The Mistress: A gripping and emotional page turner with a killer twist Page 18

  I got out of bed, padded to the window and drew back a curtain just enough to peer out at the street. The saloon car had disappeared again. I frowned, uneasy.

  Why had Mike Ridge made a point of following Megan? Why had he asked her so many questions about the night Ralph disappeared?

  Forty-Four

  Miss Abbott was the one who asked me to go.

  I’d been in the school library, listening to children read, and had just reached the end of my session. I packed up, put the remaining reading diaries into alphabetical order, as I always did before I handed them back, and put on my coat.

  Miss Abbott must have been waiting for me. ‘Could I have a word, Mrs Wilson?’

  My insides contracted as if I were a naughty schoolgirl being called to the teacher’s office. I followed her back along the corridor, carrying the tray of diaries with me, and to her tiny office. She reached past me and managed to close the door.

  ‘Is Anna okay?’

  She waved away my anxiety. ‘She’s fine. It’s not about Anna, it’s about Miss Dixon.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Miss Dixon?’

  Miss Abbott looked past me at some meaningless spot on the closed door. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, really I am, but I went to see her at the weekend and she was in a poor way. She made me promise to pass on a message to you and I said I would. She was very insistent. I hope you understand.’

  My arms, supporting the plastic tray, stiffened. I couldn’t imagine any message from Miss Dixon that I’d be pleased to receive.

  Miss Abbott carried on addressing the door. ‘She wants you to visit her. At home.’

  My face must have betrayed me. ‘I’m afraid I’m terribly busy, Miss Abbott. You can imagine. I’m on my own now and—’

  She raised a hand to arrest me in mid-flow. ‘Of course. I quite understand. I did say as much to Miss Dixon. And believe me, I wouldn’t be passing on her request at all if I weren’t so concerned about her.’

  Miss Abbott gestured to the chair which was crammed into the narrow space on my side of the room and edged around her desk to reach her own chair on the far side.

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to get away from school and head to the supermarket before I was due back at the school gates to collect Anna and Clara. It was absurd, this game of sardines in Miss Abbott’s cupboard of an office but the sooner it was over, the better. I sighed, set the reading diaries down on the top of her desk and manoeuvred myself into the chair.

  ‘She’s very unwell, Mrs Wilson.’ Miss Abbott leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I know I can tell you this in strictest confidence. They’re trying various medications to work out what’s right for her but she’s so agitated. She seems to have suffered some sort of breakdown.’

  She hesitated, as if deciding how much more to tell me.

  I said, ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Abbott, but I really can’t see why—’

  ‘Let me explain. I don’t know how best to say this… I know it’s painful.’ She took a deep breath. ‘While I was there, she kept talking about Mr Wilson. She seemed obsessed by something she saw. She says she can’t rest unless she talks to you about it.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘It sounds as if she needs professional—’

  ‘I know! I know exactly what you mean. I agree. She seems very unwell. Mentally. And of course, you’re under no obligation. None at all. But she made me promise to pass on her message and I have. That’s all.’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s very sad.’

  ‘Extremely.’

  We both got to our feet.

  Miss Abbott drew a slip of paper from the pile on her desk and handed it to me.

  ‘This is her address and phone number. Just in case. She rarely leaves home at the moment. And I didn’t get the impression she had many visitors.’ She hesitated, her eyes on mine. ‘She always struck me as rather solitary, here at school.’

  You mean she didn’t have a friend to her name, I thought, taking the paper and pushing it into my pocket.

  Miss Abbott managed a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs Wilson. I know it’s a lot to ask.’

  I opened my mouth to say, you’re wrong. I’m not going to see that woman, however desperate she is. Let her rot.

  I found my mouth closing again. Miss Abbott knew as well as I did that, however much I resented the cry for help, I would do the decent thing. I would respond to it.

  Forty-Five

  I went round to her flat the following morning. She buzzed me in downstairs without speaking. When I reached her landing, two floors up, her front door was ajar. The paintwork was chipped where shiny new locks had been fitted.

