Unspoken (25 page)

‘He told you this?’ I asked.

But before Jonathon could reply, I saw the silhouette of David’s figure striding down to the lake’s edge. My heart fluttered. So it didn’t look as if we were parcelled up in secrets, Jonathon had the good sense to continue with our walk. He loosely wound a guiding arm around my back, leading me on. In a moment, we were perched on the edge of the small wooden landing deck at the shore.

‘I’ve brought sustenance.’ David strangled bottles of champagne in his fists. Glasses and another bottle were bracketed under his other arm. He was breathless, exhilarated and grinned as he stepped on to the deck. His hair fell over his face and he didn’t have a hand free to brush it away. ‘God knows I need it after Mother.’ He didn’t seem upset that I was alone with Jonathon.

A rowing boat was tethered to the landing by a rope. It bobbed in the water as David settled himself next to us. ‘You didn’t introduce me to her,’ I said, thankful I had escaped the trauma. I relieved David of the bottles. Surely we’d had enough to drink already.

‘Fuck, you don’t need to meet her, Mary. She’s cold. The original Ice Queen.’ David sat on the bleached wood and clawed back a bottle from me. He picked off the foil and unwound the wire. No one spoke as the cork erupted into the night.

I set out the glasses and David stared at me as he poured. His deep eyes gave away none of his thoughts. The champagne fizzed up to the rim and David topped up the levels when it sank down again. He didn’t spill a drop. ‘To friends and lovers,’ he said, raising his glass. He continued to stare at me, leaving me in no doubt that what Jonathon had told me was true. The bubbles in my glass rose to the surface, popping, as if they never existed.

Music and laughter, sent to us from the party on the increasing breeze, broke the silence. I raised my glass. ‘To friends,’ I said, hoping to diffuse the weight of David’s toast.

We sipped, smiling through the champagne, all apparently agreeing that we were drinking to friendship. I can’t recall who suggested it; whose voice it was that changed the rest of my life.

‘Let’s take the boat out.’

 

Flora, I say. Do you understand?

We’ve been signing away as if there’s nothing wrong. In between asking about school, Milo and the farm, I explain things to her that I’ve not been able to tell anyone. Flora’s silence makes it easy. She sits there, big-eyed, watching as my old hands offer a selection of child-friendly truths.

We connect – her young eyes dazzling mine. She nods. She understands.

With arthritic yet graceful hands I say: Don’t tell anyone, Flora. It’s a secret. Do you promise not to tell?

Flora pulls a face that convinces me my secret is easy to keep safe. Without another thought, she continues chatting about fun things again; things that are familiar in her world.

As long as someone knows, I think; just as long as I’m not the only one. I pull Flora close for a hug. This time her hair smells of marzipan.

I stare out of the window. There is a small lake at the end of the hospital grounds. I see a sparkle jump off the water before a cloud skims in front of the sun. There is a boat bobbing about. A single person on board.

You told me you don’t like lakes, Grandma. Why are you staring at it?

I reply with my arms slung around her waist and my nose pressed into her curls. Because sometimes, my darling, it just goes that you can’t help being attracted to the things that terrify you the most.

At school, as I walk through the corridors to my classroom, the staff look at me with equal measures of pity and suspicion. The substitute teacher is sitting at my desk and treats me as if I’m an impostor. Apparently I didn’t give enough notice for my return to work.

‘Ah,’ he says with a telling lift of his chin. ‘Mrs Marshall. You’re back.’

‘So no one told you that I was coming in today?’ The sub shakes his head and there follows a silent battle for my desk. I put my handbag on the corner and hang my coat on the hook behind the door. He stays put.

‘Hey, Mrs M. How’s things?’ A couple of kids greet me as if I’ve never been away, while several are apprehensive about talking to me. They associate me with Grace; don’t want the same to happen to them.

‘So,’ I say, leaning on my desk. ‘Looks like you’ve kept things in pretty good order.’ In fact, everything looks
out
of order because there’s not much on my desk at all. There are a few assignments neatly stacked, but they appear to be marked already. I don’t remember leaving my classroom like this, but then again, I don’t remember things being in a mess. Not compared to how things are now.

‘You have a class of willing and able students.’

I think of Grace in hospital. Her spirit is still in this classroom; her bright, alert face always keen to offer up answers.

