by Jess Ryder
‘Can I help?’ I ask, hovering in the doorway. I feel safer out here among the hymn books and stained glass.
‘Not really,’ says one of the women, holding up the four-pint bottle of milk. ‘Who left this out? Honestly!’ I don’t confess to the crime. Instead, I make a trip to the toilets I don’t really need, then reluctantly return to the main room.
Chris is trying to organise a game of cards, but none of the guys is taking it seriously. The place is very crowded now. There aren’t enough seats, so people are standing in huddles, jigging nervously up and down. I can’t see their faces and it’s making me feel anxious. A very tall fat man has turned up – his clothes are filthy, and his jogging bottoms are hanging below the hairy crease of his bum. The stench coming off him is so strong it makes me want to heave. His name is Pigeon and it’s clear that everyone’s giving him a wide berth. He is drunk, or high – you’re not allowed to be either if you want to use the centre, but I’ve no idea how the volunteers are going to get rid of him without a fight. This isn’t my thing, I decide, as his blotchy face leers at me from across the room.
‘Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going now,’ I tell Chris. ‘I’ve got things to do this evening, and …’
He looks up from shuffling the playing cards. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. Well, thanks anyway. I hope you’ll come back. You can see how much we need the help.’
I give a non-committal grunt. ‘See you tomorrow, then. At work.’
It’s a warm summer evening, almost dark. I decide not to walk home via the Rec; it doesn’t feel safe at this time of night. Besides, there’s a more direct route from the church to my flat, taking the road past the railway station and crossing the river by the big bridge.
I set off at a steady pace, thinking about the people I’ve met tonight and feeling grateful to a God I don’t believe in that I never sank so low. At least I have a job and somewhere to live. At least I’m alive.
No, don’t go there. Not now. Not ever.
The town centre is deathly quiet. All the shops and cafés have long since shut, and very few people are walking around. I pass a couple of men sleeping in doorways and a woman on a mobility scooter. It’s not until I’m on the main road and walking past a row of tall terraced offices that I become aware of somebody walking behind me. Their pace echoes my own; it’s as if he or she is deliberately walking to my beat.
My pulse starts to quicken, and I feel instantly sweaty. I want to turn around and see who it is, but I feel embarrassed. It’s probably just some innocent person walking home from the station, or somebody out with their dog. Except I can’t hear a dog.
I speed up a little and the person behind speeds up too. They must only be a few yards behind me; I can hear their heavy plod and laboured breathing. Could it be Pigeon? I think he was still in the room when I left, but I suppose he could have followed me out. It was really dumb of me not to check that I was alone. I swallow hard and walk a little faster, gripping my bag. My pursuer accelerates too. If it is Pigeon, the last thing I want to do is lead him to my house.
Maybe I should turn around and go back to St Saviour’s. I don’t know where Chris lives, but maybe he could walk me home. Or I could call a cab. Usually I try to avoid getting into cars, but tonight it could be the lesser of two evils.
Calm down … You don’t even know for sure that you’re being followed.
But I do. I can feel the menace.
I reach the stone bridge and am hit by the breeze of the dark river rushing beneath. This is my chance. A couple of cars speed past, then I leap into the gap and cross over to the other side of the road. With the traffic between us, I can finally turn around.
A figure is standing there, hood up, hands in trouser pockets. A slighter, shorter figure than I was imagining. Not Pigeon. Some other guy from St Saviour’s, then? It could be one of a number of people. It could even be a woman.
Could it be him? Was he there tonight? Did I miss him?
The figure turns away and leans against the bridge parapet, looking down into the water. What do they want? Are they waiting for me to cross back? I have this strong sensation that whoever it is wants to talk to me.
I lift my heels and run, almost falling as I glance back over my shoulder.
They’re still there, gazing over the wall of the bridge.
Maybe I was imagining it.
