Her Greatest Mistake by Sarah Simpson (28)

Cornwall 2016

I half walk, half scamper back towards my car. Is it me, or have I become invisible? I’m like the ball in an old-fashioned pinball machine. Why is everyone bouncing off me? I steal a look over my shoulder. Am I being followed? I feel eyes on me. I subconsciously tuck my hair behind my ears, and increase my pace. Is it you I feel? You breathing down my neck? I quicken my step, as far as I can, without running. An overwhelming urge to get hold of Jack, keep him close, swamps me. But he’s safe at school. I hope. With a sense of foreboding chasing me, I weave myself between oncoming people. If I run, you’ll just run faster. Nothing to be gained.

You have nothing to lose, Billy said.

But I have everything to lose.

Entering the car park, I spot my car at the far end. Hearing the click of each step across the concrete, I scramble to locate my car keys in the depth of my bag, my brow becoming damp. I daren’t look back; it’s too soon. But I know you’re there. Coward. I feel you. You’ve timed your footsteps to match mine; you don’t fool me. My heart rate has alerted me to your proximity.

Pressing the button to release the centrally locked doors, I keep my finger on it for too long, and all four windows lower in perfect harmony. Jesus Christ, not now. Not now. Go back up, you bastards. You’re getting closer, but I’m not looking.

Fear then fury, terror then sheer resolve to protect engulf and seize me. Jack’s face plugs the wide gap.

I throw my mobile onto the passenger seat, with my chest hammering like an irritated woodpecker. I turn the ignition. I’m waiting for the passenger door to open. I see it opening in my mind’s eye as you nonchalantly slide in next to me. I raise the windows, before grinding the car into gear; accelerating towards the exit. My hands clammy on the steering wheel. I still don’t look, but out of the corner of my eye I see you. I see your obscure shadow calmly walking towards me. A smirk worn on a resolute face.

You didn’t want to get hold of me though, did you? If you did, you would have. It’s too soon for you too, isn’t it? You’re not ready to move yet; you need to close off any possible escape routes first, break me down as much as you can first, a fly vomiting on its sustenance, before you move in for checkmate. But have you considered, what if? What if I take you first? Have you thought of this? Maybe I wasn’t running from you but pulling you in closer. Maybe I’ve a plan; perhaps you’re playing my game now. Both of us profess to be experts of the mind. But whose game is it now, Gregg? Who was it who finally divulged to you where to find me? Once I suspected you were on my tracks, you left me no choice but to turn and face my fears. Have you stopped to consider where the control truly lies?

What if the vengeful psychopath has finally met his match? And I’ve waited so long to be the one to teach you the final lesson. Maybe, sometimes, you do get it wrong; possibly, you’re not as clever as you think you are. I’m not the dupe you took me for. Am I watching you, or are you watching me? Years and years of meticulous planning have prepared me for this.

If you’ve nothing to lose and I’ve it all to lose, which one of us is the most powerful? Which one of us is the most dangerous? Or have we reached a deadlock?

I didn’t think I’d be able to hit the send button, for the text, but then, when I finally had your number, I knew I had to take the opportunity. My hands were shaking violently; I knew there would be no going back. But then, the moment I married you, the route for return evaporated.

I head away from Truro, fighting my instincts to collect Jack; I turn for home. My meeting with Billy Adams playing back over my mind. The poor lad; someone’s son. Toby. How must his parents be suffering? Do they believe I’ve known all these years? Money laundering; why? Blackmail? Murder? How can anyone become so obsessed, so consumed by greed and power, to press their own self-destruct button? Someone so apparently intelligent yet so completely stupid. Was the gun, hidden in the chest, held to the head of a terrified Toby? Forcing him to take such a massive overdose? What about my part, my ignorance, then the burying of evidence? Evidence which might have given his parents some twisted form of peace of mind.

