Keep My Secrets Page 23

  A thought slams into her mind.

  Kill him?

  No.

  Would she kill to protect Chloe?

  She takes a breath. She might. She really might.

  My god.

  Every possible outcome of tonight wheels endlessly.

  You don’t know this man. You don’t know what he’s capable of.

  He’s already tried to kill Martin…

  Balancing the glass on the side of the bath, she strips off, sinking into the water, letting the searing heat prickle her skin.

  Martin.

  Martin is coming here for dinner.

  The very thought of it sends her head spiralling along yet another track. She’s suddenly aware of the water cooling and it jerks her back. He will be down there, in her house, sitting at that table, those eyes searching out her own as her defences against him teeter.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  ‘Oh Lord!’ She reaches for the wine glass. ‘Alex! Don’t do that!’

  ‘Sorry, I thought you’d heard me come in,’ he grins. ‘I just wondered how you were doing?’

  ‘Christ! I was doing okay.’

  ‘I was really worried about you earlier, you know.’ He pulls the chair round and sits with his elbows on his knees.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly, but thank you.’ A terrifying thought suddenly comes to her. Has he just been through her phone?

  ‘You’re sure it isn’t anything to do with this Matthew Jarrow guy?’

  She hides her face by putting the glass on the floor. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  She nods. Jack’s message and his number on the call-log.

  ‘So Diane’s on your side?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And everything’s okay? She’s reassured you?’

  ‘Yes, she did. She was really great. Can you pass me that towel?’ She gestures over to the rail without looking at him.

  Alex gets up, pulling the bath sheet after him. She goes to take it, but he holds it just out of reach.

  ‘Where were you really?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her heart shunts up a gear. She makes a grab for the corner of the towel but misses.

  ‘I said, where were you really?’ He lets her have it but holds on to the other end as though he’s afraid to let go.

  ‘I heard the question, I just didn’t understand it.’

  She tries to bury her face in its soft, fluffy warmth. There’s a black hole of deceit and she’s inching further towards it.

  ‘You didn’t see Diane,’ he says simply. ‘So why did you lie?’

  She finds her mouth opening and closing pointlessly.

  ‘You see, I lied too, Frankie. I haven’t spoken to her today and I know you haven’t because I went to your office – where you told me you’d be.’ He gives her a look. ‘And Diane’s assistant was there. Diane was a guest today at a colleague’s wedding, so I think it’s unlikely that she’d be having meetings with you, don’t you think?’ He raises an eyebrow.

  Frankie finds her throat constricting involuntarily. It makes an odd, frightened sound.

  He falters, choosing his words carefully.

  ‘So. Where were you?’

  Her heart contracts. His mouth is working awkwardly as though he might cry.

  ‘What’s going on? Although I don’t know why I keep asking,’ he rubs his forehead aggressively, ‘because nothing’s going on, is it? There’s no kind of relationship here. Certainly not with me, anyway. Even when you’re here you’re not. You’re always somewhere else: physically and mentally. Just tell me: do I know him?’

  ‘What? No! No, Alex… No!’ She desperately clutches at his arm.

  ‘Who’s this Jack?’

  She thinks her heart might have stopped.

  ‘Alex.’

  But he closes his eyes and holds up both hands.

  ‘No. You know what, Frankie? Don’t tell me. I can’t bear to hear any more of it. Every time you open your mouth, I don’t know if it’s the truth. Every time you make a promise, you break it. You can’t even ring me when you say you will. All I know for sure is, I’m not first on your list, Frankie. I barely even make the top ten.’

  ‘Alex, please—’

  ‘Look, Frankie, I know I’m not very exciting—’

  ‘No. Stop.’

  ‘But I can’t lose you.’ His eyes glisten with tears. ‘I just can’t.’

  ‘Stop this, Alex… don’t… You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not having an affair. I’m really, really not.’ She shakes her head in frustration.

  He rubs his nose with the back of his hand and looks at her with reddened eyes.

