Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

‘I thought you might like him,’ you said, still crying. ‘I thought it would be company for me while you’re out at work – he can watch me paint.’

I stopped. It occurred to me that the cat might well be entertainment for you while I was out of the house. Perhaps I could cope with a cat, if it made you content.

‘Just make sure you keep it away from my suits,’ I said. I went upstairs and when I came down again you had laid out a cat bed and two bowls in the kitchen, and a litter tray by the door.

‘It’s only until she can go outside,’ you said. Your eyes were wary and I hated that you had seen me lose control. I made myself stroke the kitten and heard you sigh with relief. You came up to me and snaked your arms around my waist. ‘Thank you.’ You kissed me in that way that was always a precursor to sex, and when I pushed ever so gently down on your shoulder you sank to your knees without a murmur.

You became obsessed with the kitten. Its food, its toys, even its shitty litter tray were somehow more interesting than tidying the house or cooking the dinner. Far more interesting than talking to me. You spent entire evenings playing with it, dragging stuffed mice across the floor on pieces of string. You told me you were working on your portfolio during the day, but when I came home from work I’d find your stuff strewn about the living room, as it had been the previous day.

A fortnight or so after you moved in, I came home to find a note on the kitchen table.

Out with Sarah. Don’t wait up!

We had spoken, as we always did, two or three times that day, but you hadn’t thought to mention it. You had left nothing out to eat, so presumably you were eating with Sarah and hadn’t concerned yourself with what I might have. I took a beer from the fridge. The kitten mewed and tried to climb up my trousers, digging its claws into my leg. I shook it off and it fell on to the floor. I shut it in the kitchen and turned on the television, but I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think about was the last time you and Sarah went out: the speed with which she disappeared with a guy she had only just met, and the ease with which you came home with me.

Don’t wait up.

I hadn’t asked you to live with me in order to spend my evenings sitting on my own. I had already been taken for a fool by one woman – I wasn’t about to let it happen again. The mewling continued and I went to fetch another beer. I could hear the kitten inside the kitchen, and I pushed open the door sharply, sending it skidding across the floor. It was comical, and cheered me up momentarily, until I returned to the living room and looked at the mess you had left on the floor. You had made some half-hearted attempt to stack it in one corner of the room, but there was a lump of clay on a sheet of newspaper – no doubt transferring its ink on to the wooden floor – and jam jars filled with murky substances piled into a handyman’s tray.

The kitten mewed. I took a swig of my beer. The television was showing a wildlife documentary, and I watched as a fox tore a rabbit to pieces. I turned up the volume but still I could hear the kitten mewing. The sound twisted itself into my head until each cry made the anger rise up inside me a little more; a white-hot rage I recognised but over which I had no control. I stood up and went to the kitchen.

It was past midnight when you got home. I was sitting in the dark in the kitchen, an empty bottle of beer in my hand. I heard you close the front door oh-so-carefully, unzip your boots and tiptoe through the hall and into the kitchen.

‘Did you have fun?’

You cried out, and it would have been funny, had I not been so angry with you.

‘Jesus, Ian, you scared the life out of me! What are you doing sitting here in the dark?’ You switched on the light and the fluorescent bulb flickered into life.

‘Waiting for you.’

‘I told you I’d be late.’

There was a faint slur in your voice and I wondered how much you had drunk.

‘We all went back to Sarah’s after the pub, and…’ You saw the expression on my face and stopped. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I waited up for you so you didn’t have to find out on your own,’ I said.

‘Find out what?’ You suddenly sobered up. ‘What’s happened?’

I pointed to the floor by the litter tray, where the kitten lay prone and immobile. He had stiffened up in the last hour or two, and one leg pointed into the air.

‘Gizmo!’ Your hands flew to your mouth and I thought you were going to be sick. ‘Oh my God! What happened?’

I stood up to comfort you. ‘I don’t know. I came home from work and he threw up in the living room. I looked online for advice, but within half an hour he was dead. I’m so sorry, Jennifer, I know how much you loved him.’

You were crying now, weeping into my shirt as I held you tightly.

‘He was fine when I went out.’ You looked up at me, searching for answers in my face. ‘I don’t understand why it happened.’

You must have caught the hesitation on my face, because you pulled away. ‘What? What aren’t you telling me?’

‘It’s probably nothing,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to make this worse for you.’

‘Tell me!’

I sighed. ‘When I came home I found him in the living room.’

‘I shut him in the kitchen, like I always do,’ you said, but already you were doubting yourself.

I shrugged. ‘The door was open when I got home. And Gizmo had torn up pieces of newspaper from the pile next to your work. He was obviously fascinated by it all. I don’t know what was in that jam jar with the red label, but the lid was off, and Gizmo had his nose in it.’

You went pale. ‘It’s the glaze for my models.’

‘Is it toxic?’

You nodded. ‘It’s got barium carbonate in it. It’s really dangerous stuff and I always, always make sure it’s safely put away. Oh God, it’s all my fault. Poor, poor Gizmo.’

‘Darling, you mustn’t blame yourself.’ I pulled you into my arms and held you close, kissing your hair. You stank of cigarette smoke. ‘It was an accident. You’re trying to do too much. You should have stayed and finished your model while you had everything out – surely Sarah would have understood that?’ You leaned into me and your sobs began to subside. I took off your coat and put your bag on the table. ‘Come on; let’s get you upstairs. I’ll be up before you in the morning and I’ll deal with Gizmo then.’

In the bedroom you were quiet, and I let you clean your teeth and wash your face. I turned out the light and got into bed, and you cuddled up to me like a child. I loved that you needed me so much. I began stroking your back in circles, and kissing your neck.

‘Do you mind if we don’t, tonight?’ you said.

‘It’ll help,’ I said. ‘I want to make you feel better.’

You lay still beneath me, but when I kissed you there was no response. I pushed my way inside you and thrust hard, wanting to provoke a reaction – any reaction – but you closed your eyes and didn’t make a sound. You took all the pleasure out of it for me, and your selfishness just made me fuck you harder.

29

‘What’s that?’ Ray stood behind Kate and looked at the card she was turning over in her hands.

‘Something Gray had in her purse. When I took it out she went quite white, as though she was shocked to see it there. I’m trying to figure out what it is.’

The card was the size of a standard business card. It was pale blue, with two lines of a central Bristol address, and no other writing. Ray took it from Kate’s hand and rubbed it between his finger and thumb.

‘It’s very cheap card,’ he said. ‘Any idea what the logo is?’ At the top of the card, printed in black ink, were what looked like two incomplete figures of eight, one inside the other.