The Bones of You (21 page)

34

June

M
ay turns to early June, with talk of a long, hot summer ahead of us. Work quietens a little. After a wet spring, the rush of lush growth has slowed to a more leisurely, manageable rate.

In just three weeks’ time, Grace will be home for the summer, and for now, I’m content to look no further ahead and just enjoy the prospect. She’s not yet said if Ned’s joining her.

I’m still thinking about them, picking salad leaves in the veg patch, when the phone rings.

“Hello? I hope I have the right number.... Could I speak to Kate?”

“This is Kate McKay. How can I help?”

Not recognizing the voice, I instantly assume it’s a potential client. Only it isn’t.

“Oh, thank goodness. Kate, my name’s Carol. I’m Neal Anderson’s sister.”

“Hi! Carol . . .” I’m not sure what to say, but she carries on.

“I’m so sorry, Kate, to call you like this. I hope you don’t mind. I know you’re friends with Joanna, but . . .” She hesitates. “I’m terribly worried about Delphine.”

On this lovely day, a chill comes over me.

“Go on.”

“She called me. Last week. She said her mother wasn’t well—again. I don’t know if you’re aware of Joanna’s . . .
problems?
”

“I think so. But since she came home, she’s been quite good, I thought.”

“Is she eating?” Carol sounds worried. “You do know she doesn’t eat? Just drinks?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. We do go out now and then. She doesn’t eat much, but she always has something.”

There’s silence. “Does she go to the bathroom after?”

Does she? I try to think. Is Carol trying to tell me Jo’s bulimic? If so, I’d put money on her being wrong. Jo’s always been thin, but that’s largely due to stress. And I’m not prepared to discuss her with a stranger.

“Carol, I’m not sure if I can help you. You say it’s Delphine you’re worried about?”

“Terribly. Joanna isn’t stable. We’ve never really got on, but the poor woman’s had a lot to cope with, and I know my brother’s to blame. Right now, she’s all Delphine has. And I’m not at all sure that’s a good thing.”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as you’re making out,” I reassure her. “And at least when they move, you’ll be able to keep an eye on them.”

“Move?”
Carol sounds astonished. “They’re moving?”

I’m getting a bad feeling about this. I’d had Carol down as an earth-mother type, as caring, gentle, not as this woman set on stirring up trouble.

“You must know.” I’m starting to feel impatient. “Jo told me they were probably going to stay with you, just for a while, when they’ve sold the house, of course.”

“Are you quite sure she said that?”

“Definitely. She’s spoken to you, surely?”

In the silence that follows, I try to work out what’s going on. Who’s misunderstanding whom and, more important, whose side Carol is on.

“I haven’t heard from Joanna for several weeks, Kate. We had an argument when I dropped Delphine home. Delphine wanted to stay with me—not just short term, either. She wanted to come and live with us. I can’t imagine how that makes Joanna feel.”

I’m struggling to believe her. Surely if something of this level of importance was going on, Jo would have mentioned it?

“She hasn’t said a thing about it—not to me.”

“No. She probably won’t, either, knowing Joanna. I’m sure you know what I mean. But, anyway, as you can appreciate, I am concerned.”

I end up promising Carol that I’ll keep a closer eye on both Jo and Delphine. I know Jo well enough now to be able to gauge if she’s having another breakdown.

But when I next go round to see her, everything is as it always is. The house tidy, Jo her most poised, beautifully dressed self and drinking tea as she leafs through a pile of property brochures.

“You’ve been busy.” I pull a chair up next to her. “May I?”

“Please do. It’s quite fun, actually. Have a look. I’ll make you some tea.”

I start flicking through them, an assortment of large houses similarly located to this one, modern and expensive-looking, on exclusive wooded estates. And I wonder, even after selling the house, how she’s going to afford this.

“There’s one in there I love,” she calls over. “It’s near Tonbridge.”

“But what about Devon? Isn’t Carol expecting you to move there?” I hate that I’m doing this, but for Delphine’s sake, I’m testing her. After what Carol said, I feel I have to.

