The Other Side of the Door by Nicci French (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

She paused and made a wry grimace. ‘. . . close to each other. Whatever that meant with Hayden.’ She leaned forward. ‘I’m not here to judge you. That’s not what this is about. We weren’t living together and hadn’t been for years. Of course there were other women. Probably dozens of them. Even when he was with me.’

‘So what is it about?’

She looked down at her hands, then plaited her fingers together. ‘I suppose I just wanted to see what you’re like.’

‘Well, here I am. My hair needs washing and I’m usually better dressed.’

‘You’re not what I expected.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘I wanted to find out what he’d become since leaving me and Joe. I’m not jealous of you, it’s not that at all—I didn’t want him back. You couldn’t even say that I still loved him or felt anything much for him at all, except anger perhaps, and even that wasn’t very strong any more. Now everything’s been stirred up. You knew him when he died and I didn’t really know him at all any more.’

‘I think you’ve got the wrong idea of how close we were. It was just a summer fling, really. No strings attached.’

‘Hayden was good at that,’ she said.

I realized she was dangerous: she made me feel as though I could confide in her and, indeed, I had an almost overwhelming urge to do just that. I sat up straighter. ‘What do you want me to tell you?’

‘I don’t know. Sorry. It’s probably been as bad for you as for me. Were you very fond of him?’

‘He hit me.’ I hadn’t known I was going to say the words, and as soon as I spoke them, they seemed to swell and fill the room. My face glowed with shame and I felt utterly exposed.

‘You poor thing,’ said Hannah. She gazed at me with what almost seemed like yearning. Her eyes were bright with tears.

I shrank back from her sympathy. ‘Only twice.’

‘You must have hated him.’ Her voice was low and soft.

‘I didn’t hate him,’ I said. ‘I was shocked.’

‘It wasn’t anything to do with you,’ she said. ‘It was him.’

‘When he was with you, did he . . . ?’

‘No. But he had this anger beneath the surface. He could be like a little boy—I don’t mean in a good way. He had tantrums. Like Joe, when he was two.’ She paused and then said: ‘And he was a real stirrer, wasn’t he?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He liked making mischief, setting the cat among the pigeons and then sitting back to see what would happen.’

I thought of Hayden with the band, deftly touching off insecurities and playing on exposed nerves. ‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Maybe it killed him.’

‘Maybe.’

‘The police think it was some drug thing.’

‘Do they?’

‘It would make sense but, then, anything would make sense, really. He made so many enemies. I used to tell him he went out of his way to make them—as if it was a sign of his authenticity or something. Bloody musicians.’

‘Are you a musician?’ I asked.

‘I’m tone deaf. I never even learned to play the recorder. I’m a speech therapist. It could never have worked, could it—a part-time, tone-deaf speech therapist married to a feckless, charming singer who thought commitment was some kind of fatal compromise?’

There was a pause.

‘Don’t tell anyone, will you?’

‘Tell them what?’

‘That he hit me.’

‘Who would I tell?’ She looked at me curiously. ‘Is something troubling you?’

Her voice was insidious and all of a sudden I felt she was my enemy—or perhaps that was just another sign that I was going mad.

Before

If I could have chosen who I did not want to see as I practically ran from my flat, the list would be, in no particular order of preference: Neal, Amos, Guy, Joakim, probably Hayden and Sonia as well. Oh, and Danielle, the person responsible for creating the mess of the band in the first place. She saw me from a distance, so we walked towards each other with our smiles fixed in idiot grins and her hand that wasn’t carrying shopping bags raised as if I would lose sight of her if she dropped it for a second. She wore a pale blue shift and sandals and looked polished and buffed and blonder than ever. Her lips were glossy, her teeth were white, her legs were smooth and tanned, and I wanted to kick her in the shins as I reached her.

‘What a lovely coincidence.’ She touched her lips to my cheek and I caught the waft of her perfume.

‘Yes,’ I said, through gritted teeth.

‘You look hot—and what’s that in your hair?’

‘I am hot and it’s wallpaper.’ I ran my fingers through my hair and bits fell out. ‘I’m in the middle of decorating and I just needed to escape for a few minutes.’

I felt her eyes on my grubby skin and the sweat marks under my armpits.

‘Let me buy you a cold drink. I could do with one myself. How about in here? It looks cool enough.’

She bought me a tall glass of old-fashioned lemonade and herself a ginger beer and we sat in a dark corner away from the sunlight, which slanted through the café window.

‘How’s it all going?’ I asked her.

‘Frantic! You wouldn’t believe the things you have to get done before you marry. I have these lists and no sooner have I crossed one thing off than I remember another. It’s like the Forth Bridge.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Not long to go now. But it’s me who should be asking you how it’s going. How is it?’

‘You mean . . . ?’

‘The music, of course. I hope you don’t think I’ve been neglecting you.’

‘No. I don’t.’

‘Maybe I could come and listen to you all some time, get a feeling for what’s going to happen on the day.’

‘I think it would be better as a surprise.’

‘Yes, perhaps that would be more exciting. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. It’ll be wonderful, I’m sure.’

‘I wish I shared your confidence.’

‘Don’t be so modest, Bonnie.’ She frowned. ‘You have all been practising, haven’t you?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘So