The Other People: A Novel(72)

But Izzy was already backing away from the window, shaking her head, whether at him or something she could see in the glass, he wasn’t sure.

“No. Not now.”

Who was she talking to?

Then he jumped as Katie clapped her hands briskly together.

“Okay. Let’s get you all into bed.”



* * *



—

THE CHILDREN CLIMBED into bed with surprisingly few complaints. The room smelled a little fusty but the bed was large and comfortable and the somnolent effect of soft pillows and clean sheets soothed them almost instantly.

Katie kissed Sam and Gracie on their heads. “Night, night. Sleep tight.”

Gabe hesitated for a moment and then sat down beside Izzy at the other end of the bed. He bent and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her skin felt ridiculously soft. Her hair smelled faintly of shampoo. He breathed her in. Her scent was so familiar and yet so strange. Once, her small, supple body had felt almost like a part of his own. Now, it was all new to him. All of this, having a daughter, being a father, he had to relearn it. Relearn it and do it better this time.

“Night, night.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

She stared up at him with sleepy eyes. “You won’t go away, will you?”

“No. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Never ever?”

Never ever. If only there was such a thing, such a place, he thought.

He brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Never ever.”

He rose and walked to the door.

“I’ll leave a light on outside,” Katie whispered, but the only reply was a trio of heavy breaths.

She pulled the door almost shut. Gabe stared at the sleeping form of his daughter through the gap. He didn’t want to leave her. Didn’t want to ever let her out of his sight again. Never ever.

But right now, there were things he needed to know. He turned to Katie.

“Shall we?”





The ornate hands on the gilt clock above the fireplace read twenty minutes past seven. With the heavy emerald curtains pulled, Katie could no longer have told you whether that was morning or evening. The last twenty-four hours felt like some terrible, surreal dream.

She sat in the living room while Gabe poured drinks in the kitchen. She hugged herself to contain a shiver. The room was beautiful. But cold. And she wasn’t sure that had anything to do with its size or the heating. The whole house lacked warmth. But that wasn’t all. There was something else. Something just slightly “off” about this place. Like a sealed exhibit. A place not even blessed with ghosts because it had never been full of life.

Despite the elegance of this room, there were incongruous touches. The flat-screen television on the wall beside the fireplace, two large tan leather recliners and a gas fire glowing in the hearth, where she presumed there had once been a real fire. Although, tonight, she was grateful for convenience over aesthetics.

Gabe had mentioned that Miriam, the head nurse, lived here. She supposed she had to make it more livable in but, still, it seemed that the house was crying out for someone to love it properly, to appreciate it, to reanimate it.

And then she thought about the girl lying in the south wing. This house wasn’t really a home. It was a living mausoleum. And Gabe was its keeper. She wondered why he didn’t just sell it, but then perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he felt duty-bound to look after the girl he had almost killed.

Rereading the news stories online had refreshed her memory. The night his wife and daughter were murdered, Gabe had been visiting the girl he had put into a coma years ago in a car accident.

The very thing that had given him an alibi, proven him innocent of their murders, had been the thing the papers had used to crucify him with. Nail after rusty nail. A hit-and-run, they called it, except Gabe had not run. He had stayed with the girl, handed himself in to the police and visited her ever since. But that part was missed out. He was already as good as a killer. He was a drunk driver. He had left a girl brain dead. The none-too-subtle implication was that, somehow, he had brought all of this on himself. It was justice. Karma.

She remembered feeling sorry for him at the time. A mistake from his youth dredged up and used against him. And then she thought about her dad. About the young man who had killed him. About how it had destroyed her family.

An eye for an eye.

“Brandy?”

Gabe walked back into the room holding two large glasses of amber liquid. Hefty measures. She never drank brandy, but she had heard it was good for numbing shock. She took a gulp. Jesus Christ. Talk about numbing. She felt like it had seared the nerve endings from her throat. From the way Gabe gagged when he sipped his, it seemed like he wasn’t much of a drinker either. But then he took a second, larger gulp and she guessed that, like her, he needed it.

He sat down on the opposite sofa and they perched awkwardly, clutching their glasses, a large oak coffee table between them, unsure if they were allies or opponents.

And then he said, “Thank you.”

It wasn’t what she was expecting.

“However this happened, you brought my daughter back to me. There were times when even I doubted that she was still alive. When I thought that, maybe, everyone was right and I had lost my mind. It’s impossible to tell you how much this day means to me.” He paused, took another swig of drink. “But if you had anything to do with what happened to Izzy, I will hand you over to the police without a second thought.”