Forget Me Not Read online

‘That’s Rachel’s husband, Paul,’ I heard Julie say in a small voice.

  Maybe it wasn’t so small. It was hard to tell over the sound of my blood rushing through my veins.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Elizabeth

  I’d called my son-in-law and asked him to bring the grandchildren around to see me a day early. Ever since I’d spoken to the police, told them more about Laura, I’d felt as if I’d betrayed her in some way. A part of me thought I’d be able to assuage some of that guilt if I spent time with Max and Ava.

  She’d been a great wife and a loving mother. She’d doted on the children from the day and hour they were born and seemed to take to motherhood like a duck to water. She’d said having the children made her feel less lonely – she’d always have company, even when her husband was at work. As a family unit they were a joy to watch. He made her happy. The children made her complete.

  She was never one to complain about them waking in the night or teething or any of those things that can break the spirit of the most devoted parent. I admired her for it. Growing older had robbed me of some of my patience and while I, too, doted on those children and loved to see them coming round, there were times when I was happier to see them leave.

  They were whirlwinds of activity – and they’d rush into our home, pull it apart bit by bit, eat all my food and then leave later, tummies full and hearts fuller. I’d survey the spilled buckets of building blocks and the scattered crayons, rescue a half-chewed pencil from Izzy that had left a trail of splinters in the hall, and restack the sofa cushions, dismantling their forts and picking up crushed biscuits from the floor.

  The moment of peace and quiet when they’d left – the first time I’d sit on my chair and listen to the silence around me – was always blissful. Paddy and I used to smile at each other, revel in the quiet, but we were always so grateful to have them in our lives. After he died, Laura spent more and more time with me. The children became my refuge. Their silliness and innocence had pulled me through the darkest of days.

  Of course, Laura had been at the centre of most of that silliness and mayhem when she’d been here. She’d played with a lack of self-consciousness and a joy that she hadn’t been so free with in her own childhood. It fed both my heart and my soul to see them together. God knows I tried, once she died, to keep some of the fun, some of that adventure going with the children, but their lives were never going to be the same. They simply couldn’t be.

  They didn’t want to play any more at building forts, or towers, or having picnics in the barn. Those were ‘mummy things’. Doing them without her was too painful, no matter how I tried. They’d arrive at my house like little grey shadows of the children they once were. Smaller, quieter, haunted. Afraid to step into the shadows of the farmhouse as if every nook and cranny held a dark secret. Slowly, gently, I coaxed them not exactly out of their grief, but just a little further from the centre of it, and we made our own routines. They helped me to heal, too. Those innocent interactions.

  We baked. We found programmes to watch together. Ava enjoyed rifling through the books on her mother’s old bookcase in her childhood bedroom, then curling up on the bed and reading. Max, well, he enjoyed taking Izzy out for long walks, when he’d talk to her like only a boy could talk to his dog. I imagined Izzy heard a lot of secrets.

  We’d play in the yard after, Max and I. Throwing balls for Izzy to chase. Getting the hose out in the warmer weather and watching Izzy run through the cold spray. Slowly, tentatively at first, Ava started to join in. Eventually, we started to hear little bursts of laughter again.

  I needed to hear it that day, of all days. I suppose I also needed to see my daughter’s own eyes, her mannerisms, her reflection in their faces. That kept her alive for me.

  I’d baked banana bread, wiped the sweat from my brow after I set the bread to cool on the windowsill. I’d prepared a ‘party tea’, as the children would call it. Crisps and sandwiches, biscuits and chopped fruit. Fizzy drinks to wash it down with. I’d filled the small paddling pool with water. The kids were too big to sit in it now, but they could play with Izzy.

  I’d even gone out and bought the largest tub of ice cream I could find and had it waiting in the freezer. There would be jelly and chocolate sauce to go with it.

  It was overcompensating. I knew that. But I needed to do something to make myself feel better. This would help, a little.

