"I've-left-Simon-and-I'vegotnowheretolive." My words spewed forth in a rush.
Mum shoved us both sideways as she squeezed past us and left the room.
Dad took no notice of her strange behaviour. "Nonsense, lass—you can stay here. You know that."
I stepped backwards so I could see his face. "What's wrong with Mum?" I whispered.
"She's—" he sighed. "—she's got a lot on her mind lately, don’t fret."
"Like what?"
"Never mind that. I'll tell you later when you're out of these wet clothes and settled in."
"I've got no dry clothes," I cried. "I left my bag in my car and walked here in the rain, and now my sandals are ruined." The last two words were no more than a whisper as I continued to cry.
"Hey—hey! Enough of that. Now calm down and I'll run you a bath. What happened to your car, anyway?"
"It broke down outside the village," I whined as he led me from the kitchen.
Mum was coming down the stairs and she met us in the hall.
"There's a bath waiting and I left a nightie on your bed. Bring down your dirty clothes and I'll get them washed." Her voice still seemed icy cold.
She returned to the kitchen and I turned back to my dad. "What's happening, Dad? Have you two been arguing?"
"No, nothing like that—she isn't herself, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about. Now come on—up!" He nodded to the stairs and waited, hands on his hips, until I walked up them and into the bedroom.
I couldn’t understand what caused my mum to treat me this way. She would normally be overjoyed and welcome me with open arms. The supercilious attitude she greeted me with instead, confused me. Could she be punishing me because I hadn't been to visit in a while?
I was suddenly overcome with guilt, having only been home a handful of times in the six years since moving to Manchester. I knew I'd neglected them, being too wrapped up with my own life to spare a thought for them. The only time I called was when I wanted something. No wonder she was angry with me.
I sat on the bed and began stripping off my wet three-quarter jeans and cerise-pink blouse while my eyes drank in the contents of the room.
I loved this room. Being in it instantly transported me back to a simpler time, when I was a young girl. All my childhood secrets had been held within its walls. Like the time I was grounded for stealing a lipstick from the supermarket with Auntie Beryl's daughter, Julie. Julie had dared me to do it and my reputation hung in the balance if I was to be in with the cool kids.
Auntie Beryl wasn't really my Auntie, but my mum's best friend, and Julie had been the most popular girl in school. My mum had been mortified that her only daughter had been caught stealing. She grounded me for a month.
From my position on the bed, I could see the words Julie is a bitch on the underneath of the headboard. I recalled how I’d scratched it out with the nib of a pen.
I stroked the autographed photograph of Ronan Keating that still took pride of place on the main wall by the bed. The centre of the image was faded where I’d kissed it almost every night for a year.
However, the bulk of my memories included Simon—my best friend. My soul-mate. And now, my soon-to-be ex-husband. All over the room were heaps of cuddly toys he'd won from Blackpool. A huge, padded valentine card, with a cute bunny rabbit on the front, gathered dust leaning up against the wall.
A strip of photographs, from the photo booth in Penrith, was jammed between the mirror and the frame of the dressing table. We were so happy back then. Simon's hair, I noticed, hadn't changed in years, yet still managed to look incredibly trendy. My hair, on the other hand, looked terribly short and my makeup garish. But we were both laughing as though we hadn’t a care in the world.
After soaking in the bath for a good half hour, my circulation returned to normal. Wrapped in towels, I padded back into the bedroom and slipped into the flannelette nightie that Mum had left out for me. I don’t know why but flannelette never failed to comfort me whenever I felt low.
I lay on the bed trying to make some sense of my messed up life. I considered phoning Lucy to see if she or Mark, Simon's best friend, had heard from him, but thought better of it. Mark would tell Simon and I didn't want him to think I cared.
In truth—I was devastated.
How would I get by without him? My heart broke to think Simon no longer felt the same.