“To tell you the truth . . .” She puts the mugs on the table and sits again. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Carol’s a bit inclined to . . . interfere, I think you’d call it. I’m not sure it would work.”

I sip my tea, working out how to play the next card. “It might be nice for Delphine, though, don’t you think? Carol has children, doesn’t she? A similar age?”

I watch as Jo’s smile tightens. “They’re quite a bit older, actually. Look, tell me what you think of this one.” She pulls out one of the brochures, with a picture of a new-build New England–style weatherboarded house on the front. “What do you think?”

“Very nice.” I turn the pages. It’s definitely Jo’s kind of house, airy, spacious, and—dare I say it?—impressive. “If you’d like me to come and look with you, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Would you?” She hesitates. “I’m waiting to hear back from the agent. Can I let you know?”

“What does Delphine think . . . about this?” I nod at the brochure.

“Oh, she’s fine with it. She’s used to changing schools. We’ve always moved. In fact, this is the longest we’ve stayed anywhere. So it will be nice to live somewhere else.”

She makes no mention of her earlier reluctance—or of our friendship. I know some people change their homes as easily as their hairstyles, unlike Angus and I, who like the thought that having found a home we love, we’ll grow into it, grow old in it, stay forever.

“I know. You probably think we’re mad! And boring!” I tell her.

She looks at me. “You’re just lucky, aren’t you? But you deserve it, Kate.”

 

“Very,
very
weird thing,” I tell Laura, when I call round to her cottage. “I had a call from Jo’s sister-in-law, Carol.”

“Neal’s sister?” Laura says.

“That’s her. She told me she was worried about Delphine.
Really
worried. And that Delphine apparently wanted to go and live with her.”

“That is strange,” says Laura. “Has Delphine said anything to you?”

“No. But I don’t know her that well. Were you able to see Neal?”

“Yes. I finally tracked him down to a flat in London. He’s there until after the trial. Basically, it sounds as though Joanna’s about as fucked up as he is. He said that he’d told the truth about the award, just as he was telling the truth about not killing his daughter. That their gardener, Alex, is guilty as hell, and what would it take for everyone to believe him? That sort of stuff.”

Then Laura frowns. “You know the weirdest thing? I almost believed him. Oh, I know how manipulative he is, but I’m convinced he was telling the truth.”

As the implication of what she’s saying sinks in, as rock-solid certainty turns to confusion, we’re silent.

“Did you ask him about Jo’s parents?” I say eventually.

“Yes. He’s had little to do with them. Apparently, she had quite a strict upbringing. He didn’t have much else to say. Talking of Alex, have you seen him at all?”

I shake my head. “Not for a while. He’s not working at the nursery.”

“You’ve got to admit it’s odd,” Laura remarks. “It may just be a coincidence, but there’s Neal proclaiming him guilty just as Alex disappears.”

I shake my head. “But the police didn’t charge him.”

“The police couldn’t, because even without his alibi—who was Poppy, by the way—they didn’t have enough evidence,” Laura reminds me. “But if Neal really isn’t the killer, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see the spotlight back on Alex. Right now, there isn’t anyone else. . . .”

35

I
go round to Jo’s several times, intending to challenge her. To ask her why she lies to me. Why she can’t trust me,
her only real friend,
to use her own words, with the truth. Only each time, she’s out.

A couple of days later, though, it’s Jo who comes round to see me, looking shaky and unsure of herself.

“I’m sorry to just turn up. I know you’re busy,” she says, her eyes wide and anxious as she looks at me.

“Not that busy,” I tell her. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Come and have a cuppa with me.”

She follows me in and sits at the kitchen table, not talking.

“Tea?”

She nods.

I put the kettle on and get out the teapot, wondering how to tackle this, while she sits, not moving, completely silent.

But before I can find the words, it’s Jo who speaks.

“I’m not having a good day.” Her voice wobbles. “I thought I could do it, but I don’t think I can leave here, Kate. I mean, Rosanna’s buried here. And it’s still Neal’s house, too. What was I thinking?”

