The Dead Ex(52)

Slightly rattled, I thank him and reach for my coat. I can see the water now, glittering in the darkness. I feel my body relaxing, even though I am dreading the prospect of handing over the ‘evidence’ which could damn my ex for life. Maybe, before I do that, I will take a night-time walk along the beach. The tide will be out at this time. I’ll take off my shoes, even though it’s still nippy, and feel my feet sinking into the sand. I’ll gather some shells and remember what my dad used to say. ‘Hold it to your ear and you’ll hear the waves.’ Those were the days of happy, rainy trips to the coast with hard-boiled eggs which crunched with sand when you bit into them and that early childhood certainty that everything was safe.

‘I can see the sea!’ cries one of the children in the carriage. I wince. Patrick.

The mental pain is so intense now that I can barely walk to the train door. There’s an emergency alarm box on the wall. I have a crazy impulse to smash it. Do others have that, I wonder?

Calm down, I tell myself. After I get back from my beach walk, I will blend something to help the stress and demons in my mind. Lavender, rose and bergamot for my shower. It’s one of the ways we aromatherapists treat ourselves. Another is to soak a tissue with essences and tuck it into the bra strap, inhaling the oils to clear your mind and change the way you feel.

I must get home.

But there’s a queue of people waiting to get off. The man who’d woken me up gesticulates that I should go first.

How polite.

There’s some kind of hold-up at the outside door of the carriage. They’re not easy to open. Such a heavy mechanism. I’ve struggled before. We’re moving forward now, but slowly.

Then I see it. A flash of fluorescent yellow jacket. Three men. One woman. Waiting. Watching. Scanning the faces of everyone getting off. Sweat begins to trickle down my back. Something has happened. I know it. Have they found David? Is he …

I make to turn round, although I’m not sure why. The man behind me – the so-called Good Samaritan – puts a hand on my shoulder.

‘There’s no point,’ he says softly. ‘Just come quietly.’

The family is staring as he grips my arm. The mother draws the small boy with the snub nose close to her, as if I might hurt him. My legs feel as though they are going to melt.

I almost fall as we go down the step.

‘Victoria Goudman,’ says one of the yellow jackets. ‘I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Tanya Goudman …’





Part Two




* * *





24



Helen

10 November 2017


I’ve never been to a big ‘do’ like this before. And I’ve got to get it right. Everything depends on tonight.

Shall I wear my hair up or down? I experiment both ways. ‘Up’ looks more sophisticated. Not like me at all, but then that’s the whole point.

Now what about clothes? I stand in front of my cracked mirror, trying to see myself from a different perspective. The lace creamy top which I’ve had for some time looks good with the black leather trousers – a brilliant charity shop buy along with a purple velvet jacket. But is it enough to catch a man like David Goudman?

‘The best way to get a job nowadays is through work experience,’ our tutor had said at the beginning of term. ‘Be prepared to do it for nothing. The most important thing is to build up a portfolio.’ He’d looked directly at me. ‘I suggest you approach some property companies, Miss Evans.’

So I emailed the Goudman Corporation, enclosing some of my photographs. And I didn’t get a reply.

‘I’m afraid that’s pretty common nowadays,’ my tutor reassured me. ‘Just keep sending out your CV. Make sure you network too. Google individual companies and find out what they’re up to.’

I heard back from two others. Each one offered me a week’s work. But I turned them down. There was only one employer I really wanted. So I kept tabs on him.

Then I had a breakthrough. On Twitter, I discovered that David Goudman had won an award for building some big glass office block in Bow. There was going to be a grand opening on site. Swiftly, I contacted the press office (another of my tutor’s ideas) and asked if I could come along because it would be ‘useful’ for my portfolio. To my amazement, they sent me an invitation.

It was so simple that I could hardly believe it. And now here I am. Getting ready to meet the man at last.

I’m not the boastful type – at least, I don’t think so – but heads turn when I walk in. Then they go back to the people they were talking to. No one comes up to chat to me. I stand there, feeling like a lemon and clutching the stem of my glass until I almost drop it because my hands are sweating with nerves. Look around, I tell myself fiercely. Find him.

The place is so packed that it’s hard to see my quarry in the crowd. But then someone shouts out for silence and introduces ‘David Goudman, one of the leading property developers of our time’.

His face mesmerizes me. It isn’t that he has traditional good looks. Far from it. But there’s something about that strong jawline, the slightly crooked nose and the tall build which makes him stand out.

Intuitively, I sense that this is a man who knows what he wants. I just have to make sure he wants me.