The Woods, page 18
“I came from the police station,” I say, and there’s a wobble in my voice. I swallow and try to keep it together. “They found…they found a body. At Dean House. Julia’s old house.”
“What? Fuck!”
“It’s Greg.”
“Who’s Greg?”
“He’s Julia’s ex. Jack and Sean’s dad.”
“Shit.”
“And he was…” I pause. “I knew him.”
Sophie’s chewing her lip, waiting for me to say more.
I take a deep breath. “I knew him as more than Julia’s ex, or the boys’ dad. And I…” I can feel sweat building under my hairline. “I lied to the police about it. I told them I barely knew him.”
“Is it…is it suspicious, then? But you haven’t been there. Why would they speak to you?”
“He was buried in the woods. Nothing left but bones. He’s been there a long time. He went missing, you see, right before Dad and Julia’s wedding.”
“When you were still there. Oh crap. And you lied? Why?”
“Because I did something terrible,” I burst out. “No,” I say at the look on her face. “Not that—it wasn’t me. But if I tell the police I knew him, and I tell them what I did, it’s going to look bad, Soph.”
My hands are trembling as I wait for her to ask.
“I don’t want to know,” Sophie says.
“What?”
“Don’t tell me, Tess. If I don’t know, I can’t…I won’t lie for you. Not to the police. And if what you did was so terrible, I couldn’t not tell them. So don’t tell me at all.”
I want to cry at the distance that’s suddenly stretching between us. I rushed here to see her, because she’s Sophie, my best friend. I want her to reassure me, tell me it isn’t so terrible after all, I didn’t do anything. The things I said couldn’t have done that much damage.
But the fear on her face, my own growing panic—I can’t shake it. Since I found out the body in the garden is that of Greg Lewis, I can’t shake the conviction that what I did back then, what I said, whoever put Greg there, it was because of me.
“So what do you want to do now?” She says it stiffly. “Are you staying? You’re welcome, of course, but what about Julia and your dad?”
The awkwardness between us is like a solid presence I can’t breach. I shake my head. “I have to go back to Dad’s. It was stupid to run off like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You don’t need to rush straight off. Why don’t you stay tonight?”
I bite my lip. I could. I could call Dad, he’d understand. “You could come back with me if you want?” I say. “See Julia and my dad and…” I let the words trail off as I see the look on her face. “I’m sorry. The last thing you need is to be there with all the crap that’s going on, isn’t it? Julia, the police…I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with you.”
“I wish it didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“How am I supposed to ignore what you just said? Shit, Tess, it sounded like the start of a confession.”
I stare at her. “A confession to what?”
“Shit,” she says again, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. But…” She pauses. “I think you need to come back. Back properly, I mean, to your own flat. As soon as possible. You’re not…God, ever since you got that phone call from your dad about Julia you’ve been like a different person. Everything that happened at school, this, now, you turning up in hysterics, being questioned by the police?”
I find myself moving away from her, shifting farther down the sofa. Yes, I am like a different person. Hysterics aside, even I can see that. What I don’t know is which Tess is real—the Tess Sophie knows, or the person I am back home.
Chapter 21
I get back to Dad’s house just after eight. I couldn’t stay with Sophie in the end—the unfamiliar awkwardness got too much. But she hugged me as I left, clinging to me and whispering apologies. I hope—I really hope—that when all of this is over, we’ll be able to get back to where we were with our friendship. That the Tess I am with her is stronger than the Tess I’ve reverted to being since I came back here.
“Where have you been, then?” Jack calls after me as I head into the house. He’s standing outside, smoking a cigarette. “At the police station the whole time?”
“I went to meet a friend,” I say, moving past him.
“So what did the police want to talk to you about?”
I blink. “Nothing much. Just general questions—did I know Greg, that sort of thing.”
“And what did you say?”
“That I barely knew him.”
He’s looking down at the ground, scuffing the dirt. “I still can’t believe it’s him. I thought…I never thought he was dead. Not really. I always assumed he’d come swanning back into our lives one day.”
I want to keep walking. I don’t want to feel sorry for Jack. All the thoughts and fears I’ve been having…feeling sorry for him doesn’t fit. I need him to be the villain. I need to be angry with him. But…
“I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice, and he glances up, a frown on his face.
“You’re sorry for me? Don’t be. It’s not like I’m mourning someone who’s been present in my life, is it? Neither of my parents have and I’m all grown up now.” He pauses. “She’s not likely to die today, then? My darling mother? Not if you’re okay going out and leaving her.”
“Do you even care? I don’t get why you’re still here—you clearly have no intention of spending any real time with her. Every time she gets up, you leave the house.”
“Well, today’s the day, I think. Liquid courage,” he says, brandishing the pack of cigarettes. “Time to find out what dear old Mama knows about my dead father.”
“Don’t you dare upset her.” I say it fiercely, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “The last thing she needs is you barging in shouting at her.”
“Why do you assume I’m going to march in there shouting?”
I realize his mocking grin is missing. He sounds flat, almost subdued.
