Her Perfect Family Read online

  ‘You all right, Matt? You look distracted.’ Mel’s turned her head.

  ‘I’m fine. Sorry, mind in overdrive. One thing. Did you ever wonder why the Hartleys were right up front for the ceremony?’

  Mel frowns. ‘No. Just assumed they got lucky. Why? Is something worrying you? Something relevant?’

  ‘No. I just wondered if it was better or worse for them. To have seen it all so clearly.’

  Mel considers this. ‘Better to be nearer, I’d say. Given the crush you described. At least they got to Gemma pretty quickly.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I think.’ Matthew pauses. He’ll tell Amanda this if she gets in touch about the counselling. That she shouldn’t feel bad about the favour. Might ease his guilt over asking so much of her after the shooting.

  ‘Come on, then. Let’s do this.’ He takes in a breath and next they’re moving swiftly through the CID offices to the small suite of interview rooms where Ed Hartley’s waiting for them.

  Mel leaves Matthew momentarily, he assumes to explain to her team why she’s leading on the chat with Ed Hartley and taking him through too. He waits outside the door of the office but can’t quite make out what’s being said – though he imagines the eye-rolling. It’s not a formal interview but most inspectors would still bump this to a sergeant. Though Mel’s never been one for protocol.

  Next they’re sweeping into the small, square room to find Gemma’s father drinking coffee at the central table. He stands.

  ‘I’ve been waiting ages.’

  ‘Sorry. We were at the university. We got held up.’

  ‘Do I need my solicitor?’

  ‘Why would you need a solicitor, Mr Hartley? This is just a chat.’

  ‘Right. That’s what Matthew said. Just an informal chat.’ He sits down as they take up their own seats opposite. ‘So you won’t be recording this or anything?’

  ‘This is just a chat, like I said. You’ve agreed to meet me. You’re not under arrest. So why don’t you tell me about your first marriage. And why you’re worried that your first wife might in some way be involved in Gemma’s shooting?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I just said that it was a coincidence that I met Laura, my first wife, in a cathedral. So that was sort of preying on my mind and I felt I should have told you. So have you checked things out? Is Laura OK? Is she with her parents or is she at the clinic?’

  Matthew bites into his lip, wondering how Mel will play this.

  ‘Your first wife is missing from the clinic, Mr Hartley.’ Mel pauses as Ed Hartley’s face pales. ‘The clinic’s under investigation for breaches of standards and security. Cost-cutting cock-ups according to the local media. Upshot is right now we have absolutely no idea where she is. Which is why I think you’d better tell me absolutely everything, don’t you? About her condition. How you parted. When you last heard from her. And whether she has any reason whatsoever to wish you or your daughter harm.’

  CHAPTER 18

  THE FATHER – BEFORE

  It came right out of the blue. Laura’s illness. Like a trip on the pavement, your face suddenly smashed on to concrete.

  And for Ed, it was the speed of the unravelling that shocked him most.

  He and Laura had been married just six months. They’d recently moved to Canada where her parents lived and her father had given him a job, handling the marketing for his building company. It was going well. No, better than well; they were truly happy.

  Thursday night – a month into his new job – they went to bed around eleven as usual. Friday morning, he got up early for a pee and suddenly it was as if someone flipped a switch on his life.

  That trip on the pavement . . .

  By the time he padded back to the doorway of their bedroom, Laura was bolt upright in bed – first just staring at him, her eyes wild, and then screaming in apparent terror.

  He felt a spike of adrenaline. The rush of his own mirrored fear. An intruder? He spun his head this way and that, trying to work out where? Who? What the hell he was dealing with. He grabbed a candlestick from the top of a bookcase in the hallway and swung his head and his weapon. Left. Right. Left. Right.

  But there was nothing. No shadow. No sound of footsteps. Nothing.

