‘Oh… oh my God, Mum. I can’t believe you actually just said those words. Jesus Christ, mums shouldn’t… they really shouldn’t speak like that.’
Jen tries to stifle another spray of laughter. ‘Let me tell you, my dearest son. This game does not shock me. As a GP, I have heard and seen everything. Absolutely everything.’
‘What, even “Grandpa’s massive schlong”?’ Rhonda asks, sending the kids into fits again.
‘Yeah, but Mum, pairing it with “I like to spray blank with squirty cream” isn’t something your son should ever have to hear in his lifetime.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Jen says, standing up from the floor and stretching out. ‘Anyone want anything from the kitchen?’ she says, still grinning. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on.’ But then the smile lines on her face fall away as she hears a noise that sounds a lot like the front door opening. Suddenly she’s as alert as a fox. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she adds in a serious voice before taking a deep breath and striding off.
‘Right, you two,’ Rhonda says. ‘Let’s take a quick break and then play some Pictionary, yeah?’
Kieran and Caitlin agree, before they both dive into their phones as Rhonda leaves the room. If that noise was Scott coming back, then she wants to use it to her advantage while Jen is distracted. She doesn’t know if or when she’ll get another chance. She feels bad for worming her way into the house tonight, engineering a gathering ‘for old times’ sake’, yet she doesn’t see she has much choice. If she doesn’t do this soon, then someone is going to get hurt.
A quick glance into the kitchen tells Rhonda that Scott has indeed returned, and that Jen is embroiled in conversation with him. Briefly, she sees his hands gesturing, him pacing about. Jen recoils at something he says, but she’s too engrossed to notice Rhonda. She slips away and heads to Jeremy’s study, turning the handle slowly. Most doors in this old place creak and she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself, though she can easily explain it away by saying she was hunting for some pens or paper for Pictionary.
‘Oh great,’ Rhonda mutters. The door is locked. No doubt because of Scott’s presence in the house. Thinking like Jen would, that she’d want to keep the key with her, she grabs her house and car key fob off the hall table and searches the bunch for something that looks as though it would fit. On the third attempt, Rhonda has the door to Jeremy’s study open. She also hears the voices from the kitchen getting louder, plus some clattering as though Jen is banging mugs about.
It’s dark inside the study and as soon as Rhonda goes in, closing the door behind her, she catches the heady and evocative scent of Jeremy, almost as if he’s still in there. A spicy mix of patchouli and sandalwood and something masculine yet fragrant somehow lingers, even weeks after his death. Rhonda doesn’t believe in ghosts but if she was going to, now would be the time.
She swallows, her skin prickling with goosebumps. It’s almost as if he’s watching me, she thinks, feeling her way over to his leather-topped desk in the middle of the room. She flicks on the desk lamp, sitting down in Jeremy’s chair. Briefly, she glances around the bookshelf-lined room, imagining him sitting here writing. Her chest fills with sadness – heavy and palpable. It would have taken nothing less than an avalanche to wipe out such a vibrant, full-of-life man like Jeremy.
She refocuses on the letter she found tucked between the manuscript pages – the reason she’s come into his study. She needs to find the other letter, the one the sender mentioned. It must be in here somewhere, and she has to find it before Jen does. She’s pretty certain it’ll still be in here – there’s no way Jen would have not told her about something like that if she’d found it. It would have upset her too much.
But where to start? She wonders if he’s tucked it inside a book. Overall, there must be going on for a thousand of them, she thinks, tracking her eyes along the remaining spines on the shelves – not to mention the ones they stacked up for charity already. She might as well give up now if that’s where it’s secreted. Instead, she starts with Jeremy’s desk drawers, sliding the ones to the left open and scanning through what’s in there.
The contents are pretty much as she’d expected – everything from storage CDs, USB sticks, stationery, a baseball cap, files of papers that she quickly flicks through, some National Geographic magazines, and a dozen other random items such as a pot of foreign coins, a packet of seeds and a couple of small photograph albums. She’s unsurprised to find there’s nothing organised about Jeremy’s desk drawers – and also no sign of a love letter.
