The Night You Left Page 20

  Anna leans against the kitchen counter and studies my face.

  ‘She’s never done anything like this before,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know she and Kai were such good friends.’

  ‘Nor did I. Young love, do you think?’

  I smile reluctantly. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’m sorry you were worried.’ She hesitates, her eyes on my face. ‘You do know this is about her father, don’t you?’

  ‘She’s naturally worried about him.’

  ‘No, I meant her real dad. Listen, Grace, do you think you should be spending so much time with him? From what she’s told me, it’s confusing her that you get on so well.’

  I raise my eyebrows. She hasn’t seen us fight. ‘We get on well because we make the effort, for her sake.’

  ‘I know. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. She loves him and she obviously adored Nick, and this is a huge blow to her. Massive. She might not show it because she’s anxious about worrying you, but I think she’s struggling.’

  ‘Adores.’

  She frowns. ‘What?’

  ‘You said adored. Please don’t refer to Nick in the past tense.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘And I can’t avoid Douglas,’ I say tartly. ‘I’d better get Lottie and go. But thank you anyway.’

  ‘Wait.’ She sighs. ‘I’ve been on my own on and off for five years, so I know what it’s like and I know how tempting old loves can be when you’re at rock bottom, but going backwards never works.’

  I look at her with horror. ‘I don’t know where you’re getting this, but it’s rubbish. I’m not going to get sucked back into a relationship with Douglas.’

  She narrows her eyes. ‘You do mention his name a lot.’

  Do I? I hadn’t realized.

  When I don’t reply, she says, ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but from what Lottie’s told me, it sounds like you’re making a play for him.’

  ‘When did she tell you that?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, we haven’t sat down and had an in-depth conversation. It’s just from remarks she’s made.’

  ‘Well, I’ve no idea where she’s got it from, but it’s a million miles from the truth.’

  ‘You’re blushing.’

  ‘That’s because you’re making me feel guilty even though I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘OK.’ She holds up her hands, palms towards me, friendly. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you; just to warn you. Sometimes children find it hard to talk to their parents but will open up to an aunt or a family friend. Oh, and she told me something else you might be interested in.’

  I groan audibly. ‘What?’

  ‘When she stayed with him last weekend, she overheard him talking to someone on the phone. She said it sounded like a girlfriend from the way he was speaking. She thinks he’s seeing someone. So, if you are thinking along those lines, it’s best you don’t get your hopes up.’

  My muscles tighten, particularly the ones in my face. I pull my mouth into a smile. ‘Good. I’m glad. It’s about time he had someone in his life.’

  I grab my keys and leave the room, calling up to Lottie. She comes out of Kai’s bedroom looking shamefaced and defiant. I wait for her at the bottom of the stairs and when she reaches me I pull her into a hug and kiss the top of her head.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, darling. I am truly sorry.’

  Her face is blotchy with tears. ‘You were all screaming at each other, Mum. It was horrible.’

  I stroke back her hair. ‘Sometimes adults go a bit mad. It’s been a tough couple of weeks.’

  ‘Cora hates me.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t, Lottie. She’s just scared.’

  Kai is sitting on the top step and I smile up at him. ‘Thank you for looking after her.’

  ‘Nah,’ he mutters back. ‘S’all right.’

  At nine Tim and I take Toffee for his last walk of the day. It was my suggestion. I wanted to try to calm things down. I know I’ve said things I can’t take back, but so has Cora. I have apologized but I was glad when she said she didn’t feel up to coming with us.

  Being out and about with Tim is a bit of an eye opener, even at this time of night. We’re stopped twice by locals wanting to chat. People do that when you have a dog, but this is different; he’s only been here a couple of weeks, and already everyone seems to know him.

  ‘Can we talk about Devon?’ I ask.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  How can I say what I want to say, without betraying Anna’s trust? I think for a moment. One little white lie won’t hurt. ‘Alex Wells told me that Nick was bullied on that holiday. Were you aware that was happening?’

