After a few minutes, Jacob, sick of being stuck in his highchair, started to cry.
Amanda sat up straight and wiped her face on her sleeve before going into the kitchen. She lifted Jacob from his chair and placed him on the rug and emptied the contents of his toy box in front of him; dolls, cars, blocks and farm animals covered the floor.
Michael followed her. Standing in the doorway, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged at her as she started to prepare dinner.
"Not now, Michael. We'll talk later." She flashed him a warning look.
Gone was the softness of a few moments ago. Back in its place was the tough, no-nonsense, impenetrable exterior. Any other man would give her a slap for the way she spoke to him. He wasn’t a violent man, but she’d been pushing his buttons lately.
With a shake of his head he went into the lounge to watch the news, but switched the television off after a few minutes. He couldn't concentrate.
His thoughts returned to his wife. He had loved her, maybe still did in a way, but she frustrated the hell out of him.
He'd tried his best to be faithful, but it wasn’t easy. Amanda was every red-blooded man's dream with her tall figure that was on the skinny side of slim—natural blonde hair and pretty face. But emotionally, he always found himself on the outside with no chance of getting in.
There had been the odd bit on the side over the years—nothing more than most men got up to. But then he met up with Toni four months ago. He’d known her from school, but they hadn't seen each other in years. He found her in the supermarket car park shaken up and crying—she’d been attacked by a hooded youth who’d snatched her bag.
Michael stayed with her while she waited for the police to arrive. Afterwards, he took her for coffee and waited with her until she calmed down.
They'd been seeing each other ever since—and not just for sex, although she was a minx in the bedroom—or bathroom as Amanda had discovered. In the beginning, they'd meet several times a week at the park or playground. Initially, it was just for a chat, but after a while they began having wild, sexy romps every Tuesday and Thursday at Toni's house.
He would drop the children off at the day-care—another thing Amanda would go stark staring mad about. She expected him to stay there with them when all the other parents dropped their kids off, but he'd felt like a weirdo hanging about the nursery.
Now a detective had turned up on their doorstep, for whatever reason, and it had knocked her for six. What the fuck had she been up to?
After making sure the children were sound asleep, Michael poured two glasses of wine.
He was wary about confronting Amanda, knowing she'd want her own answers about Toni. However, the desperation to find out what had been going on with his ordinarily boring wife overshadowed everything else.
Amanda was sitting with her feet curled underneath her on the sofa. She wore white pyjama bottoms and a purple T-shirt with a large white smiley face across the front. She seemed miles away.
"Here you go, Mand, get this down you, love," he said as he handed her the wine and sat down next to her.
"Thank you." She took the glass from him and placed it on the coffee table without taking a sip.
"Right, Mand, are you gonna tell me what the police wanted?" The suspense was driving him mad.
She turned towards him as if seeing him for the first time. "They're looking for someone...someone from my past," her voice seemed very far away.
"Who?" He sat staring at her, waiting for her reply. He was about to ask the question again when she shuddered and looked at him.
"Does it matter who?”
“Yes, of course it does,” he said.
“It’s just someone I haven't thought about in a long time and never intended to think about again.” She gave a huge sigh. “I couldn't help the detective so let's just forget it, shall we?" Her hands shook as she reached for her glass.
"You're obviously still upset. What could be so terrible you can't tell me? I won't let you come to any harm, Manda. Who is it?" he urged. He couldn't begin to imagine what had got her this worried.
"My dad," she whispered.
He shook his head in confusion. "Who? Did you say your dad?" His voice had gone up a few octaves.
She nodded.
"You said your dad was dead along with the rest of your family." He pushed himself back on the sofa, wanting to put some distance between them. "What the hell’s going on, Amanda? Why would you say something like that?"
"Because I wished he was dead, that’s why,” she said. “He's a horrible, sick man who’s been in prison for the past ten years. I found out today that they released him six weeks ago." She slammed her glass down onto the table, the wine sloshing everywhere.
She turned to face him again, her large blue eyes fixed on his. "I told you I was being watched but you wouldn't believe me."
"It's not that I didn’t believe you, Amanda, but I couldn't imagine why somebody would want to watch you—it didn't make sense—it still doesn’t."
He stared at the woman in front of him—the woman who had shared his life for so long—the woman who had given birth to his children. But all he saw was a stranger.
"I need to get the kids away from here—he knows where I am, and I don't want him anywhere near them." She was shaking so much her teeth chattered. Tears filled her eyes and then great racking sobs shook her body.
He pulled her into his arms. "It's all right. I won't let anything happen to you or the kids, I promise," he said.
"Don't you see? It already has. He somehow got to Emma at the zoo. What about the seahorse he put in her bag?" Huge tears spilled from her lovely big eyes.
"Now you're being daft,” he snapped. “Emma said she followed you. Nobody took her, and she probably just found the brooch," he said as he forced himself to soothe her.
"You don't know him, Michael. I do. I know how his sick mind works, trust me. I also know he won't be happy until he punishes me."
Alarm bells started ringing in his head. "For what? Come on, Amanda, I think it’s time you told me everything."
