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Chapter 49
Monday 5th April
Pete’s home from the hospital. He was discharged last night; it’s only a ten-minute walk from here, but I drove round to pick him up, and he kept his hand on my knee for the entire duration of the short trip back to The Grove. He still looks pale, and he’s a little wobbly on his feet, but he’s got the old Pete twinkle back in his eye, and that makes me so happy. It’s a bit peculiar, this change in our relationship; we both slept in my bed last night, neither of us wanting to go into his room ever again, and certain now that we need to leave this house as soon as possible. We’re already making plans, talking about me selling up, him selling his rented-out Cheltenham apartment too, and us getting a place together. It seems fast – itisfast – but we’ve known each other for nearly nine years now, after all. We know this isright.
We talked a lot, last night, wrapped around each other in the dimly lit bedroom. We talked about Megan, who called both of us over the weekend, apologising profusely for her ‘appalling behaviour’ and telling me that despite appearances, she was horribly insecure when it came to men, and had been constantly worried that Pete and I were carrying on behind her back.
‘I’ve had some really bad experiences, in the past,’ she told me tearfully. ‘And I was far too full-on with Pete, I know that. I was far too intense. I just thought, “finally, I’ve got a good one”, you know? And now I’ve driven him away, and it’s something I’ll have to live with. I’m just glad he’s OK. I’m glad you both are.’
She said she’d wanted to spend a romantic few days alone with Pete in our house last week, and had been making all sorts of plans to surprise him with, which was why she’d been so angry to find out that I wasn’t going away after all. And she solved the mystery of Pete’s missing phone for us too, admitting that she’d taken it with her when she’d gone off in her taxi.
‘I knew his PIN,’ she said. ‘And I wanted to check for messages from you, in case you really were carrying on behind my back. I’m so sorry. I’ll stick it through the letter box, and then I won’t bother either of you again. Look after him, OK?’
I promised her I would, and then felt horribly guilty again, because of course wehadbeen ‘carrying on behind her back’, although not for long. It was probably best if she didn’t know that though, for now at least. The little detail of us now being a couple is still one we’ve managed to keep under wraps, even though the story hit the news last night, with lurid headlines about the Diary Killer, the cop-turned-serial killer who’d managed to kill four people, and about me and Pete, the two who escaped. I’ve had to disconnect the house phone and turn my mobile off, so unceasing are the calls from journalists, and from friends and colleagues too, both current and former. The press have taken over the street too, camped outside, waiting for us to appear; good old Dinah next door has been trying to shoo them away, but with little success. We’ve decided wewillgo out and speak to them soon; give them a little something in the hope that they’ll go away. But not just yet. Right now, we want it to be just us, hunkered down, curtains closed. Justus.
I’ve told Pete that I briefly suspected him and Megan of being the killers. But of course, all the things I was so concerned aboutwerejust coincidences after all, in the end. Them being together on the nights of the murders, Pete happening to visit Jane Holland’s casino once – all perfectly innocent after all, and Pete’s mild annoyance when I repeatedly acted strangely about his casino trip absolutely justifiable.
‘I just couldn’t understand why you kept harping on about it,’ he said.
‘But why did you take so long to finish with Megan?’ I asked him, and he told me that every time he tried, she’d get hysterical, telling him how damaged she was after her father left her mother when she was very young, how the experience had scarred her, how she’d been treated so badly by so many men that she wasn’t sure if she could take it again.
‘I genuinely thought she might hurt herself, you know?’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, partly because she begged me not to tellanyonehow fragile and messed-up she was, and partly because I thought you might not believe me anyway; I thought you’d think I was just making excuses. I knew I needed to end it, but I was scared, and I didn’t want her harming herself because of me, so I kept putting it off. I’m sorry; I’m an idiot.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re a very lovely man, Pete Chong,’ I said. ‘Megan was right. Youareone of the good ones.’
Early this morning, before too many members of the press pack had arrived to spend another day knocking on my door, I sneaked out through the back gate and spent an hour in the police station, giving my formal statement about what happened here. On my way back, I thought about the tragic deaths of Lisa and David and Jane, all such good people, all murdered for such a stupid, pointless reason. I thought about how much time both the police and I wasted in looking for connections between us that simply weren’t there. And now I’ve just walked into The Hub, and I’m bracing myself for more questions, because of course everyone here has seen the news stories by now too, and so far I’ve ignored all the messages they’ve sent me, which isn’t really fair. Plus, I need to get back to work, anyway; I need to finish writing my article. I’ve already had a dozen emails from editors wanting my story, and I need to pick one to give it to, as soon as the police give me the go ahead.
‘Mary! Oh, Mary. I’m so happy to see you!’
It’s Eleanor, racing across the room towards me, long locks flying behind her, holding out her arms as she hits the brakes. I bend down to hug her, and she squeezes me hard.
‘I can’t believe what’s happened to you,’ she says, when she finally lets me go. ‘And that you kept it to yourself all this time. I mean, we knew something was going on, you hinted at that, but we had no idea it was anything as huge as this. I understand why you had to keep it under wraps, but it must have beensohard. Have you got time for a coffee?’
We take our drinks to one of the little break-out areas at the far end of the room, and I settle down on the big, lurid pink sofa, Eleanor tucking her wheelchair in next to me.
‘So, spill,’ she says.
I tell her the whole story, carefully editing my account of my conversation with Steph, of course, and she listens wide-eyed, her mouth dropping open in horror when I tell her about the final moments on the landing.
‘Oh. My. God,’ she gasps.
‘But, you know what,’ I say, when I’ve finished. ‘For a while I actually thought Edward and Satish might have something to do with it.’
I tell her why, and she claps a hand to her mouth.
‘Oh Mary! I know exactly what that’s all about, but I promise I only found out last week. The only thing those two have been plotting is how to get you to go on a date with Satish. He’s crazy about you, you numpty.’
‘He’s … he’swhat?’
She starts to giggle, and explains that last week a flustered Satish took her aside and asked her if she could give him some advice.
‘He’s had a crush on you from day one, but he says he’s rubbish with women, and he thought you were way out of his league. So he enlisted Edward to help, although I’m not sure why, given that he’s probably just as inept. Anyway, that’s why Edward kept hanging around you, trying to find out more about you and impress you with stories about Satish: their interesting weekends away, the fact that they’re fit runners, all that stuff. He was trying to make you see Satish as a bit of a catch. It all went a bit pear-shaped when they were questioned by the police – Satish is from a really strict family, he’s never been in any sort of trouble in his life, and it really freaked him out. But even when Edward told him he suspected that you had reported them, the poor guy was still in love with you. He bought two tickets for Dua Lipa in Bristol and he wanted to invite you along, but the gig was last Wednesday night and you’d told Edward you might be going away so Satish wasn’t sure if you’d be around. He said he tried a couple of times to ask you but you were acting a bit weird with him, so in desperation on the day before the gig last week, when you weren’t at work, he asked Edward to go round to your house to ask you if you’d like to go. I gave him your address, I’m so sorry. You’d taken a few days off so I didn’t want to disturb you by calling to ask if it was OK, and I didn’t think there was any harm in it. Edward’s all right, deep down, honestly. But he screwed it up apparently – he lost his nerve and didn’t even knock on your door.’
I laugh, understanding finally dawning.
It all makes sense now,I think.It doesn’t stop me thinking that Edward’s a bit creepy, but I suppose he was only trying to help his friend …
‘Well, that clears that up,’ I say. ‘But sorry, Satish. I alreadyhavea boyfriend.’