‘Let’s go and see the head,’ I say. The sub rises solemnly, as if we are about to appear in front of a judge. ‘Get on and read Act Two of the play,’ he tells the class. ‘There’s a test later.’ I make a mental note not to have one.

Patricia, the head teacher, seems as surprised to see me at school as everyone else. ‘Good God, woman. Are you back?’ She’s always been like that. That’s why she’s the principal, I suppose.

‘I did telephone. I know things have been a bit up and down recently, and for that I apologise. It’s been—’

‘No apologies. Everyone here is still in shock. You must be too.’ She speaks in bullet points.

‘I am, and—’

‘Mr Hargraves. Thank you for your assistance. I believe Year Seven is down a teacher today. Wretched virus. Would you be so kind?’ He doesn’t get a chance to protest.

We leave the head’s office feeling like naughty schoolkids and depart where the corridor forks. ‘Thanks for holding the fort,’ I say, wondering how I will cope alone.

Back in the classroom, I take a deep breath. And then the register, skipping quickly past the gap that comes between Cochrane and Davies.

No one mentions Grace until period three. Her empty desk glows neon, somehow taking up far more space than the other, occupied desks. I can’t stop looking at it; imagining her muddy, naked body sitting there; thinking of it now, lifeless in a coma. I deliver the essays back to my pupils.

‘What did Grace get for her essay?’ Josh leers at me. He’s always been the one to push things too far.

‘Other students’ grades are confidential, Josh.’

‘What did she look like when you found her? Was there much blood?’

‘Josh Ellis, this is not appropriate behaviour. If you don’t settle down and get on with the tasks on the whiteboard, then I’ll have no option but to send you to the deputy head.’

‘Or beat me up.’

I should have turfed him out there and then along with the other pupils whose sniggers rippled through the class. But Grace wouldn’t want that. She was tolerant and thoughtful, and I’d always seen her differently to the other kids. She was more mature, more able to relate to adults, perhaps therefore attractive to David. I swat the thought from my head.

The bell rings. ‘Remember, complete the English question sheet by Monday, because we’ll need it for class-work next week. And if you have any completed homework set by Mr Hargraves then let me have it now.’ It’s hard to compete against the scraping chairs and chatter as the class evacuates for mid-morning break, but suddenly there are twenty or so pieces of work slapped on to my desk as students leave.

The last to depart is Amy, a shy girl who is flipping through the leaves of a binder. ‘I did do it, honestly.’ Her fair cheeks flush crimson as I approach.

‘The dog didn’t get it then?’ I smile.

She laughs without looking up. ‘Perhaps.’ Then, after rummaging in her pack, ‘Ah, here it is. Sorry it’s creased.’

‘Thanks, Amy.’ She turns to leave, still not looking at me. ‘Amy,’ I say, halting her. ‘You’re friends with Grace, aren’t you?’

She nods. Hangs her head as if not talking about Grace will make it all go away.

‘Was there anything unusual going on in her life before she was . . . before this happened? Was she upset about anything?’ I see the girl swallow; too big a lump for someone who has no food in her mouth.

‘Not really.’

‘Was she happy? Did she tell you any secrets? It’s important, Amy.’

She stares up at me through wisps of long hair. ‘I already told the police everything I know. Which is nothing.’ Her voice is fractured.

‘OK, Amy. It’s OK.’ The hand on her shoulder does it.

‘She made me promise, all right, so just leave me alone.’ Amy charges out of the classroom, knocking over a chair on her way.

‘Find me after school,’ I call after her, but with all the trouble banging about in her head, I doubt she hears me.

 

‘Nadine, I can’t possibly come to police headquarters with you. If I miss any more work, I’ll get the sack.’ We are standing in the street outside Denby High School, having dodged the single remaining reporter who holds vigil at the gate. Now he knows I’m the one who made the discovery, he’s not going to let up. He fires a couple of questions at me as we pass but I ignore him. It makes me wonder if he knows about my relationship with David. That would get the presses rolling. Teacher and doctor involved in schoolgirl attack.

Nadine is unimpressed. She has driven from Cambridge before her shift. ‘Can’t you just tell me whatever it is here?’ I continue, jamming a chunk of loose hair back inside my clip.

‘I’m sorry, Julia. I understand.’ She stares hard at the journalist and turns her back on him, shielding me from the camera that’s slung around his neck. Nadine’s face stiffens and my heart kicks up a gear.

