The Lies We Told(60)

‘I better start looking for somewhere to live,’ Clara had said into the silence, turning back to the box she was packing with books.

‘You know you can stay with me for as long as you need to, don’t you?’ Mac had said.

She’d nodded. ‘I know. Thank you.’

‘Have the police been in touch?’

‘Anderson rang earlier. He said they’re doing more door-to-door enquiries, looking at CCTV and so on. But it all feels pretty hopeless, to be honest.’ She’d got up, then, to carry the box to the door, where she paused, staring down at it. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she’d said. ‘Perhaps I should go and see my parents for a while, although I need to go back to work, soon …’ she broke off. It felt entirely impossible to comprehend a future beyond the question of where Luke was, her life on perpetual, agonizing hold until he was found.

Now, as they edged slowly through the Saturday-afternoon traffic, her gaze flickered unseeingly over Kingsland Road. It would take them a couple of hours to get to Suffolk and she sat back, mulling over the past two days. Once she’d confirmed that her keys had indeed been taken from her bag in Mac’s spare room, Anderson had said little to indicate they’d come any closer to finding who’d been responsible for the break-ins. On the subject of Tom, the detective sergeant had remained tight-lipped. ‘We are pursuing that line of enquiry, yes,’ was all he’d say on the matter.

Although Mac had an impressive selection of new locks fitted to his door, her sleep had been plagued by dreams that someone was trying to break in, nightmares from which she’d jerk awake several times each night, heart thumping, to begin each new day feeling more exhausted than ever. As the van progressed through East London, her thoughts turned yet again to Emily. There’d been no word from her in the few days since they’d met, and Clara found herself thinking of her increasingly often. What if Emily had just vanished again? Should she tell Rose and Oliver about her, or should she trust Luke’s sister that she would contact them herself very soon? Her tired mind struggled to find answers and finally she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

An accident on the motorway meant they didn’t arrive at The Willows until five. The sun was beginning to set over the surrounding fields, the sky already tinged with night when they knocked on the door, and Clara shivered in her coat as they waited. After a while they knocked again, but when there was still no sign of Rose and Oliver she glanced at Mac in confusion. ‘Do you think they’ve gone out?’

He frowned. ‘They knew we were coming, though. Bit weird, isn’t it?’

Walking to the side of the house, she cupped her hands to peer through the window, and it was only then that she noticed its shutters were closed. She tried to think if she could remember ever seeing them closed before, and realized she couldn’t. Looking up at the higher windows, it seemed the house was in total darkness. ‘Mac,’ she said, ‘this is really strange …’

It was at that moment that they heard a sound from within, followed by Rose’s nervous voice, ‘Hello? Who is it, please?’

‘It’s us, Rose. Mac and Clara,’ Mac called. ‘Are you OK?’ They heard bolts being drawn back and finally the door opened.

The Rose who peered out at them was so gaunt and ill-looking that Clara gasped. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked anxiously, feeling suddenly afraid. ‘Why are the windows shuttered, and the door bolted? Are you all right?’

Rose stared at her strangely before nodding. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ She opened the door wider and, glancing quickly behind them from left to right, added, ‘Come in, both of you. Please, do come in.’

Even in the dark gloom of the interior Clara could see that the house’s sad air of disarray had worsened since last she’d visited. When they reached the kitchen she and Mac paused inside the door, shooting nervous glances at each other as Rose silently filled the kettle then stood motionless, staring blankly down at it in her hand. ‘Rose,’ Clara said, going over and gently taking it from her, before leading her to a chair at the cluttered table. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? I’m worried about you.’

‘Worried, darling?’ Rose asked faintly. ‘About me? Why should you be worried about me?’ She began to cry, the tears seeping out down her pale, make-up-less face. ‘It’s I who should be worried about you.’ She put her hand to her mouth as a sob escaped. ‘After what happened to you,’ she glanced at Mac, ‘to both of you. I’m so sorry, I’m so dreadfully sorry.’

Clara knelt down next to her and took her hands. ‘Sorry? Oh, Rose, why are you sorry? None of this is your fault. How could it be?’

At that moment Oliver appeared, their dog, Clemmy, at his heels. Mac stepped forward to greet him but received barely a glance, as though Oliver could see nothing or no one but his wife. ‘Rose,’ he said, his voice full of tenderness. ‘Oh, darling, why are you crying? Don’t cry, please don’t cry.’ He went to her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, fixing him with her gaze, something that Clara couldn’t read passing between them and then, to Clara’s astonishment, Rose very slowly and very deliberately removed his hand from her shoulder and got up. She stared back at her husband, a look on her face of such coldness, of such breathtaking dislike, that Clara felt her heart jolt in shock. And then Rose turned and left the room, leaving the three of them to stare silently after her.