  ‘I feel as though you are so far away from me, Frankie. I miss you, don’t you get that? Just tell me the truth. If it is another man, I can deal with it.’ He grabs her hand and holds on, tightly. ‘Let me in, Frankie. Just tell me the truth. Please.’

  The doorbell rings and they both snap round.

  Alex lets go of her hand and roughly scrubs at his face. ‘Oh, hell. Look… After he’s gone this evening, yeah? After he’s gone we’ll sit down, you and I and you’ll tell me everything? And I mean everything. However horrific it is, I’ll handle it. Will you do that Frankie? If nothing else, I just need to know what’s going on.’

  She finds herself nodding, clutching the towel as though it’s some kind of lifeline. She hears Alex clattering down the stairs and clumping his way to the front door. Then there are voices – Martin and Alex. They are talking as though all this is ordinary and normal. In a very short while, she will have to walk down those stairs and join them. They are going to share a meal together, drink wine, talk about all kinds of stuff as though what’s happening isn’t really happening. And then later, much later, she’s going to have to tell Alex that the whole of their married life has been a façade, a theatre production, a betrayal of the absolute worst sort – and she also knows, right that moment too, that Alex is never going to forgive her.

  Slowly, very slowly, she gets out of the bath and puts on a dressing gown and walks into the bedroom to dry her hair and apply her make-up. She selects the right clothes from her wardrobe and pulls them on. Standing in front of the mirror, she smooths her top down over her stomach and tucks her hair behind her ears before walking quietly to the top of the stairs and treading her way down, listening to the footfall and creak of every step. It feels more like approaching an execution than a dinner party. She puts her hand to her throat, instinctively feeling for the necklace that is no longer there, listening to the rise and fall of voices. The hallway feels like it’s closing in on her: there’s no way out, and no way back. She puts one hand on the kitchen door. She knows she’s just about to face the absolute and bitter end.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘How about some port? Yeah, why not? Frankie, could you get some glasses?’

  Alex slews his chair back and stands unsteadily.

  There’s a terror at the thought of him leaving her alone with Martin and she finds she’s on her feet far too quickly. They both turn to look at her.

  ‘She’s keen.’ Alex winks, grinning. ‘I didn’t think you liked the stuff that much.’

  He eases around the table and makes a grab for the back of the chair to steady himself as he lurches towards the door. Martin’s eyes are immediately on her.

  ‘I need to talk to you, Frankie,’ he hisses. ‘I need—’

  But she doesn’t want to hear it, any of it.

  ‘No! This has to end, tonight, Martin.’ She leans across the table, glowering steadily. ‘I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life. This can’t happen.’

  There’s the sound of Alex searching in the cupboard under the stairs and muttering to himself. She knows she only has minutes.

  ‘Frankie, listen. This is really important. You have to—’

  ‘I mean it, Martin. No more coming round, no more phone calls or following me. Are you hearing this? I’m going to tell Alex th
e whole story, and from that moment on, you don’t exist. No more blackmail. Are you listening? Otherwise I go to the police. I don’t want to do that to you, but if you force my hand, I will.’

  ‘Phone calls? Blackmail? Following you?’ His face furrows. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Frankie glances at the door. ‘Stop it. I don’t want to live in the past. The past has gone, Martin. Gone. Dead. No more. Please.’

  ‘But I really haven’t—’

  ‘Maybe there’s a new bottle in that box in the garage,’ Alex’s voice calls out from the hallway. ‘I know we’ve got some somewhere. Hang on.’

  They listen to the front door opening before she gets up, reaching beneath the dresser where she had shoved the box of letters.

  ‘Here – look. This is what I’ll take to the police.’ She opens the box and pulls out one letter at random and then pulls another from its envelope. ‘The rest are at the police station already. You were right, I didn’t give them your name. I gave them a fake one, but I can just as easily tell them the truth and it would—’

  But he’s frowning and shaking his head. ‘No, no, no – this isn’t me.’

  ‘Not you? Of course it’s you.’

