The Cornish Retribution : a gripping psychological drama Page 12

  This has to stop.

  Has to.

  Is it time to face the music and ask Doctor Grayling for some antidepressants as well as sleeping tablets? They helped last time, but do I really want to go down that path again? Though what’s the alternative, Sam? To crash out of control through the endless days, hoping someone has a safety net, catch you when you fall? The slippery slope won’t wait forever.

  Interlocking my fingers, and stretching my arms up, I look up at the sky through the gaps in my fingers – then the vast expanse of grey cloud pulls me into nothingness. I shake it away and watch a few seagulls suspended from invisible strings gliding past and the call of the gin bottle grows louder. No. I won’t give in to it. Can’t. Think nice thoughts… Jack is coming up tomorrow, Felicity at the weekend, so that will be good. Jack suggested they came for Christmas lunch too, along with Helena, Carl and little Adam. The retreat will be open on Tuesday with three interesting guests, so life could be much worse.

  Focus.

  Focus on those things instead of some crazy fantasy that you were involved in somehow ending Penny’s life. But what about the missing antidepressants from the “hidden” place in the bathroom cabinet, Sam? What about those? The likelihood of Penny taking them, or even Dan was slim. When would they have done it? How did they know they were there? Then a memory surfaces – I’m taking a long pull on a cigarette, watching the end burn red hot, grinding it out into white yielding flesh, the sound of screaming… The jangle of the doorbell snaps me out of yet another downward spiral and I hurry to answer it.

  Alison is on the doorstep wearing a black padded coat with fur round the hood and after a sweep of my dressing gown and unwashed hair, she puts a sickly sympathetic expression on her face. From behind her back she whips a bunch of multi-coloured flowers and thrusts them into my hands. ‘I know you keep saying you’re fine on the phone and not to visit, but I know you’re not. I just had to stop by and see you, hon.’ The sickly expression adds a wobbly smile.

  Stop by? Has she become American in the last twelve weeks? I’m in no mood for Alison’s fake comfort and a barrage of searching questions. But can’t refuse her entry… unless I can think of an excuse. ‘Hey, that’s so kind of you, Alison. But I am truly fine. The house is a tip and I was just going to have a shower and then do a bit of shopping. I’ve nothing much in. Thanks so much for the flowers.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, lovely. I haven’t come to be entertained. Just a cuppa will do, and if you’ve no tea bags I’ll have water.’ Alison’s through the door and down the hall before I can draw breath. She stops at the kitchen and turns around. ‘It’s you I’ve come to see, not the state of your house.’ Then she walks into the kitchen and grabs the kettle. ‘Tea or coffee?’

  Ten minutes later, I feel like an intruder in my own home. I’m nursing a cup of tea that tastes of nothing, while Alison’s rushing about my house plumping cushions, sweeping floors and stacking the dishwasher. All the time she’s doing this she’s chucking seemingly innocent questions over her shoulder at me. ‘And the police say it was suicide then, the final verdict, like? Bet you were bloody relieved given that they had you in for questioning and that?’

  ‘Yes, they called me a few weeks back.’

  ‘But why would she do it, though?’

  ‘Not really sure.’ I put the cup on the coffee table and pull my dressing gown tight, wrap my arms around myself. I’m feeling vulnerable and afraid. It’s obvious Alison is just after the juicy gossip, and I’m worried that my head’s in such a mess that I’ll say the wrong thing.

  She comes to sit on the opposite sofa and takes a sip of her drink. Then she tucks her blonde bob behind her ears and assumes a benign curious expression, but in the big blue eyes there’s a thirst for news – naked and desperate. ‘What did the note say? There must have been a clue in it.’

  I shrug and look down at the chipped varnish on my toes. When did I last paint them? ‘Um… not really, she’d just had enough of it all…’

  ‘On that night she’d deffo had enough of the hot husband fancying you, hadn’t she? I couldn’t believe how rude she was to you. No bloody wonder you ripped her head off.’

