The Guilt Trip(93)

“No,” says Rachel, feeling weary.

She’s relieved when Noah returns, though he looks worse than he did ten minutes ago: sheet-white with red-rimmed eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m going,” says Casimiro, hastily standing up and putting her notebook back in her bag. “I will be leaving you to take time.”

As soon as she’s left, Noah takes hold of Rachel’s hand and squeezes it, his tears flowing freely.

“I’ve seen her,” he manages between sobs.

“Oh, thank God,” says Rachel. “Is she all right?”

He shakes his head. “She’s gone, Rach.”

“Wh-what?” she almost screams. “No … no, she can’t be.”

“I’ve just had to identify her,” says Noah. “They recovered her from the water.”

Rachel’s world spins and she clutches hold of the bedclothes to save herself from falling off. No. No. No. This isn’t real, it can’t be. If she wasn’t already lying down, she’d pass out, her body temporarily shutting down to protect it from the shock. Her head lolls back onto the pillow and hot bile stings the back of her throat. She grabs the cardboard bowl from the side and vomits into it.

“The car must have knocked her in,” cries Noah.

“Or else she felt she had no choice but to jump out of its way,” says Rachel. She can’t refer to it as a car, as she’s unable to relate to how an everyday object could become a devastating killing machine.

Noah’s shaking his head, as tears stream down his face. “I should have protected her, but I can’t even remember her being there. The last time I saw her she was with Jack.”

Rachel can see the pair of them standing on the terrace, and watches in slow motion as Paige’s heart bracelet glistens as she stubs out her cigarette. It’s the tiniest thing, but it’s the catalyst that unlocks the memories that have been locked away. Suddenly, the conversation she’d had with Ali comes back to her with crystal-clear clarity; the scenes shuttering in front of her eyes like a 1940s homemade movie.

Rachel looks at Noah, already in his own world of hurt and pain, and wonders how she can possibly contemplate making it worse. But the truth can’t be hidden forever, and if she doesn’t reveal it now, it will have much further-reaching consequences when it does come out. “They were having an affair,” she says numbly, as the details slowly seep into her consciousness.

“Who were?”

“Jack and Paige,” cries Rachel.

Noah’s head jolts up and he looks at her wide-eyed. When he goes to speak, nothing comes out. She squeezes his hand, for all the good it will do.

“I’m sorry,” she says, feeling somehow responsible.

“Are you serious?” he says, his voice high-pitched.

“Yes,” says Rachel meekly.

Noah shakes his head, as his shock and pain metamorphose into anger. “What the fuck…?” he exclaims, standing up, sending his chair scraping against the worn laminate floor.

“Please, don’t,” she begs.

“Have you told the police?” he asks, as he paces up and down, not knowing what to do with himself.

Rachel shakes her head. “Not yet, because everything was so hazy when I was talking to them. But it’s all gradually coming back, and now that Paige is…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“They need to be told,” says Noah. “It might make a difference to their investigation.”

“Investigation?” repeats Rachel naively.

“Into Paige’s…” He doesn’t seem to be able to say the word either. “A car doesn’t randomly start up on its own, point in the direction of the terrace and start rolling toward it at speed.”

“But who would do such a thing?”

Noah rubs his hand manically through his hair. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just don’t know.”

“So you think we should tell them that Jack and Paige were…” asks Rachel, unsure what to do for the best.

Noah falls onto the chair and puts his head in his hands. “Do you know for sure that they were?”

“Ali told me,” says Rachel.

“But I thought we were disregarding that as Ali being Ali?”

Rachel shakes her head as the memories become clearer with every passing minute. “She told me everything, just before the accident. I heard it in all its technicolor glory.”

“And you believe her?” asks Noah.

“Does it really matter anymore?” cries Rachel.

“Excuse me,” says Da Silva, peering around the curtain. “May I?”

Rachel nods as Noah buries his head in his hands.

“Is there any news on my husband?” asks Rachel, her voice unsteady.

“He has a dislocated shoulder, a torn tendon in his arm and some facial injuries,” says Da Silva. “They have him in surgery now, but he will be okay, I think.”

“So, you’ve not spoken to him yet?” asks Noah, without even looking up.

“No, we will be speaking to him about the evening’s events as soon as we’re able to.” Da Silva looks between them. “I know this must be a very difficult time, but I just need to ask you both again, so I am completely clear, that neither of you saw Paige Collins before the accident.”