"I testified against him. I was the one who had him locked up." Her voice was no more than a whisper, and large silent tears streamed down her face.
"What did that monster do to you? Tell me—it's all right." He pulled her head to his shoulder, stroking her silky blond hair.
"He … he raped me."
***
Maybe I shouldn't have blurted it out like that, but I needed him to take me seriously for once in his life. Plus, if I'm honest, I also wanted to hurt him for a host of reasons, though none of them—apart from carrying on with another woman—were even his fault.
The expression on his face, once I'd told him, reminded me of the time a seagull crapped on his shoulder in Blackpool. He was disgusted. Just another reason for him to think of me as damaged stock. Now I was the woman who'd slept with her father in his eyes, regardless of the circumstances.
Michael had gone out soon afterwards, making some excuse about needing fresh air and clearing his head. Forgotten was the grand speech of being there to protect us. Two hours had passed already, and it didn't take a genius to work out where he'd gone.
My heart contracted in my chest and I bit back the tears. I knew it was over. Had known all week since the texts but I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about it. Now the decision was out of my hands–it had been obvious by his reaction.
I wondered what he'd do once he knew the whole truth. The watered down version had freaked him out enough.
I understood why he'd find it difficult to comprehend. His had been an overindulged childhood. His parents had spoiled him rotten and he was their world. It would be impossible for him to imagine his father abusing him in any way. Even now he only had to click his fingers and they would come running.
And yes, I had lied to him when we first met, telling him my family were dead. But no-one in their right mind would tell the whole sorry truth straight off and I never found the right time after
wards.
The police and courts protected me when the story first hit the papers. I didn't have to face people looking at me the way Michael had tonight—like it was somehow my fault.
He’d go mad when he found out my mum was also still alive. She left us when I was four or five years old and I didn’t hear from her again until I tracked her down when I was seventeen years old.
I remember being stunned by how much I looked like her—golden blond hair, slim features, pale blue-grey eyes, full lips and a slight frame. But that was where the similarity ended. She was a self-centred woman and a god-awful mother.
After she had left my dad she shacked up with a man living in a council house in Scotland. Once I found her again, we met up a couple of times when she came to Pinevale, but things had been very strained between us. I could never understand why she left—especially now, after having babies of my own. There was no way on this earth would I ever leave them.
My brother Andrew disappeared when he was fifteen. His suffering had been even worse than mine—as well as the sexual abuse, Dad also beat him regularly. The police tried to find him but came up with nothing. For years I'd thought Mum must have come back for him, but once I found her, I knew she hadn't. I now suspect my dad was behind Andrew's disappearance.
Pouring yet another glass of wine, I put the cork in the bottle and took what remained to the kitchen. I was afraid I'd drink the lot.
I intended going to Judy's house in the morning to start planning her job. Work would have to be the drug I used to distract myself.
I'd received an email from her earlier asking me to choose the wallpaper and soft furnishings. Her deadline gave me plenty of time if I started straight away. I should be pleased, but instead I felt nothing.
I would be able to do most of the work on the house myself. The place was basically sound and just needed a lift. Though I'd have to employ some gardeners and get a builder to sort the exterior masonry and guttering.
When a car pulled up outside, I got up to peer through the window. I wasn’t expecting it to be Michael as he had gone out on foot.
A small, light-coloured car was parked at the end of the path, and I watched as Michael uncurled himself from the passenger seat—then leaned back in to kiss the driver.
A cry escaped my lips and I held my breath, my hand covering my open mouth.
It was one thing knowing what he was getting up to, but having my face rubbed into it this way just blew my mind.
Shocked by his blatant disregard of my feelings, I still hadn't moved when he let himself in.
"Oh, I didn't think you'd still be up," he said, avoiding my gaze.
"You don't say!" I pursed my lips, walking into the hall. My heart felt as though it was going to burst from my chest, and I knew the tears were itching to fall, but I held them back, refusing to let him see.
"Meaning?"
"Forget it, Michael. If you don't know, I won't waste my breath," I said, totally dejected.
My head held high, I started up the stairs. "I'll be sleeping in Emma's bed. Oh, and for the record, I couldn't go to bed until you got home—the door needs to be deadlocked. In case you've forgotten, there's a nutcase out there. Remember?"
"Amanda," he called as I reached the top of the stairs.
"What, Michael?" My breath came out in a huge sigh.
"Sorry."
I watched as he walked into the lounge. So that was it. The end of our not-so-wonderful marriage. I felt an immense sadness.
Chapter 7
Annie
"If you keep harassing my customers, Annie, you'll be straight out that door." The barman threw a towel over his shoulder and glared at her, pointing a thick sausage-finger towards the double doors.
"Aw, c'mon, Joe, I'm doin' no 'arm. Thish ish me 'ole buddy, aincha pal?"
She had pounced on the man as soon as he entered the bar, trying to hit him up for a drink. She was certain he'd be good for it.
She'd become an expert at picking the weak and gullible ones out of the crowd, they tended to avoid her gaze, often agreeing to anything if she would just leave them alone. She'd almost succeeded with this one too until Joe stuck his fucking big nose in.
