Lie With Me (22 page)

I went to the bathroom after the meal, stared at my face in the mirror, tried to make it look relaxed, normal. I had a cigarette and was gone longer than I intended. When I got back to the table, only Tina was sitting there. The others, she told me, had wandered off – some to buy ice creams, others ‘to get some air’. Yvonne was feeling emotional, she admitted. Alice had offered to walk her home.

‘Did she want Alice to walk her home?’ I asked.

Tina smiled, raising her eyebrows very slightly. ‘I don’t think she felt she had a choice.’

The waiter brought the bill over and asked if we were ready to pay, or whether we would wait for our companions. I threw my head back and stared at the roof.

‘My turn, I suppose,’ I said, straightening up. I took my wallet out of my pocket and eased out my credit card, careful to shield the condoms as I did so. ‘I think I said I would get this one.’

Tina turned the bill over and winced. ‘Let’s go halves,’ she said. ‘It’s quite hefty.’

‘Thank fuck,’ I said, settling in my chair once our cards had been accepted and returned.

She laughed, studying me. ‘Poor Paul,’ she said.

I sat back, expecting another of our cosy chats, a comfy corner carved out of our mutual isolation, perhaps a nightcap. The restaurant was emptying out, and a song that I liked was playing – a jazz standard that made me want to click my fingers and sway. I had an aggression or a sadness in me that needed releasing. But Tina didn’t seem to share my mood. Poor Tina. I wouldn’t have told her about Daisy, even if I hadn’t promised not to. She had enough worries of her own. She breathed in sharply and stood up. ‘I think I might join the kids in an ice cream,’ she said. ‘Do us a favour and nip to the supermarket? We need mineral water and toilet paper, and more coffee for the morning. I think that’s it, don’t you? Unless you can think of anything else we’re out of?’

I shrugged, having no clue about what the house needed or didn’t need.

‘OK then,’ she said. ‘I told the others we’d meet at the car in fifteen minutes or so.’

She left the restaurant, waving at the owner who was drinking with a friend by the door. I downed my glass of wine and finished what remained of hers, and after a few moments, I followed suit.

The village was busy, as it always was at that hour, that tide-turning moment when families were starting to leave and young people were streaming in. From the nightclub across the bay, music throbbed, a heavy bass, with the intermittent high shriek of a whistle. Coloured lights flashed and strobed.

I wandered slowly up to the supermarket. It was bright in there, and hot. Three men hovered by the alcohol. In the bakery section, the pastries looked shrivelled. I bought what we needed, and walked out into the square, idly looking around. I was about to walk up to the car, when on the other side of the street, I caught sight of Andrew going into Nico’s. I crossed over quickly, assuming he was returning to pay the bill and looking forward to telling him that I had dealt with it, but inside there was no sign of him. I scanned the street, and again I thought I saw him, heading in the direction of the nightclub.

It was hard work to pass with any speed through the meandering holidaymakers. I managed to keep his head in sight until my foot caught the back of a sandal, and the person wearing it, a large man with bulbous calves, turned to glare. I apologised but, in that fraction of a second, I lost concentration. When I reached Club 19, at the end of the strip, Andrew had disappeared.

Four teenage girls in tight skirts and heels were pausing at the entrance, to pull down their skirts, to shake out their hair, before going through the door.

I was curious. I followed them in.

The club, dimly lit and still quite empty, had a bar and a few tables. A young boy in wide jeans and a tight white shirt was standing behind the decks, big metal watch dangling from his wrist, headphones strung around his neck. Several teenage girls were swaying self-consciously against the walls. Up close, their skin flashed blue, and yellow and red.

I stood for a moment, shopping bags dangling. Girls in hats and denim shorts, and tiny off-the-shoulder black dresses, legs and lashes, eyeliner, trembling clavicles. The music, the thump and grind, the ear-aching drone. And I knew, with sudden clarity, that I’d been here before. I’d met a girl that night after I’d split from Saffron and gone back with her to her rented room. And if I didn’t remember much else it was because she was just one girl in a stream of girls. And how old I felt now, how
beyond
all that. All I wanted, I realised, was to leave it all behind. Now I’d met Alice, it was within my grasp. I could be
that
person.

I leant against the wall, exhausted by my own life, by the
fucking
snare
of it.

