The Secrets Between Us (36 page)

Alexander smiled and leaned over, smoothed my forehead. His fingers were cool and dry.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘Headache?’

‘Mmm.’

‘You knocked yourself out, you idiot!’

I curled and withdrew into myself.

‘You banged your head on the floor joist in the cellar and then you hit your face on the shelf as you went down. You’re going to have a shiner in the morning.’

‘I was trying to fix the fuse.’

‘I know.’

‘The door slammed shut.’

‘It must have been the draught from when I opened the outside door. I’m sorry it made you jump, but it was lucky I got there when I did. Jamie was in a right old state.’

‘Is he OK now?’

‘He’s fine. In bed fast asleep.’

I felt the top of my head tentatively with my fingertips. There was a huge egg. It was very sore.

‘Did it bleed?’

Alexander shook his head.

‘I think you’ll survive.’ He had a glass in his hand. He was drinking beer. ‘Do you want a drink? Glass of water?’

‘Tea,’ I said. ‘Please. I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

I had to think. I needed time to think. I wanted Alexander to go away and leave me alone so that I could remember what had happened.

The storm was still raging outside. Every now and then the flames in the grate shrank and cowered beneath the onslaught of rain being blown down the chimney. Any movement was painful and awkward. It wasn’t just my head and face; my neck ached terribly too.

I tried to remember.

Had the door blown shut, or had somebody slammed it?

Had I banged my head, or did somebody hit me?

Had Alexander seen the cellar door open, come down the steps and found me reading his practice letters to Jamie by torchlight? Had he hit me in anger, or desperation?

No, of course he hadn’t. When the door slammed and I
panicked, I’d forgotten how low the ceiling was and stood up quickly. That was all. I’d knocked myself out.

Alexander came back into the room with a glass of water and two tablets in the palm of his hand.

‘Take these,’ he said. ‘They’ll help with the pain. I’ve put the kettle on.’

I tried to remember what they tell you in Accident and Emergency about head injury but I couldn’t recall the exact advice. Something about being sick, losing consciousness …

‘I think I should see a doctor,’ I said.

‘It would be madness to go out in this weather,’ Alexander said. ‘There are trees down and flash floods all over the place. The Glastonbury road’s under two feet of water. I wouldn’t have got back at all if it weren’t for the Land Rover.’

‘But I must have been unconscious for a while.’

‘It wasn’t that long,’ Alexander said. ‘Only a few moments. You walked out of the cellar on your own two feet. We were talking. Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’

‘You told me you were very tired so I made up the bed on the settee so you could have a sleep.’

I was thinking that was impossible. I had no memory of any conversation at all.

‘What else did I say?’

‘Not much. You were a bit confused.’

He smiled at me fondly, like a parent might smile at a sick child.

‘I think mainly you just need a good, long rest,’ said Alexander.

‘But my head …’

‘You’re going to be fine. I’m going to watch over you tonight to make sure.’

He leaned down and kissed me very gently, just above my left eye.

‘Ow,’ I said.

‘Is that sore? You poor thing. Rest now. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’m going to watch you like a hawk.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

ALEXANDER HAD BEEN
right. I was tired to my bones, but still I had trouble sleeping that night. I drifted off from time to time and, whenever I awoke, he was there beside me, holding on to me. When I tried to go to the bathroom for a glass of water, he sat up at once and insisted on fetching it for me.

‘Don’t move,’ he said. ‘Stay there and let me look after you properly for a change.’

I was resigned to the situation. I had no means of getting away from Avalon, even if that was what I wanted to do, and it wasn’t, or at least I didn’t think it was. I was so confused. I did not know what was right and what was wrong any longer, or what was true and what was a lie. I wanted to keep faith in Alexander. I had waited for months for him to tell me that he would look after me and that he would let nothing come between us, and now he’d said those words and they weren’t making me happy.

