In Too Deep (27 page)

For what he would tell Rick.

He’d made me feel so special that I’d barely noticed what had been happening right under my nose. It had begun as a mistake that I thought I could somehow cast off, get over, perhaps even confess to, yet it ended as a nightmare.

‘That promotion is not for you,’ Adrian said once when an opportunity came up. There was a look held too long. A flicker of a raised eyebrow. A tiny swallow at just the right moment.

‘You’re right,’ I said quietly, even though Rick and I needed the money. ‘I won’t bother applying.’

It only ever took a look – a look that told me the consequences in one slow blink; a look that made me regularly
hand over my dead-cert clients to him, as well as have me take the blame for any careless mistakes he’d made. A look that kept me coming back for more.

But it was OK, I told myself, dishevelled, exhausted and often late home from a hasty fumble in the back room. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. This type of thing always went on in offices. I could stop it at any time, and it wasn’t hurting anyone. It was barely anything, in fact. Adrian was just a headstrong idiot with a big ego.

Laughable, really. Yes, one day soon I’d be laughing about it. Forgetting it.

All those disgusting kisses. His hands everywhere.

But then Rick came into the office that Friday afternoon to surprise me. To take me out for supper. To be kind.

‘Looks like an inside job, if you ask me,’ Adrian says, turning away from the back door. ‘It’s all secure.’

‘What do you mean?’ I feel myself redden.

‘Someone’s been using a key,’ he says, pointing to fresh footprints on the pale tiles leading in through the door. ‘No broken windows or jimmied locks.’

He tosses the house keys from one hand to the other, making a jingling sound.

‘You’re not supposed to take keys home.’

‘I know, but—’

‘And especially not on . . .
holiday
. Even if it is only down the road.’ He laughs. ‘Benidorm all booked up, was it?’

‘That’s unfair,’ I say, following him into the hall. I want to scream, thump him, but I know it’s pointless. ‘You didn’t bring me here to show me plans, did you?’

He turns to face me again, his hand resting on the banister.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You brought me here to show me it’s my fault that there are squatters because I was forgetful with the keys.’ I glare at him, knowing I won’t be able to hold it long.

‘Oh Gina,’ he says, reaching out for me. ‘You’re always so paranoid.’

I feel the tears welling up. I sidestep around him before he gets his hands on me, heading for the front door. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop me.

I dash down the front steps, calling back up to him that I’ll see him in the office later in the week. My voice just about holds out.

Back in the car, I listen to a message from Steph, explaining that Adrian will be meeting me instead of her. I toss the phone on to the passenger seat. Resting my head back for a moment, I play over what just happened.

I can’t get out of my mind what Adrian said about Rick and, as I drive off, his words run through my thoughts.

But are you certain he’d do something like that for you?

‘No,’ I say quietly to myself, turning left instead of right on to the main road. ‘No, I’m not certain at all.’

Which is why I’m heading back home.

Cooper needs to go out, so I pull on a sweatshirt and slip into my trainers, making it through the foyer without anyone seeing me. When Mum gets back, I’m going to convince her it’s time to leave. I only agreed to stay so as not to upset her, but I can’t do it any more. Not now. Not after last night.

‘Come on, boy,’ I say, tugging gently on Cooper’s lead. He’s sniffing the base of a stone urn, suddenly not in any hurry to get to the spinney.

We walk on down the lawn, my mind churning with worry, still unable to believe that Tom is here. For a second I consider that Mum had something to do with it, that she knew Tom was Susan’s son and orchestrated our meeting, but that doesn’t make sense because it was Dad who originally booked the break for him and Mum.

More paranoid thoughts about Susan, about Tom and about the man from the pub flood my mind, wringing out into the start of a migraine as I trail after Cooper.

What do they know?

‘Wait up!’

The voice startles me. I swing round to see Tom running after me.

I pick up my pace, hoping to disappear into the wooded area before he catches up, but it’s no use. By the time I reach the metal railings he’s by my side.

‘Why are you avoiding me?’ he says breathlessly. He’s wearing the old sweatshirt that I used to pull on when I stayed over in his room. It makes me want to hug him, hold him close for ever. But I can’t. Not any more.

