Page 65 of Close to You
It’s hard to know what to say. On its own, I’d say it was probably someone else who looked like David. Combined with the hotel photo, the possible break-in and my missing car key, it doesn’t sound so crazy.
‘Have you heard from him…?’ Jane asks.
Sometimes I forget that everyone else thinks David is missing. When people say things like ‘Have you heard from him?’, I have to remind myself that it’s not a ridiculous question. Of course I haven’t heard from a person who’s dead. After the last few days, it definitely doesn’t feel like a ridiculous question.
‘No,’ I reply.
Jane chews her bottom lip and, for a few seconds, all we do is watch Norah toddle around the table. She bumps into the corner and then plops onto her backside. It could go either way – laugh or cry – but she breaks into a grin and starts giggling to herself.
‘I’m not saying itwashim,’ Jane says, ‘just that itlookedlike him. I thought you should know.’
My phone is almost always on vibrate, because otherwise there would be a constantding-ding-dingas I walk around. Like a dog with a bell. If spam emails were actually printed on paper, there’d be no trees left on the planet. Perhaps it’s because of that, I jump when my phone actually rings. There’s a part of me that expects to see David’s name on the screen – but it reads Veronica instead.
I tell Jane I have to take the call and skirt off to my bedroom and close the door before pressing to answer.
I think I’ve been bracing myself for this type of call ever since Mum moved into the bungalows. A message to say that she’s had a fall and not got up, or that she hasn’t been answering her door. I think everyone does when their parents get to a certain time of their lives. There must be a crossover point from where parents dread the middle-of-the-night call about their children to where the children fear the unexpected call for their parents.
‘This is Morgan,’ I say.
I can tell from Veronica’s first intonation that my mother is fine. ‘Hi,’ she says. ‘I just wanted to say that I talked to the security company about the camera footage from the gates.’
In all that’s gone on, I’d almost forgotten about the autograph that appeared next to Mum’s TV.
‘What did they say?’ I ask.
‘That they can only release the footage if there’s some sort of criminal investigation. Something to do with their contract and data protection. To be honest, I think it’s because they don’t want to. They want the police to contact them, so what should I do?’
‘Leave it,’ I say. ‘It’s nothing anyway. I’m really sorry for wasting your time.’
There’s little else I can do considering the last thing I want is go to the police with possible sightings of the husband I killed.
Veronica sounds unsure, like she knows it’s more than I’m letting on. ‘I can keep onto them if you want. If it’s something important…?’
‘No…’
There’s a gap and then: ‘If you’re sure.’
I tell her that I am and then hang up. It takes me a short while to feel ready to face Jane again. There was a moment when my phone rang that I felt certain it would be to say that the worst had happened. Anticipating something and being ready for it are two different things.
Back in the living room, Jane looks up expectantly. There’s a rudeness about asking who was on the phone, even though we all want to know.
‘Nothing important,’ I say.
I can feel her watching me as I sit, as if she’s trying to read my mind.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ she asks.
‘Yes… just busy.’
‘You can tell me anything…’
This is the moment where I can either let it out, or I’m going to have to hold onto it. Even with that, there is truth within truth. If I tell her that I think David was in the back of her photo from the hotel, then do I leave it at that? Do I say that David’s dead? That I killed him? It’s the problem with lying. It’s like chocolate digestives with a cup of tea: one is never enough.
‘It’s nothing,’ I say.
Jane continues to watch me and there’s a moment in which we both know it’s a lie. She’s asking if I want help and I’m telling her no, even though the answer is yes.
‘I have to get going,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t meaning to stir things up, or anything like that. I just thought you should know what I saw.’
