In Too Deep (31 page)

I won’t leave you again . . .

I open the window and inhale the country air. It’s sweet, scented with wet oak and dragging clouds.

I lean on the sill, my chin resting in my hands.

Who and what have I become?

Would the old me – a devoted wife, a loving mother – ever have guessed that one day she’d be hiding a drinking
habit? As she changed nappies, drove to play dates, held down a job, did she ever think that one day her son would be dead, her husband gone?

Four down to two.

Please don’t let us become one
.

A shudder runs through me, so I grab my cardigan off the bed, shrugging into it. I put the wine back in the fridge and pull on my trainers, yanking the laces tight.

In the bathroom, I repair my face as best I can, but with so little sleep and all the crying, it’s pretty much a lost cause. I thread a brush through my hair, pulling it back into a loose ponytail. It will have to do.

Then I slide my phone into my pocket along with the key card. I need to get some answers.

The air is humid and warm, the sound dulled by the expanse of water. A single body cuts through the blue in a clean streak of flesh colour and black.

I watch her for a few minutes, her arms rhythmically pulling through the pool, powering her forward. Her legs flash behind in a quick-time kick. A tumble turn at each end.

My eyes smart from the chlorine fumes.

Susan’s breathing is steady yet brisk, punctuated by each arm stroke. Her style is fluid and graceful, while her darkened goggles and swept-back hair make her seem wasp-like. She stops at my end of the pool, resting her arms on the edge, and her chin on her arms. She blows out, spraying water and effort. Her wet cheeks glow as she lifts her goggles on top of her head.

It’s then that she sees me.

‘Gina, hi.’ She smiles, radiant even in the water. Her skin is dewy and muscular, her swimsuit showing off how fit and strong she is as she hauls herself out on to the edge in one swift move.

‘Are you coming in for a swim?’ Her smile is broad, yet I suddenly feel immune to it.

She reaches out for a towel draped over the end of a lounger.

‘I always try to do a hundred lengths or so.’

Water splashes on me as she rubs herself down.

‘Susan . . .’ I twist away, catching sight of the real world outside the tall windows at the end of the pool. Fox Court doesn’t seem so inviting any more. ‘Susan, about the car in the garage . . .’

I don’t know how to say it, don’t know how to ask her if there was any possibility that it was her husband who killed my son.

‘Yes?’ She drops her head forward, rubbing vigorously at her hair. Then she tosses it back in a sleek arc. Her broad smile tells me she doesn’t have a clue about my pain.

Nothing comes out.

‘By the way, I sent my maintenance man out to see if he could see any sign of kittens. He didn’t find anything. Maybe you heard a stray passing through?’

Susan wraps the towel around her shoulders.

‘Most likely,’ I say. ‘It’s just that the car—’

‘Come with me while I get changed,’ she says, touching my arm. ‘We’ll talk.’

I tread carefully on the slippery tiles, following her into the changing area.

‘I’m listening. Tell me what’s on your mind, Gina.’

Susan disappears behind the short shower curtain. The
water comes on, and then she drops her swimsuit outside the cubicle. I wonder whether to pick it up for her, wring it out. But I don’t. Instead I sit awkwardly on the slatted wooden bench opposite, watching Susan’s narrow feet with their scarlet-painted nails turning and stepping beneath the water.

‘Your husband’s car has made me think,’ I call out, though I’m not sure she hears me. ‘It’s the same as . . . The police said that a dark green Range Rover hit Jacob.’

Another woman comes into the changing room, opens a locker and whips out a towel. She casts me a quick look before leaving.

‘You understand that every time I see one, I get a bit, well, upset.’ Nervously, I start picking my nails. ‘Susan?’

Lavender-smelling soap froths and foams around Susan’s feet. I hear vigorous lathering, then rinsing, and she calls out for me to hang on, that she’ll be out in a moment.

I should go. I need to get back to the room and tell Hannah we’re leaving. Instinct tells me to pack up our stuff, get out, and tell Kath Lane everything.

But I don’t. Instead I sit frozen to the bench.

A hand comes out of the cubicle, feeling about for the towel, and then Susan emerges wearing it around her body. It’s short, barely covering her. She has the type of body I’ve always been resigned to never quite having.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, giving me her full attention. ‘Do say that again.’

Nervously, I repeat myself.

