The curtains were closed and Jenna’s white car was so caked with dust that some joker had traced ‘Gimme a wash!’ on the side.
Karl crossed the road to his own house. His front garden was overgrown, the purple rhododendrons seared of colour. Dead leaves had blown into a rank heap against the garden wall. The lawn needed mowing and plaster dust had settled like hoar frost on the grass. He smelled paint fumes when he opened the front door. The insurance claim for the fire damage had been paid into his bank account and he had organised the repairs from prison. The painter had used the same shade of magnolia on all the walls; a bland colour that he and Nicole had always avoided. Sasha’s bedroom was empty, the wardrobe door open, drawers also, everything thrown out. No more patterned wallpaper for Dora and her intrepid friends to explore. Karl believed he could still smell smoke, imagined it spiralling thinly in nooks and crannies.
A ring on the doorbell startled him. He stood for an instant, uncertain what to do. Every decision, even opening his own front door, had become a considered response. The stained-glass panels in the hall door that Nicole had chosen with such care had been replaced by glazed glass. He could see the shape of a woman standing outside. Jenna. He stopped and half-turned, as if to retreat to his cell. He grabbed the bannister rail to steady himself and continued on down to the hall.
‘Maria Barnes told me you were back,’ Jenna said when he opened the door. ‘She thought I’d like to know.’
‘Come in.’ He turned and walked into the kitchen, uncaring whether or not she followed.
She unbuttoned her parka jacket. Its padded bulkiness had disguised her weight loss but it was immediately apparent when she unwound a long scarf from around her neck. The tip of her nose was red from the cold and pointier than he remembered. He had never noticed her nose until now. It had been an unremarkable feature in her face but thinness had pinched its regular shape.
‘How are you, Jenna?’ He gestured at her to sit at the table and pulled out another chair for himself.
‘In hell,’ she replied. ‘Some days are worse than others. Today was a bad one until I heard you were here.’ She coughed, as if smoke clogged her lungs. ‘Yet, I don’t know how to talk to you, Karl. You must hate us so much.’
‘I don’t feel anything,’ he admitted. ‘Nothing at all. I want to grieve for Constance. I thought I could but I can’t even do that.’
‘It will come,’ she said. ‘Until then, I’ll do your grieving for you.’ She shivered, flexed her hands, as if encouraging the blood to flow to her fingertips. ‘It’s freezing in here. Why don’t you turn on the heat?’
‘No oil,’ he said. ‘Someone syphoned it off. Don’t worry. I’ll cope until a new delivery arrives.’
‘How can you expect me not to worry?’ Unable to sit still, she filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘Does Nicole know you’ve been released?’
‘Not yet. Have you been in touch with her?’
‘She phones occasionally. But she finds it difficult to talk to us.’
‘Guilt by association. That’s how she sees it.’
When the kettle clicked off, Jenna made tea and checked the fridge for milk. She closed the door abruptly when she realised it was empty.
‘I’ll take it black,’ Karl said. The tea scalded his lips. In prison, he was used to drinking it tepid. ‘How is Justin coping?’
‘Badly,’ she said. ‘He’s in Boston at the moment. His company have transferred him to their headquarters. I suppose you saw the For Sale sign in our garden?’
He nodded.
‘So many decisions to make. It fills the space between us. We’ll take Constance’s ashes with us. When we’re ready to move on we’ll let her go.’
‘Will you ever be ready to do that?’
‘Will you ever be ready to forgive us?’
‘You’re here. We’re talking. That’s a start.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She groaned, then pressed her lips to stifle the sound. ‘It was so real at the time. Like we were possessed, unable to look in any other direction – and now this… I can’t take it in, Karl. Dominick Kelly! How could he have put all of us through such agony?’
‘I don’t know, Jenna.’ He spread his hands, his bewilderment echoing her own. ‘He’s paid the price yet I’ll never believe it’s enough. Not near enough.’
‘The coward’s way. Such an easy option.’ She clasped her hands around the mug to stop them trembling. ‘I can’t reach Justin. We should be able to shore each other up but I’m afraid to even mention Constance’s name. He goes running when I try and talk about what we’re going through. He jogs for hours but he’s still the same when he returns. Will you talk to him when he comes back from Boston?’
‘I don’t know if that’s possible, Jenna. Constance is dead because of me. If only I’d told you about the beach—’
‘Stop!’ She pushed the chair back so hard it almost toppled over. ‘You’ve no idea how I torment myself with what if. What if the row hadn’t happened? What if I’d gone into her room to make up with her before I went to bed? What if… what if… what fucking if…?’
He poured the dregs of his tea into the sink. Adjusting to everything – from the small to the overwhelmingly large – was going to take time.
‘We’ve all lost so much, Karl.’ Jenna stood and rewound her scarf. Her fine-boned face was a mask, one she had assembled for a brief, polite period that was now coming to an end. ‘You and Justin have to make peace with each other before we leave. Promise me you’ll try?’
‘That’s all I can do, Jenna.’
She kissed his cheek, then pulled him close to her. ‘Constance will help us work this out,’ she said. ‘Her spirit is with me every minute of the day.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Unlike her son’s funeral, Elizabeth Kelly’s was well attended. A packed church, the local choir singing and three priests on the altar concelebrating requiem mass. Amanda sat at the back of the church and took discreet notes. She left before the service ended and stayed out of sight behind a yew tree while Shane photographed Elizabeth’s coffin being carried from the church by her sons, grandsons and, bringing up the rear, Karl Lawson.
At first, Amanda wasn’t sure it was him. His hair, naturally wavy and blond, used to be long. Not hippie length or rock-star tangles, just enough to set him apart and be noticed. But now he had shaved it off and the slightly darker stubble on his chin added to his gaunt appearance. He reminded her of someone who was terminally ill, his facial bones accentuated, his clothes a size too big for him.