The Breakdown: The gripping thriller from the bestselling author of Behind Closed Doors. B Paris A
He looks at me, concerned. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You don’t look great. Perhaps we shouldn’t go to the party tonight?’
I smile sympathetically because he’s not a party person, he’d much rather have friends over for a casual dinner. ‘We have to, it’s Susie’s fortieth.’
‘Even if you still have a headache?’ I hear the ‘but’ in his voice and sigh.
‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to talk to Rachel.’
‘I don’t mind talking to her, it’s just those disapproving looks she always gives me. She makes me feel as if I’ve done something wrong. Did you remember to get my jacket from the cleaner’s, by the way?’
My heart sinks. ‘No, sorry, I forgot.’
‘Oh. Well, never mind, I guess I can wear something else.’
‘Sorry,’ I say again, thinking of the present and all the other things I’ve forgotten lately. A few weeks ago, he had to come and rescue me and my trolley-load of food at the supermarket when I left my purse on the kitchen table. Since then, he’s found milk where the detergent should be and detergent in the fridge, and has had to deal with an angry call from my dentist over an appointment I forgot I’d made. So far he’s laughed it off, telling me I’m in overload because of the end of the school year. But like with Susie’s present, there have been other times when my memory has failed me, times he doesn’t know about. I’ve driven to school without my books, forgotten both a hair appointment and a lunch with Rachel, and last month I drove twenty-five miles to Castle Wells, unaware I’d left my bag at home. The thing is, although he knows that Mum died when she was fifty-five and that towards the end she was forgetful, I’ve never actually come out and told him that for the three years before she died, I had to wash, dress and feed her. Neither does he know that she was diagnosed with dementia when she was 44, just ten years older than I am now. Back then, I couldn’t believe he would still marry me if he thought there was a possibility that a dozen or so years down the line, I’d be diagnosed with the same thing.
I know now he would do anything for me but too much time has passed. How can I admit that I held things back from him? He’d been so open about not being able to have children and I’d repaid his honesty with dishonesty; I’d allowed my own selfish fears to get in the way of the truth. How I’m paying for that now, I think as I lie down on the bed.
I try to relax but images of last night flash through my mind, one after the other, like stills in a film. I see the car ahead of me on the road, I see myself swerving out around it, I see myself turning my head to look at the driver. And then I see the blur of a woman’s face, looking back at me through the window.
*
In the middle of the afternoon, Matthew comes to find me. ‘I think I’ll go to the gym for a couple of hours. Unless you want to go for a walk or something?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, grateful to have some time on my own. ‘I need to sort through the stuff I brought back from school. If I don’t do it now, I never will.’
He nods. ‘Then we can both have a well-deserved glass of wine when I get back.’
‘Deal,’ I say, accepting his kiss. ‘Have fun.’
I hear the front door slam but, instead of going into the study to sort out my work things, I stay at the kitchen table and let my mind clamber over the thoughts in my head. The house phone rings – it’s Rachel.
‘You’ll never guess what?’ she says breathlessly. ‘You know that young woman who was murdered? Well, it turns out she worked in my company.’
‘Oh, God,’ I mutter.
‘I know, it’s awful, isn’t it? Susie’s in bits. She feels terrible and is cancelling the party – she just can’t bring herself to celebrate when the murder was of someone we knew.’
I feel a slight relief at not having to go out, but also slightly sick that the murdered woman is becoming ever more real.
‘Although I didn’t really know her because she worked in a different division to me…’ Rachel continues, before hesitating a moment. ‘Actually, I feel really bad because when I went into the office from the airport yesterday, I had an argument with someone over a parking space and I think it was her. I was quite verbal – it was the jet-lag talking – and now I wish I’d let it go.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ I say automatically.
‘Susie said the people who worked with her are devastated. Some of them know her husband and, apparently, he’s absolutely distraught – well, he would be, of course. And now he’s been left to bring up two-year-old twins by himself.’
‘Twins?’ The word echoes through my head.
‘Yes, twin girls. It’s such a tragedy.’
I go ice cold. ‘What was her name?’
‘Jane Walters, Susie said.’
The name hits me with the force of a sledgehammer. ‘What? Did you say Jane Walters?’
‘Yes.’
My mind spins. ‘No, it can’t be. It’s not possible.’
‘That’s what Susie said,’ Rachel insists.
‘But… but I had lunch with her.’ I’m so stunned I can hardly speak. ‘I had lunch with her and she was fine. It must be a mistake.’
‘You had lunch with her?’ Rachel sounds puzzled. ‘When? I mean, how did you know her?’
‘I met her at that leaving party you took me to, for that man who worked in your company – Colin. You know, the one you said it was all right for me to tag along to because there’d be so many people nobody would notice that I didn’t work for Finchlakers. I got talking to her at the bar and we swapped phone numbers, and then a few days later, she called me. I told you when you phoned from New York: I said I was going to lunch with her the next day – at least I thought I did.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Rachel says gently, understanding how distressed I am. ‘And even if you did, even if you’d told me her name, I wouldn’t have known who she was. I’m so sorry, Cass, you must feel dreadful.’
‘I was meant to be going round to hers next week,’ I say, realising. ‘To meet her little daughters.’ Tears spring to my eyes.
‘It’s horrible, isn’t it? And awful to think of her killer being out there somewhere. I don’t want to worry you, Cass, but your house must only be a couple of miles from where she was killed and, well, it is a bit isolated, stuck down the end of the road by itself.’
‘Oh,’ I manage, feeling sick. Because in all the turmoil and worry, I hadn’t thought about the killer still being out there. And that we can only get a mobile signal if we’re upstairs, by a window.
‘You don’t have an alarm, do you?’
‘No.’
‘Then promise you’ll lock the door when you’re home by yourself ?’
‘Yes – yes, of course I will,’ I tell her, desperate to get away, to stop talking about the woman who was murdered.
‘Sorry, Rachel, I have to go,’ I add hurriedly. ‘Matthew’s calling me.’
I slam the phone down and burst into tears. I don’t want to believe what Rachel just told me, I don’t want to believe that the young woman who was murdered in her car was Jane, my new friend, who would, I felt, have become a great friend. We had met by chance, at the party I had gone to by chance, as if we’d been destined to meet. Still sobbing, as clear as if it’s happening before my eyes, I see her edging towards the bar at Bedales.
*
‘Excuse me, are you waiting to be