She’s about to give up, hearing Jen’s voice getting louder as if she’s walking through the hallway. Rhonda freezes, excuses at the ready in case she comes in – but then Scott says something that has Jen heading back into the kitchen. Rhonda holds her breath as she opens the final drawer – the shallow one in the centre of the desk. It’s stiff, as though it’s sticking on something, or perhaps the wood has warped. She gives it a few sharp tugs, wiggling it from side to side as she forces it open.
Suddenly it gives, but Rhonda’s heart sinks when she sees a messy array of pens, rubber bands, paper clips and all manner of other miscellaneous items. She pushes the drawer closed again, but this time there’s no budging it. She can’t leave it open – Jen would be suspicious.
‘Damn it,’ she whispers, feeling silly for thinking she’d find something so easily. She leans her hip against the drawer to give it a good shove – to no avail. She gets down on her knees and peers into the back of the drawer but can’t see anything that would cause the jam. As a last resort, she runs her hands over the sides of the wooden drawer and then underneath. And that’s when she feels it – something stuck to the underside, preventing it from closing.
Rhonda gets down lower to see what it is. She doesn’t recognise it at first – the little book taped to the underside of the drawer. And certainly doesn’t immediately register what it means when she peels it away, holding the passport in her hands.
It’s only when she opens it, sees Jeremy’s photo staring back at her, reads that the passport is very much in date, that it slowly dawns on her what it means. Without it, Jeremy can’t possibly have gone to Switzerland – making her sigh with relief that she discovered it before Jen did.
Thirty-Two
Then
It seems like an entire lifetime since Evan has been up to the den with Mac. But then it seems an entire lifetime since his mum has been in hospital, too, even though it’s only been just over a week. Everything feels broken and destroyed, as though a monster has been unleashed, rampaging through his world.
‘Look after the bab, boy,’ Griff had said every night since the ambulance had come for his mother. He’d sauntered off down to the Crown shortly after she’d been taken to hospital, with Evan knowing he’d be back at kick-out time reeking of beer and looking for something to punch.
‘Have you gone to visit her?’ Mac says as he fixes the centre branch of their den back in place.
‘Nah, not allowed,’ Evan replies, fighting down the sick feeling. He doesn’t know what three fractured vertebrae are, but he knows it means she might not walk again. Along with two broken wrists, cracked ribs and her collarbone all smashed up, he imagines her entire body must be in a plaster cast.
‘You fucking say a word, boy, and I’ll do the same to you, right?’ Griff had told him that terrible night last week, slamming him up against the landing wall. He’d heard Rosie snuffling in her cot in the next room, smelt the sour stench of fag smoke on Griff’s breath. The anger was seeping out of him.
Evan had nodded frantically.
He’d seen everything from his bedroom doorway. His mum was still down there, splayed out on the hallway floor, her neck bent at a funny angle against the skirting board because there was barely room for two people to stand side by side in the tiny space, let alone for someone to lie there after falling down the stairs.
Except she hadn’t fallen. She’d been pushed. Pushed by Griff with the same hands that had
him hauled up against the wall by his school sweatshirt. It was only when they heard the ambulance siren that Griff finally let go, shoving him back inside his bedroom with an order to stay put.
Evan had sat on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chin, listening to the sounds downstairs of the paramedics dealing with his mum. He heard the beep-beep of a machine that sounded as though it was measuring her heart. His mother’s heart… He remembered the beat of it from long ago, when she held him tight and sang songs. She hadn’t done that in a while.
After what seemed like ages, Evan heard his mum being clattered out on a stretcher. He watched from his bedroom window as they wheeled her into the ambulance, its blue light flashing in the summer twilight.
Then the old bag from next door came out to see what was going on, standing on her doorstep in her dirty slippers, her hands on her hips. As she turned, glancing up at him and shaking her head, Evan cried. He cried for his mum, he cried for Rosie, and he cried for himself. Because he now knew what he must do.
