The Cornish Retribution : a gripping psychological drama Page 11

  ‘Yes, I did actually.’ Dan sighs. ‘I kissed you back at first, I’m only human after all, but then I came to my senses. I knew you didn’t know what you were doing so I couldn’t take advantage of you.’

  I drain my glass in one and slam it down. Shit! What the hell happened that night? I rub my eyes, try to organise my thoughts. Try to remember something… anything. But all I remember is throwing up in the sink, Helena putting me to bed and then waking up feeling like death the next morning. Why can’t I remember stuff? Why? A thought occurs, and I let Dan have it with both barrels.

  ‘You must have been putting some drugs in my fucking drinks that night, Dan.’

  Dan’s face darkens. ‘What! Why the hell would I do that?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ I get up and go to the kitchen for a refill with Dan close behind. ‘Perhaps you thought you could shag me while I was out of it.’ I stop, one hand on the wine bottle and whirl round, my heart thumping in my chest. ‘Bloody hell… you didn’t, did you?’

  The look of pure horror in his dark eyes gives me comfort. ‘How could you imagine I would do such a thing? You know how I feel about you. I would never hurt you. Ever.’ Dan leans his back against the counter and gives me a soulful stare.

  But I’m still furious. ‘No. You didn’t hurt me all those years ago, did you? I suppose that must have been someone else.’

  I watch a tic in his cheek as he grinds his teeth together. Through a small gap in his mouth, he says, ‘I’ve told you a thousand times how sorry I am for doing that. It was the worst mistake of my life.’ Then his eyes fill, and I look away. I turn around and pour myself more wine.

  ‘Okay. Let’s not dig all that back up.’ I pull a chair out at the kitchen table. He pours himself a glass and sits opposite. ‘What happened after that…?’ I look into his puzzled face and add, ‘You know, after you’d dried my hair and fought off my advances.’

  Dan leans his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands. ‘Nothing. I took off your wet knickers, made sure you were okay and put you to bed.’

  My face is on fire. How completely and utterly humiliating. But I say nothing, I have no words, just sip my drink. Stare at a spot just above his head. He rakes his fingers through his hair and mutters something I can’t catch. ‘What did you say?’ I narrow my eyes at him.

  Dan gives me a level stare. ‘I said I wish that party had never happened. If it hadn’t, Penny would still be here.’

  ‘Are you trying to say I drove her to suicide? Is that why you kept quiet to the police about finding me wet through?’ I try to keep the tremor from my voice but fail.

  ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying at all–’

  ‘Because if I had been with her, why didn’t I have blood on me?’ I stop. ‘…I didn’t, did I?’

  ‘No. No, of course not. I’m just saying that if she hadn’t have got so drunk, taken those tablets, and then I suppose, killed herself… then she’d be alive.’

  The way he’d said ‘suppose’ unnerves me. What does he mean? He found the note, didn’t he? Before I can say that, another thought takes over. ‘Talking of Penny, after you left my room, did you just go back to bed? Didn’t you look for your wife?’

  Dan shakes his head and turns the corners of his mouth down. ‘No. That’s the worst thing… I didn’t want to go looking for her. I felt guilty because I’d gone to your room.’ He looks into my eyes. ‘I wanted you so much, you see… and I just assumed she’d be conked out somewhere. I was tired and didn’t want the hassle of waking her and maybe having another argument, so I just slunk off back to bed.’

  I sigh. ‘Not your finest hour. Mine either… I suppose I must have been in the hot tub with her at some point, or why was I wet? Unless I’d had a shower.’

  ‘No. The shower was dry. I noticed when I’d gone into the bathroom for a towel. I did wonder if you’d been in the sea, but you weren’t particularly cold.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘My theory is that you two were in the tub. You got out, and then afterwards, she did what she did… or somebody else did it to her.’

  The unnerving I’d felt comes back with reinforcements. ‘What? You’re saying it wasn’t suicide? Somebody cut her wrists with my kitchen knife?’

  Dan puts a trembling hand to his forehead and then places it down on the table again. ‘I’m not sure what I’m saying, but I just don’t think Penny was the type to do something like that.’

  I can hardly process his words. ‘But you found the sodding suicide note, Dan!’

