Page 68 of The Vow
‘Can I speak to Fiona Rose?’
The voice sounds surprised. ‘Ms Rose has been called away unexpectedly, but perhaps I can transfer you to one of our other partners. Can I take …’
I hang up before she finishes.Called away unexpectedly… by the police? Deep in thought, I carry on walking along theseafront, breathing in the clean salt air, feeling the breeze buffeting my face, until I reach a bus stop.
After checking the timetable, I don’t have to wait long. As I find a seat, the bus is half-empty, and as it sets off along the coast road, through the window, I watch a couple of kite surfers. Since moving to Cornwall, I’ve developed a fascination for the power of the wind, the might of the waves and I watch in awe as one of the kite surfers is lifted airborne, before speeding away along the coast. Suddenly homesick for Falmouth, I take a photo, texting it to Rik.Miss you xxxx.
While the bus makes its way towards Steyning, I lean my head against the window, watching the landscape change from busy streets to empty fields, the river meandering through them, trying to think hard. If I wanted to hide something where no-one would find it, where would I put it?
*
As I walk from Steyning up the lane to our house, on edge, I check my phone is in my pocket. When I reach the house, I stand there for a moment, looking up at the windows. I’ve always felt so safe here, but today, for some inexplicable reason, the idea of walking in there alone unnerves me. But for my mother’s sake, I have to do this. Inside, I lock the door behind me, then turn on lights. Like last time, the house is cold and unwelcoming, a feeling that grows stronger as I go upstairs.
In the small study, my mother’s old course notes and my school books are piled inside an old chest, a bookcase holding her collection of books, most of which I’ve read. Running my finger across their spines, I take in the titles that are so familiar to me. But on the desk or in the small drawer underneath, nothing is out of place.
In my mother’s bedroom, I turn all the lights on. The bags of clothes I filled are where I left them, piled in one corner, everything exactly as it was when I was here last. But now I’m here, not knowing where to start, I sit on the bed, disheartened. On my mother’s dressing table, her perfume bottle and hairspray are next to the make-up bag I gave her several Christmases ago. There’s the photo of me as a child, the small china horse I bought her. The print of sunlight through trees, on the wall. All symbolic in some way; personal to her. Frowning, it hits me how unnatural it is, that in all the time Matt lived here, though he changed the sofas and the colour of the walls, apart from his clothes and the hideous painting downstairs, there’s nothing else here that’s personal to him.
Knowing the police have already searched thoroughly, it dawns on me that it’s pointless to search again. Getting up, I head downstairs. As I pass the sitting room, Matt’s horrible painting stares at me from its place on the wall above the fireplace. Suddenly wanting it out of the house, anger fills me as I go and wrench it from the wall. Taking it through to the kitchen, I slide open the doors and drop it heavily outside, not caring as I hear the glass shatter.
Then the sound of someone trying to open the front door makes me leap out of my skin. It’s followed by the sound of the doorbell ringing, before I hear Cath’s voice call out. ‘Jess? Can you let me in?’
*
After Cath comes in, I go outside to clear up the glass that broke when I dropped Matt’s painting. Picking everything up, as I take it inside, for the first time I notice two initials in the bottom right-hand corner, in Mondrian-esque blocky letters, CB.Charlie Brooks.At last I know the reason Matt was soobsessed with the painting. It’s the one remaining link to his dead brother.
‘You need to tell the police.’ Cath stares at the painting. ‘I mean, it could be proof, couldn’t it, that Matt is Charlie’s brother?’
‘I really hope so.’ I pull my mobile out of my pocket. My call is answered immediately. ‘Hello? It’s Jess Reid. Can I speak to PC Page?’
But as I’m put through to her, it goes to voicemail. I leave a message. ‘It’s Jess Reid. I’ve found something I think you should see.’
*
With the painting in the back of Cath’s car, we set off for Brighton. As we get closer to the city, I wonder if things will ever go back to how they were. ‘This has to be enough,’ I say to Cath, terrified that even the painting isn’t going to be enough for the police. ‘If not, what’s it going to take? I was going to search the house again but the police have already been through everything. I’d really hoped that the photo of Charlie Brooks’ family was enough proof.’
‘Well, maybe this painting is what they need. You have to hang in there, Jess.’ Cath tries to reassure me. ‘Wait until you’ve spoken to them. Who knows what else they’ve found out.’
Dispirited, I shake my head. ‘If there was anything, PC Page would have called me.’
‘She still might. And surely she’s going to want to see the painting.’
As Cath turns into Zoe’s road, I’m silent as I check my phone for any calls. As she pulls in near Zoe’s house, I get out and go to get Matt’s painting. Taking it inside, I lean it up against the wall just inside the front door, then go through tothe kitchen where I watch Zoe put the kettle on. Leaning against one of the work surfaces, I’m still preoccupied as the sound from my mobile distracts me. Glancing at the screen, seeing an unknown number, hoping it’s the police, my insides lurch. ‘Hello. Yes, it’s me.’
PC Page sounds in a hurry. ‘It looks like you may be right about Matt being Charlie’s brother. We’ve found records of him changing his name by deed poll. It’s all there, in black and white.’
Filled with relief, for a moment, I can’t speak. ‘So … my mother? She’s no longer a suspect?’
‘It isn’t quite that simple.’ PC Page sounds reluctant. ‘While it’s proof of Matt’s real name, it doesn’t actually prove anything as far as your mother’s concerned. And Brooks is a common enough name.’
‘But you have the photo. And it gives him a motive,’ I interrupt her, angrily. ‘Don’t you realise? He’s set this up?’ I pause briefly. ‘There was a painting in the house – it was Matt’s. He was obsessive about it. Earlier today I took it down, but when I put it outside, the glass smashed. The painting itself came loose. Anyway, there are initials on it that weren’t visible before. The artist’s. CB. Charlie Brooks.’
‘You’re quite sure?’ Her voice is sharp.
‘Yes. I brought the painting back with me. I thought you’d want to see it.’
‘If anything like this happens again, please call me.’
‘I did.’ There’s surprise in my voice. ‘I got put through to your phone and I left a message.’
