The Other People: A Novel(85)

“Yes.”

“And the car with Izzy in it was in front of you.”

“Yes.”

“Wrong.”

“Sorry?”

“It should have been driving away from your house. It was heading in the wrong direction. You never ask yourself why?”





It was a beautiful sunny day. The sort of day children draw in crayon, with a bright round sun, garish blue sea and toxic-yellow sand.

They walked down to the beach from the house. Gabe and Izzy, Katie, Sam and Gracie. He had never thought he would actually move into the big house. But Izzy had wanted to. She said she liked being near the sea, the beach. And he couldn’t deny her that.

It hadn’t really been part of the plan to invite Katie and her children to move in either. It had just sort of happened. They had visited a lot over the holidays when Gabe was redecorating. Sam and Izzy played well together, and Grace was a sweetheart. Katie had helped him choose color schemes, furniture, pictures: things to make the big old house feel more like a home. He was grateful for her input—after three years living in a camper van, he had found himself helpless in a new world of flat-pack furniture, fabric samples and tester pots.

When Katie asked what he would do with all the space he had jokingly said that maybe she should move in. Izzy had immediately and enthusiastically seconded this. They had laughed it off, but he had found himself thinking about it more and more. The house was way too big for just him and Izzy. He didn’t want to end up with empty, dead rooms, not like before. So he suggested it again to Katie, more seriously. Fresh start. No need to pay rent. Built-in babysitter. No strings.

To his surprise, Katie had accepted. She had found herself a new job at a hotel not far away. It had been six months now, and things felt settled, calm. The huge house, which had always seemed more like a morgue, now echoed with laughter and life. They weren’t quite a family, not in the traditional sense. Katie and he were still getting to know each other. He wasn’t entirely sure where it would lead, if anywhere. But this was one road he found himself excited to follow. He hadn’t quite rejoined life but, somehow, life had found him.

Today, they took a picnic, as they often did. A cliché, but one he had been robbed of for three long years. When you’ve been denied the pleasure of such small things, they mean the world. They spread the checkered blanket on the shingle and put up deckchairs. They plonked sunhats on the children’s heads and Katie rummaged in the beach bag for the sun cream.

She tutted. “I can’t find it.” She looked up at Gabe. “Did you put it in?”

He frowned. “I thought I did.”

“Well, it’s not here.”

“Are you sure? Let me look.”

“It’s not in here. I’ve looked.”

Izzy, Grace and Sam giggled.

“What?” Katie and Gabe said in unison.

The children exchanged knowing looks.

“What?” Katie said again.

“You two sound like you’re married,” Sam said.

Katie and Gabe looked at each other, both flushing red.

“Well, that’s—” Katie started to stutter.

“Awful,” Gabe said, pulling a face. “Yuck!”

“Oy!” Katie play-punched him on the arm. It hurt. Still, he grinned, rubbing his arm.

“Sun cream!” Katie said again, sternly.

“I must have left it in the kitchen,” Gabe said. “I’ll go back.”

“Can we go in the sea, Mum. Please?” Sam said.

“Okay. But T-shirts on. I don’t want you to burn.”

“Yay!”

The children tore down the beach to the sea. Gabe watched them for a moment, still finding himself reluctant to let Izzy out of his sight for too long.

“D’you want me to go?” Katie asked, reading his mind.

“No, no, it’s fine.”

He turned and trudged back up the shingle toward the cliff path. It wasn’t that far, but it was steep. By the time he reached the top he was drenched in sweat, his T-shirt sticking to him like a second skin. From here, the path zigzagged along the edge of the cliff toward the rear of Seashells, where Gabe had put a gate in the fence for access. It was usually deserted, except for the occasional hiker or birdwatcher. But not today. Halfway along the path a woman stood, right at the cliff edge, staring out to sea.

Shit. The cliffs a few miles away at Beachy Head were notorious for suicides. Not so many people knew about these ones. But they were just as high and just as lethal, especially around this side, away from the beach. Nothing but a sheer drop to sharp rocks and the clamoring waves below. Your shattered bones would be washed out to sea before you were even missed.

“Hello? Excuse me?”

The woman turned. A black hole opened in his heart. She looked older. Her hair was short and dyed blonde. She was leaning on a stick. But he recognized her right away.

“I thought you were dead.”





“I’m not asking for forgiveness.”

“Good.”

“I just wanted to try and explain.”

“You could start by explaining your miraculous recovery?”

Fran regarded him steadily. “They thought it would be safer.”

“Who’s they? Are you in some kind of witness protection?”