The Price, page 20
‘Surely you understand why I’m doing this? Between the FundMyCause page, Mum taking out a loan and what I’ve been doing, we’re getting closer and closer to our target. Closer to our baby being able to get on that plane, fly to Philadelphia and take part in the trial that will make her well again.’
‘Clara, there’s no guarantee Philadelphia will work.’
‘No, there isn’t. But one thing I do know, one thing that’s guaranteed, is if we don’t try, if we don’t do everything, and I mean absolutely everything for her, I won’t be able to live with myself. Could you?’
George didn’t answer and lowered his head.
‘I don’t like what I’m doing any more than you. I hurt someone at the salon, badly. I have to live with that for the rest of my life.’
‘Clara, don’t you understand how bad this is? Don’t you see that Mantel is dangerous? Hunter is dead, and now two more have been killed.’
‘Two men?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are their names?’
‘Why?’ George asked, his expression morphing into worry.
‘Just tell me,’ I snapped.
‘One was called Garrett, the other we don’t know yet.’
I felt the world shift. Gravity felt thicker, and it forced me to sit.
‘You know that name?’ George asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, he’s dead. Mantel thought he was the thief, like I did, and he killed him.’
George looked at me and he could see the guilt on my face.
‘Clara?’
‘I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.’
‘Shit, Clara, please don’t tell me you set that up for us to suspect him instead of you? Clara, please, please tell me that’s not true.’
‘George, I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I just wanted to raise some money.’
‘Clara, tell me, please. Tell me you didn’t do anything to lead us that way?’
‘I didn’t, of course I didn’t,’ I said, because that much was true. I hadn’t led George to think Garrett was involved, but I had led Mantel that way, and now he was dead. ‘The other man was called Wayne Tower.’
‘Shit, shit!’ George said, horrified at the extent of my involvement. He threw his coffee cup and it hit the wall. The sudden outburst made me jump, and from our room, Tabs began to cry; it had scared her too. Despite feeling weighed down with guilt, I moved quickly and picked her up, trying my best to soothe her. It felt like it would be impossible to offer her any comfort given the realisation I was responsible for two men being dead. I was now complicit in murder.
However, she didn’t know that, and after a few minutes she began to settle once more. I lay her down and went back into the kitchen. George stood up from where he had crouched down to sweep up shards of exploded mug.
‘Clara, I need to know, did you lead Mantel their way? Did you tell him that Garrett and Tower were the culprits?’
‘No.’
‘Thank God.’
‘But I did suggest they looked like they were involved.’
‘Shit.’ George put the pieces of the broken mug on the side. He couldn’t look at me, but stared down at the sharp shards of porcelain.
‘Why those two?’ he asked.
‘I had to watch a meeting Mantel held. Those two were a similar height to me. I figured, knowing I’d be on CCTV, I could look like either of them.’
‘Oh, Clara.’
‘Don’t, George. I know what I’ve done. I’m going to have to try and live with it.’
‘Mantel will kill you if he finds out.’
‘He won’t find out.’
‘Clara, I’m scared for you.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said walking towards him. ‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re in deep, Clara.’
‘I know, but I’m not thinking about that.’
‘What are you thinking about then?’
‘Her fifth birthday,’ I said, looking up at him.
‘Is there anything else you need to tell me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m listening,’ he said, still unable to look at me.
‘It’s about Lee.’
‘Who?’
‘PC Lee Sharman.’
‘Right, what about him?’
‘Just … he isn’t to be trusted.’
George stared at me for a long moment. ‘I need some air,’ he said eventually.
‘George, please don’t go, we need to talk about—’
‘You lied to me, Clara.’
‘I know.’
‘We’re supposed to be a team.’
‘I know. Please, let me—’
‘We are fucking police officers,’ he shouted. ‘And you are knee-deep in the case I’m working on.’
‘I know, George, I didn’t want to put you in this situation.’
‘Well you have. And you know the worst bit? Worse than knowing my wife is a thief, worse than knowing she is working for Henry fucking Mantel. Worse than knowing my wife is possibly culpable for the death of two men?’
‘George, please.’
‘Worse than me now having to think about what I do with this information, worse than all of that?’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘I don’t even know who you are now. You look like my wife, you sound like her, but you’re not her, not any more.’
I wanted to argue the point but stopped myself. He was right, I didn’t know who I was any more either and I had never felt so lost.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
George
I walked away from the flat, heading in the direction of the nearest pub, hoping to grab a pint before last orders. I needed time to think, to work out exactly what I would do. I knew I had been harsh and hurt Clara. But finding out that she had lied to me, what she had been doing, had hurt me. My words were cold, but her actions were unforgivable.
The rain had eased, but it hadn’t fully stopped and by the time I got to The King’s Head, my T-shirt were soaked through. As I walked in, a few people looked up but quickly returned to their business as I approached the bar.
‘Pint of Guinness, please.’ The bartender looked too young to be pulling pints. He tried to engage me with small talk but I wasn’t interested and once I had my drink, I found a small table in the corner, beside a window that overlooked the street and sent a message to Mike.
