The Perfect Girl Read online

  RICHARD

  Zoe grabs that baby out of my arms as if the house is burning down and they must flee. She pounds up the stairs and we hear the bathroom door slam shut.

  ‘All right if I use your phone then?’ Chris asks Tessa.

  ‘I said go ahead.’

  ‘Lucas,’ Chris says to his son before he leaves the room, making the boy’s head snap up, ‘go and get your stuff together, and Grace’s.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ I ask Chris, but he doesn’t hear me, or pretends he doesn’t.

  ‘Where are they going?’ I ask Tess in their absence.

  We’re alone. The liaison woman has gone somewhere or other, doubtless roaming the house like some kind of shady private eye, as she’s been doing all day, and Lucas shambled off obediently in response to Chris, in that way he has, as if he’s embarrassed by the mere presence of himself in a room.

  ‘To a hotel.’

  ‘With the baby?’

  ‘She’s not our baby, Richard.’

  That annoys me. I might have my weaknesses, but I’m not an imbecile, and I’ve been trying to be patient with Tess.

  ‘I phoned the solicitor. On redial. I left a message,’ I say.

  She blinks rapidly. ‘Oh?’ she says, but I can tell that she knows what I’m going to say.

  ‘Funny thing though: it was a mobile phone number. It went to a personal voicemail message.’

  She’s breathing heavily through her nose as she looks at me. Her face is masterfully still but I can read panic behind it, however carefully hidden. Her mind must be racing but all she manages to come up with is, ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a wrong number?’

  I start to quote the message: ‘“Hi, this is Sam, please leave me a” —’

  She interrupts. ‘I know his number from before, OK? From the trial?’

  ‘You remember his number from, what, two and a half, three years ago?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘So why did you say that you phoned his office?’

  ‘I said it wrong. It’s not the best day for me this, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  I don’t appreciate that. ‘What are you hiding, Tess? Where were you last night?’

  ‘Not now, please. Not this, now.’

  We sit in silence, and I try to sort out in my head whether her explanation is a plausible one. It definitely could be. It definitely might not be. I think that I may be too tired to tell.

  Tess moves from her chair opposite me to sit beside me. For a moment I wonder if she might be going to express some physical affection towards me, and my heart beats nervously in anticipation, for it’s been a long time since we offered each other that kind of solace, even with a simple touch, but she leans towards me instead, and whispers: ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  I wait for her to carry on, but before she does she gets up and closes the door and then sits back down just as she was before.

  She says, ‘If the DNA tests mean that they’re considering us as suspects, it surely has to be Chris, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Chris?’

  ‘If somebody in the house killed Maria, it surely has to be Chris, don’t you think, surely?’

  I can hardly hear what she’s saying; she’s dropped her voice so low.

  ‘If it was somebody in the house,’ I say.

  ‘Why else are they taking swabs?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The door opens and we both sit back like guilty children.

  ‘All booked,’ Chris says. ‘I’m going to gather up our stuff and we’ll go when Grace has finished her bath.’

  The thought of the baby going is surprisingly painful, but there’ll be work to do still, I think to myself, supporting Zoe and Tess, and that’s some consolation. I’m determined to hold on to this new sense of usefulness.

  Behind him the Liaison Officer says, ‘Do you want us to organise a lift for you, Mr Kennedy?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to arrive in a police car, thank you. I’ll phone a taxi.’

  Could he have done it? I think. He’s so pleasant, so polite. He’s worked so hard for everything he has, and has been through so much.

  That thought begs another question that I haven’t had time to really consider yet, with all the minute-to-minute distractions of taking Zoe to the solicitor and being at the police station and worrying about where Tess was last night, and looking after everybody once we got here. That question is: if Chris hasn’t done it, then who has? Is this the moment that we all start to look for signs of guilt in each other? Was Zoe right to flee to her solicitor this morning? Was she ahead of the game, knowing more than most about blame and accusation, and has Tess caught up with her thinking now, and should I?

