Nearest Thing to Crazy (25 page)

‘Are we? Honestly, Sally, I don’t know anymore. I don’t know
anything
anymore.’

‘Is this something to do with Ellie?’

I nodded. ‘Yep. But it’s not just her. There’s other stuff, too.’

‘Oh God. Do you want to tell me?’

‘I’m afraid that if I do, you’ll think I’m crazy.’

‘Of course I won’t.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

I still felt in two minds about saying anything, like I was being disloyal to Dan, and would sound neurotic about Ellie, but I
had
to talk to someone before I really did go off my head.

‘Ellie’s been doing some really weird stuff. God, this is really difficult . . .’

‘What do you mean, “weird stuff”?’

‘Do you remember that lunch a few weeks back, when we went to Amelia’s? Well afterwards I went back to her place and we had a couple of glasses of wine. She told me that she’d suffered from depression, that she’d been feeling suicidal, that she’d been running away from this violent boyfriend . . .’

Sally’s eyes had widened. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes. Seriously. It was all really heavy stuff. So I was sympathetic
– how could I be anything else? I ended up telling her that I’d suffered too – all of which was
fine.
But when I mentioned it to her the other day she denied everything, like I’d made it all up.’

‘But why would she do that?’

‘I don’t know. It’s like she’s trying to make it look as if I’m crazy, or something.’

‘Well why would that make you look crazy?’

‘Because she’s saying that I must have
imagined
it. And obviously I wouldn’t have imagined something like that. She also told you and Amelia that she was worried about me. I think she even told Dan that she was worried about me.’

‘But we
have
all been worried about you.’

‘You weren’t worried about me before
she
arrived here, were you?’

‘No. But you’ve been acting a bit strangely since then.’

‘How?’

‘Oh God, maybe a bit defensive and withdrawn?’

‘Maybe I’ve got good reason to be. She had lunch with Dan and Laura yesterday, in Birmingham. And Dan didn’t tell me.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want to upset you. And might there be a reasonable explanation for them having lunch together? Especially if Laura was with them? That doesn’t sound like a romantic tryst, does it?’

‘So you think I’m being silly . . .’

‘Well she has told me that she wanted to help Laura out. So maybe it’s just that Dan’s trying not to upset you at the moment. If he thinks you’re being a bit . . . um . . . over-sensitive, perhaps he thought you’d be really upset, read something into it that wasn’t there. Don’t you think that’s possible? Don’t you trust him, Cass?’

‘Did you trust Patrick?’

‘Yes. I did. But Patrick’s not Dan.’

‘Well I’m afraid I don’t truly trust Dan.’
‘Oh Cass . . .’

‘Surely I’m just being realistic. You of all people should understand that. Nobody knows what they’re capable of until temptation steps in their path, do they? And besides, there’s other stuff that I’ve found out about Dan.’

‘Such as?’

‘It’s stuff from a long time ago. I don’t have any proof that anything happened. Just suspicions and probabilities. Like you said, intuition.’ I had reached the point where I should tell her about Ellie’s book, but something stopped me. So far she hadn’t exactly been sympathetic towards my fears.

‘Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m being stupid,’ I said. ‘Neurotic, perhaps.’

She smiled, wryly. ‘Maybe a bit. I honestly wouldn’t worry about it, Cass. I’m sure it’s all innocent. And trust me, she really does like you a lot. She’s truly very fond of you. She’s far too nice to do anything with Dan. I’m sure that the lunch was all about helping Laura. And I can’t explain that stuff about her violent boyfriend. Maybe you did dream it . . .’

I had to hide the feeling of sickness that I felt. ‘Yeah, maybe that’s it.’ I finished my coffee and stood up. ‘Thanks, Sally. You’ve been a great help, listening to me. I feel much better already.’

She patted my arm affectionately. ‘Good. Anytime. I’m always here for you, remember that.’

CHAPTER

13

As I drove away from Sally’s I felt deflated and despondent. It was so obvious what she really thought, just like everyone else. The Ellie they saw was not the same person I saw. I was the outsider, standing on the opposite side of the thick glass window, shouting my head off to warn them, but they couldn’t hear me, or if they did, they refused to listen.

