by Wendy Clarke
Balling the note in my fist, I throw it across the room. How dare Mitch take them trick-or-treating when he knew full well how I felt about it? And how could he have been so stupid as to have fallen for Isabella’s ‘hard done by’ story? But of course, Izzy would have known he would. Would have been waiting for her opportunity to coerce him the minute I wasn’t there to say no.
Unbuckling Noah from his seat, I take him into the living room and lay him on his play mat. Then I go to the window and look out to see if Mitch and the girls are coming back. As I do, I can’t stop my eyes from flicking to the mark that’s still visible on the pane. The Gemini sign that won’t completely disappear until I clean the glass properly. I’d allowed myself to be persuaded that it was me who drew it, but there’s still a niggling doubt.
I turn back to the empty room. Without Mitch and the children, the house feels different. Empty. I think about checking the door again, then stop myself.
Picking up the television controller, I perch on the edge of the settee and flick thought the channels, but there’s nothing I want to watch. The local news shows the seafront in Brighton where I’ve just been. It’s packed with people wearing Halloween costumes, and as the reporter speaks to the camera, he’s jostled and jeered at by the crowd. One reveller, in a hangman’s outfit, dangles a noose in front of the reporter’s face before running off.
With a shiver, I point the controller at the television and turn it off, then go into the kitchen to make myself a mug of coffee. As I wait for the kettle to boil, guessing how many seconds it will be until the switch clicks up, I catch sight of my reflection in the rectangle of glass in the back door. For the first time, it occurs to me that anyone standing in the garden would see me too.
Moving over to the door, I double-check it’s locked, and pull down the blind over the glass. Then I pull across a kitchen chair and do the same with the windows, checking each handle in turn to make sure they’re locked. When I’m satisfied that everything is secure, I take my mug back into the living room and repeat the process with the windows in there, tugging at the curtains after I’ve closed them to make sure there are no gaps. All the while I’m doing this, something is bothering me, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.
Outside in the street, life is going on without me: footsteps running along the pavement, a car’s horn blaring, and every now and again, there’s the shriek of an excited child. I’ve never liked Halloween – it reminds me too much of the films Freya made me watch when my parents were out. Nasty ones with 18 on the cover that gave me nightmares. I don’t like the children being out there.
I look at my watch. It’s only eight thirty, but the stress of the last few hours has taken its toll and I’m desperate for sleep. Deciding to take the opportunity to have a nap, I pick up Noah and carry him upstairs. When I’ve fed and changed him, I lay him in his cot and wind up his mobile to lull him to sleep.
I lie down on the quilt and close my eyes, but sleep won’t come. Instead, I think about what my mother told me, wondering how Mitch will take the news. Will he reassure me, as he would have done once? Tell me Freya is no threat. Help me put it all into perspective. Or will he look at me the way he does when Isabella tells one of her tall tales? If I didn’t know it to be true, I wouldn’t blame him if it was the latter.
The Gemini symbol on the windowpane, the newspapers that came through the door with the horoscope circled, the locket that might or might not be Freya’s. All of it sounds made up and when I tell Mitch Freya is no longer dead, I’m frightened he’ll lose what little patience he has left.
Folding my arms over my eyes, I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. Every marriage goes through a rough patch and this is ours. We’ll get through it. I just need to pull myself together. I’ve been stuck in the house with a baby too long – maybe it’s time to consider going back to work.
* * *
I must have dozed off, as when I look at the clock again, it’s almost nine. Mitch and the kids should have been back a long time ago. I’ve just started to message him when I hear the door slam. Relieved, I swing my legs off the bed and go downstairs. Maybe, once the children are in bed, I’ll pour us both a glass of wine and tell Mitch that, despite everything, I really do love him.
Isabella meets me halfway up the stairs. Her zombie make-up smudged. The bottom of her costume edged in mud splatters.
‘Goodness, Izzy. The state of you.’
She takes my hand and leads me down. ‘We had the best time. We lost Sophie and Daddy had an argument with a man with a bullet through his head. I wasn’t scared at all, was I, Daddy?’
