The Mistress - Jill Childs Page 0,47

eyes were sharp on my face. ‘And then there’s the texts.’

‘The texts?’

‘His missus sent a storm of texts to her husband, some barely ten minutes apart. They’re all there. She starts off polite and a bit apologetic, asking where he’s gone, whether he’s okay. Typical wife stuff.’ He pulled a knowing face. ‘Then she starts to get worried. Frantic, even, by the end.’

I didn’t move. My mouth was dry as stone.

He hesitated, his eyes on mine. ‘Thing is, they were all sent from home from about twenty minutes after Mrs Higgins dropped her back. They ping off exactly the right mast. So she was there that whole night, all right, and the police have ruled her out. They’ll lose interest soon. Mark it down as suicide or accidental, body or no body, and move on. Fella’s a bit down, drinks too much, sets off on a long walk and does something daft. And you know what that means? Mrs W can start the clock, ticking down the years until the courts say he’s dead. That’s when she gets her hands on the insurance cash, see.’

I struggled to take all this in. How could Helen possibly have been sending all those texts from her house when she was at the coast with me? Even if Anna had been awake and willing to play a game like that, she was seven years old and a middling student. She could barely spell. And Bea Higgins must have been back at her own home by then, taking over from the babysitter who was looking after Clara.

‘But you know what bothers me?’

I shake my head.

‘Here’s a man who’s played around.’ He lifted his hand as if to silence me. ‘No offence. No judgement. Sorry to say, but seems to me, from all the gossip I’ve heard at school, that it’s a fact. So why would his wife be so surprised if he disappeared for a few hours? Doesn’t he do it all the time? He must do.’

He leaned forward to me, his grey eyes flashing in the low light.

‘So why’s she sending so many texts? Just feels a bit too neat, to me, you know? Almost as if someone’s trying a bit too hard. See what I mean?’

Bile rose in my throat. I needed to get away, to be alone somewhere I could think through everything he’d said and work out how much he really knew. I twisted away from him and yanked open the car door.

‘Before you go,’ he reached out and put a warm, strong hand on my shoulder, ‘you’re quite sure there’s nothing you’d like to tell me?’

I turned back to him, wide-eyed, and shook my head.

He nodded, slowly and deliberately, then lifted his hand from my shoulder. Those eyes.

‘Did I tell you my name? Don’t think I did. Mike. Mike Ridge.’

He held out a hand for me to shake. It was hard and strong, the kind of hand that could choke the life out of me, with little effort. I shuddered.

He reached inside his jacket and drew out a printed business card.

‘If you find yourself in a mess, like poor old Ralph did – down some hole that’s getting so deep, you know you’ll never escape – you call me. I might be able to help.’ He gave me a final, thin smile. ‘Well, if the price is right.’

I snatched the card. My last sights, as I scrambled, flailing, out of the car, were of the St Christopher swinging on its chain and the unicorn steadily nodding its springy horned head.

Thirty-Two

I was getting drunk. It was all I could do. I’d raced home and double-locked all the shiny new locks on the front door, then added the safety chain. Now I was slumped on the settee, under a blanket, drinking red wine.

Mike’s card lay on the coffee table beside the emptying bottle and the school photograph. I’d turned it upside down now, hiding the picture from view. I couldn’t bear to see it, couldn’t stand to think about what it meant.

I thought about Helen and Bea, sharing dinner, maybe watching a film together. I’d thought Ralph’s wife such a loser, such a control freak, with her neat home and all those bookshelves, so carefully arranged in sections, each section in alphabetical order.

Once a librarian, always a librarian, Ralph had said when I asked him about it. It was probably as much as he’d ever said about her. He made it clear, always, that she was off limits.

At the time, I was