Silent Victim(77)

‘I . . . I don’t believe it,’ I stuttered, yet somewhere inside, I knew it was true.

‘Dad was covered in scratches. The police might not have believed it was self-defence. He did what he had to do, to keep the family together. Do you remember? How I stayed with you for ages, telling you everything would be OK?’ Theresa sniffed as a tear trickled down her face. ‘You were playing some God-awful music to drown out the sounds of their argument.’

‘Pink Floyd,’ I mumbled, remembering how she had come into my room and reassured me. There was an edge to her voice that had made me scared that day. Now I knew why.

‘I never knew where he buried her . . . until he was dying. He told me he was scared. Scared to die because Mum would be waiting for him.’ Her fingers relaxed on my arm. ‘Then he said it was my fault, that I shouldn’t have got involved.’ She shook her head. ‘I think he was trying to pass on the blame before he died. Writing me out of the will just reinforced it.’

‘And you’re sure she didn’t suffer?’ I said numbly.

‘No,’ Theresa said softly, plump tears gathering in her eyes. ‘It all happened so fast.’

‘It was an accident,’ I whispered. ‘You should have told me. You didn’t need to shoulder this on your own.’

‘I waited for the right moment but it never came. Dad paid me off. He couldn’t bear to look at me because I knew the truth. I was scared you’d feel the same way about me too.’

‘That’s crazy,’ I said. ‘I remember what Mum was like. That day when she shoved my head down the toilet, I thought I was going to drown. Dad should never have let things get that far.’

‘He never was very good with confrontation.’ A bitter laugh escaped Theresa’s lips. ‘You know, I used to lie in bed at night, thinking about Mum. I wanted to see her one last time. But then I look around this house and realise she never left. She’s in the floor, in the walls. She’s waiting for a peaceful burial in a marked grave. Dad couldn’t bring himself to do it but I can.’





CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

EMMA





2013


I frowned in irritation at the knock on the door. ‘Blooming postman,’ I muttered. ‘Can’t I get a minute’s peace?’ Snapping shut my laptop, I rose to answer the insistent rap. Alex had finally gone to work and I had snatched a spare moment to research a subject that had been banned from discussion. Lately all I could think about was getting pregnant. I reminded myself to delete all trace of my visits to the sperm-donor website when I was done.

As I twisted the door latch, my breath stilled at the sight of the bright-yellow bouquet of flowers before me. ‘Luke,’ I said, my breath cut short at the sight of my old teacher. I gripped the door, preparing to slam it in my unwanted visitor’s face.

A bemused smile crossed his face. ‘Now, Emma, is that any way to treat an old friend?’ He had aged since my school days but was every bit as intimidating. Dressed in a shirt and trousers, his style had hardly changed from when we first met.

I had thought about this moment many times, and what I would say if I saw him again. But now that he was here, I struggled to find the words. ‘What do you want?’ I said, a sudden rush of dread like ice flooding my veins. ‘My husband will be back any minute.’

‘We both know that’s not true,’ he replied, pushing past me into the hall. His voice trailed behind him as he let himself into my home. ‘I thought you could do with some cheering up, after your dad dying. He made the nationals, you know; a big name in the archaeology world.’

‘I . . . I didn’t say you could come in,’ I stammered, following him into my kitchen. I rubbed my neck, the ghost of his breath still heavy on my face.

He rested the flowers on the table, as if he knew his way around. He said something about a reunion, and I realised he had a bottle of red wine in his other hand. I couldn’t get over his gall. After everything he’d said about me stalking him, he’d turned up at my house like nothing had happened.

‘I want you to leave,’ I said, reversing against the kitchen counter. Luke advanced upon me, the tang of his aftershave assailing my nostrils. His eyes were intense, carrying the flame of a long-buried anger.

‘Don’t be like that,’ he said, his icy-cold smile freezing me to the core. ‘I thought we could have a drink together. I just want to clear the air, take some responsibility for how things turned out between us.’

My chest tightened as my memory of our shared past re-emerged. I thought of our last meeting in the beach hut, when he had forced me across the table and threatened to hurt me if I didn’t back off. But it had not stopped me. Because of my actions, Luke had lost his job. But why now? After all these years, had he only just discovered it was me who was responsible for his dismissal? His excuse for wanting to patch things up almost seemed reasonable, had it not been for that cold glint in his eye. ‘You sent the sunflowers after Dad’s funeral too,’ I said, the words a whisper on my lips.

‘Of course. Aren’t you lucky, getting another bunch? Aren’t you going to put them in water?’ he said, looking me up and down. I wished I was wearing jeans and a jumper instead of the blouse and skirt I had chosen that morning.

I was glad of the excuse to turn my back on his gaze. I never thought I would hear Luke finally admit the truth, that a tiny piece of him enjoyed pulling my strings.