How was I not privy to the controversial findings of this case? So consumed with Jack’s protection, I both intentionally and ignorantly turned my back on anything circling your world. But then, that night you came for us, after our decree absolute was granted, shouldn’t I have guessed there was a reason for you to be so desperate to get your hands on the flash-drive? Curbed at the back of my mind – did I really not suspect? Was it then just easier for me to remain ignorant, fearing it would threaten our escape? Billy mentioned Toby’s parents lay low initially, grieving for their son. But now they understandably demand answers, after David’s meeting with the partner. You must have heard whisperings, and panicked knowing someone, somewhere, held your fate. All these years, you’ve believed you got away with it. A tiny contraption suppressing the big fat truth.

You knew, didn’t you, we survived the crash? All the possible searches, Her Majesty’s Services included, could not place you in this country after that night, or for the years that followed. The random silent call of Spanish origin I received, I knew it was you. You couldn’t let go, could you? I didn’t want you found; whilst the bumpy waters of the English Channel divided us, I could breathe. I lied to myself, you were dead. Until I received the call, confirming you were in Spain – was this Billy? I wonder. Immaterial now, but until then I fantasised you were dead. It was only when you returned to the UK, you withheld your number – did you think it would confuse me? Do you then still think I am so foolish?

I can’t put it off any longer – too many questions. I pull over in St Agnes. Grab my mobile.

A woman walks past singing nursery rhymes to her toddler, strapped in the buggy; safe. My underbelly world feels so far removed; how must it feel to be normal? I pull out again for home as my mobile rings out; Lemon Street Clinic caller ID flashes up on the mobile screen. I clutch it between my face and shoulder.

‘Hello?’

‘Evie, hi, it’s me.’

‘Bea, you okay?’

‘Hmm, but… just to give you a heads up, we’ve had a delivery for you.’ Bea’s voice becomes distant as she addresses Ruan. ‘It was recently, wasn’t it, Ru? As in, within the last fifteen minutes or so?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Ruan confirms.

‘Eve, it’s just, there’s been some flowers delivered for you, here.’

‘Oh?’ There’s obviously more to it; it wouldn’t be the first time a client sent flowers.

‘Yeah, the thing is, these aren’t what you’d call nice flowers.’

‘What do you mean, not nice? Carnations?’ I hate carnations, so artificial, too perfect.

‘No, I mean, it’s a huge bouquet of lilies and, well, they look like they’ve been splattered with dark red paint. I mean, actually, it looks like blood but obviously it’s not. Or, at least, I hope it’s not.’

‘What?’

‘There’s something else too, lovely. There’s a card in it. It’s an “in loving memory” card, you know, attached to the cellophane stuff.’

‘Right, and what does it say, Bea?’

‘It says, “till death do us part”, Eve. Then weirdly, on the reverse, in capitals, it says – “SORRY”.’

Is this you, or is it too obvious?

‘Eve? You there still, Eve?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m here. Who delivered them? A florist?’

‘We don’t know. Ru was in my room, helping me move the therapy bed. They were on the front desk when he went back to Reception. We didn’t see anyone. I said to Ru, though, strange they didn’t call out for us. Strange, we didn’t hear them either.’

I can hear Ruan muffled in the background. ‘Oh, yeah,’ Bea continues, ‘Ru’s just reminded me, they were left on the desk, but also, the front door was being pulled to, as he walked back into Reception. He saw the flowers, so looked out of the window.’

‘And?’

‘He wasn’t sure. There was a woman walking down the street, but also a man, loitering outside, and another woman with her children, and—’

‘Okay, thanks, Bea. Basically, he doesn’t know who left them, then. Bin them, out the back. Please.’

‘You sure?’

‘Well, why would I want to keep them?’

‘No, of course, just didn’t know if you wanted to see them for yourself?’

‘No, I’m good, thanks. Bin them, please. Can you ask Ruan to call the local florists for me, please? See if he can find out where they came from. Also, I’m supposed to be at the hospital this afternoon, doing an awareness talk to some of the staff – can you ask him to call, give my sincere apologies? I’m not going to be able to make it.’

‘Sure. You okay? I’ve a spare couple of hours if you want to meet up?’

