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December 23rd 2004
I’d been dreading Christmas for months. It was the worst time of the year, worse than the anniversary of finding Joe’s body, and each year the feeling of dread only intensified. Each year I thought of the swing, of Joe’s happiness that Christmas morning, of mine and Liam’s joy at seeing it. All the remembrances intensified what I had lost, what I would never be able to recover.
Charlotte was standing on her doorstep waiting when the taxi dropped me outside her house. As I lugged my small suitcase along the pavement, she rushed towards me. I’d hardly seen her since my divorce.
‘Rachel!’
‘Charl!’ She pulled her short black faux-fur jacket tight around her slim midriff. ‘Dressed for the weather as usual, I see,’ I laughed.
She hugged me. ‘Let me help you with the case.’ She tried to pick it up. ‘Bloody hell, what you got in here? Come on, Jacob’s got mulled wine on the go.’ She peered at me, ‘You’ve lost weight.’
‘Maybe, but losing those “mother-like” hips can only be a good thing.’
I felt her hand in the small of my back, she rubbed the space soothingly.
‘Lost weight but very muscular, training obsessively, are you?’ Her expression was a mixture of worry and disapproval. I don’t think Charlotte had exercised once in her whole life. It was her nervous energy that kept her trim.
‘Will share my secrets later.’
‘How you doing?’ she asked, more seriously.
Belatedly, I realised my reference to ‘mother’, and the few moments of not thinking about Joe ended. ‘You know.’
‘Come on, let’s get inside.’
Jacob handed me a tumbler of spicy, warm liquid that sparkled under the festive lighting. ‘Got to go, Aunt Rach, important party to attend.’ He ruffled my head and I knew that, even after nearly five years, he still didn’t know what to say.
‘Have a good time,’ Charlotte shouted towards the closing door. She plonked herself down in front of the fire.
‘Christmas tree looks wonderful,’ I said. ‘Thanks for inviting me. Jacob looks too handsome.’
‘He is, isn’t he?’ A mild guilt hovered on her features. ‘What’s Liam doing for Christmas?’
I got the impression that my friend might know what Liam was doing. ‘Going off to some obscure meditative place in Thailand. I’ll try not to spoil your Christmas, Charl.’
‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous. I’ve invited all the clan and Jacob will be around until New Year. He’s taking a long break. His last project finished and then he went straight into some voice coaching, only just finished that.’
‘After a coveted role, is he?’
‘His agent has an eye on a “big script” that’s in circulation. The director and producer are looking for the supporting male actor. The agent wants to put Jacob forwards for the part.’
‘And?’
‘And, the director has an obsession with accents and authenticity. The role is an American from Ohio. The director is determined to find an actor indigenous to Ohio, Jacob’s agent is thinking differently. This could put him on the Hollywood map good and proper. So Jacob did the voice coaching in London, some obscure little place in Soho. It’s a school for method acting as well. I think he learnt more about that, too, but it was mainly the voice coaching he went for. Says it’s the best thing he’s done. Loved it.’ Charlotte nudged a bauble into place on her perfectly chaotic tree. ‘Said there were a few non-actors there, business people, wanting to change the way they speak. He just liked being in London, to be honest.’
I stood to stretch my legs. ‘So, they’d take on anyone? I mean, not just actors?’
‘Yep, as long as you pay. Luckily, Jacob’s agent stumped up.’
‘What’s the name of the school?’
‘Cambri School of Voice Coaching and Acting. Why? Are you interested? Thinking of taking up acting? You enjoyed it at uni. Might be a good idea – a little hobby.’ She filled my glass, smiling. ‘Why on earth did you resign? You need to work. Perhaps going back to the police wasn’t such a great idea, but you need to do something.’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘I mean, what do you do all day? Every day. It’s not healthy.’ She paused, and gave my bare legs an admiring glance. ‘I can see you’re spending a lot of time working out. You’re as lean as a fillet steak.’
‘I took up karate again, too.’
‘No!’
‘I have. It’s good for me.’
‘Why’ve you been avoiding me, Rachel?’
‘I haven’t seen much of anyone.’
‘Liam still worries about you.’
‘No he doesn’t.’ Charlotte had obviously seen more of Liam than I had. ‘He was having an affair before Joe went missing but that isn’t the reason we’ve divorced.’ She nodded and I thought she understood.