It was time to make a plan. A proper plan with Mac. A Kill Club plan that would make everything better, once and for all.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ Evan says, shoving his hand inside the pocket of his school trousers. Mac is sitting on the log by the den campfire, his chin in his hand as he stares down at a spider picking its way through the leaves and twigs. He looks up, frowning.
Evan holds the item out, the light filtering through the trees making it glint. ‘Kill Club badges,’ he says proudly, lifting up his sweatshirt to reveal an identical one pinned on his T-shirt.
‘They’re way cool,’ Mac says, standing up. ‘Where d’you get them?’
‘Stole them from Griff,’ he replies proudly. ‘They’re, like, real army ones,’ he adds, reaching out and putting his hands on Mac’s chest, aiming the pin through the fabric.
‘Get off!’ Mac suddenly says, batting Evan’s hand away. He snatches the badge and steps back. ‘I can do it myself, all right?’ When it’s pinned on, they stand together, their badges displayed proudly, feeling more like a real club than ever. And when Evan sees the spider scuttling along the ground again, he makes sure to stamp on it hard.
Evan knows Mac thinks he’s stupid, doesn’t think he’s serious. They’ve done this loads of times before and never followed through – it’s all just been plans. Gem had been first on their list, the two of them huddled round the smouldering campfire, plotting what they’d do to her.
‘Cut her stupid hair off,’ Mac had suggested, touching his own straggly locks. He sits down again after fixing the rabbit skull back on the branch above the entrance to the den. It had taken the boys nearly an hour to repair the damage and they couldn’t be certain if it was the recent storm that had torn down half of their secret hideout, or a person.
‘Then force her to eat it,’ Evan had said. ‘Then I’d chop her fingers off one by one… feed them to the dogs… poison her… push her head down the toilet until she can’t breathe…’
He’d had enough. He hated her. If he couldn’t do it now, he vowed, one day when he was bigger he would teach her a proper lesson.
‘You’re not serious about that little kid?’ Mac says now, unwrapping a chocolate bar and touching the badge to make sure it’s still there.
‘Deadly serious,’ Evan says as they sit side by side on the camp log. A couple of birds squawk out of the trees above them. ‘It’s because of that brat that my mum is in hospital. He needs teaching a lesson.’ Evan’s heart thumps as fast as a bird’s.
Mac pulls an uncertain face, his pale skin almost see-through today. Evan wonders if he’s ill or something – he always seems so… so delicate these days.
‘What?’ Evan says, wondering why Mac is just staring at him.
Mac doesn’t reply, he just keeps on gazing at Evan with that… that look.
Evan grabs his pencil and begins to write. The noisy kid next door is only small and could easily be carried. Carried a long way away, he thinks, making notes. Dumped. Gone for good.
He knows the boy is about two or three years old and comes to his gran’s house next door every afternoon. She looks after him while his mother works. And every afternoon, the boy is in the garden shrieking – wailing and screaming and setting the old woman’s dog off yapping, which does his mum’s head in even more. Migraine after migraine, she’s had. Then that makes Griff angry when he comes in from the bookie’s, lashing out at his mum lying in bed with a bottle of vodka in her hand when his tea’s not on the table.
His poor mum.
‘Will you help me do it?’ Evan says. ‘Get rid of that kid? He presses the sharp point of the pencil into the fleshy part of his hand until a dark globule of blood bursts out.
Mac blinks furiously as he stares at Evan. He licks his lips – as though there’s something sweet on them. Then he takes a couple of breaths before leaning towards Evan and kissing him on the lips.
For a second, Evan freezes. He doesn’t know what’s happening. Doesn’t know what the warm feeling deep inside him is – the same feeling he gets when he crushes bugs. Then he recoils, wiping the wet off his lips.
‘Stop it!’ he scowls. ‘What d’you do that for?’
Mac shrugs and looks away. Evan thinks he looks even paler, sitting there, shivering as he stares at him. Wonders if he might dissolve in the dappled sunlight that filters through the trees above them. The leaves rustle in the breeze, almost as if they’re saying shhh…
‘Just don’t tell no one you did that, right?’ Evan growls, turning back to his notepad, trying to concentrate, though the feelings inside him make it almost impossible.
