Forget Her Name(60)

I think back to that day at the food bank. The woman with the buggy and the attitude. The woman I followed out into the street to give her some money.

‘I saw him outside the food bank once. He was driving a Jag.’

‘And that was the only time?’

I nod. ‘He was the same man who was on the platform tonight. I’m sure of it.’

My father is silent.

Dominic shakes his head, making a tiny noise under his breath. ‘Sweetheart,’ he says, ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But how can you possibly know it was the same man?’

‘The hat,’ I say simply. ‘That grey hat he was wearing. And the moustache.’

‘Hardly conclusive.’

Jasmine comes out of the kitchen, whistling softly. She stops at the sight of us all huddled in the hallway.

‘Merry Christmas,’ she says.

‘Of course,’ Dad says blankly. ‘It’s Christmas morning, isn’t it? Merry Christmas to you all.’ He glances at the hall clock. ‘Well, if everyone’s safe and in one piece, I’d better get back to bed. Your mother will expect me to be on turkey duty first thing in the morning. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

Dad turns and heads back upstairs. Jasmine follows him, yawning.

‘Oh hell,’ she says halfway up, looking back down at Dominic. ‘I forgot. The window in my room won’t shut properly. It’s probably freezing up there now. Any chance of a hand, Dom? Maybe some WD-40 too?’

‘More likely some elbow grease,’ he says with a grimace. Then he gives me a quick smile and heads up the stairs after her. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes. You okay to go up on your own?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, though in truth my ankle is aching again. I have a horror of people fussing over me. ‘I’ll see you in bed.’

I turn off the hall light.

The ground floor is dark and silent now everyone has vanished, but the landing light is on above. I walk up carefully, clinging to the banister in case my ankle decides to give way again.

I pause at the top of the stairs, hearing a muffled thud from the guest room. Dominic, presumably, trying to shut Jasmine’s window so she doesn’t have to sleep in an icebox. Further along the landing, my father’s bedroom door is ajar. My parents have separate rooms, just like the Queen and Prince Philip. They always have had, for as long as I can remember.

Perhaps if I talk to Dad on his own about what happened tonight, he’ll be more likely to believe me. I just can’t get it out of my head that I’d seen that man before . . .

I knock lightly on Dad’s bedroom door and put my head round when there’s no reply. The room is empty. The only light comes from a Tiffany-style glass lamp on the table next to his armchair, giving the room a discreet yellowish glow. Dad’s en-suite door is also open, the bathroom in darkness.

Where’s he gone?

I listen. There’s a rumble of low voices through the wall. Coming from my mother’s bedroom on the other side. I suck in my breath. Dad must have nipped in there to speak to Mum before heading back to bed, even though he said she was asleep. Perhaps he wanted to tell her what happened at the tube station. About what I thought I saw. Before I’ve even had a chance to give my side of the story. Once again, I can’t even go out for a drink with friends without everyone getting involved.

I am just about to retreat when I see it.

The black edge of a notebook, half hidden under some papers on the bedside table.

I wasn’t asleep, he had said. I was reading.





Chapter Thirty-Six I can’t be sure, but it looks like the black notebook I found in the cellar. The one I hid under the cabinet in the living room. The notebook that mentions Rachel and her various psychoses and treatments. It disappeared and now here it is again on my dad’s bedside table.

I slip off my shoes and creep across the floor towards it.

‘Catherine?’

I jerk round so fast, I twist my ankle again and cry out in pain.

It’s Dominic.

‘Bloody hell, woman,’ he says, almost angrily. He hurries across the room to grab me in his arms, taking the weight off my leg. He looks down at my bare foot. ‘Are you hurt? You said your ankle was better.’

‘It is better. I was just—’

‘Trying to do too much before it’s properly healed.’

‘Obviously.’

‘You’re going to end up back in hospital if you’re not careful.’ He glances round at the empty room. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going straight up to bed?’

Before I can think of a credible excuse, my parents appear in the doorway, looking at us in complete bemusement.

‘Yes, Catherine,’ my father says, an edge to his voice. ‘I’d like an answer to that question too.’ He thrusts his hands in the wide pockets of his dressing gown and does not move from the doorway, effectively blocking my escape. ‘You know my room is out of bounds. I bring official papers up here sometimes. Maybe not top secret, but sensitive documents all the same. What were you doing in here?’

I hesitate, my face flushing with embarrassment as they all stare at me.

‘I wanted . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘To find Rachel’s ashes.’ It’s the only reasonable excuse that comes into my head, so I blurt it out. ‘You said once that you kept her ashes in one of your cabinets. Or maybe I saw her urn in here when I was a kid.’ Except that was in his downstairs study, I realise too late, but press on regardless. ‘I can’t remember now. But the door was open, so I thought . . .’