The Ex-Wife

by Jess Ryder

  The detective finished writing and put down his pen. ‘Do you have any reason to suspect that Emily is in danger from her father?’

  ‘No, not at all, he’s great with her, but she belongs here, at home. Please, I need you to get her back for me.’

  He shrugged. ‘Your husband’s not breaking any law. If there’s a court order in place which he’s disobeyed, that’s a different matter, but in your case, when the marriage has only just broken down …’ Broken down. His words dug deep into my flesh.

  ‘I still don’t get it. He’s taken Emily from me. Surely I’ve a right to know where she is.’

  ‘It depends. In cases where the spouse is a victim of domestic violence, or fears for the safety of the child, then it’s important for their whereabouts to be kept confidential.’

  ‘But I’m not violent!’ I protested. A narrative was starting to form in my head. Maybe that was Nick’s game, to pretend I was a danger to Emily so he wouldn’t have to reveal where he was staying. Oh God, he must be really angry with me to go to such lengths. What on earth had Sam told him?

  ‘I’m just saying that it depends on the circumstances,’ he answered, a calming tone in his voice. ‘And obviously any accusations would have to be evidenced.’

  I glared at him. ‘So you’re saying there’s nothing you can do. You can’t track him down, you can’t make him bring her back …’

  ‘Not without a court order.’

  ‘So how do I get one of those?’

  He gave me an apologetic smile. ‘I suggest you consult a solicitor.’

  * * *

  As soon as the police left, I took the tray back to the kitchen and hurled the mugs across the tiled floor. My Bestest Mummy Ever mug smashed into several pieces, but I didn’t care, I was glad to be rid of it. Nick had bought it for me from Emily for Mother’s Day, along with a stupidly expensive silver necklace. All I’d really cared about was the card she’d made for me at nursery – a faint scribble in blue crayon she’d told me was a ‘fufferfly’. I gazed at the gallery of her drawings on the fridge door – glittery paint splodges and collages of dry pasta – and ran my fingers over her tiny handprint on a piece of pink sugar paper. I started to cry. What if everyone believed Nick’s lies, and I was never allowed to see her again? I couldn’t let that happen. If the police wouldn’t, or couldn’t, help, then I would have to help myself.

  I dialled Nick’s mobile for the umpteenth time and left another message. It was hard to keep the anger out of my voice, but I swallowed down on it, saying that I was concerned about Emily and needed to know that she was okay. ‘Please can we talk this over?’ I pleaded. ‘I don’t know how this has happened, Nick, but I think someone’s been lying to you. Whatever they said, it’s not true. Please talk to me. I just want to put things right.’

  Then I tried Sam’s number again. This time, I got a message saying it was no longer in service. What did that mean? I remembered that Nick had given Sam a phone especially for work – had Sam had to give it up? That seemed to mean he was no longer working for Nick. But Nick couldn’t drive himself, so how was he going to manage? I needed to know where they were. I needed to hear Emily’s voice. Why wouldn’t Nick just pick up the phone?

  I stared at my phone screen for what felt like hours, waiting for him to respond. Unable to stave off the need for alcohol any longer, I went to the drinks cabinet and poured myself a whisky from the cut-glass decanter. The liquid burned my throat, and sent an instant warm feeling through my veins. I knocked it back and poured another.

  Okay, so he wasn’t going to reply. Time for plan B. Feeling a little braver, I rang Nick’s office. ‘Hi, can you put me through to Johnny Bashford? It’s Natasha Warrington.’

  There was a long pause. I could sense that the receptionist had put her hand across the receiver and was whispering to somebody else in the room. After a few seconds, she put me through and Johnny, Nick’s lawyer and good friend, picked up.

  ‘Natasha! How lovely to hear from you,’ he said in a honey-coated voice. I could immediately picture him in his pinstriped suit and pink shirt with white cuffs and collar. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Not great, if I’m honest—’ I began, but he interrupted.

  ‘I’m not surprised. How’s dear Nicholas? It was such a shock when he just walked out like that. I’ve been meaning to call, but you know how it is. I’m sorry, I have been thinking about him, but—’

  ‘Are you saying he’s left his job?’

