I Let You Go (33 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her.’

‘Is it me?’ Kate said.

‘No, don’t think that. She’s been in a funny mood recently. She’s worried about Tom, I think.’ He gave a reassuring smile. ‘It’ll be my fault – it usually is.’

They heard Mags come back downstairs, and when she next appeared she was carrying a plate of brownies and a jug of cream.

‘Actually, Mags,’ Kate said, standing up, ‘I think I’m going to pass on dessert.’

‘Would you rather have some fruit? I’ve got melon, if you’d prefer?’

‘No, it’s not that. I’m just knackered. It’s been a long old week. Dinner was lovely, though, thank you.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Mags put down the brownies. ‘I never congratulated you on the Gray job – Ray tells me it was all down to you. That’s a good result to have on your CV this early on.’

‘Oh well, it was a joint effort, really,’ Kate said. ‘We’re a good team.’

Ray knew she meant the whole CID team, but she glanced at Ray as she said it, and he didn’t dare look at Mags.

They stood in the hall and Mags kissed Kate on the cheek. ‘Come and see us again, won’t you? It was lovely meeting you.’ Ray hoped he was the only one who could hear the insincerity in his wife’s voice. He said goodbye to Kate, having a moment of indecision over whether to kiss her. He decided it would be odd if he didn’t, and kept it as brief as possible, but he felt Mags’s eyes on him and was relieved when Kate set off down the path and the door was shut and locked behind her.

‘Well, I don’t think I can resist those brownies,’ he said with a cheeriness he didn’t feel. ‘Are you having some?’

‘I’m dieting,’ Mags said. She went into the kitchen and unfolded the ironing board, filling the iron with water and waiting for it to heat up. ‘I’ve put a Tupperware in the fridge with rice and chilli for Stumpy – will you take it in tomorrow? He won’t have eaten properly if he’s at the hospital all night tonight, and he won’t feel like cooking tomorrow.’

Ray brought his bowl through to the kitchen, and ate standing up. ‘That’s good of you.’

‘He’s a nice guy.’

‘He is. I work with a great bunch of people.’

Mags was silent for a while. She picked up a pair of trousers and began ironing them. When she spoke it was casual, but she pressed the tip of the iron hard against the fabric.

‘She’s pretty.’

‘Kate?’

‘No, Stumpy.’ Mags looked at him, exasperated. ‘Of course Kate.’

‘I suppose so. I’ve never really thought about it.’ It was a ridiculous lie – Mags knew him better than anyone.

She raised an eyebrow, but Ray was relieved to see her smile. He risked a gentle tease. ‘Are you jealous?’

‘Not a jot,’ Mags said. ‘In fact, if she’ll do the ironing, she can move in.’

‘I’m sorry I told her about Tom,’ Ray said.

Mags pressed a button on the iron and a cloud of steam hissed on to the trousers. She kept her eyes on the iron as she spoke. ‘You love your job, Ray, and I love that you love it. It’s a part of you. But it’s as though the kids and I exist in the background. I feel invisible.’

Ray opened his mouth to protest, but Mags shook her head.

‘You talk more to Kate than you do to me,’ she said. ‘I could see it this evening – that connection between you. I’m not daft, I know what it’s like when you’re working all hours with someone: you talk to them, of course you do. But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me too.’ She forced out another burst of steam and pushed the iron harder across the board, back and forth, back and forth. ‘Nobody’s ever laid on their death bed wishing they had spent more time at work,’ she said. ‘But our kids are growing up and you’re missing it. And before too long they’ll be gone and you’ll be retired, and it’ll be me and you, and we won’t have anything to say to each other.’

It wasn’t true, Ray thought, and he tried to find the words to say so, but they stuck in his throat and he found himself simply shaking his head as though he could make her words go away. He thought he heard Mags sigh, but it might have just been another cloud of steam.

You never forgave me for that night in Venice. You never lost that watchfulness, and you never again gave yourself up to me completely. Even when the bruise had faded from the bridge of your nose, and we could have forgotten all about it, I knew you were still thinking about it. I knew from the way your eyes followed me across the room when I went to get a beer, and from the hesitation in your voice before you answered me, although you told me constantly you were fine.

