by Jane Green
The house is quiet when he gets home. He looks in on Buckley, then Tory and Annabel, and all are fast asleep.
He will surprise them with breakfast, he decides, and goes downstairs to start cooking. At the bottom of the stairs is Annabel’s bag. He passes it and shakes his head, thinking again about Kit’s accusations, how she thinks Annabel may have been looking at her bank accounts.
He pours the coffee beans into the machine, and cracks the eggs into a bowl, then glances back at the bag. If he does the unthinkable, takes a quick look, he might be able to prove to Kit, prove to himself, that her fears are unfounded, for if Annabel is up to no good, surely there will be something in her bag.
Not that Kit is likely to ever speak to him again.
He lays the strips of bacon on the griddle, and looks at the bag again, then walks over. He can see some papers stuffed at the bottom. They are peeking out from just below her passport.
He stands over the bag and looks up the stairs. He can’t hear anything. And if she were to come downstairs and see him looking, he could just tell her that—well, he was removing her passport to put it somewhere safe. Everyone knows you don’t carry your passport in your bag.
He is simply looking after her, making sure nothing happens to her. He stops breathing, listens intently for any noises upstairs, but there is nothing. He reaches down into her bag and pulls out her passport and wallet.
First her wallet. Nothing there that is interesting. His heart pounds as he pulls out a few credit cards. Her UK driving license. All is as it should be. Annabel Plowman. He shakes his head. He can’t believe Kit. Will have to phone her later and tell her that, as he suspected, her mother is nuts.
And then her passport. Burgundy. He flicks through to the picture page. There, as he thought, is a picture of Annabel looking just as beautiful as she always does. Typical. Everyone else has a passport picture that makes them look like a washed-out, unhappy criminal, but Annabel looks glowing and gorgeous. Just as she is.
He reaches down and pulls out a sheaf of papers, and as he opens them he has to focus properly to understand what he is seeing. There are printed statements of a bank account and two credit cards.
Not Annabel’s bank account and credit cards.
Kit’s.
Oh Christ. He didn’t expect this. Instantly, he knows Kit is right. Annabel cannot be trusted.
Annabel yawns as she comes into the kitchen, and she puts her arms around Adam, leaning her head against his back, but he stiffens.
“What’s the matter? ” she says.
He almost says, “Nothing.” But it isn’t nothing. It’s very definitely something—he just doesn’t know what to say.
“I tripped over your bag,” he says eventually. “Some things fell out.”
Annabel’s face hardens.
“What things? ”
“These, for starters.” He picks up the statements, where they have been waiting, on the kitchen counter, and lays them back on the counter. “What are you doing with Kit’s bank statements and credit card statements in your bag? ”
Annabel stares at the statements, and he can almost see her brain working furiously, trying to come up with an excuse.
“You didn’t trip over anything,” she says slowly. “You were going through my things. How dare you? ”
“How dare I? I was trying to prove to myself that Ginny was wrong, and forgive me for going through something so personal, but that doesn’t explain what the hell you are doing with Kit’s statements.”
“I have no idea how they got in there,” Annabel says defiantly. “I’ve been staying in her office and I swept some things into my bag that were on her desk. Those papers must have fallen in there by accident.”
Adam snorts. “Is that really the best you can do? ”
“No, that’s the truth.”
“I’m not stupid, Annabel. And I’m not going to give you the benefit of the doubt. What the hell are you up to? I’ve just lent you money, which I presume I won’t be seeing again, so what are you doing with her statements? ”
“I told you.” Annabel sounds more and more like a child. “I have no idea.”
“Annabel, this is a breach of trust, on every level. I can no longer trust you and, once I phone Kit, she will not be able to trust you either. You might as well tell me the truth.”
Annabel breathes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh no? I have to.”
“If you phone her,” Annabel says slowly, a glint of menace in her eye, “I’ll tell her about us. That her precious ex-husband is sleeping with her sister. I’m not joking. I will tell her, so if that’s what you want, to ruin your relationship with your ex-wife forever, fine. You go ahead.”
“First of all,” Adam’s voice is steely, “she may be my ex-wife but she’s also your sister. I’ll leave it up to you to decide which is the greater transgression. And second of all, she already knows.”
“What? ” Now Annabel is shocked.
“So frankly, Annabel, at this point I have nothing further to lose. I suggest you go upstairs to get your things, and leave this house immediately.”
“Oh shit,” Annabel whispers, as the realization of what she has caused finally hits her. “What am I going to do? ”
Adam turns away. It’s not what are you going to do, he thinks. It’s what is he going to do. He has a lifetime to make amends, and make amends he must. The guilt and shame and regret are almost unbearable, and whatever he has to do to make it up to Kit, he will.
Keeping busy is what is preventing Kit from crying. Every time she stops to think about Annabel and Adam together she starts to feel physically nauseated, and she pushes it down by cleaning, by packing up Annabel’s things, knowing that until every last trace of her is removed, she will not be able to relax.
