‘We are not friends. You threatened me,’ I say in a low voice. ‘You said I had to get Hugo to take your chalets on or you’d make it known what happened that day. You’d make sure I took the blame, given your contacts now that you’re such a big noise out here.’
He laughs. ‘I never said you had to marry Hugo – that was up to you.’ He looks me up and down. ‘You still look all right, in spite of pushing forty. I’m sure the promise of a blow job or something for gormless, grateful little Hugo would have sufficed.’
‘I didn’t marry Hugo because of you,’ I whisper, but even as I say it I know it’s only half true. It just seemed easier at the time. I could give Cameron what he wanted – make sure he didn’t tell anyone about my past and stop worrying about how to pay the rent every month – all in one fell swoop. I’d even read articles about Hugo before I went to that party at the Natural History Museum, to work out what kind of man he was and what approach would suit him, giving me the best chance of getting Cameron off my back. I didn’t go in planning to marry Hugo, far from it, but when that was the way things went, it seemed like the answer to all my problems.
No one wants to work with an events manager who has killed someone, or to be their friend or lover, for that matter. It’s bad enough living with what I’ve done myself – the idea of it becoming common knowledge was, and still is, unbearable.
‘None of my business why you got married – I don’t give a shit anyway,’ Cameron says. ‘You can play happy families with Hugo or cut his dick off for all I care, as long as he takes the chalets onto his books. After this business with the body turning up, sales might need an extra push.’
I surreptitiously swipe my hand across my face as, in spite of my efforts, tears brim. Cam rolls his eyes.
‘For God’s sake, Andrea, this happened twenty years ago! No one cares. Move on.’
‘I care,’ I say hoarsely. ‘And don’t call me that.’
He snorts. ‘Oh yes, it’s Ria now, isn’t it?’ he says sarcastically. ‘Ria Redbush. No longer ski bum Andy Jones – she’s long gone. Classy Ria Redbush married to posh boy Hugo. A whole new life for a whole different person. Well, good for you for caring. I don’t. You’ll just have to cope with your new house guest being there as best you can. And, for what it’s worth, I won’t be skulking in the shadows and staying away. I’ll be coming to dinner, offering my condolences and all that. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be scared of, and neither have you, though obviously it’s suited me well over the years for you to feel that you have. Grow some balls. I’ll see you later.’
I can barely face going back to the chalet, but can hardly stay away forever. I sneak in the back door and creep up to our room. Shrugging off my sodden outer clothes, I lie down on the bed and shut my eyes tight.
A while later the bedroom door opens.
‘Darling?’ Hugo sits down on the bed. ‘Thank God you’re back. I was worried about you, out in this weather. How’re you feeling?’
I open my eyes. ‘Not brilliant. I’ve got a raging migraine and feel totally exhausted.’ I sigh. ‘Perhaps I’m coming down with something. I’m sorry about earlier. I needed to be … by myself.’
Hugo pats my leg absentmindedly. ‘That’s OK – I’m glad you’re back safe and sound. Though I still think you shouldn’t have gone out in this weather, especially if you’re not feeling well,’ he scolds, though good-naturedly. I feel a rare pang of love for him. Poor Hugo. He deserves so much better than me.
‘Are you coming down for dinner?’ he continues. ‘Millie wants to know.’
I’m famished, but there’s no way I’m going downstairs and sitting through dinner with the dead man’s brother. I may not be able to put off meeting him the whole time I’m here, but there’s no way I can face it today.
I’ve barely been able to think about anything else since I found out he was coming, fretting about what to do. Avoid him? Come clean? Or smile sweetly and hope for the best?
Cameron is right, of course. I don’t remember what he looks like. Chances are he won’t recognize us. But even if he doesn’t, I still know that we killed his brother. I can’t just sit at the same table as him, making polite conversation.
I sit myself up, trying to look weak. ‘I think I’d rather stay up here, if you don’t mind. But perhaps you could ask Millie to send me up some soup or something? I wouldn’t mind something simple to eat, but I’m not really up to sitting at the dinner table.’
He kisses my forehead. ‘Of course. I’m sure she won’t mind. I’ll miss you though.’
I squeeze his hand. ‘That’s sweet, Hugo. I’ll miss you too.’ I almost mean it.
48
January 2020, La Madière, France
It’s a massive shock, my dad’s body turning up, and I react the only way I know how, the same way I’ve always done – I put on a fixed smile and carry on. Though I do go back to cutting myself when I can manage a moment alone, even though I had pretty much weaned myself off the habit. It gives me a momentary release from the horror and awfulness of what is going on around me, and from the memories of my childhood. No one notices – it is easy to hide the scars when you’re as used to it as I am.
I never got to meet my dad while he was alive, so I figured the least I could do would be to pay my respects now that he was dead. I would like to see his body and spend some time with him. It’s a poor substitute but it feels important.
It’s very difficult to get time to myself but as soon as I manage a free couple of hours I head down the mountain to the hospital to see if I can see my dad. My French is far from brilliant but, even so, I’m sure the woman understands that I’m saying I am the dead man’s daughter. But she says that without my passport and various other bits of paper and ID there’s no way I can see his body. Which is ridiculous – do they have random people turning up the whole time to try to look at dead bodies which are nothing to do with them? As far as I can understand, she then says something about his brother, who will be coming out in the next few days. Perhaps I should speak to my uncle if I want to see the body, she tells me.
So I say ‘Merci, madame’, though really I want to say ‘merci pour rien’ or ‘fuck you, bitch’, then I go outside and take some deep breaths. Seeing my dad is not the most important thing now. Taking revenge on my uncle for what he did, avenging my mama – that is what matters. But to carry out my plan – and it comes to me in a flash as if it was destined to happen this way – I need to make sure I have easy access to my dad’s killer, the person who ruined Mama’s life. So on my way back to the chalet I find Matt and tell him I overheard Cameron on the phone saying he would like to offer the dead man’s brother accommodation in one of his chalets. I add that he’d be embarrassed and annoyed if he knew I’d mentioned it and suggest he pretends the tourist office guys had asked him – I know how these things work in ski resorts after all. I look up at Matt through my eyelashes and touch his arm, suggesting maybe he and I could meet for a drink somewhere later. I’ve seen how he’s been salivating over Ria this week – it’s obvious he’s gagging for anyone he can get. I don’t care what I have to do for him – quiet drink, blow job, shag, whatever it takes. I need Uncle Adam close by.