It wasn’t until all the cars had left that she saw her turn and walk back the way she’d come. Relieved to be on the move, her hands, despite the gloves, numb from the cold, Diane followed her. She didn’t pay much attention to where she was going, concentrating on maintaining an appropriate distance without losing her. She closed the distance at junctions and increased it when she spotted pedestrian crossings.
She was getting good at it. She was still congratulating herself on doing such a good job when she saw the woman cross the road and head down a quiet residential road. A road she recognised. The road where Sophie Redmond lived. Shaking her head in disbelief, she crossed the road to follow. She should have considered this, of course, and slowing her pace more, she watched the woman open the garden gate and vanish into the house.
Diane wasn’t supposed to be on that street but, realistically, what were the chances of that police car just happening to pass by? Slim, given it was a relatively safe, affluent neighbourhood, but it still wasn’t the best place for her to hang around after the warning she had already received. She bit her lip and kept walking. This had to work. There was only so much more she could take.
At the end of the street, she looked back down the length of it. She could wait here; if the woman left and came this way, she could just duck around the corner. If she went the other way, she could run to catch up.
After another ten minutes, she decided to walk the length of the road again, just to keep warm. She pushed away from the thigh-high wall she’d been leaning on, her gaze drifting over the garden behind it to the house. A net curtain at the window twitched and Diane raised a hand in friendly greeting, and quickly moved on.
And then she saw it. A police car at the junction, indicating to turn. The same police officers? She’d no idea but, in a few seconds, they’d be on the road and see her. That net curtain twitcher must have rung them. If it were the same officers, there was no way she could explain why she was back on the street that made any sense. And there was no time to get away. In desperation, she swung her legs over the wall beside her, dropped down and lay flat on the grass on the other side.
She waited a moment, ears pricked, and heard the sound of the car travelling slowly down the road, past her and stopping at the end. Then she heard the unmistakeable sound of two car doors bang. Her cheeks reddened at the thought of them wandering along the street and seeing her lying there in a stranger’s garden. But there was no sound of footsteps, and, after a few minutes, she relaxed. They must have gone inside the house where she saw the curtain twitch.
Damp was seeping through her clothes and woodlice ran across her fingers and hands, but she didn’t dare move until movement in the window of the house behind caught her attention. Looking up, she jolted as she saw a pair of startled eyes looking back. When the face vanished, she knew she had a choice, stay here and be caught, or run like hell.
Jumping up, she swung her legs back over the wall and started to run up the road as fast as she could, throwing a glance at Sophie Redmond’s house as she passed and cursing her luck. When she got to the junction, she stopped for a breath. She looked back down the road just at the same moment that the two police officers had come out of the house and were staring up. She watched them rush to get into their car and didn’t wait to see more.
Panic-stricken, she ran across the road, causing cars to break suddenly and horns to blare. It was a main road, and there was nowhere to hide as far as she could see. She was running as fast as she could, but she wasn’t a fool, they’d be behind her in seconds. She looked from side to side as she ran, looking for a laneway, anything that would take her off this road. From behind, she heard a siren, they’d reached the junction. She only had seconds.
Then she saw it. On the other side of the road, a narrow walkway between houses. She dashed across, waving a hand at an approaching car that braked with a squeal of tyres, seeing the police car approaching from the other direction, close enough so that she could see they weren’t the two police officers who’d stopped her before. It wasn’t much of a consolation. Then she was in the walkway and running as fast as her legs would take her, surprised at how fast she could go when under pressure.
But they’d be after her, and she guessed they could run faster.
A minute later, just when she was thinking she’d have to give up, and hearing heavy, fast footfall closing in behind her, the walkway opened onto a path in a large, modern housing estate with no front gardens, and multiple ways through. Chest heaving, she ran like hell down the first road she came to, then took the next and every one after, hoping she wouldn’t end up back where she started, or that they wouldn’t choose a road that would make their paths cross.
