Everything You Told Me Page 19

  ‘Just let her go, Sue,’ Dad says suddenly. ‘She wants to see a friend, that’s all.’

  Mum closes her mouth, pursing her lips, and seizing my chance, I quickly get to my feet, gather up my phone, purse and car keys, and then hasten over to kiss Theo, suddenly anxious.

  ‘The only thing is… you’re still happy to put him down again after what happened yesterday?’

  ‘Well, Matthew’s here, isn’t he?’ Mum says stoically. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, I’m sure we can tick Theo over until you get back.’

  ‘Get back from where?’ says Matthew, appearing suddenly in the kitchen doorway holding his empty mug.

  ‘I’m popping over to see Liv,’ I explain.

  ‘Why?’ Matthew says immediately.

  ‘Because I’d like to!’

  ‘You’re taking the car?’ Matthew says doubtfully.

  ‘Of course! How else would I get there?’

  ‘Well… OK then,’ he says slowly, and I just about manage to refrain from saying I wasn’t actually asking his permission. ‘Can you take Theo’s car seat out, though?’ He adds. ‘He might kick off and it would be helpful to go for a drive with him if he does. And Chloe’s too – just in case you get stuck in traffic or something and we need to pick her up. Liv’s expecting you, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, of course she is. But can we please just do the seats now, so I can get going?’ I force what I hope is an easy, relaxed smile.

  Matthew eyes me steadily. ‘Sure. I’ll do it now.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll get my shoes on.’ I go out into the hall and slide open the crammed-full drawer in the sideboard. ‘I might take some sunglasses too,’ I say out loud. ‘It’s brightened up quite a lot, hasn’t it? You should at least have a nicer drive to yours now, Mum.’ I rummage around in among the used batteries, screwdrivers, loose change, unopened post, and pull out some old glasses – then I spy the glint of what I’m really looking for: the spare keys to Will’s flat, which he gave me when he first moved in ages ago, in case of emergencies. I remove them silently and slip them into my pocket, before turning around and holding the glasses aloft. ‘Got them!’ I smile. ‘Right then, I’ll see you all later.’

  *

  My phone beeps yet again on the passenger seat as I turn into Will’s road. I pick it up, in case it’s Mum or Matthew with a problem about Theo, but glancing at the screen quickly, I see this time it’s an ex-work colleague, who I haven’t heard from since Chloe was born. I fling the phone back down and pull sharply into an unexpectedly free space a stone’s throw from Will’s flat. I know what the text will say, the same thing as all of the others: Hey Sally, saw you in the Mail. Are you OK? Xxx

  Yeah, I’m great, thanks. Beyond humiliated that everyone thinks I’ve gone mad and live in a secure facility where we’re only allowed to dress in fat pants and nightwear. Thanks for your consideration/ nosiness (delete as appropriate). What have you been up to for the last five years?

  I turn the engine off and pick up my phone again. Maybe this is the reality of what it takes to get some actual human contact from people these days. If you want to prise people’s attention from their screens, it’s going to take a pretty big bang – like being handed a food parcel by a minor celebrity in little more than your underwear. I sigh, and text back.

  Long time no speak! How have you been?

  Her response is immediate.

  I’m good thanks! Life is completely manic! Feet never touch the ground! You know how it is. So weird to see you in paper! Didn’t know you knew Kelly Harrington?

  No, this is weird… And yes, I can see you’re flat-out busy…

  I don’t bother responding this time. Instead, I call Will.

  ‘Sal!’ He picks up straight away. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. Are you at work at the moment? Can you talk?’

  ‘I am at work, yes, but it’s fine. I’ve got a meeting in about ten minutes, so now’s a good time. I was going to call you this morning, actually, but you beat me to it!’

  ‘Yeah, well, I just wanted to say sorry I wouldn’t speak to you last night. I was…’ I pause. ‘A little emotional.’

  ‘Of course you were. I understand completely. I hope Mum managed to explain just how upset Kelly was about it all too?’

  I grit my teeth. ‘Yes, she did. I don’t want Kelly to think I’m still angry with her, though, because I’m not. Perhaps I should call in and see her or something?’

