Because She Loves Me (31 page)

‘Telly’s fine.’

It was strange being with Sasha sometimes, like we were an old married couple, completely at ease with each other. It came from when we’d lived together for two years at uni, our bedrooms adjoining. We did our food shopping and cooked together to save money, went out together all the time. Spent many nights sitting up putting the world to rights, dreaming of our futures. Most people thought we were a couple, which Sasha blamed for her lack of success with men, but we were firmly in the friend zone.

The news came on and Sasha told me to switch it over to something more light-hearted, but just as I was about to change channels, a familiar face appeared on screen and my finger froze.

‘Sasha – that’s Rachel!’

She came over to join me by the TV as the newsreader intoned over the photo of my sister’s missing personal assistant.

Police are appealing to anyone who might have seen Rachel Marson, 27, who went missing on Saturday while riding her motorcycle from London to Cardiff. Miss Marson, who lives in Eastbourne, East Sussex, called her sister to tell her she was setting off at just after 10:30 a.m. Since then, no one has seen or heard from her. She was riding a black and purple Harley Davidson, wearing a black leather jacket and trousers and a purple crash helmet.

They went on to recount her licence plate number and to give out a phone number for anyone who might have seen her.

‘Do you think she might have simply done a runner?’ Sasha asked, passing me my plate.

‘I hope so.’

‘You should turn your phone off,’ Sasha said.

‘Eh?’

‘You keep looking at it. All the time. It’s quite distracting.’

‘I can’t help it. I keep thinking I’m either going to get a call from the police telling me they’ve arrested Charlie or a call from Charlie herself.’

Sasha took the phone from its spot beside my plate and switched it off. ‘Now you can concentrate. Come on, drink up.’

I finished my first G&T and pushed the glass forward for her to refill it.

By ten, we were both wasted. Sasha had turned off the TV and put music on, and was lying across the sofa, gesticulating with her arms and legs as we talked. We were reminiscing about the old days. My anxiety was a constant buzzing at the back of my head, but it had got to the point where the front of my brain was able to ignore it, treat it as ambient noise.

‘. . . And do you remember that Halloween party, the time that girl doing sociology turned up dressed as The Demonisation of Human Sexuality?’

‘Oh God,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t she completely naked?’

Sasha laughed. ‘She was wearing a flesh-coloured bodysuit.’

‘Oh no, I’m disappointed. I knew I should have worn my glasses that night.’

I stood up to go to the loo, and had to hold on to the back of a nearby chair to steady myself.

‘Whoa,’ I said.

Sasha squinted up at me. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To find my flesh-coloured body suit.’

She laughed again as I staggered to the bathroom. As I peed, I felt my pockets for my phone, then remembered Sasha still had it. I closed my eyes and swayed. I really was drunk. I wanted to lie down. Lie down and never get up.

When I re-entered the living room, a half-formed joke about the sociology student in my head, Sasha was sitting up, a serious, but still inebriated, expression on her face.

‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said.

‘What is it?’ I sat down on the sofa beside her.

‘It’s about Lance.’ She took a big gulp of vodka. She was drinking it neat now. I hadn’t seen her this drunk for a long time.

‘What about him?’

She looked at me. ‘Something I haven’t told you. When our affair ended, he – he tried to kill me.’

Thirty-five

‘
Do you want to talk about it?’ I said as softly as I could.

She nodded, not meeting my eye. ‘Can you turn the music down?’

‘Of course.’ I got up and turned it down so it was barely audible. I thought Sasha might want some physical space so sat in the chair opposite, leaning forward so she could speak quietly.

‘It happened the day he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore. He said he wanted to meet me at the hotel we went to sometimes. That’s when he told me he wanted to end our relationship – just after we’d had sex.’

‘He waited till after?’

She stared into her glass, where the last couple of ice cubes were clinging to life. ‘I know. Bastard, right? We were naked, in bed, and he told me he needed to talk about something. That’s when he told me it was over. That his wife had found out about us and he’d promised her he’d end it.’

‘What did you do?’

She poured more vodka into the glass. As she talked, her words slurred and she wobbled from side to side. Her face had that sloppy, unfocused look really pissed people get just before they pass out.

‘I told him I was going to talk to her, to tell her exactly what we’d done together. All the really pervy stuff. I haven’t told you all of it. I told him I’d tell Mae that he told me she was an ugly old bitch and that I was so much better than her in bed.’

‘You wouldn’t really have done that, though, would you?’

‘Of course not. I was upset, angry. I wanted to scare him. Because I knew, from that moment, that he’d get away with it. He’d had his fun, got to fuck a young girl from work, and would now walk away unscathed.’

