Falling (20 page)

“I know, love.” Maisie stroked her hand. “It’s okay. We’ve been through it. We’ve all been through it. And you…you were so
brave
, love. So brave. We just…we have to ride it out, you know. God never gives us more than we can handle.” She squeezed her fingers, tighter than Cecilia would have thought she could. “You’re going to be all right, my love. You just have to hang in there. Keep trying.”

They sat there, long minutes. Then Cecilia lifted her head, brushing her tears away. Picked up the box of Quality Street, sitting it on the bed.

“So where’s your little boy today?” Maisie reached for the chocolates, arthritic fingers picking at the cardboard flap.

Cecilia didn’t look at her, but reached over and slid a nail under the flap, releasing a waft of sweet chocolate. Her breath shuddered in her chest. “He’s with his grandmother.”

Maisie sighed, squinting into the brightly coloured wrappers. “It would have been nice if Caroline could have come. My daughter, you know. But then…” She shook her head, and leaned closer to Cecilia, voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “We’re not close. Now, don’t get me wrong, I mean, I love her. But…Ernie, he says we’re too alike. Says that’s why we rub each other up the wrong way.” Maisie shook her head again, looking back into the chocolate box. “Are you close with your mum?” She selected a purple wrapped chocolate, offered the box to Cecilia.

Cecilia studied the chocolates. Felt thick, stuffy, the way you do after tears. “We were. When I was younger. You know, she used to take me to ballet, do my hair, girly stuff. And she was thrilled when I got a job as a flight attendant. It was what she always wanted to do. You know before she got married and had me.” She selected a strawberry cream and handed the box back to Maisie. The normality of the moment suddenly leaving her breathless. How long had it been since she had felt that? Normal. “She used to come up and visit me in London – this is when I worked there. Said I was living her dream life.” She wasn’t looking at Maisie, was picking at the silver foil. “After that…things changed. We, ah, we grew apart.”

Cecilia had called her mother, after she had walked in on her ex, Kyle, screwing a blonde in their bed. She had been crying, expecting sympathy. Instead the phone had thrummed with a long, sharp silence.

Then, “So?” Her mother’s voice had razor blades in it.

“What do you mean ‘so’?”

“Men cheat, Cece. Jesus. Grow up.” A heavy sigh of disappointment. “Where are you?”

“I moved out. I got my own flat…”

“You moved out?” Her mother had shrieked. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Mum. I caught him. Shagging in my bed. Two years we’ve been living together. Two years and I’ve done everything for that sodding man. And he does this!”

She hadn’t answered right away and, for the most fleeting of moments, Cecilia had hoped that she was reconsidering, that there was still room to repair what had already been said.

“Cecilia. Come on. You think it’s just you? You think that you’re the only one this has ever happened to? Now, I’m telling you this because I’m your mother and I love you. You’ve got a good thing going up there. A nice house. A good looking man who makes plenty of money.

He’s a pilot for god’s sake. These things happen. Put it behind you. Go home.”

Cecilia had been angry, had hung up the phone in temper. That was why she changed her mind, why she decided to go out, even though she had planned to stay in, watch a movie. Instead she had gotten dressed up, had done her hair, and gone to the club where the music was pulsing so loud that it washed her thoughts clean. That was why she had bumped into Eddie. And that was when everything had changed.

She hadn’t known Eddie well. Just well enough to know that he was trouble. You could see it in his eyes sometimes, a hunter tracking game. They stayed away from him at work, when he was called in to make repairs, with his smell of grease and his proprietary stare. But that night she hadn’t cared. She had gone out to get drunk. To forget. Had been feeling bruised and reckless. That was why she had let Eddie buy her a drink, even though she knew better. That was why she had let him walk her home.

She would wonder afterwards if she had screamed. Couldn’t remember. She had tried to scream, she was sure of that. But the sound was drowned out in music and laughter. It was the laughter that she would remember.

They had walked past pubs, nightclubs. Then he had suggested a little turn, a detour. Quicker this way, he had said. And Cecilia, dizzy from vodka and coke, had giggled. Eddie had slipped an arm around her, all cosy and nice, and Cecilia had known that she should pull away, but she was cold and lonely and so she had left it there. He had steered her into the dark alley. Then his hand had snaked, down to her backside.

