Little Face (41 page)

I stand up and examine the bag again, less hysterically this time. I
notice, as I turn it over in my hands, that there is a large pocket along
one side. Beneath the zip, there is a small, rectangular bulge. My heart
begins to race. I cannot bear this for much longer. For the past two
weeks, my spirit has been killed and brought back to life, killed and
brought back to life. I have been jolted back and forth between hope
and despair so often that it is hard to cling to any sense of reality.

With fingers that feel floppy and useless, I unzip the side pocket of
the holdall and pull out a small, fawn-coloured handbag, the strap of
which has been cut away. There is a Gucci logo on the side of the bag.
It's Laura's; I recognise it from her visit to my Ealing office. It is
strange to see it in this context, years after Laura's death, and stranger
still to realise that I am shocked. Every time I prove to myself what I
know, I can hardly believe it. Some small naive part of me still thinks,
`Surely not'.

I unzip the bag and pull out a plastic wallet full of photos of Felix
as a baby, then a beige lipstick called `creme caramel' and a small red leather purse. A set of keys with a `Silsford Balti House' key-ring. The
small accessories of a life cut cruelly short. A wave of pain hits me and
I have to sit down.

`Hello, Alice,' says a voice behind me.

I spring to my feet, adrenaline piping through my body. Vivienne.
`Get away from me!' I shout. Mortal fear. I've heard the expression
often, but I have never realised what it means. It is what I am feeling
now. It's worse than any other kind of fear. It is the paralysing terror
that grips you in the seconds before you are killed. I want to disintegrate, give up, lie down on the floor and allow it to happen, because
then at least the terror would stop.

It is only the thought of Florence that pushes me back, back,
towards the blue door at the far end of the changing room as Vivienne
advances on me, smiling. I am holding Laura's bag in my right hand,
gripping it tight. Vivienne is holding nothing. I wonder where she is
hiding whatever it is that she intends to use to kill me.

`Where is my granddaughter? Where is Florence?' she asks.

`I don't know!'

`Who's the other baby? Who is Little Face? You were the one that
swapped them, weren't you? You wanted to keep Florence away from
me. Just as Laura kept Felix away from me.'

`You killed Laura!'

`Where's Florence, Alice?'

`I don't know. Ask David, he knows.'

Vivienne shakes her head. She holds out a hand towards me. `Let's
go home,' she says. `We'll ask him together.' I stagger backwards
until I meet resistance. I have reached the door to the pool area. As
quickly as I can, I push it open with my back. Vivienne's eyes widen
with shock and anger as she works out what I intend to do, only seconds after I've worked it out myself. She isn't quick enough. Once I'm
on the other side, I slam the door shut behind me and lean against it,
praying that this is the only way to get from the ladies' changing
room to the pool.

I hear Vivienne's palms, the same ones she takes to the beauty
salon along the corridor once a week to have expensive creams rubbed
into them, slap against the wood of the door. `Let me in, Alice. We need
to talk. I'm not going to hurt you.' I don't answer. It would be a waste
of energy. I need to use all my strength to keep the door between us
closed. I feel pressure on the other side, and picture Vivienne pushing,
using all her weight to shift me. Vivienne is lighter than me, but more
powerful, thanks to the weights and machines on the floor above our
heads. Her body has been put through hours of training, like the
body of a soldier. The door inches open, bangs shut-tiny movements
back and forth.

All of a sudden there is no resistance. I am pushing against nothing.
Vivienne has stopped. I hear her sigh. `If you won't let me through, I'll
just have to talk to you like this. And I'd rather we were face to face.'

`No!'

`Very well. Alice, I'm not the devil incarnate that you seem to think
I am. What choice did I have? Laura wouldn't let me see my own
grandson. Do you honestly believe I'd have harmed Felix? I adore that
boy. Have I harmed him since she died, since he's lived in my house?
No. I dote on him. He has everything he could possibly want, and
more love than any other child in the world. You know that, Alice.'

I try not to hear her words, the reasoning of the dangerously, psychotically unreasonable. Her justification is horrific to listen to, like
poison dripping into my ear. I press my body hard against the door.
Vivienne could make a sudden lunge at any time. `Does David know
you killed Laura?'

`Of course not. I didn't want you to know either. I've always tried
to protect you and David from unpleasantness, you know that. And
believe me, it was deeply unpleasant. Even that is an understatement.
You've never stabbed another human being, so you can't possibly
know how horrible it is.'

`You framed an innocent man!'

A contemptuous snort. `You wouldn't say that if you'd met him. I'd hardly call him innocent. You're an innocent, Alice. You have no idea
what people are capable of.' She is pushing again. All my muscles ache
with the effort of leaning. Opposite me is another blue door identical
to this one. I could try to run through the men's changing rooms and
up to reception, but Vivienne would run faster. She would catch me.
`The sensation of stabbing someone,' she says, her tone wistful. `I wish
I could forget what it felt like. You imagine it's going to be easy, like
slicing a chicken breast, but it isn't. You can feel the texture of everything you're cutting through-the bone, the skin, the muscle. Layers
of resistance. And then the softness, once you get through all that. The
pulp.'

`Shut up!'

`In retrospect, I think a gun might have been preferable, but where
on earth was a person like me going to get a gun? I don't exactly mix
in those circles, do I? And I don't know how to aim. No, a knife was
the only option.'

`You hid it in the creche. Felix played there. How could you do
that?' Sweat pours off me. I can feel rivulets of make-up running
down my face.

`He knew nothing about it!' Vivienne sounds indignant. `It didn't
affect him. A person in my position can't afford to be sentimental.'

`You're a monster.'