  My head shoots up at this and heat floods her cheeks. ‘I didn’t quite rip her head off… did I?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Alison’s eyes flicker with excitement. ‘And I don’t blame you. God knows what he saw in her when he could have had you back then. I chatted to him at the party, you know, later on? And he told me how you’d met. He was a bit drunk, to be honest.’ Alison does a fake laugh. ‘But weren’t we all? Anyway, he said that you were his girlfriend and he’d left you for Penny. He didn’t say why, but he went a bit red.’

  Great, get to the point, why don’t you. Now what do I say? ‘It was all a very long time ago, Alison.’

  ‘But Penny said he still loves you to me that night, didn’t she? Do you think she topped herself because she thought you and him would get back together?’

  I have just picked the cup back up but bang it down now. ‘For God’s sake! No. There’s nothing between us.’

  Alison blinks and sits back a bit. ‘Hey, don’t get upset, chick. I was just trying to piece things together. And Naomi was going to come instead of me until I persuaded her not to. She’s even worse than me for being direct.’ She tries a smile, but I don’t answer it.

  ‘I think that’s debatable.’ I shut my eyes, pray that she will take the hint and fuck off.

  ‘Trust me, she’s worse. Anyway, I’m really here just to see how you are, hon. And if I were you I’d grab that Dan one with both hands. Why not? You’re both free agents now, aren’t you?’

  Something about the intonation of the word ‘now’ tells me so much. It’s clear that Alison thinks that me, Dan, or perhaps both of us know more than we’re letting on. Perhaps she even thinks the suicide verdict was wrong. I open my eyes and stare directly into the other woman’s greedy gaze.

  ‘I’m tired of talking about this now. Either change the subject or leave.’

  Alison’s mouth drops open. ‘Oh, sweetie. I really didn’t mean to upset you. Look, let’s change the subject. I can see how things are with you.’ Her eyes sweep my appearance again and this time there’s no hiding the disgust behind sympathy. ‘No wonder you’re so stressed.’

  ‘No. Let’s not change the subject. Can you leave now? I want to get showered and go shopping like I said before.’ I stand up and walk to the front door. I hear her snort of derision but at least she follows.

  At the door, Alison turns and says, ‘I’m sorry if I upset you. I don’t like leaving you like this – you know when you’re struggling with… life.’

  Anger that has been so desperate for release in my gut slowly rises up to my chest. I daren’t allow my mouth to open or it would be out, free and dangerous. I just nod and push the door open.

  ‘Why don’t you go to the doctor’s? See if they can give you something for anxiety and stuff?’ Alison gives a little smile, but her eyes are cold. ‘You know there’s no shame in it.’

  That is the last straw. I put my face inches from hers and say in a low voice, ‘Why don’t you go to the fucking doctor’s and ask if they can give you something to help increase the size of your pinhead brain? Now fuck off and don’t come back here again!’

  Alison’s face drains and she scrabbles out of the door and down the path. ‘You’re bloody nuts, you are! I wouldn’t put anything past you!’ she shouts over her shoulder.

  I slam the door and lean back against it. That wasn’t very smart was it, given that Alison will be turning the sails of the rumour mill in the community before I can draw breath. But right at this minute I don’t give a damn. It was worth it to see the shocked expression on her nasty little face.

  The kitchen clock says three thirty and I’m still in my dressing gown pondering on what I said to Alison and all the rest of my problems – again. Ideas of a shower and then shopping somehow disappeared into a glass of wine when I wasn’t looking. The
glass is empty and it’s too late to go shopping. It will be dark in half an hour and it’s bloody freezing out. Best just chalk the day up to experience and stay in nightclothes. Lunch didn’t happen thanks to Alison’s arrival, so another glass of wine and a microwave lasagne, possibly with a side of garlic bread sounds tempting.

  Halfway through the meal, the doorbell jangles again and my stomach rolls. My fork clatters to the plate. No. That’s all I need. It would probably be Naomi come to see if I’m okay after Alison’s chapter and verse. In other words, to get more gossip. I consider pulling on some clothes but really can’t be bothered. I’ll not allow anyone in anyway, no matter who it is.

  Jack’s standing there. His big smile fades as he takes in my appearance and concern floods his face. ‘Mum? You okay?’

