The Story of Us (19 page)

Jack nodded in understanding.

‘You know the really crazy thing about all this?' I asked, aware I was about to share with him something I had never before admitted. ‘The one person who would be absolutely horrified with what I've done, with what I've left behind, is my mum. Well, Mum as she was, not as she is now. She was all about reaching as high as you can go, making the most of your potential, always looking for the next big goal. It's what made her such a fantastic teacher.' I paused. ‘I think she'd be disappointed to know how things have ended up.'

‘I don't think
anyone
could ever be disappointed in you,' said Jack.

It might, quite possibly, have been one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me.

He shifted slightly on the blanket, bringing us closer together, so that every time he breathed in, his shoulder jostled against mine. We stared out over the darkening lake, lost in our own thoughts.

‘So come on then, let's have it. What exactly happened between Tuesday evening and now which has made you question your fiancé?'

I sighed deeply. I'd been hoping that he wouldn't ask, but I guess it was partly my fault for having mentioned it in the first place. ‘Nothing has happened in the last few days. I've just put together a whole load of things that didn't make any sense and now… well, now I think they do.'

‘So tell me,' he urged. I drew in a deep cleansing breath, tried to marshal my thoughts, and for the next twenty minutes I shared it all with him. It was cathartic and crystallising, and as I heard the story unfold from my lips, I became even more convinced that I had reached the only logical conclusion.

Surprisingly, Jack differed in his opinion. ‘And that's it? That's all you've got?'

‘Huh?'

‘A phone number, a shapshot, a garbled apology and a very weird dream. And that's what's made you decide they were having an affair.'

‘I, well… I… yes. Isn't that enough? It sure sounded conclusive to me.'

Jack shook his head gently. ‘I can't believe I'm saying this, because – and I'm going to be frank here – your fiancé hasn't made the best impression in the world on me so far, but I really don't think you have enough here to hang him with. Nowhere near enough.'

I frowned, feeling torn. I wanted Richard to be innocent, of course I did. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that I had reached the right conclusion, the
only
conclusion, even if I had jumped to get there.

‘Honestly, Emma, this isn't nearly so black and white as I think you believe it is. All you have here is a bunch of clues, which you've sewn up together to form a picture, but the pieces could have gone together a hundred different ways, and you'd have an entirely different scenario. Clues don't prove someone's guilt or innocence, and sometimes there aren't
any
signs to read or to miss.' He picked up another stone and skimmed it across the lake.
‘
Sometimes shit just happens.'

Okay, I got it now; we weren't talking about my situation any longer, we were talking about
his.

‘
Sheridan?' I said tentatively, and I felt his shoulder jerk as though he'd been burned. He was quiet for a moment and I let him decide if he wanted to tell me what happened.

‘I came home early from a book tour and found her fucking my best friend.' I gave a sharp intake of breath at the bitter and brutal way he had said it. ‘In the shower, in our bathroom,' he added, as though the location was somehow pertinent.

I struggled for a moment to know what to say, trying to find just the right tone of empathy or sympathy. So God knows what possessed me to say, ‘I've never had sex in the shower.'

There was a moment of stunned silence, which I filled by groaning over and over in my head
Did I actually just
say
that?
But it turned out that it was the perfect response, for nothing else at that moment would have made him turn to me with that look of amazed surprise, or have made him laugh so hard that he actually looked like he was in pain.

When eventually he had control of himself Jack said almost curiously, ‘Nobody has been able to make me laugh as much as you can in a long, long time. You're an intriguing woman, Emma Marshall, and you continually surprise me.' I bit my lip, not sure how to respond to his words. Fortunately, he didn't seem to expect me to. ‘For your sake, I really
do
hope that this thing you're worried about with Richard and Amy is nothing at all like my own situation, that it's all just one big misunderstanding.'

His words filled me with a sudden wave of panic. I guessed I would know the answer to that, one way or another, by the following day.

There were two things I had worked out by morning: that you definitely
don't
need eight hours sleep a night, because I seriously doubted if I'd had eight hours in total over the entire week, and I was still functioning – well, sort of. The second thing was that it doesn't matter how much you prepare or rehearse whatever it is you want to say, some situations never go the way you had planned.

The coaches from Richard's skiing trip weren't due to return until six o'clock in the evening, but I got to the school car park an hour before that. I reversed into a corner space, half hidden beneath the boughs of a tree. It wasn't long before the car park began to fill with a procession of vehicles filing into the spaces around me. Despite the pleasantly warm early evening, I remained within my car, unlike the parents who were standing around in eager clusters, waiting for the return of their children. At just after six, the two coaches came rumbling down the school drive, scattering the groups of parents like ants. Richard was the first to alight from the lead coach, looking a little dishevelled and tired, which wasn't surprising after a twenty-hour journey. He quickly scanned the car park and saw my car beneath the tree. He gave a broad wave and a smile, then pulled out the clipboard tucked beneath his arm and began his final duties as tour leader, making sure each child was ticked off the list as they were collected, and went home with the correct passport.

At last Richard shook hands with the coach drivers, retrieved his holdall from the baggage compartment and trotted over to where I was parked. He opened the passenger door, jumped into the seat and managed to kiss me on the lips in one virtually seamless manoeuvre. I didn't push him away, but I didn't exactly respond either, a fact which he didn't seem to notice. ‘Hello, beautiful,' he said, settling himself back in the seat and smiling at me warmly. I tried to smile back, but it felt false and forced. ‘Sorry that took ages,' he apologised. ‘You've been waiting a long time?'

‘Not too long,' was all I offered in reply. I switched on the ignition, but before I could start the engine, Richard leaned across and turned it off again.