‘No, I’m fine, a few things to sort out, that’s all. Thanks, though. Catch up with you tomorrow.’

I hang up. Lilies were your favourite flowers; we had them for our wedding. You know I’ve always associated them with death. But sorry? Why would you write ‘sorry’? Was it the florist, apologising for delivering a deathly arrangement? Come to think of it, would they really deliver such vulgar flowers? Surely not.

I pull up against the wall; even my home has begun to feel slightly tainted. Knowing someone’s been inside. I can see Gloria in her garden; she waves to me. I smile, then wave back. This is as much as I can offer; with no inclination for a neighbourly chat, I remain where I am. I let my head fall back against the headrest. So many unresolved issues remain. The note from Sam, on the back of the newspaper articles – was it a warning? Why so abstract, why now? How does she even know about your shenanigans, given I’ve only just found out some of it? Then, who put the envelope in my briefcase, the only people with the means being – me, Jack, Ruan or Bea? Or does Billy have something to do with this? Who has been in my house? Again, any of the above or is this more likely to be you? Why is Jack being so secretive with his mobile at the moment? Or is this because he’s a teenager? Now the flowers.

A flashback of Toby, tumbling down steps, being hurled into the boot of the car, comes pounding back. Would I have been able to intervene? I should at least have tried, but Jack was in the car; I was torn. I should have looked properly at the flash-drive too. What other evidence sits in the remainder of the recording?

I attempt to regather myself. I’ve been on standby for years but, despite the overwhelming urge for flight, I’m nearly ready to deal with this. You. As ready as I will ever be. I flick through my mobile to locate the text I prepared for you late last night.

I pressed send. No going back.

My mobile bleeps in my hand; I jump, as two texts jump on board together. The first, from Billy Adams.

Then a text from Ruan.

Female? Female?

I’m completely shattered. I was so sure they were from you. Do you have someone working for you, who’s responsible? No, not your style; not when it comes to me – you do your own dirty work. It doesn’t make sense. Unless, of course, Ruan doesn’t want me to know the truth? I can’t keep thinking like this. I’m sure I’m edging towards paranoia.

I look across to our cottage. I can’t go in. So, I take myself down towards the beach instead. Sitting in the car park, I look out across the Atlantic, for answers, anything to help clarify my thoughts. Desperately trying to keep hold of perspective. It’s a struggle; I’m feeling wired for most of the time. I need to talk to Jack tonight. After the revelations of Billy, I think I’ll try to get him to go and stay with Bea for a while. Just until this is over. I know she’ll be happy to have him.

Why was Jack so late last night? Was he really at football? It hurts me to have to consider he may not be telling me the truth; what if you’ve managed to manipulate him? How can I be certain he’ll confide in me, when I’ve been so secretive? Told so many lies, myself? I did it to protect him – is this going to end up being a perverted irony haunting me?

I watch the bluey green waters pull back, lathering whitewash breaking on the honeycombed shoreline. The tide is drawing in closer and closer. These very waters have already taken so many lives; were they all innocent beings? Or did some harbour dark secrets? Don’t we all? Just some, darker than others.

An hour later, I’m joined in the window seat looking out at the world by Billy. I’ve been here already for some time.

I watch him tread purposeful steps in my direction, inconspicuous to the eyes of others. A trained killer, but so gentle under the guise, he smiles as he reaches me. ‘Thanks for coming,’ I offer.

He pulls out his chair. ‘No problem; I’m pleased you took my advice.’ His eyes crinkling with laughter lines. I’m not sure how.

‘I didn’t,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not very good at taking advice. I just have questions; I need answers.’

He nods, lowering himself down opposite me, checking out his surroundings. ‘Got it,’ he says.

‘I saw you drive past and so ordered us some coffee, unless you’d prefer something stronger?’ I gesture to the bar.

He shakes his head. ‘Coffee’s good, thanks.’ He folds his jacket and places it over the back of the chair. Ensuring the inside does not come into contact with the foreign body. ‘So what is it you want to know? Or should I say, what d’you want to know first?’

‘The truth, Billy; have you been in my house?’

