You Can Trust Me Page 27

  One last supper, I think, before I tell him to leave the house for good.

  * * *

  Hannah puts her knife and fork together and pushes her plate away. For once, she has eaten everything—I made stew and mashed potatoes—and sat meekly throughout the meal. However, despite the peace, I’m not at all sure her behavior is a good sign. She didn’t talk back when Will arrived home with Zack and told her, stern and unsmiling, that she was grounded for a week and must never run off without telling us where she is going again. I think he handled her well, not coming down too hard but setting solid boundaries. Hannah kept her head bowed throughout, then scuttled off to her room. She looks preoccupied and miserable now. I resolve that when Will and I talk later, we must do so in the garage, where neither child will overhear us.

  Zack is still eating, sauce stains all around his mouth. I reach over and wipe his lips with a piece of kitchen towel. He glances at me and beams, his eyes shining with happiness from under long, black lashes. I gaze at his round, fresh face and wish that I could keep him like this forever. The knowledge that, in a few more years, he will be a grunting, lanky, pimpled teenager is almost impossible to accept.

  I look up. Will is watching me, his expression one of frustration. I frown, not understanding. Then Will picks up his plate and Hannah’s and takes them to the counter above the dishwasher.

  “I bought ice cream for dessert,” I say.

  “No thanks,” Hannah says, getting up.

  “Not for me.” Will turns and leaves the room.

  I glance back at Zack. He swallows his stew in a huge gulp.

  “Is it strawberry?” he asks hopefully.

  I fetch his ice cream and make myself a cup of tea. I can hear Hannah padding upstairs to her room. Will has switched on the TV in the living room. So much for our family dinner. Ten minutes of a shared meal, then we each fall back into our default groove. I chew on my lip. Maybe Will and me splitting up will have some positive—as well as negative—effects. It should certainly change these ruts and routines.

  I load the dishwasher, wondering resentfully how I have let a situation build where I both cook and wash up. Is it really my own fault? Sure, Will and I agreed when I gave up work that I would run the home while he focused on his career, but why does that mean he doesn’t even help clean up? Yes, of course, I could always ask him to help—Hannah and Zack too—but why should I have to? Will should see I need a hand in the kitchen. He should offer.

  I resentfully shove a plate into the dishwasher. Zack is swallowing his final spoonful of ice cream, the mess around his mouth now various shades of pink.

  “Bathtime in twenty minutes,” I say.

  “Can I play Temple Run?”

  “Sure.”

  He scampers off and I scrape the leftover stew into a Tupperware container and leave it on the counter, ready to put in the freezer.

  The next hour creeps by. Will doesn’t emerge from the living room, while I maneuver Zack into first his bath and then his pajamas. He falls asleep within seconds of me turning off the light.

  I wander next door into Hannah’s room and stand in the doorway. Hannah looks up from her bed, where she’s sitting cross-legged and listening to music on her headphones. She switches off the music.

  “Everything okay, Hanabana?” I ask.

  This is Will’s name for her, and as I speak, I’m braced, ready for Hannah to tell me not to call her that or to scowl and demand for the thousandth time that I leave her room. But Hannah does neither of those things. She simply nods and goes back to her music.

  As I hear the faint hiss and slap of the beat behind me, I know that it’s time for Will and me to talk. I go into the living room.

  “Shall we?” I say.

  Will looks at me, then switches off the TV without a word.

  My heart thuds as he follows me out to the garage. It is cool, but bright under the artificial light out here. There’s a smell of wood and gasoline. I stare at Will’s stash of old bike mags, then down at the place where I found Julia’s ring. It feels like my life, as I know it, is over. That after this conversation, everything will change forever.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Will and I stand in the middle of the garage, facing each other. There’s nowhere to sit, but that is a good thing. We shouldn’t be too comfortable for this.

  “So?” Will says.

  “Catrina.” The one word, hard and bright as glass. It sticks in my throat.

  Will looks at me, his expression both angry and wary. “I already told you, Liv, I didn’t sleep with her,” Will says.