When I got home I checked Call Minder, but there was nothing, not a single message from anyone at all. I’d tried phoning Laura first thing this morning, but it had gone straight to her voicemail, so I’d left a message asking her to call me. But she seemed not to want to speak to me and, if I’m honest, I really didn’t want to hear how much fun lunch with Ellie had been.

I felt oppressed by the interior gloom of the house. Usually I didn’t notice the silence, or if I did it was a peaceful feeling that I found soothing. Now it just seemed to signify the extent of my loneliness, my isolation from the rest of the world and the shadows taking over my life. The low ceilings were suffocating, stifling my ability to breathe freely. It was beginning to feel like a prison; no longer the house I loved, where I felt safe.

I was also dreading seeing Dan tonight. Could I face him across the table? Chat to him as if everything in the world was okay, as if we had no problems? Could I pretend so convincingly? It just seemed that everything about us was based on deceit and lies. I couldn’t trust him anymore. I didn’t know him anymore. I almost wished that Laura hadn’t sent me that text telling me about lunch so that I’d be able to test out whether Dan
would
lie or not. If I was to take a bet on it, I’d say ‘yes’, most definitely, because that’s what he was, a liar. Otherwise he’d have told me the other night, when Ellie’s text came through. The problem was that the boundaries between right and wrong were blurred. It was all so confusing. The fact was that I’d snooped on Dan. What was it they said, snoopers never learn anything good? But you wouldn’t snoop if you hadn’t been given reason to distrust, would you? If I hadn’t snooped the other night I wouldn’t have known about that text. But it could have been innocent, well innocent-ish. Perhaps Dan just wanted to avoid having a scene with me about the lunch arrangement. And if lunch was supposed to be a secret, then Laura wouldn’t have told me about it. It was all so fuzzy, because it wasn’t really Dan who’d given me reason to distrust him – it was her, Ellie. Okay, no, it wasn’t just Ellie, it was also Rome. I just couldn’t think straight. That postcard and the matches. I’d Googled that phrase from the postcard on my phone, and what was it? ‘The flame of love keeps burning.’ Well what the fuck was all that about? That’s hardly innocent. But did I need to be upset about it now when it was all so long ago? God, my head was really hurting.

I went straight up to our bedroom. I drew the curtains against the fading daylight and pulled off my jeans, before sliding between the sheets, and my thoughts drifted back down the years to Rome.

Rome. A place I never wanted to return to, ever. At least Dan had been right about that. I thought I was over it. I’d packed it away into a little suitcase and put it up in the loft, out of the way, where I wouldn’t have to think about it for years, and then maybe, sometime in the future, we’d have a clear-out of boxes and suitcases and I’d open it up and say ‘Oh goodness me, here’s Rome.’