She sounds like a little girl who’s lost. But what’s more astounding is that she even mentions Neal’s name, let alone seems to feel an obligation to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, you know. Moving at any time is stressful. It’s a huge thing to take on, moving away from here. And I completely get about leaving Rosie’s grave behind. I wouldn’t want to. But don’t cloud your decision with loyalty to Neal, Jo. He doesn’t deserve it.”

I rarely speak to her this directly, because at the back of my mind, I’m always thinking how fragile she is.
She’s bloody fragile,
to use Neal’s words. And yes, even though she’s been going through the motions of selling the house and moving, I’ve doubted all along she’s ready for this.

She nods. “You’re right. You’re always right, Kate. I wish I could be like you. It’s just that sometimes nothing’s clear. Or I think it is, and then it fogs over and I lose it again.” She looks confused. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Here’s a thought.” I sit down opposite her, forgetting my earlier antagonism toward her. “If you could do anything in the world you wanted, go anywhere, be anyone, what would you do?”

It’s a game Angus and I used to play, just for a laugh. He’d be Tom Hanks and I’d be Rita Wilson, in a Hollywood mansion with pots of money, even though in real life we’re perfectly happy being us. Then I realize with a shock how crass I’ve been. In Jo’s shoes, all I’d want is Rosie safe and well, and a husband who loved me by my side.

I look at Jo, leaning on her elbows, her hands shaking, wild panic in her eyes.

Eventually, slowly, she gets the words out.
“I . . . don’t . . . know
.
”

36

W
hat was intended as an entertaining diversion, a foray into a fantasy world, seems to tip Jo over an invisible edge. I forget about the questions I have for her about her parents, the baby she lost. Here, before my eyes, it’s as if she’s falling off an emotional rock face, and I can’t stop her.

“Jo?” I grab her hands in mine. They’re ice-cold. “It’s okay, honey. Come through and sit somewhere comfy.”

I manage to get her to her feet, then support almost her full body weight, which is frighteningly light, until I get her to the sofa, where she huddles, shaking, her face ashen under her makeup, looking as though any moment she’ll pass out.

“He was leaving me,” she sobs, as if to herself. “My husband was going to leave me, Kate.” Her hands go to her face. “He found a young, beautiful whore to fuck, one who’d do everything he asked.... He didn’t want me anymore.... He doesn’t care about me . . . after everything that’s happened.... Do you know how that feels?”

I open my mouth to tell her that actually, for a few life-changing weeks,
almost,
only she has turned away and is gazing blankly ahead of her.

“I didn’t mean to . . . ,” she says, as if to the air around her.

I frown. “Didn’t mean to what, Jo?”

“I found the piece of paper,” she says in a different voice, before she looks at me, blinking as she tries to focus. “It said, ‘Kate, supper, eight.’ You screwed my husband, Kate. How could you? You’re my fucking friend.... I trusted you. . . .”

And I’m finally there, in the nightmare I’ve always dreaded, ever since that fateful evening, as I grab her arms, desperate to reassure her. But she pulls away.

“Listen, Jo. I didn’t. He came on to me, but I pushed him away. You have to believe that.”

But she’s staring blankly again, not listening. “It was deliberate.. . . He wanted me to see. He always does that. Wants me to see who he’s fucking, to know that everyone’s better than I am. Even you, Kate . . . What was I supposed to do?”

“God! Listen to me, Jo! Nothing happened. I invited him and Delphine, but he—”

“You took Rosanna, and then you took him . . . when they’re mine, Kate. Mine . . . Can’t you see what he’s like?”

She rummages in her pocket and gets out a small bottle, her hands shaking as she tries to unscrew the lid.

“Pills,” she mutters. “I need my pills. . . .”

Gently, I take them away from her, just as her body starts shaking more violently. A look of fury on her face, she tries to get to her feet, only her legs give way.

“I’m calling an ambulance, Jo,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry, but this can’t go on.”