  I stare at him, hate and humiliation welling in my guts. How can he look me in the eye and lie like that? “You were seen,” I say. “In Geneva.”

  “What?” Will frowns. “What are you talking about? Seen where? Doing what? We weren’t doing anything!”

  “You left her hotel room in the middle of the night. You … you kissed her at the door.” The image of Will and Catrina, locked together in the afterglow of their adultery cuts through me.

  “Who told you that?” Will’s frown deepens.

  I say nothing, still reluctant to give up Martha and Leo as my sources.

  Will shakes his head. “You’re not making any sense. The first night, I only saw Catrina on the airplane and in the car to the hotel. She checked in before me and went up to her room. I don’t even know which room. The second night, she was still in the bar when I went to bed. That was the night after Julia died. I was worried about you. About the kids having, you know, seen her. I was upset I wasn’t home, for God’s sake. I wasn’t even—”

  “Leo saw you.” My voice shakes as I speak. “Outside Catrina’s room at about five A.M.”

  Will’s eyes open wide. “Leo said that?”

  I give him a brisk nod. “Martha did first—she told me what he told her. But I’ve spoken to Leo since. He confirmed it.”

  Silence. Will looks dumbstruck. “I don’t … I can’t imagine … what Leo thinks he saw, but whatever it is, he’s wrong.”

  “He saw you kissing.”

  “No.” Will’s voice rises. “No, I swear. That didn’t happen.”

  I breathe out, a long, slow sigh. So he can’t even give me this. He can’t even admit his guilt.

  Will is shaking his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Leo can tell me what he thinks he saw. I don’t believe this.”

  “No,” I say, “that’s not fair on Leo. Or Martha.”

  “Not fair on—?” Will glares at me as he clutches his mobile. “What about what’s fair on me … on us? They’re lying, Liv, or … or you’ve misunderstood … or—”

  “I haven’t.” A poisonous cocktail of emotions swirls in my stomach, making me feel sick. I feel utterly humiliated, guilty that Leo will be put in such a horribly awkward position, furious with him for bringing me this terrible news, beyond furious with Will for cheating and then lying. And through it all, the agony of betrayal. The toolbox catches my eye. I remember Julia’s ring. And in that moment, I’m certain Will’s crime goes way beyond his betrayal of me.

  “Julia found out too, didn’t she?” I ask. “Did she know about Catrina? Or was it someone else?”

  “No.” Will raises his phone to his ear. “Julia didn’t know anything. There was … is … nothing to know.”

  “Why did you take her ring, then?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “So why haven’t you sent it back to Robbie like you said you would?”

  “I FedEx-ed it to Joanie in Bridport. Jesus.” Will lowers his phone. “Leo’s mobile is switched off. I’m calling the house.” He scrolls down, making the new call.

  I chew on my lip. I don’t think I have ever felt worse in my life.

  “Hi, Paul, it’s Will.… Yes, I’m fine.… Is Leo there?”

  I hold my breath, waiting for Paul to pass the phone to Leo. They should both be there. When I saw them earlier, Leo said they were staying in with takeout for dinner.

  “When will Le
o be back? Right.” Will nods at whatever Paul is saying. “Fine, I’ll try him later.” He snaps his phone off. “Leo’s out until late. Paul doesn’t know where.”

  I let out my breath. I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or not that Leo either has changed his plans or, more likely, isn’t prepared to take Will’s call.

  “Never mind Leo, you’re making everything ten times worse by not admit—”

  “How could it be ten times worse, Livy?” Will’s voice rises again. “Tell me how this situation could be any fucking worse?”

  I swallow hard. “I just—”

  “I know we’re in a bad place, that things have been difficult for a while,” Will says. “I know you don’t … haven’t … trusted me for a long time.” He rubs his forehead.

  “I did.” Emotion swells inside me. “I did trust you, and you’ve made an idiot of me.” My voice cracks.

  “Why don’t you believe me?” Will asks, his voice almost as broken as mine.

  “Because … how can I?”

  “So you’ll take Leo’s word over mine?”

