The Beauty of the End (24 page)

46

 

I
'm dumbstruck. When I saw them, they'd just scattered Theo's ashes. The baby I'd fathered. It's a bombshell that blows me apart, so that I no longer know who I am. As the world dissolves around me, I need time to take this in, because inside, I don't know how to feel.

* * *

It's beginning to get dark when I feel Bea's hand on my arm.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is quiet.

I nod. I am. “I can't believe I didn't know.”

Bea's silent. Then she says softly, “It was always there, Noah.”

“Her past? She was a victim, Bea. But it shouldn't have been like that.”

“I wasn't talking about April.”

I turn to her. “What are you talking about?”

“You, Noah. The way you only ever saw what you wanted to see. Couldn't think of her as anyone other than this perfect girl, or woman, who you wanted to live happily ever after with. She wasn't that person.”

“That's not true.” I pull away, stung. “None of us are perfect.” But suddenly I'm remembering the bird April rescued and took to the woods, where she wove a spell so it could fly away. But since the last time I've thought of it, the memory's changed. She doesn't heal the bird. It doesn't fly away. In a swift, twisting motion, she breaks its neck.

Then I see the tree hung with tiny carcasses. Grotesque, truly a death tree, which I'd convinced myself was a tree of life.

Then the lies that were always there clear away like a layer of mist, revealing the truth. And it's painful. Life's been no harder to me than anyone else. Daisy, Lara, Nina, and all the others, they've truly suffered, while I've been a victim only of myself.

“Did you know,” Bea's voice breaks into my thoughts, “April believed that there were thin places?”

I'm frowning, shaking my head, trying to keep up with her, as Bea goes on. “They're places where the door between this world and the next cracks open, letting the light in. Reynard's Hill was one, she always said.”

As she speaks, I consider for a moment whether maybe the same thin places had let her demons in. She'd never mentioned them to me. Maybe she thought I wouldn't understand. And so often I couldn't reach her; there'd always been too much we hadn't said.

In recognizing my failure to confront her, I accept my own part in what happened—with the exception of one thing.

“I wish she'd told me about Theo.”

“She was struggling, Noah.” Bea pauses. “After he died, April disappeared for a while. Next time I saw her, we talked about him, but only briefly. She said she'd never forget him. He was in her heart, her every waking thought, but somehow she had to find a way to go on living. She felt she'd be a better counselor for knowing what it was like to lose her child. We only talked about Theo that one time.”

Bea's eyes are full of sadness. “I tried to mention him again—when you got engaged. I told her that I thought she should talk to you. That marriage was hard enough without ghosts. But she said she didn't think she could carry your grief, too.”

We stand, in silence, watching the sun slide toward the horizon, listening to the birds. Such peacefulness, it wraps itself around me.

“Thank you for telling me,” I say at last, but something's niggling at the back of my mind. I turn to face her. “Will used everything within reach to get to me. He knew about Theo—you'd think he'd have loved the chance to tell me. So why didn't he?”

Bea's brow is furrowed. “I really don't know, but once the investigation started, he must have realized there was always a possibility you'd find out.”

I'm thoughtful. “Or maybe not. With April silenced, with you on his side, there was no reason I ever would.”

“After he signed the death certificate,” Bea says quietly, “Theo was cremated. April wanted it done quickly.”

“But Will was a student.” Suddenly I'm frowning, trying to work out the timing as I remember the legalities of reporting a death. “There are laws, Bea. I'm fairly sure, if Theo was at home, and if he wasn't under the care of a doctor, which from what you've said is how it was, his death should have been reported to the coroner. So why wasn't it?”

Bea looks startled, but it's the million-dollar question. Will's audacity is at once breathtaking, terrifying. He'd been playing by his own rules even then.

“He never should have signed it,” I insist. “Or maybe he faked someone else's signature. Either way, he's broken the law.”

At the same time condemning himself to silence.

“He probably thought no one would find out,” Bea says.

“Until now, they haven't.” My words are bitter. “But it's so easy, Bea, to check out.”

“I know. Ella ordered a copy of her birth certificate,” she says quietly. “Online. Only there wasn't one, not for the name she's always known. It's how she found out.”