  ZOE

  Grace’s bath doesn’t take long to fill up, because she doesn’t need it very deep. While it’s running, I try to persuade her to lie down so I can take off her clothes but she won’t, so I have to improvise and undress her first while she sits, and then while she stands and bangs the soap dish against my back. She’s so chubby without her clothes on, and her thighs are almost thicker than my arms.

  I put her in the water and then hang on to her tightly because there’s no grippy mat in Tessa and Richard’s bath to stop her sliding around, and she’s like a slippery otter. We have a few dodgy moments when she slides under water and I have to pull her back up, though she doesn’t even notice the danger she’s having so much fun.

  I work out that I have a problem when the water goes cold, and she’s splashed every bit of me and the bathroom. It’s finally time to get her out, and I need a towel to lift her, because her skin is so smooth that her body is totally slimy from the bubbly water and I’m afraid I’ll drop her without one, but I can’t see one anywhere. The towel rail is bare. I can’t let go of her and leave her unattended in the bath even for a second while I find one, because she keeps trying to stand up, and I know she would fall and hit the taps.

  So I shout for help. I shout for Tessa, but it’s Lucas who comes, and I can just about reach over to the door to unlock it for him while I’m hanging on to Grace.

  I hope I don’t look at him funny, though I probably do. It’s because I need to tell him I finished the script, but I’m not sure how to bring it up, and at the same time I realise I’m changing in my head some of the things I thought about him before I knew what Chris was really like.

  I tell him what my problem with the towel is and he leaves the room and comes back with a bedspread.

  ‘I couldn’t find a towel,’ he says, and I’m thinking that my mum would never have had no towels in the bathroom, in fact I can hear the ‘tsk’ noise that she would make if she could see us now, but here we are, and I think the bedspread will do fine.

  Lucas drapes it over his arms and reaches down into the bath and gets Grace.

  She thinks the bedspread is amazing because it’s so big. When Lucas gently lies her down on the floor on it she plays with it, shaking the edges around and nuzzling it on to her head as if it’s catnip and she’s a kitten. We sit on either side of her and watch her; it’s almost as if we were her parents.

  I get up, and I lock the door again, because I know that I have a chance to talk to Lucas right now, and my heart begins to pound when I tell him: ‘I read the script. All of it.’

  He doesn’t look up at me, but I can see that his face goes sort of still. He carries on pushing the bedspread over Grace’s face and then pulling it back in a sudden movement. It makes her give a throaty giggle. He says nothing.

  ‘On my dad’s phone,’ I say, in case he’s wondering, and so he doesn’t think I’m making things up.

  When he looks at me it’s as if a layer of secrets has been peeled away from his face, and showing in his eyes is the deepest, saddest expression I’ve ever seen.

  ‘I wanted to warn you,’ he says, ‘and your mum. I wanted you to know what he’s like.’

  I find that I can’t reply, because I feel like my worst fears are true, but it’s OK because he keeps talking. />
  ‘Because if my mum or me had told somebody about him, it might have stopped him, and then she might have stayed alive for longer; she wouldn’t have done what she did.’

  ‘Did he kill your mum?’ I hardly dare ask it but it sounds like that’s what he’s saying.

  ‘No. My mum killed herself, and she was dying anyway, but if her life was better, if he hadn’t ruined her life, and hurt her, she would have stayed alive for longer, she would have fought the disease better. I know she would have.’

  I feel a cold shudder run over me, from the crown of my head to the very tips of my toes. It’s a ripple of revulsion and sorrow, fear and, I think, certainty.

  I say, ‘Do you think your dad killed my mum?’

  TESSA

  Philip Guerin has crept in from the garden, his face flushed from the heat, and joined us in the sitting room. The Family Liaison Officer is in the kitchen washing up teacups.

  Philip has overheard Chris booking a hotel and wants to know where they’re going to be staying, and wonders out loud whether he should do the same thing.