  ‘I knew he wasn’t settling in and that the girls weren’t being particularly helpful. But I thought they’d sort it out between them eventually. Kids will be kids.’

  I look up into his face, surprised. ‘You didn’t see that your son was deeply unhappy, that he was being ostracized by the others? How could you not have seen that?’

  ‘They were supposed to entertain each other, and we assumed that was what they were doing. However, since you ask, I chose to ignore it because I believed my son had to learn to fight his own battles.’

  ‘You could have given him some fatherly advice.’

  ‘And humiliate him further by letting him know I had noticed? I don’t think that would have helped.’ Toffee deposits a stick at his feet, and he picks it up and throws it, sending the dog careering after it. ‘I was under a lot of pressure at the time.’

  ‘Yes. The restaurant. And your mishandling of Sean Wells’ investment?’

  He brushes the comment away. ‘Nothing was mishandled. Sean knew that restaurants are high risk. Money should never come between friends.’

  I try and reel myself in, to not turn my mouth into a weapon, but the words come of their own accord.

  ‘But it does, doesn’t it? You convinced him that his money was safe, that your restaurant was a sure thing, and you let him down.’

  ‘I was badly let down myself.’

  ‘Tim, can’t you see, it’s not so much the loss of the money as your attitude. You might not have meant it to come across that way, you might have been being defensive, but it felt to them as though you shrugged it off. If they hate you for anything, it’s your lack of remorse.’

  He hunches his shoulders and we walk a few paces. ‘You may be right. It was hard, and I was embarrassed. And if they feel like that, then I’m sorry. But it was such a long time ago and it has no relevance to Nick’s life now. We’ve all moved on.’

  ‘You know that’s not true.’

  He sighs. ‘Yup. But we all want the same thing, though, don’t we? We want Nick back home. Let’s try not to squabble.’

  He links his arm through mine, and we walk on. I feel sorry for him, but this is a man who seduced his best friend’s fifteen-year-old daughter and was never taken to task for it. Well, he’s being punished now.

  When we get back, I check my steps, something I haven’t done in days. Knowing how far I’ve walked and how many calories I have burned has slipped way down on my list of priorities. Only just over two thousand, but at least I’ve been out. Tim glances over my shoulder.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asks.

  I turn the screen towards him, giving him a friendly smile because I know his question is an olive branch and I want Lottie to see us presenting a united front.

  ‘It’s to motivate me. Look.’ I tap on groups and show him the little cartoons. We both go silent and I know he’s looking at Nick’s avatar: the cheerful little cartoon bird.

  He hands it back to me. ‘Can I get that? Cora’s always on at me to do more exercise.’

  I hesitate, then say, ‘Sure. I’ll invite you, you accept my invitation. Then you’re on.’

  ‘As simple as that, eh?’

  ‘As simple as that.’

  The next morning, I’m checking through my handbag to make sure I’ve got everything I need
for an appointment with Rupert’s architect, when someone comes up the steps. A shadow appears behind the door, so close to me that I start. My mind immediately goes to Nick, to the police, to Douglas. Toffee comes running out of the kitchen and I grab his collar and tell him to shush. A heavy ache settles into my diaphragm, as if someone’s pressing their fist in there. I open the door.

  Marsh’s expression is grave, and I buckle, the blood draining from my face. He grips my elbow, then puts a fatherly arm around me and leads me into the sitting room.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Ritchie,’ he says, spotting them standing together in the kitchen doorway. ‘You need to hear this as well.’

  Cora is as white as a sheet as she follows us into the sitting room, Tim wooden. They sit down on the sofa and hold hands. I take the armchair.

  ‘We’ve found something,’ Marsh says.

  GRACE

  Tuesday, 1 May 2018

  EVERYTHING DROPS AWAY: THE FLOOR, THE WALLS, the props that held me together; the hope and the belief that things like this happen to other people. The room spins and stars cluster in front of my eyes. I put my hand on Toffee’s head, and he rests his chin on my knee and gazes up at me. Beside me Cora subsides, her shoulders curling forwards.

