You Can Trust Me (23 page)

“Including Julia?”

“Especially Julia. I was so damn nervous when I met her, though I told her the truth after the first couple of dates.…” He trails off. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you from the outset, but I knew if she'd said anything about me, it would be as Damian Burton, DB … Dirty Blond, remember? It was easiest not to have to explain the whole effing story on top of everything else I had to tell you.”

“Okay.” I study him carefully. His explanation makes sense, but how can I really be sure that he's telling the truth? And if he's lying about this, he could be lying about anything.

We carry on talking, our conversation going round and round in circles. It feels surreal.

“The only thing that doesn't fit with Julia suspecting Will of an affair, is that she told me she'd found out who Kara's killer was,” Damian says eventually. “Either the two things are totally unconnected or—” He stops, but I can hear the thought he is holding back from voicing:
Or Julia believed Will killed Kara and was planning on getting Shannon from Honey Hearts to somehow make him confess.

I shudder. Damian gets up and fills the kettle.

“I'm so sorry about all this, Livy.” His face softens into a sad smile.

I sip the tea he makes. It's weak but not too milky, just how I like it—as we sit in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. After a while, I come around to the only possible next step. I clear my throat. “I'm going to speak to Will again when he gets in.” I check the time. It's just past 2:30
P.M.
I can't believe how much of the day has already passed.

“Then I'm going to stay,” Damian says firmly. “You don't know how he's going to react when you confront him about the ring.”

I gulp, remembering what had sent me into the garage in the first place. “The trouble is it's all mixed up with him seeing Catrina again, and I
can't
tell Will that Martha told me about that. It will get her into trouble with her own husband.”

“He'll probably confess—to the affair, at least,” Damian says, sitting back in his chair. “Most people don't like the burden of guilt, they want to ease their conscience. I did, the one time I cheated. My girlfriend at college. She heard from a friend I had a one-night stand. It was actually a relief to come clean.”

I purse my lips. I can't believe Will is going to confess or feel remotely relieved. He will most likely deny everything, and other than Julia's ring and his name on the Honey Hearts form, I have no tangible proof of either an affair or any secret contact with Julia.

“What happened with your girlfriend?”

“She dumped me,” Damian says with a sigh.

We talk a little more. I tell Damian he doesn't need to stay, but again he insists. I'm grateful for his desire to make sure I'm okay, but the more time passes, the harder it becomes to talk to him.

I'm in such a miserable daze that I'm genuinely staggered when Zack rushes out of school later, clutching a large pile of colorful paintings and explaining, with a big grin, that they've been allowed to bring all their pictures home today, as the school lets out for summer tomorrow. Which means Hannah's term finishes the day after.

My heart sinks. I love my children too much to wish them a front-row seat as Will and I fall apart. Hannah gets home, her usual surly self, and goes straight up to her room, barely acknowledging me. She does, at least, smile nicely at Damian, whom I introduce as a friend of Julia's.

An hour or so later, I leave Damian downstairs and go upstairs to the bathroom. Feeling raw, I almost break down at the sight of our bedroom—at the bed where Zack was conceived, at Will's jeans splayed on the carpet, and at the photos of our wedding on the window ledge. My phone rings. Robbie again. I ignore the call. This time Robbie leaves a voice mail—a plaintive request “for a chat” when I have a moment. There's no way I'm up to that. Fresh tears leak out of my eyes as I sink down onto the bed. I have never felt so alone in my life.

A moment later, I hear raised voices coming from downstairs.

“Sorry, but who are you?” It's Will. He sounds tired and irritated—and wary. “Where's Livy?”

Damian says something from the living room. I can't hear what. Then there are footsteps on the stairs. Next thing, Will is at the bedroom door, frowning.

“What's going on?” he demands.

Damian has followed him up the stairs, Zack at his side. The two men stare at each other. Actually, “glare” would be a better word. Damian's expression is openly hostile.