Susan is silent for a moment. ‘I understand why the car would make you upset, but I assure you, Phil isn’t a reckless driver. And if there’d been an accident, he’d have reported it.’

She rubs her body, seeming ever so slightly affronted, allowing the towel to slide off her as she dries her legs and feet, putting each up on the bench in turn. I look away.

‘It’s just that Phil’s car has a dent in the bodywork. It’s in the spot the police said hit Jacob and—’

‘Oh,
Gina
.’ Susan pulls on white underwear from a pile of folded clothes. ‘There weren’t any kittens at all, were there?’

I shake my head.

‘You poor, poor thing. You must be in agony all the time.’

I shrug, giving her a little smile. ‘You have no idea.’

She puts on a loose T-shirt, though I can still see the shape of her. Then she stretches into skinny white jeans.

‘Do you remember if the police contacted your husband about it?’ I ask. ‘They were supposed to trace all green Range Rovers of that age within a certain distance.’

‘I’m not sure, though I had a call from an officer quite recently,’ Susan replies. ‘A woman. She was asking me about when your husband made the booking. I tried to help.’

So Kath did follow up. I feel embarrassed for mentioning it now, especially as there doesn’t seem to have been a booking at all.

‘But perhaps there
was
something else,’ Susan continues, frowning as she thinks hard. ‘Yes, a letter and a form. A few years ago now.’ She slips her feet into sparkly flat sandals. Fastens the thin straps. ‘That’s right. Phil had to confirm where he was on a certain day. Could that be it?’

I nod. ‘Yes,’ I say quietly, feeling relieved and stupid all at the same time.

‘It was just routine, I think. The car was parked up in the garage just like it is now.’ She smiles.

‘But the dent?’ I look up at her, watching her expression closely. ‘How did that happen?’

Immediately she laughs, looks embarrassed. ‘That was me, I’m afraid. I’m a bit hopeless at parking. I tried to squeeze into a small space in town and I clipped a wall.’

She rolls her eyes, pushing her fingers through her hair quickly while peering into the mirror.

‘I hope that puts your mind at rest, Gina,’ she says, gathering up her towel.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I say slowly, thoughtfully, though I’m not sure it does at all.

‘Mum, calm down.’

‘You’re breaking up, love,’ I say, standing at the window, hoping for better reception. ‘Where are you?’

When I got back into the room, Hannah wasn’t there. I phoned her, gabbling out all the stuff in my head.

‘Have you got Cooper with you?’

Again, I can’t make out her reply. Her words sound crumbled up.

Then the line goes completely dead, so I call her back. It goes straight to her voicemail.

‘Call me, Hannah.’ I blow a kiss before hanging up.

My thoughts are in a mess. I sit on the edge of the bed, not knowing what to do. I focus on Paula’s words, her sensible reasoning for the way my mind makes a new reality to fit with what I’m unable to accept.

‘The human brain is an incredible thing,’ she said. ‘Yours is doing an excellent job at filling in the gaps with explanations and stories and what-ifs. It’s meant to be soft padding, ultimately to protect you, but very often our brains get it wrong, especially after trauma. That same protection sometimes turns into our own worst nightmares if we’re not careful.’

I nodded, listening, looking her in the eye. Paula was always so grounded, so together, exuding an aura of peace and assurance. I’d have given anything to be like her, to wake up knowing my own mind, confident that no one would change it.

But then what did I know? Perhaps her life was as angst-ridden as mine. Perhaps she was just better at hiding it.

I pull open the minibar fridge, grabbing the tiny bottle of wine I already opened. It doesn’t even warrant a glass. After I’ve finished, I head out of the room again. There’s more I need to know.

I hear her before I see her, just making her out through a crack in the door. The sobbing is quiet and stifled, yet it comes from the heart. Her back is hunched as she leans
over her desk in the office, head in hands, her shoulders twitching up and down. Susan plucks a tissue from the box next to her.

There’s no one at reception, and the rest of the hotel is unusually quiet too. I hover by the counter, wondering whether to ring the bell, leave her alone, or go on inside. In the end, I decide on a combination. I make sure she hears me before approaching, tapping lightly on the door.

‘Susan, are you OK?’

She doesn’t look round, rather beckons me inside with her hand. She’s clutching a balled-up tissue.

