Hanging Hill Part 22

She opened an email from the technical team at HQ. The freeze frames of the p.o.r.n footage lifted from Goldrab's computers had come back and none of the women was Lorne. She stared at the images, trying to force Lorne's features into the girls' faces, but she couldn't. Again, she wondered if Goldrab's disappearance was totally coincidental. Did that mean she was leaving Lorne behind by chasing what had happened to Goldrab? She looked at the photo of Lorne pinned to the wall. Come on, she thought, you brought me here, so you tell me what do I do now? You know I really want David Goldrab. Do I go after it? Or is he nothing to do with you?

There was a knock at the door. She made sure her s.h.i.+rt was straight and tucked in and that her cuffs were b.u.t.toned, then swivelled the chair to the door. 'Yup?'

Ben put his head round the door.

'Oh.' Her head felt suddenly heavy, her feet like lead. 'Ben.'

'Hi.'

They regarded each other without speaking. Somewhere down the corridor a phone rang. A door at the other end of the building banged. What, she wondered, was the grown-up way to deal with Ben? How would a normal person address what had happened between them? She didn't know. Hadn't a clue.

Eventually Ben saved her by speaking. 'Have you heard?'

'Heard what?'

'About Ralph?'

'What about him?'

'I thought you should be the first to know.' He glanced up at her whiteboard, where Ralph's name was written with a big red line through it. For the first time she noticed dark rings under Ben's eyes. He'd been working hard. 'He tried to commit suicide. Two hours ago. His mother found him.'

'Christ.' She remembered Ralph crouching here on the floor, his back to the wall, his tears wetting the carpet. 'Is he going to be OK?'

'They don't know yet. He left a note, though. It said, "Lorne, I'm sorry."'

Zoe leaned back in the chair, her hands resting on her thighs, her eyes closed. She felt the long, hard drag of the past few days hanging on her.

'Zoe?'

She dropped her chin. Opened one eye and locked it on him. 'What?'

He scratched his head, glanced at the whiteboard, then back at her. 'Nothing,' he said. 'Nothing. Just thought you should know.'

14.

Sally took a long time to go back to sleep after the dream. It seemed she'd slept only minutes before Steve's alarm was going off. He had a meeting to attend, he'd told her, in London. He hadn't said what, but they both knew it was with Mooney. To get the money. He showered and dressed while Sally lay in bed, trying to get rid of the dregs of the dream. He didn't eat breakfast, but walked around anxiously, drinking a mug of coffee, hunting for his keys and his sat nav. He told Sally not to call him, he'd call her.

She sat at the window in her dressing-gown and watched the car pull left out of the driveway, which led away from the lane along a narrow track into the woods. It was down there, in true Famous Five style, that they'd dug a hole under the trunk of a tree and buried David's teeth and ring in a tin. She waited at the window until, twenty minutes later, Steve's car reappeared from the woods and sailed past the drive. Yes. He was going to see Mooney. He was going to get the money. And tomorrow he was going to America to get his other business finished. He was good at keeping things contained, she thought. He had to be, with his job. She envied that. He had no idea what it was like in her head at the moment. The mess and the confusion. The awfulness of being interviewed yesterday by Zoe.

There was a pile of dead brushwood that she'd collected back in December and hadn't got round to burning. During the winter it had become wet and rotten, but over the last few days the high, bright suns.h.i.+ne had dried it out. She didn't have to be at work until lunchtime, and she didn't want to stay in the cottage thinking about Steve going away tomorrow, or about the curious light in Zoe's eyes when she had said, 'Why are you nervous, Sally?', so she pulled on jeans and wellingtons and a.s.sembled the things she needed to make a bonfire. In the garage she found the can of paraffin they'd used to burn David's belongings and all their bloodied clothes. Her old gardening gloves were in the greenhouse. They had been sitting on the window-sill for months and had dried into stiff leather claws. She had to crack and soften them before they'd slip on to her hands.

The place they'd had the fire five nights ago was still black and grey with ash. There was a screw or a nail from something, she wasn't sure what, embedded in the soil. She pushed it further into the earth with her toe, then piled the brushwood on top of it, going back and forth across the garden, until there was lichen on her clothes and a long trail of debris across the lawn where she'd walked. The paraffin was easier to manage than she'd expected. As she worked some of the resolve she'd felt the other night in the car came back to her. She could do things. She could do this on her own. She could keep going as if nothing had happened. She could maybe even do some research and make a start on the thatch wouldn't that be something! She could be as strong as Zoe. She watched the embers lift off, borne on the oily flame tips, watched them take to the air and whisk away to the fields, leaving grey speckles on the new skin of green. When the fire had reached its peak and was starting to die a little, she turned away to get a rake to keep it all together and saw a car sitting in the driveway behind her.