  ‘Yes, darling, surely you knew?’

  ‘No … I had no idea. When?’

  Johnny thought for a few seconds. ‘Um, about a fortnight ago. Maybe three weeks? Can’t remember exactly. I told him to go to the doctor and get some happy pills. He insisted he was fine, but we all thought he was having a nervous breakdown.’

  I told Johnny the whole story – well, most of it. He made lots of sympathetic noises but didn’t sound shocked or surprised.

  ‘Did he say anything about going away?’ I asked. ‘Any clue as to where?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. All he said was he wanted to spend more time with his family.’

  ‘Right …’ I felt myself welling up but tried to control it. ‘I’m trying to get through to Nick’s driver, Sam. His phone’s unavailable, so I need his address. I thought you might have it.’

  There was a pause. ‘No, Nick employs him directly. But even if I did have his contact details, I couldn’t give them to you. It would be a breach of our responsibilities under the Data Protection Act.’

  I felt myself bristling. ‘Don’t give me that lawyer shit. This is important. Nick’s your friend – if he is having a nervous breakdown, we need to find him, for Emily’s sake too. I think Sam probably knows where they’ve gone.’

  Another pause, longer this time. ‘I’m sorry, Natasha, but I can’t help you.’

  ‘What’s going on, Johnny? Are you in on this?’

  ‘When you find Nicholas, give him my love.’ There was a click, then silence. The bastard had put the phone down on me.

  I poured myself another whisky – I didn’t even like the stuff, but I needed something to dull the pain. It was starting to feel like everyone knew what was going on except me. But what about Jen, was she friend or foe?

  I took her business card out of my bag and rested it on the coffee table. My mind went back to that awful journey to the christening. It had been Jen’s idea for Nick to get a driver – she’d said something about some friends of hers letting go of Sam. Maybe she could get his address from them. I didn’t want to ask her for her help; it felt humiliating. But she was my only hope.

  ‘Any news?’ she said, answering my call on the first ring.

  ‘No. Nothing.’ I hugged my whisky tumbler. ‘The police came but they said they can’t do anything because Nick has parental responsibility. I’ll have to go to court.’

  She sucked her teeth. ‘That’ll cost you a bloody fortune.’

  ‘I just need to talk to him, you know, try and smooth things over.’

  ‘Of course, that’s got to be the best way. If only he’d have the decency to answer your calls.’

  ‘Look, Jen, could you do me a favour? I need Sam’s home address.’

  ‘What for?’ Her tone sounded suspicious. Immediately I thought of the L-plates that had been left on the car, her drunken accusations that Sam and I were having a fling. Had she told Nick lies about us? My brain started to spin off in a new direction. ‘What for, Natasha?’ she repeated.

  ‘Oh, er … I want to ask him if he knows where Nick and Emily are, that’s all,’ I said, keeping my voice even. ‘I thought maybe you could ask your friends, you know, who used to employ him.’

  ‘Oh, right, I see where you’re coming from. Good idea. I’ll give them a call right now and get back to you.’

  I put the phone down. I’d done all I could for the moment; now I just had to wait. My stomach was sloshing with alcohol, and I realised I hadn’t had any food since breakfast, but I was too upset to eat now. I
wandered from room to room, idly readjusting ornaments and plumping cushions. The silence was unbearable. My ears strained for sounds of Emily marching around upstairs or singing tunelessly as she played with her toys. Her empty pushchair stood in the hallway, taunting me. I ran my fingers over her all-in-one suit that was hanging on the hooks by the door – it was the cutest thing, white with snowflakes. When the bad weather comes, she’ll need that, I thought. But will she be here to wear it?

  A feeling of panic started to take hold – my chest hurt, and I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I whispered. You can’t collapse, you can’t accept defeat. You have to keep going. For Emily.

  Suddenly, my phone rang. Thinking for a split second that it was Nick, I leapt to answer it. But it was Jen on the end of the line.