‘And that’s when he attacked you?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at that moment. He told me to get dressed. I went into the bathroom, suddenly didn’t want him to see my body, certainly didn’t want to look at his shrivelled old cock. I stood in the hotel bathroom and cried. I was in there for ages, hoping he’d go before I came out.’ She looked at me. ‘I loved him, Andrew. I know it was stupid, that I should have known the rules. And I did feel terrible for his wife. I still do. But I couldn’t help the way I felt about him.’

‘I understand.’

‘When I came out of the bathroom, he was still there. That was when it happened. He grabbed me by the throat, like this.’ She mimed him squeezing her neck, fingers pressed hard against the underside of her jaw. ‘He pushed me against the wall. He said if I went near his wife, he would kill me. He told me he knew people who could dispose of bodies. He said he could buy anything, any service.’

‘Did you tell the police about this?’ I asked. I felt more sober now, her story a slap round the face.

‘No.’

‘Oh, Sasha. Why not?’

‘What’s the point? There’s no evidence. It’s just my word against his.’

‘I know. But you still have to tell them.’

She pouted. ‘In case he does it to someone else?’

‘Exactly. Please, Sash.’

Very reluctantly, she nodded.

‘Let’s do it now.’

‘But it’s nearly eleven.’

‘I know. But the police are there all night. Come on. Where’s your phone?’

I called the police station for her, before she could protest any more, and once I’d been put through I handed the phone to her. I listened to her explain everything to the police officer on the other end.

‘They said they’ll send someone round to talk to me first thing tomorrow. Now, I need to go to bed.’

‘OK.’ I stood up too, waited for her to leave the room, but she didn’t move. ‘What is it?’

‘Will you sleep in my bed?’

‘Sasha, I—’

‘I don’t mean sex, stupid. I just – don’t want to be alone. Is that OK?’

She took hold of my hands in hers.

‘Come on then,’ I said.

I was woken by the insistent sound of the door buzzer. I lifted my head and it was like being punched in the face. The room was bright with sunlight and I didn’t know where I was. Then I looked beside me and saw Sasha, the covers thrown off, arms and legs akimbo. She was naked. I was naked too.

Oh shit. We hadn’t . . . had we? I tried desperately to remember. But the last thing I could recall was crawling into bed, Sasha asking me to hold her. No sex. I didn’t think we had, was sure I would remember it.

The buzzer sounded again, like a giant angry wasp. Sasha moaned and rolled over, exposing her pale buttocks. I covered her with the quilt, pulled on my jeans and T-shirt, which were dumped at the end of the bed, and walked into the living room to look out of the front window to see who was ringing so insistently.

It was Charlie. I stepped back quickly from the window, just as her head turned. Her face was flushed with anger. I was sure she had spotted me.

I noticed my phone on the sofa, and switched it on. It immediately started vibrating with notifications: seven missed calls from Charlie this morning, a couple from my sister, a text from Charlie that was so long that it filled the screen. Before I could read it, the phone, which had been on one per cent battery when I turned it on, died.

The door buzzed again, and Sasha came into the room, a dressing gown wrapped round her. She looked like one of the walking dead, her hair Medusa-like, eyes like a dying panda’s.

‘It’s Charlie,’ I said.

She peeked out the window. ‘Don’t let her in.’

‘I don’t want to hide from her,’ I said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because—’ I couldn’t find the words. Because I was a man, not a mouse? Because I felt I owed Charlie the common decency to talk to her? Or was it that I wanted to see her? This was the real reason. I missed her, was worried about her. Had she spent the night in a cell? Was it cold? Were they horrible to her?

My thoughts must have been evident on my face because Sasha said, ‘Go on then. Go and talk to her. Just, please, don’t tell her about last night. I don’t want her coming in here trying to kill
me
.’

Before I could respond, ask Sasha if she remembered what had happened when we’d gone to bed, she had locked herself in the bathroom.

I put on my socks, shoes and coat, went down the stairs and, after taking a deep breath, opened the front door.

Charlie looked over my shoulder into the hallway before turning her attention to me, her face stony, eyes cold. But despite her expression she looked lovely: her hair looked just-washed, her long black coat hugging the contours of her body, her face clear and fresh. I closed the door and stepped onto the pavement.

‘I knew it,’ she said.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked softly.

She ignored the question. ‘I knew you’d be here. With her.’ Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Don’t worry, Andrew. I’m not going to cause a scene. I just think it would have been decent of you to tell me where you were or answer my
fucking
calls
.’