Cecilia had started then, pulled back. But by then, of course, it was already too late. His hand had whipped out, impossibly fast, had wrapped itself around her throat. His palm pressing down on her throat, choking. She tried to grab for breath. Could feel darkness, closing in on her. Then he was on her, other hand diving into the front of her blouse, grabbing at her breast, pulling at her skirt. Pushing her against the wall, rough bricks tearing at her skin.

She was going to die. Remembered thinking that she was going to die. Had looked up, staring at the shattered remains of a broken street light. Felt a sharp, searing pain that cut into her. Watched the streetlight. Never once took her eyes off it.

Eddie had left her lying in amongst the five day old bins, weeping, her skin alive, crawling. She had found out later that he had bragged at work about fucking her, that snooty stewardess bitch.

She had barely left the house. Had showered and showered and showered but still, no matter what she did, couldn’t get rid of the smell of him, the feel of his fingers. She had never called the police. Had never really occurred to her. After all, wasn’t it her own fault, with her short skirt and her vodka and coke, and hadn’t she known, deep down, that he was dangerous and gone with him anyway? She took to wedging a kitchen chair under the handle of her front door. Just in case.

It was nearly a month later that she had found out she was pregnant.

“I like this programme.” Maisie’s voice was muffled by the chocolate she was eating, disguised by the crinkle of the wrapper she rolled through her fingers. “People starting out in life, making themselves some nice homes. It’s nice. Do you like this programme?”

Cecilia reached across, smiling briefly, and took the wrapper from Maisie, slipping it into the bin that sat beside her chair. “Yes. It’s a good programme.”

Chapter 33

Tom – Tuesday, 20th March – 7.36pm

Circling the cloth, around and around. Tom looked out of his kitchen window, saw his own reflection looking back at him. Could dimly make out the fence that circled his back garden. It would need re-varnishing this year. The water scalded his fingers.

Esther had fallen back against the cushions, energy spent, face slack with grief. She hadn’t looked at him; by the end Tom wasn’t even sure she knew he was there. Eyes dark with the death of her little girl. Clinging onto Jim’s hand, and him clinging onto hers as well, his head low, eyes studded with loss, of his daughter and of the relationship that he thought they had.

“Will she be okay?” Tom had stood on the doorstep, watching the cold wind send cyclones of snow swirling around the silver Audi on the drive. Not asking if he was okay. Giving him that much. Tom jammed his hands into his pockets. Glancing back up at Jim as he shook his head.

“If there’s ever anything I can do…”

“Just be straight with us. That’s all I ask.”

Lifting the plate up high, lowering it to the draining board, and laying it to rest. The radio burbled Silent Night. There was a dishwasher, less than three feet away. Tom never used it. Preferred to use his hands.

Tom glanced up at Cecilia, hovering in the kitchen doorway. “Why don’t you take a bath? Have a read?”

Cecilia looked down, hands shook a little.

The book was on the plane. Like everything else was on the plane. Tom shook his head, cursing himself for reminding her of it, no matter how unlikely it was that she had forgotten, even for a moment. Seemed to be always this way, with his wife. That he would always know how to say just the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

Cecilia glanced up at him, gave a small shrug. “It’s okay.”

Then they stood, hung in stasis in their own kitchen. Tom plunging plates, one after another, through the bubbles, water bitingly hot, turning his fingers red. Trying to think what the hell else there was to say. Cecilia bit her nail.

“So,” Tom scrubbed at a patch of dried on food “what did you do today?”

“I went to the hospital.”

“The hospital? Are you okay?” Tom turned, looked at her.

“Yeah, no, it’s not me. Maisie. One of the…the survivors. I went to see her.”

“Oh?” Another swish with the cloth, Tom pulled the plate from the bubbles.

“Yeah.” Cecilia wasn’t looking at him, still picking at her nail. “She’s nice.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

There was a silence. Tom wondered if she had gone.

“I think…Maybe I will take a bath. Okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. That’ll be good. You go. Ben’s already asleep, so you won’t disturb him.” He didn’t watch her go, heard the sound of her footsteps on the tiled floor, the creak on the stairs. Wanted to sink into the floor. How was it possible this could be his life? His wife, a complete stranger. The barest of conversation seemingly beyond them. How the fuck had it come to this?

