You Can Trust Me (36 page)

Will's eyes open wide. “
Leo
said that?”

I give him a brisk nod. “Martha did first—she told me what he told her. But I've spoken to Leo since. He confirmed it.”

Silence. Will looks dumbstruck. “I don't … I can't imagine … what Leo thinks he saw, but whatever it is, he's wrong.”

“He saw you kissing.”

“No.” Will's voice rises. “No, I
swear
. That didn't happen.”

I breathe out, a long, slow sigh. So he can't even give me this. He can't even admit his guilt.

Will is shaking his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Leo can tell
me
what he thinks he saw. I don't believe this.”

“No,” I say, “that's not fair on Leo. Or Martha.”

“Not fair on—?” Will glares at me as he clutches his mobile. “What about what's fair on
me
 … on
us
? They're lying, Liv, or … or you've misunderstood … or—”

“I
haven't
.” A poisonous cocktail of emotions swirls in my stomach, making me feel sick. I feel utterly humiliated, guilty that Leo will be put in such a horribly awkward position, furious with him for bringing me this terrible news, beyond furious with Will for cheating and then lying. And through it all, the agony of betrayal. The toolbox catches my eye. I remember Julia's ring. And in that moment, I'm certain Will's crime goes way beyond his betrayal of me.

“Julia found out too, didn't she?” I ask. “Did she know about Catrina? Or was it someone else?”

“No.” Will raises his phone to his ear. “Julia didn't know
anything.
There was …
is
 … nothing to know.”

“Why did you take her ring, then?”

“I
didn't—
”

“So why haven't you sent it back to Robbie like you said you would?”

“I FedEx-ed it to Joanie in Bridport.
Jesus.
” Will lowers his phone. “Leo's mobile is switched off. I'm calling the house.” He scrolls down, making the new call.

I chew on my lip. I don't think I have ever felt worse in my life.

“Hi, Paul, it's Will.… Yes, I'm fine.… Is Leo there?”

I hold my breath, waiting for Paul to pass the phone to Leo. They should both be there. When I saw them earlier, Leo said they were staying in with takeout for dinner.

“When will Leo be back? Right.” Will nods at whatever Paul is saying. “Fine, I'll try him later.” He snaps his phone off. “Leo's out until late. Paul doesn't know where.”

I let out my breath. I can't decide whether I'm relieved or not that Leo either has changed his plans or, more likely, isn't prepared to take Will's call.

“Never mind Leo, you're making everything ten times worse by not admit—”

“How could it be ten times worse, Livy?” Will's voice rises again. “Tell me how this situation could be
any
fucking worse?”

I swallow hard. “I just—”

“I know we're in a bad place, that things have been difficult for a while,” Will says. “I know you don't …
haven't …
trusted me for a long time.” He rubs his forehead.

“I did.” Emotion swells inside me. “I
did
trust you, and you've made an idiot of me.” My voice cracks.

“Why don't you believe me?” Will asks, his voice almost as broken as mine.

“Because … how can I?”

“So you'll take Leo's word over mine?”

“Leo has no reason to lie to me.”

“Unlike me, you mean?” Will says. “Liv, I'm
not
lying.”

We stare at each other.

“You lied before,” I say. “You lied six years ago.”

“But that was different,” Will insists. “You
know
that was different. Back then, it was just after Zack and …
God,
Livy, you were so obsessed with him. It was like I didn't matter. Like you fell in love with being his mother, and all I was … was a walking wallet.”

I turn away. I remember clearly Will's complaints at the time about existing in the family only to fund it. It was never true—not for me, anyway. And it's not relevant. Not to what we're talking about now.

“Don't make this about me,” I say. “You
love
being at work. You
enjoy
what you do. You always have.”

“It's not that black-and-white.” Will sighs. “Come on, Liv. Do you really think I
want
to be at work all the time? I'd love to be able to spend more time here. I look at you and I
envy
the fact that after the kids and the house, you can snatch yourself an hour here and there if you want. You could even get back into photography—or do that master's you used to talk about.”