  ‘Hello? Miss Dixon?’ I pushed the door open and went through into a narrow hall. ‘You there? It’s Mrs Wilson.’

  I hesitated. The flat had a stale, musty smell as if she had sealed herself off from the sunshine outside. I called again, ‘Miss Dixon?’

  A weak voice called from towards the front of the building. ‘Come in.’

  I closed the door behind me and headed through. The hallway gave onto a sitting room, bright with sunlight. She was sitting in an armchair with her back to the door, positioned in front of the window. She had the vacant air of someone who sat alone all day, looking out for someone or something to arrive.

  A small table sat by her side, cluttered with used glasses and mugs, an empty plate, soiled with crumbs, a pile of closed books.

  I sighed to myself. It was sad. She was in a sorry state, clearly. But I wouldn’t be drawn into it. I’d stay for a brief chat, then make my excuses and leave. That would be it. Whatever state she was in, I’d never come back.

  I crept round to the side of the chair to see her properly. She was dressed, but her shirt looked crumpled and her feet were bare, pushed into faded slippers. Her hands rested on the yellowed pages of a book which lay open in her lap. I blinked, feeling a memory stir as I looked and struggling to place it. A leather-bound book. Poetry, judging by the layout.

  She turned her head very slowly to meet my eye, as if movement were difficult for her. Her hair looked unkempt, sticking together in clumps. Her face was bare of make-up, the lips chapped as if she’d fallen into the habit of licking them.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’ Her eyes looked rheumy. ‘Thank you.’

  I considered. ‘Shall I make us both a cup of tea?’

  She didn’t answer. I gathered up the dirty things on her table and bustled through to the kitchen. It was small but bright and could have been pretty if it had been clean. In fact, dirty plates and bowls were stacked haphazardly in the sink and on the nearby counter, giving off the sour stink of rancid milk.

  I did my best to clean out two mugs with washing-up liquid and a scrubber, found teabags and kettle and made us both tea. I’d only pretend to sip mine, I decided. I didn’t want to swallow anything that came out of this kitchen.

  By the time I came back, she’d moved from the armchair to the settee down one side of the room. I set her tea on the coffee table, drew up a straight-backed chair and sat across from her with my own mug.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  She didn’t answer. We sat there, suspended. Distant sounds drifted up from the street, muffled. A bus or lorry beeped as it reversed. A man’s voice shouted instructions.

  Finally, she lifted her eyes and looked directly at me.

  ‘He came for me. Ralph.’ Her voice was calm. ‘He’s been sending me messages. I know it’s him. He summoned me to the beach where, you know. Where we took him.’

  I swallowed, then shook my head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.’

  She frowned. ‘I’m not mad. My memory isn’t clear, but I remember that night.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me. Are you talking about my husband?’

  She gave me a canny look. ‘Your husband. Oh yes, that’s right. As if I could ever forget that.’

  I felt myself flush. It had been a mistake, coming h
ere. I was a fool to think I was obliged, to show that I was a better human being than she was, that I was at least kind.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t stay long.’ I put the mug to my lips and pretended to drink. ‘Was there something else?’

  ‘He came out of the sea. Dripping. Undead. I saw him.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Miss Dixon, the pills—’

  ‘Laura! Call me Laura. No one does, anymore.’

  I sat a little straighter in my chair. ‘Miss Dixon,’ I said firmly, ‘the pills may have caused you to imagine things. Things that weren’t actually there. My husband has not been found. I can assure you that, whatever you think you saw, he did not rise from the waves and come back to haunt you.’

  Her tongue snaked out and ran round her chapped lips.

  There was a hardness in her face. ‘I remember some things. He left me a glass of red wine – Shiraz. It was bitter. But I drank it for him, I toasted him, as he asked. Then I went out onto the beach and saw him there. Calling me. Waiting for me.’

  I stared at her. ‘I don’t know what you want from me, Miss Dixon. I’m sorry for you, I really am. But you’re not well. You need to rest and get properly better.’

