by Dawn Goodwin
‘Careful, Felicity, don’t go there…’
‘What? Don’t want to hear the truth after all? About how much he enjoyed it, how many times he told me he loved me?’
‘He has never loved you. He ended it with you!’
‘You can believe that if you want. We were going to come clean with you and Ian, start a new life together, but then your stupid brat of a child went and got herself run over.’
I could feel my fists clenching and my jaw stiffen.
‘At first, I was annoyed – terrible timing – and the guilt was ruining Tom. But then I realised that her dying was a blessing in disguise. She was always such a people-pleaser, wasn’t she? She did me quite a favour. I guess you could call it collateral damage because once the shock had worn off, Tom started calling me again, crying on my shoulder, asking to meet up.’
Her mouth was a snarl and I could feel her spittle on my face. I didn’t want to hear the words, but needed to all the same.
‘You were shutting him out, so I let him in. He just needed a little more encouragement, that’s all, something to help him see that we should’ve been together all along, that I’m better for him. And what better incentive than if your wife is slowly losing her marbles?’
There it was. The dots connected in my head, all the strange coincidences and little reminders. I felt cold and hot simultaneously, shivery but feverish as I realised how deep her obsession ran, how she had just been biding her time.
‘It was you.’
‘The little messages from the dead? Yeah, I thought that was quite clever of me.’ Her smile was villainous. ‘To be honest, it wasn’t planned. I should thank you really. You gave me the idea originally. That day in the shoe shop. I’d been carrying that stupid dummy around for weeks after I found it down the back of Tabby’s bed one day. I was actually going to give it to Tom as a memento or something, thinking it would maybe bring on another one of his needy episodes, but there you were, floundering around on the floor, like a bag lady with your stained top and unbrushed hair. I was ashamed of you. I should’ve taken a photo to show Tom what his perfect doctor’s wife had turned into.’ She shrugged casually. ‘But instead I shoved the dummy in your bag when I was helping you up, knowing you’d find it eventually. Imagine how chuffed I was when I saw you pull it from your bag in the coffee shop! You didn’t quite react how I wanted you to then – there was no wailing or anything, still too polite for that – but you looked like you’d seen a ghost, excuse the pun.’
My fingers itched to scratch her eyes out as I listened to the vitriol spilling from her acid tongue.
‘I knew I needed to push a little harder, so I left a message on the music teacher’s answer machine. Remember how you used to moan about that piano waiting list? The photo tossed into your gym bag, the Facebook page, the flowers, all easy to explain as you losing your mind. Even writing Grace’s name in the shower – Tom should’ve asked for his house key back really. You two look so peaceful when you’re sleeping.’
I felt like a cold hand had reached up, grabbed me by the throat and was slowly asphyxiating me.
‘All I needed was to nudge you towards the edge of the cliff, then stand back and watch you fall while I comforted Tom and picked up the pieces for him. And you were so close to the edge, weren’t you?’
My voice was menacing. ‘But I didn’t fall, Felicity. I survived. You didn’t win.’ Then another thought struck me hard, like a body blow. ‘Zara.’
‘What about her?’
‘It was you she was trying to warn me about.’ I scratched around in my memory, trying to remember what she had said. ‘She said she was with you when she fell into the street.’ I was struggling to comprehend the dark depths to which she had been willing to go.
‘She was far too interested in my relationship with Tom, threatened to speak to you about it. Now there’s a proper friend, not like me,’ she sneered. ‘I have to say, she surprised me. I didn’t know she cared that much about you. But then, it didn’t take much to frighten her off, just a nudge… literally. Now look at you: your friends have all abandoned you, your husband is staying with you out of pity and your daughter is dead.’
Enough. An animal growl emanated from deep inside my guts and I threw myself at her, my fingers like claws reaching for her eyes. I felt my nails connect with her skin before strong arms clamped around me and I was pulled back, still scratching and growling.
‘She’s not worth it, Ron! Stop!’
Tom held me tight against him while I writhed and thrashed. Felicity was cowering on the carpet, holding her hands to her face. Standing in the doorway, looking ashen, was Ian, his hands hanging by his sides, the leafblower lying absurdly at his feet, now returned to its rightful owner.
Seeing his face, the fight in me evaporated and I slumped against Tom.
Felicity peeped from behind her fingers, then launched at her husband, weeping dramatically. ‘She attacked me, Ian. Keep her away from me. She’s crazy.’
Tom looked at her in disgust. ‘You’re the crazy one. Sick in the head. We heard every word.’
‘How could you, Felicity?’ Ian looked shell-shocked. ‘Not just Tom, but how could you be so sick that you would torture your friend like that? Has she not had enough to deal with? And Zara? Bloody hell, I don’t know you at all, do I?’ He turned to leave the room.