“Will, this is Damian, Julia's friend,” I say quickly. “Damian, this is my husband, Will.” I cast Damian a look of appeal. “Would you wait downstairs, with Zack, please?”

Damian throws me a look that quite clearly tells me to shout if I need him, then retreats, taking a grumbling Zack back downstairs.

Will shakes his head. “What's going on? Why is that man here? I want a shower and—”

“I know about Catrina.” The words blurt out of me, unplanned. “Is she why you want a shower?”

“What?” Will stares at me. His expression darkens. “For God's sake, Liv, what are you going on about now?”

I stand up and cross the room to the window. It's muggy and overcast outside, making the early evening far darker than it would normally be.

“We need to talk.”

“No fucking kidding,” Will snaps. He slumps onto the bed. “Will you please explain what is happening?”

I walk over to him. Julia's ring is hot against my clammy palm. I unclench my fist and hold it out to him.

“I found this in the garage,” I say.

Will stares at me as if I've gone mad. “What is it?”

“It's Julia's,” I say, watching him intently. “I mentioned it before. Julia's mother thinks I stole it.”

“What was it doing in our garage?” Will looks genuinely bemused. For a second I falter; then I remember the Honey Hearts form with the name Will Jackson—and Martha's agonized face as she told me about Will and Catrina.

I take a deep breath. “That's what I was hoping you would tell me.”

“
Me
?” He sits up straighter in his chair, his eyes registering first confusion, then horror. “You think
I
took it?”

I sit down next to him and place the ring on the bed between us. “I don't know what to think,” I say. “Firstly, I find out Julia hired a woman from a honey trap agency to try to seduce you.”

“
That
again?” Will shakes his head in disbelief.

“Secondly,” I press on, “I discover Julia's missing ring in our garage, which you are the only person ever to use.”

Will folds his arms, indignant, defensive.

“And thirdly.” My voice cracks. “Thirdly I found out for sure that you and Catrina were … were together on that trip to Geneva.”

Will's eyes widen. “Found out?
How?
What the hell are you saying? How could you ‘find out' something that didn't happen?”

“I can't tell you, it doesn't matter.” My heart thumps painfully against my ribs. “Are you denying it, then?”

“I refuse to dignify that question with an answer,” Will's snaps. “None of this makes sense, Livy.
Not. One. Bit
. It's like you're forcing the dots to join up but they don't make a picture.” He pauses. “You're being paranoid. It's just like when you got all overprotective about Hannah when she was little—you've got obsessed and it's making you completely irrational.”

What?
Is he kidding? I back away from him. “Don't deny Catrina. You did that before and—”

“I didn't fucking sleep with her!” Will's voice rises to a yell.

I stare at him, my whole body shaking. “I don't believe you.”

A beat passes as we look at each other.

“Right.” Will snatches Julia's ring off the bed. “Are you sure
you
didn't take this, like Joanie said?” he asks nastily.

“Of course n—”

“If this ring is Julia's, then it belongs to her mother now.” Will strides to the door. “I'll get it couriered round to Robbie from work tomorrow.”

“Will, please—”

He holds up his hand, palm out, to stop me speaking. “I can't cope with this, Livy. Work is stressful. I don't need this bullshit when I come home. I understand you are upset about Julia, but this is too much. Accusing me of sleeping with Catrina, and—” He holds up Julia's ring. “—accusing me of stealing this. You'll be accusing me of Julia's murder next.”

I keep my gaze on his eyes, which fill with horror as he clocks my expression.

“Oh, Jesus,” he says in disgust. “I don't fucking believe it.” He takes a step outside the room. “I'm going to check into a hotel,” he says. “Give you a chance to think about what the hell you're doing.” He jerks his thumb toward the stairs. “And why that asshole is here.”

“Good. That's good.” My words shoot out of me, full of hate and anger: “Maybe you'll take a bit of time to think too, about everything you've blown apart for a cheap shag.”

Will storms downstairs. I hurry after him and catch a glimpse of Hannah, openmouthed in her bedroom door. Zack is nowhere to be seen, but Damian is in the hall, his hands clenched into fists.