I lay in bed, facing the window with my eyes closed. Rain lashed against the pane like thousands of tiny fists knocking on the glass, and then the wind changed direction for a while and all I could hear was the howling in the eaves. I hoped none of the trees would come down on to the house. I imagined huge branches tearing into the fabric of Avalon,
ripping it apart and bringing everything pounding to the ground, the three of us crushed inside like berries. Several times I heard the awful grating of a tile coming loose from the roof and then the crash as it fell to the ground. Water would be tumbling over itself to find a way through the gaps left behind. We would lose the power again. The house would smell of wet wood, plaster and carpet in the morning and we’d have to go round finding the leaks and putting pans and buckets beneath them. I thought of all the practical things that would need to be done and that stopped me thinking about what I’d found in the cellar.

When I couldn’t put off thinking about Genevieve’s laptop any longer, I asked myself if anything had changed by my finding it. Nothing, was the answer. It was one more hidden thing, one more secret, that was all.

The only new fact I could be certain of was that Alexander
had
written the letter that was purportedly from Genevieve, to convince Jamie that his mummy was fine and was thinking of him. His original motivation could only have been to reassure and console Jamie when his mother left. But if Genevieve had left voluntarily, why hadn’t she written to Jamie herself? Wouldn’t she have at least talked to him about her plans? Everyone agreed that she was devoted to the child; it made no sense her going away and leaving him without a word.

I took a mental step back. I was trying to think logically. I didn’t know why Genevieve hadn’t left a letter of her own for Jamie. I did know that Alexander had made sure I found and read his letter to convince me he was telling the truth. His plan had worked. I had believed it was conclusive evidence that Genevieve had left her home and her life because that was what she wanted to do and that she intended, at some point, to return. Now I knew that wasn’t the case. And now the police were closing in, preparing to search Avalon. Now that they wanted to see the letter, the letter was gone.

Of course it was. If the police found it they would know Alexander had written it and they would wonder what other, greater deceptions he may have carried out.

Why had Alexander kept the writing pad, I wondered. Had he intended to send further letters from Genevieve?

My head hurt inside and out; it was full to bursting with too many thoughts and too many questions.

Outside, the storm raged and banged and, beside me, Alexander breathed deeply and peacefully, his arm around my waist, holding me tight to him so that my back was hot with the heat he emitted from his front. I imagined how the well in the cellar would fill up as the new surface water seeped its way down through the rock. I wondered if the laptop would rise with the water or if it would stay at the bottom of the well. It might have been down there for months. The water would have killed it. Laurie once comprehensively fucked up a laptop by spilling a can of Vimto over the keyboard. Genevieve’s computer’s memory would have been destroyed long ago. Whatever secrets it held would stay secret and whoever put it in the well must have known that.

The storm blew itself out overnight and I opened my eyes to a sunny December day. Beyond the window pane, clouds floated across an optimistic blue sky. The rooks wheeled and cawed and danced. Over the sound of the wind and the birds, I heard the low wailing of the quarry siren. It sounded like an animal desperate, in pain. The dinosaurs were loose again, I thought; running rampage through the valley. Jamie never tired of inventing bad deeds for the dinosaurs to do. One day, I’d told him, we’d put the stories into a book. We’d already made a start on the illustrations. I smiled at the thought and then I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Alexander opening the bedroom door with his elbow and putting a tray of coffee, toast and orange juice on the chest of drawers.

‘Hello, you,’ he said, leaning down to kiss me. My neck was stiff and my head was sore but I reached up to receive his lips. He kissed me on the side of my face that wasn’t hurt.

Alexander held my chin in his hand and examined my injuries. He had been right about my eye: I could barely see out of it, it was so swollen. I could feel that my lip was huge too, and there was blood on the pillow.

‘You look a bit of a mess,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to see the other fella.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘You had me worried last night, Sarah. You weren’t yourself at all.’

‘Of course I wasn’t. I’d banged my head.’

‘It wasn’t just that. Did something happen while I was away?’

‘Nothing much,’ I said.

He sat beside me and passed me my coffee.

‘Don’t you want to know how I got on in Fowey?’

‘Fowey …’ I said, and the word sounded strange and unfamiliar. The last time we’d talked about Fowey had been in a different life, another era. ‘Yes, of course. How was it?’