  I feel like I’m the child. A child who’s been doing something naughty – bad, and been caught out by the adult. The hall mirror reflects the sorry state of my dishevelment. There’s lasagne on my chin, my dark hair looks slick with grease and is sticking up all over, and dark circles float under the blue of my eyes. In an unnaturally high-pitched voice I say, ‘Jack! I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.’ Before my son can answer, I modify the tone – go for thrilled. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. Come through, it’s freezing!’

  Shit! Why didn’t I have that bloody shower?

  In the kitchen I pick up my glass and bottle, put them on the counter, but Jack’s already seen the evidence. He nods at them. ‘Starting early, eh?’ He leans against the wall folds his arms, looks at me.

  There’s not a scrap of humour in his eyes and I tell myself to keep calm. Okay, yes it was early to be boozing, but I’m the parent here. ‘I skipped lunch as I was engrossed in my novel.’ I sweep my hand down my body and give a sheepish grin. ‘As you can see. You know what I’m like when I’m writing. Just fancied a glass with my food to celebrate finishing three chapters today.’ I’m gabbling, so stop. Why am I apologising, telling lies? What’s it to do with Jack anyway?

  Jack nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced. He points at the kettle. ‘Want a cuppa?’

  ‘Yes, that’d be lovely. What brings you here a day early?’

  ‘I had a bit of free time and thought I’d surprise you. It’s been a while since I was here.’ He turns and shoves his hand through his hair the way his dad used to, the floppy dark blond fringe falling over his grey eyes and my heart squeezes as it always does. He looks so much like Adam.

  ‘Missed your old mum, then?’ I want to walk over and give him a hug but given the state of me, he might not welcome it.

  He shrugs. ‘A bit. Don’t get big-headed.’

  I do a fake laugh. Then a silence swells between us until the pressure of it hurts my chest. ‘Tell you what, love. Leave my coffee, I’ll go and get cleaned up and have some later.’ I hurry from the kitchen and say over my shoulder. ‘There are biscuits in the top cupboard if you fancy some.’

  After the shower, I feel more refreshed and able to put on my “normal mother” act. I dry my hair and put concealer under my eyes, a bit of eyeliner and mascara and I look much more like my old self. Except there is no old self, is there? Not really. Just the shell of the woman I once was. Then I tell myself off for wallowing and paint on a big smile as I enter the living room. The TV is on and Jack’s watching Danger Mouse.

  ‘Danger Mouse?’ I say, sitting beside him on the sofa and giving him a quick hug. ‘Not a bit old for that?’

  Jack gives me a genuine smile. ‘You’re never too old for DM. It’s really funny, you know. Mostly aimed at adults, ’cos some of the humour’s quite subtle.’

  ‘If you say so,’ I say with a giggle in my throat.

  Jack smiles but then he flicks the TV off and shifts to face me. ‘Mum. I’m not going to beat about the bush. I’m a bit worried about you.’

  The buoyant mood developing in my chest drains away. Great. We’re going to have a big bloody discussion about my life, are we? I settle back in my seat, conceal my irritation and try to make my voice light. ‘Why, love?’

  ‘The way you looked when I arrived.’ He holds his hands up as I start to answer. ‘Yes, I know you said you’d been writing and lost track of time. But you looked dreadful. Your hair hadn’t seen shampoo for a few days and…’

  ‘What do you mean, I said? Don’t you believe me? And my hair was washed yesterday, thank you.’ I feel my colour come up at yet another lie.

  ‘Mum, I’m not attacking you. Just worried. Helena said the other day that she’s worried too. You’ve been in your dressing gown late afternoon when she’s popped round a few times, and you don’t see little Adam as much as you used to.’ Jack puts his hand on my arm, gives it a squeeze. ‘We love you, that’s why we’re concerned. You do know that?’

  The love is plain to see in my son’s eyes and mine moisten, so I look away from his gaze. I’m torn between anger at being caught out, and the desire to let the tears come. He’s right. I am a mess. And Helena has noticed too. I knew my daughter was worried, but I’d managed to fob her off – or so I’d thought. Helena had seen through my excuses not to have Adam as well. How humiliating.

  I sigh and pick at a fingernail. ‘It’s been so hard since Penny’s death. I-I feel partly to blame.’

