How I Lost You (15 page)

I push the bedroom door open with my bum, careful not to spill the tea. The smell hits me before I see what’s waiting on the bed. My cup hits the carpet, scalding tea spraying my trousers and feet. My scream pierces the silence like a siren.

The cold air hits my face, but it’s not until my hands are in the mud that I even realise I’m kneeling on the grass outside my house.
How did I get here?

On the bed
, a voice in my head reminds me.
There’s something on your bed.

‘Emma?’ A voice I’m very familiar with cuts across my thoughts. Oh God. What do I do? What can I say? Carole is at my side in moments; no time for me to think of a good reason why I might be hunched on my lawn at seven in the evening. I sure as hell don’t look like I’m gardening.

‘Are you OK? Shall I call a doctor? Are you hurt?’

The questions hit me like gunfire. Stunned, I recoil from her voice. ‘I’m fine,’ I manage to mumble. Unsurprisingly, she’s not convinced.

‘Come on, let me get you into the house.’

‘No!’ My shout shocks us both. ‘No, sorry, Carole, I can’t go back in there.’

Confusion and concern cloud her face. ‘Has someone done something to you? Look, come to mine then. Come on, love, you can’t stay here.’

Carole deposits me as carefully as she can manage on her sofa. ‘Is this something to do with . . . you know, who you are? Does someone else know? What can I do? Can I call a friend, relative?’

I immediately think of Cassie. There’s no way I can sit here for the half-hour it will take her to get here, no way I can go back into my house to wait.

‘Can you call the Travelodge? There’s a man staying there, a friend from back home. His name is Nick Whitely, he’ll come and get me.’

Carole nods. ‘Would you like a drink while you wait?’

I shake my head. Anything I put in my mouth right now is surely going to come back up. The image of what I saw lying on my bed brings bile into my mouth again and I don’t trust myself to open it to speak. I can’t risk being sick in this nice woman’s front room.

‘OK, I’ll call now. I’ll tell him there’s been an emergency?’

‘Yes,’ I mutter. ‘An emergency.’

I know I should have warned Nick what he was about to see, but the minute I saw him, words failed me. He thanked Carole, helped me up from the sofa and into his car outside. That’s where I’m sitting now, waiting for him to come back, to explain what’s in my room.

His face is deathly pale as he emerges from the house and crosses the grass. Once inside the car, he takes me in his arms. I let myself be held and try not to cry.

‘What is it?’ I whisper when I eventually let him go.

‘It’s a cat, what’s left of it,’ he replies, looking like he’s going to be sick himself. ‘It’s been . . . it’s been skinned.’

The image of the small animal lying on my blood-soaked sheets pushes itself uninvited into my mind. The smell of the poor thing lingers inside my nostrils and I wonder now why I didn’t smell it as I came up the stairs.

‘Oh God.’ A sudden terrible thought crosses my mind. ‘Did it have a collar?’

Nick looks as though he’d rather spend the night in bed next to the dead cat than answer my question. Eventually, though, he nods.

‘Tartan?’ I croak, wishing he could just make this easy for me and say no, knowing he will tell me the truth no matter how hard. He nods again. Oh no, please no. Not another casualty of this whole crazy mess, someone else I care about.

‘Joss.’ It’s a statement not a question, and Nick knows I don’t need an answer. Any energy I have left drains from my body and I fall back into his arms, a fresh wave of tears overcoming me. Stupid cat, stupid, stupid, dumb animal! Why couldn’t he have just stayed away? Why did he have to be so nosy, so goddamn friendly? And why pick me of all people? Cats are supposed to be clever; surely he could sense the curse that follows me around, ripping apart the people crazy enough to care about me?

‘You should go,’ I whisper, pulling myself away. ‘I’ll take care of this, I’ll check into a hotel.’

Nick looks confused. ‘What are you talking about?’ he asks sharply. ‘We’re calling the police and then you’re coming back with me.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’ I want to tell him how only bad things can come to anyone who gets themselves involved in my life. Mark, Dylan, Dad, even Joss the cat. I want to tell him that eventually his life will be ruined, just like the people on that list.

‘What exactly is it you think I don’t understand, Susan? That you did something four years ago that you’ve never come to terms with? That someone is using that against you to try and make you think that your son might still be alive? Or maybe I don’t understand that this person has kept such a close watch on you since your release that the minute you contacted me they had your house broken into and vandalised, then killed your pet cat and put him on your bed? Do I sound unclear on any of that?’