Exhausted, she stopped for a moment, and listened. She couldn’t hear anything, but she doubted they’d given up. She needed to get out of sight.
At the bottom of the road she was on, an end of terrace house looked uncared for, weeds high in the pots that stood on either side of the front door. It didn’t look the kind of house where people were interested in what went on. And it had a side gate that was hanging askew.
With a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching, she slipped through and gently pushed the gate shut. Legs wobbling, she slid to the ground and leaned back against it trying to catch her breath, her face wet, nose running. With a dirty hand, she wiped both and rubbed her hand on her even dirtier jeans. She looked down at herself, she was filthy. And it had all been for nothing. Hot tears of self-pity rolled down her cheeks.
She had no idea how long the police would search for her. Probably not for long, but she wasn’t risking moving for at least an hour. What a catastrophe. She gave a laugh, and then a slightly louder one, then harder and harder until she was laughing hysterically, gasping for breath and leaning against the fence for support. She was losing her grip; that edge was getting so close.
With a gulp, she stopped abruptly and wiped a hand over her face. She was cold, filthy and hungry having stupidly skipped breakfast and lunch. Stupid. She let her head rest back against the rotting wood of the door and closed her eyes.
Now would be a good time for a blackout, but instead, when she was fairly sure they’d given up the chase, she pulled out her phone and called for a taxi. Twenty minutes, they said. She kept an eye on the time, and when fifteen minutes had passed, she moved out front, her eyes scanning anxiously, ducking back behind the gate when a car passed. The next car that turned down the road was the taxi. She had removed her filthy jacket in case the driver asked questions, climbed into the back with a quivering sigh and gave the driver her address. She was asleep before the taxi had turned onto the main road.
‘We’re here.’
Woken suddenly, Diane blinked groggily, confused by the battered car parked behind hers on their driveway until she realised it must be the sitter’s.
‘Keep the change,’ she said, handing over the money and climbing out of the taxi.
Relieved to hear the sound of laughter as she gently opened the front door, Diane shut it quietly and tiptoed up the stairs. She didn’t want either Emma or the sitter to see her in the state she was in. Stripping her clothes off, she washed her face and hands, eyeing the shower with longing. With a sigh, she pulled clean clothes on, brushed her hair, put her purse and mobile into a handbag and headed back downstairs where she opened the front door quietly and closed it with a slam.
‘I’m home,’ she called, heading to the family room and opening the door with a smile pinned in place.
‘Mummy!’ Emma yelled in delight. ‘We’re doing painting.’
Milly Anderson stood, an embarrassed blush on her face.
Not surprising, Diane thought, taking the mess in with a look of surprise. There seemed to be paint everywhere.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, honest,’ Milly said, holding up two paint-splattered hands. ‘When we’re done, I just roll everything up and take it away, see,’ she pointed to the large sheet that seemed to cover half the floor, ‘everything
is contained. And it all washes off. I’d planned to give Emma a bath when we were done, put her in pyjamas and wash her clothes out.’
‘See, Mummy,’ Emma held up her painting.
Diane bent down to look. ‘That’s amazing,’ she said. ‘It looks like she’s having fun,’ she said to Milly with a smile. ‘I’m going to leave you to it. I’ve had a shattering day and I’m going to head up and take a bath. Can you stay until five thirty?’
Milly nodded. ‘That’s the time I was expecting to leave, Mrs Andrews.’
She left them and headed back upstairs. She turned the hot tap on full and stripped while she waited for the bath to fill, adding scented bath foam to the running water. When it was ready, she dipped a hand in, added cold water and then stepped in with a groan of pleasure.
She stayed in until the water turned cold and then climbed out. It would have been nice to pull on a pair of pyjamas and a robe, to slouch for the evening and have dinner on a tray in front of the television. She grinned when she imagined Paul’s horrified face if she even suggested such a thing.
