stung. ‘Lorcan just wants to help.’

Art lets his breath out with a sigh. He shakes his head. ‘So a man you’ve never met before drops everything to take you wherever you want to go, and you don’t even question his
motives.’

‘It’s not like that, I—’

‘Whereas I . . . I love you.
I’ve
known you for fourteen years and been married to you for twelve. But you think
I’m
capable of betraying you without any
proof whatsoever.’ His voice rises. ‘Don’t you remember what Lorcan did here . . .’ He waves his hand to indicate the Loxley Benson offices.

‘You mean having a one-night stand with someone’s wife years and years ago?’

Art opens his mouth as if to say more, then clearly thinks better of it. ‘Never mind Lorcan,’ he says. ‘I’m seriously worried about you.’

‘I saw you with a baby,’ I insist. ‘You were at the Fair Angel hospital.’

‘Are you sure?
Think
about it,’ Art pleads. ‘Are you seriously saying I’ve somehow “got rid” of a perfectly healthy baby that I wanted as much as
you? How could it even happen? Dr Rodriguez pronounced Beth dead. There were other people in the room.’

‘Yes, but most of them had to leave before the birth because Rodriguez deliberately gave them food poisoning. And the two who
were
present are both dead.’

‘I saw her
body
.’ Art carries on as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘You
know
how much I want a family. It’s
me
pushing for the IVF right now. How
does me taking our baby away from us make sense? How does
any
of this make sense?’

I don’t have any answers. A few moments pass. Through the window of Art’s office I can see people peering in at us. There’s Kyle and Tris and a couple of the PAs. They’re
all pretending to talk or work, but they keep glancing in our direction.

‘I agree it doesn’t make sense,’ I say. ‘But there’re all these things I’ve found out: I heard Rodriguez talk about the money he got. I saw the baby in your
arms the night we had Beth.’

‘No.’ Art thumps his desk. ‘No, Gen. All those things are just coincidences or misunderstandings. You’re
making
everything add up to me being guilty because
above and beyond anything you want Beth to be alive. You said as much after we saw Mr Tam. You didn’t want another baby because you still wanted Beth.’

I back away, my gaze still fixed intently on Art’s anguished face. He takes a step towards me.

‘Where is this film that supposedly shows me with the baby?’

It’s actually in my pocket but I’m not admitting that to Art. If I let him have the film, then he’s in control, and I want a chance to check out its authenticity for
myself.

‘I don’t have the film on me,’ I say. ‘It’s somewhere safe.’

‘I want to see it,’ Art demands. ‘Whatever you think it shows it’s a fake.’ He hesitates. ‘I’m going back to my meeting, but I want you to stay here.
Afterwards we’ll go home and look at this film together. And then I’m taking you to see a therapist.’

‘What?’

‘Please, Gen. This has got to stop.’

I stare at him. The blood is throbbing at my temples. Art’s not going to admit to anything. He’s turning it all onto me. I realize, with a terrible, sickening misery that I no longer
trust him.

‘Fine.’ I turn and stare out of the window. The sun is shining in, highlighting a line of smudges across the bottom of the glass. It’s a cold, clear day and from here I can see
all the way across the river. The light is sharp, the tallest buildings delineated against a bright blue sky.

Behind me the door shuts. Art has gone.

I have to tell the police. Maybe the CCTV film on the memory stick in my pocket
is
a fake, but I need to know for sure. They can check Loxley Benson’s books . . .
they
can track the money Art paid to MDO and find out whether it somehow made its way to Rodriguez.

I slip out of Art’s office. Avoiding the boardroom, I walk through the open-plan area. The younger guys are there – sharp-suited and slick-haired, hunched over their computers. I
have to stop myself from running as I reach the corridor off which the board members all have offices. Tris sees me as I pass and calls out ‘hello’. I act like I haven’t
heard.

Past the reception area. Camilla is on the phone. I shove my hand in my pocket, feeling for the memory stick. My fingers curl round it and its solidity gives me a boost of courage. I glance over
my shoulder. Camilla is watching me leave, still talking into her headset. I raise my hand in a wave and force a smile. She waves back, then looks down at her desk.

Heart thudding, I speed up, racing past the Ladies and the lifts and down the stairs. I hurtle down, down to the ground floor. Past the security guard – another quick wave – and
outside. I stop for a second on the pavement, feeling the cold air harsh against my face, then look over my shoulder. There’s no sign of anyone following me from Art’s building.

Lorcan is parked just round the corner. I scurry in that direction. My phone rings. It’s Art. He’s already seen that I’ve gone. I switch off the mobile and run. There’s
no traffic, just a few parked cars. No passers-by. The sun is out yet I’m shivering. I wind my scarf around my neck as I hurry along. I’m intent on reaching Lorcan and going to the
police. The road is empty.

I step out without looking.

With a roar, a car speeds past. Every cell in my body freezes as I leap back. The car flies by so close I can almost feel the metal. In a split second it’s gone. I stand, staring after it,
shocked to the core.

I realize I’m holding my breath. As I open my mouth, a hand grabs my arm. Strong fingers pull me round. Pinching my arm. Pushing me back towards the pavement. It’s a man, his face
hidden by his hood. I try to scream but my voice won’t work. Before I can properly register what’s happening, the man shoves me against the wall behind. His hand grips my neck, pressing
against my wind pipe.

I gasp, my senses firing, my heart pounding. I can’t move. My eyes fix on the man’s mouth, his thin lips. He’s huge – towering over me. The man leans in close. I can feel
his breath against my ear.