  I’d been on edge all day waiting for them. For once, time to myself didn’t seem to be a good thing. It gave me too much time to think. As soon as the clock turned three and I knew they’d be finished at school, I felt my mood start to improve. They’d be with me soon. I looked at the photograph of Laura on the mantlepiece and I apologised for letting her down. Again.

  The ticking of the clock and the occasional whimper from Izzy as she dreamed of chasing a ball or a rabbit were the only noises that interrupted the silence, so I jumped when the phone rang. It was too loud, or my head was too full, or something just wasn’t right, and I wanted the noise to stop.

  The name flashing on the screen was Ingrid Devlin’s. I wondered whether or not to answer. I didn’t feel I had anything else to say to her, even though she’d stuck to her word and not reported anything overly salacious about Laura. I didn’t want to get any further on the wrong side of the police and they clearly didn’t want me talking to her, but I couldn’t resist answering.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ Ingrid began. ‘Look, I promised I’d keep you in the loop if I heard anything at all and I just wanted to fill you in on something my source has told me.’

  I wanted to know, but at the same time was afraid of what she might tell me.

  ‘Do I need to sit down to hear this?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘It’s not bad news as such.’

  Those words ‘as such’ came with so much portent.

  ‘I’ll come right to the point,’ she said, her voice low, almost a whisper. ‘The police are going to talk to two different men who had a connection to Clare. I think one was a work colleague and another the husband of one of Clare’s friends. They’re describing it as significant.’

  ‘And Laura? Is there a connection to Laura?’

  ‘Not that police are aware of at the moment. Between ourselves, my source seems to think that the husband of the friend might offer some clues to what happened.’

  I wanted to know more. I wanted to know which friend. I wanted to know what had happened that had turned police attention towards these two men. I wanted to know why Laura had been brought into it all, but Ingrid didn’t have any more answers for me.

  ‘Elizabeth, I just wanted you to know that there are other angles being looked at. Important angles. I know it doesn’t answer any questions as to who was behind the flowers and the notes, but it’s something.’

  I thanked her for telling me, hung up and sat down feeling a little easier, my heart lifting further at the sound of a car driving into the yard, followed by the excited shouting of Max and Ava. They ran in through the door I’d left open for them and directly at me, almost knocking me off my feet with the impact of their hugs, before they both got down on the floor to play with Izzy.

  Watching my family, the smiles on their faces, the way the sun had kissed their skin over the last few weeks, bringing with it a new crop of freckles, I felt a sense of peace wash over me that I’d been struggling to find for a long time. Maybe it was selfish of me to hope that the moving of the investigation away from Laura was a good thing, but we’d all had our own suffering. More than enough of it.

  Their father followed them in, looking tired.

  ‘Are you staying for tea?’ I asked. ‘I’ve more than enough prepared.’

  He shook his head. ‘I thought I’d use the time to run to the supermarket. Run a few errands, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ I said. ‘But at least get a cup of tea or a cold drink or something first. You look done in.’

  ‘I feel done in,’ he said, sitting
down.

  He looked to the children and then back to me. The strain of Laura’s death being brought up again had clearly been getting to him. A wave of guilt swept back in.

  ‘I know this week has been tough,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘Every week’s tough, Elizabeth,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought it would be getting easier by now, but it’s not.’

  ‘I know,’ I told him, but my words felt inadequate. ‘We just have to focus on the kids. For her.’

  He nodded. ‘We do. Which is why I need to go and get some food or they’ll be living on cereal for the next week.’

  He gave me a lopsided smile – a smile that lied and said everything was normal when it wasn’t.

  ‘You’re a great dad,’ I told him. ‘And a good friend to me. I’m not sure I’d have got through this last two years and everything that’s happened without you. Don’t ever be afraid to ask me to help more if you need it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said and he stood up, hugged me awkwardly. ‘Thanks, Elizabeth. Right, kids, I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Be good for your granny.’

  ‘We will!’ the children chorused, and he left.