He blows out through his mouth. ‘Straight to the point, aren’t you?’ I don’t answer; I watch for his response. I don’t think he’ll lie to me. ‘Straight up, then – yes, I have. Guilty as charged, but only because I was looking for the flash-drive.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Nothing more.’

‘Oh, well, that’s okay, then, isn’t it? It’s perfectly acceptable to break into someone’s house, rummage through their belongings, so long as they have something you want!’ How can he be so matter of fact?

He chuckles. ‘First of all, I didn’t break in. You left your kitchen door open.’

‘No, I did not! I thought I may have but I checked – it was locked!’

‘No, it wasn’t, you really shouldn’t have been so bloody careless given the circumstances. You’re lucky it was only me. It was, in fact, unlocked. I locked it for you, then left via the front door. In retrospect, I did you a favour.’

I sit speechless. How can he be so self-righteous about illegally entering my house?

‘Secondly, I didn’t rummage through your things. Remember, I’m an expert in these activities. I did, yes, admittedly, look through your house, but I carefully moved and repositioned each and every item. Exactly.’

‘Don’t tell me, you photographed my house, didn’t you? That’s what people like you do in your world. I’ve read about it. Better still, you’ve a trained photographic memory. An expert burglar.’

‘Expert? Yes, I believe I am, thank you.’

‘You’re so—.’

‘Anyway, yes, spot on. So, you’ll also appreciate, nothing was disturbed. Technically.’

‘Technically? Maybe not in your warped eyes.’

He’s smiling at me; clearly amused that I’m indignant. Almost enjoying himself.

‘Why did you do it? I mean, I know why, to find the flash-drive, but why not just ask me for it?’

‘Would you have given it to me, if I had?’

‘No, of course not.’

He chortles to himself as our coffees are placed on the table. ‘Thank you,’ we say, in unison.

‘So, you are admitting, you do have it, then.’

I fell for this one, but there’s no point in denying it any longer. ‘Hmm,’ is all I manage.

‘Look, believe this or not, I was only trying to protect you.’ He moves his finger to his mouth to hush my attempt to retaliate. ‘Yes, I’ve the other… issues to deal with, including my own desire for revenge. But, I also genuinely wanted to remove you from the picture at the same time. Eve, you are in danger, you and your son, Jack. I couldn’t stand by, watch him take more lives.’ He sips at his coffee. ‘I’m guessing, you’ve already suffered sufficiently at his hands.’

So if he entered my house, he had the means to place the envelope in my briefcase, but what about the note from Sam? Does he know Sam too? There must be something else he hasn’t come clean about yet. I press on. ‘Okay, but why put the envelope in my briefcase? Why not email me the articles instead, pop the envelope through the letterbox, if you wanted to warn me?’

‘Envelope?’

‘Oh, come on! What envelope? Please don’t mistake me for stupid.’

‘Seriously, what envelope? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about?’

‘Are you, in all earnestness, expecting me to believe you didn’t look in my briefcase, when you were hunting for a flash-drive?’

‘No. I did look in your briefcase, but, I’ve already told you, I put everything back with precision. I certainly didn’t add anything. What was in the envelope?’

I stare at him; I thought I’d resolved this mystery. He’s telling me the truth. ‘Articles, photocopied, about the scam and stuff. I assumed it was… you visited my home, more than once, didn’t you? You went back again this week. Didn’t you?’

‘Nope. Just the once. I only do the job once. It was last week, not this week.’

A shiver passes over me, sitting down between us. ‘Someone else has been in my home, then. I knew, I could smell it. Has to be him.’

He swigs at his coffee, without moving his eyes from mine. ‘You think it was him?’

‘Well, who else? I arrived home, I don’t know, I could just feel someone had been inside the house. Something hanging in the air. In fact, not so much in the air, on Humphrey’s fur. Kind of woody but sweet, not belonging to us.’ I look at his confused expression. ‘Humphrey is our cat.’ He nods. ‘Then, Jack found the utility window open. It’s quite rickety so it wouldn’t have taken much to ease it open, off the latch. It was closed when we left in the morning, and Humphrey was outside. Someone must have let him in.’