  He checked the hall and the second bedroom. Again – nothing. By the time he was back in the doorway of their room, Laura had stopped screaming but was still staring directly at him, eyes bulging with alarm. It was as if she was looking at him but also through him, without proper recognition. His next thought was a night terror. He’d read about that. Maybe she was actually still asleep and wasn’t seeing him at all. There was a feature in one of the Sundays once; it said that sometimes sleepwalkers moved around with their eyes wide open.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right. I’m here. What’s happened? What is it? What did you see? It’s just a dream, Laura. I’m here. You’re safe.’ He was still in the doorway but now took a step into the room.

  ‘No, no! You stay right there. Don’t you dare move.’

  So she could hear him; see him. He didn’t understand, his head spinning.

  Next she picked up the phone by the bed and was dialling. ‘I’m calling the police.’

  ‘The police?’ He stepped back into the doorway. ‘What’s happened? I can’t see anyone, Laura. There’s no sign of anyone.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Still she was staring at him, unblinking. ‘I told you not to move. I mean it. I’m trained. I can take you down.’

  ‘What do you mean – who am I? Put the phone down. This isn’t funny, Laura.’ Not for one minute did he actually think this was a joke and he regretted saying that instantly but he didn’t know what else to say. What else to do.

  Christ. She was actually dialling . . .

  ‘No, no. Don’t ring the police. You’re perfectly safe, I promise you. Just look at me, please. You’re safe.’

  She seemed to pause then as if changing her mind. Puzzled rather than terrified. His mind was still spinning while hers seemed in freefall.

  She pressed the end button on the phone and just continued to stare at him. She tilted her head to the side as if trying to better compute what she was seeing. Next, and most ominously, she picked up a torch – kept alongside the bed in case of power cuts – and held it up as her own weapon.

  Instinctively Ed lowered his hand holding the candlestick, but Laura did not copy; she kept the torch high in the air.

  ‘What do you want?’ Her eyes were still wide. Unnatural. ‘I’m not afraid to use this. And I’m warning you – I’m trained. And I’m stronger than I look. I can take you down.’

  This time he said nothing for a while. Very gently and slowly he put the candlestick back on the top of the bookcase. Maybe if he just waited she would calm down. Wake up properly? She watched him. He watched her. They both waited for maybe a minute.

  ‘What have you done with my husband?’

  ‘Look. I don’t know what this is but you must have been dreaming, darling. It’s me. It’s Ed. Look at me. You’re safe. It’s me.’

  ‘I’m going to ask you one more time. What have you done with my husband?’

  He felt a strange pull in his stomach, his mind moving to a new place. He took in her wild eyes and her pale skin. Her trembling hand. Laura was clearly unwell. In some kind of psychotic state. What had brought it on, he had no notion. Night terror, sleepwalking or whatever. All he knew for sure was that he wasn’t equipped to deal with this, not on his own. He needed to get her to snap out of whatever this was. But how to do that safely, without making it worse?

  ‘OK. So how about we get someone to help. Someone to come and help?’ What he was actually thinking was that he needed to buy some time. He was still assuming this would pass soon. That she would wake up properly very soon and this peculiar state would pass. ‘Shall we ring the doctor, Laura?’

  ‘Doctor? Why would I need a doctor? How dare you. You come into my home . . .’

  ‘OK. So how about your mother. Why don’t you phone you
r mother? Get your mother to come over here? Help us sort this out?’ He was wondering in fact whether he could phone the doctor secretly once Laura’s mother arrived. Laura’s parents were just ten minutes away by car. If this passed, they could explain when her mother arrived and then see what the doctor advised. He was remembering now that his father once had a bladder infection that went untreated and caused him to hallucinate. He thought there were locusts on the carpet. Maybe this was something like that? Some kind of infection causing her to see things?

  ‘You need to tell me what you’ve done with my husband.’

  ‘I am your husband, Laura. Look at me.’

  She raised the torch higher.

  ‘OK, let’s just ring your mother. Get her to come here. Alright?’

  She glanced to the left and right as if thinking. ‘No – the police. I think we need the police here.’

