~
I wanted him dead. I should feel relieved or pleased or some sense of closure. Perhaps I could be forgiven for feeling elated or devastated. But I feel none of this. Instead, I’m restless.
I ring Sandy. It seems like the decent thing to do. The police have already notified her of her son’s death. She asks me a lot of questions. I skip the part where Alex turned out to be Louisa’s rapist and killer. But I tell her what happened to me on the clifftop. I don’t think she has any difficulty believing her son would try to push me to my death. And I get the impression, that through her tears, she accepts that he’s dead. She seems to have expected it, as if fatality was always his fate.
But I don’t accept it. I don’t believe he’s dead.
Dad’s house has been teeming with people since it happened. My family, of course, Hannah and Kevin, the dog walkers who arrived on the scene just as Alex went over the edge and who came to my aid. Teddy has been round a couple of times, too. And the police.
‘It’s not uncommon for no corpse to wash up,’ DC Bryant repeats. We have the same conversation every day, either over the phone or face to face, and each time I’m struck by the number of negative forms he packs into that single sentence.
‘It may well wash up further round the coast,’ he continues. ‘It can take several days. Or we may never find any remains. It happens.’
But just last year, on the local news there was a story about a hiker who slipped and went over the edge. She was rescued by the Minehead RNLI the following morning, having spent the night in a cave. There have been stories like this in the local papers for as long as I can remember.
I’ve told all this to the detective constable a few times now. And I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know the first time. But as DC Bryant has told me, there have been news items about people who weren’t so lucky, too.
‘Ms Best … Kaitlyn, the police dogs spent two days out there with their handlers. The lifeboats were launched as soon as this incident was called in, and they were out again at first light the next day. They didn’t find anything. If your husband had fallen onto a ledge, he couldn’t have got off it by himself. The most likely scenario is that he lost consciousness as he hit the water and then sank like a stone.’
He sounds convincing. But I’m not convinced. Alex is a great swimmer. If he fell into the water, he’ll have landed correctly and he won’t have drowned. He’s strong. I’ve no doubt he could have climbed up or down the cliff face, even injured, if he’d landed on a ledge.
I wonder if this is the first time DC Bryant has had the job of reassuring the spouse of a missing person that she’s definitely a widow. Wouldn’t he normally be promising that there’s still hope the police will find that person alive? But Alex is not your run-of-the-mill missing person. He’s ‘missing, presumed dead’.
‘I just need to know for sure that he’s dead,’ I say in a low voice to Nikki over the phone late one evening. ‘I’ve never wanted his body as much as I do now!’
Nikki roars with laughter and I almost manage a smile.
I’m sitting on the sofa next to Dad, who is prising his slipper out of Marley’s jaws. The TV is on, but neither Dad nor I are watching it.
‘You can apply to have Alex declared dead even without a corpse,’ Nikki says. ‘I Googled it. You’ll need a death certificate so you can inherit his property and get your money back and also if you want to remarry one day.’
‘There’s no risk––’
‘The process is quite short and simple if the circumstances surrounding his disappearance leave little doubt about his death. When there’s no body, they rely on police evidence.’
I shudder. This is a bit morbid for me this evening. I’m too tired. But after ending the call with Nikki, I start to read ‘declared death in absentia’ on Wikipedia while Dad puts his slipper back on and gets Marley ready for bed.
As I’m scrolling through the article on my mobile, there’s a notification sound for an incoming text. I read the message, staring at the phone in disbelief. I check the sender. No, I haven’t made a mistake. It feels as if the temperature in the room has dropped by at least five degrees all of a sudden.
I pick up the phone and read the text again. I’ve been waiting for proof that Alex is dead, but now I have proof that he’s still alive. Just as I feared.
It’s definitely from him. The message has been sent from his mobile. I close my eyes, as if that will make it go away. But I can still see the screen of my phone behind my eyelids. And I can see his signature. Alexxx.
I don’t want Dad to worry. I try to act normal while I say goodnight. I check that the doors are locked and then I go upstairs, where I check on Chloe. She’s sound asleep in her cot, back in the boys’ bedroom. In Julie’s room – my bedroom for now – I catch my leg on the flap of one of the cardboard boxes that Nikki brought down containing my stuff. I’ve unpacked, but I still haven’t taken out the boxes. I certainly couldn’t have left them lying around for several days in the Old Vicarage. Alex wouldn’t have stood for such untidiness.
Climbing into bed, I call Julie. I know she and Daniel both leave their mobiles on for me at the moment. Just in case. I can tell by Julie’s sleepy voice that I’ve just woken her up. I tell her I’ve received a text from Alex.