Thirty-Three
Now
Jen
‘You have to go. This morning.’ I’m careful to keep my voice low but firm. It’s early, and Rhonda, Kieran and Caitlin are still asleep upstairs.
Scott stares at me, an empty, vacant look that could mean anything – that he’s about to lean in and kiss me, or grab me by the throat and throttle me. I retreat to the other side of the kitchen, near where I keep the knives.
‘I’ve had enough,’ I say. ‘Things are difficult for me right now.’
‘Do you still not understand?’ Scott says. Two slices of toast suddenly pop up behind me, making me jump. He smiles. ‘Nervous?’
‘You can’t stay because… I’m selling the barn.’ It’s a lie, of course, but might make him go.
‘No you’re not,’ he says. ‘And even if you were, I’d come with you.’ His eyes drop down to my stomach. ‘We’re a family now.’
‘No, Scott, we’re not. Surely you have relatives to stay with? Somewhere else to go?’
‘Sadly, I don’t. There’s no one to miss me… no parents, no siblings in contact, no uncles, aunts or even friends.’ He says it as though it’s something to be proud of.
‘Then go back to wherever you came from, Scott. Go and get another job there.’
It was the first thing he announced to me when I came downstairs ten minutes ago, my robe wrapped tightly around me as I padded through my house barefoot – the house that doesn’t feel like mine any more. ‘My job at the restaurant hasn’t worked out.’
‘What?’ I’d shrieked, clapping my hand over my mouth.
First his house falls through and now his job. Then he’d blustered his way through excuses about the owner of the restaurant having financial problems, delays to the renovations and opening. None of it sounded real or plausible. Made me wonder if there was even a job in the first place.
I glance behind him. Lying on the worktop is his phone. If only I could get access to it, delete all the photos… then I’d be free. But it’s as if he’s read my mind.
‘They’re all saved on a USB stick too,’ he says, an annoying smile spreading wide on his face. ‘So go ahead, delete them off my phone if you wish.’ He reaches for it and holds it out to me, laughing now.
I turn my head away, hugging my arms around myself.
‘Let me make you a coffee,’ I hear hi
m say. ‘And some toast. You’ll feel better then. Your blood sugar must be low, that’s why you’re behaving like this. I need to look after you and our little one.’ When I don’t take his phone, he puts it down again.
I screw up my eyes, stifling the tears. All I can see is Jeremy standing over me, large as life, his arm outstretched as he also held out his phone to me.
‘You’re tired, Jen,’ he’d kept saying that weekend a few weeks before Christmas. Rhonda and Chris were due over at any moment and I was busy finishing off dinner. It had become his stock answer whenever I’d brought up the ‘M’ word – Madeleine. ‘You’re working too many hours, Jen. You’re stressed. Go ahead, check my phone if it makes you feel better.’
I’d just stared at him, disbelievingly. Since the messages had come in earlier in the day, he’d been out on the quad bike in the paddock and had had several hours to delete anything incriminating.
It was yet another scene I’d caused with my ‘stress’, my ‘madness’, my ‘paranoia’ – me ruining what would have seemed, from the outside, like a perfect family weekend. Caitlin had come round at about eleven to see Kieran – though she’d been out in the paddock helping Jeremy since she arrived, while Kieran strummed on his guitar upstairs. And I’d been cooking. It relaxed me, helped me unwind before the week ahead. Rhonda and Chris were coming over later that afternoon to share the slow-cooked lamb I had in the oven.
All perfect. All just fine.
Then I’d had to go and ruin it by being stressed when I saw more texts pop up on his phone – thankfully before Caitlin had arrived, so she hadn’t witnessed my meltdown. They were from ‘M’ again, of course.
I love you, M xxx
* * *
You OK? Miss you xxx
* * *
The Trapped Wife: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller with a mind-blowing twist Page 21