‘Was anything disturbed, taken?’

‘No, not that I could find.’

‘But whoever it was could have put the envelope in your briefcase?’

‘No. It was the week before – I’d already found it in my briefcase by then. So, if it wasn’t you. Who was it?’

‘Has there been anyone, you know, new in your life recently?’

‘Other than clients, no.’

‘Gregg?’ Billy asks.

‘I don’t know, it’s not really his style. Enter my house, snoop around, to let me know he can, yes. But, to put something in my briefcase?’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t see it. He’d rather see the reaction with his own eyes.’ And then, there’s the note on the back too; it can’t be you, this time. ‘Also, the other night, he dropped something through the door.’ Billy raises his eyebrows, interested. ‘It was predictable really, our marriage and Jack’s birth certificate. He was there, outside. I know he was watching. A sick satisfaction, looking on.’

‘Hmm.’ He drains the dregs of his coffee.

‘Then, today – flowers, delivered to the clinic. Splattered with red dye, to look like blood. I did think it was him. I mean, who else? But Ruan, the assistant you met, has since spoken to the florist. She said they were definitely ordered and collected by a female.’ Billy’s face is deadpan; he’s probably the only person I could tell who wouldn’t be perturbed. It’s a relief to be sharing my thoughts, with a complete stranger, yet someone with a full grasp of my predicament. ‘It gets worse. They were hand-delivered, with a card, “Till Death Do Us Part”. On the reverse, it said “SORRY”. Sorry? Sorry does not exist in Gregg’s vocabulary. The lilies, spot on, definitely his choice, even the message, but not sorry. Not a chance.’

‘He has an accomplice, maybe?’

‘I’ve thought about this, but…’

‘You are aware, he’s been involved with someone else for some time?’ Billy interrupted

‘Gregg? No. I doubt it.’ Billy is nodding slowly. ‘Who?’

‘There isn’t a lot I don’t know about him.’ He looks out of the window, whilst turning his heavy watch over and over his wrist.

‘Please understand, nothing you may tell me can possibly surprise me or hurt me. Trust me on this. What is it you know?’

‘He’s been seeing someone for quite a while.’

‘What, as in, another woman?’

Billy nods.

‘Since when?’

‘Long enough.’

‘I’m assuming by that look on you face, you mean, while we were married?’ I spit the last word out, a bone in my throat; it mocks the concept beyond recognition.

He nods at me. ‘Yeah, I believe so, certainly before Jack was born.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘For most of the time you were together.’

‘Wow, you’ve surprised me. Really? Jesus, that does surprise me.’

‘Sorry to be the bearer of—’

‘Don’t be, really, I couldn’t care less. It’s just, I can’t see it, didn’t see it.’ If only I’d known, maybe I could have left earlier. This premise brings bile to my throat. ‘On reflection, I didn’t see many things. Despite my scrutiny. So? Who was it, someone from work?’

He shakes his head. ‘Not to my knowledge. I’m pretty sure she didn’t work in the same arena as him. But she did go on to work for him, in Spain. Some kind of administrator, I suppose he’d call it.’

‘I see, well, I wouldn’t have known her, then.’

‘Samantha Holloway, her name was – or is, I should say. As far as I know, they’re still together. In fact, they’ve a daughter too.’

My head floats to the ceiling, before falling with a thump to the floor. I’m struggling to accept this information. I’d thought you couldn’t surprise me again. I was so wrong. How could she? Even with the note on the back of the article, never would I have believed this possible. ‘Are you sure? Definitely, the correct name?’

‘Yep. Positive. Why, do you know her?’

‘So, you don’t know everything?’

How could she? She hated you, tried to talk me out of marrying you. Refused to have any further contact with me pretty much, if I was with you. Now, I know why. The truth. You hated her. I didn’t see through it. All these years, feeling so incredibly guilty, believing I’d betrayed her. Let her down. Forced to choose you, over her, yet it was her who chose you over me. I’ve despised myself for lying to her, when the truth was she was lying to me. I’m aware of my cheeks colouring, in line with my blood pressure.