  I wished, again, that I could take his pain away. I felt such guilt for letting him down, too. The man who’d promised to love her. Who did love her. He’d made her smile from the moment they’d met. She hadn’t long turned thirty and even though thirty is no age at all these days, she’d been convinced she would end up on the shelf. Resigned herself to it. But then she came home from after work drinks one night with that special kind of a smile on her face – one I’d recognised from my own face when I’d met Paddy, and her life had changed.

  She finally found happiness.

  Or so I thought. Even his love and faith in her wasn’t enough to save her.

  If I’d been a better mother, maybe he’d still have his wife by his side. Maybe he wouldn’t look so tired all the time. I vowed to insist on having the children more and to visit them more. Anything to lift the burden from him. I didn’t want them to lose someone else. I vowed to be extra cautious.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rachel

  ‘You don’t really think my husband could have anything to do with this?’ I stuttered, knowing what their answer was before I asked.

  ‘We’re not saying anything like that,’ DI Bradley said. ‘But we will need to ask him a few questions, just to clear up a few things. I’m assuming by your reaction that you didn’t know that he’d met with Clare on that evening?’

  I shook my head. I hadn’t been aware of him spending any time with Clare outside the time we all spent together. He was in Belfast on week nights and we’d spent every weekend for as long as I could remember sat on either end of our sofa playing at some sort of normal family life.

  ‘What night of the week was that?’ I asked.

  DI Bradley looked down at his file. ‘A Wednesday,’ he said.

  ‘Well, then, it can’t be him, because he’s always in Belfast on a Wednesday night. Let me see the picture again.’

  Julie pushed it towards me, but there was no mistaking that my husband was in the photo. The image was grainy but clear enough to leave no doubt at all in my mind. I could see his hair, his profile. I could even see the wedding ring on his left hand, which he’d draped casually over my best friend’s shoulder.

  ‘There has to be some innocent explanation,’ Julie said. ‘And it doesn’t mean he hurt her.’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t,’ DI Bradley said. ‘Nonetheless, we do need to speak to him, preferably as soon as possible. Can you also give us his mobile phone number, Rachel? So we can check it against our records.’

  I rhymed it off robotically. I felt Julie, Julie who’d been falling apart just minutes before, reach over and take my hand. She was trying to act like the strong one for me now. I resented it. I pulled my hand away.

  ‘Is he at home today?’ DI Bradley asked.

  ‘No. He’s in Belfast. Or he should be in Belfast,’ I said with a hollow laugh. ‘He’ll be home tonight.’

  I thought of the scratches. I should tell the police. I knew that. But I was scared. Scared to say anything that would make this worse. I thought of my daughters. How they hero-worshipped him. How I had once, too. This would break them. Did I want to protect him? A part of me thought that maybe I did. And I didn’t want to say it in front of Julie. I know that was bizarre. She knew everything about me. But I didn’t want to see pity in her eyes.

  It didn’t mean anything, did it? The scratches, and the mystery dinner with Clare, and the lies …

  But I was kidding myself. I had to say something. Even if it made me feel sick to do so. I couldn’t be complicit in protecting him if, and it was a big if, he had done something.

  ‘He had scratches on his arm,’ I blurted.

  Three sets of eyes were on me.

  ‘When?’ DI Bradley asked.

  ‘Last week. Thursday. Friday. I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘Did he say what caused them?’ Constable King asked.

  ‘I didn’t ask. I couldn’t bring myself to ask. But they looked like, you know, fingernails had caused them. Things just haven’t been great between us.’

  I could feel my skin start to burn. I was flushed with embarrassment. I should have asked him. I should have told the police. I should have admitted before now that things were terribly wrong in our relationship. But I thought it was just that – a marriage in free fall, not a possible sign of something worse.

  And Clare? With her head leaning towards his in the picture … My friend, for whom I was grieving, had she betrayed me in the worst way? So much ran through my head. Had my husband been her mystery man? The man she wouldn’t, or couldn’t tell us about. The police thought whoever it was had been trying to keep their liaison secret. They might be married. Could it be Paul?