  ‘There’s plenty of room for you here now,’ says Richard, but Philip pushes on, asking Chris questions of utter pointlessness, about where the hotel is located and how far it is from here.

  Chris tells him the name of the hotel and I know as soon as I hear it that Philip Guerin wouldn’t be able to afford to stay there in a million years. I can see that Chris knows that too. He seems irritated, his answers short and his mind clearly elsewhere, though Philip doesn’t seem to be picking up any of these cues. He drones on and on about a hotel that he stayed in once on a trip somewhere else, and it’s the most boring kind of small talk. I want to scream at him to shut up because I’m trying to think. I’m also trying to be normal around Chris, which suddenly isn’t easy, because all I find myself able to do is wonder what he’s capable of.

  Our landline rings. It’s always an unfamiliar sound these days, though Richard tells me that cold calls are a frequent annoyance during his long days at home, and I have to bite my tongue to avoid making a sarcastic reply. He doesn’t have much else to do all day, let’s face it.

  As the phone trills, my eyes meet Richard’s.

  ‘That’s probably the solicitor,’ he says.

  Chris is alert. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I say, and I bolt from the room. I don’t know whether that will look suspicious to Richard, but I don’t care. I need to hear the calm warmth of Sam’s voice; I need somebody to offer me respite from my family. I want his advice, yes, but right now I also want his affection too.

  By the time I get to the kitchen, the phone has stopped ringing, and the Family Liaison Officer is replacing the handset.

  ‘That was Sam Locke,’ she says. ‘He says to tell you he didn’t have time to speak because he’s going into an appointment, but he’ll call back later.’

  I feel bereft, unreasonably so probably, but I can’t help myself. Annoyed too, because what appointment could possibly be so important that Sam wouldn’t at least take the time to exchange a quick couple of words with me. I pick up the phone and hit redial and pray and pray through the first few rings that he’s going to answer.

  ‘Sam Locke,’ he says eventually, and I hear caution in his tone. Probably he’s not sure whether it’s Richard or me phoning.

  I wait a second or two to reply because the Family Liaison Officer is carrying a plate of biscuits out of the room.

  ‘Hello?’ Sam says.

  The Family Liaison Officer moves very slowly, as if she wants to hear what I’m saying, but I wait until she’s gone and I ease the door shut behind her.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say to Sam.

  ‘Richard phoned me.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry, we wanted your advice.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Tess, I’ve got to see somebody in a minute, I haven’t got long.’

  ‘If the police are taking our DNA, do you think that means we’re under suspicion?’

  There’s a pause, and then he says, ‘They’ve found evidence, in the house, so yes, I think family are under suspicion. I shouldn’t tell you that, Tess, so please don’t say that I did.’

  ‘Oh my God. What evidence?’

  ‘Blood. That’s been cleaned up. It’s the only thing that would show up this quickly, and there might well be more evidence down the line, it’s just that the other tests take time.’

  ‘That’s why they’re taking swabs from us,’ I say.

  ‘That would seem likely, yes,’ he says. ‘They’ll want to know whose blood it is.’

  ‘It’ll be hers,’ I say.

  ‘Be careful of making assumptions at this stage.’

  ‘Well, whose else could it be?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that we won’t have confirmation of that for days.’

  He sounds a bit distant; his tone seems more professional and less reassuring than I would like, because I feel very afraid. I want to tell Sam that I’m feeling increasingly certain that Chris has hurt Maria but I’m afraid that if I talk in here, Chris might overhear me.

  I think of Philip’s mobile phone. The one he’s been anxiously passing from hand to hand for most of the day, as if it’s a lifeline connecting him to another world, one he’d rather be in.

  ‘Sam,’ I say. ‘I’m going to borrow a mobile phone and call you back but it won’t be easy to do it privately so please make sure you answer.’

  ‘I have an appointment,’ he says. ‘I can’t miss it, but it won’t take long.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ I tell him and there’s a long silence, and within it I hear him swallow and I think I can also hear the echoing of footsteps as if he’s walking down a corridor.