  ‘Well, that would be nice, I’m sure she’d love that,’ Will says carefully, ‘but she’s not at home. She’s filming today.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean now,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m just on my way to a friend’s house, and then me and the kids are off to Mum’s for a few days. I meant when we’re back maybe?’

  ‘That’d be great. We’ll work something out.’

  ‘Sounds good. So you two sorted everything else then, after the ring incident?’

  Will hesitates. ‘Yes, we did. But like I said on Saturday, thanks for having my back. I appreciate it.’

  ‘No problem. Well, I’d better go, I’ve arrived at my friend’s now.’

  ‘OK. Have fun, and safe trip to Mum’s later.’

  ‘Thanks. Lots of love.’

  I hang up. Good. As suspected, they’re both out. Clutching my phone, keys and purse, I climb out of the car. Bleeping it shut, I look both ways and quickly cross the busy road, before arriving at the front door. Just for a moment, I waver, but then I remember exactly why I’m here – and how important it is. I press the buzzer for Will’s flat, just to double check, but it’s exactly as he’s already told me: no one is home. There is no response through the intercom, and after a moment, I lift the first of the two keys and open the communal front door. Letting myself into the large entrance hall, I make my way over to the shallow stairs and begin to pad up them, ready to smile easily in case I pass one of their neighbours, but everything is silent; the doors to the other flats stay closed. My phone starts to ring, making me jump guiltily, and even though it’s Liv, I don’t pick up. I need to concentrate. I’ll call her back later.

  When I reach Will’s front door, my heart gives an extra thud, despite my knowing there is no one there. I just have to be quick, that’s all. In and out. I take a deep breath, slide the key into the lock, and swing the door open…

  I actually haven’t been around to the flat since Kelly moved in, and things have certainly changed. The first thing that hits me is the sickly, heady smell of Star Gazer lilies, coming from a vast vase in the fireplace. Looking around me, the only piece of furniture I still recognize is Will’s battered old leather chair, over in the corner; other than that, everything is different. The walls are now a soft dove colour, Will’s sofa – our old one – has gone, and been replaced by a very expensive-looking corner unit arrangement, in grey velvet. There’s a large, deep-pile rug where his much smaller one used to be, which now covers practically all of the exposed wooden floorboards, making it feel much cosier and almost cocoon-like. There are strategic lamps everywhere, a pile of glossy magazines in a neat fan arrangement on a bleached wooden coffee table, and some large black-and-white shots of New York hanging on the walls. It’s within a whisker of being WAG-tastic – but in spite of myself, I absolutely love it. It’s a sumptuous, touchy-feely room for grown-ups. I want to climb onto the velvet sofa, curl up like a cat, and go to sleep.

  I walk over to the sideboard and put down my purse and the keys, before briefly picking up a picture of Kelly and Will. It looks like it was taken in a restaurant; he has his arm around her, and she’s laughing. I have to admit they look extremely happy. But then she’s also an actress, so who knows what her real motivation was?

  I look at Will again. Whenever I think of my brother, he is smiling. In fact, he’s pretty much permanently fixed in my mind as a chubby, red-cheeked three-year-old, lying on his back, shrieking with hysterical laughter as I tickle him. I know he’s a grown man now, but I will always associate him with that sound of innocen
t joy. No matter how old he gets, and whatever happens. I don’t want to have to distance myself from my little brother. I love him too much. So I have no choice but to do what I’ve come here for. I put the photo down, take a deep breath, and head off in the direction of the bathroom. I might as well start there. If I had a prescription of heavy-duty sleeping pills, is that where would I keep them?

  In the small, neat room, I pause in front of the gleaming, mirrored bathroom cabinet. Am I really going to do this? Go through Kelly’s personal belongings in the hope of finding, at the very least, whatever she spiked my drink with?

  Actually, yes I am. She drugged me and put me in a taxi that took me miles away from home, and the safety of my family. I just need the proof.

