Joanne Sefton Book 2. Joanne Sefton
to talk to?’
‘Nah. I mean, I had some mates who tried, but they were twenty-year-old blokes, you know? Not exactly renowned for their emotional intelligence.’ She acknowledged the comment with a grimace. ‘Besides, I was so into Alex. I suppose I’d let other friendships wither a bit. I was happy to have a drink or a chat or whatever – I mean I knew you and Misty fairly well – but I didn’t get beneath the surface with people, because I had Alex for that.’
‘I don’t know if it helps …’ she took a breath, trying to phrase what she wanted to say as carefully as possible, ‘… but I remember that she felt really deeply about you too. She used to joke that it was a shame she’d found “the one” at university, because you’d end up getting married and she’d never get to have a proper single life.’
He gave a sad smile and picked at some food.
‘We did talk about the future,’ he agreed. ‘That’s one reason why it’s strange. She’d gone through a really bad phase, with the … the weight thing.’ Karen’s stomach dropped at the reference. She didn’t want to think about how Alex had died; she couldn’t trust herself to go there. Andrew, though, was still talking.
‘It had been over a year earlier, though, before we were going out – or at least going out seriously. I expect you remember?’
Karen nodded. She remembered only too well.
He shook his head. ‘I really thought she was over it. We had all these plans – moving to London, getting a flat together. Then … boom. It’s all over.’
He gazed at her. His eyes were blue, intense – too needy to be the eyes of an entrepreneur. She felt a sweat break out on her palms and a lump rise in her throat. The last thing she wanted was to think back to that winter. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
‘Okay …’ she said, trying to steady herself as much as anything else.
‘It happened so suddenly …’ His voice had become a monotone. He was struggling to go on. ‘I don’t even know why she went home that night … She should have been in college. And then … and then she just didn’t come back.’
His voice cracked then, and he rubbed at his face with the back of a hand, tears not quite coming but clearly not far away. Karen wanted to say something to make it easier, but nothing would come out. Mutely, she nodded.
‘… I called the house. Her mum answered and it was clear something was very wrong. She couldn’t tell me. She tried to get it out a couple of times, then she passed the phone to Alex’s dad. He told me she was dead.’
‘Her heart failed.’ Karen’s voice was a whisper. She felt her own eyes moisten as she remembered that horrible time.
‘On the Sunday morning!’ There was anger in Andrew’s voice. It came suddenly, as if from nowhere. ‘A day and a half and they hadn’t told me. They hadn’t even tried. If I’d not phoned the house, I’m not sure they’d ever have bothered.’
‘They must have been in terrible shock …’
‘I know, I know. That’s what everyone says, that’s what was going around in my head at the time. But do you know what?’
‘What?’
‘He didn’t sound shocked. Eric Penrith was as composed as a … a traffic warden telling me he’d already written my ticket. I never saw him lose it. I never saw him well up, or struggle to keep it together. He certainly had the wherewithal to talk to me on the phone, even if his wife didn’t.’
There wasn’t much that Karen could say. It seemed likely that however much Alex Penrith and Andrew Dyer had loved each other, wherever the relationship might have gone, Alex’s parents viewed it as little more than an inconsequential crush. Right or wrong, there wasn’t much to be said about it all these years later.
‘Do you know what? They never even let me see the body.’ His face was twisted with torment as he spoke, the hurt and impotence of his younger self etched over the veneer of confidence and success. ‘I pleaded – I fucking begged those people to let me say goodbye to her. I may as well have saved my breath. They were cold as stone, deaf as stone too.’
Instinctively, Karen reached out again. This time she took his hand, trying to offer a little bit of comfort where she knew that no words would assist.
‘God … I’m being ridiculous.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘It’s been years since I talked about this stuff – seeing that picture, out of the blue like that – it’s just opened the wound again.’
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have …’
‘No, no, it’s not your fault. I’m glad you brought it.’
As she looked at his shaking shoulders and pained expression, she wondered if he’d done so well not in spite of that awful early experience, but rather because of it. Perhaps all of his life since that time had been about making sure he would never feel so desperately powerless again.
‘I wish you hadn’t had to go through all that, Andrew.’
‘Well, it’s in the past now, isn’t it? But maybe it helps you to understand why I’d love to have hope. God, if you could bring Alex back to me, I’d give you the world on a plate. But no one can, Karen.’
She didn’t try to contradict him; she didn’t say anything at all. She just kept her hand on his arm whilst he stared ruefully down at the table. It was a moment of stillness, an accidental intimacy that would evaporate soon enough. Her thoughts, though, were anything but still. The image of the closed coffin, laden with white lilies, remained as crisp as the day she had first seen it. But if Andrew hadn’t seen the body, then how did she know anyone else had? What if there was more to Alex’s parents’ mistreatment of him than an oversight on the part of a grieving couple who’d never thought that much of him anyway?
The waitress arrived to clear away the starters that they had barely touched and returned a minute or two later with steaming bowls of curry and rice. With a slight reluctance, Karen pulled her arm away. Andrew gave her an apologetic smile.
‘We should talk about something else, probably?’
She nodded but busied herself with the food instead. Her mind was still whirling with possibilities. What if Alex’s death had actually been some sort of staged disappearing act? Perhaps she’d been recruited into some shady branch of the secret service. Unlikely, perhaps, but not impossible; after all, it had been the height of the Cold War back then, and Cambridge was a prime recruiting ground for all that stuff, wasn’t it? She glanced at Andrew, whose plate remained empty, his gaze heavy and settled in the middle distance. She had enough tact to realise that now was not the time to share her theories.
‘Do you want some of this? It smells fantastic.’
‘Yes, thanks, sorry, I think I drifted off a bit.’
‘So, business good?’
‘Busy, but good, yes. We’re opening more bricks-and-mortar stores, and we’ve got a small operation setting up in Canada as a precursor to trying to get into the US market. Don’t get me started though, we’ll both end up bored witless. How’s life with you?’
‘Oh, same as ever. Evie’s at university now – you probably knew that – she’s doing law at Brighton and networking and CV-building like crazy. They don’t just drink and piss about like we did, you know! Tash and Callie are fine, just glued to their phones all day like all teenagers.’
‘And what about Karen?’
‘Me? Well …’ For a moment she thought about telling the truth. That it scared her how quickly Evie had adjusted to life away from home, how little she seemed to need her mother and how soon Tash and Callie would be off down the same road. That she had money worries because the nice financial adviser she’d been paying to manage the payouts from prudent Jonathan’s various insurance products and investments was turning out to be not