I can’t explain why, but I’ve been thinking about Mantel’s informant, can you keep an eye on Lee Sharman
His message came back quickly.
Mate, what have you done? You’re in the shit. You shouldn’t have left the crime scene. You shouldn’t have lied to me about where you were going.
I know I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry, And I know I’m in the shit. I’ll deal with that later. But I’m not messaging about that right now, I need you to keep an eye on Sharman
Mike didn’t reply straight away and I thought for a moment I had either got him into trouble or he was too pissed off at me to message back. I sipped my pint anxiously. Then, my phone pinged.
Sharman, is he the type?
I’ve just got a gut feeling
I’ll keep an eye on him.
I put my phone down, knowing Mike would have questions as to why I thought Lee Sharman was a dirty copper. I needed a lie to cover the fact my wife was inside the Mantel organisation. As I tried to piece one together, I still couldn’t process what Clara had told me. She was in real trouble. I wanted to understand, to be on her side, and if she’d been confessing to only the stealing of money from the robbery at Tesco, as much as it was wrong, I think I would have forgiven her. But working for Henry Mantel, fully aware of what kind of man he was and how hard I had been trying to bring him to justice over the past year … I didn’t think I could. Clara had betrayed me, and then there was the business with Lee, too. She knew we had a leak, and she didn’t tell me, her own husband, what she had discovered.
I took a long sip of my pint, and as the cold liquid washed down my throat, I sank back into my chair wondering when life had got so fucking hard. But I knew the answer; it got hard when Tabatha was diagnosed.
Picking up my phone again, I went to my photos and scrolled back over a year to when Clara and I first found out we were having a baby. I looked through them, at Clara progressively growing in size as the due day marched ever closer. In the photos we were happy, smiling, cheek to cheek in selfies. Our eyes had a sparkle, a lightness that spoke of a future where the three of us would move though life as a unit, unbreakable and hopeful and full of love. Our eyes spoke of our unified commitment not only to one another, but our family, too, and now I knew that the sparkle we once had was gone.
And then I came to the first photo of our daughter in Clara’s arms, tucked under her hospital gown, her cheek against Clara’s chest, with me beside her, red-eyed from crying. I scrolled on, feeling my eyes prickle with tears. One fell and I wiped it away quickly, not wanting anyone to see. I looked at hundreds of pictures of Tabatha sleeping and smiling and in the bath, bubbles all around her. I looked at pictures of my wife holding her and feeding her, and I missed that time. Truth be told, I missed them both. The child and the wife from that time. When life made some sort of chaotic, sleep-deprived sense.
I stopped at a picture of Clara on the sofa, Tabs asleep in her arms, and I zoomed in on the expression on my wife’s face. She looked at Tabs in a way she never looked at me, her expression showing a kind of completeness.
The bartender called last orders and draining my pint, I ordered another one, again trying to avoid catching his eye.
‘You okay, mate?’ the young man asked as he pulled it.
‘I just need a quiet drink.’
I took my drink and returned to my table. Family was everything, it had been since the day I met Clara, but still I had to ask, could I forgive her? Could I even keep what she was doing a secret?
I went back to scrolling through the early pictures of my family, before Tabatha first became unwell. In one, I was sat on a sofa with Tabatha, who must have only been a few weeks old, in my arms. Beside me was my mum. I was looking at the camera, smiling, but Mum was looking down at my daughter, her smile almost bittersweet. I thought about what she had had to endure as a parent with my brother, how she lost him to drugs, how once he was gone, for a while she had wanted to die, too. My own mum, just like Clara, changed because of her child. And even though my mum and I never talked about Steve, sometimes, when I saw her, I knew she was thinking of him. I knew, even now, she would do anything to get him back.
And that was all Clara was doing, she was trying to get our daughter back.
I got up and left. I tried to make sense of everything on my walk home, and I knew I would forgive Clara because she was doing it for our girl. But as for us – as a couple, a partnership, I didn’t know if we would make it after this.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Clara
I wanted to make George understand but I knew that he needed some time to come to terms with what he’d just found out.
Part of me wanted to climb into bed and try to forget what had happened, but I knew I couldn’t. Regardless of what George thought – or did – I needed to keep going. So despite being clean already, I went and ran a hot bath. I ached, my muscles were bruised and battered, I needed heat to try and soothe them. But it was more than that. I felt such guilt, I wanted to try and wash it off my skin. I turned the taps on and once the water was deep enough and steam had covered the bathroom mirror and the broken woman who looked back at me from it, I got in. For a while I didn’t do anything other than lie there and let the hot water work its magic. It soothed my aches, but stung my fresh cuts and grazes, though pain was welcome, pain meant I was still going, still moving. Pain, ironically, kept me wanting to do more. But even though I wanted to, knew that I had to do more, I couldn’t help myself wondering how much I would have to do. People were now dead because of me. And George would want to solve the case, use whatever I knew to bury Mantel. But doing so would mean I would have to stop, and Tabatha needed me not to stop. I was in too deep to turn back now, it had to count for something.
