Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

I have no idea how long I’ve been lying here, but the cottage is dark and cold. I pull up my jeans, and roll on to my side, hugging my knees to my body. There’s a dull ache between my legs and a wetness I suspect is blood. I’m not sure if I blacked out, but I can’t remember Ian leaving.

I call Beau. There is an agonising second of silence, before he creeps warily out of the kitchen, his tail clamped between his legs and his ears flat against his head.

‘I’m so sorry, Beau.’ I coax him towards me, but as I am reaching a hand out, he barks. Just once – a warning bark, with his head turned towards the door. I struggle to my feet, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through me, and there is a knock at the door.

I stand, half-crouched, in the centre of the room, with my hand on Beau’s collar. He gives a low growl but doesn’t bark again.

‘Jenna? Are you in there?’

Patrick.

I feel a rush of relief. The door is unlocked and when I swing it open I have to choke back a sob at the sight of him. I leave the sitting-room light off, and hope that the darkness is enough to hide the face I suspect is already showing marks.

‘Are you okay?’ Patrick says. ‘Has something happened?’

‘I – I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.’

‘Bethan told me you were back.’ He hesitates, and looks briefly down at the floor before looking at me again. ‘I came to apologise. I should never have spoken to you like that, Jenna, it was all such a shock.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say. I look past him to the dark clifftop, wondering if Ian is somewhere there, watching us. I can’t let him see me with Patrick – I can’t let Patrick get hurt along with Eve; along with everyone else who means something to me. ‘Is that all?’

‘Can I come in?’ He moves forward, but I shake my head.

‘Jenna, what’s wrong?’

‘I don’t want to see you, Patrick.’ I hear myself say the words and I don’t let myself take them back.

‘I don’t blame you,’ he says. His face is crumpled and he looks as though he hasn’t slept properly in days. ‘I behaved atrociously, Jenna, and I don’t know how to make it up to you. When I heard what you’d … what had happened, I was so shocked I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t be around you.’

I start to cry. I can’t help it. Patrick takes my hand and I don’t want him to let it go.

‘I want to understand, Jenna. I can’t pretend I’m not shocked – that I’m not finding this hard – but I want to know what happened. I want to be there for you.’

I don’t speak, although I know there is only one thing I can say. Only one way to keep Patrick from getting hurt.

‘I miss you, Jenna,’ he says quietly.

‘I don’t want to see you any more.’ I pull my hand away and force myself to add conviction to my words. ‘I don’t want anything to do with you.’

Patrick takes a step back as though I have punched him, and the colour drains from his face. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘It’s what I want.’ The lie is torture.

‘Is this because I left?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you. None of this has anything to do with you. Just leave me alone.’

Patrick looks at me and I make myself meet his eyes, praying he can’t read the conflict I feel sure must be written in my own. Finally he puts up his hands, admitting defeat as he turns away from me.

He stumbles on the path and breaks into a run.

I shut the door and sink to the floor, pulling Beau to me and crying noisily into his coat. I wasn’t able to save Jacob, but I can save Patrick.

As soon as I feel able, I call Iestyn to ask him to fix the broken lock. ‘I can’t turn the key at all now,’ I say. ‘It’s completely broken, so there’s no way of securing the door from the outside.’

‘Don’t you worry about it,’ Iestyn says. ‘There’s no one’ll be stealing anything round here.’

‘I need it fixed!’ The strength of my demand shocks us both, and there is silence for a second.

‘I’ll be up shortly.’

He’s here within the hour, getting swiftly to work, but refusing the tea I offer. He whistles quietly to himself as he removes the lock and oils the mechanism, before refitting it and showing me how smoothly the key now turns.

‘Thank you,’ I say, almost sobbing with relief. Iestyn eyes me curiously and I pull my cardigan more tightly around me. Mottled bruises are spreading across my upper arms, their edges bleeding outwards like ink-stains on blotting paper. I ache as though I’ve run a marathon, my left cheek is swollen and I can feel a tooth has come loose. I let my hair fall forward over my face to hide the worst of it.

I see Iestyn looking at the red paint on the door.

‘I’ll clean it off,’ I say, but he doesn’t reply. He nods a goodbye, then seems to think better of it, turning back to face me. ‘It’s a small place, Penfach,’ he says. ‘Everyone knows everyone else’s business.’

‘So I understand,’ I say. If he expects me to defend myself, he’ll be disappointed. I’ll take my punishment from the court, not the villagers.

‘I’d keep yourself to yourself, if I were you,’ Iestyn says. ‘Let it all blow over.’

‘Thank you for the advice,’ I say tightly.

I close the door and go upstairs to run a bath. I sit in the scalding water with my eyes squeezed shut so that I can’t see the marks emerging on my skin. Across my chest and thighs run tiny fingerprint bruises, deceptively delicate against my pale skin. I was stupid to think I could escape the past. However fast I run, however far: I will never outrun it.

37

‘Do you want a hand with anything?’ Ray offered, although he knew Mags would have it all under control. She always did.

‘It’s all done,’ she said, taking off her apron. ‘Chilli and rice in the oven, beers in the fridge and chocolate brownies for afters.’

‘Sounds great,’ Ray said. He hovered awkwardly in the kitchen.

‘You can unload the dishwasher, if you’re looking for a job.’

Ray began taking out the clean plates, trying to think of a neutral topic of conversation that wouldn’t result in an argument.

Tonight’s get-together had been Mags’s idea. Something to celebrate the conclusion of a job well done, she had said. Ray wondered if it was her way of showing him that she was sorry for arguing.

‘Thanks again for suggesting this,’ he said, when the silence became uncomfortable. He lifted the cutlery tray from the dishwasher, leaving a trail of water on the floor. Mags handed him a cloth.

‘It’s one of the most high-profile cases you’ve done,’ she said. ‘You should celebrate.’ She took the cloth from him and dropped it in the sink. ‘Besides, if it’s a choice between the three of you spending the night in the Nag’s Head, or coming round here for a meal and a few beers, well…’

Ray took the criticism on the chin. So that was the real reason for the dinner.

The two of them moved carefully around each other in the kitchen as though walking on ice; as though Ray hadn’t spent the night on the sofa; as though their son didn’t have a stash of stolen goods in his bedroom. He risked a glance at Mags but couldn’t read her expression and decided it would be best to keep quiet. Lately, everything he said seemed to be wrong.

It was unfair to compare Mags to Kate, Ray knew, but things were so much easier at work. Kate never seemed to take umbrage, and so he didn’t find himself rehearsing in his head before talking to her, as he had started doing before broaching a difficult subject with Mags.

He hadn’t been certain Kate would want to come to the dinner tonight.

‘I’ll understand if you’d rather not,’ he had said, but Kate had looked confused.