by Jess Ryder
It was true. The last fifteen months had been agony. I’d felt so upset and angry and downright jealous that I’d just wanted to run away. But Hayley insisted that would be the wrong tactic. ‘You’ve got to be in the bitch’s face all the time, so she feels like she can’t shake you off. But don’t be horrible. Be sweet to Emily and patient with Nicky. Let him know you’re suffering but that you forgive him. Then, when he’s had enough of the little madam, you’ll be there waiting for him.’ Could it be that all the sacrifices were finally paying off?
‘We all love you,’ I said, caressing his chest and playing with the buttons on his shirt. ‘We forgave you because of Emily. She’s a little miracle.’
‘She should have been your baby, not Natasha’s,’ he replied, and there was a strange bitterness in his voice. ‘We tried so hard, we wanted her so much. We deserved her.’
‘I know, but it wasn’t meant to be.’
He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. ‘She’s in the wrong family. I’m in the wrong family. It should be the three of us, Jen. You, me and Emily. That’s what I want.’
‘It’s what I want too,’ I said, putting my arms around his neck. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’
Nicky stood up and turned around to face me. He was breathing fast, and his eyes were alight. ‘So what’s stopping us?’ he said. I stood up too and we kissed, long and lingeringly. His lips tasted familiar and yet shockingly exciting. I felt a punch in the stomach as my old passion for him flared. He pulled off my kimono and buried his face in my naked breasts, then we fell awkwardly to the floor and …
‘Mama? Mama?’ Emily was rattling the door handle. I looked up from my reverie and sighed. She was probably hungry and needed some lunch.
‘Okay, okay.’ I got to my feet and let her out. She ran onto the landing. ‘Mind the stairs!’ I shouted, sprinting after her, but she was already shuffling down on her bottom.
I herded her into the kitchen and shut the door behind us. ‘Shall I get you a little something to eat?’
She shook her head. ‘Mama! Where Mama?’
‘She’s busy,’ I said, stupidly. I didn’t know what else to say.
‘Dada?’
‘He’s asleep.’ I put my hands together and rested them on the side of my face. She copied my gesture. ‘That’s right. Shh … We’ve got to be quiet, mustn’t wake him.’ That seemed to satisfy her for the time being. I went to the fridge and found a little tub of strawberry fromage frais. ‘Come and sit up. I’ll get you a spoon.’
She climbed onto the chair while I tore off the lid. I handed her a teaspoon and she attempted to feed herself, but very little of it reached her mouth. I ripped off a piece of kitchen towel and tried to wipe her dirty chin, but she shoved me off. There were splashes of fromage frais all down her top.
The reality of the situation was starting to dawn on me. There was no way we could go home, not today, at least. Nicky would never cope with the long journey. I was worried that he was suffering from concussion. What if there was bleeding on the brain? I cursed myself for not calling an ambulance, even though he would have been furious with me.
Where was Natasha? Clearly there’d been a fight. She could be injured too. It suddenly occurred to me that she must have taken the Range Rover – that was why I hadn’t seen it outside the house. Had she managed to drive to the nearest police station? My heart fluttered in panic. If so, we were sitting ducks. There could be a knock on the door at any moment. I had to talk to Nicky, find out what had happened and what he wanted to do next. It seemed obvious to me that we needed to find somewhere else to stay.
I sneaked out of the kitchen and went to check on him. He was fast asleep, mouth open in an ugly gape. His face looked bulbous and deformed – even when the wounds had healed and the swelling gone down, he would never look as handsome again. I didn’t want to disturb him, so I crept out and returned to Emily.
She’d eaten what she wanted and was now playing with the pot, balancing it on her nose, then nodding her head so that it flew across the table. Her face, hands and the table surface were covered in pink slimy goo.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ I shouted, reaching for the kitchen towel again. Before I could get to her, she wiped her hands all over the chair cushion. ‘No, don’t do that!’ She stared up at me and her bottom lip started to quiver.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,’ I said as I tried to clean her up. ‘Mummy shouldn’t swear.’