He’d been born in the cottage next door to us, and we were best friends from as far back as either of us could remember. His parents moved to Kirkby Mayor when Simon was fourteen. However, this didn't affect our friendship—if anything it brought us closer as Simon would spend the majority of his time at ours.
We didn’t have the most traditional of marriages. No whirlwind romance or blow-your-socks-off love affair that left us both breathless. My stomach never lurched as he entered a room like you read about in books. Instead, we had a deeper, stronger connection. My dad used to joke that we were more like an old married couple than he and Mum. There was never any doubt that we would marry as soon as we left school.
But now it was over and I felt bereft.
A knock on the bedroom door brought me sharply from my daydream.
"Dinner's ready, love," Mum called, sounding more like her old self again.
Mum and Dad were deep in conversation as I entered the dining room. They spoke in hushed whispers, but I knew they were talking about me.
I cleared my throat to warn them of my presence and sat down at the table.
Mum had made my favourite—roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. My stomach growled.
"Oh, Mum, it looks delicious, thank you." I smiled tentatively.
"Just get it down you, love. You look like you could do with a little fattening up." There was no hint of her earlier attitude towards me.
Yeah right, I thought. I didn't say anything—the last thing I wanted to do was get her back up again. Instead, I nodded and heaped my plate full of roast potatoes, carrots and swede. I was in heaven. I’d almost forgotten, for a moment, that I was suffering from a broken heart—gosh, how fickle the fat girl is.
"So, tell me, what's been going on in your world?" Dad asked.
I nodded, chewing a mouth full of roast beef frantically, as my eyes pricked with tears.
"What could be so terrible, sweetheart? You two have never had a cross word since you were knee-high." He held his hand out below the table to accentuate the point.
“It's just not working, Dad. It's over."
"Mum and I have been married for thirty-one years so I feel like a bit of an expert on the subject." He leaned across the table and patted Mum's hand. "But, the longer you leave a problem, the more chance it has of festering. I nearly lost your mum once, you know? And all because we stopped communicating. You should give him a call."
"No, Dad, please don't go on."
Mum tried to change the subject. "Max, you were going to tell me who you saw in the village?"
"Oh yes, I almost forgot. Do you remember Stan and Fiona's boy, James?"
"Yes." Mum nodded.
"You mean nerdy James Dunn?" I laughed.
"That's not very kind, Geraldine. And besides, I wouldn't call him nerdy." He paused, his eyes sparkling like he had something more to add.
"Go on then. Spit it out," Mum said.
"We-ell." He paused again. "He's been away for quite a few years, as you know, but now he's back and you'll never guess ..."
"Gosh, the suspense is killing me." Mum’s voice and expression dripped with sarcasm.
Once again, this was new for my mum, and I didn't know whether to laugh or be shocked.
Dad ignored her and continued. "You know Aaron Clark—the True Crime author and private detective?" he asked.
Mum shook her head. "Never heard of him."
"I have," I said, my ears pricking up. "I read one of his books about that little boy whose parents kept him in a box, down south somewhere."
"Well, Aaron Clark is only his pen name. His real name's James
Dunn!"
"Ha!" I shrieked. "You're kidding me. Nerdy James Dunn, a private detective and famous author? He was always going to be a priest or a monk or something like that." I howled laughing. "I can't wait to tell Simon."
As soon as the words were out, I realised my mistake. My hand flew to my mouth. I'd never be able to tell Simon anything like that again. Our marriage was over.
"What's he here for?" Mum asked.
"He's investigating those recent assaults in the area with a view of writing about them. Our little old village will be famous," Dad said.
"Assaults?" I asked, swallowing the lump in my throat.
"What planet have you been living on, Geraldine?" Dad shook his head. "It's only been all over the news for weeks. I can't believe you've not heard of it."
I shrugged. "No, I haven’t."
"Four local women have been attacked and raped. Each attack is worse than the last. Kate Simpson was attacked only last week, and she was left for dead. Thankfully her son came home sick from school and found her. Saved her life, he did. It's serious, lass."
