An unexpected flash of jealousy shoots through me. I’d like time to have a creative passion like my husband. But instead, I am stuck. Stuck in something that is too big: a web of lies and truths that I – with my limited experience – am expected to unravel. I’m not the only one. Another newly qualified lawyer in the office is currently grappling with a divorce case without really knowing how to do it. I pity her client.
Mum picks up the phone immediately. In my mind, I’m back home. She’ll already have decorated the hall with tinsel woven round the banisters; mistletoe hanging from the central cartwheel light; holly on the pictures going up the stairs, including the pastel portraits of Daniel and me when we were younger. Pretty bits and pieces on the dining-room table to hide the emptiness of the unlaid fifth setting at the table. Christmas decorations waiting for me to come home, because without one child, my parents have nothing.
The weight of my responsibilities hangs in my words. ‘Sorry it’s late but I’ve been working.’
I wait to hear Mum tell me, as she has done before, that I am working too hard. That a new husband needs his new wife to be around more. But instantly, I know before I even hear the break in her voice that something has happened.
‘What is it?’ I croak.
After Daniel, there was a weird relief that nothing awful – nothing truly awful – could ever happen again. It’s a feeling I have heard others voice too. There was a woman on the radio, not long after, who said that when her daughter died in a crash, she knew she didn’t have to worry so much about her surviving son because her worst fear had already happened.
That’s how I felt too until I hear Mum’s voice.
‘Is Dad all right?’ I manage to say.
For a minute, I have a picture of him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s slipped. Had a coronary.
‘We’re not ill.’
Relief washes through me in the form of sweat. Ed, meanwhile, is poring over the woman with the expressionless face, but in such a manner that I suspect he is listening.
‘Then what is it?’
‘Merlin … It’s Merlin. He’s … well, he’s gone.’
I clutch the edge of the table for support. Ed’s hand reaches out for mine. Gratefully I clutch it. ‘He was old …’ I begin.
‘The vet says it looks like his food was poisoned,’ sobs Mum.
‘Poisoned?’
Ed’s face is startled as I repeat the word.
‘How do you know?’
My mother’s voice is choked. ‘We found him in the paddock. There was a note on the stable door.’
A note. My body begins to shake. My chest rises to my throat. The hunger I was feeling when I got home has disappeared.
‘What does it say?’ I ask.
But already I know.
‘It says, “Tell your daughter to drop the case.” ’ Mum’s voice rises with anguish. ‘Is this the one you told us about? The one about the boiler that’s been in the papers?’
Ed is leaning forward, clearly concerned. So much so that he drops his sketchpad.
Slowly, I put down the phone. Not just because of Merlin, who was my last link with Daniel apart from my parents. Nor because of the horror that someone, somewhere, has tracked down my family. Sarah Evans’s uncle perhaps? After all, he’d written the previous note.
No. I’m putting down the phone in shock because Ed’s sketchpad is open, revealing the full truth. I’d assumed the girl with the expressionless face was Carla, waiting to be filled in. Instead, Davina is laughing at me from the carpet with that glorious head of hair thrown back in victory.
18
Carla
Carla didn’t have a birthday party like all the other girls at school. There wasn’t room in the flat, Mamma said. Instead, look what Larry had bought her!
In the hall outside stood the most beautiful pink bike she had ever seen. It was gleaming: almost as shiny as Larry’s car. There was a bell, just as she had requested, and a little basket. And when she rode it in the park, she flew!
‘You are a natural,’ said Larry. But he did not smile as he spoke.
The following Sunday, the phone rang twice in an hour. ‘When I answer,’ said Mamma confused, ‘I can’t hear anything. Perhaps it is broken. You get it next time.’
Carla did. At first she heard nothing either. But just as she was about to put the phone down, there it was. Breathing.
Then her tummy ache started again.
‘I don’t want to go to Lily and Ed’s,’ she mumbled.
Mamma ran her hands through her hair. ‘You are just worried about those phone calls. They are probably from silly children playing games. When you get to your friend Lily’s home, you will feel better.’
She began to cry. ‘I’m not going. I am ill.’
Mamma’s face grew cross. ‘You are a naughty girl. Do you know that?’
Carla was still resting on the sofa when Larry arrived. She could hear them whispering in the hall.
‘Making it up … I am sure of it … always better on Monday … only says she is ill … no temperature … just playing up …’
How tired she felt. Her thoughts began to drift away. At first this felt nice, soothing. But then she thought she heard a far-off doorbell. And after that, a word began to beat in her head as if it had been hidden and was now coming out to upset her.
Murder!
Murder!
That was the evil word she had seen on Lily’s papers. The more she thought of it, the more Carla became convinced that Lily was going to hurt her too. It was God’s will because she had killed Charlie.
‘What is this you are saying?’
Opening her eyes, she saw Mamma looking down at her.
‘You have had a nightmare, cara mia. But it is over now. You must get up. Guess who has come to see you?’
‘Hello, Carla!’
It was Ed.
She’d forgotten how simpatico his eyes were. After all, it wasn’t he who was bad. It was Lily …
‘I was hoping to begin a new portrait today.’ His eyes were really shining now. ‘If it works, I would like to enter it for a competition. With your mamma’s permission of course.’
‘A competition!’ Mamma repeated the word reverently. ‘Do you hear, Carla?’
‘But first I need another sitting.’ Ed’s eyes were searching hers. Pleading. It made her feel big. Important. ‘Do you feel well enough to come over this afternoon?’ He turned to Mamma. ‘I’m afraid Lily has got to go into work again, but I’ll take great care of your daughter. Are you happy with that?’
‘Of course she is,’ trilled Mamma. ‘She was just tired, that’s all.’
Carla nodded. In truth, her stomach ache was not so bad now.
‘Wonderful.’ Ed looked pleased. ‘Let’s get started then, shall we?’
The first thing that Carla saw when she went into num-ber 3 was a new rug on the floor of the sitting room.
‘What happened to the old one?’ she asked, noticing with approval that this one was a pale bluey-green and not a boring brown colour like before.
‘Lily got angry and threw coffee over it,’ said Ed.
‘Ask him why, Carla.’ Lily came out of the kitchen, carrying a pile of papers. Her voice was sharp.
Lily was here after all?
Carla froze on the spot.
Ed laughed, but Carla knew he was nervous. ‘I thought you were going into the office,’ he said quietly.
‘Changed my mind. I’m going to work in the bedroom instead. I lose time doing that journey.’ Lily smiled. But it wasn’t a smile that danced in her eyes. ‘That all right with you?’
‘Whatever suits you best.’ Ed spoke in that very polite way that adults seemed to use when they didn’t like each other very much. Carla had observed that many times on Mamma’s favourite television soap. Lily disappeared into the bedroom.
‘Why don’t you sit down on the sofa, Carla.’
She did as she was told. Trembling. ‘Is Lily going to murder you?’ she whispered.
Ed stared at her and then began to laugh. A lovely warm, throaty laugh that almost made her want to join in. Then he stopped. ‘Why do you ask that?’
Instantly, she felt foolish. ‘Because … because I saw the word “murder” on her homework papers when we were on the bus. And I was scared …’ Her voice began to tremble. ‘I thought she was planning to kill me – and maybe you – and …’
‘Shh, shh.’ Ed was sitting next to her now, his arm around her. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, sweetheart.’
Sweetheart? That’s what Larry called Mamma sometimes. It felt good. As though she was grown up and not a child at all.
‘Lily is a solicitor. She helps to put the world to rights.’ There was a snort as if Ed was disagreeing with himself.