  He gives me an intense stare and then snaps his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I wrote that note, Sam. It was me.’

  15

  It is as if time is standing still. I look at Dan, my heart thumping in my ears. He looks back and then reaches for my hand, but I slap it away. Hard. Anger and fear struggle for dominance in my chest and then anger wins.

  I stand up, lean forward and yell in Dan’s face, ‘You what? Why the hell would you do such a thing?’ Then anger drains as trepidation crashes into me like a wrecking ball. I back into the kitchen sink, a mishmash of thoughts whirling in my brain. There was no note. No suicide note. On that night I wasn’t tucked up in bed from nine o’clock, sleeping off the booze, I was up in the early hours. I was wet. Drunk. Why was I wet? Where had I been? No note… no note… no–

  Dan’s face is full of compassion. ‘I did such a thing to lead the police away from you. To protect you. Just like with me the day before, they’d had you in that interview room for hours and I was terrified they’d try to pin something on you. It was unlikely, given the fact that you’d not be stupid enough to act out a murder scene from your book in reality, but I couldn’t risk it.’ He stands up and steps forward, but I hold my hands up and shake my head. If he comes any nearer, I’ll slap him.

  He shoves his hands through his hair and leans against the table. ‘I can’t lose you, Sam. As I said, I had my reasons for not saying anything when the police interviewed us on the day and since. That’s why I didn’t tell the police about your hair being wet and I’d come to your room. Also, I was ashamed to admit I’d not looked for Penny. But if I’d told them everything I told you just now, it would have given them exactly what they needed.’

  I’m incredulous. A wave of nausea rises in my belly and I turn to the sink, splash cold water on my face and look out of the window at the sea. ‘You’re saying that you think I’m capable of killing Penny,’ I say to the waves. ‘You actually think I drugged her and killed her.’

  ‘No. No I don’t think that at all! But I’m saying that others might. Felicity gave you a few suspicious looks when we were being interviewed that morning. And, it stands to reason the police would have been extremely suspicious of you if they knew all the details. They were about to charge you on what they had, for God’s sake!’

  I whirl round. ‘Don’t you dare talk about Felicity like that! She would never suspect me.’

  Dan shrugs. ‘Sorry, but while we’re at it, it crossed my mind at first that Jack tried to set me up. He found her after all… perhaps he went with the scenario – they always suspect the husband. Luckily for me, and for you… there was a note.’

  I would laugh if what he said weren’t so terrible. ‘My own son killed Penny to set you up? You’re fucking nuts. Get out.’ My voice comes out quiet but shaking with anger.

  ‘I said at first. My head was all over the place… It’s been an awful ordeal.’

  ‘I asked you to leave.’ I fold my arms, glare at him.

  ‘Just hear me out. There’s one more thing you don’t know. Jack warned me off at the dinner party. He’d come up to the loo, saw us kissing but didn’t tell you. Later he took me to one side and said to fucking leave you alone. He said some vicious things. I was angry, so said more than I intended.’

  I put my hands on my face, peer at him through my fingers. No wonder Jack had had that suspicious look on his face that evening. ‘Shit. What did you say?’

  Dan swallows hard. ‘I mad
e it clear it wasn’t just a quick grope. Said I loved you and you were the one I should have married. He said he’d rather poke his own eyes out than see me married to you, and his dad would spin in his grave. Then he pushed me hard against the wall.’

  I throw my hands up in exasperation. That is just wonderful. This day is just getting better and sodding better. I grab my wine glass and take a swig. I know what Dan just said is the truth, because Jack had said the same thing the night of the dinner party when I’d commented that he didn’t much like Dan.

  ‘Why did you say all that to him? He’ll think that the feeling is mutual! No wonder he’s been a bit off with me. God, Dan, you’re so bloody stupid sometimes. And to even think for one second that Jack could have killed Penny to set you up. I despair! Why would he have used the same method as in my book to cast suspicion on you? It would cast suspicion on me instead, you numbskull.’

  Dan looks crestfallen. ‘Yes, I know. I did say it just crossed my mind. I know it was stupid… and admitting to him I loved you was stupid too.’

