Secret Sins: A Callie Anson (28 page)

There were several abortive attempts, when their plans had been foiled by an inconvenient passer-by. Eventually, though, the circumstances were perfect: a day of foul weather, of heavy and persistent rain, discouraging all but the most fanatical jogger.

In the end it had all been absurdly easy. The unexpected blow to the head, the shove into the canal. Taking the iPod had been Abdul’s idea, on the spur of the moment. He reasoned—
correctly
, as it happened—that the theft would obscure the true motivation for the murder.

Rachel made no excuses for her behaviour, and took full
responsibility
for it; that in itself was unusual in Frances’ experience, and she found herself respecting Rachel for it. During her long
hospital
chaplaincy, Frances had discovered that, even in extremity, most people found someone else to blame for their misdeeds and their failures. ‘I wouldn’t have done it if my husband hadn’t…’ or ‘If only my wife had given me more encouragement, I could have…’ or ‘My children always kept me from…’

‘It was a terrible thing to do,’ she said. ‘But I had to do it. For myself, for my baby. It was my idea to kill him. I was so scared about what would happen when he found out, and I couldn’t think of any other way out of it. Abdul may have been the one who killed him, but we planned it together all the way. I’m as guilty as he is.’

When she finished, Rachel was quiet for a moment. Frances, too, was silent; she felt that the soothing noises which she usually made at such moments would be not only inadequate but
inappropriate
in these circumstances. Eventually Rachel struggled into a sitting position, reached to the bedside table for a fresh tissue, and dabbed at her eyes. Then she spoke with
determination
. ‘I want you to ring him for me. Now,’ she said.

‘Abdul, you mean?’

‘He needs to see his daughter. He needs to be here with me.’

‘The police,’ said Frances, remembering the urgency with which Yolanda Fish had recruited her to sit with Rachel. ‘Do they suspect? Do they know?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘They don’t know. Maybe they
suspect
. I think they might. But you can’t tell them. You promised you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t tell
anyone
.’

‘No,’ said Frances. ‘I won’t.’

‘You have to ring Abdul. I love him,’ stated Rachel. ‘He loves me. We’ve done something very bad because of that. But we still have each other, and our daughter, and we need to…to be together, whatever happens.’

So in spite of her promise to Yolanda that she wouldn’t leave Rachel alone for even a moment, she wrote the number on a slip of paper and went to join the queue for the pay phones.

Alex took her time going home from school. The snow had mostly melted into a dirty slush; Alex dawdled along, looking for shady spots where the snow remained, kicking at it with her good school shoes, not caring whether she ruined them or not.

The Headmistress had tried to ring her father at work, but he’d been in a meeting. That was one good thing. He would have been so cross—not just disappointed in her for fighting at school, but annoyed to be interrupted at his precious job. Alex knew better than to do that ever; even dumb Jilly knew better and wouldn’t dare bother him when he was working. Alex had tried to tell the Headmistress, but she hadn’t listened. She’d just gone ahead and tried to ring him.

At least she hadn’t rung Jilly. Not that Jilly would care. Not that Alex cared whether Jilly cared or not. ‘Jilly, Jilly, very silly,’ she chanted under her breath, kicking over a diminutive
snowman
that someone had created in a front garden. Then she tried a new version: ‘Silly Jilly, very frilly.’

That kept her going all the way to the door of the flat. She unlocked it, dumped her rucksack, shed her coat, and headed towards the kitchen in search of food; the incident in the school dinner queue meant that she’d missed out entirely on anything to eat, and her stomach was beginning to remind her of the fact.

She needed more than a banana or a packet of crisps; maybe there was a ready meal in the fridge that wasn’t too gross. Alex pulled open the stainless steel door and rummaged till she found some macaroni cheese, then took it to the microwave and bunged it in.

‘Just what do you think you’re playing at?’ said a furious voice behind her; Alex spun round, her heart thudding, to confront a frowning Jilly.

That, Alex knew, meant that it was serious. Alex frowned often, or at least whenever she felt like it, and so did her dad, but Jilly didn’t believe in frowning; it caused wrinkles, she
frequently
reminded them.

Alex looked down at her wet shoes, and then at the trail of damp footprints she’d left across the kitchen. Jilly wouldn’t like that at all. Well, too bad, she thought defiantly.

Jilly, though, had more important things on her mind. It transpired that she had been out shopping with her sister Melanie when the call from the Headmistress had come through on
Melanie’s mobile. Melanie’s two daughters had been involved in a scuffle, and with none other than Alex. ‘Fighting at school,’ she said with a moue of distaste. ‘How…common. And how dare you pick on your own cousins? It’s outrageous!’

‘They’re not my cousins,’ Alex pointed out furiously. ‘They’re no relation to me, thank goodness. And I didn’t pick on them! They started it.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ Jilly stated. ‘They’re…young ladies. They’ve been brought up properly. They know how to behave.
They
didn’t grow up running wild.’

‘And I did? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Your mother, too busy with that shop of hers to look after her own family! Neglecting her husband and child, leaving you to be raised by that mad old woman!’