“That man is not staying here, Liv,” Will orders.

Damian draws himself up. It flashes through my head that, as far as he is concerned, all the evidence points to Will as Julia's killer.

“I'll be fine,” I say quickly to Damian. “You can leave when Will goes.”

Will stomps past me into the kitchen to fetch his jacket and briefcase. He returns to the hall and crosses to the front door.

“Daddy?” Hannah's shaky voice sounds from upstairs.

Will and I look up together.

“Everything's fine, Hanabana,” Will says. “I just have to go away for work.”

Zack zooms out of nowhere, hurling himself at Will's knees. Will picks him up and hugs him, but his eyes are still on Hannah. She nods, but I can tell she's only pretending to believe what Will has just said. A deep sense of shame fills me.

Will sets Zack down. He says good-bye, then looks meaningfully at Damian. Damian gives me a glance.

“It's okay. Go,” I say.

And then he follows Will out the front door. Suddenly the house is quiet. Zack drifts away, into the living room. He's used to his father's sudden absences and clearly hasn't registered the tension—or, if he has, doesn't know what to make of it. I turn to Hannah. She's looking at me in disgust. I open my mouth to defend myself, to tell her the truth about her precious father; then I shut it again. She is only twelve. It wouldn't be fair.

“Dad'll be back soon,” I say reassuringly, though I don't know if that is true. Or if, indeed, I want him to come back.

Hannah just stares at me for a second, then goes back into her room and slams the door. I wander into the kitchen and start, absently, getting tea ready. As I put the pasta into the boiling water, I decide that once both kids' terms end, I'll take them to my mum's for a few days. It will give us all a bit of respite—and me a chance to think about my marriage.

Damian texts to check I'm okay. I really think he is worried Will might have doubled back to kill me. Through gritted teeth, I reassure Damian that though my husband may be a lying, cheating ass, he is not a murderer.

Damian doesn't respond to this, but sends another text to say he's got his “geek” friend Gaz trying to trace Shannon and that he'll keep me posted.

It's not enough. I need answers
now
. Where is Shannon? What has happened to her? A shiver snakes down my spine as I imagine Julia's killer tracking her down. I tell myself I'm overreacting, that there could be a million explanations for Shannon's departure from Honey Hearts. And yet I can't stop worrying. I feed the kids, then go online and search for reports of missing persons, of mysterious deaths.

It's depressing work—a sad litany of runaways and down-and-outers. There are only two truly unexplained deaths from the past week. A girl was stabbed to death in Bristol a few days ago, but she's younger than Shannon; another fell to her death from a high-rise balcony, but she's older, in her late thirties. There's nothing that can possibly be linked to Shannon.

Trying to put Julia's death, Shannon's disappearance, and my bust-up with Will out of my head, I call Mum. Her bout of flu has cleared up and she's delighted at the prospect of having the kids for a long weekend. I promise to drive them over as soon as Hannah gets out on Thursday. Zack is thrilled. He loves Mum's house with its big garden, huge-screen TV, and endless supply of chocolate cookies. Hannah is predictably furious, though to my relief, she doesn't mention the row she witnessed earlier; I'm hopeful she didn't actually overhear the specifics of what Will and I said.

“But I'm going out with my friends after school on the last day,” she wails. “It's a
tradition
.”

“How can it be a tradition?” I scoff. “You're at the end of your first year, you haven't had time to build up any end of term traditions.”

“Great.”
Hannah slouches off into the corner and slumps down into a sulk.

I contemplate saying something myself, about how spending a few days with
her
doesn't exactly fill me with joy; then I remind myself that I'm the adult in the relationship, that Hannah has the equivalent of a degree in winding me up and that the situation will only get worse if I react.

The next day passes in miserable isolation. Martha calls from her holiday to check I'm okay. Damian does the same. Will rings to speak to the children. I try to talk to him, but he flies off the handle again when I ask if he's still seeing Catrina.