  ‘Let’s get your mother here first. And then if she thinks we need the police, fair enough. I promise you I’m not going to come into the room and I’m certainly not going to hurt you. You’re not in danger. It’s me. It’s Ed.’ He was looking at the heavy torch in her hand. What on earth was going on in her mind he had no idea, but he needed to calm this all down. Keep the police out of it. Could disorientation from a bad dream last this long? She’d never talked in her sleep. Walked in her sleep. But if it was some kind of infection, she would need antibiotics. He could phone the doctor discreetly once her mother was here.

  Now at last she was dialling the phone again. She pressed it against her ear. ‘Mum? Listen. I need you to come over urgently. Something really terrible has happened. A man’s here in the house. He looks just like Ed but he isn’t Ed. I don’t know what he’s done with Ed. He won’t tell me.’

  There was a pause and Ed could just make out the confusion and panic in her mother’s raised voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I don’t know what’s going on. Can you just get in the car and come over here right now otherwise I need to call the police?’ Another pause. ‘No, no. You can’t speak to him. I can’t let him in the room. It’s too dangerous.’

  And then she just hung up. She raised the torch again and continued to stare.

  ‘She’ll be here in ten minutes. You don’t move, you hear me. You don’t move a single muscle or I’ll take you down.’

  CHAPTER 19

  THE DAUGHTER – BEFORE

  Waiting for Godot – did Samuel Beckett truly write for performance or did his work pose restrictions for actors and directors? Discuss.

  I don’t understand it. I’m never late. I’m always careful. I’ve been on the Pill since I was seventeen and I’ve never had any problems or any serious scares. Why now? Why a scare now? As if I haven’t got enough going on.

  OK – so I need not to panic here. It could be stress. Ten days over could still be stress. I read about that. Stress can mess up your cycle big time.

  And I have been stressed . . .

  The truth is I haven’t written anything about ‘S’ for a few weeks because it’s literally been changing daily, let alone weekly. At first he was so lovely and so honourable. He backed right off. Left it entirely up to me. He said that he had really strong feelings for me but didn’t want to put me in a difficult situation. I decided at first that it was best to write it off as a mistake. Just that one time. But the more I saw him and realised how he was struggling with his feelings, the more I kept thinking about him. About how different it felt with him, compared with ‘A’. (I’ve only just realised what an idiot I’ve been writing HIS name out in full. I’m having to sweep through and change that . . . I mean, if ‘A’ does ever get into my computer, he’ll do a search for his name, won’t he? Fake essay titles won’t be enough. Why didn’t I think of that before . . .)

  Anyway. Back to ‘S’. I mean I do know it’s a cliché. My tutor. And I was embarrassed and thrown at first by what happened. But it’s so completely different being around someone older. It’s so nice. The maturity, I mean. The proper talking.

  And yes – I get that he’s married. And it’s complicated and technically very, very wrong but there’s no way I would be seeing him if he wasn’t, in effect, separated. The thing is – his marriage has been dead for a very long time. Years and years. He’s tried to leave several times but she’s apparently a little fragile and he’s a really decent and kind bloke so he’s trying to help her build her confidence and help her settle into a new job and a new life before they split up formally. So they’re still living in the same home but more as a house share, not as a proper couple – sleeping apart, obviously – more as a front.

  It was knowing this that decided things for me. I mean – it’s not like starting something up with someone who’s going to stay married, or is happily married. It’s a question of timing when they separate. Not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’.

  So it was my decision to sleep with him again. He didn’t push me. He’s not like ‘A’. He never loses his temper or gets wound up. He listens to me; he talks to me.

  I think that’s what I love the most of all. We talk things through. It’s not like at home with Mum with her pottering off into the kitchen every time things get tricky. ‘S’ listens.

  So – yes. We’re a couple, albeit a secret one for now. And spending time with ‘S’, however briefly and however ‘complicated’, has made me realise just how immature and inappropriate ‘A’’s behaviour has always been. I’ve shared just a few details with ‘S’ and he was horrified. He says that in no way is that kind of behaviour acceptable, not ever, and I need to be careful. That ‘A’ is controlling and very, very bad news.

  The only very tricky thing is I can’t confide in any of my friends because the ‘S’ situation is so sensitive for now. Oh my word – why does everything have to be so damn complicated in my life?

