The Cruellest Game (28 page)

Back at the vicarage she made a sandwich lunch, which again I could barely eat. The Reverend Gerald joined us, greeting me warmly but in such a way that I suspected he probably had no idea who I
was. Afterwards Gladys showed me into a bedroom furnished in shabby G Plan, another legacy from the 1970s when I guessed the vicarage had last had a makeover. Surprisingly, there was a small
flat-screen digital TV in one corner of the room.

‘You’d probably like some time on your own,’ said Gladys, displaying again that innate sensitivity which was so often belied by her manner. She gestured towards the television.
‘We have all sorts staying here, and find the TV can be quite a comfort to people. Come and go as you please, anywhere in the house.’

Yes, well, I definitely came into the category of ‘all sorts’, I thought. But I expressed genuinely felt thanks, and spent most of the rest of the afternoon lying on the bed half
dozing and half watching TV, until around 5 p.m. when I heard Gladys calling up the stairs. Marti Smith had returned.

I made my way down to the kitchen. Marti, back in her biker boots and leather coat, was smiling broadly.

‘Good news, Marion: the SOCOs have finished at Highrise. I got the call as I was driving over here.’

I was pleased and relieved, even though I had come to the conclusion that staying at the vicarage might not be the ordeal I had feared.

‘You’re welcome to stay here, of course, but I’m sure you’ll want to be in your own home as soon as you can,’ said Gladys, full of understanding again.
‘I’ll drive you, if you like.’

I nodded, and smiled my thanks.

Marti Smith interjected.

‘I think I’d better take you, Marion,’ she said. ‘I would expect there to be press waiting at your home. Could need dealing with.’

There were too. Not as many as there had been at the police station that morning. Just a couple of reporters and photographers and one TV crew, but quite enough to lower me deeper into despair.
They were waiting in the yard at the front of the house and surrounded the Mini as we pulled to a halt.

‘Just a minute,’ said Marti, gesturing for me to stay put.

She got out of the car and addressed the assembled little throng, in a manner far more authoritative than you would somehow expect from so slight a creature with pink hair, introducing herself
and telling them she was representing me.

‘Mrs Anderson has nothing to say and indeed is legally unable to say anything at this stage,’ she said. ‘I am sure you all realize that you are on private property. Therefore I
must ask you to leave, to make your way up to the top of the lane and wait there. Now skedaddle.’

To my surprise, the group meekly and immediately retreated. Only when they were out of sight did Marti walk around to the passenger side of the car, open the door and invite me to step out.

Then came the worst surprise of all that day.

As the press disappeared up the lane a taxi cab swung into view and pulled up alongside the Mini. Out stepped Robert, his anxious features fully illuminated in the glare of Highrise’s
security lights.

The very sight of him made me angry all over again, immediately stirring up feelings of distress and apprehension equal to anything that I had experienced during my confinement at Heavitree Road
Police Station.

‘My darling, whatever has happened?’ he asked. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard you’d been arrested. Why on earth didn’t you contact me? I’d have
come home straight away.’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want you to come home. Not after what I now know about you. You’re not my husband any more.’

‘Look, can’t we talk?’

‘How did you find out I’d been arrested?’ I asked.

‘It’s been on the news,’ he said.

Of course it had. Robert would have seen reports of my arrest. I knew well enough that watching television was the number one off-duty activity for the men on the rigs.

‘You weren’t named,’ Robert continued. ‘Not in the reports I saw, anyway. They mostly focused on the recovery of the child, but also mentioned that a woman had been
arrested at her Dartmoor home in connection with the abduction, and that it was believed she’d recently lost her own son. Naturally, I put two and two together. I called the Farleys and they
confirmed it, said they’d heard from the vicar’s wife . . .’

Robert carried on talking. I stopped listening. Gladys might be a wonderful woman in many ways, she might be a vicar’s wife and a committed Christian, but she was no saint. I would have
expected her to be no more able to resist a good gossip than any other human being. And I’d known the village jungle drums would be beating. I just somehow still wasn’t prepared for the
reality of it at all.