She hadn't heard it over the roar and crackle of the flames. It was blue and beaten up and she recognized it from yesterday. In the driver's seat as if Sally had magicked her there was Zoe, in a white T-s.h.i.+rt and a leather jacket, a beanie pulled down over her mad splay of red hair. Sally stared at her as she swung out of the car. The confidence of a cowboy. It must be so nice to be in that body, with those well-s.p.a.ced legs, those capable arms. No clothes that felt too tight around the waist or old, frayed bras stretching and sagging.

Zoe looked serious as she came towards her. 'Where's Millie?'

'At Julian's. Why?'

'Have you got time to talk?'

'I've ...' She glanced at the can of paraffin. 'I've got this to burn.' She pushed her hair off her face with the back of her wrist. 'Then I've got work.'

'That's OK. I won't be long.'

'I've got to wash all Millie's school clothes too.'

'Like I said, I won't be long.'

Sally was silent for a moment. She looked out at the fields. She saw the lane that wound its way up to the motorway. Steve would be at Victoria by now. 'What do you want to talk about?'

'Oh, this and that. Actually ...' she glanced at the cottage '... I'd like a cup of tea. If that's not too much trouble.'

Sally kept her gaze on the fields, trying to guess what was coming. She'd never been any good at reading her sister. That was just the way it was. She put down her rake and went towards the cottage, pulling off her gloves. Zoe followed, stooping to get through the low doorway. While Sally boiled the kettle, scooped tea into the pot, Zoe wandered around the kitchen, picking up things from the shelves and examining them, stopping to peer at a painting Sally had done of a tulip tree. 'So,' she said, 'this is where you live now.' She studied a photo of Millie and the other kids Sophie, Nial and Peter pictured walking in a line across a ploughed field. 'You going to tell me about it? What happened to Julian?'

'There's nothing to tell. He found a girlfriend. They've got a baby.'

'Is Millie OK with it?'

'I don't know.'

'I saw her the other day, Millie.'

'I know.'

'She looked well. She's growing up fast. She's very pretty. Is she well behaved?

'Not really. No.'

Zoe gave a small smile and Sally stopped spooning tea.

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Is that what you came to talk about? Millie?'

'In a way. There's some news. Ralph Hernandez her friend? He's going to be OK but he tried to kill himself this morning.'

'Ralph?' She put the tin down with a clunk. 'Oh, good Lord,' she muttered. 'It just doesn't seem to stop.'

'We've got someone talking to the headmaster at Kingsmead. I guess he'll decide how to break the news to the kids.'

'But is it Ralph's way of ...' she tried to find the right word '... his way of admitting admitting that he had something to do with Lorne?' that he had something to do with Lorne?'

'Some people think so.'

Sally lowered her eyes and put the lid back on the tea tin. She'd never met Ralph, but she knew all about him. She pictured him tall and dark. So, then, a suicide attempt. Another thing for Millie to carry. As if this household didn't have enough weighing on it. She cut slices of an orange-iced almond cake she'd made at the weekend in an optimistic attempt to cheer herself up. She got out plates, napkins, forks, and had turned to the fridge for the milk when behind her Zoe said, 'But that's not really why I'm here.'

She stopped then, her hand on the fridge door, her back to the room. Not moving. David, she thought. Now you're going to ask me about David. You're so clever, Zoe. I'm no match for you. Her head drooped so her forehead was almost touching the fridge. Waiting for the axe to fall. 'Oh,' she said quietly. 'Then why are you really really here?' here?'

There was a moment's silence. Then behind her Zoe said quietly, 'To apologize, I suppose.'

Sally stiffened slightly. 'To ... I beg your pardon?'

'You know about your hand.'

She had to swallow hard. It was the last thing. The very last thing ... The accident with her hand hadn't been referred to by anyone in the Benedict family since the day it had happened, nearly thirty years ago. To mention it was like saying the name of the devil aloud. 'Don't be silly,' she managed to say. 'There's nothing to apologize about. It was an accident.'

'It wasn't an accident.'