I stare down at the dusty floor. “It's not that easy.”

“It's not easy for me either,” Will goes on. “It's horrible not to be trusted.”

Irritation roils inside me. I look up. “Well, whose fault is that?”

“Don't you think I
know
it's my fault? Don't you think I haven't regretted what happened for the past six years? I thought things were getting better, but now … now…”

I have the sense of us both, teetering on a cliff edge, held back only by the magnitude of the jump ahead.

“It's not working,” I say.

“I know.”

We look at each other.

“Do you still love me?” Will asks. “Because I still love you.”

A lump lodges itself in my throat. “I don't know,” I admit.

Will nods, the fire of his anger dying in his eyes. Another long silence stretches between us. I feel hollow inside, as if all the hope and life of our relationship have burned to ashes. Everything I touch dies. Kara. Julia. My marriage.

“I want you to move out,” I say.

“No, Livy, for God's sake. I haven't even had a chance to talk to Leo yet. Find out what he's playing at. You can't—”

“You can't tell me what to do, Will. You've thrown it away. You've fucking thrown everything we had away.” I spit out the last words. My stomach is churning, my guts a sea of acid. Everything is poison.

Will stares at me, his mouth trembling with hurt and anger.

“We need a break, at least,” I say.

“What about the kids?” Will glares at me. “I don't want to do this, Liv. Surely we—”

“We need to see how we feel apart. I'm not saying you can't come around. See the kids whenever you—”

“Jesus Christ!” Will explodes. “Don't start talking about when I can see the kids. It's—”

“It's the only way.” I stare at him, knowing my eyes are hard even as my insides are crumbling. He won't admit it. He won't give us a way of working through things. I don't trust him. Can't ever trust him now.

“Fine,” Will snarls. “I'm going to a hotel. I'll tell the kids it's work. But I want them tomorrow. And I want them
here.
You can stay in the hotel tomorrow. Or with that boy toy of Julia's. Or wherever you fucking want.”

I open my mouth to protest, but before I can speak, Will storms out. I stand in the middle of the garage, numb. For a moment it feels like the room, the house, the world is turning circles inside my head. Will has left the door to the kitchen open. I can hear him cross the hall, his feet on the stairs. Two … three minutes pass. Then he's stomping down the stairs. Across the hall. The front door shuts. A firm click. He's gone.

I sink to the floor. The little Thomas the Tank Engine boot is on its side in front of the toolbox where I found Julia's ring. It reminds me of Zack. And Hannah. And how Will—how Will and I together—are about to shatter their lives. I haven't told him anything that Damian and I found out about Julia. I haven't told him about the fire or Shannon's death. And it is remembering how much I wanted him at my side earlier, when I felt so vulnerable, that brings me, finally, to a bawling mess, my cheek cold against the dirty floor, my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.

*   *   *

The next morning passes in a daze. Both kids sleep late, though in Zack's case, this only means until eight o'clock. I barely sleep at all, partly because of everything that's happening with Will and partly out of fear for my and the kids' safety. I get up several times to check that every door and window is properly locked.

At eleven, Zack is picked up for an outing to Paignton Zoo with his friends Noah and Barney and Barney's parents. I let him go with severe misgivings. Yesterday's scare with Hannah may have had nothing to do with Julia's murderer, but the man who followed Damian and me is still out there. I'm certain, though I have no proof, that he killed Shannon and my sister as well as Julia. And he set fire to the cottage while Damian and I were still inside it.

He knows who I am; he could know everything about me. I'm not safe, which means my children aren't either. Yet, in the sunny light of this summer's day, I can find no logical reason to stop Zack from going out. After all, the fire was now two days ago, and there has been no further threat to me since then. Damian calls to make sure I am all right. He is still preoccupied with everything we have found out about Julia's last days and points out that in all the drama over Hannah, I never told him what I'd learned from Robbie.

I hesitate. I have given that conversation—and what it revealed—little thought since yesterday morning.

“What is it, Livy?”

I take a deep breath and tell him about Julia's will, the one Robbie claims to have destroyed.