I didn’t hear him enter. Who could have, above the noise? The room had filled anyway by then. What was one more person, one more body?

How long had he been there? Not long. A few minutes, seconds, before I turned and saw him.

He raised his eyebrows at me, tilting his chin. I let a beat pass, trapped, and then I crossed the room.

‘Mr Morris,’ he said, when I reached him.

‘Lieutenant Gavras.’

He bent to speak in my ear. ‘This reminds me of that famous English chat-up line. Do you come here often?’

I pulled away, smiling. ‘Only once or twice.’

He fixed me with his gaze, his brows heavy. ‘I thought you said you were too old for places of this nature?’

‘I am, but I’m looking for Andrew. I thought I saw him come in.’

‘You weren’t looking for a date?’

‘No. Of course not. I’ve got a date.’

He nodded a couple of times, sticking out his lower lip. ‘Mrs Mackenzie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Delicate woman. Needs looking after.’

‘It’s funny – you’re the second person to have described her as delicate. But yes.’

‘So make sure you do.’

Chapter Sixteen

The others were waiting in the lay-by when I got there. Bats swooped above their heads. Fireflies flickered. I apologised for being late. I didn’t mention my encounter with Gavras. I told them I thought I’d seen Andrew heading into the nightclub and followed out of curiosity. ‘Not me, mate,’ Andrew said, slapping me on the shoulder. He seemed to have picked up some of Karl’s mannerisms, in that irritatingly chameleon-like way of his. ‘Sure it wasn’t some hot piece of skirt? Time to get the old eyesight checked out, if not. It starts declining at your age.’

I squashed up next to Alice in the back of the car. She kept sighing on the drive up to the house. ‘Glad that’s over,’ she said to everyone; and more quietly to me, ‘Thanks for making so much effort with Karl.’

Andrew let out a guffaw from the front. ‘Did you hear him tell Paul he was “on the replenishment side of customer services”? You know what that means, don’t you?’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Shelf-stacker!’

‘I liked him,’ I said.

Alice put her hand on my thigh and gave it a squeeze.

‘I can understand why the police might have been suspicious at first,’ I added. ‘Because of the way he looks, I suppose – but he’d known Jasmine since she was a baby. I think he genuinely loved her.’

‘To be honest,’ Alice said, ‘he did most of the parenting.’

I looked at her, surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Yvonne wasn’t particularly maternal.’

I thought about this more the next morning when Yvonne and Karl arrived for an early swim. Karl was wearing shorts and sandals, both of which looked brand new, but Yvonne was swamped in a wrap-dress, which might have been another of Alice’s cast-offs. Her hair was loose, hanging in curtains on either side of her narrow face, and Alice fetched her a flowery hair-clip, standing back to admire how it looked. She seemed to be peeling off bits of herself and giving them to her. I think if she could have given Yvonne slivers of her own skin she would have done so. She would have flayed herself alive.

Yvonne didn’t thank Alice for the clip, and I saw her pull it out a bit later, yanking out a piece of hair. She wasn’t grateful for her beneficence; she was
bearing
it. And of course this was understandable. Here was Alice so desperate to make things right, when Yvonne must be thinking nothing – none of Alice’s silly little offerings – would ever make it right. But I didn’t like Yvonne much. I felt guilty even thinking it. But there was something cold, and beady, about her. I know it seems a bit unfair to judge her on this – she’d lost a child, she should have been allowed to do what she liked for the rest of her life – but she didn’t laugh at people’s jokes, or even try to laugh. Not remotely. And most people do, whatever has happened to them, so it was just odd.

It was a humid, slightly overcast day – thin white clouds were layered across the sky – and in the dull uniform light, the terrace and the pool looked grubby and grey. It wasn’t just the presence of Yvonne and Karl that ruined the atmosphere; it was also the weather. You get used to the sun and when it goes it leaves everyone feeling flat.

I volunteered to help Tina make coffee and, alone in the kitchen, I heard myself say: ‘Did anyone ever look at Yvonne for Jasmine . . . I mean was
she
ever a suspect?’

Tina bit her lip, almost laughed. ‘Paul. Sssh. Don’t.’

‘No, but seriously,’ I said. ‘All those press conferences we’ve seen with weeping parents when it turns out one of them did it. Wasn’t there that poor kid in Wales? Jasmine and Yvonne were always at each other, Karl says. Perhaps it was a fight that got out of hand.’