  Was he really capable of killing someone? I felt my stomach start to turn.

  ‘I don’t feel well,’ I managed to mutter, wanting to run from the room to be sick, but I didn’t know where the toilets were.

  My head was spinning as the questions I asked of myself came thick and fast and memories flooded in. Clare and Paul sitting together in a corner after a dinner party, deep in conversation. Their heads bowed close together. Them taking Beth to the panto together the year Molly was born and I was too pregnant to sit through a few hours in the theatre. Clare had jumped at the idea. The pinging messages late at night on Paul’s phone. Work stuff, he said. Clare being coy about her new man. It was more than just the fear of jinxing it, wasn’t it?

  I felt the heat rise at the back of my neck. A cold sweat broke out. I was going to be sick, I knew it, and I glanced around the room until I spotted a wastepaper basket, into which I emptied my stomach in great heaving sobs.

  Constable King was sitting beside me, encouraging me to sip from a cold glass of water that she’d brought into the room. She’d dampened some paper towels and was using them to cool my forehead and the back of my neck.

  Her voice was gentle and calm. Soft. I let it wash over me. She was a nice woman, I thought, although she didn’t look much older than Beth. No wrinkles, I thought as I focused on her face. Clear skin, minimal make-up. That wouldn’t last past her mid-thirties. She had one of those pixie haircuts, cropped, that anyone with anything less than perfectly sculpted cheekbones couldn’t get away with, but she carried it well.

  ‘What age are you?’ I asked, my tongue feeling thick and heavy in my mouth.

  ‘Twenty-nine,’ she said. ‘Big birthday next year.’

  I envied her youth. Wanted to tell her to appreciate it while she had it.

  ‘I don’t know if you ever told me your first name,’ I said.

  ‘Eve,’ she replied.

  I nodded.

  Julie sat silently at my other side while DI Bradley talked to someone outside the room – some poor unfortunate who’d been tasked with removing the wastepaper bin and cleaning it. I wondered if DI Bradley was te
lling that poor officer to go and find my husband.

  I pulled my gaze from Constable King’s youthful face and looked down at my wedding ring. My solitaire engagement ring nestled on top of it. A strange tradition. Pieces of metal we put on our fingers to claim ownership of someone else.

  ‘He didn’t hurt her,’ I said, for myself as much as anyone else. ‘I know that. He might have been seeing her. He might have lied to me about where he was, but I know he wouldn’t have done that to her. He’s a good man. A good father. A good friend. He wouldn’t …’

  Constable King took my hand. ‘Please try not to worry. We’ll just be asking a few questions. It’ll be informal, but it is important that we talk to him. I understand this is very distressing for you.’

  I nodded, because there was nothing else I could say.

  ‘If we give you a few minutes to gather yourself, do you think we could continue? We’ve a few more questions that you ladies may be able to answer for us.’

  I heard Julie say, ‘Of course.’ Felt Constable King pat my hand and get up to go and talk to her colleague.

  ‘Did Clare ever mention Paul to you?’ I asked Julie.

  ‘No, Rachel. I swear. Not outside any conversation we had about you guys. Just boring stuff. There might be a rational explanation.’

  It may well be rational but it wasn’t pleasant.

  My phone rang then, Molly’s daycare.

  ‘Mrs Walker,’ her teacher said in the voice she reserved only for the most serious of occasions. ‘I think you’d better come to the nursery. There’s been an incident and Molly’s very upset.’

  ‘An incident?’ I asked. ‘Has she had an accident or something?’

  I thought of how she’d wet the bed. Had been extra clingy.

  ‘No. I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. We’ve had to inform the police, too. A man was seen walking around the periphery of the outdoor play area. He called Molly over to him; I’m afraid our assistants didn’t see her walk over at first.’

  I held my breath, gripping Julie’s hand as she looked at me, eyes wide with concern.