Chapter 47
Violet
‘You don’t mean this house?’
Mags punctuated her question with a tittering giggle.
Henry shrugged. ‘’Fraid so. I don’t have any others knocking around.’
‘But I thought that—’ Her face fell as her hand dropped away from the banister. ‘We were under the impression that it was still available.’
‘It was,’ he agreed, making a show of looking at his watch, ‘until about twenty-five minutes ago.’
‘Who?’ I blurted, equal parts furious with him and relieved that Mags’s ‘vision’ for a swimming pool would now never come to pass.
Henry could not meet my eye. ‘Someone local,’ he said, sounding shifty. ‘A guy I know, with a family.’
Malcolm had gone very red. An ugly flush was working its way from his cheeks down to his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to formulate a response.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to both of them. ‘I had no idea. Henry, you should’ve told me.’
‘Probably should,’ he concurred cheerfully. ‘But oh well, what’s done is done. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’
He stood to one side, the door propped open behind him, the message to leave as loud and clear as if he’d erected it out of six-foot neon signs.
Malcolm made a chuntering sound in the back of his throat. ‘Whatever they’ve offered, we can better it.’
‘Too late,’ Henry told them. ‘Done and dusted.’
‘You won’t even consider negotiating?’ Mags pleaded, fixing him with a doe-eyed stare that had probably worked in her favour countless times before. Henry, however, was unmoved.
‘It’s off the market,’ he said firmly, interrupting her before she had time to say more. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I really do have to insist that you leave us to get on with our day. We have my father’s wake to prepare for.’
Nobody, I reflected, as a thoroughly put-out Malcolm and Mags made their way from the house, could argue with that.
Henry turned to me, the genial expression he’d fixed across his face for the benefit of our would-be buyers twisting into one of disappointment. ‘Nice try,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Inviting those parasites back here in an attempt to sell my house out from under me—’
‘Our house, Henry. You added my name to the deeds years ago, remember?’
He made a ‘tchuh’ sound.
‘And you’re one to talk,’ I went on. ‘Standing there accusing me of going behind your back, when you’ve gone and done the exact same thing.’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Yes, you have – you’ve sold the bloody house!’
He considered me for a moment, then stalked past, heading straight up the stairs.
‘Henry!’
I went after him, catching the door into the spare bedroom as he tried to swing it shut on me.
‘I need to get changed,’ he said. ‘Are you just going to stand there and watch?’
I folded my arms and leant pointedly against the wall. ‘If I have to.’
‘Fine,’ he said, unzipping the front of his overalls so they fell open to the waist.
I swallowed as my eyes roved uninhibited over his chest, breath catching at the sight and scent of him, dry sweat on warm skin.
‘Aren’t you even going to tell me who?’
He barely glanced at me as he rifled through a drawer, extracting first boxer shorts, then a balled-up pair of socks.
‘Who what?’
He tossed the items down on the bed, crossed to the wardrobe and took out a shirt, smart trousers, a yellow tie. We had decorated this room together, him with a roller and me a brush. I’d worn an old swimming cap over my hair to stop paint dripping on to it, and he’d laughed and called me ‘Vee-demort’. My yelps of protest were doused by his lips, kissing me through shared laughter into submission.
‘Who have you sold the house to, Henry?’
He stopped, sighed, shook his head. ‘Nobody.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean exactly that. I haven’t sold the house. I made it up. Lied.’
The menacing threats from McCabe, the final demands, the repossessed car, the empty bank accounts.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake – why?’ It was close to a scream. The room seemed to tilt as I glared at him, despair and agony, longing, and self-pity.
Henry stared back, a muscle working in his jaw. ‘Why?’ he repeated. ‘Because you left me with no choice. I thought I could trust you, after everything that’s happened. Jesus, Vee – my dad has only been gone nine days and you go and do this?’
‘I needed the money. I told you that.’
‘Yeah,’ he scoffed, ‘you did. You’ve been like a broken bloody record on the subject ever since you got here. It’s why I wasn’t in the least bit surprised when I realised you’d stolen from me.’
I was too shocked by this to respond immediately and taking my soundless mouthing as an admission of guilt, Henry threw up his hands in triumph.
‘See, you can’t even deny it.’
Striding past me, he went out on to the landing, and a moment later, I heard him in the bathroom, the click as the electric shower was turned on. He hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind him, but still recoiled when I marched in and yanked aside the curtain.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he exclaimed, hands going instinctively to shield his privates as I stepped over the side of the bath and stood fully clothed in front of him.
‘I have not,’ I said, blinking away droplets in a fury, ‘ever stolen from you.’
Henry stared down at me, water cascading over his cheeks, wet hair plastered against his scars.
‘I checked the bag,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s thirty thousand euros missing.’
The dress I’d changed into in order to look presentable for Mags and Malcolm was soaked through and clinging to my skin. I opened my mouth, confusion mingling with fruitless desire. Being this close to him again had filled my head with cotton wool, and my thoughts were sluggish as I fought to make sense of what he was telling me.
‘I didn’t take it,’ I said, repeating the denial as he continued to look scornful.
‘I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Then where is it?’
‘How the hell should I know?’
Henry dragged a hand through his hair, and unable to bear the scrutiny of his glare, I cast my eyes down instead, past the grooves of his chest to the flat, toned stomach and wet nest of pubic hair, the smooth length of him so enticingly close. It felt wrong to be examining him in this way, but the yearning inside me was untameable, nettles with rope-like roots that spread through every vein. Heat rushed to my head. I could hear his breathing over the sound of the running water, deep and slow and steady, completely at odds with my own racing heart.