Her huge blue eyes filled up with tears. ‘No. No. Mama! Where Mama?’
I hugged her close to me. ‘I’ll get better at this,’ I whispered. ‘Promise.’
33
Then
Natasha
* * *
The following day, Mum drove me to north London and we parked on a meter near Jen’s apartment block. There was no sign of her silver Mazda on the forecourt, but I keyed in her number to the entry system all the same. There was no answer.
‘Try the neighbours,’ suggested Mum. ‘They might know where she is.’
I rang all the flats on the third floor. Only one person answered the intercom, and when I asked him about Jennifer Warrington, he gave me short shrift, as if I was a con artist or from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. He professed that he’d never heard of her.
Mum peered through the double entrance doors into the marble-floored foyer. ‘Looks very fancy. Do they have a concierge?’
‘I don’t know, don’t think so. Nobody’s going to help us, Mum, it’s not that kind of place.’
‘Oh well, we tried …’ We walked back to the car. ‘Did Nick buy the apartment for her?’
‘Um, I don’t know. Possibly.’
She couldn’t help herself from tutting. ‘You don’t know anything about his affairs, do you? You were a real dupe, Natasha … let him walk all over you.’
‘Not in the end I didn’t,’ I replied, feeling the weight of the oar in my hand, picturing his bloodied face as he staggered backwards into the lake. I didn’t know whether I’d killed him, but he felt dead to me. Part of me was glad, because I’d finally stood up to him. But another part of me was terrified. When would I be found out? When would the police turn up and arrest me?
‘We should try the house next,’ said Mum, getting into the car and putting on her seat belt. ‘I don’t imagine she’d have the nerve to go there, but you never know.’
I felt uneasy about going back because I knew it would evoke difficult memories. Also, the police might come looking for me there. Then again, if they wanted to find me, it wouldn’t be difficult. I would confess, I’d decided, but argue for self-defence.
‘How far is it?’ pressed Mum. ‘Walkable?’
I nodded. Mum had never once visited me, and in truth, I’d been embarrassed to invite her. ‘Just about, but let’s take the car.’
As we drove the short distance, I thought back to the fateful day of my bike accident, cursing myself for not checking that my way across the junction was clear, for agreeing to go back to Nick’s place, for allowing him to take me to dinner, for meeting up with him again and again. For falling madly in love. There had been so many times when I could have – should have – pulled back. I’d known what I was doing was wrong, but he’d been so persuasive, I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
We reached the house and I directed Mum to pull up on the paved driveway. ‘This is it,’ I said. The place seemed strangely neglected; The driveway needed sweeping and the wheelie bins hadn’t been put back in their correct place. I looked up at the windows and they stared back at me coldly.
‘Oh my God, it’s a frigging mansion,’ Mum said, turning off the engine.
‘Not quite. It’s got five bedrooms, but compared to some of the other houses in the road …’
‘It’s mind-boggling. To think you lived here for … How long was it?’
‘Nearly three years.’ I choked as I remembered that it would be Emily’s second birthday in a couple of weeks’ time. What were the chances of getting her back by then? Very
slim, I thought. I didn’t have a clue where she was.
We got out of the car and peered through the letter box. A pile of mail – some of it no doubt addressed to me – and leaflets from local takeaways were lying on the door mat. It looked as if nobody had been back since the locks had been changed.
Mum cupped her hand over her eyes and squinted into the front room. ‘Very posh,’ she said. ‘Big garden?’
‘Pretty big.’ A memory flashed before me – Emily pushing Gemma Giraffe in the baby buggy up and down the path, stopping to rearrange her blanket and talking to her in funny made-up language. I started to cry. ‘Let’s go,’ I said.
We got back into the car. As Mum pulled out of the driveway, I wondered whether that was the last time I would see the place. I had no desire to return, not even to collect my things. That part of my life was dead. My husband was dead. I’d killed him.