We went out for dinner on our anniversary. I had found you a leather-bound book on Rodin, in the antique bookshop in Chapel Road, and I wrapped it in the newspaper I had saved from our wedding day.

‘The first anniversary is paper,’ I reminded you, and your eyes lit up.

‘It’s perfect!’ You folded the newspaper carefully and slipped it inside the book, where I had written a note:
For Jennifer, who I love more each day
, and you kissed me hard on the lips. ‘I do love you, you know,’ you said.

Sometimes I wasn’t sure, but I never doubted the way I felt about you. I loved you so much it frightened me; I didn’t realise it was possible to want someone so badly you would do anything to keep them. If I could have taken you away to a desert island, away from everyone, I would have done it.

‘I’ve been asked to take a new adult education class,’ you said, as we were shown to our table.

‘What’s the money like?’

You screwed up your nose. ‘Pretty dreadful, but it’s a therapy course offered at a subsidised rate to people with depression. I think it’ll be a really worthwhile thing to do.’

I snorted. ‘That sounds like a bundle of laughs.’

‘There’s a strong link between creative pursuits and people’s moods,’ you said. ‘It would be great to know I was helping their recovery, and it’s only for eight weeks. I should be able to fit it in around my other classes.’

‘As long as you still have time for your work.’ Your pieces were in five shops in the city now.

You nodded. ‘It’ll be fine. My regular orders are all manageable, and I’ll limit the number of commissions I take for a while. Mind you, I didn’t expect to end up doing quite so much teaching – I shall have to cut down next year.’

‘Well, you know what they say,’ I said, with a laugh. ‘Those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach!’

You said nothing.

Our food arrived and the waiter made a fuss of pulling out your napkin and pouring the wine.

‘I was thinking it might be a good idea for me to open a separate bank account for the business,’ you said.

‘Why do you need to do that?’ I wondered who had suggested that to you, and why you had been discussing our finances with them.

‘It might be easier when I do my tax return. You know, if everything’s in one account.’

‘It’ll only mean extra paperwork for you,’ I said. I cut my steak in half to check it was cooked the way I liked it, and carefully removed the fat to place on the side of my plate.

‘I don’t mind.’

‘No, it’s easier if it all carries on going into mine,’ I said. ‘After all, I’m the one who pays the mortgage and the bills.’

‘I suppose so.’ You picked at your risotto.

‘Do you need more cash?’ I said. ‘I can give you more housekeeping money this month if you like.’

‘Maybe a little.’

‘What do you need it for?’

‘I thought I might go shopping,’ you said. ‘I could do with some new clothes.’

‘Why don’t I come with you? You know what you’re like when you buy clothes – you’ll choose things that look awful when you get home, and you’ll end up taking half of them back.’ I laughed, and reached across the table to squeeze your hand. ‘I’ll take some time off work and we’ll make a day of it. We’ll have lunch somewhere nice and then we’ll hit the shops and you can hammer my credit card as much as you like. Does that sound good?’

You nodded, and I concentrated on my steak. I ordered another bottle of red wine, and by the time I had finished it we were the last couple in the restaurant. I left too big a tip and fell against the waiter when he brought my coat.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said, ‘he’s had a bit too much to drink.’

The waiter smiled politely, and I waited until we were outside before I took your arm and pinched it between my thumb and forefinger. ‘Don’t ever apologise for me.’

You were shocked. I don’t know why – wasn’t this what you had been expecting since Venice?

‘I’m sorry,’ you said, and I released your arm and took your hand instead.

It was late when we got home, and you went straight upstairs. I turned off the downstairs lights and joined you, but you were already in bed. When I got in next to you, you turned to me and kissed me, running your hands down my chest.

‘I’m sorry, I love you,’ you said.

I closed my eyes and waited for you to slip beneath the duvet. I knew it was pointless: I had drunk two bottles of wine and felt not so much as a stirring when you took me in your mouth. I let you try for a few moments, then pushed your head away.

‘You don’t turn me on any more,’ I said. I rolled over to face the wall, and shut my eyes. You got up for the bathroom, and I could hear you crying as I went to sleep.