  Devon and Cornwall Police have found a carrier bag filled with things that they think might belong to Nick, close to where Izzy allegedly went in.

  The WPC accompanying Marsh comes in with cups of tea and sets them down on the coffee table, then stands to one side.

  ‘But I would have seen it,’ I say. ‘I was right there.’

  ‘If it was Nick, he went to some trouble to hide it. It’d been buried under leaves and dirt in the undergrowth, about twenty feet from where Izzy’s shoes were found. You could easily have missed it. Did he really never tell you about that day?’

  ‘No, not a word.’

  ‘Well, obviously, we can’t jump to conclusions, but from what we’ve been able to piece together about Nick’s state of mind, it’s looking like he took his own life. I think you were right, Grace. I think that being approached by both Alex Wells and Anna Foreman after so many years brought all the guilt back. We’re looking at Izzy Wells’ case in the light of this.’

  ‘My son,’ Cora says, drawing herself up to her full height, ‘had nothing whatsoever to do with that child’s unfortunate death.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Tim says, leaning forward. ‘Who is Anna Foreman?’

  I shrug. It’s out of my hands now. ‘Anna Foreman is Taisie Wells,’ I say. ‘She lives round the corner and her son is in the same class at Cedar Heights as Lottie. She had a conversation with Nick shortly before he disappeared.’

  Tim and Cora are both staring at me, like I’ve just walked off my spaceship.

  ‘Why haven’t you shared this with us?’ Cora asks.

  ‘She asked me not to.’

  ‘So your loyalties are with her, rather than Nick’s family? That’s fantastic.’

  ‘Cora,’ Tim admonishes her. ‘Let’s not worry about Taisie now. Let’s worry about Nick.’ He turns to Marsh. ‘Surely if he drowned his body would have been found? It didn’t take long to find Izzy.’

  ‘I don’t have an answer to that, I’m afraid. With any luck the divers will find him – bodies can get stuck in logjams.’

  I flinch.

  ‘How can you be so sure they’re Nick’s things?’ Tim asks. ‘They could belong to anybody.’

  ‘That’s true, of course, and I’ll need Grace to have a look, but we found his wallet too.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s faked his death,’ Cora suggests, looking pointedly at me.

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Marsh asks. ‘Is he involved in anything illegal?’

  ‘No.’ I glare at Cora. ‘Nick is not a coward. Whatever it was, he would have faced it.’

  Marsh glances from me to Cora with interest, before speaking. ‘The other reason we know they belong to Nick is because he left a note tucked into his wallet. It’s addressed to you, Grace.’ He hands me a pair of latex gloves. ‘Sorry, but it’s evidence.’

  I lift my eyes to his face as I pull them on. ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I take it from him and walk away from Tim and Cora.

  Darling Grace, I’ve wanted to talk to you about this for a long time, but haven’t been able to pluck up the courage. I love you so much and don’t want you to think less of me. I shouldn’t have involved you in my life, not until I’d told you everything.

  The next line wavers, and my heart breaks for him. What he must have been feeling when he wrote this.

  I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you both so much.

  ‘He didn’t finish it,’ I say when Marsh holds out his hand. I give it back to him reluctantly. ‘I don’t believe it’s a suicide note. He wanted to tell me something.’

  ‘He’s asking you to forgive him,’ Marsh points out. ‘Perhaps he’s expecting it to become public knowledge, and he couldn’t handle it. He took the only way out.’

  ‘No. That letter has been crumpled up at some stage, so that implies he threw it away, doesn’t it?’

  Marsh sighs. ‘We’ll show it to a psychologist. See what they say. But at the very least, this proves that Nick was in torment.’

  I put my hand in front of my mouth to stop the moan of despair. Marsh holds the door open and settles me in the police car.

  An officer lays the bag on the table and opens it with latex-gloved hands, and an odour of damp leaves and dirt fills the room. There are the blue deck shoes Nick had been wearing. His wallet. A pen. A blue cotton hanky. The officer opens the wallet so that I can inspect the credit cards. There’s a lump in my throat as I shake my head and look down at my hands.