  ‘No it’s not. Look.’ He reaches for his jacket from the back of the chair and pulls a bit of paper out of his wallet. ‘Here.’ He puts it on the table, turning both bits of paper round. ‘This is my writing – see the way the “y” loops and the curve of this “r” there? Yes? Now look at this one. This clearly isn’t me. You don’t know my writing?’ His eyes search hers.

  She can only stare, dumbfounded. ‘I told you – I – Jude – burned your letters.’

  There’s the clatter of the front door closing, and Frankie hurriedly pushes the papers back into the box and drops it next to her feet. Alex walks back into the room with a bottle of port held aloft. The bottle slowly descends onto the table as he looks from one to the other.

  ‘Sorry, did I interrupt something?’ He’s smiling sarcastically and clearly very drunk.

  ‘Frankie was just telling me about her work.’ Martin picks up his wineglass and finishes the dregs. ‘I’ve been hearing about kids in care. Heart-breaking isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yeah, heart-breaking.’ Alex sways a little. He seems like he’s debating taking the sarcasm further but then changes his mind. ‘Just goin’ to the loo. Back in a tic – Where’s those glasses, Frank? C’mon! C’mon! Chop-chop!’ He pushes the bottle towards her and disappears out of the door.

  Martin listens to the creak of the stairs before he glances round.

  ‘How long have you been getting these letters?’

  She looks back at him, stunned. ‘Um… A little while… I don’t know, I just assumed you’d got out and—’ She stares at him. ‘You’re honestly telling me that these aren’t from you?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Then how do you explain this?’ She reaches down to the box and finds the jiffy bag and slides it across the table. Martin carefully opens it and cautiously shakes out what’s inside. The red fabric makes him jump back in his seat.

  ‘Fuck! Fuck…’ he says. ‘Jesus Christ, Frankie.’ He pokes it away from him. ‘Someone sent you that? My god…’

  ‘You remember it?’

  ‘Yes… Yes, of course I do. Charlotte was wearing it the night… Jesus…’ He pauses, staring at the hairband, appalled, but his brain is clearly working.

  ‘I told you, this is Peter Vale,’ he says suddenly. ‘It’s obvious.’

  Frankie watches his face. ‘You can’t mean that.’

  ‘This—’ He waves his hand. ‘I get it. I understand now. The necklace – who else could have got it back into that house? I’m telling you, this is all Peter Vale.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Look at it, Frankie! Think about it! It’s him. It has to be. But why would he do it to you? Why now?’ He frowns for a second. ‘There’s a connection here, somewhere that we’re just not seeing. There has to be.’

  She stares at it all, dumbly.

  She feels his eyes scanning her face. ‘What is it you’re not telling me, Frankie?’

  ‘I can’t Martin. I can’t.’

  There’s a crack of floorboards on the landing.

  ‘You can. There’s something, isn’t there? What is it?… You know something about Peter Vale, don’t you?’

  She can’t bring herself to tell him.

  ‘Have you remembered something about that night, Frankie? Think back. You didn’t see me that night on the boat, did you? Was it him?’

  Her head instantly swims with the scene on the boat, but she tries to fight it.

  ‘I know you told the court that it was me but can you absolutely say, right now and beyond all doubt?’

  Jack’s words about Peter Vale come back to her – ‘is it possible he was involved in how she died?’

  ‘I thought…’ but she doesn’t know. Not really know.

  ‘All this, Frankie, all of it has to come out, you have to come clean about all this – about everything. You have to tell me, the police, Alex—’

  ‘I’m dealing with this.’

  ‘Dealing with what? You have to tell me. Please.’

  ‘I can’t do this now.’

  ‘Yes, you can. You don’t have any choice. There are things you’re not telling me. I’ve been convicted of a crime I didn’t commit. Please, Frankie. You owe me that much.’ He doesn’t drop his gaze. She’s scared that if she lifts her eyes—

  There’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs and she instantly gets up to fetch the glasses as Alex walks back into the room.

  Martin stands suddenly. ‘It’s getting late.’

