So Carla did. She thought what it would be like to go to a new school where no one bullied her. And she thought of the postcard of a London bus that she and Mamma had written to Nonno in Italy, even though they did not expect one back. And she wondered if –
What was that scratching noise under the door? An envelope! Eager to please, she ran to get it, handing it to Lily. Ed looked annoyed – whoops, she’d forgotten not to move!
‘Ed?’ Lily’s voice sounded like Mamma’s when Larry couldn’t come over in the evening. ‘Take a look at this.’
Ed’s face stiffened. ‘We’ll have to call the police.’
Then he looked at Carla. ‘Shall we see if your mamma is home from work now?’
15
Lily
My first thought, as Ed hands the note to me, is that it must have come from Sarah. My mind races back to the message that the secretary gave me last week.
‘The caller?’ I asked at the time. ‘What did she sound like?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Normal.’
‘Not dead?’ I almost asked.
Trembling, my fingers dialled the number.
‘Sarah Evans speaking.’
There was no doubt about it. Sarah Evans was speaking to me. What was going on?
‘I’m Lily Macdonald,’ I began, remembering at the last minute to use my new surname. ‘I’m returning your call about –’
Angrily, she cut in. ‘About my daughter.’
Relief flooded through me. Sarah Evans must have been named after her mother.
‘How can you defend that man?’ she hissed. ‘How could you?’
Relief was soon replaced by a sinking inside my chest. Wouldn’t I feel the same if I had a daughter? Until this point, I’d been more concerned with whether we could get Joe Thomas off.
But the distraught voice reminded me of my own mother’s words all those years ago. How could you, Lily? How could you?
My fingers began to sweat. Poor woman. Then I recalled the newspaper article and felt worse. She had cancer.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Evans, but I can’t discuss the case with you.’
Then, hating myself, I replaced the receiver and went to tell my boss the bad news about ‘losing’ certain papers that were vital to Joe Thomas’s appeal.
Now, in our flat, as I read the note that has just appeared under our door, I assume it’s from her. ‘How did she find me?’ I say, shaking. ‘How does she know where we live?’
‘She?’ Ed’s mouth is grim. ‘You know who wrote it?’
Briefly I explain what happened.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because we don’t have that kind of relationship.’ The words burst out of my mouth like an angry rush of bathwater. (It’s an image which has been haunting me ever since I took on Joe’s case.) ‘You never ask me about my day. All you do when you come back is draw or paint.’
‘Please don’t argue, Lily and Ed.’
The little voice at my side reminds us that someone else is present. A child we are responsible for, if only for a day at a time.
‘Sorry, poppet.’ I put my arm around her. ‘Ed’s right. We need to see if your mother is back home now. I’ve got an important phone call to make.’
‘Can’t I stay while you do it?’
Those deep brown eyes are imploring.
‘Not today.’ Ed’s voice is firm. Then he looks at me. ‘Do you want me to call this woman?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m your husband.’
But what kind of husband doesn’t tell his wife he was previously engaged until after the wedding? Yet I can’t say any of this in front of the child. It wouldn’t be right.
‘Let’s go, shall we?’ says Ed to Carla. I hear them walk along the corridor, Ed’s slow measured step next to Carla’s little hopping ones. Then I look at the note again. It is typed with several spelling errors. It doesn’t seem like the kind of note that an educated-sounding Sarah Evans would write. But then again, you never know.
IF YOU TRY TOO HELP THAT MAN, YOU WILL BE SORY
I try to stop the shaking but it won’t go away. Ed’s right. I have to report this before it gets worse.
I’m lying in bed struggling not to think about my new reality. Someone out there wants to hurt me. It’s a scary feeling.
‘Tell me one more time what happened,’ instructed Tony Gordon when I rang the following day. So I did. Just as I had told the police and my boss. A child who was visiting heard the note being pushed under the door. No, we didn’t see the person who did it, although I had received a phone call from the victim’s mother a few days earlier. On the same day that vital papers were stolen.
The more I had to repeat it, the more I felt as though I was the accused. There was also the weird temptation to embellish it slightly; to make it more interesting or easier to be believed. Was this how criminals felt? Was this how they dug themselves into an even deeper grave? Like Daniel?
Of course, no one could do anything about it. How could they trace a typed note from an unknown sender without a postmark? All they could do was warn me to ‘be careful’, as if that might help. Instead, it has done the opposite. Even when I walk to the bus and hear footsteps behind me, I purposefully do not look behind.
I will not be scared. I will not be intimidated. That was the whole point of entering the law. I have to believe in something that has power over evil. If I allow myself to be bullied, I’ve lost.
I turn restlessly, staring at the ceiling as it’s lit up by a passing car’s headlights.
Then I hear it. Clearly.
‘Please. Davina,’ says Ed. Then, louder, ‘Davina.’ He’s talking in his sleep.
‘I’m not Davina.’ I begin to shake him. He jerks awake.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘You called me Davina.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not. You still feel something for her. Don’t you?’
‘For pity’s sake, Lily. Go back to sleep and stop imagining things.’
But I know I’m not.
This time, it’s him who is lying.
Almost immediately, a new coolness develops between us. We act like the other doesn’t exist; trying to squeeze past each other in our tiny flat and sleeping as far apart as possible in the bed as though a mistaken brush of skin against skin might kill us both.
I’ve never been the kind of woman who has close friends. Always shied away from too much intimacy – too many chances of sharing confidences. But now I find myself in desperate need of having someone to talk to. Someone who might be able to give me advice about Ed.
There’s only one person I can think of.
I ring Ross during my lunch hour. Tell him about Ed and the ‘Davinas’ in his sleep. Then, because he’s so understanding and sympathetic, I find myself telling him too about the threatening letter from the unknown sender and how the police had merely told me to ‘be careful’.
Ross listens rather than offering quick-fix solutions. (As if there are any!) But it helps just to voice my own fears to someone other than myself.
That night, Ed comes home late. ‘I’ve been out for a drink,’ he says.
‘With Davina?’ I demand, my heart beating. So he’s going to leave me after all. Despite his behaviour, I’m terrified. Now I’m going to have to start again. Who else would ever love me?
‘With Ross, actually.’ He reaches for my hands. ‘Look, I know our marriage hasn’t got off to the best start but I do love you, Lily. And I’m worried about you. This letter … that man who took your bag … you visiting that criminal in prison … I don’t like it. I’m scared.’
‘Too bad. It’s my job.’
My words come out harshly, but inside I’m relieved that he seems to care.
‘I know it is and I admire you for it. Ross said you’re a girl in a million. And he’s right.’
If only he knew!
‘Just talking to him,’ Ed continues, ‘reminded me how lucky I am.’ His hands are gripping mine now. They’re warm even though it’s a frosty night outside. ‘Let’s start again, shall we? Please?’
‘What about Davina?’
‘What about her?’ He looks straight back at me. ‘I’m over her, Lily. It’s you I married. And I want to stay that way. Do you think we could start again?’
I’m exhausted. It’s been full on in the office, with constant phone calls from Tony Gordon. Luckily he has copies of the documents that were stolen – he tells me he always photocopies documents at least twice – even though it’s ‘unfortunate’ that someone else has the originals.