  With no further hesitation, I open the cupboard. It’s full of the usual bathroom stuff: nail clippers, spare toothbrush heads, a new tube of toothpaste, Nivea, plasters, some razors, mouthwash – but my eyes alight on a prescription packet. I pick it up and examine it. Ms K Harrington is typed neatly on the label of what is a popular brand of contraceptive pill. I grimace and put it back. I quickly start to rifle through the other boxes and packets, but it’s all paracetamol and ibuprofen.

  Bending down, I pull open the cupboard under the sink. Spare loo rolls, refill pads for the loo brush, Tampax, bleach – nothing else.

  Maybe her make-up bag? I walk smartly down the corridor into their bedroom. It’s a nice room, very calm. She’s painted it pale blue, and it’s got lots of white photo frames on the walls. This time the pictures are all of the two of them in various exotic locations. They’ve certainly packed a lot into their eleven months. I glance quickly at their bed. Her side is obviously on the right; surprisingly, there are a couple of historical fiction books on the bedside table that I’ve read and enjoyed, and on the shelf below – her make-up bag and another toiletries bag.

  The first is chock full of expensive brands. I’ve never seen so many powders, bronzers, lipsticks and eye pencils away from a beauty counter. I zip it back up quickly – there’s nothing I’m after. The toiletries bag seems, at first, much more promising, but it’s just more paracetamol packets – mostly empty this time – various nail varnishes and remover, a pumice stone, some eye drops, a Barbara Cartland-esque mask, and some sort of anti-aging serum. No sleeping pills. Exasperated, I zip it back up. They’ve got to be here somewhere.

  My eyes alight on a chest of drawers. Underwear drawer. That’s where everyone puts secret things. I hurry over to it and yank it open. It too is absolutely full – of distressingly tiny bits of lace and chiffon. Christ, people actually still wear thongs? Feeling very uncomfortable, I rifle through, unearthing a jewellery box, which is empty apart from one small blue box. Within that is a nondescript wedding band, a dull gold pair of rather cheap-looking heart earrings, and a long, plain link necklace. I close it all back up and push past a saved Valentine’s day card. Still nothing… I slam the drawer shut and try the next one down, this time full of nightwear. There’s nothing in there either, except two unopened packs of Kleenex and a framed picture of a small blonde girl, a little younger than Chloe – three, perhaps – crouching in a field of buttercups, smiling impishly, outstretched hand full of golden yellow blooms, next to a happily smiling woman dressed in a 70s maxi dress, but then, behind that – yes! A small bottle. My fingers close around it and I pull it out triumphantly.

  The brown glass pill bottle reads Miss K Harrington, followed by Ignatia 30c, whatever that is. Below that, there appears to be a company name and contact number. Inside the bottle there are about twenty small pills. Could this be what I’m looking for? If it’s not, why is it hidden away? Still holding my phone, I hold it aloft and take a picture of the bottle, making sure her name is in clear view, before emailing it to myself, then pull the drawer wider so I can hide the pills away again. That’s when I see another photo frame, the back facing up. Out of curiosity, I pick it up, but my heart stops as I flip it over.

  It’s a picture of my children. Chloe smiling at the camera, hugging a three-month-old Theo. I know exactly when it was taken: at Mum’s birthday. Why the hell has Kelly got this hidden away in her drawer? I swallow queasily as I stare at the picture, my pulse beginning to quicken, and I start to feel both very frightened and angry.

  ‘How bloody dare you!’ I whisper aloud, in disbelief.

  ‘My sentiments exactly,’ a voice says behind me, making me gasp and spin around in shock, only to find Kelly standing in the doorway, filming me going through her belongings on her mobile phone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘I won’t hesitate to call the police if I have to,’ she says, ‘regardless of the implications for you this time. You should also know I’ve already texted Will, who’s on his way. Just so we’re both clear, OK?’

  ‘Why have you got this picture of my children?’ I demand, holding it up, my hand shaking slightly.

  She’s still filming me. ‘It’s a photo your mum gave Will that he particularly likes. It’s his birthday next month, so I’ve had it framed for him. I haven’t wrapped it yet, so I’ve kept it out of sight in my drawer. More to the point, what are you doing in our flat, Sally, going through my things?’

  ‘I didn’t break in,’ I say immediately. ‘I’ve done nothing illegal.’