Her voice was very quiet and even, right up until the final two words.

‘I’m sorry. I thought—’

She interrupted me again, her voice returning to its previous quiet tone. I found this more unnerving than if she’d screamed and shouted. Plus something here didn’t make sense. She wasn’t following the script I had sketched out in my head.

‘I’ve been at your flat all night, trying to stay calm, wondering if you’d had an accident. I even phoned the hospital. Then I figured it out. That you’d be with her.’

I blinked. ‘Hang on. Haven’t you been with the police?’

She frowned at me. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

I was speechless. She hadn’t been arrested. She hadn’t even been questioned. My mind raced.

Charlie had already moved on. ‘So are you going to deny it this time? That you fucked her?’

I think I must have looked very stupid at that moment, my mouth gaping open, unable to defend myself because I didn’t know if I’d had sex with Sasha, was still reeling from the news that Charlie hadn’t been arrested. What were the police playing at?

I managed to get a grip of myself. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere else to talk.’ I reached out for her arm and she snatched it away like I was made of shit.

‘What? Don’t want to upset her? Is she up there, listening out of the window? Doesn’t want all the neighbours to know what she is? A serial home wrecker.’

‘Please, Charlie, come on. It’s nothing to do with Sasha.’

Reluctantly, she followed me down the road and around the corner, where there was a small park with a couple of benches and a few bare trees. The sky was almost white, like it was going to snow again. I sat on a bench that glistened with frost and gestured for Charlie to sit beside me.

‘No,’ she said.

I didn’t know what to do. If the police hadn’t talked to her, she wouldn’t know anything about all the things I suspected her of. Karen, the heroin, Kristi. All of it.

‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘What do you want to say to me?’

I couldn’t tell her. I simply couldn’t get the words out. All I could say was, ‘I’m sorry.’

She sneered. ‘Sorry?
Sorry?
You think that means anything to me? Jesus Christ, last week you made me sign up to see a fucking therapist – who I didn’t go to see, by the way, so stick that in your pipe – because of my “issues”. But I was justified, wasn’t I?’ Her eyes blazed. ‘Everything . . . I was fucking justified.’

Quietly, I said, ‘Do you really think so?’

‘What?’

‘I know everything, Charlie. I know what you’ve done.’

She stared at me. ‘What
I’ve
done? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Everything. Karen, for one. I’ve got evidence.’

She looked around, as if trying to see if anyone could overhear, but there was no one around, just a couple of thrushes pecking fruitlessly at the hard ground.

‘I have no idea what you’re going on about.’

A wave of nausea washed over me, almost dragging me under. I had the urge to put my head between my knees. An elderly man came into the park and walked past us. We watched him go.

‘Have you been fucking Sasha the whole time we’ve been together?’ Charlie asked. Her eyes had taken on a manic sheen. ‘How did you have the energy? The time?’

I shook my head. ‘You should have gone to see that therapist, Charlie. It might have helped your defence. Shown that you were trying to seek help for your problems.’

She gawped at me, her face full of shock and disgust.

‘I went to your flat,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘I met Fraser. He told me all about your relationship, about what you put him through. I guess that was the start of it. A kind of practice run. At least, with him, no one got hurt. No one died.’

‘I can’t believe you went to my flat.’ She pointed at me. ‘How dare you?’

‘I’ve been to Karen’s flat too, spoken to her neighbour. He saw you, can identify you.’

This was a lie, but I wanted her to believe she had no way to escape.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she said.

I stood up. ‘You should hand yourself in, Charlie. They’ll help you. You’ll get psychiatric care.’

But she wasn’t listening. She stared into the air beside my head, her mouth open, face flushed. Her eyes were darting about; I could feel waves of nervous energy coming off her.

‘Fraser is a lying shit,’ she said. She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘I love you, Andrew. You told me you loved me. You promised me.’

‘I do. I did.’

‘You swore on your life. You swore on your
sister’s
life. And then you betrayed me.’ Without warning, she let out a terrible noise, a high-pitched wail that rose with distress and then dipped with fury.

‘Charlie . . .’ I began.

She pointed at me again, her eyes ablaze with hatred. ‘You’ll never be happy,’ she said. ‘You think you can just walk away from this. But I’m going to haunt you, Andrew. I’m going to fucking
haunt
you.’

Before I could respond, ask her what she meant, she was gone, running across the little park and out through the gate.

I could barely breathe. I needed to talk to the police but my phone was dead. I didn’t want to go back to Sasha’s, didn’t want to face her right now (had we had sex?), so I made my mind up. I would go home, plug my phone in, call DC Moseley.