Everything she looks at that belongs to Annabel seems tainted. Dirty. She strips Annabel’s sheets off the bed and throws them in the washing machine, pulls her clothes off the shelves and packs them unceremoniously in Annabel’s suitcase.
She finds more of her own things, jewelry, scarves, shirts, all stained and crumpled, or thrown carelessly around the room—one gold and moonstone earring, one of Kit’s favorites, is lying in the corner of the room, the other has seemingly disappeared.
She sweeps up Annabel’s stuff, removes hers, and cleans.
Get rid of her, goes over and over in her head, like a mantra. Get rid of her.
She uses Pledge on every surface to get rid of her smell, her perfume. Going into the bathroom she gets rid of the soap—even the thought of using the same soap fills her with horror. Kit doesn’t want anything in the house that will remind her of Annabel, she wants nothing that Annabel has touched.
Compulsive, perhaps. But Kit needs to do this. Needs to clean up the physical evidence in a bid to feel clean herself, for right now she feels dirty and disgusting, and furious.
Her mother was right. She stole her statements and God knows what she was going to do with them. She has checked and rechecked, but nothing has been transferred, nothing changed. But to be on the safe side, she called everyone this morning and canceled her cards, put her bank on alert for any unusual transfers.
And then there is the thought of Annabel and Adam. Again she thinks of it and shudders as she pushes the tears away.
There will be time for crying later. Right now she is furious. And there is work to be done.
Annabel pushes the door open, feeling sick. She doesn’t want to go back to Kit’s, but how can she not? Her time here is up. She thought, hoped, that Adam would rescue her, that he would step in and look after her, stand up for her, but the Adam that walked back into the house this morning was a stranger.
He wanted nothing to do with her. She saw his guilt, every time he looked at her, and nothing she said, whispering furiously so Tory wouldn’t hear, seemed to change his mind.
It was over, he said. As quickly as it started. It was a mistake, he said. One he should never have made. He didn’t know wh
at he was thinking, he said. And then he said he was sorry, and the look in his eyes told her there was no going back.
So where is she supposed to go? She came here to find a new life. A fresh start. She came here hoping to reenter her mother’s life, to have the helping hand she never had during the early years. And when she got here, she found a family she wanted, but it wasn’t enough to be the sister. She wanted to be Kit, to have what she has. She wanted Adam, the house, the kids, the security.
She wanted to belong.
Her suitcases are lined neatly by the door. She isn’t surprised. It is exactly what she expected. The house is spotless. She smells beeswax and lavender and detergent, and as she stands nervously in the living room, unsure what to say, she hears Kit’s footsteps, and Kit is there, in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, body language telling Annabel that everything is closed. There is no going back.
“You packed my bags.”
“I did. I’d like you to leave immediately.”
“Can we at least talk about things? ”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m appalled at you. And more, I’m appalled at myself. That I let you into my life, and trusted you with my family, and you betrayed me in every way possible. I have no idea what you were planning to do with my financial information, but you’ll find that everything has now been changed. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I then discover you have been sleeping with my ex-husband. You make me sick, and I never want to see you again.”
Annabel, defensive when she walked in, starts to crumple in the face of Kit’s cold fury. There is nothing she can say. No excuses she can think of. Only that she had an opportunity, and she has fucked it up more than she ever would have believed possible.
“I’m sorry,” she says finally.
“I realize that. I realize you’re sorry now. I think you spend your life treading on people, and then saying sorry, and expecting the apology to make everything fine. I opened my life to you. I opened my home, my family, and you have exploited and abused me.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Annabel says. “This was never what I intended.”
“I don’t really care whether you meant to or not. When you slept with the father of my children, you betrayed me, and hurt me beyond measure.”
“But . . . he’s your ex-husband,” Annabel attempts. “I thought it was over. You have Steve. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“Nobody could think that sleeping with Adam, ex or not, is right, or appropriate. And frankly, I’m not that interested in even discussing it with you. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that it has to end like this.”
“But what does that mean? End? You’re my sister,” Annabel pleads.
“A few weeks ago I didn’t have a sister. Right now, I wish I still didn’t.”
“Please let’s talk about this?” Annabel’s face flushes. She hasn’t realized how much she cares, how unprepared she is for this rejection.
“I can’t,” Kit says. “Not now. I’m not saying never. Maybe in time we can talk, but right now I just need to regroup. I ordered a car for you.”
“But where am I going to go? ”
“I have no idea. There are a number of flights out of Kennedy this evening. I’d suggest you make some phone calls on your way to the airport.”
“So . . . that’s it? ” There is panic in Annabel’s voice but Kit ignores it.
“For now. Please give me your key.” And she holds her hand out, only realizing, as Annabel places the key in her palm, that both of their hands are shaking like leaves.
Chapter Twenty-eight
For other people, Robert McClore might look like the perfect exit route. Just as, once upon a time, Richard Stonehill had appeared to be the perfect exit route.
She had got away from Jed for a while. Had planned on staying away. And befriending him on Facebook after she moved to Highfield turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life.
