Читать книгу I Spy - Claire Kendal, Claire Kendal - Страница 17

Since finding Jane’s suitcase two weeks ago, I’d barely thought of anything else. On the third day of January, though, I was thinking about Milly instead. I was on my way to see her, and we were meeting by the harbour.

The sea was boiling. The wind was howling. The waves were moving walls of rock. Milly and I would never take the safer, drier lanes through the town. Like teenagers, we stuck to the path that followed the sea wall. Spray shot out and up, chasing us. We knew we really could be snatched and swallowed. It had happened to others before.

We threw our arms around each other, grabbed hands and ran through a gauntlet of water, screaming and laughing our calls of Happy New Year, refusing to worry about slipping, stopping to buy chips at one of the cafes along the harbour. There was a belated rendition of Happy Birthday, sung by Milly to me.

We turned on to the eighteenth-century pier, passing walls of stacked lobster pots, jumbo bags of green rope, and red plastic crates for hauling the dead mackerel from the boats to the land. The smell made me gag, but Milly didn’t notice and we walked on to the pier’s far end, where the air was clear.

Our feet were soaked, our hair was drenched, and we were shivering. But we were happy, sitting on the stone bench that followed the wall of the pier and doubled as our backrest. We were burning our fingers on the chips.

I scrambled to my feet, standing on the bench to look over the wall, so I could watch the lighthouse winking in the distance. Milly did the same.

‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.

I pictured the two of us, dancing together in a nightclub upcountry to celebrate my sixteenth birthday, our arms around each other, tinsel in our hair and swaying in heels too high to walk in, the room and lights spinning from too many bottles of beer, elated that we had pulled it off despite being underage.

‘Me too you,’ I said.

‘My mother says you have a father complex, because of your dad dying and all. She says that’s what you see in Zac.’

‘Eew. That’s not true.’ Though a part of me knew it was. Still, I blushed at the idea of Peggy thinking that.

‘We’re neglecting the blog,’ Milly said. ‘We’ll lose followers.’

‘I’ll do something this week. Wuthering Heights has been getting a lot of hate.’

‘Mum will be happy. She’s our number one fan. But have I told you lately she is completely insane? We crossed on the stairs, and she closed her eyes and chanted “Avert” and waved her hands about. Honestly, it was the most embarrassing thing.’

‘Did she pick that up when we made her read The Earthsea Quartet?’

‘Yep, but she won’t admit she’s trying to ward off curses or bad luck. She’d die before she confessed to any superstition about stair crossing.’

‘Have I told you lately that I am an orphan, and you are lucky to have a mum?’

‘Well you have Lord Voldemort. I can’t believe he let you out. Does he make you sleep in a dungeon?’

‘Yes – but don’t call him that, Milly.’

‘I’ll see your Lord Voldemort and raise you a Gaston.’

‘Fair enough. I deserved that.’

‘Looks like Lord Voldemort. Acts like Lord Voldemort. He’s even got the bald thing going on. Please tell me he hasn’t branded you with the dark mark.’

‘Only between my legs.’

She snorted a mouthful of the beer she’d brought out from the pub, the last place in the row of shops and restaurants along the front, and the closest one to the pier. I was drinking spiced tomato juice, and Milly thought this was because I was driving, which was true but not the most important reason.

‘You’re still in there after all,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to think he’d replaced you with a Stepford wife. Thank God the two of you aren’t married.’

‘He wants to.’

‘Well don’t. Please, promise me you won’t.’

My own secret voice was saying, You’re betraying him to sit and listen to this. You should say, How dare you talk about him that way. You should go home right now.

‘You’ll never escape him if you do,’ she said.

‘I don’t want to escape him.’ I thought of my baby, and how desperately I wanted him – or her – to be raised by two parents. To have what I didn’t.

‘Has he taken control of your bank accounts yet?’

‘No! I wouldn’t let him. But he wouldn’t try.’ As if to protect my baby from what we were saying, my hand started to float towards my tummy, though there wasn’t much of a bump yet. I had wanted to tell Milly about the baby several weeks ago, but Zac persuaded me that nobody should share such news until after the magic three-month mark, when the chance of miscarriage was dramatically reduced. The start of January meant I had reached that mark.