Felicity wore a grotesque mask of rage, accentuated by the beads of blood forming along the deep scratch lines on her cheek.
‘Jealousy has made you ugly, Felicity,’ Tom said, then turned to me, his arms reaching out. ‘Come on, enough now. Let’s go home.’
‘At least I’ve still got my Tabitha.’ Her voice was glacial.
I stopped. ‘You must be so proud of her. Do you know that she knew about you and Tom? That she was taunting Grace with it? Does that not worry you – what she’s turning into? A manipulating bully?’
‘If she was enjoying tormenting Grace as much as I’ve enjoyed tormenting you, then yes, I am proud of her – a chip off the old block.’
All at once, I heard Scarlet’s voice again, shouting incredulously in my ear, defending me still. ‘How dare she? Are you really letting her off this easy? She’s made you question everything about yourself, from your parenting skills to your sanity. She’s praised her bullying little shit of a daughter for tormenting Grace, she even tried to kill your friend and you’re just going to tell her off and leave?’
I saw a flash of red hair and heard an animal snarl before my hand was propelled onto the bronze cast on the coffee table and it was pitched with force at Felicity’s smug face.
Epilogue
Veronica
The bath water was frigid, but still I sat with my knees drawn up and my arms clasping them tightly to my chest. Goosebumps stood to attention on every patch of exposed skin.
‘Ron, are you okay?’ Tom called through the locked door. He had taken to checking up on me constantly since our mutual confessional. A few weeks had passed and everything and nothing had changed. The house next door was up for sale. Ian had sold his company and was moving with Tabitha back to his hometown to live closer to his family; and Felicity was in hiding apparently, licking her wounds. Ian had made it clear he wanted her to have nothing to do with Tabitha after he’d come to realise that Felicity’s acidity was rubbing off on their impressionable daughter. Rumour has it the large scar on Felicity’s face from where the bronze cast struck her will never fade completely. Ian had convinced us not to get the police involved and besides, there was very little evidence of any wrongdoing on her part. No one was certain where exactly she was and I still looked over my shoulder now and again when a cold wind blew over me.
Tom and I were also taking baby steps forward. I couldn’t blame him for handling me with kid gloves. He thought Scarlet was gone, but she was currently sitting on the closed toilet lid, listening to me voice my fears of what lay ahead.
‘We’ll need to leave soon,’ he called again.
‘I’ll be out in a
minute,’ I called back in clipped tones.
Scarlet raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s just worried.’
‘I know, but he’s smothering me. We’ve gone from giving each other too much space to him not giving me any at all,’ I replied in whispered tones.
‘You both just need to get through this trial, then you can put everything behind you,’ Scarlet replied, ever the voice of reason.
I watched the soapsuds swirl in the cold water, mirroring the feeling in my chest. The trial was starting today and I had no idea how it would go or if I could even pull myself together long enough to get through it.
‘Have you seen the rosebush yet?’ she asked.
‘Not as such. I know he was planting it yesterday, but I can’t bring myself to go out there yet,’ I replied, feeling ashamed at my weakness.
Tom had planted a cerise pink rosebush in the back garden as a memorial to Grace. He had asked for my input, but all I could volunteer was that she loved bright pink. He had been stone-faced as he dug the hole, the physical exertion acting as a form of rehabilitation for him, but I wasn’t quite there yet and had stayed indoors. I would be ready, soon, but not now.
‘Okay, but you will. Now get your skinny arse out of that cold bath and get ready. And I’ll be there, right beside you, through it all.’
I pulled myself to standing, the water trickling off my body, and I smiled at her, grateful she was still there but very aware that she wasn’t. But I needed her this week; I’d worry about the implications of who she was when this was all over.
I wrapped myself in a warm towel and unlocked the door.
Tom was still standing guard, waiting patiently. ‘Okay?’
‘Yes, fine. I’m going to get dressed.’
*
The trial passed in a blur. I remember snippets: the musty smell in the courtroom; the monotonous tone of the lawyers as they made their case; the sound of Tom weeping quietly beside me as the driver pleaded guilty. I shut myself away mentally and let it all wash over me like a shroud, not hearing the details, not witnessing the reactions of the people around me, all the while wishing I could hide my body as I could my mind.
Scarlet kept her promise and held my hand throughout, while Tom held the other.
I refused to look at the driver on his day of reckoning. I couldn’t bring myself to in case his face would be etched into my mind forever. I wanted to see Grace’s face, not his. But as I heard the judge read out his sentence, I turned to look at him: a balding, hunched shadow of a man, someone almost as broken as I was. I didn’t want to feel empathy for him or pity, but I could identify with his anguish. He was given the maximum sentence and was led away to spend time in a prison cell to deal with what he had done. The only difference between his cell and mine was that his had physical walls.