Suddenly my thoughts turn to the daughter April must have wanted the world for. Who had Will for a father.

“I'd like to meet her.”

Bea nods. “I thought you might. You should meet Julia, too—she's Ella's therapist. She's just joined the clinic where I work. She's wonderful. Ella completely trusts her.”

* * *

The following day when I go to the hospital, for the first time there is no police presence in April's room and I wonder if Will has confessed. I'm standing in the doorway, uncertain after all this time as to whether I'm allowed in, when I hear footsteps behind me.

It's Luisa.

“I need to thank you,” I tell her. “What you found out was really helpful. I hope it didn't get you into any trouble.”

“You're welcome.” She smiles, but it quickly fades. “I'm so sorry, but she's not doing well. The drugs she took have affected her liver. The police won't be coming back. You can go in. Take as long as you like.”

Slowly I go inside, trying to digest what she's said, as behind me she pulls the door so it's almost closed. Then, for the first time in many years, I'm alone with April. I push the chair as close to her bed as it will go, then sit down, sliding one of my hands under hers, gently closing my fingers around it. And suddenly there's so much I want to say.

“April? I know about Theo. I wish you'd let me share him with you, even for those short months. I'm sorry I wasn't there. But I understand.”

Pausing for a moment. “I know about Will, too. What he did. The police have him now.”

For a moment, I imagine she responds, as I listen for the faintest change in her breathing, the tiniest fingertip pressure that doesn't happen.

“Bea met Ella. She said she's exactly like you.”

“I want to say I'm sorry,” I tell her quietly. “I wasted so many years. And I failed you. You deserved so much more.”

Then I just sit there, for some time, in silence.

I catch Luisa as I leave. “What you said earlier, about her liver. Can you treat it?”

“We have tried.” She hesitates. “I'm so sorry. The doctors have done everything they can, but after her overdose, there was too much in her system. I really don't think she intended to be found.”

The kindest, most softly spoken words can bear the most brutal news, as Luisa explains that with acute liver failure, it's unlikely April will regain consciousness. That most likely it won't be long now. I think of her clients, then Ella, of the nurses who have cared for her—are still caring for her—while I watch her for the last time, hoping that when the end comes, it's just an extension of where she is now. That her breathing gradually slows and there is no pain; that Theo will be waiting for her; that there'll be no more suffering.

47

I
manage to persuade my landlady to let me stay until after the funeral. I'm expecting a handful of people to be there. Myself and Bea, and maybe one or two others, because Ella's insisted she's coming, with Gabriela, their housekeeper. Rebecca, her adoptive mother, is away on a tour of Russia, which Ella says is probably a good thing.

But, to my surprise, a small crowd steals in behind us. As I glance back, I start to recognize faces—April's neighbor, Lara; Daisy Rubinstein; the Miltons; and so many others, to all of whom April made a difference.

And this time the service is personal and full of love, and there are tears and there are flowers.

* * *

A week later, Bea collects April's ashes. Then on a day where a veil of cloud dulls the sun's glare, she picks up Ella and the three of us take a walk up Reynard's Hill.

“You okay with this?” I ask Ella, clumsy, trying to remember how fifteen feels; how brave it makes you, but also how scared.

Glancing at Bea, Ella shrugs. “It's kind of weird. I mean, I don't remember her, but she was still my mother.” She pauses. “My birth mother.”

She falls silent.

“You're very like her.” I add quickly, “To look at,” aware that though she's April's daughter, she's her own person. One I don't yet know, though would like to.

“Ella's going to board for the next couple of years, until she finishes A levels.” Bea gives me a sideways look. “And I'm really hoping, when Rebecca's on tour, she'll come and stay with me during some of the holidays. If she wants to.” Glancing at Ella.

“I'd like that.” Then Ella's silent for a moment. “It's weird knowing what happened,” she says at last. “But it's kind of cool, because I can sort of get to know April from what you both tell me. I think that's okay.”

I'm guessing it's not quite that simple, but she has her mother's courage. Then the implication of her words sinks in, that Ella can see a place for myself and Bea in her life. Another layer of the ice around my heart cracks. And as it starts to thaw, I can believe that with luck, and with love, maybe she'll have what her mother would have wanted for her.