‘Just because,’ I say, shrugging and staring around to see where Cooper’s gone.

‘You owe me more than that, Hannah.’

I climb over the fence and Tom follows. He sticks beside me.

‘You dumped me without explanation, refuse my calls and texts, then turn up at my home expecting me to shrug it all off?’ He shakes his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say robotically. ‘I didn’t want to come here. And I had no idea this is where you live.’ It’s all true, even though it sounds unbelievable. ‘If you’d bothered to tell me more about your home life, then I’d have known your Mum ran a hotel.’ I draw breath. ‘Can’t you get it into your head? It’s over between us.’ I fix my gaze on the trees, the stumps, the twisty path that leads through the woods. ‘Finished.’

I walk on.

‘No, Hannah. I won’t accept that. Not without a
reason. We were good together. You said it yourself. You said you loved me, and you knew how much I loved you back.’

His hand is on my arm, gentle at first but then the pressure increases as he tries to slow me down. I swing round to face him. His eyes are dark and pleading, knowing this is his only chance to find out the truth. I must make sure he doesn’t.

‘I’m sorry.’ I scuff the ground between us. He lifts my chin with his finger.

‘Not good enough.’

I swallow. I hear Cooper trotting through the undergrowth.

‘Believe me, I did you a favour.’

‘You didn’t,’ Tom says. ‘I miss you, Hannah. After you ended things, I came home for a while too. I couldn’t face life without you.’

‘That’s not why
I
went home, just so you’re clear,’ I say, though it’s a lie. It comes out way too harsh, but I need to get him off my back.

‘Why are you being like this? Did someone say something to you? Was someone spreading rumours about me?’

Tom paces about, kicking the mushy leaves underfoot, pushing his hands through his hair. ‘Christ, I don’t even have any jealous exes who’ve got it in for me. I just don’t understand what this is about.’

I swallow and walk off again, calling Cooper, who’s run way ahead. Even the new hard-hearted Hannah is
finding this tough going. I daren’t look at him in case he spots it in my eyes, sees it written all over my face.

It was the day after I’d broken up with Tom that I went home to Oxford. I only took a small holdall – things I’d crammed into a bag without thinking what I’d need. On the coach I’d sat numb, unable to think about anything other than that letter, let alone make up plausible excuses as to why I was back early. I rested my forehead against the cold glass of the window and watched the world streak past in flashes of colour, wondering if I’d ever be a part of it again.

I phoned Mum from the coach station, but there was no reply so I took a taxi. In hindsight, it was a relief they hadn’t met me – I couldn’t face them right away – plus it allowed me more time to think what to say.

When the taxi dropped me home, Mum and Dad still weren’t back. I had my keys, so I let myself in and ran straight up to my room. I needed to wash my face, freshen up, make it seem as if nothing much was up. That I was just homesick. Or bogged down with work and needed a few days to catch up. Truth is, I didn’t know if I could ever go back.

And then it occurred to me.

I should
let
them think the truth. Well,
almost
the truth.

I’d come home because I was devastated that a boy had broken up with me. The boy of my dreams. My love. My best friend. The boy I’d invested so much in, even though we’d only been seeing each other a couple of months.

He’d smashed my heart to pieces.

That much at least was true.

That way, I knew they’d give me space. That Mum would come up and sit on my bed, telling me how I shouldn’t let a boy ruin my degree, that if I missed too many lectures I’d fall behind. She’d hug me, make me soup, watch funny movies with me, and not moan when I stayed in my PJs all day. Then she’d gently encourage me back to my studies, most likely driving me to my university halls with a week’s worth of home-cooked meals for the freezer.

Meantime, Dad would instinctively stay out of the way, knowing this was Mum’s job, that she was the only one who would be allowed into my inner sanctum of teenage misery.

Truth be known, I couldn’t face him as well as Mum. It seemed the perfect solution.

The perfect solution until they came home, arguing furiously about something, stealing my emotional thunder. I listened, thinking how foreign their raised voices sounded. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d ever heard them like this.

