by K. L. Slater
I carry Hank through to the kitchen and stir the lamb curry in the slow cooker. I made it last night, set it simmering on a very low setting, and now the meat is literally falling apart.
I stick a packet of rice in the microwave, amused to watch little Hank taking everything in, gurgling and pointing. It crosses my mind that Fiona might be guilty of keeping him strapped into his buggy in front of the TV or something similar. I don’t want to judge or to think badly of her, but the child seems so entranced by new things around him, and I know from seeing her in the park that she has a lot on her mind.
With Hank happily perched on one hip, I drag out the old highchair. It was used for both Noah and Josh, and when they grew out of it, I relegated it to the corner of the pantry, never taking it up to the attic. I think a part of me likes to still see it there.
A few minutes later, Fiona appears with damp hair and a clean, make-up-free face, which makes her look younger. She is fully dressed again – although there is still more flesh on show than covered up – and we sit at the table that I’ve set simply with plates of rice and curry and tall glasses of iced water.
As she reaches for the salt cellar, her sleeve rides up on her arm and I give an involuntary gasp as a neat row of fingertip-sized bruises are revealed.
She glances at me, following my eyes, and immediately tugs down the sleeve.
‘I’m always banging into things,’ she says, staring down at her plate and mixing the rice and curry together. ‘I can’t remember where I get the bruises from half the time.’
My mind flicks back to Maura telling me about her bruised inner thighs.
I choose my words carefully. ‘It looks rather as if someone has grabbed you by the arm, Fiona.’
‘No!’ The words escape her mouth like a rush of hot steam. ‘I know it might look like that, but it isn’t. I’d say if it was.’
‘I hope you would,’ I say, picking up my glass of water. ‘You can talk to me about anything, you know. I won’t judge you.’
She presses her lips together in a tight line.
‘I felt like Kim Kardashian in that bathroom, Judi,’ she says, tipping the food off her fork and loading it up again. ‘All that hot water and bubbles. All I needed was a glass of Moët.’
She pronounces the ‘T’ in Moët but I don’t correct her. I very much doubt that correct French pronunciation is at the top of Fiona’s list of priorities.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ I say. ‘You deserve a little pampering.’
She gives me a funny look, as if she thinks I’m being facetious.
‘Listen, I really don’t want to offend you, Fiona, but—’
She drops her knife and fork with a clatter and pushes her chair back. Hank visibly jumps in the highchair and yells in protest, banging the plastic tray with the heel of his hand.
‘You want me to go? You don’t have to say it, I know I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m sorry, I never meant—’
‘Fiona, sit down.’ I touch her arm. ‘That’s not what I was about to say at all.’
She sits back down and stares at her short, bitten nails.
‘I wanted to say that I’d very much like to help you,’ I say gently. ‘Buy you a few things for Hank, even look after him now and then to give you an hour’s peace, if you’re happy for me to do that. What do you think?’
She stares at me. Something about the look on her face makes me wonder if everyone who has ever offered to do her a favour has a hidden agenda.
‘Please don’t be offended, and feel free to say no,’ I say. ‘It’s just an offer, something I’d like to do. You don’t have to accept if you don’t want to, but know that I’m here to help you.’
‘Thank you, I—’ She clamps her mouth shut and twists round in her chair.
We both sit up, alarmed, at the sound of the front door opening. There’s a bit of scuffling and banging around and then I hear it slam shut. I stand up and walk quickly over to the kitchen door, looking down the hallway.
‘Henry,’ I say faintly.
41
Judi
‘Now there’s a welcome.’ Henry frowns and starts to walk upstairs with his small suitcase and overnight bag. The only man I know who goes fishing and takes a suitcase. ‘Nice to see you too, Judi.’
‘Sorry,’ I say quickly. ‘I didn’t mean—’
Behind me Hank lets out an unbridled shriek of delight.
‘Sshh,’ I hear Fiona whisper.
‘What the hell was that?’ Henry scowls and comes back down the three or four steps, putting both bags down. His eyes widen when he sees the pushchair jutting out from under the stairs.
‘It’s just Fiona who I know from work,’ I say over-brightly. ‘She popped in to see me with her little one and I asked her to stay for a spot of lunch.’
I look back into the kitchen to see Fiona lifting Hank hastily out of the highchair and simultaneously grabbing her tatty handbag from the side.
‘No need to go, Fiona,’ I say, aware that my voice sounds strained. ‘It’s only my husband, Henry.’
Henry walks into the kitchen and stands stock still in the doorway. His mouth falls open as he looks at me and then at little Hank in Fiona’s arms. I stand there, silent and mortified. I can’t quite believe he is being so openly rude.
‘H-Henry, this is Fiona, and the little man’s name is Hank,’ I stammer, looking from one to the other, a smile stretching falsely on my face. Fiona looks like a scared rabbit about to bolt.
Then she moves. ‘Sorry, I have to go.’ She rushes past Henry and into the hallway, stuffing her feet into her heels and shrugging on the coat I gave her.
‘Fiona, no! You haven’t finished your lunch.’ I rush after her, but Henry catches my arm.
‘Let her go,’ he says in a low voice.