When he first came back, he vowed things would be different. Everything was different, he said. She had a business, his business venture was going well, he was happy now, he’d never hurt her.
He’d been in therapy, he said. Had got help with his problem. He’d never lift a finger to her again.
For months things were wonderful. As they had been right at the very beginning, when they’d met, when she’d been little more than a child. He said he’d turned over a new leaf, no more crime, no more scheming, no more abuse—although he never called it abuse. He said he hated himself for raising a hand to her, but that it was her fault for making him so crazy.
That first time he did it again, she knew she couldn’t stop it. When Jed was nice, he was the greatest man she’d ever met. But it was like watching Jekyll and Hyde. She never knew what would set him off, but he would sit simmering with fury, and there would be nothing she could do.
If she left, he’d be worse by the time she came home. Trying to calm him down seemed only to infuriate him more. It was a lose-lose situation.
After his explosions, there is none of the contrition he showed in the early days. Now he is cruel. Disdainful. Vicious. She has heard women on television say they didn’t leave bad boyfriends because they were scared of being killed by them. These days, she knows what that is like.
There have been times when she has packed her things, with pounding heart, determined that this time will be the time she will make a fresh start, but she is the one with roots in Highfield, with a business, with friends. And where would she go?
His latest scheme has got bigger and bigger. As soon as he heard Robert McClore lived in Highfield, and one of Tracy’s friends worked for him, he started to think of extortion. He just needed time to work out the details.
Tracy would seduce McClore, and he would seduce the assistant, get closer to McClore through the assistant, keep a close eye on the scheme to make sure he could deal with any unforeseen circumstances.
And then another idea, in case that didn’t work out: raising money from people Tracy loved and trusted, to open a new yoga studio in Norwalk. His plan was to disappear with the money, but the financial world collapsed, and it was back to plan A.
A part of Tracy hoped Jed would fall in love with Kit, anything to get him out of her life. Not that she would wish him on anyone, but perhaps he would be different with someone else, someone stronger, someone who would stand up to him.
Not like Tracy, who hides in the bathroom for hours at a time. She feels safe in there, but doesn’t recognize the woman she gazes at in the mirror. When did she lose her self ? When did she become such a victim? So weak? How did she ever allow this to happen, particularly when she had known, as she watched her father hit her mother, that she wouldn’t have stood for it, had known that if she were her mother she would have left?
Oh the innocence of childhood.
If there is anything good to have come of this, some small consolation, it is that Jed can’t hit her when he is with Kit, and he can’t hit her while she is at Robert McClore’s. Moving in with Robert, Tracy has said, is an integral part of her plan, and she has had something of a reprieve—until the other week, when Jed vented his fury about something inconsequential, and no one was around to stop it.
The black eye is finally fading.
And in all this mess, this violent, dysfunctional, unhappy mess, there is Robert McClore. Robert McClore, who is the only bright spot in her life, who loves her for who she is. He doesn’t seem to want her to be anyone else. For the first time ever she is accepted and adored.
And Tracy feels the same way about Robert.
Edie shakes her head and tuts when she hears Steve’s voice on the answering machine.
“I still don’t like him.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Kit says with a sigh. “I don’t think he’s going to be around much longer.”
“You’ve seen the light? ”
Kit shrugs. There are so many things she’s seen recently, so many changes; and having the wrong man in her life seems pointles
s right now.
For as blissful as it is to be having sex again, the more she sees Steve, the less she feels for him, and sex with no feeling behind it, is even more depressing than having no sex at all.
She doesn’t know why she doesn’t feel more. There is no denying that he is the most handsome man she has ever been with. He is thoughtful and considerate. He goes out of his way to make her feel special. He never turns up empty-handed, and professes to adore her.
And he is quite spectacular in the sack.
But it isn’t enough. She isn’t excited about seeing him. There is an initial thrill at having landed someone with his beauty, but it doesn’t last. A few minutes in and she finds herself bored.
He hands her flowers, gifts, perfume, and she is starting to think, again ? Please, no!
The more bored she becomes, the more Steve is pursuing her.
And the more she is pursued, the more she misses Adam.
Particularly now. When her life feels more unsettled than ever before, she recognizes that Adam provides a safety and security she desperately needs. Even with his betrayal, now that Annabel has gone, now that her house is her own again—oh Lord, how much she missed the peace and quiet!—she finds herself thinking more and more about Adam.
And she is not thinking about the fact that Adam slept with Annabel. The pain of the betrayal has subsided for she understands how it happened, and why. She understands that Adam doesn’t owe her anything, and she understands how Annabel, when in charm mode, was almost irresistible. She fell for her herself.
What she thinks about, when she thinks of Adam, is the Adam that she loved. The one she loved being with, before he got so caught up in work he didn’t see her any more, didn’t hear her, didn’t appreciate her.
Loving, she realizes, is a verb. It is an act. It is not enough to say you love someone, and then forget about them, or trust a relationship will stay strong simply because you share a house or children or a life.