Searching her wardrobe, she pulled out a pair of jersey pants that were the nearest to pyjama bottoms she had, and a jumper that had gone soft and baggy with age. They’d do just fine. Comfortable, she headed downstairs.
Milly had worked a miracle while she’d been upstairs; the family room was back to normal. No sign of paint on any surface. Emma, who’d been showered, glowed in pink bunny-rabbit pyjamas.
‘I have no idea how you managed to tidy all that up so well,’ she said to Milly, who was standing in the kitchen with a mug in her hand.
The sitter grinned. ‘Years of practice,’ she admitted.
Diane gave a faint smile and checked the time. ‘Well, thank you so much. I’m sorry it’s a bit later than I promised.’
‘Not a problem,’ Milly said, emptying the dregs from her mug into the sink and dropping it into the dishwasher.
Diane watched as she enveloped Emma in a hug, speaking to the child with what sounded like genuine affection before waving to them both as she left.
Leaving Emma to play with her toys, she headed into the kitchen. Dinner, as she’d planned, was simple, and minutes later pasta was simmering, the cooked chicken chopped up and ready to be added with the sauce. With nothing more to do for the moment, she sat at the table and went over the day’s events, her head in her hands. So, after that disaster, what now? It was a question she couldn’t answer.
There was no way she could have hidden Milly’s presence in the house. When Paul came home, Emma was full of chat about her paintings and insisted he admire them before he went to change.
‘I’ll explain when you come down,’ Diane said. ‘She had such a good time. I think she shows such flair for a three year old.’ She watched as he picked up each of the paintings she had done, one by one, asking Emma what she had painted. Diane, leaning over to hear the explanation, was amused when she told them that the painting she’d been shown earlier was of her teacher, Miss Rogers, and her classmates.
For one brief moment, they were a happy family. But it didn’t last; she looked at his smiling face from the corner of her eyes and she wanted to scream her pain and frustration. Instead, she bit her lip as he enthused over the paintings.
Over dinner, she unpacked her lie to cover Millie’s presence. ‘Miss Rogers asked if I was interested in having one of their trainee nursery teachers for a few hours. They were keen that they have more interactive one-to-one time with children.’ She liked that line, thought it was just the kind of thing Susan Power might say. ‘Of course, I jumped at the opportunity to have her, and Emma just loved it.
‘Once I saw how good she was, I went and had the longest bath I’ve had in ages.’ Keep lies simple and blend in as much truth as possible, that was the secret. She watched his face, there wasn’t the slightest hint that he didn’t believe her.
‘You had fun,’ he said to Emma, who was picking pasta up with her fingers and nibbling it with great concentration.
‘Mmhh,’ she said, and then elaborated, ‘it was the best.’
Paul who didn’t approve of her eating with her fingers, reached over, took the pasta from her fingers and put the spoon back in her hand. ‘Maybe you should emphasise how beneficial it was to Miss Rogers when you drop her off tomorrow,’ he said, looking at Diane, ‘maybe she’d be kind enough to think of Emma again.’
‘I’m sure they try to give everyone the opportunity,’ she said, calmly. ‘And I’m not sure how long they have trainees for. But,’ she added, seeing that he was going to insist, ‘I’ll make sure that I tell her what a great opportunity it was, and how much Emma enjoyed it.’
He seemed to be content with this and concentrated on his dinner. Diane relaxed, relieved at how easily deceit came these days. She was glad that Emma had genuinely enjoyed Milly’s care. At least something good had come of it. It was, after all, the only success of the day.
Once Paul had taken Emma up to bed, she tidied up quickly and poured a glass of wine. She didn’t even consider he might come down again. That ship, she guessed, had definitely sailed. Glass in hand, she switched off the TV and the overhead light and curled up on the sofa in the soft light of the table lamp.
It had been a hell of a day, she thought, shaking her head. She was no further forward in trying to find out how everything was tied together – or even if they were. Swilling the wine around in the glass, she weighed up her options. So far, following the woman had only ended up in disaster.