I was supposed to go with him. I had my ticket and everything. I was terribly excited because, for one reason or another, we hadn’t really been away since Laura was born. This would be our first trip together since our honeymoon. Dan had a client to visit, and so it meant that the agency would pay for the hotel and Dan’s flight. Dan’s mother had offered to come and stay and look after Laura, so everything was all sorted. And then, the day before we were due to go, Dan came back from work and said everything had changed. There was a crisis in Rome and he needed to work all the time he was there. He said if I went I’d have to amuse myself. He said it would be okay because we’d be able to have dinner in the evenings, although he couldn’t guarantee how early he’d be finished. He just said, ‘Sorry, Cass. I know you’re going to be disappointed, but I promise I’ll make it up to you . . .’And so what could I say? I hardly relished the thought of being a solo tourist. I suppose I could have done all those museum-ey things by myself, but the point was that he and I were supposed to have a romantic time together. So I was angry. I was angry, hurt and disappointed. I went into a mega sulk and told him to go by his bloody self . . . and then I didn’t speak to him before he left. He called a couple of times while he was away, but I couldn’t bear to speak to him. In the end I began to feel guilty about my behaviour; I began to think: poor Dan, having to give up his holiday too. I felt terrible about how difficult I’d been, and how silly. I decided that any time together in Rome would be better than no time together like this. I called Dan’s mum and asked her if she’d mind coming after all. There was still a couple of nights left before Dan was due to return, so I figured it would be worth it, to surprise him. I got to the hotel around six o’clock. Dan had obviously taken the room key with him, so the porter helped me with my suitcase and used the master key to let me in. I hung my things in the wardrobe and then decided to take a quick shower. I’d closed the bathroom door because there was a draught from the bedroom. I’d just stepped out of the shower when I heard voices. I heard, quite clearly, both a male and a female voice. She was laughing – giggling in a sort of flirty way. For an awful moment I wondered if the porter had put me in the wrong bedroom and that I was naked but for a meagre towel in some strangers’ bathroom. But when I looked at the mirror shelf I recognized Dan’s things – his toothbrush and toothpaste, his razor. So I knew that I couldn’t be wrong. Anyway, as I strained to listen I could make out Dan’s voice quite clearly. But the tone of the voices had changed. They were speaking quietly, more urgently. I heard the word ‘suitcase’ mentioned, and ‘clothes’. I’d left my jeans on the bed, and my boots on the floor. And then I heard Dan whisper ‘Fucking hell . . .’ My hand was hovering over the door handle. My heart was pounding and I don’t think I’d ever felt so frightened. Looking back it seems amazing how quickly your brain can assimilate these things, work out what’s happening. I guessed straight away. Then, as my hand closed on the bathroom door handle, I heard the click of the door to the passage, and I heard Dan call out my name. He tried to smile, to appear pleased, but he couldn’t quite manage it. Instead he looked like he’d seen a ghost. The loving surprise reunion I’d envisaged consisted of me confronting him about what I’d heard. Of course he denied I’d heard anything. He said it was the television. He said he’d switched it on when he came into the bedroom. I said what I’d heard was definitely an English voice, and why wasn’t the television on now, but he wouldn’t have it. Once he’d got over the initial shock, he lied quite smoothly. There was no evidence of anyone else using the room. Obviously I searched. The housekeeping department were very thorough – boringly diligent, in fact. The sheets were changed daily so there was no chance of finding a stray hair, pubic or otherwise. The bins were emptied and the complimentary toiletries replaced. I couldn’t even work out if she’d availed herself of the body lotion or the shower cap. She must have left her things in her own room. So I was left with no proof. No concrete evidence, merely circumstantial. Even the matches I’d found after all this time were only circumstantial. Maybe he’d saved them because
I
was there with him. The problem was I couldn’t force myself into believing that, much as I wanted to. Especially now that I’d seen the postcard.

I must have dozed eventually, because I wasn’t aware of anything else until Dan opened the bedroom door and switched on the light.
‘Here you are . . .’ he said.

I blinked awake and turned towards him, squinting against the glare. ‘Oh, hello,’ I muttered foggily.

‘The house was in darkness but your car was here. I couldn’t find you. I was worried . . .’

‘Migraine,’ I sighed and managed to give him a small smile. His face was scrumpled into a frown of concern, and I noticed he had a new, crescent-shaped scratch on the side of his nose.

‘Poor you. You haven’t had one of those for such a long time. I’ll get you some pills . . . Have you taken anything?’

I shook my head.

‘And a nice cup of tea. It’s chilly in here. Would you like a hot water bottle?’

‘No, no, there’s no need for that, really.’

‘Rubbish. I’ll get one for you.’ He reached across and squeezed my shoulder, and then bent forward and planted a kiss on top of my head. After he’d gone I listened to the vague sounds coming from downstairs; the hiss of water from the kitchen tap, the clunk of the kettle on the Aga hotplate, all the sounds of comforting domesticity. And Dan, full of concern, looking after me, being a loving and caring husband. ‘Please,’ I prayed silently, ‘make this Dan the real Dan.’And not just his guilty conscience.

A few minutes later he was back with a hot mug of tea, a glass of water, a choice of paracetamol and ibuprofen, and the cashmere-covered hot water bottle which I reserved for guests. I took two of each, handed the water back to him, and then lay back on the pillows. Dan passed me the mug of tea.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Darling, I’m really sorry about the other night. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should be more understanding, especially at the moment when you’re obviously not feeling yourself. And I’m sorry I didn’t get back last night. It was all arranged last minute, and the meeting was so bloody early this morning. Were you okay?’

‘Yep, I was fine. Your mother rang.’

He nodded. It was impossible to know if that nod meant ‘I know’, or just plain ‘fine’.

‘Are you hungry?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. I haven’t done anything . . . for supper, that is . . . I was feeling so horrid . . .’