The Things You Didn't See(82)

‘So,’ he prompted, ‘how can I help you?’

Holly took a breath and dived in. ‘I have synaesthesia. I can sense people’s emotions, feel touch when I see it. And it’s driving me crazy – I’d like you to cure me.’

Daniel’s face lit up with intense curiosity. ‘Well, that’s a new one. Let me see what I can do.’

He came towards her, and Holly tried not to flinch when he placed his hands on her shoulders, pressing down. This proximity is what I need, to sense any guilt. ‘Breathe deeply and close your eyes, please.’

She did, and she found her breathing matched his, that his hands warmed her arms, moving up her neck. And then she saw him, lifting the boot of his car and bundling something inside. She smelt blood in her nostrils as surely as if she were back again with Maya’s body.

‘Breathe, Holly. You’re tensing.’

Her body betrayed her: she was relaxing, her mind seemed to be uncoiling and laying itself flat. Daniel was chanting now, a strange humming sound that made her think of dark places, warm spaces. No, tune in to his senses, don’t let him take over.

She tried to get back to that place, to see Daniel once again bundling something into the car, but the moment had gone. The smell had left her, and all that remained was the sandalwood of his aftershave. Her body was moving, swaying to his command, and she felt heat travel through her limbs, a healing balm. Then he stopped.

Her eyes clicked open like shutters. She was back in the room.

‘Okay, Holly,’ Daniel said, crouching in front of her, ‘you can relax now.’

She realised that she wanted him to cure her, that if he told her he could, she’d believe him. Please, she inwardly begged, make it stop.

‘I’m so sorry. Your disorder is so hardwired, I can’t reach it. I don’t think there is a cure.’

Two miles out of Woodbridge, she pulled into a lay-by and, hands sweating, called Leif. She didn’t know if he’d understand, didn’t understand it herself, but she had to speak to someone.

‘S?tnos, where are you? Are you coming home?’

Home. It was where she longed to be, not hunched in her car in a rest stop, shaking like a kitten. ‘Leif, something happened.’

‘Holly, are you crying? Tell me where you are – I shall come.’

‘No, just listen. Leif, I can’t tell you how I know this, but it was Daniel who shot Maya. And I think he bundled something with her blood on it into his car. Can you get the team to examine it?’

‘To seize a car we need proof, Holly. Do you have that?’

She really was crying now, for the career she was giving up. She had to do this though. Like Alfie said, people’s lives were at stake. ‘Leif, I looked at Maya’s medical records and her cancer had returned. I think Daniel shot her to stop her exposing him and because she wasn’t going to give him the farm. I have the contract she signed, agreeing to sell to the Port Authority. And I have reason to believe her blood is in his car.’





39

Cassandra

Daniel arrives home late and in a taxi. He’s pale and looks upset.

‘Where’s your car?’ I ask, but he shakes his head, gesturing to where Victoria’s curled up on the sofa, her phone in her grip as she furiously types messages and takes selfie snaps.

‘Dad! Come and see this clip Dawn just sent me,’ Victoria says, oblivious to his pallor. ‘It’s a kid who somehow got into a gorilla’s enclosure at a zoo. Hilarious.’

It doesn’t sound hilarious to me, it sounds terrifying. But it’s good to see her so happy, all because Dawn is coming tomorrow. Daniel organised it, with Mrs H and Dawn’s mother, who collected her from Oakfield today so he doesn’t have to make the long trip to Norfolk and she can spend one night at home. She’s going to miss a few days of school, but she’ll be here to support Victoria. And I agreed, for my own reasons. Tomorrow, Daniel collects Dawn from her mother’s. He’ll be seeing Monica.

Daniel gamely watches the clip, though I can tell something’s bothering him. He asks me, ‘Where’s Hector?’

‘Gone for a lie-down. What’s wrong, Daniel? Why did you come home in a taxi?’

He runs his hand over his face and for a terrible second I think he’s going to cry. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ He casts a glance at Victoria, and I understand that whatever has happened is bad.

‘There’s some halloumi salad left,’ I tell him. ‘Come eat something.’

‘I’m not hungry, I just need a drink.’

‘There’s some Cabernet open.’ I stand, obedient. ‘Do you want some juice, Victoria? Green or red?’

‘Green, please,’ she says.

In the kitchen, I replay my daughter’s voice in my mind – confident and clear, with the enunciation of a public-school education; her accent isn’t a place, it’s a class. This is the gift you bought her, Mum, when you paid for her to attend Oakfield. A bonus to the larger gift of a sanctuary away from my madness.

Back in the front room, I hand her the juice and pass Daniel a large glass of wine. He’s acting like everything’s okay, but he’s tense. I’m trying to be normal too, though it’s a stretch. The only thing left of ‘me’ is on the outside: my stiffly smiling face, my trembling hands on the glass of juice. Inside is a liquid mess, a flood of incomprehensible feelings. Maybe the drugs I’m taking, the Prozac and trazodone, are making me dissolve as well.