‘. . . Anyway, I got a chopper back to the mainland first thing this morning,’ I heard Robert say in the background. ‘Caught the first available flight to Exeter, and here I
am.’

‘Yes, but God knows why,’ I snapped at him.

‘I want to help, of course,’ he said, managing to sound quite wounded.

‘You know what, Robert, you’re the last person I want help from any more.’

He recoiled slightly.

Over his shoulder I could see movement by the farm gate just to the left at the top of the lane. It looked as if the photographers were trying to aim long lenses at us.

‘Oh, come in, for God’s sake, and let’s get it over with,’ I commanded him. ‘But I warn you, I do not want you here.’

Marti Smith had yet to say a word. Tough as she patently was, it was clear that she had no intention of getting between husband and wife.

‘Right, Marion, I’ll leave you two to it then,’ she said eventually, as I opened the front door. Then she paused. ‘You obviously have a lot to discuss.’

That was an understatement, I thought. Though the truth was that I didn’t particularly want to discuss anything with Robert. Not yet anyway.

I just nodded.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow, keep you informed,’ she said.

I thanked her, and stepped into the house, pausing to check the new burglar alarm. It had not been activated. Well, the SOCOs who had remained in the house after my arrest wouldn’t have
known the code. But so much for any police concern for my security, I thought. At least they’d locked up. There was a key on the doormat. They must have used the one that lived on the hook on
the kitchen wall and then posted it through the letter box.

Robert followed me into the hallway. I heard his little gasp as he began to notice the sorry amendments to Highrise. The grandfather clock which had stood there so proudly was missing, of
course, and there was nothing on the walls which had previously been lined with those lovingly collected paintings and prints. I strode into the kitchen and could hear his footsteps on the
flagstones as he followed me. I turned towards him as he stepped through the kitchen door.

His face was a picture. He looked absolutely bewildered. I could see his puzzled gaze taking in the Welsh dresser empty of our wonderful dinner service and the collection of Toby jugs which I
had inherited from my gran. The glass-fronted cupboards were also empty, of course, and most of the glass broken.

‘My God, whatever has happened here?’ he asked, his jaw slack with disbelief.

I had wanted to see his reaction. Although it seemed impossible that he could be involved in any way, not just because of logistics but because I honestly still believed it was not his intention
to harm me.

I told him about the intruder in the night and then the trashing of our home.

‘Hence the burglar alarm,’ I finished. ‘At least I reckoned I could put a stop to that kind of thing happening. I hadn’t bargained for someone dumping an abducted and
abused child in the stables.’

Robert seemed speechless. When he eventually did speak he took me totally by surprise. Again.

‘Have you contacted the insurance people?’ he asked.

I did a double take.

‘I haven’t contacted anyone, I didn’t even think about insurance,’ I said, realizing as I spoke that it might seem rather extraordinary that I hadn’t. Perhaps
I’d just been too shocked, or perhaps subconsciously I hadn’t really wanted to rebuild my home. I wasn’t sure.

‘Presumably the police gave you a crime number,’ Robert continued.

Of course, I thought, PC Bickerton had told me to call to be given one. And wasn’t it widely considered to be the only real point in calling the police for a burglary nowadays, so that you
had a crime number for your insurance company?

‘There is one but I don’t know what it is,’ I said. ‘And do you think we could talk about this another time? I’m on bail for child abduction and attempted murder. I
can’t really be bothered with an insurance claim.’

‘Of course,’ he said quickly.

I waved an arm at our desecrated kitchen.

‘I don’t suppose you have any idea who may have done it?’ I enquired casually.

He still didn’t speak for a moment or two. I stared at him. He looked away from me. Was there the merest flicker in his eyes of some expression that I couldn’t quite work out? I
wasn’t sure.

‘Of course I don’t,’ he said eventually.

‘The first time, when I heard sounds downstairs, I wondered if it might be you,’ I told him.

‘Me? Why on earth? Why would I steal into my own home in the middle of the night? It is still my home, you know.’

‘So you might think,’ I said.

He winced.

‘Surely you can’t hate me that much, Marion?’

