Chapter 27
27
TWO DAYS BEFORE HE LEFT ME
The first thing I think of is James’s voice, running through me like electricity. I don’t hate you, Liv. I’ve been in love with you for years.
Kit comes into the room quietly, his eyes apologetic, a sad-looking daffodil in his hand and breakfast on a tray.
‘I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.’ It takes me a while for my thoughts to settle.
James was already in love with me? How can that be? How did I not spot the signs? ‘Sorry I was such a dick yesterday,’ Kit says. He’s talking about the argument about my coat, the comments about spending money. Not about meeting up with his ex-girlfriend. Not about hiding something from me.
Back then, I had forgiven him. I’d said that I would forgive him if he went and fetched me some peanut butter for the toast.
It was nothing on that Wednesday. I had forgiven him in a heartbeat. We’d had make-up sex, he’d put on his suit for a meeting and I’d gone over to Mum’s.
He smiles at me – that confident smile that makes his eyes spark with that mischievous look that has everyone falling under his spell. It’s only now that I notice a translucent shadow over that expression, a gossamer-fine coating. He has bags under his eyes. There is a tension to his smile that I never noticed before.
‘I saw you yesterday,’ I say, the words already out. ‘With Becky? Becky Thomas?’
‘Yeah?’ he says, reaching over and taking a sip of my tea, before standing up and opening the wardrobe doors, playing for time.
‘You were in a car together. I was out with Ava. I saw you,’ I prompt.
‘You never said?’
‘Well, I’m saying it now.’
‘Blue or white?’ he asks holding up both shirts with a smile, anxiety being hidden behind the mundane, the ordinary.
I ignore his question. ‘I didn’t think you were still in touch.’ He replaces the white shirt and begins pulling his arms through the sleeves. ‘I wasn’t… She sent me a message out of the blue. She wants to start up her own company.’ His eyes are focused on his fingers manipulating the buttons. ‘She asked me if I’d set her up with a decent website. I agreed. It’s no big deal.’
‘It looked like a big deal. You had your arms around her.’
He frowns briefly, then resets. ‘She’s having a tough time. It was nothing. I felt sorry for her, that’s all. Her mum’s just died. Nate, her husband, is being a bit of an arsehole and I wanted to help her out. He always was a jealous dick.’
Was he? A thought sparks. Maybe Nate has something to do with why he goes missing.
‘You’ve not mentioned Nate before.’
‘Why would I? He’s harmless, but can be a bit of a knob where Becks is concerned.’
Becks . The familiarity of the name burns the back of my throat .
He tucks in his shirt and looks back at me. His mouth twitches at the side. ‘Are you jealous?’
The way he is deflecting unsettles me.
‘I’m just wondering why you never mentioned it. That’s all.’
‘It’s nothing, Liv. Honestly. She asked if I could do her a favour and I said yes. She’s married… We’re not having a sordid affair.’
On seeing my expression, he softens and crawls across the bed towards me, nudging my nose with his, his eyes sincere. I feel myself softening despite all the thoughts in my mind, the lies I think he’s telling me. Is this how it always was? I think back to our relationship, the days where I didn’t want to go off on whatever adventure he had in store, how he would always win me over with a smile, with a kiss, with a promise of whatever he had planned being something I wouldn’t regret.
‘I’m sorry. I should have told you. But I promise you’ – his gaze is intense – ‘I would never be unfaithful to you.’ There is fire in his words, conviction.
Every part of me wants to believe him. I’m yearning for it to be the truth; I’m overwhelmed by my insatiable need to believe him, to believe in him.
‘So why didn’t you think to mention that you were meeting up with your ex?’
‘Honestly?’ He’s still leaning over me, his hair falling forwards, his breath on my face. The freckles running along his cheek like a Nike tick. ‘She asked me not to. Said Nate would throw a fit if he knew she’d asked for my help. But you’re right’ – he kisses me gently on the mouth – ‘I should have told you.’
Kit climbs off the bed and bends down in front of the mirror. He tames his hair with his hand, and grabs his tie from the end of the bed, knotting it.
‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he says hesitating at the door. ‘Why don’t you meet me for lunch? ’
I think back to this time in our lives. There was no suspicion between us. I loved him; he loved me. We were steadfast.
I shake my head. ‘I can’t… I’ve got to do some more work.’
He frowns. ‘I thought you’d finished?’
‘So did I, but it turns out I have another lesson left to plan.’
The lie skips from my mouth, bouncing and dancing across the room without a care in the world.
