by Sue Watson
‘Matt,’ I snapped, ‘will you please explain to Amber that I wasn’t pretending to be Mia’s mother?’
He slowly looked over at Amber. ‘She wasn’t,’ he sighed, which wasn’t quite the fierce support I’d hoped for, and I just left the kitchen in tears.
I’m now sitting upstairs on our bed while they both eat supper together downstairs. When did it happen that I became the one to feel isolated in my own house?
I sit here for a long time, feeling lost, hoping Matt might come upstairs and just be with me, hold me, so I didn’t feel so alone. But he doesn’t and when I hear giggling downstairs I can’t bear to think my departure hasn’t made a dent on their evening – it’s like I don’t exist here any more. It’s my house and I’m the one hiding upstairs. It’s madness – so I dry my eyes, wash my face and go downstairs. They’re still in the kitchen and, unable to face them, I wander into the sitting room, again thinking why do I feel like this in my own home?
I sit down in the lamplight, in silence; it would be cosy if Matt were in here with me, and Amber was in her own home, but the room is filled with shadows. I cough, so they know I’m here, but no one pops their head round the door to say ‘Hi Lucy’ or offer me a cup of tea, or even some supper. I can hear them chatting now. I can’t actually hear what they’re saying, but I hear the tone; it’s surprisingly easy, light, warm, flirty even, and the more I hear, the more distressed I become. No one has come to find me, not Amber to say she’s sorry for accusing me of being a bloody baby kidnapper, or Matt to reassure me I did nothing wrong. They are carrying on their evening without me. I haven’t been missed – and that hurts.
This is silly. I am in my own home and should be able to walk into each room without feeling like I’m being talked about, excluded. So I get up from the sofa, open the door and walk straight into the kitchen. Initially they aren’t aware of my presence and are sitting close, heads together over the kitchen table. She’s showing him something on her phone and I hear him say ‘You’re my everything.’ I feel like I’ve been punched in the face. What’s going on here, and when did these two ever sit so close? And, to confirm my worst suspicions, as they see me, they spring apart. The look on both their faces is identical. I’ll never forget it. The only word that can describe it is guilt.
‘Sorry to intrude,’ I say sarcastically, swishing over to the kettle, turning it on, suddenly unsure, like I’ve walked into alien territory. I have just been dealt a blow, but I’m not even sure what it is. Should I be worried?
‘We left you some pasta,’ Amber says, and I can barely look at her. How dare she behave like it’s her house, inviting me for the supper I paid for, and my husband prepared, in our house.
‘So… she’s your everything is she, Matt?’ I say, unable to stop myself. I’m standing by the kettle, leaning on the kitchen counter, trying to look strong. But I’m not, I’m quite the opposite.
‘What?’ Matt says, attempting to look surprised.
‘I heard you, just then, when I walked in and you didn’t realise I was here. You said “you’re my everything”,’ I hiss. ‘Don’t deny it, Matt…’
‘Whoa, Lucy, hang on a minute.’ Amber’s arms are suddenly in the air like she’s a referee trying to stop a fight. ‘Matt didn’t say “you’re my everything”. Why would he say that? He said “your things are everywhere”! I’m showing him photos of the place I lived in when I was in London. It was a bit of a mess, do you want to see?’ She thrusts her phone at me, and sure enough there’s a photo of a room in a house or flat or something and she’s right, it looks a mess.
I don’t know what to say. I’m not totally convinced he didn’t say it, but perhaps I did mishear.
‘You’re hearing things, Lucy.’ Amber’s laughing now, and Matt joins in and I feel so stupid. I’m feeling fragile, misheard something and overreacted. ‘Sorry, I’m just tired and… and, Amber, I’m still upset about before – you know I only signed that prescription so we could get the ear drops. I wasn’t trying to be you.’
She stands up, puts out her arms and we both walk towards each other and into a hug. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she says. ‘Matt explained everything, and I understand now… I feel bad. I’m sorry that you guys had to deal with all that on the night. Just put it down to my guilt… Forgive me?’
