‘I think they’ll be fine with their grandfather.’ I said. ‘We need to interview Lily and check the footage.’
‘I don’t understand about the footage. Where did that come from?’
‘Mr Gundersen had cameras installed in the house to spy on your daughter. You didn’t know about them?’
That was the catalyst. Lillian Stanton stumbled and collapsed onto the low wall surrounding the patio. ‘So it was true,’ she whispered.
‘Sadly, I think everything she’s said about her marriage is true.’
‘I didn’t believe her.’ Lillian held her hand over her mouth, shaking her head.
‘I know, but all the same, I don’t believe she’s lied about any of it.’ I patted my pockets to see if I could find her a tissue, but she pulled a lace-edged square from her sleeve. I watched her waft the useless piece of material around, occasionally dabbing it at her eyes. I’d already noticed there were no tears.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I can’t sit here. I have another long drive ahead of me. You’ll let me know what happens to Lily won’t you? If she’s charged with this murder as well, I don’t know if I can cope with the children.’
‘Lily said it was self-defence,’ I replied. ‘I’m inclined to believe her. But I’ll keep you posted.’
I stayed in the garden and watched Lillian walk away. She held herself upright and when I saw her profile, her chin jutted out. If I’d bet on her kissing Lily goodbye, I would’ve lost my money. Lily stood and said something. Lillian looked shocked and I wondered if Lily was finally standing up to her domineering mother.
‘Oh Stephanie,’ I whispered. ‘If only you could see this.’ A soft breeze rustled the bamboo grasses near the hedge and as Lillian stormed out the front door, I walked in through the back door.
Epilogue
Lily
I opened the front door and said goodbye to the viewers. They loved the house, they said, but… and there was always a but. The Old Vicarage was the murder house.
The children waved bye-bye to our visitors as they crunched towards their car and we wandered to the kitchen where I unbolted the stable door to the garden and they rushed out into the sunshine. It was still cold but spring was in the air. I could feel it. I closed the bottom half of the door and leaned against it marvelling at how resilient they were, although there were moments, at bedtime or during the night, when James cried out for his father, and I had to explain, once again, that he wasn’t coming home. His cries woke and upset Darcy, but all the same I could see how she was blossoming into much a happier child.
Cerys and Denise came to tell me they’ve worked through all the videos my husband had recorded of me. Every single moment of our life together. They offered, but I declined, to watch any of it myself. I didn’t think I would ever forget the last time I was with him. Even now when I walked into the hallway the smell of cordite lingered. No amount of air freshener seemed to eradicate the stench. I thought it would be several years before I could cope with fireworks again.
I was happy to be free of Topher and the grip he had over me, but he was my husband, and a small part of me had loved him.
I was distracted from my musings as a click from the kettle told me the water had boiled. I made tea in a new china teapot; one Topher would never see. One he would never throw at the wall. One that I would never have to sweep up and put into the dustbin.
I dragged a bar stool across to the half open door and I listened to the children playing. My mind drifted to Stephanie. I missed her so much, especially at times like this when life was peaceful. Countless times in the past weeks I found myself picking up the phone, I’d be halfway through dialling her number before I remembered, and my tears would flow again.
Then the reverie was over. Darcy came racing towards me, floods of tears, arms outstretched.
‘Mummy, Mummy. He hurted me,’ she cried.
I leapt from my stool, wrenched open the half stable door and swept her into my arms.
‘What’s up my sweetheart,’ I said, burying my head into her hair, breathing in the sweet baby smell. ‘What’s happened, poppet?’
‘Look, look! He hurted me,’ she pulled off her coat and held out her podgy arm, still with dimples around her elbows.
I breathed in sharply and looked at the dark bruise forming on her arm. Already the red was turning purple and darker still in the middle.
‘That’s going to leave a nasty bruise,’ I said as I looked at James sauntering back towards the house. I kissed Darcy’s arm and, as I did so, I reflected that, if his father were here, James would learn to leave no bruises at all.
The End
Author’s Note
Why would anyone write a book about domestic abuse and violence? This was a question posed to me by another writer in an online group and I did have to think about it for some time. This story has nagged me to be written for a long time, however. Early summer 2020, when the UK and most of the world was in Lockdown, I gave in and began writing.
Sara Cox, my editor, immediately hit the nub of the problem with Lily’s life – why doesn’t she just leave – was her question. And it’s a question often asked about abuse victims. I’ve asked it of myself.
So, as is normal for me, I found several articles and began to research. Distressingly, what I discovered is, that leaving the abuser is often the most dangerous time in the relationship. A Guardian article from a few years ago, put the figure of women killed by their abuser after leaving, at 75%.
The Femicide Census (2020) is more conservative in its figures, but during 2018, 37 of the 91 women who left their abusive partners were killed by that partner. 11 of them were killed in the first month after leaving. These figures are only for England, Wales, and Northern Ireland.
Domestic abusers isolate their victims from family and friends, meaning that the person does not have a support network to fall back on. There’s also the shame associated with being in an abusive relationship. It sucks at and destroys your confidence and many of these people have little or no control over their own money. Some are even prevented from having a job that might give them financial independence.
I don’t think The Love Trap will be the only book I write on this subject. Another idea has begun brewing. If only there were more hours in the day.
I do hope you liked Lily’s story. If so, pop me a review on Goodreads or Amazon.
Thanks
Caroline
Ipswich (December 2020)
Acknowledgments
Bringing a book into the world ready for publication is always a team effort and it’s good to be writing the last sections which make up the published product.
Even in the middle of a global pandemic a writer doesn’t work in complete isolation. So, here’s the shoutout to the team.
Sara Cox, my fantastic editor. Due to her efforts The Love Trap is a great deal better than the initial draft. Thank you so much. What you have taught me about writing over these last few months will stay with me the rest of my writing life.
To Susannah M – who read through the manuscript and gave me some feedback on my approach. Thanks xx
Finally and by no means least – thanks to Andie (found via FiveSquid) who created such a stunning cover. It’s beautiful – thank you so much.
About the Author
Caroline Goldsworthy is an emerging author of a gritty urban police procedurals – the DCI Ronald Carlson series and an increasing number of standalones. This is her fourth novel.
Caroline’s debut novel, Tangent, was inspired by the Ipswich murders, which commenced shortly after she moved to Suffolk in 2006. It was shortlisted for the Selfies Award in March 2019.
More information about events and new books may be found at:
www.carolinegoldsworthy.com
Also by Caroline Goldsworthy
Tangent - DCI Carlson 1
Recompense - DCI Carlson 2
Synnöve
hy, The Love Trap: an unputdownable psychological thriller
The Love Trap: an unputdownable psychological thriller Page 25
