‘Hasn’t there been something about her on the news recently?’ he said. ‘Some memorial event?’ He sighed deeply. ‘Ollie told me you’ve got enough painkillers in your drawer to stock an entire chemist’s. Is it possible that you’ve taken too many? I must say, you don’t look at all well, sweetheart.’

  Scarlett clenched her fists. ‘If you’re trying to suggest I’m going mad, you’re wrong.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting any such thing,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I was just saying you look a bit … peaky. Listen, darling, I’ve got to get back to Claire or she’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. I’m sure the card will turn up and, when it does – if it does – give me a ring and let me know.’ He went to leave, then hesitated. ‘And Scarlett …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Get some rest. Please.’

  Her dad put his hands on her shoulders and peered at her face, concern now softening his features. ‘We’re all in shock over what’s happened,’ he said. ‘Promise me, darling, if you start obsessing over things, go and see your GP. Maybe you need a course of antidepressants or something.’

  Scarlett pressed her lips together. Far better for him and Ollie to think she was suffering from mental distress than to realize that she suspected them of knowing something about Gina Caplin’s disappearance.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think you’re right.’ The words nearly stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. ‘I don’t like the thought of going back on them, but … after everything that’s happened …’

  She made her voice crack. ‘I keep imagining connections between random things.’

  She sensed a loosening of his shoulders as he stepped forward and enclosed her in a hug. Her vulnerability seemed to calm him. She tried to slow her heartbeat by holding her breath. She didn’t want him to pick up on her anxiety. He kissed the top of her head and released her from his arms.

  ‘What you really need right now is peace and quiet. You need to give yourself the space to recover from what’s been a hideous, hideous time. We all do.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Why don’t you get back into your yoga? That always seemed to relax you.’

  ‘You’re right, Dad,’ she said. ‘And I will, I promise.’

  After her father had gone, Scarlett remained sitting on her bed. A solid, heavy sensation gathered at her throat and neck. Breathing was no longer an automatic function. She had to will her lungs to work, to focus on each and every breath.

  This was crazy. Her fears were running away with her, mutating into ever more gruesome scenarios. This was dread she was feeling. Cold dread.

  36

  Dee’s dad blew on his hands and rubbed them together. ‘It’s a good turnout,’ he said.

  Dee agreed. Standing on the sidelines of a football pitch in a muddy park on a damp November morning wasn’t how she would have chosen to spend her Sunday, or any other day, but then, they were doing this for Gina, and for her parents, to raise awareness and money, and by the size of the crowd, it was serving its purpose.

  Lindsay was walking round handing out flyers to passers-by. Dee had the collection bucket. In a while, they’d swap over. At least they were talking to each other.

  A sudden roar made her focus on the match. The other team had just scored and some spectators in a cluster a little further down the sidelines to Dee’s right weren’t happy.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, ref. That was offside, you could see it a mile off!’

  Eva Kowalski tutted. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a friendly match. Why are they getting so worked up?’

  ‘Because it’s football,’ Dee’s dad explained patiently. ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s a friendly or the FA Cup. They still want to win.’

  Dee noticed how close Eva was standing next to him, how every so often her dad would lean his head into hers and say something in her ear. Something that made her smile or giggle. They weren’t holding hands or linking arms, but it was overwhelmingly clear from their body language that they were a couple now. Dee edged away, to give them some space.

  She looked up to see Sue and Alan Caplin walking over. They’d been standing over by the trees a little way back up until now, talking to some of their friends. Sue was wearing one of those long, quilted coats and had a woollen hat pulled down over her head. They both waved at Dee, then Alan veered off to have a chat with her dad and Eva.

  ‘At least the rain’s held off,’ Sue said as she approached.

  Dee gave her a hug and the two of them stood there for several seconds, holding on to each other tightly. It was touch and go whether one or both of them would start crying, but then someone on the pitch hollered, ‘Man’s open, pass the fucking ball, you wanker!’ and they released each other, laughing.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sue said. ‘For organizing all this. It’s really wonderful.’