‘Are you absolutely sure it’s from him? I mean, wouldn’t he have had his mobile on him when he went over the cliff? Is there any chance someone might have found it on the rocks below?’
‘No, they would have needed his passcode. It’s definitely from him. He signed it the way he always does.’
‘What did he say in his text?’
‘He said, “I’ll never regret falling for you”,’ I tell her. I hear her inhale sharply.
‘Oh, God. It really is from him, isn’t it? He’s a sick prick!’ she exclaims. ‘Have you rung the police?’ For once, I appreciate her big sister tone.
‘I’ll do it now,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want to alarm Dad.’
‘Do you want Daniel and me to come round?’
‘No, you go back to sleep. I’ll ring the police. Anyway, Alex will be lying low, lying in wait. I doubt he’ll do anything tonight. It would be too risky after sending the text. Wouldn’t it?’ I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince Julie or myself. She promises me that they’ll be there first thing in the morning.
I call DC Bryant on the mobile number he gave me. It’s a quarter past eleven now and his phone rings for a while before going to voicemail. Despite the late hour, this surprises me. I leave a message. I contemplate calling 999. I know I should, but in the end, I decide not to. I have a half-formed idea in my head and I need to think it through. I even wonder if I’ve made a mistake leaving a message for DC Bryant.
I’m jittery and tense and I don’t expect to sleep, but after a while, I can feel myself starting to drift off.
I don’t know what has woken me. It feels like I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes, but daylight is forcing its way resolutely through the curtains. I get a strange sense of déjà vu, an unsettling flashback to the morning I woke up handcuffed to the bed in the nursery to discover that Chloe was no longer in the cot. I hear the front door close downstairs and realise my dad must be taking Marley out for an early morning walk.
It takes me a couple of seconds to make out the shape. I sense him more than see him to begin with. I’m not alone. Someone is sitting on the bed, watching me. I gasp.
Alex.
Before I can move, he seizes my arm and pulls me out of bed.
‘You’re coming with me,’ he says. ‘You and Chloe. You belong to me.’
As Alex starts to drag me by the wrist across the room, I realise he is injured. He’s limping. He must have hurt himself when he fell from Hurlstone Point. I try to keep my breathing even and calm myself down enough to use my head. Easier to think than to do, but I can see my daughter’s face in my mind and it spurs me on.
Then I spot them on the floor. The scissors I used to open the cardboard boxes. They’re half-hidden from view by the flap. Bending down, I grab them with my free hand. Alex hasn’t seen. He seems to think I’ve stumbled. He pulls me to him, then pushes me roughly in front of him, pinning me against his chest with his left arm.
His mouth is next to my ear. ‘Don’t try anything. For Chloe’s sake.’
I notice he has difficulty opening the bedroom door with his right hand. He seems to have hurt his arm, too. I grip the scissors tightly by my side. Then, as he opens the door, I turn around, pushing against his grasp and raising my arm quickly. In that moment, I remember the movement I practised over and over again as I lay bound to that bed, holding the piece of wood from the broken mobile. I use all my strength as I bring my hand down.
I feel him slump against me and then he falls to the floor. He tries to say something – I can see his lips moving – but if he does manage to get any words out, they are drowned out by all the noises that start up at the same time. My mobile rings on the nightstand. The doorbell goes. Chloe starts to cry.
Ignoring the phone, I make my way along the landing to the boys’ room and pick up my daughter. Then I go downstairs and open the door. It’s Julie, Daniel and the boys. Julie takes one look at me and takes Chloe out of my arms.
‘What’s happened?’ she asks.
I can’t seem to answer, or perhaps some instinct prevents me from doing so in front of the boys and I nod towards the stairs. Julie hands Chloe to Daniel and follows me upstairs.
Seconds later, Julie is feeling for a pulse on the side of the neck that doesn’t have the scissors sticking out of it. She shakes her head.
‘We need to ring for an ambulance,’ she says.
‘But he’s dead.’
‘And the police,’ she adds.
‘The police already think he’s dead.’
Just then, my mobile rings again. Almost automatically, I walk round the bed and pick it up from the bedside table.
‘It’s DC Bryant,’ I tell Julie.
‘Don’t say anything,’ she says hastily just as I swipe the screen to take the call.
DC Bryant apologises profusely for not answering his mobile last night. He says he had the ringer on silent. ‘I’m on my way over now, Kaitlyn,’ he says. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ I say, my eyes locked on Julie’s.
‘Have you had any more messages?’