  ‘That was quick,’ I said, panting. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Yup. He lives in Walthamstow. I’ll text you the details.’

  ‘Brilliant. Thanks, Jen.’ Relief flooded through me. At last there was something I could do.

  ‘When are you going to see him?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Now?’ It seemed as good a time as any.

  She made a considering noise. ‘Why don’t you leave it till first thing tomorrow morning? He’s more likely to be in.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ she said. ‘You might have more luck if there’s two of us. Girl power and all that.’

  There was no way Jen was coming with me. There were things I needed to say to Sam that I didn’t want her to hear. ‘Er, no thanks, I think I’d be better on my own, but thanks for the offer, that’s really good of you.’

  ‘Any time, sweetie, any time.’ Her tone was warm and genuine, without the edge she usually reserved for me. ‘And I really mean that. I share your pain, truly I do. I know you won’t believe it, and you have every reason to doubt me, but honestly, Natasha, I’m on your side.’

  18

  Then

  Natasha

  * * *

  It took just under an hour to get to Walthamstow. I sat on the Tube, suffocated by the thin air, my eyelids drooping in between stations. I was wrung out. Last night had been agony, the first night I’d ever been apart from Emily. Even though I knew she wasn’t in her cot, I’d stayed awake listening for her. When I eventually fell asleep, I heard her crying in my dreams. I woke up so convinced I’d heard her for real that I got out of bed and went to check. But of course the room was empty. I picked up one of her teddies and took it back to bed, cuddling it close to me, sniffing its fur for traces of my little girl.

  A female voice jolted me back into the present. ‘This is Walthamstow Central. The train terminates here.’

  As soon as I got above ground I checked my phone for messages from Nick. Nothing.

  According to Google Maps, Sam’s address was nine minutes’ walk away. I headed up the main shopping street, hardly registering my surroundings. My mind was entirely focused on Emily. I was trying to picture where she was right now and what she was doing. I had no doubt she’d be asking for me. I wondered what lies Nick was telling her to explain my absence.

  I took a side turning and walked downhill past rows of small terraced houses, my blood pressure rising as I drew nearer to my destination. I had to stop worrying about Emily and work out what I was going to say to Sam. The most important thing was to find out where Nick and Emily were. A hotel? A rented flat? Sam must have driven them there. A sudden, terrible thought occurred to me. What if he really had driven them to the airport? What if Nick had taken Emily abroad? I hadn’t checked to see if her passport was still in the desk drawer.

  I quickened my pace, feeling more and more concerned with each step. When I reached the main road, I was in such a state, I walked onto the crossing without looking and a car had to screech to a halt. The driver shook her head disapprovingly as I darted across.

  Sam’s street was ahead of me. I walked along looking for number 72. It was a pretty Edwardian terrace, the houses divided into flats, each with its own front door. On the other side of the road was a large park, lined with iron railings. I counted as I hurried along – 48, 56, 62, 70 … Number 72 was next. I drew in a deep breath as I squeezed open the gate.

  The house had that rented look. The garden was overgrown, the net curtains in the windows were tatty and grey and the front door needed a lick of paint. I pushed the bell, but it didn’t seem to be working, so I banged the knocker several times, then waited.

  Silence. I tried again, knocking as loudly as I could. I pressed my ear to the letter flap to listen for sounds of movement. Nothing. I put my face to the front bay window and tried to look through the nets. My body froze as I took in the scene.

  Apart from a dark leather sofa and a television, there was a baby bouncer and a toddler’s scooter. The place was a mess. Toys were strewn across the carpet and little T-shirts and socks were drying on a clothes rack. I backed away from the window, shaking my head. Had I got the wrong address? I checked my piece of paper against the brass figures on the front door. No, this was number 72.

  I hurried out of the gate, crossed the road and entered the park, following the snaking paths, skirting the bowling green and play area, not knowing where I was going or what I was doing; simply trying to process what I’d seen. The evidence was clear. Sam was married and had a family, at least one kid, probably two. Why had he never mentioned them? Why had he lied to me? I thought back to that awful, excruciating moment a couple of weeks earlier when he’d confessed his love.