  Lindsay appeared at Sue’s side and greeted her the same way Dee had.

  ‘Actually, the match was Lindsay’s idea,’ Dee said. ‘And Jake’s done most of the organizing.’

  ‘And Euan,’ Lindsay said, giving Dee a little look. She wasn’t exactly smiling at her, but her eyes looked softer today. Kinder. Maybe going on that course and getting out of the office for the day had been good for her. Good for both of them. It had given them time to reflect. With any luck, Lindsay had reached the same conclusion as Dee had, that their friendship was far too important to be derailed by what had happened.

  For a while, they stood there together – Dee, Lindsay and Sue – watching the match. Someone was on the ground, rolling around and clutching his knee. At first, Dee couldn’t see who it was, then she realized it was Euan. For a minute or so, it looked like he might have been injured. People on the sidelines were yelling, ‘That was a foul! Send him off!’ but then Euan got to his feet, and he and the man who’d brought him down slapped each other on the shoulders and started running around again. All the players were streaked with mud now, hair plastered to their heads with sweat, steam coming off their breath. It took Dee a while to pick out Jake. He was still glaring at the ref, his features distorted in rage. She’d never seen him look so angry, and all because of a foul.

  At half-time, Alan Caplin brought a tray of coffees over from the café. Dee sipped hers through the slit in the lid and watched as the two teams huddled at opposite ends of the pitch, swigging their energy drinks and listening intently to whatever instructions were being doled out to them. At one point, Euan looked over in her direction and raised his hand in a wave. She waved back and found herself blushing. How ridiculous, she thought. After all this time. Why couldn’t she be more relaxed about things? So what if they’d once been an item? That had been eight years ago.

  Just then, she spotted a familiar figure in a waxed waterproof jacket and beanie walking along the path, his eyes fixed on the pitch. She squinted at him and saw that it was Ollie Quilter. His glance shifted in her direction, and she was about to acknowledge him when it dawned on her that he was actually looking at someone else. Someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Lindsay, who’d also noticed him and was waving and grinning.

  He made his way over, noticing Dee at last. ‘Hello,’ he said, peering at the bucket in her hand. ‘What’s all this in aid of then?’

  Dee lifted the bucket in the air so that he could see the charity logo and the ‘Gina Caplin 10 years missing’ sticker directly underneath.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he said, frowning. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change, which he dropped in the bucket. ‘Sorry, that’s all I’ve got on me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘No worries. Thanks very much,’ Dee said, aware of Lindsay materializing at her side.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said, handing Dee a fresh pile of flyers. ‘My turn with the bucket now.’ She pointed across to the other side of the pitch. ‘I haven’t handed any out over there yet.’

  Dee put the bucket on the ground and relieved her of the flyers. ‘How are things?’ she asked Ollie. ‘I need to catch up with your sister soon about dates for the funeral. She said she’d email over some suggestions.’

  ‘All good,’ he said. An awkward expression came over his face. ‘Well, hardly good, in the circumstances, but we’re hanging on in there. I’ll, er, let Scar know I bumped into you,’ he said.

  Dee smiled, waiting for him to move away, to keep on walking, but he stayed where he was.

  ‘What’s the score then?’ She couldn’t help noticing that he hadn’t directed the question at her.

  ‘One–nil to the wrong team,’ Lindsay said, and proceeded to start filling him in on the standard of play so far, how the goal had almost certainly been offside but the ref hadn’t called it. As they were speaking, the two of them drifted off towards the pitch, leaving Dee standing on her own, clutching the flyers, the bucket still at her feet. She watched Lindsay’s face as she chatted away to him, all animated and bright. Her usual flirtatious self.

  She was still staring at her crossly when Lindsay caught her eye and gave her a look that seemed to say, What’s your problem now? – although maybe Dee was just imagining that.