"Oh my God. Is that Kate Thatcher—she married ..." I clicked my fingers as I tried to remember.
"Yeah," Mum said. "She married Stu Simpson, but he ran off with his secretary last year. They were living in Carlisle. He left her with two kiddies to bring up, so she came back to be close to family—and now look what's happened to the poor girl."
I managed to get through the rest of dinner, and helped load the dishwasher, before making my excuses and fleeing to my room.
A short time later my bedroom door opened and I glanced up, from my position on the bed, as Mum came in.
She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed my back.
"I want to apologise for earlier, sweetheart."
"That's okay, Mum. Although, I am still puzzled by it." I rolled onto my side and reached for her hand.
"I keep getting headaches—migraines really—and they make me so very angry at everyone."
"So, I didn’t upset you?"
"Don't be silly. Of course not—it's me. Dad got me some pills from the doctor and it soon shifts."
"Is it okay if I stay here for a while?" I asked, sighing.
"I wish you'd talk to me, love. Tell me what's happened."
"I can't talk about it yet. Give me a few days to come to terms with everything and then we'll talk, I promise."
She bent and kissed the top of my head before leaving, quietly closing the door behind her.
My throat tightened painfully as swallowed back my tears. I felt broken inside. The same kind of grief I imagined I’d feel if Simon had been hit by a bus. Except, I suspected, his death would be easier to cope with. At least I'd know he wasn't out having a wild and wonderful time without me.
The worst of it was the knowledge he didn't feel the same. He'd managed to embellish our facade of a marriage with enough glitter and sparkly stuff that even I, whilst in the very thick of it, didn't notice the cracks and ugly gaping holes appearing. Simon had been canny enough to fill them up with baubles and trash. The deceit and lies flowed from his lips so easily and I fell for it each and every time.
Mum's voice trailed up the stairs. She was speaking in her posh phone voice and I wondered who on earth she would be talking to. I opened my bedroom door and strained my ears to listen.
"I'm disappointed in you, Simon. Something has happened and I hate to see Geri this unhappy. You haven't even picked up the phone to see how she is ..."
I didn't hear any more as I made too much noise thundering down the stairs, taking two at a time. When I got to the kitchen, she was just hanging up the phone.
"Mum!" I shrieked. "How the hell could you?"
"Well, somebody needs to do something. You're both acting stupid. Don't you realise how damaging this is to your marriage?"
Losing my temper, I yelled. "There is no marriage, Mum! I just told you. It's over!"
My whole body shook with sobs and I practically collapsed into a chair.
Mum stood over me stroking my head, making me feel even worse.
"He doesn't love me anymore, Mum," I whispered between sobs.
"Nonsense! He adores you—he always has. You just need to fix whatever it is that’s upsetting you both, and you'll be back to normal before you know it."
"No, Mum—you're not listening. It will never be the same again.
Chapter 2
After a restless night's sleep, I woke up early to the sound of the downstairs radio—Meatloaf singing Bat out of Hell. I thought back to the last time I'd heard it.
Driving home from one of our many days out in Blackpool, we turned the radio up full blast in our old Citroen 2CV and sang at the tops of our voices. Simon was hilarious and I remember laughing until my belly hurt. I smiled at the memory, but an acute twinge of sadness gripped at my core.
Would it be like this with every song I heard? All my memories included Simon. I wondered if he could possibly be feeling as bad as I did right now.
Everything had been wonderful, or so I thought, until just a few weeks ago.
The travel agency I'd worked in suddenly closed down, and I found myself trawling the job sites and newspapers for work. We weren't tight for money or anything—Simon had started a new job and earned plenty for both of us.
Then, right out of the blue, he suggested I take advantage of the time off and start trying for a baby. Maybe this wasn't such a strange request for most couples, but we'd never even mentioned having kids before.
A couple of friends of ours, Mark and Lucy, had recently had a baby girl, Sally. She reminded me of a little doll—so-so tiny. I had been too scared to hold her.