'But it was. An accident. And all a long time ago. Really, so long ago we hardly need to go back and-'

'It wasn't an accident, Sally. You know it, I know it. We've spent nearly thirty years pretending it didn't happen, but it did. I pushed you off that bed because I hated you. Mum and Dad knew it wasn't an accident too. That's why we got sent to separate schools.'

'No.' Sally closed her eyes, rested her fingers on the lids and tried hard to keep the facts straight. 'We got sent to separate schools because I wasn't clever enough for yours. I failed the test.'

'You could hardly hold the d.a.m.n pen, probably, because your finger was broken.'

'I could could hold the pen. I didn't get into the school because I was stupid.' hold the pen. I didn't get into the school because I was stupid.'

'Don't talk bulls.h.i.+t.'

'It's not bulls.h.i.+t.'

'Yes, it is. And you know it.'

There was a long, hard choke wanting to come up from Sally's stomach. She struggled to keep it under control. Finally, and with an immense effort of will, she opened her eyes and turned. Zoe was standing awkwardly on the other side of the table. There were red patches on her cheeks as if she was ill.

'I need to make amends, Sally. Everyone does. If we want to live well in the present we need to face the failings of our past.'

'Do we?'

'Yes. We have to. We have to make sure we ... make sure we connect connect to other people. Be sure we never forget that we're part of a bigger pattern.' to other people. Be sure we never forget that we're part of a bigger pattern.'

Sally was silent. It sounded so weird, words like that coming out of Zoe's mouth. She'd never thought of her sister as connected to other people. She was something quite out on her own. A lone planet. She needed nothing. No people. It was what Sally envied most, maybe.

'Yeah, well.' Zoe cleared her throat. Raised a dismissive hand. 'I've said my piece, but now I'd better go. Villains to catch. Kittens to rescue from trees. You know how it is.'

And she was gone, out of the kitchen, out of the cottage, striding across the gravel, spinning her keys on her hands. She didn't look back as she drove out on to the lane so she didn't see Sally watching her from inside the kitchen. Didn't see that she didn't move for several minutes afterwards. A pa.s.ser-by, if there had been any pa.s.sers-by in that remote place, would have thought she was frozen there. A fuzzy white face on the other side of the leaded panes.

15.

Just as Sally's job was finis.h.i.+ng that afternoon, Steve called and asked her to meet him in town. There wasn't enough time to get to his house before she picked up Millie so he suggested they met at the Moon and Sixpence, the place they'd first had dinner together. She used the bathroom she'd just cleaned to have a hurried wash, and straightened her clothes. She put on a little makeup, but in the mirror her reflection was still tired and drawn. She couldn't stop turning over what Zoe had said that morning. About amends and patterns and the past.

She got to the cafe by four and found him sitting on the terrace, dressed in a suit and camel overcoat, drinking coffee. She sat down opposite him. He turned his grey eyes to her and studied her. 'Are you OK?'

'I think so. How was the meeting?'

He nodded in the direction of the third seat at the table. 'In there.' He had the weary, resigned look of a man who'd just woken up to the fact that the world was going to disappoint him for ever. 'In there.'

She saw a rucksack on the seat. 'Is that ...?'

He nodded. 'I got paid in Krugerrands.'

'Krugerrands?'

He nodded. 'Had to go and change it in Hatton Garden. I got a good deal there's more than thirty-two K in there.'

Sally s.h.i.+vered. Thirty-two thousand pounds for killing a man. Blood money, they'd call this. She should be revolted by it, but she wasn't. She just felt numb. 'What are you going to do with it?'

'I'm not going to do anything with it. It's yours.'

'But-'

'Really. You did the job.'

'But you helped. We did it together. Like partners.'

'Don't argue. Just take it.'

She bit her lip. Looked at the rucksack. It was bulging. Ever since Thursday night she hadn't been able to look at a bag stuffed full of anything without picturing those carrier bags lined up on the lawn at Peppercorn. The red paste pressing against the plastic. She pulled her eyes away. Fiddled with the lid of Steve's cafetiere.

'Millie got another call today from Jake.'

'That's fine. We'll sort it tonight.'

'I don't know if I want to.'

'Well, we're going to have to. We'll do it tonight and tomorrow I'm going to America. You know that, don't you, that I'm still going to America?'

She nodded.

'Are you going to be OK?'

'Yes,' she said distantly. 'I'll be fine.'