Maybe, she needed to cut to the chase and talk to Paul’s lover, Red. She had so many questions for her.
Sipping her wine, a wave of sadness washed over her. She loved Paul; she wondered when he’d stopped loving her. His betrayal hurt, but what stunned and frightened her was his deviousness.
Just to get what he wanted.
She wouldn’t have thought him capable, but then maybe everyone was. She thought of all the lies she’d told in the last few weeks. How far was she willing to go to keep Emma?
She wasn’t sure, but she hoped she’d stop before trying to destroy someone. If she could prove that was what he was trying to do, she could stop him. But she needed proof.
So far, she’d not had much luck, but she had to believe her luck would change.
Twenty-Five
When she woke the next morning, after yet another restless night, she remembered she was meeting Anne. Of course, she’d hoped to have some clarity after yesterday’s attempt to follow the woman, had hoped to lay the whole sorry tale out for her. But she had nothing.
She should cancel, go directly to Red and get some answers. She couldn’t go in the afternoon, not with Emma to look after. Lying in her bed staring at the ceiling, it suddenly dawned on her that she could do both. Perhaps, after all, Paul wasn’t the only one who could be manipulative.
After she dropped Emma off, she drove to the café arriving just after nine forty and managing to get parking directly outside. Her good luck continued; she was the first customer and had her choice of tables. She’d have liked the one in the window but, for privacy, chose one in a corner alcove, dropping her jacket on the back of a chair and returning to the counter to order.
When Anne pushed through the door, their eyes met and Diane pointed toward the table she’d laid claim to and turned her attention to the server. ‘An Americano and a low-fat latte, please.’
‘Regular or large?’
Diane looked across the room to where Anne was making herself comfortable. ‘Both large,’ she said.
‘I’ll bring them over.’
Diane waved her thanks and crossed the café. Pulling out her chair, she sat and dropped her bag on the floor. ‘Well, here we are again,’ she said.
As an ice-breaker, it wasn’t great, but Anne grinned. ‘I was so pleased when you rang. I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me again.’
‘Because you poked around and read confidential papers?’ Diane said with a shake of her head. ‘Nosiness isn’t one of my flaw
s but lying is a different matter. Recently, I’ve discovered I have quite a flair for it.’
Anne looked more than surprised. With her mouth slightly open, and eyes round, she looked stunned. ‘Ok,’ she said, with an embarrassed laugh, ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
Diane laughed with genuine amusement. ‘Wait until I tell you the rest.’
Their coffees arrived at that moment, oversized cups on small saucers, a plastic wrapped biscotti struggling to balance on the edge of each.
Diane unwrapped her biscuit, took it out and dunked it in her coffee before demolishing it in two bites. She brushed her fingers on the leg of her jeans before picking up her coffee. ‘Well,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘Let me tell you my story.’
Anne was one of those unusual people who could listen without comment and, more importantly, without interrupting. She simply sipped her coffee and listened. When the cups were empty, she held up a hand, stood and went to order more.
Diane gathered her thoughts and waited for the coffee to arrive before continuing. An hour later, she took a deep breath and sat back. ‘And that’s it, so far.’
The café had filled as she told her story and they were surrounded by a cacophony of voices and sounds, but between them there was a silence that lasted for several minutes.
Anne ran a hand over her face. ‘Let me see if I’ve got this straight,’ she said, and then stopped again.
Diane held her breath. If she didn’t believe her, she wasn’t sure she could cope.
Anne leaned forward, fingers interlinked, thumbs tapping. ‘Okay. So, you had a bit of a bad time over the last year, gaps in your memory, a spell in what very much sounds like a psychiatric institute of sorts. Then you decided to go back to work and took a volunteer role in the charity shop where you met Red. You’d never met her before, right?’
The Housewife: A completely addictive and gripping psychological thriller Page 15