  Her lips buckled. For a moment, she seemed to be sneering at me. Then I realised she was crying, quietly and messily. I stiffened. I wanted to get away.

  ‘Come on, have some tea.’ I jumped up and picked up her mug, tried to place it into her hands and help her fingers grasp it. They trembled so much that hot tea sloshed over the sides and dripped down onto the carpet.

  She scrambled to get a better hold and I helped her lift it to her lips and held it while she drank, as I used to do for Anna when she was younger. It seemed to calm her down. I set the mug back on the table where the drips made an instant circular puddle.

  ‘It’s the medication,’ she said. ‘It gives me the shakes.’ She paused, then looked up at me, uncertainly. ‘Apparently, I tried to kill myself. Maybe I did… I don’t remember. They had to pump my stomach. I remember that.’ She scrutinised my face as she spoke as if she wanted some sort of confirmation of what had happened to her. ‘I don’t remember taking the pills, but they found the empty pack in my coat pocket. How could I have been so stupid?’

  I said, ‘You haven’t been well. But you’ll get better. It takes time, but you’ll put this behind you and move on.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  I tried to smile. ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I nearly died. I keep thinking about it. About my life. My sins.’ She paused. ‘About Hell. What it must be like.’

  I hesitated. ‘I doubt you’ll go to Hell…’

  She looked up with such hope in her face that I pitied her. ‘You really think I won’t? After what I did, after what we both did?’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Dixon. But I think everyone deserves a second chance.’ I paused, thinking. ‘Even you.’

  One of her hands clutched at the other. ‘Thank you. That’s more than I deserve. Thank you.’

  I picked up my mug and got to my feet. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to say?’

  She looked me over. ‘When I went down to the shore, when he summoned me, the boathouse was open. He had set out a row of candles, protected from the wind by glass covers. The bottle of wine and two glasses, one for him and one for me.’

  I didn’t move.

  ‘But the man who found me, that jogger, he said the boathouse was all closed up. So did the paramedics. They said I’d been hallucinating. And when the police had a look, later, there was no trace of any of those things inside. That’s why I’m on such heavy medication. To help me forget. The scene inside the boathouse. The wine. Ralph, rising from the sea. Apparently, I imagined it all.’

  I turned to leave. ‘Well, maybe that’s right, Miss Dixon. Maybe it was the pills playing—’

  She cut through me, her voice suddenly sharp. ‘I know what I saw. Some parts are hazy but those things, I remember clear as day. So it doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t make sense at all.’ She leaned forward, her hand a shaky claw on the arm of the settee and whispered, ‘What do you think?’

  Forty-Six

  After school, Anna and Clara were full of a new game they’d invented.

  ‘Mummy, what’s this?’

  I was trying to persuade them to sit properly at the table and eat their fish fingers and beans.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen – mish-mash giggiwok cam-bam looloo.’

  She and Clara burst out laughing. Clara managed to get out, ‘May-may ding-dong schammer-dammer.’

  They turned flushed faces to me.

  I made a show of considering. ‘Are you speaking Spanish?’

  They giggled, pleased to be outsmarting me. ‘No, Mummy. Listen!’

  More nonsense. I leaned forward and speared a piece of fish finger with Anna’s fork, then put the fork into her hand. ‘I’ll have another guess once you’ve both finished two bites of fish fingers.’

  ‘Mum-my!’

  I waited while they laboriously chewed, eating as painfully as if the food were cardboard.

  Finally, two bites later, they set off again.

  Clara said, ‘Dibber-dabber-dishcloth!’

  Anna nearly fell off her chair laughing.

  ‘Tarty-starty-barty,’ she answered.

  They rounded on me again.

  ‘Go on! Guess.’

  ‘That is tricky.’ I tried to look thoughtful. ‘Icelandic?’

  They looked at each other and frowned.

  Anna said, ‘Wait. Is that even a real thing?’