Two minutes later, the house is quiet again. Fiona and Hank have left and I’m still standing in the kitchen with my husband, wondering what just happened.
‘Why did you do that?’ My fingers curl inwards and the nails sink slowly into the soft pad of flesh beneath my thumb.
‘Do what?’
‘Frighten the poor girl off. You were so rude, staring at her and not even saying hello. She looked scared to death.’
‘Do you know that girl well?’
‘Well enough,’ I say, looking away.
‘Judi, you need to be careful who you’re befriending. You can’t just bring any waif and stray into our home. It’s not safe letting people see where we live, what we have.’
My body stiffens with the injustice of his words.
‘That’s so unfair. You don’t know anything about her,’ I retort, feeling my breathing growing more rapid.
‘I don’t have to know her. It’s glaringly obvious that you simply felt sorry for her, tried to help her, but …’ He hesitates. ‘Just don’t let it get out of control, is what I’m saying. You can’t help everyone.’
‘You’re being totally ridiculous,’ I hiss. ‘I shouldn’t need your permission to bring someone in for a chat and a bite to eat. And I know her from the surgery; she isn’t a waif and stray, as you put it.’
‘I’m not going to argue about this.’ He walks past me, his face thunderous. He stops in the hall and, as if he’s had an afterthought, turns to face me. ‘Don’t let it happen again, Judi. It’s not healthy.’
‘How dare you! I won’t be dictated to in—’
‘Judi.’ His severe tone stops me in my tracks. ‘We’ve all noticed you’ve become rather confused and hostile around the people who love you the most, and yet here you are offering hospitality and acceptance to a girl you only know fleetingly from the surgery. I’m not sure what’s got into you, but it needs to stop, right now.’
All noticed? I remember he’s spoken to Ben while he’s been away on the fishing trip.
‘That’s utter rubbish,’ I blurt out. ‘I don’t know what Ben has told you, but it’s not me who’s at fault here.’
‘It might be best if I make you an appoint
ment to see Phil Fern. Talk things through with a professional.’
Henry knows Dr Fern well. They went to Newcastle University together and are the same age. Even though Dr Fern studied medicine and Henry was a business and finance student, they bonded in the rugby team and became good friends.
They still go out for the odd beer or to see a game, and Henry foolishly thinks that qualifies him to be party to my medical history, as his wife. I went to see Dr Fern recently, and quite rightly, Henry hasn’t got a clue.
‘If I need to see the doctor, I’m perfectly capable of making my own appointment, thank you,’ I say between clenched teeth. ‘All I need is for people like you to stop trying to tell me what to fucking do with my life.’
And with that I storm past, ignoring his obvious shock and outrage, and stomp upstairs, slamming David’s door behind me.
42
Amber
It had certainly been a crazy few days.
Amber had felt her life had moved at breakneck speed, and for the first time she began to wish it was actually all real. She’d even begun to consider changing her perspective. If she did that, could this whole thing wipe out the horror of the past?
Even as she thought the words, she knew that could never happen.
Ben had never done anything to harm her; he’d simply been a vehicle to get nearer to the person she really wanted to hurt. Incredibly, he’d told her he loved her. Loved her! But he didn’t know her; he only knew the face she allowed herself to show him.
Despite her best efforts, she found herself increasingly fond of little Josh. His childish charm and willingness to please were hard to resist at times. Several times she’d even wished he could loosen the steel casing that she felt was forever fused to her heart, but there was a dull acceptance that it was there to stay until she took her last breath.
Noah, however, was an altogether different animal to his younger brother.
She saw Judi in him. He was stubborn for his age, set in his ways. Sometimes, when she and Ben were sitting on the couch together at night, watching TV or talking, she’d glance up to see Noah watching her with eyes older than his years.
She wondered if Judi had instructed him to spy, to listen in to their conversations. He would make a useful little mole for his cunning Nanny. Amber had noticed he was becoming morose and difficult to control, but she wouldn’t let him win. When Ben wasn’t around he was a different boy altogether: meek and quiet. Far preferable.
Ben didn’t seem to mind at all that she had introduced a bit of discipline into the house. She told him it was for the boys’ own sake, that they’d been allowed to run riot by his mother. Although of course she’d had to be careful not to go too far.
Still, yesterday’s developments were going to change all that. Surprise was not a strong enough word for the way she’d felt when Ben had sat her down, the things he’d said. She’d felt herself getting ridiculously emotional and he’d seen it too, was happy at her reaction.
But she’d wanted to cry only because she wished she could enjoy it like a normal person without all the deceit and ill-intent that bubbled away under the surface.
Yet it was nice to feel invincible at last. To know that everything was going perfectly to plan and that nobody could stop her now.
Least of all Ben’s mother.
43
Judi
On Saturday morning, my phone buzzes with a message. It’s heart-warming when I see it is a text from Ben.
I click on the notification and a photograph of Noah and Josh loads, waving from the front of the monkey enclosure at Twycross Zoo. I smile, loving the smiles on the boys’ faces, seeing they’re having a good time.
Something catches my eye at the corner of the shot and I pinch at the picture, expanding it on my phone screen. A hand with long pink nails is clutching Josh’s hand tightly. Possessively.
