12
Elise
“Don’t bother cooking. I have to go out at seven.” When he comes into the kitchen, Andrew drops his bag by the table and puts the kettle on. “I won’t have time to eat.”
Usually I don’t ask him what he’s doing, but I’ve had enough of walking on eggshells around him. I’m his wife. “Where to?” There’s sarcasm in my question.
“What’s this?” he mocks, getting a mug out of the cupboard. He doesn’t ask me if I’d like one. “Have you suddenly decided you care?”
“Let me see.” I stare him in the eyes, deliberately taunting him. “Is it the golf club, Andrew? Or the pub? Oh, silly Elise. It’s Friday, isn’t it. Everyone knows where Andrew goes on Fridays—everyone except his stupid wife. But do you know what, Andrew? She isn’t as stupid as you—”
While I’m talking he comes over, stopping inches in front of me, before interrupting. “Bitch,” he mutters through gritted teeth. Then he raises his arm and slaps me. Above the sound of his hand on my cheek, I hear a gasp of breath. At the top of the stairs, out of the corner of my eye, I see Niamh.
My face throbs. “You need to watch it, Andrew,” I mutter under my breath and walk away from him. Near the door, I stop. “Emotional distance and infidelity are one thing.” I keep my voice low, not wanting Niamh to hear. “But I’m not sure how physical abuse would sit with your practice manager.”
“Prove it.” His eyes are like lasers, boring into me, while he seems to forget we have a witness. “But I’m warning you. One mention, Elise, and I’ll dredge up those notes from four years ago. I bet the airline would love to read them. The police, too.”
His words hit me harder than any blow delivered by his hand. He’s talking about a breakdown I had, which, in my desperate state, triggered me to take an overdose. For months after, he held it over me, reminding me constantly that if I’d been thinking of Niamh, I would have asked for help.
Desperately unhappy at the time, I told him I wanted us to separate. I can still remember his look of contempt, his cruel smile as he told me that I could leave, but no one in their right mind would give me custody of a child—he’d make sure of that. I’d realized at that point, he didn’t care even slightly about me or Niamh. All he was interested in was controlling me.
I’d told myself I’d stay, just until I could find a way past him. Meanwhile, Andrew removed my breakdown from my medical records—but that had been for his sake rather than mine. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know he had a suicidal wife.
“Fuck you.” I turn away so that he can’t see my face. However it looks to anyone else, I’m trapped, married to a monster. But as he walks away, his phone in his hand, something clicks into place inside my head.
Andrew knows what I saw on his phone the other night. He may believe he holds the winning hand. And for now he does. But when the time is right, I’ll tell the police his nasty little secret. At any time, I can potentially bring him down. He holds a position of trust and responsibility. What I’ve seen could have serious consequences for him.
That I know how to ruin Andrew gives me iron strength, armor through which his unkindness can no longer pierce. For years I’ve felt imprisoned by him, powerless to change my life. But not now. Hollie’s death is a reminder that life is short. I’ve let too much time pass already. And Andrew deserves what’s coming to him.
* * *
Two days later, on a morning when I’m alone, Stephanie turns up unexpectedly. As she stands on the doorstep, she’s clearly distraught, her tears blending with the rain on her face.
Her eyes are desperate as she looks at me. “I’m so sorry, Elise... I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Come in. You’re soaked.” Only when I close the door and she starts to sob does the extent of her distress become clear. “What’s happened? Let me hang up your coat.”
Wiping her face, she awkwardly shrugs off her coat and passes it to me. Underneath, her sweater is soaked, too. “Come and stand by the radiator. I’ll go and get you something to change into.”
Upstairs, I find a lambswool sweater in a dull shade of blue and take it down to her. “The cloakroom’s through there.” I indicate a door just beyond the kitchen. While she goes to change, I put the kettle on.
When she comes back, she’s slightly more composed, but as her eyes flit around, it’s clear she needs to talk about something. For a fleeting moment I wonder if it’s Andrew, then dismiss the thought. If she was having an affair with my husband, I’d be the last person she’d come to with her problems.
Finally, she sits down, and I get out two mugs. “I’ve made a pot of coffee. But if you’d prefer tea, it’s no trouble.”
She shakes her head. “Coffee would be good.” She hesitates. “Thank you, Elise. I’m so sorry to turn up here like this.”
“It really isn’t a problem. Let me finish making this; then we’ll talk.”
She sits down, and I take the coffeepot and milk over to the small table by the sofa under the window. There’s a wood-burning stove, which I hadn’t bothered to light earlier, but even without it, the sofa is soft and it’s the coziest corner of this house. Pouring the coffee, I pass her a mug. “Now, tell me what’s happened.”
As she starts to talk, her composure evaporates. “James will kill me if he knows I’ve talked to you.” Her voice cracks.
“James won’t find out,” I tell her firmly.
Mopping her face, she sighs shakily. “We’re in trouble, Elise. I mean James is, but it affects us both. He’s massively in debt. The mortgage is in arrears—I only found out yesterday. Unless a miracle happens, I think we’re going to lose the house.”
It seems desperately unfair that after losing Hollie, they’re faced with this. “Have you spoken to the bank? They might give you some time. They can’t just repossess it overnight.”