  I don’t even know why I’m still writing this ‘diary’ in the fake essay folders and using initials . . . Surely ‘A’ can’t remotely access my computer? Can he? Am I just being paranoid? No idea.

  Anyway – for the record I got a first for my Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland essay and that means I’m on target for a first overall. So proud. Mum will be thrilled. And ‘S’ promises me there’s absolutely no way he would grant favours. I earned the mark on pure merit, which is exactly the way I want it. He says I have a really bright future, whatever I decide to do – teaching or going into media or communications.

  So I just need this period to come, please. Enough of a scare. Next diary entry I will be sharing my relief.

  I mean – I can’t be pregnant.

  I just can’t.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE FATHER – NOW

  Ed takes in the wide-eyed stares, the matching scepticism on both their faces – Matthew Hill and DI Sanders.

  ‘You’re seriously telling us that your first wife believes you’re some kind of clone? That you’re a replica who’s replaced the real Ed Hartley?’ DI Sanders’ tone is unnaturally high. She glances at Matthew, eyebrows raised. This reaction, this precise look on their faces, is the very reason he never tells anyone . . .

  ‘Look, I know how it sounds. Trust me, I was every bit as thrown and as sceptical as you are right now. But it’s a genuine medical condition. Very rare but very real. Capgras Syndrome. Look it up.’

  Ed watches the pair exchange another look of sheer astonishment.

  ‘Google it.’

  Matthew’s taken his phone from his pocket. ‘How are you spelling that?’

  ‘Here. Look.’ For speed, Ed taps it out on his own phone and holds up the screen to show them.

  He waits while they put in searches on their own mobiles and watches closely as they both read, frowning as they skim between pages. He remembers his own disbelief when he first sat across the desk from the specialist who diagnosed Laura.

  He jiggles his right foot up and down. He wants them on side but also wants them to hurry up; to get on with it. Surely they must see now that all he needs, ur
gently, is official help to check that Laura’s OK. That she’s with her parents somewhere. That she’s in no way involved with what’s happened to Gemma.

  ‘Grief. I’ve never even heard of this.’ DI Sanders is wide-eyed. ‘So it’s mostly women?’

  ‘Apparently. Look – can you just phone Canada? The police in Canada.’ Ed uncrosses his legs. ‘I just want to know where Laura is, that’s all. She’s probably with her parents, don’t you think? If she’s been discharged. We just need their new address. They’ve obviously moved.’

  DI Sanders now looks up at him directly. ‘First, you need to talk us through exactly what happened. I need to understand what we’re dealing with here before I speak again to the authorities in Canada.’ She’s checking her watch, probably working out the time difference.

  Ed takes in a deep breath. It feels so alien, talking about this. Saying it out loud. He’s spent so many years burying this deep, deep inside himself, it’s almost as if he’s made it not real. As if Laura is right and he isn’t Ed Hartley; that this is the back story of a different person.

  Who are you? What have you done with my husband?

  It feels suddenly very hot in the room. Ed pulls at his shirt collar, wishing he was in a T-shirt. He looks up at the window in the corner of the room and, for a moment, it’s like time travel. He’s right back in his kitchen in Canada. He’s slumped at the kitchen table with his head in his hands – listening to the shouting from upstairs as Laura’s mother tries to calm her daughter down.

  Go and look for yourself, Mummy. It’s not Ed. I don’t know what he’s done with Ed. He won’t tell me . . . We have to find Ed. We have to find the real Ed.

  He remembers a shadow cast on the wall from a plant on the windowsill. Laura loved house plants. Green fingers. Why is he remembering that?

  ‘We had to call in a doctor, then a specialist. Laura moved in with her parents but she got worse. Became more and more difficult to manage. At first we all assumed it was something temporary. A psychotic episode that would pass. But every time we trialled her seeing me, every time I walked into the same room, she became hysterical. She couldn’t understand why other people couldn’t see what she was seeing. She insisted I wasn’t me. It took quite a long time to get the proper diagnosis. It was all horrible. At one point she had to be sectioned. They had to sedate her and take her away in an ambulance. It broke her mother’s heart.’