When we returned home from court, I disappeared straight to bed, not to sleep but to remember. Tom remained downstairs and I could hear him sobbing through the walls. We were doing it again, shutting ourselves off from one another, trying to grieve in private. It hadn’t worked before and it wouldn’t work now.
It took every ounce of courage I had to pull myself out of bed and make my way down the stairs. I walked into the lounge where my broken husband was and I sat down next to him.
*
Forcing one foot in front of the other, I moved carefully towards the four-poster bed. A fairy-tale canopy of cotton candy pink edged with lace and festooned with butterflies. I could remember with stinging clarity the moment we revealed her freshly decorated bedroom to her: bright, shining eyes peeking from behind tiny fingers and the shriek of absolute glee that followed. I lowered myself timidly onto the perfectly straight duvet, feeling the eyes of a hundred stuffed toys appraising me politely.
Here was Joey the Kangaroo from one of our first holidays as a family when we endured a hellishly long flight to take her to see Tom’s family; next to it Petula the Ragdoll, hand-made for her by her granny; propped up by Roger the Monkey, a newer addition to her artificial fluffy family. I reached between Petula and Roger, my fingers creeping under the pillow until I felt them grasp thin, smooth fabric and pulled out the blanket she couldn’t sleep without. The yellow of the wool was washed out from countless spins in the dryer, the left-hand corner still stained from where she had cut her head after falling against the table as a toddler. I rubbed the worn but familiar fabric between trembling fingers, then lifted it to my face and breathed in deeply. A faint essence of her was still there, like sherbet and talcum powder. I closed my eyes, finally letting myself remember. The feeling of asphyxiation lifted ever so slightly with each recalled giggle, hug and sniffle.
Then my tears came again. I felt like I had cried an ocean over the last few weeks as I sat with Tom, talking, analysing, baring our souls to each other. We were both drained and empty, but I was hopeful. I lay down with my head amongst the toys and sobbed into their fur.
Time passed – I don’t know how long – but I allowed myself this moment of self-indulgence, felt myself let go. Eventually I opened my eyes and sat up, straightened the toys, smoothed down the pillow. I took another look at the blanket, then returned it to its place of safety. I looked up and saw Scarlet standing in the doorway, watching with approval, dust dancing in the sunlight like a halo behind her head. She was smiling and crying. Before I could call out to her, she lifted her hand, waved goodbye, and walked away.
In her place, Tom filled the doorway, real and tangible, broken but not beyond repair. I stood up and walked towards him.
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Dawn Goodwin’s next book is coming in summer 2018
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Acknowledgements
Although written in a solitary bubble and fuelled by copious cups of tea and chocolate digestives, there are a few people who have helped me to realise my childhood ambition with this book.
The idea came to me one morning on the school run, but it was my time spent with the team at Curtis Brown Creative that helped to form it into an actual novel – particularly my tutor, Chris Wakling, who made me realise it was actually good enough, and Anna Davis, who gave me very helpful advice on what to do next when it was finally finished.
The people I met on the CBC creative writing course have become lifelong friends. To Alice Clark-Platts, Cath Benetto, Heidi Perks, Elin Daniels, Alex Tyler, Grace Coleman, Moyette Gibbons and Juliette Henderson in particular, I cannot thank you enough for your constant support and motivational emails, not to mention all the laughs and glasses of wine. Book launches will never be the same again. You are all talented writers and I am honoured to finally get a book on the ‘Authors We Know’ shelf in such esteemed company.
To the team at Bell Lomax Moreton, particularly Lauren Gardener for pulling my manuscript from the slush pile and falling in love with it, and my lovely agent Jo Bell, who has been an absolute joy to work with. Here’s to sharing many more stories, dog-related or otherwise, Jo.
To the team at Aria, particularly Caroline Ridding, who saw the potential and took a punt on me and my stories with such enthusiasm.
To Mary, Kate, Sarah and Laura, because we all need a ‘wingman’ on a night out, mostly to help us remember what happened the next day so that I can put it in a story, and to Bear, because she’d be tickled pink to get a mention. You all love a good book, so I hope you like mine.
To my family – I told you I’d write a book one day – and to Ted, who has given me the support to follow my dream and always believed I could do it.
And finally to Paige and Erin. I hope I’ve made you a tiny bit as proud of me as I am of you. All you need is belief, patience, a smattering of sweat and tears, and a sprinkling of fairy dust for dreams to come true.
About Dawn Goodwin<
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DAWN GOODWIN's career has spanned PR, advertising and publishing. Now, she loves to write about the personalities hiding behind the masks, whether beautiful or ugly. Married, she lives in London with her two daughters and a British bulldog called Geoffrey.
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Addictive Fiction
First published in the UK in 2017 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Dawn Goodwin, 2017
The moral right of Dawn Goodwin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