‘Hey, what's the rush?' he said, holding his arms out to me. ‘Come over here, woman.' There was a time, really not so very long ago, when those words would have brought a warm smile to my lips, and I'd have gone willingly into his arms. I tried to conjure up that feeling as he pulled me closer and, now that we had the car park to ourselves, proceeded to kiss me in a way which he certainly wouldn't have done had there been lingering parents or students still around. ‘God, I've missed you,' he murmured against my lips. Eventually, some of my reticence must have got through to him, for he pulled back and asked uncertainly, ‘Is everything okay? You seem a little…
off
.'

You have no idea, I thought. I shook my head and pasted another faux smile on my lips. I had no intention of getting into our discussion while we were still in range of the school's CCTV cameras. I'd already picked out my perfect location, and it wasn't here.

‘Just tired,' I said, and that certainly wasn't a lie. ‘I've not been sleeping too well recently.'

He tightened his arms around me in a hard squeeze. ‘That's because I've not been beside you,' he said, dropping his voice as he promised, ‘But we'll fix that tonight.'

Despite having a collection of anecdotes from the trip that he wanted to share with me, Richard still thoughtfully asked first about my mum and dad, before launching into his stories. That's what made all of this so impossible to believe: how could someone who so obviously cared about me, and every aspect of my life, do something so unthinkably cruel? It was so out of character.

He was busy regaling an amusing story of how he and two other teachers had accidentally got locked out of their rooms after some late-night sampling of the local beer, when he suddenly noticed that I had driven past the exit which would take us to his flat.

‘Hey, Emma, that was our turn-off.'

I took my eyes briefly from the road to look at him. ‘I thought we might go somewhere quiet first, just for a while.'

He frowned in puzzlement. ‘It's quiet in my flat.'

What I really wanted to say was
‘Somewhere neutral and isolated, somewhere I can scream at you, should that be the way things go, without anyone calling for the police.'

‘Yes, I know,' was what I actually replied, ‘but I thought it would be nice to go for a walk, maybe stretch your legs a little, after your long journey?'

‘What I'd
really
like is a nice hot shower and a back rub,' he said hopefully.

Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen. ‘Come on, Richard,' I said in what I hoped was just the right sort of inviting tone, ‘let's go for a walk, we won't be long.'

He studied me carefully, before settling back into his seat, a doubtful expression in his eyes, which meant that he was just beginning to realise that something might be wrong. Welcome to the party.

I was heading for Farnham Ravine. It was a dramatic scenic area some fifteen miles from our home, and was a favourite summertime spot with hikers and day-trippers alike. Tall pines flanked the edges and sides of a steep rocky ravine, and in one of her earlier paintings my mother had perfectly captured the rays of dazzling sunlight piercing down through the lacy network of branches. Richard was quiet for most of the drive, and when I glanced over at him I discovered why: he was
asleep
. For some reason that made me incredibly and irrationally angry. We reached the small visitor parking area, and I slammed a little harder on the brakes than was strictly necessary, which brought him awake with a grunt.

‘We're here,' I announced, unclipping my seat belt and surveying the car park, which was empty except for our vehicle. Good. No one around to disturb us.

Richard peered out through the windscreen, and rubbed his eyes as he read the welcome sign. ‘Farnham Ravine? What are we doing here?'

I didn't answer, but got out of the car and headed towards a sign directing visitors to the footpath. I could hear the crunch of Richard's footsteps on the gravel surface behind me, but I didn't slow down, forcing him to jog for a moment until he caught me up.

‘Emma? What's all this about?'

I shook my head but didn't reply, just quickened my pace. I was just this side of being out of breath when I eventually turned to face him. We had travelled only a short distance along the rough dirt footpath; to one side of us was an imposing battalion of tall pines and to the other was the steep rocky drop to the foot of the ravine, some thirty metres below. Now that the moment was finally here, I didn't know where to begin, which was insane because I'd been practising this for days.

‘Emma, what on earth is up? You're beginning to scare me now.'

I took a deep breath in, and then released it slowly. ‘It's about Amy,' I said, carefully studying his face for a reaction. I saw nothing except genuine bewilderment. Could it be that I might actually be
wrong
about all of this?

‘What about her?' The wind was gusting along the path, gently lifting his dark blond hair from his forehead. Part of me instinctively wanted to reach out and smooth it back into place. Another part of me wanted to slap him. I gripped my hand at the wrist, unsure as to whether I could trust it not to end up doing either of those things – or both.

‘There was something she said to me… on the night she died. When she was lying on the road and we were waiting for the ambulances to arrive.'

There it was. The reaction I had been intently looking out for. His eyes flickered for a moment and he swallowed visibly. ‘What did she say?' There was a thread of something in his tone that I couldn't identify; it wasn't exactly guilt, but it was certainly apprehension.

‘She thanked me for forgiving her.'

‘Why?'

‘I was hoping
you
could tell
me
that.'

He ran his hand through his hair, causing even more disarray than the wind had done. ‘How should I know? She was
your
friend.'

‘Was she?'

His eyes flew to mine, his expression confused and angry. ‘What sort of a stupid question is that? Of course she was. You three girls were like sisters. You did everything together, you told each other everything. Why ask
me
this?'

‘Well, it looks like we possibly didn't tell each other
quite
as much as everyone thought.'

Was that relief I saw on his face – that I didn't know what Amy had actually meant? Perhaps. Like a warrior in a battle, I continued to charge on. ‘Because I think Amy may have been sleeping with someone, maybe with someone she shouldn't have been…' I paused, not for dramatic effect, but because the words were just so damn hard and painful to say. ‘And I think it might have been you.'

I had worked out about fifty different ways the conversation might go from there. But I hadn't once considered the way things actually went down. Richard's face froze for a moment and then his stunned and impassive expression dissolved into one of someone in agonising pain.