* * *
Over the next week, Mum and I obsessively scoured the internet for reports of Nick’s murder, but there was nothing. Surely if he was reported missing, the police would want to talk to me, as his wife if nothing else. Were they trying to track me down? The tension was unbearable, and I was constantly on high alert. Every time a car pulled up in the street outside the house, I was sure it was a patrol vehicle and they were coming to arrest me. If I heard someone walking up the front path, my heart would bolt like a frightened horse, and when the postman rang the doorbell, I nearly fainted. My nerves were shot to pieces. I couldn’t sleep without having violent nightmares in which I relived my attack on Nick over and over again. Mum had to wake me up several times to stop me screaming.
Food didn’t interest me. I stopped washing and didn’t want to leave the house. It felt disrespectful to Emily to engage in everyday actions. If I couldn’t be with her, I would do nothing. Mum tried her best to keep my spirits up. She cooked my favourite childhood meals – macaroni cheese and apple crumble – to tempt me to eat, but I couldn’t manage more than a few mouthfuls. She bought me a new phone and arranged for my old number to be transferred. ‘Just in case Jen tries to get in touch,’ she said. As if … But the only person to call was the woman who ran Small Wonders, asking me if Emily was coming back. There was a waiting list, apparently, and she needed to know one way or another by the end of the month. I burst into tears and slammed the phone down.
Mum could see that I was becoming agoraphobic. Before she left for her shifts, she would give me some small errand to run – a letter to post, a pint of milk to buy. Most days, I ignored the notes she left for me on the kitchen table and stayed in my room, but she wouldn’t give up.
I couldn’t believe how time was passing so quickly. I measured my life by Emily’s daily routine, even though I’d always struggled to stick to it properly. I watched the clock constantly, playing out a monologue in my head. She would be ready for her mid-morning snack now. She must be due for a nappy change. She needed to take her afternoon nap by two at the latest or she would get out of sync and wake up during the night. I imagined reading her bedtime stories or playing with her pirate boat in the bath. I worried that she was growing out of her shoes. My own life passed by unnoticed. It was irrelevant, a luxury I could do without.
It was a Wednesday – two and a half weeks since I’d attacked Nick and lost Emily. I didn’t come downstairs until gone midday. As usual, there was a note from Mum lying on the table, scrawled on the back of an envelope. Please pick up some emergency statins from the chemist. I have run out. Very important. She had underlined the last two words several times. Was missing one day of statins a matter of life and death? I didn’t think so. I took it as yet another desperate tactic to make me leave the house. But ignoring her request would make me feel bad. She had been wonderful to me; picking up her drugs was the least I could do in return.
I gave my face a quick wash and dragged on some vaguely clean clothes, then left the house without glancing once in the mirror and trudged to the parade of local shops. The weather had cooled without my realising, and my feet felt chilly in my flip-flops. I hugged my arms across my chest, clutching the ten-pound note Mum had left for her prescription.
As I rounded the corner, I saw a familiar figure sitting on a garden wall. He was hunched over his phone, tapping his outstretched foot in time to a silent beat. What the hell was he doing here? I was about to turn around and run in the opposite direction when he lifted his head and saw me.
‘Natasha,’ he said. ‘Thank God I’ve found you.’
It was Sam.
He stood up and walked towards me. I wanted to escape, but I was frozen to the spot.
‘What are you doing here?’ My words were sharp enough to cut.
‘I wanted to see you,’ he replied. ‘I went to the house, but it was all shut up. I guessed maybe you’d gone to your mum’s, but I didn’t know the exact address, just remembered it was somewhere nearby. This is my third day sitting here, waiting and hoping you’d turn up.’
‘Why didn’t you phone?’
He hesitated. ‘I reckoned you wouldn’t want to see me.’
‘Too right. So why—’
‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s a long story …’
I’d had enough of stories. ‘Who sent you?’ I said. ‘Jen, I suppose.’
‘Jen?’ He pulled a puzzled face.
‘Don’t bullshit me, Sam. If you’ve got a message for me, just spit it out.’
