The Breakdown(54)

‘Yes.’ I hesitate, wondering if I should confide in him the true nature of the phone calls I’ve been getting and tell him about the man up the road. But the waitress arrives with the bill and the moment is lost.

‘It’s just as well that school starts again soon,’ John says, taking out his wallet. ‘We’ll have so much to do we won’t have time to dwell on things.’ He pulls a face. ‘Inset day on the twenty-eighth. Please don’t tell me you’ve already done all your lesson plans for the coming term.’

‘I haven’t even looked at the syllabus,’ I confess.

He stretches, his t-shirt rising to show his tanned skin.

‘Me neither,’ he grins.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

I heave a sigh of relief. ‘You can’t believe how much better that makes me feel. I bumped into Connie yesterday in Castle Wells and she said she’d almost finished.’

‘Ouch,’ he grimaces.

I look at him curiously. ‘She said that you didn’t go back to hers that night, you know, after our end of term dinner.’

‘No, I didn’t really feel like it.’

‘Right,’ I nod.

The Breakdown





205


‘Anyway, what would be the point of going without


you there?’ he goes on lightly.

‘No point at all,’ I agree. ‘I’m such the life and soul of the party.’

He laughs. ‘Exactly.’ But we both know that’s not what he meant.

We leave the restaurant and he walks me back to my car.

‘Did you buy a sleep-suit, by the way?’ I ask.

‘I did. A blue one with an elephant on the front. My friend seemed a bit surprised – I chose it because I liked it but I forgot the baby was a girl.’

‘I’m glad I’m not the only one with a bad memory,’

I joke.

‘There you are, proof that it happens to everyone. Are you doing anything nice this weekend?’

‘Just chilling in the garden, I hope.’

‘Well, have a good rest.’ He nods at my car. ‘This is you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ I give him a hug. ‘Thank you, John, for everything.’

‘My pleasure,’ he says gravely. ‘See you back at school, Cass. Drive safely.’

He waits on the pavement until I’ve pulled out of the parking space and I set off down the High Street wondering what I can do to fill in the rest of the time until Matthew gets home. As I arrive at the junction where I would normally turn right, I see a signpost for Heston and the next thing I know, I’m driving





206


b a paris


towards the village where Jane lived, the village she was driving back to the night she was murdered. I feel a moment of panic, wondering what I’m doing, what I hope to achieve by going there. But for some reason I feel compelled to go.

It only takes five minutes to get there. I park on a road between the park and the pub and get out of the car. The park is small but beautifully kept. I go through the gate and walk slowly down the pathways, admiring the wonderful variety of flowers. The few benches in the shade are taken, mostly by elderly couples having a rest from their afternoon stroll, so I find one in the sun and sit for a while, glad I’ve found somewhere to spend the next couple of hours. I think about Jane, wondering how many times she sat on this bench, how many times she walked this path. There’s a play area at the other end of the park where young children are rocking back and forth on wooden animals and I imagine her helping her children on and off them, or hovering anxiously as they go up and down the slide, as some of the adults are doing. And as always, the guilt I feel whenever I think about Jane presses down on me.

As I watch, wondering wistfully if Matthew and I will ever be blessed with children, a little girl tries to get off her rocking animal and I can see that for all her determination, she’s not going to make it because one of her feet is stuck. Instinctively, I open my mouth to shout out, to warn one of the adults that she’s about to fall but before I can she tumbles to the ground. Her The Breakdown 207

cries of pain bring a man running over but another little girl stretches out her arms to him, wanting to get off her rocking animal, so he scoops her up quickly before stooping to tend to the other child. And as I watch him brush her down and kiss her blonde head, I realise I’m looking at Jane’s husband.

Shock runs through me. I stare at him, wondering if I’m mistaken. But with his photo plastered over newspapers and television for the last few weeks, his is a familiar face. Besides, the little girls look like twins. My instinct is to flee, to leave the gardens as quickly as I can before he sees me. But then I calm down. He doesn’t know I’m the person who could have saved his wife.

He begins to leave the play area, carrying the child who’s been hurt and holding the other by the hand. Both of them are crying as they walk along the path towards the bench where I’m sitting and I can hear him trying to soothe them with promises of plasters and ice cream.

But the one in his arms won’t be comforted, upset by her grazed knees, one of which is bleeding quite heavily.

‘Would you like a tissue for that?’ I ask, before I can stop myself.