I didn’t plan to cheat on you once we were married, but you stopped making an effort in bed completely. Do you blame me for looking elsewhere, when the alternative is missionary position with a wife who keeps her eyes shut the entire time? I started going out on a Friday after work, coming home in the early hours whenever I’d had enough of whoever I had ended up in bed with. You didn’t seem to care, and after a while I didn’t bother coming home at all. I would roll in at lunchtime on Saturday and find you in your studio, and you never asked where I’d been or who I’d been with. It became like a game, seeing how far I could push you before you accused me of being unfaithful.

The day you did I was watching football. Man U were playing Chelsea, and I was sitting with my feet up and a cold beer. You stood in front of the television.

‘Get out of the way – they’re into extra time!’

‘Who’s Charlotte?’ you said.

‘What do you mean?’ I craned my neck to see past you.

‘It’s written on a receipt in the pocket of your coat, with a phone number. Who is she?’

There was a cheer from the television as Man U scored in time for the final whistle. I sighed and reached for the remote to turn it off.

‘Happy now?’ I lit a cigarette, knowing it would infuriate you.

‘Can’t you smoke that outside?’

‘No, I can’t,’ I said, blowing a stream of smoke towards you. ‘Because this is my house, not yours.’

‘Who is Charlotte?’ You were shaking, but you stayed standing in front of me.

I laughed. ‘I have no idea.’ It was true: I didn’t remember her at all. She could have been any number of girls. ‘She’s probably some waitress who took a shine to me – I must have shoved the receipt in my pocket without looking at it.’ I spoke easily, without a trace of defensiveness, and I saw you falter.

‘I hope you’re not accusing me of anything.’ I held your gaze challengingly, but you looked away and didn’t speak again. I almost laughed. You were so easy to beat.

I stood up. You were wearing a vest-top with no bra underneath and I could see the spread of your cleavage, and the shape of your nipples beneath the fabric. ‘Have you been out like that?’ I asked.

‘Just to the shops.’

‘With your tits on show?’ I said. ‘Do you want people to think you’re some sort of slapper?’

You brought your hands up across your chest and I pushed them away. ‘It’s all right for complete strangers to see them, but not me? You can’t pick and choose, Jennifer: either you’re a tart or you’re not.’

‘I’m not,’ you said quietly.

‘That’s not how it looks from where I’m standing.’ I brought up my hand and pushed my cigarette end into your chest, grinding it out between your breasts. You screamed, but I had already left the room.

As Ray strode through back to his office after the morning meeting, he was collared by the station duty officer. Rachel was a slim woman in her early fifties, with neat, bird-like features and closely cropped silver hair.

‘Are you duty DI today, Ray?’

‘Yes,’ Ray said, suspiciously, in the knowledge that nothing good ever followed that question.

‘I’ve got a woman called Eve Mannings at the front counter who wants to report a fear for welfare: she’s concerned about her sister.’

‘Can’t shift deal with it?’

‘They’re all out, and she’s very worried. She’s already been waiting an hour to see someone.’ Rachel didn’t say anything else; she didn’t need to. She simply looked at Ray over plain, wire-framed glasses, and waited for him to do the right thing. It was like being told off by a kindly but intimidating aunt.

He peered through the SDO to the front counter, where a woman was doing something on a mobile phone.

‘Is that her?’

Eve Mannings was the sort of woman more at home in a coffee shop than a cop shop. She had sleek brown hair that swished around her shoulders as she bent her head to look at her phone, and a bright yellow coat with over-sized buttons and a flowery lining. She was flushed, although that was not necessarily a reflection of her state of mind. The central heating in the station only seemed to have two settings: arctic or tropical, and today was obviously a tropical day. Ray silently cursed the protocol that dictated that fear-for-welfare reports should be dealt with by a police officer. Rachel would have been more than capable of taking a report.

He sighed. ‘All right, I’ll send someone down to see her.’

Satisfied, Rachel went back to her counter.

Ray made his way upstairs and found Kate at her desk. ‘Can you nip down and deal with a fear for welfare at the front desk?’

‘Can’t shift deal?’

Ray laughed at the face she pulled. ‘Already tried that. Go on, it’ll take twenty minutes, max.’

Kate sighed. ‘You’re only asking because you know I never say no.’

‘You want to be careful who you say that to.’ Ray grinned. Kate rolled her eyes, but an attractive blush spread across her cheeks.