‘Eve, you okay?’

‘Sorry.’ I sip tepid coffee. ‘It’s shocked me somewhat. I knew her. We were best friends from school. I let our relationship go, mostly because I hated having to lie to her, in the way I felt I had to, to everyone. Didn’t want her entangled in our disgusting marriage. All of my relationships, back then, were built on layers of deception. Sam asked too many questions, used to make me squirm. I never wanted to deceive her. I’m such an idiot.’

He shakes his head, sighing. ‘Bloody hell, I’m sorry, I’d no idea.’ He leans forward. ‘But can you see – maybe he does have an accomplice after all?’

‘Yes, maybe, shit, I really can’t believe it.’ I contemplate the bar, craving something stronger to swallow. ‘You’re right, maybe the flowers were her doing. God, how could she?’ I let the thought drift – how did I not notice? Perception, always perception, never the truth. I believed in her because I needed to. Based on what I thought I knew. ‘The flowers, the note, he made her send them, prove her allegiance, she felt guilty, hence – sorry?’

‘Sounds plausible.’

‘But it still doesn’t explain the envelope, does it? In part it does.’ I pull the folded photocopied sheet of A4 from my pocket, and begin to unravel it. ‘Here, on the back,’ I read aloud,

I place the note, for Billy to see. ‘Without context, when I read this, I didn’t see it. I assumed she was apologising, feeling guilty for her part in our friendship falling apart. Although I couldn’t quite understand how she knew about him, his actions. Thought, maybe, he’d contacted her, to find me, threatened her? Now I can see gaping holes in my interpretation, but without context nothing makes sense, does it?’

‘It doesn’t, no. And you wanted to think the best of her too.’

‘She’s taken my place, hasn’t she? She’s trapped, terrified. Yet it’s still me he seeks. She was probably only ever another one of his tools, a side prop. How much has he relished forcing her to send me sick flowers, amongst other things, spying on me?’

A reel of information parked in my subconscious plays through my mind: the woman with the sunglasses I bumped into in Truro? Some vague recollection of Ruan, talking about someone watching the clinic, receiving a parking ticket. The cancelled appointment, again, a woman, some excuse about her partner insisting, oh, Jesus, insisting on her accompanying him – to meet with his son. Jack? Dear God, Jack? Why didn’t I listen to Ruan? She was attempting to warn me. ‘But still, how did this—’ I stab at the dirty scrap of paper ‘—get into my briefcase?’

‘Does anyone else have access? Think, any access at all, to your home or your briefcase, other than your work colleagues and Jack?’

I shake my head. ‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘To my home, no. Well, there’s Gloria next door – she has a key. But it can’t have anything to do with her.’ But then, why not? So far, it appears, I’ve only seen what I needed to see, but even so. Not lovely Gloria.

‘Can you be 100 per cent sure, Eve? Even now, with this latest revelation? Samantha Holloway is in the UK, by the way.’ He twists his watch clockwise once, twice. ‘I have the photos to prove it.’

‘I’ve seen her too. I just, didn’t see her.’

‘Did you know she’s been to St Agnes… near your home?’

I flash back to seeing Gloria in conversation with a glamorous-looking woman last week. Only glimpsing the woman from behind. Purposely lowering my head, avoiding conversation. Then, Gloria’s comment from a couple of days ago patters through my jumbled mind – ‘A nice surprise, was it, love?’ I assumed she was referring to the cake she’d left for us. Thinking about it now, she often leaves us treats; she’s never remarked upon it before, being such a giving person.

Billy and I walk in silence to my car. His parting words ricochet around the cortical regions. ‘Eve, I want him for myself. I intend, or should I say need, to have my time with him. I’ve waited a long enough.’ I want to say maybe it is too late, that we don’t always get what we wish for. Until I think better of it. He looks on as I close my car door.

I need to have my moment in time too, if I find you first. This time, I need to see for my own eyes that it’s over.