Clare Mackintosh - I Let You Go

‘What do you mean?’ Kate asked.

‘It’s a two-hundred-foot drop from that part of the cliff to the sea,’ Frank said. ‘You might miss the rocks on the way down, but as soon as you land you’ll be smashed against them again and again and again.’ He shrugged. ‘Bodies get broken up easily.’

‘Christ,’ Kate said, ‘living by the sea doesn’t sound quite so appealing now.’

Frank grinned. ‘Now, are you sure we can’t tempt you out for a curry? I contemplated a transfer to Avon and Somerset once – it would be good to hear what I missed out on.’ He stood up.

‘We did say we’d grab something to eat,’ Kate said, looking at Ray.

‘Go on,’ Frank said. ‘It’ll be a good laugh. Most of CID will be there, and some uniform.’ He took them out to the front desk, and shook hands with them both. ‘We’re knocking off now and we should be at the Raj on the High Street in about half an hour. This hit-and-run’s a big result for your lot, isn’t it? You should wangle an overnighter – celebrate in style!’

They said goodbye and Ray felt his stomach rumble as they walked out to the car. A chicken Jalfrezi and a beer were precisely what he needed after the day they’d had. He glanced at Kate, and thought how much he would enjoy an evening of easy conversation and some banter with the Swansea lads. It would be a shame to have to drive home, and Frank was right – he could probably swing an overnighter on the grounds that there were still some loose ends to tie up tomorrow.

‘Let’s go,’ Kate said. She stopped walking and turned to face Ray. ‘It’ll be a laugh, and he’s right, we should celebrate.’ They were standing so close to each other they were almost touching, and Ray imagined them leaving the Swansea boys after the curry; perhaps having a night-cap somewhere, then walking back to the hotel. He swallowed, imagining what might happen after that.

‘Some other time,’ he said.

There was a pause, then Kate nodded slowly. ‘Sure.’ She walked towards the car, and Ray pulled out his mobile phone to text Mags.

Coming home. Fancy a takeaway?

53

The nurses have been kind. They’ve treated my injuries with a quiet efficiency, seeming not to mind when I ask them to confirm for the hundredth time that Ian is dead.

‘It’s over,’ the doctor says. ‘Now get some rest.’

I don’t feel any great sense of release or freedom. Just a crushing tiredness that refuses to go. Patrick doesn’t leave my side. I wake with a jolt several times in the night to find him instantly there to soothe away my nightmares. Eventually I give in to the sedative the nurse offers me. I think I hear Patrick talking to someone on the phone, but I’m asleep again before I can ask who it is.

When I wake, daylight is pushing its way through the horizontal blinds at the window, painting sunshine stripes across my bed. There’s a tray on the table next to me.

‘The tea will be cold now,’ Patrick says. ‘I’ll see if I can find someone to get you a fresh one.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, struggling to sit up. My neck is sore and I touch it gingerly. Patrick’s phone beeps and he picks it up to read a text message.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ he says. He changes the subject. ‘The doctor says you’ll be sore for a few days, but there’s nothing broken. They’ve given you some gel to counteract the effects of the bleach, and you’ll need to put it on every day to stop your skin drying out.’

I draw up my legs and make space for him to sit next to me on the bed. His brow is furrowed and I hate that I have caused him such worry. ‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘I promise. I just want to go home.’

I can see him searching for answers on my face: he wants to know how I feel about him, but I don’t know myself yet. I only know that I can’t trust my own judgement. I force a smile to prove I’m fine, then shut my eyes, more to avoid Patrick’s gaze, than in any expectation of sleep.

I wake to footsteps outside my door and hope it’s the doctor, but instead I hear Patrick speaking to someone. ‘She’s in here. I’ll head off to the canteen for a coffee – give the two of you some time alone.’

I can’t think who it could be, and even after the door has swung fully open, and I see the slim figure in the bright yellow coat with its big buttons, I still take a second to register what I am seeing. I open my mouth but the lump in my throat stops me from speaking.

Eve flies across the room, pressing me into the tightest of embraces. ‘I’ve missed you so much!’

We cling to each other until our sobs subside, then sit cross-legged opposite each other on the bed, holding hands as though we were children again, sitting on the bottom bunk in the room we used to share.

‘You’ve cut your hair,’ I say. ‘It suits you.’

Eve touches her sleek bob self-consciously. ‘I think Jeff prefers it long, but I like it this length. He sends his love, by the way. Oh, and the children did this for you.’ She rifles through her bag and produces a crumpled picture, folded in half to make a get-well card. ‘I told them you were in hospital, so they think you’ve got chicken pox.’

I look at the drawing of myself in bed, covered in spots, and laugh. ‘I’ve missed them. I’ve missed you all.’

‘We’ve missed you too.’ Eve takes a deep breath. ‘I should never have said the things I did. I had no right.’

I remember lying in hospital after Ben had been born. No one had thought to remove the Perspex cot from the side of my bed, and it taunted me from the corner of my eye. Eve had arrived before the news reached her, but I knew from her face that the nurses had intercepted her. A once beautifully wrapped present had been shoved into the recesses of her handbag, the paper creased and torn in her efforts to hide it from view. I wondered what she would do with the contents – if she would find another baby to wear whatever outfit she had handpicked for my son.

She didn’t speak at first, and then she wouldn’t stop.

‘Did Ian do something to you? He did, didn’t he?’

I turned away, saw the empty cot and closed my eyes. Eve had never trusted Ian, although he had taken care never to let anyone see his temper. I denied anything was wrong: first because I was too blinded by love to see the cracks in my relationship, and later because I was too ashamed to admit that I had stayed for so long with a man who hurt me so much.

I had wanted Eve to hold me. Just to hold me tight and press hard against the pain that hurt so badly I could hardly breathe. But my sister had been angry, her own grief demanding answers; a reason; someone to blame.

‘He’s trouble,’ she said, and I closed my eyes tightly against her tirade. ‘You might be blind to it, but I’m not. You should never have stayed with him when you fell pregnant, then maybe you’d still have your baby. You’re just as much to blame as he is.’

I had opened my eyes in dismay, Eve’s words burning into my very core. ‘Get out,’ I said, my voice broken but determined. ‘My life is none of your business and you have no right to tell me what to do. Get out! I don’t ever want to see you again.’

Eve had fled from the ward, leaving me distraught, pressing my hands on my empty belly. It wasn’t Eve’s words that hurt me as much as their honesty. My sister had simply told the truth. Ben’s death was my fault.

In the weeks that followed, Eve had tried to contact me, but I refused to speak to her. Eventually she stopped trying.

‘You realised what Ian was like,’ I say to her now. ‘I should have listened to you.’

‘You loved him,’ she says simply. ‘Just like Mum loved Dad.’

I sit up. ‘What do you mean?’