‘He wasn’t my cat,’ is all I can think to say. Nick’s outburst has shocked the fight right out of me.

‘Susan, this is a horrible thing to be happening to you, but it’s about time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and let me help you. I’m a big boy and I’m perfectly capable of deciding for myself whether you’re cursed, or bad luck, or just plain crazy. Now if you can’t stand to have me around any more, then tell me now and I’ll drive you to your dad’s and hand you over to what I’m sure are his capable hands.’ His eyes fix on mine, look right into my head and it’s as if he’s running his fingers through my thoughts. ‘Is that what this is about? Are you trying to get rid of me?’ I shake my head numbly. I don’t want to get rid of him. We’ve only just met, but he’s one of only three people at the moment who I can be myself around, who know who ‘myself’ is.

‘I’m not trying to get rid of you,’ I whisper. ‘I’m—’

‘No,’ Nick says roughly. ‘Don’t say sorry. Don’t apologise to me again. Just stop it, Susan. I’m not going to bail on you; I’m here to help you. Stop acting as though I’m Mark.’

The shock of his words hit me like a slap in the face. Before I can speak, Nick opens the car door and gets out, pacing the lawn. He pulls his mobile from his pocket and dials what I presume to be the local police station. Was I comparing him to Mark? Were my attempts to push him away a defence against him doing exactly what my ex-husband had done – flee from me as soon as the going got tough?

His voice wafts through the closed window as I sit shaking. Oh God, oh God. Poor Joss.

The police take an hour to arrive and forty minutes to take my statement about what has happened at my house. The ever-so-polite officer nods in all the right places, promises to arrange for Joss to be taken away as evidence, and if there are any developments he will be in touch, thank you, ma’am.

‘Am I OK to go in and get some of her things?’ I hear Nick ask him. The police officer shakes his head: best not to go in there until Forensics have finished.

‘I’ll book a room at the Travelodge,’ I suggest, car door open and my legs dangling out. ‘I can buy new things for now. I don’t really want anything he may have touched . . .’

Nick shakes his head. ‘You don’t need to be here, or anyway near here right now. I’m worried for you. I think you should come back to mine.’

‘Oh no,’ I object straight away. ‘I can’t let you . . .’
I don’t know you . . .

‘Don’t start that. I’m warning you.’ He sounds serious. ‘The officers can lock up; we’ll pick up your keys from the station. Let’s go.’

25

When we eventually pull up outside a semi-detached house in Doncaster and Nick parks his car on the drive, I’m shocked, in a good way. Far from the bachelor pad I was expecting, this is the type of house I would expect a married man with a very design-savvy wife to have. A fleeting vision of a woman in a power suit opening the door to greet Nick with a kiss crosses my mind and I have to shake my head to rid myself of it. What does it matter to me if he’s married? He’s only helping me in order to flex his journalistic muscles anyway. The garden is small but well manicured; despite the fact that he’s been away for the last few days, the grass is still short and huge planters encase thriving flowers.
Who’s been looking after all this, then?

Nick gets out of the car and motions for me to do the same. I follow his lead, pulling my bags out after me. He isn’t rushing me in; isn’t he worried about people knowing who I am?

‘Won’t the neighbours talk?’ I ask him, trying to sound casual as I haul my bag to the front door.

‘I bloody hope so,’ Nick replies cheekily. ‘I know the nosy old biddies are starting to whisper about me being gay.’

‘Stop parading me outside like some beacon declaring your heterosexuality and let me in.’

He pushes open the door obligingly and motions for me to enter ahead of him, which I do, soaking in every detail. The hallway is vast and open, plush cream carpet stretching out to greet a tiled kitchen floor in the distance. The walls are a pristine magnolia, antique pine furniture has been positioned perfectly and a huge ornate gold-framed mirror hangs behind the door. It looks a lot like the home I made for my family once upon a time, and I can’t shake the thought that another woman is responsible for this one. I scan the walls for signs of where photographs might have been but see none.

The kitchen is no disappointment either. All sleek black worktops and chrome accessories that don’t look like they’ve ever been used. Definitely not a woman’s kitchen. There’s not a cookbook or a cute kitten calendar in sight, and no spice rack either.