She throws a look at Mitch who’s standing below us in the hall, his hands in the pockets of his donkey jacket. Daring him to disagree.
My hand freezes on the banister. ‘What do you mean, you lost Sophie?’
Resting one hand against the wall, Mitch takes off a shoe and places it neatly in the corner before taking off the other. Normally, he leaves them where they drop – just like the children. I take it as a sign of guilt.
‘I asked you a question, Mitch.’
He looks up at me. ‘It was nothing… You can see she’s fine. It’s not as bad as it sounds.’
‘You took the children out when you knew I didn’t want you to. You lost a child and then you say it’s nothing?’ My fear has been replaced by anger.
Isabella is watching us with interest, but Sophie’s curled up on the settee, her face hidden behind her hands. The black cat costume she’s wearing makes her look tiny. Her legs in their black tights birdlike. Going to her, I bend down and stroke her hair. ‘No one’s cross with you, Sophie. I just want to know what happened.’
Mitch follows me in. ‘Look, she saw her teacher and thought she’d go and say hello. End of. It’s no big deal. Nothing happened. She’s here, isn’t she?’
Isabella is tugging at my jumper. ‘Daddy nearly hit the man with the hole in his head. And he swore at him. He thought he’d taken Sophie and put a bullet through her head too because he’s a little shit and is trying to take Daddy to the dry cleaners. He wanted to have a fight with him.’
‘Isabella! Ignore her, Kelly. She’s just overtired.’
‘I am not.’ Isabella is seething with indignation. ‘You said, “I’ll fucking kill you.” I heard him, Mummy. He really did say it.’
‘That’s enough!’ Grabbing her arm, Mitch drags her up the stairs and I watch him in disbelief. He’s never been rough with either of the children before.
Sophie is crying, leaving trails down her white face paint. I kiss away the tears. ‘Don’t cry, Sophie.’
Mitch comes back downstairs. He throws himself lengthways onto the settee and puts his feet on the arm. ‘It was that little bastard, Dale. The one who’s trying to fleece me. Told his solicitor he’d had concussion, but there was nothing bleeding wrong with him.’
I put my hands over Sophie’s ears and Mitch grimaces. ‘Stop mollycoddling her, Kelly. She should never have run off like that.’
I stare at him in disbelief. ‘She’s five. You should have been looking after her.’
‘After yesterday, that’s good coming from you. I only took my eyes off her for a second. Maddie was showing me…’ He stops and fiddles with his wedding ring.
‘Maddie? What was she doing there?’
‘We bumped into her. Okay?’
‘You just happen to bump into her and then you’re so engrossed in what she has to say that you don’t notice your daughter’s gone.’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘I’m being ridiculous? That’s your answer to everything. What is it about Maddie that’s so fascinating, Mitch?’ I hate the way I’m sounding, but I can’t stop the words from spilling out. ‘Is it her wonderful conversation or is it something more obvious than that?’
Mitch is on his feet again. ‘You’re unbelievable. You really think that me and Maddie—’
I glare at him. ‘Don’t tell me that in all these years you haven’t thought about
it.’
‘If I told you I hadn’t, would you believe me?’ His voice is tight. Turning away from me, he goes into the hall. He yanks his coat back off the hook and puts it on.
Sophie struggles from my arms and runs to him, wrapping her arms around his legs. He looks down at her, then gently extricates himself. ‘You go up to bed now, Soph. It’s late.’
I force a smile. ‘Yes, go up, poppet. I’ll come and tuck you in in a minute.’
With a backward glance, she climbs the stairs and I watch her, glad that she always does as she’s told. When she’s out of earshot, I turn back to my husband.
‘Where are you going?’
There’s a challenge in his eyes. ‘I’m going for a drink.’
I grab his sleeve. ‘Don’t, Mitch. Stay and we’ll talk about it.’
His voice is frosty. ‘Talk about what? How you don’t trust me?’
Grabbing his keys from the pot by the door, he lets himself out.
‘What time will you be back?’ I call after him.
He doesn’t reply.