The elderly gentleman squirmed in his seat. "Um, er," he stuttered, his watery old eyes pleading with the barman.
Annie pushed herself off the stool and shoved the man in the shoulder. "Be like that then, Grandpa." She swayed, falling sideways.
Experienced with drunks, Joe had seen it coming and reached out, grabbing her by the arm.
"Gerroffme!" she roared, the sound coming from the pit of her stomach. Yanking her arm from his grip caused her to fall off balance in the opposite direction. Her arm flew up smacking the old man in his large, bulbous nose.
Sprawled out, face down on the sticky, booze-soaked carpet, she felt herself being yanked backwards. Here we go again, she thought.
Several of the locals had jumped forward to assist Joe in evicting the screaming, stinking drunk out of the bar. They carried her through the double swing doors and dumped her on a seat in front of the old stone wall.
The cold night air hit her like a sack of spuds. She lay quietly for a moment or two.
"What ya shtaring at, shupid bitch?" she shouted to a girl standing at the bus stop. Annie was used to people looking down their nose at her and she normally ignored them, but she was too angry tonight and she needed to lash out at somebody.
The girl said nothing. She continued eating from a paper parcel, not attempting to turn away.
"Cat got ya tongue?"
"Erm, no, not really. I was going to ask you if you want a chip." She stepped forward, holding out the delicious smelling package.
Annie's stomach growled. She realised she hadn't eaten anything all day, and couldn't remember if she'd had anything yesterday either. She hesitated, before putting her hand in and pulling out several fat, juicy looking chips.
"Fanks. Do-a know ya?" Annie looked her up and down, one eye closed, the other squinting. The girl's long, blond hair shone in the moonlight.
"I don't think so. Here, you may as well finish these off," she said, handing over the rest of the chips.
Annie knew the reason the girl had had enough all of a sudden. She was aware of the offensive smell that emanated from her—she often turned people off their food. Snatching the parcel greedily, she began stuffing chips into her mouth.
Once finished, she licked the salt and vinegar off the greaseproof paper and licked each grubby finger in turn. She rolled the paper into a ball then dropped it to the ground.
Annie stood up, taking a couple of seconds to get her balance while holding on to the wall. Hunched over, she staggered up the street towards town.
"Fanks for the chipsh," she called to the girl who was once again standing at the bus stop.
"You're welcome. Goodnight."
After a few steps, Annie felt an odd slapping feeling coming from her left foot. She stopped and bent forward to investigate. As she lifted her foot up she noticed the sole of her old boot had come loose. Before having the chance to right herself, she lost her balance and found herself face first in the gutter.
With neither the energy nor the inclination to get up, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into a booze-addled slumber.
Moments later she felt a hand on her shoulder. Annie shrugged it off, a scowl on her face.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
The gentle voice was close to her ear. Annie struggled to open her heavy eyelids.
"Leave me 'lone!" Once again, she shrugged at the hand that was back on her shoulder.
"Let me help you. Where do you live?" the girl persisted.
"Not goin' 'ome—need a drink firsht." Annie's eyes were now open and she tried to sit up.
"Gosh, don't you think you've had enough? Come on, let me help you get home." The girl assisted her into a sitting position.
"Told ya, need a drink."
"What if I buy you one to take home? Will you l
et me help you then?"
"S'pose," Annie said looking at the girl and waiting for the catch.
"Right, sit there—I'll be back in two ticks," the girl said as she grabbed her large grey handbag off the road beside Annie and ran in the direction of the off-license. She returned a few minutes later with a plastic bag at her side.
"What did ya get?" Annie was now sitting on the kerb, her feet in the road.
"Vodka, but you're not having it till I get you home," the girl said as she put her arm under Annie's elbow and lifted her to her feet. "Right—lead the way?"
Annie's flat was the last in a row of run-down, single-storey flats. They walked around the back of the building, through the overgrown garden that resembled a rubbish dump. There was an old broken toilet that lay on its side at the back door and blocked half the entrance. They had to manoeuvre themselves around it and in through the wide-open kitchen door.
"Don't you lock the door?" The girl walked in behind Annie, carefully placing her feet on the filthy, torn oilcloth.
"Na! No key."
Annie flopped herself down on the threadbare, floral chair by the window.
The only other seat in the sparsely furnished room was a rickety, wooden dining chair and the girl perched on the edge of it.
Bottles, pizza boxes and old newspapers covered the carpet from wall to wall.
Annie wasted no time. She opened the bottle of vodka and chugged on the neck of it. After a few mouthfuls, she noticed the way the girl was eyeing up the mess. "Watsh up wiv ya face, snootytoots?" she snarled, her top lip pulled back from her teeth like a vicious, growling dog. "I washnt always like thish ya know? I ‘ad a good job an' nice cloves jusht like you."
The girl said nothing as she took her bag from over her shoulder and hugged it to her chest. Her heels were off the floor, and her legs nervously bounced up and down.
"I don't need you judging me. Go on—pish off!" Annie motioned for the girl to leave, sloshing vodka all over the floor as she did so.
"I'm not judging you. I want to help you."
Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) Page 6