‘Enough now, Geniver,’ he hisses. His free hand delves into one of my jeans pockets. Then the other. I can feel his fingers clawing inside my jeans, pushing against the denim. I
strain away from him but his grip around my throat is like a claw. I can’t breathe. I want to kick out but my legs won’t move.

Inside my pocket, the man’s hand bunches, his fingers curling around the memory stick. My heart is thundering in my ears, my whole body frozen. The man withdraws his hand, then leans in
close, still clutching my throat. ‘Remember what happened to Lucy O’Donnell?’ His voice is a low whisper, full of menace.

I nod. Just the tiniest movement.

‘Good . . .’ The man clutches the memory stick in his fist. ‘Then stop raking up ancient history, or the same thing will happen to you.’

This is how I got back at Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth
.

Going into school, I hid behind the big tree and took my school sweatshirt and rubbed dirt on the front of it, then pushed my shoe in the earth and trod on the back of it. It was a bit
smudgy but you could see it was some of a footprint, like when I was really little and we did finger painting. I put the sweatshirt on again and went inside. I screwed up my face like I was trying
not to cry and told Miss Evans that Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth pushed me over and stamped on my back on the way into school.

It was good. Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth got in big trouble. It was specially good when I got home. Mummy said that I was very smart and that it was a good start as practice for dealing
with Bad People, though I couldn’t expect the teachers to sort out everything and I needed to think of ways of paying back people so they would be hurt too and not just told off. She said
that was the only way it was fair because if one person gives an eye, the other person has to as well. I
think
it was eyes. Anyway, she let me have extra sweets. I liked those fizzy sweets
then, in the shape of snakes, but now I think those sweets are for babies, though I would still eat them if I had some.

Mummy said not to eat too many sweets as that can make you sick. I wished I could go back and make Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth eat sweets until they were sick. Then I thought about how
Broken Tooth wore glasses and how I would like to get them and smash them up really small and put them in some sweets for them both to eat. I thought how the glass bits would cut your throat and
really hurt. It would be so good because they would think it was nice and then they would see it was to make them be ill, ha-ha-ha.

The man shoves me away from him and races off, the memory stick in his hand. I want to move, but shock and fear root me to the spot. The man disappears around the corner to the
right and I let the air out of me in a gasp. I force myself to focus: Lorcan is just around the corner, waiting for me. I have to get to him. I make myself cross the road. My legs feel like dead
weights and I’m trembling as I reach the other side, but I keep walking, one careful step after the other. As I turn the corner on the left, I see Lorcan leaning against his Audi. He sees me
and rushes over.

‘Gen, what happened?’ he says. ‘What did Art say?’

I open my mouth but I can’t speak.

‘Gen?’ There’s a real urgency in his voice. ‘Are you all right?’

I shake my head.

‘Get in the car.’ He puts his arm around my shoulders and ushers me to the car. As I slip into the passenger seat I realize that my hands are still shaking. I shove them into my
pockets.

‘Art denied everything,’ I explain. ‘He wanted to see the film on the memory stick, but I came outside and this man – this huge guy – mugged me.’

Lorcan’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. ‘Jesus Christ, are you okay?’

‘It wasn’t random.’ My voice shrinks with fear. ‘He knew who I was. He took the memory stick. And he threatened me.’

‘What did he say?’

As I tell him, my mind is in overdrive, trying to piece together what I know.

‘Gen, this is bad,’ Lorcan glances at me. His face is contorted with worry. ‘Rodriguez must have sent that man, which means he knew what we took and he’s been watching us
. . . he must have
followed
you . . . or else . . .’

I’m silent. He means: or else Art sent the man. Would Art have had time to do that? I can’t answer. I can barely think.

Lorcan drives off. Outside the car, people are rushing past – a blur of activity through the window. Their lives carry on as normal, while I can’t be sure of anything or anyone, any
more. I look over at Lorcan. The doubts I had the other day come rushing back. He has bent over backwards for me, even though we’ve only just met. Have I been incredibly naive to trust
him?

I’m sick to my stomach. I can still feel the man’s fingers, pressing against my skin. ‘It’s all true,’ I say hoarsely. ‘Someone took Beth. And whoever it was
killed people to cover it up . . . the anaesthetist . . . Lucy O’Donnell . . .’

Lorcan slows the car as we reach a set of traffic lights. ‘Did you see his face, the guy who attacked you?’

‘No.’ I look out of the car. An old man with a walking stick is struggling to walk past a newsagent. A little girl with sleek dark hair skips by, holding her mother’s hand. I
stare after her. She’s too young to be Beth. Isn’t she?

‘It happened too fast, I just know he was tall. Big and tall.’ I shiver, remembering how the man appeared from nowhere, looming over me . . . a hooded, menacing giant.

‘Could it have been that blond guy we saw at Rodriguez’s window?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I close my eyes, trying to visualize the blond man. I can just about picture his shape in the window, but that’s no help, I didn’t see his face
properly. I got the impression that he was stocky but – unlike my attacker – only average height. Still, from the angle at which I was looking up at him it’s impossible to be
sure. ‘I don’t know.’

There’s a long pause. I’m unable to gather my thoughts. And then I remember what I decided in Art’s office.

‘I have to go to the police.’

Lorcan says nothing for a minute, then he glances over, his expression grave. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, Gen? I’m just asking the question. I know that guy threatened
you, but . . . what exactly would you tell the police?’

Suspicion shoots through me. Why on earth would Lorcan object to me turning to the very people who are supposed to protect us?