As soon as I get back to my flat, I lock and bolt the doors and fling myself onto the bed. My heart is banging against my ribcage and I’ve a painful stitch in my stomach. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been tonight. What was I thinking, going to that horrible place? Putting myself in potential danger …
Because if it was him, and he knows where to find me, he might tell. Someone would pay good money to know where I am. Money that would buy a lot of booze and drugs …
I take the photo from under the pillow and hold it to my cheek.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper, kissing her beautiful face. ‘So, so sorry.’
12
Then
Natasha
* * *
Sam’s horrible revelations had struck a blow deep inside me, and my whole body ached so much I could hardly move. The kitchen tiles felt cold and hard beneath my cheek. My eyelids were stuck together and I could taste salty tears in my mouth. How long had I been lying there?
There were noises coming from above. Emily had woken up and was calling for me. I staggered to my knees and dragged myself up the stairs, my legs feeling heavier with every step. ‘Coming, darling!’ I croaked, but my voice was so thick with crying, no sound came out. I went into her room and took her out of the cot. She looked at me crossly, as if to tell me off for not coming straight away.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Mama’s here now.’ I felt the bottom of her leggings. ‘I think we’d better change your nappy.’ I took her into the bathroom, and as usual, she fought me every inch of the way. ‘Please, Emily, be a good girl! I can’t cope with this right now,’ I pleaded, struggling to press down the sticky tapes. Her little face puckered. ‘It’s okay, darling, it’s okay, you’ve done nothing wrong. Mama just feels a bit sad, that’s all.’ I held her close, feeling her tiny heart beating fast against my chest. ‘Let’s go and have something to eat, yes?’
I carried her downstairs to the kitchen and attempted to put her in her high chair, but she kicked her legs and shook her head, so I let her sit on the floor. She needed to have her lunch, but I couldn’t think what to give her. I opened the fridge and stared at its contents. It was as if I’d forgotten what food was.
‘Mama! Mama!’ She waddled over and wrapped herself around my legs. I stroked the top of her head and she looked up at me, confused. I gulped down a fresh wave of tears and forced a smile.
‘What shall we have? A little sandwich? How about ham, you like ham, don’t you?’ I gently peeled her off and set about slicing some bread. ‘Ooh, yummy, ham sandwich, we love ham sandwiches. If you eat them all up, you can have some melty puffs, how about that?’ I prattled on, filling the air with words and trying to sound normal. But my head was spinning with a kaleidoscope of horrible images – Nick and Jen sipping champagne in their dressing gowns, kissing, lying on top of each other, having sex. Were they together right now, at this moment, fucking in a hotel room in Paris?
I felt a sharp pain and looked down to see that I’d cut my finger on the bread knife. It felt like a kind of release, and I held my hand under the cold tap. Then I checked myself. This would not do. I couldn’t go to pieces; I had to concentrate. For Emily’s sake, if nobody else’s.
‘Silly Mama,’ I said, pressing down on the cut with a piece of kitchen towel while I reached for the first aid box. It was difficult, opening the box with one hand, then unscrewing the tube of antiseptic cream. Emily was hungry and starting to get grumpy, rattling the legs of her high chair and scraping it noisily across the tiled floor. I quickly applied a plaster and went back to her sandwiches. ‘Here, do you want to come and sit at the table like a big girl?’ I
put her Peppa Pig plate down on the table. She nodded and let me help her onto a chair.
I poured her a beaker of juice and then sat opposite her, praising her every time she managed to get a piece of sandwich into her mouth. I was too churned up to eat anything myself. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball like a hedgehog and pretend none of this was happening. Or tear around the house, screaming my head off and throwing ornaments at the wall. But I couldn’t do either. I had to look after Emily and behave as if nothing was wrong, but inside I could feel parts of myself dying.
After lunch, we went into the garden. Emily trotted up and down the path, pushing Gemma Giraffe in her toy buggy, stopping every so often to rearrange the tiny blanket and kiss the top of her squeaky head. She was so loving towards that hard, plastic toy. I’d recently bought her a proper baby doll that wetted its nappy and gurgled when you pressed its tummy, but Gemma had sat in the corner of her cot from the beginning, and Emily remained forever faithful. It was more than could be said for her father, I thought grimly, as I watched her from the terrace.