Milly looked genuinely surprised. ‘No joint accounts?’

‘No.’

‘Strange. That’s not what I’d have predicted. He’s not tried to get his name on the deed to your house?’

I was lucky, in that I had the house my parents left me, plus some money from my father’s pension. But I was still careful to live off my salary.

‘Of course not. He’s generous – too generous – but he likes to keep his things and mine legally separate. It’s a big thing with him, and it’s important to me too, because of my grandmother.’

My grandmother had savings from the sale of the family farm many years ago, and I was using them to fund her care. But the money was being eaten away fast, and it wouldn’t be long before I had to take over the cost.

Milly shook her head. Her blonde hair gleamed in the moonlight, then dimmed as a heavy cloud moved in front of the full fat moon again to eclipse it. ‘Okay. I have to admit that that stumps me.’

‘Why do you hate him so much, Milly?’

‘He hates me.’

‘He doesn’t.’ We were back in total darkness, feeling the mist from the sea but unable to see it. ‘He wants to get to know you.’

‘No he doesn’t. Question. Did you tell him we were meeting tonight?’

‘He’s on nights tonight.’

‘I know that, Holly – I saw him going in as I was coming out. That’s not an answer. You could have told him yesterday or this morning. Does he know?’

‘No.’

‘I knew it. That’s why we’re here. If you’d told him, he’d have got in the way. You know it too. You’re just not admitting it to yourself. He’s found ten different ways to stop us spending time together over the last few weeks.’

We turned away from the wall, facing the harbour once more. ‘It was the time of year, Milly.’ I sat down again. ‘You said so yourself.’

‘I was trying to make it easy for you.’ She sat too. ‘Do you ever make calls without his being there?’

‘All the time.’ But I realised this wasn’t true. Somehow Zac was invariably nearby when I used my phone.

Milly went on. ‘He may not be controlling your money yet, but you will get sick of him, and when you try to leave he won’t make it easy. Mum and I are frightened. He’s cutting you off from us.’

I tried to lighten things. ‘Isn’t this a bit dramatic? I want to make a family with him. I want to make what you grew up in.’

‘And he fucking well knows it. He’s playing you. He’s saying what you want to hear.’

‘He’s loving. He cares for me.’ I threw up my hands, invisible in the darkness. ‘I matter to him.’

‘Of course you do. More than anything in the world. I’ve heard him say it and that’s what scares me. He chose you because he thinks you have no one. He thinks you’re all alone. But he’s wrong. You have us.’

Although I never felt the cold since becoming pregnant, I shivered. ‘I know that.’

‘Well don’t ever forget it.’ The light slowly returned as the cloud moved sideways to reveal the moon. Milly pulled away to study me. ‘At least you’re starting to look more like you again. Your face isn’t so thin and pale. And I love what you’re wearing.’

‘Chosen for you.’ I loved what I was wearing too. Green ankle boots, bobbled red wool tights, a short mustard tube skirt, and a fleecy orange jumper to disguise my thickening waist. I unzipped my coat and flashed the full view at Milly.

‘And Rainbow Girl is back!’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Grey Woman. Hello there, Rainbow Girl. We’ve missed you. I much prefer you in clothes I need to wear sunglasses to look at.’

‘Hello.’ I zipped up again.

‘Oh, don’t put it away. I want a pic to show Mum.’ Milly’s teeth were chattering.

‘You won’t get a pic out here. Not with the light changing every five seconds.’ The moon was flashing at us, off, on, off, on, as a procession of clouds sped past to eclipse and uncover her. She seemed to mirror the lighthouse’s lamp. For an instant, I glimpsed a frown that Milly didn’t imagine I could see. ‘How’s Gaston?’ I said.

‘I hate him so much,’ Milly said, ‘that I want him to die, because then I would get over him. But I can’t stop fucking him.’

It was my turn to snort my drink.

Milly went on. ‘I hate how he puts that fucking gross hairspray on that fucking gross long hair of his, and I wish it would catch fire when he fills that fucking gross old wreck of a car of his with petrol.’ She paused. ‘Look how – odd – you look.’