The exes, p.15
The Exes, page 15
She falls asleep and when she wakes it is early evening. Hundreds of starlings are flying in spinning cones above the West Pier. They move as a single harmonious entity, and she watches in awe. I should come here for a walk every day, she thinks. I haven’t been making the most of living by the sea. Penumbra House may be my grand project, but I am allowed time away from it.
When she gets back Max has gone, and James lets her in. Her keys are on the kitchen table.
‘He’s only just left,’ James says.
Max has moved all her bedroom furniture into the sitting room. He has put her double bed right under the large window. She knows she won’t be able to sleep under the glass where the brick was hurled and asks James to help her move the bed to the other side of the room.
‘Max did a great job in here,’ James says.
‘He did. Isn’t the colour lovely.’
‘It’s very you.’
‘He’s starting on my bedroom tomorrow. Duck Egg Blue.’
‘What about your kitchen?’
‘I’m leaving it for now. I need the kitchen every day.’
‘Will you ask him to do the hall and landings?’
‘Ray’s clear that’s a job for two men.’
James shakes his head. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Ray’s the expert and I want the painting over with as soon as possible.’
‘I was only going to say–’
‘James, drop it please,’ she says, tired of the never-ending rivalry.
‘OK. OK. I’ll get back to my books.’ He turns to leave then stops. ‘I meant to ask you: Ray gives every impression he’s here for the long term?’
She recalls she didn’t tell James the arrangement she’d made with Ray.
‘I mean, beyond when the renovation is finished,’ James adds.
‘He can stay as long as he likes.’ Holly stares back at James, defiant.
It’s her house, and she’s not going to justify her decisions to James.
‘Got himself a really good deal, didn’t he,’ James says, and he turns and climbs the stairs to his floor.
And your deal is pretty good too because you’re paying less than the market rate for this area, she feels like shouting up after him but keeps her peace.
She recalls her lunch with him in December when she first told him about her inheritance and shared with him that Ray and Spencer were joining her in the house. She and James had got into the habit of meeting twice a year for lunch at a cheap and cheerful Thai café in Kentish Town. You could bring your own bottle of wine.
They exchanged gifts; books wrapped in Christmas paper. It was a tradition when they were together to give each other the book they’d most enjoyed during the year. James always chose non-fiction and she picked novels and she doubted if either of them ever read the books they were given.
‘I have some interesting news,’ she had said.
He had been amazed when she told him about her inheritance.
‘But I didn’t think you were close to Lillian.’
‘I wasn’t especially. I’m stunned she left me her house.’
‘What a turn-up. She didn’t have children, did she? I guess blood is thicker than water.’
‘She would have left the house to Dad if he’d lived.’
She had felt the prick of tears and James shot her a look. He hated any shows of emotion.
‘How’s your mum doing?’ she’d asked swallowing hard.
‘Her dementia’s getting worse, and my sister has found a very expensive nursing home. I reckon all Mum’s money will go on paying for that bloody place,’ he said looking grim.
Their lunches were their attempt at reconciliation but as they parted outside, she was aware of how separate they were. He hadn’t congratulated her on the legacy. James had things on his mind. Financial pressures. He looked drawn when he mentioned his mother’s illness and how much money would be needed to care for her.
And Holly hasn’t grown any closer to James since he moved into Penumbra House. Seeing him twice a year for their lunches had been enough. She hasn’t told him she’s feeling unwell and is worried about her symptoms. And no way is she going to confide in him about the pages appearing on her doormat.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s Saturday morning and Holly double locks the house. James is visiting his mother in London, and she’s catching an early train to meet Laura. It’s a good time to get away because she’s not sleeping well with her bed stationed in the sitting room. In fact, her sleep has been troubled over the last few weeks and she has to take a nap most afternoons. This makes her feel very feeble. Yet at night she lies awake fretting about what’s wrong with her. She tells James, Ray, and Spencer she is postponing their end-of-the-month roast dinner.
Laura’s at the barrier at Victoria station and Holly’s touched to see she’s come to meet her. Laura is in high spirits.
‘It’s been a trial, but the pounds are coming off at last. And I’ve seen the trouser suit that’s perfect for the wedding.’
They catch the tube to South Kensington and head straight to the Victoria and Albert Museum for an exhibition of film costumes. They take their time gazing at the glass cases of evening dresses made from the most glorious and extravagant of fabrics – velvet, satin, brocade and silk.
‘So glamorous. When did you last wear velvet or satin?’ Holly asks.
‘Not for years. I had a vintage dress in my twenties. It was velvet and old rose colour. God, I loved that dress!’
‘I had these purple velvet trousers I thought were so cool. I wore them till the nap wore away,’ Holly says.
‘We’ve lost our glamour, haven’t we? It’s all jeans and T-shirts these days.’
They move on to the museum shop and browse its delights. Laura loves museum shops and often buys an umbrella or a scarf based on an Old Master. Holly buys postcards of her favourite dresses from the exhibition.
‘What do you fancy tonight? Do we go out or eat in?’ Laura asks when they are on the tube heading back to Camden Town.
‘Eat out, and dinner’s on me,’ Holly says. ‘But I’ll need a siesta before we go.’