“When have you ever given me reason to assume you’re not going to storm in and stir things up, upsetting everyone?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, then surprises me by laughing. “You’re right. It’s this place, isn’t it? Being back here with everyone. We all fall into the roles given us a long time ago. Me, the bad guy, you, the grumpy mouse.”
My fingernails dig into my palms. That’s not who I am. That’s never who I was.
“I’m not trying to be mean,” he continues. “But it’s true, isn’t it? You think Lena is really still such a wild child away from here, at the age of twenty-eight? And you’re a teacher, bet you’re totally different in your real life.” He shakes his head. “It’s why I’d never dream of going back to a school reunion or shit like that. The kid everyone bullied could be CEO of the biggest fucking company in the world, but the moment he stepped into that reunion, he’d be the scared victim again.”
“So it’s not real, is it—Jack the bad guy?”
He smiles. “About as real as Tess the scared mouse is now.” He pauses. “But I was given my role a long time before I ever met you. Harder to break.” He glances up at the house. “Especially when it’s your own mother who made you the bad guy.”
I wait for him to go inside first, taking a steadying breath. He’s unsettled me, thrown me off balance. He’s right. We’ve all come back and slotted into the same roles and I’m as guilty as anyone of putting Jack straight back into the bad-guy slot. But I won’t let myself feel sorry for him because I don’t think it’s just a role he’s playing.
I open the front door and drop my bag on the floor. I’m already wishing I hadn’t said anything to Sophie. And I didn’t, really. I didn’t tell her anything, same as I didn’t tell the police anything. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? The more I don’t tell, the more I have to hide. Oh God—why didn’t I just say I knew him? That I used to do his bloody gardening—that’s all I had to say. Maybe I should…I could call the station and…and…but they’ll want to know why I lied. And that leads to the fight I had with Bella and that would look so bad.
No. I can’t call them now. It’s not like I did anything, is it? Not like I put Greg Lewis in the ground. I hear Dad’s voice and poke my head into the kitchen to say hello, but he’s on the phone, a frown on his face, and he doesn’t even look at me.
Dad puts the phone down and I stare at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“They want me to go down to the station tomorrow morning to answer some more questions,” he says, sinking into a chair.
“Questions? Why would they need to ask you questions?”
“Tess…” I’m pacing the room and Dad’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Jack told the police about my fight with Greg.”
“I heard about that. But it’s nothing, right? A stupid scuffle over Julia marrying you?” My shoulders are hunched, my hands hovering like they want to cover my ears. A flash of memory, one I don’t want: You told me he was the monster, Bella’s voice echoes in my head, full of so much pain. Did you tell Dad, Bella? I shriek silently. Did you tell?
Dad rubs a hand across his eyes. He’s sleeping about as much as I am, constantly on the alert with Julia.
“Before the wedding, you and Bella were out and Greg came round looking for trouble. He was shouting at Julia. I lost my temper. I hit him, Tess.”
I look at my dad, so small and even tempered. I can’t imagine it. Surely Greg would have wiped the floor with him.
Dad looks at me. “I know, I know. It’s the only fight I’ve ever been in and I…regret it.”
“What…what was he shouting at Julia about?”
“He was saying awful things about Ellie and the boys.” Dad frowns. “Does it matter?”
I shake my head. Bella didn’t tell. I’m safe.
“He didn’t fight back. I kept hitting him and he just took it,” Dad says, staring down at his hands. “I never realized how angry I was with him. All the things Julia told me when she moved in. I just…I wanted to hurt him. I hit him and he fell and his nose was bleeding and I hit him again, pulled him up and hit him again.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t try to hit me back or defend himself. It was like he wanted me to keep hitting him.”
“But…”
“It was right before he disappeared. I expected the police to come knocking after the fight. I thought that was his plan—to let me attack him, to not fight back—and then he’d go to the police and have me arrested. But they never came. He disappeared and they never came.”
I close my eyes. Behind my eyelids, Bella is sitting next to Dad, looking so sad. I open my eyes again to make her go away. “Tell them Jack lied.”
“What?”
“Tell them you argued but never fought. It was ten years ago—Jack has no proof.”
“I can’t lie to the police.”
“Why not? You didn’t do it, did you? You didn’t kill Greg.”
“Of course not, but I can’t lie.”
Not like you did, the ghost of Bella says to me, still with that sad look on her face.
“Stop it,” I say to her, shaking my head.
“Stop what?” Dad says, frowning.
“Nothing. I was…” I can’t tell him I was talking to my dead sister.
I didn’t lie, I say to her silently. I just didn’t tell them everything.
You didn’t tell them how often we went to the house, she says. You didn’t tell them we were friends with him. Why didn’t you tell them?
It wasn’t relevant, that’s why. It would have looked bad—like it looked bad to Sophie and I didn’t even tell her everything. It would have sent them looking in the wrong direction, focusing on the wrong things. Just like this supposed fight Dad had with Greg.
“It’s not relevant,” I say to Dad. “Your fight with him doesn’t matter. It’ll make them suspicious of you when you didn’t do anything. You should be home here with Julia, not wasting time at the police station.”
