Greenwich Park, Katherine Faulkner [ereader android .txt] 📗

to be a source of relief to the waiters. They are smartly dressed, and startlingly young, like teenagers on their way to a sixth-form ball. They treat me with exaggerated politeness, pulling out a chair for me, bringing me a glass of the house red, as requested. They tip the bottle gently, enclosed in a folded white napkin. I drink the wine quickly, nibbling on a dry poppadum. It is crisp, still hot from the oil.

When Charlie finally arrives, he looks flushed, the ends of his hair wet against his neck.

‘Sorry, Katie.’

He leans to kiss me, but I pull away.

‘Ugh, Charlie, you’re wet.’

‘Sorry.’ He pulls away grinning, leaving my cheek clammy. ‘You look nice.’ He snatches a poppadum, shoves it into his mouth as he sits down. ‘Starving,’ he says.

Soon Charlie has ordered a bottle of wine, another round of poppadums, and a whole load of starters I have no interest in eating. When the waiter has finally disappeared, Charlie looks at me.

‘What?’ he says. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘The police came to see me,’ I tell him. ‘They said Rachel has gone missing. That she hasn’t been seen since the night of Helen and Daniel’s party.’

Charlie frowns. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I know. They came to see me too.’

‘Did they?’

‘They wanted a list of everyone at the party.’

The speakers blare into life – some mournful Hindi song. I twist my napkin in my hands.

‘They kept asking me about when I saw her last.’

‘Yeah, they asked me the same thing.’ Charlie pauses, frowns. ‘And? Why are you looking at me like that?’

It was a stupid idea, coming here. Why didn’t we go somewhere private?

The food Charlie has ordered arrives, worryingly quickly, in a series of little metal bowls. My stomach turns over in protest. I can’t look at the creamy sauces, the lurid colours of the chutneys.

‘Come on,’ Charlie says, when the waiter is a safe distance away. ‘What is it?’

I lower my voice. ‘The last time I saw her, at the party, she was going down into the cellar. With you.’

‘Wait, hang on. I didn’t go down to the cellar with her.’

I examine him closely.

‘I didn’t!’ He is looking me straight in the eye. ‘Honestly, Katie. I went down to the cellar, yes. But I was on my own.’

‘Charlie, I saw her go down there. I remember the blue dress she was wearing – I saw the back of it. She was following someone down there. Then ten minutes later, I saw you and you told me you’d just been down in the cellar. You were covered in dust.’

Charlie is shaking his head. ‘Yeah, I had been down to the cellar. But I was there on my own. I wanted to see the building work, that was all. There was nothing to see! Just a load of wet concrete. I came straight back up. Got a beer. Came out to find you. Rachel wasn’t down there with me.’ Charlie is searching my face. ‘It’s the truth, Katie. Why would I lie?’

I know Charlie, I tell myself. He is not perfect, but I know him, I’m sure of it. I know his face. I would know it if I was blind, if I had to feel it in the dark. I know his heart. I have always believed that, fundamentally, he is good. Now, as I look in his eyes, I believe he is telling the truth. But could I be wrong?

‘Hang on. Did you tell the police you saw me go down to the cellar with her? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’

I stare at him, then look away. ‘Not exactly,’ I mutter.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I was sure it was you,’ I tell him. ‘I thought you’d be in trouble.’

‘So what?’

‘So I didn’t tell them, all right? I didn’t tell them that I saw her going down to the cellar with anyone. And now I don’t know what the fuck to do.’

I still don’t quite understand why I didn’t tell them. But the way it happened just didn’t feel like lying. It just felt like it didn’t come up.

‘So, you saw her talking to Mr Charlie Haverstock,’ the detective had said. ‘And you think that was around eight fifteen?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘All right. And that the last time you saw or spoke to Miss Wells, was it?’

It didn’t feel like a lie, you see. It just felt like agreeing. It felt like being polite. Not making things difficult, for anyone. In the moment, it was the truth that felt like a lie. This vague idea that I’d seen her again later, when I was coming back from the bathroom … After all, it was only the back of a blue dress that I saw, and what looked like the shadow of someone else. It felt weird to bring up. I told myself it was something that might mislead them, confuse matters, obstruct the investigation. And then before I knew it, they were shutting their notebooks anyway. Nodding their goodbyes. And that was it. It was too late.

I’d convinced myself it wasn’t a lie. But it feels like a lie now. The more I think about it, the worse it feels.

‘This cellar thing – it might be important, Charlie.’ I twist the napkin again. ‘Don’t you think? Whoever went down there with her – it might have something to do with her going missing.’

Charlie frowns, his mouth full of food.

‘The detective left her card,’ I say quickly. ‘She was nice. I’ll call her. I’ll tell them I just … remembered it.’ All of a sudden I can’t wait to call them. I’m flooded already with the relief of it, with the release from guilt.

‘Katie, I wouldn’t if I were you.’

Charlie’s voice is quiet, but firm. I look at him, confused.

‘What do you mean?’

Charlie takes a deep breath. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘Ultimately, it won’t really matter what you told them. They’re interviewing loads of people about what they saw at the party.’

‘So?’

‘So – why would you want to draw attention to yourself –