I took off the heavy cardigan I was wearing, revealing my chocolate-brown Lurex dress. I’d made an effort for Christmas. It was sleeveless and short.
‘Jesus girl, look at your arms. Last time I saw biceps like that was when I threw the javelin for my school. Not mine, I might add, but the girl who annually beat me at the county championships.’
‘Being fit helps the mind,’ I said.
She scrutinised me closely. ‘It should do, yes.’ The sudden seriousness of her expression faded as fast as it had appeared. ‘And your hips ... gone.’
I had the height and build of Margaret. Largish hips, thick thighs and a flat chest. My shape didn’t bother me but looking like my mother always had.
‘Not quite. At least I will look less like Margaret,’ I said lightly.
‘Carry on like this, and you’ll look nothing like her. Anyway, you are nothing like her.’ She flicked back her long fringe. Charlotte always flicked her fringe when about to change the subject. ‘Have you seen Tom Gillespie?’
‘Not recently, he’s annoyed with me for resigning. It was Liam he called about Hemmings and Littleworth, not me.’ I’d filled Charlotte in on the details of Littleworth in an earlier phone call.
‘Yes, I kn...’
‘You know?’
She looked towards the exquisite parquet flooring. ‘I spoke to Liam before he went away...’
‘I don’t mind, you know, Charlotte, you keeping in touch with Liam. He was your friend, too.’
She coloured and I put it down to the wine, the heat of the room.
She smiled indulgently. ‘So maybe this New Year, you should decide what you’re going to do with the rest of your life?’
Perhaps I should tell her. Tell her everything, but of course I couldn’t.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I know what I’m doing.’ And I did.
‘You have to live, girl. Have you seen Jonathan Waters recently?’
I’d been staring at the fire, watching yellow flames leap around the grand fireplace, marvelling at their randomness. I looked up. ‘I have, a few weeks ago. He came over to talk about what’s happening at Littleworth. I think he plans on writing something about it. He was about to go and interview Sam and Bridget.’
‘An exclusive on the parents of the murderer who’s about to be let out?’ She looked at me. ‘Sorry...’
‘It’s OK.’
‘You know Jonathan has the “hots” for you?’
‘He was married, Charl. And that’s a very old-fashioned term. Erase it from your vocabulary,’ I laughed.
She grinned. ‘He isn’t now, though. And hasn’t been for a while.’
‘He does not have the “hots” for me.’ But I knew that the kind and gentle Jonathan did. I’d always suspected. It was another reason to keep away from him. I needed to stay away, if only because he was a journalist. A journalist with an interest and understanding of me. And that was the last thing I needed.
Charlotte’s face dropped into anxiousness. ‘They won’t really let Hemmings out, will they?’
‘They might, at some point in the future, allow him to go to a step-down unit. It’s complicated, but when public opinion has died down, he could quietly be placed in a less secure unit, and theoretically allowed out, under supervision ... yes.’
She pulled at her fringe and changed the subject. ‘Have you seen your mother, or other members of your illustrious family, recently? Sorry to bring all that up, but I wondered.’ She grinned. ‘Get all that stuff out of the way.’
‘I see my dad. Try to avoid my mother, though ... you know.’ I’d never told Charlotte about my last visit to see Margaret, and the last conversation I’d had with her. I’d told no one. I hadn’t told her about Hemmings being looked after by my mother, either.
‘So. What are your plans?’
‘I’m going away for a while. A short break, as I told Tom I would be doing.’
‘You could have the house in Venice Beach, you know.’
‘Thanks, but I’m going somewhere where no one knows where to find me, just for a while.’
‘You’ll tell me?’
I hesitated. ‘I’ll give you a PO Box number.’
‘How long for?’
‘That I’ll be away? Just a few weeks.’
‘Can I call you?’
‘No, I want no phone, no computer.’ I watched her. ‘You’ll have the PO Box, but don’t tell anyone, not my dad, no one. OK? Promise?’
‘Promise. Come on, girl.’ The mulled wine was depleted and we’d begun on the vodka. ‘Let’s get pissed.’
‘It doesn’t mix well with the pills.’
‘Then stop taking them. Find another way of dealing with this. It’s time.’
Charlotte was right. Soon it would be time.