  “Leo has no reason to lie to me.”

  “Unlike me, you mean?” Will says. “Liv, I’m not lying.”

  We stare at each other.

  “You lied before,” I say. “You lied six years ago.”

  “But that was different,” Will insists. “You know that was different. Back then, it was just after Zack and … God, Livy, you were so obsessed with him. It was like I didn’t matter. Like you fell in love with being his mother, and all I was … was a walking wallet.”

  I turn away. I remember clearly Will’s complaints at the time about existing in the family only to fund it. It was never true—not for me, anyway. And it’s not relevant. Not to what we’re talking about now.

  “Don’t make this about me,” I say. “You love being at work. You enjoy what you do. You always have.”

  “It’s not that black-and-white.” Will sighs. “Come on, Liv. Do you really think I want to be at work all the time? I’d love to be able to spend more time here. I look at you and I envy the fact that after the kids and the house, you can snatch yourself an hour here and there if you want. You could even get back into photography—or do that master’s you used to talk about.”

  I stare down at the dusty floor. “It’s not that easy.”

  “It’s not easy for me either,” Will goes on. “It’s horrible not to be trusted.”

  Irritation roils inside me. I look up. “Well, whose fault is that?”

  “Don’t you think I know it’s my fault? Don’t you think I haven’t regretted what happened for the past six years? I thought things were getting better, but now … now…”

  I have the sense of us both, teetering on a cliff edge, held back only by the magnitude of the jump ahead.

  “It’s not working,” I say.

  “I know.”

  We look at each other.

  “Do you still love me?” Will asks. “Because I still love you.”

  A lump lodges itself in my throat. “I don’t know,” I admit.

  Will nods, the fire of his anger dying in his eyes. Another long silence stretches between us. I feel hollow inside, as if all the hope and life of our relationship have burned to ashes. Everything I touch dies. Kara. Julia. My marriage.

  “I want you to move out,” I say.

  “No, Livy, for God’s sake. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Leo yet. Find out what he’s playing at. You can’t—”

  “You can’t tell me what to do, Will. You’ve thrown it away. You’ve fucking thrown everything we had away.” I spit out the last words. My stomach is churning, my guts a sea of acid. Everything is poison.

  Will stares at me, his mouth trembling with hurt and anger.

  “We need a break, at least,” I say.

  “What about the kids?” Will glares at me. “I don’t want to do this, Liv. Surely we—”

  “We need to see how we feel apart. I’m not saying you can’t come around. See the kids whenever you—”

  “Jesus Christ!” Will explodes. “Don’t start talking about when I can see the kids. It’s—”

  “It’s the only way.” I stare at him, knowing my eyes are hard even as my insides are crumbling. He won’t admit it. He won’t give us a way of working through things. I don’t trust him. Can’t ever trust him now.

  “Fine,” Will snarls. “I’m going to a hotel. I’ll tell the kids it’s work. But I want them tomorrow. And I want them here. You can stay in the hotel tomorrow. Or with that boy toy of Julia’s. Or wherever you fucking want.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but before I can speak, Will storms out. I stand in the middle of the garage, numb. For a moment it feels like the room, the house, the world is turning circles inside my head. Will has left the door to the kitchen open. I can hear him cross the hall, his feet on the stairs. Two … three minutes pass. Then he’s stomping down the stairs. Across the hall. The front door shuts. A firm click. He’s gone.

  I sink to the floor. The little Thomas the Tank Engine boot is on its side in front of the toolbox where I found Julia’s ring. It reminds me of Zack. And Hannah. And how Will—how Will and I together—are about to shatter their lives. I haven’t told him anything that Damian and I found out about Julia. I haven’t told him about the fire or Shannon’s death. And it is remembering how much I wanted him at my side earlier, when I felt so vulnerable, that brings me, finally, to a bawling mess, my cheek cold against the dirty floor, my heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.

  * * *

  The next morning passes in a daze. Both kids sleep late, though in Zack’s case, this only means until eight o’clock. I barely sleep at all, partly because of everything that’s happening with Will and partly out of fear for my and the kids’ safety. I get up several times to check that every door and window is properly locked.