‘You’re still not back to normal?’
‘Not completely. I’ve been walking by the sea most days and that’s helped. But I can’t shift this tiredness.’
‘Sounds to me like you’re suffering from post-viral exhaustion, or even ME.’
‘But I didn’t get a virus. This tiredness came on almost overnight. That’s the odd thing about it.’
‘Get it checked up, please. There’s this GP at my practice and he’ll not accept ME exists. He thinks it’s been dreamed up by neurotic North London women to get attention! I gave him a piece of my mind. Of course ME exists. My friend, Saskia, you remember Saskia, red curly hair…’
‘Who works in publishing?’
‘Yes, well she has ME and has been poorly for ages.’
They reach Laura’s flat, and Cooper is ecstatic at their return. Holly takes off her shoes and stretches out on Laura’s pretty sofa with a cushion under her head. Within minutes her eyelids are drooping.
‘Sleep now,’ her friend says, putting a pashmina over her.
When Holly wakes, Laura and Cooper have gone and there’s a note on the floor by the sofa.
So sorry I had to go out. Work crisis! I’ve booked us a table at The Lady Miranda at 8pm. Can you join me there as I’ll be tied up till then. I’ve got Cooper. XX
The Lady Miranda near the canal is their favourite gastropub and it’s also dog friendly. They’d celebrated the news of Holly’s inheritance there last autumn. Laura bought champagne and they discussed whether Holly should sell Penumbra House.
Holly sets off and shivers as she walks through the first of a series of dark tunnels by the canal. She wishes she’d brought a thicker jacket with her. It’s unseasonably cold for May. As well as shivering with the cold, she feels uneasy about the route she is taking along the canal path. Should she have come this way? On a sunny day this is an attractive shortcut. But not tonight. Tonight, there are no cyclists or dog-walkers about, indeed no sign of life in either direction.
The brutal murder of a young woman three weeks ago has been leading the headlines for days. The young woman took a seven-minute walk through a park to meet a friend, just as Holly is doing. It was reported today that the man who struck and killed her was a complete stranger. Holly cannot get that out of her head.
The oily water of the canal slaps against the brickwork and condensation drips from above. What a melancholy sight the stained canal path makes in the fading light. She must not scare herself with these thoughts. But is it wise to enter that long dark tunnel ahead? She’s only five minutes from the exit stairs which lead up to The Lady Miranda. But five minutes is long enough. If she turns round and walks back and along the upper lighted streets, she’ll be late.
She stops walking as her fear rises. Is there a stranger lurking in the tunnel ahead? Is that dark shape someone standing there, watching her? The hairs on her arms and neck lift and her throat tightens. Sometimes men kill women. Sometimes strangers kill women. Better late than dead. She takes two steps towards the tunnel. Then, gasping, she turns and runs away from the aperture she cannot bring herself to enter.
Laura’s bagged a corner seat and Cooper’s at her feet when Holly hurries in slightly breathless. She sits, glad to be in the cheerful pub.
‘Sorry I’m late. I bottled out of the canal walk. It felt scary tonight. I think I’m developing a morbid imagination.’
‘Not a problem. I’m going to have steak and salad. Why don’t you have steak too. You may be low on iron.’
They order a bottle of red wine to go with their steaks.
‘I should write a blog about the trials of internet dating,’ Laura says. ‘Take last Friday, I knew after five minutes this guy was the most boring person on earth and I was thinking what is the shortest time I can decently stay. He’d bought me a glass of wine and was droning on about his hobbies. I got my phone out, looked at it with great concern and said I’d had a text from a friend who was having a meltdown. I was so sorry, but I had to go to her at once.’
Laura shakes her head before continuing. ‘So, Mr Boring wants to travel back on the Northern Line with me. He knew I lived in Camden Town you see. I lied and said I was getting the District Line to see my friend. We parted at the top of the escalators and walked off in different directions. I doubled back to get the Northern Line. As I was walking towards my platform, I saw him straight ahead and he turned and saw me and looked puzzled and waved. He started to walk towards me, and I panicked. I turned and ran away from him.’
Holly laughs. ‘That poor man. You’ve probably given him a complex.’
‘Terribly rude, I know. But I have to grit my teeth and carry on with the dates. I need to find my plus-one for the wedding.’
‘I’ll be your plus-one. Speaking of which, show me the trouser suit.’
Laura spools through shots of a sharply cut evening trouser suit with satin lapels in a shade of deepest red.
‘Very chic and very you,’ Holly says.
Holly takes out her phone to show Laura shots of the renovation of the house. She has taken a series of photos of the sitting room and in one has caught Max at the edge of the frame.
‘Let me take a closer look at your mysterious Max.’
Laura uses her fingers to enlarge the photo. Max is dressed in his usual overalls. Holly’s shot has caught him in profile staring at something out of frame.
‘Can’t really see too much. He’s nice and slim,’ Laura notes.
‘He paints all day, and he and James go running in the park.’
‘Ah, a bromance.’
Holly nods. ‘I think it may be.’