  Silence builds between us like a wall until I knock it down with, ‘So are you now saying that Penny just took her own life but didn’t leave a note?’

  ‘I guess. I know I don’t want to think of her being capable, but there’s no other explanation.’

  ‘But why would she kill herself in the same way as it happened in my book?’

  ‘In some warped way to point the finger at you? She was eaten away with jealousy don’t forget.’

  I’d come to that conclusion a while ago, but needed to hear it out loud. It would at least mean that I hadn’t killed Penny. ‘Hmm, I suppose. And where did she get the drugs from?’ I visualise the bathroom cabinet and fight the desire to run and search it.

  ‘I have no bloody idea.’ Dan slumps on a kitchen chair.

  I put down my glass and rub my eyes. This is getting too much. I think about the suicide note. ‘Where did you tell the police you’d found the note, and didn’t they think it was odd you only just found it? Also, what about her fingerprints? Can they test paper for prints? If they can, then they’ll find none except yours.’ In saying this last sentence, a warning bell that had been sounding faintly since Penny’s death had been suggested as murder by the police grew louder. Could Dan have killed her? He had the motive. He was in love with me. He would have also collected all her parents’ money she’d previously kept from him.

  Dan nods. ‘Yes, they can test paper – I looked it up. I told the police I found the note inside my wallet folded up neatly at the back, next to my money. I hadn’t used it since she died. I’d stayed at the cottage, shopped online. But then I’d taken it out this morning. The notepaper was torn from a sheet of paper she’d used for a shopping list earlier. Her fingerprints would be all over it. I wrote the note in a shaky hand as if she were drunk. Printed it – that disguised my handwriting too. It doesn’t name you, Sam, but it says she was sick of always worrying about me not loving her – worried I’d leave her for someone else. Said she was sorry if her death caused me any pain, and she loved me, but she just couldn’t do it any more.’

  I watch his face as he tells me all this, he seems distant, unmoved. A chill runs the length of my spine. The earlier warning bell is deafening now. If he’s this cold, calculating and good at deceiving, it wouldn’t be beyond the bounds of reason to suspect that he’d killed Penny. In his twisted mind it could mean that him and I would live happily ever after and go skipping through the tulips. But why make me think that I could have done it? The wet hair, the drunken wander round the garden in the early hours? I can’t take any more for now.

  ‘I see. I don’t know what to say to all of that. I do know I need to be alone though.’ I walk from the kitchen, open the door to the hallway. ‘Can you leave now. I need to process this.’ I keep my gaze on the floor as he moves past.

  At the front door he pauses. ‘I did all this for you, Sam. Remember that. The suicide note makes sure that nobody will suspect you now, even if they did at the start. Not the police, nor friends like Alison and Naomi… not even family members.’ He holds his hands up when I glare at him. ‘Not that they would… just saying. You’re free from blame now and all suspicion, love.’ He goes to touch my shoulder, but then drops his hand and leaves.

  An hour has passed since he left, but I can’t move from the chair on the balcony. Wild fears and dark thoughts are in degrees of free-fall, tumbling churning and then surfacing again like some putrid smell. Deep down, I don’t really think Dan can have done it. He’s determined, ambitious, takes what he wants. But murder? No. My mind’s just lurching at anything at the moment. No wonder, is it? And me? Am I to blame? Of course not. But if I’d been out of it – perhaps Dan had slipped drugs into my drink because he thought I’d agree to have sex with him? Would he stoop so low? Had I been on some weird trip – couldn’t tell reality from fantasy… gone out to the hot tub and…?

  Suddenly I’m on my feet and racing for the bathroom, my heart thudding in my chest. Flinging open the doors I chuck out painkillers, insect repellent and plasters until I find the plastic box I used to keep the antidepressants in. There it is, tucked under a face cloth under the back shelf where I know I hid it. I remember the shame I felt at the time. The weakness in me that meant I couldn’t throw the last few packets away. With a shaking hand, I pull off the lid and look inside. The box is empty.

  16

  It’s nearly the end of November, but still I feel like the night Penny died has just happened, even though it’s nearly twelve weeks ago. It’s like I’m stuck in a terrifying Groundhog Day scenario, or I’m a demented hamster trapped in a wheel, trying to escape from a soul-crushing existence. Just when I think I’m making headway, there I am, slap bang in that fateful day again.