  Come and live with me.

  I stopped for a few moments by a large pond and watched the ducks and swans swimming idly about. Sam had sounded so genuine, so nervous, as if he couldn’t hide his love for me a moment longer. I have feelings for you, Natasha. What had really been going on these past few months? Had Nick planted Sam as some kind of test of my fidelity? If so, I’d passed, surely. Yes, I’d been tempted, but only for a moment and only because I was so upset about Nick’s affair with Jen. Except Jen was insisting that Sam had made the story up. Everything seemed to lead back to Sam and his lies. But I couldn’t decide whether he was the real villain, or whether he’d been manipulated by Nick. My brain was spinning so fast with horrible possibilities, I could hardly keep my balance.

  I tried to calm down and think positive thoughts, focusing my mind on Emily. Perhaps she was playing in another park with Nick right now. I tried to imagine her chasing the pigeons, feeding the ducks, whooshing down the slide or digging in the sandpit. She loved swings, and I’d just taught her to push out her legs as she went forward and then tuck them in as she went back. I hoped she was all right and not missing me too much. I might not know where she was, but at least she wasn’t with a stranger; she was with someone who loved her as much as I did. And she adored her Dada. I had to hold on to these comforts or I would go completely mad.

  There was a café in the centre of the park and I went in to order a coffee. The place was so cluttered with buggies, I could hardly get through to the only empty table at the back. I glanced at the menu chalked on the board, reminding myself that I still hadn’t eaten properly since yesterday. Everything was apparently home-made. Most dishes seemed to involve couscous and all the cakes were gluten-free. I didn’t fancy anything, but I had to keep up my strength, so I ordered an organic flapjack to go with my flat white and took a seat.

  Groups of young mums were chatting, breastfeeding and munching croissants, all at the same time. They were similar to the crowd at Emily’s nursery, just not as well groomed or expensively dressed. And they were definitely mothers, not nannies or au pairs. As I sipped my drink and played with sticky crumbs of oats, I found myself studying the babies closely to see if any of them looked like Sam. But I couldn’t spot any likenesses, and thinking about it, this wasn’t Sam’s kind of scene. He was down-to-earth working class, not a London urbanite. I remembered joking with him about right-on mummies who would only let their children
eat cakes made of vegetables and thought ice cream was the work of the devil. We had bonded in our secret love of all-day breakfasts – he’d even taken me to his local greasy spoon for a fry-up in between driving lessons.

  All that seemed so long ago now. Had it been the lessons that had started the trouble? Had Jen spotted the L-plates and told Nick? But surely that wasn’t enough of a crime to make him leave me. I couldn’t work it out.

  The noise in the café had reached a deafening pitch – several children were crying and others were crawling under the tables. I was feeling hemmed in by the buggies and desperate for some fresh air, so I pushed my way outside and walked back to the park entrance, which was virtually opposite Sam’s house. Finding a bench under a tall horse chestnut tree, I sat down and fixed my eyes on his front door. I felt like a private investigator on surveillance. He was bound to come home eventually. I would not give up; I would wait as long as it took.

  The day was warming up and I was extremely tired. It took all my effort to stay awake, but after an hour or so, I was rewarded. Not Sam, but his wife – or girlfriend or partner, whatever – carrying a baby in a sling and pushing a little boy, who looked slightly older than Emily, in a buggy. The woman was about my age, maybe older, a bit dumpy, with limp brown hair, wearing pink leggings, trainers and a white T-shirt with a sparkly design on the back. I watched her walk up the front path and unlock the door.

  Should I try to speak to her, or would it be better to wait for Sam? I didn’t want to cause any trouble, but this was an emergency. I had to know where Emily was. This woman was a mother too – surely she’d want to help. My mouth felt dry as I left the park, crossed the road again and walked up to number 72. Sam’s wife had already gone inside, so I banged the knocker.

  She opened the door with the baby – a pudgy little girl – perched on one hip. ‘Yes?’ she said sharply, looking me up and down.