Chapter 33
SCARLETT
Justin walks into the kitchen and the conversation closes like a fist. Damn him.
I was just having an interesting conversation with Beth.
There’s something vulnerable about the woman, and, given time, I’m sure I can get more out of her about her husband.
If Justin seemed agitated from afar when I saw him earlier stomping up to his office, he shows no sign of it now.
He tosses his keys in a dish on the centre island.
Beth scratches her forearm. She does this a lot. The right one in particular. I saw it last night when she took her cardigan off. The skin is red raw, scabby in patches where she’s scratched it off.
Justin addresses his wife. ‘What are you doing down here? I thought you were going for a lie-down?’
‘I couldn’t settle,’ Beth replies.
He pulls her up. ‘Come on, love. We can check on Mum while we’re up there. I take it she’s upstairs resting.’ Justin looks at me.
I nod.
He steers her out of the room.
Am I barking up the wrong tree here? Because Justin seems like a man who cares deeply for his wife. Or is that just the image he portrays to the world?
I stack the glasses and cups in the dishwasher and wipe the table where Hattie spilled her drink. I’m about to go to my room, when Justin reappears, as if he crept up on me. I let out a gasp before I can stop it.
‘I’m sorry.’ He steps backwards, holding up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump. My wife can be rather stubborn at times. She needs her rest. The drugs and treatment – it all affects her badly.’
I wipe my hands on a tea towel. ‘She seems washed out by it all.’
‘She sure is. It’s affecting her on so many levels. I need to warn you, Immy.’ He pauses.
‘Warn me?’ I almost freeze, wondering what’s coming. ‘Whatever about?’
‘My wife. Beth. She can get paranoid. Hysterical at times. Very emotional. Please don’t take any of it personally. It’s the medication, her illness. We’re working with her consultant to get it right.’
‘The scratching,’ I say. ‘It’s making her arms sore. Poor thing. I really feel for her.’ And that’s the truth.
Justin runs a hand through his hair. ‘That’s the meds too. We’ll get there.’ He pauses. ‘Immy, you don’t know how much I appreciate you being here. Are you sure you’re OK with everything? It’s not too much?’
‘All good. Please don’t worry.’
‘And you’re happy with the money?’
He’s been generous with his offer. It shows how desperate he is because I know for sure carers don’t get paid twenty pounds an hour. Not outside London, anyway. ‘Sure.’
He continues. ‘While Hattie’s sleeping, take a break. You won’t hear a peep from her for a couple of hours.’ He pats his pockets. ‘Now, where are my keys? I must get going. I have to pack.’
He’s smooth-talking, for sure, but not offensive. Not creepy in the way I expected. It does make me question my thoughts as he leaves the house. I watch him walk across the grounds to his office. Have I made a grave mistake by coming here?
I head to my room, relieved to be taking a break.
A headache is brewing behind my eye. It must be the heat.
I close the door, wishing it had a lock.
I go to my rucksack to find my small medical pouch where I keep a strip of paracetamol and a few plasters for times like this.
I pop a couple of tablets then head to the ensuite. A nice cold shower is what I need.
After the shower, as I come back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, I go to get some cream out of my rucksack and stop.
The back of my neck goes cold. I have a routine when I’m travelling.
A ritual that came about when I had to make a quick exit from a hostel when I went backpacking the summer before I started uni.
A girl had become friendly. Too friendly.
I didn’t like the way she followed me around.
I always zip up my rucksack with the zips meeting on the left.
But they are now meeting on the right. I unzip it and rifle through the contents.
Nothing appears to be missing. Perhaps I’m mistaken.
I reach for the left side pocket and unzip it.
I gasp. I always keep my keys in the left pocket and my phone in the right to avoid damaging the screen.
There’s no mistaking it: my rucksack has been tampered with. My keys are now in the right pocket.
It appears they’ve been in here, going through my stuff.
They are on to me.