  I pour boiling water into a cup and mechanically stir the teabag round and round. Morning has somehow seeped into afternoon and I can’t really remember how that happened. I’ll have to snap out of this before next week when the first guests arrive at the retreat. Dan rings every day and sometimes pops round to see how I am and tries to discuss plans for the guests’ schedule, or some trivial detail about décor. More often than not, I fob him off or won’t let him in – say I’ve got a migraine. I contact him by email instead and send reassuring texts to say that I will be available to greet the guest and yes, of course, I’ll be able to discuss their writing with them, perhaps even do a bit of tuition.

  I point blank refuse to discuss anything else though. Anything important like my feelings, because if I give him an inch, he’ll wedge open the gap in my armour and tip his heart into mine, perhaps even think he can declare his everlasting love and devotion. So I’ve kept him at arm’s length, acted cool, been professional and shut him out at every turn. Much worse than worries about Dan and his heart-tipping is my inability to carry the burden of guilt about the missing antidepressants around for more than a few hours without collapsing into chairs, sofas, or beds in order to stare into nothingness.

  Sometimes this staring into nothingness involves booze and, on a rare occasion, sleeping tablets. The slippery slope I was on just after Adam died is waiting in dark corners and in the middle of the night. So far, I’ve narrowly avoided losing my footing, but it’s only a matter of time before I’m sucked down into the black pit I was in, and this time I’m not sure I’ll be able to crawl out. I’m not sure I’d even want to. At least then I won’t have this constant nagging in my ear that I done it. I killed my old friend Penny.

  The tea is way passed builders’ now. It looks more like beef soup, but I don’t care. A glug of milk will sort it. I would pay big bucks for such a simple remedy for my problems. I know there are none, however, and I take the tea and my big woolly blanket out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh sea air. A few brave surfers bounce and slap over the grey breakers near the water line and a stiff offshore breeze whips waves further out into stiff peaks. Why do surfers insist on braving this kind of weather? Must be nuts. But I can see the attraction too. T
he exhilaration of mastering the mighty ocean, albeit it fleetingly, must be worth it.

  I wrap the blanket tightly around me and lean against the railings, one hand around the handle of the mug, the other keeping hold of the blanket because the wind is trying to take it off. Though looking at the surfers, my mind’s working overtime, yet again. Objectively, I feel that I didn’t kill Penny. There would be a deep sense in my heart of hearts of knowing the truth, if I had. Hopefully there would be. But there’s enough doubt to plague my nights and days. The doubt is based on the state I was in that night, the missing tablets… and past experience.

  I did a vicious, spiteful thing to her that day in the toilets. A malicious, premeditated and cruel thing. Much as it shames me, I have to admit to myself it felt good at the time. Revenge was swift, merciless and righteous. Penny and Dan had betrayed me, made me feel worthless, inferior, unloved. And that had unleashed evil – an all-consuming hatred. I have never done anything like that before or since, thank God. But what if it had happened again? Had being with Penny somehow triggered the old Sam? I shut those thoughts down.

  On the surface I’m functioning, but Helena, and to a lesser extent Jack as he’s away at uni, knows there’s a problem. Just like Dan, I’ve kept them at arm’s length, but it’s more difficult with family – particularly my daughter. Once or twice I’ve made excuses not to see little Adam. Not because I love him any less or find him a nuisance, but because I don’t want him to see me cry, or I find myself staring into nothingness when he’s visiting.

  The tea tastes like the inside of a kettle and the tannin strips my tongue, so I set it down on the table and bite into the chocolate digestive. Half of it lands on the floor which is covered in sand blown from the beach. Typical. In frustration, I fling it over the side and almost immediately a seagull swoops and carries it off. How wonderful it must be to fly. To just spread your wings and take off to wherever you liked, unfettered by worry, or gravity. I sit at the table and rest my head on the cool wrought iron top. I need a drink… a cold G&T with a slice of lime and a handful of ice. Then I notice the time. It’s only 1pm. One o’clock or not, I ought to be showered and dressed, not wandering about with dirty hair, in pyjamas and an old grubby dressing gown.