Let Me Lie(25)

‘I heard someone walking around outside. I thought they wanted to get in.’

‘Someone did. Me.’ Mark comes forward to kiss me, Ella sandwiched between us. He drops a kiss on our daughter’s forehead, then takes her from my arms.

‘You were creeping about. Why didn’t you come straight in?’ My irritated tone is unfair, a by-product of the panic slowly dissipating through my bloodstream.

Mark tilts his head to one side and surveys me with more patience than my shortness merits. ‘I was putting the bins out. It’s collection day tomorrow.’ He addresses Ella in a sing-song voice. ‘Isn’t it? Yes, it is!’

I squeeze my eyes closed for a beat. The dragging noise that might have been a ladder. The thud of the bin-store door. Noises so familiar I should have known instantly what they were. I follow Mark into the sitting room, where he turns on the lights and settles Ella in her beanbag chair.

‘Where’s Laura?’

‘I sent her home.’

‘She said she’d stay! I’d have come back earlier—’

‘I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.’

‘Are you?’ He takes each of my hands in his and holds my arms wide. I wriggle away from his inspection.

‘Yes. No. Not really.’

‘So where’s this card?’

‘The police have got it.’ I show him the same photos I showed Laura, and watch him zoom in on the writing. He reads aloud.

‘Suicide? Think again.’

‘You see? My mother was murdered.’

‘That’s not what it says, though.’

‘But that’s the implication, isn’t it?’

Mark looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Alternatively, it was an accident.’

‘An accident?’ My incredulity is clear. ‘Why not just say that then? Why the sinister message? The tacky card?’

Mark sits down with a long sigh that I think – I hope – is less about me and more about having spent the day in a stuffy classroom. ‘Perhaps someone’s trying to point the finger. Negligence rather than a deliberate act. Who’s responsible for maintaining the cliff edges?’

I say nothing, and when he continues, his voice is softer.

‘You see what I mean, though; it’s ambiguous.’

‘I suppose it is. Except Mum left her handbag and phone on the edge of the cliff, which would be a weird thing to happen accidentally as you fell …’

‘Unless she’d put them down first. So she didn’t drop them. She was looking over the edge, or trying to rescue a bird, and the edge crumbled, and—’

I sit down heavily next to Mark. ‘Do you really think it was an accident?’

He twists around so we’re facing each other. When he speaks, it’s gentle, and he keeps his eyes trained on mine. ‘No, sweetheart. I think your mum was desperately unhappy after your dad died. I think she was more unwell than anyone could have known. And,’ he pauses, making sure I’m listening, ‘I think she took her own life.’

Nothing he’s saying is new to me, yet my heart drops back into my stomach and I realise how much I wanted his alternative narrative to be true. How ready I am to grab on to a lifeline that hasn’t even been thrown.

‘All I’m saying is that everything’s open to interpretation. Including this card.’ He puts my phone face down on the coffee table, the photos obscured. ‘Whoever sent it wants to mess with your head. They’re sick. They want a reaction. Don’t give it to them.’

‘The man at the police station put it in an evidence bag. He said they’d check for fingerprints.’ They’re taking it seriously, I want to add.

‘Did you see a detective?’

‘No, just the man who works on the front desk. He was a detective for most of his service, and when he retired he came back as a civilian.’

‘That’s dedication.’

‘It is, isn’t it? Imagine loving your job so much you don’t want to leave it. Even after you’ve retired.’

‘Or you’re so institutionalised you can’t imagine doing anything else?’ Mark yawns, his hand too late to catch it. From the front, his teeth are a perfect pearly white, but from this angle I can see the amalgam fillings in his upper molars.

‘Oh. I hadn’t looked at it that way.’ I think of Murray Mackenzie with his careful concern and insightful comments, and whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s still working for the police. ‘Anyway, he was lovely.’

‘Good. In the meantime, the best thing you can do is put it out of your mind.’ He scoots to the corner of the sofa, his legs stretched out, and raises one arm in invitation. I slide into our well-worn position, snuggled under his left arm with his chin resting lightly on the top of my head. He smells of cold air and something I can’t quite pinpoint …

‘Have you been smoking?’ I’m curious, that’s all, but even I can hear the judgement that lies beneath the surface of my words.

‘A couple of drags, after we finished. Sorry, do I stink?’

‘No, I … I just didn’t know you smoked.’ Imagine not knowing your partner smokes … But I’ve never seen him with a cigarette. Never even heard him mention it.

‘I quit years ago. Hypnotherapy. It’s what made me go into counselling, actually. Have I not told you this story? Anyway, every few months I light one, have a few drags then stub it out. It reminds me I’m the one in control.’ He grins. ‘There’s logic to it, I promise. And don’t worry – I would never do it around Ella.’