  ‘Hey, hey… We were just about to get started on the port! Hold on, hold on… You two not had a tiff, have you?’

  Frankie glances quickly over at Alex. He’s far drunker than she thought.

  Martin looks instantly embarrassed. ‘Thanks so much for dinner. It was really great, really delicious.’

  ‘It’s the only thing I’m proficient at now.’ Alex laughs but there’s no humour in it. ‘Must be all the practice.’

  Martin goes to make a move towards the door, but Alex stumbles into his path. Frankie can’t tell whether it’s accidental or deliberate.

  ‘You must come round again, mate.’ Alex grips his hand and grabs him by the shoulder. ‘Oops!’ He staggers a little and giggles like a little boy. She almost can’t bear to watch.

  ‘You’ll see him out, won’t you, Frank? You’ll like that. See y’mate!’ He swipes the port bottle from the table and starts clattering about with the glasses.

  She gestures for Martin to go ahead of her into the hallway.

  ‘Thank you for coming. It was nice to meet you.’

  She is acutely aware of his physical presence as he walks past her, fixing her eyes to the floor as he makes his way to the front door.

  He goes to turn the lock but struggles.

  ‘Here, let me.’ She reaches forward and their fingers brush. A crackle of static fizzes between them and she snatches her hand away, opening the door and stepping back into the safety of the hallway.

  ‘’Night then.’

  ‘Frankie.’

  ‘No, Martin.’

  ‘You can’t keep pretending.’

  ‘Just go.’

  ‘Here—’ He dips into his pocket and pulls out a bit of paper which he pushes into her hand. She instantly drops it.

  ‘Please,’ he says again. ‘We need to—’

  But she’s already closing the door, aware of him getting smaller and smaller in the gap. The catch clicks, but her fingers won’t let go. His shadow looms through the glass. Her whole being yearns to open it again, but she won’t allow herself. Flicking off the light, the hallway is plunged into darkness. He’s gone, her heart thuds, she doesn’t want him back.

  Turning sharply, she walks quickly into the kitchen where Alex is standing with his back against the dresser. It’s not port he’s drin
king, it’s whisky.

  ‘Well, that was nice.’

  The fumes of alcohol waft towards her.

  ‘Yes, it was. Shall I load the dishwasher?’

  She can feel his eyes on her as she crosses the room.

  ‘Go on. You’re going to tell me.’

  She has her back to him. She daren’t turn round.

  ‘You might as well. Nothing can be more painful than what you’re putting me through now. Nothing.’

  She pauses for a second, shoulders hunched. She would love to beg for a few more minutes before she tears her whole world apart. How she’d love to go back and rewind the clock to just a few weeks ago when the past was just a nightmare at the back of her mind.

  ‘You’d better sit down.’ She turns to face him.

  ‘That bad, is it?’ He cradles the glass against his chest. ‘No thanks, I’ll stand and take it like a man.’ He grimaces unpleasantly. ‘So. You were telling me. You’re having an affair with…?’ He waves the glass.

  She almost laughs. ‘If only it were as simple as that.’

  Alex narrows his eyes and purses his lips. He watches her silently.

  She takes a deep breath.

  ‘I know Martin.’

  His face goes very still.

  ‘I knew Martin when I was a kid – when I was seventeen. He was a voluntary worker at the care home where I was living. I – We…’

  Alex’s face falls. ‘But you said you were a kid, Frankie! He must’ve been… what? Early twenties?’

  ‘We got involved.’

  ‘Involved,’ Alex says sullenly.

  ‘I got pregnant.’

  The room is silent.

  ‘At the same time that he was arrested for the rape and murder of a girl.’

  He closes his eyes in disbelief and sways slightly.

  ‘It was my evidence that got him convicted. What I saw that night.’

  ‘What you…? Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie.’ Alex rakes a hand through his hair and looks at her. He suddenly appears completely sober. He stares down into the rim of his glass. His eyes are bloodshot and full of agony.

  ‘And the notes? Who sent those?’

  ‘I thought it was him.’