  Jack sits back, crosses his legs. ‘How on earth did you arrive at that?’

  ‘It happened here, for a start. I was so out of it that night. So out of it. It’s hard to look outside now without seeing her in the tub.’ My voice trembles and I swallow hard.

  ‘God, Mum.’ He takes my hand. ‘Yes, it must be – I get that, but why are you to blame? Okay, you were out of it, but she was worse. You didn’t see her later, you know, after you went to bed. She was wasted – her pupils were the size of Jupiter.’

  ‘But if she was so bad, how did she have the gumption to do what she did?’

  Jack gives me a strange look, releases my hand. ‘No idea, but she must have, mustn’t she?’

  I shrug. I need to shut up now before I say too much. ‘I guess.’ Everything feels muddled, nothing makes sense in my head any more. I used to have thoughts in logically ordered lines, now they resemble spaghetti. And I’m acting crazy, losing friends, family. They are all worried about me. What am I going to do?

  I feel Jack’s hand on mine again and he stops me worrying at my nail. I’m not even aware that I still had been. ‘Has he been round lately?’ The way Jack says ‘he’ leaves me in no doubt as to who he means.

  The elephant in the room is at last being let out into the wild then. Good, it was about time. Not an easy topic, but it’s better than the one we’re on. Another moment and I’m sure I’d have blurted everything out to Jack. ‘You mean Dan?’

  Jack nods.

  ‘Look, he told me that you’d seen us the night of the dinner party – you know, kissing.’ I glance up quickly and then away as I’m too embarrassed. Jack looks angry. ‘He also told me what he told you about loving me and that you pushed him against the wall–’

  ‘Ought to have done more than that. Taking bloody advantage.’ Jack’s voice is calm, but his agitation is unmistakable.

  At the risk of upsetting him further, my instinct is to be honest. ‘To be fair, I kissed him back. I’m not proud of it and I shouldn’t have encouraged him. It was a moment of weakness, but I assure you his feelings aren’t reciprocated.’

  ‘I should bloody hope not! He’s a scumbag, a womaniser too according to Penny. She told us when she was pissed. He thinks he can do exactly he what likes.’ Jack jumps up and paces the room. ‘I’m furious with Dad for leaving you in a position to go into business with that shithead!’

  I stand and go over to my son, put a hand on his arm – stop his pacing. ‘Hey, come on, love. He’s not that bad. He’s been nothing but kind to me since it happened. I don’t speak to him half the time, don’t even let him in when he comes around, but he never fails to ask after me and–’

  ‘That’s because he wants you!’ Jack shakes off my hand and glares. ‘
Can’t you see that? Just steer well clear, Mum. I don’t trust him.’ Jack marches off into the kitchen and I hear him pour a glass of wine.

  I follow, a sob in my throat. I’ve never seen my son so angry. Inside there’s an argument raging about whether to tell Jack that it was this so-called scumbag who saved my skin. That he wrote the suicide note because he would do anything for me. But the wild look in Jack’s eyes stops me. No. No, that would be madness. God knows what can of worms would be opened. The can of worms might lead to a further investigation and me ending up in prison.

  ‘He only wants the best for me, love. He knows we can’t be together, but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.’

  Jack sighs, shakes his head, looks out the window at the dark sky.

  Then before I can stop myself, I blurt, ‘He was the one to convince me that I couldn’t have killed Penny.’ Then the enormity of that statement hits home. How the hell is Jack going to react to that? He doesn’t know about Dan writing the note, does he? What the hell am I thinking?

  The look on his face is a cross between incredulity and shock. ‘What? How the hell could you have? It was bloody suicide – the police have the note.’ He sounds like he’s talking to an idiot.

  I think fast. ‘I know, I know. But I was in a right state after the police released me. They’d fired questions at me for hours. I know there was the note, but I was too upset to focus. I thought I might have been so out of it that night, I’d done it somehow to get revenge for when we were teenagers.’

  Jack shakes his head again, takes a drink.

  Again, I speak before thinking. ‘Did you think it might have been me, who killed her, did Felicity? You know, before the note was found?’