‘It’s perfect,’ he said. ‘Just a small yard; the rent’s cheap. I don’t think there’d be a huge amount of business locally, but it’s close to the main road with good access to the motorway.’

‘Oh, good,’ I said.

‘And there are loads of places to rent to live in, nice places. You’d love it, Sarah. You could do your art. We could live quietly there. We’d be safe.’

‘That’s great.’

‘I spoke to a few people. I had a look at a flat in the town centre. It’s furnished, a bit shabby, but the views are lovely and it’s cosy, and we could manage there, for a while. Until we found something better, at least. I thought maybe we could go straight after Christmas – Boxing Day even. We’ll
be all right until then, won’t we? That’s only a few days away. The landlord’s desperate to have it occupied. Sarah?’

‘Mmm?’

Alexander pushed back my hair and held my undamaged cheek in his rough hand. He looked at me intently. I had to return his gaze. I noticed how dark his eyes were and their intensity.

I was certain he could see into my doubting soul. I blinked.

‘You would tell me if something was wrong?’

I found a smile from somewhere.

‘Of course I would.’

I must have sounded convincing because he exhaled and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

‘You’re lovely,’ he said. ‘You’re so good for me.’

But I’m not Genevieve, I thought. You say I’m lovely, but you have never said that you love me. You say you trust me but you keep your secrets from me. I am so lost now that I don’t know which way to turn.

I thought maybe I had been wrong all the time about Alexander. Maybe I had been out of my mind when I met him in Sicily. I’d so wanted a hero to take me away from Laurie and Manchester and all the things that had gone wrong, maybe I’d just invented one and turned Alexander into that person.

But it had felt so real. It had all felt so right. And all along, right up until I’d seen the laptop in the well, I had believed Alexander. I was trying so hard to believe in him now.

I raised my eyes to look at him and then the door swung back and Jamie ran into the room in his pyjamas and bounced up on to the bed. The movement jarred and hurt my face but I could not help but smile and relax. At least my feelings for Jamie were unambiguous.

‘Are you better now?’ he asked me, putting his face very close to mine and staring at me with his father’s intensity but
with paler, blue eyes. I smelled that honey and hay smell of newly woken child.

I put my arm around him and pulled him close. He elbowed his way into my side, fidgeted under the covers.

‘I’m absolutely fine.’

‘Your eye looks like yuk and there’s a big scab here.’ He pointed to the space between his nose and his top lip.

‘Thanks, Jamie.’

‘That’s all right. Daddy promised we’d get the Christmas tree today. You did, didn’t you? You said it’s time to do the decorations!’

Alexander looked at his wrist. He wasn’t wearing a watch.

‘You know what?’ he said to me. ‘The boy’s right!’

‘Brilliant,’ I said.

Jamie regarded me suspiciously.

‘Don’t you
want
to put up the tree, Sarah?’

I smiled. ‘Yes, yes, of course I do.’

‘Daddy said I can choose it
and
help cut it down.’

‘Too right,’ said Alexander, and Jamie used my thighs as a springboard to launch himself at Alexander, who hugged the child roughly, half-play-fighting with him. As the mattress bounced, my coffee slopped out of the cup and over the edge of the saucer, staining the coverlet pale brown. I didn’t resist, I let the stain take its course while I rested back against the pillows and watched the father and his son.

While Jamie was downstairs eating breakfast, I went back upstairs and opened the bathroom door. Alexander was standing at the basin clipping his beard, wearing just a towel around his waist.

‘Hi,’ he said, watching me through the mirror. My face looked awful, like I really had been in a fight.

I came up behind him, flicked both parts of the lavatory seat down and sat on it.

‘The police came round yesterday,’ I said quietly. ‘They’re
going to start searching the area around Burrington Stoke.’

There was a pause, because we knew what they would be searching for.

‘It was bound to happen sooner or later,’ Alexander said.

‘It seems horrible timing what with Christmas and everything but …’

‘What?’

He moved the shaver carefully around his neck, holding the skin taut with his free hand.

‘Well, they’re going to search Avalon too.’