51
Kelly Now
I wake at three, not knowing what’s dragged me from my restless sleep. I thought I heard something, but now I’m sitting up listening, there’s nothing. The house is silent, even though there are three sleeping children within its walls.
Mitch’s side of the bed is empty. He hasn’t come home and I feel as if someone has taken my insides and rung them out. It doesn’t take a genius to work out where he is. Even though I know there’ll be nothing there, I check my phone to make sure he hasn’t sent me a message. He hasn’t. The screen is blank.
I’m lonelier than I’ve ever felt before, without Mitch I feel untethered, but my greatest need is to see the children. Pushing back the duvet, I pad across the room and step out onto the landing. The twins’ door is ajar, which is unusual as they like to have it closed – Isabella worrying that the zombies might get her if I leave it open. Pushing the door wider, I peer in. Isabella’s bed is under the window and Sophie’s is nearest the door. I go over to it, but in the soft glow of the nightlight, I see that it’s empty.
I step back, my hands pressed to my mouth, my body tensing, but then I see what I didn’t before. In the bed by the window are two little shapes, not one. Sophie must have crept into her sister’s bed. The covers are thrown back and they’re lying with their arms around each other, their foreheads touching. It takes me back to the night Freya came into my bed, the day after she was ill. I remember the press of her body against mine, how her heart beat against my chest.
I shiver.
Even though the valve on the radiator is turned to four, the room feels chilly. I stand looking at my children, one so dark, one so fair, and rub at my arms to warm myself. In my bedroom, Noah is sleeping too. It’s just me awake and somewhere Mitch is sleeping in another woman’s bed.
Needing to feel the warmth of someone’s body, I tiptoe over to Isabella’s bed and push back the cover further. I lift Isabella’s arm from around her sister’s body and scoop Sophie into my arms, burying my face in her hair. She moans, then wraps her arms around my neck and I cover her face in kisses soft enough not to wake her.
Outside the girls’ room, the landing is in darkness. It’s the first time I’ve spent the night alone with the children and I don’t like it. Usually, if I get up, I hear Charlie’s feet on the kitchen floor as he pads to his water bowl or the jangle of his collar as he shakes his head. Our body clocks in sync. Tonight, though, there’s no sound from downstairs.
Sophie murmurs something in her sleep and, with a last kiss, I lay her in her own bed, pulling the covers up over her shoulders so that just the collar of her Dalmatian pyjamas is showing. They’re the ones Mitch chose for her on one of his rare shopping trips. The overwhelming agony comes suddenly. Crippling my body. Doubling me up. What if Mitch doesn’t come home? What if he leaves us?
Lying next to Sophie, I hold her close, no longer caring that I might wake her. Part of me wanting to. I’ve just started to count the rise and fall of her breathing, letting it soothe me, when I hear barking. It sounds as if it’s coming from the back garden.
Getting up, I go to the window and look out. The security light is on and, running up and down the small paved patio, is Charlie, his sharp yaps surely waking everyone in the street. Unable to think why he’s out there, I run downstairs, stopping when I reach the kitchen. It’s freezing down here and, when I switch on the light, I see why. The door is wide open. Stepping outside into the cold night, I grab Charlie’s collar and drag him back inside, before slamming the door shut.
I’m certain I locked the door after Mitch had left for the pub. Looking at the windowsill, I see the key with its green fob in the place I always leave it after locking up. I stare at it, as though it will give me the answer. Did I take it out and put it there without locking the door first?
Snatching up the key, I stab it into the lock and turn it, then stand with my back against the door. Charlie looks at me and whines, sniffing my hand as though I might have a treat in it. When he finds I haven’t, he slinks off to his bed.
I want to text Mitch. Tell him that I’m scared and want him to come home. But I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me I must have let Charlie out, then gone to bed and forgotten him. That’s if he even answers his phone. I try to remember. Could this be what I did? I was certainly upset when Mitch left the house for the pub. But even if I did leave Charlie out there, wouldn’t I have heard him earlier? And why was the door wide open?