  ‘It is indeed. It’s what they speak in Iceland.’ I took the peas out of the microwave and added them to the girls’ plates. ‘You know Iceland? It’s a country. Right at the top. Very cold.’

  ‘Have you been?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has Daddy?’

  ‘No.’ I tried to distract her from thinking about Ralph. ‘So, can I have one more guess?’

  ‘One more. And that’s it.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I screwed up my face. ‘I know!’ I held up a finger in triumph. ‘Mer-language.’

  ‘No!’ Clara roared, delighted.

  Anna said, ‘Mer-language? That’s just silly.’

  ‘I don’t see why. How can mermen and mermaids talk to each other if they haven’t got their own language? Sblib-sblob-nooney-noo?’

  ‘That’s not even it,’ Anna said. ‘Anyway, you’re wrong. It’s alien language and Clara and I are the only people who know it.’

  ‘Well done. If any aliens come to the door, I’ll ask you to come and talk to them.’

  Anna gave me a scornful look. ‘Aliens aren’t real, Mummy. How are they going to come to the door?’

  The only person who came to the door was Bea, about an hour later.

  We headed for the kitchen for our usual quick handover chat before she took Clara home.

  ‘Have you done something to your hair?’ Bea followed me down the hall. ‘You look different.’

  ‘Do I?’ I waited until she caught me up, not sure what to say.

  Bea paused, looking me over. ‘You look great, Helen. It’s not your hair, is it? It’s you. You’re all sort of sparkly.’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, come on. If you need a favour, just come right out and ask me. You don’t need to butter me up.’

  ‘I mean it. You looked so tired before, after…’ She looked embarrassed.

  I knew exactly what she meant. After Ralph disappeared.

  She carried on, quickly. ‘But now, you look fab. Better than ever.’ She gave me a closer look. ‘You’re not seeing someone, are you?’

  ‘As if.’ I went back to washing up the girls’ dishes and pans. I thought about Ralph and all the dramas, all the disappointments. ‘Anyway, I’ve got one special person in my life. Anna. That’ll do me.’

  Bea picked up a tea towel and started to dry. ‘How’s Anna doing?’

  I hesitated. ‘S
he doesn’t talk about him much, but she’s having nightmares. She had one last night.’

  Bea pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Poor thing.’

  I nodded. It had taken Anna a long time to calm down last night, even after I’d woken her. I’d ended up taking her into my bed with me and cuddling her to sleep. At least there was plenty of room, now, without Ralph.

  I hadn’t slept much, after that. Anna’s distress wasn’t my only worry.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got news.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Good news?’

  ‘I hope so.’ I took a deep breath. ‘You know I said I was looking for a new place? I think I’ve found one. I put an offer in yesterday and I just heard. It’s been accepted.’

  ‘Yesterday?’ She looked taken aback. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had found somewhere?’

  I shrugged. ‘I didn’t think it’d really happen. I didn’t want to jinx it.’

  Bea blew out her cheeks. ‘That’s great news.’ She was straining to look pleased. ‘Well, tell me all about it. Where? What? Have you got photos to show me? Is it online?’

  I looked away, through to the sitting room where the girls were practising their forward rolls down the length of the settee, giggling and giving each other exaggerated high-fives.

  ‘Let’s not do that now. Anyway, it’s nothing special. A two-bed on the outskirts of Bristol. There’s a decent school nearby.’

  She stared. ‘Why Bristol, anyway?’

  I shrugged and focussed on the grill-pan which I was scrubbing with unnecessary force.

  Bea stopped drying. She stood next to me, the tea towel limp in her hands. ‘When did you get to see it? At the weekend?’

  I hesitated. ‘I haven’t seen it, exactly. Just photos.’

  Bea blinked. ‘You’re telling me you’ve put in an offer on a property you haven’t seen? In a place you don’t know? Sorry, but am I missing something here?’

  I didn’t answer.

  Clara came belting through from the sitting room to hug her mother. ‘Is it time to go?’