We walk to the edge where the ground drops away and Bea points out where Theo's ashes were scattered. Then we sit on the grass and wait until the hikers and dog walkers leave us alone. When the sun briefly flares before it sinks below the horizon, we scatter April's in the same place.

As Ella steps forward, the wind catching her long hair, suddenly the years fall away and I'm fifteen again, remembering my goddess. Closing my eyes, remembering the touch of her lips and how alive she made me feel. No longer running from the past, but embracing it, as in Ella, I'm reminded there is hope. As April's did, her parents have failed her, but she has strong people in her life, who love her, who will ensure that history doesn't repeat itself. That the past stops here. She isn't alone.

* * *

With the evidence Ryder already has, Will is held in custody, and faces charges of forging a death certificate and failing to notify the coroner, as well as abuse of his position in the treatment of his patients. He's guilty, too, of blackmailing April and taking Ella from her. But he continues to deny Norton's murder, even though all the evidence points to Will setting April up, stealing her phone, even calling his home number twice, before leaving it in the car when he murdered Norton.

There's a further twist when a glove matching the one from Norton's car is found stuffed between the seats in Will's car. Put together, it's enough for the police to hold him, and enough to keep Ryder digging for more.

* * *

Now that April's ashes have been scattered, there's nothing to keep me here, at least until Will's trial starts. I think of the isolation of my cottage, the miles of fields and rolling hills, which feel like another world, as I pack my bags and check the room in case I've forgotten something.

But it isn't over. I'm outside, loading up my car, ready to leave, when my mobile buzzes. I glance at the number, which is unfamiliar. Hesitate, remembering the call that started all of this, that brought me here from Devon. Then answer it, because what the hell, and anyway, I'm going home. As it began, so it ends, in the strangest of coincidences, with Will.

48

“N
oah, I need to talk to you.” Will's voice is low, urgent.

“There's nothing you can say I want to hear,” I tell him bluntly. “You killed a man and framed April. Sorry, Will, but you deserve everything you get.”

“No! You're wrong. Not about the patients,” he says. “But everything else. But mostly, you're wrong about April.”

“She's fucking dead, Will. Can't you leave it?” Then seeing alarm on the faces of passersby, I lower my voice. “It's over. Accept it.”

“You're so wrong.” His voice is deadly. “About April. You think she wasn't capable of killing anyone, but she was. Do you know about Theo?”

“Yes. But no thanks to you. You should have told me.”

“For Christ's sake—like it was my place to. She should have told you long ago. By the time I got involved, it was complicated.”

“Yeah. Right. He was sick,” I flare back at him. “Then he died. Bea told me all about it. And you signed the death certificate. Everyone knows that now.”

“Bea? Told you Theo died?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to call her.” He sounds grim. “She didn't tell you everything. Theo didn't die, Noah. April killed him.”

What he's suggesting is impossible. Suddenly I can't think. Why would Bea have lied? Then I realize, it's Will who's lying. Again. Manipulating me, as he always has.

“Fucking leave it, Will,” I mutter. “You've done enough.”

“Ask Bea,” he says quietly. “Ask her what really happened.”

“Don't call me again.” I hang up on him before he can reply, then just stand there, reeling. Knowing that before I leave, I have to call Bea.

* * *

My burning need gets the better of me. I go out, stop at the first shop that sells whisky, where I buy a bottle. Start walking back, feeling the familiar anticipation, filled with longing for the oblivion it contains. Then I carry on twenty yards down the road to the nearest bin, drop it in. Retrace my steps back to the B&B before I change my mind.

I missed it the first time, when Bea told me about Will's obsession with April. How she alluded to, then dismissed her own feelings for April. Her acrimonious divorce, without ever explaining what went wrong. The letter
B
squiggled in April's diary, which I'd forgotten about.

* * *

“It was in her diary. You met up with her, didn't you?” I demand when Bea and I meet an hour later.

Under her makeup, Bea's face is pale.

“When, Bea? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was going to, but in the end, I couldn't.” Her voice trembles. “She'd been through enough. All I wanted was to protect her.”

“This is serious,” I tell her. “You'll have to talk to Ryder. Even if it changes nothing, you should tell him what happened.”