I go over, sitting down in a chair beside her. We’re close, our legs almost touching. I smell chlorine on her still-damp hair. I want to reach out and take her hand, but I can’t. Not when there’s the remotest possibility that her husband killed my son. I’m still not convinced by her story.

She sniffs. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. She looks up. Her eyes are almond-shaped, red-rimmed. She’s still beautiful. ‘Everyone expects me to be so . . . so strong.’

‘I know what that feels like,’ I say. I touch her hand anyway.

‘Running this place single-handedly is really tough. I do my best.’ She straightens up, composing herself, clearing her throat.

‘I imagine, especially with Tom away.’

She nods. ‘He helps when he can, but he’s still young. I don’t want him to feel tied down.’

‘And Phil?’ I say. My heart thumps when I say his name.

‘He’s got his career,’ she says. ‘Though it’s caused us
trouble over the years.’ She gets up and goes to a coffee machine, waving an empty cup at me.

‘Thanks,’ I reply. ‘No sugar.’

She puts the drinks on the desk. ‘But on the whole, Phil and I are solid. Anyway, you’re the last person I should be complaining to about husbands. I’m so sorry, Gina.’ She touches my wrist.

‘No, that’s fine,’ I say, meaning it. She doesn’t understand that I
want
to hear all about Phil. What he’s capable of. And if Rick, to his detriment, has already found out.

‘We broke up once for a while.’ Susan dabs under her eyes with a tissue. ‘His bloody job. God, it’s always been about his job.’ She bows her head, smiling, trying to hide the bitterness.

‘I was in my early twenties when I took on the hotel. My father died in a sailing accident, and shortly afterwards Mum got ill and couldn’t cope. I’d always promised them I’d keep the place going. I just hadn’t imagined it would be at such a young age. I couldn’t let them down. I even kept the family name when I married Phil.’ She laughs. ‘Much to Phil’s annoyance, but it’s part of the place.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear about your parents,’ I say, sipping my coffee, washing away the taste of wine. ‘I’m sure they’d be proud of what you’ve achieved.’

Susan shrugs. ‘You just get on with it, don’t you?’

I know exactly what she means.

‘I think youth and stupidity had a lot to do with it. Phil and I were young when we met. When did you two marry?’

Usually I dodge those sorts of questions if and when they crop up, though there’s something about Susan that makes it feel OK to tell her.

‘We were young and stupid, too,’ I say with a laugh, thinking back. ‘Early twenties. It was a bit on–off to start, but after a few years Rick eventually got the hang of commitment.’ I smile fondly at the memory. ‘He was . . .
is
the best husband ever.’ I wait for the surge, but oddly, it doesn’t come. ‘I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else.’

‘Me neither,’ Susan says, patting my hand. ‘But look at us,’ she laughs, blowing her nose. ‘A right pair of miseries.’

I laugh in agreement, though just to humour her. ‘When did you and Phil break up?’ I can’t help wondering if it was around the time of Jacob’s death.

‘Tom was nearly ten,’ she says, thinking. ‘So it must have been, what, 2007? We’d booked to go to France but ended up cancelling. It was a disaster at the time, though, looking back, it probably helped.’

I bite my lip. The timing’s wrong, but somehow talking about her issues helps me make sense of mine. ‘Were you apart for long?’

‘About a year.’ She sips her coffee, sounding matter-of-fact about the whole thing.

I don’t know what to say, because that was the year that Rick and I renewed our vows. I keep quiet, not wanting to rub it in. Hannah wore a pretty yellow dress, and Jacob was trussed up in a mini morning suit, complete
with buttonhole. He wriggled the entire time. The photographs are precious, but the memories are way more valuable.

‘We worked things out in the end,’ Susan says. ‘Which basically means I agreed to stop moaning about his work.’

‘I have a friend whose husband is overseas most of the year,’ I say, hoping to make her feel better. ‘They see each other at Christmas and once in summer, but that’s it.’ I shrug, not quite understanding the arrangement. ‘It works for them. It seems quite common these days.’

‘Thank you, Gina. For understanding. Especially as you’ve been through more than I can ever imagine.’

She gives me a look and takes hold of my hand again, which I find oddly comforting. Clasped together in a knot of female solidarity, our fists are lying right over where I saw the letter from Adrian.

It sends a chill through me.