I’d never been the maternal type. The closest I'd ever got to caring for another living creature was when we bought a gorgeous chocolate Labrador called Monty. I loved him so much when we first brought the puppy home. We bought him all the latest equipment and toys, walked him morning and evening, but he kept leaving little parcels for us all over the house. When he chewed my favourite, very expensive evening shoes, bought on a recent Paris trip, the novelty wore off pretty quickly.
One day, while I was out walking Monty in the park, a little girl and her mum asked where I'd got him from. They told me they were looking for a pup just like him. My brain was working overtime and after a minute or two I told them they could have Monty!
I did feel guilty. I suppose you could say I missed him a little, but I didn't regret it for a minute. What if I was like that with a baby? Love it when it was all shiny and new, buy top of the range baby gear and then, after the first smelly nappy or sleepless night, I want to give her away to the first person who smiles at her in the park!
However, that hadn't been my only concern.
Sex had always been a disappointment to me. Simon didn't have a very high sex drive, which frustrated me at first, but he assured me that it had nothing to do with the feelings he had for me. He'd never looked at any other woman as far as I knew, and he seemed more than happy with his lot. I had to accept this was just his way.
On the odd occasion we did attempt to make love, it was a lot of fumbling in the dark and neither of us really enjoyed it.
But the decision was made, and we began trying for a baby right away. Simon made the utmost effort to be romantic, and I thought all my dreams had come true.
How wrong I was.
"Are you awake, love? I've made you some breakfast," Mum called up the stairs, jolting me from my thoughts.
"Coming." Once again, I went down in my nightie.
Mum took one look at me and shook her head. "The mechanic dropped off your bags, so there's no excuse to mope around all day like that. It's not healthy."
"I was thinking of going back to bed for a couple of hours—I didn't sleep very well."
"Oh no you don't, young lady. I've got something I want you to help me with."
"Aw no, Mum. I don't want to see anyone." It was strange how one night spent in my old bed seemed to have knocked twenty years off m
y age, making me whine like a spoiled brat.
"You won't—don't worry."
I felt much better after eating a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, and I headed for the shower.
While I was towelling my hair, Mum poked her hand in through the bathroom door, wiggling the cordless phone at me. "Geraldine—call for you."
My stomach flipped as I gripped the phone. "What do you want?" I snapped into the receiver.
"Erm, I er, I was going to tell you what's wrong with your car, but if it's not a good time I'll call back later."
"I'm sorry." I felt my cheeks begin to burn. "I thought you were somebody else."
"Well, lady, I'm glad I'm not him is all I can say. I just wanted to let you know that I've had to order a part for your car, and it will be a few days before I’ll have it back to you."
I thanked him and hung up, my face still pulsing with the heat.
After putting on my old faithful tracksuit, I found Mum flicking through a gardening magazine at the kitchen table.
"Righty-ho, are you ready?" She closed the magazine and jumped up.
"Yep. What are we doing?" I asked warily.
"I want you to help me dig the garden; I'm shifting the veggie patch."
"Oh, that's just wonderful," I muttered under my breath.
It actually turned out to be just what I needed. I dug and dug with such gusto Mum shouted at me to stop before I encroached onto her flower beds.
By the time we'd finished I'd worked up such an appetite, and all I could think about was chocolate. It began as a brief fancy, but within five minutes it was full on craving and I just had to have some. So, while Mum was preparing coffee, I popped to the shops.
I'd just got home as Mum was answering the phone.
"Oh hi, Simon. Yes, she's right here, hold on a second, love." She handed me the phone and stood right beside me.
"Hewwo," I said, my teeth stuck together with chocolate caramel. I grabbed a tissue from the box on the telephone stand and emptied my mouth.
"I didn't hear you. Say it again." I waved my hands frantically at my mum to leave.
Embellished Deception: A Psychological Suspense Novel (The Crime Files) Page 2