I’ve never lied to him before and the ease with which I do shocks me. Without even thinking about it, without planning which muscles to use, my face lies too. It looks disappointed. The lie unfolds without my control. ‘I’ve got to teach them the basics of algebra.’ My mouth forms words. It adds layers to my deceit, a scenario about word problems, an idea of making the lesson more practical.
‘Well, have fun with your algebra.’ He hesitates at the door. Can he tell? Or has the lie become solid, a fixed truth?
‘Kit?’ I sit up. ‘Why were you cross about the money I spent on the coat? Is there something else going on?’
My words seem to startle him. He frowns but I can see there are things he wants to say. ‘Tell me, Kit.’ I get up and walk over to him. ‘You can tell me. Is something on your mind? Are you having money trouble?’
He pulls a confused expression, a ‘what are you talking about, everything’s fine’ look.
‘Nothing for you to worry about. I was just tired, that’s all. Problems with one of my clients not paying on time. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.’
Money. James’s words from last night. You just have to connect the dots.
Kit bends down and kisses my forehead. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got a presentation at eleven with that tech company. If I get this then we can book that weekend trip to Amsterdam. ’
He winks, kisses me again, knocks on the door frame three times, then he’s gone.
‘Love you!’ he shouts from the bottom of the stairs.
The door closes before he hears me saying it back.
I let out a long breath. The muscles along my back are tense.
I’ve just lied to him about a fake lesson plan and I feel the weight of it pressing down on me. How must it feel when he leaves? How must it feel to him to lie about his own death?
I start opening and closing drawers. I upend his underwear drawer onto the bed. I throw open the wardrobe door and stuff my hands inside his pockets. I check his work jackets; I throw each item onto the bed, one by one. I’m breathless as I stand and look at the state of the room. The fire burns inside my stomach, the fire of grief that I went through the last time I did this. But today, something else is fuelling the flames. The truth is here somewhere. It has to be.
I storm into his office. His filing cabinet is locked and I rattle each drawer before spinning around on my heels looking for the key.
We hadn’t looked into his accounts after he died because the police had, and there was nothing to suggest that Kit did this deliberately. He’d had an accident; he needed to be found. He couldn’t be dead; he just couldn’t.
My hands run around the inside of his desk drawers before pulling them out and shaking the contents onto the floor.
I get on my hands and knees and begin sifting through his stationery. I scour old receipts that he keeps for his tax bill, a new monitor for the computer, and receipts from business lunches over the past year. Each one with a hand-scribbled note at the top: Kingwood Team x 4 – WH; The Topmire Account x 3 – L; Jenkins x 6 – PP. On and on they go. Could this be something? But what can I do with this information? Ring the restaurants? Ask if they remember Kit being in there months ago?
There are no bank statements. Kit did everything online. He was always looking at ways to save paper. He loved the world we live in, was always conscious of our carbon footprint. I log onto his computer, opening up his banking, but I have no idea what his password is, or his PIN.
‘Fuck!’ I shout, pushing myself back on the desk chair.
You don’t have to do this alone.
I reach for the phone and, just like yesterday, I ring James. The conversation is similar to yesterday, only this time I understand the forced way he’s cool with me, reluctantly, agreeing to meet.
I shower and sit in front of the mirror. My make-up choices were lighter back then: pale pinks and greys for my eyes, liquid eyeliner that my fingers automatically remember to flick at the edges. I step into a pair of skinny jeans. I hold up a cold-shoulder black jersey and automatically reach for a bra but then remember I didn’t wear one with this outfit. My cup is three sizes smaller right now. I replace the bra, pull on the top and sit in front of the mirror and blow-dry my short hair. I add a pair of silver hoop earrings and try to calm the nerves running through my body.
I’m going to have to watch James learn to accept the truth again.
I pick up the clothes scattered around the room and hang them back up; I smooth down the duvet. I stay there for a moment, my hands splayed against the soft fabric, my head bent over as I think about last night – the weight of James’s feelings for me – then I pull myself up, throw on my leather jacket and leave.
James is already at the bench by the river. He stands as I approach him: dark hair, dark eyes, a wary look.
‘Thanks for meeting me,’ I say. He nods, sits back down. I pass him a takeaway coffee. ‘Flat white, right?’
He takes the cup, the distance between us is back, space that pulses, expands and retracts, full yet empty. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
‘So, you needed to talk to me?’ he says, leg bouncing, eyes focused in the distance.
‘I do.’
He nods, eyes focusing on the pewter surface of the river, hair unruly, the wind tugging it.
‘James?’ I go to reach for his hand. He looks down at it like it’s a wasp. But now I understand his reactions. He can’t for one minute let me know the truth about his feelings. I pull my hand away and take a sip of coffee instead.
Then I begin. Again.