‘Tomorrow,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m the girlie in bow making a fool of herself.’
She drove home, increasingly perplexed. In many respects it had been a lovely afternoon. In others, though it shamed her to admit it to herself, it had been deeply disappointing. On the way up to the north coast she’d rather assumed they’d get it on. She was curious to know whether they’d work together, and to be blunt there was only one way of finding out. Yet it hadn’t happened, and the more she thought about it the more she realised that it probably never would.
There was a wariness in Pendrick that seemed to stand guard against the encroachments of the outside world. You stepped towards him and extended a hand only to watch him back off. To begin with she’d blamed herself for being too eager, too pushy, but then she found herself wondering why he and his wife had never had kids. Did they ever screw? Or had the marriage been based on something else?
In truth she didn’t know, and as she turned the Impreza onto the parking area beside Chantry Cottage she found herself confronting another surprise. Driving up the lane, she’d assumed that the curl of blue smoke had come from the adjoining farm. Now she was watching her husband circling a sizeable bonfire with his daughter in his arms.
She got out of the car. Suttle met her on the patio. He smelled of woodsmoke. He told her he’d had a great day. Even Grace was beaming. Together, they toured the garden. Suttle, it turned out, had parked Grace in her playpen in the sunshine and taken a scythe to the long grass. He’d hacked away at the dead vegetation along the wall that led down to the brook and raked a small mountain of twigs and assorted leaves into a monster bonfire. A lot of the stuff was still wet, he said, hence the lack of a proper flame, but if the weather held over the coming week he’d have another go.
Lizzie was surprised and impressed. With her eyes half closed the garden resembled a savage grade two. Far more importantly, her ever-distracted husband had at last made a start on the chaos of their domestic life. She lifted Grace from Suttle’s arms and gave her a hug. Suttle wanted to know how the clear-up at the club had gone.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But it took for ever.’
Later, after Lizzie had put Grace to bed, Suttle made supper and explained about Monday night. Lizzie, who knew Dave Fallon by reputation from her days on the Pompey News, warned Suttle to be careful. He said he’d already taken care of it.
‘How?’
‘The D/I I saw last night? She’s got an estranged husband who lives in Bournemouth. He’s agreed to keep an eye on me.’
‘That’s nice of him.’
‘Gina’s doing. Not mine.’
‘She vouched for you?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘So what’s in it for her?’
The moment she said it Lizzie knew she’d kicked open a door she should have left well alone.
Suttle was standing by the cooker, stirring a pan of fried rice.
‘How about you?’ he said softly.
‘How about me what?’
‘How about you and all your new buddies?’
‘You mean the rowing club?’
‘Sure. Unless it’s gone beyond that.’
‘Beyond what? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘You haven’t? A couple of nights ago you’re back at eleven. What’s going on with these people? Do they row in the dark?’
‘We had a drink.’
‘Who had a drink?’
‘A bunch of us. They’re very social. That’s nice. Bit of a novelty, if you want the truth.’
‘And today? Out at nine? Back at six? That’s a lot of sweeping-up.’
‘It was a shit heap. I told you.’
‘Sure.’
‘You don’t believe me?’
‘No.’
‘You think I’m lying?’
‘I think you’re hiding something.’
‘Same thing, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘It is.’
‘Great. You want the truth? Then here it is.’ Lizzie stepped towards him. A vivid blush of colour pinked her face. He could feel her anger. ‘Just for the record I object to this cop routine. I’m your wife, not some bloody suspect. I’m sure you’re great in interview but marriage is a different gig. Have I been fucking some he-man rower? No. Have I been tempted? As it happens, yes. Why? Because I can’t stand living the way we live.’
Suttle nodded. He’d given up on the fried rice.
‘So where did you go this afternoon?’
‘I’m not answering that question.’
‘But you did go somewhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great.’ He turned back to the pan and gave the rice a savage poke. ‘Thanks for fucking nothing.’
‘You spent last night with a woman who just happens to live alone.’ Lizzie was in his face now. ‘You came home at God knows what time. Good was she? Worth it?’
‘She’s nuts, if you really want to know. Totally out of her tree.’
‘Perfect.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means you could fuck the arse off her and walk away. No commitment on your part. No comeback. A totally risk-free screw. Like I say, perfect.’
‘And you think that’s what I did?’
‘I don’t know. Because you won’t tell me. And even if you told me, even if we had a conversation, I’m not sure I’d believe you.’
‘You wouldn’t?’
‘No. Not now. Not here. Not the way we are.’
‘Great. Then that’s it, yeah?’
‘That’s what?’
‘Everything. You. Me. Grace. This khazi of a house you hate so much. Let’s just bin it, shall we? The lot.’
‘Call it a day?’
‘Sure. If that’s what you want.’
She stared at him for a long moment. She was shaking inside. She’d never imagined a scene like this. Never.
‘I’m sorry.’ She reached for the car keys. ‘I’ll go.’
She drove fast, keeping to the country lanes, swamped by her anger, fighting to concentrate on the next bend and the bend after that. Among the trees on top of the common, she nearly killed a fox. She had time to register the piercing redness of its eyes in the darkness as it turned to face her headlights. Instinctively, she stamped on the brakes and swung the wheel to the right, heading for woodland at the side of the road. The car shuddered and began to slide sideways. Finally it stopped. Lizzie closed her eyes. She was shaking again. Then she opened the door and threw up.
Exmouth was fifteen minutes away. She knew that Pendrick lived in a web of streets near the river and the station. She drove up and down, looking for his van, trying to fix his front door in her mind. There’d been some kind of card in the window of the flat downstairs. A tatty knocker and peeling paint on the door itself.
Finally, she found it. She parked across the road and switched the engine off. The light was on in the upstairs flat and the curtains were pulled back. She stared up at it for a long moment, trying to steady her pulse, trying to regain control of herself. She’d never snapped like that in her entire life, and the knowledge of where it might lead alarmed her deeply. She’d never been frightened of making decisions. On the contrary, especially at work, she’d won a reputation for being on top and ballsy in the trickiest situations.
This, though, was different. She’d pushed married life to the very edge of the cliff and she wasn’t at all sure what she wanted to happen next. She needed to talk this thing through. She needed a listening ear, someone who’d understand, someone who wouldn’t take advantage. Pendrick, she knew, would give her that kind of space, that kind of attention. If necessary, she could stay over. Whether she slept in his bed or not didn’t matter. She wanted to be close to somebody. She wanted to be touched, to be held, to be told she wasn’t some ditzy slapper cheating on her husband. Chantry Cottage had never been a great idea. She wanted out.
She rinsed her mouth with water from the bottle Jimmy kept in the glovebox. Then, reaching for the door handle, she paused. There was movement in the upstairs window. Someone was standing there, staring down at the street, a black silhouette against the light inside. It was a woman. She turned her head and must have said something because she was joined by another figure, bigger, broader. It was Pendrick. For a moment or two he and the woman were both immobile, watching her, then Pendrick reached out for the curtains and the tableau was gone.