  ‘Yes, you appear to have a key, which was news to me.’

  ‘Will gave it to me when he moved in, for emergencies.’

  ‘And you think Will would be OK with you using it like this, do you?’

  ‘I didn’t think anyone was here.’

  She stops filming and then appraises me with contempt. ‘Evidently. I kind of worked that one out for myself. I was in the kitchen making a cup of tea when I looked out of the window and saw you getting out of your car. I thought you’d come to see me, and I’ll be honest, I didn’t much feel like chatting, so when the intercom rang, I didn’t answer it. When I looked out again your car was still there, though, so I assumed someone must have let you in downstairs after all. Annoying, but it happens. I stayed in the kitchen and waited for you to knock on the front door, and then go away when there was no answer. Imagine my surprise, Sally, when instead, I hear a key in the door, and then you let yourself in like you own the place, which of course you fucking don’t.’

  Now there are no witnesses, she makes no effort to hide her anger, and spits the words out. ‘You can’t seriously be looking for the sixty-five grand, because we both know I didn’t steal that from you, so why are you here?’

  ‘You’re correct, I’m not looking for the money, because it’s sitting on your hand right now.’ I nod at the ridiculous diamond brick catching the light on her third finger.

  She briefly looks heavenward. ‘Oh my God, give it up! It didn’t work, OK? Your sad little plot failed, and you know it. Stop trying to flog this very dead horse. I’m going to ask you again: why are you here?’

  ‘You already know why, Kelly. You’ve hated me from the moment you met me, when you called me a fucking bitch in the street. You can’t stand sharing Will with his family, and I know I make you particularly angry. The thing is, I’ve been warned about you. I know what kind of person you are, what you’re capable of – and it doesn’t matter what you try to do to make it appear to everyone as if I’ve lost my mind, I’m not going to let you damage me or my family any more. That’s why I’m here.’

  She continues to stare at me. ‘I have never sworn at you in the street. Ever.’

  ‘It was right outside this flat,’ I interrupt. ‘I was pregnant, and I accidentally bumped into you while you were on the phone, which was when you called me a bitch.’

  ‘It didn’t occur to you I might be saying it to the person I was actually talking to? Not you? Or maybe I thought it was just what happens to me all the time; people deliberately shove into me because I’m famous – particularly girls – because they weirdly get off on it. I’ve had people try to trip me up, drinks spilt over me on purpose. I probably thought that was what you were doing. I’m used to women
not liking me because of the way I look, and the job I do, but at the very least aren’t you supposed to be older and wiser than this?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I say. ‘You’re seriously asking me to believe you’re totally innocent, when just last night you set up those pictures of me?’

  ‘OK, yeah, I did those.’ She shrugs unrepentantly and crosses her arms. ‘I told you not to believe everything you see in the papers. Hopefully you know that now.’

  ‘But that’s not all you’ve done, is it?’ I persist, and I take a deep breath. ‘The pills you drugged me with on Friday night – are they the ones I’ve now got a picture of on my phone?’

  Her expression stays impassive, but she doesn’t take her eyes from me. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘I’ve got a picture of your pills, which I’ve emailed myself,’ I repeat.

  ‘No, the bit about me drugging you. You’re not actually serious?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Are the pills you used the ones in your drawer?’

  She starts to laugh in disbelief, and pushes past me, yanking the drawer open. ‘You mean these?’ She pulls out the small bottle. ‘These are a homeopathic remedy. I keep them in my drawer because they’re light sensitive and meant to be stored in a cool place. How stupid are you?’ she begins, but then trails off. ‘Actually, that can’t be right, because I know you’re not that stupid. Anyone who’s devious enough to see her husband slipping away from her, and so engineers an entirely fictitious scenario designed to scare the shit out of him and make him realize how much he really loves and needs her, isn’t stupid at all. You used to be in advertising too, I think? So you’re even used to making up crap professionally. That’s what I thought this was all about.’ She stops again for a moment, and regards me warily. ‘I had you down as just another head-fucked middle-aged housewife married to someone you shouldn’t be married to any more, playing selfish games with no thought to those caught up in the crossfire.’