Page 30 of The Temp

‘But Mum doesn’t sell her paintings anymore? She lives off her pension.’

‘He doesn’t know that, does he?’ Linda offers.

‘Oh, my God, he used me,’ Zelda gasps.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again, like a broken record. ‘You don’t know how many times I tried to tell you but…’

‘You knew what he was like, what he was capable of, and you kept quiet.’

‘No. I was about to…’

‘You let me go out with a psychopath?’ Zelda scratches her arms as if she’s riddled with germs. ‘Have sex with him?’

‘It wasn’t like that. I was going to tell you right away but...’ I throw a glance at Linda and she shakes her head encouragingly. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Really? Well, I’ve just killed my fiancé, so I’ve got all fucking night.’

‘Zelda, please let me speak,’ I manage.

‘He could’ve killed me tonight,’ Zelda cries, pointing towards the garden. ‘That could’ve been me out there. And now I’ve got a dead man on my lawn and blood on my hands because of YOU.’ She jabs her finger at me bitterly.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ I cry. ‘I wanted to tell you from the first day but it wasn’t something I could just blurt out in front of everyone, was it? And then you went on that romantic break.’ Zelda is looking at me through narrowed eyes. ‘I swear on Georgia’s life, I was about to tell you earlier today, but then Frank made that outrageous announcement and proposed.’ I pause. Linda complains of feeling cold, and without saying a word, Zelda gets up, jabs at the thermostat next to the stainless-steel sink and sits back down.

‘Oh look, you’re right,’ I admit, head in hands. ‘I should’ve told you the very first day at Linda’s. I knew he had a big ego and a temper but I didn’t think he was capable of anything like this.’ I pause and then. ‘Look, it might’ve been a combination of the drugs and drink that made him go crazy,’ I offer, as Zelda sits back down. ‘I honestly, hand on heart, had never seen him behave as you’re describing.’ Zelda’s head snaps up at me, and then everything freezes. It feels as if the atmosphere in the room has dropped to minus five.

‘As I’m describing?’ Zelda’s voice is faint. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? You think I murdered him.’ I shake my head no. ‘Poisoned him with the lemon cake.’ More head shaking. ‘And now I want you two to help me dispose of his body.’ Jesus, where is this coming from? She gets to her feet. Linda tugs at Zelda’s sleeve, tells her to sit back down – that wasn’t what I meant – we all need to calm down. Zelda ignores her, immobilising me with her scowl. ‘You think I killed him in cold blood.’ Pressing her palms on the table, she leans forward, face close to mine. ‘Just like you thought I did to Jake all those years ago.’ Her fist hits the table. ‘Don’t you!!?’

Chapter 27

Zelda had been dating Jake for a year when it happened. Mum warned her on the first day she brought him home for tea, said she’d get hurt by the likes of him. They were from different worlds. Jake’s parents were rich, successful professionals, with two beautiful homes, one in Hampstead and the other on the south coast. Mr and Mrs Arquette would drive down to their getaway home most weekends to escape the madness of London, leaving their only son to party to his heart’s content. Their north London house was notorious for pool parties and magnums of champagne.

One summer night, Jake and Zelda decided to surprise his parents in Whitstable. It was unbelievably hot. We couldn’t sleep and temperatures were soaring. We all longed for the sea and clean air. Jake couldn’t drive. But Zelda had just passed her test. Mrs Arquette’s Ferrari was parked on the carriage driveway, gleaming in all its redness. The keys were a stone’s throw away, hanging on a hook in the hallway. Jake persuaded Zelda to get behind the wheel – promised her she was insured - the policy was for any driver. Dizzy on love, adventure and innocence, Zelda agreed.

They jumped into the sports car and hit the road with the wind in their hair. Zelda said Jake was high as a kite, swigging neat vodka straight from the bottle. When they got off the motorway, he opened the passenger window and sat on the ledge, woohooing, screaming that he was the king of the world. Zelda said she felt nervous, pleaded with him to get back inside but he wouldn’t listen. She didn’t see the bend, nor the oncoming lorry. She slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailed and she lost control of the wheel.

Jake died instantly. There was an inquest. Neighbours said before the accident, they heard loud voices and screaming from the house in Hampstead. The police interviewed Zelda. ‘We were just mucking around in the pool,’ she said in her statement. ‘Our voices accelerated.’ The gossip and rumours didn’t help. Paul, one of Jake’s friends, said Jake was seeing another girl behind Zelda’s back, and that he was going to end it with Zelda that weekend. None of it was substantiated, or true. Jake was in love with Zelda. Everyone knew that. He even gave her a ring.

But the seed was planted, so I questioned Zelda, as any big sister would – had they argued in the car – did he chuck her – was she upset – driving too fast – did she lose control of the wheel? I told her to tell me the truth, that I’d have her back. Zelda looked at me silently and then she got up and left the room. She didn’t speak to me for two weeks.

It was the worst time of our lives. We got eggs thrown at Mum’s car. Murderers graffitied on our front door. Mum couldn’t take any more abuse. Her paintings were selling like hotcakes and her accountant suggested she invest it in property, so we moved. Zelda got done for driving without insurance and permission from the driver. But after discovering that the brake pads and rotors on Mrs Arquette’s car were worn out, the coroner ruled that the fatality was an accident. And as there was no evidence of foul play, the police let Zelda go. Jake’s parents never forgave Zelda for the death of their son.

‘Of course, I believe you,’ I say now. ‘It just came out wrong. I’m sorry. Zelda, come on. What are you doing?’

‘You knew Frank was a nutjob.’ Zelda buzzes around the kitchen, opening and closing worse-for-wear cabinet doors, one of which has been hanging off its hinges for ages. ‘But why bother warning your sister, who was sharing a bed with him, when you had more pressing things to do.’ She pours two inches of gin into a glass and downs it like water. ‘Like getting that new skivvy of yours to cook you all a three-course meal on your top-of-the-range Aga, for your perfect family, in your flashy new home?’

Shock courses through me. Where is this coming from? ‘My life isn’t a bed of roses,’ I say, wearily. ‘We’re up to our necks in debt.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ Zelda snaps, ‘you want for nothing.’

‘Girls, come on,’ Linda pleads, eyes darting from me to Zelda worriedly.

‘We work bloody hard,’ I contend, shooting to my feet. Linda holds her head in her hands. Zelda takes a swig of gin straight from the bottle, eyes not leaving me. I can’t believe we’re arguing. That Frank is still managing to do this to us. I sit back down. Rubbing my temple, I stare at my sister – she looks broken. Zelda hasn’t had it easy. I know that Jake’s death, all those years ago, still haunts her, and she’s always struggled financially. ‘Look, I know things have been difficult for you but now you’re self-employed…’

‘Business is going down the pan,’ she interjects.

‘But I thought you had a waiting list?’

‘I let a few clients down at the last minute.’ Zelda squeezes her top lip between her fingers. ‘It was when I went on that stupid holiday to Monaco with Frank. Most of my clients were mums from the local school. Word gets around. They’re all using Lena now,’ she groans, as if we know who Lena is. ‘A girl from Kosovo. Her daughter goes to Mortimer. She’s just started up – undercutting me on prices too. I heard she’s very good.’

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