‘Oh yes, I can.’

He did not really react to that, instead speaking again very quickly, as if something had just occurred to him.

‘So that’s why you checked if I was really on Jocelyn, because you suspected me of breaking into my own home.’

I made no response.

‘I still don’t understand why you would think I would do something like that,’ he repeated.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you wanted to frighten me. Maybe you thought if I was frightened I would need you more and let you properly back into my life.’

Even as I spoke it sounded pretty lame.

‘I would never want to frighten you, Marion, not for any reason, ever,’ he said.

‘But you have frightened me, Robert. You lied to me and deceived me, and you couldn’t do anything more frightening than that. All that we had together I now know to be a lie.
We’ve not only lost our son but also the entire foundation of our family life.’

‘It wasn’t like that . . .’ he began.

‘Oh yes, it was,’ I said. ‘Look, I just want you to go. I do not want you here under the same roof as me. Can you not understand that?’

‘But I know I can help you, Marion. I want to give you support. And there are practical things I can help with too. I mean, are you sure you have the best possible solicitor? I’ll
pay, of course—’

‘Robert, I am more than satisfied that Marti Smith, the woman you saw, is an excellent solicitor. In any case, it doesn’t really matter, because I am innocent of everything
I’ve been accused of. And surely, even in this mad crazy world I suddenly seem to inhabit, innocence must count for something.’

‘Well, of course, of course,’ he said.

‘I do hope so,’ I replied.

He took a step towards me, eyes imploring, reaching out with both hands. I took a step back. It wasn’t even deliberate. Just the involuntary reaction I now seemed to have to the man I had
so loved.

‘Look, in any case, it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, whatever you’ve done,’ he said. ‘I would understand, after what has happened. Anyone would. I know how
overcome by grief you have been, we both have. Then you began to doubt me, in every way. I understand that too. You had good cause. And it was entirely my fault. So if you were responsible for any
of this, then I am as much to blame as you.’

Even after all that had happened I found myself mildly shocked.

‘I just told you I was innocent,’ I said. ‘And I cannot believe that you of all people would think any differently. How could you even begin to suspect that I may have had
anything to do with abducting a child and letting him half freeze to death?’

‘No, of course not, I only wanted you to know I understood, and I only meant . . .’ He stumbled over his words, unable to finish the sentence.

‘Oh, fuck off, Robert,’ I said.

He backed away at once. It was probably only the second time I had ever sworn at him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. Of course I do. But if you didn’t, then who did?’

‘Who indeed, Robert?’ I repeated. ‘I’ve already asked you that question. You’re every bit as likely to know as I am, if not more so.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

I sighed. ‘I’m not really sure, Robert,’ I said. ‘I’m not really sure of anything any more. Except that I do not want you here. Just leave, will you.’

He looked shifty.

‘And where do you suggest I should go?’ he enquired.

‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘As long as you’re not here with me.’

‘Can I at least take the car?’

‘I don’t have it, you bloody fool. The police are still crawling all over it, looking for some obscure piece of evidence with which to pin an unspeakable crime on me.’

He looked quite aghast at that.

‘I’ll call another taxi then,’ he said.

‘Right. And go and wait in the sitting room, will you. I don’t want to have to see you.’

He left the room without another word. About forty-five minutes later I heard a vehicle pull into the yard, presumably a taxi, and the front door open and close.

Robert left without attempting to speak to me again. I locked and bolted the door behind him.

It was almost eight o’clock by then. In a strange flash of practical lucidity I remembered that I had no transport of my own and called American Express to ask them to send my new card to
Highrise after all. Then I spent a couple of hours just sitting at the kitchen table staring into space. I didn’t dare switch on the TV. I was afraid of seeing the news and of what might be
on it. Eventually I set the new alarm system, and took myself off to bed, dosing myself with zolpidem and whisky. Only as I climbed under the duvet did I realize I had made no further enquiries
about Florrie. I could have done with her company and the close proximity of her warm furry body. Instead I had thoughtlessly left her to spend another night in kennels. However, I was sure she
would forgive me under the circumstances and I would do my best to get her released the following day.