‘Why did you shout at her?’
‘We were in the house on Constantine Avenue a couple of weeks ago – me, Chloe, William. Hanging out. Drinking a bit, smoking. You know. They were kissing, on the bed and I was by the window. They didn’t mind me being there but I felt a bit awkward about it. You know how it is.’
I nodded.
‘I was looking through the window to distract myself from what Chloe and William were doing.’ She swallowed. ‘If I hadn’t been there, I’d never have known.’
‘What did you see?’
‘Dad was in the kitchen. Talking to Kate.’ She was staring into the middle distance, seeing it again. ‘He pushed her up against a cupboard and he had his hands on her neck. I didn’t know what he was going to do – I couldn’t really see properly. But he looked angry. Really angry. I thought he was going to kill her.’
I remembered Oliver Norris in interview, calmly describing how Kate had wanted to end their relationship and how it had been a relief.
Not the truth. Not even a little bit.
‘Then what happened?’
‘She talked to him. She was smiling at him, stroking his shoulders. She got down on her knees. He was sort of hidden behind a cupboard but I could see her head moving and – and I know what she was doing to him. It was disgusting.’
It was survival, I thought. Kate had calmed him down. She had made a careful calculation of what she could bear to offer to buy her safety, and offered it, and it had been accepted.
‘And you watched?’
‘No! Not once I knew what they were doing.’ She was pale, sweating. ‘I ran out of the house. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I went for a walk by the river. Just … walked. I was trying to get it straight in my head. What I’d seen, what it meant. I ended up back at my house and I could see Dad was watching TV in the front room, as if nothing had happened. It made me sick. He’s supposed to be a good husband. The head of the family. He’s supposed to be in charge. How could I trust him when he was such a hypocrite?’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘No. I was too scared to confront him. I went to Kate. I thought it had to be her fault that he’d broken his vows. I wanted to hear her say that he’d tried to stop himself from cheating on Mum, that it was a one-off thing.’
‘But she didn’t.’
‘No. She didn’t.’ Bethany looked up, her eyes swimming. ‘I told her she was an evil woman, a harlot, and she would go to hell. She said it was his idea. She said he wouldn’t leave her alone. And then she told me that if she was going to hell, she’d have my mother for company. She said Mum was much worse because she’d given birth to another man’s child and pretended it was her husband’s.’
Ouch. ‘Did she tell you how she knew that?’
‘Something to do with the clinic where Mum and Dad went when they were trying to conceive. She worked there, I think.’ Bethany looked exhausted. ‘I didn’t really understand.’
‘It makes sense to me.’
‘Does it?’ Her face puckered. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be a sin?’
‘It’s not your sin,’ I said gently.
‘Sin is the whole reason for my existence. Every time my mother looks at me, she sees her own weakness. And my father sees a lie. My whole life is a lie.’ Bethany rubbed her eyes. ‘That’s why nothing works out for me. Everything I touch is defiled. Everyone I love comes to harm. Chloe and William are dead and it’s my fault.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ I gripped the rail at the end of the bed. ‘People like William Turner are manipulative and dangerous. There was nothing you could have done to stop him.’
‘He loved her.’
‘That wasn’t love,’ I said. ‘It was obsession. He wanted to own her. To control her.’
‘No, you’re wrong. He loved her. No one has ever looked at me the way he looked at her, and no one ever will.’
‘You’re lucky, then.’
She shook her head and I could tell it would be hard to convince her Turner had been anything other than a hero.
‘You know, he was very handsome,’ I said. ‘He was very charming. I liked him. It’s only natural that you liked him too.’
She blushed, her eyelashes sweeping down over her cheeks.
‘Were you in love with him?’
‘He loved Chloe.’
‘But he didn’t mind you hanging around. He liked the extra attention.’
‘He liked talking to me.’ She whispered it. ‘We were friends.’
‘Friends … but you didn’t tell him where you were hiding when you and Chloe ran away.’
‘I thought it was safer.’
‘Because you were scared of what he might do?’
‘No. No, I was never scared of him.’
‘Was Chloe?’
‘She knew he loved her. He looked after her.’
‘Was he angry about her running away?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘He came to see you yesterday, didn’t he?’
She shut her eyes, frowning.
‘I know he was here, Bethany. I talked to the nurses. He was here. So what did you talk about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That surprises me. He told me he wanted to talk to you about Chloe.’
Her face crumpled. I moved a step or two closer, still careful not to crowd her.
‘Did you hear what happened to him, Bethany?’
‘He drowned.’
‘That’s right. He drowned. Just like Chloe, although William’s death was an accident.’ Another step. ‘So he can’t hurt you any more, Bethany. You can tell me what happened to Chloe now.’
‘Hurt me?’ Her eyes flew open. ‘William would never hurt me. Or Chloe. He loved Chloe. That was why I didn’t want to tell him—’
‘Tell him what?’ I leaned in. ‘Bethany, please.’
‘I didn’t want to tell him what happened to her.’
Frustration burned in my veins. ‘You have to be honest with me, Bethany. What happened to Chloe? Were you with her when she died?’
‘No. No, definitely not. I didn’t even see her. We came back and she took her away.’
‘Who did?’
‘My mother.’ She looked at me as if it was obvious, as if I should have known. ‘Mum took her.’
37
There was no one home in Valerian Road. That would have been too easy, I thought, calling the local police station to ask them to send officers around later (known as a ‘please allow’ in police jargon, as in ‘please allow an officer to call’). Did I think Eleanor Norris had done a runner, I was asked politely, and I said no, because I didn’t. She had no reason to run away, as far as she knew. No one was looking for her. It was all over. Kate was dead, Chloe was dead, William Turner was dead. The circle was closed.
Except, of course, that it wasn’t.
Because it was Eleanor who had taken Chloe away, a lamb to the slaughter. Bethany hadn’t told me why – and maybe she didn’t know, or maybe it was that she was shocked to have said as much as she had. Bethany had been scared and she had run away with Chloe because she thought her friend was in danger. But they had had nowhere to go. It was cold, she said, at night, even though it was summer. It wasn’t safe, sleeping on the street, and then she had started to feel ill. She’d been shivering, running a temperature. They had to go home.