  She snatched the bucket up and took it over to her, stood there holding it out until Lindsay took it. All Lindsay’s attention was now focussed on Ollie’s face. Dee marched round to the other side of the pitch, her trainers sinking into the mud. When she glanced back at them a few minutes later, Lindsay was laughing and playing with her hair. Ollie couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  37

  Lindsay looked up in surprise as Dee walked into the prep room the next morning. She was in the middle of dressing Mr Byatt in the suit his son and daughter-in-law had brought in. It was always tricky, dressing a corpse, and Dee could see that she’d already slit the shirt at the back to make it easier.

  Dee helped her feed Mr Byatt’s arms, cold and clammy from the fridge, into the sleeves. If things hadn’t been so strained between them, Lindsay would almost certainly have asked her to help. Lindsay was more than capable of doing this on her own, and clearly she’d been intending to, but it was hard work even with two of them. When Dee had first helped to dress a corpse, she’d been surprised at how heavy the limbs were.

  They worked together silently, tucking the shirt under his back and neck, doing up the buttons. Then they eased his legs into the trousers.

  ‘It went really well, didn’t it?’ Dee said. ‘Yesterday’s match.’

  Lindsay glanced at her, before threading Mr Byatt’s black leather belt through the loops on his waistband. Dee helped her by rolling his body first towards her and then away. They’d done this together so many times, it was second nature.

  ‘It did,’ Lindsay said.

  Dee waited for her to say more. They clearly weren’t going to start chatting away like old friends. Not after everything that had happened. But at least they were talking. She ploughed on.

  ‘It was a great turnout, wasn’t it?’

  Lindsay nodded as she put Mr Byatt’s purple tie around her own neck to fix the knot, her deft fingers producing the perfect half-Windsor in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Very impressive.’

  Dee gently peeled back the collar on Mr Byatt’s shirt, then eased his head up from the table so that Lindsay could slip the tie over it and straighten it at his neck.

  ‘I thought the Caplins managed really well,’ Lindsay said. ‘It can’t have been easy for them.’

  Dee breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t having to do all the work in this conversation. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It can’t.’

  Lindsay was now fussing with Mr Byatt’s tie, smoothing out the knot and turning his collar down over it, pressing any creases out with her fingers. Dee had watched her prepare and dress bodies so many times. She was always so capable, so attentive to the smallest of details.

  ‘Right, now for the jacket. Can you hold it up while I cut the back?’

  Dee did as she was asked and held the suit jacket up by the shoulders while Lindsay took hold of a large pair of dressmaking scissors and cut a vertical line from the bottom of the middle seam at the back all the way up to the base of the collar.

  Once they’d fed Mr Byatt’s arms into the sleeves and tucked the ends of the jacket under his back, they were ready to put his socks and shoes on. Dee hated this part more than anything else. She’d always been a bit squeamish when it came to other people’s feet, and dead feet were even worse. But she dutifully and respectfully eased a black sock over Mr Byatt’s cold, rubbery left foot while Lindsay did the same with the right.

  Putting shoes on could be awkward too, particularly if the feet had become misshapen in death, and even more so if the shoes were a little tight, like these were. Usually, they didn’t bother with shoes unless the family had specifically requested it. The Byatts had requested it. Just like Gabriel Abiodun’s family had requested he be buried with his customized crash helmet, his favourite leather jacket and his biker boots, Dee thought, spying on Lindsay from the corner of her eye.

  ‘I need to do his make-up now,’ Lindsay said.

  Dee stepped away from the table. Lindsay liked to be alone when she did this. It was an intimate act, applying foundation to someone’s face, giving them a healthy colour so that they were fit to be viewed by the family. Dee had no doubt that in half an hour’s time, when Mr Byatt’s son and daughter-in-law and various other members of the family came down to the viewing room, Mr Byatt would be looking a whole lot healthier than he looked right now.

  It was obvious that Lindsay was waiting for her to leave, but now that the ice between them was starting to thaw, Dee was loath to go back upstairs. She wanted to prolong their conversation a little longer.

