Painful though it was to be in there, Justin went up to their bedroom, feeling compelled to check their photo albums. He wasn’t sure what for. A need for visual clarification of the milestones in their marriage, maybe?
They’d been to one of her friend’s weddings a few days after; Alicia had been a bridesmaid. Justin remembered that bleak time in their relationship painfully well, because that was when he’d made up his mind he needed help. Seeing Alicia so closed in on herself, realising how badly he’d shut her out, he’d made a monumental effort to be more social, to be there for her. She’d been pale and drawn at the wedding and the reception, only half listening to the conversation around her, to him. He’d been scared they might be about to split up, and he’d redoubled his efforts. Depression, like a suffocating grey blanket, was still pressing down on him, but he’d woken up to the fact that, while trying to deal with his grief, he’d been pushing her away for a long time. If he didn’t do something about it, he was going to lose her. The day of the wedding, he’d desperately wanted to show her how much he’d loved her, and had prayed it wasn’t too late. She’d still had the bug in her system, though, so intimacy hadn’t been an option. He’d hoped that was the truth. That she’d still wanted him.
It had been the night after that when they’d finally talked, when he’d opened up to her about how he felt. Guilty. As guilty as hell. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind, the image of his sister bleeding out from her knife wounds on the hall floor. She’d tried to run. She’d been breathing, barely. But she’d been alive. Might have lived, had his medical knowledge not deserted him. By the time the paramedics had arrived, it had been too late. He’d watched the lifeblood ebb from her body, powerless to stop it. There’d been no way to move on, to even begin to process his grief. He been stuck, unable to forgive himself, unable to shed the tears he’d desperately needed to.
He’d broken his bloody heart when he’d ashamedly confessed all that to Alicia, which had been therapeutic in itself, releasing the stop valve on his emotions. They’d moved forwards after that, been stronger as a couple. There for each other. Or so he’d thought.
Pulling open the drawer they kept the albums in, he pulled a few out, flicking through them. Realising the top few were more recent ones, where Alicia had painstakingly recorded memories of Luke, he placed them carefully aside, the pain of his loss far too raw. Delving further, he found another recent one: photos of Alicia, pregnant with Luke, radiant, smiling, never in her worst nightmares imagining she would be burying her son before his first birthday.
Swallowing emotionally, Justin placed that along with the others on the bed. He searched in the drawer for older albums, rifling through various bits of paper and certificates, and realised they were missing. Simply not there. Surely to God they hadn’t been stolen? Hadn’t Alicia kept her scan photos in here, too, for both Sophie and Luke? Where the hell were they?
He pulled his phone from his pocket and headed up to the third floor, where he knew their disorganised collection of older photos were still boxed in the spare room. The ones he’d been particularly interested in looking at would most likely be in there. In the meantime, he would very much like to know where the others were. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to steal family photographs, unless they were a member of that family – namely Alicia. He knew this meant that she didn’t intend to come back.
His thumb hovering over her number, he hesitated. Did he really want to speak to her now, after the conversation they’d just had? No, not yet. That was still too raw as well. Going into the spare room, he located the box he was looking for and began sifting through it as he selected Jessica’s number.
‘Hey, Jess, sorry to bother you,’ he said, pulling photos out and examining them as he spoke. ‘I’m guessing you’re at work.’
‘Trust me, I’d rather talk to you,’ Jessica said brightly.
‘Not that scintillating then?’
‘The work? No. Talking to you, however…’ Jessica joked.
Justin wasn’t sure he’d ever been scintillating. ‘Can I ask you something, Jess?’
‘Ask away.’
‘Do you know if Alicia brought some photographs with her to your house? Family albums?’
Jessica thought about it. ‘I’m not sure. Are they not there then?’
‘No. Definitely missing. Most of them, in fact, apart from very recent ones and some older photos going way back. But I can’t imagine anyone would want them.’
‘Apart from Alicia.’ Jessica echoed his own thoughts. ‘Oh dear, she probably has then.’ She paused. ‘Look, I wouldn’t worry about it, Justin. That’s not necessarily a bad sign, is it? That’s she’s taken them, I mean. She probably just wants some reminders of her children around her.’
Or more likely she was taking things she definitely wanted to keep before they reached the stage of dividing their property. It was clear from what Jessica had said that she was thinking along the same lines.
‘I take it you didn’t get much chance to talk then?’ Jessica asked. ‘With that DI Taylor being there, I mean. His timing wasn’t great, was it?’
‘No.’ Justin frowned. ‘No, it wasn’t. You did let Alicia know they were due to arrive this morning? Taylor said he’d left a message with you.’
‘Yes.’ Jessica said assuredly. ‘I knew she was meeting you, so I made sure to. Why?’
So why the hell would Alicia lie about it, Justin wondered. She hadn’t used it as an excuse to postpone. She’d met him there, as they’d arranged. She hadn’t actually said very much – but then he wasn’t very receptive to hearing anything she might have to say. It made no sense to him whatsoever. ‘No reason,’ he said, then, finding the photos he was looking for, added, ‘I’d better go. Thanks, Jess.’
‘No problem. I’m worried about you, Justin. I’m here if you ever need to talk.’
‘Er, yes, thanks.’ Justin’s frown deepened as he ended the call.
Fifty-Four
ALICIA
A deluge of freezing rain soaking through her clothes, seemingly to her bones. Alicia pulled her coat tight. Shivering as the wind whipped overhanging branches and fat raindrops plopped moodily around her, she wrapped her arms about herself and continued through the part of the cemetery where once proud Victorian headstones had submitted to the elements. Walking on, past weathered stones and wingless cherubs, she avoided reading the inscriptions. She didn’t need any reminders of how short life was.
Reaching her destination, a secluded spot surrounded by beech trees and overlooked by the church, she stopped. I don’t think a cup of tea’s going to fix this, Mum, she said silently, gulping back the lump like granite that was wedged in her chest. Swiping a tear from her cheek, she took a step closer, then looked to the pregnant grey sky and sank to her knees. ‘Sorry, baby,’ she said out loud to little Lucas. ‘Mummy’s not crying, sweetheart. It’s just rain. Just the rain.’