“Or what?” she says, with an icy calm I haven't seen before. “April's dead and Will's being held in custody, which he deserves.”

“You may not have a choice.” She may be right, but I'm thinking of the trial, at which she may well be called to give evidence under oath. And it's tempting, where Will is concerned, to leave him where he is until the legal system takes its course. But there's a more burning issue I have to ask her about.

“You were there when Theo died,” I say quietly. “You have to tell me what really happened.”

Bea swallows, but the set of her chin is defiant. “I've already told you.”

“The truth, Bea.”

I'm silent; then she turns and sees my face.

“Will told you, didn't he?” she says, incredulous.

I nod.

“
God
, Noah . . .” Bea looks fraught. “All right. If you really want me to, I'll tell you.” She pauses, gathering herself. “That last night was terrible, so bloody terrible. Theo was in the most awful distress. Nothing we did helped him. I wanted to call an ambulance, but April wouldn't let me. She knew he was dying and she didn't want it drawn out any longer, with an uncomfortable journey, only to be surrounded by strangers in a hospital—all for the sake of a few more hideous hours of suffering. God, it was your worst nightmare.”

She's shaking as she continues. “I've told you most of it. April gave Theo the medication the hospital had prescribed the last time. It didn't make any difference. He was still crying pitifully, and if we picked him up it made it worse. His sobs . . .” She puts her hands over her ears. “I still remember them. It was the worst thing, seeing him in pain. April gave him more medication, then more. Eventually he became drowsy, then unconscious. That was when she panicked, because she couldn't bear for him to wake up and go through it all over again. I remember she kissed him. I think she'd already decided that this was what she'd have to do.”

Bea falls silent, then looks up at me.

“She told him how much she loved him. Then she placed a pillow over his face And I watched her.” Her voice falters. Then she turns to me, her face tear stained, eyes streaked with pain. “He never woke up.”

As I take in what she's saying, a maelstrom of emotions engulfs me. Shock, followed by horror, grief, and finally something that can only be love, for the baby I'd never know, as part of my brain tries to put myself in April's shoes, put all of this into some kind of context. Finding no mental reference to measure it by.

Bea's voice is thin. “Will knew, but he could never tell anyone, because he'd broken the law before he'd even qualified. It was the most tragic secret that bound them together.”

“Bound the three of you, you mean.” Trying to keep my voice neutral, but my eyes are accusing. “You were there, too, Bea.”

“I know.” She bows her head. “No one needs to know, do they?” It's more a plea, than a question.

“That's up to Will. Now the police have the death certificate, who knows what they'll ask. . . . But whatever Will tells them, there's no proof.”

“Are you going to tell them?” Bea's voice is low.

“It depends if they ask me, under oath.” I'm still angry at her.

But what's to be gained at this stage? The only person who'd be punished would be Bea—and for what? Watching a desperate mother, whom the system had failed, end the suffering of her dying baby?

Then I'm thinking about Will's phone call. “But just because of how Theo died, it still doesn't mean April killed Norton.”

“No.” Bea's silent. “I guess the phone call was just Will being Will. He knew something you didn't. It was like you said—he couldn't resist telling you, could he?”

“So you and April,” I say less roughly. “The truth, this time. Was there something?”

“The truth?” Bea's silent for a moment. “Maybe there might have been. We never had the chance to find out.”

I look at her, just for a moment wondering if Bea could have killed Norton. Her way of redressing the past, of avenging the misery Norton had caused the woman she loved.

She feels me watching her and I see her eyes widen in alarm. “You're not thinking . . .”

But I shake my head and turn to walk away. “I don't know what to think.”

* * *

I check back into the B&B. My landlady raises her eyes questioningly, hopeful, but I hide my turmoil under a smile, pay her for another couple of nights. Tell her nothing. Make it up the stairs, lock the door as a different, more brutal truth closes in on me, because it's one thing to end a life of suffering. But harder to understand is April's silence. She'd loved me enough to agree to marry me, but not enough to share the reason for her sadness.

Only when my anger subsides does the storm inside my head start to calm. But in its aftermath, the landscape has changed. Surrounding me are doubts that previously were absent, that have sprung out of nowhere. No longer am I sure about anyone.