I Saw You (21 page)

‘You can’t blame them. But you can hate them. Even if it does you no good.’ Margaret opened the bedroom door. ‘Now, I have a very nice bottle of New Zealand white wine
cooling in the fridge. I propose a glass or two. How does that sound?’

It was late by the time Sally and Vanessa left. They had eaten well. Steak and salad, with mashed potato. They had drunk the wine. They had talked, and Sally had even laughed.
And when Vanessa had gone upstairs to watch Margaret’s old black-and-white television, Sally had talked about the court case that had taken away her marriage.

‘It was the first of its kind. An English divorce had never been tested in an Irish court before.’ Sally finished her glass of wine and Margaret refilled it.

‘I take it his wife challenged its legality,’ Margaret said.

Sally nodded. ‘Yes, and it wasn’t difficult to do. You know that divorce was illegal here until 1996 so the only way to get one was under English law. A lot of people did it. But
there was a requirement that the husband be domiciled in England. There were a number of solicitors who would – how should I put it? – facilitate the acquiring of an English address.
James was pretty casual about the whole thing. So it wasn’t difficult for Helena to prove that he had actually been domiciled in Ireland.’

Margaret got up and opened the kitchen door. She beckoned Sally outside. They settled themselves on the deckchairs.

‘But had she agreed to the divorce? She knew what was going on, I presume.’ Margaret lay back and looked up at the stars.

‘Yes. They had joint custody of Dominic. That was all Helena wanted – so James said. But once he was gone she was determined to punish me. I didn’t care about it for myself,
but I cared that the legitimacy of James’s relationship with Vanessa was challenged.’ Sally sipped her wine. ‘And, of course, there was the problem of his will.’

‘His will?’

‘We got married in London. I got pregnant immediately. We discussed James’s will. He was going to change it so I would inherit the house in Dublin, Dominic would get the Lake House
and the estate in Wicklow. And there would be provision made for Helena. James recognized that she would never be able to work again, never be able to look after herself. She was mentally ill.
She’d had very bad post-natal depression and she’d never recovered from it. She was in hospital most of the time.’

‘And were you happy with that? The provisions of the will?’ It was another beautiful night. Warm, still, the air filled with the scent of honeysuckle.

‘It was OK with me. I had no feelings of ill-will towards Helena. Mostly I felt pity for her. She wasn’t right.’ She tapped her skull. ‘They’d had a baby after
Dominic, a little girl who died when she was a few months old.’

‘A cot death?’

‘Well, it seemed as if it was. But James told me that the psychiatrist who looked after Helena thought she might have . . . well, I don’t know, really, but she might have . .
.’

‘Done something to the child?’

‘James didn’t believe it. He was horrified that anyone would think she was capable of such a thing. He told me that the psychiatrist had some theory that Helena was trying to protect
the baby, trying to find a way to let her go to Heaven without having to suffer through her life. A way of bypassing the pain of the world. Something like that. But James didn’t go along with
it. He reckoned the doctor was trying to be too clever.’ She lifted her glass. Margaret reached over and refilled it. She remembered a case from her days as a psychiatrist in New Zealand. A
young woman who stabbed her two small daughters. She had wanted to die, but she couldn’t bear the thought that they would be left motherless. Her own mother had died when she was three. She
didn’t want her daughters to suffer as she had suffered. A neighbour heard the children screaming and tried to intervene. By the time he had broken down the door, the little girls were dead.
And their mother had retreated into a catatonic state. Margaret could still see the police photographs of the bedroom. Blood everywhere. And the girls’ bodies huddled in a corner. She shook
her head to get rid of the images.

‘Are you all right?’ Sally sat up on her deckchair and half turned towards her.

‘Yes.’ Margaret smiled. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She sipped some wine. ‘So your marriage and the will, what happened about it?’

‘Well, as I was saying, Helena went to court. She won the case so my marriage to James was declared bigamous. And because he had never changed his will, Helena inherited virtually
everything. But what really hurt was that Vanessa was not considered to be James’s legitimate child. However, in 1988 around the time James died, the law was changed so that children born
outside marriage were entitled to inherit. So I went to court on her behalf and I managed to extract maintenance from the estate. Enough to keep her clothed and fed and pay her school fees. Enough
to send her to university. And as well as that the court decided she should inherit some of James’s property. There’s a small cottage in Wicklow, a pretty little place, and she’ll
get that with a parcel of land, twenty acres I think it is, on her eighteenth birthday. In a couple of weeks’ time.’ Sally took a deep swallow of wine. ‘But, of course, it’s
much more difficult now, since Marina died there. In that place. I’m not sure I want Vanessa to have any part of it. Not now.’