Tom dumped the plate, hard on the draining board. Couldn’t stop thinking about Jim, Esther. The way he looked at her, so many years and so completely in love. And Tom was jealous. He was jealous of a guy who had just learned that his daughter was dead. How sick was that?

Pipes creaked, groaning with water weight, the aching of floorboards above his head. He plunged the plate back through the bubbles. One final swipe. Then music, his phone sparking to life, vibrating hard against the countertop. A quick wipe of his hands.

“Tom Allison.”

“Hey. It’s me.”

“All Right, Dan. How was house-to-house?”

“Fucking freezing. My arse still hasn’t warmed up.”

“You still in?”

“Just about to head home. The DI said you’d asked to be updated…”

“Yeah. Please.”

“You sure now? I mean, you’re at home with the family and everything…”

Tom glanced around the empty kitchen, living room dark beyond.

“Ben’s in bed. What you got?”

“Not much. Neighbours on one side are away. Don’t know where or when they’ll be back. The other side, the guy is like ninety. Almost completely deaf.”

“What?”

“Ha ha. Didn’t hear a thing.”

“Well, he wouldn’t.”

“You’re a funny guy. I always say that about you, whenever anyone asks about Tom, I say, funny guy that one. Twat. Yeah, well this guy may as well have been blind as well ’cause he didn’t see anything. He did say that his dog, this annoying fucking yappy thing, went nuts at about nine. By the fence adjoining Libby’s,”

“Was there someone there?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t know. He did say that there was a lovely car parked outside Libby’s all night the night of the murder. He’s a car buff apparently. We had a
fascinating
conversation about his Skoda.”

“What car?”

“Mercedes S-class. Black. Blue maybe.”

“Plate?”

“Nah. Lovely car though.”

“Awesome. Did you speak to a Hannah Thomas?”

“Um….” A short pause. “Number 43?”

“Yeah, I think.”

“No answer. I’ll try again tomorrow. How are Libby’s family doing?”

Tom pulled out a kitchen chair, sinking into it. Gaze caught by his reflection in the window. Beyond, just darkness.

“Not good. You know.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Turns out Libby had a boyfriend.”

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know. The family as a whole had no idea. She only confided in her mother.”

“Why the secrecy?”

“I don’t know. They’d been together for a while. Mother wasn’t sure how long exactly. She knew that he was older, but not much else.”

“Married?”

“I was thinking the same.”

“Did the mother know…”

“Said she didn’t want to pry.”

“Fuck, wish she was my mother. Do you know, last week I told my mother I had a date. You know what she did? Bought me a box of condoms. Ribbed.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. DI said we’re releasing the house, Libby’s now. Forensics have gotten everything they’re going to get. And I got the phone records.”

“Anything?”

“Lot of family calls. Friends. The usual. Couple of odd ones though. Unregistered numbers so we can’t track them. Pay as you go. The first one came into use almost a year ago, early February. Initially the calls were sporadic, once a week maybe, then every couple of days, increasing in frequency over a couple of weeks. After that it was every day, pretty much. Long calls, an hour, sometimes two.”

“The boyfriend.”

“I’d say. And with an unregistered SIM? This guy’s married.”

“When did they stop?”

“Huh?”

“The calls. When did he stop calling her?”

“The frequency increased, in the days before her death. Ten, fifteen calls a day. Most of them she didn’t answer.”

“That tallies with her mother’s theory that he was pursuing her.”

“Last call came in the day she was murdered. Probably a couple of hours before.”

“Nothing after that?”

“Nothing.”

“Shit.” Tom closed his eyes. “We need to find the boyfriend.”

“Yeah. I’ll be back on house-to-house tomorrow. Someone’ll know something.”

“So how was it?”

“What?”

“The date. How was it?”

“Yeah, not bad. Good looking. Smart. Breath like a toxic fucking dump.”

“Nice. Use the condoms?”

“Not so much.”

“What about the other number?”

“Yeah…that one started later, around July. On average, a couple of times a day. The interesting thing is that every single call was short.”