I nod, and smile, but I’m still pissed off with her deep down. I had explained to her, very clearly, why I’d signed her name, so why only when Matt explains it does she understand?
Later, when Matt and I are in bed together and Amber isn’t there, listening in on our marriage, I tell him how I feel.
‘Matt, this can’t go on. I need some space, and I… I feel like you and Amber are ganging up on me.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I can’t bloody please you – first you want me to be nice to her and when I am you’re funny about it. I can’t win.’ And with that he rolls over and falls asleep and I feel the chasm between us widen, knowing that as long as she’s here it will become wider and wider.
The following morning she’s up, bright and breezy, pouring orange juice and being unusually pleasant, and I just come out with it.
‘Amber, we never really talked about it – but when are you planning on going back home?’
She looks surprised, but, typical Amber, soon composes herself. ‘So… you’d like us to go?’ she says, making her face sad.
‘I… No, I don’t want you to go.’ I backtrack, hearing the implied threat that she would be taking Mia with her. ‘I mean, if you have things to do and want to spend time at yours, you could leave Mia with us a while?’
‘Oh, thanks, so you want Mia but not me,’ she says sarcastically. ‘Sorry babe, we’re a package.’ She glares at me then adds a little giggle on the end to soften it.
Then Matt appears and she goes all girly.
‘Orange juice, Matt?’ she asks, like she squeezed it herself. It’s bloody Sainsbury’s.
He’s putting toast in the toaster and she and I are now standing facing each other.
‘Lucy thinks it’s time I left here,’ she says.
‘I didn’t say it’s time, I just asked if you were planning to move back,’ I say.
‘Same thing really,’ she snaps, then fakes a sweet smile. ‘No, to be fair, Lucy, you’ve been fabulous, and you’re right, it is time. Mia and I will leave this weekend, if you don’t mind us staying a couple more days so I can pack and arrange to move?’
‘I didn’t mean… You don’t have to go now,’ I say, knowing I’ve walked right into this. I look like such a cow. Perhaps I am. I’m virtually throwing out a friend and her baby when they are at their most vulnerable, and I’m scared for Mia – not because of the stalker, but with Amber as her carer. I can’t let them go. I’d never sleep worrying about that little girl.
‘Look, forget I ever said anything. You and Mia are fine to stay as long as you like,’ I say, putting toast in next to Matt’s. He’s as helpful as usual. No support, not even a smoothing over, just deadpan, staring ahead like nothing’s happening.
‘No, Lucy, I’ve been thinking about going back for a few weeks now. We all need our space, and you need your life back. I’ll start packing today—’
‘You don’t have to start today, it’s—’
‘No worries, no worries at all,’ she says, and, picking up her glass of juice, she skips upstairs. I stand in the kitchen, helpless. I can’t believe what I’ve just done.
‘Well, looks like you got what you wanted,’ Matt says, taking a huge bite of toast.
***
Have you ever had a secret that you couldn’t tell a soul, even the person you love? I have. Mine’s a secret about a murder. I was angry, resentful, and I wanted revenge for what had been done to my life. From when I was very young I always had to destroy what I loved, from teddy bears to teenage love, to marriage. I suppose you’d say I’ve never been able to make love work. I feel guilty, of course I do, but I pay for what I did every day when I look in the mirror and see a killer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucy
Amber is preparing to leave. She’s packed her stuff and is in the sitting room when I hear her screaming. I abandon the plates in the dishwasher and rush from the kitchen to see her thrashing around, absolutely distraught. My first thought is that something has happened to Mia, and I’m petrified.
I try to touch her but she recoils, now on her haunches, crouched in the middle of the room just clutching her phone and yelling for Matt.
‘What is it? What’s happened, Amber?’ I’m now shouting so she can hear me over the noise she’s making.
‘Matt? Where’s Matt?’ she screams at me.
‘Calm down, Amber, what is it?’ I say, irritated that she’s asking for him when I’m here.
‘I can’t go through this again… I can’t!’
‘What? What?’
