Cross Her Heart(83)

‘You look exhausted. Maybe you should go upstairs and have a shower and a rest. Some food, if you can manage it. If Bray decides to show up here to ask me what I’m up to, it probably wouldn’t look too great to find you with me.’

I’m still looking at the paper. ‘You’re right,’ I say, with a wan smile. ‘It’s late and this headache is killing me. Maybe a lie down for an hour will do me good.’

I pick up the mobile from the table. ‘Your number’s in here, right? I’ll text you if I think of anything that might be useful.’

He nods and tells me everything is going to be all right in the way men do to women, as if we’re all children, as if we don’t know for ourselves how very often things don’t turn out right, as if they can somehow protect us from all the wickedness in the world, so much of which we suffer at their hands. He’s right, I am tired. I’m tired of a lot of things. I’m tired of being a victim. I’m tired of being reliant on men. I’m tired of waiting.

‘I think I’ll be out like a light,’ I say, as I reach the door. ‘But call me if you find anything useful.’

‘I will,’ he answers. I wait until he turns away, and quickly take something else from the desk by his coffee cup before leaving.

Minutes later, I’m in his car, punching Katie’s grandfather’s address into his top-of-the-range satnav. I’m not stupid, I knew the police had someone watching my car, parked out at the front of the hotel, so I went out through the back, past the kitchens, to the staff car park. No one was watching Simon’s car. How long before he realises I took his car keys from his desk? An hour maybe? More, if I’m lucky. I’m not going to let Lisa down. Skegness is only an hour or so’s drive away, less at this time of night. I’m not going to wait around for a man to save the day. Fuck. That. Shit.





71


LISA

My throat is bone-dry and it hurts to open my eyes despite how little light there is in the room.

‘Drink this,’ she says, and I take a long swallow. The sudden burn makes me cough and splutter. Not water. For a moment I think it’s acid or something equally lethal but then the memory kicks in. Vodka. Neat. Cheap. The shock wakes me up and I shake my head, ignoring the pain.

Katie takes a sip and grimaces. ‘I never could understand how you drank this.’

‘It did the job,’ I answer.

‘You always did like to be numb. To dull all your energy.’

I look over to the mattress and Katie sees my alarm. Ava is covered with a blanket, head to toe. Oh God no, please no—

‘Don’t worry, she’s not dead.’ She turns her head. ‘Wriggle for your mother, Ava, let her know you’re alive.’

The blanket squirms and I hear a whine. I’m glad to hear some anger mixed in with the terror. That’s my girl.

Katie leans in, conspiratorially. ‘She’s had some vodka too.’

‘When are you going to let her go?’ I ask. My voice is clearer now. I slur on purpose. Let her think whatever she gave me is still knocking me out a bit. ‘You said you would.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ She pulls a chair up close to me. All the plastic surgery she’s had done is one thing, but why didn’t I recognise those eyes? The over-bright sparkling joy at the world that I should have, even back then, known was touched with madness. ‘But people change their minds, don’t they, Charlotte?’

‘I know I broke our deal,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I called the police. But I did that, not Ava. This is nothing to do with Ava.’

‘You betrayed me and you don’t even know it. I loved you and you betrayed me.’ Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. ‘And for what? This life? We could have had everything. We could have been glorious. But look at you. Such an ordinary mouse of a woman.’

I let my head loll a little and pretend to drag it upwards as if I can’t quite hold it myself. Something she said jars in my head. ‘What do you mean, I don’t even know it?’

‘What do you remember, Charlotte?’ she whispers, pulling my hair back hard and tipping another slug of vodka down my raw throat.

‘I don’t remember,’ I say. I know I did it so why would I want to remember it? I’ve spent a lifetime not remembering. I don’t want to think about it. Ever.

‘Of course you do,’ she purrs. ‘You just don’t remember it right.’





72


THEN


1989

Katie isn’t at all unhappy to see Daniel. He’s shy and clingy but eventually settles down on the floor with Peter Rabbit and plays with some old bricks Charlotte brought in from outside. His eyes are wide and nervous though, and Charlotte doesn’t like looking at them. They make something inside her squirm. Maybe she should have left him at home.

She drinks more vodka, and Katie produces another half-bottle, and a couple of her own mother’s pills, some anti-anxiety or anti-depression shit. ‘Been carrying them around for a special occasion,’ she says, smiling. ‘Let’s get high together!’

‘Play with me, Charrot,’ Daniel says, carefully balancing one brick on top of another. ‘Building a fire station.’

‘I’m talking to Katie,’ she says, taking a pill and swallowing with booze. ‘Play by yourself. Here, have some of this.’ She holds the bottle out to him and he takes a small sip before she swipes it away. He’s coughing and for a moment looks as if he’s about to cry and then stops himself. Maybe he’s learned already that being a crier in this family doesn’t get you very far. Maybe he knows Charlotte well enough to know she won’t cuddle him better. ‘Don’t like it,’ he says.