  ‘Shall I bring Gina’s novel in tomorrow? Would you like to read it?’

  Lindsay, who was in the middle of unscrewing a pot of foundation, met her eyes, but only briefly. She nodded. ‘Yeah, why not? I mean, romantic fiction’s not really my cup of tea, but …’

  Dee remembered the way Lindsay had been flirting with Ollie Quilter at the football match, in front of Sue and Alan Caplin and everybody else, and felt the urge to say, No, erotic fiction’s probably more up your street, but she held her tongue. She knew it was just her own stupid jealousy, and catty comments like that would make everything between them ten times worse.

  ‘I was thinking about it the other night,’ Dee said. ‘I was wondering whether she made the main character a singer because it’s a similar sort of profession to dancing. I mean, in terms of the performance element.’

  Lindsay shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ Then she smiled. Dee felt them inching back to how they were, before that wretched Trevor Cooper had turned up and ruined everything. Lindsay assumed a mock-curious tone. ‘In which case, who was the mystery piano teacher?’

  Dee smiled. ‘It crossed my mind that she might have based him on Jake.’

  Lindsay looked at her. ‘Why on earth would you think that?’

  Dee’s cheeks flushed with heat as she remembered what else she’d briefly considered, but it was too late; Lindsay had clocked her discomfort. ‘It was just something that went through my mind. He tried to teach us all to play “Chopsticks” once. Do you remember?’

  ‘Why are you blushing?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just a bit hot, that’s all.’

  ‘In the cool room?’ Lindsay said, still staring at her. ‘No, seriously, Dee, I’m interested in why you think Gina might have written a novel with the love interest based on my brother.’

  Dee sighed. ‘I wish I’d never said anything now. It was only because they went out together. And because he plays keyboard. That’s all.’

  Lindsay rolled her eyes, but not in a friendly, jokey way, in a sarcastic, incredulous way. ‘You’ll be telling me next you think she was still in love with him.’

  The way Lindsay was looking at her, it was as if she could read her mind, as if she knew the suspicions that had troubled her the other day.

  ‘I hope you didn’t say any of this to the Caplins,’ Lindsay said.

  Now it was Dee’s turn to look incredulous. ‘Why the hell would I have done that?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dee. Maybe because you never think before you speak. You just say exactly what’s on your mind. Like accusing me of being a whore.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘You might as well have done, and now you’re implying Gina wrote a novel about my brother.’

  ‘I didn’t say that either. Why are you so touchy about me thinking that, anyway? So what if she did base it on him?’

  Lindsay glared at her. ‘Work it out! If people start thinking Gina was still in love with Jake, their minds might start working overtime. Like yours clearly has. Don’t you think he went through enough before?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! He wasn’t the only one the police were interested in. Gina’s dad, my dad, Euan – they all went through the same thing. The police were just doing their job.’

  ‘Yes, but Jake went through more of it because he used to go out with her.’

  ‘I think it was probably a whole lot worse for Alan, actually. Imagine how he must have felt. It was only a year after that horrendous Josef Fritzl case, and people always suspect any men in the family first, don’t they?’

  ‘They suspect boyfriends too. Which is why you need to think about how your words might be interpreted.’

  Dee felt her jaw harden in anger. ‘Well, you need to think about how your actions might be interpreted.’

  Lindsay glared at her. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Coming on to Ollie Quilter on Sunday. In front of the Caplins, too. Flirting with a client after what’s just happened with Trevor Cooper.’

  Lindsay’s face was taut with anger. ‘What the hell has Ollie Quilter got to do with Trevor Cooper?’

  ‘It’s about boundaries, Lindsay. Professional boundaries.’

  Lindsay put her hand out. ‘Can you leave now, please?’

  Dee went upstairs. Far from healing their friendship, the conversation had made things even worse. If only she’d kept her stupid mouth shut.

 

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