How had this happened? Was it my fault – had I done something wrong? I’d tried my best to be a good wife, if that meant organising the household, caring for Emily and generally supporting my husband. I hadn’t refused to have sex. I hadn’t let myself go after Emily was born. I hadn’t moaned at him for working away or coming home late at night. I hadn’t run up huge debts on his credit card. I hadn’t cheated on him. I’d done everything I could to adapt to his lifestyle, even though it wasn’t easy for me. I’d sacrificed friendships, nearly lost my relationship with my mother. I put up with a load of shit from his family. And this was how he repaid me … A deep sense of injustice started to burn in my stomach. It was so unfair. So cruel. I didn’t deserve to be treated this way.
Or maybe I did deserve it. Maybe it was divine punishment for splitting up Nick’s marriage in the first place. I didn’t have any trouble believing that Jen had been on a mission to get Nick back, but I couldn’t understand how she’d succeeded. Nick had always said their marriage had been dead for years; that knocking me off my bike had been his salvation. I was an angel sent from God to give him another chance at happiness. Was all that just bullshit? It hadn’t felt like it. But now … everything was suddenly up in the air; every element of my life hurling through space. There was nothing certain any more, nothing I could catch and hold safe, nobody I could trust. Only my beautiful little girl.
She was sitting by the flower bed at the bottom of the garden, her fingers digging into the earth. My heart ached with love and I felt a sudden, desperate urge to cuddle her in my arms. I stood up and walked down the path, crouching next to her.
‘What have you found?’ I asked. Emily looked up at me and smiled. ‘Oh, I can see it!’ A long, pink, fleshy worm was wriggling in the soil. I picked it up and held it for her to look at, but she screwed up her nose in disgust. ‘It’s okay, it’s only a worm, like in the song. Shall we sing it? … There’s a worm at the bottom of my garden and his name is Wiggly-Woo. There’s a worm …’ I faltered. How did the rest of it go? I’d sung the rhyme a hundred times, but the words just wouldn’t come.
‘Wiggywoowoo,’ Emily said, as if trying to prompt me.
I hugged her so tightly she started to protest, but I wouldn’t let her go. ‘Mama loves you so much,’ I whispered. ‘So very, very much.’
* * *
I spent a terrible night, unable to sleep. In the darkness, the demons came, tormenting me with vile images of Nick and Jen. It was hot, and the room felt airless. I thrashed against the onslaught of thoughts surging through my brain, ranging from raw jealousy to absurd conspiracy theories. What if Jen had forced Nick to come back to her? I knew he was financially involved in her interior design company; maybe he’d committed some major fraud and she had the power to put him in prison. Was the resumption of their relationship the price he’d had to pay for her silence? It was a ridiculous theory, but in the small hours I let it take hold for a while. I couldn’t bear to see him as the willing villain, even though the truth was staring me in the face. By the morning, I felt defeated.
I got out of bed at five o’clock and went downstairs to make myself some tea and toast. I’d eaten almost nothing yesterday and my stomach was rolling with hunger. Emily was still asleep in her cot. It was a nursery day, thank God – I was going to need the morning to pull myself together. Nick was due home that evening and I had to decide what I was going to do. Just the thought of seeing him made me feel breathless and sick. What would I say to him? What if he denied it? What if he didn’t deny it? I didn’t know which would be worse. I felt so humiliated, so useless and unattractive. Why hadn’t I seen the signs and stopped it? Why had I meekly put up with Jen’s interfering and let her take him back? The two of them must think I was a complete fool. I was ashamed of my stupidity. I wanted to run away and hide, but where could I go? There wasn’t just me to consider, there was Emily.