‘No. It’s not a good time to come round right now,’ I say. Some part of my brain is kicking in and taking over and I’m not aware of meaning to say any of the words that are spilling out of my mouth. ‘I’m not at home. I made a mistake about the text,’ I continue. ‘It wasn’t from Alex after all. It was someone’s idea of a joke.’
When I end the call, Julie is nodding. I start to giggle uncontrollably; out of nerves, maybe, or just at how surreal all this seems. But the gravity of the situation soon hits me. My sister and I discuss succinctly what needs to be done.
We go downstairs and find Daniel and the boys in the kitchen. Daniel has made up a bottle of formula and he’s feeding Chloe.
Julie starts issuing orders. ‘Oscar, Archie. Granddad has gone out with Marley. I want you to find them, tell Granddad you haven’t had anything to eat and get him to take you to that little café near the harbour that does English breakfasts on Sunday mornings.’ She hands Oscar three ten-pound notes. ‘Here. In case Granddad hasn’t got his wallet on him. Keep him away for as long as you possibly can. Auntie Kaitlyn and I are going to clean the house and if he comes back too early, it’ll ruin the surprise.’
As soon as the boys have left, Julie and I bring Daniel up to speed. ‘I’ll ring Kevin,’ he says. At first I don’t want him to. I don’t want Kevin involved in this. But then I reason, Chloe is his daughter.
An hour or two later, Julie and I have finished cleaning upstairs and I’ve finally taken the boxes out to the garage. The bedroom will need a new carpet, but for now an old rug that used to be kept in the wardrobe is hiding the bloodstains.
Stepping out of the shower, I hear voices in the hallway. I quickly get dressed and go downstairs to find out how Daniel and Kevin have got on. But it looks like they’ve arrived back at the same time as my dad, Oscar and Archie.
The boys ask their dad if they can play on their electronic games in their bedroom upstairs.
‘Of course you can,’ Julie answers for Daniel. ‘Up you go.’ The boys look at each other, astonished, and then race off before she can change her mind.
Dad makes everyone a cup of tea and Julie, Daniel and I sit down in the living room. Kevin stays standing. No one speaks, each of us, I imagine, lost in our thoughts and still reeling with shock. We’re all tainted by what we’ve just done, all bound together in Alex’s destructive web and tarnished with Alex’s blood. The silence says it all. It’s a tacit promise never to tell anyone about this, an unspoken pact never to mention it, not even among ourselves.
‘It’s good to see you again, Kevin,’ my dad says. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’
‘I … um … had to sort out a problem. Daniel gave me a hand and then I came here to see Chloe … and Kaitlyn.’
‘Building problem was it?’ Dad has noticed their clothes. Kevin and Daniel are both filthy and have stains – dirt and blood, I imagine, on their jeans and tops. And a grey stain that Kevin’s work clothes have always had from the cement.
I need to change the subject quickly. Kevin is a terrible liar. But he answers before I can think of anything to say. ‘An urgent problem with the foundations for the leisure centre in Minehead.’
‘We had to pour some concrete,’ Daniel chimes in. I watch as he exchanges a glance with Kevin. Its meaning is lost on me.
‘The new leisure centre that’s under construction? The one named after that Somerset athlete?’
‘Mary Rand. Yes, that’s right.’
‘On a Sunday?’
‘Yes,’ Kevin repeats. He sounds credible and I’m surprised, but then it occurs to me he probably isn’t lying. Not really.
‘Ah,’ Dad says, as if that explains everything.
Kevin catches my eye and without a word, I get up from the sofa and hand him his daughter. He fixes his gaze on Chloe.
‘You’re safe now, Chloe,’ he says, his voice loud enough only for Chloe and me.
‘Are you OK?’ I whisper.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he whispers back. ‘And so will you and Chloe.’
Julie, Daniel and the boys and Kevin leave soon after that and I decide to get out of the house and clear my cluttered mind. Dad looks after Chloe and I drive aimlessly for miles until I see a sign for Nether Stowey. I pass the place where Wordsworth lived until he felt homesick and moved back to the Lake District. How ironic that I’ve left the Lake District and now I’ve come back here to Somerset, to my roots.
In the village, I park the car and order a pub meal in The Rose and Crown. I’m ravenous, I realise, washing my burger and chips down with half a pint of beer.
It’s only as I’m parking the car in front of Dad’s house that I realise I haven’t checked in the rear-view mirror. Not once the whole way back to Porlock.
And as I’m getting ready for bed that night, I realise something else. I’m pretty sure I haven’t locked the front door. But I can’t be bothered to go downstairs. I clamber into bed. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to sleep well tonight.