‘It’s HIM,’ she screams. ‘He’s been watching me…’ She drops her phone like it’s contaminated, and we both stare at it, lying there like a dormant reptile, dangerous to touch. Eventually, I pick it up; my hands shaking as I read the message.
You haven’t been home in a while. I’ve been looking for you… have you left me Amber?
Then I scroll down to see the other one, sent seconds later.
You know what will happen if you leave me, don’t you?
I don’t move. I’m paralysed, not because of the text, but because Amber is screaming for my husband, and he is diving into the room, and throwing his arms around her. He’s on the floor with her, his arms tightly round her, Amber’s head in his neck – and I can see by the way their bodies lock together easily that this isn’t the first time. As the tableau of the two of them takes shape, the truth unfolds before me, something that’s been in my home, that I’ve lived with, but have refused to see.
‘It’s fine… I’m here.’ Matt’s face is buried in her hair. He’s as shaken as she is, but not as much as I am. Matt, who’s been so absent to me, is present for Amber.
Then he looks up, seems to remember I’m here, sees the phone in my hand and holds out his hand, gesturing for me to give it to him, which I do.
He looks at the text, frowning, wrinkles folding the skin across his forehead. ‘Have you tried to press reply?’ he asks.
‘No. I have in the past when he’s called or texted, but he must have blocked my number because you can’t get through…’
He presses the callback button on the screen and then puts the phone to his ear with one hand, still holding her with his other arm. He won’t let you fall, Amber, I think, standing there, the wallflower spectator.
‘I’m getting through… I think…’ he says.
‘He’s not going to answer though, is he?’ I offer, angry at this scene in front of me and the way Matt’s trying to be a hero for Amber.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, there’s a sound, a ringing sound.
‘Is that coming from in here?’ she asks, puzzled.
Matt shakes his head and, confused, he follows the ringing sound through the door and into the kitchen, quickly followed by both of us. I’m trying to put two and two together – but it isn’t making any sense.
‘It’s coming from in there somewhere,’ he’s saying, marching towards the kitchen drawers, just as the ringing stops. ‘Shit,’ he murmurs, his forehead creasing, a look of dread on his face. I glance over at Amber, whose face is white. She seems rigid, rooted to the spot.
Matt presses the callback button again and opens a kitchen drawer, then the one next to it, desperately searching for the sound. He riffles through our memories – bottle tops, discarded gifts from Christmas crackers, champagne corks from happier times – and eventually he brings his hand out from the back of the drawer, holding a phone. It’s still ringing.
Matt’s looking at me and I think I’m about to collapse.
‘It’s your phone…’ he’s saying, holding it towards me, a look of sheer horror and confusion on his face.
It’s my lost phone. ‘What? I lost it almost a year ago. I haven’t seen it since… I don’t understand.’
They are both looking at me like they don’t know who I am. I just keep shaking my head over and over again like I can shake all this away. ‘It isn’t me… Matt, I didn’t send any texts… You have to believe me…’
‘But it’s your phone, Lucy,’ he repeats as the ringing stops and we all stare at each other in horror. ‘What’s going on, Lucy?’ he’s saying, and now Amber’s ranting about ‘malicious calls’ being illegal and accusing me of having been the stalker all along. But I don’t even acknowledge her. I can’t, I don’t know what to say, how to defend myself. I don’t know what is what any more, or who is who.
‘Hang on… Hang on…’ I say, raising my hands. ‘The text to Amber’s phone was from an anonymous number. Surely it would have said my name on your phone?’ I say, turning to her.
‘Yes, but this is the phone that sent the text,’ Matt’s saying.
‘Matt, honestly… You know I lost it, you helped me look for it. I’m sure we even looked in that drawer.’ I point feebly to the drawer like it’s a witness and will prove my innocence. ‘So why would it be there – who would put it there?’ I try not to look at her, but the implication is clear.
‘She’s changed the SIM, that’s what she’s done,’ Amber’s saying, like I’m not even there.
‘Why… why would I do that?’ I look from one to the other and see nothing in their eyes. Is this really my husband and my best friend? Are Matt and I still us? Or is it them against me now?