She sighs. `Alice, you of all people should know how pointless it is
to be judgemental about these things. You have no idea how much pain
that woman put me through. She paid for it, that's all. I didn't enjoy
killing her. It was simply something that had to be done. And I'm the
one who's suffered since. Not her. Me! Wondering what I did wrong,
why she disliked me so much. Now there can be no satisfactory resolution. Do you think I'm happy about that?'

I move my feet slightly so that I am at a better angle. I close my eyes
and try to visualise the straight line of my back and the straight line of
the door, pressed together so tightly that not even a grain of sand could
fit in between.

`Laura didn't die immediately,' says Vivienne. Her voice sounds as
if it is coming from much further away. I picture her sitting on one of
the wooden benches. `She begged me not to let her die, to take her to
the hospital.'

`Stop it! I don't want to know!'

`It's a bit late for that, dear. I tried to protect you from the truth, and
you wouldn't let me. You can't hide from it now.'

`You're sick!'

`I told her I couldn't, of course. She promised she'd let me see Felix
as often as I wanted to. She even offered to give him to me altogether.
Anything, she said, if I didn't let her die.' A pause. `Don't think I wasn't tempted. No-one likes to watch another human being bleed to
death. But I knew she couldn't be trusted, you see. And she was a selfish woman. In her final moments, she didn't call out Felix's name, not
once. All she said was "Please don't let me die, please don't let me die",
over and over. It was always me, me, me with Laura.'

I am shaking, nauseous. I gag, and bile fills my throat. I cover my
ears with my hands. I have to find a way to stop her, before she puts
any more images in my head that, if I live through this, will make me
frightened to be alone with my thoughts.

I become aware that I have lost sensation in one of my feet from
pushing it against the floor too hard. I need to adjust my position. As
I shift my body slightly, pressing my hands against my ears so hard that
both sides of my jaw ache, I feel something slam into me. I cry out as
I am thrown to the floor.

When I look up, Vivienne is standing over me. She must have
launched herself at the door from a distance. She has always had a talent for being able to guess the precise moment at which you are likely
to weaken. She knew I wouldn't be able to endure her gloating commentary on Laura's death.

I scramble to my feet and run, oblivious to where I am going. Too
late, I realise I am heading for the pool. If I'd gone in the opposite
direction, I might have had a chance of making it through the men's changing rooms and up the stairs before Vivienne. `Give me Laura's
bag, Alice,' she says. `Give it to me, pretend you never saw it, and we'll
say no more about this whole business.'

She marches towards me, holding out her left hand. I cannot back
away because the pool is right behind me, so I dart to one side. Vivienne grabs my arm. I try to wrench it free, but her grip is too strong.
I am on the ground again. My arms flail above my head. I cannot hold
on to the handbag. There is a small splash as it drops into the pool. I
think of the photos of Felix, probably Laura's favourites, the ones she
wanted with her all the time. They will be ruined now.

I try to roll away from Vivienne so that I can stand up, but she
pushes me down on to my front and hauls me forward. I feel a sharp
pain in my lower abdomen. My scar. I wince, imagining the wound
opening, blood seeping out. The top half of my body dangles over the
pool. I grip the stone surround with both hands. `Please! No!' I sob,
but my body has gone limp. I cannot hope or fight any more. I know
I will lose. Nobody can win when Vivienne Fancourt is the opponent.

`You're a joke!' I gasp. If I'm going to die, I might as well tell her
what I really think of her. `You must know you'll never get what you
want. You're desperate to be surrounded by a loving family, and you
never will be!'

`I already am. David and Felix adore me. So will Florence.'

`You'll never know who loves you and who's only pretending to
because they're afraid of what you'll do to them if they don't. Or
because you throw money and presents at them, and they're too shallow and greedy to resist. Like David. He hates you! He told me, he
really, really hates you! He wishes you were the one who'd left, not his
dad!'

Vivienne growls like an animal, hauls me forward again and pushes
my head down into the water. I feel myself plunging down into the
bright blue cold. The water envelops my head, shoulders, chest. I feel
as if my heart is going to burst out of my body. I try to pull my head
up, but Vivienne forces it down again. Water fills my mouth, my lungs. I try to punch and kick, but I am jelly, I am liquid. I want it to
be over, know it won't be long.

Now my whole body is in the pool. Vivienne's hand is on my neck,
keeping my head submerged. I see lots of colours, then darkness.
Everything is slipping away. I will never see Florence again. I will never
see my Little Face again-and she has been mine, if only fleetingly.
Everything is shrinking: thoughts, words, regrets, even love. It's over.
It has all evaporated, is all evaporating even now.

No more pressure. I am released, drifting. Is this what it feels like to
be dead? I feel lots of hands on my legs and arms. How is Vivienne
doing this? I open my eyes and cough. There are blurred figures above
me. I am not in the water any more. A searing pain rips through my
chest and throat and I cough up water.

Someone is patting me on the back. I look up. It is Simon. I see other
things too: Sergeant Zailer, putting handcuffs on Vivienne. A bald man
watching, water dripping from the cuffs of his shirt and suit jacket.
And Briony. `Florence,' I whisper.

`It's okay,' says Simon. `We've got her. She's fine.'

Somewhere in my mind, I feel a letting-go, something tight unravelling. I slump in his arms.

Monday, October 13, 2003, 9.30 AM

SIMON STOOD IN FRONT of The Elms and stared at its facade. He
couldn't believe this was only the second time he'd been here. The place
had been so significant in his thoughts over the past few weeks. But
here it was, a symbol of nothing, just stone and wood and paint. Anyone might live here.

Today the house looked neutral and impassive in its whiteness. All
the curtains were closed. Heavy, thick folds of material hung at every
window. Simon imagined the dozens-he didn't think that was an
exaggeration-of dark, mainly empty rooms that he couldn't see.
Outside there was bright sunshine. The one remaining inhabitant of
The Elms had chosen to refuse admission to the brightness of the day.