I started the car again and began driving down the promenade. As much as I didn’t want to, I needed to see Yvonne. She might be able to fill in some of the gaps. Yvonne lived just outside of Filey in a renovated farmhouse, which was Harry’s childhood home. She married John not long after Harry and I started dating, and John moved in. I thought it was a little quick, but each to their own. Just beyond Yvonne’s house was a sign that described Filey as a ‘treasure to discover.’ I’d never found any treasure here, only misery. The only thing I wanted to discover was the truth about Harry, and then I could leave this miserable place.
I drove down the crushed stone driveway, and I could see plumes of smoke emanating from the back of the house. Yvonne never liked to smoke inside because of misplaced pride but was happy to light one up in my kitchen whenever she visited us in Manchester. I didn’t bother with the front door. I just walked around the side of the house and found her furiously chain-smoking. I remained at a distance to avoid inhaling the cancerous fumes expelled by her lungs. I took a deep breath of fresh air before I turned the corner and prepared to be annoyed.
“Amelia? What are you doing here?” She coughed.
“Sorry to bother you, Yvonne. I’m back in Filey to talk to Steve. He knows something about Harry’s death,” I replied.
“Oh, love,” she started, crushing her cigarette on a fence post, “you need to try and move on. That’s what I did after Harry’s dad passed.”
“I know. But people weren’t saying Harry’s dad’s death was suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“Someone from the funeral told me he wasn’t even drinking that night. He was sober when he fell.”
“That can’t be right, and he had alcohol in his blood. It was in the toxicology report.”
“Yeah, but you know what Harry was like. He could drink anybody under the table. He was on non-alcoholic beer.”
“So, how did he fall?”
“That’s why I’m here. Apparently, he was trying to make a call just before he died, but I don’t remember anything on the police report of his phone. Did you see it?”
“I don’t remember. But I’ve got his last bill inside. He never changed his address.”
“Can I take a look?” I asked.
Yvonne led me inside through the kitchen doors and started rooting through a drawer in the kitchen island. She was idly flicking through envelopes and letters idly until she found what she was looking for. She placed it on the counter in front of me.
“There. No calls on the night he fell,” Yvonne said with a shrug.
“But Kim and Steve both saw him trying to make a call.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, love. Are you sure it was from that phone?”
“What do you mean, that phone?”
“Maybe he had more than one.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing. Just some men have more than one phone. A phone that their wives don’t know about?”
It dawned on me. If Yvonne could see it, it must have been obvious: a second mobile phone. When a married woman finds out her husband has a second phone, there’s usually only one explanation. But I’d learned about Harry’s deceitful side. There could be a multitude of reasons why he would have another phone other than an affair. Was it for his dodgy dealings with the criminal underworld? Or was it indeed just garden-variety infidelity? I stared at the ceiling and gritted my teeth, feeling embarrassed I hadn’t arrived at the same conclusion sooner. A lump appeared in my throat as I tried desperately to stifle the inevitable tears that would ensue. I didn’t want to be vulnerable in front of this woman, but I could barely hold it in any longer.
“Was another phone recovered by the police?” I asked, trying to choke back the tears.
“Not that I know of,” Yvonne shrugged.
“Are you sure? No mention of it anywhere?”
“I think I’d remember that, Amelia.”
The lump in my throat bloated and grew until I could almost taste the disappointment. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and they prickled lightly with the change in temperature. I could feel the tears building on my eyelids. Even the slightest provocation would have sent me into a full meltdown. Yvonne could sense it, and I didn’t want her to see that side of me. The weak one. I’d always projected an image of strength and maturity, but in truth, I felt like I was behaving like an anxious and paranoid little girl.
“Do you think he was cheating on me?” I uttered pitifully.
Yvonne didn’t respond verbally at first. It was more of a look of pity, and I could feel myself losing control, which instantly turned the waterworks on. She left the room to get me some tissues, but the supply was rapidly outstripped by demand, and I pretty much used the whole packet within minutes. I loved Harry, and I thought he loved me. My initial response should have been disbelief, but the disturbing evidence that I was digging up was mounting and leading me to believe that Harry wasn’t the man I fell in love with. I just wanted to look him in the eye, grab him, and force him to explain himself. Knowing I wouldn’t ever be able to do that was a gut-wrenching reality I had to content myself with.
“Amelia, you can’t think like that,” Yvonne said softly, “you never gave him a reason to play away, did you?”
“Of course not!” I shouted.
“He loved you; I know he did. He wouldn’t have uprooted his life and moved to Manchester with you if he hadn’t.”
“Do you know something that you aren’t telling me?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.”
“Well,” she sighed, “he was a man, after all.”
Yvonne walked to the fridge, leaving me in blubbering pieces on the kitchen island, only to return with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She brimmed them both and drank deeply. I hesitated at first; I could almost hear Harry protesting, but in his absence, I quickly followed suit. Yvonne and I didn’t speak for what seemed like hours and silently polished off the whole bottle. Yvonne stood to get another, but I put my hand on her arm to dissuade her. I knew I shouldn’t be drinking, and even in his absence, I didn’t want to disappoint him like that.
“No, thank you,” I mumbled, “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”
“Where?”