I start pacing again and the Bella in my head paces with me. I’m telling myself as much as Dad. It’s not relevant. We worked in the garden together, that’s all. Why give them reason to look at us more closely? We didn’t do anything.
“Tess, are you okay?” Dad says, getting up.
“I’m fine. Fine. Worried about you, that’s all. Why does Jack have to stir everything up?”
“His father is dead.”
“And we had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
“But what if I did?” Dad says, his voice shaking. “I hit him, knocked him down. What if he had a head injury?”
“What—and then he went home and buried himself in the woods?” My voice rises as I echo Jack’s words.
Dad’s pale. He looks smaller and older. He doesn’t meet my gaze and it sends a jitter of fear through me.
“It’s not lying, not really, if you just deny it,” I say. “Or…or just make it sound less like a fight and more like a…a minor disagreement. It’s your word against Jack’s. They won’t be able to prove anything.”
It’s like Bella steps out of my head. I swear I can feel her breath on my cheek. How many more lies? she whispers.
“What did you tell the police?” I confront Jack the moment he comes downstairs.
There are shadows under his eyes.
“Leave it, Tess,” he says, getting the coffee out of the cupboard.
“Leave it? You’ve sent them after my dad.”
He slams the jar down on the counter and turns to face me. “I told them the truth. My dad is dead. He has a fight with your father and two days later, he’s gone.”
“Do you really think his death has anything to do with my dad?”
“I don’t know, do I? I didn’t know he was fucking dead.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re so damned selfish. My father was murdered, my mother is upstairs dying, and you’re having a tantrum because I told the police the truth.”
“Dad didn’t do anything.”
“Then he has nothing to worry about, does he?”
Of course he doesn’t. So why is that knot of fear in my stomach growing?
Chapter 22
I close the front door quietly. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m going for a run. I jog slowly down the lane, footsteps heavy on the ground, sounding reluctant at this slow pace. My ears are straining for the sound of following steps but there’s nothing but my own steady rhythm, my own breathing, getting faster as I up the pace.
I can think more clearly out here alone. About all of them, about Bella…and about Greg.
Bella and I both thought Greg was our friend and maybe he was. But was there something wrong with him, or was Lena just making stuff up? Were the police just fishing with their questions, or do they genuinely believe he might have had something to do with Nicole’s and Annie Weston’s murders? And there was that other poor girl who went missing and was never found. I think of the great expanse of the woods and the back of my neck prickles. I can see it more objectively now, ten years on, how others would have seen that friendship. He was odd, strange—why did he keep inviting Bella and me round? Why was he happy to keep both…friendships a secret? We were teenagers, he was forty, living alone in that creepy house. It wasn’t right. With me, there was never any hint of anything weird, but I was…I was nothing. Clumsy and plain and nothing.
Bella was different. Beautiful, bright, shining Arabella. If Bella went round there after the fight we had…It may have been an accident, but he could have killed my sister. I never thought of Greg back then. Not really. He’d already gone, moved away, he’d texted Jack from abroad, or so Jack says. I was relieved he’d gone, a problem gone away without me having to deal with it. But he could have come back, couldn’t he? Could have been at Dean House the night of the wedding. But if it was Greg, who then killed him?
I’d begun to think it could have been Jack. I thought Jack might have been the one who killed Nicole and the other girl. Jack with his fake alibi.
Maybe they were in it together.
I can’t tell the police this, I have no evidence. Would Sean even admit telling me about the fake alibi? I think of how I told Dad to lie to the police about the fight. Why would Sean tell the police if it implicated his brother? He’s not going to believe his brother or his father were murderers any more than I’d ever believe Dad had something to do with Greg’s death.
But Bella’s death wasn’t an accident. I believed it then, but I let myself be persuaded by what everyone else was saying. I let them convince me it was and it’s possible I would have gone the rest of my life thinking that if I hadn’t come back here. Or was I thinking it earlier? Was I thinking it when I took Rebecca’s phone to the police, convinced she was being abused?
My phone dings and I slow as I pull it out of my hoodie pocket. There’s a text from an unknown number—party at dean house! I frown and look up. I’m almost right outside Dean House and as I step closer to the gate, I see a light flash in one of the upstairs windows.
My heart races as I look at the house. The front door and windows are boarded up, warning signs still in place, police tape across the door. Did I imagine that light? The text must be a joke. Jack, probably. Or Lena. The police seem to have finished their searches at last. They’ve been digging for weeks, looking for more bones, sweeping through the house, looking for clues. Useless, though, surely—half the neighborhood kids have broken into Dean House on dares in the decade it’s been empty. The number of real parties that must have been held there—what evidence could they possibly hope to find?
My phone dings again and I gasp and almost drop it when Bella’s face pops up on the screen. partying allll night—i’ll sleep when i’m dead! flashes underneath the photo. My hand is shaking as I fumble with the phone. Of course, as I look more closely, I can see it’s not really Bella—someone’s snapped an old picture of her, laughing, spinning with a bottle in her hand. She’s in Dean House—I recognize the wood paneling from the living room, the striped wallpaper above. When was this taken and who took it? Greg? Jack, Sean?