Holly’s been hesitating all day, but she has brought the two photos and Lillian’s draft letter in a plastic folder to show to Laura. She can’t bring herself to share the journal pages, but she wants to hear Laura’s assessment of Lillian’s disturbing draft letter. Holly pulls the plastic folder out of her bag.
‘Remember the small dusty box I found in Lillian’s bedroom? When we were making the video?’
‘I think so. I’m sorry the video came to nothing. I did chase them once, but they said no joy.’
‘It was worth a try. Anyway, that box contained this draft letter written by Lillian and two photos, and I want you to see them.’
Laura reads the letter.
September 1996
My darling,
I met her mother in the village. She is broken, has aged ten years, and says their future has been taken from them. I have hardly slept since so deep is my dread. I am consumed with the thought I have not done the right thing and should have reported my suspicions.
He was in the area, and I know he is capable of killing. Remember Rabbit.
I am frightened of him. I have decided I cannot and will not see him anymore. I urge you to seek professional help for him.
My love as always,
L.
Holly leans over the table and for some reason she doesn’t fully understand, she lowers her voice. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘It’s weird. Disturbing, isn’t it? Who is this man she’s frightened of?’
Holly evades the question. ‘It’s out of character because Lillian was such a fearless person. She lived alone and Dad said her house was in an isolated spot,’ she says.
‘Well, she was scared of someone this time. And Remember Rabbit. What does that mean?’
Holly shrugs guiltily. She now knows what the words mean but cannot bring herself to explain.
Laura reads the words out loud. ‘I met her mother in the village. She is broken, has aged ten years, and says their future has been taken from them.’
‘Someone has died or been killed.’
‘Sounds like it,’ Holly says.
‘Who was Lillian writing to?’
‘I think I know the answer to that. She was involved with this man.’
Holly places the two photographs on the table side by side.
‘These were in the box with the letter. A younger Lillian and the same man in both.’
Laura studies the first photograph. ‘She’s got your hair!’
It’s true, in the photo Lillian has the same curly dark hair yet Holly had never noticed that before. She only remembers seeing her aunt with strong grey hair, tamed by clips, and looking severe, though she was always a handsome woman.
‘She’s stylish, isn’t she? Great sandals. You’ve always described her as a blue-stocking recluse,’ Laura says.
‘I thought she was. I think she was writing to him, Jacques Pichois.’
Laura examines the photo again. ‘He’s attractive. Do you know anything about him?’
Laura picks up the second photo and, as Holly had done, turns the photo on its side to read the name on the book.
‘It’s the same man, years later. He’s dead, died three years before Lillian. I googled him. He was an academic and wrote books about the French Revolution. But all I found on Google were his dates and a list of publications, and it said he was married to a Severine Pichois.’
‘You think they were lovers?’
‘They look like lovers in this one,’ Holly says.
‘They do.’
‘Long-time lovers.’
‘A married man.’
‘Yes, that old story.’
Laura picks up the letter again. ‘She’s frightened of someone related to him, to Jacques. She says he must get him help. Maybe he had a son?’
Holly’s guilt deepens at the details she is holding back from Laura. Why is she doing this partial sharing of information? She shakes her head but says nothing.
‘Seems your aunt Lillian had a more exciting life than you thought.’
‘More troubling than exciting. It explains why she was hardly ever here. Jacques Pichois was the reason Lillian stayed in Brittany. I’m going to frame the black-and-white photograph and hang it in the sitting room as a tribute to Lillian.’
‘She’s getting a hold over you,’ Laura says as their steaks arrive.
SUNDAY EVENING
Holly packs her overnight bag.
‘Are you sure you want to go back tonight?’ Laura asks. ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow, but I’ve got a spare set of keys and you could have a lie-in and lock up later. Post my keys through the letter box when you go.’
‘I have to go because my new fridge/freezer arrives tomorrow, and it might come any time after nine.’
‘Can’t one of your men take delivery?’
‘James is with his mum, and I can’t be sure what time Spencer will arrive. Ray said he was working off site tomorrow.’ Holly zips up her bag. ‘I’m feeling a bit better; less wiped out. Must be your good influence.’
‘Eat more steak!’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She has enjoyed her time with Laura but does not miss living in London. Hazel and Trisha are coming for a tour tomorrow evening, and she’ll buy a good wine and some olives and crisps. Maybe she’ll buy some cheese too. She can’t eat it, but most people like cheese with their wine.
It’s well after ten when the taxi stops outside the house and Holly gets out with her overnight bag. She opens the front door and is hit by the most horrible smell. It’s coming from the cupboard under the stairs. She wishes James was upstairs to help her investigate.
Pulling the cupboard door open she sees the rotting carcass of a rat. It is crawling with maggots, is alive with maggots and its eyes have been eaten. She retches and runs to the bathroom. She empties her stomach into the toilet bowl. Then sits back on her knees, trembling.
Struggling to her feet she flushes the toilet, runs the cold tap, and sluices water around her mouth until the bitterness of her vomit has gone. She washes her hands for an age before emerging back into the hall, glancing at the cupboard with fear and revulsion. She slams the cupboard door shut and runs outside and downstairs to knock on Ray’s door. The sound of music is coming faintly from his flat.