‘What, Nadine? What is it?’

She takes my arm and we walk away from school, getting caught up in the tide of pupils heading down to the row of shops for sweets and crisps and cans of drink. For a second, I imagine everything feels normal.

‘Chrissie Weaver called me. She looked into your mother’s file at The Lawns.’ Nadine talks slowly, pacing the news in time with our slow steps. ‘It all seems a bit . . . unusual. Especially concerning her admission.’ Nadine’s grip on my arm tightens. ‘For a start, there’s no written report of any kind about the MRI scan that Mary had. Those results were what warranted her hospital stay in the first place.’

‘Well that’s easy to explain.’ Nadine is way off the mark here. ‘It’s bound to be a mix-up between NHS and private systems. The scan was done by the NHS and The Lawns is a private hospital.’ I consider other possibilities. ‘Or perhaps one of the doctors was reviewing the results and forgot to put them back in the file.’

‘I’m afraid not, Julia. Chrissie’s checked out all these possibilities and she’s talked to the nurses too. There’s simply no reference anywhere to her MRI scan or the results.’ Nadine slows our pace virtually to a halt. It gives me time to think.

‘That’s just not possible. David should know about this. He’d be furious.’ Then I have a sick feeling as I remember where David is. My mother will not be on his list of priorities any more. ‘David’s paying good money for that place. I must tell him.’ I’m thinking out loud, wondering what will happen to Mum if the account doesn’t get paid.

‘Thanks for bringing up the second issue.’ Nadine stops and turns through ninety degrees to face me. A turbulent stream of schoolkids flows around us. ‘Chrissie also checked with the accounts centre at the hospital and couldn’t find out who’s paying the bill. Naturally they’re not allowed to release specific details, but they confirmed it wasn’t David’s name on the account. Chrissie said they implied a business or a trust.’

‘Nadine, I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. None of this really warrants a special trip to see me, let alone a crusade to police headquarters. Missing medical reports and mysterious hospital bills are hardly going to interest Ed and his team, even if the information does happen to come from his wife.’

‘Oh, Julia.’ Nadine takes hold of my hands and suddenly the swill of kids subsides and we are all alone, standing beneath an avenue of trees that looks like it’s been charcoaled on to the bleak winter townscape. ‘There’s more—’

‘Stop! Right now.’ I’ve had enough. I snap my hands from Nadine’s mercy grip. ‘Why is everyone out to nail David before he’s even stood trial? Murray says that the CPS is teetering about his case anyway . . .’

My hand comes up slowly to my face, my fingers spreading to cover my mouth. But it’s too late. I’ve just told the wife of the detective who’s charged David that the CPS don’t like the look of the evidence. ‘Nadine, I can’t see you again. Not until this is all over.’ And the hardest thing to do as I turn and run isn’t abandoning my sister-in-law but not finding out what else she was going to say.

 

I’ve seen Murray with other women before. He fanned through a variety of girlfriends before we got together, some suitable, some downright ridiculous. So when I see them tucked inside
Alcatraz
, laughing, impressing, overstating every move in an obvious mating ritual, it’s tempting to pass judgement like I once would have done, when I was just a kid and waiting to grow up for Murray.

I don’t mind interrupting their little get-together. She’s about my age, a whole lot less stressed than me, and isn’t wearing any make-up but still looks great. She holds a glass of red wine as if it’s Murray’s hand steadying her as the boat yaws from my arrival. The first thing he says is quite responsible.

‘Where are the children?’ This shows me that he’s not had very much to drink yet.

My reply, however, doesn’t sound much like it will win any parenting awards. ‘I left them with Brenna. She’s quite capable.’ I added that to at least show I’d considered the arrangement. ‘I won’t stay long.’ My mind races back. Alex had mentioned ‘Dad’s friend’. This must be her. If I’m honest, I don’t like it.

‘You’re right. You won’t stay long. In fact, not another minute. I want you to go right back and look after our children. Leaving them in Brenna’s care is madness, Julia. The girl is a liability to herself, let alone our kids.’ By now, Murray has me backed up against the stove to make this as much of a private moment as possible. His friend tries not to watch our exchange but I can see she’s sneaking a look. I don’t breathe, which makes my reply barely there.