  He misinterprets. ‘The items don’t belong to Mr Ritchie?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, they do. Sorry, I … I don’t need to see any more,’ I say. ‘It all belongs to Nick.’

  It’s midday when I’m delivered home in a police car, drained and emotionally exhausted. I can hardly believe it was only yesterday that I found Cora showing an estate agent round. Too much has happened, and my mind is reeling. I let myself in, and walk straight to the fridge, take out a bottle of white wine even though it’s early afternoon. I pour myself a generous measure, wander outside and sit down. Toffee mooches around the flower beds, following the scent of Mrs Jeffers’ cats. They treat these gardens as their fiefdom. I stare at the blossom, thinking how much Nick loved this time of year, how much he loved to see things change. I changed when I met him. I blossomed and thrived, but the rot was there all the time, I suppose.

  Tim puts a sandwich down in front of me. I pick it up and nibble the edges. After a minute or two Cora comes out and the three of us sit side by side, in an oddly companionable silence. Tim looks older and smaller. Cora is diminished too. All I can think is that now, surely, they will go.

  A bag containing items believed to be the property of missing thirty-four-year-old banker Nick Ritchie has been discovered concealed close to the banks of the River Dart in Devon by police sniffer dogs at around 8 a.m. today. A spokesman said that investigations are ongoing and confirmed that while they are keeping an open mind, it is increasingly likely that the inquest will return a verdict of suicide. As a teenager Mr Ritchie was on holiday in the area when a thirteen-year-old girl drowned. The girl was a friend of the family. Sources close to Mr Ritchie have said that he subsequently suffered depression. Mr Ritchie was reported missing from his two-million-pound home by his girlfriend Grace Trelawney on Sunday, 15th April, after leaving his house the previous evening to go for a walk. Anyone with information should get in touch with Greater London Police on the following number.

  A photograph comes up on the screen. It’s me and Nick at a charity ball, taken at least two years ago. He’s in a dinner jacket and I’m in a slinky blue dress. I remember that night; we had a good time. Nick drank too much and bid for a weekend at an expensive country house hotel. I’m glad they chose that one, rather than his work por
trait, it’s truer to how he really is, but I guess they liked it because of the human interest. A happy young man with a pretty woman on his arm.

  I switch off the television, and five minutes later the telephone starts to ring. That’s how long it takes to track someone these days. Even though Marsh forewarned me about the statement and its probable result, I answer that first call.

  ‘Miss Trelawney. James Pickett from the Mirror. How much did you know about your boyfriend? Did he murder that little girl? Is that why he killed himself? Because he couldn’t bear the guilt any more?’

  I put the phone down and don’t answer it again. Within the hour, there are several journalists loitering outside my house, taking pictures. They talk to each other while they fiddle with their cameras. They don’t ring the doorbell, but I guess that’s because they know at this stage there’s no point, but their presence there makes me feel breathless. A feeling of dread descends.

  I go upstairs and find an old jumper of Nick’s. I press it to my nose and sigh with relief as I breathe in his scent. I take it to bed with me and stare into space, not moving, unable to do anything. I can’t accept this. If they had found his body, then of course, but they haven’t. As far as I am concerned, Nick is not dead.

  Cameras flash with a staccato barrage of clicks, blinding and confusing me as I open the door and find Douglas on my front step. Everyone shouts at once.

  ‘Grace! Fabulous house. Must be worth a couple of million. Who inherits?’

  ‘Did Nick do something to Izzy Wells? Is that why he topped himself?’

  ‘What’s your relationship with Grace, mate?’

  Douglas moves past me and I fling the door shut. Silence descends like a fisherman’s net, trapping us together.

  ‘What’re you doing here?’ I say. ‘You can’t just turn up without warning me first.’

  ‘If you don’t answer your phone, what do you expect? I’ve had the police asking me all sorts of questions. If I get dragged into your mess, I’ve a right to know what’s going on.’