Liam O’Neill wasn’t smiling. A mask of concern descended as quickly as the passenger window of the battered Honda.
‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Alice remained where she was on the ground, one leg stretched out ahead of her, the other tucked beneath her bottom, bearing her weight. The rain continued to fall around her, but it was too late to worry about being wet and dirty; the fall had already seen to that.
O’Neill climbed out of his side of the car and hurried around, extending a hand and helping her back to her feet. Her thin cotton dress was soaked through and red scuff marks were already glowing on one knee and the other shin. Opening the passenger door, he helped her into the seat before hurrying back around to his side and slamming the door against the rain.
Alice kept her door open for now. She wasn’t in the habit of getting into cars with strange men, and the need to run wasn’t far from her mind, not that she was sure her legs would be up to much yet. Every other raindrop seemed to splash against the wet material of her dress.
‘What are you doing here?’ Alice began, though she already suspected the answer.
‘I was driving to your house, as it happens,’ he said.
‘Driving to, or driving away?’
He pulled a face. ‘Away? I only just got here.’
Alice picked some grit out of the gash on her knee, dropping it out of the side of the car. There was now bright red sticky blood just beneath her kneecap, but the sting was worse than the pain.
‘Don’t pretend it wasn’t you who left those letters stuck to our gates,’ Alice challenged.
She regretted rushing from the house without her phone and handbag. If he wanted to drive away with her locked in the car she’d be powerless to stop him, and nobody would know where she was or what had happened to her.
‘What letters?’ he asked, his face contorting in confusion.
She looked at him scornfully. ‘I know it was you who sent them. What is it you want from us? Turning up at the hotel on Sunday, following me to the pub, then appearing at the restaurant today: what do you want?’
He reached into the panel in his door, pulled out a packet of tissues and passed them to her. ‘Have you found out anything about Mary yet? Have you asked Ben about her?’
Alice took the tissues, tearing open the packet and pressing one to her knee, wincing at the further sting. She thought about the photographs from the secret shoebox; the older woman wearing the necklace and her ring.
‘Who is she? What does she have to do with Ben?’
Liam fixed her with a cautious look. ‘Are you sure you want to know?’
Part of the tissue remained attached to her knee as she tried to pull it free. At least it would stem the blood for now. She could worry about cleaning it up later.
‘I found some photographs,’ she admitted, allowing curiosity to get the better of her. ‘Mary – she was older than Ben?’
‘A good fifteen years older than him. Are you sure you want to hear what I’m about to tell you? This is your red and blue pill moment, Alice. If you’d rather keep your head buried in the sand, you can get out of the car and head home. You’d be back inside within five minutes, none the wiser about the man you married.’ He paused, and looked away for a moment. ‘Or, you can close the car door and allow me to take you to meet someone who will tell you everything you need to know about Ben but were afraid to ask. You won’t like what we have to say – in fact, you’ll probably refuse to believe it – but I promise we won’t lie to you.’ He turned to face her again. ‘What’s it to be?’
She stared out of her door. The rain was still falling, the ground sodden, but the clouds overhead were lightening, suggesting the downpour wouldn’t be around for too much longer.
Reaching out, she coiled her fingers around the door handle and pulled it inwards. ‘I prefer to know all the facts before I make any decisions. I’ll listen to what you have to say, but if I get any sense that you’re trying to trick me, I’ll be gone in a shot. Do you understand? Now, where’s this friend of yours?’
He smiled as he started the engine. ‘Buckle up.’
They’d travelled for five minutes before he switched off the car’s stereo. ‘How are your legs?’ he asked.
She glanced down and was satisfied the healing process had started – the skin around the gashes was starting to yellow. ‘I’ll live. How far do we have to travel?’
He sighed. ‘I’d say you should make yourself comfortable. We’ve got at least another half an hour, depending on traffic.’
‘Swear you didn’t send the letters.’
He stared into her eyes. ‘On my life. What do these letters say?’
She couldn’t recall the exact words of the two letters, and without her phone, she couldn’t show him an image either. ‘Basically, they’re addressed to me, stating Ben is a killer and that he will kill again.’
O’Neill’s shoulders tensed. ‘What does Ben say about them?’
‘He says they’ve been sent by someone looking to set him up for something he hasn’t done. You know the police have cleared him of any involvement in the murder of Kerry Valentine, right?’
O’Neill looked surprised by the news. ‘I didn’t know that. They examined his clothes?’
‘Apparently so. From what the others said, they stripped him of his clothes before Kerry started dancing, so the only way her DNA would be on his clothes is if he’d seen her again afterwards. Their tests confirm that didn’t happen.’
‘I won’t say I’m not surprised.’
She looked down at the wedding band Ben had placed so delicately on her finger only three days earlier, and thought about the vows they’d exchanged. Was she betraying those vows by hearing what O’Neill had to say? Her fingertips brushed Ben’s grandmother’s ring.
‘I saw an image of Mary wearing this ring as well. What can you tell me about her? Were they in love?’
‘Mary was thirty-three when she first met Ben. He was eighteen, but she was absolutely captivated by him. I don’t know if you’ve seen images of him at that age, but he looked older than he was. I remember, back in school he was one of those kids who managed to buy beer and cheap spirits when he was only fifteen, whereas I was still being asked for ID when I was in my twenties. I don’t think she realized just how young he was at first. They met at a music festival and she fell hard for him. Being that bit older, she was ready to settle down, get married and start a family. While he told her he wanted those things too, as their romance blossomed she always sensed he was stringing her along, waiting for something better.’
O’Neill lowered his window and lit a cigarette, keeping one hand on the steering wheel. ‘It was a whirlwind romance. Three months after they met, he moved in with her and they were talking about getting engaged. That ring you’re wearing there, she had that at one point. He gave it to her as a symbol of his love. He said it had been his grandmother’s and he wanted her to have it as a sign of his feelings. She kidded herself that her doubts were just paranoia.
‘He would come home at all hours – going out with his mates, he said – but his clothes would smell of other girls’ perfume. It soon became clear he was using her. He was having a gap year from university, but made no effort to get a job or travel abroad. He lived at her place, borrowed money he never repaid, and used her place as a doss house.
‘One night, she confronted him about it, and she saw a darkness emerge that she’d never witnessed before. He wasn’t violent with her, but he threw several pieces of crockery at the walls, and tore her flat to shreds. Hundreds of pounds’ worth of damage. She was terrified, but like most victims of domestic abuse, she forgave him as soon as he apologized and promised it wouldn’t happen again. She was naive.’