‘I thought it was Karl who was always fighting with Jasmine.’

‘He says it was her.’

Tina poured hot water on to the coffee grounds. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know either of them very well. It’s always been Andrew and Alice who had the relationship. You know, I was up at the house with the kids when it all kicked off. I slept through it. It wasn’t until the next morning I even found out what had happened. By which time, the police were everywhere. God. It was all so awful.’ She shuddered. ‘Of course Yvonne didn’t have anything to do with it. She’s her mother. Alice wouldn’t have stood by her all this time, fought so hard to find Jasmine, if she had had the slightest inkling or doubt.’

‘I’m just not sure. I’ve got this funny feeling about her.’

Tina smiled. ‘OK, Inspector Morse. Why don’t you bring it up with Lieutenant Gavras next time you see him?’

Down at the pool, Karl and Yvonne were sitting, fully dressed, in the shade. Daisy and Phoebe were sunbathing, in tiny bikinis. Alice was ploughing up and down the pool in her Speedo and Andrew was standing at the edge of the small copse, on his phone. The builders hadn’t started yet, but the dog was barking.

I laid the tray down on the metal table next to Yvonne and handed out the cups. ‘Ta,’ Karl said. He was looking tired, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Butler service. Very nice.’

Yvonne dropped sugar cubes in her cup and stirred it with a spoon, round and round. Karl put his hand on hers to make her stop.

Alice swam to the end of the pool and rested her arms on the side. ‘You wonder if that poor animal ever sleeps.’

‘Maybe someone should put it out of its misery,’ I said.

‘You’re nice.’ Phoebe lifted her head to scowl at me. ‘Maybe someone should put
you
out of your misery.’

Andrew returned his phone to his pocket. ‘It’s unliveable with,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask Artan to deal with it, tell him to get a bit heavy. He speaks their language.’

‘Does he?’ I said.

Daisy looked up, caught my eye and then looked away.

‘I meant metaphorically,’ Andrew said. ‘Gosh.’ He looked me up and down. ‘You’re certainly getting good wear out of my trunks. We never got to buy you a replacement pair, did we?’

‘Sorry,’ I said.

He waved his hand dismissively, as if it was of no consequence. But he’d mentioned it on purpose, in front of an audience, to make me feel small, and it worked.

‘Now, listen up everyone, I’ve booked us a treat.’

He stood there in his crisp black polo with its crisp white piping, his over-long pressed shorts, his legs apart, his chin disappearing into his neck, waiting for one of us to ask.

Tina spoke first. ‘Do tell,’ she said.

‘I’ve made some calls and . . . well, I’ve booked us a yacht – a thirty-footer with skipper. We’ll do some fishing, have lunch on board, swim. Would you like that, Jasmine?’

A ghastly moment in which he realised what he had said.

‘Yvonne, I mean.’

She looked over to him. There was nothing in her face to show she had noticed. ‘Yes. It would be something to do.’

Both teenage girls had sat up, suddenly perky, and even Tina was nodding in an appreciative way.

‘I think that sounds perfectly heavenly.’ Alice pulled herself out of the water and grabbed a towel, wiping the chlorine out of her eyes. She laid a wet hand on his shoulder. ‘What a clever man you are to think of it.’

What a clever man you are to think of it.

I felt a surge of anger. It was her subservience that triggered it, but it had been building: the cheap comment about the swimming trunks, Phoebe’s sarcasm, the humidity, the dog, the fact that I was feeling sex-
starved
, Alice having turned her back on me the night before. At some point I’d tell him what his daughter had been up to, watch him squirm. But in the meantime, no way was I setting foot on his yacht.

‘I’ll get the boys up and sorted,’ Tina said, heading for the path.

‘Tell them not to forget suntan lotion,’ Alice called. ‘Cloud cover is deceptive.’

No one had asked my opinion. No one had asked if I wanted to go on a boat trip or if I wanted to do something
different
. (By no one, of course, I meant Alice.) I might just as well have not existed.

I returned to the bedroom and got Michael’s guidebook out of my bag.

I was lying on the bed, flicking through it, when Alice walked in.

‘The builders are back,’ she said. ‘We’re leaving at the right time. You ready?’