‘I would’ve given you the money you needed to clear your debts,’ he said. ‘You didn’t have to steal it.’
Was he right? Could I have taken it? Had the world been knocked so far off its axis by all that had happened that it’d altered who I was, what I was capable of, how much control I had over my own actions? It all felt plausible. I was as positive as I could be that I hadn’t taken the money, but Henry seemed sure I had. And which of us, in the end, had proved themselves to be the most trustworthy?
I had to get out of here, away from him, go to a place where I’d be able to ponder all this clearly. I couldn’t think straight when he was standing naked in front of me, his body responding to the need I knew must be radiating from mine, even if his heart had closed, telling me there was hope still, that there was passion beneath the cynicism.
I stepped backwards, bare feet slipping on the enamel, and climbed out of the bath.
‘How much?’ he said, and I froze in the motion of reaching for a towel.
‘Twenty-five thousand. Plus a few thousand owing on the car.’
The curtain twitched. I could see him silhouetted behind it, saw him lift a hand as if to move it aside, watched as his arm fell back to his side.
‘And there’s more,’ I added meekly. ‘I quit my job, not long before I flew out here. My boss at the estate agency, he found out that I’d been doing something I shouldn’t, something awful. I had no choice. He would’ve fired me if I didn’t go first.’
A silence followed this. Henry was waiting for me to continue, but it was so hard to dredge up the right words. Instead of the what or the why, I told him the who, the name little more than a murmur. Corbin McCabe.
‘That crook?’ Henry was shocked. ‘What has he got to do with anything?’
‘Crook,’ I repeated. ‘You knew that he was dodgy?’
Henry switched off the shower. ‘He tried to recruit me years ago to turn over some properties on the cheap, use below-par materials and pass them off as high-end. When I told him to get stuffed, he said he’d report me to Trading Standards. It all got quite nasty, but eventually he gave up.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I said lamentably. ‘I wish you’d told me.’
‘I didn’t want to put any more stress on you. Things with Luke were starting to become... you know. I thought it was better that I handle it myself.’
‘Well, he’s clearly been dwelling on it, because he came after me.’
I jumped as he yanked back the top corner of the curtain.
‘What do you mean “came after you”?’
I bumped into him at an open house viewing a few months ago and we got talking. He seemed so genuine, and sympathetic. When I confessed that I was struggling for money, he offered to lend me a lump sum, and then refused to accept any kind of repayment from me, told me I could earn it back in other ways.’
Henry looked miserable as he asked, ‘Such as?’
‘Such as giving him first dibs on new properties, before we listed them online, and encouraging vendors to consider his offers, even if they were below the market value. The longer it went on, the more outlandish his requests became, and then he started demanding that I falsify surveyor reports, or doctor them to include leaks that didn’t exist, cladding that didn’t meet safety specifications, anything that could shave a few thousand off the asking price. Then he’d swoop in and get himself a bargain, spend two weeks doing each place up, and sell them on again at a huge profit.’
‘And you did as he said?’ Henry asked, appalled.
‘Once or twice,’ I admitted, unable to look at him. The shame was such that I was surprised to find the floor still intact below my feet. ‘I changed one report and substituted another. I felt so awful afterwards that I refused to do it ever again, but by that time it was too late. My boss had grown suspicious, and McCabe was refusing to see reason. He’s still making threats now,’ I added desperately. ‘He’s been at the house, drinking tea with my mum. I’m terrified he’ll hurt her if I don’t give him something soon, but how can I? I have no job and no money.’
‘How much did he lend you?’ Henry asked.
‘Five thousand.’
He sighed. ‘I would have given it to you.’
‘I know, but—’
‘But you took it.’
‘No,’ I whispered, shaking my head. ‘No.’
‘Did you do it out in the lane?’ he said. ‘Or wait until everyone was out to sneak into the loft?’
‘Why would I have invited Malcolm and Mags here if I’d already helped myself to the money I needed?’
A throb of silence filled the room.
‘Can you pass me a towel?’
‘What?’
‘A towel.’ The pitch of Henry’s voice had changed, the serrated edges softened. As I stood, dripping wet and indignant, his hand appeared around the edge of the curtain.
‘Get it yourself,’ I snapped, and turning on my heel, I made my way back to the main bedroom. I’d thrown my wet dress on to the floor and was in the process of wringing out my knickers over the basin in the en suite when Henry barged in.
We stood, both in our towels, glaring at each other.
‘This has to stop, Henry. I can’t keep arguing with you.’
He drooped. ‘I know.’
‘I didn’t steal the money.’
He studied me for a second, then slowly nodded. ‘I know.’
‘And that means . . .’
I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence, unwilling to articulate what we were both thinking – that if neither Henry nor I had helped ourselves to thirty thousand euros, then we were left with limited options as to who had. And yet, that made no sense to me either. I could tell Henry was conflicted, too; the desperation with which he was looking at me felt like a plea.
When I heard the thud of feet on the stairs it didn’t surprise me. I was becoming accustomed to these serendipitous twists of fate, the universe sliding its players into place as if we were pawns in some trivial yet malevolent game.
When Luke appeared in the bedroom doorway, he was clutching something large and rectangular, wrapped in plain brown paper, and lowered it as we approached. The nervous smile that had been playing around his lips fell away as he took in the expressions on our faces, and it was then that I knew.
My son was the thief in this chapter of our story, and I thought I could guess why.