  ‘Where are you?’ I say. ‘Sam?’

  Another voice in the background: ‘Mr Locke? They’re ready for you now.’

  ‘I have to go,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try to answer, I promise.’

  ‘Chris is going to take the baby away,’ I say, but I’m too late, because Sam has hung up.

  I’ll admit I feel very stung by that. I’m not used to it. Usually, it’s me who has to end a call prematurely, or behave furtively. Sam has always just been there for me, waiting patiently for me to have time to visit him, picking up the phone whenever I have the chance to make contact.

  I try to calm myself down, to rationalise the fact of his appointment, whatever it is, but in truth I’m upset. If it was that important, I tell myself, surely he would have mentioned it to me?

  I can’t help feeling abandoned.

  ZOE

  Lucas stares at me full on when I ask him if he thinks his dad killed my mum, and the way he does it makes me sure that he knows the answer, but before he says anything there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

  ‘Everything all right in there, my lovely girls?’

  It’s Richard. I don’t think he knows that Lucas is with us, and I don’t want him to, because this is our chance to talk without the others.

  ‘Yes, we’re fine,’ I call.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’

  ‘No. We’ll be down in a minute.’

  I look back at Lucas. His expression is sort of cracked now, and he’s holding the bedspread above Grace’s face, his hand frozen in the air, while underneath him she tries to reach for it. He starts to speak, but I put my finger on my lips because I want to make sure that Richard’s gone.

  After a few seconds pass, I’m confident that he has, so I say, ‘Did your dad hurt you?’

  He winces, and he starts to fight back tears, so I think I know the answer to that.

  I ask again, ‘Do you think your dad killed my mum?’

  ‘No,’ he says, and he whispers it, and now his eyes are full up with a huge, tremendous sorrow. He looks down at Grace, who’s still trying to reach the bedspread, a tiny frown puckering her so smooth forehead. A tear falls from his cheekbone on to the fabric, and darkens it.

  A strange expression crosses Lucas’s eyes as he gazes at ou
r sister, and it triggers an impulse in me to snatch the bedspread away in case he plunges it on to her face and smothers her, but before I act he lowers it gently down so that it’s within her reach and Grace’s reaction is practically ecstatic.

  Lucas says, ‘I was trying to protect her.’

  ‘Your mum?’

  ‘No. Your mum.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I just need to tell you it was a mistake. I killed her Zoe, but it was by mistake.’

  My eyes are brimming hotly now and I feel my lips and chin collapse hopelessly and the muscles in my body seem to dissolve, and I find that I have nothing in me, no words at all that I can give back to Lucas.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘But it was an accident, I swear it was, and I’ve decided I’m going to tell them everything.’

  I find myself choking with sobs, convulsed with them. I cover my hand with my mouth to mute them because they’re so violent.

  Lucas picks Grace up and holds her close to him, and he sobs too. We sit there like that for what seems like for ever and then he hands Grace to me and says, ‘I’m going to miss her. She’s so perfect.’

  His cheeks and upper lip and forehead are glistening with tears and snot and sweat from the heat of the day, and he stands up.

  And, as he reaches for the door handle, the phrase that circulates around my mind, and makes me hold my sister to me as tightly as I possibly can, is this: ‘Lucas killed my mother.’

  SAM

  The consultant sits behind a desk that he’s clearly using just for the purposes of this clinic, because he’s opening and shutting drawers crossly, picking things up from the desk and slapping them back down. I’m afraid that his actions might dislodge the rimless reading glasses that are balanced precariously at the end of his nose.

  ‘They put things in a different place every time,’ he says. ‘Take a seat, please.’

  ‘Sam Locke,’ I say and we shake hands just before I sit.

  I’m not used to being on this side of the desk in situations like this, and I feel as if I need to show him somehow that I consider myself his equal, even if it’s just with a handshake.