‘Are you sure you’re not gay?’ I tease as Nick looks bashful at my amazement.

‘Not my own work, I’m afraid,’ he admits grudgingly. ‘I had an interior designer come in when I bought the place.’

‘Not bad for a journalist on a local rag,’ I comment, then immediately feel rude for speculating about how he can afford such a place.

Nick doesn’t baulk at my rudeness, however. ‘I won some cash when I was younger and invested when house prices were low,’ he explains. ‘A stroke of pure luck really, given the way things are now.’

‘Sorry,’ I apologise. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t afford it here.’

Nick shrugs. ‘It’s OK, you’re right, I’d never have been able to buy this place if it wasn’t for luck. Anyway, I’ll put the kettle on, then we can take your stuff upstairs.’

‘Great, good, thanks.’ I’ll admit this all feels a bit strange, moving in with a man I barely know.
You’re not moving in; just a stopover until you can sort yourself out. And Cassie knows where you are.

Shit! Cassie.

‘I didn’t tell Cass I was coming here,’ I realise suddenly. I’m so used to her being around all the time that I’d forgotten to actually tell her I wasn’t at home. ‘I’d better let her know, in case she goes to my house . . .’ An image of her letting herself in and seeing the remains of what happened tonight makes my skin crawl. I don’t add ‘and in case you’re an axe murderer’.

I pull out my phone and wince at the reply to my earlier text message. I don’t care how tired ur. I want 2 no what happnd with ur dad. Call me!! <3

‘She’s not going to be happy you’re here,’ Nick says as I lift the phone to call her.

‘Don’t worry, she’s too far away for any real violence.’

‘Where the hell are you?’ she demands the minute the call has connected. ‘I’ve called your house, texts, you’ve disappeared! I’ve been worried! For Christ’s sake, Susan!’

I’m sure the rant would have continued had I not cut her off quickly to explain what’s happened. Her fury quickly turns to concern, until I tell her where I am now.

‘Why didn’t you come to me?’ she replies a bit snottily.

‘Nick was closer, he was only down the road at the hotel. I was petrified, Cass. Someone went into my house and left a dead cat on my bed! I just wanted out. Tell her I’m OK, Nick.’

I flip her on to speaker phone and he confirms I’m still in one piece. All he gets in reply is a grunt. I fill her in on what happened with my dad. ‘And tomorrow I’m going to see Mark,’ I surprise myself by announcing. I’m not sure when I made the decision, but now that I’ve said it out loud, it seems like the logical course of action. The only place to go now is home.

Cassie and Nick don’t seem to share my confidence. They both begin to speak at once, Cassie’s voice the loudest despite being over a hundred miles away, but nothing they say is going to deter me. It makes me feel better that I’m resolved in this decision; stubbornness is a trait the old Susan used to have in spades.

‘Do you really think—’

‘Suze, I don’t think that’s the best thing for you to do, hun. It’s been four years; he’s not going to want to see you. What if he calls the police? You could get yourself in trouble, or set yourself up for a fall.’

Since when does Cassie Reynolds care about trouble with the police? Not once in the three years I’ve known her has she shied away from a plan, no matter how hare-brained.

‘Cassie’s right,’ Nick agrees. I can feel Cassie scowling despite the fact that he’s agreeing with her, and it makes me smile. ‘You could just make things worse. What if he doesn’t know anything about this?’

‘I’m going.’ Part of me is just being stubborn because I feel like they’re ganging up on me and my inner teenager is refusing to back down. ‘This is my problem and I’m going.’

‘Fine,’ Cassie relents. ‘I’m coming with you.’

‘Not this time, Cass,’ I reply. ‘This is something I’ve got to do on my own. You can come here and help Nick.’

‘No frigging way. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.’

‘Wow, thanks, coming from a murd—’

‘Don’t make me prove how far I can throw you.’

‘As if I would be so stupid.’ He turns to me. ‘If she won’t work with me, that’s her prerogative. I’ll dig up everything I can on your trial and Dr Riley and meet you back here.’

Cassie seems to realise that this leaves her sitting at home waiting. Alone.

‘Fine. I’ll help. I can keep an eye on the reporter. I’ll drive down in the morning.’

I’m grateful they’ve given in so easily; now I don’t have to lie to them. I’m nervous and more than slightly scared that in less than twenty-four hours I will be confronting the man whose life I shared. Whose life I ruined.