Quickly rinsing my hair, I pulled the plug and got out of the bath. As I turned to grab a towel, I jumped. George stood in the doorway. I hadn’t heard him come in.
He was looking at my naked body, but not with lust or disgust. It was shock.
‘Clara, what happened to you?’
George looked at the deep purple bruising on my left thigh, my ribs, my right arm and stepping closer, he gently touched the latter.
‘Did I cause all of these?’
‘No,’ I said quietly.
‘Thank God.’
Turning, I showed him my back and he gasped. It looked horrific, but in truth the pain was subsiding.
‘Jesus, Clara.’
‘That one is from where I fell off a wall behind the Bean Hut.’
‘Before or after the robbery?’
‘After. The money was in my bag, I lost my balance.’
‘And this?’ he asked, touching my thigh.
‘Getting into the club in Stockport.’
‘This?’ He stroked my ribs. His touch sent goosebumps across my body.
‘The salon. I was punched.’
‘Oh Jesus, Clara,’ he said again.
‘It’s okay, George, all of it.’
‘And these?’ This time he touched my arm, the grazes, the fresh bruising.
‘The garage.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes, tonight.’
‘I did this?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, stepping closer to me.
‘You didn’t know.’
‘But now I do.’
‘Yes. Now you do,’ I echoed. ‘Question is, what are you going to do about it?’
George looked at me with an expression that reminded me of a long time ago, before all of this, and then he stepped closer and almost kissed me. I wanted him to, but we didn’t force it, stopped only centimetres apart. I dipped towards him, glancing my lip off his, and the touch sent a hot flash through my body. I could feel my skin tingle, my body wanting him. He grabbed my arms, squeezed them, and our lips brushed each other’s once more. I needed to kiss him. He kissed me back and I felt a wave of relief that he didn’t pull away. I wrapped my arms around his neck, held him as tight as I could, and he pressed his body into mine. It had been so long since my husband and I had touched each other, it almost felt like the first time. George’s hands explored too, grabbing my hips, pulling me in, and I felt him grow hard against me. I knew this wasn’t about us mending or fixing our relationship, this was about us finding a release for the pressure we both felt. A release for the crimes, the hurt, the lies and secrets, a release for the fear. It seemed almost certain George and I weren’t going to be together after all of this, but, neither of us cared. I think he knew it too, this was our goodbye sex.
He pulled away from me, took my hand and without talking, led me to the spare room. I pulled at his belt, wanting it undone but so excited, so caught up in the moment, I couldn’t free the buckle. I was nervous and started to giggle and he laughed too and took over the task. As he did, I lay down. George took me in, looking at my naked body, the shock gone, no sign of disgust, just a lustful gaze that told me he wanted me badly. Seeing him that way, my body responded, aching for him. For the first time since Tabs was born and despite feeling self-conscious for it, I let him stare. He dropped his trousers to the floor, his underwear too, and pulled his T-shirt off. Lowering himself onto me he kissed me again, his skin on mine. I opened my legs wider, and with our lips still pressed together, he guided himself inside me.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Clara
George lay with his head on my stomach, his arm wrapped around one of my legs, holding it close to him, and I stroked his hair as I looked at the ceiling. Relief and joy and release worked in harmony, and for a brief but wonderful twenty minutes, neither of us spoke. We just existed in the moment, no past, no future. Just us. For what it was worth.
Getting up I went to the bathroom to freshen up. When I returned wrapped in my towel, George was sitting up, his underwear back on. As he looked at me I could see that the calm, the closeness was gone.
‘George?’
‘Clara, I need to know, how much have you taken from him?’
‘Over six from the café. Twenty-two from the club, and four and a half from the salon.’
‘Shit, that’s over thirty grand!’
‘Yeah.’
‘And the garage, tonight?’
‘A hundred pounds, if I’m lucky. I hoped to find more. I hoped it would be over. I hoped tonight was the last.’
‘Is it all added to the FundMyCause page?’
‘Some, yes.’
‘And the rest?’
‘Here, in the flat.’
‘How much is here?’
‘About twenty-seven.’
‘Shit, how are you going to get it clean and add it to the rest?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t got that far.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In our room. In the base of the wardrobe. I’ll have to pay it into my personal account on the day we go to Philadelphia but I figured by the time anyone is aware, it will be long gone.’
‘But then you might get caught?’
‘I won’t, not if I’m careful. There is no link back to us.’
‘How have you got so good at this?’ he asked me, and I didn’t know if he was impressed or horrified.
‘Because I have to be.’
‘So including that twenty-seven in the bedroom, how much are we short?’
‘Thirty thousand or so.’
‘You think he has that much at his office, just lying around?’
‘No, not as much as thirty. Our page is still trickling money in, but I hoped to find at least as much as I did at the bar. Then, I’d have felt like it was almost over.’
‘Clara, putting the money in the wardrobe, wasn’t that risky? I mean, I could have found it at any time.’
‘George, our room is probably the best place to hide it from you. You’re always in the spare room.’
