Page 65 of Between the Lies

Robert found his phone and dialled Joshua.

The call rang but the little shite didn’t answer.

Muttering more profanities, Robert dropped the backpack on his sofa. If Dickheadson realised the backpack had been with Robert, the man wouldn’t waste a second before shoving Robert into custody, alongside Joshua… and maybe Cheryl.

What the hell had Joshua been thinking?

That he wanted to help you, you prick!

Robert ran a hand through his hair again, the bin bag now discarded on the floor. A few beer cans had spilled out of the bag, undoing his work.

Should he call Dickheadson?

Robert grabbed the handle and lifted the bag so he could study it. Nina had held on to it like it was a source of life. Any other person would have lost it or ditched it by this point. And now she probably assumed the police had her backpack, thanks to the search warrant.

A piece of paper had been tucked into one of the side pockets. Robert stuck his hand in and retrieved it.

Inside someone had scrawled:Give this back to her – make amends.

Damn Joshua!

Robert plopped down on the sofa and placed the backpack on the floor. Unzipping it felt like a gross invasion of Nina’s privacy. After what he’d said to her the morning after their night together, and now this, she would loathe him for real.

Robert pulled out a set of travel packs: a slim case for toiletries, another with a change of clothes, one for her undergarments and one that held her stationery.

Nina had packed a scarf, an envelope with cash – the woman looked to be running out of money – and a camera set. The same camera that had alerted the police to her.

Why the hell had she been lugging that camera around? Didn’t it belong to the dead man?

Robert frowned at the meagre pile of possessions. She hadn’t lied when she’d mentioned leaving everything behind.

He lifted his gaze to the books on the shelf underneath the TV. All of them pertained to babies, pregnancy and parenting. On the armchair beside the TV lay a stack of cushions. A diffuser gathered dust in the other corner, alongside a weird-looking orange stone. More stones and crystals dotted the other surfaces in the living room, and candles… so many fucking scented candles.

Anne had loved dust catchers and any sort of small ‘self-care’ knick-knacks. Those baby books had been all her. He’d donated a bunch of Ian Rankin books to the charity shop to make space for them.

Robert looked down at the backpack again.

A chameleon in love, Joshua had said. Wasting his life away, Nina had said.

He picked the bag up and set it on the sofa.

If he was going to return this backpack and apologise, it was time to clean up his old life. He’d dallied long enough.

Robert headed into the bedroom, gripped the handles of Anne’s wardrobe and pulled it open with a sigh. He hadn’t opened it up since the police had gone through it. Anne loved to keep her things organised. Sometimes she’d spent Sunday afternoons cleaning out her wardrobe. She rotated clothes for each season, had shirts, skirts and trousers all lined up based on colour and texture. And in the mornings, when she got dressed, she knew exactly what matched with what.

Robert reached for the clothes hanging up and laid them on the bed. He’d folded up clothes for Anne before, and he knew just the way she liked her garments to be packed.

Robert checked the pockets before folding each pair of trousers up and placing them to one side. Then he went for the T-shirts. The office shirts followed, the silky ones making him curse. The damn things just didn’t fold!

The jumpers were packed up next, followed by the coats. Anne had loved her woollen coats. They’d been a pain to clean, useless against the constant rain. Anne would have to carry a brolly that she’d inevitably lose.

He found gloves tucked into a few of the coats’ pockets – he’d placed them there knowing Anne’s hands often got cold and she forgot to take gloves with her.

Next up, he brought out her summer wear. She always cleaned them up and ironed them before packing them away.

Lastly, Robert opened up the underwear drawer. He all but balled up everything in it and dumped the pile aside. But when the last of the knickers fell out of the drawer, something caught his eye –a lone key, sitting all the way at the back.

He dug it out and stared at it. The keychain said ‘Beck’s Storage’ on it. A storage key? Anne had never mentioned a locker to him.

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