I could only think of one person who might take us in. Mum. I would have to eat humble pie. There would be a heap of ‘I told you so’ and ‘What did you expect?’ but I reckoned I deserved it. Mum wouldn’t let me down. We’d had our problems in the past, but they all stemmed from my relationship with Nick. Now it was over, I thought, things would be easier between us.
Was that true? Was our marriage really over? I felt dizzy with panic. This couldn’t be happening, and yet I knew that it was. I drank down a large glass of cold water and tried to control my breathing.
Sounds were coming from the baby monitor. Emily had woken up. I could hear her gurgling and humming in her cot. Putting on my mask of normal, calm, happy Mama, I went upstairs.
* * *
As soon as I got back from taking Emily to nursery, I rang Mum and told her. ‘What a bastard,’ she said. ‘Not that I’m surprised. Once a cheat, always a cheat.’
The cleaner had turned up and I was hiding in the bedroom, whispering into the receiver. ‘I don’t understand it, I mean, why has he gone back to her? There was nothing wrong with our marriage, we were happy. It doesn’t make sense.’
Mum sighed heavily. ‘I’ve heard of this before – sex with the ex isn’t considered as bad as cheating with somebody new. I expect she offered it on a plate and he felt like going up for seconds. Nick’s no different to any other man out there. They’re all slaves to their pricks.’
‘Don’t say that.’
I could hear Mum drawing on her cigarette. ‘What did he say when you confronted him?’
I paused. ‘I haven’t. He’s in Paris, supposedly on business, but he might even be with her. It all feels so … so humiliating. I can’t fight Jen, she’s too strong for me. I just have to leave. Now.’
‘Hmm … That’s a really bad idea,’ she said. ‘He should be the one to go, not you.’
‘But he’s coming home tonight,’ I wailed. ‘What am I going to say? I can’t pretend everything’s okay, I can’t sleep in the same bed, knowing—’
‘Now listen to me, Natasha.’ Mum’s tone hardened. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You need to get yourself into a strong position before you do anything drastic. You can’t just walk out without a penny in your pocket. See a solicitor, get some proper advice.’
She was talking sense, but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to wait, I wanted to act now. ‘Please can we come and stay with you?’ I said, my voice small but hopeful.
Mum hesitated before replying. ‘I don’t mean to be cruel, but honestly, love, I think you need to sort yourself out first. There’s no room here, not for a kid too. I can’t afford to have the heating on all day or feed you. I’m on minimum wage, you know that.’
‘Mum, we don’t need the heating on yet, and I’ll help out.’
‘I mean it, Natasha. You’ve got be strong. Don’t be a fool, like I was. Your heart led you into this mess, but you’ll need your head to get you out.’
13
Then
Natasha
* * *
Nick messaged to say his flight from Paris was badly delayed and not to wait up. When he arrived home, shortly before midnight, I was already in bed with the lights off, pretending to be asleep. But I was wide awake, my senses on full alert like an animal sensing the approach of a predator. My heart was beating furiously, my eyes twitching beneath their lids. I tried not to shudder as he slipped under the duvet and snuggled up to me. The touch of his skin was cold and fresh, but instead of exciting me as it had done countless times before, I felt revolted. Had he really been on a business trip, or had he spent the last twenty-four hours with her?
Emily woke early, just after six, and I immediately went to see to her. I’d been awake for hours anyway, and was glad of the excuse to get up. I took her downstairs and switched on the television. One of her favourite preschool programmes was on, so I left her to watch it while I made myself a cup of tea.
The atmosphere in the house seemed altered. I felt disconnected, like a stranger staying in a luxurious holiday home, using somebody else’s possessions, pretending to live their life. I looked around at all our gadgets – the fancy food processor, the incredibly expensive juicer, the barista coffee machine, the breadmaker. All this high-end designer stuff had never been me – I’d tried to feel comfortable with it to please Nick, but at heart I was an ordinary girl from a council estate. I’d always been out of my league here, an impostor. The last few years suddenly felt like a long game of Let’s Pretend.
