Chapter 49 Imogen
Imogen
Another night without much sleep. My body feels like it’s going through cold turkey without Josh.
I know it’s for the best, that it’s over, but I’ve been with him most of my adult life.
He made me feel like I’m not safe without him and now, every creak of the house, every slam of a car door, every sound in the garden, makes me break out in a cold sweat.
In the end I let Solly sleep upstairs with me and I’m relieved when I hear the morning birdsong and see the sliver of light between the curtains.
The kitchen feels sterile without Josh here cooking pancakes, without the comforting smell of his coffee machine, and I experience that tug of loss again.
And then I remember. Is he still spying on me now?
I glance around the kitchen, trying to work out where he’s hidden the camera, but I can’t see anything.
Then my eye focuses on the smoke detector.
Isn’t that where spyware is usually hidden?
It is in films. I pull back one of the chairs and stand on it, twisting the plastic case away from the detector, and peer inside, almost disappointed when I don’t see anything other than the battery.
I replace the case and step off the chair.
I cast my eyes around for another hiding place.
Could it be in one of the photo frames? I recall the things he’d called me yesterday too – a slut, a liar – and feel a thump of anger.
Was he always this way? Surely not. Although I’ve always been good at sticking my head in the sand.
The truth is, I didn’t want to see Josh for the person he is because to do so would mean examining our relationship and I wanted to believe everything was perfect.
Josh and his mum have been my family since I was eighteen.
I leaned heavily on them, and I was terrified that if I left Josh I’d have nobody.
But now I realize that isn’t true. I have Alison, and Gareth and Lila.
And I have Rachel. And I have a future that’s free of a man controlling my every move, telling me who I can and cannot be friends with, distrusting me, spying on me, slowly chipping away at my confidence.
Yet, despite all this, I still feel too sick to eat and I just sip at my morning coffee.
My phone pings with a text and my heart lurches in case it’s Josh. But it’s Alison.
I’m visiting Dad tomorrow – I’ve got us a visiting pass just in case you have a change of heart. I’ll be outside the prison at 11 a.m.
My resolve wavers. Can I really do this? But it could be my last chance and I still have question marks around the replica mask and the brooch found on Dorothea’s sculpture. I tap a quick text back telling her I’ll be there even though the thought makes me feel like vomiting.
The doorbell rings and my nausea intensifies. Josh? I can’t face him right now. I go to the front door, my heart pounding, relieved when I see it’s not Josh standing at the front door, but Harry. How did he get through the gates?
‘Sorry to call so early,’ he says when I open the door. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you up.’
‘Not at all. Truth is, I’ve been awake for hours.’
‘Your side gate was open. Hope all’s okay?’
I frown. Did Josh open it? Or maybe the keypad isn’t working properly. I’ll need to take a look at that but the thought of trying to figure it out without Josh’s help makes me feel overwhelmed. ‘Just a rough night.’
He looks down at his feet awkwardly and then back up at me. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Dennis.’
‘Do you mean Sidney S. Crane?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Ah. You know!’ He thrusts his hands in his pockets.
‘Yep. Come in.’ I show him into the kitchen and make him a coffee.
‘When did you realize that Dennis was the one behind A Woman in Turmoil?’ I ask when I’ve joined him at the table. Solly, after his run around the garden, is flaked out by the back door in a patch of morning sunlight.
‘Something about Dennis niggled away at me. He asked too many questions about Dorothea and when I told him I was reading a proof of her biography he kind of looked weird about it, started mumbling about not being aware I worked at the same publishers as Sidney Crane. That day you saw me hanging around his house – well, I knew he was planning to go out and I thought maybe he’d left the door unlocked, or a key under his plant pot, and I’d have a little poke around,’ he admits sheepishly.
‘Harry!’ Although I know I’m not one to talk after what I did to Dominic Filcher.
‘I know. I’m not proud of it.’
‘Couldn’t you have asked around at work?’
He brings his mug to his lips and takes a big sip before lowering it again.
‘I did. They described him to me and it matched Dennis’s description, but I couldn’t be sure until I’d seen some proof.
I’ve since found out that the address we had on file for him was his daughter’s.
And then, last night, his author photos came in. And that’s when I knew for definite.’
‘Wow.’ I digest this information.
‘I was going to text you but I wanted to talk to you about it face to face. I didn’t think I’d be welcome last night. Josh … you know.’ He flicks me a knowing glance.
‘Well, you don’t have to worry about that any more, Josh and I have split up.’
His eyes widen in surprise. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he says, not looking sorry at all.
I brush over it. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you. But now the police know, it’s going to get out.’ I pause. ‘Not all Dorothea’s work was destroyed in the fire.’
‘What?’
I tell him about the hidden sculpture and then I hand him my phone. ‘I took photos. Scroll left.’
‘Wow,’ he says, thumbing through the photos. ‘This is … weird as hell.’
‘I know.’
‘She has a lot of birds in her art.’
My phone pings with a text message and Harry looks awkward as he hands it back to me.
The message flashes up on screen. It’s from Josh and my heart sinks.
AND YOU WONDER WHY I DON’T TRUST YOU!
Are the cameras still connected? I place the phone face down on the table, anger coursing through me. ‘Do you fancy a walk?’ I say to Harry, who looks surprised to be asked but agrees. I call Solly in and lock the French doors. He curls up in his bed and I decide to leave him here.
When we reach the side gate I notice the keypad has been smashed in, rendering the lock useless. Did Josh do this in a moment of anger? For revenge? I stare at it in dismay.
‘Oh, shit,’ exclaims Harry, following my line of vision. ‘Who would do this?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m going to have to call the security company back.’ I pull the gate to, a knot of anxiety in my stomach.
As we step onto the pavement, Harry turns to me and says, ‘So will you show me this sculpt—’
But he doesn’t get the chance to finish what he’s saying as the roar of a motorbike makes us both jump.
‘Look out!’ Harry yells, pulling me away from the road as the motorbike swerves out of nowhere.
He grabs my hand and we sprint towards the fields, the motorbike chasing after us.
For a quick, paranoid moment, I wonder if it could have been Josh all along but then I dismiss this immediately.
Josh doesn’t know how to ride a motorbike.
Harry almost pushes me through the kissing gate that leads to the fields just as the motorbike skids towards us and crashes, throwing the biker into the air. I stare in horror as I watch him land hard onto the tarmac, the bike coming to a halt by a tree trunk, wheels still spinning.
‘Shit!’ Harry runs towards the biker.
‘Be careful,’ I cry, still in between the kissing gate, wondering whether to join him or not.
Harry kneels beside the biker. ‘He’s badly hurt. Call an ambulance.’
I pull back the gate and join Harry. The biker is lying on his side, helmet still on. I call 999 and explain what’s happened.
‘Is he breathing?’ the woman on the other end of the line asks.
‘I’m not sure. He’s still got his helmet on.’
Harry turns to me with a look of alarm. ‘I can’t find a pulse.’
I repeat this to the operator. ‘You’re going to have to gently take his helmet off to administer CPR,’ she says calmly.
I repeat this to Harry. ‘And someone needs to support the head.’ I bend down and do as she says while Harry gently lifts the helmet away.
The man’s head feels sweaty and he has a buzz cut, the bristles rough against my hands.
Harry shrugs out of his jacket and places it between my feet and then I lower the man’s head gently onto it so that Harry can administer CPR.
I stand up, finally getting a good look at the man’s face.
And I gasp.
Because I know who this man is and why he’s been trying to frighten me.