Alex’s eyes widened with shock; she felt as if she’d been socked in the stomach, as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Was that what Jilly really believed? Is that what Dad had told her?

She drew in a lungful of air. ‘My mother did not neglect me!’ she shouted. ‘How could you say that? And my Granny is not mad!’

Jilly folded her arms across her chest and went on, ignoring Alex’s outburst. ‘And as for that nonsense you told the girls about you having a boyfriend—well, it’s just ridiculous. Don’t you know better than to tell lies?’

‘I don’t tell lies,’ Alex snarled through gritted teeth.

‘Oh, come on. Look at you! A boyfriend? Don’t make me laugh.’ With a flick of her head, Jilly tossed her artfully coifed blond hair.

Once upon a time, not long after her father had married Jilly, Alex had made a deliberate promise to herself not to be drawn into any fights, verbal or otherwise, with her new stepmother. Up till now she’d managed to keep that promise by detaching herself mentally and emotionally, by reminding herself that Jilly wasn’t very bright and it would be an unequal battle in any case.

Never had she been so badly tempted to ignore the little voice in her head which reminded her that it was time to walk away. She wanted to scream at Jilly. She wanted to hurt her, with words and with the sort of thing that even stupid Jilly would understand: to pull her perfect blond hair, to dig fingernails into her perfect pink skin.

With a huge effort of will and a deep breath, Alex clamped her mouth shut, balled her hands into fists at her side, turned her back on Jilly, and headed for her bedroom.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Jilly demanded to her retreating back. ‘I want to know about this locket that started all the fuss. Why haven’t I ever seen a locket?’

Alex ignored her. She reached the door of her room, marched in and slammed the door behind her. Unfortunately there was no lock, so she dragged the chair from her desk up to the door and jammed the back of it under the knob. Just in case.

The chain of her locket was broken; it would have to be mended or replaced. For now she had it tucked safe in the breast pocket of her blazer. She sat down on the edge of the bed and touched it where it nestled against her heart, caressing it through the fabric. She would
not
show it to Jilly. Never in a million years. Not even to her father. It was hers; it was private. Her biggest mistake today had been to show it to those horrible girls.

Her mother. Her dear, beautiful, funny, wonderful mother. And Jack. With a quick glance at the door to make sure that Jilly was making no attempt to breach its defences Alex reached into her pocket, pulled the locket out, and opened it. Mum. And Jack.

She kissed the photos, one after the other, snapped the locket shut and tucked it under her pillow.

After a moment she crossed to her desk. As the chair was otherwise employed, she knelt down on the floor in front of her computer and touched the keyboard. The computer asked for her password; she typed it in, then went straight to her mail program.

There was only one new e-mail, and it was from Jack. ‘Get 2gether’ was the subject line. Her heart thudding, Alex opened it.

‘Hey Sasha!’ it said. ‘I want 2 C U!! Lets get 2gether. 2night okay???!? Paddington Station under the clock. I’ll B there at 5!!! U wear something red!! Me 2!! xoxoxoxox Jack.’

Although she didn’t have that many people on her Christmas list, Callie was finding her shopping expedition to be
exhausting
. The Oxford Street crowds had picked up as the day wore on; by tea time it was dark and her carrier bags were weighing her down.

With relief she spotted an empty table at a coffee shop in the middle of a large departmental store. The table hadn’t been cleaned yet but at least she wouldn’t have to share it with anyone else; she needed the extra chair for her bags, and she wasn’t in the mood for polite chit-chat with some friendly stranger.

‘A pot of tea, please,’ she said to the harried waitress who materialised to take her order. ‘Ordinary tea.’

‘Anything to eat?’

The thought of a toasted tea cake tempted her—she hadn’t had lunch—but she reminded herself that she was going out for dinner. ‘No, thanks,’ she said.

While she waited for her tea, she poked round in her bags and took inventory. Had she managed to remember everyone?

Frances had been the easiest to buy for, as usual. She didn’t pamper herself enough, in Callie’s opinion, so Callie always bought her some extravagant toiletries: this year it was bath bombs in assorted exotic flavours, all of which smelled good enough to eat.

After that it grew more difficult. Well as she knew her brother, choosing something Peter would like—and didn’t already have—was always a challenge. Keeping in mind his new-found enthusiasm for all things Italian, she’d settled on a large and very heavy book on Italian cookery, and now wished she’d waited to buy it until she was on her way home.

She’d enjoyed buying something for Bella, even though Bella wouldn’t know Christmas from any other day. A chew toy which promised to keep her occupied when she was home on her own
was supplemented with a little bag of doggie chocolate drops; both should make Bella happy.

And then there was Brian. A bottle seemed the safest bet for him—but a bottle of what? From her observation of his habits, Callie didn’t think that Brian was much of a spirit drinker, and wine was a bit predictable. Callie remembered that her father had been fond of Tio Pepe sherry, so she tracked it down in Selfridges’ food hall, and picked out a nice box of chocolates for Jane while she was there.