  At eleven, Zack is picked up for an outing to Paignton Zoo with his friends Noah and Barney and Barney’s parents. I let him go with severe misgivings. Yesterday’s scare with Hannah may have had nothing to do with Julia’s murderer, but the man who followed Damian and me is still out there. I’m certain, though I have no proof, that he killed Shannon and my sister as well as Julia. And he set fire to the cottage while Damian and I were still inside it.

  He knows who I am; he could know everything about me. I’m not safe, which means my children aren’t either. Yet, in the sunny light of this summer’s day, I can find no logical reason to stop Zack from going out. After all, the fire was now two days ago, and there has been no further threat to me since then. Damian calls to make sure I am all right. He is still preoccupied with everything we have found out about Julia’s last days and points out that in all the drama over Hannah, I never told him what I’d learned from Robbie.

  I hesitate. I have given that conversation—and what it revealed—little thought since yesterday morning.

  “What is it, Livy?”

  I take a deep breath and tell him about Julia’s will, the one Robbie claims to have destroyed.

  “He says she left you everything, but the will was never registered with a solicitor, so—”

  Damian gasps. “I had no idea she did that,” he says, his voice swelling with emotion.

  I believe him. After all, if he’d known about the will, he would surely have told the police to look for it. He certainly wouldn’t have killed Julia for her money before making sure he was definitely going to inherit it. Anyway, right now, I have to trust someone.

  I don’t tell Damian about Will and me, however. I haven’t told anyone about that. It’s far too early to upset Mum with the news, and I don’t want the pity I know I’ll get from any of my other friends. I would have confided in Julia at this point. Partly because she would have told me, straight off, that she was on my side, whatever I chose to do. And partly just because I always told her everything. Yesterday, Robbie almost spoiled the memories I have of Julia. I’m going to try to forget everything he said about her, and
today I make a point of telling Damian how much I miss Julia’s sharp wit and practical, hardheaded outlook on life.

  He responds with his own stories of Julia’s humor and support. How she kept him going when he lost three projects in a row and was starting to doubt his own abilities, how she made him laugh, how soft she was “on the inside, where nobody saw, Livy.” It’s hard to reconcile Damian’s version of Julia with Robbie’s. The truth is that I don’t recognize my best friend in either of their portraits. And that knowledge leaves me more depressed than ever.

  Our conversation turns to what we should do next. Damian has at last come round to the idea that I should talk to the police, though he is still reluctant to go himself.

  “I know we’ve got no evidence, but everything we’ve found out must add up,” he says. “Shannon’s death. The fire. The guy who followed us. You’re going to have to tell the police everything. Let them take over.” He hesitates. “You’re going to have to tell them about Will taking Julia’s ring.”

  Despair crawls through my veins again at the thought of Will’s angry face. I don’t want to talk to the police about Julia. I don’t want to talk to anyone. However, I agree to meet Damian later—after all, if Will was serious about having the kids here tonight, then I will have to find somewhere else to go anyway. I’m aware Will and I can’t keep such a situation going for very long, but right now I can’t think beyond tonight.

  I end my call with Damian, only to have my cell ring again almost immediately. It’s Robbie.

  “Hi, Livy.” His voice is breathy and expectant. It turns my stomach.

  “Hi … sorry, Robbie, it’s not a good time.”

  “Okay, sure, sure. I can call later. I just … I wanted to tell you how wonderful it was to see you yesterday. I wondered if you wanted to meet later on. Perhaps a drink?”

  I shake my head, amazed at his confidence. “Thanks, Robbie, but I’ll have to call you back.”

  “Sure, sure.” He lets me go.

  I sit on the sofa, put down my phone, and rest my head in my hands. I can’t think straight. My head is full of fog. Robbie is the last thing I need. Hannah drifts in to the living room. To my surprise, she comes over and curls up beside me. I put my arm around her tentatively. We sit in silence for a minute; then Hannah uncurls, stretching out like a cat.