Page 61 of The Tapes
Ireallymessed up.
When he returns downstairs, Henry brings out a tray, this time with a teapot and a pair of cups. ‘I know you didn’t want one,’ he says, ‘but I started having a mint tea every night. I’ve been sleeping better.’
The sun is almost set now, leaving a sliver of purply-orange hovering over the fence. There are spotlights at the back of the house, shining a bright white across the deck.
‘How can I help?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know. I think maybe I just wanted someone to listen.’ He smiles kindly as I mumble a follow-up ‘Sorry…’
If Mum had left Henry a tape, he’d have said by now. Perhaps I always knew that and it’s true that I simply wanted someone to listen. Someone who wouldn’t accuse me of attention seeking. But maybe that smile makes it worse, because how can he be so understanding after everything?
‘It’s seven years and one hundred and thirty-four days,’ I say.
‘I’m really proud of you. Faith is, too.’
And that’s it, of course. I bury my eyes in my sleeve and turn away, facing the hot tub and trying not to lose it. A minute passes, but maybe more. When I can eventually face him again, Henry is sipping his mint tea.
‘I think there’s another version of the tape,’ I manage. ‘I’ve been trying to think if there’s someone else Mum might’ve given one to.’
‘It wouldn’t be your dad.’
I shake my head, because of course Henry knows that. He sips from his cup again, then there’s a telltale glance over the shoulder. Tiffany will be home soon. She’s so understanding, and they make a fantastic couple – yet I don’t blame him for not wanting a conversation with her about why I’ve shown up on their doorstep.
‘Who was that woman she knew, at her book club?’ Henry asks.
And the moment he says it, I know. Perhaps I needed someone else to point it out.
‘Wasn’t her daughter a victim of the Earring Killer?’ he adds. ‘I think your mum and her went to school together.’
The memory swirls and then it’s there. I spent almost two hours earlier listening to Mum talk about her arguments with Viv at book club – except it isn’t only Vivat book club, it’s Vivher childhood friend. How did I forget?
Henry is on his phone, though he passes it across. ‘Isn’t this her?’
I already know what’s going to be on the screen, because I googled it the other day and somehow still didn’t put the pieces together.
There’s a book cover ofThe Earring Killerby Vivian Mallory. It’s because of her interview withThe Guardianthat I knew about the first victim working at Prince Industries.
Vivian Mallory is Mum’s old friend, Viv. Aside from them, there was no particular crossover of families, but I do remember Mum saying that Vivian’s daughter was the victim of the Earring Killer who was being talked about on the news. It would have been maybe a year before Mum disappeared. I think I might have even known that Vivian was writing a book about it.
If I hadn’t been so drunk all the time, I might have actually remembered some of it. There are whole chunks of my life thataren’t there any longer. Sometimes it’s evenings, sometimes it’s weeks.
No wonder Mum talked about Viv so much on the tapes – she wasn’t simply a random woman from a book club, they were proper friends.
And Viv lost her daughter.
Henry holds up his cup. ‘Do you want another?’
I’m about to tell him I should probably go when my phone buzzes. I’d usually ignore it, except Faith’s name is on the screen and I never disregard her.
But then I see what she’s sent.
There’s a photo of Owen’s wallet, open with my dead colleague’s face staring out at me.
Why have you got this?
THIRTY-ONE
My daughter is waiting for me in the kitchen when I get home. Faith is on her phone but puts it down when I bluster inside, struggling with my bag, keys and phone. My bag strap catches as I try to get it over my head and I end up dropping everything on the floor, before pawing through the lot to make sure nothing’s broken.