Suddenly I’m seized by a compulsion to do something. Anything except sit here in this big, silent house, watching my family being taken away from me.
I grab my coat and handbag and head out to the car. Henry won’t be back until much later from his photography group; he won’t even know I’ve been out.
It’s late morning when I get to the house. I feel a little nervous when I see Amber’s Fiat parked out the front, even though I know for a fact they’re all at the zoo and will have gone in Ben’s Ford Focus.
On the way here, I’ve thought of a suitable excuse, just in case they return unexpectedly. I’ve lost my reading glasses and I remembered that the last time I had them was at their house. It’s a plausible tale because I don’t use them that often. I do most of my reading on my Kindle, where I can easily increase the text size.
The street is relatively quiet and there is no sign of any nearby neighbours, so I get out of the car, walk briskly to the front door and let myself in.
Inside, I feel like I’m in a different house to the one I used to clean. I already know Amber has made big changes to the decoration of the rooms, but now there’s a new hall table and a mirror above it. No coats hanging over the banister, no shoes piled in the corner near the door.
And the house smells different; there must be incense burning downstairs every night, because the odour is quite strong, even now.
I double-lock the door behind me and slip off my shoes. I don’t know what I’m looking for or why I’ve come here. I just know it’s a starting point.
Something about Amber Carr is not adding up and I’m going to do my best to find out why.
I head straight up to the main bedroom. The room seems smaller, more closed in, and I realise that a new double wardrobe has been purchased and pushed up against the other wall. This one is white, without mirrored doors, and when I look inside, I find it is full of Ben’s clothes, packed too close together.
I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed. There are a few neat piles of magazines under Ben’s side and nothing but a pair of fluffy slippers under Amber’s.
I’m looking for something Amber wouldn’t necessarily want anyone else seeing. It feels like the definition of madness – that I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for – but I’m utterly certain there is something to find.
I ignore the chest of drawers and the bedside table. I’ve no wish to see the contents of those again. I throw open the doors of the mirrored triple wardrobe and unsurprisingly find that Amber has commandeered this bigger space for her things.
I disregard the clothes hanging from the rail and crouch down, sweeping longer items aside to see the floor of the wardrobe. There are a lot of shoes here, all neatly paired and stacked in double rows. I can see right to the back, because the light from the window is good, but there is nothing else here but footwear.
I stand up on my tiptoes and peer at the shelf that runs across the top of the double bit of the wardrobe. As I’ve now come to expect of Amber, it’s neat. I lift a folded blanket and a spare pillow, peer inside a large velveteen wallet that contains dress jewellery.
I’m very careful to replace everything exactly as I find it. I glance nervously out of the window, imagining what I’d do if Ben’s car suddenly pulled up outside. But his car isn’t there. I’m still OK for time.
The single wardrobe making up the triple door space has been used to store Amber’s coats and heavier jackets. I can see that Ben’s winter coat is in here too. There are three pairs of long boots on the floor, including the over-the-knee suede pair she’s fond of wearing with her ripped skinny jeans.
There is nowhere else to look.
With a heavy heart, I close the third wardrobe door, and then, just before the magnet clicks to, I have a bit of a light-bulb moment and pull it open again. Coats and jackets have pockets, places people can forget they’ve put things, especially when they’ve no reason to believe anyone is looking.
As far as Amber is aware, I’m no longer coming to the house; she’s managed to convince Ben he doesn’t need my help any more. I haven’t been here since before she moved in, so
I’m sure she feels no threat that I’ll be snooping around.
I ignore the prod of conscience that spears my gut and think instead of Noah’s injured hand. I begin a systematic check of outer and inner pockets. A denim jacket, a faux-fur coat. A long black coat with a glossy fur collar. There are no inside pockets in the silky lining. There’s just a waxed walking jacket to go. I plunge my hand into the deep pocket and my fingers close around an envelope.
I take it over to the window and peer inside. I pull out the photos and take a look. Two young girls: in the sea, eating ice creams, petting a dog.
I replace them and push them back into the coat, disappointed.
I check the other pocket and pull out a screwed-up business card. I straighten it out enough to read the print. It’s for a care home in Sheffield: Sunbeam Lodge. Scrawled on the back in pen are the words ‘Mum: Room 15A’.
The first time we met her, Ben told me Amber’s parents had both died in a car accident.
Bingo.
44
Judi
Sunday morning I rise at six a.m. I slept in the spare room last night and I had the best rest I’ve had for a while. No snoring from Henry for starters, and no need to be civil to him after the way he behaved in front of poor Fiona.
I make the bed and take Henry’s pills and diabetes medicines into the bathroom. I’ve repeatedly asked him not to leave his medication lying around. The boys are both very sensible but still, you never know what might happen if they’re feeling mischievous.
I can’t stay annoyed for long. The precious find of the care-home business card has really boosted my spirits. It’s too early to get excited, but it’s a possible lead into Amber’s murky past. If indeed her mother is alive and well and stuck away from prying eyes in a care home, then it’s a way I might be able to trap Amber and reveal her terrible lie to Ben. He’d surely wash his hands of her if she was proven to be so deceitful.