Margaret stretched her arms above her head. ‘Does she have any contact with James’s son?’ she asked.

Sally shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to know. We haven’t seen him for years. There was a lot of bitterness, anger. Which was why it was so strange when Marina went to the
party at his house. She and Dominic, well, their relationship was fraught, to say the least.’

‘And you? What did you think of him?’

‘Me? Well, if I’m honest I thought he was a spoiled, arrogant brat. He made it very plain that he didn’t like me. But that was OK. I could understand that. He was very loyal to
his mother, devoted to her. I remember how he’d spend time with her, and when he came back to us again, he’d look like her. He’d have mannerisms, ways of speaking, that were
different. Actually,’ she looked away, ‘I felt sorry for Dominic that time, and it didn’t make it any easier for me. As far as he was concerned, I had usurped Helena’s
place. But I didn’t understand why he was so cruel and nasty to Marina and Tom. They were my children, not James’s. They didn’t want to be his children. They would never have
taken Dominic’s place or his love. And neither would I. James loved his son.’ She drained her glass. ‘Now. Time to go home.’ She got to her feet and held out her hand.

‘I’m sorry, Margaret. I’ve been very selfish tonight. You must have so much of your own pain to bear and all I’ve done is go on about myself.’ She picked up her
bag. Margaret leaned forward and kissed Sally’s cheek. She could feel the bone just below the surface of the skin. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll have my turn.
I’m sure there’ll be a night when you won’t be able to shut me up.’

They walked upstairs together. Sally called for Vanessa, stopped her protests and opened the front door.

‘Goodnight, and thanks for a lovely evening.’ She put her arms around Margaret and hugged her. ‘Come on, Vanessa, time to go home.’

Margaret stood on the step and watched them go through the front gate. A full moon hung over the sea casting its blue light across the garden. She closed the door and walked back down the steps
to the kitchen. She piled the dishes into the sink and wiped the table clean. Then she went outside. The next-door neighbours had planted jasmine against their wall. It had climbed high and was now
trailing its star-shaped white flowers through one of the old apple trees. The air was filled with its heavy, luscious scent.

Margaret sat down on a deckchair. She breathed in deeply. So Michael McLoughlin was coming to see Sally tomorrow. She wondered what he looked like now, if age had been kind to him. It has not
been kind to me, she thought, as she ran her hands over her forehead and down her cheeks, feeling the wrinkles, the loose skin. The jasmine was almost too much. It carried with it the odour of
decay, rot, putrefaction. She closed her eyes and images crowded in. She blinked and stood up. She went back into the kitchen and up the stairs. She sat down on the rocking-chair. Rock, rock, rock,
rock. The wooden runners drummed against the wooden floor. She stared out into the darkness.

Ben Roxby, death from a fall. Marina Spencer, death by drowning. Rosie Webb, née Atkinson, sister of Poppy, death by drug overdose. McLoughlin sat down at his computer
and tapped out their names on the keyboard. He highlighted and enlarged the type. Suicide or accident? Or was there some other reason? He swung around on his chair. And he wondered. Roxby’s
body was found by his wife when she came home after spending the night with her mother. Rosie’s body was found by the guards when the housekeeper called them. Who had found Marina’s
body? He picked up the phone and called Johnny Harris. Voicemail, as always. He left a message.

‘Johnny, just one thing I’m wondering. Who found Marina? It’ll be in the file somewhere. Could you give me a call? And while you’re at it, any more news about Rosie
Webb’s death? Thanks a mill. Hope you’re well. Talk to you soon. ’Bye.’

It was lunchtime when he got to Sally Spencer’s house in Monkstown. Her scruffy little dog greeted him with a chorus of yaps and a tail that was wagging so hard it looked
like it would fall off. Sally had prepared food for him. Cold meat and salad. She had laid a table in the garden. She poured him a glass of mineral water and topped it with a slice of lemon. She
looked better, he thought, as if she’d had a good night’s sleep. He said as much. She smiled. ‘Yes. I did sleep well last night. For the first time since Marina died.’