She shakes her head, blinking away her tears. “It’s hardly overnight. This has been going on for a year. Believe it or not, James has hidden it from me. I’m never there when the post arrives and emails always go straight to him... It was irresponsible of me, but I’ve never thought anything of it. I can see now how stupid I was to have trusted him, but I’ve never had any reason not to. Anyway, it’s too late.” She sounds desperate. “We’re going to lose everything. I have no idea what we’re going to do.”
I’m frowning. “But you have your shop. And what about the books he’s written? Surely they must make some money?”
“They do. It used to be enough.” She hesitates. “But not now.”
Something in her voice makes me frown. “What’s changed?” As I watch her closely, it’s clear she isn’t telling me everything.
“James invested in a business and he owes them money.” She says it quickly.
“So can’t he sell?”
“It seems not.” She doesn’t look at me. “James is up to his neck in something. For ages he didn’t tell me. In fact, I’ve only just found out. He was conned...” But instead of sympathetic, she sounds bitter. “He didn’t know what he was letting himself in for. There was supposed to be a contract. He was led to believe he’d make a lot of money...”
I stare at her. “There has to be something he can do. Have you gotten legal advice?”
Stephanie’s eyes drop. “It’s not that simple. James was desperate, Elise. His last book was rejected by his publisher.” She pauses, as though she’s trying to work out what to tell me, then raises her eyes to meet mine again. “He met someone who told him about a surefire way to make a lot of money. What the man didn’t tell him was how, exactly...” Her voice shakes, then she sighs. “I may as well tell you. It’s a porn site, Elise. The people running it con people into looking at it by telling them they’re looking for investors for an app they’re developing. Once someone looks at it, they’re on a list. Everyone who buys in, like James, gets added.”
“James actually bought into a porn site?” I’m not easily shocked, but the thought of someone I thought I knew getting into something like this is utterly abhorrent.
“I know.” Stephanie covers her face with her hands. “It’s completely vile, Elise. He can’t sell, and now he’s being forced to pay huge amounts—more than we can afford—just to remain anonymous. It’s a nightmare.”
As she speaks, I’m thinking of the image Andrew was looking at on his phone; then the man I saw James talking to, the argument they had. “The man who’s conning him, do you know who he is?”
“He’s local—that’s all I know. James got swept into his circle out of pride—and vanity. James likes to impress people. I think he thought this man was a doorway into a circle of wealthy, powerful men, which it was, of course . . . But for the worst possible reasons.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “He should go to the police.”
She looks up sharply. “You won’t tell them, will you?”
“No, but you or James should.” I pause, frowning again. “Why on earth hasn’t he?”
“Because he’ll be arrested,” Stephanie whispers. “Some of the photos... they’re of children, Elise.”
“God.” Suddenly I feel sick. How could he get involved in child porn? “That’s even more reason to get the police involved. You can’t protect him, Stephanie. There’s no excuse for something like this.”
“I know.” As she looks up at me, she looks old, aged by worry and shame. “He swears he didn’t know. But it will be the end of his writing career.”
It will be far more than that, but it doesn’t mean she should protect him. “That’s his problem. He should have thought of that before he got involved. He hasn’t had anything published in a few years, has he?”
She shakes her head sadly. “The irony is, he’s just finished a new book. He was about to send it to his agent, but then Hollie went missing.”
Suddenly I shiver. I’m thinking of how Hollie was in the days before she disappeared. She’d seemed more erratic, more distracted than usual, even for her. “What if Hollie had found out?” There’s a look of horror in Stephanie’s eyes as she looks at me. I go on. “She definitely seemed upset about something. What if her death is connected in some way? I don’t see how you can rule it out.”
“You’re right.” Her voice is low but she doesn’t meet my eyes. Then as I watch her, I shiver again, realizing she’s thought of this already and she still hasn’t told the police. Her voice shakes. “I need to ask you one favor.”
I sympathize with Stephanie and James over Hollie’s loss, but I can’t feel anything other than disgusted about what she’s told me. “What is it?”
She hesitates. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you’re talking to the police at all, about Hollie, you might find it hard not to let on about what I’ve told you.” Her eyes fill with tears. “But can you wait a few days? If we could just have Hollie’s funeral... I don’t want her memory tainted by whatever her stupid father has done. For that one day, I want everyone to be thinking about her.” Even in her distressed state, she’s fiercely determined to keep Hollie’s name out of whatever James is involved in. “After that, the police can arrest James, for all I care. I won’t be around to see it.”
Her words surprise me. “Where are you going? What about the shop?”
“I’ve given notice on the lease.” Her voice is emotionless. “There are a few weddings and parties booked in, but I’ve found another florist to honor my commitments. Where will I go? I don’t know yet. But anywhere that’s far away from here.”
“I can’t promise.” If the police question me directly about what I know, I’m not prepared to lie. But then I put myself in her shoes. I can understand why she’s asked me. “I won’t tell them unless they ask. But after the funeral... If you don’t tell them, I’ll have to, Stephanie. For Hollie’s sake.”
If she was hoping for more from me, she doesn’t say anything. She stays long enough to finish her coffee, putting her mug down now and then, as if she wants to say more before thinking better of it. As she leaves, cowed by grief and shame, she seems smaller somehow, and I think about how desperation drives people to extremes. First James and his investment, and now Stephanie, prepared to lie to the police; each with motives they’ve justified to themselves, when their only priority should be finding out what happened to Hollie.
Then the headline comes back to me, the one I saw on the flight before all of this started. Maybe only ten percent of people are good, but given extreme circumstances, who knows what any of us are capable of?