A horrible thought occurs to me. What if someone broke in? What if they’re still in here and I’ve locked them in with us? My heart starts to race. I know I should check, but I can’t move. Instead, I slide down the door and crouch there with my arms around my knees. The clock on the wall says three fifteen. If I keep watching the minute hand until it reaches three twenty, everything will be all right.
It’s where I still am when Isabella comes into the kitchen. She places a hand on my head. ‘What are you doing, Mummy?’
Knowing I’m in danger of scaring her, I push myself up. ‘I couldn’t sleep, darling. Charlie was barking and I was just checking on him.’
She rubs her eyes with her fists. ‘Can I have a drink?’
‘Yes, of course you can. You go back to bed and I’ll bring one up.’
‘Can’t Daddy sleep either?’
‘No,’ I say, feeling my heart ache at the mention of him. Will he be sleeping or will something else be keeping him awake? Or somebody.
Isabella goes back upstairs; the central heating has kicked in and the house is starting to feel normal again, but still I’m on edge. While I’ve been asleep, the back door of my house had been wide open. Anything could have happened. Anyone could have come in. Climbed the stairs. Looked in on my sleeping children. The extent of our vulnerability pushes my thoughts to Mitch. He left us alone when things got difficult. Blamed me for being suspicious, then found solace in that woman’s bed. He put me last. He’s no better than my mother.
Isabella’s drink forgotten, I run upstairs and grab my mobile phone from the bedside table. Without stopping to think what I’m doing, I find Maddie’s number, punch it in, then wait.
Eventually, Maddie answers, her voice groggy with sleep.
‘Yeh?’
‘I want you to tell me what you’re playing at.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you—’
I hear a man’s voice in the background. ‘Who the fuck’s calling at this hour?’
At first, I think it’s Mitch but then I realise the voice is too high. Too young. I recognise the voice. It’s the musician Maddie was with the night of her dinner party.
Maddie’s speaking again. ‘Is that you, Kelly?’
Cutting the call, I throw the phone onto the bed. Panic gripping me again. Not only do I not know how Charlie got to be outside, I now have no idea where Mitch is.
52
Kelly Now
When I wake the next morn
ing, the radio that acts as my alarm is telling me it’s going to be a cold day with a chance of showers. Feeling for my phone, I see it’s nearly eight and as I put it back down, the enormity of the night before hits me. Mitch still hasn’t come home, and I don’t know where he is.
I want to bury myself in my duvet, block out the light and make everything go away, but I can’t. I have Noah to feed and the girls to get to school. If we don’t hurry, they’re going to be late. From the other side of the room, I can hear Noah’s mobile playing its tinkling tune. One of the girls must have wound it up for him. Grateful to whichever one it was, I get out of bed and slip on my dressing gown.
Noah is lying on his back, his comforter clutched in his fist and his eyes glued to the cars and buses that turn circles above his head. When he sees me, he smiles and waves his arms, waiting to be picked up.
‘Good boy,’ I say, lifting him out. ‘You must be hungry.’
Trying not to let my worry about Mitch overwhelm me, I feed and change him, then go to see what the girls are doing. Their door is still closed. Pressing down on the handle, I open it to find them both asleep.
In my room, the mobile is still playing its tune. I look over my shoulder at the open door and then back at the twins. The curtains are thin, as Sophie doesn’t like the dark, and there’s enough light to see the gentle rise and fall of their little chests.
Blood drains away from my body and the tiny hairs on my arms raise. With no one to wind the mobile up, how is it possible that it’s turning?
Holding Noah tightly to me, I carry him downstairs. The first thing I do is try the back door, but it’s locked, the key on the windowsill where I left it in the early hours of the morning. The windows are locked too. Moving to the living room, I open the curtains and try the French windows, but they’re also secured.
I don’t like it. Upstairs the mobile is winding down, its tinny tune becoming distorted as it slows. I don’t want to go back up there, but I have to wake the girls. I remember how when Freya had first come to us, I would wake to find her in my room, watching me. Her pinched face white and ghostly. I hadn’t been scared but would pull back the duvet to let her in. I can still feel the tightness of her arms around me as I fell back into sleep. Had someone stood and watched me last night?