‘Good. It makes such a difference, doesn’t it?’ He sipped his fizzy water.

‘Yes, but it’s not just the sleep. I had a really nice evening. Vanessa and I had dinner with a friend. Funny the way these things work out. I’d never met her before,
she’s someone Vanessa’d got to know, but I was able to talk to her in a way that I haven’t been able to talk to lots of people I’ve known for years. I suppose it helps that
she’s lost a daughter too. Very different circumstances, but similarities. So, it was good.’ She busied herself with the vinaigrette. She poured it over the lettuce and mixed it
carefully. ‘Now, how have you been getting on?’

She listened while he talked. She didn’t interrupt. He told her about the messages on Marina’s phone and about the photographs. He told her about his visit to the school. He told her
about the death of Rosie Webb, and what he knew of the death of Ben Roxby.

‘Why didn’t the police find all this out?’ She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

‘Well, it seemed very straightforward to them, I suppose. And it probably is. None of this makes Marina’s suicide seem less likely. In fact, if anything, it makes it seem more
likely.’

She looked away, then back at him. ‘I had no idea she was worried about anything.’ Her voice was low and uncertain. ‘She seemed OK to me.’

‘What about this relationship with Mark Porter? Didn’t it strike you as odd, given their history?’ McLoughlin speared a small tomato with his fork.

She frowned. ‘Who told you about that?’

‘Poppy Atkinson, Rosie’s sister. And then, well, I’m afraid it’s part of Marina’s history. It’s there.’

‘It’s there, all right. Don’t think badly of her.’ Sally seemed close to tears. ‘I could never figure out what happened. It wasn’t like her. But she was very
unhappy at that school. I should have realized sooner. I know I had my own misery to deal with, but I feel responsible for everything that went on there. Marina looked almost like an adult, but
inside she was a child.’

McLoughlin helped himself to more salad. ‘So why the relationship with Mark? Where did that come from?’

‘It wasn’t a relationship as such, not romantic anyway. Marina had lost touch with the people from that school a long time ago. Then she’d bumped into Mark, and perhaps she
felt it was time to make amends. We never really talked about it, but she seemed to like him. The one thing that was odd though, was that she went to that party. I couldn’t understand
why.’

‘You knew about it before she went?’ McLoughlin rummaged through the salad, looking for a lump of feta. It was delicious.

‘I found out about it that day. I phoned her to check she was coming for lunch on Sunday, the day after. She often used to come for Sunday lunch. She was always so busy during the week
that I didn’t see much of her. So I phoned her. It was about eight o’clock on the Saturday evening. When she answered, the reception was bad. I kept losing her. So I asked her where she
was and she said she was up at the Lake House.’ Sally’s face was pale and tense now.

‘And you were surprised?’

‘Surprised? I was more than surprised. But before I could ask her anything about it, the signal went. I tried again and again, but it went straight to voicemail. So that was the last
conversation I had with her.’ She got up from the table and went into the kitchen, the dog following closely behind. McLoughlin finished off the salad.

When she came back she was carrying a large glass of white wine. ‘Sorry.’ She tried to smile, then sat down. ‘I can’t bear to think that was the last time we
spoke.’

‘The Lake House. I understand it’s very special.’ He sat back in his chair and wiped his hands on a white linen napkin.

‘It is – or it was when I used to go there – a bit dilapidated, run-down, but the place is absolutely wonderful. It has a magical quality. It’s tucked into a deep valley.
The lake is a perfect oval. It’s an amazing colour. Almost brown. Bog water, you know? And there are the most beautiful trees, the most exquisite beeches. And underneath them the ground is
springy with the shells of beech nuts. They call it mast, beech mast. Funny word, isn’t it? Old English, I think.’ She sipped her wine. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know
how to describe it. You’d have to go there to appreciate how beautiful it is.’ She was twiddling her wedding ring, ‘We were going to live there full time when James retired. I
thought he would have been bored, that country life wouldn’t suit him, but he said all he wanted was to be with me and Vanessa and that would be enough.’ Her eyes filled with tears. She
covered her face with her hands. He waited until the sobs abated. The dog whined softly.