They didn’t know I was upstairs. In my self-centred little world, I’d overlooked the fact that they may not even notice I was home. I watched from the top of the stairs as they brought in the groceries, listening to the sniper fire chopping back and forth.

Is this what it’s like while I’m away?
I wondered. Was all that happy family life fake, put on for show?

But then Mum spotted my trainers lying on the stairs, and they instantly snapped back into parental mode, forgetting whatever had gone between them.

I never learned what they were arguing about. Just that it was swift and sharp, with Dad’s voice cutting to Mum’s core, and her soaking it up, taking it on the chin. Tears in her eyes.

Something about work. About a dinner.

‘Hi,’ I said, standing awkwardly at the top of the stairs. ‘I’m back.’

‘Hannah . . .’ they both said together. Mum came up.

‘What are you doing home?’

I looked down at Dad. He was carrying the shopping through to the kitchen. I shrugged, thankful I’d put on make-up after washing my face.

‘Love?’ Mum took hold of my shoulders. ‘What’s happened?’

She led me into my bedroom and sat me on my bed. She saw my holdall dumped on the floor, a jumble of clothes spilling out. I lay down and curled up into a ball.

‘Oh sweetheart, nothing is that bad, is it?’

I shrugged.

‘Aren’t you enjoying university?’

Another shrug.

‘Is it the work? Is it too much for you? You know we’re here for you. We’ll help you get through this.’

I shook my head.

Mum sighed. ‘Is it boy troubles already?’ She said it
with a small laugh, as if that would be the preferable option.

I didn’t move. Held my breath.

After a few more moments, Mum said, ‘I see.’ She rubbed my back. ‘OK.’

‘I’m sorry for being pathetic,’ I squeaked.

‘What you need, young lady, is a few days at home, some decent food and a lot of distraction in the form of box sets and trashy magazines.’

I managed a little smile. Trying to force
it
from my mind.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said. I’d not exactly lied.

And it went from there. A chain of whispers from me to Mum, Mum to Dad – who, thankfully, kept right out of it – and back to me again. It was just about all I could manage, and whatever had happened with the pair of them that afternoon seemed to blow over pretty quickly.

It wasn’t until the following Friday that my world fell apart completely.

And the day after that, Dad went out to buy a newspaper.

Even though I’ve only been away a few days, it feels like weeks. I unlock the front door and pick up the letters lying on the mat. A couple of circulars have Rick’s name on them, plus a bank statement.

I keep hold of that one as I head up to his study. I’ve been opening all his mail in case anything throws light on what might have happened to him, but so far there’s been nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t know what I’m expecting. A postcard from his killer? A postcard from
him
?

It’s a dull morning so I flick on the light and sit down at Rick’s desk, allowing myself to sink backwards into his office chair, moulding against the shape of it. The shape of Rick.

I compose myself before taking the red file from the desk cupboard where he keeps his bank papers. The police brought everything back in the same order I gave it to them. I open the latest bank statement envelope – showing no activity, of course – and put it at the front of the file on top of last month’s.

Then I flip back through the pages. Eventually I get to
November’s sheets, but go back even further to the start of October, just in case. One by one, I go over each transaction, running my finger down the columns.

I’ve pored over them before, of course, the income and spending seeming familiar and predictable. But now, for my peace of mind, I need to check again. I want to be sure I didn’t miss anything.

But as I pass 29 November, the date Rick disappeared, I find no payments to Fox Court or indeed any hotel, and certainly no amounts equalling what I reckon he’d have paid for our stay.

I pull out another couple of files containing Rick’s credit card statements. I do the same again, going right back into August this time in case Susan was mistaken about when he booked.

But there are no payments to the hotel anywhere. Supermarkets, petrol stations, the local Chinese takeaway, a few clothing stores, the vet’s practice as well as a couple of amounts for train tickets are the only items showing up. There’s simply nothing unusual.

Feeling panicky, I scan it all again, but starting even further back in time. There’s no way he’d have paid for the break before then, especially as Susan said Rick had taken advantage of their online offer.