‘All this time, it was you, Lucy?’ she’s saying, and fresh tears are springing to her eyes. ‘I know recently we’ve had our differences, but you’re the best friend I ever had… I don’t believe it… that you’d do such a …’
‘IT WASN’T ME!’ I’m crying now, and the only way I can get my words out is to shout, to force them through my tears.
‘Lucy, why would you do this… I thought we were friends?’
‘This is fucked up,’ Matt’s saying, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know you, Lucy.’
‘It’s not ME!’ I’m yelling.
Matt is caught in the middle of all this. He looks absolutely devastated; he’s confused. Whatever’s been going on with Amber, his life has been turned upside down by me, my friend and her baby – and now this. The way he’s looking at me, holding the phone. I see a glimpse of my husband the teacher, and feel like I’ve just been caught smoking in the bike sheds. He’s waiting for an explanation and just looking at his confusion, his hurt, is hurting me too. I wish I’d never met Amber, never brought her into our lives, our home. She’s brought all this chaos and pain with her.
‘Call the police, Matt,’ she’s saying, and I see how quickly the dynamic has changed. It’s Amber and Matt against me. ‘If you don’t call the police, I will,’ she says. I can see he’s conflicted. He’s torn between the two of us – perhaps he always has been? – but despite my tears and protestations of innocence I watch as she convinces him. ‘It all makes sense now,’ she says, glaring at me, but addressing Matt. ‘She was the one making the harassing calls. She pretended to see the stalker at my house, she left the bootees when no one else knew I was pregnant. She must have left the bird too – God, it must even have been her that slashed my fucking tyres!’
Nothing is as it seems. This whole mess is about secrets we’ve kept, lies we’ve told. I wondered where it might end, but never expected this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amber
I wondered where it might end, but never expected this.
It was all so horrific. The police came, took Lucy to the station for questioning, then later that night Matt found the knife she was hiding in her wardrobe… My knife that I used to slash my own tyres, along with my missing scarf and – would you believe – my fucking pregnancy test. God alone knows what she was doing with those, and of course I’ve had to deny all knowledge of the knife.
Of course I know exactly why the knife was in my boot; as
if I’d forget something like that. It was almost a year ago now. I’d heard Ben’s wife had thrown him out, and assumed at the time it was because of his affair with me. He’d always said she knew about it, but apparently not – whatever. So I figured that the outcome would be the same whether she’d known or not – they’d get divorced and I’d get Ben. So I planned a stage-managed reunion with him. It would be easy. I’d have him eating out of my hand. I’d won him back easily before, but always had to be clever about it. I know him well and he doesn’t like to be chased, it turns him off. I had to find a way to be alone with him, so he wouldn’t be able to resist me and would think it was all his idea. I came up with this brilliant idea to go to work, park my car close to his at the TV studio and, avoiding all of the CCTV cameras, I would discreetly slash my tyre. I could use one of my Sabatier kitchen knives, then hide it in my boot and go and do my shift. Later, Ben would leave around the same time as me, when I’d ‘discover’ the slashed tyre. He’d ‘discover’ the damsel in distress and think my stalker was up to his old tricks, and his ever-ready testosterone would start pumping. I’d shed a tear, he’d feel all manly and rescue me, and we’d fall into each other’s arms – the fucking end.
So I was at my car, standing there, so ready, with an extra waft of perfume, a slick of lip gloss, looking shocked, abandoned – and fabulous. Everything had, so far, gone to plan: the tyre had been successfully slashed earlier, and now he was walking into the car park at the end of the evening bulletin. The timing couldn’t have been any better, and I wanted to give myself a high five as I turned discreetly to see him weaving between the rows of cars towards me. As he came closer, I started the ‘Oh my God, look what he’s done now!’ scenario, which involved me gasping in horror and looking forlorn. I did this with gusto, like a bloody method actor on speed, but when after several minutes he didn’t appear at my side with a tyre-changing kit in hand, and lust in his eyes, I stopped my street performance.