“He says she left you everything, but the will was never registered with a solicitor, so—”

Damian gasps. “I had no idea she did that,” he says, his voice swelling with emotion.

I believe him. After all, if he'd known about the will, he would surely have told the police to look for it. He certainly wouldn't have killed Julia for her money before making sure he was definitely going to inherit it. Anyway, right now, I have to trust someone.

I don't tell Damian about Will and me, however. I haven't told anyone about that. It's far too early to upset Mum with the news, and I don't want the pity I know I'll get from any of my other friends. I would have confided in Julia at this point. Partly because she would have told me, straight off, that she was on my side, whatever I chose to do. And partly just because I always told her everything. Yesterday, Robbie almost spoiled the memories I have of Julia. I'm going to try to forget everything he said about her, and today I make a point of telling Damian how much I miss Julia's sharp wit and practical, hardheaded outlook on life.

He responds with his own stories of Julia's humor and support. How she kept him going when he lost three projects in a row and was starting to doubt his own abilities, how she made him laugh, how soft she was “on the inside, where nobody saw, Livy.” It's hard to reconcile Damian's version of Julia with Robbie's. The truth is that I don't recognize my best friend in either of their portraits. And that knowledge leaves me more depressed than ever.

Our conversation turns to what we should do next. Damian has at last come round to the idea that I should talk to the police, though he is still reluctant to go himself.

“I know we've got no evidence, but everything we've found out
must
add up,” he says. “Shannon's death. The fire. The guy who followed us. You're going to have to tell the police everything. Let them take over.” He hesitates. “You're going to have to tell them about Will taking Julia's ring.”

Despair crawls through my veins again at the thought of Will's angry face. I don't want to talk to the police about Julia. I don't want to talk to anyone. However, I agree to meet Damian later—after all, if Will was serious about having the kids here tonight, then I will have to find somewhere else to go anyway. I'm aware Will and I can't keep such a situation going for very long, but right now I can't think beyond tonight.

I end my call with Damian, only to have my cell ring again almost immediately. It's Robbie.

“Hi, Livy.” His voice is breathy and expectant. It turns my stomach.

“Hi … sorry, Robbie, it's not a good time.”

“Okay, sure, sure. I can call later. I just … I wanted to tell you how wonderful it was to see you yesterday. I wondered if you wanted to meet later on. Perhaps a drink?”

I shake my head, amazed at his confidence. “Thanks, Robbie, but I'll have to call you back.”

“Sure, sure.” He lets me go.

I sit on the sofa, put down my phone, and rest my head in my hands. I can't think straight. My head is full of fog. Robbie is the last thing I need. Hannah drifts in to the living room. To my surprise, she comes over and curls up beside me. I put my arm around her tentatively. We sit in silence for a minute; then Hannah uncurls, stretching out like a cat.

“Can I go over to Romayne's?” she asks.

So that was what her show of affection was about. Cupboard love, as my mother would say. I feel irritated. “No, Hannah. You're grounded for the rest of the week. Dad explained all that yesterday.”

Hannah sits upright, a mutinous downturn to her mouth. “That's not fair,” she pouts.

I shake my head. “That's how it is.” I walk off, into the kitchen.

Hannah trails after me, complaining. We end up shouting. Hannah flees the room in hysterical tears. The next thing I hear is her bedroom door slamming upstairs. I spend the next hour sitting at the kitchen table. I don't seem to be able to move. In the end I register that I am hungry, that I haven't eaten anything since yesterday's dinner, so I make a slice of toast for lunch. I manage only half of it. Hannah still hasn't reappeared.

The doorbell rings. I drag myself to the door in a fog of misery. Paul is standing on the doorstep. The sun is shining, though the sidewalk outside glistens wetly. I hadn't even been aware it rained earlier. Paul smiles. His teeth are very white, his trousers pressed, and his shirt crisp. He looks fresh and rested. I, on the other hand, am wearing a loose top over sweatpants and no makeup. My hair feels lank about my face. I shield my eyes from the sun, now embarrassed by the state of my appearance on top of everything else.