‘Honest, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen her, or Nick, for weeks. Not since I got the boot.’
My breathing quickened. ‘You told Nick I was going to leave him; you helped him move out.’
‘I didn’t, I swear.’ He looked down at his trainers. They were scruffy and worn. Now that we were standing face to face, I could see that his cheeks were sunken, and he was unshaven. The cheeky glint had vanished from his eyes. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you,’ he mumbled. ‘Can we talk?’
* * *
We went to the Duke of York pub and sat at a table outside in the sunshine. While Sam was at the bar, I tried to gather my thoughts. Why was he really here? What did he want? I needed to be careful. Even if he was genuine and Jen hadn’t sent him to spy on me, it was important not to admit to anything. I was finally learning not to be so trusting, but it had taken a long time and the price I’d paid had been too high.
He emerged carrying a pint and a glass of sparkling water. He set them down on the rickety table and joined me on the bench.
‘Cheers,’ he said automatically, raising his glass. I gave him a weak smile, and there was a long pause while he sipped his beer and I pretended to watch the passers-by.
‘So, what is it you wanted to talk about?’ I said at last.
He wiped the foam from his mouth. ‘I let you down … I should have been there to help you. But your husband said if I ever got in touch with you again …’
‘He’d do what?’
‘He didn’t say exactly, but I could tell he was serious. I didn’t want to take any chances. I’ve had enough trouble in my life without getting involved with psychos.’
‘You think Nick’s a psycho?’ I made sure I used the present tense.
Sam shrugged. ‘He’s scary enough. Put me up against a wall, nearly strangled me. I tried to tell him nothing had happened between us, but he said I was lying, he had proof. I shouldn’t have run away, shouldn’t have left you with him. I’ve been worrying myself sick thinking about what he might have done to you.’
Was this just a story, invented to make me think he hated Nick and was on my side? Jen had used exactly the same tactic. She was a more skilful performer than Sam, though. He seemed very uncomfortable – not looking me in the eye, twisting his fingers under the table. But then again, his nervousness could be interpreted either way.
‘Nick took Emily,’ I said finally. ‘There’s nothing worse he could have done to me.’
Sam looked up; he seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Oh shit, Natasha … Oh God … Where’s he taken her?’
&n
bsp; I hesitated before replying. ‘I don’t know. Jen’s with them too. They’re back together.’
‘That’s terrible,’ he said. ‘Are you taking him to court?’
‘Can’t afford it.’
‘Oh … I wish I could help out, really, but all I’ve got is a load of debt. I’m not working at the moment and—’
‘You’ve got a wife and two kids to look after,’ I finished for him. He looked at me in astonishment. ‘I went to your flat, Sam. I wanted to see if you knew where Nick had gone. Your wife answered the door.’
He shook his head. ‘No, no, that was my sister. The kids are my nephew and niece.’ He caught my sceptical look. ‘I’m telling you God’s truth, Natasha. Casey’s a single mum. She took me in when I was in a bad way. I had nowhere else to go and she gave me another chance.’ He got out his phone. ‘Ring her, please, ask her yourself.’
I gestured at him to put the phone away. ‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’ I said. ‘All those hours we spent together in the car. Why keep it a secret?’
He frowned into his beer. ‘I was embarrassed. Kipping down on my sister’s sofa, at my age …’
I was so tired of all the lying, I wanted to believe him. But if he’d been working for Nick and Jen all this time, then I could be walking into another trap.
‘So what are you going to do about Emily?’ he said. ‘Are you going to go through the courts?’
So this is why he’s here, I thought. This is the nub of it.
I fixed him with a stare. ‘Oh, I’ll get her back somehow. I don’t care what it takes.’
‘Let me help you,’ he said, leaning forward and reaching for my hand. I tucked it under the table just in time. ‘We’ll do it together.’
‘Yeah, right.’ A bitter laugh escaped from my mouth. ‘I’ve been caught out that way before, Sam. I may have been stupid in the past, but I’m not going to fall for it a second time, thanks.’
