‘Mazz?’ He half-laughed. ‘She didn’t even smoke weed any more. She wouldn’t even get drunk. God, you’re out of touch.’
Rowan took a moment to absorb that. Marianne had never been into drugs, neither of them had. They’d shared the band’s weed if there was any going round and, twice, more out of curiosity than any great desire, they’d tried coke. It hadn’t done much for either of them.
‘And if she’d taken anything, the police would know, wouldn’t they? I mean, there was an autopsy – any sudden death has to be . . .’
‘I know.’ She cut him off. She couldn’t bear the parade of images the word triggered: a mortuary table, Marianne’s body naked and cold, the tray of implements.
For a few seconds neither of them said anything. A cat emerged from the laurel and, to dislodge the pictures in her head, she watched it pick its way along the top of the fence. It was too thin; she could see the bones moving under its fur. A stray or else it was old, ill.
‘Marianne changed,’ Turk said suddenly. ‘After it all happened. She wasn’t the same. She was . . . muted. Serious. She didn’t drink any more – I mean, she drank, she’d have a couple of glasses of wine, but she would never throw caution to the wind and get plastered like we used to. And the work – my God, if you thought she was a workaholic before? There were a couple of times when Jacqueline and I had to pretty much kidnap her from the studio.’
‘Kidnap?’
‘We were worried. She was living on biscuits, not sleeping, smoking way too much. I took her to a friend’s place in Cornwall for a week and she basically slept straight through the first two days. At one point I went in to check she hadn’t died.’ He looked down, realising what he’d said, then picked up his cup and examined it as if he’d never seen it before.
‘My theory,’ he said, ‘is that she felt guilty about what happened.’
Rowan’s heart beat hard. ‘Guilty?’
‘About the woman who was killed.’
She stared at him.
‘Yeah, it sounds crazy but you know how . . . conscientious she was. She felt responsible. Did you know she paid to put the son through university? Fees, living expenses – the whole thing.’
‘What son?’
Turk looked at her as if she was mentally impaired. ‘The woman Seb killed when he crashed – you remember? Who was in the other car. She had a son who was fifteen at the time. Mazz put him through college.’
Rowan brought her hands to her mouth. ‘Sorry, yes. Of course. No, I didn’t know she’d done that.’
‘I think she was trying to expiate – you know what I mean? Not just by paying for his education but the whole mad work thing. It was self-flagellation – I think she thought that if she pushed herself to breaking point, denied herself everything, even her health, she could pay. Atone.’
‘That’s . . . insane.’
‘I know. But you remember how mad she was about Seb, how much she loved him. I’ve even thought that maybe she deliberately took on the guilt – consciously – because it kept her feeling close to him. Connected.’
He stood and fetched the coffee pot. Still standing, he eyeballed Rowan. ‘And of course that was when you disappeared.’
‘Oh, come on, Pete. You know it wasn’t my choice. You remember that afternoon – I was . . .’
‘I’m not accusing you – don’t get defensive. I’m just saying that maybe, if you’d still been around, it would’ve helped. That she needed you.’
‘She could have had me. I tried – you know I did. I was still trying – every year I sent a card with my number. Every year – I sent one six weeks ago.’ And Marianne had opened it, saved it, sent her card in return.
When he sat back down, Turk seemed heavier, resigned. ‘I know. It was just odd, that’s all. One day you were in our lives and then, abracadabra, you were gone. We didn’t fall out, you and I, but you dropped me as well.’
‘I didn’t drop you.’
‘You certainly didn’t stay in touch.’
‘You chose Marianne that afternoon.’
‘That afternoon. For God’s sake, I didn’t know I was choosing forever.’
‘I thought you hung around with me because I was Mazz’s friend. That I was part of the package.’
‘Well, I thought we were a gang.’
Rowan felt a pang of nostalgia so powerful it brought tears to her eyes. Turk saw.
‘It hurts,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t it? It hurts like hell.’
‘At least you didn’t waste the time you had.’
‘Oh, I’ve wasted plenty. Other things. Relationships . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve never had one that most people would dignify with the name. How could I commit to anyone else when I was in love with her? I’ve been dumped more times than you’ve had hot dinners, love.’
Rowan had another unpleasant memory of Theo Marsh, his face looming over her as he pressed her into the mattress.
‘You know,’ Turk said, ‘I thought you’d get in touch when the record came out.’